#it's been my entire personality for the past years yet i know NOTHING about it

[apparitionism]

Asleep 2

For the anniversary this year, I have the second “half” of my @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange story for @kla1991 : an involuntary bed-sharing situation that turns not sexy but disastrous. The first part took on Myka’s perspective; this conclusion is written from the other side of the bed. A confession: I find in-universe Helena’s head voice a somewhat difficult register to compose—because while she can’t be fully insane, she needs to teeter or list, sometimes more than a little (but without falling into histrionics). Which is to say that if you don’t entirely buy the turns of thought and/or coping mechanisms I’ve given her here, your skepticism is well-placed. Ultimately I hope it’s the case that a person can be broken but still want in a way that’s... pure? Justified? Sweet? Reciprocatable? Maybe just “vaguely recognizably human”?

Anyway, this is long, first because it extends well beyond the point at which the first part ended, but also because when a Bering and a Wells get to talking (as they at last do!), they need to work things out at their own pace...

Asleep 2

My arm is asleep.

Under normal circumstances, a person would, upon becoming aware of this, shift position so as to restore blood flow.

Under normal circumstances.

But very little is normal about the circumstances under which Helena’s arm is asleep.

She is in a hotel-room bed, in the dark of night, lying on her left side, with her left arm, her now-asleep arm, pinned beneath her. So ends the disturbingly limited “normal” portion of the situation.

Here begins the larger portion: she absolutely must not move.

Irony guts at her with that, a shiv-and-twist remembrance of bronze restriction—but that prohibition had involved a significantly different auxiliary verb: “cannot” rather than “must not.”

Grammatical particulars aside, her immobility now is barely less a torment. This is because her other arm, her alive right, terminates in an even-more alive sensate hand, one that now rests—but is in no way at rest—on Myka’s right hip.

Myka, too, is lying on her left side, a small distance in front of Helena, lying in this hotel-room bed. Such proximity in such a space might, under other circumstances, signify the fulfillment of a long-held dream... but here, now, it seems a nightmare. For Myka is Helena’s colleague and no more; they are in this bed for sleep and no more; and Myka is playing her part correctly while Helena is not, in contravention of what she has sworn to herself she would do no more.

Such drowsy sense the placing of that hand had seemed to make, when she had found herself facing Myka’s back. She had in the past regarded that length covetously, relishing the idea of touch both salacious and tender.

For all her coveting, however, she had in fact only once laid hands on that back, both hands with intention on the clothed blades of Myka’s shoulders: a terrifying embrace, one that was in the most basic physical manner right but overall searingly wrong, screaming bodily truth but surrounded by words that said nothing they should. A perversion of promise, like so much else that had happened in Boone.

Yet Helena had clung to its memory all the same.

She’d thought, here in this unexpected proximity, to supersede that, to touch once again, once again but brief, once again though brief. To erase and replace.

First she touched the right blade, light; yet her hand wanted stillness, more connection than a mere pat against cotton-clad bone. And there was Myka’s hip, a beckoning promontory jut... a place to rest. Rest, however brief.

Once placed, however, her hand had proved reluctant to retreat.

Brief, she reminded it.

No, the hand had responded. I belong here.

Helena knows this is true. She knows also that it cannot be true.

But she is no stranger to holding contradictory thoughts in her head. This has been essential to establishing and maintaining, in these new Warehouse days, a functional equilibrium. Functional. Indeed her goal, in this “reboot,” has been to function, which she has lately defined as something on the order of “to move through time nondestructively.”

This definition had come about due to her realization, pre-reboot, that her difference from others, her inability to fully perform a modern self—her arrogance about that inability, even as she attempted to hide both the inability and the arrogance—chipped at, chipped from, the good (the good nature, the good will, the goodness) of those around her. Over time, such chips accrued as wounds.

Nate. (Adelaide.) Giselle.

She had as a result finally understood that coming back to the Warehouse would mean, at the very least, that those with whom she interacted had already made a bargain, perhaps even a peace, with the inevitable violence of history: with the way the forces of the past could—would—affect, even infect, the present. Helena herself was, at her simplest, merely one more of those forces.

She did consider requesting that she be re-Bronzed, now absent any pretension of traveling through time, but rather as a way of neutralizing a dangerous, and demonstrably unstable, artifact. But then an image had come to her, possibly as an omen, possibly as only a desperate wish: Myka’s devastated face upon hearing such news.

Boone all over again.

Thus the reboot. Because the most significant entry under “function,” with additional emphasis on the “nondestructive” portion of that definition, was her resolution to spare Myka pain. In the past, Helena had been both careless and careful—surgically so—in her infliction of damage on Myka above all others. But she had sworn to herself that those days were done.

Done, but Helena knew she had not paid anything near a sufficient price.

So. To maintain distance, no matter how troublesomely ardent her wish to close it, was—had to be—part of her penance. And to do so decorously was—had to be—the gentlest approach. That was what Helena told herself in her more rational moments.

This moment, in this bed, is not one of those. If it were, she would simply remove her hand. Simply remove it, then roll over.

But her mind races, finding complication: She doesn’t know what sort of sleeper Myka is. Had Helena’s placing of hand awakened her? If she had awakened, has she now fallen asleep again? If she has, would she then be reawakened by the hand’s removal? Or would she, if still awake, draw some negative inference about the entire situation based on removal?

Ideally, Helena would maintain a facsimile of entirely blameless sleep while engaging in that removal, but can she make such a performance believable?

Never in her life has Helena been so concerned about her ability to mislead convincingly as when she has attempted to deceive Myka. That was the case in the past, even at her most nefarious, and now she worries day-to-day that her strictly disciplined disguise of near-constant wishing ache will slip and fail. A simple I am asleep should be... well... simple. But it is not, and Helena is reminded of Claudia’s tendency to observe, in situations both dire and banal, “Here we are.”

Here we are, because Myka is apparently indifferent to the idea of sharing a bed with Helena.

Here we are, because Myka is apparently indifferent to history.

Here we are, and that latter indifference is a surpassing irony, due to the fullness of—

Helena sees that she needs to divert her train of thought, as descending into unjustified anger will help absolutely nothing.

First, she entertains a fantasy of sitting up, turning on a light, and explaining to Myka that this entire situation is untenable, and that if they are going to share a bed, they should share a bed. But it’s true that Myka did not seem even to consider that as a possibility, which seems ludicrous, given the past... no, that’s back to unjustified anger, for who is Helena to resent what Myka wishes not to consider? And indeed, who is she to interpret the past in such a way as to believe she understands what Myka would have considered?

Focus on the facts, she tells herself. What actually happened in that nefarious past. And do so dispassionately.

Regrettably, the word “dispassionately” brings to mind another word: “passionately.”

Again. For she had thought that word not long after she and Myka had first entered this room, first entered it to find, as Helena’s unrestrained fantasies might have conjured, only one bed. That they were clearly intended to share. Thus her mind’s unruly leap to... an adverbial manner in which they might do so.

But Myka had said not one word about the accommodations, so Helena had held her tongue as well. She nevertheless couldn’t help but feel it an elaborate lack of remark on both their parts, the silence practically baroque in its fullness.

Baroque too had been the courtesy with which they jointly prepared for bed, a you-first-no-you stutter-choreography of politeness that ensured privacy, yes, but also reinforced the barrier between their past and their present.

Which Helena understood was necessary. It did nothing, however, to mitigate the breath-hold of preparing to lie down beside Myka.

Once she had managed that lying down, however (with a relative aplomb for which self-congratulation was not, she felt, unjustified), she hoped her torment might ease. A bit. If she could manage the additional task of pretending the body beside her was no more significant than any other human. Some flesh, recumbent.

But when they were situated thus beside, Myka spoke. “You seem a little upset,” she said.

Helena had barely been able to restrain a snort. Now Myka saw fit to comment? As if allowing this portion of the play to pass without remark would create some undue strain upon collegiality? As if their incongruous bonhomie might buckle under the weight of that silence? Oh, that was rich.

Bottling her pique, Helena questioned: “With?” To make Myka say it. Mere saying wouldn’t hurt. Would it?

“You haven’t been yourself since you put that camera in the static bag. Was it a problem, seeing it again?”

Helena held herself rigid so as to keep her body from betraying neither her disappointment at the question nor, contradictorily, her relief...

It was a reasonable question. A good question. Not one on which Helena particularly wanted to focus (although it indicated a certain attention on Myka’s part, an attention on which Helena suspected she should not dwell), but it did deserve an answer. “It closes a door, doesn’t it,” she told the ceiling, for turning her head to address the other body directly seemed an invitation to peril. “That one I opened so nefariously, long ago.”

“Or—and—maybe it closes a loop,” Myka said.

Unexpected. “A loop?”

“Right after college, I went through a self-help phase,” Myka said. She paused, and Helena found herself on relative tenterhooks regarding the applicability of this (new!) information to the current situation. Which reminded her how much she had missed talking with Myka... because of the very sound of her voice, yes, but also because her conversation could range so unanticipatedly. So rewardingly unanticipatedly. Helena had known few people who could lead her on such unpredictable, yet productive, journeys.

Was Myka’s apparent willingness to begin such a journey now indicative of... anything? A softening, perhaps, of relations between them? Not a rebooting of their once-burgeoning intimacy, for that had to remain taboo, but could it be that some restoration of their previous intellectual engagement might be, at the very least, neutral rather than harmful?

Helena had moved a tentative pawn in that direction during their conversation on the airplane. Perhaps this was Myka’s answering move?

With an exhale that seemed like resignation at what she was about to say—to reveal?—Myka said, “I felt like I needed to be someone different—someone better.”

Another pause. Helena considered that such a feeling seemed very Myka (and she heard that phrase in Claudia’s voice), but also very misguided. Of course she was not at all placed to make such judgments, and even less so to convey them to Myka. Thus she said a simple, “Did you,” to encourage without prejudice.

“So I read a lot of books,” Myka said, to which Helena had responded internally, Of course you did. “One was about how to get things done.”

“All things?” Helena asked.

“Sort of.” That was followed by yet another pause. Yet another puzzle.

All these pauses. Was Myka on the verge of sleep? Helena said, soft, thinking she might go unheard, “Perhaps I should read that book. As a help to myself.”

At that, Myka had laughed, more delay, but also soft. “I don’t think it’s any kind of help you need. The guy who wrote it had a big system, all these rules, and I love rules, but these... I admit I didn’t stick with most of them. Honestly, any. But an idea that did stick was actually a pretty minor part: open loops. Stuff you track subconsciously, all the time, because it’s incomplete. How troubling that is. And what a difference it makes when you close a loop, when you each a resolution. I mean, he was talking about stuff like answering emails.”

“Emails,” Helena echoed. So far from artifacts.

“Which this is so much bigger than,” Myka said, exhibiting, not for the first time, an uncanny ability to scoop from Helena’s thoughts. “But maybe the principle holds. You don’t have to tell me. But I hope you have fewer open loops now than you did. Before.”

“Yes. The number. Fewer,” Helena said, factually.

She of course couldn’t say out loud (but it was equally factual) that Myka herself was the loop most capaciously open. The one that gaped, superseding, never mind the number of lesser.

Indeed, however, that number was now minus-one. Oscar. Oscar and his ballad... that loop closed.

Helena had in fact, while handling the camera, begun to ideate a wish that someone (Steve? Claudia?) might be persuaded to use the camera to capture her image... for it had occurred to her that a spark of art, some production on which to concentrate, might animate this reboot... something to pursue, rather than to be pursued by...

But. Lying abed, still and strangely hopeful—a state she should have known would not endure—a realization had struck her, as an open hand to the face, a realization of why Myka had brought up loops and the closing thereof: she had somehow discerned Helena’s wish, via that scooping of thought, and was discouraging her from pursuing it.

So much for any softening. This was instead a warning: Helena should not open a loop that Myka might be obligated to close. And Helena had no trouble grasping that the warning was in no way limited to the use of a single artifact... no, it doubtless applied to any burdensome loops Helena might be thinking of opening, any new incompletions that might come to trouble Myka.

“I understand,” Helena had said, regretting that pawns could not be moved backwards.

At the same instant, Myka said, “I’m glad.”

That collision had canceled communication entirely; in its wake, Myka had turned out her light and turned away from Helena.

Leaving Helena to her thoughts.

Well, fine, had been the first of those.

Next had come an equally mulish sniff of And I will have no difficulty directing any subsequent away from this shared bed.

Whereupon she had proven herself both wrong and right, thinking about history, about the fact that, whatever Myka’s commentary or lack thereof had or hadn’t signified, the fact of Warehouse agents lodging together, sharing beds completely platonically, was certainly nothing new.

This line of thinking had enabled Helena to distract herself by recalling a mission with Steve and Claudia, one in which Steve had announced, after checking in at their hotel, “Bad news. Just a king room left, but they said they’d bring up a cot.”

He had then immediately assigned Claudia to said cot, prompting her to protest, “No way! This situation screams rock-paper-scissors tournament! Loser gets the crappy night’s sleep!”

“No way,” Steve protested back, far more mildly. “The father of science fiction gets first dibs on the lumbar support, and my back’s got a decade on yours, so I call second. If that father agrees.”

Helena had. Sharing with Steve had been fine.

Sharing with Myka should of course have been no different.

Should of course have been...

But now, here in the impossible present, as Helena’s left arm slumbers and her right hand sparks, what should have been? Isn’t isn’t isn’t.

She needs further distraction, so she casts her mind again to Claudia and Steve, to the compensations they have offered her during this strange and estranging reboot: at first Claudia, who had welcomed Helena back so unreservedly and continues to offer wholehearted allyship; and then Steve, who had quickly become an unanticipated boon companion, a partner upon whom Helena has felt increasingly, and increasingly exceptionally, lucky to be able to rely.

And yet these compensations, though Helena hopes she conveys all appropriate gratitude for them, are never sufficient, for Myka—necessary yet unreachable—is always present.

She’d been so, even during that cot-delineated retrieval. Its aftermath had (so much for distraction) involved a significantly Myka-related incident, for Helena had dared, as she, Steve, and Claudia were relaxing in the hotel lounge prior to retiring, to broach Myka as a topic of conversation. As one might do, she’d thought: speaking about a colleague.

“I have an inquiry,” she’d phrased it. To make the ensuing question sound... scientific?

Dispassionate, she jeers at her recalled self.

She jeers also at what she’d said next: a too-bald, “How is Myka?”

She had known, even at the time, that what she had truly wanted was to say that blessed name, to speak about that blessed person. She could not speak to Myka in any meaningful way, and she was starving.

Steve and Claudia had then shared what seemed an extremely charged glance, so Helena hastened to dissemble, making sure to use questions so as to prevent Steve from finding her immediately untruthful: “Given that her liaison with Pete ended? They’ve... recovered, as it were? Both faring well?”

But her tone had struck her own ears as too bright; a desperation rippled behind it, and Helena knew from experience that behind that tiptoed a still deeper threat of rupture, which required work to be kept at bay. As Helena had been instructed by her most successful therapist to do when such awareness overtook her, she began to breathe with attention.

Neither Steve nor Claudia spoke as she did so.

When the danger passed, she smiled, as best she could, to signal to them her appreciation—and to herself, her success.

Steve then said, “You’re not asking about Pete.”

Helena valued—as a personality trait—Steve’s discerning willingness to push. She did not in that moment value how he thus so easily revealed a glaring flaw in her initial approach: she should have asked about Pete; with that as her entrée, the talk might organically have turned to Myka. Foolish of her to think so unstrategically... or was her failure to do so a paradoxically positive sign?

“Give it time,” Steve said, and Helena knew he was making no reference to Myka and Pete’s recovery.

“My relationship to time,” she said, with contempt. Time: she’d taken it. Now she had to give it? A forfeit. Well, that was fair.

Claudia said to Steve, “Speaking of, we’re wasting it. Are we gonna do the thing?”

“Only if H.G.’s on board,” Steve told her. It was an unexpectedly mind-your-manners utterance.

“What is the thing?” Helena asked.

“Claudia’s trying out alcohols,” Steve said. “We can’t do it around Pete, obviously, which means retrievals are our—”

“So many questions to answer, right?” Claudia interrupted, her avidity increasing. “You know, am I über-suave James Bond with the martinis? Or a fights-against-my-general-cool-geek-vibe Carrie Bradshaw with a cosmo?”

Helena had had no idea what she was referring to, but the investigation seemed entirely fit for someone her age. “What have you determined thus far?”

“Turns out cosmos don’t work for me,” she said, “as the prophecy foretold, and Bond-wise, I like a martini all vodka, no gin; sorry, Vesper.”

“Is that all?” Helena asked.

Further avidity: “Oh god no. Vodka drinks aren’t perfect: white Russians are way too sweet. Also in the white family, the wine category pretty much bores me. Also there was this one time Steve ordered a gin drink called a white lady that I couldn’t even think about because it had an egg white in it and one look made me retch.”

“Quite the wide-ranging experiment,” Helena said, hoping to forestall further off-putting description. “Not conducted with inappropriate... ah... intensity, one hopes?”

Steve patted Claudia’s shoulder, at which she rolled her eyes. “I’m supervising,” he said. “No more than a few tries in one sitting, and we’re doing it mindfully.”

Claudia abandoned her attitude and nodded. “Paying attention to what I’m tasting. How to find, you know, notes and stuff. Except for the disgusting egg-white thing, it’s honestly been fun.”

“I’m not opposed to fun,” Helena said, and she was a bit surprised—but pleased, and pleased to be pleased—that Steve didn’t squint in response. “So, Mr. Supervisor, what’s next?”

“I’ve been pushing for the wide and wonderful world of beer, but—”

“Seems too jocktastic,” Claudia said. “You know, ‘Beer me, bro.’”

“I don’t know,” Helena said.

“Anyway that’s really not me,” Claudia continued, as if Helena hadn’t spoken. She did have a tendency to ignore Helena’s ignorance, a tendency that Helena enjoyed and found frustrating in equal measure.

“Her beer perspective is severely limited,” Steve lamented.

“I myself have always found a strong stout ale quite enjoyable,” Helena said: her contribution to Steve’s cause. It was also true, the fact of which he seemed pleased to affirm with a quirk of lip and a quiet “so you have.”

Claudia’s expression remained skeptical, but she shrugged weakly and said, “I guess I could give it a shot?”

“Oh, because H.G. says so,” Steve twitted.

To that, Claudia squared her shoulders. “Yeah. Don’t you know who she is?” she demanded.

“Who I was,” Helena hurried to emphasize, “and given that Steve assigned me the bed on that basis, he—”

“Who you are,” Claudia corrected, throwing the emphasis back.

“And who is that?” Helena asked. What distinction did Claudia imagine was relevant?

“The person who told me my destiny was glorious. You’re still that guy, right?”

Relevant indeed. Helena was taken aback, indeed taken back to that extremity, back in a novel way. She had been so mired in the Myka of it all in the intervening time, that she had lost her view of the bright salience of Claudia’s presence. Wrongly. “I am,” she said. She hoped Claudia believed her.

“Okay,” Claudia said. “So I’ve got this big-as-Pete’s-biceps incentive to hope the stuff you say is true. And by the way, one of you has to casually drop in front of him how I said that, because I want the points.”

Steve snickered and said, “I know my job. But in the meantime, I think I’d like to toast to all these sentiments, and to the agents offering them. With a strong stout ale.”

They tasted the three strongest the hotel bar had on offer, and Claudia pronounced that her favorite, one purporting to convey roasted notes of coffee, chocolate, and other darkness, was “way too complicated for your average broseph.” Which Steve seemed pleased by, as a judgment, so the overall experience scored a success.

There was no further talk of Myka, however, the avoidance of which topic seemed quite deliberate... as if Steve and Claudia had determined that Helena would not benefit from it.

Or that she did not deserve it.

For the best, Helena had concluded. Either way.

Now, in a similar “for the best either way” sense, she makes to raise her hand, with that intended overlay of feigned sleep, so as to shift away and at last regain equilibrium, restoring feeling to her sleeping arm and calming that oversensitive hand. But instead—in what she can interpret only as a stupidly id-driven attempt to bank some never-to-be-repeated sensation, to the memory of which that desperate id might cling in a touch-deprived future—she moves her hand, not away from Myka, but further down her leg.

And her worst fears are instantly realized: Myka’s body reacts violently, as if in revulsion at the very idea of Helena touching her.

It was only a hand at rest, Helena begs, with no conception of why or to whom she is rendering that supplication. That was all.

Alas, that was—is—not all, for in the next split second Myka is falling from the bed and crying out in pain.

Helena, at a loss, attempts a faux-innocent inquiry, which Myka answers unintelligibly. In trepidation, Helena ventures to the mattress-edge, then lowers herself to the floor next to Myka—and she is appalled, for the situation that confronts her is all debility, even more so than the absurd “my arm is asleep” with which this farce began: Myka’s shoulder is dislocated.

Further, Myka is now unconscious.

Spare Myka pain. How utterly unsurprising Helena finds her inability to obey such a dictum in even this most basic physical sense.

Unsurprising... worse, dispiriting, and it brings her low, such that again the incipient rupture asserts its subterranean power, urging Helena to give up, to run away and leave this broken Myka to someone else to bind up and save.

You’ve done it before.

That resounds in her head as both accusation and affirmation, and the voice pronouncing it might be Myka’s, or some deity’s, or that of any of the other personages who jockey audibly for primacy in that space, including Helena’s own.

She initiates breathing with care, even as an eddying undertow tempts her to entertain the notion that escape, too, might be rebooted, tempts her to entertain and revel in its ostentation as a response to Myka’s indifference, her rejection of history, even her revulsion.

Here is my answer to all that, a departure would declare.

Helena labors to breathe herself away from such perfidy, but the scenario creeps along, with an undertone of sinful relish, as she imagines leaving Myka to awaken alone and in pain.

But then—because her labor leads her there—she further imagines the various permutations of “someone else” who might be called upon to save the day in her absence. Whereupon the thought strikes her that moving through time nondestructively requires her to think seriously of, and to think seriously out, such knock-ons... how, for example, would Steve and Claudia respond to having to clean up this mess, knowing that Helena had made it?

Moving through time nondestructively. Interesting, here, the overlap with moving through time selfishly: selfishly, she does not want to destroy Claudia’s image of her as someone whose opinion matters. She does not want to destroy Steve’s image of her either, for it seems to have at least some positive components. Further, she does not want to destroy the fellowship they three are building.

If for no other reasons than those, she concludes that having caused this quite specific damage, she must fix it.

Because she can.

The fact of the matter is, Helena cannot fix most things. She has tried mightily to maintain the pretense that she can... but she has been forced over and over to confront the absurdity of that bravado. This very specific fix-it, however, she can perform. And while that performance—inconveniently, in the present circumstance—requires touch, here it can be functional. Perhaps in success she might in some way efface her earlier invasiveness...

Yet she can do nothing without two functional arms. She thumps her still-insensate left against the bed, hard—too hard, for Myka’s eyes open. She mumbles out something Helena decodes as “whatareyoudoing.”

“Preparing to remedy a situation,” Helena says.

“Okay.” Myka murmurs. She seems oddly comforted by the answer, to such an extent that she relaxes, losing consciousness again.

That’s fortunate, given the required manipulation.

Helena prepares herself to do it quickly, efficiently, as she has done in the past... rather dramatically on one occasion, as she recalls, for an agonized Wolcott... but she should not think of Wolcott. For the regret.

She sets that aside, preoccupying herself instead with the necessary activity. Her manipulation, determined and strong, is rewarded: what begins as a sluggish resistance resolves into a slip-pop of relocation, one that shudders a familiar path through her own bones. She then cushions Myka’s arm with a fresh towel and uses a pillowcase to fashion around it a tight sling.

Levering Myka up onto the bed would most likely cause further injury, so Helena sits beside her on the floor, ensuring periodically that she continues to breathe. The wait is calming, cleansing, its peace a renewal of a soothing activity of which Helena has been long deprived: observing Myka closely, at actual leisure. At no point since her return—so at no point in, literally, years—has she had such an opportunity.

She’s reminded, in that observation, of the true fundament: this precious person. Who could never be merely some flesh.

After a lengthy time, during which Helena is pressed to consider, to remember, to value Myka’s singularity, that precious person’s eyes flutter open.

That person tests her bound arm, a tentative physical investigation that approaches elegance in its delicacy.

But Myka’s delicacy and elegance, too, Helena should not think of. For the regret.

“I’m not in the hospital,” Myka burrs.

Reasonable, practical. This is what Helena should think of. “Not yet,” she says. “But we’ll go if necessary. If you’re in pain.”

Myka’s face contorts. “Not if. I am. Some. More than some. I’m sorry.”

“For being in pain?”

“That. But also, for changing this whole thing.”

Helena leaves the latter alone, for she cannot begin to interpret it. Focusing on functionality, she asks, “Can you dress yourself?”

Myka nods, but she winces far too much with even that motion, so Helena screws her courage to it and says, “I’ll change and then help you.”

Herself, fast, then Myka: Functional, she snarls internally as she addresses the situation, and even faster. She’s relieved to find that Myka’s trousers and boots are less complicated than she’d feared, and as it happens, preventing Myka suffering additional physical pain—even while undressing and redressing her!—is, paradoxically or not, far easier than navigating emotional shoals, or even hand-on-hip physical shoals. Focusing on Myka’s face for twists, listening for labors in breath, adjusting accordingly... it’s distractingly, satisfyingly concrete. Only the present moment matters.

Only the present moment matters. This is the mantra Helena iterates internally as they proceed to the nearest urgent care facility.

Yet as they wait there for attention, Helena finds herself increasingly unable to ignore why they are waiting there for attention. In the present moment, which matters. She begins—or does she intend it as an ending?—with, “I’m assuming you flung yourself to the floor in an attempt to escape a circumstance.”

Myka hiccups a laugh that makes her cringe in protection of the shoulder. “That’s weirdly accurate. As an assumption.”

Helena recoils at the confirmation, but she must acknowledge it. “A circumstance in which I touched you in a way that was unwelcome,” she agrees, with gloom.

“Unwelcome,” Myka echoes.

It’s so... definitive. It was one thing for Helena herself to think it, believe it, say it aloud. Quite another—though it shouldn’t have been—to hear it from Myka.

A punctuating end to what never truly began between them: there is some consolation, if only philosophical, in the idea that after so many starts that were false, they may at least enjoy a finish that is true.

“Of course it was,” Helena says, following with, “and how could it have been otherwise.” She puts the final period upon it by adding a bare, spare dig: “Given history.”

Myka closes her eyes... in acceptance of the cut? When she opens them, they are glistening. Tears? Helena is egotistically gratified by such a response, never mind that it means she has yet again failed to hold to her resolution.

“Helena,” Myka says, and now Helena is gratified simply by Myka’s low utterance of her name. Myka does not always use that deeper voice, and Helena does love (yes, love) the rare pleasure of hearing her name in it. “I’m so tired,” Myka says next.

That is less gratifying. It’s yet another utterance Helena should leave alone; of course Myka is tired. But in what she is sure is a mistake, Helena says, “Of?”

“Everything. But particularly, you.”

A dagger, that was. A cut back. Testimony to Helena’s concatenating mistakes.

“This you,” Myka adds.

The additional twist of blade leaves Helena unclear on the devastation Myka intends. “Of course” is all she can think to say.

Myka closes her eyes and exhales heavy, a near-sob. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” she intones, but what need has she to apologize? “That was the pain talking—or, no, I still know you well enough to know you’ll hear that wrong. What I mean is, I’m saying something I could keep holding back if the pain wasn’t cracking me open.”

The pain. Cracking her open. Which would never have happened in the absence of Helena’s stupid, thoughtless touch. Which in turn makes abundantly clear that the stupid, thoughtless person who applied that touch is the “this you” Myka means.

If Helena is to remain in this situation she must take measures, so she lengthens her inhales and exhales, entirely ashamed both at needing such a crutch and at having to exhibit that need.

After a moment of silence, Myka asks, “Are you breathing differently than you were just a second ago?”

Myka isn’t Steve. Helena could at least attempt to lie about this, to cloak her shame... but it’s effort, either way. “Yes,” she says, choosing the unpredictability of Myka’s interpretation over the unpredictability of her own performance.

“Is that good or bad?” Myka asks. “Or both?”

The questions stop Helena, stop her in the same way her at-leisure observation of Myka had. I still know you well enough, Myka had said, and it is true. This is why, Helena would say if she could. Your knowing to ask that.

But she can’t say it, and, worse, she doesn’t know what she should say. What should come next.

Apparently Myka doesn’t either. That not-knowing persists, hanging, until “next” arrives, as an intrusion from outside their suspension: medical attention is at last directed Myka’s way; she is escorted out of the waiting area and taken elsewhere.

“We’ll call you when you can see her,” Helena is told.

Alone in the waiting area—for no other human seems to have suffered damage this night—and uncomfortably situated on a hard plastic chair, she tilts her head back against a similarly unforgiving plaster wall.

She closes her eyes. She’s had no rest, no rest for so long. She is drained. Physically empty.

Philosophically as well.

She imagines trying to sleep... or rather, she imagines not trying to remain awake.

Doubtless futile, either way.

She next imagines constructing an airtight argument that could not help but persuade all who hear it—Myka in particular, but all others as well—that this entire situation is Artie’s fault.

Also futile.

This despite its being the fact of the matter, for indeed he did bring the situation about. Perhaps not in a proximate sense, but in the ultimate... the idea of which, after a moment, strikes her as both comic and tragic: Artie as the ultimate cause? Of anything, from the universe on down? Though he would doubtless like to imagine himself so... even at the Warehouse, however, he must be not even penultimate, given the bureaucracy that sits over the entire concern...

Helena thus spends the bulk of her time in the waiting area stewing about—stewing over? stewing under?—the relative positions of god, Mrs. Frederic, and various Regents in the universe. None of it, however, requires her to alter her breathing; rather, she composes in her head the opening paragraphs of several publishable monographs on these and related topics. It isn’t restful. But is evidence of something other than emptiness.

When someone does at last call her to see Myka, everything has changed.

Well. Not everything. Helena herself hasn’t, as her bureaucracy-pantheon thought may have been philosophically valid but made no difference.

Myka, however, has changed entirely: her arm is now professionally dressed, but more importantly, the knit of pain has left her face. “They medicated me,” she says, giving the word “medicated” a rapturous cast. “The X-rays said I didn’t break anything, so we’re waiting on results of a scan to see if I need surgery but in the meantime I feel better than I maybe ever have in my life and I am so happy to see you. All these doctors were like ‘why did she think she could fix you’ but I knew why and it was because it’s you. and that scan? It’ll shout out how Helena Wells relocated Myka’s shoulder so she didn’t need surgery, and they don’t know this, but actually H.G. Wells relocated Myka’s shoulder, which is even more amazing. Wait, that’s not more amazing. You’re the most amazing when you’re you than when you’re that guy. Even though I guess you are that guy. Sort of. Wait, Claudia’s been saying ‘that guy’ a lot now. And I cut and paste from her so much, but I don’t like it. The way things are.” She heaves an enormous sigh and blinks at Helena, as if she’s just re-understood that another person is present.

Is there some ideal way to answer this flood? Helena settles for an antiseptic “I’m pleased to see you out of pain.”

Myka gasps and flails wildly with her uninjured arm, which gesture eventually resolves into an index finger directed at Helena. “That’s it exactly. I’m out of pain. All out. No more pain to give. Particularly not to you. So saying I’m tired of you? I regret it, and I apologize for it, and I promise that’s the end of it. I was wishing to get something back, and you don’t want it back, and so I have to be fine. Without it. Without you.”

Without you. Helena supposes she should be impressed by how concisely Myka can foreshadow disaster. “Should I not... be here?” She braces herself for the answer.

“Of course you should. I have to be fine without how you were,” Myka says, very quietly. The collapse of her volubility gives Helena pause.

She knows it would be better not to probe; she ought to, as Claudia says, “take the win.” But “Of course you should” is only facially a win... “How was I?” she asks. To wound herself by making Myka clarify what has been lost.

“Oh, how you were...” Myka says, her words dragging. How much—any, all?—of this might be due to the varying effects of the medication? “Putting me into this story,” she continues. “It was so big, and I didn’t understand what it was, really or at all, but it felt so big. Yearning and tragedy, and there I was, still me, but in it, so in it, all in it, next to you. Bigger than life, and I... loved it? Needed it? Something to take me over. But my wishing for any of it back, when of course you don’t?” She raises that free arm, then lets it fall. Futility, it says. “So small. Only somebody little and desperate would want to make you revisit any of that.”

Medication effect or not, Helena can’t let Myka keep on with this. “Make me revisit it? Yearning and tragedy? I’m the one who inflicted that, and with malign intent; I damaged you. And I cannot imagine a scenario in which that debt is discharged.”

Myka squints. “Debt,” she says, as if articulating a new noun, but not one that names an abstraction; no, this thing is big and blunt, a dumb object that takes up space. Unfunctional furniture. That I carry on my back, Helena moods.

“Oh!” Myka then yelps, her tone shifting to excitement. “But I just damaged myself. So now we’re even!” She delivers that last bit big and broad, for all the world as if she’s the comic lead in a panto.

Helena has not spared a thought for panto in years. “That makes no sense at all,” she says, because it’s the case, but also to scorn the memory. This is no time for that past.

“Would you like me to dislocate your shoulder?” Myka asks, as if it were a reasonable proffer. Still comic, but now strangely sincere.

Helena meets this bizarrely compelling, ridiculous combination with as much severity as she can muster. “Honestly no. I would not.”

“I see,” Myka says, and she points again, this time without preambling flail. “Some prices you aren’t willing to pay.”

Helena can at the very least be honest about this. How nice it would be if Steve were here to verify. “Willing to... in the sense of volunteering to? No. In the sense of understanding that I deserve to? Certainly. So do me damage if you must. In particular, do me damage if you think it could even the score between us. It won’t, but if you think it could? Please do.”

“That’s pretty twisted,” pronounces the only arbiter who matters.

“You sound like Claudia again,” Helena observes. To push the judgment away? Yes, and she tries to make certain of it with, “Is that another cut and paste?”

“Maybe. But now that I think about it, she sees things pretty clearly a lot of the time. Don’t you think?”

“I would like to think,” Helena is compelled to admit. Hoist by her own petard.

At this point—suspending any resolution—a doctor reenters the curtained area. “Good news: no surgery,” she tells Myka.

“See, I told you she fixed it,” Myka preens.

“You did,” says the doctor. “Several times,” she adds, dry.

Helena says “I’m so sorry,” only to hear Myka say, at the same time, “Sorry not sorry!” Another echo of Claudia... this one, however, clearly heartfelt.

The doctor turns to Helena. “Don’t try anything like this again. You got ridiculously lucky.”

“That’s kind of her M.O.,” Myka says. “Except when it isn’t.”

The doctor sighs. “I’m pretty sure that’s my point. And listen, make sure to follow up with your local doc. They’ll prescribe a ton of PT, so brace yourself.”

Myka snorts. “Brace myself? Sure, but not for the PT; my boss is going to flay me alive.”

The doctor barely reacts. “Oh, maybe this one can fix that too,” she deadpans, directing an eyeroll at Helena, accompanied by a murmured, “not a suggestion.”

“Oh, she’s in for the flaying,” Myka says, with more than a little cheer. “If not for this, then for something. Eventually.”

The doctor shakes her head, eyes unfocused. “Good news for me: I don’t have to care.” She points at Myka: “You go to PT.” Now at Helena: “You don’t try to practice medicine.” At both of them, her eyes flicking back and forth with purpose: “Got it?” Helena nods; she senses Myka doing the same. “Excellent,” the doctor says. “Or whatever. I’m done with you now.”

She conveys with her rapid exit that interacting with both of them has been a most exasperating experience.

While Helena does not appreciate being chastised—and especially not for attempting to care for Myka—she does appreciate expertise. Especially when it contributes to Myka’s well-being. It’s a conundrum. “I find your doctor’s aspect strangely appealing,” she says. “Speaking of bracing.”

Myka grins. “I was totally thinking the same thing.”

“And yet I would practice that medicine again.”

“For me that’s good news.”

As they prepare to depart, Helena says, “I confess I’m curious as to what you intend to tell Artie.”

Myka offers a slight stretch of her right shoulder in the direction of her ear: the only version of a shrug available to her, bound as she is. “Maybe I should leave that to you. You’re the writer.” Forestalling Helena’s reflexive objection, she adds, “I know, I know. The research. The ideas.”

“And yet I don’t have any. I certainly don’t see a path to inventing anything that would—”

“How about I take your photo with that camera? Think that’d help?” This is accompanied by a different grin: sly.

Whither the warning? Or is this a test? Myka isn’t Steve, yet Helena goes with truth: “It might. With any number of things.”

“If only,” Myka says, inscrutably. “Anyway I intend to tell Artie that this is all his fault, because he sent us on this retrieval in the first place. Obviously I won’t say what really happened.”

While Myka bestowing such grace is not surprising, it moves Helena all the same. “Thank you,” she says.

Myka opens her mouth, then closes it. She does it again. This wait... it’s grace too. “You’re welcome,” she eventually says. “I mean I’m tempted to tell him how you saved the day—the arm—but I know I shouldn’t, because I don’t want to draw attention to the hotel charging us extra.” To Helena’s quizzical eyebrow, she says, “For the missing towels and pillowcase. Which I tried to talk the nurses into giving back to me, but they’d already tossed them as hazardous waste. Or something. Or maybe I’m just not very persuasive? Or clear in what I’m asking for?”

Helena would very much like to explain that her own answers to those questions are negative and affirmative, respectively: no, you are persuasive; but yes, you are unclear.

“On the other hand, they did medicate me,” Myka says, perking up. “I keep thinking it’ll wear off, but not yet!”

The consolations of intoxication. “To the delight of your shoulder I’m sure,” Helena says. To my delight as well, she wishes she were free to say.

Their return to the hotel room offers another “everything has changed” hinge: no longer a stage for new and awkward performances of politesse, the space is now familiar, a place they have reentered. For the next act of the play?

Myka, who has preceded Helena in, stops and sways—just a bit, but Helena instinctively steps close, taking her by the elbow of her uninjured arm with one hand, stationing the other around the curve of her waist.

She feels Myka’s breath catch at the contact; immediately, she curses herself, loosens her hold, and says a terse, “I’m sure you want to lie down.”

“More than maybe anything. Or, wait, no, not anything.” Myka turns and catches Helena’s eyes with hers, but Helena cannot use that gaze as the basis for any inference.

She backs away as Myka lowers herself onto the bed; eventually, she backs her way into the room’s one armchair. It lacks give. It also lacks arms at a height that might provide anything resembling support. Helena slumps down, trying to be grateful that it exists at all.

Long minutes pass. As in the hospital’s waiting area, Helena imagines trying not to remain awake.

Similarly futile.

She chances a glance at Myka, who meets her eyes again and says, “That looks uncomfortable. Or what I mean is, you look uncomfortable. Which honestly is pointless, unless you’re doing some hair-shirt thing, because we’ve got this big bed. Not a lot of hours before we have to leave it, but we’ve got it for now.”

“That went poorly before.”

“I think circumstances have changed. Don’t you?” Weighted.

Circumstances are always changing, Helena could say. Usually for the worse. Instead she ventures, “You’d let me lie down with you?”

“I never wouldn’t.” Myka squints. “Wait. Did that come out right? Anyway, yes.”

Medication: not yet worn off. “You’re sure?” Helena asks.

“I’m pretty sure this bed is almost as big as a field where Pete’s favorite sport happens. It’s at least as big as an ice rink anyway, and those aren’t small.”

Helena refrains from pointing out that that was no help in the previous disaster. She doesn’t, however, appreciate being able to recline. For the first while, the fact of being beside Myka is less relevant than the slow loosening of her lower back and hips.

 “Can you sleep?” Helena asks, as they are both evidently lying with eyes open to the ceiling.

“Not now,” Myka answers, and the sentiment seems clear: not after all of this. All of this with which we must deal.

The bed first, perhaps.

She turns to look at Myka, if minimally. “Did you request a cot?” she asks, because she doesn’t know. Because the answer might reveal... something?

Myka’s eyes widen. “Oh my god I should have,” she says. Stricken.

“Why didn’t you?”

“It didn’t even cross my mind.” She’s talking more to herself—or perhaps to the room at large?—than to Helena. Is this continued evidence of the medication?

“And do you know why that is?” Helena asks, hoping for that revelation, even if drug-induced.

“Honestly I think I thought I was being given an ultimatum. Like it was something I had to be fine with or else.”

“Fine with ‘or else.’” Helena means the echo as rueful agreement.

But: “Sharing a bed with you. Platonically,” Myka says, taking it instead as a request for explanation.

“Platonically,” Helena scoffs, unable to avoid the idea that agreeing to accept that adverb would, paradoxically, usher in others. (Passionately.) (Speaking of paradoxically.) “That word is so often misused.” It’s a push-off. A push-away.

“But I’m using it correctly.” Myka sounds not offended, but rather self-satisfied.

Fine. Harden the position. “You are not referring to our consciousness rising from physical to spiritual matters.”

“Well... but how about love for the idea of good? As a path to virtue?”

Myka is well-read. In this moment, that fact is not entirely pleasing. “I suppose we were both attempting to be courtly,” Helena concedes.

“I mean I’ll grant you that nobody ended up transcending the body,” Myka says. Helena is about to agree, to snap away from churlishness, to express regret and apologies, when Myka exclaims, “Hey! I just had the best idea for a joke. So you’re not a hologram anymore, right? So you know what you were trying to be? Last night, in bed?”

Jokes. They confound Helena nearly as completely as metaphors do Steve. “I have no idea.”

“A Platonic solid,” Myka declares, triumphant.

Helena is mortified to find that in this case, she “gets it.” “Myka,” she sighs.

“Too soon? But come on, it’s not bad!”

“Alas, it is.” This quality, Helena can recognize.

“Right, but the good kind.”

Helena is not made of stone. Or bronze. How much easier everything had been then, sans choice and sans reason... and most importantly, sans the near-irresistibility of this one human. “I did always enjoy the word ‘icosahedron,’” she tenders.

“See,” Myka says, now in indulgence rather than triumph. “Pretty sure you have more than twenty faces though.”

“You do as well. Some revealed only under the influence of opioids.”

“Here’s one I don’t think I’d have the guts to use otherwise: my explain-it-to-you-using-words face.”

“Explain what to me?” Helena asks. It’s a surrender. She should better have said she did not wish that face revealed, but that would never have stopped a determined Myka.

“Why I flung myself to the floor.”

“I thought that had been explained? You were attempting to escape a circumstance.”

“First, the flinging was more involuntary than an attempt. And second: your hand.”

“Perhaps you don’t remember”—a strange thing to say to Myka—“but we had this conversation previously.” Helena does not want to have it again.

“Not this conversation. In that one, you drew the wrong conclusion. Or relied on an invalid assumption. Actually both of those. Anyway, your hand.”

“Please stop saying that,” Helena requests. Begs.

“Fine, I’ll finish the sentence: Woke up every nerve in my body,” Myka says, causing Helena to cringe and wish she could this very instant construct a truly useful time machine so she could fly backward, overleaping this latest passage so as to muzzle Myka before she could say that, because she believes it but knows it leads nowhere functional. To her continued mortification, Myka carries on, “Woke them all right up.” This, she says rhapsodic. Helena feels that tone in her gut, a hot twist of something she deserves as pain, but that manifests, shamefully, as pleasure. “Then your hand moved, and it shorted out the system—my system—and I fell out of bed, and the rest is history.”

“On the contrary, the rest is quite present.” Helena tries pushing all of it away, striving for detachment. For function.

“So, your hand,” Myka says again.

Helena raises the offender. “Also present.” Detachment. Humor, even; pushing, pushing, pushing. Trying to maintain.

“No, I mean why,” Myka pushes in turn.

Helena bats back, in faux innocence, “Why is it present?”

“Why was it present. On me.” Low now, her voice, just as compelling as, and even more commanding than, when she uses it to utter Helena’s name.

“I have no excuse,” Helena says.

“I don’t need an excuse. I need a reason. Do you have one?”

“It isn’t exculpatory.”

“As long as it’s explanatory.”

No escape now. No excuse, and no escape. “Here is my reason: I wanted to touch you. So against all better judgment, I did. Intending only that, nothing more.” Myka’s response to these words is an exhale. Loud. Unlike the hospital sob, however, this is slow and controlled. Helena allows a decorous pause, but no words ensue, so she goes on. Myka deserves an explanation that is complete. “But then I found myself unable to... un-touch you. Competently. And the rest will at some point be history, upon which I will never cease to look back and berate myself.”

Waiting for whatever may come next, Helena feels exhaustion inch through her, infiltrating her eyes, limbs, brain, sapping every vestige of energy... her surrender to the creeping leach is imminent when Myka says, “I like that reason.”

All right then. Awake and aware. “You do?”

“You really can be impossible to talk to. Listen to me: if I did that—touched you—I would find myself the same. Unable to un-touch. Do you understand?”

What would be the cost of abandoning her resistance? “I don’t know...” she begins, then reverses course and begins again. Truth, never mind the cost. “Yes. I do understand. But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Myka turns her head full toward Helena, twisting her long neck. Helena turns her own head, but that isn’t enough, so she shifts onto her side—her left side, punitively aware that it will be weeks before Myka can turn in such a way.

They look at each other, Helena both knowing and fearing how her guilt must freight her gaze. Regarding Myka so close, looking now into eyes that are open, is a boon she does not deserve.

After a time, Myka says, “I know what I want to do.”

Her intent is abundantly clear. The entirely of Helena’s being balks, stranding her again in Boone: if she makes a move for the momentary better, it will most likely end worse. She cannot find the... courage? or is it foolish disregard for consequences?... to reach for that moment of joy. Neither, however, can she find the discipline to dismiss its possibility.

“But I also know I shouldn’t,” Myka says, breaking with clarity into Helena’s indecision.

Well. Helena can certainly see the wisdom of that, so perhaps at last they are approaching a real accord that will render all hopes and wishes moot, so that neither courage nor discipline features in the—

“I can tell the meds are messing with my head,” Myka says, “and if there’s one thing I want to remember in picture-perfect detail, it’s this.” She moves her right index finger near to Helena’s lips, then withdraws it.

Unable to un-touch. That withdrawal reaffirms that Myka believes what she says. “This,” Helena echoes, mesmerized.

“So I’m going to wait till tomorrow to—listen to me saying it out loud—kiss you. For the first time. I want to be all there when it happens.”

There is a practicality to Myka’s thinking, and to Myka, that Helena worships. She tries to match it with a bit of her own: “If it happens.”

Myka’s jaw drops. “Come on! I said it out loud! It’s real now!”

“It’s been real for some time, hasn’t it? But I’m being realistic about the circumstance. You might not remember that you wanted to.”

“Seriously? I’ve remembered it since we met.”

Helena has remembered it just as long. She has. Denying it is pointless. But she has a larger concern, and though this is the wrong time to address it, perhaps medicated Myka will afford an unfiltered read...

“Or you might think better of it.”

“Of kissing you? I don’t think so.”

“Of what could ensue. The possibility of a... relationship. Between us. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Relationship.” After she says the word, Myka’s lips part and close, as if the very word is savory. “What if it does?”

It is savory. However. “I’m asking as a practical matter, not philosophically. I’m constrained: I can’t leave again. That’s why I came back.” The thin strand to which she is clinging... refraining from attempting to rekindle an intimacy hasn’t been only to keep Myka safe. It has also been to keep the Warehouse safe for Helena herself to inhabit.

“Then don’t leave again.”

“But what if that means you do?” This is not philosophy either. This, too, is history.

“If I do, then I do, but I’d like to think I won’t. We’ve both had our walkaway crises, and they didn’t take. So if it doesn’t work, we put it behind us like adults. If Pete and I could, then so can you and I. But I’d rather not have to. So let’s be careful.” She pauses. “Breathe however you need to.”

The words are an embrace. A physical clasp might be more galvanizing, but right now, Myka is managing just fine with words. “If this works, it will be because you say things like that.”

“Good news, because I mean things like that. And I intend to keep saying them. Hey, speaking of saying, do me a favor and write down what I said just now, about the adults and the careful, because I want to remember it.”

Sluggishly, Helena ideates rising, going to the room’s desk, finding logo-bearing paper and pen, writing...

****

Helena and Oscar are in a salon. They are engaged in a dispute regarding choices and consequences. Helena is standing at a lectern, and Oscar is reclining on a lavishly upholstered chaise longue, kicking his right leg such that its calf bounces in a languid little rhythm against the low cushioned edge.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

“The choices that create a circumstance will not, repeated, resolve it satisfactorily,” Helena says. Is she reading from a monograph? “As we see in the case of your own Ballad of Reading Gaol, do we not? And yet injury need not lead inevitably to future debility, so clearly some choice in the matter is—”

“Helena,” Oscar says, interrupting her monologue. “Helena,” he repeats. He sounds nothing like himself, but rather someone else, and Helena is straining to connect the voice to the correct person.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

“Time to wake up,” Oscar-as-someone-else admonishes. Encourages?

“I know,” she tells him, hugely frustrated, fighting. “I’m trying.”

His impassive mien is no help. It never was.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

Trust Oscar to cast some part of himself as the pendulum of a particularly annoying clock—

“Seriously, wake up,” Helena hears, and consciousness jolts at her: Myka’s voice.

Oscar dissolves. Into laughter or tears, no doubt, as he was wont to do...

Helena’s eyes open, meeting Myka’s, and she is brought back to it all: the hotel, the bed; the shoulder, the hospital... then hotel again, bed again... and finally words, as if for the first time.

Myka is lying on her right side, facing Helena. Her eyes are bright, her gaze intense.

“Are you in pain?” Helena asks.

Myka leans forward, as if that were a signal. The signal: for Helena is the astonished, grateful, transported recipient of a kiss, a first kiss—the first kiss—one that is swift but soft, gentle, genuine. Like morning... “Better now,” Myka says when she pulls back. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Stay there.”

Better now. Not lost on Helena are all the ways that signifies, including: better that this happened now than at some point in the desperate past. Then, such a kiss would have been a tragic wish for all they would never have. Now, instead, it can stand as a reward for having survived all of that, as well as, universe willing, a mark of embarkation.

By the time Myka returns, Helena has sat up, stationing herself on the edge of the bed. She has also realized that she must apologize—for they should not embark on this new voyage with yet another of her many faults unaddressed. “You charged me with writing down part of our conversation. I didn’t. I fell asleep instead.”

Myka hesitates before joining her on the bed’s edge, clearly considering which arm should be next to Helena. She chooses the functional right. “It’s okay. Even if I don’t remember exactly what we said, I remembered what we needed to do.”

“Needed to,” Helena reprises. She could supply words of her own, but why? Myka is saying the ones that matter...

“Needed to,” Myka affirms. “So where were we?” She raises her useful hand to Helena’s cheek, cradling. Helena leans into it, saying nothing, because silence now says everything.

This is a longer kiss, more wandering, more suggestive of possibility, more likely to lead to such possibility... Helena is the one to this time pull away. “A place quite new,” she says.

“And yet I’m pretty sure we’ve been headed here all along.”

“It wasn’t inevitable,” Helena says. She is thinking now of dream-Oscar, who is slipping from her mind, dropping, like a poorly initiated painting, but he must have obstreperously been maintaining something about inevitability. He always did.

“No,” Myka agrees. “And it still isn’t. So let’s be careful.”

“You remember that part? Despite my stenographic failure?”

“Even if I didn’t—but I do—I’d know it’s important.”

Helena turns and touches her right hand to Myka’s right hip. She would certainly not be able to do this now if she had not done so in the night... the night’s ontogeny recapitulating the phylogeny of their shared history. Myka covers Helena’s hand with hers, and there is healing in the simple fact of their sitting. But eventually that is not enough, and another kiss ensues, longer still, and lips outweigh quiet hands—or no, lips add to quiet hands, but hands are not content to remain so calm, and so this continues and might continue—

Myka makes a noise that is clearly not of pleasure; she moves entirely away, her right hand pressing protectively at her left shoulder. “We’re going to need to be careful about this stupid shoulder too. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself.” Ontogeny, phylogeny.

“It’s not like I’m some paragon of self-control... and I am sorry, because I’d like to be able to participate fully. But also I’d like to not have to hurry on account of catching a plane. In good news, eventually my shoulder will heal. I know we can’t stay here till then, but...”

“It would help,” Helena supplies.

“If only because we have to come up with how this supposedly happened. I still think maybe I should take your picture. Or you could take mine? Because by the way, here’s a funny thing: I was trying to write a novel.”

“You were?” More that is new... “Speaking of icosahedra,” Helena notes.

“I want to tell you about it.”

“You do?” Trying to convey her incredulity. That Myka would allow her such... access.

“I want to tell you everything. But in the meantime we have to tell Artie something... I guess we’ve got both flights plus the layover in Denver to get our story straight.”

Stories. Narrative. Novels? “But we’ll tell Steve the truth. Won’t we?”

“Of course we will. And Claudia, right?”

“Also necessary. Although most likely mockery-inducing.”

Myka smiles. It’s a sunrise. “Stress testing. If we can take it from her, we’ll be fine. Then again we might need the time on the planes to rest up for that.”

“Weren’t you able to sleep, this past while?”

Myka shakes her head, and just as Helena opens her mouth to express regret and apologize again for her own sleep, Myka silences her with a kiss, one that lingers, lingers, lingers... still half against Helena’s lips, she says, “The un-touching part really is difficult. But don’t worry about my not sleeping: for the first time in a long time, I was happy to be awake.”

END

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #Asleep #part 2 #B&W holiday gift exchange #kla1991 #also anniversary! #which this year arrived a bit unexpectedly #so I decided to do this mashing up of occasions #because I apparently cannot work fast or well anymore #but as for this story #something something sleep and wakefulness #and when one finds oneself in those states #and whether one recognizes the state one is in when in it #or when finally out of it #and of course there are also the transitions

[darkbluekies]

Yandere Silas x male reader bodyguard. Relationship:romantic

You and him grew up together in the mafia, Silas fell in love with you but you only saw him as a friend and he ends up falling in love with a girl and this makes you leave the mafia to go abroad with her to live a normal life.

Silas has contacts all over the world and discovers that you are in a country abroad, he kills the girl and kidnaps you

Be mine (you have no fucking choice)

Yandere!mafia oc x male!bodyguard!reader

Summary: after being friends with Silas for years, you decide that it is time to pack it up and leave, much to Silas’s dismay.

Warnings: criminal stuff, throwing up, getting drunk by force, ropes, cage, mentions of sleeping around, violence, alcohol

Word count: 4.3k

You put your gun into your belt and get out of the warehouse. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Silas asks and grabs your arm. 

“I’m going home”, you say. “This mission doesn’t interest me.”

You try to walk, but Silas hurries in front of you, blocking your way. He almost reminds you of the little, stubborn boy he once was when he does that. 

“Wait”, he says. “You never drive well after a mission. You have too much adrenaline. You and I can leave together. I can drive you to my house.”

“No, Silas, I’m going home.”

Silas doesn’t react to you calling him by his first name. But he never has. You are special. Only one other person in his entire organization can call him by his first name without getting a bullet through their eyes — that person being his second in command. You and his second in command have known Silas longer than anyone else. You’d dare call his second in command your friend too, although on a more professional level. 

You’ve known Silas longer than his second in command has, and you’ve known his little brother, Ares … and you’ve known about his jealousy for a very long time. It started when you one day went home with his brother to play video games after shool. Next day when you entered school, his brother had a black eye and Silas had not left your side for the entire day. 

It only got worse from there, but you never did anything. You tried to talk to him, but it seemed like the years made him even more jealous. He dated girls time and time again, but created a big fuss when you showed the slightest interest in anyone — be that boy or girl. You became the third wheel in SIlas’ multiple relationships.

He did admit to his love for you, just a few years ago, but you couldn’t reciprocate his feelings. It would make everything harder. You were basically working for him as his bodyguard and didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had with him. Losing him as a friend could mean both mental distress … and physical harm. 

“Does this have anything to do with the girl I’m dating?” Silas asks. 

You look baffled. “No? Why would you think that?”

“Because she’s at the house?”

“No, I just want to go home”, you sigh heavily. “Why do I have to explain my every step to you? You’re not my father, come on.”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

“What a great look for you, mister mafia leader. Don't let anyone else see that.” You nod at him to move. “Move out of the way now, I’m tired and I’m hungry. I want to go home and order a fucking pizza.”

“So this has nothing to do with my girlfriend?”

“What's the matter with you? Are you trying to make me jealous or something? I'm not interested in you, you know that.”

You push past him.

A month passes. You have been seriously thinking about leaving the mafia for a long time now, but ever since Silas got himself yet another girlfriend it became clear that you have to leave, if you ever want to get yourself one of your own. As long as you stay with him, he will never let you date anyone — apart from him, of course. 

You’ve decided to move abroad. While packing your bags, you feel tears run down your cheeks. You have known Silas for as long as you can remember. You love to be with him, he is your best friend. Betraying him would mean betraying yourself, and his entire organization. People who betray him gets killed personally by Silas. Neither you or Silas would want that.

However, leaving without anyone noticing would be hard. Silas would know that something was wrong right away and he would use his contacts to find you again. You’d need help with creating false documents … and you knew just the man to help with that. 

You hold the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” a familiar voice asks. 

“Hi, Ares”, you say. 

“How the fuck did you get my number?”

“I did some digging.”

“Holy fuck, Y/N, you need help.”

You chuckle and hear how Ares chuckles in return. 

“What did you want?” he asks. 

“I need some help.” You look around, feeling like you’re being watched, which wouldn't be very far off. “Can we meet up?”

“Sure. Now?”

“If you can.”

“Yeah, I’m not busy.”

You decide to meet up at a café an hour away from your house, hoping that Silas’s associates wouldn’t recognize you here. You couldn’t believe that you would meet Ares again, you haven't seen him since you were teenagers. He looks the same, just a bit more grown up. 

“My brother finally removed the leash around your neck?” Ares chuckles and hugs you. 

“No, not really”, you sigh. “This is why I need your help. I know that you scam tight about everyone. And I need you to help me create false documents, passport … yeah, you name it.”

Ares smirks.

“Little Y/N is going on vacation, I see”, he says. “Where are you going?”

“I don't know.”

“Are you trying to get away from my brother?”

You nod. Ares seems to think for a moment. 

“Go to Spain”, he says. “Silas is banned from there, he won't be able to get you.”

“Ah, I feel so bad about it, though”, you sigh and run your hands through your hair. “He's my best friend. And boss, technically. If I leave, I betray both my best friend and his organization … and then he has the right to kill me.”

“Wait, you're planning to leave the mafia? For real?”

“I don't want to, but I can't live like this. I want to have my own life. I'm a grown man now, the window for opportunities is closing every year.”

“I'll go with you. I'll protect you.”

“You don't have to, Ares. Look at me, I'm capable of taking care of myself.”

You were Silas’s bodyguard, after all. No weak person gets that position. 

“Yes, I know”, Ares says. “But I can help. And you don't have to be lonely.”

“You are an ass too”, you remind him.

“Better than Silas, though.”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

Ares comes with you to Spain. He has given you false documents with new names and nationalities. You sit together at the airport with your phone in your hand. Your stomach is turning.

“I really should tell him”, you sigh nervously. “I don't want to just leave. I have known him for years. I might betray him work wise, but I can't betray him friend wise. I'm going to call him.”

“I don't think you should”, Ares says. “He has been awful to you, why does he deserve your goodbye?”

You groan and hide your head between your knees. Ares brushes his hand through your hair.

“Come on, sweetie, let it go”, Ares encourages you. “Your new life starts soon. Beach, sun and alcohol, all day long.”

You want to tell him that you don't drink, but decide to leave it be. 

“I have to go to the bathroom”, you excuse yourself and stand up to walk away.

But you don't go to the bathroom stalls. You stand by the large windows at the gate and call Silas.

“Hi, Y/N”, he says.”I haven't heard from you in a little while. I was about to go over to your house and drag you over to mine, because I miss you.”

“I have to talk to you about that”, you say,  hesitantly. “I am not at home, and I probably won't be back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm really sorry that I have gone behind your back, but I am actually leaving … going abroad. And it might be permanent.”

“Have you hit your head?”

“I'm really sorry for betraying you, Silas, you’re my best friend … but frankly, you're always stopping me from getting my own family, while you brag about the women you fuck. I need to get away, at least for a while and get to try to find love. It might not be permanent, but I don't know.”

“Where are you going? You know that you can't leave the country without me knowing. The second any of your credit cards, passport or anything along that way is being used, I'm notified.”

“Well I'm not fucking stupid. I have fixed that.”

Silas scoffs out a mocking laugh.“You don't know how to do that.”

“I had help.”

“From who?” He doesn't sound that cocky anymore.

“Ares.”

Silence. 

“Oh, you can't be fucking serious”, Silas says. 

You can't detect what emotion he's feeling. Perhaps everything all at the same time. Maybe it was a wrong decision to call him before your flight, but the guilt would have eaten you up the entire way there.

“I am”, you answer, trying your best not to let your voice shake. 

“You know what kind of asshole he is, Y/N”, Silas tells you. 

“I have done stuff too, I’m no angel either.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just called to let you know that I am leaving. I didn’t want you to hear that from anyone else, I wanted you to hear it from me personally. This is a goodbye, Silas — at least for now. Thank you.”

“Y/N-”

You hang up and turn off your phone before returning to Ares who’s sipping on a beer by the gate, where you left him.

When you’re allowed to board the plane, you’re already nauseous. What if it wouldn’t work? What if you changed your mind? You already felt bad. Ares puts his hand on your shoulder while you walk through the middle of the plane, trying to find your seat. Ares takes the aisle seat. 

“Thank you for giving me the window seat”, you chuckle. “I feel like a kid all over again.”

“Well, I can’t let random folks touch you, can I?” Ares responds. “I’m a gentleman after all.”

Ares sits with his phone up the entire flight, working. You know all about his dirty business, how he scams people left to right with his false businesses. 

You fall asleep for a while. Your body has been in a tense position the entire day and finally, you were out of reach. He couldn’t create a storm or shoot down a passenger plane, he wasn’t a God or a military flighter. He is nothing more than a man with a bit too much power for his own liking. And hybris. A whole lot of hybris. Ares turns off his phone to look at you. He smiles slightly. For years, he has tried to take you from Silas. You didn’t want him, but Silas was too selfish to let you be put on the market. He wanted you available at all times, for when the timing was right. Ares stopped trying to reach out to you after a while, knowing that it was pointless, thought that if you wanted to get back in touch with him, you would reach out — and you did. Ares lets his eyes wander over you. He has tried to match your physique, but had no chance against the hours you’ve had to spend at the gym to be able to be Silas’s bodyguard. But under all those muscles, you are nothing but a softie, and that’s why Ares wants you … and Silas too, unfortunately. He always has to compete with his brother over toys they both want.

Silas scoffs angrily and runs his hand through his black hair, and yet he can’t stop himself from laughing. It’s absurd! All of it!

“Why are you laughing, boss?” his second in command asks shortly. “This is nothing to be happy about.”

“I fucking know that?” Silas snaps back. “Do you think I enjoy knowing that my Y/N is on a plane with my psycopathic brother going to fuck knows where?”

“There are not a lot of places he could go to, though. Think about it.”

“I can’t fucking think! Y/N is leaving me!”

“Silas, sit down before you faint, ‘kay?”

Silas, oddly enough, listens and sits down on the couch in his study with his hands gripping the fabric beside him. His second in command stands in front of him with his hands on his hips. 

“Listen”, he says. “Ares would fuck with you, right?”

“Right”, Silas responds. 

“Which countries are you banned from?”

“Spain, England, Germany, the Netherlands and Ireland.”

“So, one of those countries.”

“But which?!”

“His favorite. Which one is the warmest?”

“Spain?”

“Bingo.”

Silas’s eyes widens and he breaks out into a shocked smile. Why didn’t he think about this? Ares isn’t smart.

“...how the fuck do I do this?” he realizes. “I can’t just take a plane into Spain without being arrested the second I step off the plane. We will need another way. We could get a boat and sneak in.”

“I’ll see what I can do, boss.”

“Do it quickly, I know my brother and he will take what I want. If he does, I will never forgive myself.”

The reason why Silas has never let you date anyone is because he wants what can only be had one way, your innocence. 

He sighs and walks out of the room where he finds the woman he’s dating standing with her hands together, looking worried. A certain rage takes over him. The sight of her had made you want to leave. He knows very well that it isn’t her fault, but he can’t help but think that it is. Her existence has put you in a position of discomfort, and for that, she has to pay. Silas doesn’t want to look at her, it only makes him nauseous. 

He pulls up his gun from his belt, and without a second thought, he fires off and watches the innocent girl’s limp body hit the floor. But for now, he can’t bring himself to feel bad. 

He has to find you. Ares is only nice as long as you're on his side, if you want to disagree with him, he's going to strip you off everything. You just don't know how horrific Ares could be.

Your first few days in Spain couldn’t be more than idyllic — if it weren’t for the fact that you look over your shoulder wherever you go. You scan the areas for familiar faces of Silas’s gang. 

“Relax, will you?” Ares says and hooks his arm around your shoulders. “Just enjoy the scenery instead.”

“I think I’m going insane”, you mutter. 

“A shot will help with that.”

“I don’t drink, you know that.”

Ares just smiles. You’re on your way back to the house from a restaurant Ares had treated you to. It was obviously a date, but you didn’t know how to tell him that you wanted to take things slow. Ares has never been a patient man … and you aren’t even sure if Ares is the person you want to date currently. Frankly, thanks to Silas, you don’t know what you want to do yet. You’ve only gotten your freedom to do whatever you want a few days ago, and it’s more overwhelming than you expected. 

“Do you want to come to my room?” Ares asks when you get to the front door. “We don’t even have to do anything, we can just watch TV.”

“I start to believe that the only reason you wanted to come with me on this trip was to get me in bed”, you scoff and put the keys in the lock. 

“Not only-”

“Ares, go to the bar and pick up someone there instead.”

“I can’t leave you alone, I told you that I was going on the trip to protect you.”

“And i told you that I didn’t need protection. If you’re horny, go.”

Ares sighs and gives up. “Fine, call me if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m tired.”

Ares nods and gives your back a tap before walking back the way you came from. You unlock the door, going into the house. In the corner of your eye, you can tell that something is moving. Instantly, you go into attack mode, but freezing when you notice who it is that is standing up from the armchair.

“I feel like a dad catching their underage kid sneaking in after a night out”, the second in command says. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you question. 

The second in command jerks his head. “Fucking guess.”

“Did Silas really send you because he can’t enter the country?” you laugh. “That’s so tragic.”

“Laugh all you want, you’re not the one that have been on a small fucking fishing boat for twelve hours straight!” He collects himself and sighs. “I will give you one chance to come with me voluntarily before I beat your head in.”

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. “Try me.”

Silas must have equipped his second in command with things he knew that you wouldn’t be able to combat, because in one way or another, you lose consciousness. 

You wake up in a dark, cold room. At once, you try to move your hands to your eyes to rub them clean from drowsiness, but quickly notice how your hands are tied to something behind you. That’s when you realize that you’re stuck in a cage the size of a garden shed, in — what looks like — a cargo hold. Your hands are tied to one of the cage’s bars behind you. Your head is pounding from the hit his second in command had given you. 

“Look at that, he’s finally waking up”, a familiar voice says. 

“So we don’t need the water?” his second in command asks. 

“Let’s keep it.”

Silas walks into the cage, crouching down in front of you. He takes a hold of your chin, directing your head whichever way he wants. 

“You gave him a bump the size of mount everest”, Silas mutters over his shoulder. 

“He’s a trained fighter”, his second in command replies. “I had to do what I had to do, you know?”

“I guess.”

Silas lets go of your pounding head. You groan softly, feeling out of your own body, while still being trapped inside the cage. You start to cough and Silas grabs the bucket of icy water, holding it to your mouth. At first, you gulp it down … and then realize that it was sea water. You throw it up, right back into the bucket. Silas gives the bucket to his second in command, telling him to throw it out.

“That was fucking disgusting”, you grimace and gag. 

“You kind of deserve it.” He fixes your hair that has started to stick onto your forehead. “Why did you do that to me, Y/N?”

“You didn’t let me have my own life. I was living yours, as a side character.”

“You betrayed me.”

You meet his brown — almost black — eyes and feel your heart sink. You have never seen such sadness in his eyes before. 

“I know”, you say and turn down your gaze. “I felt really bad about it. I know the rules, and I won’t make a fuzz about it, but can I beg of you that it won’t be you who kills me? I don’t want that to be our last memory together.”

Silas seems to be taken aback. 

“I’m not going to kill you”, he says. “In fact, no one is.”

“But I betrayed you-”

“I know, but I can’t kill you.”

“You can’t bend the rules, or else you’ll get a mutiny.”

“Who said that I was letting you off the hook?”

You watch how Silas walks out of the cage, picks something up from the floor, and returns with a bottle in his hands. 

“I know that you are strong”, he says, popping the bottle open, “and violent. So, I’m going to keep you calm for the rest of the journey to Portugal. Open your mouth.”

“What is that?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing the bottle wearily. 

“Vodka.”

You shake your head quickly. “That’s so foul-”

“I did not ask for your opinion.”

He puts the opening of the bottle to your lips and you try to turn your head, but Silas forces you to drink. With one hand, he holds the bottle, and with the other he holds your chin to make sure that you can’t turn away. You have no other choice but to swallow the burning liquid. He doesn’t let you stop until half the bottle are gone. You cough and gag, but can’t throw up. 

“You absolute fu—fucking—”, you cough. 

“Calm down, baby boy, it’s just some vodka”, Silas says nonchalantly and takes a sip. “Good for your heart.”

He puts his hand on your heavily raising chest, trying to calm your breathing and feel your racing heart. The alcohol turns your body heat up and you want nothing more than for that bucket of water to come back. 

“My right hand man will be here to make sure that you’re not sober for a single second”, Silas says and stands up. 

“You can’t fucking leave me like this!” you burst out. 

“Then stop me.”

You fight against the ropes and Silas smirks triumphantly before leaving the cargo hold.

The second in command came in every half an hour to give you new sips. You tried to refuse, but with your hands locked behind your back and head spinning with alcohol, there wasn't much you could to to stop him.

You haven't drank anything since you were a young teenager and the rocking motions of the sea wasn't helping you. You refused to throw up again, refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you in such a state next time they entered.

You hated alcohol even worse now. Fuck Silas. 

After what felt like hours — in your drunken state it could very well have been days, or minutes — you couldn't take it anymore.

“Silas!” you shout and your tone goes to a whining, slurred melody. “Silas!”

You've never felt so helpless.

Silas enters with his second in command tightly behind him. He enters the cage and crouches down in front of your pathetic form.

“What?” he asks, cupping your cheek.

“Please stop”, you beg and sob, but you're not sure if the tears come from the heart or the alcohol. “Please …I will do what you want …”

Silas grabs the back of your sweaty neck and directs your wet face into his shoulder, letting you cry. You can feel that your hands are freed from the ropes.

Silas picks you up, carrying you up to the decks above water. His second in command holds your head so that you won't smash it against one of the sharp corners. 

Silas tucks you into a bed and leaves you to rest. You can see the shining sun outside the round porthole window as you fall asleep. 

He walks out onto the deck of the fishing boat and smirks.

“What?” his second in command asks.

“I'm not single anymore”, Silas chuckles.

“You won again, congratulations. Will you put Y/N into the basement?”

“He can handle that. But most important thing is that he's coming home where he belongs, and there won't be any more childish outbursts.”

“What happened with your brother, by the way?”

“Who cares? I don't want to meet him anyway, so the less I need to deal with him, the better.”

When the fishing boat reaches Portugal, you are dragged to a car and to the airport. You don't say much. Silas disregard for your hate of alcohol and childish behavior has put you off. If it weren't for the fact that you are hus prisoner now, you wouldn't be his friend anymore.

Silas’s private jet stands ready on an empty field. He holds your arm as he pushes you up the stairs. You rip your arm from his hold.

“I can walk by myself, let me go”, you mutter.

Silas sighs. You sit down in a seat opposite Silas and cross your arms.

“You are glaring at me”, Silas says without glancing up from his phone.

“I'm just trying to determine if you have brain cells”, you spit.

“Aren't you a fun lad?”  

“Where is my phone, by the way?”

“Like sharp objects and weapons should be: far away from you.”

“Oh, I see. You're going to treat me like a child.”

“Y/N, I'm not an idiot. I trained you, I know how dangerous you are with weapons. You are even more violent than I am at times.”

“Obviously with good reasons.”

Silas glances up from his phone. You twitch your eyebrows testingly. You might not have your weapons, but your tongue is still sharp. 

Being in a relationship with Silas might be more interesting than you thought, and Silas sure as hell will realize that you're not going down without a fight.

“Your girlfriend, then?” you question. “What does she think?”

“Frankly, she can't think a lot at the moment”, Silas responds, turns off his phone and luts it on the table between you. 

You get the hint immediately. 

“Killing her was unnecessary”, you say.

“Running away from me was unnecessary too”, Silas adds.

“This is going to be a stable relationship.”

“It will be the second you stop with the childish attitude.”

While keeping eye contact, you push his phone off the table. Silas eye twitches as he bends down to get it.

“You're going into the basement when we get home”, he says.

“Can I hit back? Or are you going to have full control and tie me up again? Is that the only way you can win over me? With me being completely helpless?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up before I let you ride on the airplane wing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You stare at each other, and you refuse to look away first. You're going to make him regret imprisoning you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere fics #yandere oc x reader #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere criminal #male reader

[explicit-tae]

One Way Or Another (2/2)

After nearly 3 years, your therapist encourages you to let the past be the past - "what can go wrong after all these years?" she says. @silversparkles11 @seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @darkuni63 @mak7sstuff @namjinsworld @laylasbunbunny @roseki @castlewolfsbane @babycandy111 @minshookie29 @btsw1fe @kyglover @trevsinz @roseki

Part 1

i'm so sorry this took a whole year :')

Word Count: 7.295

Warning: dark themes, smut, yandere, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, mentions of dark sexual desire, noncon/dubcon, creep jungkook, kidnapping, acts of violence, narcissistic behavior, unsolicited grinding/groping, unprotected sex, creampie,

“Hyung,” Jungkook sighs over the phone, his voice cracking. “she’s so beautiful…”

Namjoon sighs over the other line. “Where are you?”

Jungkook’s legs begin to bounce, the child lying against him. “With my daughter.” was not the response Namjoon is expecting. He’s silent, unsure if his ears heard what Jungkook actually said. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N never told me…” Jungkook’s voice cracks once more. “...Why would she leave me, hyung? Leave with my daughter?”

Namjoon can hear the rage in Jungkook’s voice, getting higher as he speaks. “Calm down, Kook.” Namjoon begins. “Are you with Y/N now?”

Jungkook scoffs. “No. She left my daughter with a babysitter.”

Namjoon sighs in relief. “Alright.” he begins. “What are you planning on doing?”

Jungkook presses a kiss against the child’s head, holding her in an embrace that he doesn’t want to release her from. His heart is full, even when he knows it would just be broken by you once more.

For years he had tried to search for you to come up with nothing - all until a few months prior. He had to thank Namjoon for it, his hyung having a lead that led him to you.

 You looked so different, yet still so beautiful. It causes a smile to form on Jungkook’s lips watching you - he wants to come to you. He wants to reach out and hug you and declare how much he missed you.

But Jungkook didn’t - you weren’t ready. So what he chose to do was continue to watch - and when his eyes caught on you and the small child, he nearly cried; both in rage and in joy. Joy because this was his first child that resembled him more than not. Rage because you had left him with his child, refusing to come back home where you belonged. 

Now here Jungkook was holding his child, the small girl welcoming him with open arms. She’s sweet, willingly allowing him to hold her close and kiss her head once she heard that he was her dad - even at her young age. 

Jungkook’s attention peaks when he hears the water to the shower turn off. He sighs, annoyance running through him. He sets his daughter down, upset that his time with her was so little, but the babysitter - one who was not worthy to be around his child - was moments away from returning. 

“My beautiful daughter.” Jungkook presses another kiss to her head, sighing into it. “Appa will be back, okay?” he says, smiling down at her. 

“O-kay.” the soft voice hits Jungkook’s ears and it takes everything in him to leave her there. 

“Obviously I need to get my family back, hyung.” Jungkook responds, dipping out the front door just as he hears the door to the bathroom open. 

“I agree.” Namjoon says. “Don’t do anything too rash, Kook.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, but when it comes to having you and his daughter in his life, nothing was “too” rash.  He had to start with whoever this Stefan person was in your life.

“You like this guy, right? Your co-worker?” your therapist questions. 

Your head lays in your hands as you nod it, leaning back against the decorative chair - the same one you’ve sat in once a week for years now.

“It’s been a year since you opened up about your past.” she notes. “What you’ve been through with that man is terrible, Y/N.”

That man - your therapist never says Jungkook’s name. She refuses after you told her the entire truth of what you’ve endured by him.

“That does not mean love is out of the picture.” she leans forward with a soft smile on her lips. “You’ve spoken fondly of your co-worker. Do you like him?”

Your mind thinks of Stefan. You met him when you first moved and started a new job - and life away from what you were accustomed to. It was a stressful move that had you constantly looking over your shoulder, terrified that Jungkook would be there.

Stefan, however, appeared to be a breath of fresh air. He was charming in his own way, someone that could make you laugh when you needed it. He was persistent, but never pushy.

But even if Stefan was everything you thought you needed, you weren’t sure you could ever pursue him. You were left traumatized after Jungkook - the constant calls and messages to your phones; oftentime threatening. The amount of times he was able to find you when you thought you’d lost him - only when you filed for a temporary restraining order did it stop. But temporary was the keyword, nothing was ever permanent. Jungkook was a charming man to the public, flashing a smile and batting his eyelashes and everything he’s done could be washed away. 

The first chance you took to move away, you did, not caring if the restraining order would be voided. Jungkook would know where you’d be - he’ll have to know where he couldn’t go.

Even now, years later, you could hear the harsh, threatening words from Jungkook. “I hate that you choose them over me.” Jungkook said about Lina and any type of friendship you had. “You’re leaving me because I care about your well-being?” when you attempted to end it with him, and the cherry on top being, “You look at me as if I would ever hurt you. I could kill you then myself…but I’ve never thought about doing that once.” and somehow, you weren’t convinced.

“Y/N?”

You blink a few times to come back to reality. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize to me.” your therapist shakes her head. “You do that often. You get in your head and it’s hard to get out of it.”

You smile weakly at her. Your eyes turn towards the clock on her desk facing you. “Looks like time is up.” you murmur.

“Ah, I suppose so.” your therapist eye’s you as you rise from your seated position and gather your belongings. “Y/N.”

“Yes?” you say to her with knitted brows. 

“Happy Birthday to your daughter. She turns 3 today, correct?”

You smile, nodding your head. “Yes. Ava is turning 3.” you say. “I actually have to go pick her up.”

Your therapist nods. “I know she’ll have an amazing birthday.”

You tried your best to give your daughter everything she needed. It’s not easy - nothing in your life ever was, especially now. 

Finding out you were pregnant in the midst of getting away from Jungkook was not something you wanted to deal with - yet and still, an abortion is not something you wanted to go through. Your pregnancy was a rough one  - you’ve grown depressed and rotted yourself in self-pity. You couldn’t fully connect with your daughter until the end of your pregnancy when reality was settling in that you were going to be a mother. 

As you held your daughter in your arms the day she was born, your heart swells with love, even if she appeared similar to the man you didn’t wish to see. You wanted her to be nothing but safe and feel all the love from you that she couldn’t feel from another parent. 

“Think about it, Y/N.” your therapist speaks as she walks you towards her office door. “You deserve happiness, as well. What can go wrong after all these years?” she says. 

A shudder runs up your spine for the first time in years at her words, unsure truly as to why.

“You’re so messy.” you laugh at your daughter, going to wipe her face from the pasta sauce that is smeared on her cheeks. 

You and Ava are seated in the small restaurant, an intimate moment between the two of you. She was older now, and you always wanted to give her the birthday she deserves. However, you aren’t making the amount of money you once were - working at Sapphire's after dark made you more money in one night than you do now with a paycheck. You could only ever afford to take her somewhere to eat and a small cake.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.Sometimes as parents, we blame ourselves for not being able to give our children the world.” your therapist has said a week prior. You had cried how you wanted to give your daughter more, but couldn’t afford to. “But children don’t want the world, they want their parent’s love and support.”

It’s advice you often have to repeat so you wouldn’t put yourself down. 

“Wanna eat your cake?” you sniffle, blinking a few times to regain focus.

“Yes.” your daughter nods meekly, her voice so soft that it causes you to coo.

The cake is small and round. It’s chocolate, her favorite, and you are quick to cut her a piece. You aren’t hungry and would often watch her eat, satisfied with her being fed. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask her, noticing how her eyes would flicker from her cake up towards you. “Do you not like the cake?”

Ava shakes her head. “Where’s appa?”

You’re positive that your face pales, possibly looking as if you saw a ghost.

“W-What do you mean, baby?” you stutter. Ava has never asked for her father - or any father at that. This is the first time you’re hearing this and your heart is pumping with nerves. 

“Where is appa?” Ava asks again, this time a little higher. “Appa said he will be back.”

Your heart begins to beat loudly outside your chest. Your throat tightens, unable to respond to your daughter. Your mind is racing at her words - again, Ava never speaks like this. 

What does she mean he said he’ll be back?

“Come on, baby.” you gather the cake in your hands to save it for later. You’re trembling and it angers you. You don’t want your daughter to see you like this. “We have to go home.”

“I wanna see Appa.” Ava’s voice is growing softer and you’re certain she was going to cry. You shake your head, eyes bouncing around the restaurant. The familiar feeling was coming back - the feeling of being stared at. You haven’t felt this way in over a year. 

“Ava, baby. We have to go.” you don’t allow your daughter to continue with her tantrum. You place money down on the table, gather your daughter and the cake and journey out of the restaurant. 

“Y/N?” the sound of Yuri’s voice sounds through your phone. “Is everything alright?”

“I-I…can you watch Ava?” you murmur. “I’m sorry this is so last minute. I-I know I just picked her up but-”

“Y/N, calm down.” Yuri quips. “Are you alright? You sound so scared.”

You weren’t alright, but you couldn’t tell Yuri - or anyone - anything. You look down at Ava walking besides you, her small hand in yours. Her eyes are up at you, a slight sad look on her face. 

“Y/N…” Yuri trails off at your silence. “...I can watch Ava no problem.”

“Thank you, Yuri. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize.” Yuri interrupts you. “You know I love Ava.”

Yuri was someone you were grateful for. You were grateful for your therapist for helping you find Yuri - she was her niece, after all. She was young and attending college. She lived in an apartment fully paid by her parents as long as she attended college. She was a sweet girl and Ava loved her just as much as she loved Ava.

It took ten minutes for you to be at Yuri’s door, her already meeting you. She slightly pats Ava’s head as you arrive. 

“Here’s her cake, I, um…she didn’t really get a chance to eat it.” your heart drops. Yuri notices that you’re trembling still as she takes the cake. “Thank you so much, Yuri.”

“Y/N, please. Are you safe?” Yuri drops her tone to assure Ava isn’t listening. The television is on in the livingroom and she’s already seated in front of it. 

“Yes.” you nod, even if you’re unsure yourself. “I just…have to go talk to your aunt and-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself.” Yuri shakes her head. She doesn’t know your backstory, and she understands that her aunt being your therapist that it isn’t something she could ask. But the terrified look in your eyes is what worries her. 

You nod. “Thank you.” you were grateful for Yuri, truly.

Within 20 minutes, you were back at your therapist's office. You were speaking nonstop, going through countless scenarios of what Ava could be speaking of about her father - stating that he would be coming back. 

“Sometimes children have imaginary friends. Especially at her age.” your therapist stands to calm you. “She probably made up her own father figure to make up for the lack of it.”

“But,” you shake your head. “I don’t think-”

“Y/N. It’s been years.” 

You inhale, counting in your head. You exhale.

“Ava is fine. You are fine.” your therapist assures. “Ava is growing older. She will soon ask about where her father is as she enters school. She will see her peers have something that she does not.”

Your head falls into your hands at her words. 

You didn’t want this for Ava - you wanted to be everything she needed. You wished she had a father figure, but if Jungkook was that, you’d rather do everything alone. 

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t an amazing mother. You are. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“She asked about him.” you say meekly. “She said that he was coming back as if…she saw him. Can children imagine so vividly?”

Your therapist nods. “The imagination of a child is unmatched. I suggest you sit down and speak with her. She may be 3, but she’s a growing child.”

As you were about to respond, your phone sounds with a notification. It’s Stefan, you note, his name dashing through your screen. 

“Respond to it.” your therapist nods. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He can be a psycho.” you murmur, but even you didn’t believe that. Stefan didn’t share any red flags with you and acted like a complete sweetheart.

But again, so did Jungkook in the beginning. 

“Don’t allow yourself to not feel love because of your past, Y/N.” your therapist gives you a small smile.

“He…wants to meet up.” you sigh. “I can’t it’s Ava’s birthday and-”

“Does he know about Ava?”

You nod.

“Do you not want to bring him around Ava yet?”

Slowly, you shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want Ava to get the wrong idea, especially now that she was growing older and wanting a father figure. Yet, you didn’t want to hide the fact that you had a daughter from Stefan.

“I can see you aren’t comfortable just yet with the idea of dating.” she says. “That doesn’t mean you and him can’t be friends, right? Hang around one another with Ava. See how he interacts with her. If he’s good with Ava, then it’s a step forward, no?”

You nod. “I suppose you’re right…”

You begin to text Stephan back, eyes glancing at your therapist for comfort. 

“I said we can um, meet at a cafe.” you murmur, a hot feeling growing throughout you. You haven’t felt this way in years - since Jungkook. 

“That’s good.” she smiles widely at you. “It’s good, right?”

“Yeah…I guess it is good.” you take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for coming back here so suddenly.”

“Please don’t apologize, Y/N.” your therapist assures. “You’re a mother and were worried for your child. Trust me, Ava and you are safe. You aren’t terrible for feeling the way you do after all you’ve been through.”

Hearing her words is encouraging. You just want Ava to be safe in the end - it’s your main goal. You loved Ava with all your heart, wanting to give her the life she deserves. She deserves a mother who wasn’t always looking over her shoulder afraid of a man who’s probably given up on her. 

“Thank you.” you mumble, clenching your phone in your hand.

“Appa!” 

Yuri watches as Ava runs into the man’s arm. He picks her up and holds her close. “Hey, baby.” he says softly to the little girl. “Happy birthday! Look what Appa got you.”

Jungkook is holding a small, pink bag in his hands.

“You said you’re Y/N’s-”

“Ex.” Jungkook nods his head, not liking the word a bit. “Ava’s father.”

Yuri has an uneasy feeling in her stomach as Jungkook speaks. “She told me to watch Ava-”

“I know. But I think I should be the one taking her now.” Jungkook smiles at the younger girl. “Y/N had a bit of a scare earlier.” Jungkook chuckles. “She told me to come get her.”

Yuri furrows her brows. “Really? She didn’t text-”

“Again. She’s going through something right now.” Jungkook interrupts, holding onto Ava tightly. He didn’t want to harm Yuri - not while he had his daughter. But if she was going to stick her nose in business that didn’t involve her, then he wouldn’t have a choice to. 

“I guess you’re right…” Yuri trails off, recalling the way you appeared seconds away from crying. Her eyes turn to Ava - the girl finally looked happy since you left. Everything she has tried to do to get the girl to cheer up has failed. “...Happy Birthday, Ava.”

Jungkook smiles, turning to his daughter. Yuri was smart, afterall. “Thank you for taking care of her.” he says sincerely then bows to bid his farewell. 

Jungkook strolls out of the apartment complex and towards his car. He opens the back seat and places Yuri inside of it, having already bought a car seat for her to sit in. He straps her in and couldn’t help but place another kiss on her forehead. “Here, baby. Happy birthday.” he says to her, handing her the pink bag with the gift inside.

Jungkook gets inside the driver seat and starts the car. Jungkook begins to drive, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror to assure his daughter was okay. “Are you happy you and Appa are going for a ride?”

Ara nods, her smile has yet to falter. Inside the pink bag had been a stuffed animal - the biggest she’s ever gotten - of a bunny. She holds it close to her that Jungkook just knows that when you finally came home, he would make it his mission to buy his daughter a mountain of them. 

“Appa?”

Jungkook’s hand clenches the steering wheel. He’s upset with you. Hearing his daughter call for him has a rush of emotions flowing through him - and he blames you for keeping this moment from him. How would you raise a child without a father in the home? “Yes, baby?”

“Where’s e-eomma?”

“Eomma is meeting us at home.” Jungkook says with a slight smile. He couldn’t wait to be reunited with you. “But Appa has to make a stop.”

“Stop where?”

Toddlers and their questions, Jungkook thinks. “To the lake.” he answers. 

Ava is satisfied with the response for now, and Jungkook continues to drive. 

Finding whoever Stefan was had been easy. He’s upset to know that the name has come up far too many times for his liking, and the months he has been following you, he’s grown to realize that the man was your co-worker - someone you had to see often. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that Stefan liked you more than he should, and that would cost him his life. Surely, it would be easier to just take you, his daughter and leave - yet that wouldn’t satisfy him. Knowing that you took his daughter from him - and took away the experience of him holding his child the day she was born - he had to find a way to punish you. “You’re too nice to her.” he recalls Namjoon saying one day. “She’ll never respect you as you are.” and his hyung was correct. Now three years later here we were - all because you wanted to be selfish.

“Going swimming?” Ava’s voice sounds through his ears as Jungkook parks the car. The sun is minutes from setting, the dark hue in the sky. The clouds are forming, as well, and he’s positive that the moon will be shining bright tonight. 

“Not us, no.” Jungkook removes his seatbelt. 

“I come?” Ava asks as she witnesses Jungkook get out of the car. 

“Of course.” Jungkook coos, opening the door to the back and removing Ava from her carseat. The bunny is held tightly in her embrace as she places her head on Jungkook's shoulders.

Jungkook goes around to the trunk and opens it. “Looks like Stefan’s awake, baby.” Jungkook cackles, his eyes darkening at the sight of the tied up man. “He was taking a little nap in the trunk.”

“Why?” Ava’s soft voice asks over the muffled screams of Stefan. He has tape around his mouth and rope around his wrist and ankles. Ava doesn’t appear to be frightened as a normal child would - but then again, she’s with her father. Jungkook would never allow any harm to come towards her. 

“Must’ve been sleepy.” Jungkook shrugs. “Appa’s going to put you down, okay?”

“Oh-kay.”

Jungkook places Ava down, patting her head slightly. He then proceeds to yank Stefan out of the trunk, the man falling with a thump, along with a pocket knife that he attempted to use against Jungkook.

Jungkook goes to grab the pocket knife out of Ava’s reach, the little girl already attempting to reach for it. He places it inside his pocket and turns back to Stefan. “Let’s go.” he states, but it isn’t like the man can move. Instead, he is dragged from the muddy scenery towards the lake.

Stefan’s muffled screams get a bit louder, but not loud enough. He’s squirming against his restraints, so much so that it begins to annoy Jungkook. “Stop resisting!” he hisses, his boot kicking Stefan in the ribs. “To think you had a chance with my girl is insane.”

The wooden dock is long and narrow. It creeks underneath Jungkook’s feet as he walks all the way to the end of it. 

“To think all Y/N had to do was not leave me.” Jungkook looks down at Stefan, the terrified look in his eyes comical. “Maybe then you would’ve lived to see tomorrow.”

Jungkook kicks Stefan into the lake. His body makes a splash, water wetting his boots. Jungkook turns away and makes his way back to Ava. “Such a good girl!” he cheers, scooping her into his arms. “Ready to see eomma?”

Ava nods, rubbing her eyes slightly. 

"You must be tired. Let’s go home, baby.”

Your eyes stare down at the text-message in horror, your body completely stiff.

Yuri: Hey, Y/N. Just to let you know, Ava went home with her father. She looked so excited to see him. I hope you’re feeling better than before. Please try to get some rest.

Your world feels as if something crashed through you. Your throat was tightening up and tears were swelling in your eyes. Your hands trembled, nearling dropping your phone several times. 

Ava’s father.

Ava’s father.

Ava didn’t have a father - not someone you agreed upon. She didn’t have someone you co-parent with.

Ava’s father.

That meant the feeling from before was true - the feeling of being stared at.

Jungkook was back.

Jungkook had found you.

Jungkook knows about Ava - he has Ava.

Your hands tremble as you go through a message thread you hadn’t opened in years - even after multiple number changes.

You swallow the thick lump in your throat as you press call, bringing it to your ear.

It only rings once.

“About time you called.”

Hearing Jungkook’s voice after all these years causes the hair on your body to rise. It brings back memories you want to suppress.

“Is Ava okay?”

“What type of question is that?” Jungkook hisses. He’s driving, you note, you can hear cars in the background. “I would never hurt our daughter.”

Our daughter. 

Your blood runs cold. 

“Please, Jungkook.” your voice cracks as you begin to cry, no longer caring. You just wanted Ava safe, and as of right now, she wasn’t. Not with Jungkook - anyone but him. 

“Aww, don’t cry, my love.” Jungkook’s taunting you. “I’ll see you at home.”

The line goes out before you can speak. 

Your home wasn’t far, only a few blocks away. But you’re sprinting there, pushing past anyone in your way. Your chest is heaving and your appearance was anything but presentable. 

There’s a car outside your home that you don’t recognize. It sits right outside of it - a sign that Jungkook was here.

“Ava’s asleep.” Jungkook says as you barge into the home. He’s seated in your livingroom, Ava in his arms. She’s asleep, clutching a stuffed animal you haven’t seen before. “Why are you looking at her like that? I said I’d never hurt her.”

You swallow. “I-I know.” you murmur. You don’t want to upset Jungkook. You’re positive that he’s already pissed having found not only you, but his child. “C-Can I…um…let’s put her to bed.”

Jungkook watches you for a moment, but nods. He follows you down the hall and towards a small room. A few toys are sprawled out on the floor. He places her in her bed and lifts the covers. “My pretty baby…” he murmurs, kissing her cheek. “So beautiful.”

The sight would warm your heart if it wasn’t Jungkook.

“I usually turn this on.” you murmur towards her desk. It’s a small humidifier that you flick on. It makes a noise as it works, a white noise that keeps Ava sleep during some nights.

“Come.” Jungkook turns away from you. “We need to talk.”

The door to Ava’s bedroom closes behind you. You usually don’t close her door at all - she didn’t prefer to be left in the dark. However, you wanted her far from you and Jungkook’s conversation.

Jungkook walks in your home as if he’s familiar with it, opening the door to your bedroom and flickering on the light. You no longer fight with your mind, contemplating if you were delusional or not.

Jungkook had been watching you - you’re sure of it. How long, you’re unsure. But you’re positive that he has. Ava is a sweet girl and far too trusting for your own liking, but you didn’t want to corrupt her mind when it came to meeting new people - and now you blame yourself. She had asked for her father because Jungkook had made himself present to her before…

Your heart aches at the revelation that you weren’t safe, and haven’t been for years.

“I thought about what I’d do when I saw you.” Jungkook begins just as you close the door to your bedroom. “When you first left, I’d admit I was angry.”

Jungkook looks nearly the same as he did 3 years prior - he added a few piercings and you’re positive he added more tattoos underneath his clothing. His eyes are the same, piercing right through you like they had many times before. 

“I never thought about hurting you more than I did the moment I found you.” The silence after Jungkook’s words is loud and deafening. You contemplated if you’d be able to get out the room and run down the hall to Ava’s for an escape, but you know he wouldn’t allow it. 

“You took my daughter away from me, Y/N. What have I done to you to deserve that?” Jungkook’s voice raises just a bit and you flinch when he steps closer to you. “You hate me that much? Was I not the one funding your lifestyle?”

“I didn’t ask you to.” you retort quietly - regretting it just as quickly as you said it. 

Jungkook scoffs. “I didn’t have to?” he says. “You were my girl. I gave you everything you wanted and more. Then you send a restraining order and leave with my-”

“I didn’t know I was pregnant!” you hiss. But even that wouldn’t have made you return to Jungkook.

“Your excuses aren’t good enough for me, Y/N.”

You yelp when Jungkook lunges at you. He flings you around, hands digging into your skin. You and he stumble a bit until he shoves you away. Your face is planted into your mattress, him pressed firmly against you.

Jungkook presses his nose into your hair and inhales deeply. He shudders. “You still smell the same.” he murmurs, his hips rocking against you.

You’re frightened to your core, unsure what in the world you’re supposed to say or do in this situation. You couldn’t think of just yourself anymore - Ava was just in the other room. You couldn’t trust Jungkook completely to not harm her if it meant hurting you.

“Why don’t you love me?”

Jungkook’s mood changes quickly, he leans back to yank your hair. You fight back a scream at how hard he tugs. You’re pressed firmly against his back, his nose against the nape of your neck.

“No answer…?” Jungkook hums against your neck. His hands let go of your hair, trailing to your shoulders. “...Did you love Stefan?”

You gulp, your breathing so loud that it echoes off of your walls. 

How did he know about Stefan?

Your heart thumps with anticipation for Jungkook to continue. 

“I hope you didn’t. He’s dead.”

Jungkook’s right hand grips your neck, a yelp releasing from your throat. You struggle to get away from his grasp, but Jungkook wasn’t going to allow it. He wasn’t going to allow you to leave him again - especially not with his daughter. 

“I’m tired of being nice to you, Y/N. You don’t like me being nice.” Jungkook squeezes your neck a bit harder, you grunts only fueling the erection in his pants. “I had to kill a man to make sure you know that I’m serious. Here,”

Jungkook is quick to remove his phone from his pocket and go through his photos. Your eyes widen at the picture of Stefan, bound and gagged in what appeared to be the trunk of a car.

Your stomach feels sick and you snap your head away to get the image out of your head. You can feel the tears lining your eyes.

“You killed him, Y/N. I wouldn’t have done anything if you didn’t leave with my daughter.” Jungkook pushes you away from him, releasing your neck. You fall against the mattress roughly, but you don’t have the strength in you to fight anymore.

“Why are you crying?” Jungkook snickers. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You want me to treat you like this, so I am.”

You’re flipped over once more, your back hitting your mattress. Your tears blur your vision of Jungkook, and it pains him to see how terrified you were of him - but this is what you wanted. You didn’t want the nice, protective boyfriend he was trying to be.

“I gave you everything, Y/N. And you left me.” Jungkook’s tugging at your shirt so roughly that you aren’t surprised it rips. Your room is cold, colder than it’s ever been. “You forced me to find you here with my daughter. You’re struggling, barely able to afford anything. The cherry on top was you agreeing to meet that man…” Jungkook shakes his head, rage bubbling up through him again. “You were going to have that man around my daughter, Y/N. How selfish can you be?”

Your bra comes off next, and Jungkook takes a deep breath. How he missed you beneath him, your sweet moans dancing in his ears. His hands grip your breast entirely, his thumbs rubbing along your erect nipples.

“I think you like the way I’m touching you now.” Jungkook murmurs. “Is this what it was, Y/N? You wanted me to be a little rough?”

You shake your head, sobs spilling out of your lips.

“Then what was it? Why did you leave me?” Jungkook’s thumb continues to rub circles on your nipples. “You took away our daughter. I didn’t have the chance to see her first steps because you want to be selfish.”

Jungkook pinches and pulls at your nipples, but you only liked that. Jungkook knows your body - even after all these years.

Jungkook’s hard, you note. You can feel it twitching against your clothed heat. Your eyes blink away the tears, throat so tight that you’re unsure if you could truly speak. “Are…are you going to hurt me?”

Jungkook tilts his head, eyes looking at your weeping figure. So fragile - so hopeless. 

Jungkook has witnessed your walls begin to crumble down. Any resistance you had was tumbling right before him. You weren’t going to fight him anymore - the sooner you realized that it was pointless, the sooner he could treat you how he wants to and not how he has to.

“I want to.” Jungkook admits. “I want to hurt you and show you how bad you’ve hurt me all these years. But I love you.”

You want to laugh - because this couldn't be love. This isn’t what you want Ava to grow up and endure.

“I love you so much, Y/N, that I can’t bear hurting you. But if I have to live with hating myself, I will.”

Jungkook’s right hand dips down slowly, as if taunting you to react. It goes beneath your pants to touch between your legs.

“If I have to hurt you to make sure you never leave me again…” Jungkook’s finger twirls around your clit, satisfied with how wet it was for him. “...I will, Y/N.”

You’re stiff, even when Jungkook removes his fingers and plop them inside his mouth. His eyes flutter, a deep groan coming from his throat. “How I missed the way you taste, my love.”

Your heart races - as does your mind. 

You’re powerless.

Jungkook was not going to let you go - not without hurting you. You didn’t know how far hurting you went, but you didn’t want to find out.

You begin to cry harder, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Please don’t h-hurt Ava.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “I’ll never hurt her!” he hisses. “Stop crying, Y/N. I want to give our daughter the life she deserves. With a mother and father.” he coos, going to wipe your falling tears. “Ava deserves to be in the best schools money can offer. I can offer. Would you really deny her an amazing life just because you want to be selfish?”

Jungkook’s words sting.

You wanted Ava to have an amazing life - she was your main priority. You couldn’t afford the best schools or luxuries like Jungkook could, and the thought has your heart breaking.

“Doesn’t Ava deserve to have two parents who love her?” Jungkook asks. “Or would you rather her grow up thinking her father left her? Are you going to tell her you didn’t allow me to father her? That you took the first man that’s going to love her away?”

Jungkook knew what to say to hurt you - to get you to submit to him fully. He was going to use Ava to his advantage - if that is what it took to have you and her back in his life. He didn’t want to hold you hostage. He wanted you to come to him willingly and be the family he knows you and he could be; for his daughter.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Jungkook’s face is so close to yours that his breath tickles your skin. “Don’t you want us to be a family? For Ava’s sake?”

You swallow.

You wanted Ava safe. You wanted her to have a good life - the life any child deserves. 

Your mind is screaming at you to fight Jungkook off - to take Ava and leave.

But where would you go? You couldn’t stay here and you could only run so far until Jungkook found you. You were tired of living your life in fear - constantly looking over your shoulder for Jungkook to come and take you away.

So, you had to make your own decision. You had to choose Ava over you.

Jungkook is surprised when he feels your lips on his so suddenly, but he doesn’t dwell. He melts into your lips, arms wrapping firmly around you.

“My good girl…” Jungkook murmurs against your lips. “...I knew you’d choose the right choice.”

You want to laugh - you didn’t have a choice. It was either go with Jungkook willingly or against your will.

Your legs wrap around Jungkook and he allows you to flip him. Jungkook watches you with wide eyes. 

You had to do this, you think. You had to do this for your safety and for the AVa’s future. Maybe if you didn’t give in to Stockholm Syndrome, then maybe when Ava’s away at college you’d be able to escape.

You want to laugh at your unfortunate circumstance.

“Do you promise Ava will be okay?”

Jungkook’s eyes soften at your tone. He nods his head. “You have my word. You and Ava will be okay.”

You weren’t convinced about yourself, but as long as Ava was, then you wouldn’t care about the life you live alongside him.

“Okay.” you murmur. “The humidifier sometimes keeps her asleep. Not all the time.”

Jungkook nods his head. 

“Sometimes she’ll wake up because she wants to sleep with me.” you swallow. “We have about another half an hour before she might.”

Jungkook’s ear perks, and he nods rapidly.

You lift yourself from him, going to kick off your pants and underwear. You haven’t been with Jungkook (or any many) in so long, that you feel betrayed by yourself for being wet.

Jungkook wants to take his time with you - to run his tongue all over your body like he used to. To pleasure you until you’re cumming against his tongue.

But, there wasn’t any time now. And that was okay - because you are his now. Forever. What he couldn’t do now, he’d do next time.

Jungkook kicks off his own pants and underwear, revealing how excited he was to have you once more.

You swallow, getting onto your bed. You don’t want to face Jungkook - not now at least, pressing your face against the mattress and arching your back.

“It’ll get better, my love.” Jungkook murmurs, pressing himself again you. His lips are against your shoulder, peppering you with soft kisses. “If you’ll allow me to love you the way I want to, it’ll be good.”

You nod your head sullenly.

You’re wetter than Jungkook expects. He rubs his tip against your clit and between your folds to lube himself up. He gulps as he inches closer to your entrance. “So tight…” he says to himself, inching himself closer and closer until he’s in fully. “...all for me.”

Your hands grip your bedsheets, the feeling of a cock in you becoming foreign with time. 

Jungkook begins to thrust, slow at first until your wetness completely engulfs him. Then, he picks up the pace. Hands gripping your waist to completely hold you into place, his eyes stuck on the way your pussy takes him so good - just how he remembers it. 

You’re sure your clenching around him only fuels Jungkook to go harder, but your body is working against you. You don’t want it to feel good - you hated Jungkook. You hated the way he forced himself back into your life and gave you an ultimatum. He was a monster, admitting to killing an innocent man just because you left him.

But your body loved Jungkook - always had. His cock pumps inside of you with such need, never getting tired. You can feel your juices pooling out of you and onto your thighs, and even your moans are becoming hard to be suppressed.

You hated Jeon Jungkook with a passion; this is the man that got you fired from your job and turned your life upside down. The same man that admitting to wanting to hurt you for the pain that ‘you’ caused him.

But you loved the way Jeon Jungkook fucks with with such passion; such love. His right hand presses itself against your clit, rubbing with need. His lips are pressed loving kisses against your back.

Your pussy sucks him in with each thrust, never wanting to be let go. Your legs widen to have even more of him, and Jungkook gives you exactly what you’re asking for. The pleasure is so good that you no longer hide your moans as they’re growing higher and higher by the second. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” Jungkook grunts, his grinding never stopping. He was so deep, hitting places that hadn't been touched in years. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise to be better…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Don’t believe him, your brain tells you. Jungkook’s lying. He wasn’t sorry in the slightest - he would hurt you again and again if you didn't bend to his every will.

But your heart crumbles at Jungkook’s words. You once loved Jeon Jungkook, and maybe there’s somewhere in you that always will. Everytime you looked at Ava, you saw her father. Those doe eyes looking up at you each day are the ones belonging to the monster that was Jungkook. 

Your heart thumps at Jungkook’s words because you want to believe them - believe that he would never hurt you or cause you such pain; but your brain doesn’t want you to lead with your heart.

“I love you, baby. You know that.” Jungkook grunts, his thrusts becoming sloppy. If he could fuck you like this for hours, he would. Years he’s been without you could that a half an hour could not satiate him. 

Jungkook lifts you from the bed. He presses you against him, continuing to pound into you. His left hand forces your head to turn to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. Everything I did has been for you.” 

“I…I know…” you moan.

You were weak - and soon you’d regret your actions and not fighting back against Jungkook.

But you missed Jungkook - you missed the kind Jungkook. The soft Jungkook who held you at night and would listen to you talk about any and everything for hours. 

Maybe that Jungkook could come back, you think. As long as you didn’t do anything to upset him and accept the fate that was bestowed upon you.

“Say you love me back, baby.” Jungkook pleads. He needs to hear it - he hasn’t in so long.

Jungkook’s right hand continues to rub aggressively on your clit, his mouth on yours. His tongue suckles on yours for dominance - dominance he already had against you. 

“What’s the worst that can happen after all these years?” your therapist's voice rings through your mind.

The ironic - a part of you feel like the universe is playing a game on you.

“I love you, too.” you say against Jungkook’s tongue, feeling your high reaching. You’re so wet that you can hear the disgusting squelching sounds of your pussy, completely satisfied that it’s getting stuffed.

“Fuck,” Jungkook grumbles, pumping into even harder. “fuck, fuck, I love you, too baby. So much.”

Jungkook lets you go to fall back onto your mattress, a twitching mess as your high was riding down. He pounds into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping and pants echoing off the walls until he cums inside of you, completely painting your walls with his seed.

Jungkook doesn’t remove himself until he’s soft, having no more cum left to give you. He kisses your back softly, wrapping his arms around your limp body. “I’m so happy you’re coming back to me, baby. Now we can be a family. You, me and Ava.”

“What’s the worst that can happen after all these years?”

#one way or another #jungkook x reader #jungkook yandere #yandere jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #yandere bts #bangtanwritershq #btsmasterlist2022 #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #bts yandere #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #explicit-tae

[milswrites]

The Trials of Aphrodite Part Four

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: A chat with Rhysand and an unexpected encounter.

Warnings: Angst (not going to give it a level because you guys will come for me and say I'm wrong).

You should have known nothing would get past Rhysand.

Your High Lord had been alive for long enough to know when someone was sneaking around behind his back, even if it was the elusive shadowsinger.

So despite the fact the sudden appearance of the Lord of Night at your door had your palms sweating and heart beating in distress, his arrival wasn't entirely unexpected.

With a long exhale and a quick tap to your mental shields in order to make sure they're in place, you open the door, a synthetic smile working its way onto your face as you greeted your waiting friend.

"Rhys, how wonderful to see you!" you simpered, praying the male wouldn't be able to hear the irregular pounding of your fluctuating heartbeat. Rhysand provided you with his own sickly sweet smile in return, violet eyes twinkling knowingly as he began to speak, "Azriel -"

You didn't allow him the time to finish his sentence, interrupting the Lord in an attempt to draw the conversation away from your rule breaking best friend, "Az isn't here unfortunately, maybe you should try -"

It was Rhysand's turn to cut you off, the male casually raising an inquisitive brow as he did so, smirk only growing wider at your flustered manner, "The market?. . . With Elain?" you blanched at his words, "hmm quite unusual how he seems to be able to talk to her now, isn't it? You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

"Awh Rhys I'm hurt," you pout mockingly, holding a hand to your heart as you step aside to allow the male to enter, "Here I thought you came to see me, and yet all you want to talk about is Azriel's lousy ability to talk to females."

Rhys scoffed at your reply as you busied yourself with making tea, avoiding his pressing stare for as long as you could until your reluctant eyes finally met his own. Sighing at his persistent glare, you held your hands up in defeat, "Fine, I helped him! He practically forced my hand, what was I supposed to do?"

"He made you?" Rhysand asked unimpressed, your eyes already rolling at the lecture which was no doubt about to ensue. Yet his next words were enough for you to spit out the tea you had just consumed, "Or your feelings did?"

"This has nothing to do with that" you snapped in defense, body recoiling at Rhysand's sympathetic stare, "Az needed me Rhys, of course I had to help him."

Your friend stretched his arm across the counter, resting a heavy hand onto your own to stop the slight tremble which his words had triggered. "At the expense of your heart?" Rhysand questions, his face contorted in empathetic pain, "You don't have to do this Flower. You are your own person, there's no shame in saying no to him."

Your eyes began to water as you stared at Rhys's comforting hand, head shaking hopelessly in denial. "What kind of friend would I be?" you miserably ask, "If I can't overlook my childish feelings in order to make him happy."

"It's not your job to make him happy," Rhysand reasons, gently squeezing your hand in order to pull your saddened gaze to his own, "you being there is enough to do that."

"But I am not enough" you shout, Rhysand's arm retracting in surprise at your sudden burst of anger, "I will never be enough for him. I have offered him everything; my friendship, my happiness, my heart. And what do I have to show for it after five hundred years other than his unreciprocated feelings?"

Rhysand came to stand before you, pulling you into a crushing embrace, lips coming to your ear to whisper words of consolation as you cried into his chest. "It's ok" he promised, cupping your head to press you tighter still into his hold, "You're ok. Feelings pass, it just takes time."

"It's not just feelings Rhys" you wept into his shirt, thanking the cauldron that your tears didn't show on the dark material, "I love him."

"So why?" Rhysand asked, moving his hands to your face in order to wipe your tears and draw your eyes to his own begging ones, "Why are you doing this? Why help him?"

"Because I'm tired of loving" you confessed, hiccupping as you spoke, "I want to move on. And if moving on means I have to help him fall in love with somebody else . . ."

Your friend sighed in defeat, a wave of disgruntled understanding beginning to pool in his violet eyes. "You are so unbelievably selfless" Rhys said with a sad smile as he came to place a soft kiss against your brow.

"Are you mad at me? . . . For helping Azriel go against your orders?" you sniffled, voice wavering as you spoke. Salty tears still making their way down your cheeks. "I could never be mad at you Flower" Rhysand consoled, "I'm only disappointed that Azriel would bring you into this mess in the first place. You deserve so much more."

So you continued to cry.

And whilst you were wrapped within the loving arms of the Lord of Night, you could have sworn you had never felt more alone.

Leaving your house was a trial in itself nowadays. Having to force yourself to vacate the sanctuary of your home in order to stir some feelings inside of you that weren't just hopeless despair.

Yet you were unable to shake your loneliness as you walked through the streets of Velaris without the shadowsinger by your side. Azriel having regretfully told you that he had training to make up for with Cassian after having spent the morning alongside Elain.

So, aimlessly wandering around in a melancholic state, you opted to grab yourself a treat in the hope of lightening your mood. For that there was only one place to go, the charming little bakery which you and Azriel had discovered together many years ago.

It was a difficult decision, choosing what pastry to buy, your hungry eyes scouring over the selection until you saw something you liked. The smiling shopkeeper making polite conversation as you pondered your options. Her words bringing your thoughts back to the male you so longed to forget, "now where's that handsome friend of yours today?"

Your heart twinged at the mention of his name, smile dropping slightly as you focused your attention back onto the baked goods before you, "Oh you know, the life of the shadowsinger is a busy one."

The keeper nodded in understanding, wide grin still plastered across her lips as she spoke, "would you like to grab something for him too? On the house for such loyal customers."

You wanted to say no, to prove that Rhysand's words were true and show yourself that your life didn't revolve around Azriel. Yet the flash of his grateful smile appeared in your mind, the warm buttery feeling of the male hugging you in thanks already growing in your chest.

Yet before you even had the chance to answer the waiting lady, a hurried figure bumped into your side, spilling the contents of their steaming cup onto your shirt.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" flustered apologies flowed from the male's mouth, his hands flying to rub the newly formed coffee stain with a napkin.

You found yourself incapable of answering.

Unsure of whether it was the shock that had stunned you into silence, or the dark ruffled hair and deep hazel eyes of the mysterious stranger. Unfussed by your lack of response, the male continued to ramble, "gods I'm so stupid, I should have watched where I was going. I'll buy you a new top I promise."

Stirring to your senses, you grabbed the male's hands to stop his hastily-done cleaning, allowing a reassuring smile to grace your lips as you promised him it was alright, "Don't worry, I was wondering what this top would look like with coffee all over it."

He barked out a laugh, lifting a hand to muss his short black hair, "I suppose I can only be grateful for running into someone as wonderfully forgiving as you."

It were as if he had you under a spell, his sharp jaw and strong features working to draw you in. "If you wanted my attention you could have just asked me for it" your jaw snapped together as soon as the words slipped out, eyes going wide at your unabashed confidence.

Your words seeming to please the male, a smirk crossing his face as he leaned into reply, "Can you blame me? Getting the chance to run into the most beautiful woman in all of Prythian doesn't come too often."

Unable to stop the blush which flushed across your heated cheeks, your eyes looked to anywhere but his own hazel ones in an attempt to escape the intensity of his gaze.

"I'll tell you what," the handsome stranger started, gesturing his head towards the counter, "I think I owe you a drink after that accident, if you want to join me that is."

All thoughts of getting something for Azriel forgotten, a smirk of your own worked its way onto your face as you reply, "hmm, I'm not sure. I only drink coffee with males I know the name of."

"Deimos" he eagerly replied, the glint of an unknown emotion shimmering within his hazel eyes, "My name is Deimos."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: I would apologise for the lack of Azriel in this part but honestly I think you guys would thank me for it at this point!

Big thank you to @sarawritestories who waved her magic wand and made me love my writing again.

Taglist Part 1:

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa88 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2 @leeknows-wife @riorgail @eve175 @evergreenlark @anuttellaa @daily-dose-of-sass @jesus-is-me @tothestarsandwhateverend

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel series #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

[ephemeral--dreams]

Making you cry during a fight (2) - Scaramouche, Yae, Kaeya

Okay guys here you go never ask me for anything ever again /j

(part 1)

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

Scaramouche

There's a sort of deep, instinctive fear that takes root inside the place where a heart would be, as he watches tears fall after a few too-harsh words. 

He's hurt you. He's been careless, he's been too difficult, too much - and it's going to drive you away. You're going to abandon him because of this incident, surely. Why would you stay with someone who makes you cry? 

It's… it's not a feeling he's dealt with for many years. The fear of being left. He has not allowed anyone to get close enough to him to have any concern over whether they're around or not. Scaramouche had learned his lesson about getting attached and having emotion, after all. He had spat out whatever  bitter words he pleased and felt nothing when he upset anyone he spoke to.

But those days are past, and while that's a good thing in many ways, right now it feels anything but. 

"I-"

"Sorry. I shouldn't be crying," the way you apologize as if you're the one in the wrong stabs right through him. You're the one crying, yet he is being wounded just as much. It's an awful thing, caring. "Just. Just give me a moment…"

Scaramouche hesitates. He's paralyzed, caught up in the idea that anything he does or says may make things worse. But what wins out is the idea of fixing it, fixing things before you give up on him—

"Stop it. You shouldn't be the one saying sorry here. I shouldn't have said that to you, alright? You should know better than to take everything I say so seriously, honestly, I-" he sighs, irritated with himself more than you, before pulling you into his embrace. You don't pull away. Good. Maybe he hasn't entirely fucked things up. "...I didn't mean it. Sorry."

Yae

Yae Miko is not the sort of person who yells during a fight. Or at any time, really. So that hadn't been at all what had happened during your little conflict. 

Rather, her words were pointed to hit where it hurt, an attempt to shut down whatever silly human nonsense you thought was worth causing a riot over. Problems came and went, and most weren't nearly as important as they may seem in the moment. Living many years had led her to this conclusion. She was a busy woman who had little interest in wasting her time arguing. 

...Calculating and perhaps dismissive she may be, but she isn't cold. Yae still very much has a heart, and it skips a beat when she realizes you're nowhere to be found at the usual time she would meet with you after finishing her shrine duties. Surely you weren't that upset over it all, right? 

No, you couldn't be still lingering on the issue hours later… 

Well, you could. Others were far more sensitive to these things, a fact she often forgot. Yae should know better. Isn't she used to highly emotional people, after all? At least your tantrums weren't going to practically destroy the nation…

She finds you at the foot of the mountain, sitting and idly staring into the distance. The tear tracks on your face are all too telling. 

Yae is not above realizing when she has done something wrong. Though she's also not one to openly apologize. She doesn't do much of anything openly. 

"You don't listen to me," you tell her. 

"Well, I'll try to listen more, then. Is that satisfactory?" She offers a hand to you. You wait a moment before taking it, allowing her to pull you up. "Just remember to consider my side of things as well. We can work on it… But let's not linger on this too long. Time is fleeting for mortals like you, hm?"

Kaeya

Kaeya is excellent at one thing - avoidance. In fact, he's been successfully avoiding you ever since your fight a couple of days ago. It's easier to simply wait until you've both cooled off. 

That's what he tells himself. It's certainly not  that the fight made him feel anxious. He's not running away from his problems, of course not.

(He's lying to himself. One wrong word and you'll leave. He knows that. It's bad enough that you had an argument, archons forbid he confronts you and it's the last straw.)

So Kaeya carefully stays out of your way, doesn't speak to you, doesn't let you catch sight of him. He'll have to deal with things eventually, he knows, but… Until then, he's content to keep things this way. Four days in you finally seek him out yourself, looking exhausted and absolutely miserable. 

"Can we- can we stop fighting? You're right, I'm wrong, all that-" He can only watch as you start breaking down in front of him, a cold, sinking feeling of guilt settling in. "...Just stop ignoring me, please?"

His life has been filled with bad decisions - it seems that he's made yet another, by avoiding you so long. Now Kaeya is faced with your tears as you practically beg for his attention. It's quite the opposite of what he intended. He reaches a careful hand to brush them away. "Shh, shh. No more, alright?"

You sniffle, looking up at him. "You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not, sweetheart. I never was. We can talk about it later, okay? Let me make you feel better."

#scaramouche x reader #yae miko x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #story unfolding

[tkaulitzlvr]

SORRY - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you were drinking your sorrows away after yours and tom’s breakup, receiving unwanted attention at the random club you are at, until the last person you expected to see comes to your rescue.

content: angst + smut

a/n: again pulled this out of my ass this is becoming a very common theme LOL. this isn’t what i wanted to post but it’s been a week since i last put anything out so i threw it together, def not my best work and i feel like all i write is angst to smut whoops, hope u all enjoy anyway and thank u for 500 follows!!

the alcohol soon takes over as i down another shot, the liquid burns my throat and only fuels my recklessness. not that i mind, in fact, it is exactly what i need. tonight i don’t want to feel - tired of the everlasting burden of my emotions. i want to be numb, nothing but an empty vessel, letting the alcohol lead the way opposed to my diseased mind. music blares through the speakers, probably loud enough to cause some serious damage to my eardrums. but i don’t know how long i have been at this club for, though it is long enough for my hearing to become accustomed to the thick bass pulsating through my body, no longer wincing whenever i would near the speakers.

intoxicated bodies encircle me whilst i make my way to the centre, some just like me - alone and drinking away their self pity. others dance with their friends, slurred giggles leaving their lips as they sloppily sway their hips to the music, covered in nothing besides their skimpy dresses. those that i envy don’t dance alone, but with a man beside them, hands on their body, faces inches apart. they are able to focus on the one person in front of them, tuning out the hundreds of people surrounding them. but, each person that i see all have one thing in common - they fit in. and i want that too, so bad, instead of feeling so misplaced - that feeling ripe within me, apparent ever since he left.

everyone knew about tom and i’s breakup, hell, how could they not? ‘germany’s biggest heartthrob - tokio hotel guitarist tom kaulitz, parts with model girlfriend after two years!’ - that’s a headline most reporters dream of, christmas having come early for them when the news came out. and it spread like wildfire, his fans - who were particularly notorious for not being entirely fond of tom finding a long term girlfriend - had hit the jackpot. they speculated, some saying that i cheated on him, some insistent on me being too controlling - others even going as far as to say i made him choose between me and the band. but when it came down to it, they were just rumours, plain and simple. no one is aware of the true reasoning behind it - only the two of us knew why we parted.

it was a mutual agreement, yet tom was the one that initiated it. the distance inevitably put between us as a result of him travelling on tours, from continent to continent, state to state, meant that we rarely saw each other, this putting stress on the both of us. i wanted us to work, more than anything, yet the way we drifted apart from each other made it impossible, being with him feeling like a chore as every small disagreement would blow way out of proportion, usually fixed by sex, the cycle repeating for the last few weeks of our relationship, until it reached breaking point. and i didn’t want to be used for my body, though i knew deep down tom loved me for more than that, fixing our problems with physical intimacy was only a temporary solution - leading to us parting ways.

that was one reason for our breakup, however the other was far more serious, and tom wasn’t even aware of it - but i had been speculating for a while. with his frequent travelling, i knew that i wasn’t the only girl in his life. how could i have been? he would go without seeing me for weeks, and whilst he had changed past his womanising ways, it would be stupidly naïve of me to think that he had moved on from that lifestyle completely. or perhaps my mind was tricking me, the loneliness i was often left to increasing the paranoia. though he had never explicitly given me the impression he was cheating, the thought always nagged in my mind, making the breakup slightly easier once he announced that we were no longer working. he promised that he still loved me, that maybe in the future things would work out, but i knew that was just a way to make our separation less bitter.

the constant articles, pictures, videos, and speculations of tom with other women each week lead me to the present, drinking my sorrows away a month after our breakup, wishing that i had never let him go despite agreeing that us parting ways would be the best solution. i was tired too, sick of fighting for a relationship that was no longer there. sometimes it felt utterly one sided, like i was the only one willing to try. tom refused to admit this, reminding me that "i know how much he loves me". however we just didn’t work anymore, his claims of our love like empty spews of desperation, but any words uttered from his beautiful mouth were words of truth to me, until i came to the soul-crushing realisation that he doesn’t adore me the way he did when we first met, all those years ago.

but god, every time i see pictures of him with a girl that isn't me, my heart wrenches at the sight, slowly tearing my insides apart as i recognise letting him go as my deepest regret. and the anger at not only myself, but him for leaving me eats me up, alcohol and temporary fixes being the only thing that can put my ill mind at ease.

but tonight tom isn’t on my mind. i’m desperate, longing for the touch of anyone who will give me the attention. that is why i left the house wearing nothing but a tight black dress that barely passed my mid-thighs. tom would never let me leave the house in such an outfit alone. he was always over-protective over me, loving the idea that I was his and only his. however he had left me, and i don’t care how promiscuous i appear, because admittedly, i am more needy than ever. my body running way ahead of my mind, i move sloppily to the rhythm of the music, feeling two hands grab my waist gently, pulling me into them as i turn around, seeing a tall-ish guy with fluffy blonde hair smirking down me.

he wasn’t tom. he could never be tom. nobody could. not a single person on this earth could even come close to him, could make me feel the way he did, both mentally and physically. right now it doesn’t matter, i don’t care who he is, because, on the surface, he is a male giving me attention, something which i have craved over this last month of loneliness.

"hi there." I utter drunkenly, slurring my words and backing further into him, the alcohol sinking more and more into my system as i no longer care who is dancing with me, this being the first time i have experienced physical touch since tom. and oh god how i’ve missed it. i’m a mess; a desperate, foolish fucking mess. if tom could see me right now, he wouldn’t recognise me. hell, i don't even know who i am anymore - in all honesty i had lost every part of what i thought i was the second he had walked out of the door. somehow, through the alcohol and attractive man behind me, tom is all my mind can focus on - his body the only clear image in there, beyond the fuzziness from the alcohol. i utterly despise the way he has such an effect on me, knowing that he has already gotten over our relationship despite the years we spent together, even before we had started dating, we had been close friends. using all the strength within me, i drown out every thought of him, attempting to enjoy the bitter-sweet freedom and get over him.

"what's your name beautiful?" the mysterious guy shouts over the crowd, tightening his grip on my waist.

"doesn’t matter." i reply. honestly, it didn’t - i probably won’t see this guy ever again, not after fucking him anyway. in any other circumstance, i would be scolding myself for giving myself up so easily, selling myself like some cheap slut. now though, i’m no longer myself, turning to face him, latching my arms around his neck. "what's yours?"

"alex." he responds, clearly not looking to make conversation, his dick appearing to be doing all the talking. "do you wanna get out of here?" he signals to the door, my head nodding eagerly in response, craving for any intimate moment no matter who it is with. part of me convinces myself that i am with tom, that it is him i am leaving the club with, as i would every single time. i imagine that it is him holding me with such adoration, that it is him soothing me in every way possible, yet i know that he is never coming back.

my body pushes its way through the crowd, uttering broken excuse me’s as i walk by, legs becoming weaker by the second as my vision slowly blurs. i soon pick up on the reality of the situation, disgust and shame echoing within me as i realise how fucked up my mind truly is. i am about to have sex with a guy who I have never met before - whether or not tom had broken my heart, i deserved to have morals. the rationality ticking in by the second, i roughly pull out of alex's grasp, his tall frame turning around in confusion.

"i- i have to get to my friends." i lie, totally aware that i came here alone, my words barely audible as my breathing becomes uneven.

"no, come with me, don't be like this baby." he smiles, pulling me along with him, tears soon clouding my vision as the chances of me escaping the situation seem to slip through my fingers before i can gather any sense of what is happening.

"let me go!" i muster all the courage and strength within me and yank my arm away, stumbling backwards into the cold brick wall behind me, the harshness causing me to shiver as i bite the inside of my mouth, praying for something, anything, to take me out of this situation. alex nears towards me, our faces inches apart as he towers over me, my body weak and defenceless against his.

"stop being such a bratty fucking bitch and just come with me-" he begins, grabbing ahold of my arm, only to be pushed to the floor in a matter of seconds, my head looking upwards in confusion to be met with a face i dreaded and longed to see at the same time.

"fuck off!" tom begins, squaring up to alex, who is useless against him, the height difference almost humorous. if i hadn’t been scared for my life seconds prior, i probably would’ve laughed, though the only thing i am truly able to process is the confusion that soon replaces any fear within me. "you ever go near my girl again and i'll break your fucking jaw. you understand, hm?" he shouts, alex smiling to himself and walking away, clearly not looking for a fight, though his cold glare moments ago said otherwise. his girl. i am everything but, closer to being the complete opposite, though i am too startled to consider questioning his words right now.

my body refuses to move, paralysed in utter shock, wondering whether the alcohol is causing me to hallucinate. i hadn’t seen tom since the day i moved out of his house, and now he is standing in front of me. and fuck, he looks good. it doesn’t matter that it has only been a month, somehow he seems to look much better, and undeniably different. his hair, usually a dark shade of blonde, the thick locks tied into a ponytail, adorned with whatever cap matched his outfit, is changed, almost so drastically it is hard to recognise him. instead, jet black braids rest on his shoulders, the colour mirroring his entire outfit - dark and cold. his cap is replaced with a small bandana, fitted securely around his forehead, the silver piercing on his lips now just as dark as his hair, matte black, making the soft shade of pink on his lips stand out even more.

though his new look is certainly a shock, the more daunting realisation comes merely from his presence. he is here - standing inches away from me. i am unable to gauge his next move, his expression still just as harsh as it had been once he had threatened that guy. however, any doubts i have are quickly put to bed, his tensed frame nearing mine, planting a calloused hand on my shoulder before pulling me into a tight hug, his thumb caressing my lower back whilst his other hand rests in my hair. i sob into his chest, failing pathetically to hide my emotions as i cling on to him, my small frame shaking due to the cold berlin weather and my irrational state.

"i’m so sorry." he mutters, resting his head on top of mine. i cannot respond, choking on my tears and unable to do anything but hold onto him as if he may slip away. my vision is slowly blurring, the countless drinks i had making their appearance as i realise how badly i have fucked up by coming here. beyond my intoxicated state, i realise that i don’t want to be this close to tom. i long to scream at the top of my lungs, something about how he made me feel, how fucked up he is, and how much i hate him, but right now i am too shaken to even stand up alone, so i save my breath and prepare to spew my feelings out when i have the energy.

"we need to get you home." he mutters, pulling away after a couple minutes. i stare into his eyes for the first time since we broke up, his immediately filling with hurt once he registers my damaged expression. "god, this is all my fault." he whispers under his breath, guiding me to his car, grabbing his jacket that he always kept in the back for instances like this, knowing that i get cold easily. it brings me some comfort knowing that he kept the jacket there, though it probably means nothing. he places it gently over my shivering frame before climbing into the driver’s side and beginning to drive to my apartment. the house that tom and i shared was in his name, meaning that i insisted on moving out. despite us breaking up, he helped me find a place, a decent sized two bedroom apartment in the heart of berlin. though it wasn't nearly as perfect as our home, it was something, and i am grateful for it.

i face away from him, not willing to forgive him despite my vulnerable state just moments before. no matter how much he protected me just then, i can’t place my trust in him, my heart and mind still wary, the thought of him discarding me for other girls so nonchalantly after we parted fresh in my mind.

"i missed you." he announces into the empty silence, his head turning in my direction whilst i scoff in response. "don't lie to me tom." his words bring anger coursing through my veins the second they utter from his mouth, sobriety soon taking over me as the alcohol quickly wares off. if he missed me, he wouldn't have fucked every girl he has seen this past month, he would have come back, or better yet, he wouldn’t have left me in the first place.

"i'm telling the truth." he begins, hesitantly turning his gaze to meet mine, my eyes filling with tears before i can attempt to collect my composure. "i regret leaving you. i need you to-"

"do you have any fucking idea what you did to me? i haven't been eating, sleeping, you've just seen me almost have sex with a guy i'd barely known for five minutes for gods sake!" i shout, my voice breaking as the tears cascade inevitably down my cheeks, unable to hide my vulnerability in this moment. he winces slightly at the mention of me nearly sleeping with alex, his grip on the wheel increasing whilst his jaw is clenched.

he is hurt. i have known him long enough to be able to distinguish how he is feeling without him saying a word. the pained look on his face almost pleases me, glad to see him guilty over the emotional turmoil he has caused me, because i long for him to grasp even a small segment of how i feel, and my small outburst has definitely achieved that.

"i’m sorry. i never deserved you, now even less than ever. i fucked up, badly. i have no idea how to make it up to you. help me, please schatz. i want to be better, for you." he finishes, pulling into his driveway as the dark grey gates open, revealing the house that i share so many memories in, yet it feels strangely foreign, like i don’t belong here, and i never did.

"sure doesn't seem like it." i begin. "from everything i've seen online you seem to have gotten over me pretty fast. thought you were better than meaningless sex, but i guess not. same old tom." i scoff, shaking my head in disbelief of his empty words.

"what are you talking about? i haven't had sex with anyone. not since you anyway." he fires back, staring into my eyes, and for some reason, i don't think he is lying, the amount of time spent with him across my life meaning i can read him like a book.

"whatever, i don’t have the fucking energy for this. besides, you said you were taking my home. this isn’t my house anymore, incase you fucking forgot.” i state matter-of-factly, not in the mood for continuing this conversation, or even being around him.

"you can barely walk. no way was i leaving you to go home alone. you can spend the night here." he replies assertively, stepping out of the car as i do the same, slamming the door shut in frustration.

"you don't have to protect me tom. we aren't together anymore." i respond bitterly, looking down at the ground, wishing it would swallow me up. his hand gently grazes mine, testing his limits as he attempts to take his hand in mine, to which i quickly refuse, pulling away and looking at him in confusion.

"what are you doing?" i hiss, looking upwards as he puts his hands up, surrendering.

"sorry just, please come inside, you're freezing in that tiny dress." not having the energy to argue, i reluctantly sigh, following him inside, taking in the all too familiar surroundings and immediately reminiscing on all the memories i have here, longing to go back to the time when things weren't so complicated.

"look i-" tom begins, however his words are soon shortened to a stop as i quickly cut him off, lethargic and carrying a lack of effort to argue with him, because i know that no matter how long i let him speak, the conversation will only end badly, turning even more sour than it already is right now.

"i'm tired, please can we talk about this in the morning." i sigh, my head pounding as i groan out in pain, massaging my temples slowly and closing my eyes.

"okay, you take our- my bed and i'll sleep in the guest room. there's some of my hoodies in there for you to sleep in." he responds, a look of defeat evident among his complexion, relief coursing through me as i nod my head, walking up to his bedroom. the countless nights i spent in this room, wrapped in his arms, the countless mornings i woke up to his affection, the countless evenings we shared intimate moments all seem to be lost as i feel a stranger here, almost misplaced without a sense of belonging.

i open the wardrobe, immediately knowing which door has his hoodies from when i would often steal one, something he is used to me doing. i pick out my favourite one. it is simple - a white hoodie with writing printed across its front. to others, it holds little meaning, however even after our breakup, it holds thousands of memories, because it is what he wore when we had our first kiss, and the first piece of clothing he ever gave me, this small act something i won’t ever be able to forget. slipping my dress off and the hoodie over my head, his scent quickly envelops me, providing with all the security i have been longing for, my mind quickly breaking down as tears cloud my vision, my desire to have him holding me taking over as i wish that we would have never parted.

climbing into the soft sheets, i attempt to fall asleep, any element of lethargy in my body fading away as i crave to be in tom’s arms like i have been each time i have laid in this bed. his side is cold and empty, my body shuffling over to it as i snuggle into his pillow, reaching out pathetically to any remnant of him i have left. seconds feel like hours of me thinking of him, wondering if he cares anywhere close to the extent that i do, finding myself longing to take a small look inside his mind, because all i want is his love. the darkness encloses me, silence echoing throughout the empty house and only fuelling my wandering mind. every thought flashes back to him, and i loathe how he can consume my entire being without even being aware of the effect he has on me.

eventually, my eyes begin to droop, almost falling into a somewhat peaceful slumber, however before i can do so, the door creaks open, light from the hallway leaking into the bedroom, before it is cast out seconds later with the soft click of the door closing, footsteps nearing the bed as i feel it dip beside me. my body is afraid to move, instead laying still in confusion until i feel a single hand brush against my shoulder, causing me to whip my head around, tom’s eyes gazing into mine.

‘i can't do it." he mutters, scanning my eyes with his own, only the seas of brown are filled with sorrow, slightly distinguishable through the darkness.

as much as i want to tell him to leave, to scold him for disturbing me when i was finally close to falling asleep, i simply can’t. i am compelled to him, silently thanking his impulsiveness and finding myself pleading for us to work things out.

"can't do what?" i respond, laying on my side and facing him, our bodies at each side of the bed as he is slightly reluctant to push my boundaries.

"live without you, i can't do it. i need you." he replies, slowly reaching his hand out until it meets mine, his fingers clasping mine in the centre of the bed, this small act of physical affection being the only thing that binds us together, yet it is more than enough.

"you broke me tom." i whisper, blinking away the tears as i refuse to cry again, tired of being so vulnerable around him. “do you realise that?”

"i know, and i’m so sorry schatz. i’ll never be able to make that up to you. but i want to try, can you let me do that? please baby." his body slowly nears mine, until our faces are inches apart. he removes his hand from mine, my face falling in disappointment, however this quickly turns into curiosity as it moves only to reach up and caress my cheek, wiping the single tear that had fallen with his thumb. i wither helplessly into his touch, feeling completely and utterly trapped within his affection. i am bound to him, left hopeless and attached. no matter how much i try fight, it is useless, my body and my mind is unable to function without him.

"it’s only you schatz." he mutters, his face nearing mine as he captures my lips in a sweet kiss, the first one we have shared in over a month. the way his lips fit so perfectly with mine, their softness contrasting with the harshness he showed me all those weeks ago, makes me wonder how i managed to live without this feeling all this time. he is a drug, his kisses addictive as i find myself longing for more, desperate to make up for the lost intimacy as a result of our separation.

"i love you." he whispers against my lips, reattaching them almost immediately with even more desire than before, sealing every unspoken apology in the most beautiful way possible. the darkness between us is a barrier, preventing my vision from witnessing the man above me. tom reaches quickly to flip the bedside lamp on, faded yellow light leaking dimly around the room, illuminating his features as i can finally see every part of him. and oh god, is he perfect. his lips plump and parted, tinted with a rosy shade of pink, adorned with that same piercing that drives me crazy each and every time, tired and shaky breaths erupting from them whilst i stare into his eyes, deep pools of brown that i could get lost in if i look for too long.

his body. crafted by god himself - concrete proof that he really does have favourites. each inch of skin soft and sheen, resembling silk itself whilst my fingers slowly trail down it, melting into the pale surface , past his chest to his chiselled abs, gently grazing the muscle and refusing to break eye contact. my hand creeps lower and lower, tom becoming increasingly flustered until they reach the waistband of his boxers. at an agonisingly slow pace, my finger slips inside, fiddling with the waistband whilst touching the skin there, refusing to move my hand any lower whilst i take in tom’s expression. his eyes are flickering between being fully closed and half-lidded, barely noticeable wrinkles lining his forehead as his eyebrows knit together, lips parted with shaky breaths uttering from them, the cold air fanning onto my face, heavy against his warm kiss.

"fuck- please don't tease." he whispers, resting his forehead against mine and beginning to slowly kiss my lips once again, my body feeling full again as i soon realise how much i missed this feeling. complying with his plea, my hand slips further into his boxers, a choked breath muffling into my mouth as i begin to gently move my hand up and down. he struggles to kiss back, soft moans escaping from his lips and mixing into mine in the most delightful way possible as i pick up the pace.

"oh my god..." he trails off, his voice vibrating into the soft skin below my ear once his head falls just below it, my movements not slowing, the slight whines emitting from his mouth pushing me further, desperate to please him. the fast and sloppy kisses being placed onto my neck soon slow down, giving me the signal that he is close. he clutches onto my waist, his fingers running up and down whilst his legs slightly tremble, his release taking over as he lets out a loud groan, a string of curses following until he slips his boxers off, regaining his composure and climbing fully on top of me.

our faces are inches apart, my ragged breathing echoing my desperation to feel him inside me, because it has been so long since i have experienced the feeling, and it is like no other. his thumb runs along my lips, pulling the bottom one downward slowly and releasing it, before moving his head to the nape of my neck, placing slow and gentle kisses.

"you have no idea what i want to do to you schatz." he mutters against my skin, nipping at it gently, these words alone almost being enough to let go, to lose any remnant of composure i have and allow him to take me right there and then. his calloused hands reach for the large hoodie draped over my frame, pulling it over my head as i am almost completely naked, my underwear being the only barrier between us and exercising those silent promises of our love on the tips of our tongues.

"so perfect." he whispers, caressing my cheek lightly. pressing himself against me, his hand reaches to caress my now exposed breast, kissing and biting at any skin he can get access to, inaudible spews of satisfaction swallowing the silence surrounding us, my hands pushing his head further downwards ever so slightly, savouring the pleasure and wishing it would last forever. he slowly pulls away, maintaining eye contact as he reaches for my panties, swiftly tugging them downward and discarding them somewhere across the room, like the rest of our clothing.

skin to skin, the warm and bare air a mirror to our nakedness, we kiss with such hunger, such desire that our need for each other is palpable, so strong that i swear if i tried, i could feel it. because he is that love, his body living and breathing evidence that this love is real, not something that can only be felt inside, though the fire that his touch ignites within me is one that will burn forever, as long as he vows to supply the heat that is his affection. my hands clutch onto his back, his roaming my waist and pushing our hips into each other, ragged breaths echoing throughout the room as i find myself becoming too impatient. although part of me wants to savour this moment as it is our first special one in over a month, one part of me, the more irrational side, wants him to ruin me, wants him to claim me as his own and do whatever his heart desires. i am his to destroy, because if it means that i can be with him for eternity, then i am willing to do anything.

"tom…i need you." i whisper helplessly against his lips, no longer able to mask my hunger.

he places one final kiss to my lips, stroking my hair gently and positioning himself to my entrance. my eyes squeeze shut in anticipation, relishing this feeling and preparing for the intense pleasure that i have been so empty without.

“then i’m all yours.” he speaks softly, sliding into me slowly before i am able to repeat my desperate plea. because if i tried, i know that my speech would be inaudible, struggling to breathe at the feeling of him filling me up.

unaccustomed to his size, or any dick for the last month, i wince in pain before he is even halfway in, gripping his bicep and giving him the signal to stop. "wait a minute." i state breathlessly, biting down on my lip as he stops his motion, gently stroking my cheek with his palm and awaiting my permission to carry on. feeling him stretch my walls fills the hole within me, once hollow and empty, however the pain takes longer to subside, tom slowly biting and kissing the sensitive skin on my jaw whilst he waits.

"c’mon baby, you can take it." he mumbles against me, the raspiness within his voice vibrating up my spine, motivating me to tune out the pain and allow him to pleasure me. "okay." i whisper, pleasure soon starting to take over as he moves into me, stopping and throwing his head back as he bottoms out, his tip hitting my g-spot perfectly, this being enough for me to cry out, my screams echoing throughout the room, the air thick with passion. his eyes are screwed shut, sweat lining along his forehead, his breathing ragged and uneven, yet he only increases his stamina, picking my leg up and placing it over his shoulder.

the new angle sends me into euphoria, my vision turning white as i can do nothing but scream his name, my fingers raking down his back. he memorises the way he hits my g-spot, doing it over and over again, bringing me closer to my release, yet i can tell he is not there yet, prompting me to hold it so i can share my high with him.

"fuck me..." his voice trails off, his eyebrows furrowing as he savours the pleasure. my legs wrap around his waist, bringing him closer inwards, if that is physically possible. somehow he is still going, not showing any signs of lethargy. he is desperate to meet his release, hips snapping against mine with such intensity, his head buried in the crook of my neck, the incoherent groans escaping from his mouth fanning over the bare skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"tom i'm so close!" i moan, knowing that i will not last much longer. i do not know if it is the absence of sexual intimacy in my life recently, or my intense desire for him, but this time around, my ability to contain myself is long gone.

"i know baby, i know..." he sighs out, the feeling him twitching inside of me silently letting me know that he is almost there too. "just hold it for me." overstimulation soon takes over, the feeling of him moving in and out of me providing me with such overwhelming pleasure that my mouth gapes open, no sound escaping as i am utterly speechless, drunk on the sensation and a complete mess beneath him. i could cry at the feeling, on the verge of tears with each stroke, wondering how this moment is reality, seeming entirely too good to be true.

"okay baby, let go." he breathes out, his voice shaky as it is soon cut off with a choked moan, his load shooting into me as mine soon follows. i swear i can see stars, my eyes not able to stay still, my whole body the same as it trembles uncontrollably, tom’s slow and steady thrusts sending me into oblivion as he rides out our highs, his lips hovering over mine. "oh my god" is all he can say, still inside me, his mouth eventually moulding with mine, the kiss filled with so much energy despite the amount of stamina that was used just seconds before.

i am not done yet, my body feeling like it has just started as i have the motivation to go one thousands times over, addicted to the way he feels. "let me be on top." i mutter against his lips, the pillowy skin battling to try continue kissing me. in one swift motion, he flips us over, moving upwards so that his back is resting against the headboard, his hands placed steadily on my waist whilst i sit on top of him. i waste no time, hovering over him and sliding downwards, letting him fill me up and sighing loudly as i do, tom tightening his hold on me and muttering a slow ‘jesus christ’, his voice low, words as sweet as honey as they sound from the back of his throat.

pressing open mouthed kisses against my jaw, neck, collarbone, anywhere he is able to access, he groans out in pleasure, his hands remaining steadily on my hips whilst i easily maintain my rhythm. with a slight change in the movement of my hips, his tip presses against my g-spot, the friction causing me to cry out, him doing the same as his head falls backwards, eyes squeezing shut, savouring the ecstasy. my hands lay flat against his chest, watching it heave up and down with each unsteady breath he takes, his muscles flexing with each squeeze of my waist, this only encouraging me to go further, the sight of him being pleasured by me almost pushing me to my release alone.

the feeling so good i question whether i have reached heaven itself, though my actions won’t get me anywhere near, my mind wanders how i survived for so long without him, without his dick inside me, without his hands on mine - because right now he is my oxygen, my sole purpose. i can barely catch my breath, my legs shaking uncontrollably whilst my hips circle around his, feeling every inch of him inside of me. my body leans forward, skin to skin, as i bite down on his shoulder, becoming increasingly tired, however i am so desperate for my release that i continue my slow and lethargic movements.

tom is quick to pick up on my change in speed, grabbing my hips once again and angling himself correctly, before thrusting into me from below, the sudden pressure causing a throaty moan to escape from my swollen lips.

"fuck…missed this, missed you so much baby." he mutters, his whole body tensing for a second whilst he begins to twitch inside of me.

"i’m close." he groans, meeting my lips in a sloppy kiss before i can respond. i don’t even bother trying to hold it, instead allowing my release to take over me, my vision turning white as i cling onto tom’s shoulders, my head buried in the crook of his neck, crying out in pleasure as it is so intense i almost feel myself slip away. his release soon follows, mouth gaping open, eyebrows furrowing and sweat glistening his chiselled frame, outlining his muscle in the most attractive way possible. he still strokes in and out of me slowly, his hands wrapped around my small frame, no space between us. my breathing ragged, hair a mess and body trembling, i pull away from his shoulder to look into his eyes, pressing my forehead against his as i can do nothing but admire him.

“shit- i love you so much." he manages to breathe out, moving a few stray hairs from my face and planting a last kiss on my forehead, slowly pulling out of me, the loss of contact making me whine slightly as i cling onto him, afraid of losing him ever again.

"i love you too." i respond, certainty uttering from every word as i find myself more in love with him, the best sex we have ever had replaying over and over again in my memory, our naked bodies pressed together.

"i promise you, i never slept with anyone else. i never even kissed another girl. i couldn't, it wouldn't have been right, not when you were the only person on my mind." he speaks slowly yet firmly after a few seconds of peaceful silence, pulling my body further onto his as he rests his forehead against mine, stroking my hair gently.

i move my head upwards, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "why not? there's so many girls that you could've had. what was stopping you?" i ask, lacing my hand with his and beginning to play with his fingers, the skin soft and smooth.

"the fact that they weren't you." he responds, gently lifting my chin upwards with his pointer finger, tenderly running his thumb along my cheek. "i never got over you. i hope you know that."

deciding that actions speak louder than words in this instance, i place my lips on his, sealing our love with a sweet kiss as he instantly kisses back, laying downwards flat against the bed whilst i am still on top of him. i slowly pull away, my entire body aching, eyes fluttering shut as a tired yawn escapes from my mouth. tom reaches over to turn the lamp off, laying down beside me and opening his arms out, my head resting on his chest, his thumb running comfortingly up and down my arm. "goodnight meine liebe." he whispers, my throat sore from our rendezvous, so i place a quick kiss on his chest in response, my eyes falling shut as sleep takes me. our legs entangled, bodies together, heartbeats aligned, i feel him now more than ever. not just physically, but i feel him mentally, spiritually, our mind and being merged together as one.

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[littlemspeachy]

Crazy To Love You

(Feyd x Reader)

Summary: You hated him. You hated his planet. You were the sun and the stars. Of warmth and gold. Yet, for some reason, you do find black appealing.

Note: While this is a reader insert, there are mentions of brown skin, but other than that, it's fairly neutral

Warnings: 18+ content near the end but nothing explicit, mentions of blood and use of the word whore.

Word Count: 2.35K

Part II

---------

Everyone said there was something complex about him. About the man you were about to marry. In her opinion, there was nothing complex about the man. He was easy to figure out and it didn't take a shrink to realize that. He was violent and cold. Obsessed with blood and the cries of a man he knew he was about to kill. 

He was nothing special and yet here you were getting ready to get sent away.

"You are to marry him." Lady Jessica coolly responded while she watched your maids put the finishing jewelry into your hair and bodice. 

You stared at her from the reflection of your vanity mirror. 

"You don't get better than this. You're a daughter of your fathers' whore-" She started angrily. 

"Get out of my head. The least you could do is that." You snapped before the Reverend Mother walked through the door. 

"I don't understand how you managed to raise such a disobedient child," The older woman dragged. 

"And child I don't understand how you could be so stupid." She said smacking you on the back of your head. 

You sighed and stared at yourself in the mirror before applying lining your lips with a soft brown and filling the rest of the empty space with a dark red. And no, you weren't stupid to not know what was going on. Lady Jessica messed up and bore a son and so in the eyes of the Reverend Mother, you were the best choice. You were still of the Duke's blood and by marrying the na-baron and producing an heir you would bring the houses together and create a perfect union. You knew this, you knew this ever since you came of age. You knew it more and more in every etiquette lesson. 

Raised like cattle for slaughter. Or not slaughter but more so for breeding. 

 A knock on your chambers broke you from your thought process, you looked to your door to see your brother peek into the room. 

"He's here." 

You sent the young man a small smile before standing and heading out with Lady Jessica and the Reverend. 

Your ladies-in-waiting walked silently behind you with your luggage in hand. They too knew of the rumors of the man you were bound to marry. The grotesque nature of his uncle and family. 

The warmth of the sun warmed your skin, but it didn't seem to reach past it. You had known these halls all your life. Stared at the paintings and art that decorated the walls. You'll miss the yellow of the sun that allowed your brown to become even richer in the warmer months. 

When you were younger your nursed like to joke that if there were goddesses you had to have been the child of the sun. Unfortunately, today proved that no such being existed because why would she curse her child to a polluted waste land with a sun as black as night. 

They arrived at large doors to the negotiation room. Guards of both families lining the walls. You followed the two older women into the room while your ladies-in-waiting stayed outside. 

 You sat next to Paul and across from your husband to be. 

Feyd was... Not stunned no. Not amused either. He had heard about you as a child and adolescent and even met you at some point in those years. Yet here he was, intrigued. You looked almost entirely out of place and in place at the same time. He could tell you were strong willed, but then again, any man in the room could tell that. 

You sat with your back straight and head high. Your eye's moved to each person as they spoke. 

As much as he would never admit it. You were beautiful. Not seductive, not sensual. You were beautiful. You're skin complimentary to the gold in your hair and the gold threads in your bodice. Your skin shined in the lazy afternoon sun. Your lips plump and decorated in red. You were stunning. 

"Then it is settled. You two will be wed by the next full moon," Feyds uncle rasped, a greedy smile upon his lips while he stared at you intently. 

"Come it is getting late and we must make our way back. Have her maids put her items on our ship. There's to be a solar disturbance. And I don't want to be here longer than I need to, this heat is starting to annoy me." 

You swallowed intensely. "No." 

All eyes snapped to you. Feyd tilted his head slightly to the side in curiosity. 'A fighter' he mused. This should be interested. 

"I have never been Giedi Prime, and since I am to be married in a week, I would like my family to join me, a proper wedding, and an introduction to your culture and customs. There is more than enough time to organize my request." You stared at the two leading men at the table. Inside you were shaking and fearing the worse. While you still had enough status to marry into a High Family, it didn't take away the fact that you were born out of wedlock. But fortunately, your voice stayed strong and didn't betray your nerves. 

Lady Jessica started to open her mouth to reprimand her but was cut off by laughter. Well, it was more of a bark but humor present, nonetheless. 

"I agree to your terms, child." Feyd's uncle said staring at you.

"I do not understand." Lady Jessica muttered staring at you in horror. 

"This will either be the greatest match in all the high families. Or the worst thing to come from your House." 

You bite the inside of your cheek, jaw flaring. The handshakes and contracts were signed. 

You walked silently and quickly to the informal meeting place of your home. Maids scrambling to get other items for your family and to leave promptly. Lady Jessica hot on your tail and delivered a quick slap to your face when you turned around. 

"How dare you embarrass us like this." 

"Not to intrude on family... matters... But as she is my bride, I'd prefer if you don't leave marks on her. That should be my job soon enough." A voice said boredly. 

She whipped her head to look behind her and stared at the pale man behind her. Before gritting her teeth, giving a small curtsy and walking out quickly. 

"It's impolite for us to be together without a chaperone." You stated. Eyes following his every move. You didn't trust him. How could you? He was a bloody murder, that craved blood and bones. You would consider him uncivilized if it wasn't for the fact that he came from a royal bloodline. 

"Hmm, you see something you like?" 

You squeezed your dress in your hand to stop you from being annoyed and rolling your eyes.

"You know I heard you were sweet. Demure. But you seem to like a fight." 

"A fight that was not, my lord. Just a request. I am to be whisked away to a place where I am nobody and have no rights outside of you. So yes, requesting my family and have a civil wedding, is the most basic request." 

He gave you a smirk. Him slowly getting close to you, almost like a snake. "You sure are mouthy, I hope it's the same on our wedding night." He whispered, closely to your ear. 

His hot breath sending a chill up your spine. You watched him walk past you to the window. He was incredibly pale and hairless. No blemish or scar in sight. Was that genetics or cosmetic you would never know. How dark was it on his planet to make someone so pale? Paul was pale, but his skin warmed and tanned during the warmer months.

You glowed in the sun; you understood the sun. The sun gave light, it gave colors. A black sun... Would strip things of light. Nothing exists in a sun like that. 

The reality of your situation started to bare its weight on your shoulders. You knew why they needed the marriage to work, you knew why you needed to produce an heir. It would create an alliance forged in blood, it would tie your two kingdoms together and prevented them from going to war. It would protect your kingdoms economy and exports. But why a place so cold in dark. How were you to live? To raise a child or children. How were you going to raise your children. With dreams and fantasies of a kingdom they'll never know. Shall they become their father? Murderous and craving madness and death? 

You let in a deep breath, to help settle you. You were to be married and have a child. That's it. You were raised to do so and do it you will. Nothing more, nothing less. 

"We are ready for departure your majesties." A voice rang through the room.

You nodded at the man before taking a look back at Feyd and realizing that he's been staring at you the whole time. 

The next few days were spent learning about their "castle", which in your opinion was a bland fortress meant to keep people out and in.  The days were spent watching bloody sparring matches in preparation for his big fight and preparing for the wedding. 

Skin was cleaned and body was scrubbed clean. Herbs and foods to increase fertility feed three times a day. Lessons on how to "please a man" in way too much detail. Nothing like what you expected your wedding day to look like. When you were younger you imagined white dresses and days of getting to know your soon to be husband by the waves. Intimate and flushed glances at each other over dinner. Excitement and butterflies. And all there was to greet you was darkness. Black suns and pale heads greeted you at every corner. You prayed your child you look more like you. Or at least a mix. 

 You woke up to the sound of your sun alarm. You're glad you brought it with you. It imitated actual sun light and reminded you of home and warmth. You cuddled back into the pillows when you realized your maids weren't there. Breakfast and a long intensive bath could wait. You hardly did anything and yet had intensive baths every morning and night. After five days you were surprised, you had any skin left. 

Feyd watched you silently doze off again, perched away in a corned you have not seem to realize. He chuckled lightly at the last time you fully conversed. 'Not polite.' What he was going to do in one days' time wouldn't be very polite to her parents either. 

He watched you as you walked softly to the vanity you had set up in your room. It was simply a desk and a small mirror, but it worked for what it was. For what you had access too. 

You hummed lightly to yourself as you took your scarf off your head and took out the rollers. The maids given to you had no idea what they were doing when it came to your hair. It was the last thing that you had for yourself... Only yourself. 

Feyd walked over silently, almost leaning down to your ear whipping backwards and grabbing your wrist. 

No words were said, outside of the sound of heavy breathing. 

The two of you stared intensely at each other before the man's eyes wondered over to the knife in your hand. Sharp and ready to sink into the next victim. 

He raised what you assumed would've been a brow if he wasn't hairless. 

"Did you intend to kill me." 

"It didn't matter if it was you. The knife was intended for whomever decided to get that close to me without out announcing themselves." You spat. 

He smirked at you, "So you do know how to take care of yourself."

"My father didn't raise a stupid damsel."

"Very clearly he didn't." 

You two stared at each other before he went and bite your collarbone. A guttural groan coming from his throat as he smelt your rose body oils from the night before. 

You gasped, shocked, your hand dropping the knife and your body arching towards his. A surprising mix of sharp pain and pleasure dancing through your body to your fingertips. 

"I thought you hated me?" He whispered grabbing your chin and forcing you to keep eye contact. 

Truth be told as much as you hated his home, his planet, the whole preparation of practically being wedded purely for alliance reasons. You got used to the idea of being his. 

He was smart and quick on his feet. Intelligent and willing to amuse your intellectual ideas. He let you fight him and berate him when you were alone. He guarded you and defended you. And he was taken with you the moment he met you. Many women were raised to be obedient, silent, and just take what was given to them. If he was going to become the Baron one day he'd need a woman that was going to raise his children to be strong. Your union was perfect, anything that he lacked you had. 

"I hate you invading my space. If you wanted to come you could've asked or at least told me." You stated. A terrible and needy heat starting to fill your body. 

He smirked at you before crashing your lips together. Teeth and tongue clashing in a battle of dominance. His hands threading through your hair and yours finally getting the relief of feeling his body. 

You broke away to breath, head being lifted by the upwards pull of your hair. 

"I would love to continue this but, this is impolite, remember." He said breathlessly, backing up slowly. 

You stared back at him. Becoming painfully aware of the want in your core and the electricity running through your body needing release. 

"Fuck you." 

Feyd laughed at your temper tantrum before leaving your room and leaving you to deal with the mess he started. 

#fanfic #dune x reader #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x you #black reader

[no-saints-around-here]

Quiet Afternoon

Yandere BFF Bonten Rindo & Bimbo!Reader

Masterlist

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a little nsfw spinoff from my BFF Rindo series, starting here, masterlist here! not necessary to read but it'll provide some context imo

tw: yandere, smut, dubcon, sexual assault, double pen, afab reader, dead dove do not eat

The muffled clap of skin meeting skin echoed through the opulently decorated bedroom, though calling the enormous space a bedroom was generously stretching the term to its limit. Tastefully decked out in dark-toned hardwoods and the occasional flourish of gold and silver, the priceless masterpieces that decorated the walls and corner of the room as if spoils of wars were barely visible in the dim light, polished frames and shined metal unable to shimmer in the dull ambient glow of the intricate chandelier that hung above the bed. Yet despite all the glitters and glamor that shared the space, it was only the four-poster bed that received any ounce of the spotlight - or more so you, ever so elegantly posed naked on your fours above less sparsely-dressed yet obviously fuming Rindo.

“What the fuck-” The words were hissed through gritted teeth as he harshly thursted himself upwards. “Did I say about talking to the others? Huh?!” You only huffed, unable to even catch your breath as strong arms simultaneously forced you backwards and onto him, his hips meeting the flesh of your buttocks with a wet slap as the Bonten executive plunged his entire length into you.

You, however, barely seemed to notice your self-proclaimed best friend’s foul mood as he pounded himself into you, the pleasure overwhelming any coherent thought that might have been left in that empty head of yours. Angelic voice that once could transfix and mesmerize crowds now reduced to mere huffing and wheezing, your doe-like eyes rolled backwards as he grinded his cock harshly against that one soft, spongy spot of your inner wall. Rindo was sure that the only thing keeping you up was his strength; the same strength that had kept you safe from the big bad world since you wore him down into friendship in childhood. But it was precisely this fact that had the well-feared mobster pissed off enough to tip his hand and break the sole unspoken rule he had held himself to for all these years to punish you.

Even after so long and what could be considered a forcibly short but successful stint as an idol, you still had barely a brain cell to share between both halves of your head, still couldn’t even follow a single simple instruction that he was sure he had drilled into you countless times. 

It was just a routine job, no more than a few hours to be spent apart from you. His orders were easy and direct as they always were when it came to you: forbidding you from leaving the room until he was back, to keep the door locked at all times, and to not breathe a word to any of the other Bonten members except in an absolute emergency. Straightforward enough, yet where did he find you upon his return from his exhausting mission? Not in your shared room, no; he found you instead mesmerized by Koko, that slick, stingy motherfucker trying to brainwash you into selling nudes. Convincing you that he, Rindo, your best friend in the entire world, wouldn’t mind in the slightest since there was money to be made, and that Koko had buyers - dedicated, obsessed and very, very wealthy fans still reeling from your sudden retirement from the industry - lined up that would shell out a bomb for just a mere teasing shot in your panties. 

Lies. You should know better than to think those honeyed words were nothing but lies. Because you were his and only his, and as your friend and sole protector, he would happily kill every last person who dared to lay such vulgar eyes on you.

“Why were you with Koko? What else did he say?” The younger of the Haitanis demanded, gloved grip tightening ever so slightly around your hips.

Despite the strong air-conditioning going at full blast and having done so for the past couple of hours, the prominent beads of sweat that clung to your forehead gleamed softly as if crystals clung to your skin as you panted, gasping to catch your next breath. A complete opposite from his own state. Rindo didn’t feel the slightest bit winded from this post-work workout despite being mostly clad in his combat outfit: the bulletproof vest paired with a simple black shirt and tie only missing a similarly colored pair of pants, with said clothing having long been stripped off and hurriedly discarded. Though more irritating was having to watch the dirt and grime and filthy blood of the outside world being rubbed off onto your bare skin - he’ll have to make sure that you got an extra thorough bath later. God only knows what kind of sickness you could catch.

You, however, remained unresponsive to Rindo’s demands except the occasional whuff and sharp exhale, lost in the pleasure rippling through your body from the valley between your legs. 

Finally pulling himself out from his spiraling thoughts, the Bonten executive paused in his movements, sharp violet eyes narrowing at your failure to respond as he left himself half submerged in your folds. “Are you even listening?” He snarled, accompanied with another strong thrust that earned him a throaty gasp from you before stopping once more.

Rindo’s only answer was your struggle against his hold in a vain attempt to regain the sudden loss of friction. “Ah-ahh Rin-rin,” you whined, pleaded, as you desperately tried to regain the momentum that sparked pleasure in your abdomen, though your attempt to grind against him was in vain. "I really tr-ied!"

He already did so much for you - the tattoo on the front of his neck that branded him as Bonten was all for you. Who better to protect you from rabid world who would tear you apart without hesitation than the largest criminal organization in Japan? All those tortured souls, those eyes that he stared straight into before ending their life, all the blood that stained his hands. Rindo did it to keep you safe, to keep you by his side. And this was how you repaid your best friend? “You didn’t try hard enough.”

Countless men he had killed who had tried to take you away, who had tried to steal away your heart, who had tried to get you to notice them. And countless more he will kill - strangers, Bonten employees, former fans. He would kill them all for you. But even now, Rindo couldn’t quite muster himself to get genuinely angry at you. Even after you betrayed his trust, it was pretty much what Rindo had expected - you had always been quite the airhead, which was why you depended on him, why he, your best friend, had to care for you and look after you.

He’ll punish you for this transgression all right, but not too much; the thought of you fearing him, leaving him, sent shivers down his spine. Just a little bit wouldn’t hurt to keep you in line.

‎

‎

Sure, Ran might have been strolling down Executive Row with the precise intention of poking his nose into his younger brother’s business, especially after the juicy rumors swirling as to what went down a couple of hours earlier with Koko. Now clean and dressed in a fresh set of shirt and shorts, this part of Bonten HQ was predictably void of souls - no servant would dare be caught loitering where the bosses lived. But being able to hear your harmonious voice whining from the corridor for all to hear? Even he didn’t expect something so bold from Rindo, not when the latter had a custom-made soundproof bedroom door installed the day he moved in. And sure enough, the thick, heavy padded steel door was slightly ajar, an oddity in the otherwise lifeless hallway neatly lined with an alternating pattern of invaluable treasures and rightly shut doors - Rindo must have been in a mighty hurry if he failed to do something so routine.

The rare and untimely creak of the usually well-oiled door fortunately failed to draw any attention, Ran noted, and the full view of your naked backside mooning him from the entrance quickly made it clear what his dear brother was occupied with. He remembered you well not only from your shared childhood in the Haitani household, but more recently from your time on the stage, those captivating melodies that you belted out without a second thought roaring up to the front of his mind once more. No doubt he still hears them from time to time on the air, but having had the opportunity to listen to you in person once, it was clear why you had rocketed to stardom. But ah Rindo - he kept you close to his side all this time. Negotiating with Mikey just to let him have you, he was always so obsessed with you, baring his teeth at any of the other executives that dared to even glance your way, let alone allowing you anywhere close to rabid fans eager for a piece of you. He even hides his fucking gun from you. No wonder he forced you to retire from stardom.

For a moment, Ran stood watching the two of you from the doorway. Rindo was frustrated at whatever sin it was that you had committed, and this was his idea of a “punishment”, yet that baby boy nestled amidst the luxurious fabrics was still so obviously, painfully gentle. The way he was edging you so carefully, glancing up at your face every other second just to make sure you weren’t actually hurting, still giving you the occasional pump so that you weren’t left completely high and dry; what else was there to say? Ran was nowhere this kind even to his favorite private whores. The smell of sex filled every breath he took as the cool air leaked out from the bedroom and into the otherwise empty passage, before the man finally turned to gently close the door behind him, locking it shut. A smell he was no stranger to, and while he was sure Rindo would maybe be okay if it was just him, but he would definitely be pissed if any of the others ever saw you in your current state. Pissed enough to end them with a clean gunshot to the head probably, and Ran shuddered at the possibility of having to bail Rindo out from Mikey’s wrath.

A soft chime ringing out from an unseen clock was like the starting bell of a fight, and it was a smirk that pulled at Ran’s lips as he padded over to the centerpiece of the room. Time to make this little session a proper punishment - he did have a heart after all, and if it did help Rindo keep you more in line, then fantastic

Your self-proclaimed best friend only took note of the unwelcome intruder when the nightstand drawer was pulled open, and in an instance, that look of mock anger (Ran was certain it was all just a bluff) fell away into horror as their eyes met. “What the fuck-“ Rindo stammered, the gears in his head seemingly coming to a grinding halt. You at least had enough awareness left in you to let out an eep at the sudden introduction of another voice, though you quickly settled back down as Rindo’s arms tightened protectively around you; maybe you assumed that all this was Rindo’s idea? Ran wouldn’t be surprised - your airhead already relied so heavily on the other to guide you through life.

“You left the door open. So I invited myself in.” The older of the two helpfully supplemented, signature lazy grin plastered all over his face as he rummaged for a little before pulling out a small tube.

“Get out!”

“Aww Rin-Rin, why’re you being so mean?” Ran teased as he slid onto the plush bed, comfy blankets that usually swaddled you and your delicate skin puffing up under his bony self as the man made his way across the enormous mattress. “I’m just here to help.”

“Don’t you dare touch her,” swore Rindo, the previous anger that had melted away from his face just minutes ago flaring up once more, cheeks reddening as he glared down Ran. “I’ll fucking kill you, I swear.”

But the fighting words barely bothered the older Haitani, more than used to his brother’s all bark and no bite when it came to actually making a move in front of you. “You want to punish her, don’t ya?” Drawled Ran, as he finally reached you. You jumped when cold hands touched your cheeks, spreading them apart with a critical eye as if appreciating a feast. “Doesn’t seem like it with what you’re doing.” 

Ignoring the continuously growing threats that Rindo was growling at him from the bed, Ran instead busied himself making a show of squeezing out what was revealed to be lube from the small tube and generously coating his fingers. The shiny liquid seemingly glimmered under the light of the chandelier against the backdrop of your equally glittery skin, his anticipation of what was to come shortly quickly leading to a tent in his shorts. After all, desire for something was directly proportional to how off-limits it was, and you had been off-limits to him since Rindo first brought you home. He couldn’t wait. Casually pushed two slicked digits into your tight pucker, giving it a few lazy pumps in what seemed like an attempt to loosen and oil your bottom up for him, his impatience got the better of him, and the Bonten executive gave up all pretense. Hurriedly pushing down the band of his shirts and pulling out his already hard dick, you weren’t given a warning other than the light touch of his length as Ran lined himself up. 

Your eyes popped open the same time that his head was forced past your ring of muscles, and your nose scrunched, an unmistakable sign of the flaring pain from between your legs. And the struggles started right after as you made a valiant attempt to free yourself from Rindo’s arms, the beads of sweat that clung to your hair holding on for dear life as you tried to wriggle away. “Ri-Rin, it hurts…”

But Ran was already lost to the warm heaven he, like an explorer stumbling upon the entrance to nirvana, had discovered within your wriggling body.  “Oh- oh f-fuck,” was all the man could moan as his length sank in slowly and surely, the feeling of your newly opened bottom clutching and squeezing around his dick pure ecstasy, his mind almost liquid mush. Was this heaven what Rindo had been hiding from him all these years? Probably not, the executive floatingly mused to himself, as he pushed himself further inwards, given how deep in denial his younger brother was when it came to his relationship with you. 

Your backdoor was miles better than any whore he had taken, in a league of your own, and that was putting it lightly - the warmth of your insides around him, combined with your muffled pained whines almost enough for the older Haitani to cum instantly if he had an ounce lesser of self-control. Sex might not have been Rindo’s top priority for keeping you out of the public’s eye and away from the rest of the Bonten executives, but god it should be - Ran would have been happy to pay an unimaginable number of zeros just for access to you..

Even Rindo let out a deep throated groan at the additional friction, before he caught himself and bit it back. Yet it was clear that you were stretched beyond your limit, the double penetration visibly causing strain between your legs, your thighs spasming with effort as you bit down hard on your lips, tears welling in those doe eyes of yours.

Slender fingers reaching down to gingerly touch at where you and Rindo were joined, the light exploratory brushes of his fingertips only serve to intensify your discomfort, as judged from the whimper that escaped your lips. Ran whistled - if that was enough to hurt…. That too failed to stop the smugly grinning executive, the older Haitani never ceasing as he continued to force his way past muscles that failed to keep him out, until he finally bottomed out in you, his balls slapping with enough force to let out an audible squelch. A pause, a temporary mercy to let you adjust to his size alongside Rindo’s, but more for Ran to admire the new expression that tore at your face.

An agonized grimace, a bleed of blood that adorned your plush lips, the idol that captured hearts was lost in the sea of pain he was putting you through. There was something beautiful about it, Ran admitted, as he ran one hand through your sweat-drenched hair, teasingly tracing light patterns into your back - he doubt there were many people who had ever seen this side of you, and it was a privilege he would treasure. The lust came flooding back as your tears fell, and Ran couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to the back of your head before straightening.

“Move Rindo,” Ran grunted, as he started to grind his cock against your walls, pulling out slightly before slamming himself back in. “Move, dammit.”

‎

‎

“Fucking hell Ran, you’re hurting her!” In a bid to dislodge the other from you, the younger of the two had attempted to roll you over and under him, but the slightest nudge had you crying out at the extra stretch, and Rindo stopped. He wasn’t going to lie that he wasn’t enjoying the extra friction - he had never experienced anything close before - but you were and always will be his first priority. You crying was the last thing he wanted, and the guilt was welling at the base of his gut. What fresh new hell was he putting you through? 

Yet for all the nasty names his brain was yelling at him for not calling off this entire session, for not reaching under his pillow for his gun, Rindo couldn’t bring himself to pull out just yet. Against him knowing better than to continue, his hips began to thrust once more, and said gangster could only shove down the protesting best friend inside him.

He couldn’t tell when him and Ran had synced up, their thrusts falling into a pattern of one in, one out. The sheer friction generated was godly - the divine feeling of his cock rubbing up against another felt through the thin wall that separated your pussy from your ass as they were forced past each other. And as the seconds  - minutes, hours? Rindo had long lost track of time - your own cries of pain died down, you letting out tired whines and grunts as you laid spent on Rindo’s chest, the two brothers too busy hammering their hips against yours in a chase of pleasure to notice. All three of you toppled over that edge at the same time, Rindo letting out a strangled ‘fuck’ before like a tension coil finally allowed to release, his hot cum spurted deep into you as he shuddered against you. And nestled as far as he could push in your ass, Ran’s cock pulsed and shuddered as he too released his load into you. 

Around them, the sudden warmth seemed to trigger a response from you, your walls tightening around them as you came, though you barely twitched, your eyes already half-closed as you laid cuddled against Rindo, exhausted. Letting out a satisfied grunt, Ran finally pulled out of you, falling backwards to sit on the plush bed in a daze, the last dribble of cum drooling from the head of his softening dick. “That was- '' Said mafioso swallowed hard, unable to describe the feeling, though jumbled mind quickly latched on to the white cum starting to seep from both your holes. “Trying to get her pregnant?” 

Post-nut clarity hit Rindo like a truck, and the bliss plastered across his face evaporated, giving way to a dark, angry look. Reaching under his pillow, it was that telltale click as a familiar pistol was pulled from underneath the white covers. “That was you overstaying your welcome,” snarled Rindo, as he leveled the barrel straight at Ran. “Fuck. Off.”

Ran beat a hasty retreat, barely able to push his dick back into his shorts before he disappeared behind the heavy steel bedroom door, said door groaning as it was locked shut with a soft thud. 

Alone once more, the background whirl of the air-conditioning suddenly seemed so loud, the air blowing through unseen grates whistling as it drifted down from the high ceiling. The made-man turned his attention to you, violet eyes softening as he took in your fatigued form and your flushed cheeks. Stripping off his gloves, your best friend carefully rubbing his thumb over where hot tears had torn their way down your delicate skin, before chancing a glance between your legs. Ravaged would have been light - Rindo grimacing at the sight of your still panting pucker, red and inflamed from where it had been forced open. 

Sighing, the man bundled your naked form ever so gently into his arms, shifting his way off the bed and standing with a crack of his knees. You stirred, looking up at him with swollen eyes. “Rin rin?”

He hummed as he crossed the room towards your built-in bathroom. “What is it?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle as it always was when it came to you, a 180 from the feared Bonten gunman who took lives with nay a blink.

“...” You yawned, snuggling into his chest, your eyes fluttering close once more. “Nothing.”

“Hey, no sleeping yet.” He nudged you. “Pee, shower, then doctor.”

“Doctor?”

Just to make sure you were alright down there, Rindo admitted to himself, the guilt that he had suppressed previously now back to eat away at his heart, but he said nothing more to you. He’ll make it up to you, he swore to himself. Somehow, someway. With a click, the yellow lights flicked on, illuminating the marble-floored spotless bathroom.

You piped up again as you caught your reflection in the mirror. “Koko said - Koko said if I made enough money,” you paused, interrupted by another yawn. “You could stop working.”

“I don’t need your fucking money, stupid.” Placing you down on the toilet, the purple-haired man flicked your forehead, rolling his eyes. And that was the truth. It didn’t matter - it had never mattered - what he had to do. All this was for you. All he needed was you.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #rindo haitani #yandere rindo haitani #haitani brothers #rindo haitani x reader #haitani x reader #tokyorev #tokyo rev x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindo #haitani smut #rindou smut #ran smut #rindo smut #tokyo revengers smut #bonten #cheesus drabbles

[wonwoosthetic]

Hi can you do anything that’s pre-outbreak of Joel and reader anniversary. It can be smut but the beginning can be Joel and Sarah planning the anniversary! I love their relationship so much

series masterlist

pairing – pre-outbreak!joel x reader

word count – 11.6k (this was supposed to be short and sweet... what happened...)

warnings – slight injuries, hospital scene but nothing major, cute smut (18+)

a/n – some more cute domestic joel stuff 🥺 with some smut hehe 😬 thank you for the request <3 I hope you like what I made with it ˙ᵕ˙ also just want to quickly take the time and thank you guys for all the love on my previous joel work, you actually made my app crash 😅🤭

Happy Anniversary?

2000

After Sarah had finished her homework at the Adler's place, she ran home and hopped onto the couch to enjoy some child-friendly TV - being stuck in a house with only people over sixty wasn't really her favourite way of spending her free time.

It didn't surprise her when her dad wasn't home at six. It also didn't surprise her when he wasn't there yet at seven. Around eight in the afternoon though, she started to wonder. The only way she could reach him was the landline, so she leaned over the armrest of the sofa to get a hold of the phone before dialling the number her father had made her know by heart back in kindergarten. It didn't even ring. The robot's voice immediately let her know that he was unavailable. With scrunched eyebrows and her lips pressed together in a tight line, she leaned back into the cushions.

There was one other person that would probably know where he was. You. Another number Joel had asked her to learn once he had noticed that things were getting serious between the two of you. The girl didn't need to wait for long before the familiar tone of your voice rang through her eyes.

"Hello?" Of course, you had the number of Joel's landline saved in your phone, but you didn't know who of the Miller household was calling.

"Hi, Y/N!"

"Oh, Sarah, hey! How are you?"

Sarah smiled, just like she always did whenever she got to talk to you. The relationship the two of you had built up over the past year she had known you, was something very special. Not only did she love the connection you, from one woman to another, but she truly felt like you had a close friendship she wouldn't want to give up. Ever.

"I'm good, thanks, how are you?"

You sighed, "Good… now that I'm home."

"Adult work isn't getting any more exciting?" She joked, making you chuckle.

"Exactly." A second of silence passed before you noticed nothing coming from her side. "Are you okay?"

Sarah made herself more comfortable on the couch, "Yup… sorry that I called you-"

"Don't worry, sweetie, trust me, hearing you right now has been the best part of the entire day."

Your comment made her grin even wider, "Well I'm happy to make your day better," to which you both giggled. "I was just wondering if you've heard anything from dad. Did he say he has to work late today?"

You let her question register in your brain before you went through the conversation you had with Joel last night since you haven't heard from today yet. "Ehm… no, I don't think he said anything about that. Isn't he home yet?"

Sarah shook her head before realising, you can't see her, "No, so I kinda thought, maybe he's still at work, but… now I don't know."

"Maybe something came up-"

"He isn't picking up." That made you go quiet. "I tried calling him, and it just went straight to his voicemail."

You bit your lip. Oh, God. You knew the stress of a parent not being at home at the usual time just all too well, remembering all the times it had happened to you as a kid and you immediately thought of the worst-case scenario.

"What about uncle Tommy?" You suggested.

The girl was just about to open her mouth and answer when the front door opened. Her head snapped to her left, eyes immediately on the familiar figure of her father entering the room.

"Wow…" she breathed out.

"What? What is it?" You hastily wondered.

"Speaking of the devil," you could hear the slight annoyance in her voice, "Guess who just walked through the door?" Joel sent her a questioning look as he walked further into the living room, throwing himself onto the couch, right next to his daughter.

You couldn't help but chuckle, "Hm… maybe your father, who once again decided to work longer and not tell us about it?"

"Mh," she grinned before turning to the man and shaking her head with a frown on her face.

A breath of relief fell from your lips as you got up from your position on one of the armchairs in your living room, "Well then, mystery solved. You better interrogate the heck out of him."

"Without you?" She gasped.

"Oh, trust me, he'll get a good talking-to from me tomorrow." Your answer received a grin from the girl, followed by a subtle devilish giggle.

"Good. Thank you for picking up, not like some other people here." Her comment was clearly directed to her father, earning her a soft shove to her upper arm, making her grin.

You smiled, "Anytime, sweetie. I guess I have to go back to my boring life now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep!" The happiness and excitement radiated off that little girl, lightning up the sparkle in her eyes at the mention of the following day. "See ya! Good night, Y/N."

"Good night, Sarah."

The youngest Miller placed the phone back on the side table, before turning to the oldest one, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She cleared her throat, "What do you have to say in your defence, Sir?" Her eyes followed his movements as he leaned back into the sofa with a groan, running a hand over his face.

"I forgot to tell you-"

"Oh, really!" She quickly exclaimed, interrupting Joel, receiving a warning glance from him, making her sulk back into the cushions.

"So as I was saying," he glanced at her, "I'm sorry that I forgot to tell you that I'd be in town after work. And I forgot to charge my phone."

Sarah scrunched her eyebrows, "What were you doing in town?"

Joel groaned, getting up to look for some food in the kitchen, "I wanted to get something for Y/N for tomorrow."

His answer made the girl laugh out loud as she got up to join him in the other room, sitting down at the dining table, "Are you serious?"

He looked up at her from his crouched position as he was trying to find something to eat in the fridge. "What?"

His daughter shook her head, "You're looking for an anniversary gift one day before your anniversary?"

Joel took out the container holding dinner from two days ago, grinning when it reminded him of you. Always making sure there was food in the house he lived in. You cared for him. And his daughter. "I've been thinking about what to get her for a few days, alright? But I haven't had the time to actually go and look for it," he defended himself, but it didn't get the look off the girl's face.

"And what did you find?"

He sighed, "Nothing. That's the problem."

"What are you gonna do now?"

"I have no idea…" Sarah could tell how exhausted he must be with the heavy breath leaving his lips. But the fact that he truly cared about getting you something special made her ecstatic. "You hungry?" Her father wondered, getting a shake of her head in response,

"I ate earlier." She shot up from her seat and skipped over into the kitchen, "So?! What are you gonna do?" Leaning on the counter, eyeing her dad suspiciously as he took a bite of the cold food with a fork. That also earned him a weird look from her, but he just wanted to get something into his stomach, not caring about the temperature - your cooking was gourmet to him in any way.

"I don't know," he answered, shrugging, "I can't believe I'm so fucking bad at giving gifts." Sarah ignored the swear word, blaming his fatigue, and didn't remind him of the swear jar you and her had brought into the house two months earlier.

"What did you gift her for her birthday?"

Tomorrow would be your first anniversary together.

A full years of being an official couple. While Joel was a romantic gentleman in every way possible, buying you flowers 'just 'cause', calling you sometimes multiple times a day 'just to hear your voice', keeping you in the house over the weekends and sometimes overnight during the week 'because he could never spend too much time with you', he still was a horrible gift giver - a fact no one could deny.

But more of a problem was your inability of receiving gifts. Because you hated it. You loved giving, hated receiving - not in all parts of life though. Especially not with Joel.

Though, whenever he had asked you what you wanted for your anniversary, birthday, or even International Woman's Day, he got the same answer each time: "I don't want anything." The truth was, you truly didn't. You've never been a big fan of material things, rather finding the thought behind something and a small gesture much more meaningful and loving. All the 'little' things your partner would do for you were enough - opening doors, carrying you whenever your feet hurt and taking you out for dinner on random days, were just a few of them. Yes, it may be the bare minimum, but still a rare minimum.

A rare minimum you had never been blessed with, with any of your past boyfriends. All until you met Joel and found out what it was like to have a true man by your side.

"That necklace you told me she'd like," he reminded her, brushing a hand over the wild curls he adored so much.

Sarah nodded with an open mouth, "Aaah, right right, I remember. She really did like that." They both nodded in sync. "But do you know what she loved even more?" Making the oldest Miller's head perk up,

"What?"

His daughter grinned at him, "The poster I made for her."

"True," he couldn't help but copy her facial expression, "She did like that a lot."

"She LOVED it!" Sarah shouted out, hitting her palms on the top of the counter, "She almost cried when she saw it," followed by giving her father a side-eye look, "She only said thanks to your gift, but she had tears because of mine."

Joel glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, "What are you tryna tell me?"

"Y/N loves me more than you," she flipped an invisible strand of hair to underline her comment.

The older man smiled, "Sure."

"Buuut," she dragged out the word, leaning over to steal a piece of broccoli from the container Joel was eating out of, "I also think that she would just appreciate self-made stuff more than things you can buy."

He stopped for a second to think before nodding his head, "So you're suggesting that I what? Build something?" Sarah nodded. "And what exactly?"

"Man, what do I know… You're the contractor here." But all he could do was sigh. He was in fact the contractor, but what the hell had that something to do with anything. The man put the food to the side to make some space and place his elbows on the counter, shoving his face into his two palms, groaning out loud.

The daughter of the family stood by his side, staring at him in amusement, finding this situation much funnier than her dad. With a chuckle, she passed him placing a somewhat comforting hand on his back.

"You're a lousy gift giver." Her comment though was anything but comforting.

He straightened his back to glare down at the girl, "Thanks." But it just got a giggle out of her.

After a quick glance around the room, the idea she had been holding in, as it was supposed to stay a secret present from her to the couple, came back up into her brain. "We could bake something for her."

That caught his attention. Joel didn't hate the idea. He definitely didn't. Your sweet tooth was known to the family, added to your appreciation and love for self-made gifts turned it into the perfect present.

"We?"

Sarah scoffed, "You really think I'd trust you with baking a cake?"

"Hey," he took her statement as an offence, "I'm doing very well in the kitchen." He didn't even believe that himself.

"Pff," she patted his back once again, "Sure, dad. Sure."

"I'm a great cook, alright?" he took it one step further, but his daughter was having none of it, giggling at him while shaking her head,

"You're an okay cook and a terrible baker."

He took the last bite of what was left in the plastic box before moving to put it into the dishwasher. "You can't be serious right now…"

Moments like these were Sarah's favourite. Watching her dad get all rilled up just never failed to make her chuckle. Joel enjoyed it just as much. The happiness radiating off her, with a beautiful and bright smile decorating her face, was a sight he never wanted to lose. "Uncle Tommy's a better baker than you," she quickly added before sliding past him to find the fitting cookbook on the shelf in the living room.

Joel's head shot into her direction, a finger pointing at her before she disappeared, "You take that back!" Her high-pitched giggles filled his ears with love and joy.

-

Sarah's feet were dangling off the counter while she was snacking on some of the sprinkles she wanted to put on the cake, along with taste-testing the pink sugar writing. Her father was preparing the frosting, every now and then checking on the cake in the oven, making sure it wouldn't burn because that was the last thing he needed.

They were sharing a few moments of comfortable silence in the room, whereas the girl's mind was filled with questions, daring to slip out any second as she didn't want to hold them back for much longer.

"So, Y/N's coming over tomorrow?"

Joel nodded with a whisk in the bowl, covered in blue-greenish frosting Sarah had coloured, "Yeah, I'm picking her up from work, and I'd bring her here," he looked up, "If that's okay with you."

"Of course," his daughter chuckled, putting the sprinkles down, freeing her hands so she could place them on the counter. She puckered her lips, thinking carefully about her next question. As much as she thought of a way to introduce the subject, she couldn't think of one, so she just jumped into the cold water.

"Do you wanna marry Y/N?" The words made Joel stop in his tracks, his eyes shot up to meet hers.

He sent her a questioning glance, "W-Where's that coming from?"

She shrugged, "I was just thinking. You know… you've been together for a year… and you seem happy-"

"We are," he assured her.

"And don’t adults think about getting married? When they’re happy."

He stood up straighter to lean onto the counter, crossing his arms, leaving the work on the frosting on the side for a bit. "Aren't you a little too young to be thinking about marriage?"

"For me? Yeah," she scoffed, "Because boys? Disgusting," getting a proud smirk for father as a response, "But I mean for you two… I don't know… I was just wondering."

Joel sighed, getting back to work, "Well… I mean, you ain't wrong, sweetheart. But there's a lot of things you need to do before you get married or even think about proposing."

"Like moving in?"

"Sure," he nodded, "Some couples move in before they get married. It's not the traditional way, but as we know, traditional is boring." She copied his head movements with a grin plastered on her face.

"Then why not ask her?" Sarah tilted her head and raised her eyebrows as soon as she locked eyes with the oldest Miller again.

"What do you mean?"

"Ask her to move in."

Joel chuckled in surprise, the spit in his throat almost making him joke, "You sure have some interesting suggestions today, kiddo. You alright? Do I have to be worried?" His facial expression made her laugh out loud as she nudged him with her foot, making him squirm away jokingly.

"Nooo, dad! I'm just saying," she motioned around with her hands,

"You've been together for a while… and… she's already spending every weekend here and sometimes comes over during the week. She makes sure we eat," Joel nodded along with all of the things his daughter was listing, "She takes care of me and you, she already has some of her stuff in your drawer-"

"How do you know about that?" She grinned sheepishly at him, "I saw it when I went through your stuff…"

The father took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, "Alright… how about we don't do that anymore?" Eyeing the little girl sitting on the counter to his left, but she just shrugged,

"You said we shouldn't keep any secrets from each other."

He sighed. Fuck. She wasn't wrong. "You're right… I did say that." Goddamn, always smarter than any other adult in the room. That was his little Sarah.

"So, are you gonna ask her?"

After tasting the frosting and checking its consistency, he gave the girl the whisk, just like he saw you doing it multiple times before. She accepted it with a bright smile.

Joel enjoyed having conversations like these. Obviously, he understood that she was still a kid, and he would never deny her of her innocent mind and easy-going-with-the-wind mindset, but he also appreciated the slightly more adult talks they could share. That's why he was more than happy to explain it to her.

"It's not as easy as you think it is, kiddo. Y/N still has an apartment. One that she shares. So, we’d have to talk about that first. And there's a lot of document stuff we'd have to get-"

"I asked her," she caught his attention when he came back up to stand up straight from looking at the cake through the oven window.

"What?"

"I asked her if she would like to move in with us. Not like actually, but just, you know, the idea of it."

Now Joel became interested. Of course, the two of you had had the conversation about a shared home before, but every couple had that at some point in their relationship. Hearing what you'd think about the idea now would have maybe changed. Now it was more relevant than ever, apparently.

"And," he looked down at his fingers, "What did she say?"

Sarah smirked, "She said the same thing as you just did. So really a match made in heaven," and rolled her eyes jokingly, "But she also said that she'd really like the idea… if I was okay with it."

"And? Are you- I-I mean, would you?"

"Of course! Are you kidding me?! I love her so much! Probably even more than you-"

"I doubt that."

"I don't," she stated straightforwardly, "And you're happy when you're with her, and you make her happy. What more you could want? AND thanks to her, the weekends aren't so boring anymore."

"What was wrong with the weekends before?" He was slightly taken aback by her comment, unsure if it was meant ironically or not. But then again, he was probably overthinking a lot at that moment.

Sarah smiled, "Don't get me wrong, dad. I loved the weekends with you and uncle Tommy, but having another woman in the house is just…" She shrugged, unsure of how to explain just how comfortable you made her feel. Joel and her were open about a lot of things, but Joel was… well, he was your typical single Texanian-dad, that didn't know what to do in certain female-focused situations - let's just put it like that.

Having conversations from woman to woman was something the father appreciated very much when it came to what you brought along when getting to know his kid. And the girl was happier than ever, being finally able to talk to an older person about certain struggles she might encounter that were still slightly too embarrassing to discuss with her dad.

"It's different, I know. I understand," he smiled at her.

"It's good different though," she nodded, "I really like her."

"And you'd be okay with her living here?" He finally asked. Sarah was the reason for his still-intact heartbeat. The only thing having kept him alive so far. Now you had also joined to share that position, but he was still his blood, and you'd never even try to get in between that.

"More than okay," she exclaimed, "I'd be SO happy to have her here constantly. I'd finally have someone against you."

Joel squinted his eyes at her, "Because Tommy isn't enough already?" Receiving a smug smile in return.

He shook his head with a chuckle when the timer went off, indicating that the cake was finally done. Sarah hopped off the counter to stand back on her two feet when her father leaned down to get the cake out of the oven and placed it on the stove.

"You know," he threw the dishtowel he used to not burn his hand to the side before turning to face the girl, "You might be a bit too smart for a kid your age."

The youngest Miller crossed her arms proudly, holding her chin up high, "Thanks, I got it from my uncle." That just made Joel look at her in surprise, almost making her laugh out loud.

He put on his low dad voice, "You got that from your father, thank you very much."

She dropped her hands, "Whatever," and moved a bit closer to stand right next to him, "So will you ask her tomorrow?"

"Yes," he promised her, "I will ask her tomorrow." To which she started bouncing up and down, her body full of excitement, making Joel chuckle and pull her in for a side hug and gift her a kiss on the top of her head.

She clapped her hands, "Now, let's start decorating."

-

You were running -scratch that - Sprinting through the hospital corridors, desperately trying to find the info point a nurse had told you to go to.

You had never crossed town at the speed you just did. Once the message from the other side of the call registered in your brain, you dropped everything at work, ignored the calls from your boss, just shouted a quick, "Family emergency," and raced to catch the next possible bus.

With a big breath shooting out of your lungs, you came to a halt once you came to sight with the hotspot you were looking for. You braced yourself up with your palm, trying to catch your breath before you spoke up, "Hi, sorry, I'm looking for Joel Miller. He's supposed to be in a check-up room."

The nurse looked up at you, surprised by the sound of urgency in your voice. She was quick to type the name into her system, but it felt like hours for you. Your legs were nervously shaking, barely able to hold you up anymore.

She opened her mouth, making you stare at her, eyes widened, "Room 293, down the hall on the right." You were just about to thank her and continue your race but she continued, "He's just got done with the medical exam, but I'd ask you to please wait outside until a doctor comes and approves of him accepting visitors."

Fuck that. You muttered a quick thanks before your legs took you where she explained the room would be.

If they really thought you'd wait for a fucking doctor to allow you to see your boyfriend you expected to be in the worst possible condition, they were wrong. Very wrong.

Hectically, your eyes scanned each number plate on the side of the doors as you tried to find the right one.

290… 291… 292… 293! A sigh of relief washed over you. You got closer to the door, glancing to the left and right, just to make sure there was no one that could see you walk in before you knocked three times. A quiet, "Yeah?" rang through your ears and you didn't wait for another second to open the door.

Your eyes immediately fell to the man sitting on the examining bed. He was alive. At least he looked like it.

"Y/N?"

Out of breath, you tried to speak, "Joel… w-what the fuck?!" He couldn't even open his mouth. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? What the- what the hell happened to you?!" You got closer to him, your fingers coming up to gently touch his chin, turning his head to look at the small scraps next to his eyes. You noticed the bandage on his forehead, guessing he must've gotten stitches there, only making you sigh again.

Joel got a hold of your hands, holding them close to his chest as he tried to calm you down, "Sweetheart… I'm okay," he brushed some wild hairs that were covering your face, to the side, "I'm alright."

"No," you shook your head, already feeling your throat close up, "Look at you."

"This is nothing, I promise."

While his right hand held onto yours tightly, the palm of his left one ran up and down your lower arm. You shrugged out of his grasp to hide your face behind your hands as soon as you could feel the first tears rolling down your cheeks. Your fingers pressed into your eyes.

"You scared the shit of out me," your voice was not much more than a whisper, but the room was quiet, so Joel was able to hear you clearly. He pushed himself off the bed, standing up in front of you to engulf you in a warm hug when he noticed your brittle voice and your whole body shaking.

His low voice tried to calm down your soft cries as he pressed your head into his chest, ignoring the slight pain in his ribs, remembering the big bruise that was forming there. "I'm sorry, darlin'," he whispered, "I'm sorry. But I'm okay. I promise." He moved his hands from brushing over your back to cupping your cheeks, his thumbs caressing your skin, wiping away the wet stains your tears left. "I'm alive," he grinned at you, but you just shook your head.

"You're a fucking idiot, Miller," pushing a finger into his chest, getting a subtle groan out of him, making you flinch back immediately, "What?" Your eyes hastily ran over his body, "You're hurt there too."

You tried to push his shirt up, but he stopped you, placing his hands on top of yours, "No no, don't worry. Just hurts a little."

You couldn't help but to sigh again. That man was going to be the death of you. With a few steps back, you distanced yourself from him, sitting down in one of the chairs by the desk across from the bed. Carefully, Joel sat back on top of the bed. Your eyes scanned his form as you noticed the hiss he was trying to hold back, his lips pressed together tightly.

You shook your head and closed your eyes, lowering your head.

"Did Tommy call you?"

You scoffed, "Obviously."

"Did you call Sarah?" To which you motioned a 'no' to him.

"You don't need two women in your life to have a heart attack," you explained, "And I didn't know what to tell her. Tommy just said there was an accident on the construction site, and you're in the hospital. I didn't even let him finish. I sprinted out of the office." Your story made him chuckle, but he noticed your still anxious and tense body.

"He brought me here just to make sure everything was alright. I wasn't hurt badly. No one was."

You looked up to meet his eye, "Joel, you got stitches!"

He shrugged, "Not the first time, not the last time."

"Why would you say that?!" You stared at him unamused, your mouth open. Taking a deep breath in, your hand brushed through your hair while you let your eyes travel around the room. You hated hospitals. You had yet to have a positive experience in one of these buildings. The silence that overcame the room was choking. But you weren't in the mood to say anything else, nor did you know what to even say, and Joel could read you like the back of his hand. He knew he scared you. He hated it, so he was the first to break the stillness.

"Happy Anniversary."

You raised your head, finding him grinning at you shyly, making you shake your head, "Don't. This isn't funny." He nodded, understanding what was going on in your head. Another moment of silence filled the room.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't the way you expected to spend our anniver-"

"I couldn't care less about the anniversary, Joel!" You exclaimed in frustration, "I- I thought you were-," you stopped before you could get choked up again, not even wanting to dare to say out loud what was going on in your head when you answered Tommy's phone call. "God knows what could've happened to you!"

"Come 'ere," he nodded you over, but you shook your head,

"Joel-" you were stopped by the motion of his hand for you to come closer. The man was already hurt, you didn't have to add to that. With a sigh, you stood up, leaving your bag on the chair next to you, before walking up to him again. The oldest Miller leaned forward to grasp your hand and pulled you closer, even getting a soft smile out of you.

His hand rested on your hips as you stood between his legs while you intertwined your fingers behind his neck.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, darlin'. I promise I'll be more careful."

"You better," your finger slid through his hair as you noticed the look in his eyes while he was staring at you. His right hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you down to finally do what he had been wanting to do all day. His lips moved against yours as you could feel him smirking before he pulled back slightly.

"I'll make it up to you tonight." You looked into his eyes in confusion, but only for a second before you moved your head back with a gasp.

"Joel!" You smacked his shoulders gently, "You're sitting on fucking a hospital bed, how could you think about sex right now?" He just continued grinning, his hands moving all over your body, keeping his eyes on yours, "How could I not with you in front of me."

A chuckle escaped from your lips followed by a shake of your head, "You're unbelievable." You got pulled closer again, his lips smashing against yours.

"Unbelievably in love with you." Earning himself a giggle and a quick peck from you.

Your fingers softly grazed the skin of his cheek, careful not to touch any of his injuries as you smiled, "Happy Anniversary, Joel." He couldn't help but to copy your facial expression, keeping you as close to him as he possibly could.

-

You drove the two of you home after the oldest Miller had gotten released from the hospital, and Tommy had already made his way back to his place. Joel was definitely moving slightly more carefully, but he assured you he was a-okay - you didn't fully believe it, but it wasn't worth a discussion.

After parking the car in the garage, you made your way into the house through the backdoor. Joel opened it for you to walk in first, just like he always did. You gave him a quick, "thank you," and stepped in before you stopped in your tracks, a high-pitched voice surprising you with a loud,

"HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!"

"Oh, Jesus!" Your hand flew up to your chest, your breathing quickening as you took in the scene in front of you. Sarah was beaming at you with her bright smile, a pink poster with big letters staring directly at you.

You started laughing, "God, you scared me, kid."

Joel stopped behind you, laughing at the sight. She ignored your exclaim, running up to wrap her arms around your torso, making you do the same around her shoulders. You pulled her in, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "You really are just the cutest," pulling back to look at her, petting her cheek, "Thank you, sweetie."

She gave you another quick grin before moving on to her father, doing the same to congratulate him, when she noticed the cuts on his face.

"What happened to you?"

Joel shrugged, a hand brushing over her hair, "Just a little accident at work. Nothing to worry about."

You moved further into the house, placing your bag on one of the dining chairs. Your eyes took in the room, holding your gaze once again on the poster Sarah had clearly self-made. She had placed it on top of the table before she had rushed over to the two of you, so you were able to run your fingers over the little stones and glitter patches she had glued on. You remembered the sign you had gotten from her only a month ago.

"You outdid yourself this time, Sarah," you turned to her when you noticed she had come to stand next to you, "It's so cute."

"Thanks," she radiated her happiness on you. "And look!" She skipped into the kitchen, making your gaze follow her when she pointed to the counter when you saw what got her so excited.

You started giggling. On the countertop sat a turquoise-coloured cake, with white frosting details on the side on pink hearts decorating the top of it.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, "Awww, did you do that yourself?"

She shrugged with a smile, "Dad helped me." To which Joel got closer to you two, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion,

"I thought you helped me." His arm snaked around your waist.

"Well," she answered him, "You thought wrong," sending him a sheepish grin that made you chuckle.

You opened your arms to get her into another hug, tightening your arms around her just a little tighter than before, "Well, I appreciate it a lot. Thank you, sweetie. I love it." Your eyes may have gotten a little glassy, but you were able to hold it back, not wanting to surprise them with a gush of happiness.

Joel next to you cleared his throat, gaining all the attention of the room. You released Sarah from your grasped and wrapped your arms around your partner's waist. "And thank you to you too, of course," smiling up at him as he looked down. You puckered your lips, making him smirk and lower his head to meet your mouth, giving you a quick peck.

Sarah interrupted your small moment of love when she called out, "Okay, let's eat!"

All three of you followed her orders and sat down around the dining table after grabbing plates, forks, and a knife to cut the cake. While your eyes were on Joel, who was giving each one of you a good slice, you also noticed the little girl next in the middle of the two of you, happily clapping drumming her hands on the surface, that smile of hers never leaving her face.

It was in moments like these when you truly thought to yourself what you could have possibly done in your past life to deserve people like them in your life. A boyfriend that would carry you to the ends of the world, in whose arms you felt safer than anywhere else, along with a wonderful daughter that looked at you as if you were the reason for the stars lighting up the sky.

You enjoyed the sweet dinner, easily falling into a comfortable conversation like you usually would. Sarah told you about her good day at school, bragging about the grade she had gotten on her chemistry exam, earning her a round of applause from you and a kiss on her cheek from her father. Joel and you talked about your workdays, leaving out the time you had spent in the hospital. He was fine, that's all you cared about.

After the meal, you brought all the dirty dishes into the kitchen, loading up the dishwasher, Joel placed the cake back into the fridge, and Sarah was put in charge of choosing a movie to let the evening come to an end.

Her choice fell on Jurassic Park, knowing how much the oldest in the house loved the movie, and after getting a nod of approval from you, she put it into the DVD player, telling you to hurry up and join her on the couch.

Joel and you sat down on either side of her before the girl made herself comfortable and laid her head on your lap while resting her legs on her father's. Automatically, your hands found their way to her head, brushing through her unruly hair you always complimented.

This position allowed Joel to come just a little bit closer, lifting his daughter's legs to slide over to you, pulling your head to lean on his shoulder and copying your actions to start patting your head as well. Not even forty minutes later, the soft snores and even breaths from the little girl accompanied the sounds coming from the TV. You looked down with a chuckle.

"What?" Joel wondered, "Did she fall asleep?"

"Yeah," you smiled, eyeing him suspiciously once he stood up with a groan,

"Finally." He crouched down slightly, moving one arm underneath Sarah's knees, while his other one steadied her neck. He straightened his back and pointed a finger at you, "You stay here. I still have something to make up to you."

Getting a giggle out of you, "Joel!"

"I mean it!" He shout-whispered at you before disappearing upstairs.

You brought your knees up, hugging them to your body when you remembered the little gift that was still hidden in your bag. With a soft huff, you pushed yourself off the sofa and walked over to the dining room the snatch your bag off the chair.

"Darlin', where- oh, there you are," Joel found you with your back turned towards him, rummaging through your back when he crept up on you and placed his hands on your hips once he got close enough. His lips immediately latched onto your neck, peppering it with kisses, making you giggle.

"Stooop," you laughed, leaning back into his chest.

"What are you doing?" He wondered as you turned around, your hands hidden behind your back.

You grinned up at him, "I've got something for you."

"You do?" His eyebrows shot up, "Why? Having you here is already enough," he didn't even wait for a response from you, just saw you rolling your eyes, making him chuckle as he pulled you in for a quick kiss.

You were first to retrieve back, receiving a low whine from him in return, to which you shook your head with a smile. "May I give you your gift now?"

Joel stood up straighter and put his hands out, palm up, in front of you, closing his eyes along the process. Without wasting another second, you placed the little box into his grasp. He opened his eyes again, looking suspiciously at the packaging, shaking it slightly,

"What is it?"

"You really expect me to tell you instead of just opening it?"

He smiled, "Alright, alright."

You could hardly contain your excitement as he ripped the paper off the box, throwing it onto the table behind you. As soon as Joel opened it, his eyes shot up to find you grinning right at him.

"Darlin'…"

"Sarah told me you've been looking for one," you explained, "But she also said that you never take the time to go downtown and look for one. So, I thought, I'd just save you the stress."

His fingers ran across the rounded edges of the watch in the box. It looked expensive, that's for sure.

"You didn't have to do that, sweetheart," he spoke quietly, still in awe of the present worth so much more than just money in his hands.

You shrugged, "I know, but I wanted to."

Joel took it out of its packaging, putting that to the side as well before wrapping it around his wrist. Your fingers came to help, closing the little buckle so it fit him perfectly.

He couldn't take his eyes off the watch, "Thank you, darlin'," but you were a much better sight to him, "I love it," so he pulled you in again, "I ain't never taking that off ever again."

Your hands found their usual place on the back of his neck again as you kissed him back, whispering against his lips, "I'm glad you like it. Happy anniversary."

"Happy anniversary," he mumbled back, giving you a peck before sliding out of your embrace, "Well, I guess it's time for me to give you your present now?"

"Joel," you whined, "I told you, I don't-"

His hand stopped you before he exited the kitchen and came back only seconds later, his hand in a tight fist. You waited patiently for him to open his mouth again, even though you were anything but that.

He stopped in front of you, raised his arm and let what he was holding drop down while holding onto what looked like a key ring.

"What is it?" You reached out to grab it, laying it flat against your palm to analyse it. A key. Attached to a pendant representing three figures, a figure that was supposed to be a man, next to a woman, who then again stood next to the same figure just in small.

"The key to my heart?" He jokingly answered, making it sound more like a question, making you look up.

"Ha ha," you rolled your eyes. Always the romantic…

Joel took a deep breath before clearing his throat, "I mean… I guess it kinda is, but ehm… it's a housekey." You had to tear your eyes away from the object in your hands once again once your brain registered what he had just said.

"What?"

"So," he started explaining, his hands immediately on your hips again, "I was racking my brain over what I could give you today. But I just couldn't think of anything. Because honestly… I didn't think there was anything in this world that I could buy you, that would show you just how much you mean to me."

"Don't make me cry," you quickly intervened, making him chuckle as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek,

"I'll try," and put a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yesterday Sarah, the way too smart for her own good kid, that she is," the description made you smile, "got the idea of baking something for you because she said you value that a lot more than bought stuff." He had to take another deep breath before continuing, "And then while we were preparing the cake… you know her, she started asking all those questions until we landed on the whole moving-in thing." Throughout the whole speech, you listened attentively to your partner, keeping your eyes on him the entire time even while his drifted around the room. "Since you already spent the weekends with us and are here every now and then during the week, she asked me why you're not living with us yet."

"And your answer was?" A smug smile made its way onto your lips.

"Do you want the truth or what I told her?"

"The truth, please."

Joel's eyes followed his hands as they ran up and down your sides, "That her dad hasn't had the balls yet to ask his girlfriend." You shyly looked down back to your hands. At the little charm.

He noticed where your attention was and pointed at it, "Sarah picked that up today after school." Of course, she did… You could feel the tears coming back up. God, that girl was just too pure for the world…

"So?" His voice made you meet his eyes again, "What do you say? Can you handle three Millers under one roof?"

You pretended to think, playing with the lips he so desperately wanted to feel on his again, "It won't be easy."

He grinned, "That's not a no." You dropped the key onto the table behind you before your hands went back around his neck, pulling him in close enough for your lips to almost touch. You could feel his grip on your hips tighten.

The corners of your lips curled up, "That's because it's a yes," pecking his lips, "I'll take good care of you."

His left hand travelled to your lower back, "And we'll take good care of you too," he repeated giving you multiple little kisses, making you laugh. Oh, God how much he loved that sound. And now he would be able to hear that every single day. "Now, how about I stick true to that promise I made earlier?"

You nodded, breathing against each other's mouths, "Yeah, please do." And he didn't need to be told twice.

With one swift move, you were put onto the table, before he situated himself between your legs. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you as close as possible. You moved yourself slightly forward, letting a moan escape from your lips when you felt his tongue glide across your bottom lip.

Opening your mouth wider, gave him the opportunity to slip in, earning a deep groan from the man in front of you. Your fingers started playing with the hem of his shirt, signalling for him to pull back and pull it up as you helped him along with it, dragging him onto you the moment it came off - eyes immediately on the dark bruise forming on his ribs.

"Joel…," you gasped, reaching out to touch the dark spot, but he got a hold of your hand, bringing your knuckles up to his lips,

"It's nothin', darlin', don't worry about it." You could worry about the truth in his statement tomorrow, for now, you wanted to get him back on you, so you smashed your lips back onto his.

He chuckled, "Someone's eager," he started trailing kisses down your neck.

"Well, someone made me think about this for hours," you grabbed his face to bring him back up to you. You could never get enough of the touch of his lips. You would drown in it if you could. You wouldn't even care if you couldn't breathe anymore, it would be a happy death.

"And that someone is gonna make sure you won't be able to think at all for the next few hours," he whispered as his right hand slipped underneath your shirt, his thumb tracing over your bra.

You couldn't help the shake in your voice, "Hours? I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, Miller." Knowing damn well that he wasn't. You had the privilege of getting the house to yourself every now and then or having had some alone time in your apartment. If he wanted to, he could go on for hours and hours. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy rilling him up just a little bit.

He scoffed, pulling your shirt over your head easily, "Sure, keep saying that. Keep talking while can." He knew what he was doing to you with those words.

His hands roamed your almost naked torso, cupping your still-covered breasts into his big hands, making you moan into his mouth.

You could feel that gentle touch of his on your body before it stopped on your ass, pulling you closer to him as he mumbled, "Come 'ere. Let's go upstairs."

You were held up tightly against him as he carried you up into the first floor, taking a sharp left to get you both into his, well now your, bedroom. Your bedroom. From now on, this was the room you'd be sharing with your partner. God, what a good time to be alive…

Once you had reached the bed, Joel slouched over, making sure to place you onto the mattress gently.

There were two sides to Joel Miller when it came to sex. You were very familiar with both. There was the soft side you adored so much. When he took his time with you, kissing every inch of your body, working you up just right, adoring your body and covering it with pure passion. His thrust would be slow and deep, gentle, yet just filled with the same amount of lust as his other side. The alter ego, as you'd like to think of it was fast-paced, hard, yet never too short, sex. Still very passionate, but loud and messy. Bruises weren't a rarety after a night like that. And while that was what you understood when thinking of sex, you adored love-making just a little bit more when the time was right. Just like at that moment.

His kisses moved from your neck, down between your breasts, along the middle of your torso, holding onto it tightly, until he reached the rim of your jeans. His fingers got to work on your button, opening it along with the zipper, before getting up slightly to free your legs from them, sliding them down as he started kneeling on the floor. Down at your ankles, he pulled them off completely, getting rid of your socks as well before starting his journey of kisses back up again.

You squirmed more and more the higher he came up, making him have to move his hands to your hips to hold you down and pull you closer to the end of the bed to reach your inner thighs.

"Ah, fuck baby…," he moaned in between kisses, "So. Fucking. Beautiful."

You were brushing some hair out of your face, heavy breaths leaving your lips. You didn't even dare to look down, knowing you'd probably only get closer to coming right then and there with the sight. "Joel, please…" you whined.

"I know, I know, darlin'," he continued admiring your thighs with his lips before hooking his fingers into the side pieces of your underwear. He noticed which ones you were wearing.

"You know," he gave them a kiss too, right onto your pelvic bone,

"These are my favourite."

You chuckled, "Of course, I know. Why do you think I put them on?"

"Well, but then it wouldn't be right of me to just take them off right away, now would it?" He smirked letting go of the fabric and prepping your legs up on the mattress. His lips moved down to the centre of your pussy, placing a gentle kiss right where you wanted him, sending a shiver through your entire body along with a shaky breath tumbling from your lips.

Once again, his finger hooked underneath the fabric of your underwear, only this time, pulling the centre piece to the side, giving him a clear view of your sex, clearly glistening even in the dim light coming from the moon outside.

He didn't let another moment pass before he covered your slit in little kisses, his hands having a tighter grip on you once you started moving again. You were still enjoying the soft feather touches of his lips on yours when you suddenly felt the tip of his tongue running over your clit, getting a low moan out of you. You had to remember there was still a little girl in the room across from you - too much noise would eventually wake her up and you were not ready to have that kind of confrontation with her yet.

"Ah… Joel…" you breathed out, your fingers tangling around his hair, pulling slightly once you felt his tongue movements quicken and deepen.

He slipped around your clit, running it down to your hole before drawing circles around there as well. As soon as he was up again, gently sucking on your clit, you could already feel the arousal dripping out of you, making you shudder and hold onto his hair just a little tighter. He switched between focusing on your bundle of nerves and gathering every drip coming out of you with his tongue.

"Fuck," you couldn't help the whine erupting from you. You had to be quiet, not silent. Especially not when you knew what your sounds could do to Joel. You were confirmed of your thoughts when you heard the buckle of the belt on his jeans opening, followed by his zipper. Joel had to free his hands from holding onto you to get his jeans off his legs, dragging his boxers along with them to free his erect dick. But his tongue never left your heat - he was a God of multitasking and had proved that many times before.

Once you felt his right hand being placed on top of your abdomen and heard a deep groan coming from him, you knew he had started grasping his cock in his free hand. The thought of your partner jerking off to eating you out and the little breaths coming from you only added to the sensation that had been building up between your legs.

"Joel," you whimpered, "Don't-fuck, don't stop," begging him to keep going. His answer was another strong suck on your clit, and a lick of his tongue as he slid into you. The hand that had been holding you down was moving lower, still keeping you from moving too much, while his thumb had found its way to your clit, making sure to stimulate it, while his tongue was working inside of you.

"Oh, God, yeah…" you breathed out, uncontrollably starting to move your hips as well to get closer to the edge. Your moans came out higher-pitched as you pressed your lips together tighter, trying to keep as quiet as possible, while your partner was doing the Lord's work on you.

"Fuck- Joel, I'm gonna cum," you whined out, "I-"

"You can do it, baby," he encouraged you, letting go of his erection, to replace his tongue with two of his fingers, and going back to kissing your clit passionately while his right hand interlaced with yours.

"Come for me," he breathed against you.

You nodded, moaning slightly louder as the grip on his hand tightened, your hips moving around more. The tension kept building up, encouraging you to keep going as he moved his fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds echoing through the room.

"Come on, darlin'." His whisper made your body shake.

And after the last small whiny, "yeah…" slipped from your lips, you fell apart beneath him, tightening around his fingers, humming uncontrollably, and trying to hold in the moans and groans you could've let out.

Joel didn't stop though. He never does. He only removed his fingers to start cleaning you up with his tongue, not letting you recover from the orgasm that had washed over you.

You tried catching your breath, releasing his hand from your tight grasp, as you moved both your hands back to his hair, begging him to come up and hover over you, "Joel," you whispered, chest still heaving heavily.

With a smile, he came back up to face you after finally taking your underwear off completely, his arms resting on either side of you, peppering your face with kisses before stopping at your mouth. You could taste the remains of yourself on his tongue as he pushed it past your lips to slide over yours.

"I love you," he spoke quietly against your mouth, moving down to your jaw, making you smile as you pulled him to look you straight in the eyes, "I love you too," kissing him with just as much passion as before.

His right arm moved underneath your arched back, towing you into him as he sat you up on your knees. His fingers quickly opened the back of your bra, sliding it down your arms, following its trail to mark it with kisses. Once were boobs were free in front of you, he leaned down, getting to work on them as he decorated them with his lips. You threw your head back in relief, giving him easier access, sighing his name out loud.

When he wanted to feel your mouth on his again, he positioned his hand on your tits, engulfing them in the warmth of his palms.

"You're always so good to me." Now it was your time to move your lips down his throat, getting a soft moan out of him, while his fingers came to play with your nipples.

"How could I not," he got a hold of your chin, moving it gently so you'd be facing him again, "You deserve it," going back to stealing your breath and devouring your lips.

Joel sat down properly on the bed, giving you the opportunity, to take a seat on his lap. You let your hand travel down your body, between your legs to smear some of your wetness onto your palm before you moved onto him, covering his fully erect cock. He held himself up with his hands on the mattress, tilting his head back, letting the pleasure wash over him as a groan fell from his lips.

You pumped your hand up and down four times before you were ready to lower your head, but a soft grip on the back of your hair stopped you, gently pulling you back up, "No no, darlin', come on," Joel patted his lap, "Sit down." He had always been more of a giver than a receiver. Not that the hated blowjobs, how could he with your mouth, but he enjoyed giving a lot more than receiving.

You listened to his demand and scootched up onto his lap, not letting go of his erection in your hand as you lined it up with your sex before slowly sinking down on it, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders as soon as he grabbed you by your hips.

A soft but long whine vibrated in your throat as he started to fill you up, stretching you with his size. Your fingers started digging into his shoulders, making him hiss with a chuckle. His strong arms kept you as close as possible to him, waiting for you to set the pace and start moving.

You let your forehead fall against his once he was fully inside, and you started rotating your hip right away. Moving them back and forth to create some friction as both of you shared a round of low moans, kissing to prevent them from getting too loud. He moved his hips along with yours after getting to know the speed you were working with, making you sigh out loud. "Oh… fuck…"

Joel's hand came up to brush some of the hairs that stuck to your forehead, away, giving your cheeks a few pecks.

"You know, you get more beautiful each day," directing them down to your throat and the side of your neck.

You chuckled, "You're one to talk, dilf hot-shot." Your comment made the two of you giggle in chorus as you remembered him of the nickname he had earned himself at the last parent-teacher conference, which you found out, thanks to his daughter, who wondered what it meant.

He rolled his eyes,

"Oh please," he jerked his hips up to tease you, almost making you screech if it wasn't for you hiding your face in his neck. "I'll always find you beautiful, sweetheart, no matter the age."

His hand on your hair pulled you back gently to look at him again,

"Likewise, handsome," you smiled at him, gifting him with a kiss before your hands on his chest pushed him down, while you kept yourself up on your knees. As Joel lowered his body, following your directions, you felt his erection tipping with him, nudging the rough spot inside of you, getting a shaky moan from you in return.

Once he was comfortable, you braced yourself with your arms on the sides of his head to hover above him, continuing your make-out session. You felt his hands going down your body, finding their new place on your ass as he held on to it, keeping you still, while started to move his upwards. Having to pull back from the kiss, you released a soft sigh before starting to move against him, meeting his thrusts in the middle.

His grip tightened with his lips on you again, "Fuck, baby," he hissed, slightly picking up the pace. "Ya' gonna' be fuckin' death of me." You loved whenever his deep Texanian accent made an appearance during sex. It just told you, you were doing everything right.

With one last kiss, you pushed yourself up to fully sit on his cock again. He pushed his knees up slightly to give you a makeshift backrest once you started moving your hips faster. His fingers quickly interlaced with yours, giving you something to hold onto as you yanked them closer to you.

"Joel…" you dragged out his name in a hush, getting a groan from him in response.

"You're doing so good sweetheart, keep doing," he encouraged you.

You sat up straight, "Put your legs down," giving him the directions you needed for your next position, sounding almost out of breath. He did as you asked, giving you the room to lean back and hold onto his thighs, opening up your body as a sight to him.

"So good, baby," he moaned out loud as he put his hand to your pussy, after wetting his fingers with his spit, circling them around your clit, making you shake.

"Fuck," you cursed out, sighing along with it as you started moving your hips faster, now with the encouragement of Joel's touch on your sex.

His groans felt your ear, letting you know he wasn't far from his release, just as much as you. You kept moving, bouncing up and down on his erection that kept brushing your walls, letting you feel every vein on his cock.

"Joel, I'm so close," you moaned, which was all he needed to know before he freed his hands from yours, only to bring them back to your ass, lifting you up to change his position. You kept yourself up, taking a few deep breaths, trying to steady your breathing with the small rest you got.

He sat up on his knees, wrapping his arms around you again to lower you back onto the mattress, this time with your head against the comfort of your pillows.

Joel stayed in this position, making sure to keep you as still as possible in the tight hug, as he started snapping his hips against yours. His cock slid easily in and out of you, the wet sounds ringing through your ears as you felt his balls slapping against your ass.

You lifted your arms, your fingers desperately trying to find the headboard to hold onto as you tried to contain yourself from the noise you wanted to make. All you could let out were high-pitched whimpers and gentle moans when you could've easily screamed into his ears with the pleasure that was rushing through your body.

You could feel Joel's fingers digging into your skin, his groans only getting deeper as he attacked your neck, hoping to keep it as quietly as possible. The second orgasm was approaching you rapidly and you wanted to open your mouth to let him know, but all you could make out was,

"I- Jo-" as he kept on hitting just the sight spots inside of you.

He nodded, "I know, baby," breathing heavily against you, "Ya gonna come with me?" Making you nod hastily, "Yeah?" To which you nodded again, a whimper tumbling from your lips.

Your feet started digging into the mattress as the pressure leading you to your release was getting intensely more.

"I-I'm gonna c- fuck, I'm gonna cum," you managed to get out. Joel kept his lips on your neck, gifting you more encouraging words.

"Yeah baby, come with me," was the last thing you needed to hear before he smashed his lips onto yours just at the right time before you could scream your orgasm out into the world. Your fingers tightened around the wood of the headboard as you felt him shoot his cum into you. His groan against your mouth sent vibrations through your body, which was already shaking from the aftermath of your release.

As soon as he pulled back, the two of you shared your heavy breaths, sweaty foreheads pressed against each other, a smile of pleasure decorating both of your faces.

Joel started peppering your face with kisses again, making you chuckle as you still tried to catch your breath, just as well as he still was doing.

"I love you, darlin'," he whispered against your skin as you brought your fingers back to his hair, brushing them to make him look at you.

After placing a loving kiss against his lips, you breathed out, "I love you, babe. I love you a lot."

"A lot?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows.

You nodded with a smile, "A lot."

With a deep kiss that let you know just what you needed to know, he was back gazing into your eyes, freeing your face from all the small hairs that had made their way to your sweaty forehead, "Well then, I love you a lot too." But you couldn't let him go yet, yanking him towards you for one last, passion-filled kiss, moaning into his mouth as he smirked.

Joel pushed himself back up, slowly sliding his erection out of you, making you shiver, and him chuckle before he walked over to the basket of clean clothes he had yet to put away.

He searched for the clean cloth he remembered throwing in, and once he had found it, he brought it back to bed with him. He was back to hovering above you, continuing your innocent make-out session while he started cleaning up the mix of his and your cum that was dripping out of you. With every swipe, you buckled your hips up uncontrollably, just enjoying the pleasure washing over your body.

After he got done with that, he threw the cloth into the basket for dirty clothing before starting to look for his boxers, standing up on his two feet to pull them up his legs. You crawled over to the edge of the bed, bending down to gather your underwear before looking up at Joel who was standing closer to the clean clothing than you were.

"Can you give me a shirt, please?" Already knowing that you were asking for one of his, he snatched a dark green one and passed it over to you, who had gotten up from the bed, legs still shaky, but you could make it work.

Once you had thrown that over your body, you felt the familiar strong arms wrap around you again, and Joel lowered his head to get another few kisses from you.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered once again.

You smiled against his lips, "Oh, it is a very happy anniversary, babe." When there didn't seem to be a stop to the make-out session he had initiated, you tried to push him away, but he wasn't budging.

"J-Joel," you giggled, "I need to go."

"Where?" He immediately pulled his head back, gazing at you in surprise, but you quickly calmed him with a soft hand on his chest,

"Downstairs to get our clothes. I don't need to traumatise your daughter on the first day of moving in," you freed yourself from his hug, "And then I have to take a shower."

As you passed him, he couldn't let go of the opportunity to get a hold of your ass, squeezing it, getting a screech from you in response. You were quick to turn around and hit him on the upper arm, making him flinch away with a smirk.

"Joel!" You hissed at him, motioning for him to be quiet.

He raised his arms, "You're the one being so loud," earning himself a death glare from you, but it only made his grin wider.

His eyes followed your form as you left the room before he let himself drop down onto the bed. He ran a hand over his face, not even caring to hide the smile that just didn't seem to go away.

You were officially moved in. From today on, he'd wake up next to you every single day. Sarah and he would have you by their side every afternoon after work. He'd be able to pick you up and bring you both home. Together. He knew now the pressure of the next step in your relationship would be approaching quicker, but he decided to put that thought aside and focus on the present - and on your footsteps that were coming back up.

Joel laughed to himself as he got back up, on his way to join you in the bathroom for round two - after all, he had promised you hours.

joel taglist: @corvusmorte

pedro taglist: @leslieelainetrask

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #imagines #imagine #smut #fluff #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #x fem!reader #hbo!joel miller x reader #pre-outbreak!joel #x reader #pedro pascal x reader #x you #one shot #domestic #soft smut

[hyper-fixated-delusions]

Sleepless in the Compound.

Wanda Maximoff x Avenger Stark fem!reader.

A/N: I hope you enjoy and I apologize for any mistakes! Also comments, reblogs, shares and likes are super appreciated, thank you! :)

Word count: 944.

Masterlist.

Wanda had just made it to the compound after a week long mission, exhaustion clearly present on her entire being as she walks from the hangar to the bedroom she shared with you.

It being well past midnight she expected nothing less than for you to be sleeping. Heart soaring at the prospect of being to able to be in your arms once again after being apart for so long.

But as the redhead makes it to the hall of your sleeping quarters, she hears thuds coming from inside the room and her eyes turn red, wisps of magic coming out of her fingers in cation.

As she nears the door slowly, she continues hearing the ruckus coming from inside and she sends the door flying open only to see you dancing around the room, occasionally attempting to do a cartwheel, music blaring from the large headphones you’re wearing, the sight causing amusement to Wanda.

Slowly as to not startle you, your girlfriend approaches. “Hello?” Wanda begins as you continue moving about, too quickly for you to even notice another person in the room. “Baby? Y/N?” The redhead says, as you stand with your back facing towards her, letting Wanda put her hands on your shoulders to get your attention.

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaim, pulling the headphones into your hands as your turn around, jumping up in fear, the scare causing you to light the object on fire.

“Oh my god, babe! Put it out!” Wanda exclaims as well, startled by your powers.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just- you scared me,” you say, slightly panting as ice shoots out of your hands to extinguish the fire.

“I called you, but you were doing, well honestly, god knows what,” Wanda chuckles, “what are you doing up anyway? I expected you to be asleep by now.”

“Usually I would be asleep but, you know how my brother always likes to complains about being the only Avenger that doesn’t sleep well and how even when something comes up no matter how sleep deprived he is he always manages to have the complete focus that I lack and all that bullshit, you know how it goes. Well… while you were gone he was getting on my nerves, so to shut him up, we sort of made a bet,” you say grinning widely, bouncing on your toes as your arms encircle Wanda’s waist.

“Oh no, what did you do?” The redhead asks, an amused smirk on her face as she places her hands on your shoulders to stop your movements.

“Sorry,” you mutter sheepishly, “I’m like really energized, but also really tired because well I haven’t slept. But anyway, I made a bet with Tony!” You grin, Wanda tilting her head so you can provide more information, “I bet him that I could last awake longer than his record of 36 hours in exchange for an all paid, week long trip to Hawaii for our anniversary next month!” You say, bouncing in your spot once again in excitement. “We’ve been dating for almost 3 years and we hardly ever have time to do something this big. I love the beach, you love the beach and if I win we get one week of no interruptions, paid by Tony, so I'm trying to win here baby,” you smile, “also I was like, you’re so on, you know, cause I can never back out of a bet, but isn’t it great?” You ramble and Wanda chuckles.

“That's great babe, but how much longer do you have to be up? Because this mission was exhausting and I was really looking forward to relaxing with you. I want nothing more than to get into that bed with you and sleep my love,” the redhead pouts.

“Uh, sorry, but I can't do that just yet Max, I have to stay awake.” You say, pressing a quick kiss to her pouty lips, “but don't worry once Friday hits, I win and I'm all yours. We can relax and sleep all you want! Then we get ready to go on a vacation next month, for a week, for free,” You beam and Wanda’s eyes widen.

“Y/N/N,” she begins slowly, “when’s the last time you slept?”

“On Wednesday it’ll be 48 hours since I’ve been awake,” you reply, moving away from Wanda as you now attempt to do a backflip.

“Y/N, what the fuck!” The redhead exclaims in shock, “you need to get some sleep now! It’s Friday, detka! Oh my god! You won, now get some rest!” Your girlfriend says, eyes full of worry.

Wanda’s outburst and the revelation of the day has your body thudding on the floor and you look up at your girlfriend with wide eyes, “wait, are you serious?” You ask, smile wiped off your face, “I’ve been awake for 4 days?” You say slowly as Wanda cautiously nods. “Oh my god,” you whisper and your girlfriend kneels down beside you.

“Hey baby, are you okay?” The redhead asks, green eyes inspecting your features as you lay on the floor.

“Am I okay?” You begin slowly, “am I okay?” You repeat a little louder, suddenly jumping up with a smile on your face. “Of course I’m okay, I beat Tony! Holy shit, we’re going to Hawaii baby!” You exclaim pulling a surprised Wanda off the ground to pull her into a happy kiss, “I have to go tell him and rub it in his dumb stupid face!” You say, pulling away from a still shocked Wanda to run out of the room your voice booming through the compound as you yell, “oh Tony, you big loser, where are you?”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel #stark reader #tony stark #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x fem reader #wanda maximoff blurb #Wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda marvel #Sleepless in the Compound

[smellrain]

𝐧𝐡𝟏𝟑 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭

in which: nico and you had met years ago in a cold rink in canada but then lost touch for several reasons. It's hard, growing and correcting mistakes of your past but you try anyway.

tags: written, angst, hopeful ending, mentions of: depression, injuries, hospitals, doctors, etc. (masterlist)

notes: [5.1k] I have no idea what this is? I woke up, wrote the entire thing and passed out again for 2 hours. Tried polishing it through editing? Yeah. It turned out a lot different than the rest of my stuff so far, so it's scary posting this. Come & tell me if you liked it.

The ice was as harsh as it was unforgiving. 

The cold air of the rink has seeped into your bones years ago and the reddend tips of your fingers went numb a while ago, but you were used to it by now. Nothing really mattered when you got like this, too caught up in your head for anyone to reach. 

Not even yourself. 

You had been home and then suddenly not, your body already knowing what you needed before your mind caught up to it. 

The rink wasn’t open, not yet, but you had gotten a key years ago. The owner, David, had been the only one that had looked at you the same back then. There had been a knowing sort of look in his eyes when he had seen you waiting for him at the front door stepps, eyes red. 

He had given you a key, because he had seen you for who you were: a girl whose entire life had collapsed around her. 

Bronze at fifteen, silver at sixteen, gold forever out of reach. 

You could still remember the red pen tucked into your doctor’s coat. The ‘my condolences, but’, the white light, the letter in your hand, the sinking realisation that this was it. 

That you were going to be one of the several girls that had pushed their body too far.

The same way you had done everything back then you had followed the instructions of your therapist to the letter. Stretching, compressions, different exercises. Still, there was no full recovery, no chance of ever skating professionally again. 

That might be the worst part, still being able to skate but knowing that you will never be able to feel it anymore. That you were cursed to be in this limbo, never letting go of it but never being able to live for it anymore. 

The harsh sound of your blade cutting over the fresh ice was as pleasant as it was torture. You wanted more, but you had to settle for this. You had to learn that this was all you were ever going to get. 

These select few hours in the early morning, just before your classes started, before you had to start living your life. 

You could feel yourself drawing harsh breaths, but it didn’t matter. You had pushed through worse, hunger, hurt and feelings just to stand here for a bit longer. The ringing in your ear accumulated when you thought about all that you had lost, that you could never regain.

Suddenly the heavy door of the entrance fell closed. You slowed down, curious who it might be. The clock in the corner of your vision reflected a red 05:57 back at you. It was too early for it to be anyone aside from David or another person with a key, someone like you.

It was a guy, a bag in his hand and another slung over his shoulder. 

You would recognize the equipment anywhere, familiar with it in a distant way. It must be a hockey player that David had picked out out of the hundreds that frequented this place. 

For some reason you already didn’t like him. Maybe because unlike you, he had the chance of actually archiving his dreams. Bitterness was an annoying but frecent emotion that stained the back of your mouth. 

You wanted. You wanted more than this. You wanted the early morning practices, the ones after school, the rigidous schedule, the heavy monitoring. What were you without all that?

The static in your mind had been interrupted by his arrival but you hardly noticed, more focused on the way he walked down the stairs, casually like he had done so hundreds of times already.

It was almost six, which meant it was time to get off the ice anyways, so you circled a few laps, rotating your wrists and shoulders to feel if anything was off, and then made your way towards the outside of the rink. 

“You look pretty,” said the boy from where he was tying his shoelaces up on the benches. “Out on the ice, I mean.”

Something in you hurt at that, as if your heart started pulling at its own strings. It’s been a while since anyone has watched you skate,, since you let someone else watch you. There was a sharp kind of anger rising up in you that it had been him watching you which dissipated as soon as you looked back at him.

It wasn’t his fault. There really was something wrong with you.

You knew your parents didn’t approve of you being here, but they couldn’t look at you anymore when you skated, disappointed that this was how it had ended. Disappointed in you.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice completely scraped raw. You hoped he didn’t notice it. 

“I’m Nico,” he said, approaching you. He held out his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves yet but his dark shirt had thumbholes that his thumb peeked through which was weirdly endearing on him. 

You looked back up to his face. There was a tired but polite smile plastered on it but you didn’t have the energy to give him one. Instead you simply told him your name and took his hand. Even through his layer of fabric it was warm beneath your icy fingers.

He didn’t flinch at the cold of your hand and instead started genuinely smiling which took you by surprise. People didn’t react to meeting you like this, not anymore. 

Then, without saying anything else, he took off his guards and stepped on the ice, skating around to warm up. You watched him for a bit while scraping off the excess ice and putting your skates away. 

His skating was differentthan yours; not as delicate. The beauty of it had been hammered into you from an early age on which didn’t seem to be the case form him. It was weird, not being on the ice, being the one to watch instead. 

You changed back into your shoes and walked up the steps. 

From the top, which wasn’t all that high because this rink wasn’t that big, he seemed small. You wondered if you looked like that too, if anyone had thought that when you fell down, when they had seen you sprawled on the ice at fifteen, not being able to get up again. 

A sick shudder passed through you. You wondered if you had ever gotten up from that ice.

Then you turned around, your back to him and left without saying goodbye. 

~*~

The next time you saw him again, was two days later, just after six. 

You knew you were going to be late for class but didn’t really care. Today you weren’t as cooped up in your own head, but it was still hard to let go of these stolen few hours of freedom and face reality. 

“Hey,” Nico said, “it’s you again.”

“Hello,” you said in return. He stepped on the ice and you fought off the urge to leave immediately. That would be impolite, a voice reminded you in your head, even if you didn’t want him to be here right now.

“Are you here every morning?” he asked you, falling into step beside you and therefore joining you on your cooldown laps. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Couldn’t he just do his own thing? Did he have to come talk to you? “Yes.” 

"Dedicated. I only come every second day,” he said as if it mattered to you. You might have to leave early every second day now to avoid talking to him, which made your scowl even worse. 

“Okay.” You said instead. 

He hummed in reason but dropped the conversation after. When you took a look at him from the corner of your eye he didn’t seem deterred at your attitude, seemingly just satisfied that he got a response.

After another lap in, you hated to admit it but companionable silence, you left, without saying anything but this time he waved back at you from below. You didn’t return his gesture. 

~*~

Despite your early judgement, the two of you formed some kind of routine over the next few weeks. You came early, and sometimes you left a protein bar for him in the stands and sometimes he brought  you a hot tea for when you got off the ice. 

Still, always without fail, he joined you for a few laps. He talked about his life and sometimes asked you a few questions. Sometimes you answered him, other times you didn’t. He never pressed for answers. 

Nico told you that he was from Switzerland, which explained the heavy accent. He just joined Halifax, and he came early to work on his technique, preferring to do so in silence without his teammates chirping at him. You, in turn, told him that you had skated, professionally, before your injury. He didn’t ask for details about either of these things and you didn’t share of your own accord. 

Slowly, so slowly that you didn’t even notice, you realised that he had become your friend. 

It was strange. You hadn’t made friends in a long time. Before, you had had school friends, but because you never hung out outside of it, always training, it never deepend. 

A weird sort warmth seeped in under your skin at the thought of the two of you being friends like a steady fire that kept you warm at night.

The friends you had made while skating splintered along with your knee. 

It was hard, you knew that, to see their worst fear reflected back at them, but it was still hard for you to reach out, so you simply stopped talking to each other. 

On your bad days you thought that it was all their fault, on your good you knew that it was a mutual mistake. 

The thing about Nico was that he was hard to pin down. He was hardworking, thrived under pressure and loved hockey. He was also afraid of falling and failing, he loved sitting under the sun in the summers, feeling his skin heat up and his favorite colour was green, but he admitted that it changed every few weeks. 

You knew that this friendship wouldn’t last, not really. Neither of you had any way of reaching out to the other, and neither expressed the desire to do so but it was still nice, this tentative kinship.

~*~

“Have you ever played hockey?” he asked you, once. 

It must have been a Saturday or Sunday because you were in no hurry to get off the ice, instead basking in his company. 

“No,” you answered, simply.

He grinned, “you are missing out.”

“Really now?” you asked, teasingly, when you turned around to skate with your front to him.

“Really. I wanna teach you,” he said, leaving the choice up to you without outright asking. If you wanted to you could just brush it off and the conversation would continue. 

Instead you said, “yeah, sure, why not.”

His smile was blinding, the adoration for his sport bleeding from every inch of his skin. It was a good look on him, happiness. Distantly you wondered if anyone had ever thought that about you.

It was different, skating with a stick in your hands but it was fun. He taught you how to shoot and aim at a certain spot which you weren’t half bad at if you stood still.

Hours later when the two of you stepped off the ice your tea was cold but you hardly noticed it.

~*~

Another day you asked him what he was reaching for. 

“Olympics,” he had answered immediately but after a beat of silence he looked up as if the lights in the ceiling were stars he could wish upon. “I think I want someone to look at me and think ‘I want to do that. I want to start playing hockey.’”

You looked at him and the only thought that crossed your mind was that he was the reason you could step off the ice again, that you knew you would always be able to come back, just one more time. 

“I like that,” you said because it was true. 

He tilted his head back to you, and the way his eyes glimmered with a rare vulnerability made your breath catch. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, standing still, alive and just in reach.

Oh. 

That was that feeling in your chest. 

~*~

Yet another day he joined you on the ice and you immediately kicked him off again. 

“What did I say about injuries?” you asked, frustrated in a way only he could make you. 

“That they were not to be ignored,” he parroted back, his gaze between his feet as if staring at his ankle would magically heal it. 

“Exactly,” you said. Then, gentler than before, “you need to give yourself time to heal, otherwise you will never get better.”

He looked back up to where you were hovering above him. “Okay.”

You didn’t want him to have the last word. “Okay,” you said firmly and sat down next to him. 

The two migrated up to the changing rooms  where he sat on a bench with his ankle elevated while you worked through your stretches, your knewww aching in phantom pain.

~*~

Today your mind was quiet.

It was your last time and you had wanted to take it all in again, one last time. You were moving, your father had gotten a new job somewhere in New Jersey. You knew it was good, a new start away from everything, a chance to start over. 

But still, you were going to miss this. The rink, the quiet, the place you had grown up in. The place that was your prison as much as it was your salvation. 

As you looked up towards the ceiling, the lights shining down on you, the dark gary that seemed black in contrast, you thought you should cry. This was the perfect moment to, and you hadn’t yet. 

Then, the door opened. 

You were surprised because he wasn’t supposed to be here today. Nico had been here yesterday and the two of you had argued about your favorite brand of cereal, and you selfishly had wanted to leave it at that. 

To leave your friendship without having to say goodbye, without having to ever really let go of him. 

“Nico,” you breathed, before you could stop yourself. 

“Hey you,” he said, as he came up to you. You didn’t even realise that you had stopped moving. 

“It’s late,” he stated. You looked up to the clock and sure enough, it was almost twenty past. 

“Ah,” you said, uncaring. It’s not like you had school today. You wondered when he went to school, if his just started later than yours had. In all your talks you had never actually talked about it. 

And you never were going to anymore, you had to remind yourself. Suddenly it was a lot harder to breathe through the ache in your chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you knew he meant it, “you look, I don’t know, sad?”

“I’m moving,” before he could ask anything more, “like tomorrow. This is the last time I’m going to see you in a while.”

“Oh.” The expression on his face was hurt, because he must have realised that you had intended to leave without saying anything. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “for everything.” You weren’t really sure for what, but it seemed like the right thing to say. For your intentions, the way you acted, maybe.

“It’s okay,” he said, but it wasn’t, not really. You knew that and he knew that you knew.

“I’m moving to New Jersey.”

He was quiet for a bit.”America,” he started. Then, “do you want to exchange numbers?”

You ignored the sting behind your eyes. “I’m probably going to have to get a new simcard, but you can give me yours.”

The two of you skated back to the door, from where you had stood still in the middle of the open space. He got a piece of paper and a pen from his bag and then somewhat messily tore off the corner of a worksheet and scribbled down his number in blue ink and signed it with his name.

He looked up at you but neither of you said anything for a while. What was there to say, anymore? 

“Don’t forget about me,” he ended up telling you and you reached out to hug him. He was warm under your hands, steady and you were going to miss this, him.

“Don’t forget me either,” you murmured into the crook of his neck. 

Still, in the back of your mind, you knew that you were never going to use his number. You were going to cut off your old life before it could follow you to your new one. But for once you had told him the truth, you weren’t going to forget about him, probably ever. 

And that was that. You said goodbye, waved and you left him there. He returned the gesture, face unreadable and you were sad that the last time he looked at you he wasn’t smiling.

From the top you looked down at him one last time. He seemed bigger now, compared to that first time you had looked down at him, still filled with bitterness.

Maybe that was just your imagination, or maybe it was his confidence after playing with his current team, after seeing his results pay off. 

You turned and let the door fall closed behind you. 

Then, and only then tears started to well up in your eyes. You ignored them and moved on. Always looking ahead, never back. 

Still, you kept the number tucked away safely hidden in a small corner of your wallet. A piece of him that you would always carry with you. 

~*~

You made new friends, graduated and decided to attend college. Got diagnosed with chronic depression and mild anxiety, got a boyfriend and broke it off again after three months, cried, laughed and finally lived. 

But there was part of you hidden in the corner of your wallet, too.

~*~

If you were being honest, Nico didn’t really cross your mind when your friend asked you to go to a hockey game with you. 

In a way he did, because he had been one of your few friends that played hockey, but it was more of an oh yeah, the sport Nico loved and not oh yeah I’m going to a hockey game and I wonder if Nico is still playing, I wonder if he made it to the big leagues. 

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a lie, but still. You hadn’t expected this. 

The two of you went to the Prudential Center and you were excited despite your earlier apprehension. Your phone with the blocked tags of icehockey and nhl seemed to burn a hole in your pants but it’s not like anyone would know. 

Your friend had told you a bit about the team, but if you were being honest, you could not remember any of their names, much less which position and line they played. 

When the players got announced, the home team first, you froze. Suddenly the noise of the cheers around you were completely quiet until they flooded back to you, a harsh reminder of reality.

Because it was him. That was Nico. Your Nico. Or like your past Nico.

There, with a red thirteen and a small C over his chest, was Nico. He was all grown up now, and instead of thinking wow, he is kind of attractive when he smiled at the camera, you thought, holy shit, he is really, really handsome. 

Your friend picked up on your strange behaviour. “What's wrong?”

I know him, you wanted to scream. I think he saved my life without meaning to, and I think I loved him but I never told him. What came out instead was, “I think I'm going to be sick.”

“What?” she asked, suddenly even more worried, “do you need fresh air? Or do you just want to leave?”

You wanted to stay. You wanted to shoot a puck at his head and tell him to look up at you, the way he had done back then. 

“No, don’t worry about it,” you said and when didn’t change at your reply, you added, “I’m just going to get some water. I think it might be the crowd or something.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to come with?”

You knew how much she had been looking forward to it, and besides there was nothing she could help you with anyhow. “No, really, it’s all good. Just need to breathe for a second.”

She gave you a look, and you smiled despite wanting to curl up in a corner and cry, “if you are sure. But if anything,” she took your hand in hers, “if anything is wrong call me. I’m gonna have my phone in my hand the entire time.”

You squeezed her hand the same way your heart did at her words. “Thank you, really, but it’s okay. I'll be right back.”

Then you fled up the stands and you couldn’t help but think about the first time you had seen him, how you had left without saying anything. You looked down, just once, and spotted him immediately, as if he was the north pole to your south, your eyes drawn to him. 

He seemed even bigger now, as if he had finally grown into the steady confidence he had had, even back then. 

You smiled. He deserved it, genuinely. You were glad that he did end up making it to the big leagues, even if some part of you hurt at that. You still missed ice skating, your rink from back then, David, but most of all you missed what could have been if you hadn’t been scared. 

What could have been if you had just texted him. 

Regret was a useless emotion to feel, but all of a sudden you felt yourself drown in and you coughed once, just to ease that feeling in your throat.

Then you turned your back to the ice and walked up the rest of the stairs to the stands to get yourself some water. 

It was useless trying to think about any of it now, so you pushed the thoughts aside for later. 

~*~

A week later you were drunk. It was a Friday evening and you had finally finished the gruelling lab you had worked on for the entire day. 

You were hanging out in your friend’s room, the same friend that had taken you to the game a week before. Two of your other friends were sat ob the floor, leaning gainst the opposite bed and a warm, content feeling spread through your chest. 

You had friends now. 

“What’s wrong?” she suddenly asked from where she was sat next to you on her bed, her back against the headboard, yours against the wall adjacent to it.

“Nothing,” you answered because nothing was. 

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, tell me,” she said, “you've been quiet ever since we came back from the game a week ago and I’ve waited long enough for you to say something, so now I’m going to.”

Had you been that obvious? Or did she just know you that well? Either way, she deserved the truth, the full truth.

“I just,” you began and stopped again, starting to peel off the sticker on your beer with the blunt edge of your nail. 

“When I was younger, I skated.” You started. You knew that she had never expressed any kind of interest in skating so you elaborated further, “really well.” Wow, you were really eloquent tonight.

“Okay,” she said, no doubt wondering where you were going with this. 

Your mind was fuzzy around the edges because of the drinks which made harder than usual to focus on your words, but it made it easier to talk about it, too. These people didn’t know about anything that had been, only what was. “I was good enough to win. Olympics, I mean.”

Suddenly one of the other two friends from the other side of the room joined in. “The Olympics?”

“Yeah,” you said, staring firmly at the bottle in your hands, not looking at any of them. “I won bronze and silver, fifteen and sixteen.”

“Holy shit,” she said, as did your other friend, but one of them remained quiet, so you looked at her. 

From the look in her eyes you knew that she knew. “And then I fell, badly. Tried to get up again but couldn’t. Went to the doctor and you know,” you trailed off, “retired. Started physiotherapy, got a lot better but…”

“Not enough to ever compete again,” she finished for you. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse. “But I couldn’t let go of it, you know? So sometimes, before school, I snuck out to the local rink and skated around just because I didn’t know anything else.”

Your friend that was next to you on the bed made an encouraging noise, and laid a hand on your knee, so you continued. 

“Then I met a guy. I was in a bad mental place, not really talking to anyone unless I had to, but we somehow became friends.”

Then you looked at them, “I don’t know, it was a weird friendship because we only ever saw each other at the rink every few days, but I felt something for him anyway. It wasn’t quite love but could have been, maybe.”

The others were still listening, and the words rushed out before you could stop yourself. “Then I moved. Wanted to leave before saying goodbye because that would hurt too much. On the day I was leaving I saw him anyway. He gave me his number but I never used it.”

“You wanted to make a clean cut?” your friend asked. 

“Yeah. It was sefish, because it wasn’t just about me, you know? I should have told him how I felt, but I didn’t.” You shook your head, “but that’s not even the point. I saw him again at the game.”

“Oh,” your friend that had dragged you to it, said. 

“Yeah,” you answered, and your other friend asked, “why didn’t you talk to him?”

The other friend, the one that had never asked you about your skating, even though she had known, even though she had every opportunity to, said, “because he was playing, right?”

“Yeah,” you said and you wanted to cry. You could still hear his name announced by the speakers. “Funny, all the time we spent together and I never knew his last name.”

“Who is it?” she asked, gentle, and you knew you could just not answer. You could bury it deep down, once and for all. But that’s not what you wanted to do, not anymore. 

“Nico Hischier.” And your friend laughed. 

“Of course it’s the captain,” she said and you couldn’t help but join in, the effects of the alcohol cursig through your veins. What were the chances, really? That he ended up in the state you had moved to all those years ago.

The others joined it. “He changed his number by now, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” one of them said. 

All of you were quiet for a second. “Wait, I have an idea,” she said and moved her hand from your leg and grabbed your phone. 

She gave it to you and made a motion for you to unlock it. You did and gave it back to her. From where you were sat you weren’t able to see your screen, much less what she typed on it. 

After a few seconds she gave it back to you. 

It was Nico’s instagram profile. You hesitated before clicking on his most recent post. Your other friends that had been sitting on the floor climbed up to join you. 

“Follow him,” one of them said. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest. This was not the account you had used to document your wins and training back then, but it still had your first and last name in the username, but it was on private. 

Underneath your thumb the button changed colour. “Fuck,” you said.

The other three laughed at your exclamation. “Wait, do I text him?” you asked, turning to the others. 

They all looked back at you, and one of them asked, “do you want to?”

You did. You really fucking did, but you had no idea what to say. “But what do I say? Hey, sorry for being a dick to you when we were like seventeen, I was half in love with you and didn’t know how to tell you, so I just cut you out before anything could possibly hurt me.”

One of them leaned her head on your shoulder. “If you leave out the half in love part, it’s not too bad.”

“You should also ask if he wants to meet and talk in person,” the other said. 

You opened your notes app and the four of you composed a message to him. 

Your hands were shaking and your heart was beating too fast. This was it, this was your chance and you weren’t going to let go again without a fight. This time you would stay and he could make the choice: to stay or to leave. 

Then, you hit the small blue icon and sent it and let out a quiet scream. You wouldn’t be able to take it back, not anymore. 

You threw your phone away from you onto a small patch where the blanket you were sitting on was still visible. 

Over an hour passed and you still hadn’t heard back from him. Soon after you pased out, but a quiet acceptance had settled in your stomach. He forgot. Or maybe he didn’t see the message or maybe he didn't want to talk to you again, which you couldn’t blame him for. 

But when you woke up the next morning, you had a single notification from him. 

For a second you debated not clicking on it, but that would mean standing still. It would be different this time. You would be different this time. There was an unfamiliar, new kind of determination that flickered up your spine and it reminded you of the steady ice under your skates, of the final hug the two of you had shared. Harsh, unforgiving, certain. 

You clicked on it and there was no going back now.

Nico Hischier Hello, it’s been a while.  Of course I remember you, didn’t I tell you?  For sure, I'd love to meet up and talk. Does next weekend work for you? I have a home game which makes it easier for both of us. 

notes: So. How are we feeling? Thoughts? Part 2? Please talk to me about this one because this lives in my mind rent free.

#nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier imagine #nhl #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl x y/n #nhl x you #nhl x reader #ame writes

[emelinstriker]

Wukong ♡ Part Of The Family

I'm not dead whoop- Just lost motivation and also didn't really have time. I don't know if I'm now fully back, but here have this one-shot... And a Mink (Ink MK) X Reader is in the making as I'm publishing this one-shot. c:

And Wukong's got a thing for MK's mom in this one...

ⓘ Reader is USING SHE/HER PRONOUNS

 ♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"Alright, I'll be heading home now."

"Make sure not to forget your backpack this time."

"Oh c'mon, I told you I was in a hurry yesterday, Pigsy! Anyway, see you tomorrow."

And with that, you put on your backpack and made your way over to the front door of the noodle shop. You were casually walking outside, humming a tune that's been stuck in your head the entire day... Until you noticed a little boy standing there, nude and covered in dirt, just staring at the noodle shop's bright light in awe. Confused and concerned, you glanced around the area in search for any possible parent looking for their runaway child. But there was no one even walking around the street. It was almost closing time for many people, after all.

When the boy still didn't move, you decided to take action. Slowly approaching the boy, you kneeled down to be more at his height. "Hey there, sweetie. How did you end up here like this? Are you lost? What's your name?" He looked at you, then back at the shop. Yet, he did not talk. Scratching your head in thought, you decided to approach the situation differently. "So, uh... Are you hungry? I'm sure I can let Pigsy take a bit off my paycheck for some noodles. I don't think he would turn down cooking for a kid in need."

Again, he just looked at you, then back at the shop. You sighed. This would be a fun problem to solve past closing hours. Extending your hand out towards the boy, you stood up. "C'mon, sweetie. Let me at least get you inside. I'd rather have you sit inside in the warmth than standing outside in the cold and dark once the sun is gone. I'm sure we can help find your parents."

This time, the boy looked at you, then at your hand. He hesitantly placed his tiny, kinda dirtied hand in yours and you began to slowly lead him inside the noodle shop's light.

Your boss was kind and helped you clean him up and gave him spare clothes, which looked a bit too big on the boy, then cooked up a meal for him. Sadly, you were unable to figure out what happened to him or where his parents were. You even looked outside the shop in the dark occasionally, trying to hear or see anyone who was looking for their child. But nothing came of it. Eventually, you found out the child's name and... It was really long. And since neither you or Pigsy could be bothered with saying it, you decided to nickname him MK. Your choice of the nickname was actually inspired by the legendary Monkey King, how he also had a really long name that got shortened for convenience as well.

A couple of days passed and there still was no parent looking for their child, nor was there any missing person report regarding a young boy with his descriptions...

You were basically taking care of MK during day and night, taking him home with you. At one point you suggested placing him in an orphanage, but MK only started to sob and cry, hugging your leg, not wanting to leave you. And being unable to say no, you accepted your fate. Hell, you even went the extra mile and became his legally adoptive parent with the paperwork you filled out, with Pigsy as uncle-figure of course.

As time went on, so did the years of development for your son. He moved out of your house and moved into the apartment Pigsy owned right above his shop, making him have a much easier time going to work. Meanwhile, you decided to travel through other towns all around the country, sending many little souvenir gifts and postcards over to Megapolis for MK to see, as well as keeping in touch with him through texts. And just a few years later, you heard news about various demons attacking your Megapolis, and how a boy called the Monkie Kid saved the city multiple times. Concerned, you started to travel back to the city, trying to get back as soon as you could to make sure your son and your former boss were alright.

To be honest, you arrived at a probably horrible time.

Looking at the city's skyline in the distance, you had to rub you eyes in confusion. Were you seeing this right? The city was partially covered in what seemed like giant ice shards... Did climate change really hit this area this bad the past years? It wasn't like it covered everything, but there certainly seemed to be a lot of icy remains. Shaking your head to regain focus, you proceeded with your self-proclaimed mission of checking on your son and your former boss. Cautiously making your way through Megapolis... the city seemed rather ruined. People were seemingly trying to get rid of any remaining ice as well as just generally trying to recover from whatever occurred. You were more confused if anything. What happened? Was this the aftermath of an attack of a demon you heard and read about in the news?

You then found your way back to Pigsy's Noodles. The noodle shop didn't seem to have changed at all. Upon entering, you immediately recognized some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. But the three you were most happy about to see were MK, Tang and Pigsy. You grinned, staying quiet as you leaned against the wall next to the entrance.

"MK! Order up!" Pigsy yelled out with a smile... It was certainly strange to see him smiling, but you weren't going to complain. Nice to know he was happier than when you left.

"On it, boss!" MK exclaimed as he swiftly grabbed the ordered bag. Though, as he turned to leave, his eyes spotted you... He froze, almost tripping over himself as he nearly let the noodle order fall in absolute shock. The boy simply looked at you with wide eyes... Before he started to tear up and seemingly hugged you at lightspeed. "MOM! YOU'RE BACK! I MISSED YOU! IT'S BEEN SO LONG!"

You chuckled as you tightly hugged him back, slightly tearing up yourself. "I'm home, sweetie..."

Of course, due to MK still having to go on his delivery route, he didn't have time to catch up with you just yet. However, you asked if you could join him on his delivery to catch up while he drove around. And of course, he happily agreed. Though, it was interesting to see where he went for those deliveries... The way he so casually delivered those noodles to so many demons with you... However, he was inhumanly fast at it. You were actually intrigued... What happened to your son while you were gone? Why was he suddenly so fast? Sure, he was a pretty hyperactive kid at least since you and Tang told him about the legend of the Monkey King, but this speed was new to you.

However, it wasn't until the last delivery where you were really questioning things. He had to deliver to Sun Wukong, the legendary Monkey King. At first you were under the assumption that he was supposed to place the delivery as an offering at his temple... You did not expect your precious baby boy to crash into a rock solid wall, apparently revealing the Monkey King's home on the other side, and creating a hole in the wall from excitement... Yeah, you definitely were missing out on major context here for sure. And if that wasn't enough, the legendary Monkey King himself was actually standing behind said wall and casually greeted your son as if it were just another day... Was this real? Didn't Sun Wukong supposedly vanish since he sealed the Demon Bull King? Was this a fake? You were actually internally freaking out at the sight of the legend himself from the stories. Though, you tried to keep calm and not squeal like a fangirl. He looked too real to be a human in a costume...

"Hey, bud!" Monkey King greeted MK before noticing you. He blinked at you in confusion. "Oh- Who's your friend?"

But before you could introduce yourself, MK hugged you excitedly from the side. "Monkey King, this is my mom! Mom, meet Monkey King!"

You awkwardly wave with a nervous, not sure if you were even allowed to be here. "Uh... h-hey."

"My mom and Mr.Tang are the reason I became a fan of your stories in the first place! She's a huge fan of you too!" MK said excitedly, which made you blush in embarrassment as you pursed your lips, mentally wanting to shut your son up from talking about you and your interests.

Monkey King couldn't help but snort at the dynamic you and your son have. He didn't even need his powers to notice the clear embarrassment and awkwardness you felt at your son's words. "Well, I'm glad to be able to meet the mother of my successor." The ginger-furred simian held out his hand for you to shake. You smiled awkwardly and hesitantly shook his hand, internally screaming that you were literally shaking hands with the Sun Wukong...

But then his words hit you and you looked at him and MK in confusion. "Wait a minute... Successor? Of the Monkey King?" You gave MK a slight glare. "He didn't tell me anything about that..." Your son laughed sheepishly, to which the Monkey King grinned smugly at him.

"Whaaat? You didn't tell your mom about how you can wield my staff and powers? And how you did a bunch of hero stuff?" Monkey King teased the poor boy. MK really just wanted to disappear right about now in fear of your silent rage.

"MK, I'm not mad that you didn't tell me... Well, I kind of am. But I'm mainly just worried about you and your safety, sweetie." You stated as you kissed MK's forehead. The way you handled MK seemed to very slightly stir something deep inside the Monkey King... He didn't know what it was, but it made him feel a little funny. It was a rather pleasant feeling... Just the way you talked with MK and treated the boy who was somewhat of a son to him.. Wait.

Actually- Nevermind, he realized something.

MK whined a bit, "Mooom, but I'm grown up already! I can handle some bad guys, even the big ones!"

"And I'm supposed to believe it how? Sure I've seen you running extremely quickly, but I haven't seen you use any actual powers- Besides you breaking the wall-" You paused. Then you turned towards the Monkey King and bowed a little. "I'm terribly sorry that my son broke your wall! How much would it cost to fix it? I-I'm sure I can cover the cost somehow-"

"Psh, it's fine, don't worry about it, Miss (Y/N). No need to pay for it. We tend to destroy walls surprisingly often during training. I can just easily fix it later myself if necessary", Monkey King cut you off. He then got an idea of how to prove it all. He placed his hands on his hips and grinned. "Well, speaking of training... How about your son and I show you what he can do already? We haven't been training in a while anyway, so it could be a nice refresher after everything that happened with the Lady Bone Deeeuuuuhhhh... Forget that part, actually."

You give both a confused and somewhat suspicious look. Now it was Monkey King's turn to laugh nervously. "Aahahaaaanyway- Let's show her what you've learned so far, bud!" He then grabbed you and MK and lead you outside to the cliffside of his home, where him and MK would usually chill and train at. And to give credit where credit is due, it did seem like MK learned quite a bit from his mentor. He even performed some of Monkey King's 72 transformations to show off his skills. Of course you were proud and happy for your son, but you were still a little worried about him having to face actual threats as the legend's successor.

That's when Monkey King started to act... strange, as MK would put it. He wanted to spar with the young boy, which was fine... But unlike their usual sparring sessions, this time his mentor was shirtless. MK immediately knew something was up because he has never seen him spar shirtless since there was no need. Monkey King never even break a single sweat during training. Nor did he ever overheat...

Meanwhile, you couldn't help but eye the ginger-furred monkey's physique. Despite being on the rather lean side, he did have refined muscles on him which were clearly visible due to the bright sunlight. Monkey King noticed your staring and only seemed to move more in a calculated way as he dodges MK's attacks. It was if he was showing off his body more, which made you faintly blush while he grinned... You thought he was grinning because of how easily he dodged MK's attacks with his staff.

However, Monkey King seemed so distracted and was holding back by showing off his body that he did not manage to block one attack from MK. The attack knocked the monkey to the ground due to him losing his balance in surprise. MK laughs victoriously at his mentor's defeat since the task was to land a hit. "Ha! I did it!"

Monkey King blushed a bit in embarrassment as he watched you hold back your laughter. He sheepishly smiled at his successor before using his tail to help himself off the ground. "Yeah, you sure did bud. Congrats."

Suddenly, your phone rang, capturing the attention of both of them. Looking at your phone, you noticed it was Pigsy calling. You sighed as you turned towards the other two. "I'll be right back, I got a call." You said before going a bit further away from them so you could be able to peacefully listen to what Pigsy wanted to talk to you about.

Meanwhile, MK just had to make sure of something. He raised an eyebrow at his mentor, grinning smugly. "Soooo... My mom...~?"

Monkey King blushed as he looked away, laughing nervously as he scratched his cheek. "Ahahaha! W-What are you talking about, kid? W-What about you mom ahaha-"

"You like her, don't you?" MK asks smugly. "You never take any clothes off during our sparring sessions, not even the smallest piece. Even when someone else is around... You even held back on your dodges to flex! This is the first time I see you trying to impress someone!"

If the ginger-furred simian had been drinking something, he would've either spat it out or choked on it as he tried to nervously laugh it off. "O-Of course not! Wha- W-What makes you say that? That doesn't prove anything! I just... felt like sparring like this today, okay? There's a first time for everything after all!" He tried to justify his actions. MK on the other hand just hummed, still grinning smugly. For anyone else trying to hook up with his mom, he would feel disgusted by it. However, the idea of the Sun Wukong, his mentor, legally becoming his father would be amazing. So, what else is there to do than for him to tease his probably and hopefully future dad? "...I don't like how you're looking at me right now." Wukong commented as MK simply continued to grin at him.

"Just admit it."

"...Admit what, bud?"

"That you like my mom."

"Oh- Ahahaha- Psh, I don't like her. I-I mean I like her, you know? She's nice, she's caring... But, I don't like-like her, y-you know? I-I, uh, just-" The ginger simian stammered nervously.

"Mhm. Sure..." MK's grin didn't fade.

After some awkward staring, Monkey King sighed in defeat. "...Okay fine, maybe... Just maybe I do like her just a tiny smidge more than I should for just meeting her today..."

MK chuckles as he leans against his staff. "So like, do you want me to play matchmaker and set you two up? I could get Mei and Sandy involved too in helping you get her to like you back."

The ginger-furred simian blinks at him in both surprise, confusion and embarrassment. He thought his successor would either just drop the topic or continue teasing him behind your back. Maybe he somewhat expected him to even resent him in a way for liking his mother... He just didn't expect him to willingly want to be a supportive matchmaker.

Monkey King nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Um... How about without them- I just... don't want this to be a big thing since I just met her...?" That came out as more of a question than a statement. The young Monkie Kid happily looked at his mentor, seeing his answer as a clear-cut confirmation of the Great Sage Equal To Heaven asking him for help.

It didn't take long for a plan to be formed.

From then on, just to have both of you to get to know each other better, MK asked you continuously to come with him to Flower Fruit Mountain everytime him and Monkey King were training... And your son was an annoyingly persistent bean, so you usually were dragged away and over to the Monkey King's lair. Then, after every training session, his mentor would talk to you.

It started off simple, actually. You would usually ask about MK's progress as well as about what kind of trouble he's already gotten himself into while you were gone. Apparently the day you returned, MK and his friends had just defeated some ancient bone demon spirit and Megapolis was still recovering.

But then your topics became a lot more personal with each new conversation. While your conversations once were just about things regarding your son being the successor of the Monkey King, over the course of the next weeks, Monkey King would talk to you more about personal preferences. Soon, most of your conversations became rather personal between you two. And oddly enough, MK never once bothered you two. Which made you a little suspicious because MK would usually pester you about what you were talking about with someone else.

You actually became quite good friends with your son's mentor. And after some more time, Sun Wukong, the legendary Monkey King, the Great Sage Equal To Heaven, asked you out for dinner on Flower Fruit Mountain. You, a mere mortal human, of course were stunned. But also excited to basically go on a date with Sun Wukong himself. Though, it didn't take long for you to figure out that MK was helping out his mentor in hooking you up with him... Just the fact that he was not so secretly asking Wukong about his type right in front of you, to which the Monkey King was responding in a way that was describing you, was evidence enough. It was cute and amusing to see the legendary Monkey King so awkward and flustered that he needed the help of his successor though.

But, your first date was great. You could've sworn MK and Wukong's monkeys were helping him behind the scenes, but they never directly interfered or showed up. Either way, your second date was definitely something Wukong himself set up without MK's or the other monkey's influence, which you appreciated a lot.

However, your monkey boyfriend became a lot more bold in your relationship over time. He turned from awkward and nervous to the horny equivalent of his lip bite meme pictures... Beware of his bad pick-up lines and other advances, because those were the only things that really made MK regret helping him...

"Hey there, beautiful. Are you a peach? Because I want to get a taste of you-"

"Oh my god, Wukong."

"Whaaaat? I just love and a-peach-iate you, babe-"

> Masterlist <

#lmk x reader #sun wukong x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk sun wukong x reader #lego monkie kid #monkey king x reader #lmk sun wukong #wukong x reader #i need sleep gn8 #will add to masterlist tmrw #lmk mk #fluff

[dustofthedailylife]

A Fennec Fox's Guide To Botany

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Summary: Tighnari comes back from a day of work and is greeted by yet another new patient who has consumed poisonous mushrooms in the forest. That it would be another fennec fox he'd have to save is a surprise - yet not an unwelcome one.

Pairing: Tighnari x Fennec Fox!Reader (gn!)

Tags: Fluff, SFW, mentions of food poisoning and corresponding symptoms (Reader)

A/N: Back with a new fic! This is the first time I wrote something for Tighnari outside of headcanons and I hope I managed to portray his character well. I brainrotted about the idea of this fic a while ago and just couldn't get it out of my head. Hope you like it! :3

→ Part 2 (A Fennec Fox's Guide to Love)

Today had been a rather uneventful day in Avidya Forest. Now that Irminsul was cured, thanks to the efforts of the Traveler, the number of Withering Zones that still remained throughout the forest steadily decreased every day and they were generally easier to deal with, too. Additionally, Collei was as energetic as ever now that her Eleazar was cured. 

Though just as Tighnari came back from patrol training with Collei Amir, the Search and Rescue Dog Trainer of the Forest Watchers hurriedly ran in their direction as soon as he spotted them back at the camp.

“Master Tighnari!”, he panted breathlessly and came to a halt in front of the pair.

“Amir? What’s wrong? Did the dogs eat poisonous mushrooms like last time?”, Tighnari retorted half amused.

There really was always something, wasn’t there? He should be surprised but he really wasn't anymore. There goes his chance of getting some downtime for once.

“No! Well… yes. I mean, no, not directly.”, Amir stammered.

“Well, what is it now? Yes or no?”

“Please just come with me and take a look.”, Amir prattled on before he quickly hurried back towards the medical hut.

Tighnari didn’t know what was going on yet but his gut feeling told him that it meant nothing good. It wasn’t rare that he was called over to assist with a patient but never before had he seen Amir so anxious.

As he pushed past the entrance of the hut he found Amir and another Forest Ranger standing in front of the bed where he could vaguely make out the legs of a heavily shivering person. If he had to take a wild guess it was likely yet another fool who couldn’t tell a poisonous mushroom apart from an edible one. The usual tourist; they ate everything they could find on the forest floor.

Tighnari sighed deeply and pushed past the others towards the bed and that’s where he found you lying. He stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw you. You were a fennec fox just like him. The fur on your features was mainly golden-beige colored and had a color gradient toward the tips of your tail and ears that matched your hair color.

Your ears were flattened downwards against your head, your eyes were pressed shut and your mouth was pulled into a pained grimace. Beads of sweat were running down your forehead as you were writhing on the bed with your hands clasped over your stomach and your tail tucked in between your legs.

The anger that had been welling up inside the pit of his stomach the entire way here was gone the second he laid eyes on you. 

All these years he spent thinking he was the only Fennec fox left in Sumeru and then you suddenly appear out of nowhere with a strong food poisoning. As much as he wanted to be as annoyed as he usually was towards tourists, he couldn’t quite bring himself to be. Especially not when you looked so incredibly beautiful. It felt wrong to him to think about something like this in the current situation but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“What happened?”, he questioned Amir without averting his gaze.

“We found them while on patrol. They begged us to help them because they were in horrible pain, babbling something about eating mushrooms and that they were hungry… as soon as we arrived here they started hallucinating and were completely unresponsive. They seem to be deteriorating fast.”, Amir explained with a quivering voice. He looked like he was scared out of his mind and close to tears.

“Did they mention what they ate?”, Tighnari inquired, trying his hardest to keep his composure because if he didn't you'd be a goner. 

He found himself thinking that it is lucky he returned right on time because no matter how good his Forest Rangers otherwise were when it came to medical emergencies or unprecedented incidents, they were completely unfit to deal with them.

“They mentioned something about a… red starshroom with white dots, I think?”

“Star Death Cap… abdominal pain, nausea, fever, hallucinations. Highly poisonous…”, Tighnari mumbled to himself as he rummaged inside the medical cabinet in the corner of the room. He took out several medical supplies and a small bottle containing a bright green liquid.

“Master, can you still help them?!”, Amir hysterically interrupted while nervously dancing around on the spot behind Tighnari.

“Not if you keep making me nervous, Amir. Leave, both of you. I need room to think.”, he bit back.

Amir waved to the other Forest Ranger who had been present the entire time as well and quickly left the hut with a worried frown painted on his face.

Tighnari took a deep breath and pulled a chair in front of the bed where you were lying. He took out a flashlight and pulled your eyes open with his the pad of his thumb to test the reaction of your pupils; and if he was being honest things weren’t looking too good. Your eyes barely reacted to the light at all and you didn’t even seem to properly notice him. Even though he knew from himself that fennec foxes had a high toxin resistance, he still needed to act, otherwise, things were looking grim for you.

He stood up from his chair again and went to grab the cup with the medicine he had concocted for this specific type of mushroom, although he has never had to use it before since people usually didn’t eat the mushroom you seemed to have consumed. It was bright red and basically screamed “danger, don’t eat me”. Although that didn’t seem to be enough to stop you from eating it. If you were going to make it, he’s got to ask you what in Celestia you were thinking.

He lifted the cup to your face and carefully aligned it with your lips when you suddenly grabbed his wrist and looked directly at him.

“A-are you a god?”, you breathed out through pants while you stared at him with eyes wide-blown in surprise.

“What?”, he startled. You were probably hallucinating again, but even though he was very much aware of that, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating an octave higher. “No. N-no! I’m Tighnari, I’m a Forest Watcher.”

“You’re the Dendro Archon!”, you revered and clutched one hand into the fabric of his sweater as soon as you saw the Dendro vision dangling on his hip. He tried to loosen your grip on him again in order to not spill the medicine you so desperately needed to take but you held onto him for dear life.

You pulled yourself up and snaked your arms around his neck, your fluffy tail slowly swaying from left to right behind you while you nuzzled your head against his cheek with a soft hum. Your soft ears brushed against his cheek and he could feel the heat that emanated from your body. The poison in your system was causing you to burn up rapidly. If he didn’t hurry up now the protein in your cells would start to coagulate and he couldn’t let that happen.

“I’ve dreamt about you a lot. I’ve always wanted to meet you… and to think you’re so handsome, too.”, you rambled on, making his heart flutter uncontrollably in his chest. “If I make it you have to promise to give me a kiss.” If you were planning to keep going like that it was he who soon needed medical attention instead.

Despite you making his head spin, Tighnari decided to take advantage of your hallucination-induced confusion and used his “role” as the Dendro Archon to make you comply so he could finally make you take the much-needed medicine. 

“I’ve come to help you. It is my job as the deity of Sumeru to protect its citizens and I have sensed that you are in grave danger.”, Tighnari vowed. He could feel your grip on his sweater loosen and saw you look deep into his eyes, flattening your ears against your head in awe again. “Will you let me help you?”

You slowly nodded and let him raise the cup with the medicine to your lips. You felt a light burn shoot through your system as soon as the bitterness of the medicine enveloped your tastebuds. You contorted your face due to the unpleasant taste and soon after felt how your eyelids suddenly grew heavy, making you fall into a deep slumber.

Once you had fallen asleep in his arms Tighnari carefully tucked you in and rested your head on the pillow. He softly brushed over your hair and ears before smiling to himself. All you needed now was a good night’s sleep and you’d be as good as new.

As soon as the sun rose over Avidya Forest the next morning, Tighnari went back to the medical hut to check on your condition. He had brewed some tea and prepared some pita pockets for you to eat since he figured you must be hungry. He had thought about making his signature mushroom hodgepodge for you but considering that you had just overcome mushroom poisoning, you probably wouldn’t be eager to eat them again immediately.

When he entered the hut he found you sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard and eagerly staring at him.

“Good morning! Welcome back from the dead!”, Tighnari greeted you.

“Ehe, good morning.”, you awkwardly chuckled, scratching yourself behind your ears while avoiding his gaze. “Thanks for saving my butt yesterday.”

“That’s what we do here. You somehow managed to consume one of the rarest and most poisonous mushrooms in the entire rainforest.”, he explained.

“Guess that is just my luck, as usual.”

"You're lucky fennec foxes have a high poison resistance."

"We do?"

"We do.", he nodded with a small smile. You were beyond adorable to him.

Tighnari passed you a cup of the herbal tea he brought along with him, as well as one of the pita pockets, which you hungrily devoured like someone who hasn’t had anything to eat in a week.

“Say, what made you eat the mushroom anyway?”

You awkwardly averted your gaze again while you felt the blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment. You were incredibly ashamed about your absolute incompetence, especially because of the attractive man in front of you, who just happened to be a fox like you, too.

“This is kind of awkward… but I’m from the desert and am about to start as an Amurta scholar at the Akademiya in a couple of months. I wanted to get acquainted with the local botany and… I kind of got lost in the forest and eventually was so starved I started collecting mushrooms.”

You were supposed to become an Amurta scholar and managed to consume the most poisonous mushroom in the entire forest. It was so ironic that Tighnari wasn’t able to hold back his laughter which flustered you even further and made your ears droop. At least the fact that you were from the desert explained why you didn’t understand the local flora and fauna.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”, he said as he wiped a tear out of the corner of his eyes. “It’s just a bit ironic is all.”

“Yeah… I know. I’m kind of embarrassed about it as well. I can’t make a bigger fool out of myself at this point.”, you awkwardly chuckled.

“Mhhh, I don’t know about that, you thought I was the Dendro Archon yesterday and called me handsome.”, Tighnari casually remarked. “Oh, and then then you made me promise to give you a kiss if you end up making it.”

You spat your tea out in full force following his last sentence. How was he able to recite it so casually when your heart was about to burst out of your chest? Archons, how embarrassing.

“I take that back… apparently I can make an even bigger fool out of myself. Forgive me.”, you retorted, pulling your ears over your eyes with your hands in an attempt to hide behind them. And while it was correct, you did think he was incredibly attractive, you had probably ruined every chance with him after this encounter anyway.

Contrary to your beliefs however, Tighnari thought you were beyond pretty and adorable. Even more so when you were flustered.

“Well, coincidentally this handsome Dendro Archon happens to have graduated from Amurta. So, if you’re willing, I could give you a quick rundown of the local botany.”, he proposed cheekily but not without a blush starting to bloom across his own cheeks as well.

“You would do that for me? That definitely sounds like it could save me from trouble like this again in the future.”, you agreed with an awkward chuckle as your tail began to wag.

“Perfect. You’re free to rest here as long as you like before we start your personal crash course… oh and by the way, the name’s Tighnari, pleased to meet you.”, he introduced himself, stretching his hand out for you to shake; unknowingly making both of your hearts flutter in unison.

“I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

What a curious little fox you were. He couldn’t wait to get to know you better. After all, he still had to fulfill the promise he gave you.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari x y/n #tighnari x you #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin x female reader #genshin x gn reader #tighnari #genshin crack #genshin x you #genshin fanfiction #🍁 dust writes

[lees-chaotic-brain]

For your recent event can I request

Blue Ocean and #2

Thank you

Three Little Words (Gojo x Reader)

CW: rejection, blood, slight spoilers for the jjk movie, implied past satosugu i guess, mutual pining, reader is female, implied death, brief mentions of blood, mentions of injury

Event Masterlist | Event Guide | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

"Sorry, not interested."

Three little words. Three little words was all it took to shatter your heart.

You had spent the last three years of your life trying to track down the person attached to the other end of your soulmate thread.

All that time spent hoping. All that time spent daydreaming about what he would be like, only for this.

For you to meet him because he was your new coworker, and fellow teacher at Jujutsu Tech. For him to reject you upon first sight.

You hadn't even spoken a word yet. All it took was him glancing at the red ribbon connecting the two of you for him to shut you down.

Your mind went blank. There was no way you heard him correctly, right...?

"What?"

"I'm not interested."

He stated casually, as if he was just commenting on the weather.

"You-You don't even know my name yet!"

With all logic having flown out the window, this was the best you could come up with.

"Oh, you're right. What's your name?"

Stupefied, you told him.

"That's pretty. Anyways, it's not you, it's me."

Taking your blank gaze as understanding, he perked up.

"My name's Gojo Satoru. I hope we can be friends!"

With an enthusiastic handshake, he was off, leaving you standing in shock, unsure of what just happened.

Reaching up and touching your cheek, you were surprised to find that it was wet.

Huh, that was strange. When did you start crying?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Days turned to weeks turned to months.

At first, things were a little awkward between you and your soulmate.

You were hurt, angry and confused. But the more time you spent with him, the more those feelings ebbed away, his presence a balm that soothed all your hurts and insecurities.

Why. Why did he have to reject you? Why did he have to be so insufferable? Why did he have to be so goddamn attractive? Why did he have to be aware that he was so goddamn attractive?

Why couldn't he send you any clear signals?

One day he was playfully calling you his 'best bud' while the two of you played pranks on Nanami or got into mischief.

And the next he was tenderly cupping your cheek and running his thumb over the dark bags under your eyes; concern evident on his face as he quietly asked if you were doing okay, and telling you to take a break.

And if he really wasn't interested, why didn't he officially break the soulmate bond? Why did he change the subject every time you tried to bring it up?

It was driving you insane. You were falling for him. And hard. But the echo of his words replayed in your head every time you considered broaching the subject.

You didn't know what to do.

So you did the only thing you could; you kept it professional. After all, the two of you were coworkers, nothing more, nothing less.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Gojo was tired of just being your coworker.

He wanted more. Had wanted more from the moment he laid eyes on your breathtaking face.

Sure, it had broken a visceral part of him to reject you, but if it was to keep you safe, he would do it a million times over.

However, no matter how much he told himself he couldn't be with you, that he had to officially sever the soulmate bond, he couldn't bring himself to officially break the tie that made the two of you soulmates.

The more time he spent with you, the more time he got to spend with you, the harder he fell.

He had never felt like this towards anyone. The only person that had ever come close before this had been Suguru, but his relationship with him had been soured by the fact that they both knew Gojo's soulmate was out there.

But when you were in his life, his entire world lit up. Everything was brighter and more vibrant. He felt like you saw him for Satoru, the man he was, instead of the burdens fate and Jujutsu society had placed upon his shoulders.

So selfishly he had kept the soulmate bond intact.

And now, staring at your mangled form laying before him, the precious blood that belonged in your veins leaking out onto the floor as you struggled to breathe, he remembered.

He remembered why he wasn't allowed to love. Why he had pushed you away.

God, he was so stupid to think that Suguru wouldn't go after you. He was so stupid for believing that his friend wasn't irredeemable.

And his stupidity and selfishness could very well cost you your life.

"You never change, do you."

Only then did Gojo realize that he had been speaking aloud, voicing his inner turmoil as the two people he cared for most lay dying before him.

Suguru coughed, wincing as the motion aggravated his injuries.

"You say that she's injured because you selfishly clung to your soulmate bond, right?"

"What are you implying Suguru?"

Gojo asked, weariness and heartbreak in his voice as he applied pressure to your injuries. He couldn't take you to get help until he took care of Suguru, but he wanted to give his former best friend a chance to say his last words.

"What I'm saying is that she got hurt because you were selfish, yes, but not in the way you think you were. You aren't selfish because you refuse to break the bond. You were selfish because you kept your distance. You could've come to her rescue much earlier, but you didn't because doing so would admit that she meant something to you. And you were more comfortable keeping her at a distance, because you didn't want to have to fear losing her."

Suguru sighed, shifting to a more comfortable position.

"You know, I never hated the people at Jujutsu Tech. If she survives, tell her how you really feel. She deserves at least that. And after that, tell her I'm sorry, okay."

Gojo barked a laugh, tears burning the backs of his eyes as a looming sense of grief and apprehension filled him. He knew what he had to do next.

"Okay, I will."

He smiled.

"Wingmanning me till the end. My best friend."

His face softened as he reminisced on better times.

"My one and only."

Suguru returned the smile, and Gojo finished him, gently closing his eyes afterwards.

Standing and wiping the tears from his eyes, he turned and picked you up, before stepping into a new chapter of his life.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you woke up, you were greeted by the bright white of the hospital ceiling.

Groaning, you attempted to sit up, only to be stopped by the massive man-child sprawled across your lap.

With a snort, he shot up, disoriented as he rejoined the land of the waking.

Noticing you were awake, he froze, before reaching out and grabbing your hands.

"Can I say something?"

"Right now?"

You asked, a little confused as to what could be so important that he was waiting at your bedside for you to wake up.

"Yes."

His unusually somber tome threw you off.

"Of course. What's the matter?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Um, I'm confused. For what?"

"For rejecting you. This is by no means any excuse, but the last person I was close to abandoned me. I was afraid to let anyone get close to me, but instead of facing my fear, I excused it by telling myself that if I let myself care for you then curses would target you to get to me. So I told myself that it was to protect you instead of acknowledging that I'm selfish coward who was just trying to protect myself-"

"Hold up."

You cut off his rambling, needing a moment to process.

"Are you trying to tell me that you rejected me because you were afraid that in the end I was going to betray you, but you were too emotionally constipated to acknowledge that, so instead you convinced yourself that you were pushing me away for my own protection?"

Downcast he nodded.

"And you're apologizing for that."

"Yes. If I had just protected you by staying by your side, you never would have gotten hurt! The only reason you're in here is because I was too scared to admit that I love you!"

You froze.

"Say it again."

"What."

"What you just said."

Realization dawned on Gojo's face, and his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.

"I love you."

He murmured shyly, looking at the comforter.

You leaned forwards and hugged him, burying your head in his chest.

"Again."

You whispered, lips brushing against the fabric of his uniform.

"I love you."

A content smile spread across your face.

"I'm still sorta pissed at you, but you have no idea how happy you just made me."

You said, nuzzling into his shirt.

"I love you too."

He froze in disbelief. There was no way you returned his feelings. He didn't deserve that.

"Do you really forgive me?"

"Mmmm, say it one more time for me."

"I love you."

"Okay I forgive you."

Finally at peace, you basked in the warmth from being in the arms of your soulmate.

Who knew that those three little words were all it took.

Three little words to heal your heart.

Cuddling with soulmate, you knew that you would be okay, as long as he continued to tell you those three little words.

You deep personal reflection was interrupted by Gojo's voice.

"Oh, by the way, Suguru says sorry."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

#lee's brain asks #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #soulmate au #angst to fluff #mutual pining #lee's 1 year anniversary event #crack ending #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x female reader

[strawnarrries]

because im sad about the last show, here's a little imagine about y/n and harry reminiscing the past two years the night before the last show :(

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

Your eyes fluttered open and you realized it was still dark outside, a sign that it was not quite morning just yet. You're not sure why you woke up. It was like your body knew something was off because when you turned over, the bed was empty beside you.

Rubbing your eyes to clear the sleepy haze, you noticed light coming from under the closed door of the bedroom in the villa you and Harry are staying in. Getting up out of bed, you opened the door and the sudden change in lighting burned your eyes. After getting used to it, you walked towards the kitchen and spotted your husband, leaning up against the counter, sipping on something inside of a mug.

“Harry?” you hummed, walking up to him.

“Oh hey, did I wake you up? I’m sorry," he looked up at you with doe eyes and messy hair sticking up in every direction.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t sleep.”

You popped your bottom lip out and wrapped your arms around his bare waist, his instinctively wrapping around yours after setting his mug on the counter, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just can't believe the last show's tomorrow night.”

“Aw, I know. You wanna talk about it?” you hummed, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"I'm gonna miss it. A lot," he whispered, "but at the same time I'm excited for a long break."

"It's bittersweet."

"Yeah," he nodded.

"It's gonna be weird not getting to watch you on stage every night in your sparkly outfits."

He chuckled softly, "You don't get those outfits at home, do ya?"

"No, I get you either naked or in the one stupid shirt that you refuse to throw away even though it's practically in shreds."

"Thought you loved that shirt?" he teased.

You glared up at him before changing the subject, "What'dya think you'll miss the most? Just being on stage?"

"Yeah. Performing. It's one of my favorite things in the world to do. I just get such a rush from being out there and interacting with the fans and hearing them scream my lyrics."

"And hearing them bark at you," you added.

He giggled, "Yes, that too."

"You'll be back though. It's not the end."

“You're right. I feel like this tour was just special for some reason, I dunno. I fear I’m gonna get really emotional tomorrow on stage though. I was holding back tears at the show the other night," he chuckled.

“It’s okay to get emotional. You know me and your mom will be sobbing the entire night."

He smiled softly as he cupped your jaw and rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheek, "I've been reflecting a lot recently. So much has happened in the last two years. It's wild."

“You've done, like what, 150 shows?”

“169 tomorrow."

“Holy shit, Harry. Most of them were completely sold out too. Do you realize how incredible that is?”

“It's mad. I think this has been the most successful tour I’ve ever been on.”

“Oh, by far.”

“Gonna miss seeing everyone every day. Gonna miss the fans and being up on stage. I've had some of the best shows of my life on this tour.”

“Harryween,” you giggled fondly at the memory that popped into your head.

“That was fun as fuck,” he giggled back.

“You’ve done more than just tour though. So many award shows, Coachella, music videos, you starred in two different movies, Harry.”

“I have,” he nodded, smiling proudly at himself, "Looking back, the amount of love and support that I've gotten from everyone, the fans, my team, my friends, and family, and from you is just - it's - it's so overwhelming like I can't even explain it to you. Like my mind can't comprehend that this is my life. Been 13 years and I still can't believe it."

"'cause you deserve it, baby. With the amount of love you give out and just the type of person you are in general, you deserve everything that's come your way. Have I ever told you how proud of you I am?" you teased, being the fact that those words leave your lips multiple times after every single one of his accomplishments.

"Never. Not once," he chuckled.

“Well, I am,” you hummed pressing a sweet kiss to his sternum, just under where his cross necklace lay, "It makes me feel so prideful that I get to call you my husband."

“Thank you, my love. You know I wouldn't be here without you.”

You rested your head on his warm chest, hugging him tighter, embracing the sweet silence before breaking it, "Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded as you looked back up at him.

“I know it's selfish but a big part of me is excited that it’s over because then I get you all to myself and don’t have to share you with the world.”

“Finally don’t have to hear you nagging for my attention all the time,” he chuckled.

“Heyyyyyy,” you whined.

“I’m joking, baby.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly.

“We have a lot to look forward to.”

“Like what?” he asked, although he knew exactly what you were referencing to, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“You becoming a daddy.”

“Really lookin forward to that. I can’t wait ‘till you have a cute little baby bump.”

“Gotta get me pregnant first.”

"You don't gotta worry 'bout that. We’re gonna be goin' at it all day every day when we’re on holiday next month,” he smirked.

“I can't even explain to you how excited I am for that. Vacation Harry is my favorite Harry."

He grinned, “I love you, Y/N."

“I love you too.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours for a few sweet kisses before you hummed sleepily, “Will you come back to bed with me now?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry #harry imagine #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagine #hslot #fluff #harry fluff #one direction fluff #harry styles fluff

[madcatlad]

Aaron Needs Friends

Having him be aloof and mysterious was cool for the first few adventures, but for the amount of time that Aaron was traveling with Aph he should have been making SOME sort of relationship with her squad. This man was present since BEFORE Garroth was lost to the Irene Dimension. Yet all anyone had to say about him was "I didn't know much about him" "he was a good man". The group didn't even need to know him all that well, or be super close. He didn't need to expose all his secrets or be particularly socialable. But you're telling me that during the span of time that Aaron was around the same people, all the time, risking their lives...and he didn't interact with them on a more personal level? He ONLY interacts with Aphmau. That just isn't human nature.

I vaguely remember multiple characters getting shamed or dismissed for being concerned about his intentions. But looking back that is completely valid! From Aph's perspective, Aaron is a good guy who had proved himself, and doesn't need to explain himself ever. From everyone else's perspective, he is a complete stranger, with vague intentions and questionable goals, who they have know for at least a year in close proximity but goes out of his way (quite literally every single time) to interact with NO ONE but Aphmau.

Suspicious Behavior. That or he seems rude. But their distrust of that kind of put out is not unbased. Especially when his past comes to light, yet he is still no more than a stranger, and shown to be purposefully secretive. Suspicious Behavior. But the cast is supposed to ignore all that because...? "He's a good guy" how would anyone else know that?

I mean he doesn't have to open up to them in great lengths and cry about his tragic life, but by time he died he should have had a surface level relationship with the main gang. More than never knowing jack about him as a person. Training/mentoring with Laurence, amicable acknowledgement with Garroth, maybe teasing flusterable Katelyn. A joke or two outside of Aphmau. Just any amount of relationship outside of Aphmau. Please.

Otherwise his mysteriousness becomes an archetype instead of characterization. And it became more of a hindrance to the story, especially later on.

Having Aaron never build relationships with anyone BUT Aphmau sets him aside in a way that is very odd. Aaron is essentially NOT a character, but a plot point. He only exists to advance the plot, add suspense, or subvert the plot. But he himself had no character- other than grief.

And it especially took away from the significance of his DEATH! When he died the only person really grieving HIM was Aphmau. Everyone was sad for HER. It made so Aph could be sad but - "oh nobody else understands my grief". While Aph was grieving nobody could really grieve with her. It isolated her in a way so jarring and disconnected from the story it felt more like a plot diversion than a plot point. And everyone just continued with their respective plots, yet the STORY had to come to a screeching HALT after Aaron's death because aph was mouring and she is quite literally OUR EYES.

There in lies the problem. NOBODY could mourn for Aaron, because he was a stranger. But HE DIED! He died without ever getting to grow or build new relationships as his story was clearly building up to do. HE DIED with no mourners! What kind of depressing precedent is that?!? "You don't need to grow past your grief, and build new relationships after great lost! You just need to be HOT and (somehow impregnate) the main character! Plot 😃".

What a Lackluster death for a character!! A main character!!! To be mourned by no one. It should have been Aaron's death that brought the story to a halt, the fact that they had lost HIM. Not that Aphmau had lost him.

Aaron's death should have affected the entire cast, or at least the main one who had traveled with him so long! Yet everyone else is allow to move on as they would because essentially they lost nothing.

Yeah, we were all sad when Aaron died as kids. Because Aphmau was sad (that scream was something else). And, yes, Aaron's death was sad. But imagine how devastating it would be if EVERYBODY knew him- to some capacity- if everyone mourned his passing. Imagine how much more significance it would bring to his SACRIFICE.

Aaron was a man with nothing to lose from DAY ONE. BUT HE STAYED THAT WAY! He never grew! What kind of sacrifice is it for a man with nothing to live for, no mortal ties, to sacrifice his life.

It dumbs down his death to in essence, achieve his ONLY goal in life: revenge, and make his girlfriend-not-girlfriend happy.

He A STRANGER. Not because HE necessarily wanted Garroth back, but because Aphmau wanted Garroth back. It doesn't work well. Aaron should have sacrificed himself for Garroth because HE wanted to, because HE cared for Garroth.

It objectified him in a sense. His decisions- his world revolves around Aphmau, and only her? (And Zane strangely enough). He has free will but his choices like agency, desire, depth. He's a means to and end, hardly a character. He experienced no growth, no change, no discomfort.

He only experienced pain and Aphmau. Tragic.

#minecraft diaries #mcd #aaron mcd #aaron lycan #aphblr #aphmau