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girlgenius1111 · 6 months

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we don't have to talk about it

part 2 of cool about it because you're all depressed

warnings: heavy descriptions of depression + depressive thoughts. self harm. maybe we'll make reader go to therapy in the next installment.

also i didn't proofread this purely so i can read it before bed and feel all warm and fuzzy inside

Alexia made a conscious effort to be more attentive to your mood, noticing highs and lows. You still struggled to let her in, and tell her when you weren't doing well, but it was improving. Mostly because of how persistent she was.

Alexia knowing, and just being there, was so helpful. It had been so long since you'd really struggled, and things were going well in your life, generally, so it caught you off guard when things started to worsen.

It was a few months after Alexia really learned about the depths of you mental health struggles, and both of you were incredibly busy. So busy, in fact, that neither of you really noticed that you weren't doing well. You chalked up your low energy to exhaustion from the season, and stress, and Alexia didn't think to question it.

It only hit you, what was really going on, when the Alexia left on national duty, and you remained in Barcelona. While England had been eliminated from the Nations League, you still had friendlies to play, but you'd picked up a minor concussion, and stayed behind, not wanting to risk anything for a friendly.

10 days without Alexia was not something you were looking forward too, and 10 days without Alexia, while you couldn't practice, sounded pretty awful. Maybe this is what caused your slump, or maybe it was some combination of the concussion and being alone with nothing to do. Or maybe, it was just something that happened.

You liked to think you had the depression beat, completely managed. Trying to find a cause to attribute your low mood too was your way of convincing yourself that you were fine. Normally it worked.

A few days after Alexia left, you realized what was going on. You had returned from dropping her at the airport, immediately falling asleep on the couch. You normally didn't nap, only when you weren't feeling right, so when you woke up a few hours later, you were already suspicious. This suspicion only remained over the next couple days, growing with each irritating symptom.

Leaving the house was an ordeal. You tried to get out everyday, you really did, but everything made your head hurt, and it was so much easier to stay in. And you were so, so, tired. Exhaustion that settled in your bones, that didn't fade even marginally, no matter how much you slept. You found yourself stressing over simple things, like what to reply to Alexia's good morning text, or what to eat for lunch. You made excuses for why you couldn't spend time with your teammates that had also remained in Barcelona, because none of them were Alexia, and Alexia was all you wanted.

You just didn't feel right. All you wanted to do was lay down and do nothing. Something within you ached, and you couldn't get rid of it. And with the ache, came insecurity. All the progress you'd made, letting Alexia see this part of you, vanished as soon as things got a little harder than normal. You had a lot of time to think, and think you did. About how sure you were that Alexia really didn't wan't to deal with this, with you like this.

Part of you wanted her, desperately, and the other part wouldn't allow it. It was so confusing, like all your emotions were contradicting each other. As a result, you pulled back a little. Answering her texts with shorter responses, making excuses about why you couldn't call. You told yourself that it was because you wanted her to focus on the games she was playing. Really, it was because you knew the minute she talked to you for more than 5 minutes, she'd know something wasn't right.

You were used to the decent into feeling worthless when you were depressed. It had never quite been this bad before; the regular feelings seemed to combine with the immense guilt you felt. Guilt for not letting Alexia in, and for letting her in too much. For not being strong enough to go 10 days without her, just 10 days, without completely collapsing. The guilt made you feel worse, until it was almost unbearable. Until it was unbearable. That was around day 7.

Day 9 was when you did the thing you promised yourself that you would never do again. You couldn't help it, really. Everything in your brain was screaming at you that you weren't good, weren't trying hard enough, weren't good enough at anything.

In hindsight, maybe trying to get rid of guilt by doing something that had, historically, made you feel incredibly guilty, was not the best plan. With each cut, the guilt weighing on you grew, until it stopped. Until there was nothing, you felt nothing, except the sharp sting on your thigh. You finally had a moment of peace, but it didn't last long.

Because, fuck, Alexia was going to be home tomorrow. Perfect, sweet Alexia, who took herself so seriously, and who blamed herself whenever anything went wrong.

You didn't cry, you didn't think you could, but you wanted to. As you disinfected and bandaged your thigh, you wished that you would feel the sting of tears in your eyes, but none came. Tears would have been a sign that you were coming out of this, whatever was happening to you.

You went to bed that night, not setting an alarm because you didn't need to get Alexia from the airport until the afternoon. You drifted off, buried on her side of the bed, wearing only her clothes, clinging to her pillow desperately. Every movement you made stung your leg, and you were reminded of what you'd done to yourself. You couldn't remember the last time it had been this bad, this heavy, this incapacitating. Your last thoughts before you fell asleep was how the hell you were going to keep this from Alexia.

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Alexia wasn't really sure what was going on. You'd seemed fine when she left, concussed and tired, but fine. As the days passed, she noticed you pull away. It was a busy break, and she had meetings on top of training and games. Her little free time was spent worrying, wondering if you were mad at her. It was the only thing she could think of, because you'd been so good about telling her when you weren't feeling right.

Her worry had grown so much that her friends got tired of how distracted she was, and told her to just fly back early if she was so concerned.

She only landed a few hours earlier, in the morning, getting an uber to your guys' apartment. Alexia was sure she'd find you mad at her, about something, and was prepared to do anything to fix it. What she wasn't expecting was to find you sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of her blankets, staring at the door as she walked in as if she'd caught you cheating on her or something.

"Ale?" you wondered, "I- I was gonna get you from the airport. Later. What are you doing here?"

Something wasn't right. You weren't mad, which she would've preferred to the empty look on your face. Normally when you guys reunited, even after only a couple days apart, you greeted her with a hug, and kisses. You were sitting, frozen, on the couch though.

"I came earlier, I missed you," she said, watching carefully as she spoke. "Can I have a hug, amor?"

At that, you seemed to realize that Alexia really was here, right in front of you, and you launched yourself off the couch, around the coffee table, and into her arms.

"Oof- hola mi bebé," she said, catching you in her arms with a huff. You clung to her, desperately, and she returned the embrace, as you buried your face in her chest. She was startled to feel that you were trembling slightly in her embrace. She tightened her arms around you, pressing a kiss to your head, before pulling away, and cradling your face with her hands.

"What's wrong? You're shaking."

"Just a long week. I missed you." You replied, but you wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Okay... if you say so. I need to shower. Want to join me?" She asked, hoping to distract you from whatever was wrong. She was well versed in how to get you to talk, and distracting you until she could catch you off guard was one sure way.

Alexia watched as your face brightened slightly, and you opened your mouth to say yes. Suddenly though, a look of panic crossed your face, your mouth snapped shut, and you shook your head.

"No, I... No I don't feel like showering." You told her shakily. You winced internally, realizing you probably could have come up with a better excuse than that. You couldn't shower with her though, couldn't let her see you. See what you'd done. She'd been with you through a lot, but never this. Never with something this bad.

Alexia was looking at you, very carefully. As different explanations for why you wouldn't want to shower with her flew through her head, an explanation that covered how panicked you had been when you said no, she settled on a clear answer. One that made her heart sink, and one that explained your odd behavior the past 10 days.

You knew you were caught, the look on her face told you that she'd put it together. She softened, looking at you so gently, it made you want to collapse into her arms.

"Mi amor-" She started, but you interrupted.

"I have to go. I have an errand to run, I need to go," You said, because you couldn't deal with this. You just couldn't. You tried to head for the door, but Alexia's grip on you was strong, one hand holding your wrist, the other wrapping around your waist, pulling you into her.

"No, bebé, I need you to stay here," she cooed into your ear and you shook your head frantically.

"No, Ale, please, I need to go," you said, struggling against her, and she felt tears pooling in her eyes at the desperation with which you spoke. Alexia didn't respond, simply kissing your cheek a few times until she felt you go limp in her arms, abandoning your fight.

Alexia picked you up easily, cradling you in her arms, and made her way to your bedroom. As she walked in, she noticed that your side of the bed was untouched. On her pillow, one of her sweatshirts was crumpled there, as if you'd been holding it as you slept. She didn't understand why you hadn't called her. You'd clearly needed her, desperately, but you'd suffered in silence. She set you down on the edge of the bed, and you stared at the floor.

Kneeling in between your legs, she looked up at you. "Y/n, what happened?" She asked carefully.

"I don't know. It just got so out of control and I didn't know what else to do." You replied, still refusing to meet her eyes. She wanted to shout that you could have called her, could have asked her for help. That wouldn't do anything, though, so she just nodded.

"Come shower with me, please. Then we can just hangout until you're ready to talk," she said, and you knew there was no other option. You nodded, and she stood, tilting your chin up to press a sweet kiss to your lips. "I love you." She told you, figuring that you might need to hear it.

"I love you too." you replied, giving her a weak smile.

Alexia took your hand, and led you into the bathroom. She turned the shower on, setting it to the exact temperature you would have, and your heart clenched at the small gesture. She turned back to you, and you felt your lip start to tremble, knowing what you needed to do.

"Mi niña bonita, it's going to be okay, I promise." She said, noticing the tears in your eyes. She gently tugged your top and bra off, trailing kisses down your chest and stomach as she kneeled in front of you. There was nothing sexual about the actions, she was simply trying to bring you any comfort she could. She rested her hands on the waistband of the sweatpants you had on, looking up at you, waiting for you to be ready.

"Are you mad?" you asked, squeezing your eyes shut.

"No. I'm not mad, I could never be mad. Not for this," she promised, and you opened your eyes, looking down at her. She was looking up at you, green eyes wide with such sincerity, you nodded, giving her the go ahead.

Alexia tugged your pants and underwear down together, carefully lifting the waistband over the bandage on your thigh. She worked to keep her face neutral, which was hard. The brown bandage covered up so much of your thigh, all of your old scars were covered by it. She bit her lip, trying to withhold her emotions for now. You needed her, which she was reminded when she looked back up at you, to see you staring at the ceiling.

"Amor, can I take this off?" she asked. Now that she knew you had clearly properly cared for the cuts, she didn't need to take the bandage off, and she wouldn't make you. She wanted to see, though, see how bad it was. She had to know, if she was going to be able to help. One cut was a lot different than ten.

You looked back down at her, taking a second before answering. everything in you was telling you to say no, but hiding things hadn't been working so well. It was what got you on the bathroom floor with a razor blade yesterday, and now, with your girlfriend kneeled at your feet, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the skin of your thigh.

"I'll do it," you told her, taking a deep breath. You reached your hands down from where they held tight to the counter, ignoring the way they shook. You tugged on the bandage, not bothering to be gentle as you peeled it off. You wouldn't look, you couldn't. You heard Alexia's intake of breath at the sight, and you felt a tear drop from your face. You felt something featherlight touch the partially healed cuts, and you looked down on instinct. Alexia was placing a light kiss on every cut, and you couldn't hold back anymore.

Letting out a sob, you cried harder than you had in a long time. "I'm sorry, Ale, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Alexia was up in a flash, cradling you against her as you cried. Her hands rubbed up and down your bare back as she spoke quietly in your ear.

"It's okay, you don't need to be sorry, mi amor. I love you. It's all going to be okay. Estoy aquí, no voy a ninguna. Te tengo, para siempre," she murmured.

She got you to stop crying, if only slightly, and pulled you into the shower, after taking her own clothes off. It was a blur, you knew she washed your hair, and you knew she was talking to you the whole time, but suddenly, you were sitting on the bed again, and she was carefully wrapping up your thigh.

"Feel okay?" she asked, once she'd secured the bandage on. You told her it did and she sent you a soft smile, before pulling clothes on you both. Alexia gave you your favorite sweatshirt of hers, an old Barca crewneck, and herself pulled on one of yours, a grey, ripped and faded hoodie, that she swore was the softest thing you owned.

Carefully, she brushed your hair out, tying it back in a loose braid, knowing you hated when your wet hair got your shirt all wet. She brushed through her own hair quickly, not daring to leave your side. It was silent as she did so. You were truly astounded with the level of care with which she was treating you. It made you feel like the thoughts that had been swirling around your brain for days might be wrong.

Alexia made the bed, then, knowing you preferred to lay on top of the covers with a blanket during the day, before laying down, and opening her arms for you to join her. You crawled up the bed, settling down with your back to her chest, lacing your fingers with hers, and pulling her arms to wrap around your body.

It was calming, feeling the rise and fall of your girlfriend's chest under you, feeling her chin rest lightly on the top of your head. Alexia wasn't sure what to say, where to start. She had so many questions. Luckily, it had seemed you'd found your voice, as you spoke.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you it was bad again," you rasped, throat somewhat raw from crying.

"Why didn't you?" she questioned.

"It wasn't on purpose at first. And then suddenly it was so bad and I didn't want you to know. I was worried it would be too much. I felt so guilty, like I was letting you down by not calling, but like I couldn't burden you with it."

Alexia hummed in response, thinking carefully about her next words. "Bebé, did you really think I'd be mad at you?"

"Yeah. When I get like this, I just. Convince myself that I'm not good enough for you, and I'm so scared that if I mess up, you'll leave."

"I'm not leaving. Ever. No matter what," she promised. "Can you tell me why? What were you thinking that made you do that to yourself?" You took a deep breath at her words, and you felt her arms tighten around you, just slightly.

"I felt like a bad person. I couldn't even make it 10 days without you, I was such a mess. I couldn't feel anything, but this insane guilt, all I could hear was my brain telling me that I'm not good. I just needed it to stop." It was the most you'd ever told anyone. You felt Alexia deserved an actual explanation, and you trusted her. You really did, even though sometimes it seemed like you didn't. It was you that you didn't trust as much.

"Did it work?"

"For a bit. Then all I could think was that you were going to be disappointed in me." You felt her shake her head behind you.

"Never. You are good, mi niña, you are so good. You are kind, and thoughtful, and you always make me laugh. When I get to make you smile, it's better than scoring 100 goals in Camp Nou. You are the most important thing to me."

"And it makes me chest hurt, to think of you doing this, to think that your thoughts were so bad, you didn't feel like you had another choice. You always have another choice, mi amor. You can always call me when you need me. When you feel like that, and your brain isn't being very nice to you, I will remind you every time that it's wrong." she paused.

"And I don't want you to feel like you need to hide it from me if you hurt yourself. I want to know, because I love you, and I care about you, and I want you to be safe, and happy, and healthy. I'll never be mad, mi amor. I want to help, but I can only do that if you let me, if you trust me," she finished, wishing she could see your face.

"I trust you. I promise I do, I just got so scared that it would be too much this time."

"You will never be too much for me," she responded firmly.

"I promise that if this happens again, I'll tell you. I promise," you repeated, promising yourself as well. Alexia kissed the top of your head in response. You shifted on top of her, rolling onto your stomach, resting your chin on her chest to look at her. Her thumb came up to gently wipe a tear off your face.

"Thank you. I know you said you don't mind, that you aren't mad, but you don't have to be as perfect, as patient, as you are."

"You are perfect, mi niña, you'll always be perfect. My most perfect girl," she said. You couldn't find a trace of doubt in her face. You looked up at her for a few more seconds, and she looked down at you, watching as you decided whether or not to speak.

"What is it?" she asked gently, watching as you fought back tears once again.

"It's stupid," you replied, and she raised an eyebrow at you. "I was clean for 4 years, and now I'm not. I have to go back to day 1, Ale, and I don't know how." You told her, vulnerability clear on your face.

"That's not stupid, not at all. We'll do it again, together. It'll be easier this, time because I'm not letting you do any of it alone. We'll get you to 4 years again, and 5 and 6. And if you slip up, we'll deal with that too. You aren't doing this by yourself, we'll figure it out. I promise."

"How do you always know what to say?" you asked, sniffling.

She chuckled lightly, and it was the first real smile you'd seen on her face since she'd walked through the door. "Because I know you, and I know how your brain works. I know that it's telling you, all the time, that I'm going to leave. All I need to do is promise that I'm not going anywhere, because I'm not. Being here, it's the easiest thing in the world, because you are so easy to love, so easy to be with."

Alexia tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, looking at you with an adoring face that you couldn't help but return. The force of her love for you tended to knock you off your feet, sometimes. You only really believed it, believed her, because you knew it was how you felt about her. You saw your love for her reflected in her eyes at you, and if anything was going to get you through this, it was the knowledge that she wanted to be here. That she loved you, no matter what. You knew she'd make you love yourself again, whatever it took.

-----

try to end one of my fics without both girls going to sleep challenge. i hope everything made sense. i feel like it's really hard to describe how i feel when i'm depressed, and i don't want to make it so specific that people will have a hard time relating. anyway, if you read this and it resonated with you at all, i hope you're doing okay. And if you're not, you will be. i promise. <3 i love you all

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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maya1525 · 1 month

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SUCK ~ & ~ F*CK 😋🍾

✩ Featuring Yuji Itadori / Ryomen Sukuna ✩

18+MDNI

Pairing✩࿐Fem!Reader X Yuji Itadori / Ryomen Sukuna

WARNINGS✩࿐Fem!Reader giving oral, unprotected vaginal sex, cream pie, sex in front of others, language, rough sex

Word count✩࿐4k

Summary✩࿐This is based on my original post: SUCK ~ GUESS ~ F*CK. But you know ahead of time whose dick is in your slutty mouth. Itadori drew 4 of Hearts♥️

A/N✩࿐I like this combination; Itadori as a sweet-simp-gentleman 🥹compared to Sukuna as a possessive and sex hungry monster. I felt like it’d be hot having Sukuna show you off on his dick, clearly demonstrating his prowess. 😈😮‍💨 When Sukuna speaks in Itadori’s mind his words are in red. Feedback is highly appreciated, I love reading your comments! 😙💖

“The game is quite simple.” Gojo stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “You’re going to be blindfolded and will have to guess which man's dick is in your mouth. If you guess incorrectly, the man gets to choose which position to fuck you in. If you guess correctly, then you get to choose the position. To keep things interesting, you’ll suck dick for three minutes and get fucked for seven.”

You nodded your understanding as you sat on the large and cushy futon in Gojo’s apartment. He had planned on fucking you alone tonight, but your boyfriends wanted in on the action, plus they thought it would be a good idea to invite two of their friends, Mechamaru and Noritoshi.

You felt your cheeks warm up with excitement, never in your life, you’ve felt so deeply desired before. Everyone’s eyes were on you, especially because you wore a revealing teddy one-piece. Satoru bought it for you, and it complimented your figure perfectly. He even put a stunning custom collar on you, with a diamond-covered ‘S’ on it.

You couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed to be this exposed in front of Noritoshi and Mechamaru. You were familiar with both of these men, but you were still getting used to human Mechamaru. Muta was on the leaner side compared to your boyfriends, he had sharp features and a large and noticeable scar on his upper cheek. While Kamo on the other hand always seemed like a strong and serious leader among his comrades. The thought that he yearned for you just as much as your boyfriends made you wonder what he would be like when he fucked you. The thought made you anticipate his turn.

While you thought about those two men, your eyes were subconsciously drawn to both of them. Noritoshi sat on the far side of the sectional, his heated gaze stared you down hungrily. Beside him sat your boyfriend Megumi with a starved look in his midnight blue eyes. Next sat Itadori, he eyed you with such desperation, that it looked as if he was going to jump off the couch any second to get to you. Next to him sat Satoru smugly, his eyes gleamed playfully in your direction. Beside him was Muta, he eyed shyly with a faint blush on his face. To his left sat Yuuta and Inumaki, Toge was leaning into the couch comfortably, his violet-colored eyes sparkling over your stunning body with admiration and Yuuta had a similar look of awe on his face.

“Ok Y/n, I’m going to put this on you if you’re ready,” Satoru murmured, his gorgeous blue eyes gleaming down at you, while he wrapped his black blindfold around your eyes.

You were shocked at how you couldn’t even see small streams of light through it. You had always assumed that it was sheer fabric and that Gojo could slightly see through it, but you were mistaken. Satoru’s amazing Six Eyes technique is one to behold, he certainly is the strongest jujitsu sorcerer.

“OK, now that her eyes are covered, I’m going to hand each of you a playing card. Whoever draws the highest card gets to go first.” Satoru explained nonchalantly, as the sound of him shuffling the cards expertly made itself known in your ears.

After a short moment of listening to each man shift on the couch to get their card, Gojo spoke. “Now let’s reveal our cards.” You heard a few small sighs of excitement from some of the men, and you also heard some hisses of displeasure, assuming that they would have to wait a while until their turn.

You heard someone come near your face and hastily brought the tip of his dick to your soft lips. You gave his cock a loving kiss and welcomed him in your mouth sweetly. You slurped him hungrily and made sure to swivel your tongue all over his rod. You were able to taste his precum leaking from his tip. So you lapped it up like a hungry kitten. Your ears picked up on a faint groan of delight from the man above you. You couldn’t tell if it was Yuuta or Itadori though. You beckoned him down your throat expertly, earning another sigh of satisfaction.

You held him lodged in your throat briefly, and then you pulled him out and sucked him sweetly. With your free hand, you simultaneously jerked him off in your mouth as you slurped on his rod. Then you burrowed him down your throat again.

This man carefully cupped your face in his hands while you deep-throated him. You removed yourself from his horny dick and traced your tongue all over him seductively. You licked him like a lollipop, making sure to coat him up in your saliva. You even made sure to give his balls a good licking. His slick dick arched yearningly against your cheek while you worked your tongue on his nuts.

Itadori was rendered speechless at the sight before him. You sucked, licked, and kissed him so perfectly. He wanted to pull you off his dick and immediately return the favor.

Let me face fuck her!

Sukuna’s irrational voice belted in Itadori’s head.

Then the timer went off, getting your attention. You felt him step away from you, leaving your face a wet mess. It wouldn’t hurt to guess him again, soon enough you’d be bound to get it right, “Yuji?” You asked while you felt him lower the fabric from your eyes.

“Correct!” Itadori beamed down at you with a playful smile, the way his lips curved upward was contagious, and you couldn’t help but grin back. He pulled his shirt off and threw it to the side casually.

“Can you fuck me while I lay down? I’m feeling a bit tired.” You asked smoothly, batting your pretty eyelashes up at the pink-haired man.

“Of course, baby! Let me take care of you.” He hummed as he guided you onto your back. Your legs dangled off the edge of its cushions and Itadori kneeled between your thighs. His warm brown eyes gleamed at you dreamily. He rubbed the head of his dick against your slippery entrance, then he slowly inserted himself into you. Even though you were already turned on and ready to go, his gentle approach melted your heart. Once he was fully inside you, he paused and groaned out in sick pleasure. “Ohh… you’re so fucking wet.”

Itadori placed both of his hands on your plump breasts and faintly groped them. He softly moved his dick in and out of you, but quickly became impatient. “C-can I fuck you rough?” He muttered pleadingly through his narrowed eyebrows, he was clearly holding himself back. Itadori saw how aggressive Megumi was with you, but he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

You smiled wryly at him, “What if I said no? And you had to go slow and gentle?” You teased with an arched brow.

That fucking tease, let me have her right now.

Demanded Sukuna in Yuji’s head, but Itadori ignored him and shoved Ryomen to the back of his mind.

“Then I’d respect that, I’ll treat you like a delicate flower if that’s what you wanted,” Itadori murmured while leaning forward to kiss you faintly. “But it would be so hard to restrain myself, especially from you.”

With that being said, your pussy automatically clenched around him desperately. Feeling that, Yuji flashed you a smug grin, “I think I know what you want.”

“Oh yeah?” You said with an aroused look on your face.

“Yeah,” Itadori smirked while brutally plowing his rod into your cunt, earning a sexy moan from you. “You want me to dick you down good, that’s what- you want.” He shoved his cock into you again, this time extra deep.

“Mmm hmm.” You whined while wrapping your legs around his toned waist.

You didn’t have to tell Itadori twice. It was as if a switch went off and he rabidly pumped himself into you like a wild animal. Moans fell from your lips with every thrust, Itadori leaned down and made out with you ravishingly. You loved how special he made you feel.

You instinctively clutched onto his shoulders as he railed you, knowing that you’d leave faint scratches on his skin. “Oh, Yuji!” You whined as he brought his hot mouth down to the crook of your neck. You sucked on his skin hungrily.

You forgot how powerful Itadori was, each time he collided his hips against yours, your whole body would ride up the futon. Eventually, your head dangled off the edge due to Yuji’s mighty thrusts. While writhing in pleasure, you accidentally made eye contact with Satoru. Your teacher observed you both with a lustful look in his eye. Yuji is finally getting a piece of the action he thought humorously.

Yuji then grabbed ahold of your slim waist and dragged you back down hastily. He put his hands back on your boobs as if they belonged there and continued to plow himself into you. With each mighty thrust, he would gasp quietly for air. Which fired you up even more, his little sighs were just too hot.

Itadori looked at you with such admiration, as sweat shone on his face. You’re just so incredibly gorgeous and to top it off you had a beautiful body. He adored your sweet personality and how you interact with others. After this, he plans on asking your boyfriends if he could be the fourth.

Fuck, asking those weaklings if you could be her boyfriend. Just take her for yourself you pussy.

Itadori ignored Sukuna’s. He needs to focus on cumming soon, otherwise, his turn will be up before he knows it. He pounded into you with a sense of urgency now, making sure to hit that pleasurable spot up inside you. Small cries of delight came from your lips as you pulled him closer and kissed him feverishly.

“Cum in me.” You murmured against his hot mouth.

Those words alone sent Itadori over the edge and he pumped himself into you a few rough times before losing it. As his dick hit your G-spot, you came in union with him. Both of you shuddered in pleasure as you covered his rod with your release. He shot his clear sticky liquid into you profusely, you could feel his length twitch while he emptied himself inside you.

Right on cue, the timer went off and Itadori pulled his head from the crook of your neck. You looked up at him contently; but right before your eyes, Yuji’s kind brown eyes gleamed a ferocious red. Tattoos formed on his face and shoulders and the energy in the room shifted into an all too dark and familiar one.

“S-Sukuna.” You were pinned underneath him and had nowhere to go, you felt like cornered prey.

“I’m back for more darling.” Ryomen purred lowly, he then licked the shell of your ear seductively. Being so close to the King of Curses, caused your entire body to shiver with fear.

All the other males who sat on the couch watching this ordeal unfold before them jumped up and were ready to defend you.

“Get off- ahh.” Inumaki’s cursed speech was a futile attempt against the King of Curses. All Sukuna did was shoot your boyfriend a glare and Toge started coughing up blood.

“No, don’t hurt them!” You cried out from underneath Sukuna’s ripped body.

Ryomen looked down at you cockily, “Oh? And what if I do-“

“You won’t be able to.” Interrupted Satoru. “Cause, I’ll end you. Right here, right now.” He warned venomously.

Sukuna whirled his head to look at Satoru with a challenging smile, “Calm down Honored One,” he sneered, “I was only joking. I’m just here to have some fun with the girl. I’ll let the brat take over once my seven minutes are up, got it?”

“Only if it’s ok with Y/n.” Gojo retorted with his arms crossed.

Ryomen looked down at you with a sadistic smirk, “What do you say Y/n? Wanna enjoy me sober this time?”

You quivered nervously underneath him, the night you shared with Itadori and Sukuna was a hazy one. You were heavily intoxicated and can only recall bits and pieces of what happened. You remember getting fucked rough by Sukuna in the bathroom. You recall enjoying it, even though he was incredibly scary. The encounter was a bit fragmented though… but then again, the following day you woke with brutal scratches and bite marks all over your body. Which Inumaki was not a fan of and he told your other boyfriends in the group chat that he didn’t Yuji near you ever again.

Despite the drama, Itadori was permitted to come and to strictly keep Sukuna at bay. But it seemed that was out of his control…

“You have my permission. Only if you don’t make me bleed.” You stated trying to sound stern, but your voice wavered with fear.

“Deal,” Sukuna said with a sharp-toothed smile.

Gojo’s glowing blue eyes looked at Sukuna coldly, “Very well, your timer starts now.”

“Excellent. Now let’s get this shit off of you.” Ryomen grunted while aggressively ripping off the one-piece teddy you wore. He tossed the dainty fabric to the floor, “I’ll keep the collar on you, just because it has an ‘S’ for Sukuna.” He said lowly, while Satoru rolled his eyes to himself.

Ryomen lowered his hot mouth down to your neck. Being so close to this malicious curse felt wrong and your body instinctively squirmed with panic. His hot mouth bit down on your neck and sucked roughly, he was claiming you as his in front of everyone. Sukuna maintained his gaze toward your boyfriends while marking you, daring them to challenge him. He made sure not to break your fragile skin, his large hands clasped themselves in yours possessively. He pinned both of your hands above your head and pulled away to admire the conflicted and flustered look on your face.

Ryomen could tell that you were noticeably shaken by terror, and the look of fear in your gorgeous eyes made his cock ache for you. “It’s ok to be scared in my presence, you have every right to be.” He taunted while keeping his ferocious gaze on your pretty face, he clasped both of your wrists in his left hand and brought his right hand down to your chin. He cupped your face gruffly and forcefully placed his lips on yours. His kiss felt incredibly intense, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. This was so wrong, but it felt as if your body was getting drawn to his darkness. You involuntarily fell under his spell and kissed him back hotly.

Knowing that Gojo was here and moderating the situation helped ease your nerves, “Yeah, just surrender to me.” Sukuna growled against your lips while you felt the tip of his girthy dick deliciously rub against your entrance. A small mewl fell from your lips and into Ryomen’s mouth, he smirked cockily. “Good girl.” With that being said, he rammed himself into you greedily.

“Ahh!” You screamed out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, you tried to rip your hands out of his grasp and crawl away, but he held you firmly.

“Mmh, don’t think you can go anywhere…” Sukuna growled menacingly. You were able to feel his dick twitch inside of you with delight. He stretched you out similarly to Gojo’s dick, but it was the sheer and brutal force behind Sukuna’s thrust, that made it sting. “Now, let’s show them who you belong to.”

In a flash; he stood you up, turned you around, and bent you over. His hands roughly gripped the slim of your waist and he bullied his monstrous cock inside your slick cunt. He vigorously pounded himself into you, each thrust had incredible tenacity behind it. Despite his roughness, your pussy squelched around him in satisfaction. “That’s my little slut, I knew you missed me,” Sukuna grunted out from behind you.

He lifted your waist in the air and walked over to Noritoshi. He practically railed you over top of him, you felt him grab your hair harshly and force you to look into Kamo’s slate-gray eyes. “Tell him you love my dick.”

Your cheeks flushed at his demand, “That’s mean. I- ohh…” Sukuna deliberately came in contact with your g-spot, “shouldn’t.” You finished your sentence with a breathy sigh.

“Don’t care.” He hissed in your ear, “Do. It.” Ryomen ordered as he viscously pumped himself into you.

You shook your head in retaliation, “No…” you whimpered meekly.

“Defying me will get you nowhere. Perhaps, you need a little inspiration.” At lightning speed, Sukuna’s muscular hand aggressively gripped Noritoshi’s throat.

Kamo was taken aback by the massive wave of dark energy coming off the curse in front of him. Having his hand grip Noritoshi’s throat, there was nothing he could do but freeze. His muscles were at a standstill still even though he wanted to fight back.

“Stop it!” You cried, bringing both of your hands up to Sukuna’s forearm. But he gruffly grabbed your thin wrists and pinned them behind your back.

“Say it, and I’ll stop.” Grunted Sukuna as he continued to push himself into you.

Kamo couldn’t breathe and he hated that his body wouldn’t let him fight back. All he was able to do was stare at your fear-stricken face as the King of Curses claimed your body as his.

“I-I love his dick.” You muttered under your breath, not looking at Kamo, as your body jolted from every thrust.

“No! Say it right. Say my name.” Sukuna threatened you, squeezing your wrists and Kamo’s neck forcefully.

“Ow!” You whined in response to the sharp pain, “OK! I love your dick Sukuna!” You moaned out and just as he promised, he briskly let go of Noritoshi’s throat. Kamo gasped in air immediately, he wanted to detest him, but his soul and body knew better than to provoke Ryomen Sukuna.

“Way to go! Now was that so hard?” The curse cooed against the back of your neck in approval, “Now let’s do the same thing to each of these weaklings.”

Before you could respond, Ryomen brought you over to Megumi, who was glaring daggers at Sukuna. The King of Curses paid no mind to him and continued to blow your back out over the top of your boyfriend. “Tell him you belong to me.”

“But he’s my boyfriend… ahh!” You cried out in hot sick pleasure as Sukuna deliberately fucked you at a faster speed.

“Say it. Unless you want him to suffocate too.” Ryomen barked sternly while leaning forward to leave a fat hickey on your shoulder, purposely overtop Megumi’s. You squirmed with pleasure underneath his molten mouth.

You didn’t want Sukuna to harm Fushiguro so you obediently said, “I belong to Sukuna-ahh!” You cried out in bliss. Why did his dick have to hit all the right places inside of you? You found it hard to be mad at the monster, because of how good he made you feel.

Despite the harsh words Sukuna was forcing you to say, Fushiguro couldn’t help but love how adorably horny you looked. Your boyfriend simply looked at you with a small smirk on his face and knew that you’d apologize and make up for it back home. He tried to lean forward to give you a reassuring kiss, but Ryomen harshly ripped you out of Fushiguro’s grasp. You were now hovering over Satoru, who couldn’t help but admire the fucked-out-look on your alluring face.

“Tell him my dick is superior,” Sukuna smirked at Gojo over your petite body. Satoru cockily rolled his eyes at his words, that was obviously a lie.

Getting railed so pleasurably made your brain go foggy, you felt as if you needed to please the Sukuna. You were his little slut now and did what the King of Curses wanted. “Sukuna’s dick is… mmh. Superior. Kiss me…” You were able to feel your fourth orgasm bubbling up inside you, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last any longer. Satoru smiled at your request and kissed you passionately, his hand cupped your chin lovingly. But before you knew it your body was bouncing in front of Mechamaru.

Kokichi wasn’t a fan of this public display of degradation, but calming the noticeable hard-on in his pants was out of his control. He couldn’t help but get turned on while watching you take Sukuna’s dick so perfectly.

“Tell him my dick feels better.” Sukuna groaned in your ear, enjoying the way your pussy sucked him in effortlessly.

“Sukuna’s dick feels better.” You whimpered overtop of Muta, while your pleading eyes met his. Kokichi couldn’t help but blatantly check you out while having your petite naked body so close to his. Having his cock in you felt so long ago, and he wanted to have another go at you.

Up next was your sweet Yuuta. He was worried about you at first, but after realizing that you were enjoying Ryomen’s length, he was content with watching your pretty face contort with pleasure. While observing this scenario unfold, he too struggled to calm his boner.

“Tell him my dick is all you need.”

“Sukuna’s dick is all I need… mmh yeah.” You gasped out in ecstasy, Sukuna bounced you on his cock scrumptiously, and everyone was able to hear how noticeably wet you were, and that shifted the energy in the room back to how it was earlier. The hostility toward Ryomen was long forgotten and the other males enjoyed the show he put on with you.

Yuuta’s gaze met yours lovingly, “You’re so pretty.” He cooed with approval.

Lastly, you could barely hold yourself up in front of Inumaki, Sukuna released your hands and you pulled in your boyfriend for a heated kiss. “Tell him you only want my cum in you.”

“I only want Sukuna’s cum in me.” You whined under your breath, and speaking of, “Just make me cum already.”

“Oh? What makes you think you can give me orders?” Ryomen sneered from behind you, giving your ass a brutal slap. You cried out in a mixture of pain and enticement. He knew that he was pushing on seven minutes real quick. It was time to finish. His hands gripped your waist securely while he ruthlessly smashed himself into you. You were beyond exhausted and found yourself falling victim to gravity. Sukuna picked up on this and hoisted you up, so your feet weren’t even on the ground. Each powerful thrust sent his dick bullying against your cervix, making you cry out. Inumaki pressed his lips against yours tantalizingly while Sukuna demolished you aggressively. You couldn't hold it back any longer, and drenched Ryomen’s rod with your cum.

“Your pussy is too fucking perfect… you’re mine.” Groaned Sukuna as he emptied himself nice and deep inside of you.

Your lips were glued on your boyfriends, while you felt Sukuna’s dick shoot his continuous strands of seed in you. He twirled you around with his cock still lodged up inside you and pulled you close to his chest. He pressed his lips against yours passionately, “If you need a good fucking, you know where to f-“

Suddenly, the timer went off, and Sukuna’s fiery red gaze transitioned to Yuji’s soft brown one, just as promised.

“Oh, sorry about Sukuna. I have a hard time reining him in whenever I’m around you.” Itadori admitted sheepishly, running his hand through his pink hair. “I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you.” Yuji gave you a gentle hug and then pulled his spent member from your damp core. As soon as he pulled out a few streams of clear cum came running down your thighs.

You could barely stand, so Itadori swooped you up and gingerly set you down on the futon. He helped you put the blindfold back on. You smiled at his gentle treatment toward you. Now there are only two guys left, Toge and Yuuta.

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xileonaaaa · 24 days

Text

Thinking of a lonely Sukuna who finds you entertaining…

Heien Era Sukuna x sorcerer!reader

Please refer to this if you are confused.

Sukuna’s cursed technique involves 2 types of slashes, cleeve and dismantle, and he can use them separately, or combine them.

Sukuna has mastered RTC, meaning he can heal himself, and others! (He healed megumi during the shibuya incident.)

Imbuing a weapon with cursed energy just means to enhance its overall strength.

He isn’t a possessive maniac who calls you “Woman.”

➽──────────────❥

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

!RyomenSukuna who has been alive for longer than he can even care to remember.

!RyomenSukuna who is by no means a fool, and is not a force to be reckoned with. For he is, without a doubt, the king of all curses and curse users alike.

!RyomenSukuna who bears the burden of being infinitely strong, but lonely, and only has a mere servant by his side to keep him some form of company.

!RyomenSukuna who would often find himself aimlessly strolling through the charred remains of what was left of the once flourishing villages he’d burnt to smithereens.

!RyomenSukuna who was desperate for some form of entertainment, someone he could battle for at least a little while before they ultimately died. (Every lone sorcerer either tried to run from him, hide or wouldn’t even be able to get a single attack out. It was pathetic.)

!RyomenSukuna who felt your presence before he even saw you.

!RyomenSukuna who was rather displeased by how weak and pathetic you seemed, trying your absolute hardest to sneak around behind him by hiding yourself amidst the rubble and sut like he was some sort of sick joke.

!RyomenSukuna who scoffed before pausing in his walk to casually toss a cleeve back behind him, in your direction.

!RyomenSukuna who eagerly waited to hear the satisfying sound of your flesh hitting the ground, but when that never came, a menacing grin formed on his face.

!RyomenSukuna who tossed a few more cleeves your way, even tossing back a dismantle at one point, but still never heard the sound of your body getting split in half. He was sure you could handle him, right? After all, you survived the bud of his technique, so why not play with you a little?

!RyomenSukuna who spun around with haste to face you, and initially was a bit stunned at your utter beauty, having never seen anyone as ethereal as you before. However, he didn’t let his moment of awe phase him, and to the untrained eye, his bloodlust was the most apparent thing etched onto his inhumane features.

!RyomenSukuna who took his time sizing you up, his eyes widening as he felt your cursed energy suddenly surge. His smile increased ten fold when he realized you were actually stronger than you’d originally let on. He was going to have fun ripping you apart.

!RyomenSukuna who engaged in a ruthless battle with you, learning different things about you as you gave it your all against him. He noticed that you seemed to have some sort of limit on your cursed energy, and that quite literally was your downfall.

!RyomenSukuna who stalled, and blocked your attacks for as long as he could, halfassing you in the worst way possible.

!RyomenSukuna who eventually, just as he’d previously predicted, could feel your cursed energy start to dwindle, and he knew you were reaching that point where you’d be rendered powerless in a matter of seconds. He was curious to see what you’d do.

!RyomenSukuna who watched as you put some distance in between the both of you, before using RTC (reverse cursed technique), and pulling out some sort of interestingly shaped katana. He didn’t bother attacking you, far too interested in watching how you split your remaining cursed energy into healing yourself, and imbuing whatever was left over into your weapon.

!RyomenSukuna who had a smile of pure elation as he watched you charge at him, faster than the speed of light. He was absolutely livid.

!RyomenSukuna who thought that you were fast, but he was faster. Unfortunately, with the absence of your cursed energy, your basic movements had become repetitive, and without a moments notice, he ripped you clean out of the air, and slammed you down into the ground with so much force, a crater formed.

!RyomenSukuna whose initial feeling of elation faltered a bit when he didn’t see you moving. He took a step back, readying himself for another go at it, and hoping that you’d get back up. Hoping and maybe even wishing that this fight wasn’t over just yet.

!RyomenSukuna whose eyes widened as you surprised him yet again. He watched on in glee as you shakily pulled yourself to your feet, before raising your katana at him and glaring down your sword. The unwavering look of determination in your eyes is what set him off.

!RyomenSukuna who felt his non functional heart beat for the first time, in a long time. His sadistic grin returned to his face, and this time he charged at you first.

!RyomenSukuna who easily knocked you off your feet time and time again, and watched with awe as you kept on getting up, each and every time. He admired your determination, but one misdirected cleeve was all it took to render you immobile.

!RyomenSukuna who normally would’ve scoffed and walked away, found himself briskly walking over to your limp form in what one would call a rather “worried manner”. To him, he just simply wanted to know if you were still alive.

!RyomenSukuna who healed you himself, and, with about as much care a monster like him could muster, lifted you up into his lower arms.

!RyomenSukuna who ended up taking you back to his home, where he was the one to watch over you to make sure you recovered just fine.

!RyomenSukuna who was there to see those gorgeous eyes of yours flutter open, and bear the softest gaze anyone has ever shown him.

!RyomenSukuna who lost his train of thought the moment you started to sit up, and adjust yourself in the soft mattress he’d so kindly placed you on.

!RyomenSukuna who was taken aback at how polite and respectful you were towards him, despite the fact he’d almost killed you. (He seemed to forget that he was also the who saved your life???)

!RyomenSukuna who actually took a liking to you, even though you were in no way close to him in strength, nor did you share the mindset.

!RyomenSukuna who didn’t find himself becoming bored or annoyed the more you told him about your past and upbringing. In fact, he was always subtly nodding along, taking in your every word.

!RyomenSukuna who actually listened to you, and didn’t space out like he normally did whenever someone or something was talking to him. Whenever you seemed to get angry or frustrated at a certain topic, he would get frustrated too. Whenever you’d be happy about something, he’d let a little smirk find its way onto his lips. (It was almost like he mirrored your reactions.)

!RyomenSukuna who began to doubt his initial reason for bringing you back to his home, as the weeks went on. He ends up letting you stay anyway, because you technically did still serve a purpose to him. You were his form of entertainment.

!RyomenSukuna who never really spoke much around you. Usually opting to silently observe you while you trained, or just listen to you as you talked enough for the both of you. Besides, he figured he never really had anything interesting to say anyways. (His voice would only be heard when explaining anything dealing with jujitsu. Other than that, he was as silent as a ghost. The most you’d get from him were the head nods, and soft grunts to show his approval.)

!RyomenSukuna who found himself feeling a bit strange when you told him one night over dinner that you would be leaving soon, and that there was someone out there you wanted to get revenge on for wronging your family.

!RyomenSukuna who spoke up for the first time since he’d brought you back to his home to actually protest against you going out alone. He even volunteered to do the deed for you, to rid your hands of any blood, but you insisted, and he didn’t have it in him to fight you. He could never deny you of what you wanted.

!RyomenSukuna whose face remained neutral, as you waved goodbye to him, before setting off on your journey.

!RyomenSukuna who would never admit, even to himself, that he enjoyed your company, even if it had only been a few weeks.

!RyomenSukuna whose boredom quickly returned, and within a few days, he was back to his daily walks around the ruined village.

!RyomenSukuna who never really took the time to think about just how much your presence really affected him. Nowadays, he was easily agitated, and just as quick to blow a fuse at some of the most trivial things. He wasn’t his normal calm, and collected self, and it bothered him. It bothered him that you weren’t there with him anymore.

!RyomenSukuna who, deep down, feared that you would never return, and that he’d never get to hear your voice again, sweetly chirping away at whatever memories that came to mind. Giving him endless entertainment, something that he found himself desperately craving now.

!RyomenSukuna who never really dwelled in pointless things such as feelings. However, there were times when his restless mind would wonder about you, and if you were okay.

!RyomenSukuna who realized that he was at his calmest and most peaceful state whenever you were situated in his presence.

!RyomenSukuna who found that he just couldn’t fall asleep one night, and opted to take a midnight stroll through the forest to get some fresh air, to maybe even cleanse his mind of the slight worry he was feeling.

!RyomenSukuna who thought his mind was playing tricks on him when he could’ve sworn he saw your smaller form limping towards him from the treeline. After all, he was going on his 8th night of no proper sleep.

!RyomenSukuna who felt a part of him return when he realized that it was in fact you. He let you come to him, and due to the moonlight, he was able to see the horrific state you were in.

!RyomenSukuna who immediately healed you with a gentle touch, before ushering you into a warm embrace. It was the first time he’d ever done something of the sorts, and to be honest he didn’t hate it. He was just glad that you came back.

Glad that you came back to him.

#sukuna #fypシ #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #soft sukuna #heien era Sukuna #tumblr fyp #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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tinydefector · 1 month

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Hi hi hi can I please request shockwave (any ) using a holoform for the first time and he can’t stop kissing his human partner because he loves it so much..?

Holographic

Shockwave x human Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings; none

____________________

Human eyes linger on Shockwave as he works in reattaching his holomatter device, their head Is tilted as they watch him as he tinkers with the gadget. "whatcha you doing?" They finally ask. They knew Shockwave worked on multiple projects but they didn't know what this one was. Shockwave's optic narrows slightly as he continues his work, focused on the project at hand. He doesn't immediately respond to the human's question, his attention fully absorbed by the task as he re attached it to his arm.

"I am working on a holo-matter projection," Shockwave finally replies, his voice monotone. "I am testing its capabilities and potential applications, as so far I've only been successful with maintaining it for less then a standard human hour." The human takes a step closer, their curiosity evident in their expression, as they linger watching him with full interest. "Holo-matter, That sounds fascinating. What exactly does it do?"

Shockwave briefly looks up from his work, his optic meeting their gaze. "Holo-matter projection involves the creation of three-dimensional objects using a combination of light and matter manipulation. It has various potential applications, such as creating realistic simulations, enhancing visual displays, or even constructing physical structures."

Their eyes widen with excitement as they take in Shockwave's explanation. The move even closer watching him reinstall it into his arm. "So, it's like creating solid objects out of thin air, Can you show me?" Shockwave pauses, considering the request. With a few swift movements, Shockwave activates the holo-matter projection device. This particular application of holo-matter is a deeply personal and significant aspect of his work, one that he has rarely shared with anyone.

"Accessing holo-matter technology for personal use is restricted," Shockwave responds, "However, in the interest of scientific observation, I can provide a limited demonstration." With a series of swift movements, Shockwave activates the holo-matter projection device, and a shimmering, translucent figure materialises before them.

Their eyes widen in awe as they take in the holoform, their hands come up to cup his face. The human avatar looked nothing like they had expected, they were expecting a mad scientist yet shockwave looked rather normal. One of His eyes was a warm ember and the other was sticking ice blue. He looked rather handsome yet nothing like the real shockwave.

"Holoform is a specialised application of holo-matter technology. It allows me to project a visually and audibly convincing representation of myself, enabling interactions with the physical world. Most times it is used for blending in on organic planets, the only flaw in the device is time, they are limited in what they withstand"

Their gaze lingers on the holoform, their fascination evident. "So, it's like a holographic avatar that can interact with the environment?" Shockwave nods, his optic brightening slightly. "Indeed, the holoform possesses limited physicality, allowing for basic interactions. However, it primarily serves as a means for me to navigate and interact with the physical world while maintaining my primary form in a secure location."

Shockwave's ‘eyes’ flickers with surprise as their hands cup his holoform's face. The unexpected touch momentarily breaks through his normally composed demeanour, causing a faint ripple of uncertainty within him. He observes their expression, their eyes filled with genuine shock and curiosity.

"Your holoform... it's not what I expected," the human murmurs, their voice tinged with awe. "You look... different. Handsome." He has never given much thought to his appearance, as aesthetics have always been secondary to his scientific pursuits. The observation of his holoform's attractiveness is a concept that is foreign to him.

"I assure you, my holoform's appearance is designed for functionality rather than aesthetics," Shockwave responds, his voice remaining monotone despite the subtle ripple of uncertainty within him.

They cup his face this time tracing the outline of the eyebrows, lips and just admiring how different it is. The feeling for Shockwave is strange, delightful. "Well if it means anything I happen to rather like your holoform" they giggle pressing a soft peck to his nose.

"You... find my holoform appealing?" he repeats, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. The concept of someone finding his appearance appealing is entirely new to him. The touch leaves a faint imprint on his memory banks, triggering fragmented recollections from a time before, fractured memories flicker.

They continue smiling at him. "Anytime Shockwave, you should use this form more often, it's beautiful" they state, fingers continue to dance across his face. The notion of his holoform being beautiful is a foreign concept to him, but the sincerity in the human's voice leaves a lingering impact.

Before Shockwave can fully process their statement, the human's words are followed by a sudden and unexpected action. Shockwave's holoform leans in and presses a kiss upon their lips. As the kiss lingers, Shockwave's processor races, attempting to process the implications of this unexpected and illogical act of his own.

After a brief, lingering moment, Shockwave slowly pulls away, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. "I... apologise, that was inappropriate," he says, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic hesitance. "I... was testing a hypothesis."

The human's gaze meets his, their expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. "A hypothesis?" Shockwave's optic dims slightly as he gathers his thoughts, attempting to articulate his conflicting emotions. "I have been studying the nature of human emotions and their impact on decision-making. I sought to explore the effects of physical intimacy on the human psyche."

"You're more than welcome to kiss me again Shockwave" they laugh, eyes sparkling as they stand in his arms, they were tempted to tease him but decided against it. Shockwave's optic flickers, his processor turning gears as he thinks over their words and the genuine warmth in their laughter.

With a subtle shift in his holoform's expression, Shockwave allows himself to lean in once again. His lips meet the human's in a soft yet lingering kiss, a moment of connection that speaks volumes of the emotions he struggles to fully comprehend, it was as if he had been hit with a train of emotions, many that to him were illogical.

As they stand in each other's embrace, the boundaries that once separated them begin to dissolve further. The scientific detachment that once defined Shockwave's existence gives way to a burgeoning desire for a deeper connection,he craves to kiss them more. In that moment, as their lips remain locked and their emotions mingle, Shockwave finds himself willingly forgetting the stance of logic.

They kiss him back eagerly, hand cupping his cheek as their lips move against his. Fingers toying with his hair. As their lips move against his, Shockwave finds himself instinctively responding, his holoform's arm encircling the human's waist. His own hand tentatively reaches up to rest against the back of their neck, his fingers gently tangling in their hair.

The touch and taste of the human consumes his senses, leaving Shockwave with a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty. replaced by a growing desire to understand and embrace the complexities of these newfound emotions, to give what he could to them so willingly.

They nearly squeal as he pulls them closer, more giggles leave them as Shockwave continues kissing them. "Shockwave hahahah, having fun are you?" His optics flickers with a mix of surprise and amusement at the human's playful response. The sound of their laughter fills the air, leaving a lingering warmth within him. As they inquire about his enjoyment, a rare hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"I... find this experience rather... enjoyable," he admits, his voice carrying a faint trace of amusement. "It is a deviation from my usual scientific pursuits, but I appreciate the connection and the emotions it elicits."

However, his momentary amusement is cut short as the holoform begins to fade away, leaving the human pouting in disappointment. Shockwave's features transition back to their usual stoic expression. "I apologise for the abrupt end," he says, his voice returning to its usual monotone. "The holoform has its limitations, and it cannot be sustained indefinitely."

The human's pout softens, their gaze meeting his with a mix of understanding and lingering affection. " could you lean down so I can give you another kiss?” The ask softly, Shockwave gives in almost instantly, letting them pepper small kisses along his helm.

As Shockwave stands there he debates finally having the empurata reversed. It had never been something that had a logical reason to be done but now, it was only logical if he intended to have more kisses from them. along with finding a way to lengthen the holoforms time limit since they seemed to enjoy it.

"Shockwave you haven't short circuited on me have you?" They ask while looking up at his optics. A smile lingers on their lips. Shockwave's optic flickers as he processes the human's words, his thoughts momentarily interrupted by their playful inquiry. The smile that lingers on their lips tugs at something deep within him, a mixture of fondness and a newfound desire to explore the uncharted territories of emotion.

"I... apologise for the momentary interruption," he replies, his voice regaining its usual stoic tone. "There are matters that require my attention." As he gazes down at the human, his optic flickers with a mix of determination and a newfound vulnerability. The idea of reversing the empurata, of regaining the physical capacity to experience more intimate moments, becomes increasingly appealing. "However," he continues, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation, "I am enjoying this experience and would ask that we continue this arrangement.” They give him one last small kiss before finally pulling away. “I'd be more Than happy with that Shockwave”

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers idw #transformers lost light #transformers prime #senator shockwave #shockwave transformers #shockwave #shockwave mtmte #shockwave idw #idw transformers #tf idw #mtmte transformers #mtmte #tf mtmte #transformers mtmte #tfp #tfp Shockwave

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carmyboobear · 3 months

Text

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it.

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love.

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same.

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for?

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land.

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is.

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there.

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home. They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same.

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind.

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look. No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh.

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.”

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues.

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too.

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.”

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new.

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all.

Says more about him than them, he supposes.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.”

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head.

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not.

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh.

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows.

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic.

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth.

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them.

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips.

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip.

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor.

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent.

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe.

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking.

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens.

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket.

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted.

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.”

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply.

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere.

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.”

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter.

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside.

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably. There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers.

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all.

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it.

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on.

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird.

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms.

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it.

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all.

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron.

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away.

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself.

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings.

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?”

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too.

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected.

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue.

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up.

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?”

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say.

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.”

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does.

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else.

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him.

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him.

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window.

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window.

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling.

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused.

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though.

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed.

He wonders if they’ve noticed.

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair.

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?”

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke.

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh.

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects.

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight.

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does.

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud.

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!”

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space.

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter.

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face.

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically.

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten.

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected.

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it.

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is.

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth.

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food.

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?”

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it.

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.” Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…”

“...And?”

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it.

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does.

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go.

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten.

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end.

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed.

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep.

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug.

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes.

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly.

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face.

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently.

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling.

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear.

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it.

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things.

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!!#my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

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stop-talking · 3 months

Text

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 3)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating, caught masturbating, overall mature themes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

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Derek hesitates outside your bedroom door, then glances at his phone to check the time.

It's late. Too late, probably. He's sure you're asleep, but, well...

He clutches his head as it throbs again, and he can practically feel his heart beating in his ears. Christ. He didn't remember it being this difficult the last time he tried to go sober.

Just as he's finally about to work up the courage to knock on your bedroom door, it swings open.

Suddenly he's face to face with you. His mouth opens to say something, anything, to explain himself, but then he notices what you're wearing.

More accurately, what you're NOT wearing. He looks down at your exposed legs. That baggy t-shirt is leaving little to the imagination, at least below the waist.

"Jesus, Derek!" You jump back and slam the door on him before he can stare too long.

"Learn to fuckin' knock!"

He groans and buries his face in his hands as you mumble to yourself on the other side of the door. He can hear you shuffling around, probably putting on pants.

"I'm... I-I'm... I just wanted..." He stutters, a mixture of shame and arousal fighting in his stomach. Combined with the awful migraine, he feels truly vulnerable in this moment. And he hates it.

"Walk and talk, Danforth." You sigh as you open the door, now sporting a pair of pajama pants. "I need some water."

Derek stumbles as you tug him along downstairs with you, trying to find the right words to say. What could you even do for him? He knew he wasn't going to be able to convince you to give him the vape back, or any of his other drugs for that matter.

Not that he even wanted to try. Derek Danforth wasn't a beggar.

"My head hurts." He finally mumbles, watching from a corner of the kitchen as you make yourself a glass of water.

"You want a Tylenol?"

"I dunno... It just hurts." He winces at the tone of his own voice. God, was he whining? He sounded whiny.

"C'mere." You sigh, setting down your glass of water and making your way over to him.

Derek stiffens as you press the back of your hand to his forehead, looking into his eyes with... concern?

"I'm not sick." He clarifies, pushing your hand away before you can make him blush further. "Just... already feeling the withdrawals."

"Ah. Got it."

There's an awkward silence for a moment, before you finally speak up again.

"So... Tylenol? Or a Gatorade?" You offer, giving him a tired smile.

"Will that make it go away?" He responds, using that damn whiny voice again as he clutches his head.

"There's nothing I can do to make it go away, love. You're just gonna feel like shit for a while until it eventually passes."

Damnit. That isn't exactly what he wanted to hear, even if it was the truth.

"I'm not gonna be able to sleep like this." He grumbles, leaning back against the counter and letting out a soft groan as his head throbs.

"You want some hot tea? Melatonin? Chloroform?"

"I might have to take you up on that last one." Derek lets out an amused huff and drops his hands from his head.

You look tired. Why are you up this late anyways? Are you... struggling with the same thoughts he is? No, that's stupid.

"Okay, but seriously. What do you want?"

Derek finally decides on a hot cup of tea and some Tylenol. He'd save the stronger stuff for later, when it all inevitably got worse.

You send him off to bed again, and this time it's not as hard to fall asleep. He buries his head in a pillow, your smile burned into his brain.

"God damnit, I'm getting soft."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

The next morning, you decide to let Derek sleep in a little. Out of the kindness of your heart. Not because you slept through all your alarms.

You sit on the couch, watching a movie. Well, staring off into space in the general direction of the TV as a movie plays.

It was hard to sleep last night, considering everything that happened with Derek. You went into this expecting a self-absorbed prick with anger issues, and, well... you got that from him, partially.

But he'd also shown you another side of him, the side that was willing to listen. That part of him... wasn't so bad.

You snap out of your stupor when you hear Derek making his way down the stairs.

"Hey, how'd you sleep?"

"Fine..." He grumbles, stumbling over to join you on the couch. He looks exhausted, his hair disheveled and clothing crinkled. Actually, he's dressed rather... plain. A t-shirt and shorts. Are those the clothes his mom picked out for him?

"Your head feel any better?"

"Not really."

Before you can ask anything else, he lies down on the couch and curls up, closing his eyes. He looks like he wants to go back to sleep already.

"You know, my guys back home are gonna be lost without me. I have a business to run." He mumbles, eyes still closed.

"Yeah... I'm aware. I'm sure they'll be fine on their own for a few weeks, no? We informed a few of your higher-ups that you were taking a vacation."

Derek scoffs. "Yeah. A vacation."

"Oh, come on. You are literally in a vacation house."

That makes him open his eyes, if only to glare at you.

"Not by choice. I'm a prisoner in my own home." He shifts so that he's lying on his back, and dramatically drapes an arm over his eyes as he pouts.

"Alright then, inmate Danforth. What would you like for brunch?"

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek stares down at the bowl of oatmeal in his lap as he sits up on the couch. Peasant food.

He had insisted he wasn't hungry, but you insisted twice as hard that he still needed to eat. With the pounding in his head, he didn't have it in him to argue.

And so, Derek tried a bite of oatmeal for the first time since he was a child.

"How is it?" You ask, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

"It's okay." Truthfully, it was exactly what he'd expected. Mushy and weird. But the fruit you added wasn't too bad.

"What movie is this?" He asks, turning his attention to the television.

"Honestly, don't even know. Wanna pick something else?"

"I doubt we have the same taste in movies." He scoffs, shoveling in another bite of oatmeal.

"Oh? And what do you think I like to watch?"

"I dunno... chick flicks? Rom coms?"

"Oh, yeah. Because that's all women are allowed to enjoy, huh?"

"That's not what I mean. Just... my tastes are probably more... sophisticated than yours when it comes to cinema."

"Oh? And what's your favorite movie?"

"Fight club." He answers, without hesitation.

You immediately burst into a fit of laughter, for reasons completely unknown to him. The fuck is so funny? It's a good movie.

"What? Have you seen it before?" He asks, eyeing you as you try to compose yourself.

"Yes, Derek. I've seen fight club." You wipe a tear from one eye and give him a bemused smile.

Was it really that funny? Derek shifts on the couch, starting to feel self-conscious.

"What's... what's your favorite movie?" He asks, changing the subject.

"Legally blonde."

Before he can speak up, you cut him off.

"That doesn't mean I only like chick flicks."

He closes his mouth. Damnit.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

After a few more minutes of bickering, you and Derek finally settle on a movie.

You lounge back against the couch, one hand on the armrest and one in Derek's hair. You're still not completely sure how he managed to worm his way onto your lap, but whatever.

"Thought you didn't like the idea of just sitting on our asses all day?" You tease, looking down at him as you card your fingers through his soft curls.

"That was before the migraines got this bad." He groans, shifting and rubbing his cheek against your thigh as he lies on your lap. His stubble makes a scratchy sound, but you can't feel it through your pants. Shame.

"It's only day two of sobriety, Derek. Don't be a baby."

He stiffens. Your teasing words seem to cut a little deeper than you intended, and he pushes your hand away from his hair and grumbles.

"You try going sober."

"I already am."

"Then try drugs. And then try going sober."

His grumbling gets a soft laugh out of you. Even though he's irritated with you, he still doesn't make an effort to move from your lap. Poor thing. He probably feels like shit.

"Sorry. I know it's hard." You speak softly, and slide your fingers back into his hair, gently scrunching a handful of his curls.

He doesn't stop you this time, giving in completely and practically melting in your lap as you play with his hair.

If only you knew how "hard" it really was right now.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek spends the afternoon drifting in and out of sleep on your lap, hardly paying attention to the action movie series he convinced you to binge with him.

Your fingers in his hair just feel so right. It takes everything in him not to whimper when you tug on his curls in the perfect spot, or gently drag your nails across his scalp.

Two movies later, you nudge his head off your lap and stand, leaving him to pout on the couch alone.

"Where you going?" He groans, stretching out.

"Come on, love. You can't just sleep all day. Lets get some sunshine."

"You mean go down to the beach again?"

"Mhm. C'mon, go change clothes."

Derek grumbles, but allows you to pull him up off the couch. You were probably right, he needed to get up and do something. That didn't mean he had to admit it, though.

"Fine. But I'm not swimming."

"Of course."

Derek changes into his swimsuit without a fuss, but throws on a shirt this time as well, trying to avoid any... accidents that might occur if you decide to touch all over his back again. Damn woman.

He trudges back downstairs only to see you already waiting for him on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table as you apply sunscreen to them. It's a nice sight, but fuck, he shouldn't stare.

"Need help?" He asks, taking a seat next to you.

"Just with my back."

Derek nods, squirting a generous amount of sunscreen into his hands. As you lean forward and get your legs, he rubs circles into your back, touching you just a bit too long.

Under the guise of wanting to be thorough, he slides his hands up to your shoulders and tucks them under the straps of your swimsuit. He leaves them there, enjoying the feeling of your warm skin.

"Sure you don't need me to get any other places for you, sweetheart?" He teases, leaning a little closer and speaking right next to your ear.

That earns him an elbow to the rib. He winces and dramatically grabs his side, pretending to be knocked back onto the couch.

"Kick a man while he's down, why don't ya." He groans and writhes on the couch in mock pain, which actually makes you chuckle.

"Don't be crass and I won't have to." You try to scold him, but Derek can see the slight smile on your lips. You find him endearing.

"No promises."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

After much coaxing, you finally manage to get Derek to wade waist-deep into the water. He looks extremely unhappy about it, shivering even though it's hardly cold.

He suddenly jumps back, nearly knocking himself over. You reach out and grab his arm to steady him against the crashing waves.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I think I stepped on a fish." He grumbles, face twisted up in disgust as he scans the water in front of his feet.

You can't help but laugh at that.

"Derek..." You choke out, "You did NOT step on a goddamn fish."

He turns away and mumbles something incoherent, his voice drowned out by the waves and wind.

Ah. So it's not just the water he's afraid of, but something about the ocean as well.

"You wanna hold my hand?" You offer, sliding your hand down his arm and lacing your fingers with his before he can even answer.

Derek doesn't say anything, but he gives your hand a tight squeeze and pulls you a little closer.

"I don't get what you see in this. I think I'm getting seasick."

"I think I'm getting Derek-sick."

"That doesn't even make sense."

You use your free hand to splash some water in his face, giggling as he sputters.

"God, that's salty. Fuck you."

He splashes you back, which you of course return, and soon it snowballs into you two nearly drowning each other.

As soon as you let go of Derek's hand to splash him better, he freaks out and scrambles back a few feet until he's only knee deep.

Right. He still isn't used to this. You give him a sheepish smile and join him in the shallower water.

"Wanna just sit for a while?"

"Yeah."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek is feeling a lot better come evening. He hates to admit it, but it did feel nice to sit in the water with you. Even if the sand and seaweed felt icky.

After showering off all the salt and sand, he heads back downstairs to meet you. He doesn't bother changing into his usual eccentric clothing, the day is almost over anyways.

When he meets you in the kitchen, his hair is still damp and he's wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Starting dinner without me?" He teases, leaning against the doorframe and watching you chop something. Garlic, maybe?

"Oh? So you want to help me now?"

"Maybe I just want to make sure you don't mess it up."

"Oh? Like how you messed up that pancake?"

Derek grumbles something incoherent under his breath, using more than a few curses.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't be like that. Wash your hands and I'll let you help."

He complies, washing his hands and moving to eagerly peer over your shoulder.

"What are you making?"

"Spaghetti. Just something quick and easy."

Derek didn't think it was quick and easy. But then again, he had virtually no experience cooking, usually relying on personal chefs and such.

"And what do I do?"

"Here, you can stir." You pour the minced onion and garlic mixture into a pan that's been heating on the stove, and pass him a large metal spoon.

He takes his task very seriously, furrowing his brow as he carefully stirs the mixture around in the pan.

"How long do I have to do this?"

"A few minutes. Then we add in more stuff and you stir longer."

Okay, he could do that. Just stir. Easy.

"Alright."

You do exactly as you say, letting him stir for a few minutes, then dump some ground beef into the pan. Derek makes a face at the raw meat, but continues to stir.

After adding a can of tomato sauce and more seasonings than he can count, you insist its done, and that he can stop stirring. He almost doesn't want to. It's so relaxing, standing over the stove while you whir around him and work on other things.

He's come to enjoy the occasional touches as you brush past, the praises you utter when he listens, and the warmth of it all. Both from the stove, and the feeling of having you near.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek is surprisingly quiet at dinner, you notice. It's not the angry kind of quiet you've come to expect, but a calm quiet. He seems... peaceful.

"You like it, I'm guessing?" You smile as he shovels a rather large bite of noodles into his mouth.

"Mhm." He just gives you a nod, unable to speak.

"You wanna wind down in front of the TV after dinner?"

"Yeah. Sounds good."

Later, you settle down on the couch and Derek finds his way back into your lap.

"Someone's getting comfortable." You tease, running your fingers through his hair. It's still damp from his shower.

"Shut up." He grumbles. "I'm just tired."

"Mhm." You hum, staring down and paying more attention to him than the third action movie of the day. He actually looks kind of cute when he isn't dressed in garish clothing and acting like a prick.

The movie isn't even halfway over when he starts to nod off into sleep. It must not be as interesting as he insisted. Or maybe he really is tired.

Either way, he should probably go to bed. You gently shake him awake, noting the small wet spot on your jeans as he sits up. Was he drooling?

"Huh?" He gasps and rubs the sleep from his eyes, a little startled to be woken from such a deep sleep.

"I said you should go to bed, love." You give him a soft smile and he just blinks at you in return, still a little out of it.

"Yeah. Okay."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

For the 2nd night in a row, Derek can't sleep. And for the 2nd night in a row, he blames you.

The only difference tonight is that his thoughts aren't as... innocent. Obviously, he enjoys the way you've been treating him lately. Your soft words and even softer touch have him absolutely melting.

Well, that and the hand wrapped around his aching cock. The hand he so desperately wishes could be yours.

He lies back in bed, boxers at his ankles as he strokes himself. He's waited so long for this. Everything you do drives him crazy, even the most innocent of touches make his blood rush south.

As the pacing of his jerking increases, he can no longer stifle his whimpers. Truly pathetic sounds escape his lips between pants and gasps, and he bucks up into his own hand, pretending it's yours.

God, he can imagine it so well. He closes his eyes and lets your voice fill his ears. In his mind, you sing him praises and whisper words of comfort.

He's close now. In his fantasy, you are too, calling out his name again and again as he thrusts into you.

It sounds so... real. Your voice. His name.

"Derek?"

His eyes snap open, and he lifts his head to look at the bedroom door in front of him. The bedroom door that's opening. Fuck.

He knows he should say something, do something, to stop you from seeing him like this. But he can't. Not when he's so close.

When your eyes lock with him, he immediately squirts hot ropes of cum all over his hand, stomach, and... fuck, a few drops land on his face, too.

You freeze and stare at him for barely half a second, but that's all the time he needs.

He sighs and gently milks out the last few drops as you turn away and slam the door, apologizing over and over. Derek isn't listening. He falls back onto his bed and catches his breath, head fuzzy.

Fuck. What did he just do?

The realization hits as he sits up, watching the cum drip down his chest. His stomach twists into a knot at the thought of facing you after what just happened. This is a new low, even for him.

Well... that's going to be an awkward conversation in the morning.

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Author's note: Sorry this chapter took so long!! I'm trying to stick to 2k - 2.5k words each... but that is obviously not happening LMAO. Expect a new chapter in 2-3 days... Posting longer chapters less frequently just works better for me!

This is dedicated to the anon who asked for a "Derek masturbating chapter". You dirty bastard. (I love you)

P.S feel free to send any requests at all. I plan to make at LEAST three more chapters to this story. <3

Part 4

#jhutch #josh hutcherson #derek danforth #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson smut #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth smut #smut #the beekeeper #slowburn fic #slowburn romance #fanfic

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

First Sight / Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. First chapter here.

Simon Riley/female reader - soft dad Simon Riley 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, PTSD, PPD, mentions of blood and violence, reader is a new mom, tenderness, fluff, complicated feelings, mentions of Percocet (no addiction or abuse), feelings of fear and anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear.

The house is quiet. Practically silent, except for the ebb and flow of Simon snoring, the broad expanse of his chest combined with the crook of his elbow making a very comfortable sleeping spot for Theo apparently. It’s like white noise, you guess. You've heard of babies being lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, or rain, or even a vacuum cleaner, but you didn’t have to resort to any of those, the crackle coming from Simon’s nose more than enough.

Which is great, because you’re exhausted. Or at least, you think you are. It’s hard to tell right now. Your abdomen is still sore, giant incision finally starting to close after six long weeks, and your brain never turns off, the darkness pulling at the edge your mind dragging you through hell almost every day, the bright spots few and infrequent. You feel haunted. You feel like a husk.

Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. You stare at Theo in awe, his little face perfectly serene while he sleeps in your arms, and you lower your own to the crown of his head, skimming your nose across his tiny tuft of hair. You hold him close, pointer finger tracing as lightly as possible across the apple of his cheek, back and forth. It’s hard to believe he’s even real. Or that he’s here. That the two of you made it through, and that he now has a birthday, a name, ten fingers, and ten toes.

This, whatever it is, is the strongest concentration of love you’ve ever felt in your life, that you’re sure of. Things that mattered before, don’t anymore. Things you were worried about in the past, don’t exist. The only thing that’s real is this baby in your arms, your baby, Simon’s baby, and you blink rapidly to hold back tears at the realization.

“What do you think, mom? You ready for some pain relief so you can get some sleep?” The nurse asks, and Simon nods but doesn’t speak. You know he wants you to get some painkillers, that he’s having a hard time watching you wince and bite your lip to the point where you draw blood, but he also wouldn’t dare speak for you, even though you’re sure he wants to take over, take charge and make sure you get what you need.

You did just have major surgery, and the other drugs have worn off, leaving you with searing pain in your stomach and cramps in your legs.

But the idea of taking a Percocet makes you nervous, lights some uneasy fire in the back of your mind, and irrational but completely real fear buzzes in your nervous system. If you’re drugged, you’ll be loopy, and it makes you want to say no. The amount of pain your body is in fights against the resistance, and you glance at Simon hesitantly. Like he’s reading your mind, he reaches out to place a gentle hand on your thigh.

“Nothing is going to happen if you take a pain pill. I promise.” He says encouragingly and you relent with a sigh.

“Okay, yeah.”

“Sass?” It’s Simon, standing in the doorway, Theo in the sling that is his giant forearm. He sits comfortably there, perfectly snuggled against his dad, and it makes your heart clench. Simon is looking at you warily, like he doesn’t recognize you. Which is fair. You don’t even recognize yourself. “What’re you doin’ out here?” Where? You blink, processing the question. Here? Your toes wiggle, in grass, and you look around. Why are you in the backyard? At night?

“Oh. I don’t know.” He’s holding his hand out to you, large fingers reaching for yours.

“Come inside.” He presses his thumb to your wrist, eyes closing before speaking again. “I think you should call the shrink.”

“No.”

“Sass. There’s nothing wrong with it, if you need to talk to someone.” You laugh weakly.

“That’s rich, coming from you.” You spit, tone edged in an eagerness to fight, and he tenses. Fuck. “I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. Stop being such a bitch. He’s doing practically everything for you right now. “I’m sorry. Really. I’m just… out of it.” You step closer, leaning your forehead into his chest, blinking down at the wriggling baby in his arm. Your son. You feel Simon’s nose in your hair, and then a heavy palm rests at the small of your back.

He inhales deeply.

“I know.”

Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. You repeat it over and over for assurance, even though your son is sleeping comfortably in your arms, safe and healthy. Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. It’s hard to believe you’re a mom now, someone who has a tiny, defenseless little human depending on you for everything.

Well, not just you.

You eye Simon, asleep in the chair less than a foot from the bed, head tilted back, mouth open. There’s a large white spot of baby vomit on the front of his black sweatshirt, and he’s sporting some serious undereye circles from being up with Theo as much as possible. He doesn’t let you lift a finger, which is fine considering you can’t even really get out of the bed without help, your giant incision still wrapped up and body still exhausted from surgery, two days later.

On top of everything, something felt off. There was this feeling, a dark, lonely thing pulling at your limbs, trying to wring you out over and over, dragging you down into the dark of the deepest waters. You were frightened of it, the cycle of thoughts spiraling through your mind every time you closed your eyes, the inky blackness of dark feelings overtaking you from every direction. Were you going to be a good mom? Would you be able to take care of Theo? What if Simon wasn’t here? What if something bad happens? What if you die? What if Theo doesn’t love you? What if Simon leaves? What if you don’t like your own baby? What if you can’t bond with him? What if you suck at this?

Theo gurgles, a small noise, and you try to shift to alleviate some of the pressure on your back. Pain zings through you, the sting of your muscles seizing, and you gasp, loud enough that Simon is jerking awake, eyes scanning the room until they land on you and your hopeless form.

“Need help?” You nod miserably, and he lifts Theo away from your body while you try to get situated. You watch him rock the baby easily, settling into a natural rhythm like it’s nothing, and try not to feel irritated. He’s a natural. How is possible that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is so good at this and you’re a failure? Tears prick along your waterline, and you slam your eyes shut, but not before one escapes down your cheek. “Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” A big, warm hand envelopes yours, and your emotions surge inside of you, sadness and love and anxiety swirling in your heart until you’re sniffling.

“I’m sorry.” You sob and he looks stricken.

“Sorry for what?”

“For being such a mess.”

“You just had a baby, Sass. And you have a huge wound in your stomach. You’re gonna be a mess for a bit.”

“Yeah, b-but I can’t even take care of my… my own baby,” The words are slurred, pieced together through tears, and you try to catch your breath. He folds his hand around the back of your neck and leans forward, bringing Theo between your two bodies while your face nestles into him. “and you’re being so nice to me.” You cry aloud.

“Shhh. It’s alright, sweet girl. You’re okay.” TWO babies. There are two babies in this stupid hospital room. You take a deep breath through your nose while Simon rubs your back, Theo blinking up at the two of you silently. “Did you get any sleep this morning?”

“N- no.” He sighs as he pulls away, lips dragging across your temple gently and then up to your forehead to press a kiss there, soft and slow, lingering as long as he can.

“I think you should try to get some sleep,” you shrug and wipe your eyes. “I’ll turn out the lights.”

“Wait.” Your hand shoots out to latch onto his in a panic. “Si. I- don’t go anywhere. Please?”

“We’ll both be right here.” He assures you, folding your hand back into your lap with a squeeze before moving to flick the light off. “We’re right here, okay? Close your eyes.” He slides the reclining chair another half a foot closer to the bed, easing down into it with Theo secure in one arm, holding your hand with the other. He traces a thumb over the skin of your knuckles, and your eyes slip closed.

You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, the straggly ends of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest beneath Simon’s t shirt. You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. Your head is pounding, a headache ripping across the front of your brain, your stomach churning like you’re going to vomit up the breakfast you ate this morning. Your legs feel weak, or maybe it’s your body that feels heavy, but either way, you can hardly stand, leaning against the bathroom countertop for support. You focus on your breath, in and out, counting inhales and exhales, but there’s a buzzing sound in your ear, and the room suddenly feels dark, like your vision is cloudy.

When you close your eyes, you see a teenager walking towards you, a bomb wired to the vest he’s wearing.

You see Soap’s blood on your palms, you feel it slicking your skin up your forearms, you hear his grunts of pain as you pack his wound.

You see Simon outside the tent after you left, staring up at the helicopter as it took you away. You remember the unadulterated rage that coursed through your veins, the overwhelming feeling of anger that consumed your entire existence.

You see the faces of the first infantry troop you deployed with in the desert. The fresh-faced lieutenant, begging you to make sure his wife and kids get his death benefits while he dies in front of you, torso blown open, organs shredded by bullets. The private, from Louisiana, whose parents were long dead, but he told you about how sweet his baby sister was while the two of waited for a field medic that would be way too late.

You see your dad, the last time you ever saw his face, putting you on a plane to a country you knew nothing about while you screamed, your mother crying in his arms. The silver of the cross around his neck glinting in the afternoon sun.

You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear.

There’s a knock on the door and you snap to attention.

“Sass?” You fix your face in the mirror as well as you can before answering.

“Yeah, coming.”

It’s the familiar ring of a facetime call that wakes you, your head foggy with the cotton of deep sleep. You squint at the caller ID, Johnny’s name popping up across the screen accompanied by the soap emoji.

“Hi.” You answer, voice still a little groggy. Simon is already lifting Theo from the bassinet, depositing him on your chest gently, and giving your shoulder a squeeze before he slumps back in the chair.

“Sassafras, look at ‘im.” Theo’s just visible in the screen, and Johnny is grinning, hand partially covering his face because his eyes are suspiciously wet. “You did a grand job lass.” You smile at him in thanks, and Simon grunts from the chair right next to the bed. “Where’s the big guy?”

“He's here.” You angle the camera, and Simon cracks a small smile under the mask.

“Hey Johnny.”

“Ghost! Yer a lucky man, LT.” Simon looks to you, something soft shining in his eyes before it disappears.

“Yeah.” He reaches over, hand laying gently over top yours where it rests on Theo's back.

“He’s ready to meet Uncle Soap, whenever you get leave next. Feel free to come over this way.” You chime. “We, uh actually wanted to talk to you about being his godfather...”

“No, we don’t.” Simon barks but you shake your head, moving the camera back to you.

“Yes, we do. Ignore him. It was his idea, Johnny.” You shoot him a look.

“Ah you two, I’m honored.” There’s a noise in the background, something loud, and Johnny looks away quickly, before returning to the screen. “Gotta run. Miss ya Sassy, and the grumpy bastard.”

“Bye, Soap. Be safe, stay frosty.” Theo cries just as Johnny hangs up, and you pat his back slowly, murmuring above his ear.

“What is it?” You soothe. “Hungry?” You bounce him slightly, all you can do from the bed, before looking up at Simon imploringly. “Si…”

“C’mere” He pulls the baby from your arms, tilting him onto his back at a good angle for the bottle, before settling down next to you on the bed. “Like a champ.” He says proudly, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

“He’s got a good appetite.” You push your finger into his tiny fist, and he grabs onto it reflexively. “Like his dad I guess.” You tease and Simon smirks, leaning down to plant a kiss across your cheek.

Theo is screaming on the monitor. Both of you jolt awake, and Simon is out of bed before you can even say anything, hall light flicking on and floorboards creaking under his feet.

You glance at the clock. 3:32 AM. Well, at least he made it three hours. There’s a beeping sound inside your ear, and you cringe, shaking it away as you fully wake. Anxiety immediately blooms in your mind, and you take deep breaths to calm your heart. You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. You sit up slowly, shifting your hips until you’re fully upright, and Simon comes back.

“Hungry, I think.” He’s got Theo against his chest, blanket over his shoulder. His hair is all a mess, like the baby’s, and the sight of them together nearly makes you start crying. Your boys.

“Here.” You clear your throat. “I’ll take him, you grab the bottle?” He rubs his face sleepily and you rock Theo, trying to get his cries to calm down while you wait for the formula. “Shhh.” You make the hushing noise near his ear, to no avail.

The song comes easily. It’s not a lullaby, and you’re a shit singer, but since he was born, singing works better than humming, though you’re not sure why. You rock him in time with the beat you’re conjuring in your head, closing your eyes and imagining your voice is not terribly off key.

“I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow, again. Take me back to the night we met.” Theo cries, but more softly, a little hiccup shaking his chest. “And then I can tell myself, what the hell I’m supposed to do. And then I can tell myself, not to ride along with you.” You press a kiss to his forehead, stroking across the baby soft skin of his cheek. “I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.” He’s gone silent, just looking up at you with big wide eyes now, and you smile down at him in the dim light of your bedside lamp. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost you. Take me back to the night we met.”

When you look up, Simon’s standing in the doorway again, bottle in one hand, burp cloth in the other, frozen to the spot, staring at you.

“Hey.” He startles, like he was off somewhere else, and takes big strides until he’s sitting at your side, handing the bottle over. “Thanks.”

“Y-yeah.” He stutters, and you frown.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

“I can put him back in the crib, if you want to lay down.” You gesture to his side of your bed, but he shakes his head.

“No, no. ’s fine.”

“You sure?” Theo sucks the bottle down with ease, and you prop him on your shoulder over the burp cloth. Simon leans forward, and presses his lips to your brow, hand resting on Theo’s back. He holds himself there, for a second, then two, and three, until he pulls away to touch his forehead to yours.

“I’m sure.”

The woman says your name, nodding at you from where she sits to the left of your bed.

“I’m Dr. Moreno. I’m a resident psychologist here, but I also do work for the VA.” You fight the urge to tell her to get the fuck out and choose to smile politely instead. “I understand you have some concerns about postpartum depression.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, you wished you hadn’t been so painfully honest on the questionnaire your OB gave you.

“Are you currently receiving any treatment for your PTSD?”

“No.”

“Are you interested in receiving treatment for PTSD?”

“Not really, I’ve done therapy before.” She nods thoughtfully.

“Did your doctor go over everything with you about C-section recovery?”

“Yeah, she did.” Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, something tells you to be more forthcoming, to be more open with this shrink, but it gets shut down before it can become a full thought.

“Okay. I am going to give you my card. It has my office number on it and my email. You can reach out to me anytime you need to.” You give her another polite, lackluster look. She sighs. “Being a new mom can be hard, even for those who don’t have histories of trauma. There is no shame in needing help.”

“I know. Thank you.” You hold the card up like its proof that you’re listening, like you can be trusted to call if you think you’re in trouble. She gives you a sympathetic smile as she makes to leave, reiterating that she wants you to call her if you need to.

A heavy knock sounds on the door, and then Simon is standing in the room, medical mask on his face, sleeping baby cuddled against him. Just the sight of him holding Theo cleaves your heart in two, and you hold your arms out to them both, anxious to be near them. He gives the doctor a look when she passes, and then raises an eyebrow at you.

“You alright?” Theo cries and you motion with your hands so you can hold him.

“Yeah. Just usual shrink stuff.”

“Alright, come off it. It’s not that funny.” Simon’s jaw flexes as you try to hold back the laughter and fail. It hurts your stomach, but at the same time, it feels great. It feels real.

“Oh my god. I’m so- sorry. For laughing, it’s just-“ you stare down at the mess of burnt food in the pan, eyebrows creasing in sympathy when you look back up at him. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” He scowls.

“I’ll order takeout.”

“No, no you don’t have to. We can make something else.”

“No.” He turns to stalk away, and you’re hit with a wave of emotion out of nowhere, so strong that it nearly knocks you off balance, almost steals your breath. It feels familiar. It feels like Belize, and every second afterwards until he sent you away, it feels like waking up in the hospital to his face hovering over yours, it feels like watching him press his ear to your belly when Theo was still inside you. It feels like that night when the two of you sat on the roof of the safehouse in Belarus, after the botched extraction mission, the one that left him with twenty stitches in his thigh and you got that really bad burn on your arm. The roof where the two of you traded secrets, where he told you about his dad and you told him about yours. It feels like the night in Uruguay, when you and Johnny and him all went out and found a bar, when you got drunk and he pressed you against the brick wall in the alley, your legs wrapped around his waist, his face buried in your neck, whispering words you couldn’t quite hear under his breath. It feels like watching him cry in the operating room when he saw the baby for the first time, watching him become a dad, watching him beat the vicious cycle of trauma and abuse right before your eyes.

You wrap yourself around his waist before he can get too far away, molding your body to his back, and his hand comes down to where yours rests on his stomach.

“Sass?”

“Don’t. Just, stay here. Like this. For a minute.” He shifts, turning while keeping you pressed against him, until you’re resting your cheek on his chest, and he’s rubbing your back.

“You alright?” His voice is gentle, he’s always gentle with you now, and the realization makes the feeling grow even stronger.

“Yeah. I’m… Simon. I-“

Theo cries on the baby monitor. Insistent. Bossy, as Simon enjoys telling you, like his mum.

You step away with a sigh.

“I’ll get him.” He kisses your forehead before heading up the stairs.

When he makes it back down, you’re scrubbing the pan out, charred food already deposited in the garbage can.

“There she is.” Simon says from behind you, and you turn to see Theo blinking in your direction, eyes wide and making little garbled cooing noises.

“Hi baby.” Simon shuffles him into your arms, and you sway side to side slowly. “You’re hungry.” You deduce, and he agrees with you, making an impatient crying sound, tiny fist swinging into the air. “I know, I know. Hang on.” You soothe. You settle yourself on the couch with a bottle, brushing against his cheek lightly to trigger the rooting reflex before plopping it in his mouth. He drinks greedily, eyes trying to slip shut once he’s had his fill, and Simon laughs from where he sits next to you.

“You’re good at this.” He says quietly. You balance Theo on your shoulder while you burp him, and then look at Simon like he’s off his rocker.

“Me?”

“Yeah, Sass.” He pauses. “And ya look good, holding my baby.” Your cheeks heat, and something clenches in your stomach. You shoot him a look and he grins like a fool, real happiness stretching across his face in spades. It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, and you- “I know you’re struggling right now,” he pulls you out of your train of thought, eyes pensive, grin morphing into something bittersweet. “and it’s been hard, but… I’m here. For you. For Theo. I want us…” he trails off when Theo burps and you shift, cradling him back into a sleeping position. “I don’t know… what will happen, in the future, and I know I still got a lot, of making up to do. But I want this. With you. I want us to… be a family.” You study his knuckles, fingers bunched together with tension, the height of his shoulders under his ears. You expect to feel the unraveling force of your anger, the swell of rage towards him that has been lurking under the surface for so long, but it never comes. It simmers in the distance, cool and unprovoked, sitting silently and uneager. You wonder if it's temporary, if you’ll ever feel it again, the way you used to.

Instead, when you look at him, all you see is Simon. Theo’s dad. All you have is that feeling, the strong emotion that makes your head spin, and while you can’t get your mouth to form those three words, you feel the full force it when you look up at him with softness in your gaze and say,

“I think we already are, Si.”

#sassy series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #reader was pregnant #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost cod #tw pregnancy #soft dad simon riley #reader is referred to as mom #simon x sass #ghost x reader #peaches writes

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owlespresso · 1 month

Text

the red fruit which ripens

alpha!blade/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is getting too close. tags: blackmail, mind games, nonconsensual touching, blade and luocha are just weirdos idk pt 2 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. the first part can be read here.

You have never known peace. You doubt any emanator ever has. The Mother of Harmony, of peace, bestowed upon you a fraction of her immortal grace. She cored herself, tore out a seed—jewel like and glistening, and beckoned you to feast. The taste went down so smooth and sweet.

That was the first and last time you held your blessing in awe. Xipe sentenced you, that day, to never know the peace she covets. You could catch glimpses of it, inhale the scent of it deep, but it would fade like morning mist, chased away by the winds of chaos and whatever awful business you were to tend to next.

When you strayed from The Family, tore yourself free of their clutches and hid where their millions of bulging eyes could not find you; you believed it possible to know peace. Perhaps not immediately. There was so much to take care of during your first days on the Luofu, paperwork and apartment hunting. It was all jarringly normal. You were mystified by the mundanity, delighted by it even. The world suddenly closed in for the better. There were no enemy factions to worry about corralling, no petty politics, no attempts to usurp you or take your life.

The world became the Luofu. It became your apartment. It became your favorite food stalls and your neighbors and the little birds fluttering about in the trees.

But it was not peace. Soon, you came to realize that even the average Luofu citizen did not know the concept as intimate as you hoped. They live in fear of Mara, of the Abundance, which they are so intimately intertwined with. Every pain is a life threatening risk, a potential trigger to a deadly malady. Outside of the Abundance, so many run themselves ragged, weighted by long work hours and petty squabbles with loved ones. The kindly folk by the docks find themselves cornered by the IPC.

No mortal knows peace, you have come to realize. Perfect tranquility is a ripe and red lie, birthed gold and glistening from the Goddess’s many lips, spread carelessly and listlessly across the universe. Unattainable by the emanator’s closest to her.

You believed once, and it hurt you. Not again. You will heed no honeyed words. You can only believe in what is cold, concrete, and solid.

—

“I feel like—” you begin, pushing through the rusted metal paneling of the dilapidated fence. “—you could have gotten here by yourself.” You usually don’t talk this much, but Blade’s habitual silence combined with your burgeoning irritation leaves you uncharacteristically eager to complain aloud.

The abandoned warehouse looms an eerie, empty monument of crumbling sheet metal and shattered glass. Long columns of broken machinery are gutted in pieces across the concrete yard. You make note to return later, just to make sure you’re not leaving valuable goods out to waste.

“I have never been here before. Kafka thought it wise to come with a guide.”

“And what do you think?” you pause, shoulder buried in the outside paneling of the building itself.

“What I think… does not matter.” Blade says cooly. “A blade is meant to be wielded. It does not choose who it cuts down or where it goes.”

“Hm,” you don’t have much to say to that. You shouldn’t have opened your yap in the first place. The less you know about the bizarre relations of the Stellaron Hunters, the better. You squeeze into the building through the gap. Blade hardly two paces behind. The metal groans and squeaks as he forces his way in. It feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever fucking heard, an offensive and high pitched screech that probably rings through the yard and neighboring alleyways.

“At least try to be a little quieter,” you grumble, squinting into the dark. The main room is made a maze by haphazardly laid out storage containers, many cracked open and already emptied. Wires hang from the ceiling, which has become an amalgamation of mechanical matter and rotting parts. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Black grunts his assent.

“Well. You’re here, safe and sound.” you waste no time, doubling back towards the Blade-shaped hole in the wall. Did he just walk straight through!? What are they feeding this guy? “So I—”

The sound of thundering footsteps and approaching shouts freezes you mid-step. Momentary panic jars you still. The Cloud Knights? Here? Now?

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you turn tail, ready to haul ass in the opposite direction, only to collide face-first with Blade’s firm chest. He jostles you to the side with his shoulder, ignoring your grunt of complaint. His hand rests on the hilt of his blade. Your stomach jumps into your throat.

“Where are you going!?” you hiss.

“To take care of the vermin,” Blade replies drolly, looking down his nose at you. His lips twitch into the beginnings of a puzzled frown.

“Absolutely not!” you say, and his frown pulls deeper. “Where there’s ten, there’s bound to be twenty waiting to back them up.”

It is unlike you to be so bold, but you seize him by the wrist, pulling him further into the jagged steel labyrinth. He allows himself to be led, surprisingly docile as you round corners and scuttle down corridors. Pale moonlight covers the room in a silvery sheen, providing just enough light for you to make out a door embedded into the outermost wall. Footsteps echo around you, calling voices made cacophonous by the echo. Blade’s grip on your hand tightens, likely annoyed and sorely tempted to begin the slaughter, but you yank open the door and jam yourself inside what seems to be a cramped server room.

A few circuit towers stand side-by-side, dark and dusty with disuse. Blade shuts the door behind you, opening his mouth to speak, but you’re already wedging yourself into the lone aisle between the wall and the towers, pulling him behind you.

A few moments later sees you crammed in the narrow space. The back wall and server towers rise on either side of you, caging you up against your troublesome accomplice. One of Blade’s thighs presses tight to your own. Warm and firm. The proximity betrays what you’ve expected since your first meeting. Blade is an alpha. Only now, brought so obscenely close, are you fully able to realize that. It’s a footnote in comparison to your agitation, which swims and simmers just beneath the surface of your skin.

“How long were they following us for?” you grumble aloud. “Tell Kafka she owes an extra 20% when you see her, and that I’m not doing this ever again.”

Blade sighs out of his nose. You can’t see his face well enough to make out his expression.

“You’re wearing a mask. Your identity is safe.” he says.

“The threat of being arrested still remains,” you grumble, listening to the clamorous noise outside. Trained troops rush back and forth, kicking up dust and old grease. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, beyond a few paltry words, but no one has yet knocked on the door. Surely a good sign.

Blade squeezes your hand, and subsequently reminds you that you are holding it.

“That won’t happen. Destiny’s Slave would not risk your safety over something so simple. No harm will come to you, tonight.”

Well, isn’t that comforting. You wrest your hand away with a scowl, and clamp down on the pressing urge to let him know what you really think about his boss. He stares down at the place where your hands were once joined.

The next half-hour passes in relative silence. His eyes are all that is visible in the empty dark of the room, candlewick embers extinguished when he shuts them and leans back against the wall.

Eventually, the outside noise quiets. No more thudding boots or searching shouts, the warehouse silent as it had been when you arrived. Shimmying out from the pitch dark crevice is much more awkward without the frantic adrenaline, but you manage it, emerging in a new layer of dust.

“Alright. I’m heading out. Be careful.”

“They won’t return anytime soon,” Blade remains inside, arms crossed and impassive. Your frown deepens. You clamber through a hole in the wall. No Knights have remained behind. You feared a few would have stayed just in case, but none leap out from behind the rubble. Which means that the horrible feeling prickling up the back of your neck is just Blade’s cold, empty gaze trained on your retreating form.

Strange beast, you think to yourself, scuttling into the nearest alleyway.

—

One of your favorite things about Luocha’s home is that he is hardly ever in it. The first time you met him after helping him with his pre-heat, he pressed a silver house key into your palms, before turning and leaving. Not even allowing you to splutter a single, indignant protest. Back then, you mentally swore that you wouldn’t use it.

Now, you use it almost everyday. His neighborhood, smack dab in the middle of the Luofu, intersects with several of your regular routes. It’s just too easy so slide in between deliveries for a quick rest. It helps that he’s hardly ever home, leaving you to pilfer snacks from his fridge and take brief naps on the couch. You haven’t been bold enough to stay overnight. You’ve become far, far too intimate with the man.

No more, you decide, and stay firm to that decision even when he beseeches your company not a week later. It’s rude, but you can’t risk getting anymore attached than you already are. He’s become a bothersome burr stuck to your side, a looming presence in your thoughts even when he’s far across the stars, doing Xipe knows what.

There’s a knock at the door. You startle, because this has never happened before. You remain stock still on the couch. If you remain still, surely whoever is out there will get the message and bugger off. Another knock. You should have known that any solicitor determined to walk through the forest of a front yard would be too stubborn to give up after only seven knocks.

At the eleventh, you get up and stomp to the door. It’s mostly to preserve your own sanity.

You throw open the door, prepared to give the nosy bastard on the other side an earful.

It’s Blade. Blade is stood there. He blots out the afternoon sun, leaving you in the shadow he casts. It’s like seeing your clothes in the fridge. You blink several times.

“Ah. It’s you.”

“It is,” He’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his left hand.

“What… why are you here?”

“Kafka’s orders. She wanted you to have these,” he hands you the bouquet. You receive it. Fresh petunias and sprigs of rosemary curl next to daisies and tulips. It’s a nonsensical thing. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Nothing particularly artful about the presentation besides the pretty colors.

“I see… Is this your home?” He looks like he already knows the answer.

You decide not to humor him. You tuck the bouquet underneath your arm and lean up against the doorframe. “What’s it to you?”

He blinks, looks confused, and then responds after a moment of silent thought. “I… there is someone else who lives here. I remember it clearly, now.”

“You two know each other, huh? What a coincidence. But… how did you know where I was?”

“I asked the woman next door. She directed me here. I’ve been searching for you since the early morning.”

“All morning?” you tut, somewhat sympathetic. “That’s a lot of walking.”

“It is nothing compared to other pains I have endured.” Blade says, solemnly. “And I have traveled far greater distances on foot. You shouldn’t worry.”

“...Well,” you stare down at the bouquet for a moment. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t give you anything for the effort. You know that big, red maple by the pond? Go sit there. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Two minutes later sees you outside, cradling two crystalline glasses filled with lemonade. You didn’t get him the fancy stuff—the strawberry-kiwi-whatever fruit stuff that you hand mixed. But it’s something.

He’s hunched beneath the red canopy. There’s a dark, inky type of handsomeness he possesses. Dark hair tumbles down his back, shaggy bangs frame that wolfish face. He looks dour almost all the time. Like the frown lines and cold apathy have permanently creased it. He’s hunched beneath the shade. Like it sits on his shoulders as a physical weight. He looks up at you as you settle next to him, accepts his glass without fuss or thanks. Which is just fine, with you. You probably shouldn’t be doing this, anyways. He’s an intergalactic criminal. The less time you spend together, the better.

But at the same time… you can’t help but be curious. Curious about the mara which buzzes underneath his skin, yet somehow never breaches it. Curious about what manner of creature he must be to withstand the final stages of Yaoshi’s curse. Curious if there’s any real, lingering emotion beyond the stoicism he treats… well, everything with.

The two of you sit in silence and sip. You don’t feel any need for artificial conversation. It’s easy to sit down and simply exist next to him. No impulsive need for niceties.

“This house isn’t yours,” he says.

“No. The owner is a client of mine. He lets me stop by here, in between deliveries. It’s convenient.”

A few beats of silence. “How well do you know the man that lives here?”

“As well as I know any other client,” he looks at you expectantly, as though waiting for you to finish that statement. “Which isn’t very well. He’s not here most of the time.”

“You should remain cautious while in his presence,” he says, and you nearly raise a brow at the unsolicited advice. He levels you with his dull, candlewick gaze, as impassive as ever. A leaf flutters from the lowest branches onto his head. “That man draws his power from the source of the mara. He wields it under the guise of a blessing, and yet…” Blade frowns, almost a grimace, and doesn’t say anything else.

“I know.”

“Yet you take shelter under his roof and exist willingly in his space.” Blade stares at you. There’s a faint bristling in the air. A shuddering of the atmosphere that emerges from him. Thorny tendrils of bitter gold crackle beneath his pale skin. You don’t know exactly what aggrieves him so, but you get the feeling that you should say something to appease him, quickly.

“Well. I don’t know any other rich diplomats willing to offer me a free, mostly empty house to take a break in for… around twenty minutes a day,” you shrug. “It’s convenient.”

That seems to settle him.

“Do you… not like him? The merchant?” Does he even know Luocha’s name? What kind of relationship do these two weirdos have?

“In the strange purgatory of my existence, he acts as both poison and cure.” Blade informs you, as if it tells you really anything. As if sensing your befuddlement, he deflates a little, nose scrunching. He looks like a dour cat, stuck out in the rain. “He wants something from me. I can’t tell what it is. His unseemly fascination means it can be nothing good.” His attempt at elaboration gives you somewhat of a clearer picture, but it’s still some insanity that you’ll have to unpack later.

“I see. I’ll make sure to remember that,” you’re not sure if it’s possible to forget a conversation with Blade. Especially one that lasts more than a few moments. What prompted this? Genuine concern for your well-being? You have a hard time believing that. There are many things that are better off left unsaid, in your experience, so you don’t ask.

The rest of the visit passes in relative quiet. Blade finishes his lemonade.

You reach over. His gaze snaps to you immediately, a beaten dog evaluating a potential threat.

“You have something in your hair,” you inform him helpfully, plucking the leaf from his sable locks. You curl the stem around your fingers.

He doesn’t say anything after that. The two of you stand. He murmurs a brief farewell, and is off through the yard, slipping through the ferns to become one with the cast shadows. You’re not sure how long you remain after he leaves. The pond water ripples with each gentle breeze. Glimmering koi bob to the surface, in search of mid-afternoon snacks. When they find none, they dive beneath, water droplets flickering off their lashing tail fins.

Well, you think after another moment, at least you learned something.

Now, it is high time that you tend to the bouquet so generously sent your way. You dump the glasses in the sink, halfheartedly vowing to deal with them later, before taking a closer look at the arrangement of flowers. As you expected, it’s more than a paltry, sentimental gift. Tucked into the plastic wrapping is a small card.

Bladie said you got in quite the mess, the other day. You have my deepest gratitude for handling it so cleanly. He’s not that good at talking things out. He seems to like you, though! I wonder what makes you so special?

P.S. Next Tuesday, please escort Bladie to the address written on the back of this note. Please? Do it for me. :)

—

You hate working with criminals. Criminals other than yourself.

Though, you don’t fancy yourself much a criminal. Deliveries are an entirely different beast, simple points of contact which last at most for five minutes. Escorting a known, intergalactic criminal through multiple layers of the Luofu is completely different—something you would never do if anyone besides Kafka asked. You’ll dance to her tune, run her errands if it keeps you off her shitlist. But is there even a point if keeping off of hers just puts you onto someone else’s?

You’ll have some fierce thinking to do after you shake off the six Cloud Knights currently on your tail. You dive between market stalls. You leap over a counter, sending an array of fruits and vegetables tumbling onto the pavement. You ignore the enraged shout of the peddler behind you, pulse thundering in your ears as you weave between the passerby, narrowly avoiding a stack of crates.

The air stings at the corners of your eyes. The marketplace blends together to the point of featurelessness. You don’t know who you pass or what else you know over, too focused on what’s ahead to care about the wreckage left behind. At the very least, it may hamper the Knights as they shout and stomp and rush after you—and Blade, whose fault all this is.

You slide around a corner and into a red-bricked alleyway, lanterns strung between the two rooftops, gold and glittering against that fake, blue sky.

“Dead end.” Blade grunts. You hear the telltale click of his sword being unsheathed.

“No! Just follow me!” you snap, seizing his wrist and pulling him forward, all the way to the end. As you trudge forward, you tap a sequence into the walls on either side. The worn clay surfaces are coarse under your fingertips. None move after you touch them, but you feel a subtle shift in the energy as it rushes down to the focal point. The pattern ends at the back of the alley. You tap a chipped, ragged brick embedded into the dead-end wall. The slabs unfold, layer-by-layer, to form an opening.

You pull him through.

It folds shut behind you, the quiet sound of grinding stone following you through the passage. The hollering and thudding of the pursuit have been silenced. Their chaos of the market sealed away behind the otherwise impenetrable seal. You doubt the low-ranking footmen who chased you will know the way.

Yellow-green vines crawl up the pulsing walls. Luminous particles bob and float in the air like fireflies. The place is silent, leaving you with only the sound of your own panting and Blade—Blade’s rasping, spluttering wheezes.

You stop, right where you are, because you have never heard him make such a sound before. Even after a chase, or a fight.

The passage opens to a wider tunnel up ahead. You drop Blade’s hand, and turn to look at him. The adrenaline is fading, now leaving room for fresh, common sense.

Blades hunches up against the wall. The air enters and leaves his lungs in winded, rushed wheezes. His eyes are wide and unseeing. Those candlewick irises dart from the floor, to the place where your hands had been joined, and finally, then, to you.

A scent, like firewood charred too long, blistering into crumbled charcoal, blooms in and clouds the thin space. It’s like nothing you’ve ever smelled before, the vicious pheromones of an alpha at the very end of their tether. Something more, too, something earthen and ancient and charged. A flavor which has graced your palate only once or twice before.

Encroaching mara. You don’t know what he’s like, when his symptoms flare. You’re not eager to find out. The capricious nature of his mara has not once posed a threat to you. But his composure is slipping, his hands curling like claws and flexing. Like he’s getting a feel for his own body. Like the joints are sore and need stretching.

“Blade,” you stumble forward, pressing your palm to the cold, pale pane of his cheek. “Blade, look at me.”

His shaky irises hover awkwardly over your shoulder, before at last meeting your gaze.

“It approaches,” he rasps, looking as haunted as you have ever seen him.

“Blade, do not let the mara take you.” you take in a deep, steadying breath. The violent pulsing in your ears returns in full force, the unhinged mass of his disease gnawing at your physical form.

Bracing yourself, you reach within. You touch the very bottom of your long neglected wellspring. Harmonic Essence leaps to the surface, warm and loving and so eager to be put to use. It feels like an old coat slipped around your shoulders, a familiarity you wouldn’t dare indulge in under ordinary circumstances. It is a power long wasted on you, but useful this very once. It pulses from underneath your fingertips, washes underneath his pallid skin.

The acrid taste of his mara brashes against the tip of your tongue for a single, fleeting moment. It then skitters backwards. Retreats into the dark, churning void of what you assume to be his subconsciousness. It’s a temporary balancing of the scales, but his wild pulse settles.

You sigh, shoulder slumping in relief. The tension winds out of your body, hand dropping back to your side.

He still looms above you, jet black hair curtaining you in. When did he get so close? Or had it been you in your haste to soothe him? He runs hot as a hearth, the warmth which radiates from him thick enough to feel. This close, you can see his every breath, soft mounds of his chest straining the fastenings which hold his shirt together. Slender stripes of pale skin peek through his chest wrappings. You swallow and look away, up at the strong column of his neck.

“Are you with me?” you murmur. You don’t dare move, lest your retreat trigger the chase instinct which some alphas are known to possess. You don’t like making assumptions. You feel like Blade would be among that number anyways.

“Yes,” Blade’s voice is sandpaper rough. He moves before you do, shouldering past you into the wider tunnel. “You make use of these often, I take it.”

As though nothing had ever happened. Something bitter churns in your gut, but you don’t bring it up. There’s no reason to. He probably wants to distance himself from this episode as quickly as possible. You don’t blame him. The mara must be a humiliating affliction to live and cope with.

“It’s the fastest way to get around,” you break into a brisk walk, overtaking him. You’re the one who knows your way around, here.

“The mara would rend asunder the minds of anyone not wearing the correct protective gear,” Blade observes. There’s nothing pointed in his voice, but the weight of his gaze makes your skin crawl. Its keen focus is that of an apex predator’s, a beast somehow sated enough to keep his teeth from your throat. How long will that last? Fifteen minutes? An hour? The air here swelters with abundance. His mara must sup on it like a starved prisoner, far stronger and fuller than it could ever be on the surface.

He could easily match your pace, but he chooses to walk behind you.

“I could say the same for you.”

“I am an abomination of Yaoshi. The abundance has already taken hold of me.” Blade says, grimacing. You toy with the fraying edge of your sleeve between your forefinger and thumb. “All the saturation here does is spur on the symptoms.”

You make a face. He must sense your unease.

“I should be able to resist the pull until we surface. Provided we do not linger overlong.” Blade replies. It does remarkably little to reassure you.

A predator stalks at your back, one whose sanity may pop like an overfilled balloon at really any moment. Against your better sense, you feel anxiety lash at the bottom of your stomach, guts churning with that primal fear.

“Reassuring.” you bite out thoughtlessly.

“It would be in your best interest to focus on finding a way out, rather than back-talking me.” Blade says, and you swallow.

“Back-talking? I think my frustration is quite justified. You’re the reason we’re in this mess, after all.” you pointedly remind him. The words roll bitter off your tongue. Prickling discomfort coalesces with the saturation of abundance in the air, becoming a consistent buzz against the back of your skull.

Blade makes a ragged little noise, wedged between a wheeze and a laugh.

“Another do I make pay the price. I was not always like this. deathless beast borne of blind ambition and hubris…” he trails off. “I was once a man. Death walked with me as it walked with every other. It was never meant to—to become—”

A distorted warble slowly creeps into his voice. Shit, you just shouldn’t have said anything. The hovering energy coalesces, thin whispers congealing into thick, mist-like mass around him. It’s drawn to him.

“What’s your favorite food?” you turn on your heel and ask, crossing your arms. He looks down at you, brows furrowing as he roots around for an answer. “You haven’t thought about it, have you?” Do the mara-struck even have to eat? Blade is a particularly unique case among them, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he even remembers to eat. He is a blade, according to his own words. And a blade doesn’t need to eat. How desolate an existence he must have lived. Must still be living if his own preferences evade him.

“Well. Try to find an answer while I get us out of here.” you command. He’s quiet for the remainder of the trek. You emerge topside and immediately feel several pounds lighter. The air is fresh and sweet, the skies blue and open. You’re two blocks from your apartment in a dark, neglected alleyway.

“You can find your way back from here,” you sigh, chancing a glance at your companion as you stretch your arms above your head. “Right?”

He’s still quiet. You don’t sense the acrid tang of the illness. He looks thoughtful. You wish he would just give you an answer already. You’re not eager to be chanced upon again by a patrol, or by any other witnesses for that matter.

“Your question. I don’t have an answer.” Blade says. He sounds almost regretful.

Over your few interactions, you’ve come to realize that not much bothers him. Very little manages to budge that glacial mien. His demeanor, as you have come to understand, either sits as stoney neutrality or maniacal, giddy rage. The shades between are so very visited.

“It’s no big deal. You can just tell me next time, if you want.” If he even remembers. The idea of turning your back to him still riddles you with unease, but you do it anyway. Your steps are slow and measured. He stares you down until you disappear around the corner, meld into the crowds like just another thread in a blanket.

—

The sky above hangs a pale grey. It’s the threat of a light drizzle rather than a raging storm. You slip through the abundant foliage of Luocha’s front yard, unable but to notice that the shrubs and vibrant blooms have somehow grown in size since your last visit. The greens are hearty, fresh dewdrops glimmering off grass and unfurled leaves.

It’s not difficult to spot him. He’s lounged beneath the sole scarlet maple of the yard. He’s a spot of red himself, swathed in a richly-colored, likely richly-made, robe of it. The fabric pools on the lawn chair he lounges atop of. His eyes are shut, blonde lashes fanning against his perfect cheeks. Those eyes open as you skirt along the jagged stone edge of the pond, manilla envelope clutched in your left hand. He smiles, but does not lift his head. Sumptuous locks of golden blonde fan out behind his head like a halo. The very picture of serenity.

“Well, well. To what do I owe this visit?” he tilts his head, smiling like a contented cat. You huff, and avoid looking below his neck, where the plush robe parts to reveal the pale soft of his chest. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but any sliver of intimacy you may have granted him has long passed. The moment you look down, he’ll notice and impose upon you another outlandish favor.

“Don’t get excited.” You hand him the package, and begin to pull back, but he’s faster. He darts for you like a viper. Long fingers curl around your wrist to hold you in place. The look in his eyes is beseeching. He gently deposits the envelope on the side table next to his seat. He doesn’t look away from you for even a moment.

“Always so busy… doesn’t it exhaust you?” he murmurs, a sympathetic coo. He’s putting just enough strain on your arm to make standing uncomfortable, in hopes that you’ll sit down beside him.

“No. I’m used to it. I like being busy,” you bear the ache in your arm with unyielding ease. It is so small and insignificant in comparison to every other you have endured.

“Do you… like being busy, or is it that you’ve never known anything else?” Luocha tilts his head to the side, smiling. Your skin prickles. You resist the urge to swallow.

“You know what they say about assumptions.”

“Which is why I’m glad I’m not making one. You go to awfully desperate lengths to not be known, Courier.”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, and his eyes gleam. “Don’t be coy with me. Did you talk to them?” You ask. The question has lingered on your mind for weeks, leaving you restless and more unkind than usual. The persistent threat of him is always at the back of your mind, represented in the throbbing between your temples, in the harshness of your voice as you snap at someone who might not deserve it. There’s no sense in beating around the bush, anymore. Not if you want to preserve your sanity.

“How very vague, for someone who just accused me of being coy. Be at ease, I haven’t had any contact with The Family. Merely some… particularly useful informants who have heard a thing or two. Hunches based on speculation that you’ve proven by being cagey.” Luocha assures you.

“...So, what do you want from me?”

“Merely conversation. I do find our interactions so compelling, however short they may be.”

“Being blackmailed doesn’t put me in the mood for conversation. There’s not much for us to talk about.”

“I beg to differ. I know so very little about you, despite all we’ve shared. I’m curious—what set you on the path of Harmony?”

“...” You look away, internally evaluating the pros and cons of going along with his little game. “Peace. She promised us peace. Because that’s what Harmony was supposed to be.” His eyes soften. The indignation sizzling inside of you sparks into a raw flame (he has no right to look at you like that), but you smother it.

“Did it live up to your expectations?” he asks. His thumb rubs circles against the hollow of your wrist. His gaze sweeps from your face, down your arm, to where he’s still got you. He’s waiting for you to be vulnerable, you just know it. A shark that smells blood in the water, circling and searching for tender flesh to lay its rows of teeth into. How does he imagine it will taste? Soft and meaty, melting underneath teeth and tongue? Layers of skin peeled back and pried open, made thin by older slices?

“It didn’t work out.” you reply. sagacious enough to play along only minimally. When you elaborate no further, he releases you with a smile.

“How interesting,” he hums. He reclines further, eyes fluttering shut. You could pounce on him so easily, like this. You could fix your teeth into his jugular and make it so he never threatens you again. The blood would be so warm in your mouth. His skin would be so sweet.

Don’t be gross. You grimace.

He drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

The fluttering of wings erupts in the canopy above you, a flock of songbirds taking an afternoon flight. He cracks open his eyes, then. He tracks some sort of movement (you aren’t looking up), idle, like you aren’t even there. He tilts his head to the side, the slender column of his neck completely exposed. The robe slips off of his shoulders, curvature of his collarbones and soft expanse of his chest open for your viewing pleasure. You’re annoyed.

“I’ve held you long enough,” he sighs. “Thank you for sharing. Though, I do hope we can manage a longer conversation next time.”

“We’ll see,” you just barely keep a sigh out of your voice as you turn to leave, speed-walking up the grassy slope.

—

“That old man’s damn cat has been coming into the yard and bothering all the birds,” you grumble, squinting into the aforementioned patch of forest.

Blade makes a noncommittal noise, indicating that he’s heard you.

“It pisses me off.”

“You care about the birds in someone else’s yard.” Blade observes. You frown deeper.

“It’s annoying. Cats are an invasive species, here. They slaughter all of the native wildlife—and sometimes they don’t even eat what they kill,” you sigh, tampering down your rising agitation. If you’ve learned one thing in your short and storied life, it’s that being impassioned isn’t good for you.

“So, how would you suggest the problem be solved? If the owner insists on letting it out…”

“I don’t really live here, so it’s not like I have any right to get involved,” you shrug, “It’s just… if you’re gonna be that irresponsible with an animal, you don’t deserve to have it. You know?”

Blade makes another noise. Closer to a hum, this time. You don’t know if he knows or not. But you do know that he’s listening. You stare into the yard, and in your periphery you can see him staring at you.

—

You see Blade more in the coming days. Despite your best attempts, a routine slips into being, like weeds through cracks in the cement. Silver Wolf doesn’t show up to accept her own packages nearly as much, anymore. It’s almost always Blade. You see him so often that you question if he even has a job anymore.

He glowers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, low voice almost lost amongst the bustle of the crowd. The markets are especially full today. Nestled in the crook of your elbow is a plastic shopping basket, loaded with some bread, some spices, and some vegetables. The stall you’re at rests beneath a red tarp, casts warm shadows onto his pale, bone-weary skin. “There are currently no tasks which command my presence at the moment.”

“Well. It’s good to have time off, but you don’t need to follow me around.”

“...” he doesn’t reply, but he does follow you all the way up to the counter. You can’t tell if he doesn’t understand the nuance, or if he’s just being bizarre and stubborn. Regardless, tailing you like a lost puppy seems to alleviate his boredom. To each their own.

“If you’re just going to walk behind me, can you—” you shift the basket from the crook of your arm, preparing to offer it. He snatches it from you before you can even finish speaking.

“...Thanks.”

He takes his newfound job as the basket carrier very seriously. His dour face doesn't budge an inch as you peruse the rest of the wares, plucking a few items from open crates and wooden shelves to add to the bundle.

“So, see anything that piques your interest?” you’re not sure what prompts you to speak up. You should get through this as silently and as quickly as possible. The less time you spend in public with this man, the better. The presence of the Cloud Knights isn’t nearly as felt on this level, making it as safe a haven for criminals as can be. You suspect, sometimes, that it’s purposeful. In your many travels, you have come to realize that the criminal class is a valuable part of any economy, no matter how much those at the top may protest it. Those who disavow it the most fervently are usually the most involved, under the table.

Blade doesn’t respond, at first. His crimson gaze glances over the nearby shelves. He grabs a bottle of cloves and presents it to you, completely straight-faced.

You get the overwhelming sense he’s appeasing you more than anything.

“...Yeah,” you pluck it from his hand and halfheartedly eye the label. It’s hard to muster the energy to argue with him, especially when he looks so resolute. The fact that he’s continuing to tail you through the market is cause enough to ignore him. You drop the bottle into your basket and move on.

Thankfully, the rest of the trip passes in peaceful silence. You can feel Blade’s gaze, unreadable, lingering on your form as you pull your wallet out of one of your many pockets. The shopkeep, a sprightly young man with a head of bouncy, brown hair beams at the sight of you. You don’t remember his name, but you’re familiar with him. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts his mouth tight before he can get a word out.

He glances over your shoulder. You swivel just barely to look at your stubborn shadow. Blade looms closer than you remember him being, leaving you with an up close and personal view of his chest. You tsk and look up at his face.

“Can you get a bottle of white cardamom for me? It should be with the rest of the spices.”

Blade looks at you, and looks at the shopkeep. He is silent. The lines of his face are harsher than usual, burdened with deeper shadow. For a few, agonizing moments, you fear he may object, but he turns almost robotically and walks off. You’re not sure what’s upset him this time. You don’t particularly care. If you troubled yourself with the qualms of every pouting client, you’d be just as miserable as you were with The Family.

“Thanks. I could hardly get a word out while he was giving me those evil eyes,” the shopkeep says, shuddering.

“I guess his manners still need work,” Not that men in his line of work really needed any.

“Alphas that smell that strong and don’t even try to put a lid on it are the worst,” he gripes, bagging your produce with nimble hands, before pausing and looking back up at you. He wrings his hands, contrite and sheepish. “—er, no offense.”

“He smells strong?” you tilt your head to the side.

“Well, yeah. He’s all over you,” the man blinks. Some of his bangs fall over his big, brown eyes. He swipes them behind his ear thoughtlessly. “You guys just get together? He’s probably trying to flaunt it. Stake his ‘claim’, y’know?” he says with a sympathetic roll of the eyes.

You don’t particularly care what he says about Blade. A man able to lift a three-thousand pound sword doesn’t need defending. It’s his misconceptions about your relationship that irks you, for some reason. You don’t care about the opinions of others (you try not to care about the opinions of others) but you can’t resist the sudden urge to correct him.

“We’re not together.”

“Oh,” he blinks at you. “Does he know that?”

“Ugh. Enough. It’s none of your business.” your lips twist, a sliver of teeth exposed in your displeasure.

The shopkeep nods and beams at you, all previous curiosity wiped clean off his face. “Heard loud and clear!”

He finishes ringing you up and sees you off with a “have a nice day~!”. Blade follows you to your next stop, a stall that sells fresh fruits.

The frustration builds within you slowly. It’s a candlewick of a thing, at first. Blade is following you around. Irritating, but you can cope with it. He would leave if he was asked. Maybe Kafka told him to stick around for a while. She’s gotten into a bad habit of pawning him off on you, like he’s a child that needs watching rather than one of the universe’s most efficient killing machines. That’s fine. You’re not keen to get on her bad side.

Blade is scenting you. He’s sticking to you tight as a cobweb and giving dirty looks to people you talk to. That, you cannot abide by. It takes you at least five minutes to simmer, from the crate of apples to the lefternmost all of the stall to the bundle of leeks close to its middle. You’re not really looking at anything. Lost in thought.

“I am not an omega for you to covet. I don’t need your protection,” you tell him, letting your gaze idly roam over the prices. They’re written on fancy little labels with red accents, each one neatly stickered just below the lip of each crate.

“I never said you did,” Blade replies after a moment of deliberating. You look over a crate of cantaloupe. Selecting a ripe one is a practiced art.

“You didn’t have to,” you pause, melon held in your hands as you give him a scathing look. “Control your pheromones. You’re not an animal.”

“No. Worse, I am a blade.” he sighs, suddenly sounding unusually surly. Your lips twitch in the barest beginnings of a frown.

“Not an excuse,” you helpfully remind him. A shadow is cast over his face, then, dark and brooding. The space between his brows wrinkles, an uncertainty you haven’t quite seen from him before. There’s so little need to deliberate in a life like his own, so what troubles him now? It nettles something in you, makes you feel in a way that you don’t care to name and don’t want to look into. You deliberate asking, but he makes the choice for you.

“I will leave you, now.” When you turn to look at him, he’s already walked away from your side, strides longer than usual. He dissolves into the crowd like a sunset shadow, naught left in his wake but the scent you know still clings to your clothes.

—

“My, my. You rarely ever visit at this hour,” Luocha says, giving you one of those mirthful smiles where his eyes scrunch, unabashedly delighted (and undeniably smug) to see you. He lounges on the ottoman, slender fingers parting the pages of a furniture catalogue. “To what do I owe the honor?”’ He’s already deduced that you want something from him. You take no excessive pride in your poker face but it still pains you to be so easily read. Luocha stands apart from the crowd with his soft hands and feigned delicacy, but he smells blood in the water just as easily as any other follower of the Hunt.

“I just wanted to talk,” you see no reason to dance around it.

“You came all this way for a conversation?” He rests his chin on the palm of his hand in a haughty way that pisses you off.

“Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time?” you grouse, and he laughs.

“I’m flattered, regardless. Come, sit and tell me all that is on your mind.” he beckons to a seat at his side, which you stiffly sink into, unable to relax beneath his hunter’s gaze.

“You’re an omega—”

“Yes, quite,” his smile is now coquettish. You feel your face wrinkle in annoyance, line of your brows dipping low.

“I wasn’t done. You know more about secondary genders than I do—and I don’t have anyone else to talk about it with, so…”

“I appreciate you confiding in me like this,” Luocha says, sweet as honey, timbre smooth as silk. There’s an ease about him here, in his own domain, that soothes and disarms you despite your best efforts. “It couldn’t have been easy for you to ask, so unused to relying on anyone else. I’m no professional, but I will answer your questions as best as I am able.”

He steeples his fingers with a smile, way too delighted for you to feel good about his generosity. He just likes knowing something you don’t, doesn’t he?

“Well. I’ve been spending time with an alpha, lately. It’s a work thing, but he keeps hovering around. Even after I tell him he can leave.”

“Ah.” Luocha says. The corners of his smile grow taut with something you don’t quite recognize.

And it’s a question you suddenly have to wonder for yourself. Is Blade bothering you? You can count on one hand the amount of times you have been genuinely upset with him. He’s quiet, most of the time. He answers your questions and attempts to appease you whenever possible. He carries your bags whenever you happen to be at the markets, together. Even if you really wish he wouldn’t, you can tell he’s trying to be kind.

“He hardly speaks. And when I does, I don’t really mind. But he hovers and keeps grabbing my shopping bags whenever we’re at the markets. I don’t get it. Is it some sort of courting gesture?”

“He certainly sounds like a character,” Luocha muses, sounding far off for a moment. “You have the right idea. He’s carrying your things to both lessen your burden and to prove himself capable, even if he himself does not realize it.”

You grimace, face twisting up, The truth has an acerbic tang to it. Luocha laughs unabashedly at your dismay, the sound melodic and trilling. The longer you spend in his presence, the more convinced you become that the Aeons crafted him specifically to vex you. You give him a scathing look.

“Come, now,” Luocha wheedles. “My humblest apologies, Courier—it’s simply so rare for you to be so expressive. I was caught off guard. Shall I get you something to drink? Come, please, sit back down. Surely you have more to ask of me?”

Reluctantly, you drop into the armchair closest to the door, leaning back as far as you have the space for, You fold your fingers together, elbows perched on an arm rest each.

“I don’t envy you. It must be difficult to bear the attentions of such a peculiar alpha,” Luocha says.

“You know him, then.” You can’t keep the accusation from your voice, something frenetic and ugly kicking up your pulse, making your stomach go sour. How deeply do they know each other? Enough for Luocha to consider spilling your secrets? Enough for them to conspire against your purposes unknown?

No, don't be ridiculous. You're not important enough a figure to be the center of any such elaborate scheme. Weak, as far as emanators go. Painfully average, even as far as betas go. Unremarkable in status and career. All that threatens you is what you have long left behind.

“I do know him. Quite well, in fact.” Luocha muses, undisputed fondness in his voice. How close are they? The question lingers bitter on the tip of your tongue. It vibrates underneath your skin, wild and desperate and gods, you want to know so badly. “Though he may deny it, he can be shy. You’re alike, in that way.”

“I am not shy,” you bristle. It’s your curiosity alone that keeps you in his company.

“An argument best saved for another day. Let’s not get off track—Blade is an alpha, but he bears few of the typical mannerisms associated with his secondary gender, which makes this newfound attachment to you all the more significant.”

Progressively, throughout your conversation, you’ve been able to feel the wrinkles on your face multiplying and darkening.

“It makes sense, if you ask me. You’re quite the extraordinary individual,” Luocha says, drumming his fingers idly against the armrest.

“So how do I get him to stop?” you brush past his superfluous flattery with practiced indifference. He wants to fluster you, to see you squirm. It’s one of the ugly truths behind the chivalrous front he wears in polite company.

“Are you sure you want him to stop?” he inquires.

“What are you getting at?”

“If you truly wanted to no longer be the object of these behaviors, you would have no problem telling him yourself.”

You laugh, and it’s a cold and bitter thing. “Not all men take rejection well.”

“As I well know,” Luocha reminds you. He’s so haughty, so utterly confident that sometimes you forget he’s an omega, a demographic as subject to unwanted advances as any you are a part of. He stands up, empty glass cradled in hand. The sheer material of his robe billows around him like fine mist, treating you to the outline of his smooth, toned legs. Blade is more built, the thought comes to you unbidden. You squish it like the raspberries you juiced only a week ago on Luocha's kitchen counter. You wonder if the stains ever came out.

“Objectively speaking, you have more of a reason to hold your tongue around me than you do him. Yet, you hardly hesitate to make your displeasure known in my company,” he points out. “It’s not because of my secondary sex. You hardly ever remember that I’m an omega, unless my heat is soon.”

“And your point is?”

He seizes your chin, then tilts your head up until you’re forced to look into those grass green eyes. Cradled between his forefinger and thumb, you are left with nowhere else to go. You wonder briefly if it thrills him to do this because he is an omega. If he finds some kind of perverse pleasure in subverting the roles society espouses about his kind.

“You could have told him off on your own. Instead, you went out of your way to consult someone you deeply dislike, looking for another, less direct way of handling it. All of that implies some degree of care, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He’s right, and you hate nothing more than when he’s right.

“Thank you for your time,” you dip back into your customer service with a placid and empty drone, because you know how much he hates it. You say it to his chest, refusing to give him the eye contact. Unwilling to expend the effort. For plausible deniability, because you don’t know what you’ll find on his face. The air has grown balmy and cloying and fragrant. You stand up, and he steps backwards. “But I must be going, now.”

“How unfortunate,” Luocha coos as you awkwardly find your way around him, having been sandwiched between his body and the coffee table. “I was going to put the kettle on…”

—

The shroud of night has settled over the Luofu. A crescent moon winks down at you from the artificial sky, peering between the treetops. You’re laid on your back, on the concrete patio near the shed.

Footsteps head in your direction. You already know who it is. There’s no one else that has that blistering, writhing aura. Blade comes to stand over you. His brows wrinkle in displeasure. You don’t know why. It’s not his patio that you’ve gotten your blood all over.

“You’re injured,” he says, frowning. He crouches over you. A pale thumb smears the drying crimson on your upper lip. Your entire face scrunches up, gnarled like a gargoyle, recoiling from the unexpected touch.

“Nosebleed,” you mutter. The space behind your eyes throbs in protest, accompanied by a fierce pressure at the bridge of your nose. All typical symptoms. The gifts bestowed upon you as Emanator unfortunately do not shield you from your allergies. To think, an Emanator could still be laid low by something as mundane as allergies.

“Who gave it to you?” Blade looms a little closer, gaze steely.

“No one. Sometimes my allergies act up. That’s all.” you assure him, squinting irritably. You hope your judgmental flower will shame him out of your personal space, but he lingers.

“You should remain indoors, then.” he draws. He lifts his bloodied hand and looks at it, too contemplative for your liking.

“I take medication for it. Just forgot today,” it feels wrong to justify yourself. He isn't owed an answer, but this is a rare moment. Blade showing such outright concern over something so novel is interesting (a more sentimental person might call it touching). Has his immortality rendered him incapable of distinguishing a few pesky allergies from a deadly ammonia? You can’t imagine someone so riddled with regeneration to register the difference between a gaping gash and a papercut.

“Then remember to take them.” he advises coolly.

“I will.”

You lay there, then, in silence unperturbed for a few moments. The hard ground is cool against your back. It’ll fix your aching spine, you’re sure.

“Are you not going to get up?” Blade asks.

“No. It feels nice to be on the floor, sometimes.” you assure him quickly, lest he assume your nosebleed has robbed you of all mobility. He stares at you, blank-faced, but you somehow can tell he is skeptical. You pat the space next to you, a silent offering.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it. This rare creature, crackling with the energy of his divine “gift”. You don’t indulge in typical sentiments, and you spurn love and limerence for your own sanity, due to the madness you have seen both inspire. To adore is to give of yourself, to exhaust what limited energy you have left. Yet, there is no arguing the fact of his beauty. His hair pools like fresh slick pitch. Faint moonlight catches on the sable strands. His jaw cuts a sharp and handsome shape, eyelashes long and thick. He stares up at the sky, unreadable.

“Kafka has no need of me in the coming days.” “It is… strange. The Stellaron Hunters are few in number, so our hands are always full. To be bereft of any responsibility… is rare.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

“No. It will leave me restless. And the silence will only give the mara room to spread. It’s better—more manageable when there is a task at hand.” Blade admits, a shiver in his voice.

“I do. I believe you are familiar with the place,” he says. That catches your attention. And makes you just a little nervous.

“Do you even have anywhere to stay?” The Stellaron Hunters surely have a vessel of their own where he can lodge. You’re ultimately not too concerned. You shut your eyes and listen to the midnight breeze, feel the black of the night against your skin.

You turn to look at him, almost afraid to ask. “Familiar?”

“The merchant has opened his home to me. I will remain there for the duration of my… off time.”

Again, you are sorely tempted to question the exact nature and origin of their relationship, but it’s truly none of your business. You’ve long espoused a policy of isolation, but there’s no denying how thoroughly entangled you have become in them. Elbows deep. You’re not quite sure how it happened. They’re infiltrated your monotonous life, moved in so slowly that you didn’t even notice until this very moment.

“Well. He’s not there most of the time, so it’ll be like having your own place,” You can’t imagine Blade as a homeowner, for some reason. It just invokes the image of him mowing a lawn in khaki shorts with that same, placid face he always wears. He’s too ethereal and strange to trim the hedges or fix a leaky faucet. Sometimes, you think he’d look more in-place if he levitated instead of just walking everywhere.

“I had lemonade the other day,” he says, and this fascinates you, because it is so very rare for him to initiate conversation about something so little.

“...And? Did you like it?” Perhaps it’s petty, but you already have a feeling that he didn’t. You hate to presume, but you think you have similar palettes.

“...It was too sweet, and burdened by a lingering, chemical taste,” he confirms your vague conjecture and you very nearly laugh. Or make some sort of short, wry noise like a horse’s snort.

“Yeah. Ones that aren’t made from scratch tend to be like that.”

“And that is why you make your own.”

“Exactly,” you lift your gaze from him and return it to the sky. “When you make something from scratch, you can make however you like. Ones you buy pre-bottled have too much sugar.” He hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing else.

The twinkling stars are no more authentic than the clouds which hover during the day. But you wonder how many far off stars he has visited across the span of his long un-life. How many civilizations he has seen toppled, how many lives have ended at his hands. What a terrifying beast Yaoshi has created. Yet, here he lay beneath a sky he has likely long tired of, humoring your purposeless requests for reasons unknown.

—

You’re tucked on the steps off the side door, head leaned back and eyes shut, drinking in the warmth of the artificial midday sun. Blade leans up against the wall next to you, arms crossed. You don’t blame him for staying in the shade, not when he’s always dressed so darkly.

You shouldn’t show your stomach to a known apex predator. Your instincts are tampered down, but you still curl your spine and lift your knees to your chest when you usually it on the stoop. You haven’t done it, today. Anxiety thrums in the space right behind your eyes. The scared animal inside of you writhes in his presence. You look at him, gaze by happenstance falling on the profile of his chest.

Breasts, you think stupidly, and laugh aloud. The noise is so sudden that you almost don’t realize it came from you. Blade looks down at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you're still too caught up in your own disbelief. Spending so much time with him has softened your skill, started to fry your remaining brain cells. He’s always been handsome. But you’ve started to too keenly note the bow curve of his lips, the narrowness of his waist.

And you hate, hate, hate proving Luocha right.

“What is it that you find so amusing?” Blade speaks slowly, like he’s talking to a scared dog or a lost child.

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes and tilt your head back, letting it thump against the top step. Blade inhales sharply. “Just remembered a stupid joke I heard a few days ago.” When you open your eyes, Blade has turned away, inspecting a row of gladiolus planted next to the nearby shed. The line of his shoulders has gone tense.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” you muse.

“Did you plant them?”

“No. I delivered the seeds. Only a week ago, I think. They wouldn’t have been able to sprout this fast.”

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps,” Blade skates a finger over a bright orange petal. “That merchant utilizes his gift so shamelessly. Even while at the heart of his natural born enemy.”

“And it’ll all be for nothing if that damn cat comes and eats them,” you grunt. You’ev stumbled upon torn up patches of grass and bitten through flower patches, stems snapped and petals crushed. You briefly, in one of your pettiest and cruelest moments, nearly suggested Luocha plant lilies next. The callousness of your own thought had startled you into silence, so gladiolus it was.

“Ah. About the cat,” Blade begins. You blink, wide-eyed. A cold pit forms in your stomach, because—

“You didn’t,” you gape.

“I did not kill it,” Blade says sourly, clearly affronted by the assumption. “I brought it to Kafka. They seem to get along.”

The tension melts out of you at once. Your petty grudge isn’t worth the blood of an innocent animal. You let yourself fall back against the stoop. The edges of the stairs dig into your spine.

“That makes sense,” you say, a touch wry.

Blade grimaces. “They send me images of the little beast every day I am not there. If Silver Wolf is to be believed, it ‘eats better’ than she does.”

Does Silver Wolf eat well to begin with? “That was kind of you,” you say instead.

“Was it? Or was it cruel to the man who will wonder where his pet has gone?” Blade inquires. He doesn’t sound particularly bothered by the possibility.

You scoff. “I doubt he’ll even notice.”

—

You are natant in the dull haze of half-sleep. The soft scent of camelias and fabric softener and linens. A cloying warmth cocoons you, keeps you mired in a state of partial sleep. Burrowed beneath the comfort exists a nagging feeling of wrongness, like a pebble in your boot. You cling to the sensation, let it pull you from the inky, peaceful depths. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to breach the surface. It feels like ages by the time you pry your weary eyes open.

There’s a body crushed into you. An unyielding, solid mass of muscle. The scent of something charred wreathes around you. Your cheek is pressed up against a heartbeat, steady and strong. It would be comforting if you knew where you were, or who you were with.

Alarm, molten hot, jots down your spine. Shaken from your stupor, you begin to writhe. Your palms slap against the chest of the man beneath you. You brace yourself against him in an effort to pry yourself free.

An arm around your midriff tightens, and the panic grows. You lash out, snarl, a hand reaching behind you to grab onto the assailant’s wrist.

The room blurs, then. The breath is knocked from your lungs as you’re reoriented and pinned with minimal effort. Your eyes blow wide, gaze caught by those candlewick eyes. Blade’s hair is mussed from both sleep and the struggle. His lips are pulled into a snarl. Your gut squirms at the flash of those deadly canines—sharper than you’d imagined (he’s never bared his teeth at you).

“Stop,” he commands, low and throaty. You shudder, foolish hindbrain moved to obey the order. This, you realize, is what an alpha’s command must sound like.

As you lay beneath him, chest to heaving chest, the pieces of the previous night return to you in fragments and shades.

Blade came to your door at dusk’s end. The shuttles had shut down for the night. You let him in, quickly, before anyone could witness a known fucking criminal at your door. You fed him dinner, anyways. Spoke late into the night—about what you cannot truly recall. Somewhere around three in the morning, you must have nodded off.

“Have you calmed down?” Blade asks.

“Yes,” you grumble, feeling thoroughly chastised despite his flat and empty tone. You attempt to dislodge yourself a second time, but Blade stops you fast. “Blade—” The beginning of a feeling you cannot quite name crawls up your spine, up the back of your skull. It’s a creeping, white hot sensation. A sudden deprivation of air. His eyes have closed. You feel your pulse spike. “Blade.” You try again. “Let me up.”

He draws a shaky breath.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there for me to understand?” you ask, voice a tepid little thing. He laughs. The sound is manic and bitter. When he opens his eyes, they’re hot enough to burn a hole in you.

“I… remember you,” he begins slowly. There’s a creeping breathiness there, you feel it under your palms, writhing inside of his ribcage. “When you are not there. I remember how warm your hands are, the smell of your sweat—the taste of when we are… together. And I crave it every moment we are apart. It’s—maddening.”

“What.” you’re taken back, all the sudden, to the sixth time Sunday called you to his office. A servant of the Harmony, you were, still protected by your naivete, still convinced by the smiling faces and open arms which surrounded you. A child. A seed, among the older and wiser trees in Xipe’s forests.

You remember the exact shape of his lips when he said it—you remember how it felt. You feel the same way now, pinned like a little butterfly. Lost in the reeds.

“I remember you,” Blade continues, slower and calmer, now. Burning wood to dead charcoal. “When we are apart, you are all I remember, and the emptiness that exists in your shape is too much to bear. I need—” he licks his lips, his empty pupils blown so very wide.

“The mara becomes quiet, when we are together,” he whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. His eyes close. His forehead is a wide rash of heat, pressed against yours. He takes a single, shuddering inhale, breathing your air.

And you—you’re still frozen there, caught up in the vice of his body and the couch. You stare emptily beyond him. His face settles into the crook of your neck.

The lamplight flickers on and off.

#oz write #hungering for hsr #blade/reader #hsr/reader

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eeunoia · 11 days

Text

ENHYPEN Mini Series

ENHYPEN as Taylor Swifts Song

THE WAY I LOVED YOU

synopsis: they said in our life, there will be that one love that is so intense and passionate. the type of love that has good and bad days on it, but still feel home for you. the type of love that makes you crazy. so many emotions but for only one person. that’s park sunghoon for you.

pairings: park sunghoon x reader

word count: 12k.

warnings: toxic relationship, angst, sunghoon being a redflag. (let me know if i missed some)

note: i got totally carried away with this one and honestly i’m totally satisfied on how i wrote this. i’m currently on my psh phase so i’m totally crazy for him lol anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic and please please please leave your thoughts on replies or send me some ask. it helps so much to keep me writing more. ily & stay safe!

“Where are you going?” you asked while pulling the sheet up to your chest, watching your boyfriend scurrying to gather his things as he put his clothes on.

He threw you a short glance, hair still disheveled from the heated session you two just shared and went back on to what he was doing.

“Band practice.” he shortly replied.

You gulped, spacing out after his response. Its not that this is the first time he did this. Having sex with you and leave once his bandmates calls him out for practice. You always think that it was his priority over his relationship with you.

His steps are quick when he approach and kissed the top of your head like as if it will do any better.

“I'll see you later, okay?” and then turned his back to go on his way without sending you another look.

After hearing the sound of the door closing and locks clicking, you laid back on your shared bed and stared right at the ceiling. Mind occupied by a lot of thoughts and slowly feeling the energy finally draining out of you.

You have been dating Park Sunghoon for exactly three years now. He's the hot drummer of the band called PARADOX. Handsome, talented and very passionate man. He sure love what he does the most, music.

People who knows the two of you may say that your relationship with him is pretty sturdy. Despite the scruffles and misunderstanding along the side, the memories and bond you built together was not easy to break.

They'll also probably mention how the two of you are an odd combination. You, being someone who finished college to have a righteous degree and works as a fine finance manager in a big company and Sunghoon, being the drummer of a said band.

Its not that being in a band and making music is a bad occupation, its just compared to yours, his is just more unstable. Yes, he is good. His band is really good and somehow makes it to places to share their music, but at some point it just doesn't fit.

Sometimes, they still wonder how the two of you works it out. How you can handle the mess and the outgoing side of Park Sunghoon, notwithstanding the fact of being someone who loves peace and have a priggish personality.

“Are you still playing in that band?” this are the common question your Father loves to throw during dinners whenever you take Sunghoon home with you.

You've always know how things ends up so you are expeditious on getting in between.

“Dad.” you looked at him with a pleading eyes, hoping he'll cooperate tonight and let you guys have a peaceful dinner just for once.

Sunghoon tensed beside you as his hold over his utensils tighten, as well as his jaw. It was already hard to swallow food now that he's inside your home having dinner with your parents and now your Dad is again belittling him.

“Yes, sir.” he answered.

The usual disappointing and downgrading look on his face makes Sunghoon feels awful. During this time is when he'll surely never get used to. It makes him realize that no matter how good he do, no matter how great his band became, he will never be someone so worthy in the eyes of your Father.

“And for how long will you plan to do this nonsense?” he was not holding back at all. His wife, your Mom, beside him gently reaches for his arm, trying to stop him from saying more.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, “Making music is not nonsense. We are doing well right now, sir.”

The way he says those words just makes your Father even more pissed at him. He always hates how he was so confident and prideful. The way he stands whenever he greets him after arriving at your home is giving off as someone imperious.

He scoffed humorless, “And for how long? I've already told you that there's no future in that dream of yours.”

“Dad!” your voice raised because you couldn't handle what he's saying right now.

Sunghoon stands abruptly, making a dragging sound from the chair he was occupying. He balled his fist and just stormed outside of your house. You stood and stared at your Dad with a look of dispair in your eyes. He didn't back down and just gave you this knowing look.

“I asked you to stop doing that.”

“And I already told you to leave that boy countless times, y/n. Stop wasting your time with him!” he strictly said.

“Never.” and with that you turned your feet to start coming after your boyfriend.

You saw him a few blocks away walking towards where he parked his motorcycle. With quick steps, you try to catch up on him.

“Sunghoon!” you screamed, but he didn't even looked back on you.

With gritted teeth, you hurried your steps even more and right on time that he ride his motorcycle, you grabbed him by his arm.

“Why are you not stopping!” you yelled, tears brimming your eyes.

He glanced at you and that's when you saw his bloodshot eyes. Your boyfriend never cries. His playful demeanor never showed his weak side, even with you. Maybe your father was right. He is someone full of pride and sometimes arrogant, but you love him. And he loves you.

“I told you already that I don't want to come! But you forced me anyway!” he yelled, making you flinch a little.

It was really your fault because you are so persistent on making the things between your Dad and him to work despite knowing the outcome of this visit to your parent's house.

“He will never see me worthy of you. You are always so hard to reach for me...” his tone low that made your heart crack. You've never seen him like this before.

His eyes darken as he teared his gaze away, shoving your hold off from his arm. You started to panic and watch how he grabs the handle of his vehicle then started the engine.

“W-What are you doing? Are you leaving m-me?” you asked in a broken tone that made him falter a bit, but the pain from the scene of how your father belittled him was stronger.

Rain starts pouring, but you stood your ground. Didn't even bothered that you are starting to get soaked by the now pouring rain.

“P-Please, don't do this.” you begged and Sunghoon stared at you and maybe it was the rain? Or the cold breeze surrounding you two, but he seems so cold and distant. It breaks you slowly.

“I l-love you so much.” you gulped getting rid of the lump on your throat. “P-Please.”

But he starts droving off. Your heart sank and quickly tries to run after him. Its stupid because there's no way to catch up just by running, but your mind was too clouded to even think straight.

The rain poured even harder and your knees felt weak from running too much. You stopped and cries even harder, heart feeling so broken. You don't feel bothered by the cold at all and all you can think of is how your chest is hurting so bad. You felt slightly suffocated from crying so hard, giving you a hard time to breath.

A roaring sound of an engine makes you lift your head and a string of hope ignites when you saw lights emitting from a vehicle that is driving near you.

Your lips shakes when you saw the familiar motorcycle stopping beside you, Sunghoon's all drenched like you when he turned his head at your side.

“Your father,” he starts and you shake your head sideways trying to stop him, but he continued. “he may hate me to his bones. He may resent me and never want me for you.” one of his hand lets go from the handle and reach over your hand.

“But I love you.” he said firmly that made you tear up even more. “I love you so fucking much that it hurts.” he pursed his lips hardly, jaw clenching hard as he tries to hide his emotions.

You cried and lets go from his hand to cup his face. Both feeling so cold from the nonstop rain but the warmth you two are giving each were enough for you. You leaned in connecting your lips before pulling away to stare at his eyes.

“I don't care about what he thinks. I only want you and no one else.”

He smirks then starts handing you a helmet.

“Then hop on, pretty. We're going to get sick if we stay here longer.”

And without a hint of hesitation, you wore the helmet and hopped on his motorbike. Sunghoon pulls your arm so you can hug him from behind.

“Hold on tight and don't let go.”

“Never.”

“Sunghoon, I told you already I'm still at the office. I can't be out until before 9pm.” your elbow rests over your desk as you try and massage your temple to ease your aching head.

“But our gig will start at eight pm, y/n. You said you'll watch.” he sounded so upset.

Normally, you will hurry yourself to go attend his gig but today was a rough day for you as well. Too many office works are lined up for you, workload piled up that you don't even know where to start. You know how much it means for Sunghoon having you to be there for him. But today's just so draining. And sometimes you kind of feel like you were always there for him but when will he be there for you?

“Sunghoon,” you draw in a heavy breath, calming yourself down to prevent saying anything that can spoil his mood. That’s the last thing you want to do if he have a gig.

“It’s just unexpctedly a very busy day. I need to finish all these works on time—” he cuts you even before you can finish your sentence.

“Just say it if you want to spend time with that co-worker and stop making lame excuses, y/n.” the sarcasm that lurks over his tone caught you dumbfounded.

Your mouth hanged open, unable to even utter your response to this nonsense he’s trying to imply. He’s very unbelievable. You are very tired already, the workload’s too heavy and here he is doubting you. He still have the audacity of accusing you over things when all you want is for this day to be over so you can see him and rest.

Sunghoon’s naturally a jealous boyfriend. He’s very possessive of you to the point that sometimes it can be out of hand. His bad temper and jealous demeanor is not a good combo because he always ends up fucking up things and telling you things he didn’t mean at all.

“Baby, no. Of course not! I really want to watch your gig, you know that right? It’s just—”

“You will really choose that over me, aren’t you? Like as if people doesn’t think I was unworthy of you already. You just really need to prove more...” his monotonous tone are like knives straight to your heart.

“Don’t even go there. You know its not that.” your lips tremble along with your hands as the conversations starts to get more intense.

“Yeah, right. Have fun with your co-worker.” he mumbled with a bitter tone and ended the call right away.

You shut your eyes as you drop your phone to your desk wrecklessly before running your hand through your hair, messing it a bit. The silence occupying the almost empty building floor didn’t help from the aching of your head. He’s really just unbelievable.

And it’s even more unbelievable that you are still so in love with him despite the red flags he’s obviously showing you. It was too late for you to even realize that you are already packing your things to go and see your boyfriend’s gig. The mountain-like paperworks that were on your table caught your eyes and made you halt for a bit, but in the end you chose to turn the lights off and head out of your office. Off to see your sulking boyfriend.

When you arrived, it was their last song for the night. The traffic on the way made the suppose to be 20 minute travel an hour long drive. A relieved sigh made it to your lips while you walk towards their manager, your feet starts to stings from your high-heel.

“Y/n! I thought you couldn’t make it tonight? Sunghoon said.” he smiled warmly before giving you a friendly hug.

You tried your best to return his smile as your eyes roamed and trailed over to the stage. The spotlight that pointed over your boyfriend gave you the chance to have the perfect view of him playing passionately. A small string tugs inside your heart while watching him, eyes closed and letting himself be drawn by music.

When people ask you why you fell so hard for him, they probably won’t understand you unless they’ll be in your shoes themselves. These are the moment he shines the most. The moment you can clearly see the real him. His love for his passion and his smiles melts you from the inside and out. It was unexplainable. You love Sunghoon. You love him so dearly to the point your heart aches.

When he opens his eyes like as if he felt an intense eyes are watching him, he met yours. Those pretty eyes that looks at him with so much affection. The eyes that pretty much made him feel things no one else can. The eyes that can comfort him. His safe place, his solace and his other half. For Sunghoon, if music is his passion then you are the life that pushes him to chase it. His inspiration.

His eyes fixated over you and lips pursed into a pout, still sulking. That made you chuckle and mouthed, ‘I love you.’

Sunghoon’s lips lifts up before responding, ‘I love you too.’ that made your stomach churns and heart thumping like crazy. Somehow it made you feel at ease. Despite all the worries and trials, as long as you have him, you will manage.

Only you and him will understand the type of love you share with each other.

“Thank you so much for tonight everyone! And we are...” Heeseung, their lead vocalists stalls his words and glanced at his band-mates and in unison they leaned over the mics near them and said, “PARADOX.”

The crowd cheers and you can see how they truly enjoyed the whole show. A small, but proud smile made its way towards your lips. The boys did a short fan service while you stay at the side with their manager. Girls swarms around them, but you didn’t mind it. This isn’t new for you anymore and if you want a partner in this line of job, you should prepare yourself for crazy fangirls.

“I’m really glad you made it, y/n” your head snaps over to the side when their manager spoke. He gave you this sincere look on his face and some other kind of gaze you couldn’t identify.

He sports this plain white shirt and some jeans. Hair styled in a pretty basic style any boy could pull and then he stood there a little stiff. You gave him a smile and a clap over his shoulder.

“Of course, I want my boyfriend to know I’m always here for him.” you stated that made his smile falter for a bit. He was quick to pull it back up, nodding his head slowly like as if he was reminded of something.

“Right... Sunghoon.” he mumbled.

Your gaze remained at him, a little confused of his reaction. It bothered you a bit so you’re about to ask him what’s wrong when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

“Hi hotstuff.” Sunghoon’s voice sounded so seductive as he quickly leans for a heated kiss.

You squeals lightly and tries to pull off from him, but ends up giving in and showing everyone how you two devours each other’s faces. One of Sunghoon’s hand moved down to slightly grope your butt that made you moan a little over his lips. He smirks, mission accomplished for him.

He was greeted by your blushing cheeks once he pulled away, one hand still possessively resting over your waist to keep you close to him.

“H-Hello,” the impact of your latest stunt dawning you, making you feel so shy.

He smirks, fangs showing and good Lord, does he look even hotter.

“You came.” his tone indicates the joy to see you here and that just makes you feel so much better. He may not vocally thank you or tell you he appreciates it so much, but the way his eyes twinkle and shines was enough for you to know how he feels.

“Of course. My boyfriend is being sulky so I have no other choice.” the corner of your lips lifts up, taunting him.

He stares at your eyes before grinning even wider, “I’m not sulky.” he leans in again, couldn’t resist your lips after glancing at it for a second. After he placed a loving kiss, he leans away and went back on facing his friends.

You watch how he threw a short glance at their manager as well and it remained for a while before he direct his attention to some acquaintances that are greeting his band.

The night was long, as usual. This is pretty much what happens whenever he have gigs. You feel so tired, feet feels so painful that you are sure you grew blisters over it. Your eyelids felt so heavy as well, the long day finally kicking in. The boys are still loud and celebrating, but finally one called it a night.

All of you starts heading outside the bar they performed in. Sunghoon’s walking a few steps ahead of you, talking and goofing with his friends. You are silent, too tired to even listen or join on their conversation.

You were almost hit by the door when Sunghoon didn’t even remember to hold it for you. He was too busy talking to his band-mates and didn’t even noticed that the door almost slapped you on the face. Thankfully, an arm held it for you.

“Thank you, Riki.” you gave him a small smile.

You’ve been together with Sunghoon for a while now so that only means you’ve hanged out with his band countless times causing you to grew closer towards them. But for some reasons, Riki is the only one who is somehow felt awkward to be with. You cannot explain why, but there’s just something about him that leaves you nothing to say.

He didn’t smile or anything, just stared down to you using his intimidating eyes.

“No problem.” shivers ran to your spines because of his low voice. His eyes then moved from looking at your eyes towards your things you’re trying to juggle with your arms.

“Let me help you.” it was not a question and even before you can say something to politely reject his offer, his hands reaches over to help you carry your things.

“U-Uhm, thanks.” and your eyes drifted over him as he didn't spoke any words after that.

Riki walks you up to where your boyfriend’s car was parked. Sunghoon’s eyes finally caught you and you don’t even know what to tell him while you approach closer.

His strict eyes caught to your things being carried by Riki. When you are steps away from him, he approaches trying to keep a cool smile.

“Baby, you disappeared from behind me.” and he said that while eyes fixed at his bandmate.

“Well if you keep a close eye to your girlfriend, you might’ve noticed how she’s struggling carrying her stuff, hyung.” Riki didn’t even hesitate to say those words at him.

Sunghoon wasn’t happy about it and you can clearly see anger slowly rising through his face. He clicked his tongue at the side of his cheeks and was about to advance towards Riki, but you stopped him.

“Can we just go? It’s already late and I have work tomorrow.” you stared straight at his eyes.

They were arrogantly looking at you, but eventually softening in surrender. He sighs and grabbed your hand to intertwin your fingers before he nods silently. His head snapped over to his friend and he gave him this knowing look before opening the car’s door for you.

He retrieved your things from Riki and placed it neatly behind your car. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything anymore and just went inside his car afterwards. Riki went on his way as well, riding his motorbike that was parked not too far away.

Sunghoon starts his engine and both of you are silent. It was like that for the first few minutes of the drive, until he decides to break it.

“When did you even got close to Riki?” his tone sounds confused and at the same time implicating something.

You furrowed your brows and glanced at him, “He just helped me to carry my things—”

“Exactly! He doesn’t do that at all, y/n.” the way he said your name was with emphasis. Like telling you that its a serious matter for him. A big deal. But again, when did it never became a big deal when other boys gets involve with you?

“And? I’m his bandmate’s girlfriend. Isn’t it okay for him to help me?!” now, you can’t help but to feel upset about this because you are tired already and he’s making an argument just because Riki helped you.

“You’re just really clueless with your surroundings. You will never understand.” the way his grip tightens at the steering wheel and his jaw clenches caught your attention.

You wanted to just yell at him and point out how he’s being unreasonable and plain childish about this, but you are too drained. Its late already, you’re tired from the office, your feet hurts with this dumb heels and you feel sticky from all the travel you did just to get to their gig. Having an argument with him was the last thing you expected to have.

“Its not my fault that my boyfriend forgot about me and walks off.” you sighed and he was silent after hearing that from you.

“Can’t you just be thankful that he helped me and I didn’t broke an arm from carrying all those stuff?” this time, you tried to soften your tone as a sign of time-out from this nonsense argument he was trying to put up with.

You saw his grip softens and he released a heavy sigh. “Fine.” he glanced at you and his brows are not hardly furrowed anymore. His eyes softens as well. “I’m sorry, baby. Its not my intention to make you feel like I forgot you, I was just really excited.”

With pursed lips, you nodded your head and leaned in for a quick peck over his lips.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t spoil the mood. You were really great from a while ago.” you complimented him, finishing it with your warm smile.

Something warm caress his heart. This is one of the reasons why he can never let you go. Most people would’ve walked out on him or hate at him, but not you. Never.

You will always find a way to find the goodness in him. Even if 99 problematic things about him are presented in front of you, you’ll still find that 1 good thing about him.

You always know the perfect words to calm him down or make him feel better.

He reached over your hand that was resting over your thighs and took it over his lips for a soft kiss. His gaze never left your eyes.

“Thank you for today, really.” he sighs, trying to supply himself more oxygen as he feels like you’re taking his breaths away once again.

“I love you.”

A smile spreads across your face and your free hand stretched out towards him to cup his face. “I love you, Hoon.”

These are the moments you wanted to keep no matter what. Reasons why despite the hardships you go through with Sunghoon, you always manages to find a reason to stay.

But of course, there’s not always good times in your relationship. What else gives it spice other than petty arguments and very random fights with each other?

Months after, the band had another big gig and of course you went to support him like usual. To your surprise, they had a guest singer. Female singer to be exact. And the way she interacts with your boyfriend just can’t leave your mind. It’s bothering you.

“You two seems close.” the comment was short and your eyes watch how your boyfriend load his things inside his car while you rest your back beside it.

Sunghoon threw you a short glance and narrowed his brows.

“What do you mean?”

“You and that girl.” the way you pronounced the word ‘girl’ with so much emphasis gave off hints towards him that you’re implying something.

His shoulder fell as he stared at you for a while, like unconsciously asking if you’re being serious with the choice of tone you decided to use at him. He sighs, when he realized you aren’t budging, but instead crossed your arms at him.

He’s already too tired to even explain things that you won’t listen to. So he struts closer you, held you over your hips and planted a sweet kiss on the lips.

“Let’s just go home, hot stuff. I’m tired.” and he walks over to the driver’s seat not even bothering to open the door for you.

But it seems like you are in the mood to be petty. So even after you made it to the passenger seat and he started driving on your way home, you bring up that topic once again.

“I saw the way she looks at you. I bet she’s undressing you in her mind.”

It made him sigh and roll his eyes. “Seriously? Are you going to talk about that until we makes it to the apartment?”

“Why? You irritated already?” you tilt your head and he glanced at you with piercing gaze. It didn’t bother you at all. If he’s pissed, then you are too.

“You didn’t even introduce me to her.”

His fingers taps his steering wheel more frequently and bit his lips. He sighs, calming himself.

“I did. I even told her your name.”

“But you didn’t told her that I’m your girlfriend!” it was so petty. Even you, you also think that this is such a nonsense thing to argue off. It’s just seeing her look at your boyfriend that way while you’re there doesn’t sit right for you.

Sunghoon scoffed loudly and even if he have a smirk on his face, there was no humor on it. He’s slowly losing his patience.

The wiper of his car moves when it suddenly started raining. It’s the last thing you care about. Your focus is on the hot drummer that’s currently driving you home in your shared apartment. The hot drummer that’s clenching his jaw hardly while trying his best not to argue with you. The hot drummer whose lips so red after you kissed him multiple times to make that bitch know her place. The hot drummer that is clenching his jaw hardly because you keep pushing his buttons at the moment.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he couldn’t help, but curse.

“Be honest with me. Are you two close? Because with the way she linked her arms, it seems like so.”

He rolled his eyes as he teared his gaze off of you and back to the road. The rain are still pouring hard that its a little difficult to drive.

“You really aren’t going to stop unless I answer your questions, are you?” he surrenders. You didn’t answer and just crossed your arms while looking at him. Waiting for what he’s about to say.

He gave you another short glance as he shook his head. Like he couldn’t believe what situation you just put him into.

Honestly, you don’t know what exactly it is that you wanted to hear from him. If he answers that he doesn’t know her that long, you will still feel pissed because why the hell does she acts like they’ve been best friends ever since they were born? And if he answers, yes they know each other for a long time, you will feel really bad because you will feel jealous.

“We’ve known each other since highschool. Even before the band started playing in other places.” he says.

Your shoulder fell and he saw it from his peripheral view. He knew you won’t feel so good about it, but he also know that lying about it will only make the situation worse. The car fell silent right after he said it.

“Is she your ex-girlfriend?” that question doesn’t sound like you are asking him. Its more like you already know and just expecting an answer from him.

“No, okay? So calm your dumbass.” he’s starting to lose his patience for you.

You’ll be honest, you kind of thought he would say yes. That actually made you feel better. But not enough to let her slip away from your mind. Those eyes. The way she looks at you just boils something inside you.

“Did you two kissed before?” you fired him that question with more suspicion.

When you saw the look on his face, you felt something in your heart cracks. It definitely stab something in you when his expression confirmed that.

With slightly teary eyed, you raised your chin up to ask him your last question.

“Did you have sex with her?” bitterness latched through your voice and you bit your lower lip when he stayed silent again. Confirmed.

“Pull over.” you command and harshly wiped the tears that escaped.

He sighs, “Baby, come on...” he pursed his lips and even tried to reach over you.

“I said pull over!”

He clenched his jaw tighter then obliged, knowing well you will just fall into a much worse mood if he don’t do as you say. He’s expecting you to hit him by his arm or shout at him again, but he surely didn’t expect you storming out from his car. He didn’t see that one coming.

Between you two, he’s the jealous one. There are rare times that you get jealous and when it happens, its so hard to calm you down. Sunghoon’s heart is thumping hard, slightly thrilled to watch you acting like this. The oh so perfect, y/n. Shouting and acting crazy out of jealousy. He bet he’s the only one who made you feel like this.

“Y/n!” he shouts and went after you.

The rain starts to pour harder, but it didn’t bothered you at all. You marched away from his car, towards the nearest bus stop. With just a few steps, he managed to catch up on you and grabbed your arm then yanked you towards him.

“Let me go!” you screamed at him.

Sunghoon’s clenching his jaw as he stares at your face carefully. It was hard to tell if you’re crying or not due to the rain that’s slowly soaking you both. Despite your attempts to free yourself, Sunghoon just tightens his grip and kept his stares over you.

“Stop being a brat and let’s go back inside the car! We’re both drenched because of you!”

You clenched your jaw and hands into fists. People who passes by will probably think that you’re both losing your minds. Going out in the middle of the rain and fighting at 2 am. Thankfully, there are fewer cars driving through.

“I cannot believe you fuck that bitch!” it was rare enough to see you shouting, but much more rare to hear you cursing like this.

“It was a long time ago!” he renew his hold and this time reached for the other arm. The wetness of your skin kind of makes it slippery, but he knew he won’t let go of you.

“That happened before you, y/n! And it means nothing for me.”

“Clearly isn’t the same for her?!” you stopped resisting and just stay still, glaring at him.

“The way she links her arms and flirts with you drives me insane! Like I want to pull you away and kiss you in front of her type of insane!”

Sunghoon’s dumbfounded. He knows he should not feel so happy about what he heard, but he is. Just by thinking of you going crazy to the point you’ll insist public affection is making his heart race. To think you are crazy for him as he is to you, is driving him even more crazier. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Then why didn’t you?” this time he seems more calmer that made your narrowed brows falter. He was just screaming at you too, now he’s a lot calmer.

“I’m yours, y/n. I belong to you so claiming me in front of anybody is no problem at all.” he says and took another step closer. Your bodies pressed together and when he noticed that you aren’t trying to escape his hold anymore, he raised his hand to cup your face.

“I don’t fucking care if she tries to flirt with me. I don’t care about her. All I care about is you.” his eyes slowly roams his eyes to your pretty face.

“Yes, we did kissed and fucked before,” he sighs and your lips pursed into a pout but let him finish what he wants to say.

“But she never made me feel like this.” he held one of your hand then rest it above his chest, enough for you to feel his racing heartbeat.

“She doesn’t make me nervous whenever she stares at my eyes. She doesn’t give me butterflies whenever she smiles at me or melt my heart whenever she hold me.” your eyes water from his sincere words as he licked his lower lip, gaze not leaving you.

Both of you are soaked, but it didn’t bother you at all. Sunghoon’s bangs covers his forehead, some beads of rains falling from it over to your face as he stare down at you.

“That’s all you, love. Only you can make me feel madly in love. Like I will go crazy because I love you too much.” a tear fell from his eyes along with the raindrops from his hair. He looked ethereal staring at you lovingly, with so much emotions that makes your heart burst because of exceptional happiness.

“That’s the way I love you.” he murmured near your lips before you leaned to press a hot kiss for him.

“I love you so much, Hoon.” and this time, it was his turn to lean and kiss you passionately.

Disregarding the fact that you are under the hard pouring rain, sharing probably one of the most memorable kisses of your relationship, you’re mind is clouded by how intense your feelings are for the man that holding you right now. It’s funny how moments ago you’re just screaming at each other and now, your lips feels so hot connected together.

But it seems like, love is not enough to keep the relationship steady. And just like what older people used to say, everything is bad when its too much.

Being with Sunghoon felt like a dream with nightmares, clear blue oceans with big dangerous waves and a freaking roller coaster ride. Sometimes you’re so happy that you feel like your heart will burst with so much emotions and sometimes you feel like everything’s too much. That its tiring and draining you.

It somehow toxicating. And this toxic relationship with Sunghoon is honestly tiring you.

“And now you are giving me the silent treatment? Wow!” his sarcasm rubs on you, making your heart feel more heavy.

“I have nothing to say to you after what you just did, Sunghoon.”

“What? You’re mad because I embarrassed him? He’s clearly hitting on you!” your head snaps at him with glaring eyes.

“He’s just being nice and he’s my head supervisor!” your tone raised and he didn’t liked it in one bit.

Sunghoon’s always the jealous boyfriend. You actually couldn’t understand why he’s being like this when you already made it so clear that he’s the only one for you. That there’s no man that can ever steal you away from him.

“Oh, okay. I see...” he clenched his jaw before laughing with no humor. He faced the road and tried hard to focus on driving.

“If you want to impress your supervisor so much, why bring me with you?!” his statement made you roll your eyes in annoyance.

“Because you’re my boyfriend and I want you to be there for me! Will it hurt so much to be supportive or know something about what your girlfriend loves to do?! It’s not always going to be about you, Sunghoon! I need you to be there for me too!”

Your words may had come out wrongly, but all you wanted is for him to be for you. It was a thrilling day since employees should make good impressions to the supervisors to show how fit and reliable they are for the company, but your bofriend just made a scene and now you have no idea how you will show up to work on Monday.

“I told you already that these type of events are not for me! People are clearly looking down on me for having such a wonderful girl like you! They will always rub it on my face how perfect you are and that you deserve so much better!” his tone raised and it made you jolt a bit.

“And it seems like you just don’t get it! You kept on forcing me to go and I hated it! You are just determined to prove me that they’re so right!”

Your heart cracks and his words are like knives straight to your heart. You know him. Whenever he’s mad, he ought to say words he doesn’t mean. That’s his way of avoiding to show what he truly feels. You can tell by his blood-shot eyes and clenching jaw. But you are tired. You are tired of understanding him.

“Is that how you really see me? Do you really think that that’s what I’m doing?”

He clenches his jaw, being stubborn. “Maybe you are really ambitious and I’m just the stupid boyfriend who knows nothing but to enjoy music.” he says emotionless.

A tear left your eye. You can’t take this anymore. You had enough.

“Stop the car.” it was almost audible, but thanks to the deafening silence after what he said made it clear and loud. He furrowed his brows and looked at you, checking if you’re being serious.

You two have been arguing about you and this job for a week. And the event is today and Sunghoon just ruined it for you. Honestly you’re getting enough of it. With all the stress from your work and family, he suppose to be your resting place. But that’s not the case anymore.

He did stop the car and even before you open it, he said something. “The moment you leave, we’re done.” he said coldly.

You halted from stepping outside and felt your heart crack, but you knew you needed it and so you did. You left him.

“Jake’s so sweet, y/n! I truly envy you for having him as your boyfriend!” one of your friends exclaimed right after Jake left your table to go order some food.

You gave them a small smile. They’re right. Jake is really the best boyfriend. He treats you very well. He’s everything you’ve asked for before. A caring and loving boyfriend. He’s working in the corporate world, which matches yours. He’s very gentle towards you, always got the doors for you, he never makes you wait, he cares for what you want and a man of his words. He felt like so warm to be with, someone you can be comfortable with easily.

“Yeah,” you replied short with a small smile on your lips. They giggle, truly happy for you.

“Thank God you snapped out of it and finally got the man you deserve.” one of them says that made your smile falter.

She didn’t mention anything or any name, but you knew who she’s referring to and what she means by that sentence.

An awkward laugh from another friend broke the silence and just diverted the topic. You tried to pull up your smile once again, especially after seeing from a distance that Jake’s already on his way back to your table.

He sets himself at the chair beside you and smoothly made a conversation with your friends. He’s very friendly too. He gets along with people with no sweat. Such a pure man.

You’re about to put a straw to your drink, but he beats you out of it. He reached for it and carefully slid it towards you while still talking to your friends. It made you smile. Being treated like this sure feels right, feels okay. But why does your heart feel a little heavy?

Jake threw his arm and placed it behind your chair, hand caressing your arm gently. You pushed whatever that feeling is behind your mind and tries to join their conversation as well.

The day went smoothly and now Jake dropped you at your place. As you unclasped your seatbelt, he went out of the car then walked around so he can open your door for you. He even offered a hand with that warm smile of his.

A chuckle slips off from you before you accepted it and went out. His other hand rests over your hip as he slightly pins you to his car to place a kiss over your lips. He smiles after a couple of pecks then leans away to stare at your eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” he says sincerely that made you smile widely. Jake and his words.

“You’ve been saying that all day, Jake.”

He chuckles, biting his lips feeling a little shy. “Just so you wouldn’t forget.”

“Thank you.” you said while looking straight to his eyes.

He might take it as a thank you for today, but there’s more to it. Jake’s the next serious relationship after Sunghoon and it can’t be helped to compare the two of them. Even if you know its not good to do that, you just can’t stop yourself from doing so. They’re very different from each other.

“No problem.” he leans again to give you another peck.

“See you tomorrow, baby.” Jake said with a soft smile. You nodded and waved before going inside your apartment and called it a day.

It’s been almost a year ever since that night and yet its still fresh from your memory like it was just yesterday. You resigned from your previous job. You wanted so bad to convince everybody that it was because you’re embarrassed by what happened prior to it, but no. It was mainly because you kind of blamed it for losing your relationship. Kind of dumb, but maybe you are really insane when it comes to him.

Sunghoon never contacted you after that. You didn’t hear from him ever since and honestly it pissed and got you butt hurt. Well, you did change your number and blocked him from all your social media but you kind of hoped he will try to reach out for you.

Seems like it was meant to end that way.

Some people from your life kept telling you that you did the right thing, that it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You got a new job, got a new boyfriend that your parents approved. They adore Jake so much. He’s so close to your Mother and to your Dad as they’re both into business.

You should be happy about it. You are happy. But a part of you aches for someone. A bitter feeling lingers inside you because they never tried to open their heart for Sunghoon before. It makes you think that if they did, maybe things went a little more okay.

You threw your head back and stared at the ceiling. A slight guilt crept inside your heart. You got the perfect boyfriend you’ve been praying for and he’s treating you right. He barely even fight with you as he was always understanding.

But as stupid as it sounds, you missed screaming and fighting with Sunghoon. Those instense moments that just brings out much more emotions within you that makes you act insane.

These thoughts are making you crazy so you decided to take a quick shower and just call it a day. You went to bed with eyes brimmed with tears, aching and missing him so bad. It frustrates you because you feel helpless, unable to do anything about it. You’re scared to think that you are still thinking of him right now while he’s happy with someone else.

The next thing you know, it was morning already. Your eyes hurts a bit for crying to sleep last night so you’re slightly out of it when you went to your office.

“Do you want some coffee? Looks like you need one.” one of your officemates offered that you returned with a small pout.

“Please.” and she nods before going to the pantry for a while to get you your coffee.

“Here you go.” and she gently placed it on your working table. You mumbled a small ‘thanks’ as she settles at her chair beside yours.

“Oh!” your head craned to glance at her. “We will be meeting the new potential investors to our company later. I heard one of them is really good looking.” she giggles that made you smirk.

“You know its not always just by the looks, right?”

She rolled her eyes, “Easy for you to say because you have a gorgeous boyfriend!”

You laughed, “That is right.”

You joked around for a while before you’re asked to prepare for the arrival of the vip guests. Soon after, your head supervisor walks in and behind her are men wearing suits and tie. Looking like some young bachelors. Tall and handsome men.

As your eyes shifted to the last one who walks inside, your heart dropped. His familiar fair skin, charcoal black hair, noise pointy with a pretty mole at the side of it, eyes blank surrounded with thick and pretty eyelashes, topping it with his thick eyebrows that makes his skin color glow even more. His lips naturally red and luscious. Your knees weakened at the sight and heart started to race.

“Oh my god, Y/n!” she whispered beside you and even wiggled a little like as if she was got electicuted.

“He's so handsome!”

Oh hell yes he is. And your eyes watered at the sight of him. The familiar feeling of longing occupies your whole system. Park Sunghoon stood there looking so breathtaking. You missed everything in him and you hate how he looked so okay.

He unconsciously roamed his eyes around and accidentally met yours. It grew slightly, clearly not expecting seeing you. His lips parted a bit and didn’t glanced away.

“Y/n?” she snapped you out of your thoughts and you quickly teared your gaze away, feeling ashamed for staring too long. He probably saw you looking like a loser for being affected too much.

Sooner, they guided you inside to start the meeting and you kept on shifting from your seat. Having meeting like this is normal for you already, but now that you have your ex boyfriend sat at the other end of the table makes you really conscious.

“You okay?” your office mate might’ve noticed your weird demeanor so she looked concern.

You flashed her a shy smile and nodded then tried to focus on the person talking. But a minute after, your mind is drifting somewhere else once again. Even before you know it, your eyes shifts to where he was sat and to your surprise, he’s looking at you already.

You glanced away and cleared your throat. Embarrased that he caught you stealing glances at him.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, you turned over your supervisor and tried excusing yourself. Making up a lie that you’re not feeling well. She seemed to buy it and asked you to take a rest. Without wasting anytime, you stood up and politely excused yourself from the meeting.

A few steps out from the conference room and you heard it opened again. You ignored it and tried calming yourself, but the memory of Sunghoon’s eyes flashed before your eyes. Your eyes got teary. Seeing him just awoke your sleeping feelings for him that you tried to bury deep inside your heart.

“Y/n.” and a hand halted you from making another step.

You glanced at the person who stopped you and your heart thumped even faster. His brows narrowed and eyes looked concern.

“Are you okay? Why did you leave the meeting?” his tone sounded so soft and it makes you want to cry on the spot.

Now that you’re face to face and this close to each other, you can see how much he grown. He slightly changed. Good change, mostly. He looked even more mature and manly. His familiar manly scent invaded your nose that draws in so many memories of you two.

“Y-Yes,” and you flashed him a fake smile. “How are you, Sunghoon? It’s b-been a while.”

His shoulder relaxed after hearing that you’re okay. His eyes dropped to his hand holding your arm and slowly, he lets go of it.

“I’m good.” he responded briefly before roaming his eyes on your face. His heart aches.

“It looks like you’ve been doing well.” there's a hint of sadness looming over his tone, but you tried to ignore it thinking that you’re just mishearing it.

“Yeah.”

“Good to know.” it sounded a little sarcastic.

“Why are you here? Did you stop playing with your band?” the question you wanted to ask so bad. It was odd enough to see him here and much weirder because you know how much he hates wearing suit and ties. Tho you must admit that he looks so good on it.

He smirks, bitterness over his eyes.

“I still do, but not as often as before.”

“Ohh,” you sounded sad because you are. You know how much he loves doing that.

You’re about to say something else when your phone rang. You fished it from your pocket and when you saw your boyfriend’s caller id, you felt like someone slapped you back to reality. You want to hurt yourself for starting to act crazy once again just after seeing your ex boyfriend.

When you glance back at him, you saw his eyes darted at your phone with a cold expression on his face. You gulped, feeling nervous before you answered it.

“Baby!” the cheerfulness over Jake’s voice spreads guilt on your chest pretty fast. A tsunami on the shore, coming unexpected.

“H-hey, babe.” you murmured and steal a glance over at Sunghoon.

His expression fell cold as he straighten his back, not leaning anymore so he can slightly match your height. His hands slid inside his pocket as he stared at you intensely. His eyes are piercing right at you, like a cop catching you red-handed. To why he is still standing there and not leaving is slightly a mystery for you.

“Hi sweetheart. I called just to remind you about later tonight.” he says, accent coming a little strong.

Now you’re attention had been snatched away from the beautiful man standing right in front of you. With a confused face, you wondered what he is talking about. Trying to remember if you missed any plans he had made for the two of you tonight.

“T-Tonight? What’s up tonight?” and you slightly turned away from Sunghoon for some privacy. But you can still feel his heated gaze, burning holes at the back of your head.

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” he asks, slightly taunting. You didn’t respond and just wait for him to reveal about it.

“We’re having dinner at your parents tonight, baby.”

You draws in a sigh and hand raised to massage your temple.

“Oh, that was today.”

He chuckles, “Yes. Don’t worry, I got your Mom’s favorite flower and your Dad’s wine.”

You bit your lower lip for another perfect boyfriend scenario he just pulled.

“Thank you, babe. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Hmm, i love you.”

You stood cold on your feet. The words are at your tongue, you just have to say it but for some reasons, something’s stopping you.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice snapped you back to reality and you cleared your throat then chuckles.

“S-Sorry, spaced out a little. I l-love you too, Jake. See you later.”

He chuckles, “Okay, cutie. Have a nice day.” and then he ended the call.

The silence and heavy atmosphere enveloping you and Sunghoon are undescribable. You’ve never had something like this with him. Even during your biggest fights, its never been like this.

Slowly, you glanced at him and his eyes looked cold. For a brief moment, it seemed like you saw sadness on it but when he saw you looking he switched it right in. His jaw clenches as he stares right at you, like waiting for you to say something to him.

“U-Uhm, nice seeing you again. See y-you around, Sunghoon.” and you turn your heels, ready to leave him when he said something.

“So it was that easy for you to find someone else, huh? Glad to finally know it.” his words are filled with nothing but slight anger and bitterness.

“Excuse me?” you whipped your head to look at him with furrowed brows.

“You left me and find someone new. It was easy for you.”

“You. Made. Me. Leave. You.” each words was emphasize so you can make your point.

“And what do you know about what I feel? It was not easy for me!” your tone raised because of how he just made you upset with what he said.

“Doesn’t seem like it for me.”

You thought he changed, but clearly he didn’t. You are dumb enough to be shaken by him.

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.” and you turned around, having the firm decision of leaving and getting him out of your sight.

Two steps and he managed to grab your wrist once again. He sighs, heavy sighs.

“O-Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” he licked his lips and gently made you face his way.

When he saw through your eyes how he hurt you again with his words, he almost want to hit himself. He already knew what went wrong before. How he fucking messed everything up. How selfish he is. And he doesn't want to repeat the same mistakes once again.

He was always someone whose hard to read. Yes, you are one of the very few people who can understand him right away, who can read through him from time to time and definitely one of the top people who can deal with his shits. Sunghoon’s not really good at showing how he cares to people. He have his own ways of showing them, and he thought that was enough. But he was wrong.

Sunghoon loves you. He loves you so much that he changed a lot ever since you left. He changes his way of thinking and even exerted effort to become someone better for you. It's such a shame that it took him to lose you to realize things.

The thing is no matter how confident he is to a lot of things back then, a part of him was secretly insecure. Insecurities that built up through the journey of having you as his partner. You’re a wonderful person and he always think that he was very lucky to have you. And so the insecurity and fear of losing you gets the best of him.

Being someone whose not expressive and overthinks a lot isn’t a very good combo. Makes him do a lot of stupid things that hurts you so much. He was so regretful of those times and if he can do anything just to go back to fix everything, he will. But he can’t go back. There’s no such thing as time machine.

What he can do is try. Try to make you feel how sorry he was. Try to make you see a different him, a better version of him. The better version that he strive to be just for you. And try to make you feel how much he loves you.

“I’m really sorry for what I did back then.” he started and licked his lips. He kept sighing heavily to ease his nervous feelings, calming his racing heart.

He had rehearsed the words he wants to tell you once he saw you again, but they all became pointless as his mind went blank just by having you standing in front of him.

“Not just the last night we are together,” he felt his heart break by the mention of it. One of the nights he regretted the most. “but I’m sorry for everything. I was so dumb to realize things much faster. I was an idiot for not treating you better.” he licked his lips and stared right to your eyes.

“I love you, y/n. I still do.” the tears pooling your eyes starts to stream down your face.

“The same type of love I feel for you back then. I love you so much that it hurts. It didn’t change at all. It was always you for me.”

Right now, you felt like your heart is being squeezed so hard. These words you wanted to hear from him back then are finally happening. But things are a lot more complicated as it is. Jake’s face flashes through your mind and you can’t take hurting him.

And also because you still feel so hurt he didn’t do anything just to make you stay. Why now? Why now when you’re a little okay already?

Your lips trembles as you open them to speak.

“You know if you only went after me that night, I would’ve stayed. I would not leave you.” you says in your low voice.

His eyes softens and tighten his grip on you. Your eyes dropped at his hand and it took everything in you to unclasp his hold.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon. A lot of things changed already, but,” your words halted. ‘But I still love you.’ were the words you wanted to say.

You shut your eyes and opens them, trying to hide your real feelings for him.

“I do kind of wish you tried to fix it after we ended. I waited for you.”

You saw him broke and it was so much harder for you. To see him like this is your weakness. You’ve always had a soft spot for him and it will always remain like that.

“Y/n I—” he was cut off when the conference room’s door bursts open.

You quickly wiped off your tears. Thankfully, Sunghoon’s built was enough to cover you from whoever that is.

“I have to go. Good bye.” and without sparing him another glance, you stormed out of the scene. Leaving the place. Leaving Sunghoon and leaving your heart with him.

The encounter with your ex boyfriend just made you disoriented. You spaced out most of the day and you’re thankful that the people in your workplace just thought you are not feeling well. They didn’t asked much about it and just gives you space.

When Jake came to pick you up, you felt so much worse. His sweet smiles makes you so guilty. It felt so bad. You feel horrible for still having feelings for your ex when he was there with you. Treating you good like how you wanted.

“Jake! My boy!” your Dad’s cheerful voice errupted the whole room as he went to give him a hug.

You watch how he connected with your parents and it made you think about the times with Sunghoon. They’ve never been like that towards him. Your mother’s a little nicer than your Dad, but she never really tries to know Sunghoon as he is a little intimidating for her. That’s what she said.

Your Dad on the other hand just flat out shut his doors for him. After knowing what he does, he straight up dislikes him without even trying to get to know him more.

It made you feel bad for Sunghoon. Just by thinking of how would he react if he saw this scene of your parents warmly welcoming Jake to your home will hurt him like hell. And that’s what you did to him before. You kept on forcing him into this when you knew it was a low case already. You kept rubbing salt to the open wounds your parents had created to him.

“Honey, you all right?” your Mom took notice of your silence. The two guys looked at your way with concerns in their eyes.

You quickly pulled a small smile for them.

“I just don’t feel so well today, Mom.” she coos and cupped your face.

“Oh my cupcake. Let’s go eat already, I’m sure it will be gone once you have your favorite soup.” and she even gave you a hug.

Your Dad caress your arms and asked you two to follow them so you can start eating dinner already. Jake’s hands settles on the small of your back, eyes looking at you with so much concern.

“You okay, baby?”

You nodded with a small smile before he guided you towards the dining area. The dinner started and the three of them were the ones talking most of the time. You tries to join and forcedly laugh from time to time while eating so little. Just to avoid suspicion from them.

“I’m really glad you found Jake, y/n! He’s such a great match for you. Unlike that boy...” the scowl on his face appears for the first time tonight.

Your smile falters and you quickly fell on a foul mood. Your father always hated him. He never saw his efforts.

You lowered your head, doesn’t really want to hear more about it.

“He has a thick face for showing up here in our home multiple times months ago to look for y/n!” he added, sounding so upset about it.

Your hand halted from playing with your food after his words slowly sink into your system. You lift your head and stared at your Dad with furrowed brows.

“Sunghoon went here? When?” you asked in a speed of light. Doesn’t want them to bury this topic.

Your Mom and Jake was surprised to how you reacted.

“A week after you left his sorry ass. You know I was so pissed at him for coming back over and over again even after I told him you don’t want him anymore and that he should just leave you alone. You are better off without him. Maybe he is really just that stupid—”

“Why didn’t you told me this before?” your tone sounded so accusing. The look of betrayal on your eyes burns towards your Father.

“I don’t see the need of mentioning that to you. He’s already out of the picture. I really hate that boy. He’s bad for you. I never understand why you loved someone like him?”

“You never really tried to get to know him so how would you understand?”

“Pardon?” your Father’s expression looked offended by how you said the last sentence.

You stood up abruptly, making a dragging sound from your chair. They all looked at you with confusion on their faces.

“I should’ve known you can do something like that, Dad. I should’ve known Sunghoon will come here to look for me despite knowing that he will get nothing but mistreatment. I should’ve known.” you started marching out from the room and you can hear Jake calling out for you, but you couldn’t care more.

All you can think of was how hard must it been for Sunghoon. Now all his words from a while ago hits you differently. The way his eyes flashes sadness and how he looked so broken just made your heart crack into a million pieces.

He maybe a mess, but he is your mess. He is your person, your other half.

“Y/n hold on,” your steps halted right when you are at the front porch of your house.

Jake went after you and when you saw how scared his eyes and how he looked so broken, it hurts you. But you knew it will just break him more if you continue being with him when your heart clearly belongs to someone else.

“Where are you going?” he asks, even if he knew the answer already.

“I’m really sorry Jake. I love you, really.” you licked your lips and tears pooled the corner of your eyes.

“But I still love him. It’s still him.”

You’ve never seen Jake like this before. You are so used at seeing him smile that seeing him this broken, hurts you so much.

“Are you serious? No...” he chuckles with no humor, blinking rapidly to push those tears back inside his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jake. You deserve someone who will love you with all their heart and that person is not me.” and you removed his hand from your arm.

A tear left his eyes, but you turned away. You are being selfish again and choosing what will make you truly happy.

After calling a cab, you told the driver the address of your old apartment you shared with Sunghoon. Hoping that he’s still staying in that place, otherwise you will have to go ask his friends.

On the way to him, you realized a lot of things. You realized his little efforts that kept you going through the relationship. You started seeing how he’s imperfectly perfect for you. That despite his flaws, he’s always been the only one who loves you genuinely. The person who will love you even if you fail. The person who you can show your vulnerable side and still think you’re the most wonderful person.

You went out of the cab and just right in time, the rain poured. It reminded you that same night where you ended things with Sunghoon. Starting to get drenched, you walked towards the apartment building that you used to stay in with him. The same apartment that holds so much memories.

On the other hand, inside the apartment, Sunghoon’s brows were hardly furrowed while he head over his door after hearing a doorbell. He's a little confuse as he expects nobody for tonight.

He opens it and quickly, the annoyed expression over his face was replaced with a surprised one.

“Y/n?” he uttered seeing you standing in front of his unit, all drenched.

Your eyes softens at the sight of him. Seeing him in his white plain shirt and black shorts that he always use to wear whenever you two stays inside. You felt so happy seeing him. Your mouth opens to say something but eyes shifted at the back of him.

The relief you felt washes away at the sight of a girl coming out from the comfort room.

“Who is it, oppa?” she asked and you felt so dumb.

You are stoned at your position for a while before starting to step away. You probably looked like a freaking loser being all drenched and crashing to his apartment. Your heart broke again if its possible as it was already broken, then you cleared your throat. Tears streaming nonstop.

“I-I’m sorry. I should’ve not come here...” and you stormed off.

You heard him calling out for you, but you didn’t stop. Trying to save some dignity left in you. The rain is still pouring hard when you arrived outside but you didn’t care. You walked like a lifeless being with no direction to go to. People stared, but you just ignored them. You are hurting so bad and you wished that the rain will wash it away.

“Y/n!” a scream halt your step.

His familiar voice echoes inside your mind and you heard rummaging steps approaching you. You wanted to run and save a face, but you didn’t. Your heart felt so heavy.

Two shoes came into your view and slowly you lift your head up. Sunghoon’s starting to get drenched by the rain too, but like you he seems to not care. His chest rises up and down, trying to catch his breath after running after you. He’s wearing a jacket now on top of his white t-shirt which is useless as its slowly getting wet as well.

You looked at him with broken stares.

“Why are you here?” he asks, hoping that you came here to tell him that you want him back. That you want him as much as he wants you.

Your lips tremble and hot tears brimmed your eyes. It made it a little harder to see his face clearly because of the rain, but you tried hard. Sunghoon notices and stepped closer, head slightly covering your face from the pouring rain as he stares down on you.

“I c-came to tell you that a lot of things already changed,” you started and tried to push away your pride. This time, you wanted to do it right.

“but my feelings for you remained the same. I love you, Sunghoon. I love you so much that my heart felt like it stopped beating when I left you. I love you so much that I knew I will never be the same again after we broke up. I love you so much that I ended things with Jake just so I can be happy again. It’s making me lose my mind, making me act insane. And that’s the way I love you.”

Sunghoon licked his lower lip and the rain was cold, but his heart was warm. God, how he missed feeling this way.

“And I know I hurt you before. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for leaving that night and for thinking you didn’t try to fix it. I’m really sorry—” your words were cut off when he smashed his lips on yous.

Your hand reached over his clothes, holding it tightly for support system. His kisses started aggressive, like he wanted to do that for so long. Like he’s been deprived of it. The kiss lasted for a while until he leans away to catch his breath, you followed his lips for a few more pecks then his forehead rests on yours.

He cupped your face, warming it using his warm hands. While staring at his eyes, your loving gaze suddenly changed with a glaring eyes.

“What?”

“Who’s that girl at your apartment?” your question are like an interogation.

He smirks and chuckles. He even tries to kiss you, but you leaned away making him whine a little.

“She’s my cousin. She stayed overnight at our apartment after going out with her friends. She’s about to leave now.” you quickly melt when he addressed the apartment as yours and his.

You pout and calmed down. He chuckles and made your noses touch, staring at your eyes loving.

“I love you.” he says, placing another hot kiss on your lips. Your heart aches, but this time in a good way. You felt like you are finally where you should be. Inside his arms.

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 7 months

Text

Still Love Me?

This will fill the "I want you to leave marks." space on my @jacklesversebingo card. The prompt will be bolded.

Summary: Y/N wants to help Dean deal with the mark - in whatever way he needs.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Pretty much all just very filthy smut. MOC!Dean. He is harsh, and fairly brutal. Hard, rough, brutal, unprotected P in V sex. Pain/pleasure dynamics (all consensual). Spanking (brief). Tit slapping. Throat fucking. Hard, rough fingering. Spitting. Spit as lube. Brief anal fingering. Name calling. Face slapping (just once) Choking. Oral (f. receiving.) Brief orgasm denial and overstimulation. Reader tied up. Dom/sub vibes. Dom drop. Also angst. Soft Dean. Aftercare. And believe it or not, some fluff.

Pairings: MOC!dean x Reader (You)

Word Count: 5,074

A/N: Blame this fic on raging hormones, and a rewatch of S10. 🤷‍♀️ All I'll say is, heed the warnings. ⚠️

The beautiful dividers used here are created by @talesmaniac89

You awoke from a dream that you immediately forgot, reaching for Dean beside you. But he wasn’t there. You sat up quickly, surveying the room in the dark, and seeing no sign of him.

You stood up and grabbed Dean's white button down that he’d worn earlier in the day before carelessly draping it over the arm of the chair. He never put his clothes away. A little imperfection of his that made you love him even more, even if it also made you wanna pinch him sometimes.

“The drawers are RIGHT THERE.” You’d remind him, frustration leaking from your pores. Inevitably he’d smile his charming, irresistible smile and nuzzle his face into the side of your neck, licking and nipping at you and rubbing his scratchy scruff against your sensitive skin, making you giggle and shiver.

“Still love me?” He’d ask teasingly, his little boy expression making you fall in love with him all over again. Every time.

But under his teasing - no matter how minor your annoyance with him was, or how happy he was in the moment - beneath that you could always see his genuine fear that one day you’d say no.

Dean Winchester broke your heart sometimes.

You padded out of the bedroom in only Dean’s shirt; Sam was away in Lebanon for the night, having finally asked out a waitress he’d liked for more than a month. He’d texted earlier to say not expect him home before tomorrow. Or maybe the day after.

Go Sammy! you thought with a smile.

You wandered down the bunker’s hallways, checking for Dean in all of his usual haunts; the kitchen first, naturally, but also the library and war room, the Dean cave, the shower room, though you didn’t hear a shower running. Beginning to get a little worried, you decided to check out the basement. As you came to the bottom of the staircase you heard grunting coming from down the hall and frowned.

It sounded like it was coming from the gym. You went to investigate, although you began to suspect why he was awake and hitting a punching bag in the gym in the middle of the night. You walked into the dimly lit gym and stopped to gaze at Dean in awe.

He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and no shirt, a sheen of sweat covering his skin as he moved from foot to foot, pounding on the two hundred pound heavy bag in front of him. Each punch was landed with a grunt of effort, and sometimes his hands moved in combinations too quick for you to follow. He was an extraordinary fighter, beautiful and graceful, and extremely powerful.

You didn’t get to spy on him for very long. His instincts and sixth sense tended to border on the prescient, so he quickly turned towards you, his face relaxing somewhat as he saw that it was just you. He pulled one of his ear buds out with his taped up hand, breathing heavily. You could hear screaming metal music tinnily coming through the tiny speaker before he shut off the music and stuffed the headphones into his pocket

“Y/N. What are you doing up?”

You smiled and walked towards him. “I woke up and you were gone, so I came looking for you.” You came to a stop in front of him and reached out to wrap your arms around his neck, but he pushed your arms away and stepped back quickly. You frowned at him, more confused than hurt.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, nothing. Sorry, I just…” he swept a hand across his chest. “I’m all sweaty and gross. Trust me, you don’t wanna be near me.”

You chuckled and gave him a mischievous grin. “Been around you all hot and sweaty plenty of times, Winchester; hasn’t bothered me yet.”

But when you closed in on him again, he backed up further, holding up a hand. “Y/N stop it!” He barked at you.

This time his anger at your approach and his obvious disinterest did hurt you a bit, but once again, you thought you knew the problem. You frowned at him.

“Okay. Talk.”

But Dean just shook his head. “Look, I’m just…I just wanna finish my workout…and, you know…” he trailed off.

You put your hands on your hips and tilted your head at him. “You wanna finish your workout? What are you Sam all of a sudden?” You said with a chuckle, trying to lighten his dark mood.

But he remained dark. His green eyes were hard like flint and his jaw ticked. You began to notice a sort of dangerous, menacing energy rolling off of him. It was the kind of energy, you had to admit, that would make you turn and run in the other direction if you didn’t know and love him.

But his mood wasn’t at all surprising. You’d suspected all along what woke him, why he was down here, and why he didn’t want you close to him. You looked at the mark that sat like a scarred brand on his inner right forearm and felt your stomach clench. You reached out to touch it but Dean yanked his arm away.

“The mark acting up?” You asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as though you were discussing a toothache instead of the curse that had turned him into a demon once already. You knew it had been getting worse in recent weeks. He used to talk to you when he woke up from a nightmare brought on by the mark, but lately he’d been just brushing them aside.

“Same as always.” He answered now, as he’d answered many times before.

You shook your head. “Don’t do that, Dean, please. Tell me what you dreamt. Talk to me about what you’re going through. I wanna help.”

Dean shook his head and laughed humorlessly. “You can’t help, Y/N, and I don’t…” He ran a hand over his face and then turned back towards the bag. “I don’t want you around me when I’m like this.” He said, before landing a blow to the heavy bag that made it swing back and forth.

You swallowed and tried to ignore the primal part of you that tended to get animalistic when he was like this. Your body flushed and your core muscles fluttered whenever you could see that hard, hot, hungry look come into his eyes.

You knew it scared him and you wanted to support him; you wanted him to know you'd always believe that underneath everything he would always be the same good, loving, kind man you'd known all these years.

But sometimes he exuded so much raw��masculinity and virility, that it was like a siren song, pulling you in and you were more than willing to risk being dashed upon the rocks if it meant feeling that energy, that power, vibrating around you.

You stepped closer to him and he backed away again, but you pursued him across the gym floor. He scowled deeply at you, nostrils flared.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing? I told you, you shouldn’t be around me right now.”

You shook your head. “You’re wrong, Dean. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here if you want to talk…or…anything.” You said, voice laced with too much meaning for Dean to miss it.

Again his jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked down your body, obviously enjoying the sight of you clothed in only his shirt. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you're asking for, Y/N.”

You stepped closer to him, pushing him back against a stack of mats. “I think I do. I know you wanna fuck me, I know your body is as hot and aching as mine.” You reached up to wrap your hand around the back of his head, playing with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m here for you, for whatever you need. If you want to expend some of that excess energy, I’m right here - ready to go.”

The only sound in the room was the rough, shallow breaths coming from both of you. Suddenly, quick as a flash, Dean’s hand shot out to bunch your shirt (his really) in one fist and wrench you closer to him.

“You’re not listening to me, Y/N. Two hours ago I was dreaming about slicing people up, pulling them apart with my bare hands. That violence, the lust, the pounding need to destroy something is still pumping through my veins. I want to fuck something or break something or maybe both.” He dropped his hand from your shirt and pushed it through his hair. “So get away from me unless you want me to do something we’ll both regret.”

Your blood was pumping so hard in your veins, you were surprised Dean couldn’t hear it. You licked your lips and shook your head. “No. I won’t regret it. I want you to use me, I’m here for you, I’m giving you permission to use me…however you need.” You paused for a beat before admitting, "I want you to leave marks."

Dean’s face was almost feral in its intensity and you felt the slick begin dripping down your inner thigh.

"You don't really mean that, sweetheart." Dean grit his teeth, and spoke in a growl.

"Don't I?" You whispered.

You unbuttoned the few buttons holding his shirt closed and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a white, lacy thong. Dean clenched his fists over and over as his burning hot gaze scorched you completely.

"Last chance, sweetheart. Run." He warned, his voice low and slightly ominous, causing you to shiver.

You shook your head. "No." You said simply; anything more was beyond you at the moment.

A split second passed before Dean pounced. He grabbed you roughly by the throat and landed his open mouth on yours, sweeping his tongue inside. His body radiated restrained power as he kissed you, consumed you. Moving down from your mouth he sucked on the skin below your ear, beginning to make the marks you wanted to see in the mirror the next day.

He broke away from you and pulled you aside so he could yank down one of the mats from the pile, and toss it on the ground.

"Get down." He ground out, before pushing you to the mat when you didn't move quick enough.

He towered above you, staring down at you as he slowly pulled the tape off his knuckles. His eyes were dark, and wild and made your body shiver slightly in anticipation.

"Take off your panties. I want you on your hands and knees." He told you when he was finished. "I'm gonna fuck you into oblivion." He pushed down his sweats, making you moan deeply as you saw he wasn't wearing underwear.

You reached for his rock hard cock, but he slapped your hand away, kneeling down and manhandling you into the position he wanted you in before tearing your panties from your body.

He set you on your hands and knees and pushed against your back until your cheek was pressed tightly against the mat. The position left your ass and pussy completely exposed to him and he took immediate advantage of that, roughly driving three fingers into your dripping hole.

A cry escaped you and he growled deep and harsh, clearly enjoying the sound. He chased it again by pulling his fingers out and then slamming them back into you, even harder.

"Unf - fu-huck." You gasped out, your whole body vibrating with need. He pulled out and added his fourth finger, ramming into you and forcing your cunt to stretch wide. With most of his hand sunk deep inside your pussy he pressed against your g-spot and made you scream.

He pulled back from the sensitive spot and then punched back into you so hard he almost knocked you over. But he grabbed onto your hip in a bruising grip. His hand was so big, his blunt fingernails dug painfully into the crease of your thigh.

Buried deep inside your cunt he turned his hand so that his thumb could circle the tight, puckered hole of your ass. His hand moved from gripping your hip to spreading your cheeks open.

He spit onto the ring of muscle and you gasped. You had no experience with anal sex, and your stomach flip-flopped half in fear and half in excitement. He spit on you again, rubbing his saliva over your hole with his thumb before breaching it, pushing just the tip in at first. He pulled out and then pushed back further, to his first knuckle.

The sensation was strange but pleasurable. He pushed his thumb in as far as he could and the unfamiliar stretch burned. He moved his other hand forward and began to push in his other thumb. He spit on you again to lube up the way for his probing fingers. As he pushed both thumbs in completely he pried you open slightly, stretching you and making you whimper, half pain, half pleasure.

You felt stuffed full of him, both holes stretched open and stinging. Then he pushed his fingers against your sweet spot again, rubbing and pressing there until your walls clenched tightly around him as you exploded, yelling out a rough, ragged sound of pleasure.

As you were coming down, he pulled his hands out of you and stood up. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking on it hard and making you cry out in pain as he used it to pull you to your knees.

Without pausing, he wrenched your head back so your face was turned up to him. Then his hand came down across your cheek, stinging sharply.

"Open your fucking mouth. I wanna make you gag."

You did as he said immediately, feeling your belly clench in spite of the pain, or maybe because of it. He shoved his cock roughly down your throat, getting what he wanted as you choked around him.

He pulled out and cum and spit dribbled out of your mouth before he pushed back in, even further down your esophagus. He took his free hand and ran his thumb over your bulging throat.

He pulled out again, letting you barely catch your breath. You coughed hard, your throat already aching from being used so roughly. But Dean held your head in place by your hair and shoved himself in again, until he was fully seated in your throat.

You gagged around him over and over, but he just wrapped his big hand around your throat and squeezed, gripping his own cock buried deep inside. His fist squeezed tightly and you stopped gagging simply because the immense pressure of his fist allowed for no movement.

You began to see black spots moving in around the edges of your vision before he finally let go and pulled out his cock. You coughed horribly, raspy, gravelly sounds emanating from you as you struggled to bring oxygen into your lungs.

Before you really had time to recover, Dean yanked you to your feet, his hand still bunched in your hair. Your legs were wobbly, but he pulled you over to one of several workout benches around the room and pushed you down over it, finally letting go of your hair.

"Don't move." He told you; his voice was dark and sinister and made you start shivering. Your body was aching, but also humming with need.

You couldn't see what he was doing behind you but suddenly his mouth was buried in your pussy, his hard tongue penetrating you.

"Dean!" You screamed out, and it hurt your raw throat, but you couldn't help it as his delicious mouth sucked and licked at your throbbing cunt. You wriggled against his mouth and he pulled away making you whimper with want.

Then you felt his palm crack hard and heavy against your ass and your whimper turned into a gasp and then a moan of pain as he delivered a second blow, making heat bloom and spread across your cheeks.

"I told you not to fucking move." He growled at you.

You nodded your acknowledgement, a whine leaving you as he returned to pulling you apart on his tongue. You tried hard to stay still, but as he pulled your clit between his swollen lips, you instinctively pushed back against him.

He pulled away again and you knew you'd messed up. He lifted you off the bench easily and brought you back over to the mat on the floor. He threw you down on it and walked away.

He returned quickly, carrying three long skipping ropes. He got down and knelt over you, one knee on either side of your hips, and grabbed hold of your hands, using one of the ropes to tie them tightly in front of you. Then he stood up and pulled on the rope until your hands were stretched out above your head. He tied it off to something, making it impossible for you to move your arms.

Next he tied the two other ropes to your ankles and stretched your legs wide, making sure your restraints were taut enough that you had absolutely no chance of movement.

He stood over you again, admiring his handiwork, and watching the need spasm across your face. You called out to him, desperate for him to relieve the pulsing ache in your pussy.

"Dean, please. Please."

He gave in to your pleading and laid down to bury his face in your cunt once again. Your complete inability to move made the teasing, sucking and fucking of his mouth nearly unbearable. He put his big hand flat on your lower belly so you couldn't lift your hips even a little.

You were completely at his mercy as he tortured you with aching, all-consuming pleasure.

You were screaming now, over and over, just harsh, guttural shouts of desperate need. It was the only outlet you had, the only way to express the overwhelming ecstasy Dean was pulling from your exhausted, trembling body.

He spread your lips wide with his thumbs and flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth against your clit, pulling back again and again when your climax was about to take over. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your arms and legs pulled uselessly against the bonds Dean had tied so tightly.

Finally Dean sat up and then moved up your body. He cupped your tits in both hands and squeezed hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh without mercy, making it feel as though they were being crushed by a vice. He let go to twist your nipples with his strong fingers, making you cry out in pain again. Or maybe it was pleasure. At this point it was almost impossible to tell the two apart.

Dean let go of your nipples and then began going back and forth between your tits, slapping each of them over and over, with sharp, strong, stinging blows. You knew the punishment he was dolling out would likely leave them raw and aching, with bright red marks as evidence of Dean's lust and need for violence.

Finally, he left them throbbing as he grabbed your throat. He didn't squeeze hard, but the threat was there. He hovered above you and then spit in your face. Warm and thick, the saliva slipped down your cheek and Dean shook your head back and forth.

"Open your mouth, bitch." You followed his order immediately, your cunt clenching around nothing at his name-calling. He spit into your open mouth twice and then slid his hand up from your throat to clamp your jaw shut.

"Swallow it." He ordered harshly and you did. He kept your jaw clamped tight in his fist, so that you could only scream quietly through clenched teeth when he was suddenly fucking up into you, rough and fast. He was so big, and so hard, and he went so deep inside you it felt like he'd tear out your guts.

And yet you wanted more.

Letting go of your face to raise himself up like a push up above you, he forced his way forward , pushing out every ounce of power he had in his hips, to rut powerfully and unendingly into your cunt You came three more times as he continued to pound away at you. He fucked you for so long and jackhammered into you so rough, that your pussy ended up raw and painful as he continued to fuck you. You could feel the damage he was doing to your cervix, ramming into it over and over, leaving it bruised, and making your body ache and throb even on the inside.

And yet, despite all the pain and your complete and utter exhaustion when he gripped your chin in his hand and demanded you open your eyes and look at him, you did so.

"Give me one more, slut. Squeeze me hard one more time and I'll spill so deep in you, you'll feel me leaking out of this pussy for days."

You felt your belly clench seconds before you gave him what he wanted, your walls spasming around him once again as you shook with your release.

Dean yelled and cursed as he followed through on his promise, muscles straining above you as his hips stuttered and lost rhythm, and his thick, burning hot cum shot into your womb. He seemed to cum forever, more and more of his seed painting your walls as he shook above you.

Finally he ended with a groan of repletion and landed on top of you. His heavy weight was a lot for your aching body to take, and every part of you throbbed.

He eventually rolled off of you and you thought he might have drifted out of consciousness for a few minutes. You may have done the same if the painful ache pulsing through you would have let you.

As you lay beside him, still unable to move because of the ropes tying you in place, you thought about how Dean had used you, just as you'd told him to, marked you as you’d begged him to. Ordinarily Dean was the gentlest of lovers, almost reverent, and he always made your body hum and glow, plucking at you in that perfect way that only he knew.

But tonight had been something else entirely. There had definitely been times when sex between you and Dean had been a bit more athletic and acrobatic than other times, but it had never been anything like this. You decided that although you certainly wouldn't be able to do this every night, it had been an incredible, pleasurable, hot and thrilling experience, that you wouldn't mind trying again sometime.

Your body throbbed and you amended your thought. Yes, with a lot of recovery time in between.

Finally, Dean stirred beside you and then turned his head to look at you. It seemed to dawn on him slowly that you were still trussed up, but when it registered completely, he leapt up.

"Shit, Y/N I'm so sorry." He said, untying the ropes around your ankles and wrists. He helped you sit up and you couldn't help grimacing and letting out a sharp cry of pain as you put pressure on your overused pussy, and never-before-fucked asshole.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." You heard the heartbreak and guilt in Dean's voice and you shook your head vehemently, wanting to immediately nip those feelings in the bud.

"Dean, no, I'm fine." You said, but your throat ached and sounded raw as you spoke, making more remorse cloud his expression.

You tried to tell him again, but he just shook his head at you and pressed his lips gently to your forehead.

"Shh, don't try to talk baby. Just put your arms around my neck."

You did and he lifted you easily from the ground. You tried desperately to curtail your groans and gasps of pain, but you weren't always successful as he walked with you slowly down the Bunker's hallways trying not to jostle you.

Eventually, he brought you through the tiled shower room, and into the back area where a wide, deep bathtub, set into the floor and shaped like a hot tub, was waiting.

He carried you down into the pool-like bathtub and sat you on one of the benches built into the side of the tub. You shivered at the cold tile and Dean nodded.

"I know, baby. I'm gonna fix that right now." He moved over to the big taps, sliding the drain closed, and then turning the water on, letting the gushing, warm water pour into the tub.

He climbed out and gathered up some things as it filled, covering you slowly in heavenly warm, soothing water.

When it was full, Dean returned to set the things he'd brought down beside you on the edge of the tub. You saw he'd brought over your coconut body wash, as well as your shampoo and conditioner. He also had an exfoliating mitt, and a handheld massager.

He climbed into the tub beside you and simply pulled you into his lap. He held you like that for quite a while, running gentle fingers up and down your skin - on your arms, your legs and your back. He used the water to let his hands glide over you smoothly.

Eventually he turned you so your back was to him, and he began washing your hair. The same fingers that had gripped it so tightly and pulled it so harshly earlier, were now gently massaging your scalp with careful, circular movements.

When he rinsed all the shampoo and conditioner out of your hair he put on the exfoliating mitt which didn't really fit his big hand, but it worked well enough for him to squeeze some body wash onto it and begin to ever so gently exfoliate your skin. When you were covered in sudsy body wash he picked up the massager and began to run it over your body, applying the perfect pressure to the little wheels as they rolled over you, kneading your aching muscles with a beautiful kind of relief.

Finally Dean put the massager down and used his hands to scoop water up over you to rinse everything away. He lifted you out of the bath and wrapped you in a towel, leaving everything where it was so he could carry you to your bedroom and set you on the side of the bed.

He grabbed your lotion off the dresser and after toweling you dry, squeezed some of it into his palm and began to apply it to your skin.

You shifted to lay back against the pillows and he moved with you. He'd spoken very little this whole time, just soothing, nonsensical words and the odd direction here and there, to lift your arms or tilt your head forward.

You felt like you were moving through a sleepy, peaceful fog as he tended to you, and you sighed deeply and closed your eyes. You must have dozed off because when you woke up the light was low in the bedroom, and you wore one of Dean's band t-shirts. Your blanket was also pulled up and tucked around you.

You looked for Dean beside you but he wasn't there. Then you looked up and sighed in relief as you saw him sitting at the desk with an elbow resting on it and his head held in one hand.

As you watched, you saw him reach up and brush his fingers across his cheek. Your heart cracked when you realized he was sitting alone in the semi-darkness, crying.

"Dean." You called out to him and though your throat still sounded a little rough, it felt much better.

He looked up and quickly ran a hand over his face, obviously hoping you hadn't seen his tears. He came to sit beside you on the bed and brushed your hair back off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.

"Hey sweetheart, what do you need?" He asked as he poured you a glass of water from the decanter he had sitting there. You took a sip and the cool water was delicious and reviving. You sat up a bit more, hiding your grimace, but Dean saw it anyway.

"Don't move too much, baby."

You shook your head at him, feeling the guilt pouring out of him. "Dean, I'm fine."

His jaw ticked and he picked up your hand to run his finger over the purple bruises that marred your skin from where you strained against the ropes.

"No, you're not." He raised his head and then tilted your head back gently so he could see the bruises that undoubtedly adorned your throat from where he'd squeezed it so tightly.

Tears clogged his voice as he pulled his hand away from you and then shifted backwards, putting distance between you both. "Look at what I did to you, Y/N." He shook his head as you tried to interrupt him. "And I liked it. I…fucking hell." He cursed and turned his head away from you.

But you reached up and turned his chin back towards you. "So did I, Dean. I liked it too." He stared at you and you nodded trying to make him listen to you. "All of it. Yeah it was painful at times, but it was also hot as fuck, and I loved it. Might be a while till I'm ready to do it again, but, I hope we will."

Dean's expression told you he desperately wanted to believe you. You leaned forward and kissed his lips, petal soft and then pulled back to run your hand over his cheek. He leaned into the caress and then opened his eyes and his gaze was afraid.

"Still love me?" He asked, fearfully.

Your heart broke a little and you kissed him again, before staring deep into his eyes, making sure he could see the truth reflected in yours. "Dean Winchester, I will love you every single day for the rest of my life."

He let out a deep sigh and seemed to accept your words as the truth. You smiled at him and spoke against his lips. "Maybe even a little longer."

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

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