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#or if I should age them up to be like fifteen or something
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‼️ Please read ‼️
If you are active in fandom spaces— Especially Sander Sides or Hazbin Hotel, I encourage you to read this thread for your own safety!!
There is a user you may know as they have been called out before, that goes by the name Roman Calvary System, Calvary or Roman Calvary, they were previously known as The Trojan Horse Collective or The Trojan Horse System but has since separated that identity from themselves as a Sub-System although I doubt the validity of that claim because they have previously admitted It was simply to seperate themselves from their past.
Calvarys previous partner, Atlas, somebody who also came forward about Calvary and their repeated abuse, has also been allegedly exposed for inappropriate and gross behaviours regarding children and also saying the n word as a white person. While I cannot speak much on the situation regarding Atlas due to my lack of knowledge, I can bring forward evidence I have seen regarding the claims.
However, this post will probably focus more on Calvary as I have been involved with the drama regarding them personally and I know more about it.
Calvary has already got themselves a reputation amongst the Sander Sides community for various abusive and disgusting behaviours- Just some of them being inappropriate exchanges with children (As young as fourteen) Telling people to kill themselves, wishing death upon peoples mother, being racist/racially insensitive. I wish that was the end of the list but It sadly is not. Calvary has also been condemned by Thomas himself personally which there is evidence of in a seperate call out post that I will be linking below, along with all the other evidence of their behaviour.
Something I would like to close down before it gets brought up as an excuse is the infamous ‘I’ve changed’ tactic. Calvary recently made a post on their X (formerly known as Twitter) claiming that they have changed as a person and the drama is from when they were fifteen and they have since bettered their behaviour- This is not true. Calvary has not changed and has not bettered themselves at all and the drama is not just old things from when they were fifteen. These incidents are recent and from this year.
One of these instances being Calvary (Or one of their alters, Remus- An alter you will probably see a lot of here as he is the main perpetrator of most inappropriate exchanges regarding children) attempting to SRP with a literal fourteen year old- Instead of doing the logical thing and refusing to SRP with a minor, they pulled the typical ‘If you’re okay with it’ card, and I mean, sure- Maybe an uninformed minor would be okay with it but why are YOU okay with it as the older person? ‘As long as you’re okay with it’ Why are YOU? That is very creepy and gross behaviour and any decent person would have refused to SRP with a minor, people under the AOC.. cannot consent.. It is your responsibility as the older person to have known better and said no. You should not try to SRP with minors and you shouldn’t be okay with it either.
Another instance regarding their Remus would be an instance where another one of their alters blatantly admitted that Remus finds it funny to make inappropriate comments about people and even FUNNIER when it’s a minor- You know what that makes Remus? A predator, finding it funny to walk all over peoples boundaries and even more so when It is a child is absolutely horrific and taking pleasure in making children uncomfortable is not only disgusting but also blatantly predatory.
Remus has also been harassing, threatening, and finding out personal information about a minor because they came forward about Atlas dating them when they were *eleven* and Atlas was fourteen, I am sure we can all agree that that is not okay and that the age gap is obviously a problem, minors can very well hurt other minors and be in appropriate towards other minors, Atlas should not have gotten into a relationship with an eleven year old at fourteen years old, children are capable of taking advantage of other children, I’m not sure if that was the case here but regardless, you should not date an eleven year old at the age of fourteen. You also shouldn’t call black people the n word. You also shouldn’t say sexual things to minors.
I will be attaching screenshots of these instances below and potentially reblogging with more to the story because there is a LOT! If you see these users, please be cautious of them, especially if you are a minor!
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freedomanddisorder · 1 month
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Meeting the Parents (Part 2)
In the Infinite Realms. In the massive empty throne room of the Kings castle, Ellie finished her -for lack of a better word- presentation over her new boyfriends with a confident smile. “-And you said if I was ever serious about anyone that you would want to meet them. Robin said that it’d be smart to have the parents meet too so I figured it’d be easier to set up one big meeting then a few smaller get togethers!”
Danny felt bad. He took the throne at 20 and the endless backlog of everything from Pariah Dark’s forced sabbatical kept him from spending time with his clone daughter.
Sam, exploring her powers and the domain/territory that Undergrowth gave her control over (mostly in a bid to increase his influence in the King’s Council) also found herself occupied most days.
And Tucker who expanded his influence and took control of the New Egyptian sector of the Infinite and began training his techno-magic with Technus was very limited on his free time too.
The three of them shared a look while Ellie stood infront of them, practically vibrating with anticipation. They all felt guilty for neglecting her. Ellie may have been a very free spirit but she was fifteen now and this was her first major relationship.
She went exploring through different dimensions to satisfy her Obsession for adventure while the three of them stayed in the Realms. But them being so busy that Ellie assumed they couldn’t make time to have more than one meeting with her boyfriends said something about their relationship that didn’t sit right.
Privately, each of the three made a mental note to spend more time with Ellie one on one.
Outwardly they all agreed to the meeting and happily encouraged Dani to let her boyfriends know they were excited to meet and get to know them.
“Should I bring a casserole?” Danny wondered aloud.
“NO.” A trio of voice said loudly.
Ellie laughed “Dad, you are the worst at cooking. Please don’t poison my boyfriends.”
Danny smiled at her. She was literally rolling midair at the thought of him cooking. “Feels rude not to bring Something. And isn’t it traditional for the dad to have the ‘shovel talk’ with new boyfriends?”
Sam snorted to the side while reaching up and pulling Ellie into a hug. White posies bloomed through her hair in delight at Ellie’s giggles. “I think your shovel talk might be too effective for teenage boys. Even the krytonian one.”
Tucker slung an arm around Danny’s shoulder “Nah, you said they were heroes right?”
“Sidekicks technically” Ellie corrected. At the confused looks she got she explained “Their dads are heroes, but Robin and Superboy are too young to be considered ‘real heroes’.”
“How young is too young to be a hero?” Danny asked perplexed. “I was 14 when we got started.”
“Maybe it’s a cultural thing for their dimension?” Tucker questioned. “Like the age limit for drinking in Europe is like 18 and in America it’s 21. How young is ‘too young’ to be a hero?”
“They’re both 15 like me.” And this was true. Ellie’s chronological age finally matched her physical appearance. According to Frostbite the little halfa will age normally from this point on. Only stopping from aging when she chose to.
“Or maybe they are just bad at being heroes instead of too young.” Sam smirked at Ellie’s affronted look. “What if being a sidekick is like an interning situation?”
“That would make sense, I guess.” Danny said nodding his head. “Or like a driver’s learner’s permit kind of thing.”
“Student driver?” Tucker suggested, “Or student hero?”
“Does that mean we were joyriding heroics back in the day?” Sam cackled.
“It was a wild ride to say the least!” Danny howled with laughter.
“Can we focus please?” Ellie pleaded with the laughing trio.
“Sorry Starlight. What do you need?”
“The meeting is next week at the ‘Fortress of Solitude’. Apparently it’s Superboys dad’s man cave or something.”
“Pause.” Tucker said “Are you really dating a guy named “Superboy?” Is his dad IncredibleMan or something?”
“…Superman.”
The trio dissolved into more laughter. “You can’t judge like at all! You changed your name from Danny Fenton to Danny Phantom!” Ellie pointed at Danny with a triumphant look.
More laughter erupted but this time from Tucker and Sam pointing at a disgruntled Danny. “It was better than Inviso-Bill at least.” He grumbled.
Shaking off the theatrical expression he had on, Danny ruffled Ellie’s hair. “We’ll be there Starlight.”
“On time?” She raised an eyebrow.
It was well deserved skepticism on her part. The last three Father/Daughter plans they had went belly up because of unexpected emergencies he had to handle as King of the Infinite.
Danny winced but recovered with a swift kiss on her forehead. “Yes. Little Star. I promise. Cross my core and everything.”
Ellie glowed happily. “I can’t wait!! This is gonna be great! I’m gonna go tell Aunt Jazz!” She flitted out of the room with a Whoop.
Jazz was currently working with Skulker regarding his need to prove his hunting superiority and it being a desperate attempt to gain the respect of his overly critical father who was so far dead he wasn’t even a ghost.
But Jazz’s therapy sessions usually needed a few breaks when things got deep so she’d probably enjoy have some time to relax with Ellie and chat about boys.
Boys.
Ellie was dating.
An odd feeling settled somewhere in Danny’s middle. Not his core but somewhere below it. He didn’t like it.
“Well that’s a great expression.” Tucker quipped sardonically, looking at his face.
Sam looked over as well. “Yikes, scary Dad mode.” She tugged at Danny till he was sat on the steps of the throne Dias. “Relax. Haven’t seen you this stiff since that time Ellie fell in a black hole.”
Danny shuddered broken out of his daze. “Don’t remind me. I don’t think I have ever been that scared. Not even during Pariah.”
“Just chill. So Ellie has some boyfriends she’s not much younger than we were when we started dating.”
“I know. I know. But, she’s just a kid. I…what if she gets hurt? What if these boys are bad news?”
“We could ask Clockwork to look into them?” Tucker suggested
Sam shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. We are not looking into these boys or spying on them. If we do that then Ellie will think we don’t trust her judgement.”
“I trust Ellie.” Danny assured them. “It’s those boys I don’t trust.”
Tucker crossed his arms. “…I wish we knew more about their characters. Ellie said they were heroes. Right?”
“Well hero interns.” Danny looked up at Tucker who was now pacing. “What are you thinking, Tucker?”
“Mythologically speaking. Heroes are defined by the trials they endure. Hercules, Cu Chulainn, Odysseus, Jason, Orpheus, Beowulf-“
“So?” Sam interrupted.
“Soooo, a lot of those trials at put on those guys to test them. Their strength, courage, loyalty, love, faith. That’s what Makes them Heroes.”
Danny sat up straighter. A fanged grin slid over his face “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Well. Those trials were mostly arranged by qoute/unquote ‘gods’ weren’t they?”
“And the King of the Dead, Undead, and Never Dying…” Danny melted himself into a more eldritch appearance. Galaxies twisting around his head, icy claws, nebulas dancing over his skin. His grin stretching with too many razor sharp teeth.
“Sounds a bit more impressive than just a god.” Tuckers voice echoes as he too slid into a less human appearance. Sand replaced skin. The hum of electronics echoed in the hall.
The lone voice of reason, Sam complained at the two grinning monsters. “You two are idiots. Do you really want to torment two teenage boys? Just because Ellie’s dating them and they are baby heroes?”
“Yes.”
“For sure.”
The two men nodded
“…we start off nice, give them handicaps, and let Ellie make the final decision.”
“Yes!!”
“So I shouldn’t bring a casserole, right?”
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shallyouobeyme · 5 months
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From the Outside
Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 (Coming soon)
Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Neglected Batsib!reader (GN)
Summary: You were living your life as a stranger in the house you were supposed to call home, an outsider in a group of people who were supposed to be your family. So you do your best to keep yourself distracted from your situation and go on with your life. But just how long will you be able to keep on with that?
! Minors Do Not Interact !
Requested by @sol565
TW: Not much in this one, neglect (obviously), loss of relatives, car crash (mentioned), cancer (mentioned), swearing, coming up to Yandereness in the next chapters. I'll try to proofread and edit once I finish the whole thing.
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Last night you dreamed of your family again. It was a pleasant dream, one that had you wishing to keep on dreaming even after you were woken up by your alarm. All of you were sitting at the dinner table, enjoying Alfred’s excellent cooking. The room was filled with happiness and joy, the kind of atmosphere that has you reminiscing about that day for ages. In your dream you felt so weightless, Damian was sitting opposite you as he listened to you talk about your day, an anecdote of you leading to laughter filling the room. Your mother ruffled your hair from where she was sitting beside you and as you smiled up to her you felt filled with love. Around the table, the Waynes were actively interested in the conversation and Bruce was asking you a question leading to a cheeky comment from your left side. You knew what was said, but you couldn’t understand the voice. Confused you looked to where your father should be sitting but only a distorted shadow figure looked back at you. 
It opened whatever would be most akin to a mouth and a blaring sound echoed out of it. Your eyes flew open as you slapped your bedside table to grab your phone. 7 A.M, time to get up. This dream had been haunting you for a few weeks now, the idyllic family dinner turning into an unpleasant reminder of your situation. At first, you had woken up in a cold sweat and slightly fearful from the end, but by now you had grown very accustomed to it. Just another part of your day to get through. 
You accepted to pay the mental price for the opportunity to see your mother again, if only during the nights. 
Another look at your phone to check the notifications and you got up and got dressed. Given the time you knew that you still had enough time to join your adopted siblings for breakfast, but even Alfred's amazing pancakes and french toast could to move you into the kitchen. Deciding to just nap something from your friends during lunch break at school, you grabbed your bag and jacket before quickly making your way through the manor. Like almost every morning you silently prayed that you wouldn’t come across anyone on your way to the front door. Eighty per cent of the time you were lucky, fifteen per cent you were just ignored and the other five per cent you found yourself stuck in painfully awkward small talk with the people who lived on the same floor as you. People who were supposed to be your closest friends and confidants. People who weren’t that. People who were more akin to strangers.
Today you were in luck as you managed to slip out of the giant house you hated to call home without having to talk to anyone. Getting onto your scooter, you made your way to the school, enjoying the air in your face through the helmet and the feeling of freedom that only came to you on rare occasions. 
The school was still fairly empty when you arrived - as was expected - so you had the honour of walking through the empty halls like you owned the place. A sentiment that some of your schoolmates even believed. You wanted to tell them that you had no need for your Guardians money, no interest in his family’s name or his family’s reputation. Bitter thoughts filled your mind, leaving a taste of anger, of disappointment, of anguish on your tongue. They weren’t helped by what you saw when you stopped in front of the trophy showcase. There were pictures of some of the best former student-athletes that had attended the school, and the most recognizable was a picture that was proudly displayed right on eyesight. It was at a sporting event that had happened some twenty to thirty years earlier, one that was still held bi-annually. The winners of different disciplines were smiling proudly into the camera, arms around each other. 
Taking the spotlight was a man that every proud Gothamite would recognize as a young Bruce Wayne on one side, a different boy who people tended to overlook based on his less noticeable features and the lack of fame he had, and in the middle of both of them stood Bruce’s former best friend. Your mother. Your late mother. 
She had been a beautiful, stunning, talented woman. Everyone who had ever known her told you that. You tried to take some solace in the fact that they told you how alike the two of you were, both in looks and in personality. It did nothing to quell the underlying pain though, the pain still boiling inside you, pain that over the years had turned into anger. You weren’t angry with your mother, of course, you knew that she had not chosen to fall sick, that she had not chosen to succumb to cancer. She had loved you with all her heart and only ever wanted you to be happy. This is why, when your grandparents died in a shooting shortly after her diagnosis, she put it in her will that after her passing you were to be taken care of by her lifelong friend Bruce Wayne. After all, he already had kids and he was rich, just like she and her parents had been - money and estates that now waited on you to turn 18 to take charge of - and he’d be surely able to give you the life and the love she always wanted you to have. 
Sadly, your mother had not known Bruce quite as well as she had believed she did. She had no idea that he spent his nights as the infamous Batman, or that the kids he adopted had been turned into fighting machines - sometimes even killers. She had no idea that he was not the amazing, loving and attentive father figure she had wanted you to have. Not even close. 
You suppose he had tried at one point. When you were a young child, grieving the loss of your entire family and everything that you had known, he had taken you in like one of his own and assured you that from then on he’d protect you. Back then you had believed him. After all, your mother had told you so many great things about him, why should she lie. And with elder brothers and sisters, a Butler who made sure you had your favourite foods whenever you felt sad and a man who tried his best to be the father you never had. They did lots of work to spend time with you and to pay attention to you which would ensure you wouldn’t notice their weird habits and absences. But of course that couldn’t work forever. After a few months, you found out about their best (and somehow at the same time worst) kept secret and as you walked through the Batcave by Bruce’s side everything changed. He didn’t directly offer to train you, but he did insinuate that it was an option, though you declined. You couldn’t see yourself hurting others. You wanted to help like your mom had helped, by volunteering, bettering the world peacefully. Bruce had assured you that that was a completely acceptable decision and that it wouldn’t change anything. But he had lied. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Maybe some of both. 
Once you were aware of their second life, they didn’t put in the effort to pay enough attention to you to make you unaware of their secret. At first, they still spent time with you, but over time it seemed like you were blending into obscurity like a special bottle of champagne that was planned to be open on a special occasion only. Just that the bottle was usually remembered after the occasion had passed in annoyance. You weren’t. And as you phased out of their minds and into oblivion, you made peace with your place in the family. An outsider, a stranger inside their house, just waiting until the time had come for you to finally live your own life. 
Of course, you knew you could have it worse. You had enough money to fulfil every wish you had as long as it was material, always had something to wear, something to eat, and somewhere to sleep. The only thing you didn’t have was love. But especially in Gotham you knew that you got away rather luckily with that, so while you were deeply angry towards the people who had promised to treat you like family, to love you, you also tried to just get on with your life. 
It would have been easier if it wasn’t just so hard to look at your so-called siblings as if you didn’t resent them for the way they treated you, compared to one another. Somehow showing any interest in you or attempting to spend any time with you was a chore, but somehow Jason and Cass could have a little book club, Jason and Dick could go out for lunch at a cat-cafe, Steph, Cass and Tim could have Spa-days and all of them could have an occasional movie night together. It wasn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t welcome, but you had seen how they acted when you were with them compared to how they acted when you were hiding behind the door listening in. They seemed so much happier without you. As if your mere presence ruined the mood. So you started rejecting their invitations to join and it only took one of two attempts of them to stop asking completely. 
You might have been able to cope better with the obvious dismissal of your existence if it had been because you hadn’t been part of the family when they had forged their close bond, but somehow, even when Damian joined, acting like a complete asshole to everyone around him, they managed to include him and when he warmed up to them he joined their close group. 
So your newness surely could not have been that big of an issue right? Even Damian, completely new to the family and surely aggressive towards all of his pseudo siblings, seemed to know you were less than the others since he didn’t even bother to insult you, instead opting to ignore you. Completely. A glance spared, looking you up and down, and he had decided you were not worth it and his opinion seemingly still hadn’t changed. Sure by now you had talked with him a few times, but you could say the same about the fucking mayor of Gotham so you were sure that did not really count. 
Sometimes, you lay in your bed at night, wide awake, wondering just why you were worth so much less in their eyes. What you had done wrong. Two answers usually presented themselves before you. Either it was because you weren’t a vigilante, something that you might even have been willing to accept, or it was… you. Just you. And for some reason, that was the answer that seemed more plausible to you. Maybe you were just unpleasant to be around, not fitting enough for their family. Not interesting enough, not Wayne enough. 
And so you were cursed to live your life like a ghost in what is supposed to be your home. Going in and out every day, just waiting for the day to come when you could move into the penthouse your grandparents had bought you before they died, which would become your legal property in just a few years. You’d start anew. Maybe one day, after a long time and probably a lot of therapy, you’ll be able to start your own family. One that you’d promise not to fuck up like Bruce had. Until then though, you’d go on like always, spend as little time in that Manor as possible and try to distract yourself from your reality. 
You really did spend very little time at the manor. For one, no one in that house cared when you left or when you came back except maybe Alfred, but even he either knew that you could properly use the freedom or he was too busy to care. Probably a mix of both. And along with that, you had started a very active life outside of your family. You had a lot of friends, though you were not ready to call any of them close friends, always knowing about how many of them were after the publicity of your actual and current family name and the money and fame connected to it. But they were nice enough and they distracted you so you didn’t mind. Especially because you used said popularity to help the people in town. You managed to get a lot of your friends to volunteer alongside you in different homeless shelters, though a lot of them tended to post dozens of pictures which made you feel a bit icky about them trying to profit from helping others, but you knew you couldn’t complain because it did help the shelters. The shelters told you so themselves. 
Most of your ‘pocket money’ was donated and the rest of the time was spent doing different activities, be it arts, sports, parties or just wasting the day away. You did your best to cram as much into your day-to-day life as you could to keep you from thinking too much. To stop you from thinking too much about how messed up you were now, how you couldn’t even confide in any of your friends, how you didn’t even really manage to call them your friends, because you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone close to you anymore, because you knew you weren’t worth it, because you knew you’d be disappointed and hurt again. 
These dark thoughts were kept inside, slowly eating at you like termites, while on the outside you kept on being the happy-go-lucky Gotham personality that people loved to follow. Though you didn’t post a lot on your own social media, your friends and people around you did, which the public loved for some reason. And so you kept up the act, because what else could you do? Let people know you’re hurting? So they could ridicule you for your rich people's problems? Or keep out of the public eye? And have to face the lonely darkness that was your life? No, you’d rather keep on pretending like you had been for years now. Even if it meant being a piece of entertainment for other people who could turn on you at any second. 
The day at school was mostly uneventful, only a short moment of passing by Damian ruined your mood as your classmates did their usual shtick of asking if that wasn’t your brother and you trying to shrug them off, after all, how do you explain that your brother treated you like air not worth breathing? So you changed the topic by announcing that you’d go help out at a local shelter after school and asked if anyone wanted to join. Some excused themselves but a few agreed, which led to a group of five of you coming into the shelter a few hours later after some mandatory selfies so keep your friends placated. There was a bit more traffic inside than usual - a few people definitely not in need of help - which was probably because one of your friends posted your plans on their socials. That was something that you had to begrudgingly accept. You couldn’t afford their anger, so you made a compromise with them that they could post stuff like that, but that they couldn’t post the exact location (which in your opinion was just common sense, but it seemed not a lot of people shared that).
Ignoring the people only there to see you or be near a Wayne, you focused on helping those who needed your help, though aware of the effect you could have on the shelter business, you helped out in the kitchen where people couldn’t see you. You didn’t mind, you liked cooking and you and the fellow kitchen staff had a sort of harmonized rhythm. It even helped you get lost in thoughts that didn’t make you wanna cry, so when you got interrupted in your flow, you almost jumped in shock. One of the organizers had tapped on your shoulder. 
“Y/N, there’s a man outside that wants to talk to you,” Marcus told you and nodded towards the door to the front.
“They still haven’t left? I’m really sorry Marc, if you think it’s better if I leave, then I will,” you sighed, annoyed by the turn of events. 
“No, it’s not a fan. At least I think, he’s- well, he claims to have something really important to talk to you about. He gave me this to show to you, said it’ll show you he’s serious,” Marcus shrugged and held a picture out to you. It was an old Polaroid of a young couple smiling into the camera. Your breath hitched. 
“Is he the guy in the picture?” you asked with a newly found seriousness.
“Yes, at least he looks like it. Is the woman-”
“Yeah, could we use the office? Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”
“Sure, no problem, go ahead, I’ll bring him to you in a minute.”
“Thank you,” you earnestly smiled at Marcus as you made your way to the door that led to the office. You were used to being nervous, but not quite as nervous as you were then. This could change a lot of things, everything if it was what you imagined it to be. You looked at the picture in your hand again before sitting down behind the desk and putting it down on the desk. There were steps behind the door coming closer, so you took a deep breath as you wiped your hands on your pant legs. The door opened and in came a man who looked just like the guy from the Polaroid. He seemed familiar, not just from that snapshot of the past, but something in his face rang a bell in your memories. You mustered him, trying to keep a stern exterior as you didn’t know if this was going to be what you thought it would be. 
Marcus gestured the man to sit down on the other side of the desk, before giving you an encouraging nod and closing the door as he left. 
“Hello,” you greeted the man, hands intertwined before you on the desk.
“Hello,” he responded alike and you could feel his curiosity burning through you. Had you misinterpreted this? Was this just another weird fan?
“This picture,” you looked at it again before sliding it towards him, “how do you know my mom?”
A/N: So, what do y'all think? Let me know in the comments or in my inbox ❤️ Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the title as well, not sure if I should change it or keep it.
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months
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Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!
Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️
Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!
If You Bite My Hand Again
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PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.
WORDCOUNT: 6.6k
WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.
A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 
As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 
The dreams weren’t uncommon. 
Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 
As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 
The tremors in your hands persist.
You never should have met him.
Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 
It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”
The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.
Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 
Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 
Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.
He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.
The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?
“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”
You smile and stand straighter. 
“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”
You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 
“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 
“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 
“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 
Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.
“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 
“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 
He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 
Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.
The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 
“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”
“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 
A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 
You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 
After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 
The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 
“Call me Ember.” 
A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 
He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.
“...Simon.”
You walk together the rest of the way.
The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 
You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 
Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 
And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 
You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 
“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 
Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 
Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 
Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 
“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 
“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.
Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.
Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 
Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 
In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 
“Ember…” 
Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 
There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 
He left. 
“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 
There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 
His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.
Simon.
You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 
His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 
“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.
Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 
The same boy you still loved. 
The same boy who’d broken your heart.
After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 
When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 
Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.
When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 
When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.
So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.
You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 
The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 
He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 
In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 
You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 
While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.
He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 
It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 
“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 
“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 
He was shaking slightly. 
“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”
You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 
In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 
But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 
Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 
Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 
You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 
He didn’t let you touch him. 
And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 
‘Don’t look for me.’ 
And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 
All of those years. 
All those vows and shared nights.
And he disappeared on you.
You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 
More like chucked at his gut.
No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 
Simon’s avoiding your eyes.
“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 
“I’ll be fine in a while—”
“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 
And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.
The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 
His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 
Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?
Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.
So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 
You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 
“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 
You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 
He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 
“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”
“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”
Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 
“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”
“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 
He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 
“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”
You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 
“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”
His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.
Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 
“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”
“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 
“But you did.”
“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 
Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 
“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”
“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 
Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 
“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”
“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”
“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 
You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 
He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 
After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…
Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 
A pact of loyalty. 
Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.
He asks the first thing that comes to his head.
“What happened to your eyes?”
“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.
“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 
You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 
“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”
Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 
He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 
“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”
His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 
“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 
You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 
Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?
Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 
How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 
Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 
The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 
“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 
He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 
Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.
Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.
“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 
Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 
“Ember…”
“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 
It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  
You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 
He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 
“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.
“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 
“Need you t’know it.” 
“...I do.”
“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 
You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 
“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 
In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 
Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 
“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”
“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 
“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 
Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 
Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 
“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 
Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.
Nearly. 
“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 
“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”
“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 
A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 
Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.
Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 
If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 
It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 
“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.
He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 
Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 
“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 
You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.
You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 
With you survival became secondary. 
Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 
“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”
You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 
“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”
“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 
Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 
“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”
“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 
“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 
That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 
And he’d give you it. All of it. 
Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.
So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 
And you’d both never slept better
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TAGS:
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kitten4sannie · 2 months
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ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ
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ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ/ᴀᴜʀᴀʟɪꜱᴍ ➠ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ
pairing: personal trainer! yeosang x fem! reader
genre: pure smut
summary: you love your weekly visits with your personal trainer. he always stretches you out just right.
w.c: 2.4k
warnings: mean(ish) dom! yeo, sub! reader, 15 year age gap, seduction, teasing, sir kink, dirty talk, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, auralism, groping, half dressed kink ig?, oral (receiving), fingering, squirting, cumming untouched, brief deep throating, unprotected sex on a yoga mat, creampie
a/n: i done lost it guys TT just imagining having messy sex with mean dilf yeo somehow adds and takes off ten years of my life at the same time like some pemdas shit aughhh… i hope you enjoy this filthy mess <33
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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ
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“What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?” you gasped into your phone, holding a hand against your chest, personally offended that your boyfriend of six months would suggest such a thing. “And what about my personal trainer? He’s like fifteen years older than me. Baby. You really think I would do that to you?” 
“Y/N, I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I know you’re fucking him, and I’m over it. It’s over,” your boyfriend repeated into your ear, just ripping the bandaid off then and there. 
“You can’t do that. We’re not breaking up,” you scoffed, wrapping a lock of your hair around your finger, your lips forming a pout. “Babyyy, come on, you’re being so dumb right now.” 
“Goodbye, Y/N,” he quickly said, before hanging up. 
“Ugh.” Pissed off, you tossed your phone onto your canopy style bed, knocking one of your limited edition plushies off and onto the carpeted  floor in the process. You turned to your full length mirror, glaring back at your scrunched-up face, your hands formed into fists near your tiny tennis skirt. “If he thinks I’m fucking my personal trainer, then I’ll fuck my personal trainer, alright.”
And so, your petty, self-righteous plan of spiteful revenge was set. You were a smart girl. You knew exactly what to do to get your ridiculously sexy personal trainer to break his professional and moral codes. All you had to do was wear something impossibly tight without anything underneath and moan a little louder when he was stretching you out. It was as simple as that. Right? 
࿏࿏࿏
Yeosang was everything a woman desired, all the way down to his persistent ability to respect them. He respected you, almost too much in your opinion. Here you were bent over in a ‘stretching position’ right in front of him, wearing a too-tight pair of gray leggings and the tiniest sports bra known to man, knowing damn well he could see the way you had your tits all pushed together for his viewing pleasure in the mirror, yet his eyes remained on yours. 
“How does it feel, Y/N? Are you tight anywhere like last time?” Yeosang asked, his voice, like dripping honey, filled your body with a comforting warmth. He studied your stretching form, one hand to his scruffy chin, the other on his hip. 
Your knees trembled slightly underneath you, urging you to return to a resting position, eventually sitting on your knees. You looked up to him, your eyelids lowering slightly, a pout on your glossy lips. “Really tight, yeah. I think I need help, Yeo…” 
“Then, I need you to lay down on your back for me,” he replied in a soft, though stern tone that made your cunt pulse, getting down onto his knees beside you with a small grunt. “Show me where, Y/N. You can do that, yeah?” 
Just as you laid down on the yoga mat, a fresh wave of slick slipped out of you. Damn him. He should be getting worked up over you, not the other way around. How would it be an act of petty revenge if you were soaking wet just from hearing your personal trainer’s absurdly sexy voice? 
“Nnngh, it’s right here…” you exhaled, feeling out your stiff hips, looking up at him past your lashes. “I need some stretching out, I think.” 
“Mm, I see. Well, let’s get you taken care of,” Yeosang nodded as his lips curled up into a somewhat mischievous smile, positioning himself so that he was in between your spread legs, wrapping his hands around one of your thighs and gently pushing it down towards your body, causing you to gasp. “Just relax for me, sweetheart…that’s it…” 
You were about to lose your mind, trying harder and harder not to let out a pornograhic moan the more Yeosang pushed his body weight onto you, your lower halves practically flush together. You wondered if he could feel how wet you were through your leggings, knowing there were no panties to catch your slick. “Yeosang…fuck…” 
Yeosang pushed down a little further, nodding his head apologetically. “I know, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’ll be worth it,” He gave you a charming smile, his fingers squeezing into the flesh of your thigh, pushing you down further, until the ache of your muscles matched the ache inside your cunt. “Still hurts?” 
“No, it feels good now, keep going, Yeo,” you sighed out, your eyes glazing over with lust, gently running your hand over his, sensing a hint of desire when it began to peer through Yeosang’s own lingering gaze, his hands moving towards your other thigh, beginning to give it the same treatment. 
“That’s good, though you still feel really tight,” Yeosang pointed out, pressing your other thigh down against your body, leaning his body weight on you just enough to drive you mad, you cunt clenching around nothing. His other hand slipped around your opposite hip, expertly massaging around with his calloused fingers. “Mm, you’re almost there. Just a little more…” 
“Yes, sir,” you sighed out, swearing you heard Yeosang’s breath get caught inside his throat just as soon as you felt something hard and heavy forming against your lower abdomen, hoping you weren’t just imagining it with your overheated brain. “It’s just so hard, Yeo…be gentle…” 
Yeosang bit into his bottom lip, coming to terms with your current shared predicament, wondering if you were both on the same page, but not fully knowing if he should cross several professional boundaries or not. Regardless, here he was, already pressing his stiff cock into his very young, very horny client’s cunt through her soaked leggings. What did he have to lose? 
“Gentle, huh?” he chuckled deeply, pulling back slightly to admire the sight of your soaked cunt through your slick-stained leggings. “Sure you don’t want it rough, considering the way you’ve been dripping for me this entire time?” He ran two fingers down the legging seam that separated your puffy folds, rubbing them into your clit, making you let out another gasp. “Thought you could hide this from me, did you? I could feel how wet you were getting…”
“Fuck– Nooo, Yeo, I just wanted you to see it for yourself,” you answered whinily, spreading your legs open just a little wider, grabbing at the waistline of your leggings to make the shape of your cunt more pronounced, your pout returning. “Do you like it, sir?”  
“Jesus, of course I do. My slutty little client shows off her wet cunt and thinks I wouldn’t like it? Huh? Did you think I would be able to hold myself back?” Yeosang shook his head out of disbelief of his insane luck, taking his time running his calloused fingers up and down your clothed slit, admiring the way the material formed to the shape of it. 
Fuck it. You were too desperate now to reclaim any semblance of control over the situation, your act of personal revenge long forgotten, your mind only having enough space in it to think about Yeosang and getting used by him.
“I did it because I want to be your slut, Yeo. Please? Can I? I’ll be so good for you.” You began to move your hips along with his movements, in desperate need of more friction, more pleasure at your disposal, begging him with your glistening doe eyes. 
“Of course you can be my little slut, princess. You already are. I mean, just look at you, whoring yourself out for your personal trainer like this,” Yeosang groaned out, just as he lifted your ass up into the air by your hips, licking his lips. “I’ll make you mine, sweetheart.” And with that, he tore your leggings open just enough to expose your leaking cunt, leaning down slightly to take a deep inhale of your warm, flowery scent. “God, you’re completely soaked for me, Y/N. You’ve been wanting this so bad, haven’t you? Just dreaming about my tongue inside this tight hole of yours, huh?” 
“Yess, oh my god, please eat me out, Yeo, I’m begging,” you squeaked out from below him, already teary-eyed, ready to beg on your knees for the older man’s attention if you had to. 
Yeosang took an experimental lick up your cunt, already collecting enough slick inside his mouth for him to swallow down happily, idly working your clit with two agile fingers. “Do you play with your little clit like this before you go to sleep and think of me, Y/N?” he asked huskily against your cunt, beginning to lap at your leaking hole, teasing it with his tongue. “Huh? Do you think about me stretching you out with my tongue? With my cock?” 
“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, just as Yeosang’s tongue fully slid inside you to rub at your inner walls, tongue-fucking you in a ravenous manner, his fingers still flicking at and squeezing your clit, your juices dripping down the lower-half of his face. “Fuck…! Yeosang…!” 
“Uh-huhhh…” he moaned into you, sending pleasurable vibrations through your cunt, eventually replacing his tongue with two more fingers, fucking you so quickly, you couldn’t even get a chance to breath. “That’s it, baby, you’re so close, aren’t you? Going to squirt for me, yeah? Is my slut going to cum all over my face?” 
“Yes–fuck, Yeo–” you could barely call out, your muscles tightening suddenly, your lower half pulsing more and more until you let out an involuntary cry, clear liquid squirting out of you and pouring onto Yeosang’s face, spilling onto the yoga mat, and soaking into the material of your torn leggings, some dripping along your abdomen.  
“Oh my god, that’s a gooood girl, look at you…” Yeosang praised shakily, gently slurping up your squirt from your twitching cunt, moaning into it, his softening cock resting against his cum-covered inner thigh. “What a good little slut you are, Y/N.” 
“Good enough for cock?” you simply asked from below, reaching up to spread your cunt apart further for him, all while gazing up at him with barely open eyes, still swimming in your post orgasm bliss. “Wanna be stuffed, Yeo. Please?”  
Your adorably filthy behavior alone made Yeosang harder than he’s been in a long time, making him want to join in on the fun. He wasted no time positioning himself so that his knees were on either side of your head, slowly lowering his joggers until his long, veiny cock sprung out in front of your face. “I think you should lube up my cock for me first, princess, with that naughty mouth of yours.” 
“Yes, sir,” you obeyed, opening your mouth wide enough to take what you could of Yeosang’s impressive length inside, gagging immediately when he began to fuck into your throat, dribbles of spit leaking down your chin. “Mmmfff…” 
Gutteral groans routinely escaped Yeosang’s throat, continuing to pump himself into your mouth, unable to release himself from the tight, warm confines of your now bulging throat. “God, you’re taking me so fucking well, princess. Wish I could cum down this pretty throat of yours…” He suddenly pulled out, resting the tip of his heavy cock on your saliva-streaked lips, letting you lazily lap up the beads of pre-cum that spilled from it. “Gotta fuck you, though. I know that slutty cunt needs to be filled with cock.” 
“Fuck, yes, sir, give it to me,” you purred against his cockhead, sucking and slurping on it like it was candy, only stopping when he pulled away to lower himself down your body, until his cock was slowly pressing into your willing hole instead. 
“Doesn’t matter whose cock, huh?” he asked in his low, honey-like voice, wrapping his fingers around your hips, massaging into them like before, only this time he was sliding you onto his pulsing length little by little until he had completely bottomed out inside. 
“No…!” you admitted breathily, the shame you felt only increasing your arousal, barely able to hook your thighs around his waist when he began to quickly pump himself into you, your hole swallowing his thick cock up each time.
“You’ll let a–fuck–older guy…someone who’s your personal trainer…nnngh…use you like their own personal cum dump and–” He pulled out suddenly, only to plunge himself deep into your cunt, making you cry out. “–pump you full of his cum as long as you’re getting stuffed with cock. Isn’t that right, baby?”
“Yeah, you’re right, Yeo,” you exhaled out, reaching up to your sports bra to slide it up until your tits popped out, just in time for them to began bouncing each time Yeosang slammed himself into you. “Fuck me like the slut I am…Please, sir…” 
“Oh godd, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Y/N, gonna fuck your goddamn brains out,” Yeosang gruffed out in between brutal thrusts, resorting to grabbing and holding your wrists down so that you couldn’t get away from him, drilling his aching cock into your squelching hole like he was getting paid to do it. 
Yeosang did indeed fuck your brains out. He fucked you until you didn’t know which way was up or down. The only thing that brought you back to reality was something warm and thick gushing inside you, Yeosang’s warm hand holding your own down against your abdomen, his nasty words barely reaching your hazy mind. 
“You feel that, princess? All the cum I’m filling this whore-hole up with?” he asked you softly in between harsh pants, a few beads of sweat sliding down his sharp chin and landing onto your flushed face. 
You could hardly move, let alone speak. “Uh-huh…” 
“I want to see it…Want you to see what I’ve done to you.” Yeosang slowly pulled out of you, milking the tip of his cock, groaning softly, leaving a few more spurts of his load on your puffy cunt, a few drops of it getting onto the torn hole inside your leggings. 
He gently turned you around, so that you were facing the mirror on the wall, reaching past your spread thighs to spread open your cunt with his thumbs, laying his lips against your ear, “Look. You got cum leaking out of you, your leggings are all torn up, and you got squirt all over the mat too...Do you see what a mess you’ve become for me, Y/N?” 
“Yeah, I see, Yeo. I love it…” You gazed at his hazy reflection in the mirror with hearts in your eyes, wishing you had seduced your personal trainer at an earlier date. 
Inhaling your flowery scent once more, Yeosang pressed a kiss onto your cheek, nuzzling it. “That’s my girl.” He tilted his head to the side, his hands rubbing into your sore hips. “Same time next week?” 
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fairyhaos · 2 months
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seventeen and babysitting kids
ib the return of superman w svt bc i watched all the eps w jeonghao + junshua recently and it made me soft :((
masterlist
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seungcheol:
better with kids than some of the others, but cautious. has the experience to take care of the child, but he's worried about coming off as too mean or harsh bc he's used to dealing with grown men with the mannerisms of children instead of actual children n he's too afraid of making the children cry if he's too strict w them. is very Parent when it comes to looking after the child, like, literally acts like their mom and makes them eat their vegetables and fusses over them when they spill something and makes sure they go to bed on time. the efficient person when it comes to looking after children
jeonghan:
he's so sweet. maybe a little too sweet bc as soon as the child is making the slightest whining noises he's dropping everything and doing aegyo or getting out all the toys or offering snacks bc god forbid a child starts crying in his care :((( good at being all gentle wheedler when he's exhausted out of his mind tho but he's just so weak that he doesn't do it often. lets them stay up half an hour past their bedtime. plays hide and seek with them a total of twelve times in a row. he's exhausted by the end of it, but the parents are smiling and the child is telling them how much they adore jeonghan and really that makes it all worth it for him
joshua:
the adorable uncle!! spends fifteen whole minutes explaining his name to the child, before giving up and telling them to call him jisoo. which leads to even more confusion bc he has two names???? what???? very excitable, but also clueless. he's an only child, what can he say? lets the kid get away with most things. when he inevitably exhausts himself two hours in by going way too hard while playing chase, he speaks in a cutesy tone and tries to convince the child to play some more sitting down activities. it always works, and honestly even tho he's terrible at puzzles it's better than going thru fitness training for five hrs straight
junhui:
eagerly participates in the child's made up games! pretends he's a superhero spy with them, pretends he's a magic prince(ess) with them, pretends they're pirates and encounter a ginormous sea monster with them. forgets to feed the child dinner because they're too busy playing, and so he lets them eat a whole hour after their bed time and because they're so late it takes ages to wash up and tuck the child into bed and eventually, the kid is only just going to sleep and it's three am and the parents are pulling up to the front of the house. but it's okay, because the child had fun and junhui had fun too
hoshi:
loves it the most when the children pretend they're animals. or if they have animal toys. managed to get into a fight with one of the kids once bc they wanted to be a tiger and soonyoung insisted that only he could be a tiger. almost made the child cry before eventually agreeing that they could both be tigers. gets hungry really quickly, so he ends up eating half of the child's dinner, then gives them loads of junk food to compensate for it. bad idea though, because now he has a child that's bouncing off the walls and it takes him hours to convince them to Not try and be spiderman and climb the walls and to Please get into bed because your parents are going to be home any minute and they are going to Obliterate me if you're still up
wonwoo:
he's chill. acts like a ghost that's simply observing the child's movements. only speaks when they start doing something they shouldn't or when it's time for dinner or when they should go up and get ready for bed. sometimes plays with the child if they ask him really nicely, but most of the time he's zoned out and staring at the wall, letting the child do whatever they want (so long as it's within the rules that he's been given)
jihoon:
awkward with children. doesn't know what to do. introduces himself and then holds out his hand for the child to shake. sits on the couch like he's ready to bolt any second. ends up putting the tv on for the child so that the silence in the room isn't too deafening. definitely warms up more as the night goes on, and ends up engaging in conversation with the child about how their life is at school. he forgets the names of all the children that the kid mentions though so he has no idea who has drama with who and how they're all connected but he nods and frowns and gasps in what he hopes are all the right places
minghao:
he loves children. so eager to play with them, encourages them to introduce all their toys to him and their histories and their relationships. shows them his cool hand tricks, has them gaping at him in awe for several minutes after. he's very shy, surprisingly, so desperately wanting to be all hyper and loud with the child but worried it will come off as too excitable. tries to teach the child better habits, too, talking to them about handling emotions and how emotional manipulation w tears will Not work on him, nice try. makes sure they eat their greens, and helps them brush their teeth as they get ready for bed. reads them a book and does one last finger trick before patting them on the head goodnight <;3
mingyu:
dramatic. big baby. literally acts like a child too. by the end of the evening, he's made a new friend and has pinky promised thrice that he'll come over some time for a proper play date with them. lets the child do whatever they want, with him and just in general. doesn't force the child to eat their greens bc honestly he finds those yuck too, and lets them go to bed later bc they gave him the most adorable puppy eyes and he's weak for that. reads them like five bedtime stories, acts out two of them, and would have definitely sung a song as well if he hadn't gotten a text saying the parents were coming home. rated 10/10 by all the children he's looked after
dokyeom:
the sweetest :(((( literally the most adorable with kids. treats them as if they're his younger siblings. is unintentionally doing aegyo the entire time he's with them bc he's just being influenced by so much cuteness all around him that he does it too. lets the child play with his hair, his clothes, his fingers. does the child's hair for them when they ask, and throws them into the air so many times that the child is almost sick all over him. plays hide and seek several times, two of which he was the one hiding from the child. almost forgets to put the child to bed, but then tucks them in really nicely and sings to them so sweetly. can't leave the room until the child falls asleep tho bc they insisted on grabbing onto his fingers and won't let go bc they're afraid he'll go away :((
seungkwan:
very fussy over children. dotes on them like he's a rich musty aunt, pinching their cheeks and calling them adorable every five seconds. participates in their made up games, but is hit with reality minimum three times every game bc even though he loves pretending he's a princess dressed in a pink and purple dress, it does feel weird when reality slaps you across the face. very good at Following the Schedule, and becomes almost sergeant-like while the child is brushing their teeth, standing over them and measuring the time to make sure they're doing it correctly. kisses the child on the forehead goodnight, giving their cheeks one last squeeze before tucking them in for the night
hansol:
kinda just there to have food. he's good with children tho, paying the right amount of attention to them and making all the exaggerated facial expressions that they adore. finds kids rlly adorable, but also just kinda sits there n munches on snacks half the time. asks the child how much english they know, quizzes them on the numbers from 1 to 100. all in all he's pretty good with children, feeding them on time and getting them to bed on time. ends up being so good that they fall asleep a long while before the parents come home, so he's just kinda sitting on the couch n staring at the wall for a while
chan:
literally acts like a child too (2). great with kids and matches their energy immaculately. isn't really into dressing up or chasing, but he's great at made up games and board games. once spent the entire evening playing snakes and ladders, bc it was a tense match okay and he was sure the child had to be cheating bc how were they always ahead of him?? makes sure they eat their food properly + very good at convincing them their veggies taste delicious. watches the child jump on their bed for a solid ten minutes, despite having been given express instructions to Not let the child jump on the bed, but really, how can he say no when theyre so adorable?
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jobean12-blog · 9 months
Text
After the Fall
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 6,399
Summary: Bucky is your first love...your first everything so when things fall apart in college over a stupid misunderstanding you’re completely heartbroken but manage to move on...that is until your past comes back in a way you least expect it. 
Author’s Note: When Bucky and reader are dating they are at least 18 and when they reconnect their age is up to you- but they are obviously adults. The type of jobs mentioned are also up to interpretation- it’s a business thing for sure but as far as details it’s up to you! I had this whole moodboard planned to show the progression from young Bucky to now but I suck at them so instead I stuck some pictures in the middle of the fic to give you an idea :) And the first pic is what he looks like now hehe 🥵Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Dividers by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: some angsty parts over past events, both Bucky and reader have lots of feels, there’s soft fluff and sweetness, i-m-pl-ie-d s-e-x-y times, f-in-g-er-in-g, some light d-i-rt-y ta-lk, Bucky is delicious of course lol 
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You pace your apartment and try not to fiddle with your outfit any more than you already have. It’s only seven thirty am and you’ve been up since six. You still have an hour and a half before you have to meet with Steve for your first official day of work.
Maybe you should leave now…New York City public transportation can never be trusted. The office building is only a fifteen-minute train ride but just to be sure…
Twenty-five minutes later you find yourself sitting in the lobby of the large building, your face to your phone and your foot bouncing rapidly. Several people walk by and you barely notice them, keeping an eye on the time and carefully sipping your drink.
But then you hear heavy footsteps and a hushed voice, one that sounds almost familiar and just as you look up you catch the retreating back of a tall man, broad shouldered and with long dark hair neatly tied into a bun at the base of his neck.
You stare until he disappears inside the elevator, your whole-body tingling with awareness. Could it be your past has finally caught up with you after all this time? Or is it just the constant lingering feeling of what you never truly got over?
Just a coincidence. It has to be.
After several blinks you check your phone again and decide it’s time to head up to Steve’s office.
The receptionist outside his office greets you warmly before picking up the phone and letting Steve know you’re here.
You knock, even though you don’t have to, and wait until you hear Steve call you inside. When you open the door you notice he’s quietly speaking to someone and due to your sudden onset of nerves it doesn’t register that it’s the same man from earlier until he turns around and his ocean blue eyes meet yours.
Eyes you know. Eyes you had fell in love with a long time ago.
Your stomach plummets to your toes and you must look like a deer caught in headlights because Steve stands suddenly and rounds his desk.
“Are you ok?” Steve asks but your eyes are still glued to Bucky.
Steve calls your name and you finally look at him and swallow hard with a nod but your eyes flicker back to Bucky when he starts to move toward the door.
Bucky says something to Steve that you don’t register and already has one foot out the door before Steve stops him.
“Hey Buck, wait a second. I want to introduce you to our new executive assistant.”
Bucky stops short, still facing the hallway and slowly turns, plastering a fake smile on his face.
Steve gives him your name and you hold out a shaky hand.
The moment his skin touches yours you feel him over every inch of your body and a flood of memories assaults you, leaving you almost speechless.
“Bucky is my partner,” Steve says proudly.
You manage a small hello and quickly pull your hand back. Bucky looks away, nodding to Steve before leaving the office.
Steve’s eyebrows are drawn in with concern as he moves his gaze back to you.
“That was weird,” he mutters, studying you and you think he’s waiting for an explanation.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted anything,” you say softly.
“Not at all,” Steve answers with a warm smile. “Now come and sit. Let’s get you set up for your first day.”
You visibly relax and take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you’ve worked hard to get this position and you won’t let anything, not even your first boyfriend, your first love…your first everything, get in your way.
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Thankfully the rest of your first day goes smoothly with no sign of Bucky and you have enough work to keep your brain busy and focused.
It’s when you get home, toe your heels off and fall onto the couch that the day catches up with you, breaking like a wave against the rocks and you sink deeper into the cushions with a groan.
Your cell rings, pulling your from your thoughts.
“Hey Nat,” you say tiredly as you greet your best friend.
“HOW WAS THE FIRST DAY?” she says, far too loudly.
You wince but a small smile pulls at your lips.
“It was great. Steve is so sweet and I was busy all day but kicked ass.”
“I knew it,” she says. “But I get the sense there’s more…”
She waits, always patient and far too perceptive.
“What do you mean more?” you ask, trying to sound easy and breezy.
“Babe,” she admonishes. “I can hear it in your voice.”
When you don’t elaborate she says, “I’m here and ready to listen when you want to talk.”
Her kind words are all you need to hear before you sigh heavily and blurt out, “Bucky works at the firm. He’s Steve’s partner.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Nat?”
“Wow,” is all she says.
“I know.”
“Are you ok?” she asks, her voice tentative.
“I will be,” you answer, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Dare I ask…how did he look? It’s been so long!”
The image of him flashes in your mind but it’s blurry and mixed with the younger version of him you know from your past.
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“Honestly, I don’t even know. I barely registered more than his eyes. I was in shock.”
“Understandable,” she says. “Want me to come over?”
“No but thank you. I’m just going to take a bath and go to bed. I have the rest of the week to get through.”
“Ok babe. Call me if you need me.”
“I will, thank you again.”
Once you have a warm bath running, bubbles dancing along the surface and the calming scent of lavender filling the space, you sink under the water, hoping to wash away the day and maybe even some of the past.
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The phone at your desk rings and you answer with your well-practiced greeting, smiling when you hear Steve’s voice. He lets you know he’ll be out of the building most of the day, handling some meetings downtown and that Bucky will be here should you need anything.
You hang up and square your shoulders, refocusing on your computer screen and doing your best to push Bucky to the back of your mind.
It works until an hour before lunch when you get a notification for a meeting. The e-mail doesn’t give you many details, just a time and place to be. Silently praying it has nothing to do with Bucky you gather your lap top and bag and make your way to the top floor.
The office door is closed but you can hear voices and when you knock and hear Bucky say, “come in,” you instantly tense up.
He repeats the words and you finally find the strength to push open the door.  
Three sets of eyes turn your way, only one of them familiar. The other two men openly admire you and you have to force yourself not to sneer at them.
Bucky must notice because he says, “gentleman if you don’t mind we have business to conduct.” His words are firm but harsh and the two other men clear their throats and look away to absentmindedly fix their ties.
You step inside, shutting the door behind you and sitting at the small conference table.
A shadow appears over you and you look up to meet Bucky’s eyes.
“I need you to take minutes for the meeting and…”
The rest of his words fade away as you finally take a moment to get a good look at him. His voice is deeper now, his suit filled out with muscles he didn’t have when you were younger and his hair…his hair is long enough to brush his shoulders.
His presence is overwhelming, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body and making them buzz with memories.
“You still with me?” Bucky asks, a cocky smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
You nod and look down at your computer.
The meeting lasts about an hour and you do your job perfectly regardless of the fact that your heart is in your throat and your stomach is in knots.
“Thanks gentleman,” Bucky says as the two men get up to leave.
They both glance your way again with matching smiles and one of them opens his mouth to speak but Bucky quickly interjects.
“Meetings over.”
They leave without another word and you and Bucky are alone in his office.
You can feel his eyes on you and when you look up at him his jaw is clenching and his eyes are hard.
“Small world, huh?.”
He grunts, which you take as an agreement.
“I didn’t know you were Steve’s partner,” you start, inwardly berating yourself for the quiver in your voice. “This was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”
“I can tell you know what you’re doing,” he says, leaning over the table. “This is all strictly professional.”  
“Right,” you agree.
He stares for a moment longer then dips his chin before saying, “I’m going to lunch. You can see yourself out.”
You’re left staring blankly at the empty space he just occupied, the silence he left behind deafening and filled with so many unspoken words.
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“Better day today?” Nat asks, this time from the couch beside you.
“I sat in on a meeting Bucky was conducting.”
“Oo,” she says, pouring you more wine.
“He looks so good Nat. Even better than before and I didn’t think that was possible…his hair is long now.”
She lifts her eyebrow and smirks. “Better huh? Well, he must be losing his mind over you.”
You smile at her in thanks but shrug. “He couldn’t have left his office quicker if I had set him on fire,” you joke.
“Are you ever going to talk about what happened?” she asks, eyeing you from over the rim of her glass.
“What’s there to talk about? We were young. When we talked about going to different schools he made it sound so easy. We’d visit every weekend. Be together every break and talk every day on the phone. But then…things just happened.”
“What things?” she asks gently.
“I kept hearing from other friends that he was studying,” and you make air quotes with the word, “with some girl named Sharon from this classes. I never asked about it because I trusted him but then we both got busier and we had less time…he seemed distant, or maybe it was just me. Things started to fall apart. Then I met Matt…”
She smiles wryly at the mention of your ex.
“More wine please,” you say with huff.
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The next two days go by without a hitch. Steve seems very pleased with your work so far and you start to settle into your role well.
However, things fall apart again when Friday rolls around and you’re standing in the hallway speaking to one of the gentleman, Brad, from the meeting earlier in the week. He found you on your way to the staff room and practically cornered you to introduce himself.
“So, you should come out with us tonight. It’s a good way to end the week,” Brad says.
He leans closer to you, into your personal space, and you take a step back just as Bucky rounds the corner.
Your back meets his chest and you lunge forward but you never get far because Bucky’s hands wrap around your waist and he hauls you back to him.
“Woah,” you say, freezing at the feel of his hands on you.
Brad laughs but it quickly fades when he sees the murderous look on Bucky’s face.
“What’s going on here?” Bucky asks. “Don’t you two have work to get done.”
Your mouth drops open with a sassy retort but Brad beats you to it.
“We just met in the hallway and I was inviting her to drinks tonight,” Brad says lightly.
Bucky turns his eyes to you. “I was just going to grab my lunch. It’s my break.”
Your tone is defensive and you lift your chin defiantly.
“That might not be the best idea,” Bucky starts, turning back to Brad with a smirk. “She’s a lightweight….one too many drinks and she might be…”
“Don’t finish that sentence Barnes,” you spit out.
Both Bucky and Brad look taken aback then Brad breaks the awkward stare down between you and Bucky with a question.
“Do you two know each other?”
Bucky keeps his eyes on you when he answers with, “will you excuse us Brad. We need a minute alone.”
Brad looks between the two of you. “Ok, no problem.” But before he walks away he says to you, “hope to see you tonight.”
Bucky glares at Brad’s back then gently takes your arm and hauls you down to the nearest office. He opens the door and ushers you inside.
“What is your problem?” you ask before he even shuts the door.
“Why were you talking to Brad?” he asks.
You groan and fist your hands at your sides.
“It’s just like he said. We met in the hallway and he asked me to come out for drinks tonight!”
Bucky grunts.
“What is it with all the grunting? And I can’t believe you were about to make some shitty comment about my drinking!”
His shoulders sag and his eyes soften slightly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that but….”
He growls and turns away from you.
“But you broke my heart doll!”
When he finally turns back your way there are tears shining in your eyes. At his words, at the use of the endearment he saved only for you and at the way he looks once again, like the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.
“Yeah, well…you broke mine too,” you whisper as you look down at your feet.
You stand there in silence for what feels like forever before quietly saying. “We have to work together now. We can’t let our history be a problem. I want this job. I’ve worked hard for it.”
He scoffs and meets your gaze.
“Friends?” you ask, holding out your hand.
He stares at your outstretched hand but doesn’t’ take it as he steps incrementally closer.
“History?” Is that what you’re calling it?”
His voice is a growl, low and powerful.
“Bucky,” you try again.
“No doll. I can’t do friends with you. I know what you taste like when you come screaming my name.”
The memories wash over you, making your skin heat and your head dizzy. You’re reeling between feeling aroused and ashamed and angry.
“I’m not friends with people who give up on everything and bail for something new and shiny.”
His words hurt, hitting right where he wants them but you gather your strength and remind yourself that you’re here because you should be and what happened between you and Bucky has nothing to do with it.
“Seriously? It was so long ago, Bucky. Something tells me you haven’t been locked away and pining for me all this time.”
Your eyes slowly devour every inch of him. “No, I think you’ve been just fine without me.”
“See something you like doll face?” he murmurs.
He stands up straight and tall, crossing his arms over his chest and causing the fabric of his suit jacket to pull tightly at his bulging biceps and his long legs are spread wide as he smiles sardonically.
You can’t stop your gasp before it passes your lips. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he mocks.
You don’t want to answer his question because it’s true. You do like it. More than you want to admit.
His long hair curls at his shoulders, neatly styled and framing a sharp jawline that’s lined with dark scruff, some spots even peppered with gray. His full lips are soft and kissable and his hands…you know what those hands are capable of.  Long fingers that are now adorned with rings, the shining gold glinting under the bright lights of the office and drawing your attention, spread wide over his arms.
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It’s suffocating but you can’t stop your blatant perusal.
Your eyes drop to his long legs and what’s between them, his suit pants straining against what’s behind his zipper, the thick cock that stretched you for the first time.  
His smile is filled with arrogance as it widens into a grin and his gaze sears you, rooting you in place as he leisurely looks his fill.
“I certainly like what I see,” he says, licking his lips. “But none of that matters any more, right? Old news.”
“I won’t let you ruin this opportunity for me,” you tell him, willing your voice to stay even. “And I know Steve suspected something was up when I walked in the first day so don’t…”
“I already told Steve we have a past but don’t worry I didn’t tell him all the shitty details,” Bucky retorts. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He stands there with an expectant look on his face.
“Are you waiting for a thank you!” you almost shout. “I can’t believe it.”
You see his mouth opening to interrupt you, but you hold up a staying hand.
“Let’s just agree to be professional so we can do our jobs.”
You take a step around him but he blocks your way, his body large and imposing in the small space and when he leans down, his breath tickling your ear, and whispers, “I’ll see you on Monday then,” an involuntary shiver shoots down your spine.
He meets your eyes, his own sparkling with the same desire you know is in yours then reaches around you to open the door.
With a rush you shoot down the hallway and back to your office, silently praying no one caught you coming out of the room.
Once you’re safely inside with the door shut, you lean against it and finally let out a shuddering breath, swiping at your eyes.  
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“I’m exhausted,” you explain to Nat after telling her about the events of the day.  “Even if I had wanted to go I would be asleep on the bar in minutes.”
“Well, just don’t let him dictate your social life. You have every right to go out and relax with coworkers. Especially cute ones. And you know I’ll come with you if you want.”
Nat’s words bring a smile to your face. “Thank you. Let’s just hope I can make it through next week.”
Later that night, after trying and failing to find something to watch that will keep your attention you crawl into bed and dream.
Your laid back on his bed as his stubble scratches along the sensitive skin of your neck and his whispered words reach your ears.
“You want my cock doll?”
You moan out his name, arching beneath him.
“Tell me.”
“Yes, yes I want your cock Bucky,” you purr.
His chuckle vibrates along your stomach as he moves lower. “Just need a taste first.”
“Please,” you beg just before his tongue flicks over your clit.
You push your hips into his face and he growls in approval.
“More,” you demand, and he obliges as one thick finger teases your opening.
You wake up just before he fills you, panting and disoriented. Looking around your dark room you can barely remember where you are. Or when. The past mixing with the present and creating something dangerous.
Your arousal is evident in the stickiness of your panties and you squeeze your thighs together in search of some relief. You sit up and take a sip of water from the glass on your nightstand, wishing it would quench more than your thirst. You consider finishing yourself off, it won’t take much, and he’ll never know, but you will.
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Monday morning arrives faster than you’d like and you find yourself dragging your heels, literally, into the office.
You see Bucky in a meeting later that day and you notice him glancing your way several times, words and thoughts and emotions crossing over his face but you can’t decipher them.
The problem is you feel the same way. Confused and unsure…well maybe not unsure about everything. You definitely want him but that’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross, especially after the harsh words you exchanged last week.
The meeting ends and so does the day. And the next and the next until it’s Friday. It’s past five pm and you’re still in your office working on something for Steve. He pops his head in and tells you to leave but you wave him off and explain you’d rather get it done now and relax this weekend. He bids you goodbye once you promise not to stay too late.
You’re in the middle of a thought when the door opens again and without looking up you say, “don’t worry Steve, I should only be another hour then I promise I’ll go home.”
“Another hour and it will be dinner time.”
You look up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, your eyes wide and your lips lightly spread with surprise.
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Thought you were Steve.”
He smiles and for the first time you can tell it reaches his eyes.
“I’m going to be done at about the same time…dinner?”
You stare at him, not sure if you heard him right.
“Unless you had other plans toni…”
“No,” you interrupt. “I don’t and uh dinner sounds good. I’m starving actually.”
“Great, then I’ll see you in an hour. There’s this little noodle place we can walk to from here.”
You smile gratefully, waiting until the door shuts behind him to let out a whoosh of air.
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“I don’t see a table,” you say as you look around Bucky into the restaurant.
He grabs your hand and you ignore the tingles that shoot up your arm as he drags you through the place. In the back corner, there’s a lone table, small but empty.
He holds his arm out, gesturing for you to sit. “I usually come hide in the back here if I have work to do but need food,” he explains.
You sit and he follows, plopping down across from you. The table’s so small that his knees bump yours underneath.
“Ow,” you hiss.
“Shit, sorry doll,” he mumbles as he moves his chair, bringing him closer to your side.
“I forgot how big your are.”
Your eyes go wide as you hear your own words come out of your mouth.
“Man doll face, you sure know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.”
His tone is light and teasing but you look down, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fidget with your hands and try not to remember exactly how big he really is.
Thankfully the waitress stops by to ask for your drink order. Once you tell her what you want you sit quietly and peek over at Bucky.
He looks nervous and for some reason it makes you feel better.
You both start to speak at the same time then laugh over your jumbled words.
“Go ahead doll,” he says.
“I was going to remind you of how much we used to talk. Remember all those nights we stayed up late either on the phone or hanging out in our favorite spot on the roof.”
His eyes sparkle at the thought. “Of course I remember. There never seemed to be enough time.”
The waitress reappears with your drinks and sets them down.
“Still like that whiskey huh?” Bucky teases. “I remember the first time you tried whiskey.”
“Oh gosh, I try not to,” you groan.
He suddenly looks sad. “I’m sorry about that comment last week…about the drinking. And about most of what I said. It was harsh. It’s just. This is hard,” and he gestures between the two of you.
“I get it. Believe me.”
“What happened to us?” you say after taking a sip of your drink.
“So much,” he responds. “But I feel…”
His words are interrupted when the waitress appears with your food. You take a few bites, focusing on chewing and swallowing as you muster up the courage to say the next words.
“I never gave up on us,” you start, your voice pained. “I never bailed…I heard so many things…people were talking.”
“What did you hear?” he asks, his fork held tightly between his fingers. “What are you talking about?”
“People were telling me you were with Sharon all the time…studying…and I wasn’t sure what else. You pulled back, we talked less…I don’t know it just didn’t feel the same. I was losing you.”
“Losing me?!” he says, far too loudly for the space. He squeezes his eyes shut then continues, his voiced hushed but still angry. “I was just trying to keep my grades up. I was struggling. I missed you so much and I couldn’t handle it. My grades slipped and the idea of you thinking I was a failure was too much on top of everything else. Sharon was just helping me. Nothing ever happened between us.”
You stare at him, your eyes glassy as they fill with unshed tears. “I don’t understand. When I asked you to come visit so we could talk…you…you were so hesitant, I thought it was because you were going to break up with me and then…you never showed.”
“I did. I did show,” he says quietly. “But you were with Matt.”
“What?” you gasp. “When? How come you didn’t tell me?”
“I was too ashamed. I figured you had moved on to someone better, someone who was able to keep their shit together and I didn’t want to mess that up for you.”
“Bucky,” you whisper. “I wasn’t with Matt. We were just friends.”
“But it didn’t stay that way,” he says, his tone accusatory.
“No. But that wasn’t until I knew it was over for us. I was completely heartbroken and it never worked out with Matt. He couldn’t get over the fact that I was still in love with you.”
That knocks the wind out of him and the two of you sit there, staring and uncertain.
He abruptly stands, knocking into the table. “Come on, let’s dance.”
“What?” you screech as he grabs your hand. “There isn’t even any music. This is a restaurant!?”
You don’t fight him as he tugs you away from the table and to the other side of the small room and when you spot the jukebox you can’t help the smile forming on your lips.
“I should have known you’d take me to a place with one of these,” you laugh.
He looks over his shoulder and winks before he starts scrolling through the songs. He stops on one but you can’t see the name then presses a few more buttons before he takes your hand again and pulls you to him.
The music starts and you almost stumble into him, recognizing the melody immediately.
“Your favorite,” he says quietly, drinking you in with his eyes.
You sway together and he spins you slowly, his hand teasing along your lower back. He takes your hand and lays your palm against his chest as you move back and forth. It’s not really dancing, more like you’re pressed together, shifting on your feet.
When you move your fingers across his chest you feel his sharp intake of breath. Your eyes trace the movements as your hand spans his broad chest then grazes over the gold chain peeking out from the open buttons of his shirt.  
“I like all this,” you say quietly, pressing the chain into his skin before you glance at the rings on his fingers.
“Glad to hear it doll,” he rumbles, looking far too pleased.
Your hand slides to his bicep and he flexes, smirking when you look up at him through your lashes.
“When do you have time to work out?” you whisper into the small space between you as your gaze wanders over his arms.
“Early in the morning,” he answers. “And you should see the rest of me.”
Need rumbles through his voice and you look up to meet his eyes.
“Bucky…”
He kisses you before you can finish the thought, stealing your breath. You freeze for a single heartbeat and then kiss him back with everything you have.
“Fuck doll.”
He wraps his arms around you tighter, pulling you against him and you lean into him willingly, a moan vibrating through you. His hand slips around to cup your throat, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tilts your head back, deepening the kiss.
The music stops and you hear a few catcalls from some random guys at another table. It breaks the spell and you take a step back.
You start to panic and he can tell, his hands tightening at your waist.
“Doll…”
“No, we can’t.”
“Yes we fucking can,” he answers back. “We’re adults and we can do whatever the fuck we want. And make no mistake,” he continues, grasping your chin between his thick fingers to force your eyes to his, “I want you.”
You audibly swallow and sway into him. He holds you close, his eyes wandering over your face expectantly.
“I just…I panicked. I need a minute,” you admit.
He visibly relaxes and slides his knuckles along your curves to find your hand before taking it in his and pulling you toward the door.
“Where are we going?” you ask once you’re outside.
“I’m walking you home,” he says quietly, not letting go of your hand. “Just like when we were kids.”
You smile and press closer to him, loving the feel of his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The walk is mostly silent as your mind races to find the right words. You want this. Want him. But is it too much too quickly? It’s been so long but even so your body remembers him, has his touch memorized and seared into your skin and your heart…your heart has been full of him since the day you met.
When you reach your apartment building you stop. “This is me.”
He waits patiently for you to speak but when you don’t he asks, “so now what?”
“I want this. You. Us. I never stopped wanting it,” you confess. “But we’ve both hurt each other and I think we need to take it slow.”
“I’ll do whatever you want if it means you’re willing to give this a chance,” he answers. “But I can’t promise I’ll behave…I’ve been dreaming about being inside you for far too long and my hand just ain’t cutting it doll.”
You bite your lip, desire written all over your face even as you try to shoot him an admonishing glare.  
“But we’ll start with a date,” he says softly. “And I know just where I’m gonna take you.”
With a small nod you lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering on the taste of his skin before you pull away and move from his embrace.
“Tomorrow?” he asks. “Or too soon?”
“Tomorrow,” you repeat.
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“HE KISSED YOU?” Nat screeches and you have to move the phone away.
You’re nodding before you realize she can’t see you.
“Yes, right there in the middle of the noodle place.”
“Well?”
“Well what?” you ask.
“How was it?”
You sigh almost dreamily. “Better than I remember which I didn’t think was possible.”
“And you’re sure you’re ok with this?”
“I’m feeling so much but the thing I’m feeling most is the fact that I want him. I’m hoping it’s more than a physical thing. It feels more than that because to be completely honest I never stopped loving him.”
“I’m glad you’re giving this a chance,” Nat says. “Just go at a pace that makes you comfortable.”
“So I should have sex with him tomorrow…? Because I’m perfectly comfortable.”
You can hear Nat’s snicker. “Girl, if you do I better get every dirty detail.”
You giggle and cover your mouth, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.
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“Just keep them closed ok?”
You squeeze your eyes shut and hold tightly to his hand, stepping on the backs of his feet several times as he leads you to your date spot.
“Sorry Buck,” you laugh.
“It’s ok doll, just another few steps.”
You hear something metal creak open and then a blast of cool air hits your face.  He throws his arm around your shoulder and tucks you into his side.
“Ok, open your eyes.”
You’re met with a scene that takes your breath away. It’s both familiar and new, the old roof top a space you frequented when you were younger but now it’s been brought to life in a whole new way.
Soft string lights hang from a make shift canopy where underneath you see a small chaise lounge that’s covered in a plush blanket and cocooned by fluffy pillows.
“Oh Bucky,” you gush. “You did all this?”
He smiles and kisses your forehead. “I remember how much you loved it up here.”
“It’s beautiful. All of it.”
“I have one last thing to show you. C’mere.”
He pulls you along with him and pauses near the old fire escape.
“Close your eyes,” he orders again, slipping his hands over them from behind.
You laugh and reach up to hold his wrists, fiddling with the gold bracelet that dangles loosely there. “What are you doing?”
“This,” he whispers along the shell of your ear.
He moves his hands from your eyes and you gasp and cover your mouth, but then reach out, tracing one finger over the etched lines in the metal.
Your initials are carved neatly into the rusted metal, still standing out against the weathered material after all this time.
You spin in his arms, your eyes falling to his lips just as you lick your own, his eyes tracking the movement.
“Thank you Bucky.”
And then you kiss him. He grabs your face gently between his large hands, nipping at your lower lip and you open for him without hesitation. You press into him and he slides his hands down your back, brushing his thumbs over the sides of your breasts.
You whimper his name, moving your lips to his neck to trace down the muscular column.
“Fuck,” he groans as he walks you back toward the chaise lounge. With a spin he sits down and pulls you into his lap, your thighs on either side of his.
You pull back, your eyes bright and your lips swollen.
“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  
Your whispered thanks gets lost in the moment as he dips his head and drags his nose along your skin, inhaling softly.
“Whatever you want doll. Anything, nothing. Say the word and it’s yours.”
His words are rough even as his hands move delicately to caress your body.
You lean forward, softly kissing along his jawline toward his ear, your breath fanning his skin when he squeezes your ass.
“Touch me.”
“Touch you where doll? You want me to fill you with my fingers?” You want my mouth. I’ll lick up every last drop of whatever you wanna give me.”
You tremble in his arms, tugging at the button down that hangs loosely over his shoulders, your fingers splaying over his exposed skin as he shrugs it off. You rake your nails over his tight white tank, desperate for more of him but instead he tucks his fingers under your shirt and pulls it up and off.
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His large hand covers your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple through your bra and you arch your back, pushing your chest into his face.
Your hips rock, rubbing up and down over the hard ridge of his cock.
“I’m gonna come in my pants if you don’t stop that baby doll.”
You don’t stop. Can’t. And when his fingers pop open the button of your pants you grind down even harder, needing more.
His fingers move lower and he hisses at the softness of your skin before he finds you soaked and ready for him.
“Yes,” you breathe out. “More.”
“Right here?” he teases, lightly brushing his finger over your clit.
He spreads your juices all over you, coating his fingers and your skin until you’re completely wild for him, writhing as you try to fuck his hand.
Two thick fingers sink inside you, his rings hitting your skin as he meets every one of your thrusts, going faster and harder when you mewl for more with every stroke.
“Bucky. I’m gonna come,” you warn.
“Come for me doll. Come all over my fingers. Squeeze me tight.”
His words send you careening over the edge and you cry out his name but he doesn’t stop the slow pumping of his fingers, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure.
You collapse against him, your head laying along his shoulder. His skin is warm and soft beneath your cheek and you can’t help but press your lips there. You spasm on his fingers once more before he slowly pulls them free and brings them between you, staring at the glistening proof of what he does to you.
With a predatory gleam in his eyes he holds you gaze and pushes his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean one by one.
“Fuck doll, you’re so sweet. I almost forgot how good you taste.”
You turn your face to his as your fingers tip toe down his chest, catching on the gold chain that rests against his warm skin, before moving lower.
“What about you?”
He rests his hands over yours, stopping you from undoing the button of his jeans.
“Not yet baby doll. I want to at least give you a real date first.”
“Are you being all gentlemanly now?” you pout. “We’ve had sex up here before.”
“I’ll fuck this pussy anywhere and anytime you’ll let me, but you want to go slow and this is more than just fucking. It always has been. When I get back inside you, it’ll be because we’ve worked through all this shit for good, all the shit that never should have gotten in our way. And there won’t be any going back. You’ll be mine again.”
Even though you always have been.
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@sstan-hoe @lookiamtrying @hallecarey1 @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @late-to-the-party-81 @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @sebstanwhore @book-dragon-13 @littleseasiren @justkinsey​ @beccablogsthings​ @laineyreads​
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proxima-writes · 11 months
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Can you write something where Joel is trying not to fuck you (maybe because of your age or something), and then he caves out of pure horniness. I seriously have a kink for always in control men - losing control.
Thank you for the message!! I hope you like this little story!
title: the babysitter
pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x babysitter!female reader
rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)
content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (21F and 36M), power imbalance dynamics, begging, pet names, oral sex (f receiving), kinda perv Joel, no use of y/n.
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You’re asleep on the couch when Joel comes home from a night at the bar with Tommy. The TV casts a blue glow over your soft features. Your plush pink lips are slightly parted, and your tits remain barely covered by the tank top you wore over that evening to babysit Sarah.
You’ve been Sarah’s babysitter since you were eighteen and Joel was desperate to find a balance between being a single father and getting the chance to spend some time out with his friends and brother, usually at a dive bar shooting pool like they did tonight. His neighbor had recommended you, a sweet young girl who just graduated high school and worked as a babysitter for extra cash while attending the community college.
Now you were approaching twenty-one, a whole fifteen years his junior. Something Joel has to remind himself on nights like tonight, when his eyes greedily roam across your exposed skin and commit the view of your nipples straining against your tight tank top to memory.
He’s had a few drinks tonight. Nothing crazy, but he feels the buzz in his veins as he continues to watch you. You shift positions, turning more on your back and raising your arms up, the motion exposing a strip of stomach above the waistband of the shorts you’d worn.
Joel can normally tamp down the thoughts he has about you, sweeping them under a metaphorical rug to be ignored. But tonight, he lets himself drink his fill, storing it away for later.
Surely there’s no harm in that?
He needs to wake you up, needs to hand you the handful of twenties and walk you to your car, just like he does every other evening you babysit for him. He reaches a hand out to grip your shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. Your brow furrows, but you otherwise don’t stir. He lets his palm linger in your warm skin, swallowing down the urge to drag his hand lower, to cup your breast in his palm and see if a pinch of your nipple makes your back arch in ecstasy.
He tries another shake, followed by a murmur of your name. That has you blinking up at him, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Mr. Miller? What times’it?” You slur. He checks his watch.
“Just past 12,” he tells you. His hand is still on your shoulder.
“Oh. I’m sorry I fell asleep,” you tell him with a yawn. “Guess I didn’t realize how tired I was.”
You lick your lips, staring up at him. His brain is screaming at him to remove his hand, to take a step back and take a breath, to remind himself that you’re the babysitter.
But your head tilts, appraising him. Keen eyes stare back at him like you know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Mr. Miller?” You ask again, voice breathier. Joel’s fingers flex against your skin. You press your shoulders into the couch cushion, the movement causing his hand to drift lower, the tips of his fingers just grazing the flesh of your breast.
Your breathing becomes rapid, but you remain still. Joel swallows harshly, his fingers inching the slightest bit lower. Your lashes flutter as he slips the tip of his pinky beneath the neckline of your tank top.
He takes a harsh breath, ready to withdraw his hand and chalk this up to a brief moment of insanity, but as he tries to move away, your hands grip his wrist.
“I can’t do this, honey,” Joel says. You whine, tilting your head back.
“Please?” You ask. Your hands release his wrist, and Joel knows he should hold strong.
But then your own hands are drifting down your body, caressing your curves before dipping beneath the waist of your shorts. Joel’s heart beats a mile a minute, a frantic pulsing in his chest as he watches you with unwavering focus.
Your hips jolt as your fingers swipe against your clit. His view is hindered by your shorts and he wants nothing more than to remove them and replace your fingers with his.
“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you say, eyes wide as you stare up at him. “You can touch me. I want it.”
“No,” Joel says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. And you notice it, too.
“Please,” you beg. Your hips grind against your hand. “I’ll be such a good girl for you.”
Joel’s eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep, steadying breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
“You’re too young for me, darlin’,” he finally says. He lifts his hand from your shoulder and you give a sad little whine that has him grinding his teeth together.
“Why are you being so mean?” You accuse.
“You don’t know what mean is.”
“Why don’t you show me, then?”
You remove your hand from your shorts. Even in the dim light of the TV he can see the unmistakable shimmer of your slick coating your fingers. When you spread them, a thin thread stretches between your digits.
He watches it stretch to its limit before snapping. And much like that thread of fluid, the last of his control snaps, too.
“Take off your shorts,” Joel says. When you don’t move he snaps, “Don’t make me ask again.”
That gets you moving, your hips lifting from the cushions so that your hands can shove your shorts down to your ankles. You gaze up at him, waiting for instruction.
Joel moves your outer leg off the couch, your foot settling on the floor. He kneels between the new space and lets his hungry eyes consume you.
“Dirty girl,” he murmurs. He collects the saliva on his tongue, spitting it harshly against your pussy, your body jolting and your head dropping back with a moan. “Quiet. You gotta be quiet, okay.”
You nod your head quickly, teeth digging against your lip to make good on your promise. Satisfied, Joel leans down and licks a broad stripe through your slick folds, the tip of his tongue dipping into your entrance before he drags it up to circle your clit.
You’re writhing beneath him as he attends to your needy cunt, your whimpers such music to his ears that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you to be quiet again.
Your fingers grip his shoulders, the bite of your nails into the thick muscle making him groan against your center. He can feel your hole flutter against his tongue and takes the opportunity to slip a finger into your tight heat.
You gasp, back arching as you shatter around
him, cunt pulsing deliciously around his finger. He’d love nothing more than to feel you around his cock.
But this has already gone too far.
He withdraws his hand, reaching down to grab your shorts and pull them up your legs. Your brow furrows in confusion.
“What are you doing?” You ask.
“It’s time you head home,” he says, not daring to meet your eyes. You’re still and quiet for so long he finally chances a glance.
To his surprise, your lips are tilted into a smirk. You shuffle onto your knees, bringing yourself face to face with him. You reach for his hand, keeping your eyes trained to his as you slip the finger coated in your release into your mouth.
You hum, and Joel has to fight the moan clawing its way up his throat. You release his finger with a slick pop before rising to stand.
“I’ll see you next week, Mr. Miller,” you say casually.
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#381
“Wakey wakey.  Time to wake up….  Don’t try to move around too much.  As you are realizing, you are in a predicament.  You are lying in my basement, buck naked, tied up, gagged, collared, with a fuck pillow under your pelvis.  You ain’t going anywhere, anytime soon….
“We’ve never met, but we know each other.  We both do the same thing for work, but we are nothing alike.  This is what’s happening.  I am part of a nameless organization that takes faggots, trains them to be slaves, and sells them to buyers from around the world.  From what I’ve been told over the years, the faggots delivered to me want to drop off the grid and sold into slavery.  They turn themselves in to a collector, who then has them delivered to me.  I don’t know if that’s true as I don’t let any of the faggots talk other than to say, ‘Yes Sir!’ 
“Now for you, I was told your backstory.  It seems that you are a collector for a different kind of group.  I train fags who offer themselves up for the taking.  You seem to prefer the non-consensual abductions of twelve- to fifteen-year-old girls.  I don’t care that you prefer pussy over dicks, but I do draw the line with their age.
“As I said, I was told what you are.  That never happens.  Ever.  But it appears that you approached the ten-year-old niece of one of higher ups in the organization, and he recognized what and who you were.  That stupid move brought you here. 
“I have no idea who the higher up is nor do I care.  Hell, we don’t know any of the men that are in the other parts of my organization, let alone hear from them.  So I found it surprising to get a call from a higher up—who I haven’t heard from in a few years—that I am to train you personally.  You better fucking believe that I’m going to train the fuck out of you.
“I have been training faggots for nearly forty years.  This is my farm you are on.  Twelve hundred acres.  Twelve hundred acres with some of the most advanced surveillance and anti-escape deterrents.  I know of every person who steps foot on my property, and I know if a slave is ten feet away from where it is supposed to be.  The ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs, and collar have tracking devices in them.  The collar can deliver a shock to keep you in line at a moment’s notice.  And the ankle cuffs are set up that if you go beyond a certain perimeter, a numbing agent is injected causing your legs to go numb and become useless.  Escape is not possible.  In my twenty years at this location, I have only had one slave make it off property, but it was collected within three minutes of doing so.  That slave was brought back and tortured in front of all the other slaves as a deterrent.  And that was before all the tracking technology was put in.  So keep that in mind if you decide to do something stupid.
“Now,… for the past five minutes, I have been telling you the predicament you find yourself in.  I have been watching your reaction.  Being gagged, you can’t say anything, but your body language says it all.  You seem too calm and not surprised at the description of my organization.  No reaction really.  That tells me that you are familiar with an operation like this.  When I tell you that you were collected for stalking that niece, you don’t look shocked by that accusation.  That pretty much confirms what I was told,… not that it matters otherwise. 
“No, the only reaction I saw was when I tell you that I am going to do your training.  You looked panicked.  Your eyes went right to my bulge.  Oh yeah.  I noticed.  You are straight indeed.  I should say, ‘were straight.’  From this moment on, you will never go back to that life.  The only cunt in your future is the one I’m about to make out of this hole between your legs.
“You have a great ass, so flawlessly smooth.  On any other slave, this ass would be a huge selling feature.  But for you, it’s a source of pain.  I need to put out my cigarette somewhere.  Your asscheek is the best place to do it….  Scream motherfucker scream.  Your perfect ass is going to go through some changes, from being daily whipped to being used as an ashtray.  You are going to be scarred up for sure.
“For the next part, I need to take off my boots and get out of these overalls.  You are going to get acquainted with Otto.  That’s what some of the fag slaves and some of the trainers call my dick.  Otto, it means ‘eight’ in Italian.  I’m actually closer to nine inches, but nine in Italian is ‘Nove’ which doesn’t sound right.  It doesn’t roll over the tongue as nicely as Otto.  Hehe.
“Look up at me.  Look shithead!  Here’s Otto.  Look at the cock that is going to own your life.  Half hard, it’s bigger than yours.  Keep staring at my foreskin.  Otto needs to piss.  You will be trained on drinking piss.  That’s all the liquid you will be given.  And if you are wondering if that means that you will be trained on becoming a full toilet, let me say we stopped training our slaves on that a while back.  It was too time consuming, and the buyers weren’t interested in that feature.  But for you, the higher ups want you trained.  But that will have to wait.
“Are you…  you are…!  You’re crying!  About time!  Hold still.  Let me wash away those tears for you.  Piss is the best antidote to tears.  There’s no feeling in the world like starting to tear down a once proud man by simply pissing on his face.  It’s getting me hard.  Otto likes what he’s doing to you.  But he wants action.
“Normally, you would be sucking the last few drops out of my foreskin.  But I ain’t ungagging you yet.  Besides, Otto needs to turn a virgin ass into a gaping cunt. 
“Your hole is perfectly displayed, like it’s ready to be destroyed thanks to that fuck pillow and how wide your legs were spread and secured.  Oh look.  Your cock and balls are just hanging there,… exposed,…
“…Damn! Even with my bare feet, I can deliver one hell of a ball kick.  Ha! Ha!  Your screams mean everything to me.  You know, each and every one of my personal slaves are kicked in the balls every morning.  They need to be reminded of their place on a daily basis. 
“Now, you will be spared that daily torture.  And that’s not because I would never have you as my personal slave, and don’t worry I wouldn’t own such trash.  No, I’m going to castrate you, in one of the most painful ways.  I haven’t decided how yet.  I do know that I will leave your empty sack intact.  We have a urologist that will make changes to your dick so that you lose all ability to get hard and with a few snips to the nerves in the area, all physical sensation will be gone.  Essentially your dick will constantly just hang there and be utterly useless… other than to piss out of.  Every time you reach down there, you will only feel the shell of what you used to be.
“Awww you’ve done full on sob.  Here let me collect some of your tears.  Tears of cunts are the best lube. 
“Do you feel Otto at your hole?  Feel his weight in your crack?  He’s ready to go.  Can you feel his leak.  Lucky for you, you really got me leaking.  Feel that wetness?  That’s all you.  Virgin cunt meets wine bottle thick dick.
“Don’t fucking start resisting.  Your cherry is going to be popped.  Here goes. 
“Don’t fucking fight me.  It’s only going to be more painful for you.  You are making my dick even harder.
“LET ME IN!  I’m coming in.  Oh, you got my head.  You are really starting to piss me off.
“Urg!  There.  Normally I would let a cunt relax before I begin, but you don’t fucking deserve that.  Right to the… goddamned… root!  Fuck, you’re tight.  By the end of tonight, you will be a gaping mess. 
“Not only have I been lucky to have such a big dick, but I can cum multiple times a night.  My first load is always quick, but the second one goes on for hours.  Then I have a gang bang lined up for this cunt. 
“I’ll let someone else pop the cherry in your throat.  There’s no way I’m going to let Otto near your mouth, at least not while you still have a mouthful of teeth.  Oh yeah, those will be coming out as part of your transformation.
“Keep crying.  Oh man.  Oh fuck.  I’m getting close.  You ready to be bred?  You ready to make your transformation to cunt complete?  Here it cums.  Here it goddamned cums!  Ahh! Ahh! Fuuuuck!
“Holy shit!  That was… fuck. 
“Your cunt has one of my biggest loads in it.  That should help lubricate you up a bit for round two….  Don’t try to push me out.  Otto will come out when he wants to.  Right now, he just wants a minute to catch his breath.
“Cunt, you have nothing but hell ahead of you.  There will be no let up.  Today is about breaking you in.  Tomorrow will begin your life of pain.  We have a shitload planned for you.  I don’t know how long it will be for you to with us, but each day we will strip away what made you a man, a human. 
“You know, when we put a slave up for auction, we have transformed the fag into the best slave it could be.  We don’t do it for its wellbeing.  No, we want top dollar.  And we get top dollar.  That’s our reputation.
“But for you, I was given the instruction that your transformation should be so extreme that when you are put up for auction, without a reserve price, that you are so repulsively distorted that you are sold for the lowest amount we ever had for a slave.  That shouldn’t be a problem with all the branding, scarification, tattooing, deteething, and so on.  Your previous profession will be shared with your new owners so that they can keep up your hell. “Oh fuck.  All this talk of your pathetic life is getting me hard again.  I’m ready to begin round two.  This should last a few hours.”
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Revenge is a dish best served with love; Spider and So’lek found family
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I’ve been bothering @dirtytransmasc about it all day and I can’t stop 😭 there is such a strong potential for a story between these two if they were to ever cross paths!
It could go so many ways, but I see Jake giving Spider away to him as one of the possibilities. He does it under the guise of giving Spider training necessary to keep up with the Na’vi, so he could help out the insurgency but in reality, he bribed So’lek into taking Spider under his wing with the opportunity for revenge. And we know So’lek loves nothing more than revenge.
What better way to make Miles Quaritch himself roll in his grave than to mould his biological son into a sky people killing machine?
So the two set off for the western frontier and Spider begins his lessons in survival, as well as combat. He gets to see the man behind the legend and the truth is — the man is barely there. His mind is always partly consumed by violence; thoughts too dark for the boy to imagine. He also sees that So’lek lacks emotion in anything unrelated to war, and is a man of a few words unless discussing tactics. He’d heard that this Na’vi lost his entire clan in the battle of the tree of souls, but seeing the consequences of that event up close was different from being told about it. Trauma defined him.
They reach the clouded forest, and So’lek begins to teach the boy ways of battle. He is just patient enough for Spider to catch things on the fly but as usual, offers little empathy if he struggles or smalltalk when they’re out of combat.
So’lek’s "hunts" are the worst part. They happen rarely as Socorro is not dubbed to be ready for that yet, but he is often taken along to be taught by example. He gets to watch as something like an unsuspecting convoy of RDA grunts falls victim to what they call, among other things, "blue death". He sees them scream and shake in pure terror of a creature they clearly knew, sees how little of a chance they stand against a seasoned warrior as he moves like a silent shadow and takes the sky people out one by one. Swiftly, yet brutally. He calls those outings "hunts" for a reason.
And the way he speaks of sky people makes something in Spider’s spine shudder. The man speaks of them as game, seemingly forgetting that the student who’s intelligence and strength he often praises is still a sky person himself — not in spirit, but in body.
Socorro isn’t sure about this ordeal anymore. The more he finds out about the legendary warrior…the less he wants to follow in his footsteps. Protecting the people has always been something he wished to be useful in, and he loved the Na’vi, loved Pandora, his one and only home…but he can’t let himself become anything like So’lek. The way he sees it, killing should be performed mindfully. Spider hates the idea that taking a life, no matter what life, maybe become second nature to him. A reflex.
Killing should not ever be so easy.
On the other end of the line is So’lek himself. He never thought that taking in a child, even as just a temporary ward, would be so difficult. For the first time in fifteen years he has to feel again, and he hates it. Socorro makes him feel out of control, makes him feel frustrated, confused, tired, amused, alive.
With how stressed Jake sounded when he offered to give him the boy, So’lek assumed Spider was a danger; a nantang disguised as a harmless yerik, but the longer he waited the more he realised that said nantang was nowhere in sight. Not to say that Spider was a yerik either. If anything, the child strongly resembled a playful syaksyuk (prolemuris).
Spider, as any other kid his age, hungers for adventure, for freedom and fun. Even with all the respect he held for So’lek, he was a difficult boy to reel in and keep in line. He was constantly busy with something, be it a crafting project for their base (which, since he appeared, more and more resembled a home), exploring the wilderness or collecting something. Most often rocks or herbs.
His smile is so bright, So’lek feels blinded by it every time.
…no. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it was supposed to go, the man catches himself think. He was supposed to "steer Socorro in the right direction", as Jake had put it yet as weeks passed, his resolve melted into something he haven’t felt for years. Could it be…?
No. So’lek was absolutely not getting attached to the child in his care. He couldn’t. He was a sky person; a son to the demon.
But, he was so different from anything So’lek has encountered. There was fire in his honey eyes, but it burned with desire to protect, not hurt. He had an impressive muscle mass, but used it for climbing and weaving only. He made each kill matter, praying for every fallen thing even as So’lek hurried him to skin the meat before it got shrouded. Everything about nature fascinated, awed him, so he thirsted to learn of this new forest and every creature living within it.
Spider could speak of his home for hours. About the animals, the different plants, the remedies one could craft from them, and eventually, as always, he’d speak of his family. His precious siblings he’d raise hell to protect. He loves them more than anything because they are all he has in this entire world, no parental figure in sight. So’lek fights down the urge to hold a child he sees himself in when he hears it.
Spider…has subverted every possible expectation So’lek had of him. So pure and naive and filled with hope in spite of what he has already lost, and the dangers surrounding him…
And So’lek planned to break him. Take all of it away and turn him into a cold-blooded soldier. No more then a weapon for the Na’vi to wield.
What in Eywa’s name was he thinking?
So’lek wants to return Spider to high camp and forget about the deal, but it’s too late. He felt his wards crumble as the human he thought he needed to fear nestled deep within his heart, and now they were bound. He looked at the tiny thing sleeping in a hammock far too big for him. Then at the walls, now painted with images of animals and insects; painted the Omatikaya way. He then turned to the floors, now covered in mats Socorro weaved in his free time.
He made this place a home. Put so much effort with both his skill and voice. He brought So’lek’s base alive. Brought alive him even. It is only fair that So’lek puts in the effort to make this a home for the boy as well.
Just for fairness sake, he thought, tucking the child in as a smile tugged at his lips.
He wasn’t getting attached.
Not at all.
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kookslastbutton · 8 months
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Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) l ch. VI
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✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.
Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader
AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series
Rating: M, 18+
Word Count: 6,192
Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), kook gets pissed, jk mother is asdhjf!, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, manipulative parent, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc, mild sexting, sexual content
Sexual warnings: bl*wj*b, jk c*mes on her t*tt*es, d*rty talk
Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+
A/N: um so this got over 6k which i know isn't amazing but for me its big deal okay?! haha! Anyway Part VI here we go! No flashbacks in this chapter because of ch.V buuut, I have a little gift for you and me. Hope you enjoy!! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind 😙
<< ch. V ༓ ch. VII >> | series masterlist
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Living in the country for over thirty years, the Jeons were known to be excruciatingly slow and cautious drivers. The town was tiny, roads were narrow, and no one was ever in a rush to get anywhere apart from maybe the farmers market.
Once when Jungkook first got his license he took one hand off the steering wheel and his mother almost had a heart attack, saying it was “reckless of him to put them in danger”. It was from that moment forward that Jungkook always made sure to drive at 10 and 2 or 9 and 3 when his mother was in the car. His father on the other hand didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t go above 30 mph.
Jungkook was counting his lucky stars when he finally got his own car and the chance to move to the city where he could drive how he damn well pleased–responsibly of course. He had recently finished his Master’s studies and was offered a job as an economist in a major medical corporation. The only catch was that he’d have to relocate to Seoul which ended up being more than fine with him.
His parents moaned and groaned that he wasn’t sticking around but his mind was made up. He moved out of his parent’s tiny town one late June and headed to the city where life moved to a whole new beat.
Ten years later, Jungkook finds himself gripping the steering wheel with two sweaty hands again. Kudos to his parents who have been telling him which way to turn and how fast or slow to go for the past fifteen minutes. He honestly should have picked a brunch spot closer to home to avoid all the madness. Walking would have done them good.
“I’ll never get used to how you drive down here,” Mrs. Jeon grumbles from the back seat. “All these sharp turns and six lanes of traffic going 50-plus miles an hour. It’s a wonder you haven’t all gotten in an accident yet. It’s like I always say, the slower the better. You city folks just don’t get it.”
Jungkook peers in his rearview mirror before signaling to switch lanes. “We can’t afford to go too slow out here Mom. This is a highway and dropping down in speed will cause a safety hazard just as bad, if not worse. Environments are different out here than in the woods.”
As Jungkook merges to the right, Mr. Jeon watches the surrounding cars from the back seat window. “Ah son, son, son!” He hollers and reaches for the ceiling handle.
“What? What happened?” Jungkook asks with panic. He flickers his eyes to the mirror again to spot his father's distress.
Mr. Jeon slowly releases the handle and lets out a lengthy sigh. “It's okay now, we’re good. You did good son. You moved over with so little space I thought you were going to hit the car now behind us."
"I told you it's a mad house out here!" Mrs. Jeon adds, tone thick. Jungkook puts his eyes back on the road in front of him and does his best to ignore the irritation bubbling within him.
"I know what I'm doing," he says. "I've lived here for ten years so can you guys please trust me? And stop with the driving advice and yelling every time I do something."
"We're just trying to help Kookie."
"Well, you're not alright?" The snap in his voice has Jungkook's parents sulking back in their seats in silence. "I want us to get to the restaurant safely and I can't do that when you're both shouting at me! So please just let me do the driving. Thank you."
God, if one more person calls him Kookie in that condescending tone he's going to lose it! Kookie was his childhood nickname but for some reason, it stuck to him like glue until he was friggin' 22 years old. He absolutely hates it and the only person remotely allowed to call him by it is his wife because she makes anything sound like honey to his ears.
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The next five minutes are nothing but awkward silence and the sound of tires running on hard cement. Jungkook checks his phone—there's still a good ten minutes left according to the GPS. He moves to turn the radio on to break the eeriness of the drive when an incoming call pops on his car screen.
"Who's that? Who's calling?" Mr. Jeon pipes up.
"It's __." Jungkook hits the answer button. "Hey honey! You're on speaker." He smiles a big, wide grin that says nothing less than he misses you.
"Hi! I'm on my lunch break and thought I'd give you guys a call. I'm stopping at the grocery store tonight, after work. Anything you need?"
“Some booze would be nice!” Mr. Jeon echos and looks at his wife who merely shakes her head. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years due to his high blood pressure, yet he’s still making the same damn jokes. “Got any Soju? Or maybe Bokbunja?” He chuckles at Mrs. Jeon’s sour face.
Jungkook pays his dad no mind and replies to you. “Uhm….we're low on milk again. I drank the last one yesterday.”
"You went through all those gallon jugs in a week?!" You'd think you'd be used to the amount of dairy your husband packs away but every time, it shocks you as much as the first. You married a milk-lovin’ machine.
Jungkook chuckles. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you if you want. We're on our way to get brunch, then hitting the bookstore for Dad, and after we'll swoop back home. I can pick it up along the way.”
“No need, I’m already going out later so I’ll get it. Anything else?”
“There’s nothing else I can think of. How’s work going?” He’s hoping it’s not hectic given the fact that last week was an absolute sandstorm. He distinctively remembers you coming home with nothing more than tired feet and dark circles under your eyes. He drew you a bath that night.
“Eh, so-so. I have a meeting with my boss later but besides that, it’s the usual. I wish I could have come to brunch with you guys. I feel bad I’m missing it.” Well, you do and you don’t. If Jungkook was planning on talking to his mom about the happenings of last night you wanted to be around for support but it was also a matter that should be between a mother and her son.
“Us too, but we’ll see you ton–shit!” Jungkook slams on the break when he sees he’s about to crash into a black SUV. Everyone’s seatbelts lock at the sudden jerk. “Sorry, sorry!” He checks the mirror to find his parents clinging to their seatbelts.
“Are you guys okay?! Jungkook?!”
He scans all around him to find rows and rows of cars all trying to merge into each other’s lanes. Some are coming from the exit nearby whereas others are trying to squeeze through people in hopes to get ahead.
Dammit, Jungook cruses to himself.
“Yeah, we’re good honey. Everything’s okay but we’ve hit a traffic jam. I’m not sure why since it’s literally 11:40 a.m on a Wednesday but looks like we’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”
“We’d never have this problem at home.” Jungkook hears his mother mumbling under her breath to which his father replies with a nodding of his head. “If it weren’t for all this nonsense we’d be there by now.”
“Absolutely. We’d be there fifteen minutes ago,” his father adds with his hands in the air. “Isn’t there some kind of way you can get around this son, like a shortcut?”
Ah yes, shortcuts on the highway. Why didn’t he think of that? Let him just push the button that says flight mode and–no! Having enough, Jungkook holds his foot on the break and twists his body around to face his parents.
“Alright listen to me right now. This is not Tiny Town where there are a million dirt roads that pop from anywhere and all seem to lead to one other. Everyone drives at least seventy out here and that’s just the way it is because this..." He gestures outside the windshield. "This is what happens! We all get stuck in this congested funnel! But if you two can think of a way to get out of here that doesn’t involve attempting to bulldoze other cars, I’m all ears. Until then we’re going to sit here and talk about the weather because there's nothing else we can do!"
Jungkook looks back and forth between his parents. Mrs. Jeon simply stares outside her window while his dad gives a slow nod in understanding.
"Is it really that bad?"
Jungkook relaxes his body back to face the front when he hears your voice. "Yeah, it's pretty bad __." He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. This is going to be a very long day.
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"Nice out today. Mind if I roll down the window?" The traffic hasn't got any better and it was starting to get stuffy in the car. Mr. Jeon desperately needed some fresh air in his face.
"Mhm yeah, go ahead."
"How about some music? Find out what's on the radio will you." He sticks his arm out the window, letting the gentle breeze hit his skin. When the first song blares through the speakers, Jungkook's mother breaks her deafening silence.
"Dear god! What music is this?"
Mr. Jeon immediately perks up. "It's PSY! Turn it up! Turn it up, boy!" Jungkook appeases his father's wishes and turns the knob a few more notches. "Oppa Gangnam Style! Eae eae eae e, sexy lady!"
Hearing his dad singing at the top of his lungs has Jungkook rubbing the side of his head. It's not that he sounded bad but he was singing so loud that everyone around them started pointing, laughing, or rolling up their own windows. "Dad, people are going to get annoyed. Take it down a little."
Deeply immersed in the song, Mr. Jeon continues singing regardless of his son's request. "Op, op, op, op, oppa Gangnam Style!" He starts rocking in his seat which causes a few middle schoolers in the car next to them to pop out their phones.
"Dad!" Jungkook hollers when he notices the kids taking pictures. If doesn't put an end to this now, his father's face is going to be trending all over the internet with god knows what filter.
"Op, op, op, op, on on on on!"
"Dad stop!" He tries again, this time turning the music down. Mrs. Jeon attempts to calm her husband down too, placing a hand on one of his arms but it doesn't take much for it to be ripped out of her grasp. Mr. Jeon ends up nearly whacking his wife in the face due to all his energetic dancing.
"Erotic sexy lady! Oppa Gangnam Sty–hey! Song wasn't done yet!" Jungkook's dad never looked so offended in his life. If he had adjusted his gaze just a few inches to the left he'd see the group of kids, the ones taking photos earlier, giggling to one another. But he was too pissed at his son for crashing his party that it went to the wayside.
"Honey, you were causing a disturbance," Mrs. Jeon says.
"A disturbance? In this traffic jam, I'm the disturbance?" He refuses to believe he's the annoyance when they've been in the middle of a highway, moving at 5 mph for the last hour. PSY has recently become his favorite singer and not enjoying himself would have been an absolute tragedy in his opinion. "It's all of you who should be thanking me for offering some shred of entertainment at times like these."
"The entire population of South Korea is going to be thanking you then." Jungkook creeps forward as soon as the car in front of him moves up a ways. Finally moving again, he hums.
"Hey!" An abrupt voice calls from a slight distance. Two teenage boys pull up in a Jaguar, greasy grins on their faces. "Great singing Grandpa! Really know how to move!" The one in the passenger seat flashes his phone playing a video of Jungkook's dad online.
"Wha–how–What?! You delete that right now!" Mr. Jeon is stunned, tripping over his words at the shock of himself actually being the center of the internet. The video is unexpectedly clear.
"Just ignore them, Dad." Jungkook rolls up all the windows in the car and inches up the best he can to get the teenagers out of direct sight.
"But-but how did they do that so fast? It hasn't even been five minutes yet!"
"It only takes seconds, honey," Mrs. Jeon sighs, realizing her husband has become famous over a re-rendition of a PSY song. Of all things, it had to be that.
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"I'm starving."
"Me too."
Jungkook glances at the time–2:40p.m. It's now been three hours of sitting in traffic and they've only moved about ten miles. What on earth is congesting the highway this much?
"Maybe we should take one of these exits." His dad scrolls through the map on his phone. "Says there are a few restaurants down exit 6A."
Jungkook considers the idea. He wants to get off the highway, yes, but so does everyone else. The exit his dad is talking about is off the far right lane which means he's going to need to shove in front of everyone's way.
"You sure it's a good place? Wherever it is you're looking?" The reason why he asks is that his dad is notorious for leading them into the most ruin down places. The last time he was in charge of directions, they ended up in front of an abandoned pizza shop.
Mrs. Jeon takes the phone from her husband's hand and swipes through the photos of a quaint restaurant. "It's not bad," she concludes. "And if it means we can get out of this mess, then I'm with your father on this one."
Two against one. Jungkook turns his signal on and waits for someone to let him over. He earns a few honks when he manages to squeeze his nose over but does his best to give an apologetic wave.
After a few more lane changes he gets in the exit lane. He isn't the only one planning to take exit 6B though, being that there are at least twenty other cars waiting in line.
"Maybe we were better off back where we were. All these people want to get off the same place. If we keep going there's bound to be another exit with far less traffic."
Really? Jungkook feels himself ticking again. After all that shoving to get over here and this is what he gets? No, he's not moving back over. They're going to wait in this stupid lane until it gets them to where they originally agreed.
"We just got here and we're not moving back anywhere. This lane should clear up in less time than it would take to go back on the main highway," Jungkook says. "Also, I probably don't need to clarify this but, we're not going to make it to that bookstore you wanted, Dad."
"It's fine, son. We'll go another day."
Which means tomorrow, Jungkook half grumbles to himself. His parents are here for another day after all and he knows his father well enough to know that "another day" really means the closest day possible.
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Despite its size, the restaurant his parents choose is charming with its floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and giant, bay windows. The odd hanging plant is spread throughout the open dining space as well, perfectly setting the mood of serenity.
The restaurant only seems to hold about a dozen people inside, however. So thinking it is best to avoid sitting in an overly crowded space, Jungkook asks for one of the tables outside.
“Oh now this is lovely,” his mother praises, pulling her chair up to the table. Jungkook can’t describe how relieved he is to finally hear something positive after hours of nonstop grumbling.
Mr. Jeon takes a seat next to his wife and across from his son. “I just saw someone get Samgyeopsal and it was huge! Let’s get that to share.”
His enthusiasm is short-lived when the scrunched-up face from his wife says she's not a fan. “That's too much food! We still have to be hungry for dinner so we can eat with __."
"Mom's right," Jungkook agrees reluctantly. "__'s stopping at the grocery store after work so we can prep for dinner tonight. I know traffic slowed us down so we're eating at a weird time but it's better we go with something light."
"Oh well, we can always take some to go! Surely __ will enjoy some beautifully grilled pork!" Jungkook's father is adamant. He wants nothing more than a heavy meal after being stuck in the car all morning.
"__ doesn't like pork Dad. And we all know as soon as we get a whiff of it cooking there's not going to be any leftovers."
"Alright, alright," his dad concedes. "I guess I'll try their bibimbap. What are you having hon?"
Jungkook checks his phone messages while his parents make small talk over the menu. You texted him earlier to see how traffic was holding up and he only able to get back to you minutes ago.
Wifey ❤️ : So I'm guessing you haven't talked to your mom yet?
Jungkook: No, haven't brought it up. She seems fine though with the way she's been acting. It doesn't take much for her to go back to her usual self
Wifey ❤️: Her usual self being...?
Jungkook: You know, really particular.
Wifey ❤️: So she's complaining again. I'm sorry 😞
Jungkook: When I was talking with her on the phone before we left, she was much more careful about what she was saying. I expected it to still be that way now. Must have been a mood.
Wifey ❤️: Sounds like she wasn't sure how you'd be reacting after what happened last night. Maybe she's just reverting to back what she's used to because she's unsure what else to do or say. I'd still try finding a way to talk to her. Does it seem tense?
Jungkook: Yeah, you have a point. But Mom's also had a good way of sweeping things under the rug. It's not tense but it's just uncomfortably normal?
Wifey ❤️: Hmm, strange. And your dad's fine?
Jungkook: Honey...have you been on any social media in the last half hour?
Wifey ❤️: No, why?
Jungkook: Might wanna check. We had a little incident while in traffic. I'm still in shock honestly 😅
Jungkook waits for you to find the video of his dad. He already had the guys blowing up his phone from it so he's surprised none of them at least forwarded it to you.
Wifey ❤️: oh my god! Jungkook what happened?! 😂 I hope you're prepared for your students to be all over this
Jungkook: oh shit, that didn't even cross my mind 😩 also it's not funny honey! Listening to my dad singing eae e sexy lady was traumatizing enough. Now I have to see and hear it every time I pop open my phone or some teen punks show it to me!
Wifey ❤️: Aw Kookie, they're just being kids...try not to overthink. And you know those videos come and go. Your dad will be at the bottom of the chain by next week. Until then keep him away from PSY 😅 But I'm sorry you're having a day, I love you 🥺
Jungkook: I MISS YOU SO MUCH 😭
Wifey ❤️: [sent an image]
Fuck! Jungkook chokes on his spit when he sees a blurry close up of your cleavage. Thankfully his parents are still too occupied by the menu that they didn't notice.
Jungkook: sexy af but this isn't the time to be sexting me baby!
He nearly saves the photo if it weren't for the fact that he already had an album dedicated to very sensual *ahem erotic* photos of you. You had let him take them himself —best motherfuckin' birthday ever.
Wifey ❤️: oh adhjjhj, sorry!! That was an accident. I'm such a klutz. This is what I meant... [sent an image]
"What's going on over there?" Jungkook merely glimpses at the new image before whipping his head up, hearing his mother's, sharp tone.
"It's just __. She's asking about groceries again."
With slightly narrowed eyes, Mrs. Jeon continues. "We're about to order if you're ready."
Dammit. He'll have to reply to you later. Jungkook swiftly pockets the phone. "Okay yeah I'm good to go."
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"This is delicious," Mr. Jeon says, patting his mouth with a napkin. "Best bibimbap I've had in a long time."
"That's great Dad." Jungkook stirs his noodles.
"Ah, where's the restroom around here?" He asks the waitress as she walks by. She tells him it's in the restaurant, all the way to the back. Mr. Jeon pushes his chair from the table and excuses himself. "All that broth has me needing to go."
"Yes yes, just go." Why his father needed to explain himself every time he needed to use the restroom is beyond him. Jungkook peers at his mother, taking her time eating her own bowl of noodles–they ended up ordering the same thing. "How is it?" he asks.
"It's good."
"Not too spicy?"
"No, it's mild."
Jungkook gathers more noodles on his chopstick. He freezes halfway when he sees his mother eyeing him intensely. "Everything okay?"
Mrs. Jeon folds her hands in her lap. "It's occurred to me that we still have an elephant in the room. I was hoping we'd be able to talk about it while your father browsed the bookstore. But plans changed."
And here he thought his mother had been playing down last night when really she was biding her time. "You know Dad's gonna be back in like ten minutes right?"
Mrs. Jeon nods. "I know it's not the most convenient of times or places, but I'm afraid if we delay it won't get discussed."
"Okay." Jungkook sets his chopsticks down. "Well...where do you want to start?"
"An apology would be nice." Her voice is mellow but the words are a clear demand rather than an offer. Of course, he wants to apologize to her for all the things he accused her of last night. But he wasn't expecting her to be this forward with it, especially since she was guilty of plenty herself. "I'm waiting Kookie," she coos, taking a sip of water.
Jungkook knits his eyebrows in response, unsure of what he's hearing. His mother looks far too relaxed about this whole thing. He decides to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You're right," he starts. "I'm sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn't have spoken that way and I'm sorry for making you leave. I think you and Dad showing up all a sudden threw me off and I reacted poorly."
Mrs. Jeon cracks a tight smile and reaches for her son's hand. "Thank you, Jungkook. I accept your apology." She gives his hand a squeeze before moving to pick up her chopsticks. "Now that we got that settled let's talk about the reunion. I'm thinking about talking to–"
What....the fuck? His mom did not just glide over this whole issue. She did not just put everything on him. And she did not just bring up that damn reunion again, which he's made very clear he wants nothing a part of. "Is that all you wanted? For me to make my amends with you?"
"What else would there be Kookie?" She scoffs, eyes wide.
"Goddamn it." He struggles to maintain a hushed voice. "Can you please stop calling me that? And what the hell do you mean 'what else would there be'? I'm not trying to put the blame on you but there's a good amount you should be saying to me too."
"What things are you referring to? Don't tell me this is about the reunion again. Look, whatever it is that I said was because I just want to see you more. And no more swearing. You know I don't like that kind of language."
"How can you be like this?" Jungkook can't stop himself. He figured his mom and he would have a better, heart-to-heart than this. It makes his skin crawl that his mother continues to play the victim. "It's genuinely shocking me how....do you even love me?"
Mrs. Jeon pauses at that. "Of course, I love you Jungkook. Why–why would you ask that?" She blinks back the slightest hint of tears forming along the edge of her eyes. Never in a million years did she think her son would doubt something this crucial.
"I feel like–"
"Feel what? What is it?"
"I feel like you care more about what I can do for you than you do me, as your son." Jungkook sniffs. This is a lot harder for him to say than he imagined. "There's been so many times that you've–"
"Don't say this honey! I care about you very much!" She reaches for his hand again but he yanks it away. "What are you trying to tell me?" His mother waits for him to form the rest of the sentence.
Jungkook hesitates to look at her straight on because behind what appears to be concerned eyes is disbelief. She isn't taking any of this seriously. It's written all over her face, tone, and all the way down to the way she's focusing on an answer rather than his inability to comfortably talk to her.
"What have I done so many times?"
"Honestly at this point, what haven't you done?" With an icy glare, Jungkook can't hold himself back anymore. The pot that's been brewing, deep in the darkest parts of him is finally overflowing and it's not going to be pretty to behold. "Do you realize how many times you chose your job, your status, and even your friends over me? And you make Dad go along with literally anything! Is it so horrible for someone to say no to you?!"
The couple next to them shoot uncomfortable looks his way, whispering to each other. Jungkook ignores it and starts counting with his fingers.
"Never once have you ever taken responsibility for showing up uninvited, nagging me about this that, and the other thing, making backhanded comments about my life choice, and most of all pretending our relationship is peachy fine. Well, I'm sorry mom, I'm thirty-four years old and I don't need to live by your rules! Our relationship is barely hanging by a thread and being quite real, it's __ and Dad who are the ones clinging to that thread, making sure it doesn't completely snap."
Mrs. Jeon opens her mouth to interject but Jungkook doesn't allow it to happen. It's not exactly intentional that he's pouring out so much in the middle of people's lunch. Still, he's been shoved over a steep cliff, head first.
"I'm sorry mom, I don't know how many times I need to say it. I don't enjoy any bit of this. It's just been a long stretch of–"
"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more." Mrs. Jeon immediately grabs her purse and twists her neck every which way. "Where's your father? I want to leave."
"Mom I'm trying to talk to you! Why won't you let me talk?"
His mother doesn't reply. She doesn't look at him. It's the silent treatment, Jungkook concludes–it's fucking irritating. "I'm not trying to be hurtful," he says, forcing himself to calm down. "Mom look at me."
She doesn't move.
It only takes seconds for their waitress to near her way up to the table with anxious steps. "I'm sorry to be doing this but unfortunately, we've received a few complaints of a disturbance out here." The young girl clasps her hands. "To ensure all our guests are comfortable we're going to need to ask you to take your conversation elsewhere. I'm really sorry."
Fuck. How embarrassing. Jungkook clears his throat and stands up from his seat. "We understand and are genuinely sorry for the commotion. We'll pay at the front and be on our way. Thank you for waiting our table."
The young girl gives a nervous smile and retreats inside the restaurant. Jungkook makes a note to give her a generous tip.
"Hey, what's going on out here?" Mr. Jeon rushes over, hair blowing over due to the breeze. "I heard there was some inconsiderate party out here airing out their dirty laundry for all to see. I tell you, people these days don't know what privacy means anymore!" He shakes his head and takes a seat.
"Get up Dad we're leaving."
"But I'm not done my–––oh shit." Mr. Jeon clenches his teeth. "You two?"
Mrs. Jeon gets up from her chair, still wordless, and walks towards the parking lot. "I'll get this Dad." Jungkook stops his father from pulling out his wallet. "It is best if you go try to ease Mom. I don't think she'll be talking to me for a while."
Mr. Jeon puts a hand on his son's shoulder. It's his way of offering comfort. "You're mother has made things difficult for you, Jungkook. I'll try getting through to her. In the meantime don't let this eat you up. It's been a long time coming."
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Jungkook doesn't get home until quarter past six. The drive home was better than the drive to the restaurant, but hitting the notorious five o'clock traffic slowed them down once more. He also had to drop his parents at their hotel which was no easy task. His mother barely gave him a glance before hopping out of the car. The amount of guilt settling in his gut isn't going away any time soon.
"Hey." Jungkook finds you searching through the kitchen cupboard. "I hope you're okay with spice tonight! I got this really awesome–oh baby what's wrong?" You stop what you're doing when you see your husband come up behind you with sunken eyes. He wraps his larger arms around you, desperately needing your scent.
"I blew it," he croaks. "She's so mad at me."
"I'm sorry Jungkook. I'm sorry I couldn't be there." You turn in his arms to pull him into a full embrace. His nose tickles the side of your neck but you don't laugh. "You wanna tell me?"
Jungkook takes your hand and sits you both on the couch in the living room. "The morning started out rough with three hours of traffic and the two of them in the back seat, telling me where and how I should drive. Then my dad got unexpectedly famous off a PSY song. We finally got to some restaurant about half an hour west of here before 3pm. Everything was going okay until dad went to the bathroom."
"Okay," you say, scooting closer beside him. You rub small circles on his upper back as he leans forward on his spread-apart knees. "What happened?"
"Mom suggested we talk about last night so I said sure." You watch as Jungkook fiddles with his hands. "But she didn't actually care about a conversation or what I had to say. All she wanted, all she expected, was for me to apologize to her so we'd be okay again. It all came out after that and I feel so horrible about it. We ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant too."
"Jungkook..."
"I tried __. I wanted to be patient and to be a good son but she can't even look at me right now." He falls back on the couch, staring at the blank wall in front. "Dad's convinced it was bound to happen."
"You are a good son, Jungkook." You comb a few strands of his soft, ebony hair. He closes his eyes as you do. "You're mom's the one who needs to readjust her view."
"I never thought I'd yell at my mom about all that stuff. And certainly not in public where everyone is trying to have a pleasant lunch. I'm a grown-ass adult and I should have had better control of myself."
You settle into his inner shoulder, laying a hand on his chest. "Even grown adults have limits and your mom's far surpassed those limits. Don't blame yourself for this."
"Dad said the same thing."
"Well, that's two against one."
Jungkook smiles. Two against one, that's where he got that from. Not that you're the first person to use the phrase but he never used it as regularly until you moved in together.
"I missed you so much today. I don't deserve you."
You cock your head up as quick as the words fly from his mouth. "Don't you dare say things like that! You're a good man despite how awful your mother treats you." You lean your face near his, eyes wandering deep into his dark brown ones. "If you're not otherwise too tired, I'm going to show you how much I love you."
Jungkook opens his lids at that–apparently not too tired. You smirk and get off the couch.
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"Here?" His classic doe-eyes peer down at your kneeled position. Seeing you settle this perfectly between his muscular thighs triggers an intense blood rush that goes straight to his dick. Jungkook didn't think he was going to get horny tonight but here he was with his half-harden length in your hands in the middle of the living room.
"Mhm." You position yourself just enough for him to have a clear view of your tits. You had taken both your shirt and bra off before starting. You know how your husband likes it. "That okay with you?"
Jungkook groans when you grip his cock harder, gliding it from the base to the tip in repeated motions. "Fuck yeah. It's more than okay." You giggle at how quickly your husband gets in the mood. He thinks you're the bitch in the bedroom? You quicken your movements.
"Oh shit this feels so good." He grips the couch cushion, keeping his focus on you. "Need that gorgeous mouth wrapped around me baby, please. Shit–"
You honor your husband's requests and trace your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up to his tip. Once there, you suck lightly before taking him in whole.
"That's it. Take my cock, fuck." Jungkook goes on to praise you as you bottom out. You gag a little at first being that you haven't done this in what....weeks? Damn. Whatever happened to the days when you'd literally go down on each other every day?
"We need to get you reacquainted with my cock honey," he teases, bucking his hips forward to push himself further into your mouth. "All these weeks without my cock in your mouth has you gagging all over me. Been it's been too long hasn't it?"
"Mm," is the only thing you reply with, the weight of his thick length dragging back and forth on your tongue. By now your pussy is pulsating like crazy and you're tempted to just get up and fuck yourself on him. But tonight was about your husband–you're going to make sure of it. And Jungkook loves nothing more than getting head with your bare tits in full view, obviously.
A few sucks later and Jungkook starts fucking himself into your mouth. They began as soft, needy bucks of his hips but now they're rough, full-force thrusts. His length shoves to the back of your throat and you moan desperately around him. "Did you miss my cock baby? I bet you did. My sexy wife....you're mine and you're gonna make me come, aren't you? Fuck yeah, you are."
Your eyes water as you continue to take him, hallowing your cheeks the best you can. Jungkook has his eyes screwed shut and sweat dripping from his forehead. Your panties are so fucking soaked right now and your nipples are defiantly hard from sheer arsousal.
"God I'm so close baby. You're mouth is---fuck I don't even have the words. It's fucking magic! And your tits are so hot from this angle. Kinda reminds me of what you sent to me earlier. Can I come on them? I'm so close." Jungkook takes your broken moans as a yes and starts ramming into you two more times before pullout and covering your breasts with warm liquid. "Fuck fuck fuck," he grunts, spilling himself on you.
What a mess. You look down at yourself. What a motherfuckin' mess and you love it. Jungkook pulls you into a passionate kiss, tongue rolling with yours in heavenly harmony. "Thank you for this," he says between kisses. "I'll help you wash up, I promise."
"Mm Jungkook," you pant. "I think I need you inside me."
Hey, he got his dick sucked and he creamed your tits–it's mama's turn now, or excuse you–wifey.
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A/N: this got nasty whoops. not sorry. Anyway LMK what you think, thanks for reading! 💞 also pls vote if youd be so kind
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asterias-record-shop · 10 months
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—𓆩[in our next life || EPILOGUE]𓆪—
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𓆩[masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪
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𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Finnick Odair x Fem! District 4 Victor! Reader
𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, slight angst
𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 1.7K
𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first to fall in love after the games. That title went to you and Finnick, your mentor after you were Reaped at the age of fifteen two years after Finnick. After being dragged back into the Games with the Quarter Quell, you both are determined to stop it, no matter what- especially if one of you would gladly sacrifice themselves for the other.
𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - that I know of, there is none! maybe besides cursing(?) but it's pure fluff, just let me know if you think i should add anything!
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Ten years later…
This would be the second rope being tied around your wrist, to the same man. Things were different now; the games were over, Finnick built you that house on the river bank, and you had a son this time too.
Your dress was similar to the one you had before, especially because Cinna designed this one too, but this time, it was much smaller than the ballgown you had before. It was still poofy, yes, but this time it was lined with pearls taken from your first dress in strands of gold. Your hair was pulled into your preferred style, a flower crown of white camellias, pearls stranded in your hair as well.
You probably loved this more than your first outfit, a white bouquet in your hands as well. You were going to cry even more this time, you were sure of it. When someone knocks, you turn with a quick confirmation for them to come in, Katniss peeking her head inside. “Someone wants to see you…”
You giggled as your son ran in, gasping loudly. “Momma, you look so pweety!”
You laughed at his childish dialect, smoothing down the front of your dress. “Yeah? You think papa will like it?”
He nods his head vigorously. “Yeah! And if he doesn’t, he’s crazy!”
You giggled, offering your empty hand. “Wanna walk mommy down the aisle?”
He continues to nod, running over. “Momma, I’m glad you’re getting remarried. That bracelet is dirty.”
You laughed, nodding with him. “Is it baby? Well good thing papa’s getting me another one, right?”
“Yeah!”
You named your son Atlas, and for heaven's sake, he came out exactly like Finnick. Golden hair and bright sea blue eyes, a perfect smile and the freckles you loved since you were a child.
He takes your hand, leading you out the room as Katniss follows behind. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”
You smiled back at her, giggling. “Thank you, Katniss.”
You walked out the back door, stepping down the steps of the large wrap around porch Finnick had built himself. The second you stepped into the meadow of different kinds of wildflowers, all of the memories came flooding back.
“Finnick, we’re not supposed to be here!”
You whisper yelled at him as he dragged you to the edge of District 4, laughing.
“So? Come on, we’re almost there!” He pulls you harder, groaning. “Y/N, don’t be a scaredy-cat!”
You groaned. “My mother will kill me.”
He snorts. “Fuck your mother.”
You gasped, slapping his bicep before he sharply tugs you forward, a gasp falling from your lips before you screamed out as you both began rolling down the hill. His hand keeps your face in his neck as he laughs, your arms wrapping around him as his other hand holds your side.
You finally get to the bottom, Finnick laughing like the funniest thing in the world just happened as you sit on his chest, looking down at your grass stained dress. The Reaping would happen in a few days, and your mother had just bought you this dress. She would kill you if you came home like this.
“Finnick, my dress is all dirty!” You whine as he sits up.
“You’re so over dramatic, darling. We can clean it when we get back, look at all the flowers,” he says, smiling as he picks one and puts it behind your ear. “I know they’re your favorite.”
You couldn’t help but giggle as you picked one and tucked it behind his ear. “My favorite wildflower, Finnick. Not my favorite in general.”
He laughed, clearing his throat. “My apologies, your majesty, your favorite wildflower. Is there any way you could possibly forgive me?”
You giggle, humming. “I mean… I guess so,” you say, making him grin before you boop his nose. “But it’s gonna cost you.”
He starts to blush, but hums. “Oh yeah? What?”
You purse your lips, letting out a soft ‘hmph’ as you fix yourself on Finnick’s lap. “Well, if I’m your highness, that means I’m queen, right?”
He purses his lips in response, nodding. “Yes, it does.”
“Well then, you can be my knight. To protect me and stay with me for the rest of my life. Sounds good?”
He smiled widely, nodding. “Sounds good. I’ll be your knight, Y/N?”
You put up your hand, offering your pinky. “Promise?”
He smiled, nodding as he wrapped his pinky around yours before pushing his hand up. “Lock it.”
You do, watching as he kissed your overlapping thumbs before doing the same. “You can’t break it now, Finnick!”
He nods before smirking. “Y’know, we just shared saliva.”
Your brow ruffled. “No we didn’t.”
“You kissed after me,” he teased, chuckling. “That means you got some of my saliva in your mouth.”
You blushed madly, quickly wiping your lips. “Finnick! Don’t say that!”
He laughed as he pressed his face into your neck. “Oh come on! Knights and queens belong together.”
You purse your lips. “No, kings and queens belong together.”
“Knights and queens make better pairs,” he says immediately before humming. “Y/N, I want to do something.”
Your brow ruffled. “Okay?”
He shook his head. “With you. If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop and I will, I promise, but I’ve been wanting to do it with you for a while.”
You nodded. “Okay, I will. What is it, Finnick?”
He blushed madly, cheeks turning a bright red as he looked away. “C-Can you close your eyes?”
You do, closing them tightly before something soft lands on your lips. You don’t realize it at first, but Finnick was kissing you. Your lifelong crush was kissing you.
You don’t open your eyes until he pulls away, slowly finding his eyes as he swallows. “W-Was that okay?”
You look at him confused. “Did you just kiss me, Finnick?”
He looked away, mumbling under his breath. “Yeah, yeah I did,” he was blushing madly. “I just… I‘ve been wanting to do it for a while and-”
You pressed your lips to his before he could even finish, holding his cheeks before pulling away. It was soft and quick, but that’s all you really needed. You could feel your cheeks heating up as you rub them softly, clearing your throat. “I uhm… you don’t have to ask next time.”
He starts to smile. “So I can kiss you whenever I want?”
You shove him. “Of course not, dummy! We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend!”
His smile falls. “Why not?”
Your brow furrowed. “You… you want to be?”
“Yeah, I do,” he says quickly, fixing the flower over your ear. “I want to love you until the end of time.”
“Forever?” You ask and he nods.
“And when we meet again in our next life.”
You inhaled shakily as you stood at the end of the white carpet rolled out between the chairs of people, only the most significant you truly wanted to come. Finnick stood on the dock, hands ringing together nervously before he saw you. His jaw drops as he stares, Cinna grinning as he stands between him and where you were going to stand.
Mags had sadly died a few months before Atlas was born, peacefully with you and Finnick by her side. Of course you were heartbroken, but you also knew you would meet again in your next life.
The drums started to play as Atlas tugged on your hand making you look down at him.
“Mama, are you okay? Daddy’s crying.”
You look at Finnick who, sure enough, had tears rolling down his cheeks before he wiped at them.
“Yes baby,” you whisper, your own eyes filling with tears. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m amazing, I’m so, so happy.”
“Well, come on!”
You laughed as he tugged you down the aisle, waving at everyone as Haymitch and Effie grin at you. You smiled widely at them, wiping at your cheeks as you finally got to the dock where the drums stopped.
Atlas ran around you both, running to Cinna who sighed loudly.
“And at last, the day has finally come,” he says, announcing it to everyone here. “Where the King and Queen of Panem are getting married again.”
You can feel the rope being wrapped around you both, your hand holding one end as you stare up at Finnick who leaned his forehead against yours. Cinna continues to speak as Finnick takes the other end, Katniss and Peeta stepping forward to do the same thing they did the first time, but this time, they cut off the previous rope from your wrists before melting the second one around again.
“I have a gift for you both,” Cinna says as the rope stays wrapped around you both, slowly taking a box from his pocket before opening it. “To add onto your rings.”
You gasped as he took out two more rings, one a thinner band with a pearl on it made for Finnick while the other was a vine-shaped gold with a pearl on it as well. He slips them both onto your fingers as you look up at Finnick, eyes watering as he sighed. “I fucking love you, Y/N Odair. I love you so much.”
You giggled, stroking his cheek. “I love you, Finnick Odair. Until the end of time, and in our next life.”
He sighs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Until the end of time and in our next life, darling.”
“Give her a real kiss, Finnick!” Effie shouts, Atlas groaning in disgust as Finnick pulls his hand from the rope, both of his strong palms resting on your jaw as he pulls you closer, kissing you passionately.
You could taste the slight saltiness from the tears, but you groaned against his lips as you pulled him closer, lower. Everyone cheers as Atlas groans once again.
“Stop being nasty!”
You giggle as you pull away, smiling up at him again. “I love you too, Finnick Odair. Until the end of time, and when we meet in our next life.”
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Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪
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In our next life taglist: 𓆩[@poppet05]𓆪   𓆩[@ennycutie]𓆪   𓆩[@jewelrybean25]𓆪   𓆩[@arzua10]𓆪   𓆩[@savagemickey03]𓆪   𓆩[@ok-boke]𓆪   𓆩[@instabull]𓆪   𓆩[@maxinehufflepuffprincess]𓆪   𓆩[@starryeddie]𓆪   𓆩[@ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations]𓆪   𓆩[@taestrwbrry]𓆪   𓆩[@iveraly]𓆪   𓆩[@b1llzb1tch]𓆪   𓆩[@avoxrising]𓆪   𓆩[@aquawhore]𓆪   𓆩[@luna-ann]𓆪   𓆩[@maliaaaa]𓆪   𓆩[@jyessaminereads]𓆪   𓆩[@hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere]𓆪   𓆩[@crowleysqueenofhell]𓆪   𓆩[@alexa-33]𓆪   𓆩[@wh0re4life]𓆪 𓆩[@duwcsd]𓆪   𓆩[@nyainterlu4ee]𓆪 𓆩[@magical-spit]𓆪
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omg. OMG. THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! OMG!
This is the last chapter, omg. With a heavy heart, this is (kinda) the end! I will start taking requests for Finnick in this universe, the link to request is in at the top! Don't be shy my loves!
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© asterias-record-shop
701 notes · View notes
spaceshipellie · 8 months
Text
everything’s about you to me
ellie williams x reader
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chapter two: this house is a graveyard
masterlist for other chapters *✧・゚: wc: 3.7k
summary: in the midst of the apocalypse, you and ellie find each other after you’ve both lost everything. what started out as a mere safety in numbers pairing, turns into something imperishable. however, after some time you get separated, leaving you both to believe the other is dead. four years later you find a commune in wyoming.
warnings: tlou au, death, grief, burying a body, mentions of deceased loved ones, it’s sad sorry :( 18+ mdni
author’s note: i promise the next part will be less traumatic!!! it’s actually going to be very cute (i think anyway lmao) but back to this part!! thank you for all the love so far <3 lmk what you think
♪ ‘cause the world could be burning, and all i’d be thinking, is “how are you doing, baby?”
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The sky was a mottled grey overhead as the three of you walked along the rural road. Nearly an hour had passed since the diner but conversations were minimal. From Ellie at least, who was reluctant to share much about herself. It was understandable, you wouldn’t be in a rush to share your life with people you had only just met. The time had allowed you to observe her though. She was wearing a blue button up with the sleeves ripped off and a grey t-shirt underneath, jeans, and converses which matched your own. Her hair was short and roughly tied up in a half up, half down.
You couldn’t help but ponder the reasons as to why she might be alone. She must have been about your age and the thought of being alone terrified you so you couldn’t imagine what she might have been through. Did she have a family? Friends? Where was she going before she met you? All of these questions swirled around your brain but you thought better of bombarding her with them. She seemed lost and forlorn and you didn’t want to do anything to upset her. Your attention was diverted when you heard coughing.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” your mom said, wiping her hand over her mouth. She then pointed up ahead to a farmhouse in the distance. “We should head towards that.”
You nodded and looked over at Ellie who looked back at you. Her lips tightened into a line as she nodded slowly. You prayed that you wouldn't find anything too terrible. Looking at the place, it almost seemed too good to be true. You mentally prepared for the possibility it was either already taken by someone or was hoarding a bunch of infected. Both of which had the opportunity to kill you.
It was another fifteen minutes before you reached the farmhouse. On approach you couldn’t hear anything, but you all cautioned yourselves as you moved towards the front door. Your mom, who insisted on going first, slowly pushed the door open with her foot, gun pointing forward. You gripped your bat and Ellie held the crowbar.
The door creaked as it opened, and eventually a jangle of cans came from above your heads. You winced at the noise, clearly set up by someone as an alarm. Nothing happened though. You relaxed your shoulders slightly as you moved further down the hall. Most of the doors were open giving you a peek at the kitchen-diner on the left side and a living room on the other.
“I’ll check upstairs,” Ellie said, shuffling past you.
You and your mom checked the downstairs rooms, each time meeting each other in the hallway and declaring nobody there. Ellie then returned downstairs.
“Anything?” You asked.
“No, all clear.”
A bang caused all of your heads to face the kitchen. You shared hesitant glances before slowly edging in that direction. It must be outside, you thought, because the kitchen was definitely empty. Your mom slowly turned the back door handle and again, pushed it open with her foot, gun looking left to right. The same noise sounded again.
“The barn,” you whispered.
The closer you got the clearer you could hear heavy breathing. It didn’t really sound like infected but why would a person be banging on a barn wall. You all slipped through the half open door, silence falling. You scanned over the room quickly.
“There doesn’t seem to be any–oh my god!” You involuntarily stepped back, accidentally bumping into Ellie. Your mom and Ellie both followed your eyes to the far corner.
“Shit.”
A man hung from a wooden beam with a rope tight around his neck. A wooden stool lay on its side on the floor beneath him. You only had a moment to take it in before the bang came again from what you now knew to be a stable door. It was followed by another rumbly deep breath. Ellie went over and slowly unbolted the door. A pinto horse with chestnut patches dashed out, neighing wildly and bucking.
“Woah, woah, easy,” Ellie soothed. Her hand came to touch its neck and the horse seemed to calm down ever so slightly. It was still very fidgety and loud but didn’t seem like it was going to run off as Ellie was now stroking its neck. You were amazed at what effect she seemed to be having on the distressed animal. You noticed something white had fallen to the ground after the door had swung open so you went over to pick it up.
“This guy left a note.”
“What does it say?”
“To whoever finds this, I’m sorry that you’re still alive in this fucked up world. If it’s any consolation, I have a pretty decent farmhouse here. Don’t get too many infected unless you go further than a few miles. There’s some food in the cupboards, ammo, first aid stuff. You should be alright here for some time if you’re smart. If you run out of stuff, there’s a town about six miles east. Though I can’t guarantee what’s left of it. And please take care of my horse, Harley. She’s a beaut and I know I’m a coward for leaving her on her own but I couldn't take it anymore. Good luck and thank you. - Jack.”
“God,” your mom breathed.
“Shit’s messed up,” Ellie said.
“Yeah,” you nodded, looking over at Jack's hanging body. “We should cut him down. Maybe bury him. The least we can do when he’s giving us his house.”
The other’s nodded. You walked over to him and picked up the stool, steadying it to stand on. You stood on the stool, your mom warning you to be careful as you reached up to cut the rope. You could see his face clearly now. His brown eyes were open and his face was sunken. His hair was matted and he was wearing muddy, navy overalls. The decomposing smell was faintly running up your nostrils. Judging by it though, he couldn’t have been dead for too long otherwise it would have been difficult to stomach.
You tried to hurry your sawing at the rope until eventually it snapped and his body hit the ground with a heavy thud. You wobbled as you dismounted the stool, searching around for a shovel. You wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. You spotted one in the corner and grabbed it before purposely walking out the barn door and round to the side of it, throwing down the shovel. Marching back in, you saw Ellie had already started to grab his arms and your mom went to grab his legs before she dropped them, doubling over in a coughing fit.
“Let me,” you said, taking his legs.
You and Ellie carried him out to where you had dropped the shovel and placed him down. You grabbed the shovel and started digging, haphazardly tossing the soil into a large pile. The atmosphere was gloomy and solemn. No one spoke as you kept digging, pausing to wipe your forehead, smearing mud on it.
“Want me to take over?” Ellie offered.
“No,” you said, a little too abruptly, “it’s okay.”
Flashes of your dad’s lifeless body cursed your mind as you ignored the ache in your arms. The way it had fallen in a bloody heap and there was nothing you could do. No way for you to reach out and touch him or tell him goodbye. Tell him everything will actually be fine and you can find him a doctor. Tell him thank you for keeping you safe. You could never go back and change your last moments with him and it killed you.
“Honey, I think that’s enough,” your mom’s voice was mellow yet concerned as she looked down at you.
She helped you out of the deep grave you had dug and you wiped your hands on your jeans, staring down at the empty pit. You and Ellie resumed holding Jack's arms and legs as you lowered him in, letting him drop the last little bit as you couldn’t reach. You looked at his face one last time, letting out a deep breath before picking up the shovel again and piling all of the dirt back in. By the time you were done, the wind had picked up and it howled around you.
“We should go inside, I’ll go and check that the horse is tied up,” Ellie excused herself as you and your mom made your way back towards the back door of the house.
“I’m gonna go upstairs” your mom said before making her way up there.
You looked around the kitchen, wringing your hands together. The last twenty-four hours had been a shit show and you could do with some peace now that you had found this place. You dumped your backpack and jacket on the dining table and started rummaging through the cupboards, remembering how the note had said there was food. Your eyes brightened upon seeing stacks of cans filled right up to the front. What a gold mine, you thought. You heard the floorboards at the top of the stairs creak.
“Hey, look at all this, isn’t it–” you turned excitedly with a can of ravioli in your hand, but your smile faltered when you saw your mom’s face. Her eyes damp and bloodshot.
“What is it?”
“Honey, I–” her voice cracked. You put the can down.
“Mom?”
“Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know until I…” her voice was strangled as she gestured upstairs.
Ellie then came through the door and stopped in her tracks as she noticed the tension in the room.
“Mom, tell me. Please.”
She cleared her throat.
“I was bit.”
Her words punctured a hole right through you, a lump forming in your throat.
“No, no, no, no,” your words got more rapid and desperate. This can’t be happening.
“W-where?”
Your mom pulled her top away from her shoulder and turned to show the gruesome bite mark on the back of it. You saw how the blood had run from it, some of it fresh, some of it dry.
“I wasn’t sure if it was just an injury or what until I looked in the mirror.”
She pulled her top back up and faced you again. You were crying, silently. In fact, the silence in the entire room was deafening.
“Please don’t leave me.” Your voice was hushed and weak. Your mom walked over and cupped your cheeks, brushing a tear away with her thumb.
“My baby, I’m so sorry.”
No one said anything for a moment, you just cried as she hugged you.
“I do not want to turn into one of those things and hurt you.”
You pulled back to look at her, eyes darting between hers.
“So what…w-what do you mean?”
“I mean,” she took in a shaky breath, “I’m going to take care of it myself,” her voice cracked and a sad smile stretched her lips and she nodded as if she was convincing herself.
“No,” you whispered, pulling her in for a bone crushingly tight hug.
“It’s better this way,” she said as she rubbed your back, “I’m going to take my gun, you still have plenty others here, and I’m going to walk as far as I can make it and you are not going to look for me.”
“I can’t–it’s not fair,” your voice was lost in her hair.
“I know it’s not, but hey, look at me,” she brushed your hair away from your face.
“You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to stay here, in this house, together,” she looked at Ellie as she said the last word before looking back at you. You tried to speak but she shook her head so she could finish.
“I need to know that you’ll do that for me, and that you’ll stay safe, okay?” She hugged you again, “promise me, baby.”
“I promise.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you too, mom.”
“You’ll be okay.”
She gave you a final squeeze and pulled away.
“I probably don’t have long left so…” she dizzily looked around for her gun.
Your body involuntarily moved towards her but you stopped yourself. You couldn’t stop this. Nothing could. She coughed again and you could see her hands twitching. She shook out all the bullets from her gun except for two. You could tell she was trying her hardest to keep it together, but she could never fool you. The fear was making her face seem hollow and cold. Her fingers trembled as they clutched the gun. She looked at you one last time before leaving out the back door and that was the last time you ever saw her.
Ellie could see how your body was about to crumble and she moved quickly to grab you as you fell down to your knees. She knelt beside you and held your shaking body. Her chin rested on your shoulder and your eyes left wet patches on hers. It felt like the air had been knocked out of you. Everything you’d ever known was gone.
Even with everything you were feeling right now you felt guilty that this girl you’d only just met had to deal with you like this. But you were grateful she was there.
She stayed there until you were ready to pull away, revealing your bloodshot eyes and cracked lips. You slumped back against the counter and Ellie sat with her arms wrapped around her bent knees. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her eyes looked glossy as she stared at the ground. Your head ached from the crying and your face felt swollen.
“I don’t know what to do,” your voice squeaked. She took a minute to answer and her jaw clenched.
“You can’t do anything,” she mumbled, defeatedly.
It was getting darker by the minute. The haunting silence was only disrupted by a moth tapping against the ceiling. You felt overwhelmed with groggy tiredness but equally you couldn’t switch your brain off. Normally you would go to bed thinking about what to do the next day but now, you didn’t care. You couldn’t think of anything to care about.
“Maybe we should try and get some sleep,” Ellie suggested. You just nodded, slowly.
Ellie got up and left the room and you heard her lock the front door, she came back in to grab a chair and propped one under the front door and one under the back door handle just in case the locks were dodgy. She also went round closing all the curtains and checking that all of the windows were shut. Meanwhile, you sat on the kitchen floor, feeling like a ghost. She grabbed as much stuff from the table as she could including half of your things before you willed yourself up onto your feet to grab the rest. At the top of the stairs, Ellie turned to you.
“Which one do you want?”
You looked at the two bedrooms and just pointed at one of them, not really analysing it. She went in and dropped off the stuff that was yours.
“Thanks.”
“S’okay.”
She went into the other room and put her stuff down whilst you put your gun and bat near your bed. You sighed a withered sigh as you looked around the room. It had a double bed which was made up with a duvet and pillows. It had a mirrored dresser on one wall and a wardrobe on the other. The furniture looked like it hadn’t been updated for several decades before the outbreak. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls in places and framed paintings of the countryside adorned them. It was a gift that you had found this place but it was a hard one to appreciate right now. Ellie came out of her room and leant her hand on the bannister.
“Um, goodnight then I guess.”
“Yeah,” you awkwardly bit your lip, “goodnight.”
Your head still pounded with the number of tears that had been shed over the past two weeks. It felt like you were going insane. You had mostly stayed cooped up in your room, not knowing how to handle the grief. Thankfully, due to the supplies that had already been in the house you hadn’t needed to go for a supply run yet. Ellie had left you alone, not wanting to interfere. The few times you had bumped into her there was a strained tension between you. You weren’t surprised considering this was an unusual circumstance for meeting someone new, but you felt strange about it nonetheless and hoped that in time, it would ease. After all, you were supposedly stuck together for the foreseeable future.
Up until this point you had been feeling a great sorrow where your whole body ached and you could barely tell that the days were passing. Now, however, you were entering a state of numbness, a complete disconnect from what was around you. It was as if the world had been chipping away at you piece by piece all these years and this had been the last hit before you had declined into nothing.
On the first night you had looked through the bedroom draws and had found some spare clothes to sleep in. You and Ellie had also managed to wash your own clothes with some rainwater you had collected and some soap you found in the bathroom. It hadn’t necessarily made them squeaky clean but it was better than nothing. It had also been relieving to have been able to clean your skin for the first time in a while. You were sitting on the bed with your knees bunched up against your chest and your cheek resting on them, eyes trailing over some of the pictures on the wall.
You sighed, pulling yourself up from the bed and slumping over to the mirrored dresser. Your devoid expression stared back at you. Your hair had been messed around from lying against the pillow for so long so you feebly attempted to tidy it before faltering towards the stairs. The floorboards at the top creaked under your weight and your hand gripped the bannister tightly, as if you would fall if you let go. With trembling steps, you made your way down and peeked through the open living room door. Ellie was slouching on the couch looking at a piece of crumpled paper.
“What’s that?” Your voice croaked so you coughed to clear it.
Her head shot to you as she was caught off guard by your presence. “Looks like instructions on how to get to the town.”
You shuffled over and sat beside her so you could see. She handed it to you, using her now free hands to rub her tired eyes. You observed the scribbles on the paper. It featured a roughly drawn map of squares and arrows, labelled with things like ‘road on the big hill’ and ‘supermarket.’
“Will be worth a try in a few days, we’re probably still alright for now,” she suggested. You nodded, putting the map down on the coffee table.
You picked at your hands in your lap, not knowing what to say. You and Ellie hadn’t said much to each other since you got here, events having not really allowed for it. You realised that you knew next to nothing about her. About her life, where she had come from, why she had saved you. Your eyes trailed down to the bandage on her right arm again.
“What happened to your arm?”
She immediately placed her left hand over it as if she was embarrassed or covering something up. “Oh, I uh, I got stabbed.”
You drew in a short breath. “Ouch.”
“Yeah,” she looked down at her arm, “it was pretty bad.”
Your sleeves were pushed up and she noticed you had a scar on your elbow.
“How did you get that?” She asked, gesturing to it. You lifted your arm, twisting it to look.
“Oh, that was from,” a puff of air escaped your nose, “it’s stupid and not as cool sounding as yours, I fell out of a tree trying to get a closer look at a bluebird.”
“Wow,” she snickered, “hope the look was worth it.”
“It was,” you looked down into your lap, running your hand over your arm, “you don’t come across many pretty things like that.”
You didn’t notice her looking at you when you spotted something behind the slightly open door of the cabinet the TV was resting on. You got up and crouched beside it, pulling the items out.
“CDs,” you mused to yourself, shuffling through them. Foo Fighters, Jimi Hendrix, Eagles, Tracy Chapman, Nirvana, Dolly Parton, Nickelback, and a few others.
“Too bad I can’t find the CD player,” Ellie remarked.
“Hm. It must be somewhere,” you said, fixing the pile of CDs, leaving them out on the coffee table as a reminder to look for the CD player. You stayed sitting on the floor, leaning on one of your hands and glanced around. You hadn’t really been in this room much. By the window was where the cabinet and TV sat then opposite was the dusty blue couch with a couple of limp throw cushions on. The walls were off white and much like upstairs, were covered in framed paintings. The windowsill was thick with dust and the moth-eaten curtains floated with the light breeze that was coming in from the open window.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where were you going before you came with us?”
Ellie stretched her hands and placed them on her knees, shuffling in her seat.
“Uh, nowhere really.”
“You didn’t have to be so nice to me that night, so thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
She looked down at the ground with squinted eyes, her head shaking a little.
“Well, I want to,” you murmured softly, “you’d barely just met me and not a lot of people would have been that way.”
You looked up at her but she wasn’t looking at you, almost as if it would hurt her to do so.
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sc0tters · 2 months
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Mistletoe Confessions | Quinn Hughes
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summary: when Quinn finally realises that he down at want to just see Harper as Jacks best friend
request: my entry in the @wyattjohnston fic exchange for @tkwrites
warnings: swearing, mentions of sleeping with someone but nothing explicit.
word count: 3.87k
authors note: this took an embarrassingly long amount of time to write this one out but here is my first ever entry to a fic exchange and I seriously had so much fun writing this one!
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Christmas at the Hughes’ was by every definition the highlight of her Christmas.
Harper always adored the cold Michigan weather and the way that everyone seemed to come together for the reunion of the three Hughes boys. Jack was the one who got Harper into the group. Her family had the lake house just down the road and the moment Jack watched her punch a guy for taking his cap, they were destined to be best friends.
Time went on and Jack kept Harper by his side through it all, but even as he was in New Jersey and Harper was in Florida they still stayed as close as the day they were when Harper kissed him. It was a stupid thing were they were twelve and were scared they’d end up being bad at it so they practiced on each other one night -don’t worry, they didn’t try that with sex-. Yet it was much to the dismay of Quinn that the duo had to stay so close.
To him Harper was a pain in the ass who was always around when he didn’t want to have to see her. Their moms agreed that this hatred masked a crush that he had on Harper, but as he grew to the ripe age of twenty three she began to think that the margaritas had something in them to feed their delusions.
Quinn never seemed to have the time of day for Harper which Jack made sure to always call his brother out on but after fifteen years of the same drum being beat. It got old for everyone but Quinn, silently sealing her indefinite broken heart.
Yes because like every unfortunate yet classic story Harper had a reason for never getting into anything serious with any guys. For her relationships only ever lasting six months at most, the secret ate up at her but no matter how hard she tried to deny it Harper was in love with Quinn.
She knew it was stupid to think so fondly of a man who thought so poorly of her but as she would watch him each time with a new girl, the glimmers of hope would weaken yet it seemed that nothing could remove them fully. The one moment when Harper was ready to move on Quinn found a way to unintentionally bring her right back into the midst of the crush.
Beer pong against Trevor was never going to end well for Harper. But six games strong and her untimely demise came from playing with Cole as it ended up with her curled over the toilet as she emptied her guts in the porcelain bowl “oh.” The grumble made her freeze as she found a moment of silence where her mouth was able to remain shut “c’mon Quinny we can go somewhere else.” The preppy girl had this sultry tone in her voice as she wrapped her arms around his torso, Harper wished she wanted to throw up in that moment.
But Quinn sighed as he watched Harper’s small body cling to the toilet “you should go.” In that moment Harper swore he was talking to her “k-kinda busy!” She snapped coughing at the taste of bile in her throat “not you.” Quinn rolled his eyes as he made the mental note to chew her out for that later.
The sound of the girl he had scoffing were like music to Harper’s ears “let’s not have you throw up on your hair.” Quinn joked but when he was met with a glare that she clearly used all of her energy to send him he sighed “let it out harps.” The hockey player mumbled as he wrapped his hand into her hair using his free one to rub her back “I’m never drinking again.” Harper groaned as she finally found a moment of solace that let her sit across from the boy.
It made Quinn smile as he laughed “I’ll remind you of that tomorrow.” Somehow she had gotten herself invited to the boys drunk golf game, and as someone who never played golf, she was set to be hammered. Harper pressed her head against the wall as her lips formed a pout “you should go back down to that girl.” Harper didn’t want this to be held against her at a later date so she just offered to let him go “she wasn’t my type.” His confession made Harper’s eyes go wide as she laughed.
She truly didn’t mean to but as she was as drunk as a skunk she couldn’t help but sit there and keep her lips locked “the short dress and the hair twirls didn’t get to Quinn Hughes?” Harper gasped as she pretended to be shocked “you wound me Harps.” Quinn pressed his hand on his chest as he fanned a hurt expression.
It made her giggle as she shook her head “like that’s not the worse thing you’ve said to me.” Harper slurred as she placed her hand on his knee “woah.” Jack walked in on the sight of his best friend and his brother finally not fighting “you enjoying the company?” His eyes went wide as he stared at her.
Her cheeks went red as she looked up at him “not bad?” She shrugged not knowing truly what else to say instead “c’mon Z wants to show you something.” Quinn had to force a smile on his lips as he nodded his head off in his brothers direction. Out of Jack’s friends Trevor was by far the one that Quinn saw as competition.
It was beyond stupid but Harper clearly got on with Trevor and it wasn’t a relationship like Jacks with her. Quinn had walked into the living room on more than one occasion where they were jumping apart after being sat on the couch. He swore he’d never get the image of Harper leaving Trevor’s room in a pure walk of shame. Maybe it was the fact that Quinn couldn’t see her in that light but it was more than likely because he was never going to forget her white lace thong in her hand as she ran across the hall in Trevor’s t-shirt thinking nobody was awake.
The smell of eggnog brought Harper back to reality as she walked into the Hughes family home “honey I’m home!” She giggled as the door shut behind her “in the kitchen sweetie!” Ellen called back as the girl always made sure to get there early.
Harper squealed as she ran into the kitchen “momma Hughes!” Ellen was quick to drop her spoon into the gravy as she turned to the girl “oh how I’ve missed you!” The through Hughes brothers watched in amusement as Ellen wrapped her hands around the girls waist.
Luke scoffed as he squinted his eyes “it’s like she doesn’t have children of her own.” He mumbled as he was met with a glare from his mother “I haven’t seen her in months, I saw you last week.” Ellen corrected him as she rolled her eyes “now how have you been sweetheart?” She smiled as she tucked Harpers hair behind her ears.
Quinn couldn’t help but notice how she had cut her hair. The ends of her once died hair was now gone as Harper let her natural hair grow to her collar bone that was hidden by her turtle neck “I’ve been good.” Harper nodded as she fiddled with her teddy bear bracelet.
It had been a gift from Trevor for your twenty first and as she never took it off it was the constant reminder that she was Trevor’s. The title might not have been written in stone but for each time he’d smile at her and Harper would reciprocate, the image spoke more than a thousand words.
But as a laugh left his lips her head snapped in his direction “what’s so funny?” Harper furrowed her eyebrows as she grew irritated “can’t a guy laugh Harps?” Quinn smirked as he rested his head on his hands “I’m gonna go talk with her okay?” Jack nodded as he grabbed her hand pulling Harper out of the room.
The duo couldn’t help but sit on the corner of the living room as they caught up “god I’ve missed you.” Jack sighed as he wrapped his arms around her “you saw me two weeks ago!” Harper laughed as she shook her head “and we were on FaceTime yesterday!” She added as the boy kissed her head letting out a scoff.
His arms squeezed around her “let me as your best friend miss you!” He emphasized on the last two words as he smiled “I’ll always let you miss me.” Harper giggled as she kissed his temple “you two sure you haven’t fucked?” Luke’s vulgar words made them both laugh as Jim reached up to hit his son’s head.
The best friends snickered only going quiet as Quinn glared at them “I wouldn’t laugh if I was you Harps.” The boy twirled his finger in her direction “last time I checked you had cobwebs up there.” His words made her lips form an o as she scoffed.
It seemed as though everyone was quiet as they watched the interaction between the duo “please I get plenty of s-” Harpers rebuttal was cut off when Jack gagged “okay eww.” He scrunched his face in disgust silently praising the lords as the doorbell rang “behave.” Jim warned glaring at Quinn before he went to the door.
For the most part the night went smoothly, with Quinn sat on one side of the table and Harper on the edge. They had Jack and Luke amongst both her family members as well as a few more members of the Hughes family along side friends to bulk out the table. It was as though Quinn and Harper weren’t even in the same room with how little they acknowledged each other “so your mom told me that you got a job in Vancouver?” Ellen smiled as she turned her attention to Harper.
It made the young girl freeze as she was in the middle of eating a piece of broccoli “couldn’t get enough of me Harps?” Quinn teased as it made the table tense “trust me I would not be calling you when I’m there.” Harper let out an unimpressed scoff as she threw fork onto her plate.
His lips formed a smirk as he realized that he had gotten to her “can I get that in writing?” As Quinn pushed out of his chair she did the same “the only thing you’re going to get from me is my foot up your ass!” Her fists clenched as she knew he was going to act like this when he found out.
Her mom grew embarrassed as she placed her hand over her mouth “didn’t think someone as dry as you could have been so kinky.” The hockey player wriggled his eyebrows as he shrugged “god you are so infuriating!” Harper stomped her foot on the ground.
Luke looked down at his plate as he tried to avoid the harsh glares that were being sent over the table “c’mon Harps, you know I’m the only person who would be able to put up with your ass-” the words flew out of Quinn’s mouth quicker than anyone could have processed “I’m gonna do just fine in Vancouver without you Quinn.” She spat as she pushed her hair out of her face.
The table stayed silent as she stepped closer to him “because I’d rather die a cold miserable death before I ever go crawling to you.” As the gap between them both dispersed into nothing “so respectfully go fuck yourself!” Harper pressed her finger in his chest as she turned to see everyone at the table staring back at the duo.
It made her cheeks grow warm “excuse me.” She mumbled turning her heel as she almost dashed to the bathroom “could you not have just kept your mouth shut for one god damn night?” Jack’s anger echoed through the hall as she pushed open the bathroom door.
As the cool water hit her face the ringing in her ears subsided as the anger in her heart began to wear off. Whilst she had gotten used to the constant back and forth with him part of Harper began to grow tired of this as she did hope that Quinn and her could move on from where they were in their relationship. Maybe it was naive but this year it finally felt like they were’t going to have to try and bite each other’s heads off.
So as Quinn sunk further into his seat hearing the lectures come from each member of his family. His mind drifted to the girls words, did she seriously mean that she hated him enough to rather be dead than get with him “you’re back.” Jack sounded as though he let out a sigh of relief as he watched Harper tuck her hair behind her ears before she joined the table again.
The rest of dinner went down quietly as everyone avoided any topic of her going to Vancouver fearing that they would irritated Quinn and start up that argument again. Quinn watched her stay silent only sending Jack the occasional nod as he spoke about how his season went. Just like always Harper was first to jump up to help with the dishes and this time it was more pressing as she was desperate to avoid Quinn.
So much so that she went as far as to use the route she swore he wouldn’t. Yet the universe seemed to want to screw with them both as it sent her crashing into his chest “shit!” He groaned looking up to see a mistletoe right above them.
Panic set in as Harper stared up at the plastic decoration that hung from the ceiling “we don’t have-” Quinn began as he was cut off when his younger cousins let out a squeal “kiss her Quinn!” The girls played their hands on their face as they stared at the duo who stood in front of them.
Harpers cheeks turned red as she frozen “you guys should go upstairs so you can go to bed!” Quinn went to shoo them away but it was a punch to her gut “think I’m gonna go home.” Her parents were only down the road and as she had left the last of the dishes in the kitchen.
Quinn cursed himself as he turned around to stop her only to see her practically already bolted in the other direction “fuck!” He groaned watching her pull her coat from the rack before she waved goodbye to members of the family that she actually wanted to see.
As Harper made her way back to the door she couldn’t help but look back silently praying to see Quinn’s eyes. But the only thing she found was the back of his head as he was already headed upstairs and with that any hope of things ending differently went along with him.
Harper ended up barely getting ready for bed before Luke got her on the phone to talk. Luke had weirdly found himself in the role of being her little listener. As much as she valued her relationship with Jack, there were simply some things that she knew were better left secrets to her best friend.
Luke also got the role after he made the mistake asking her what was on her mind one night as she sat staring at the stars at the lake house. Harper was drunk and as tears streamed down her face wishing that Quinn would stop hating her. As he was the only one who knew how she truly felt about his eldest brother, it meant Luke was the one she confided in.
It was clear that she was irritated as she braided her hair rambling on about how Quinn had pissed her off “and he couldn’t even kiss me after he stared at me like a fucking fool!” She scoffed honestly not knowing what she wanted from the scenario “like Jesus Christ am I that fucking bad?” Luke remained silent as he knew the simple reason behind her outburst was that her pride was hurt.
Nobodies ego handles rejection well and Harper swore she was the idiot for running away “maybe it’s about time you moved on Harps?” Quinn froze as he heard the question linger on Luke’s lips “you know part of me still thinks that there is a part of him that is good f’me.” The fears in the oldest Hughes boy turned to jealousy as he furrowed his eyebrows.
But as Luke’s laughter echoed in his ears, the little self restraint that Quinn had left stopped him from opening the door “that’s because you’re still in love with Quinn!” Anyone who could have heard that sentence through the young boys giggles should have deserved a prize “shut up!” Harpers groan brought him back to earth as his chest began to rise in a mild panic.
He began to step away feeling like he had heard too much of a private conversation “you okay Quinn?” Ellen furrowed her eyebrows as she walked out of her room wanting to go downstairs for a glass of water before she went to bed “I need to clear my head.” Quinn announced as he nodded.
Like any concerned mother she reached out to grab his hand “it’s almost midnight.” She pointed out looking down to her watch “I just need to go for a walk.” Not much went through his mind beyond the fact that Quinn knew he needed to see Harper.
He almost pleaded with his mom just desperate to get out of that house “I’ll be back in a bit.” Quinn gave his mom the briefest of hugs before he left “pretty sure it’s my eldest who is the weirdest.” She mumbled to herself as Luke was still on FaceTime “love you too.” As the words came from him Ellen just sighed “spoke too soon.” She mumbled as she shook her head.
Quinn felt panic coarse through his body as he ran the route to your parents house like it could have been clockwork for his brain. The light in her room was the only one that was on as she had always been one for those late nights. Soft sounds of Christmas carols echoed through her ears as she had just gotten into her pyjamas.
The soft patter of a knocks on the window made Harper freeze as she saw the shadow of someone’s figure behind it “go away!” She called out grabbing Jacks old hockey stick that had been left in her room. But as the figure didn’t move Harper slowly walked to her window nervously gripping to the side of the curtain as she pulled it to the side.
Her eyes went wide as she was faced with Quinn “what the hell.” She mumbled to herself as he was barely safe on the tree that was next to her bedroom “open up!” He begged tapping the glass.
Harper nodded as she pushed it up opening the pane as she moved to the side “Quinn it is so late.” She pointed out seeing her alarm clock with the red numbers illuminating the black screen on her side table “do you love me?” His question echoed in her ears as alarm bells rang.
It truly felt like her world had stopped as she looked to find any kind of argument what was better than the simple word no “it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head as she chewed at the inside of her cheek “like hell it does!” Quinn was careful to not let his voice reach above a certain octave as he feared at he would wake her parents up.
Her hands formed fists “so you want to hear me say that I’ve loved you since I was ten?” She blurted out sending him a glare “that I feel sick but how much I care about what you think?” Harper took a step closer to him “what makes it worse is that you don’t even care that I have you on that pedestal.” Tears formed in her eyes as she pressed her finger into his chest.
Quinn watched her stare at him as he was almost left speechless “you love me?” He repeated the words as it made her let out a dry scoff “I am fucking obsessed with you.” She nodded feeling her cheeks turn red from the attention he sent her.
Not often did Quinn feel trapped but in that moment he swore was in shackles “god this was stupid.” Harper laughed as she shook her head before she pushed to leave him “I haven’t stopped thinking about the time I had to watch you leave his room at the lake house.” Quinn didn’t need to say who he was talking about because as her eyes went wide she knew it all.
The moments that Harper thought were only better her and Trevor actually involved Quinn too “I spent nights wondering if I could be what you not only wanted but also deserved.” His words only enraged her “why the hell didn’t you kiss me under the mistletoe!” Harper didn’t want to reveal just how much that had felt like a slap in the face but as her eyebrows furrowed she just grew more visibly confused.
Quinn rolled his eyes “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted the first kiss I got with you to be one you wanted.” His words made her go quiet “you wanted to kiss me?” Her pupils were blown as the musky scent of his cologne ran through her nose.
He nodded reaching out to cup her cheeks “I have since you punched me for taking that stick.” Quinn looked to the one that she had used minutes ago as a weapon to ward off the risk that she thought Quinn was “think you should have kissed me then.” Harper teased as she smirked.
It made Quinn laugh “you gonna let me?” As she nodded it made the hockey player melt as he stared at her lips. Now neither one truly remembered how it happened but as Harper pushed to her tippy toes and Quinn dropped his head their lips met on what felt like perfection.
If Harper was going to talk about it she’d say that not even the Greek gods could have written something like this, Quinn was crafted for her. His lips moulded into hers letting them join together like the final two pieces of an over complicated puzzle. So as she pulled away the taste of her peppermint chapstick tingled on his lips “merry Christmas Harps.” He mumbled pecking her lips once more as it made them both smile.
They silently stared at each other as they stood there “don’t be a stranger in Vancouver?” The question reminded her of the conversations over dinner “wouldn’t dream of it Quinn.”
As Harper watched the sun come up she thought about the elements that almost seemed too good to be true, but all she knew was that she was going to have to thank that little green Christmas decoration for tonight.
190 notes · View notes
darlingshane · 9 months
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Something Crazy
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Pairing: Michael Berzatto x F!Reader
Summary: On Natalie's wedding day, life takes an unexpected turn when you learn that your former crush, Michael, might be interested in you.
Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Smut, P in V, Vanilla, Alcohol, Eating, Fluff, Crack, Pet Names, Kissing, Dancing.
Word Count: 4,6k
— You can read below or at AO3.
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Today is the big day for your best friend Natalie. She's marrying her long-time boyfriend, Pete, and you've come back to Chicago for only two days to celebrate this lifetime milestone with them.
They've picked a perfect Saturday in the middle of spring to celebrate their union. Flowers are in full bloom, gardens are lush green, wind has calmed, welcoming a balmy weather to allow having a wedding ceremony outdoors.
Bright Sun rays slip like gold ribbons through the sheer fabric of the curtains as you carefully hang Natalie's gown and remove the garment bag. It's a simple but stunning empire dress, strapless, with lace and pearls adorning the corset. Though you've never fantasized about your own wedding before, as your hand slides softly along the skirt, you can't help but imagine yourself as a giddy bride, wearing that same dress.
Tying the knot is not on top of your list right now. Settling with someone? That's more likely to happen. But there's nothing like being chosen as the maid of honor, especially if you're single, to find yourself trapped in that Disney daydream of getting to meet your prince charming and live happily ever after. Hopefully, that unwelcome, sudden longing will vanish after a few drinks at the reception. Until then, your top priority is making sure your best friend's special day is as magical as she planned.
You're in the designated dressing room of the hotel with the rest of the bride's party laughing, sipping rosé, telling stories while the beautician works against the clock, getting all four of you primped and ready.
While you help Natalie get into her dress, Gigi comes back with a tray of pastries to soak the alcohol before anyone gets too drunk.
“You guys gotta see Mikey. He's so fucking hot I could die. I've never seen him all dressed up and clean like that,” she announces loudly, going around the room like a whirling handing croissants and muffins. “I swear to god his pants are so tight, it’s like looking into an x-ray photograph… you can see everything. And I mean everything,” Gigi stares at you, raising an eyebrow, while you stuff part of a croissant into your mouth.
“Ew, that's my brother,” Natalie frowns in disgust.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you say after swallowing part of your pastry.
“She's looking at you like that because, as we all recall, it was you who had a crush on him for the longest time,” the bride sharply indicates.
“She's got a point, babe.”
“I was like fifteen,” your tone pitches a little higher, as if you were still that age. “Why do you always have to bring that up?”
“Cause let's be honest, you were hung up on him for way longer than you said, and your face still lights up every time you see him. Why can't you just admit you're still love-struck?”
You open your mouth to counter her accusation, but words refuse to come out. You can't even lie for dear life cause admittedly, as fucking annoying as they are, they're also right. Michael was one of those crushes that was hard to shake off. Your friends quickly jumped from one infatuation to another, but you pinned for Sugar's cooler, slightly older brother for longer than you should have. And that's probably the reason every time all your friends get together, they use that embarrassing piece of information to tease you. Even if you ever wanted to forget, they'll never let you.
The last time you saw Michael in person was a few weeks ago for only a few minutes when you came to help Natalie with the last details of the wedding and barely exchanged a couple of words. You moved to Detroit for work three years ago, and the few times you've come back here, you haven't crossed paths with him that often. The soon-to-be married couple also forgo the rehearsal dinner altogether to save money, so you didn't get a chance to see him before the ceremony.
“All I'm saying is if you wanna take a stab at that, this is the perfect time. He's single, he has great hair, he's wearing a dope suit, and did I mention hot?” Gigi keeps cajoling. “Hell, I'll hit that, If you don't. So better act fast.”
“He always had great hair,” Samira agrees, downing the rest of her wine.
“And he asked about you the other day when I showed him the pics of our trip,” Sugar adds.
“Oh,” you try not to sound too pleased, cause you doubt he ever paid any attention to you. Why would he start now?
“Yeah, he was definitely checking you out, and loved that video of you at the karaoke bar,” Samira chimes in as she pours another glass.
“Okay, you're making that up. No more wine for you, missy,” you promptly snatch the bottle from your friend and put it away while they all laugh. “Wait… he saw the video of me singing?”
“Uh-hm.”
You file that information for later and once you are all dressed up, you hand Natalie a stunning bouquet of roses before leaving the room.
“Thanks,” she grabs your arm for a second as Gigi and Samira head out. “Sorry for making fun of you… again. You know we love you and that we just want the best for you.”
“I know,” you mumble timidly.
“Sweetie, you don't need my permission, but if you wanted to ask Michael out, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. He'd be lucky to have someone like you.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because… You've always been like a sister to me, and part of me wanted him to see how amazing you are, so I kept telling him about you. I showed him photos and videos, hoping that he would. And he did! He really loved that one of you vibing to TLC. Thought you were funny.”
“You told him, didn't you?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“I'd stab you if you weren't about to get married,” your serious tone makes her snort.
“Look, you’re not dating anyone. He’s not dating anyone… I could ask him if he's interested before Gigi swipes him up.”
“Nat,” you sigh into a heavy pause, looking into her clear blue eyes. “We’re not in school anymore, you don’t have to play matchmaker. And it's your day! The last thing on my mind is hooking up with someone. Let alone your brother. So drop it.”
“Just saying. It could really be a wedding present for me if you two were to…” you scowl at her, which makes her leave that thought unfinished.
“Okay, that's gross, let’s get you married, so I can kill you right after.”
“Alright, alright. I promise I won’t mention it again.”
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In your lavender dress and matching heels, you wait for your cue as the wedding starts. The quartet starts playing. Once the officiant and the groom are in position, groomsmen, and bridesmaids walk down the aisle in pairs. You line up with the bridesmaids by the floral arch on the side of the bride in the lush garden and watch as Natalie walks down the aisle, escorted by both brothers, Carmen and Michael.
She looks radiant, but your stare darts slightly to your former crush. He’s dressed in a dark suit and royal blue shirt, no tie. His fluffy hair pushed back, shining under the sun like black licorice. His features are sharply defined as usual, but there's definitely a certain glow around him that makes him look more handsome than you remember.
Credit where credit's due, Gigi was right. They all were. He still manages to stir those intense feelings and butterflies in your stomach that you thought gone when your eyes meet for a split second as they get closer to the altar. There's also a glimpse of a smile in his lips, directed at you. Or so it looks like. Maybe you're making it up in the chaotic mess that is your mind.
Carmy and Michael kiss either side of Natalie's face when they reach the altar, and then they take their seats on the first row as she stands face to face with Pete.
The quartet stops playing, the officiant starts speaking, and you aim your focus to the ceremony.
Once Natalie and Pete are pronounced husband and wife, there's a time dedicated to take a few pictures of the wedding party in that very same garden before losing the natural light.
Despite promising she was going to let it go, your now-married friend insists on making sure you and Michael end up in several pictures together.
“Mmm… Marcus, is it?” you shake hands with him, pretending to have forgotten his name.
“Michael,” his grip is firm around your hand.
“Oh, sorry, Mario. I have a terrible memory.”
“Don't be cute. I know you remember,” he scoffs, amused, linking one arm around your waist per the photographer's instructions.
You swallow, nervously placing your hand on his firm back, trying to keep your cool. As the photographer takes a series of snapshots, Michael starts humming a familiar song. No scrubs. The one you sang in that famous video your friends filmed.
You press your lips together, and pretend you're not hearing it. It seems like they've all been scheming together against you, or in your favor. You're not sure. You know Sugar wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable, but this is getting ridiculous.
“Save me a dance later, would you?” he requests with a wink once the photoshoot session is over.
“I can't, Mitchell. I've already promised that to one of the groomsmen,” lie.
“You're gonna keep that bit the rest of the day?”
You shrug your shoulders, “it's not up to me, Marley.”
“Alright, come find me when you grow up.”
He presses his lips in a tight smile and walks away, leaving you dwelling in that awkwardness that washes over you, and wondering if he's messing with you or if he's suddenly into you. Those are good questions that you can't leave unanswered. If there's a chance that Michael Berzatto likes you, and that's a big IF, you really need to find out. The ball is in your court now. The question is… Do you want to throw it back?
The party moves to the banquet room in the hotel. There's plenty of food, drinks, music, and people in the room, but none of it can't distract you from the presence of Michael. This isn't how you expected to spend the day of your friend's wedding. And it's really going to bother you if you don't at least try to have a nice conversation with him. This is probably your last chance, so right after your heartfelt toast, you wipe your tears, throw back some liquid courage to walk up to his table.
He's nursing a glass of scotch, watching people on the dance floor, when you quietly take the empty chair besides him.
“No Richie today?” you break the ice.
“Oh, you remember his name but not mine?”
“Get over yourself, Michael. You know, I always got a little awkward when I was nervous. And unfortunately, it still happens.”
“Think you're doing pretty good right now.”
“Had a little help,” you tilt your glass in his direction.
“Well, I'm glad you decided to join me,” he nods and points at the bar where Richie is conversing animatedly with your friend Gigi. “I had to convince Sugar to invite him. Hope he behaves for my sake.”
“Oh no, you're a dead man. Nothing good is gonna come out of that.”
“How so?”
“They're both insane, divorced and desperate. That's a dangerous cocktail nobody wants to drink,” you point out.
“Yeah, you're right. I guess I didn't really think it through.”
“You're screwed, Berzatto,” you take a sip of your glass and turn your eyes from the bar to Michael. “You know I was just joshing earlier, right? It surprised me that you were so… Direct.”
“Men aren't usually direct with you?”
“No, I guess I haven’t been very lucky in that department… Or maybe I’m just a bitch with unreachable standards that scares away any potential suitors.”
“That would explain a lot.”
“Gee, thanks!”
“I’m kidding. I’m sure your standards are reasonable. And I don’t think you’re a bitch if that helps.”
“Yet you’re wondering why I came here alone?”
“Not really. I didn't bring a date, either.”
“Yeah? Why is that?”
“I dunno. Maybe I have really high standards, too,” he winks casually at you, knocking you out of your game.
You should have come prepared for this, but you never thought in a million years that Michael Berzatto would ever show any interest in you.
Still trying to figure out if you're picking up the right signals from him, you prop your elbows on the table and let out a sigh as he presses the rim of his glass to his mouth to take a swig.
You bite your lip and watch the guests swaying animatedly on the dance floor.
“So. Do you wanna dance?” he softly taps one of your arms.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Did your sister put you up to this?”
“Why would she?”
“Don't play dumb. I used to have the biggest crush on you, and if you didn't notice, I'm sure your Sugar has told you.”
His lips draw a lopsided smile. “She might have mentioned something a while ago, but she didn't put me up to this, I swear. This is all me. I only asked you for a dance. I didn't ask you to marry me.”
“I suppose a dance wouldn’t be that bad.”
“I'll take that,” he throws back the rest of his drink in one gulp, stands up, offering his hand up to you, “shall we?”
You were hoping to have some more time to prepare, but his sharp conviction is something you can’t reject. That’s part of Michael Berzatto’s appeal. He’s always been such a bold and outgoing guy, it's daunting. It’s good to see that hasn’t changed at all. The only thing that’s different is that now he’s wasting his charms on you.
With some apprehension, you follow his steps into the dance floor. There’s a mid-tempo song playing that you don’t recognize that makes you forget altogether how to move your body. So you just stand there, three feet away from him, like a deer caught in headlights, bobbing your head, avoiding his eyes.
Michael stares at you, slightly entertained by how uncomfortable you look right now, and throws you a lifeline by stepping closer, picking up your hands and placing them on his shoulders.
“What are you so afraid of, sweetheart?” he asks, planting his palms on your waist, guiding you slowly to move with him.
“I'm afraid that I'm not a very good dancer.”
“I doubt that.”
“Wait till I step on you,” you subconsciously look down at your feet.
“Follow my lead. You'll be fine.”
“Okay, Johnny Castle, but don't make me mambo, salsa, waltz… Or anything that requires taking my feet off the ground.”
“Who the hell is Johnny Castle?”
“Patrick Swayze? Dirty Dancing?” you question, as if it was the most outrageous thing that he hadn’t heard about that film.
“I’m more of a Road House kinda guy.” Of course, he is. “Was that another crush of yours?”
“Oh, big time!”
“Ok, got it, nothing fancy, we're just swaying. See?” His hands guide your body to move side to side, but it's impossible not to feel a little clumsy in your steps.
“Hey, what do you think of Pete?” He asks, using his head to point at the newly-weds.
“Uhh,” you glance to the side to see Pete wrapping an arm around Natalie, “he can be a total douche sometimes, but he's always sweet to her. I guess that's what matters. Why? What do you think about him?”
“Words out of my mouth.”
“Michael?” You glance up to his deep dark eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Be honest, why did you want to dance with me?”
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
Your lips pull up on the sides as your head nods.
“Cause I wanted to dance with the prettiest girl I've ever met.”
If this is a dream, you don't wanna wake up to find out that this was just a concoction of your mind. It's not. It feels real. If you weren't holding onto him, you'd fall to your knees after hearing his words roll past his beautiful lips.
There are so many questions you wanna ask, but you can only sigh, and smile wider under the sweet glow of his brown eyes fixed on you.
“You really think that I’m that pretty or interesting?” your mouth opens after a pregnant pause, at the same time the song switches to something incredibly romantic.
“I've always thought that. It just took me a while to realize it.”
“God, you have the perfect answer to everything. That's really annoying.”
“I don't. I swear. You just caught me in a good mood.”
“I don't remember you ever being in a bad mood.”
“I have my moments. Trust me.”
He unexpectedly picks one of your hands from his shoulder, lifts it in the air to have you spinning ungracefully under his elbow before quickly wrapping his opposite arm around your waist to dip you. He grins at the shocked expression on your face for a second before bringing your body upright.
“Please, don't do that again,” you brace your hands to his chest right after.
“Why? That was perfect, sweetheart,” he laughs, “Johnny Castle would be proud.”
Your lips curl softly, letting your palms tentatively slide on his blazer until they're caught on the warm surface of his neck.
“Am I making you nervous?” he dares to ask, knowing pretty much that he's driving you crazy.
“A little,” a lot, actually.
He whispers, – sorry – as you run your fingers at the hair at his nape. You observe up close how he licks his lips, noticing his hands clutching harder to your waist. His head leans closer, and you draw a breath, preparing yourself for having his lips colliding against yours. It feels like the world stops spinning for a second and just about when he's about to kiss you something, someone in this case, crashes against your back making you lose your balance. Michael anchors you to the floor quickly before you can fall, as a slurred-drunk voice apologizes at your back.
“Fucking idiot,” Michael mutters and checks on you, “you okay, sweetheart?”
You're not. The spell is broken, and your dress suddenly feels cold and wet from the drink that was spilled along your hip.
You excuse yourself, and rush out of the dance floor, so you can clean yourself up.
There’s a big surprise in the nearest bathroom you find, and that is your friend Gigi making out with Richie with such passion, they don't even notice you opening and quickly closing the door.
The tiny glimpse that you caught of Richie propping your friend on the sink and sliding his hands under her skirt makes your jaw almost fall to the floor. You wish you could erase that from your memory immediately, but at least it has made you forget momentarily about your dress.
When you turn around, you’re faced with Michael again. You ran out so fast you didn’t notice him following behind.
“What’s wrong?”
“Richie and Gigi,” smacking your lips, you point with your thumb to the door with no further explanation.
“Wow, they didn’t waste any time.”
“That's the thing about weddings. They make people do crazy things.”
“Tell me about it,” Michael looks down for a beat, licks his lips, and steps closer.
He holds your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up. As he leans to capture your mouth, you flinch, “what are you doing?”
“Something crazy,” the corners of his mouth quirk up, making another move, and you jerk your face a second time in reflex. It’s not that you don't wanna kiss him, you absolutely do. You just need another moment to process it.
“Damn, girl. Can you just stay still, so I can kiss you already?” He demands without an ounce of entitlement. Just driven by the desire to taste your lips.
“Alright, okay… just give me a second,” you yield to his craving, letting him slowly guide you, so your back is pressed against the wall.
There’s no escape now, this is the moment you’ve dreamed with many moons ago that seemed like a pipe dream back then. All those thoughts vanish the moment his lips are pressed against yours firmly, before letting them bounce a couple of times together. His alcohol-tainted breath mixes with yours as his lips part wider. He captures your lower lip with a light suck, followed by the tip of his tongue shamelessly drawing the curve of your mouth. It's deliciously sexy and sweet and everything in between. You close your eyes and follow his lead, opening your mouth and letting him slot his lips against yours. His tongue invades past your teeth without resistance. It challenges you to kiss him back. It takes you a moment to respond, but soon enough, you're fully immersed in the depth of his mouth, taking the reins of the kiss.
You haven't been kissed like this in a while. Maybe ever.
When your mouths separate, you realize your hands are anchored to his back, and he's fully pressed against you. His lips are covered in your saliva and vice versa.
“I'm going to change my dress,” you sigh, giving him a little push, so you can put yourself together.
“Oh… Okay,” there's a hint of disappointment in his tone.
You clear your throat and harness an ounce of confidence to ask, “do you wanna come? I might need some help. The zipper is a little tricky in this thing.”
Right.
His expression turns on a dime, eyes wide open, white edge teeth showing behind his slightly parted lips. Speechless by the implication of your proposal, he cleans his lips on his palm before responding, “I… sure.”
Proud of yourself for taking a gamble and hitting the jackpot, you go back inside the banquet hall first to collect your purse from the table and then head up to the elevators with him following closely behind.
A palm lands at the small of your back while you press the button. The anticipation makes your stomach flutter wilder than ever. Who would have thought you'd be taking Michael to your room on this day? It feels surreal. Absolutely bananas.
You don't say a word during the elevator ride up to the fourth floor.
When you reach your door, you notice his palms framing your hips from behind. His touch makes your pulse tremble while using the key card. It takes you a couple of tries to open the door.
There's a strange force, an electricity buzzing, that grows more powerful the second you're inside.
You hit the light switch, drop your purse on the chair and turn to face him.
Following that unstoppable whim, you place your palms on his chest and push back his blazer. He shrugs it off as you move to undo the few buttons he's fastened. Your fingers tremor anxiously as you uncover his defined torso. You want to stick out your tongue and trace those two lines forming a V oh his abdomen that leads to the outline of his cock behind the tight fabric of his dress slacks. It’s too bold of a move for you right now, so you let your fingers do your bidding.
When your hands reach his belt, they proceed to unbuckle it under the lust-filled shadow of that flame of his gaze that could scorch the surface of the earth if he wanted to in a second.
He’s already half hard when you unzip his fly, and that's as far as he allows you to go. Michael's dying to touch you, to undress you and fuck you. He quickly turns you around, making you gasp, and finds the zipper of your dress. Your skin rises into goosebumps when he pulls the tab down. He nibbles at the crook of your neck, pushing the top of your dress down to your waist. You shimmy your legs out of it as his hands invite themselves to your skin.
His all hands and mouth around you as he removes your strapless bra and guides you to lay down on the bed.
The fire that lights up his eyes sears through yours as he slips out of his unbuttoned shirt. He then props a knee on the bed, hovering over you, and lowers his head to kiss your stomach. His tongue darts out and draws a circle around your navel. Your head falls back on the mattress, as he leaves a trail of wet kisses up your torso. He nibbles once more at your neck, increasing your arousal up to eleven.
“Michael, please,” you groan as he presses himself between your legs, grinding slowly behind layers of fabric, coaxing your juices to stain your underwear and growing himself a hard-rock erection that can barely be held by his boxers.
Lifting lifts his head, he props himself on his elbows, and surveys the tortured expression on your face as his hips keep relentlessly moving.
“Fuck, you're goddamn gorgeous, baby,” he exhales, proceeding to swiftly rid you off your panties, and pushing his pants and underwear down.
He drives his hardness inside you with great care, pushing inch after inch of that monumental erection that stretches your slicked walls. You close your eyes as he experiments with his thrusting, molding your opening to its generous size.
“Is this how you imagined this?” he pants against the corner of your mouth.
“No. This is better… Much, much better,” you purr, palming his ass, encouraging him to move faster.
If you had a free hand, you'd pinch yourself to check if this is really happening right now. It still blows your mind thinking that Michael Berzatto is deeply buried inside you, wanting you, claiming every cell of your body for his enjoyment. You gladly surrender to his desires as the cadence of his hips drive you into madness. As much as you try to contain your moans, he does everything in his hand to force every moan, curse, and breath to fly out past your teeth.
He slams into you with passion, bites your skin, grips your tits, devours your mouth, setting every inch ablaze. It’s as mind-blowing as it is fast, but he earns himself a good squeeze of your walls when he brings you to orgasm. He comes undone just merely a second after, releasing a wild grunt that ripples all over your skin, and pouring all his warm seed into the depths of your pussy, having his hips jerking erratically until he’s spilled every drop.
His cum sticks to your walls as he rolls to the side of the mattress with a grunt. Your head is spinning out of its usual axis, overtaken by that powerful boost of endorphins, and your lungs struggle for a deep breath.
For a long minute, you both stare at the ceiling while you regain your breath.
When he composes himself, he turns to the side to look at you, sweetly letting one of his fingers brush your cheek, “do you wanna do this again tomorrow?”
“Can't. I'm leaving, remember?”
“Right.”
“But you can stay the night if you want. And repeat later. And maybe one more time even later. Would you like that?”
“I'd love to, sweetheart.”
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outsideratheart · 9 months
Text
United (Alexia Putellas x reader)
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A/N: Based off this request. @nowhereff​ I hope you like it!
It was a difficult position to be in as a professional footballer with the Spanish nationality. During the euros you experienced first hand the mistreatment of the team and you found yourself on the receiving end of Vilda’s frustrations one too many times. You had always considered yourself to be a calm person, never one to lose their cool during a match or when the fans pushed the limits with your personal life, yet this situation led to do one thing you never though you would; you asked not to be call up to represent your country.
You and 14 of your team mates had been dubbed ‘LAS 15’.
In the blink of an eye it was June and until this point you had no intention of returning to the team, part of you still doesn’t, but one thing or should you say one person, had other thoughts.
“Y/N, think about it” Alexia had just got received the call up, one that you had declined several times but still she insisted that you join her in Australia and New Zealand “This is the World Cup we are talking about, something we have dreamed of since we were kids”
Alexia spoke the truth. Ever since you were young you wanted to win the World Cup; that and the champions league. Barcelona had secured the latter a week prior so now there was only one more trophy in your dream cabinet.
“Alexia it’s not that easy for me. I told the world that I wouldn’t play for my country until the situation and environment changed. What does it say about me if I go back on everything I have said. I am standing up for our team and the players that come after us, I won’t turn my back them because of my own selfish needs. I hate that I’m saying this but I am one of the best footballers in the world, I have a spotlight on me and I will use my voice for good, I won’t cower because of that man”
Alexia understood where you were coming from. She had known you since you were 9 years old. You would stand up for the little children that were being picked on regardless of the age or size of their bully. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like you were making a dig at her. She may not have been one of the fifteen but she could make a stand instead of going to the World Cup.
“Do you think that’s what I’m doing? Being selfish? Cowering to Vilda?”
“God, no” 
For the past ten minutes you had been pacing up and down the living room whilst Alexia watched as she sat on the kitchen Island. She knew better than to interrupt you when you were in one of these moods. In a small panic that you had hurt her feelings you stop pacing and go straight to her. You stood between her legs, one hand of either of her thighs and her arms locked behind your neck.
“Ale, you supported us but you weren’t one of the 15. I don’t want to be a hypocrite” 
Jorge and his federation buddies had taken football away from you and you weren’t going to let it interfere with your relationship.
“Am I being selfish if I say that I want you there with me?”
“Oh Ale” 
She leaned forward so that she could rest her head on your shoulder. She felt a mixture of shyness and embarrassment. 
Despite having you by her side since the two of you first joined Barcelona she always told herself that she didn’t need anybody. Then as the two of you got older the connection that bonded you both turned out to be more than that of friends and this past year you never left her side, apart from the month you were away for the euros. You went to every physio appointment, stayed back later to workout with her and added her training sessions to your calendar so that you can be there when she second guessed herself. She needed you more than she was willing to admit and she didn’t want to go the World Cup without you. She is still yet to play longer than 30 minutes, never mind start a game but with you by her side she knew that anything was possible, the doubt she feels daily didn’t exist when you were around.
“It’s stupid”
“You are capable of so much Alexia. It doesn’t matter if I am there or not” she doesn’t lift her head so you play with the hairs at the nape of her neck.
“We don’t know that. I have never played a game without you” 
It was some form of miracle but you had never had a injury in your career. You had played every single Barcelona match since your debut, it was an impressive stat but it also meant that Alexia was right.
“Alexia if I go the World Cup then it won’t be about football. They will make it into a story and you know that’s not why I play” 
“I know. I shouldn’t have said anything” 
Alexia pushes herself off the Island and walks off towards your bedroom. At first you want to go after her but then you hear the shower running, now you could go join her and make her forget about the World Cup entirely but that would only be putting off the inevitable. 
You had a call to make and it wasn’t one that you wanted you girlfriend to overhear. This would be between you and the federation, no one else and not the entire world like it had been so far.
It’s save to say when the fans saw your picture and name on the World Cup announcement video they were disappointed and they wasn’t shy about it. You received message after message about how they expected better from you. You didn’t know what to do but then your manager called to say that Maria Tikas had asked for an interview. Now was your chance to explain your reason for rejoining the national team despite asking not to be summoned.
You told her that you had accepted the call up with the intent of being there for your team mates and make sure that the treatment from the Euros did not repeat itself. You told Maria that you were still fighting your case but you were doing do as a Spanish national team player. The interview was honest and it was also the first time you spoke out publicly about the battle between players and federation. 
When you arrived for the first day of training camp you were told straight away that the federation wasn’t happy with your comments and that they expected more from you but their words meant nothing to you. Jorge himself told you that he didn’t want you there and that you would bring a bad energy to the team which you found ironic given the man himself was the reason for the deterioration of many player’s mental health. 
Throughout the group stage games Jorge keeps you as a super sub or even a time wasting sub. It was a insult and you hated that he had been able to get under your skin but you didn’t complain, not in front of the team. The tension was bad enough with none of them want to risk their starting position or get limited game time like you. 
“If she isn’t happy why did she come back to the team. She needs to realise nothing will happen now. She gave up the minute she put that shirt on” Misa had heard Alexia and Aitana ranting about how Jorge is mistreating you.
“At least she stood up for whats right. You stayed in the team when you knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I may not have been around last summer but you were yet you stayed quiet and for what? So you could stand there in the number 1 shirt which we all know doesn’t belong to you” Alexia snapped.
You had stayed out on the pitch to run shuttles given that you hadn’t really worked your muscles in the last ten minutes of the game but you heard Misa just as you were about to enter the locker room. It was no secret that there was a split within the team and it started with the Real Madrid players. You didn’t want to argue with your team mates and quite frankly you didn’t have the energy in you. This tournament was draining you mentally but there’s no way you could let any of the team know. You did however talk to Mapi about it on a daily basis and she helped to with it.
“Alexia” your girlfriend jumps slightly when she feels your hand on her shoulder.
“She can’t say stuff like that”
“We both know why I am here” with one look into her hazel eyes, Alexia stands down. She knew the reason why you were here; her. Alexia had already showered so she leaves the locker room before she says something she will regret but before doing so she kisses you quickly. The act of PDA was a rarity before now but the world had learnt a lot about your relationship in the past couple of months and it led Alexia to realising she didn’t care what anyone thought. If she wanted to kiss her girlfriend she would.
“Y/N” Misa felt horrible knowing you heard what she said.
“No Misa, you may or may not have noticed but this team is more divided than ever and you slating me for my choices front of everyone doesn’t help. I know that things aren’t great between us, any of us” you point around to your team mates that you weren’t as close with as you used to be “but we are a team and we need to have each others back. We have people trying to put us against each other and we are letting them”
The goalkeeper sinks in her locker upon hearing your words. 
“It’s just so stressful”
You couldn’t help but laugh at this. Misa was young and if she thought this was stressful she would be in for a rude awakening in the upcoming years. You also found it funny how she was stressed when her only responsibility was on the pitch. She was yet to face any kind of media and the fans didn’t put the pressure on her like you they did with you and players such as Alexia.
“Tell me about it” 
“How do you do it?” Athenea asked as she’s stood next to you “He is coming at you every day. He makes you do extra laps and drills in training. He is working you to the bone and for what ten minutes of game time. Is it really worth it?”
You look around to double check who was in the room then you ask Irene to close the door.
“If I let men like Jorge Vilda dictate my future then I wouldn’t be standing here today. Whether he likes it or not he feels threatened by the fight we are bringing to him and let me tell you something Misa, I haven’t given up. You asked why I came back, I came back because Alexia asked me to.  It it wasn’t for her then I would have declined the call up like had the first 5 times I got asked”
“She hates me” Misa knew that pissing Alexia off was bad thing. 
“You spoke shit about Y/N. What did you expect” Aitana knew that you two always had each other’s back and it was best not to feel the wrath of either of you.
You quickly showered before going in search of your girlfriend but you had one more thing you wanted to say before you left the stadium.
“We need to stay united”
The girls who were still in the locker all replied ‘united’. It was a chant that you would use going in the knock out games.
In the semi final you were brought on earlier than the rest of the tournament and it proved to be the right decision because you score almost immediately before assisting Alexia for her first goal on the tournament. It sent a message to the world that Jorge wasn’t utilising his team and after the game a journalist questions his competence. You, who were sat next to him when the question was asked, couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed like the world was finally starting to figure out something you had known for years.
“You shouldn’t have done that” Jorge grabs your wrist pulling you aside before you can enter the changing room.
“What laugh at the fact that everyone is seeing how shit you are as a coach? Oh Jorge it was going to happen at one point. You should be happy that you lasted this long” 
“You’ll regret saying that” 
“I will and how will that happen? I know you didn’t want me here but your bosses knew that if you had any chance of winning the World Cup then I needed to be on the squad and before you deny it they told me this in person so do your worse which is what bench me? You bring me on and I change the game, you can’t afford to keep me on bench for the final so do you worst. Greater men than you have tried to belittle me so you don’t stand a chance”
Your outburst leaves the man in shock and that’s just what you wanted but he won’t admit defeat. Once again he grabs your wrist pulling you back towards him but at this point the heated discussion caught the attention of some of the other players.
“Get your hands of her” Alexia shoves him back causing him to release his hold.
In that moment the whole team comes to together. It is the Spanish national team versus Jorge Vilda. You stand opposite Jorge with the team behind you.
“We will win this World Cup then you will be gone” you don’t take your eyes off the coach as you speak. You leave him at a loss for words and with no other option than to walk away.
From that moment the energy changes within the team. You are united and it strengthens the bond which up until now seems unfixable. It leads to the training sessions been fun like they were in the past. 
On the day of the final are you in the same spot you had been for the start of every game; the bench. It was frustrating to say the least. You knew going against the reigning world champions would be difficult but in no way did you expect to be down 2-0 just 17 minutes into the game. It was torture and what didn’t help is how Jorge looked at you after every goal conceded, it was as if he was blaming you, he was all but saying this is what happens when you let your ego get in the way.
A member of the coaching staff tells you to start warming up just before the end of the first half. You and him work through every drill a substitute does, then you do it again and again because even after being told you are ready Jorge shakes his head, he didn’t want you in this game.
What hurts the most is when Spain have a corner right where you are warming up. Whilst the ref is dealing with an incident in the box Jenni turns to you.
“What do we do? We need you”
“He doesn’t want me in. Take this play by play. Look for Irene’s head and go from there”
You wish you could have told her more but that’s all you had to offer. You were known for your ability to read the game but in order to do so you had to be on the pitch.
“I need to be in the game” you say quietly to the member of the coaching staff in charge of warming you up.
“You do” without saying anything else he leaves and goes back to the dug out. 
You have no choice but stand near the corner flag and watch as the US charge towards the Spain goal, you can see it coming a mile way. The back line is playing too high and it leaves the team vulnerable to the long ball which is exactly what happens. Another goal and it feels like you have been stabbed in the chest. 
Staying out on the field wasn’t the best thing to do but you couldn’t put yourself in the same room as that man and be held responsible for your actions. You abandon your attempt to warm up when the second half starts and take a seat on the bench. The fans start chanting your name and whilst you know their intentions are pure, it only makes you feel worse. You have just about given up when see a woman in a suit approach Jorge on the sidelines. She is on the board of the federation but she wasn’t one of the big fish.
“Bring Y/N on”
“No. She disrespected me, her not playing is her punishment”
“It wasn’t a question. Y/N” she shouted over to you “get ready, Jorge is putting you in” 
“No, i’m no—“
“Jorge you put Y/N in or you will be asked to leave the pitch”
“By who?” 
“By the new federation”
You didn’t really know this woman but you liked her. She was doing what should have been doing ages ago, she is putting Jorge in his place.
The crowd erupts when they see you standing on the sideline as your number got held up next to Esther’s.
“Go! They need you” the Real Madrid forward hugs you quickly before grabbing a vest and taking your seat on the bench.
When a US player going down and needs treatment you call the entire team over, even Misa who is close given that the injury happened on the outside of the box.
“This is not over. Under no circumstance do we give up. We have what it takes to win this game and I have faith in every single one of you. All we have to do is work together”
“United” Alexia says proudly.
“United” every else shouts in unison.
It felt like the clock was ticking down quicker than normal and it was hard to ignore the 3 goals on the scoreboard which were against you but that’s what you had to do. It takes you a few minutes to get a read on the game but as soon as you have it, that is when the fun starts. You run down the middle of the pitch, Jenni by the side of you with the ball and you link up with her just like you had a Barcelona. The two of you attack the American box and the defence doesn’t know how to react. Do they pressure Jenni or risk marking you, in the end they pressure Jenni but it was a mistake because as soon as she sees white shirts running towards her she passes a through ball to you and just like that it is 3-1.
You don’t celebrate, there isn’t time. 
The next play comes when you are running down the wing, your pace being no match for anyone of the US team. Jenni scores a beautiful header after a pin point cross from you. It was 3-2.
“We only need one more to send it extra time” Athenea celebrates.
“We don’t need extra time“ you reply 
“Let me guess, we are ending this now” 
Alexia had heard you say these exact words in Eindhoven and she knew that you would keep your word now just as you did back then.
You get a second goal when Spain are awarded a free kick. This time you do celebrate and you don’t know if its the emotions of being in a final or the feelings that you have been bottling up over the past couple of weeks but you see a fan with a sign saying “Fuck Jorge Vila” so you take it and hold it up high. 
People could no longer question your feelings towards your coach.
“Y/N” Alexia loved what you just did yet she couldn’t help but think of the consequences that it would.
“What?” You shrugged your shoulder innocently “Fuck Jorge Vilda right?” 
“Right” 
It was 3-3 when you approach the 90 minute mark. You look at the big screen to see 5 minutes injury time. You had 5 minutes to score and crown Spain champions of the world.
It’s almost like the rest of the team knew what to do. They need to give you or Alexia the ball, that will give them the best chance of scoring. The two of you had Balon d’Ors for a reason. The whole team pushes high when the clock reaches 94 and it gives the US the feeling of being outnumbered because they don’t know who to mark. You stay back a little to give them the idea that you are preparing for the counter as this is what you did with Barcelona but this wasn’t that. It was the perfect decoy because just as alexia reaches the edge of the box you sprint down the side and to the near post making sure to stay on side. She chips the ball over every white shirt and with the perfect weight behind it, she finds your head and the ball hits the back of the net.
Spain had done it, they had come back from 3-0 down to win 4-3. 
“Cover their badge” you shout to your team mates as you run towards the corner flag and right in front of the a camera. 
Every single player on the pitch as well as those who of ran off the bench stands there with their right hand covering the RFEF badge on the arm of the shirt. The message was clear as day and they stood together publicly for the first time since all this happened.
The final whistle is blown seconds later and you fall to you knees. You couldn’t believe that you had done it, that this team had done it despite the problems that were taking place off the pitch.
The celebration is something you will never forget. After everything that happened you had been stripped of your captaincy but Ivana insisted that you be the one to accept and lift the trophy. It would go down as the proudest day of your life, until the day you have kids.
The rest of the world however will remember the press conference that followed. You sat at a table with Jorge to the right of you and the rest of the team standing at the back of the room watching in anticipation. They didn’t know what to expect but they knew that you wouldn’t hold you tongue, not after the way Jorge had treated you this tournament.
“I think I speak for the rest of the world when I say I was shocked to see Y/N Y/L/N on the bench today. Can I ask why that is?” 
Oh this would be good. There was no valid reason to have you on the bench for the games thus far, never mind the final.
“Y/N is a valued member of this team”
“Then why did you refuse to sub me into the game? Why did it take someone from the federation to come down to the pitch for you to do so?” you asked him. 
With the silence that had filled the room you could hear a pin drop.
“I—It was the best decision for the team”
“I disagree” the journalist who asked the original question said.
“Me too” “me too” “And me” the team add from the back of the room.
“Considering I scored a hattrick and assisted the other goal I’m going to have to agree with them Jorge”
“I am the coach of this team and I made a decision one which I stand by. We won didn’t we and that is because I subbed Y/N in” Jorge tried to play the hero but you wouldn’t let this happen.
“No Jorge, like I said before the federation ordered you to sub me in. It wasn’t your decision. In fact I remember you saying quote unquote ‘No. She disrespected me, her not playing is her punishment’
The whole room audibly gasped at your revelation.
“We won didn’t we” his smugness would be his downfall.
“We won” you point to yourself and the rest of the team “You failed to coach us from the very first training session” 
Jorge goes on to the explain his choices but he is only digging himself a deeper hole to fall in. It was amusing but you really didn’t want to spend your night listening to him explain his poor decisions, you want to celebrate with your girlfriend and the rest of the team so you execute your plan which you organised when Spain had reached the final. Maria Tikas sat in the front row. You found it fitting that the woman who told your story before the tournament started was the same one to give it its ending.
“Y/N I have a question” you signal for her to go ahead “you told me that you came to the World Cup to support your team mates, your girlfriend Alexia Putellas specifically” Alexia blushes in the background and the wink you send her only deepens the blush “Now you are world champion, what does your future with the national team look like?” 
“This will be my last time in a Spain shirt until the man next to me in no longer part of the team and the environment we play in has been re-evaluated. We, as a team, deserve better and the change needs to happen now. Therefore I hereby resign from the Spanish national team” with that you stand up and leave the room. Your team mates follow in suit. All of them ready to follow in your footsteps. 
“I’m proud of you” Alexia takes you hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.
“This is the moment things change Alexia. We will make sure that those that come next don’t have to go through the same treatment we did”
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