#I'm not usually one to go back in and edit something after the fact (noticeably - I did actually do that at least once last year lol)

[sysig]

Requestober 2023 Sketches

The playlist has returned for this year! There will be a few in between, but it should be updating at least once a week on either Wednesday or Friday or both - keep an eye out for your req(s)!

Day 4 got some subtle Black Eye, they are a great pair ♪ You can see I couldn’t fully decide on posing - this will be a theme lol - maybe Sylvia loafing and poking her nose up at Peepers? Or just man-handling him into a snuggle lol, I almost went with that one! But I still ended up going with the first sketch after all, his half-squinted eye was too cute to pass up!

Day 6′s first sketch was also a first-try-correct but lemme try something else lol, I’m glad I went with this one though! Friend looks very fluffy, as does Ghostbur <3 Thank goodness for digital cleaning, Phil’s arm completely confounded me traditionally lol, same with the wings actually

The alt is still cute tho, and sad :’) Ghostbur would still consider Phil his dad! And yes he’s not exactly Will, Phil’s kid ahh </3 And yet he still gets to hug him!! The piece of him that remembers him! It hurts ♥

Day 10 was a great excuse to draw blood lol, I can’t not ♪ I ran out of room since this was the last sketch of the page so while I fully intended for the bloody knife to be continuous with the rest of him, I had to puzzle-piece it all together haha ♫ He’s so scribbly lol

Day 15 was so fun!! Ahhh!! As I mentioned in the tags, I got the notification for this one while I was offline and dozing but even in that state of mind, this was the image that immediately bloomed in my head! I am so pleased I got to make it exactly as intended haha ♪ They’re so cute <3 And it’s always fun to draw Mitsu reacting like “O//o//O” even just in emoji form lol

Day 16′s was fun and silly - I only ended up with the one sketch, it’s been too long since I’ve drawn a Core! It hasn’t been all that long since I’ve watched a Meet the Cores but it has been long while since I’ve picked up Portal 2 or Mel, it’s too bad ‘cause they’re both so cute haha. But I mean, all this Portal stuff has inspired me to get back to playing so hmmm :3c

Day 17 had those two options but for me it wasn’t even a question lol - I do of course love RGB but I’ve made a habit of drawing him! And I did get to draw him later as well, so I got all the character diversity I could ask for haha. I’m so sad that I missed out on the “tk” SFX in the final version, I made it and then just forgot to turn the layer back on before exporting lol, just hear it in your head if you would ♪

Day 18, more blood! Moreeee! Thank you for all the Yanderapy attention this year ahhh, it’s so gratifying to know these boys are being enjoyed ♥ I love them too! And it was doubly fun to imagine them playing into their baser urges, yandere-wise haha ♪ What’s the fun of a yandere if they can’t have a little blood, as a treat? Hehe ♫ Mitsuru’s swirly eyes are one of my favourite yandere features of his, drawing it in full swing was really fun :D

Day 19, a bit of Ranboo ♥ It’s been long enough that I’d forgotten how much I enjoy Ranboo! c!Ranboo as well as The Guy haha, they’ve gotten more chaotic lately it seems, good for them. He’s also still quite fun to draw, that’s just good character design for you ♪ A cute little squished face, wanting to go out and play. You can kinda tell from the flower boxes that even traditionally I wasn’t all that detail-oriented for this one lol

Day 20 got a lot of concept art! Making new outfits will do that lol, started with just deciding what their sweets theme would be - Mitsuru was so obviously ube and buttercream that it hurts lol, and you can see there was a bit more deliberation with Ishida. Salted lemon, and he was supposed to keep the lattice motif - we’ll get there :P

Outfit designing! Ishida’s was a OHKO - you can’t see it in the final version since he’s angled away but his buttons are salt stones! And he’s also got asymmetrical salt “freckles” around his left eye :) Mitsu’s was a little over-complicated so he needed a second pass

But only a second pass! A chunky sweater with the swirls was absolutely the correct choice, and then since zippers don’t exist in the JD universe (lol) he gets buttons!

Finally they got their final version! You can see from the sliced version that originally they were meant to have three sections apiece for both limbs, buuut that ended up being overly visually busy, so I gave them two for their arms and three for their legs :) All the other posing and everything was pretty much perfect though! :D

This is the most correct version of their clothes for their cut-up frame; I was in a bit of a rush for the gif version so a few elements are missing, like Ishida’s aforementioned lattice design element :’D Just try to not look too hard at the final version for these details specifically lol ♪ Oh the foibles of trying to be speedy!

Technically not Requestober but I was inspired by my own idea of them switch-stitching their limbs back together lol - lemon ube?? I guess that might work...

Day 21 got a concept sketch before starting - Luci’s glares are very cute hehe ♪ I was sure I could push it cuter tho >:3c

And I was right! I called this an alt but honestly this was the correct choice from the beginning lol ♪ Long ears are so fun to pose, extra expressions! I had a bit of trouble with his arms, but I think that’s just a me-not-knowing-how-to-draw-arms-lately thing lol

Day 22 was also very close to the end of the page so I was a bit cramped! Their faces are definitely the most important element - especially considering RGeeBs has one here! - so I wanted to give them a bit of extra attention. I really like his sharp nose hehe ♪ And Hero’s hand doing the classic cartoony pinky-up with her white gloves ugh it’s so cute <3

They did get a very tiny fullbody sketch tho haha ♪ For how it turned out here, I’m doubly happy with RGB’s pose in the final! Especially his legs :D

Speaking of tiny, day 24 was super tiny!! I always draw the stick figures tiny tho haha, they’re such cute little pops of colour on my page :) I’m glad as well that I could make all the colours clean digitally - the colours got a bit mixed traditionally lol

Fun fact: Day 25 didn’t get a traditional sketch! It’d been too long since I’d drawn GLaDOS so I felt a little better to just have the references right there in the same canvas lol. My initial digital sketches are always a bit chaotic, lots of very energetic lines! It does make me all the more determined to make her design readable in my style >:3c

I started forgetting to label what day they were around day 26 haha, but I started with them side-by-side - I wanted them to show off their outfits a bit more but it felt a little stiff :P Obviously Sinister would be uncomfortable in heavier clothes tho, so I went with that thought ♪ Poor Stanley haha

The alt ended up taking it since interacting is way more fun than not! I haven’t drawn Stanley using sign language in a hot minute which is too bad! It’s very fun to do! He’s not going to listen to you Stanley, no matter what you do

Day 28 gave me a bunch of thoughts but since it was fairly open-ended, I wasn’t sure where to take it at first! Angst just has so many possible roads! Initially, featured here, I considered them getting caught - them in a police light was a very cool concept for my lighting-focused brain this season haha - but it still wasn’t quite right. Maybe because Ishida actually looks stressed, noo D:

The plot just kinda picked up from there, the idea of Ishida killing Mitsuru since they were caught, and then what I eventually ended up with - all while trying to fight against limited space and a not-the-best art day, just gotta keep powering through despite the obstacles!

But I did finally land on the idea I wanted the most :) Originally this one was going to have two panels but I couldn’t make it look right, switching back and forth between them :P I’m glad I finally got to it in the end! It was a struggle haha

Day 29 got Fellplates!Gaster! Heck yeah! :D It’s been a while since I’ve drawn him so I had to get back into the swing of it lol - I actually booted him on “April 1st” by changing my clock and then my internet refused to connect to certain sites?? What the heck is that about. Well either way, I got him! He is cute haha

I really was tempted to give him something to do with other Fellplates members, but the lack of references confounded me! Ah! You can probably tell which one was meant to be Alphys huh lol ♪ Him and his sense of loyalty ah 💔 Well, self-destruction is a common ley line for him huh haha

And then what I finally ended up with ♪ He has a slightly more open expression here, but I do like the somewhat sinister edge the final version ended up with :3c The backlighting begged for it!! And everyone needs cool backlighting haha

Day 30′s TSP/Portal crossover!! It’s such a classic idea, I am actually honestly surprised that this is my first foray into it - I’ve thought about it forever! I’ve drawn them adjacently! But this is my first time actually drawing them interacting?? How?? Well I’m glad I have now haha, they’re so- they’re just so them, y’know? Lol

Y’get a bonus because the idea of Stanley and Chell just kinda vibing in a test chamber and Stanley reacting - which you can see the barest of unfinished sketch there on the right lol - to having his Bucket taken from him, it was too good not to haha. Chell is indifferent lol

Day 31, last day! I actually drew this the night beforehand, very quickly thus the scribbliness haha. Sometimes that’s all you need, just to get the image out! You can see with the SFX, despite being noiseless in the final version, I was thinking of the static right away :) I’m quite happy with how it all turned out hehe <3

That’s all the general sketches from this year! A good solid mix of things! Very fun :D

#Doodles #Requestober #Blood #The usual tag roundup except it's all in one tag lol - Wander Over Yonder - DSMP - lots of Yanderapy thank you <3 - several of Portal - #A few TPoH - technically some Just Desserts - Animation vs. - The Stanley Parable - and Undertale! Specifically Fellplates haha #A very fun lineup! A well-mixed bag of enjoy :D #There's also a couple digital additions here hehe ♪ It's unusual but needed this year! #I'm not usually one to go back in and edit something after the fact (noticeably - I did actually do that at least once last year lol) #But with this one ahh I was silly on colouring :P I was too hasty! #That said I do still - for the most part - believe in setting down and doing better next time haha ♪ #This is more for my own sake in the future in case I come back and look at it and be like ''Ah this version is correct'' but it's not! Haha #As for the rest it's all the usual :D #I have to say thank you again because that's how big I feel it haha - thank you for all the love towards my Yanderapy boys!! #It makes me very happy to see them being enjoyed :D I love them so I'm happy happy that they're getting love from others too! <3 #I got to draw a lot of favourites this year :) I always love when that happens! #And y'all inspired me to get back into Portal hehe ♪ Thank you! It's been fun replaying it so far :D #In fact I think I'm gonna go try and beat it today hehe ♫ I think I've earned it haha

[queers-gambit]

Love What You've Done with the Place

song by Rascal Flatts

prompt: he's never been a man built for relationships, until you come into his life. now, the house feels like a home.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: more brain rot rambles, probably cursing, NOT edited, very docile, fluff, romance, hardened men being simps.

It started with clothes. Just a few, here and there; left behind, forgotten, purposefully stuffed in his dresser for when you stayed the nights. He didn't mind, in fact, Tangerine encouraged you to bring whatever you felt comfortable with leaving since he hated how early you'd leave in the mornings to get ready for work. He found his mornings were peaceful when you were around; neither rushed, both content, starting your days on high notes with each other.

So, he made the decision and found an old sitting-vanity for you. He put it in his bedroom simply because he was fascinated with the hair and make-up process; thinking it was incredible that women had such skill. When he came home about 3 months ago, he noticed your vanity when he first got home from a particularly difficult mission. Your chair was draped in an old university tee shirt, and he smiled.

It was like watching your comfort grow and it warmed something deep in Tangerine's heart. Your make-up wasn't always in a neat array, sometimes just left from a quick touch-up; making the house feel more like a home.

Tangerine also bought a strainer for the shower's drain to catch your hair. He didn't get angry like previous boyfriends did when he found strands of your hair left behind - not on purpose or by some gross standard, but it was natural that hair shed in a shower and not every single strand could be picked up. So, to make life easier, he just quietly bought the hair trap, placed it, removed whatever empty bottles from the shower, and went about his day. But then he started to notice your hair left other places.

His counters, his sink, the floor, your vanity, his bed sheets and pillows.

Tangerine had his issues with possessiveness in the past, but this wasn't remotely similar. No, Tangerine found himself smiling when he would find your hair in his clothes; thinking it was funny, almost like a mark or badge of honor to designate him as yours. It was a brief thought, but Tangerine actually felt giddy by the idea of people just knowing he was off the market 'cause his lady's hair was clung to his suit jackets.

He liked it. He really did. He'd not admit it aloud, but he liked it.

Tangerine wasn't the most humble man in the world, but he certainly liked to flash what was his. Golden jewelry, expensive, tailored suits, shining Italian leather shoes. And now, you, the woman who invaded his heart and head - and now his home. He adored showing you off, feeling affirmed and invigorated by the longing glances men threw your way, and while he expected jealousy from other women, they seemed more impressed by your beauty and grace as well.

He remembers one night, after a several weeks long mission, he just wanted to hold you. His throat was a little choked up when he called you, knowing you were at home after reading an earlier text. So, you rushed over in the middle of the night and he'd yet to let you go home - three days later.

"You've gonna have to let me out of bed sometime," you smiled playfully. "I have work tomorrow - and no, I'm not calling out again."

"C'mon, love, don't leave me alone," he whispered, looking like a beaten down puppy. The mission was much harder than he'd let on, but Lemon usually always filled you in. He thought it was important for you to know certain details that Tangerine was sure to omit, knowing those were the details that haunted him.

"I'll be back after my shift," you promised, nuzzling his nose with your own. "I also need new panties and clean clothes."

He sighed, "Some in there," he pointed to his closet now.

"What?" You giggled.

"You've left enough behind, got a bit of a collection goin', yeah?" He smiled softly, wrapping you back up in his arms. With a sigh, he relented, "I'll let yah go to work, love, just... Need this a bit longer."

You obliged, but the next day, you were gone before he woke up. With a frown, Tangerine dropped back onto the bed - but inhaled deeply when his nose buried into your pillow. He hummed in pleasure, feeling himself brim with contentment, bringing the fluffy item to his chest and nuzzling it; your perfume left behind to soothe him.

Was Tangerine clingy? Oh, for sure! He didn't think so, but you knew better. The contract killer liked you close, liked his hands on you; even if it was just a hand on your waist or a nose near your neck. He missed you when gone, but he usually held himself back from texting you all day - wanting you to be able to focus on your job.

But that day? He was inept, just wanting you; wondering if he paid you the same salary, if you'd consider just staying home. So, he texted you several times.

This obviously threw you off a little, knowing him better than himself most days. But he just missed you, so, you sent a selfie - promising you missed him too and would be home right after work.

He saved the photo and tried not to dwell on how you said you'd "be home" and not "come to his place". He had to take a few moments to calm down, feeling his heart zing with unfamiliarity - but not being afraid of it like he had been when you first started dating. He could recognize he was happy, that he was excited to see you everyday, and that the idea of coming home to you was far too appealing to ignore any longer.

It seemed neither of you needed to actually have an official conversation about living together. Lemon didn't mind, in fact, he was the one who insisted you have your own key; adoring you and whatever affect you had on his emotionally constipated brother. So, some mornings, Tangerine wasn't surprised to find a slightly damp towel left hanging in the bathroom, nor by the make-up on his counter - you using that mirror because of the fluorescent lighting. He never put it back, he didn't move it - he liked seeing it. It meant you were still here, and the idea of it being gone made his stomach knot with anxiety. He also wasn't surprised when he went to use the shampoo you insisted would help his curls flourish (you were right), only to find it damn-near empty. His shower gel, too.

When you came home that evening, you had Target bags in hand; replacing whatever was empty, making Tangerine grin to himself by how in-sync he felt with you. He'd never had a connection such as this, only ever feeling close enough to Lemon, but you changed everything for them both.

How Tangerine ended up with someone courteous was truly beyond either of them. Someone kind, caring, adventurous, sweeter than pie - someone definitely out of Tangerine's league, something he never let himself forget. He adored you to your core - thinking someone such as you should never have gotten tangled up in someone like him, but he knew, if the time ever came, he'd never be able to let you go. In fact, most days, he had to convince himself not to just pick you up and carry you around while he did chores or ran errands.

The very idea of losing you sent his heart into his stomach; hallowing his chest in a harrowing fashion that made it hard to breathe. Just a week or two ago, Lemon found Tangerine in the kitchen, hand to his chest as if he couldn't catch his breath, heaving for air; his worry spiking, but quickly realizing what was wrong.

"Bruv, you've gotta breathe - calm down," he tried to coax. "You're having a panic attack, you've gotta just focus on breathing."

"Fuck off with that!"

"Seriously, man," Lemon insisted, catching Tangerine in a vulnerable state enough that he actually listened without much of a fight. When Tan seemed a little more under control of his own emotions, Lemon asked, "What the hell happened?"

Tangerine shook his head, "Nothing t'worry 'bout - "

"Bullshit," Lemon snapped. "I've never seen yah like that, mate, the fuck happened?"

It was embarrassing, but Tangerine managed to answer, "Just... Just started thinking that if she ever left me, I'd fucking crumble, mate."

This made Lemon frown, "She's not gonna leave you, man. You know that. The girl's madly in love with you, yeah? Like madly in love - like to a degree it makes her stupid in the head, all right? Obviously, you too," he chuckled, shaking his head as he affectionately ran a hand over the back of Tan's head. "You're workin' yourself up, 's all right. You don't have to think about that - ever - 'cause she's it for you, mate. Yeah? Hear me? She ain't goin' nowhere, not without you."

Tangerine needed the assurance. Being alone after having a taste of your love felt impossible to Tan now, something he was never bothered by before. Seriously, why give a fuck about a relationship when he had his brother? Someone who loved him unconditionally and wouldn't leave? And then he met you and understood why people gave fucks about relationships.

It was as if every room you ever entered was brightened up simply by your smile. Your laugh wasn't always the most ladylike, but it was genuine and true and always made Tangerine smile to himself. During any public outing, Tan was always close - we've established this - but he liked to play a small game. One of your love languages was physical touch, so, you liked kissing him if even just for a single second. He was aware of your lipstick, feeling the tacky substance stain his cheek, but he wouldn't wipe it off. His game was to see how long it'd take before someone would point it out; his reputation didn't always warrant others to feel secure enough to speak up. Some nights, Lemon would motion to his cheek, and other nights, you'd return home, remove your make-up, and swipe make-up remover over his cheek to clear the color away.

However, it wasn't often you ventured in public due to Tangerine's innate introverted nature. You went if The Agency made it mandatory or if you were feeling stir crazy, but majority nights, Lemon would find you both lounged on the couch in various positions.

Sometimes, you'd be watching a movie together or binging a show. Other times, you were reading a book while Tangerine poured over paperwork. And once or twice, Lemon's come home to find you belly laughing and playfully scolding Tangerine as he tried to paint your toe nails. It was a homey sight to Lemon: seeing his brother so in love and at ease, hearing your laughter, the entire flat filled with warm smells of burning candles and homemade meals.

It wasn't evident at first, but with you laying in Tangerine's arms, clothes left on the floor, bellies full of whatever meal you had prepared that evening, favorite show playing on the bedroom TV, he realized that he loved what you had done with the place.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #tangerine imagine #tangerine oneshot #tangerine x you #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x f!reader #tangerine x female!reader #bullet train #bullet train movie #bullet train 2022 #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj #atj character

[bratzforchris]

Comfort, M. Sturniolo

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Summary: Matt's been burning out. It's taken a toll on his body and his mind, but luckily, you're always there when he needs you most<3

Pairing: Matt x feminine reader

Warnings: Burnout, mentions of disordered eating and anxiety, panic attack, pet names (baby, pretty/sweet/handsome boy)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This was a random little idea I had while I've been out of classes and work sick! Soft hurt/comfort Matt makes me so 💗 Expect a lot of writing this week while I'm on spring break and enjoy this lil story<3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Being a content creator was an extremely stressful job, and you knew that. You had to constantly be worried about numbers, engagement, and what looks would or would not get you media attention, good or bad. Although it may not be the same as a regular nine-to-five job, it was still incredibly taxing, and that weight was wearing down on your boyfriend roughly and quickly. 

Matt had been teetering on the edge of burnout for a while now, but just chose to ignore it, figuring if he didn’t acknowledge it, it would stay at bay. He knew you could tell; in fact, he knew everyone could tell, but that didn’t stop him from working day and night, constantly editing, pitching ideas to his brothers, and planning new videos. He refused to let you or Nick and Chris help him, not-so-logically thinking he had to ‘pull his weight’. In Matt’s head, Chris was the funny one, Nick was the editor and the smart one, and you had your own job at a local boutique downtown. You all didn’t have time to hear his issues, he thought. 

“Matt? You in here, love?” You knocked on the door to his office, worriedly gnawing on your lip. 

You hadn’t seen your boyfriend since you arrived home from work two hours ago, but you knew he was here because his car was in the driveway. At first, you had left him to his work, figuring he would come out when he was done with his tasks, but now, it was nearing dinnertime, and even the smell of food cooking on the stove wasn’t luring him out. You waited a few beats, not hearing an answer, until you decided to take matters into your own hands. You would never intrude on Matt’s personal space, but truth be told, you missed your boyfriend loads, and you were also slightly worried. 

Matt was hunched over his computer, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard as he typed out an email. He didn’t even look up from the screen until you tapped him on the shoulder, to which you only received a turn of the head and a tired, watery smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Dinner’s ready, baby,” You whispered softly, massaging his shoulders. “I missed you today.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he sighed, rubbing his temples and then turning back to the computer. “I have some stuff to do.”

“Matt, you’ve been in your office since I got home, darling. That was over two hours ago,” You protested gently. “You gotta be hungry, bubba.”

The awful anxiety started to creep into Matt’s mind at your questioning, not because of anything you were doing, but because he knew you were worrying about him, and he didn’t want that. “I ate earlier.” he lied, wincing at how easily the untruth rolled off his tongue. 

“There weren’t any dishes in the sink or the dishwasher and there weren’t any takeout containers. You didn’t eat, love.” You said firmly, but not unkindly. 

You had been noticing for a few weeks now that Matt was eating less and less, abandoning breakfast and usually after dinner dessert in favor of working in his office. You figured the issue would resolve itself after the influencers got out of their ‘busy season’, but here it was, two weeks later and Matt was getting worse, not better. You knew your boyfriend struggled with anxiety even before YouTube, but that wasn’t going to make you brush the issue off. 

“It doesn’t have to be a whole meal, but you need to eat something.” You continued as you massaged his neck and shoulders, him still facing the screen.

Your boyfriend didn’t say anything, and you almost thought he was ignoring you, until he turned to you, blue eyes full of unshed tears. “I can’t,” Matt cried, beginning to choke on held back sobs. “I have so much to do.” 

“Bubba, you can take a break. It’s okay,” You kissed his forehead. “No one is going to be mad at you.”

“But what if I’m not doing enough? What if Nick and Chris think I’m just letting them do all the work? What if…” Matt was cut off by his own shallow breathing, hands moving to fist his feathery brown hair. 

“Matt,” You interjected firmly. “You are panicking. You need to breathe. Copy me.”

Over your year of being with Matt, you had found that a firmer voice with no pet names usually got his attention better than an overly lovey-dovey voice when he was panicking. Matt finally looked at you, his hyperventilating slowing down as he copied your breathing. In for four, out for four. 

“Good boy.” You smiled, gently praising him as he relaxed against his office chair. 

Matt didn’t even argue when you closed out his computer. He just sat back against his chair, massaging his temples. You gently took his hand, leading him to the living room and guiding him to the couch. You knew he needed to eat, but right now, getting him calm and relaxed was the first priority. You sat down on the couch, allowing Matt to lay his head in your lap. You two didn’t speak for quite a while, allowing him to fully calm down first. Finally, you spoke, running a hand across his body and through his hair comfortingly. 

“Do ya wanna talk about it, handsome boy?” You asked kindly.

“I’m just stressed,” Matt sniffled. “I have a lot to do and Nick is already stressed so I tried to help him with editing, and,” he paused to catch his breath as tears rolled down his face. “And some people have been making mean comments about me lately.” he cried.

“Oh honey,” You said sympathetically, kissing his forehead. “I’m so sorry, pretty boy.”

“They say I’m not as entertaining as Nick and Chris cause I’m quiet.” he sobbed softly. 

“Baby, that is the furthest thing from the truth,” You told Matt, kissing his forehead. “You are sweet, kind, and funny. Anyone who says otherwise is a miserable internet troll who takes their problems out on people they don’t even know.”

“Mhm,” Matt sniffled and nodded, curling further into you. All was silent for a while as you cuddled until your boyfriend’s stomach growled. “My belly hurts.” he whimpered. 

You pouted, running your hand over his stomach comfortingly. “It’s probably because you’re hungry and stressed, honey. Those two things don’t mix well. Do you feel like eating some dinner?”

“No.” Matt said flatly, avoiding your eyes. 

“You have to eat, baby. You don’t even have to get up from the couch and it doesn’t have to be a heavy meal, but you have to eat.”

“Fine.” he mumbled, desperately trying not to cry again. 

“I love you, handsome.” You slid out from under him, softly covering him up with a blanket, before kissing his forehead with a little ‘Be right back’. 

You padded into the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar and an apple. You also refilled Matt’s water bottle that had been abandoned on the island with fresh water. Before you went back to the couch, though, you snuck into your shared room and grabbed Matt’s stuffed pug, Mr. Wrinkleton, off the bed. Based on your own anxiety experiences, you knew having a comfort object usually helped, and your boy needed all the help you could offer. 

By the time you made it back to the couch, Matt’s tears had slowed, but he was still visibly sniffling, blankly staring off into space while pulling the blanket closer to his chin. It broke your heart to see him like this, but for now, you were going to focus on comfort; you two could tackle solutions to the problem later. 

“Look who I brought,” You whisper squealed, handing Matt his stuffed animal. “He missed you.”

Your boyfriend smiled softly, clutching the plush animal to his chest. Mr. Wrinkleton had been Matt’s biggest comfort (besides you) for as long as he could remember, and that didn’t change now that he was an adult. He shifted so that you could once again sit down on the couch, before laying his head back in your lap. 

“I brought you some food, too.” You placed the snacks in Matt’s hand, planting a kiss on his forehead. 

Matt didn’t speak much as he chewed thoughtfully on the granola bar and apple. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you; he was just so exhausted that talking seemed like an extra task. Once he had finished, he placed his trash on the coffee table and then turned over so that his face was smushed against your body. You laid in silence for a while until you softly spoke, running a hand through his hair. 

“How are you feeling?” You asked softly. 

Matt shrugged, snuggling further into the blanket. “My stomach still hurts a little. I’m just really stressed.” he said sadly. 

“I have an idea if you’re up for it.” You smiled. 

“And that idea would be?” 

“Come on, I’ll show you,” You gently took Matt’s hand, making sure he had his blanket and stuffed animal and then led him to your shared bedroom. “Lay down on your back.” You instructed. 

Once Matt had gotten himself into a comfortable position, you straddled yourself across his legs and pulled his shirt off, admiring what you saw for a moment. Your boyfriend was gorgeous and toned with tanned skin and a beautiful sleeve of tattoos that you loved to admire. You stole a pump of lotion from the bottle off your nightstand and began to massage his skin, taking extra care to rub his belly gently and massage the knots in your shoulders. 

“God, Matt. Your shoulders are so tense, honey.” You hummed when your hands met a particular knot in his left shoulder. 

In response, your boyfriend let out a soft moan, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the soft pillows of your bed. It sounded sexual, especially since you were straddling him, but Matt didn’t give a damn. The only thing he could focus on right now was the soft glide of your hands against his skin, melting all his worries away. 

Once you had finished your massage, you cuddled up next to him, pulling the covers over both of you. “Did that help a little?” You asked. 

Matt nodded appreciatively, burying his nose in your neck while holding his stuffed animal to his chest. “Mhm.” he mumbled happily. 

“I’m glad, sweet boy,” You whispered, kissing the spot behind his ear. “You know you can always come talk to me when you’re feeling stressed, right baby? I won’t judge you, nor will I ever be too busy for you.”

“I know,” Matt blushed. “I’m going to work on asking for help instead of trying to handle everything alone…” he whispered softly. 

“I’m so proud of you,” You hummed, giving him the soft praise he so heavily deserved. “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for, you know that?”

“I am pretty great.” the giggle and smile you had been waiting to hear all evening finally crept into Matt’s voice. 

Even when his anxiety and worries got the best of him, he would never lose his ‘Mattitude’, and that was just one reason on a very, very long list that you loved this boy with your whole heart.  

tags ♡: @aemrsy @jake-and-johnnies-slut @oobleoob @idek3000hi @melguilbert

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here<3

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt x y/n #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo headcannons #matthew sturniolo x y/n #matthew sturniolo oneshot #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo imagine #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x y/n #chris sturniolo headcanon #christopher sturniolo x y/n #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris

[beenbaanbuun]

Bunnnnyyyy I'm having yuyu withdrawals 😭😭

I recently stumbled across the spiderman yuyu edit on Instagram again and it has me running LAPS

Like can you imagine being roommates with photography major spider!yunho, noticing his odd disappearances and late nights but never saying anything, which he appreciates because lord knows he doesn't have the capacity for it rn sinde I'd headcannon this is right after his uncle's desth when he's still in his angry grief era.

But MC would be sweet even though he's cold and kinda mean, she wouldn't be nosy or pry, always asks him to eat with her out of courtesy (which isn't a big deal for her but it kinda chips away at his heart because she's so sweet about it).

Still he maintains certain boundaries till one day he comes home all beat up and bruised, and MC patches him back up, there’s so much tension in the room when she has to peel off his shirt to check the bruises on his sides, when he softly asks why she cares about him so much, when she quietly admits that it's because she likes him-

AKSHSKSHDKSDBJSBZSJ

I'm just..... obsessed with Yunho

-lyra

so this sent me a little insane and i wrote so much more than i was expecting to 😭😭 spidey!yunho has sent me down a rabbit hole and this is what we ended up with…

——————————————————————————“can we eat together tonight?” you ask as you stir the pasta around the pot. you made two portions, as usual, in the sheer hope that he wouldn’t be going out again. “i found this recipe i thought you’d like. i figured it might help cheer you up!” you shrug as if it’s no big deal.

but it is to yunho. as he picks his backpack up from the floor, he feels his heart break just a little. it would be so much easier for him to leave the apartment every night if it wasn’t for the fact that you were such a sweetheart. the fact that you always cook for him whenever you make something for yourself is something that has been slowly chipping away at his hard exterior for months now. the way that you put it in the fridge along with a cute little note whenever he isn’t there to eat with you has almost properlybroken that exterior in two.

yunho can’t deny that half of those precious little notes are stashed in the drawer of his nightstand; he rereads them whenever his emotions get the better of him. seeing the sweet messages scrawled onto the yellow post-it-notes never fails to make him smile. your pretty little words in your pretty little handwriting… he’d be insane not to keep them.

you turn around, taking your attention away from the pot for just a moment, and spot him with his jacket on and his rucksack slung lazily over one shoulder. as your face falls, he can’t help the way his heart breaks just a little more. you probably think you’ve hidden your disappointment well, and to anyone else you might have done. it’s just a shame that yunho is the way that he is, because he sees the way your shoulders deflate and the shadow of a frown disrupts your pretty face. he can practically feel the sadness radiating from you in waves, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up slightly as your not-so-obvious upset puts him on edge.

but then you seem to remember yourself, and within seconds you’ve picked yourself back up and are offering a small smile to him. he still feels that prickling at the back of his neck, though.

although it becomes apparent pretty quickly that that sensation may be caused by his own disappointment, rather than yours. as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise, he can’t deny the way that the feeling in his neck grows as he watches you pull a tupperware from the cupboard. you swap it with his dish - it was really yours, but you’d named it his because it’s red and red reminds you of him, for some reason - and he has to stifle his own frown. for some reason watching you replace the ceramic bowl with the plastic tub hits him right in the chest…

“i’ll put yours in the fridge, then,” you say as you turn back to the pasta and give it a stir, “you can grab it whenever you’re hungry; maybe when you get back tonight?”

sweetheart, his brain repeats over and over like a mantra. it rattles round his skull whilst he tries to find the words to thank you. to let you know just how much he appreciates it, even if he doesn’t always show it. and the words are right there. right on the top of his tongue…

but for some reason he can’t get them out.

“i’ll see you later,” is all he mumbles before he slips out of the doorway and dashes down the hallway to the open window that awaits him at the end.

you try not to let the way the door slams shut hurt you, but even with the strongest will in the world you wouldn’t be able to take away the ache in your chest. he’s just going through a rough patch, you try to convince yourself as you spoon his serving into the tupperware and clip the lid shut. he just needs some time alone after everything that’s happened to him, you think as you slip it into the fridge. it’ll be better soon, you pray as you pull out a pen and think about what to write on his note.

hope this pasta cheers you up, yun! if you like it, let me know and i’ll make it more often for you!!

the words make you cringe, but you slip it next to the tupperware anyway, closing the fridge with a huff. you doubt he even reads the notes anyway, so why does it matter if what you write on them is a little sickly-sweet.

with a sigh you grab your bowl and turn to the couch, ready to settle in and do nothing for the night. as usual, yunho’s portfolio stuff is everywhere, as well as the photos of that one spider-guy that he’s been collecting for his new job at the daily bugle. you hate the newspaper yourself, thinking that the conspiracy-led journalism is nothing but fear mongering nonsense, but you can’t fault yunho for working there; he’s only in it for the money, afterall. it’s just the life of a collage student to have to sell out your morals for a paycheck.

you pick it all up, organising it into somewhat-coherent piles on the coffee table before flopping down onto the ratty sofa and flicking the TV on. the volume is barely at a whisper, and you can’t help but curse yunho for having such good hearing; no doubt he feels the same when he turns the TV on to a deafening wall of sound after you’ve used it. the thought gives you a quick chuckle as you flick through the channels to find something to watch. you settle on a dumb reality show, quickly settling in for the evening so you can eat your pasta in peace.

———

hours pass before yunho returns, swinging the door open and startling you out of your TV-centred tunnel vision. you turn to him in surprise, ready to gently scold him for putting what would no doubt be another dent in the wall. that will have to come out of both of your deposits, you prepare yourself to tell him, but when you actually see him you pause.

he’s hunched up against a wall, chest rising and falling as he struggles to breathe. there’s a wheeze when he inhales, which only gets stronger when he breathes out, and the look of pain on his face that comes each and every time he respires sends you straight into panic mode. you don’t bother to turn the TV off as you stand up and rush towards him.

“fucking hell, yun,” you cry as you reach him. he winces at your shrill tone, drawing back into himself as you invade his personal space to check for injuries. the obvious one is his side, which he’s clutching in his grip like his life depends on it; you assume it’s a cracked rib, which would explain why breathing looks like it’s taking all of his effort. despite its necessity, its a notoriously painful thing to do with a broken rib.

a broken nose can make it difficult too, and as you begin to scan his face, you realise that he definitely has one of those. the way it twists to the side slightly, blood oozing from his right nostril like a faucet makes you flinch back a little, as if you’re the one that’s injured. you compose yourself quickly as you continue your search. black eye, split brow, split lip - the list goes on, but thankfully none of it seems too irreparable. with your basic knowledge of first aid, and yunho’s weirdly extensive first aid kit, you’re bound to have him fixed up in no time.

“bathroom,” you stutter out, taking a step back to give him some space. he almost misses your warmth as he watches you take a few steps towards the room that separates his bedroom from yours. he chases it, pushing himself away from the wall and stumbling after you. he doesn’t know why he wants you so close all of a sudden, but he feels like he needs it to survive. those brief few seconds he had you close somehow made him breathe a little easier. he follows you into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

silently, you gesture to the toilet and he takes a seat on the closed lid. his broad torso leans back against the tiles, and he relishes in the way that the cold seeps through his shirt and washes over his too-hot body. his head tips back against it too, and he watches you through hooded eyes as you scramble through the cabinet to find his first-aid kit.

sweetheart, his mind whispers again as you sit there on your knees in front of the cabinet, pushing rolls of toilet paper and bottles of cleaning product to the side. only you could be so adorably caring towards him after all these months of him actively pushing you away. only you would be so worried for him after he’d been trying his hardest to avoid you for months on end.

only you.

that feeling at the back of his neck comes back, only this time it’s stronger. every single hair on his body stands on end as he watches you pull the black bag from the back of the cabinet, whispering a cute little ‘a-ha’ to yourself. he smiles at that, not even bothering to hide it from you when you turn to him with the kit in hand. he doesn’t need to anymore; you’ve already seen everything else he used to hide.

which reminds him of his tattered spider-suit in his grasp. yunho holds out the red spandex for you to take from him, half expecting you to examine it and unveil all his secrets, but you don’t. you don’t even look at it as you toss the filthy fabric into the bathtub and turn the cold tap on. it’s the best for getting blood out, afterall. with little more thought about the piece of fabric, you turn back to yunho and unzip the black bag.

“unbutton your shirt,” you mutter as you pull out some wipes, a tube of antiseptic cream, and a large square bandage. you have no idea if his side is actually bleeding or not, but it’s best to be prepared, right? you look back at him with the materials in hand, only to see him staring back at you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“what?” you grumble, taking notice of the fact that he hasn’t moved an inch. his hand was still clutched over his side and his shirt was still messily buttoned up. you sigh and move towards him, thinking nothing of it when you drop to your knees between his thighs and begin to unbutton the white fabric. his breath hitches as your fingers brush against his chest, but you pay him no mind, “yunho, move your arm - i need to get your shirt off.”

he doesn’t, remaining still as ever as you undo the last button that you can. you sit back on your haunches and watch him from where you sit between his spread legs.

“yun, come on,” you whine, and he closes his eyes at the sound. so beautiful; if only he wasn’t in pain so he could enjoy it more, “i need to undo the rest of your buttons and i can’t when you’re not letting me!”

you lay a hand on his wrist in a pleading gesture, asking wordlessly to let you take care of him. he listens this time and loosens his grip on his ribs. you pull his hand away, sucking in a breath as you catch sight of the red stain that his hand was previously covering. it’s not huge, but it still needs seeing to, so you go back to unbuttoning his shirt.

yunho tries not to think too hard as your hand brushes over his crotch when you undo the last two, just like when you eventually finish and push the sides of his shirt open to reveal his bare chest. it’s covered with bruises, and he bites his lip to suppress a groan as your delicate fingers dance softly across his damaged skin. he finds himself wishing the circumstances were different, and that you sitting between his legs, touching his chest could be so much more than you just worrying about him. as he watches you pick up the antiseptic wipes again, he’s reminded that that’s all it is; you being worried.

but that too confuses him. after all this time of him being a downright dick to you, you’re still so gentle with him. he’s abrupt and rude, and yet you still smile and say hello whenever you see him. he’s never around to eat with you, and yet you never fail to make him a meal every time you cook. he’s kept so much from you, and yet here you are, taking care of him like none of that ever mattered. like you can somehow see the man he is underneath all that.

he whimpers, and he’s not quite sure whether it’s because of the pain of the antiseptic wipe, or the pain he feels in his heart. either way, he needs something to take his mind off it all.

“why?” he asks as you clean his wound with a kind hand. so soft, your touch, as if you’re scared of hurting him. as if anything you could ever do would hurt him.

“why what?” you respond as you toss away the bloodied wipe and move to grab the cream. you put a dollop on your finger and begin to gently press it against the wound. he groans, and you mutter out a small apology. you mean it too; you don’t want to cause him any more pain.

“why are you doing this?” he says through gritted teeth, breathing heavy and laboured as he tried to power through the sting that he feels in his side, “why are you so nice to me when i’m - oh fuck, it hurts - when i’m anything but nice to you?”

you pause for a second, mulling over his question, repeating it in your mind until you can settle on an answer. well, an answer that’s palatable for him, anyway.

“you’re not not nice,” you say, capping the cream and putting it down on top of yunho’s thigh; you’d need it layered anyway. then you grab the bandage and rip off the adhesive cover, “and even if you were, i don’t think that wouldn’t change how i feel about you as a person.”

he watches with confusion in his eyes as you line up the bandage and smooth it over his skin. you run your fingers along the edges, pressing it down the make sure it’s secure. he’s sure that they linger on his skin for a moment longer than they have to, but he says nothing as you pull your hand back and rest it on your lap.

“how do you feel about me?” he whispers quietly into the cold air of the bathroom. it’s quite possibly the worst place he can imagine to have this conversation, and yet it seems the fit the atmosphere perfectly. somehow it feels so natural, talking about feelings whilst you patch up his injuries in the bathroom.

“i’ve fallen for you,” you bite the bullet, just coming straight out with it, “hook, line, and sinker, yun.”

it feels good to get it off your chest at long last. even if it doesn’t lead anywhere, or it makes things weird between the two of you. even if he begins to avoid you more, or just straight up moves out, it’s feels nice to have it out in the open. you’ve cast your net, it’s up to him whether or not he lets you catch him…

“oh,” is all he says at first, and you try not to think too much into that single syllable. you pick up the tube of antiseptic cream again and turn your attention to his eyebrow, “you like me?”

you nod as you put another globule on your finger and lean into him to get closer to the cut. you ignore the way he stares at you as you work, trying you hardest to avoid making eye contact. you already feel like your heart is about to beat itself free from your chest; you don’t need to worry it any more.

but then you feel a finger brush softly against your face, a scabbed up knuckle teasing your soft skin as it’s traces your cheekbone. a breath gets caught in your throat, and your finger stills against yunho’s brow bone. against your better judgement, you let yourself focus on his expression, making eye contact with the chocolate pools that never failed to draw you in. they’re beautiful, as always, but they reveal so much more than they usually do. the corners crinkle up into crows feet as his pupils twinkle with an emotion you’ve never really seen on his face before. it suits him… a lot.

“that’s a relief,” he breathes out, the semblance of a chuckle in his voice, “i’ve been calling you sweetheart in my brain since the moment we moved in together; it’ll be nice to be able to call you that to your face… sweetheart.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #yunho fanfic #yunho oneshot

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

You Can't Swim??

SUMMARY: The Octotrio don't know that you have never learned to swim. And you went to a beach. What could go wrong? WORD COUNT: 1.9k (I need to sleep)

WARNINGS: Floyd almost let you drown, reader kind of gets panic attacks? Idk (I'm the writer I should know, someone hit me), reader thinks about whacking Floyd, Azul is genuinely in love, Azul is also very traumatized I think, Azul overthinks A/N: Gotta love how I have no warnings about Jade I- Gotta love getting a fic idea about me being unable to swim- And I've had this thought swimming (lol) in my thoughts for a couple of days?? Idk if reader is the significant other of these guys or just besties. I think it leans toward s/o though This reads like a crack fic to me but honestly make sure you know how to swim so you don't die (i don't but that's not the point here) Maybe OOC Jade because he hides himself too well for me to get an accurate read on personality lmfao When Jade is genuinely sweet but the others are unhinged so naturally the unhinged ones are longer- I'm sorry I get no decent ideas for Jade </3 Another late late night post (it's 1:50 AM)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had never learned to swim. It wasn't that you were afraid, really. It was just that you had passed the age where people normally learned, and now you were too lazy to and/or didn't have enough time. Whatever excuse to stop a nagging person.

Now, this wouldn't have been a problem if you never went anywhere near bodies of water. Which you mostly didn't. However, knowing merfolk was not the best idea if you didn't know how to swim.

Now you have gone to the beach with him, and that probably wasn't the best idea for either of you.

Floyd Leech

You had been sitting on the beach near the water, absently looking over some shells as Floyd splashed around deeper in the ocean. The shells really were interesting - nothing like the ones where you had come from (although they had some similarities) and were colorful. So many shapes and varieties, although most were not intact.

You had been so engrossed in this, in fact, that you hadn't realized Floyd had been sneaking up on you. Before you could say another word, he playfully dragged you into the water. While you were fully clothed.

You weren't expecting to go into the water, but you should've known better with Floyd. He was playful and loved to do stuff like this. Usually if Azul was around, he'd have done something… But he wasn't here.

Before you knew it, you were deeper in the ocean than you ever had been before, courtesy to the teal-haired boy swimming and dragging you along. You flailed around a bit, eyes wide in panic. You were, quite honestly, terrified. And it obviously didn't help when Floyd just immediately let you go.

Was he an idiot or was he an idiot?

"Floyd-" You got out before coughing as water shot up your nose, still flailing miserably. It didn't work. You didn't know what to do. Surely, Floyd would help… If he realized what was going on. No matter what you thought, he was bright, wasn't he?

Not bright enough, it seemed, as he was still laughing and not realizing how actually panicked you were.

"Koebi-chan, you look so ridiculous like that," he laughed, almost in hysterics, and you would've smacked him if you weren't so close to actually dying.

And then you sunk.

Your desperate attempts to go to the surface were pointless as you didn't even know how to float or move around in the water.

After a few seconds, Floyd finally noticed you were gone and quickly dove under the surface. Maybe you were trying to get him back?

But his gaze immediately widened as he saw you literally sinking to the ocean floor. His eel tail moved quickly, almost without thinking as he shot to grab you and take you up, up, up so you could actually breathe.

When you came to, you were on the sandy beach again, Floyd leaning over you. His eyes, normally filled with a joking light, were unusually subdued.

"Koebi-chan, why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim?" A pout grew on Floyd's face. "If I knew, I wouldn't have-"

"Yes you would have. We would still be here, just having a different conversation."

"But-"

"No buts."

"I would've made it more fun-"

"Drowning in the ocean is the opposite of fun, Floyd-"

~Bonus because I don't know how to fit one into the story~ "I can teach you how to swim. You just go whoo and let your body move. Y'know. Like dancing." "No, I don't know, Floyd, and this is not going to help me with anything-"

Jade Leech

Jade had been spending his time on the beach with you, but you were almost certain that he wanted to be swimming in the ocean. It was his natural element, after all.

"Jade, you sure you don't want to go in the water?"

"I'm fine staying here with you, [Y/N]." He gave you a soft smile.

You shook your head. "We've come all the way here, you might as well go swim." You gave him a gentle nudge.

"Well, I'd like you to come with me, if that is possible?" He watched you quietly. "You never go swimming with me."

You paused. Although it was sweet that he wanted you to go with him… "No, I don't think so…" You trailed off. You never liked telling people that you couldn't swim. At this point, it was embarrassing.

The pair of heterochromia eyes staring at you only left you feeling more jittery. "…I, er… I can't swim. So going into the ocean with you sounds kind of like… A bad idea." You froze. "Did you use your Signature Spell on me?"

"Of course not, [Y/N]." Jade stared at you with eyes of hurt, one that looked almost identical to that of his twin's. Only, it was almost obvious that Jade didn't mean the hurt in his eyes. "You just trust me enough to say things to me."

You couldn't deny the truth there. You trusted Jade. "And you wouldn't use your Signature Spell on something so trivial, would you?"

"No, I would not." He shrugged. "On a different note, I can help you learn how to swim."

"I really don't need it-"

"What if someone tries to hurt you one day and they know your weakness?"

"Why would-"

"It's an example, [Y/N]. But if that person decides to do that, you wouldn't be able to do anything. So I should help you in case that scenario occurs."

You sighed softly. "Fine, I guess I can take lessons from you… If it's not too much of a hassle."

"Of course it would not be a hassle or anything of the sort." Jade inclined his head. "All to help you stay safe."

The day went on with Jade helping you learn the basics of swimming - he was a good teacher, which you were happy about. He was patient, and always was there if you ever started to panic.

"We wouldn't want you getting scared of the ocean now, would we?"

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had gotten used to you after a couple months. Sure, he hadn't opened up to many people in a while (only Floyd and Jade, but they also teased him constantly about everything, so), but you were soothing and nice. Sure, you teased him sometimes, but it was different. It didn't feel mean, you stopped as soon as you noticed him looking a little uncomfortable, and… He honestly felt like he could open up about anything.

So when it was decided that you two were going to the beach - together - alone? It kind of made him very messed up.

Would you like being at the beach with him? He wasn't completely against showing his octopus form… Would you want him to swim with you? Was he even ready for that?

Those thoughts led him down a spiral, and the day you two were to go, he had bags under his eyes and looked like he was half-dead.

You gently nudged him, murmuring how he should've tried to get more sleep for this day supposedly filled with fun, but he just shrugged.

Soon, you were at the beach, and as Azul saw your smiling face, his gaze softened a little. He loved seeing your happy face.

"C'mon!" You grabbed Azul's hand as you started to run to the water, ignoring his surprised stumbling as he was dragged along. He had a light flush on his cheeks that he was glad you couldn't see.

Soon, you had reached the edge of the water, splashing around in your sandals. It was really fun, even though you knew that you were going to be getting sand in your toes later on.

Azul just kind of watched on, a relaxed expression on his face. This really was soothing… Although he was still thinking about if the Mostro Lounge would be okay with him gone. Surely Jade would do something if Floyd got into trouble… Hopefully. And hopefully, no more dishes would break.

"What are you looking so glum for?" Your voice brought him back to his senses.

"Nothing, just hoping that Jade and Floyd can take care of things at the Mostro Lounge." He sighed softly.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be fine. Jade's there, right?"

"He can cause as much trouble as Floyd, you know. Although he won't be outright about it." Azul shook his head, a small frown on his face.

"C'mon, turn that frown upside down." You moved closer to him, gently squishing his cheeks. "Today is for having fun, Azul."

"Yes, yes, I know." Azul couldn't help himself; he let out a soft laugh. A genuine one.

You smiled brightly. "You aren't charging me for hearing your little cute laugh?"

"I will charge you if you call it cute."

"Of course you will." You rolled your eyes before abruptly changing the subject. "So are you not going to swim?"

Azul paused. Did you want him to swim? To see his true form? There was an even chance. What should his answer be? "Er… I don't know?"

"Of course you don't have to, Azul, I just thought… I mean, there's no one around." You shrugged a little.

And now more pressure on Azul. Great. He was used to dealing with pressure, yes. Just not this kind from you. "Er… Would you come swim with me?" If you were with him, then maybe…

"No." Your lips parted, maybe to offer an explanation, but it was too late.

Azul was in a downward spiral. Why had you said no? Perhaps octopi merfolk were really too much. Perhaps you would rather be with someone with a pretty tailfin than tentacles. Or maybe a human, one of your own kind. Who said that you even liked him at all? Perhaps you were only with him out of pity, because he was that useless, chubby, good-for-nothing-

"Azul? Azul, are you listening to me?"

He snapped back to attention.

"Seriously, are you okay? Did you seriously get enough sleep last night?" You sighed.

"That's none of your-"

"It is if you're literally zoning out every five seconds." You rolled your eyes. "And anyway, I was just saying that I kind of can't go deeper into the ocean where you probably feel comfortable swimming. Because I can't swim." You shrugged nonchalantly.

But for Azul, it felt like a figurative bomb had been dropped.

You? Couldn't swim? Now that he thought about it, it did make sense… How you always looked so awkward and uncomfortable with water, especially when you came to the Octavinelle dorm. But seriously? How could you not know how to swim?

"Is not knowing how to swim… Normal?"

"Definitely not." You rolled your eyes. "But I'm just too lazy to learn now. And I have no time."

"You do if you have time to scroll on Magicam." Finally, Azul felt a bit better. At least you didn't hate him.

"And this time, I'll teach you how to swim. I'll even do it free of charge." Azul shook his head. "Seeing as I'm so generous."

"You sound like headmage Crowley."

"Do be quiet."

Azul was a pretty good teacher. He ended up not turning into his octopus form until nearly the end of the day, you were practicing your swimming and then just playing around on the sand, building sand castles, anything that you might do at a normal beach outing.

His octopus form was beautiful (as expected), and although you couldn't go to deeper waters, you enjoyed seeing him swim around, always eventually coming back to you.

"Today was truly relaxing, [Y/N]. We should do this again another time."

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[silverameco]

Bookshop AU - @wolfstarmicrofic - 763 words

Sirius loved Tuesdays, because he didn't work the afternoon, and could go annoy his brother. Regulus had been working at Lily's bookshop for a few years now. It was striking how well he fitted in the place. When Lily openned her shop, Sirius never thought he would ever see his brother in it. And now, he couldn't imagine it without him.

Sirius was leaning against the counter, bickering with Regulus who kept rolling his eyes, pretending to be bother by it. Sirius knew he was enjoying his presence every Tuesday. They never thought they could have this, after all.

Regulus left him alone to fetch something at the back of the store. Suddendly, the bell of the door tinkled and Sirius turned his head to face the stranger. It might be the best thing he ever did, because the man standing before him was the most beautiful sight. He had sun bleached curls, tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose, and a scar crossing his face. Most of all, he had amber eyes glinting in the sun that filtered through the glass door. Sirius felt like he himself was glowing under his gaze.

"Hi, I'm looking for-", the stranger began.

"A book ?" Sirius interrupted with a cheeky grin. "I think you might be in the right place. A bookstore, that is."

The man sent him an amused smile. "Er, actually-"

"Sirius stop being rude to my customers, and my friends." Regulus said with an annoyed tone and his usual frown, coming back from the backstore. "Hi, Remus, ignore my stupid brother." he added to the stranger's attention.

Sirius couldn't process the information that this beautiful man was friend with his brother of all people. His mind was just a litany of Remus, Remus, Remus.

"Err- hey ! I'm not being rude." he said after a beat. "In fact, Remus, maybe I could help you find this book we were talking about-"

"No, you can't, you don't work here, Sirius." cutted his annoying shit of a little brother. "Come on, Remus, I'll show you the books we were discussing the other day."

He took Remus' arm, dragging him away, between the book shelves. Remus followed, but Sirius noticed his gaze lingering on him, a glint of something in his eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his lips.

So he waited patiently - maybe not so much - for them to come back at the front of the shop. When they did, Remus was holding three books. Sirius looked at the books while he payed for them. He could feel Remus very close to him, because Sirius was still against the counter. He didn't intend to move one bit.

Two of the books he didn't know, but the third one was Les Fleurs du Mal, by Charles Baudelaire. Poetry, then. With a flash of inspiration, he snatched the book from his brother's hand, ignoring his exasperated sigh.

"This one," he said, "is a very good choice."

Remus raised an interested eyebrow at him. "You like Baudelaire ?"

"Nah, I'm more of a Rimbaud kind of guy." answered Sirius with a knowing smile. "But this one is a very special edition."

"Oh, is it ?" Remus asked with an amused smile, seemingly waiting to see where he was going with this.

Sirius took a pen laying on the counter, openned the front page and began writing. He took his time, letting Remus pay meanwhile.

"Yes." he said finally, handing the book back to Remus. "It has my number on it. Call me, if you want."

Sirius said it with what he hoped looked like a confident smile, but really he was shaking a bit.

"You don't have to. He's annoying." Regulus said.

But Remus kept looking at him and smiled. "Yeah, but I think I will." he answered finally. Sirius felt his heart roared.

"You're both hopeless." commented Regulus.

"Bye Sirius." Remus said with a wink and then he was gone already.

Sirius looked at his brother with a huge grin, to which he answered with a glare.

"Do you really have to flirt with my friends ?"

Sirius gasped in offense. "You're literally dating my best friend and his girlfriend who is also my friend !"

This particular Tuesday would become one of Sirius' favorite days ever.

#throwing french poets in there for my own personal enjoyement #also jegulily crumbs bc i felt like it #and black brothers banter bc i love them #silv writes things #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #regulus black #marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-one: "The Hepling Hand"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You worry Matt has been injured when you realize he didn't wake you after returning home for the evening.

Or You offer Matt a helping hand to relax in the shower.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock. You can find the entire list of installments here.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: This one took me a bit to get edited but it's finally here! Enjoy the slight angsty hints and the smut. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @mattkinsella @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @linamarr @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii

"Mmmph," you groaned out, face half-buried in a pillow.

The sound of the shower running down the hall quickly reached your ears over the soft chatter on the television nearby. Slowly stirring awake on the couch, you were vaguely aware of Mittens laying stretched along the length of you. He let out a faint mew of protest when you shifted again, your leg nudging him. But as you gradually woke up, you were becoming more aware of the fact that Matt had returned home and hadn't woken you from your place on the couch. Usually he did before he even changed out of his suit, especially because he knew you were often curled up here with Mittens waiting for him to return home.

Pushing yourself upright on the couch, you maneuvered your legs around Mittens who curled tight into a ball as you moved, clearly not interested in waking up with you. Placing your feet onto the floor, you rubbed a hand over your tired eyes as you tried to further wake up. You’d had a long day at the office and had been worn out when you'd finally gotten home, but you always refused to go to bed until Matt came home and snuggled up beside you under the sheets. You always had to know he'd returned to you safe and sound or you wouldn't be able to truly sleep for the night–which was why Matt often found you waiting on the couch for him. 

Turning off the television and rising from the couch, you shuffled your way down the short hallway and towards the bathroom, the sound of running water growing louder as you neared it. Matt didn't usually shower after a night out as the Devil unless something was wrong or he'd been injured, and the fact that he’d come home without waking you before he showered only had worry further churning in your stomach. You hoped it was just that he was stressed and not because he was covered in his own blood.

Opening the bathroom door, you stepped inside and flipped on the light. Through the steamed up glass of the shower door you saw Matt's head turn in your direction, probably noticing your presence and hearing the sudden hum of the light bulbs.

"Matty?" you called out. "Are you okay? You didn't wake me when you got home."

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Matt called back. 

You frowned at the sound of his voice. He sounded exhausted and more worn out than usual and that only increased your concern for him. Stepping further into the bathroom, you pulled your shirt overhead without a moment's hesitation. After tossing it onto the floor, you began to slip out of your sweatpants and underwear, dropping them to the bathroom floor next. Reaching a hand out, you slid the shower door open as steam immediately wafted out towards you.

Matt's head turned in your direction once again, the spray of the shower running in rivulets down his hair and his face. Your eyes openly surveyed him as you stood there, scanning him over for injuries. He had a few bruises on his body and a cut along his lip, which was more than he usually came home with when he was out in that red suit, but otherwise he seemed alright. Though that didn't stop you from wincing at the sight, knowing he must have been sore and miserable.

Wordlessly you stepped into the shower with him, noticing how Matt didn't move as you closed the door behind yourself. He remained facing the front of the shower, silently letting the water cascade down his body. Something seemed off with his mood, you could just feel it in the way he was hunched forward on himself, his shoulders tensed up beside his neck. He hadn't made a comment about you joining him, either. 

Making your way behind him, you gently wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled your naked front to his naked back until you were flush against him. Turning your head, you pressed your cheek against his warm, damp skin and closed your eyes, letting the water softly fall over you both. One of Matt's hands wrapped over the top of yours, holding it lightly. 

"You sure you're alright?" you asked him. "You seem awfully quiet, Matt.”

“Just a rough night, sweetheart,” he muttered. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“You’re hurt,” you pointed out. “There’s bruises and a cut on your lip. What happened?”

Matt sighed, his hand brushing back and forth along your forearm affectionately, but the gesture felt tired in itself. Brows knitting together, a frown tugged at your lips once more. Something was definitely going on with him.

“Some things…happened tonight. And they got out of hand for a bit because of–” he broke off, his muscles tensing in your embrace so noticeably that your eyes flew open, “– someone .”

Shifting your head along his back, you glanced up at what you could see of his face. His head was half turned back towards you, the muscle jumping in his cheek in obvious irritation. Whoever this someone was had clearly gotten under his skin tonight.

“What?” you asked curiously. "What got out of hand?"

Matt huffed out an annoyed breath, shaking his head. His hand lightly patted your arm as he spoke. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. There's just someone from my past that I…thought was gone. Now they’re back and I’m…not exactly thrilled .”

“Who are–”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting you off. “We’ve come to an agreement. Hopefully. I’m just frustrated, that’s all. Didn’t want to wake you when I came in because I was hoping to calm down first.”

Drawing yourself away from his back a bit, you studied the hunch of his shoulders and the tension in his back muscles. Gradually your hands slid upwards, moving along the hard plane of his soaked, broad chest. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you admittedly wanted to know more about what had happened tonight–wanted to know who had shown up from his past. Because this wasn't a mood you'd ever seen Matt in after doing one of his patrols. This was different. He seemed entirely drained after dealing with whoever it was he had encountered. 

As you stood there studying the back of Matt, your hands absently tracing patterns along the warm, wet skin of his chest, a thought crossed your mind. Something you figured might help turn his night around, or at the very least, relieve some of the obvious tension in his body. 

“Do you…want me to help you relax?” you asked softly.

Matt’s head tilted further towards you over his shoulder, his eyes tightening. “What?” he asked.

You shrugged lightly behind him. "You seem frustrated and tense. I was wondering if I could help you relax a little."

There was a long pause after you'd spoken, the sound of the water hitting the shower tiles loud in the silence between you both. For quite a few seconds he'd stood there motionless, somewhat still focused on you over his shoulder. You were beginning to think he was going to flat out refuse you before he finally broke the quiet.

"What'd you have in mind?" he asked. 

Smiling slightly, you turned your attention to his back before you. Leaning forward, you gently pressed your lips to his warm skin. Immediately he sucked in a breath as your lips lingered on him, his muscle twitching beneath your mouth. Gradually your lips slid up, beginning to trail a line of soft kisses up the length of his back, right along the column of his spine. You felt the way he shuddered in your arms, your hands continuing to lightly trace their way around his chest as your lips moved. Though when the pad of your index finger brushed over his nipple, you heard the deep moan that rumbled out of him. 

Your mouth paused at the beautiful sound, lingering against his skin just along his spine. Your smile widened along him as you dragged your hand back, your finger grazing his nipple again. Matt sucked in a sharp breath in response, his hips slightly jerking forward when the pad of your finger circled the stiff peak.

"That feel good?" you whispered against his skin.

"Everything you're doing right now does," he whispered back. "You always feel so good."

Turning your attention back to him, you placed another soft kiss along his back before you lightly nipped at the muscle beside his shoulder blade. Matt gasped, his hands flying forward and landing flat on the tile wall before him as if he needed to hold himself upright. As you continued to lightly nip at his skin, you began to slide your hands leisurely down the front of Matt’s body, feeling every dip of his toned muscles. You carefully dragged your nails along his skin as your hands moved, enjoying every twitch of his muscles beneath your touch as it traveled ever downwards. 

"Oh, sweetheart ," he breathed out. 

Pressing the front of yourself further to the back of Matt, both of your hands stopped their descent at the base of his cock. Slowly your fingers drew circles in the trimmed, dark hair there, your hands occasionally brushing against him. You quickly became aware that he was growing hard just at the anticipation of your touch.

"You do so much for this city, Matty," you whispered, planting another kiss along his back and hearing the way he whimpered. "You do so much for me," you continued, tongue slipping out before delicately running over the line of his shoulder blade. Your hands slid upwards, tracing their way along his hip bones. "Always so selfless and hard working." 

Matt let out a whine, his fingers digging into the tile wall as the warm spray of water continued to pour over you both. A tinge of pride grew in you at still being able to have such an effect on him, at drawing forth those little breathy, needy whines that you loved whenever he made them. At how much he already seemed to be struggling to keep himself together. 

"You deserve to be taken care of," you murmured. "Let me take care of you tonight."

"Always so–so good to me," he stammered breathlessly. 

Hands sliding down, you ran them over the front of his thick thighs. You felt the shiver that ran up his body as your fingers tenderly massaged the large muscles of his legs, your fingers tangling in the dark little hairs covering them.

"Because I love you, Matt," you told him. 

His head fell back over his shoulders at your voice, his eyes clamped shut. His teeth were clearly grit together as you finally dragged your right hand up towards the base of his cock.

" Fuck ," he ground out. "I love you so much, sweetheart."

His hips gave a jolt as you curled your hand around the base of him firmly, a deep rumbling  moan tumbling out of his mouth. Grinning at how hard he already was, your other hand gently raked your nails up his thick left thigh through the dark, damp hair covering it. You could feel the way his hips twitched in response, struggling to remain still. 

"I'll help you relax," you whispered. "Don't worry, Matty."

Beginning to slide your hand along the length of his cock, your own eyelids fluttered at the delicious moan he loosed into the shower next. It sounded so damn good to your ears as you continued to stroke him, your other hand gradually making its way to cradle his balls. You couldn't help but feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you in response to the faint sighs slipping out of him. 

"That's it, Matty," you praised him. "Let me take care of you tonight."

His breath audibly hitched at your voice, goosebumps rippling across his skin underneath your arms that were still wrapped around him. You could feel his body tensing against the front of yours as you continued to languidly stroke him in your hand. His obvious pleasure eased any worry you’d had from when you'd first stumbled on him for the moment as you focused once more on trailing kisses along his back. Matt moaned again, his hips jerking forward into your hand a few times.

Encouraged by his involuntary movements, your hand began to pump him faster. The sound of Matt’s sharp, panting breaths began to grow louder than the sound of the running water itself as you worked his eager cock in your hand. A soft moan left you as you became aware of every pulsing vein as you stroked him, your pace continuing to increase with the tempo of his breaths.

You could tell he was already growing close to his release by the noises he was soon making. The high pitched, desperate whimpers were a particularly favorite sound of yours. You knew it was because his cock always became quite sensitive when he was nearing his release, especially with those heightened senses of his. It was something you’d long since picked up on with him in the bedroom. You loved watching him like this because it wasn't often he let you solely give him pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck, that–that feels so good,” he ground out through what sounded like gritted teeth.

Without warning, Matt’s left hand flew back from off the wall and helplessly reached around, grabbing at your hip. You gasped in surprise at his rough touch, his blunt nails clawing at your skin. Though your hand didn’t cease its determined movements stroking his cock. A rumbling growl vibrated in Matt’s chest as you continued, one that you could feel with your chest still flush to his back. 

“So close,” he ground out, his hips jerking forwards more frantically into your hand as if he couldn't control it. “So– fucking –close.”

“That’s it, baby,” you whispered, your left hand releasing his balls and sliding all the way back up to brush back over his nipple. “Let go for me.”

He whined when the pad of your index finger began to circle the stiff peak of his nipple again, the sound causing your cunt to clench. His left hand that was on you abruptly slid further downwards, coming to firmly grip your ass instead of your hip. His nails dug deep into your soft flesh, his grip drawing your hips flush to his backside and almost rocking you with the motion of his own.

“Oh, God,” he breathed out, head once again rolling back over his shoulders. “I’m–”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, you heard the deep, long throaty groan fly from his mouth and fill the shower while you felt the warm gush of his release coat your hand, dripping between your fingers. For a moment you continued to work him through it until you noticed the way his hips twitched in overstimulation. Placing one last kiss to his back, you unwrapped your arms from around his waist and rinsed your hand off in the spray.

You’d barely done much more than that before Matt turned on the spot, quickly enveloping you in his strong arms and burying his face into your hair. Careful of the bruises on his body, you slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head along his chest. His arms squeezed tight around you as he nuzzled his face further into your hair.

“I love you,” Matt murmured. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” you answered, brows knitting together in confusion at his odd behavior this evening. “And I love you, too, Matt. Not a number far enough from one, right?”

He shifted above you, pressing his lips to the top of your head in a kiss. “Never a number far enough from one, sweetheart,” he whispered back before placing another soft, lingering kiss. “Always remember that. No matter what.”

Your eyes gradually fell closed in his warm embrace as you nodded, trying to relax in his arms. “I won't, Matty,” you assured him.

Though as you both held each other under the shower spray in silence, Matt still affectionately nuzzling his nose into your hair like he couldn't get enough of you, you were left wondering what had shaken him up so much this evening to act so out of the ordinary tonight. 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

[writersblockiskillingme]

The Sound Of The Woman Who Loved Her | Katniss Everdeen

Pairing: Katniss Everdeen x fem!reader (District11!reader)

Summary: Katniss needed to survive her games no matter the cost. So the new Capitol's darling does come in handy.

Warning/s: angst, betrayal, using someone for your own benefit, Capitol elite, kind of evil!Katniss, one sided love, lying, short fic (this is more like a blurb, honestly), possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I can't edit the asks after I save them, so I copied the request like this. I'm dumb, sorry. 😅

Request: @f4riedimples -> I just rlly need Katniss admitting that she started out the relationship using (District 11) reader. Like say reader got treated like capitol after winning her games so after Katniss came back from the 74th they started dating. And just a night before the quarter quell she admitted that she used r?🤌

You were one of the unfortunate, unlucky, people of Panem. Being chosen for your games at 15 wasn't something that you ever wished for anyone including yourself.

But it seemed like your luck started to turn around as you won your games.

People that lived in the Capitol adored you. A young jewel from District 11. As you grew up so did the love of the Capitol's elite for you. You didn't like it one bit, but it did give you some advantages. Just like some disadvantages.

Katniss went into her games a year after you, so you were both 16 at the time. She was lucky she made it out, everyone agreed with that. But just as you got a little taste of luck in your life, everything started to shift around once you met the girl on fire from District 12.

She was desperate. Katniss new that. Since the year you won your games nobody ever stopped talking about you. You were the hot topic on everybody's tongue.

So when Katniss started her Victor's Tour and she realized in just how much trouble she was in, giving the spark of hope during her games, she knew that her family, friends and her needed protection. She was willing to do anything for it. No matter the cost.

Katniss Everdeen heard about you, how could she not? A shiny jewel from 11 that somehow ended up being treated as if she was from Capitol. As if she was one of them. She knew that if she had you not even president Snow, to whom you had become very indenting because of the love his granddaughter had for you, could bring any harm to her family.

She could remember that day as if was yesterday. You were standing behind her, looking gorgeous as ever. She still didn't truly understand how she pulled that act off. But by the end of the month you were officially her girlfriend.

Katniss noticed, as the time passed, that she gained more respect amongst the Capitol elite and for a moment it seemed as if they treated her as almost an equal, too.

Everything was going amazingly up until another party at the Capitol at which she was invited as your guest.

Perhaps it was her lack of self awareness.

Perhaps it was her idiocy at that moment.

Perhaps it was her recklessness.

Perhaps it was too much alcohol that she drank in hopes of drowning the everlasting guilt in the pit of her stomach that grew every single day.

Or perhaps it was the fact that she didn't love you like you loved her. She didn't love you at all. She only loved the benefits that came to her on a silver plate since she was dating you.

"Katniss," your angelic voice that usually sounded like the sweetest song caused by a bunch of little bells now, to her drunk mind, sounded piercing as it reached her ears. "Are you all right?"

"Y-ye-yeah." She slurred and felt herself flinch a little bit. She sounded just like Haymitch did when he drowned himself in alcohol all day back in District 12.

At that moment she noticed that she overdid it, and worst of all, you noticed it, too.

"I think it's time to call it quits," You offered her in, what almost was, a quiet whisper. "Hmm? How about I take you back to the penthouse?"

"N-no," Katniss drunkenly waved you off. "I'm f-fine."

"Katniss," You couldn't help but to let out a sigh that somehow escaped past your lips that were unnatural red color caused by some expensive Capitol's lipstick. "I'm just worried that-"

"Oh, you worry so much don't you!" Katniss snarled at you because, thankfully, she still had half the mind to know that if anyone heard you, you both would be in big trouble.

"Katniss, I love you and I just want to help-"

"Well guess what?" Katniss hissed, grabbing another glass that contained some sort of shiny liquid. "I don't love you."

Your world stopped for a moment as you froze, listening to her. You couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. You couldn't believe that this is the person you fell for. The person that you grew to know and love. But now, as you watched her and listened to her speak... perhaps you didn't know her at all.

"I don't love you at all!" She continued to mindlessly whisper to you, not caring about the amount hurt that she caused you at that moment. "I never loved you. But God..." she sighed for a moment, looking at the ground before she looked up at the night sky. "You were truly a jewel. So easy to use. So easy to manipulate into loving me even though I don't feel the same at all."

You were frozen. Nothing existed to you at that moment except for her, her words and one loose tear that rolled down your face as she whispered what you actually ment to her.

"Snow's precious victor. Capitol's little jewel..." she continued to rant, somehow not slurring anymore. "I despise you so much, but at least I got something useful from you. Useful. That's all you have ever been to me."

At that moment Katniss looked up, but you were gone. She would perhaps feel a bit bad about it the next day, she could easily say that she was drugged or something else caused her to say such lies. But they weren't lies and you knew it.

But there was something that Katniss didn't realize at the moment, but will later on.

She will never truly escape the sound of the woman who loved her.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@caroline-books @thecrowdedstreetin1944

#imagine #fic #the hunger games #thg #the hunger games fic #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games katniss #the hunger games books #the hunger games movie #katniss everdeen #katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen x you #katniss x reader #thg katniss #jennifer lawrence #jennifer lawrence x reader #angst #district 12 #district 11 #lesbian #bisexual

[ahgasegotarmy116]

The Art of Etiquette Part 6 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Your parents invite Mr. Jeon over to dinner without your knowledge and spring a proposal on you that you're not given a chance to refuse Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 4.1k~ Warnings: Explicit Language and a lot of teasing a/n: A longer chapter as promised 😅 Hope you guys are looking forward to the next one 🤭 p.s. barely edited so have mercy on me lmao Start from the beginning

"Hey" my mom says, popping her head in my room. "Yeah?" I respond, thumbing through the most recent book Jungkook gave me. "Dinner is almost ready so can you come downstairs in a bit?" she questions and I look up at her as if she's grown two heads. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I question, extremely suspicious of her motives. "What do you mean? I'm your mother" she chuckles, walking towards where I'm laying on my bed, brushing back the hair that had fallen in my face. 

"Usually you use that as an excuse to discipline me or whatever so what's really going on?" I question, sitting up from my reclined position and straightening out my clothes. 

"I was going to wait for James to tell you but there's a charity ball next weekend and we wanted you to attend it with us" she says, smiling at the idea of having a united front with all three of us together. 

"A charity ball? What charity?" I prod further while cocking a brow at her. Wanting to figure out exactly why there needs to be an event when they can just not have an event and give all the money to the charity. 

I swear, I'll never understand rich people. 

"I don't know honey that's something for your father to worry about" she says not giving a care in the world to what I thought was a very valid question. "Step father" I correct her. 

No matter how hard she tries, no one is going to take my father's place.

"Step father" she echos as if she's tired of me already "Either way, it'll be good to get your face out in public with us. Who knows, you might be able to make some good connections along the way" she finishes as she walks out the door, paying no mind to if I would like to continue the conversation or not.

"Oh and we've invited Mr. Jeon to dinner tonight so he'll be arriving shortly" she calls out over her shoulder. 

'Mr. Jeon is coming okay whatever' I think to myself before blinking a few times and finally processing what she said. "Mr. Jeon is having dinner with us? Why?" I say rushing out of my room to catch her before she's gotten too far. 

"Well after he dropped you off the other night I realized that James and I haven't really had a chance to speak to him yet so a family dinner seemed like the perfect opportunity to do so. Is there a problem with that?" she questions, noticing my body language. 

"Nope. No problem at all" I choke out, mad that she didn't give me any sort of warning or better yet, asked if I was comfortable with it. "Great, we told him to come around 6:30 so try to be down before he gets here" she says and continues on her descent down the stairs and out of my sight.

"Shit" I say to myself and run back into my room and check my phone where it reads six o'clock on the dot. 

Looking down at the clothes I'm wearing I realize I'm donning an oversized sweatshirt and some baggy sweats with my hair in a sad excuse for a ponytail and run into my bathroom to do something with my hair as quickly as I can.

After doing that and throwing on some mascara and chapstick I dig through my closet and find a nice off the shoulder sweater and some jeans and throw them on as quickly as I can and pair it with a set of converse hoping that it'll suffice. 

I know for a fact that he's gonna show up in something ridiculous like a suit of some sort but I can't be bothered to do much more than this. Thanks to my mother I wasn't even given the opportunity to choose otherwise. 

"Y/n Mr. Jeon's pulling up right now" I hear my mom call out for me. I roll my eyes before responding. "Be right there" I yell out, checking myself out one last time before heading down where I see my mom is already greeting him in the doorway. 

As I observe their exchange I watch as Jungkook's eyes flicker over in my direction but once he actually sees me he makes eye contact after dragging his eyes up and down my figure, making me lose my footing for a second but not enough for him to notice. Or so I thought as he meets me with a knowing smile while my mother has her head turned the other way. 

I roll my eyes at him and finish my path down the steps without falter and end up a few feet in front of him where my mom still spouts off a ridiculous excuse for small talk all while Jungkook has barely taken his eyes off me.

"Thank you for inviting me Mrs. Hart" Jungkook says and she quickly dismisses the formalities requesting he call her Lily instead before she excuses herself so she can grab a vase for the flowers I'm just now noticing he had given her. 

"Y/n would you mind taking him to the sitting room? Dinner should be ready soon" she finishes and leaves Jungkook and I still standing by the front door. 

"For you" he says pulling out a single white rose from behind his back. "Oh, it's beautiful" I say, reaching out to take it from him, accidentally grabbing his hand instead of the flower and look up at him with the intension to apologize but my words are caught in my throat when I meet his eyes. 

His damn eyes that see right though me yet beg to learn more. His eyes that leave my skin crawling but craves his touch no matter how light it might be. His eyes that tell me everything and nothing all at once. 

"You're welcome Pretty" he whispers as though it was a secret never to be told to any soul other than our own.

"I- what?" I stammer, caught off guard by his compliment, eyes wide in shock which only earns me a slight upturn of his lips before he turns to face towards the direction my mother had disappeared to.  

"Shouldn't we be heading to the sitting room like your mother requested?" he says slipping his hand out of my grasp. 

I clear my throat before wordlessly walking towards said room, worried that I might betray myself otherwise. 

"You have a lovely home" he says once I motion towards a place for him to sit once we arrive in said room. "Thank you. James and my mother bought it soon after they got married so we've lived here ever since" I respond, making an effort to keep the conversation going. 

"Would you mind if I asked how long ago that was?" he questions, opting to do the same. "It was about four years ago, around the time I was graduating. They had been dating for a few years and I guess they decided that they were serious enough about each other to get married" I say just scratching the surface as to how everything went down between them. 

"Are you fond of your step father?" he asks, apparently interested in getting to know more about me. "I like him more than I like my own mother most days if I'm being honest. He's a really great guy and my mom seems happy so that's all I could really ask for" I say shrugging my shoulders, not really having too strong of an opinion on it. 

He nods his head, almost reflecting on the answer and I fear that I've made him feel awkward by my response so I nervously slip in a question of my own. "Do you have family close by?" I question since now that I think about it we really haven't had too much time to get to know the most basic things about each other. 

"Unfortunately no. My parents and brother live in Korea still and so it's just Bam and I" he says with a sad smile. "Bam?" I question, "Yeah my dog. He's a Doberman that thinks he's a lap dog at times and at other's he's ready to defend me against the smallest of things" he says with a soft smile reminiscing about the fond memories they've made together. 

"How old is he?" I question, seeing that he clearly loves talking about him. "He'll be turning two in December" he says scrunching his brows together for a second as he tries to get it right. "Aw he's still just a baby. Why haven't I seen him before?" I question since I feel like I would've noticed a big puppy like him wandering around the place. 

"I take him to his trainers while I'm working and then pick him up once we've concluded our lessons" he replies. "So that's the business meeting you spoke about when my mother tried to invite you to dinner the other night then" I say clearly catching him in a lie from seeing his reaction. 

"Yes, it was" he says, deciding to admit it to set a good example for me instead of breaking the promise we made. "Is that why you force me into letting you give me a ride home most days?" I prod further, wanting to get answers out of him while I still can. 

"That, amongst other things..." he trails off with a smile and before I'm even able to think about what the fuck he means by that my mother comes in letting us know that dinner is ready. 

"Thank you so much for joining us on such late notice Mr. Jeon" James says, reaching out to shake Jungkook's hand before we all sit down. Jungkook sitting across from me with my mother and James on either end of the table. 

"Thank you for your generous invitation. You have a very lovely home" he compliments while turning his attention back to my mother for a second, inferring that she was probably the designer from the feminine touches throughout it all. 

"Lily really prides herself in creating a soft and peaceful atmosphere and I can't help but adore everything she's done to the place" James says while gazing over at my mother with a soft smile. Anyone can see that he really loves her and although her and I butt heads I'm happy she ended up with someone like him. 

"I feel as though you've definitely achieved your goal then, wouldn't you say y/n?" Jungkook says, catching me off guard by bringing me into the conversation.

"Oh, um yes I think you've done a wonderful job mother" I say smiling at her momentarily before looking back over at Jungkook, giving him a look as a way to question his motives but he only gives me a pleasant smile in return. 

The night goes on almost painlessly with each of us engaging in what Jungkook would phrase it as 'Stimulating Conversations' and even gets a few smiles and laughs out of me. It feels as if I'm seeing him in a new light tonight. 

Not merely as teacher and student, but as some what of a friend. One that I'm starting to realize has had nothing but my best interest at heart. Sure some of his methods might seem unorthodox but I know now that he means well, he just has an interesting way of showing it. 

"Would that be alright with you y/n?" I hear James call out, making me realize I had not only been thinking about Jungkook but also staring right at him and losing track of the conversation. 

"I'm sorry what was that?" I say quickly, tearing my eyes off of Jungkook and over at James, hoping to hide that I was staring at Jungkook but also avoiding his ever knowing gaze. 

"I just asked Jungkook if he would escort you to the charity ball we had mentioned earlier. That way you have a familiar face around" he says, widening my eyes at the suggestion and flitter them between Jungkook and James for a moment before trying to deny the offer. 

"I couldn't possibly ask him to do that. I'm sure he has other matters to attend to or someone else he might have in mind to go with" I babble, trying to offer him a way out of this but my mother clears her throat as a warning to not try to push it anymore and to just accept what James thinks would be best for me. 

"It's fine y/n, I assure you. I would be more than happy to help guide you. It's important for you to make a good impression no?" he says, nudging his foot against mine. Leaving me jolting at the sudden contact. "R-right" I stutter, taking a sip of water to cover up my reaction. 

He just loves getting his way doesn't he? I swear, if we weren't being watched I would've stomped on his foot but instead I pull my feet back towards myself, leaving them out of reach and luckily they take our exchange as an agreement to the posed idea.

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you? You just seem so mature but look so young that I just can't seem to pinpoint what your age might be" my mother asks him while taking a sip of her wine. I swear if she's tipsy and about to start flirting with him right in front of James I'm gonna puke. 

"I turned 27 last September, I do tend to get that a lot. I guess it's just one of the many blessings my parents have bestowed on me" he says lightheartedly but I can tell he's clearly eating up the compliments as a way to tease me. 

"Do your parents live close by? I feel like I would've seen them by now at one of the events over the years but I can't seem to recall a Mr. or Mrs. Jeon" James ponders, turning Jungkook's attention back over to him. 

"Oh they're back in Busan, my home town in South Korea. I figured it would be too big of an adjustment for them to move here so I make sure to go visit them when my schedule allows it" he says giving a concise answer. 

"Oh I've heard that Busan is a beautiful place to live. It's by the coast if memory serves me right" my mother jumps in, making me take interest in the conversation, still wanting to know more about him. 

"Yes that's correct, although I only lived there until I was about eighteen when I got accepted into Seoul National University and in turn moved to Seoul" he informs and James asks more and more questions, fascinated in what the upperclass might call a "self made man journey". 

~~~~~~

As the night wraps up and the dessert is long gone I can see that my mother is ready to head to bed, hopefully before making an absolute fool of herself after all the wine she's consumed. 

"It was lovely meeting you Jungkook" my mother lightly slurs and James soon comes to her aid to say goodbye as well and I take that as an opportunity to slip out to get some air.

Making my way to the courtyard at the back of the house I take in the sight of the few stars that I can manage to make out, all these city lights stopping them from shining as bight.

"It's a shame isn't it?" I hear Jungkook's voice say from behind me, making me jolt in surprise. "You scared me" I say after glancing back at him. "I apologize, I didn't mean to" he say while taking a few strides towards me. 

"Likely story" I mumble under my breath and he chuckles at my reaction. "Okay maybe I did a little bit, but it's only because I enjoy watching your reactions" he says smugly once he's standing next to me. 

"Where's James?" I question, glancing over at him before turning my attention back to the sky. "Taking your mother to bed. Seems like she's had one too many" I nod my head in acknowledgment and he surprisingly takes it as an answer, refraining from asking questions, seeing my slight discomfort on the topic. 

"What's a shame?" I question, making him tilt his head in confusion. "You said earlier 'It's a shame'. What were you referring to?" I remind him. "It's a shame you can't see many stars from here. The city lights tend to shine so bright that you can never truly see how brilliant they are" he smiles before answering. 

"I don't think I've ever actually seen that many stars. I think the closest thing was when I was on a road trip with my mom and dad. I was too young though so I hardly remember it. I miss it though" I end, clearing my throat and pushing away any emotions that had stirred up from that last statement. 

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that" I say rubbing one of my bicep and shrinking back into myself so to say. 

"You have nothing you need to apologize for y/n" he responds, leaving a beat of silence before filling it up again. 

"I used to go stargazing with my father too" he starts, making me make eye contact with him for a second. "We used to drive all the way out to the edge of town where it was away from all the big buildings and bring a big blanket to lay on and we would just look up at the stars for what felt like hours" he smiles fondly, turning his focus back towards the heavens. 

"I remember my mother scolding my father once for keeping me out too late, worried that I might've caught a cold. My father swore up and down that we both had dressed warm enough but by morning we both woke up sick as dogs" he chuckles, making me smile. 

"She continued to scold him all day and all night but even through all of that, she was still there, nursing us back to health" he finishes. 

"She sounds lovely" respond truthfully "She is" he whispers with a sad smile, and from that alone I can tell how much he misses home. "She can be quite intimidating when she wants to be though" he laughs. 

"Oh really? Is that who you get it from?" I say, poking fun at him. "Get what?" he asks turning to face me and I mirror him, meeting his mischievous gaze. 

"Your intimidation tactics you try to use on me" I say and he cocks an eyebrow at me. 

"Try? I'm pretty sure I'm rather successful most days don't you think?" he questions taking a few steps towards me, leaving me taking a few steps back. 

"Key word is most though, they don't always work" I say, walking backwards not paying mind to anything but keeping a distance between us. 

"Really?" he says with a knowing smile, glancing behind me. As I open my mouth to respond I lose my footing and step off the patio flooring and onto the grass but before I fall Jungkook grabs my wrist and pulls me flush against his chest. 

"Because they seem to be working right now. Seeing as you're trying to run away from me" he teases, tilting his head at me. 

I push against his chest lightly and he loosens his grasp on me to barely give me room to breathe. "I wasn't running" I say, placing my hands on top of his and prying them off of me. With him letting go with little to no resistance, allowing me to step aside and walk past him. 

"Then what were you doing?" he says grabbing my wrist before I get to far. As I try to respond I see a light turn on in my parents bedroom and pull Jungkook over to hide behind one of the pillars, hiding incase one of them were to look outside. 

I watch for a few moments, holding my breath as I see shadows form in the light cast across the lawn, feeling my heart race until the light turns off, signaling that they've hopefully turned in for the night. 

I let out that breath and jump at the sound of an amused scoff, having forgotten that he was still with me. 

"What was it you were doing Miss y/n" he says in a hushed tone and when I turn to face him I realize I have my back against the pillar with a strong grip on his wrist, in turn having pulled him closer in an effort to hide. 

I take in the distance between us which at this point is mere centimeters and lose my words watching as the city lights reflect in his eyes. 

"I was maintaining personal space" I say after having regained the slightest bit of clarity which dissipates when he leans his forearm against the pillar above my head and leans in closer. 

"And what pray tell are you doing now?" he asks in my ear and I can almost feel how much he's enjoying this, leaving me without the strength to come up with a reply. 

"Hmm? Cat got you tongue?" he says, placing his hand on my waist and barely ghosting his lips against my skin. 

He waits there for a beat, giving me a chance to respond but when I don't he decides to fill up that space. "I had fun tonight. Invite me over again sometime?" he questions, squeezing my waist a bit making me let out a quite okay and he smiles against my skin before pushing himself off of me and turning to walk back inside. 

I stammer trying to say something but decide to just follow behind him.

"Let me get your coat and I'll walk you out" I say, knowing where we keep them when guest come and quickly catch up to where he stands at the front door and handing it to him. He decides to drape it over his arm in place of putting it on since his car is parked right out front. 

He opens the door and lets me out first before following after and closing it behind us to keep the crisp night air from getting into the warm house.

"Thank you, um thank you for coming tonight. I wasn't really in on this plan so I'm sorry if the invitation inconvenienced you at all" I explain while following him to the drivers side of the car. 

"I had a free spot open tonight so I was more than happy to accept" he says, opening the door and leaning in to place his things on the passenger side seat and straightening back up to face me again, not making moves to sit inside yet. 

"I'm sorry they basically volunteered you to be my date to this stupid ball thing" I apologize further, looking down and kicking the rocks under my shoes in embarrassment. 

"You know," he start, tilting my chin up to make eye contact, "You say sorry quite a lot for someone who doesn't need to apologize" he finishes, rubbing corner on my lips with his thumb before leaning in. 

I shut my eyes tight, scared that this might be the time he actually kisses me and hold my breath. 

I hear him chuckle to himself and places a kiss on the corner of my mouth, close enough to keep me wanting more and no where near far enough to maintain that professionalism he tries but fails to maintain around me. 

"Goodnight y/n" he whispers before sinking down into the drivers seat making me open my eyes fast enough to see the satisfied smirk on his face. 

He closes his door and starts the car, rolling down his window before he puts it in drive. 

"We're going to the modiste in the morning to pick out your dress for the event so be ready at seven" he says, turning his face towards me. 

"But it's Sunday" I protest and he nods in acknowledgment. "I'm aware but time is of the essence love. I'll come pick you up so please be ready on time" he says, waiting for an answer to solidify the plan. 

"Yes Mr. Jeon" I mumble looking down at my shoes again, falling into routine of agreeing when I wish I didn't have to. "Good girl" he finishes, leaving me snapping my vision back up at him with shock and he grants me a smile in return. 

"Goodnight Mr. Jeon" I say and at that he chuckles and faces straight ahead, rolling up his window before pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. Leaving me with my thoughts and emotions in a turmoil like he always does. 

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[drewsbuzzcut]

I Feel You No Matter What

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic (this part is lightly edited btw)

warnings: minor angst, few curse words, and i think that’s it

“Babe?” You hear your husband call out for you, but you’re busy breastfeeding Sloane while also helping AJ eat his dinner, while also monitoring Nolan as he eats.

“Mommy, can I have more berries?” Nolan requests and you immediately move to serve him as best you can with one available hand.

Once you’ve situated Nolan and go back to feeding Sloane, you rest your eyes, feeling the effects of the multiple long nights taking a toll on you. Sloane has been on a sleep regression and every time she cries during the night, she ends up waking AJ. You’re usually the one tending to them as the hockey season is starting, and Mat needs sleep.

“Mommy, I’m done! Can I have some water?” Nolan asks, interrupting your silly excuse of a nap.

You move, almost robotic, around the kitchen as you give Nolan water and clean up Angel’s mess. Once you’re done with that task, you burp Sloane and rock her in your arms.

“Babe?” Mat calls out once again, finally finding you in the kitchen.

“Yes, Mathew?” You sigh out, eyes clenched shut because you really just want to sleep.

He stays quiet, though. He watches you as you practically fall asleep while leaning against the kitchen island.

He clears his throat, gaining your attention.

“What?” You ask, eyes peering into his.

“Do you need help?” Mat asks, trying to mask the disappointment when you didn’t realize he got a haircut.

“Can you put Sloane in her crib, I need to take a shower,” it’s not a question, not really. You were just telling him how he can help.

After your shower, you take both your boys a bath, tucking them into bed while Mat bathes Sloane. You’re so glad that they’re down and you can rest, but then you realize you still have laundry to do. You take a deep breath in and slowly breathe out.

“Babe, I need help!” Mat calls out for you.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I should wear my navy blue polo or my black polo?” He asks.

“I don’t know, Mathew. Whichever one you want,” you mumble.

“Well I want you to pick it out,” he whispers.

“I don’t have time for this. I need to go downstairs and sort out all our laundry,” you reply, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.

“All you have to do is pick one. I’m asking nicely.”

“And I’m telling you that I have better things to do. Both are fine so pick one,” you say, walking out of your bedroom and down the stairs.

You take your time, not wanting to go upstairs because you know the way you were acting was uncalled for. You still can’t bring yourself to apologize for it, though. You’re frustrated and tired.

When you do, finally, go upstairs, you’re expecting Mat to be asleep. He isn’t. You ignore each other as you both get ready for bed. Your movements are sluggish and by the time you’re done, Mat is already settled in bed. You get under the covers, turning on your side, eyes quickly falling shut.

“Seriously?” You barely hear the word coming out of your husband’s mouth.

You slowly turn towards him, eyes wide at his small outburst.

“No “goodnight,” no kiss? You didn’t even notice I got a haircut,” he points out, voice sounding broken.

You’re stunned, shocked into silence. You feel your heart crumble at the mere fact that you didn’t even realize your own husband got a haircut. You also hate the way he sounded so sad when he said you didn’t say goodnight or give him a kiss.

“You’ve also been calling me by my name instead of "babe," or "barzy,” did I do something wrong?”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m just tired and frustrated because I’m tired,” you explain.

“So you just decided to ignore me, because then I’m one less thing for you to worry about? Nice to know that I’m not so important,” he whispers, turning his back towards you.

“Mat, please. I’m sorry and I didn’t ignore you because I didn’t want to deal with you. I'm just burnt out. The hockey season is just starting and I need to get back into our routine, a routine that needs to be readjusted because we have a third child,” you say out loud into the darkness that’s coated by silence.

“That doesn’t mean for you to ignore me. Especially when I was trying to help you as soon as I got home. I would never ignore you because no matter what I love you,” he responds, and it feels like a punch in the gut when he refers to your actions as you not loving him.

You don’t say anything else, you know there are no words you can say right now that can make things better. You could tell him you love him, but you feel the lump forming in your throat, keeping you silent.

The next morning, you wake up alone in your bed. A pout forms on your face when you reach out for Mat’s body, only to be met with cold sheets. Then, you remember the events from last night and you feel your tears clouding your vision all over again. It’s a hard task to get yourself out of bed, but you know that Mat will be leaving soon and the kids can’t take care of themselves.

Making your way downstairs, you hear Nolan’s favorite morning cartoons playing on the large tv in your living room. You spot Mat sitting on the couch, both boys on each of his sides, and Sloane settled in his arms. She’s staring at him, not caring about all the noise, just him. You get her. You could also just get lost in him.

Mat turns towards the stairs when he hears them creek, his eyes locking with yours. Only this time, he doesn’t look at you with effortless love, he looks at you with hurt eyes that look sunken in and dark. You hope he wasn’t awake all last night, and you hope that he didn’t hear you forcefully quiet your sobs. Surely he was asleep. He had to be. If he was awake and heard or felt you crying, he would’ve comforted you. At least you hope he would’ve.

“Did Sloane eat already?”

“Yeah, she won’t fall asleep, though,” he answers.

“She’s too busy looking at her daddy,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. Your efforts aren’t successful.

“I have to go in 10 minutes, can you get her,” you’re immediately reaching out for Sloane, heart twisting when she starts crying.

“Sloane, it’s okay, baby. Don’t cry. Daddy has to go to work. He’ll be back soon,” you say, but as you get through each word, the more your tears threaten to fall. You start crying with Sloane, and you think you’re so pathetic for it.

You leave the boys on the couch and hastily take Sloane upstairs. You didn’t want Mat to see you cry, although you’re pretty sure he already saw you.

You lay Sloane in her crib, quickly walking out but bumping into Mat on the way.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice soft.

“Fine. You need to get going,” you mutter.

“I need to make sure my wife is okay.”

You just about crumble onto the floor, knees buckling from underneath you and your sobs finally being unleashed from their death grip. Mat swiftly holds onto you, lowering the both of you to sit on the cold floor.

“You think I don’t love you anymore,” you spit out.

“Don’t deny it. You think that I ignored you because I don’t love you anymore, and that kills me,” you continue when he tries to deny your claim.

He looks at you with that same heartbroken look from last night.

“I’m a terrible wife because you don’t think I love you and I didn’t notice your haircut,” you sob out.

“You’re not a terrible wife.”

You grab his hand, moving it to rest over your heart.

“When I see you, I still feel like a schoolgirl with a huge crush. You still give me butterflies; you still make me blush like crazy. I’m so in love with you, it hurts that you can’t see it,” you say truthfully, hand on his cheek so that he’s looking into your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know you love me.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine that you felt unloved,” you try to stop him from feeling bad.

“Well, I’m sorry that you’re tired and frustrated. I’m sorry that I can’t be here to help you. I love you so much.” He connects his lips with yours, letting his tongue tangle with yours when your mouth opens for him.

“I love you, barzy. Please don’t think otherwise. As for you not being here, it’s not your fault. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when we got married or decided to have kids. I love you and I love that you work so hard for us and yourself. I love you,” you state, kissing his jaw down to his neck.

You come to a stop when you feel something wet landing on your collarbones. You quickly lift Mat’s head to see tears falling from his eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?” You ask, tears falling because you hate to see him upset.

“I feel like shit for making you feel like shit. I’m supposed to always lift you up,” he mutters.

You wipe away his tears, kissing his lips repeatedly until his tears stop. You softly massage his scalp while he catches his breath.

“Baby, you had every right to feel the way you did. Never be afraid to be honest with me. I was the shitty one. It’s okay, no harm done. We’re good, now. I love you.”

“I love you,” he says against your skin from where his head is buried in your neck.

“The haircut, by the way, is not the best decision. However, you’re lucky that you’re always sexy no matter what,” you tease him.

“I kind of regret it, too,” he grimaces, but you just pull him into another kiss, happy that you’re not at odds anymore.

a/n: Sorry it’s been a while since I last updated for this series. I hope y’all enjoy!! If you have any requests for this story, send in!!

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal angst #mat barzal smut #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses

[thehusbandoden]

Won't Let Go- Dabi x Fem!Reader

Warnings!: Pure angst. No happy ending, blood, major death, yelling, crying, argument, harsh words, not willing to accept death.

Umm yeah I have zero idea if I'm good at angst or not... I'll probably make an alternate ending for people like me, but until then I'm sorry.

I kinda rushed bc I wanted to keep my brain going.. it's unedited like usual too.. so sorry for the errors. I might edit it later.. but idk.

You and Dabi get into a nasty fight. You leave for some air, but get attacked by a fellow villain.

1,800+ words/Pure angst

It started simply, just another stressful day, and just another argument. Both of us hissing insults back and forth, hurting one another in ways only we knew how.

He made a jab at that one insecurity that no one knows about except him, and I jab at his incapability to take me out on a normal date. He then throws out a harsher, more personal insult, and I insult the fact that he can't properly provide for the two of us.

It went back and forth, words only get shaper and more venomous to the point where I'm in tears, and Dabi is still sneering at me. "DO YOU EVEN CARE!? YOU LOOK PSYCHOTIC RIGHT NOW!" I scream, e/c eyes locked onto his turquoise ones.

"NO! I DON'T CARE, NEVER HAVE, NEVER WILL!"

"DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF?!"

"LOUD AND CLEAR! YOU'RE NOTHING TO ME (Y/N)!" As Dabi's words sinked in, my tears continued to fall, increasing in speed. "Aww look at you. You're so sensitive " Dabi cooed, venom lacing his words.

As my anger grew my body started to shake. Standing up, I walked over to our shared closet. "You know what Dabi? I'm done. I'm done with how you hurt me, physically and emotionally, and yet I stick by your side, holding you during every nightmare as you burn me. You burn me to the point of tears, and yet I still hold you. You insult me time and time again, and yet I'm still there to hold you after a particularly nasty mission. I hold you when you need me, and yet I need you and your somehow entitled to shatter my heart? Enjoy life alone. I now see why you were alone, you only hurt the people that actually care about you." I seethe, pulling on a hoodie, making sure that it was one of mine.

"Where are you going?" Dabi chuckled, turquoise eyes hardened in anger. "Away from you. Just know that it's your fault that this happened to us." I reply, eyes tearful as I took one last look at the man I adored.

"Goodbye." I whispered. As Dabi moved to say something further, I walked out the door, closing it softly before leaving, much to Twice and Toga's confusion.

"(Y/n) chan! Where are you going!?" Toga asked, skipping over to my shaking form. I just ignored her, picking up my pace slightly. "(Y/n) chan?" Twice muttered, eyes focussed on my back.

I just continued forward, stepping outside into the rain. Sighing, I started walking forward, toward the alley ways, failing to notice the eyes on my tired form.

Dabi's P.O.V:

As the door closed, I immediately crumbled onto our shared bed, regret coursing through my being. I stepped out of line. Yes, so did (y/n), but I started it.

As I remembered the cruel words I said to my precious (y/n), I scoffed as I felt a drop of blood fall down my cheek. Shooting myself up, I yanked at my hair as I paced around the room, waiting for my precious (y/n) to come back.

After about forty minutes, I started to freak out. (Y/n) usually comes back after a 10-15 minute cool down, and then continued to ignore me until I brought her into my lap, kissing her softly as a silent apology.

She would silently forgive me, and we would go back to normal. It was unusual for her to be gone for so long. Pulling out my phone, I left her a text telling her to come back, before continuing to pace back and forth.

Reader's P.O.V:

I huffed as the villain in front of me searched for an opening to strike. Right as I started to head back to my precious Dabi, I was jumped by a fellow villain.

My arm was cut badly, my stomach ached from a kick, and my left eye was bleeding, which affected my sight immensely. As the man launched himself toward me, I kicked his groin, temporarily stunning him.

As he fell to the ground, I smashed his head into the ground with my foot before fleeing towards the bar, praying that I would run into one of my fellow colleagues. As I ran my stomach ached, and sweat stung my eye, but I continued to run, avoiding calling out due to my villainous reputation.

Right as I turned the corner to get to the bar, I felt a rough hand pull at my shoulder. "Got you." The man hissed, face right below my ear. I shivered in disgust, pushing against his masculine form in a vain attempt to get away.

"I'll bloody you up real good, and then I'll chain you out of your little boyfriend's window." The man sneered, dark eyes shining as he dreamt of Dabi's horror.

"You're sick." I spit, kneeing the man in his stomach. Unfortunately, the hit wasn't strong enough to drop him to the ground, and it only angered him further.

"You little-" I couldn't help but whimper pitifully as he stabbed a knife into my arm, spilling blood onto the concrete. "You'll pay for that." The man promised, twisting the knife in my arm, producing small whimpers from my shaking form.

Dabi's P.O.V:

I awoke with a start, looking around the dark room in confusion. I don't know what woke me, but I do know that something was terribly wrong.

Unlocking my phone, I went into a panic as I saw my text not being read after an hour or so later. (Y/n) always kept up with her texts.. what was going on?

Scrambling to our closet, I pulled out a black hoodie before slipping it on, pulling up the hood as I exited our shared room, rushing towards the door. "Where are you going?" Shigaraki rasped, light blue hair covering his eyes as he lightly scratched his neck.

Ignoring him, I made my way out the door, picking up my pace as I heard a commotion nearby. As I jogged around the alleyways, I started sprinting as I heard whimpering becoming closer and closer.

Turning a corner, my blood boiled with rage as I spotted my (y/n) on the ground, blood pooling under her quivering being. A man was standing next to her, glaring down at my (y/n) as he held his bloodied arm.

As I ran toward the pair, I freaked out seeing blood leaking from (y/n)'s chest quite quickly, staining her clothes. Burning the man, I made sure to keep him alive for later. Kneeling down next to (y/n), I panicked at the amount of blood seeping from her stab wound.

Reader's P.O.V:

Breathing heavily, I looked up at the wet form in front of me, only realizing it was Dabi as I heard his shaky voice call out to me. "D-Dabi..." I whisper, e/c eyes moist as I studied his face, blood running down his face.

"Don't talk! Save your strength!" He demanded, pulling off his hoodie to press to my chest. "Dabi.. are you crying?" I ask, pressing my thumb to the blood falling down his cheeks. "No! Now be quiet!" Dabi yelled, blood coming faster as his hoodie soaked up the blood way too fast.

Dabi's P.O.V:

Dread sunk in my chest as I absorbed the situation, realizing that unless I turned us both in, or found some miracle, she couldn't be saved. Pulling my precious (y/n) into my lap, I cradled her gently, rocking her back and forth.

"Dabi... I'm sorry." (Y/n) murmured, (e/c) eyes moist with regret. "Don't you apologize; don't you dare." I growl, hugging her tighter. "B-but I said some really horrible things to you..."

"And I said worse things! Just- just be quiet while I try and think!" As my thoughts ran wild the only thing I could think of doing is to take her to a hospital, but then we'd be recognized and earn ourselves a life in jail.

But, it was better than losing her. Swooping (y/n) up, I started to run towards the nearest hospital, trying to devise a better plan. I'd- I'd sneak in through a window, and single out a doctor. I'd first persuade the doctor with money, and than threaten them.

If that doesn't work I'll kill them and find another. That- t-that would work.. it has to work... As I solidified my plan I looked down to see (y/n) getting worse, her (s/t) skin was pale, and her gorgeous eyes were almost fully closed.

"H-hey.. open your eyes." I mumbled, freaking out. "(Y/n). Open your eyes!" I demanded, stopping to crouch in an alleyway as I heard sirens nearby.

"(Y/N)-" "Dabi... I'm sorry I tried to push you into sharing things you didn't want to share-" she stopped to cough up blood before continuing, "I'm sorry I said so many horrible things to you.. and I'm sorry for not being the idle partner for you.. please know that I love you.. and no. You don't have to say it back my Love."

As (y/n) forced her eyes open, dread consumed me as the light started ebbing away and they started to close. "Don't you dare apologize! You did nothing wrong! It was me, I was the one in the wrong! And I'm sorry! So, so sorry! You were, and are the perfect partner! And I love you, I love you so freaking much! So please... STAY WITH ME!" I screamed, blood leaking from my eyes and falling into (y/n)'s (h/l) (h/c) hair.

After a few seconds of silence, I pulled (y/n) away, just enough for me to look her in her eyes and hurriedly check her pulse. As I felt her still pulse my heart stopped. (Y/n) was dead.. the one person I loved was dead.. Desperately, I attempted to give her CPR, deep down knowing that she was gone for good.

As I labored to try and revive (y/n), I screamed on top of my lungs for her to come back to me. Failing to notice Twice, Toga, Kurogiri, and Shigaraki coming up from behind me.

After a few more minutes of my screams Twice came up and grasped my shoulder, tears falling down his face. "I CAN STILL SAVE HER!" I yell, shoving Twice away, causing Toga to frown and catch him.

"Dabi. She's gone." Toga murmured, tears staining her face. "NO! NO SHE CAN STILL BE SAVED!" I paused to desperately bring her into my lap, cradling her cold body to my chest, trying to warm her up.

Rocking us back and forth, I murmured sweet things to her, kissing her head gently. "OVER HERE!" A voice yelled, growing closer quickly. "Kurogiri." Shigaraki rasped, an unpleasant look on his face.

Kurogiri then silently transported everyone except me, (y/n) and himself. "Dabi.. you're coming." Kurogiri muttered, sending out a portal underneath me. I just hissed and cling to (y/n) tighter, hugging her still body to my chest.

Masterlist

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#mha #bnha #pure angst #angst #no happy ending #dabi #mha dabi #mha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x reader angst #dabi x reader argument #dabi x y/n #mha fanfiction #mha angst #fem reader #bnha x reader #reader death #potential alternative ending #mha pure angst

[apprenticestanheight]

Work Stress- Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

ALLLLLLL RIGHT, welcome to the monthly "my mental health is shit" fic that I bestow upon the people whenever my mental health isn't as great as it could be, which--in fairness--is nearly all the fucking time.

Two of these might be coming out this month, though! I have not had the greatest streak of days without anxiety lately and I write fics whenever it gets really bad. The day I finished this one, I was like "I am going to write something. for chainshipping (again)" so a chainshipping fic will probably be out by the end of the week

On some other notes, A: while it's not explicitly stated, the reader is what's traditionally considered midsized as that's what I am and I wanted to write a fic with my body type. As per usual with me, the reader is generally gn but as I know the anatomy best, they're AFAB. B: requests are starting to get looked at! I have one waiting to be finished, edited and posted sitting in my drafts but otherwise will have probably looked through and decided which requests I will do vs which ones I won't by the time this has been posted. Things will probably start coming out at the end of this week and keep coming out into next.

Fic type- this jumps into a lot of differing areas, but the main genres are quite possibly the oddest combination I've ever written--smut and angst.

Warnings- as this fic contains smut it caters to an audience of people 18+, so minors, DO NOT INTERACT. There is A LOT here--p in v, oral (both recieve, even if on Adams end the oral is only mentioned), doggy style, fingering, petplay kind of (I was trying to think of a gender neutral petname and puppy was the only thing my brain could think of at first. It's literally just used as a petname and gets overshadowed by 'baby' after a point bc I remembered that that word existed--I wrote a lot of this while tired, pls take some of the stuff in it with a grain of salt), as for sfw warnings: there's a mention of loss of appetite in relation to extreme stress

It's no secret to Adam that you've been having a very, very rough year.

You've been living together since just a couple weeks after he'd escaped the trap--he was taken from his apartment and found it too anxiety inducing to stay there so you let him move into yours.

You'd been dating since you were twenty one and at twenty six, moving in was bound to happen eventually, but getting out of his lease was taking a hell of a lot more time than Adam had originally anticipated.

He noticed every rough day in the bags that you'd begun to sport underneath your eyes, how late you came to bed and your reluctancy to be very affectionate with him--whenever things got bad, be it at work or with stuff going on in your head, you withdrew and pushed him away--and in the fact that you weren't eating as much, in that you always looked like your mind was somewhere else, wandering off completely.

So, one day near the middle of November--where he'd started to notice your bad days in very early March--he joins you in the kitchen while you speak to one of your bosses via phone call.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, grabs your hand, gives it a squeeze. He wants to cheer you up--you're prone to bad days due to insecurity and because of a long-standing not so great track record where your mental health is concerned--and, in that particular moment, finds himself willing to do anything.

You give your best go at grinning back at him, but it comes out looking like more of a grimace. You let Adams hand go to run a stressed hand through your hair, returning your hand to Adams and letting him interlace your fingers thereafter.

"Yes," you whisper. "I understand that things are always tough in the last quarter, but--" you sigh dejectedly as your boss cuts you off, and Adam presses another kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger for a minute.

"Yes, Earle--but you're not seeing the point here. I'm eligible for the raise because I've kept the teams afloat! The only reason you're not also eligible for the raise is because you took an eight month vacation with PTO that you quite literally stole from other employees, myself included, and just because Monica isn't willing to fire you over that doesn't mean your actions didn't warrant alternative punishments," you lean forward, press a kiss to Adams shoulder. Adams grin widens slightly as he notices that you're visibly relaxing from his touches.

A solid two minutes of shouting pass by on the other end. Adam gives your hand a supportive squeeze whenever Earles voice raises another octave in his shouting, pressing kisses against your temple when you let him pull you into a half hug. He keeps hold of your hand when the position changes, your torso pressing against the counter as Adam stands in front of you.

"Earle--I am eligible for the raise because you took six weeks of PTO from me, which I only get thanks to our companies union," You snap. "Now, because I had to spend so much time doing my fucking job, unlike you, I'm eligible for enough of a raise to make me capable of buying a home by '06, and if you're pissed off at me for that, I genuinely cannot help you any further. I have a boyfriend who I would much rather be talking to over your sorry arse, so I'm going to hang up now and if you call me back, I will ignore it. Have the day you deserve, asshat."

You hang up the phone and sigh, gaze meeting Adams in an instant.

"'M sorry," you whisper, biting your top lip for a few seconds as you look at him. "Work has been a fuckin' mess since like, the end of February. I just--damn it all."

"Eh, Earle sounds like a dickhead," Adam laughs. "How does one even get away with--eight full months? Of PTO? How?"

"Per the union agreement we have, we get six weeks a year," you start. "It's why I'm always off in December--I like staying home when it gets cold, gives me an excuse to read and drink more tea than I should--but we've moved to digitizing off time recently. Took the six weeks I'd planned to pace between the end of this month and all of next and switched them up for himself. Did that with five other employees and still, Monica doesn't fire him. Just makes me eligible for a raise of fifteen dollars on company dime because the off time I lost out on forced me to do more while I was there. Our company has one hundred and eighty-six employees in the Jersey branch and a bunch of 'em like taking spaces in the last six months of the year off, so it was me managing two teams of eighty people. Not easy work at all."

Adam blinks. "Did Monica even offer to give you the PTO back?"

"She gave me hers," you shrug. "Earle can have a lot of fuckin' fun managing one hundred and sixty people by himself. I'll find out if I get the raise tomorrow morning and my PTO will kick in then, too. He can eat shit as far as I'm concerned, I have a long list of books and two boxes of my favorite tea to drink my way through as of tomorrow."

You let Adam lead you into your shared bedroom, humming as you lay down on your bed and close your eyes.

"Are you okay?" Adam asks.

"Been a very, very stressful eight months," you laugh. "Trying to think of what I need and only one thing continually comes to mind."

"What's that?" You can hear the eagerness behind the teasing tone in Adams voice.

"I need--uh--" You laugh, suddenly feeling a little awkward. Propositioning Adam for sex was not typically done with words but kisses and your hands on his chest, relishing in the way that he looked when he lead you to your bedroom and fucked you senseless.

"Go on, baby," Adam whispers, his lips suddenly near your ear. "Gonna say it?"

You hum, suddenly embarrassed at yourself, and Adam laughs.

"Use your words, puppy," He whispers, pressing a kiss against your earlobe. "How am I supposed to know what you want me to do if you don't use your words?"

You moan helplessly in response.

"You really are cute," Adam says. "Tough while at work, one phone call later and now you're helpless that you can't even speak. Can't even say one word."

"Adam," you breathe, both because it's the one word that's coming to mind and also because you know he loves the way you say his name when all you want is for him to fuck you.

"Good puppy," Adam presses a kiss to your cheek. "Tell me what you want me to do, mm? I'll do whatever you want, but if you want me to fuck you, know that you'll be in bed for a long time once we go to sleep. You're going to come a lot tonight, puppy. You deserve it."

You moan in response. "Please," you whisper.

"You want me to fuck you, puppy?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Adam--I need you to. Don't wanna think anymore. In eight months, I've thought enough for eight lifetimes. Fuck me senseless, please."

"Whatever you want," Adam says, pulling you into a long kiss that has your head spinning.

You spend the next few minutes like that, in a kiss that's so intense, so loving and so fucking good that you wonder how you've been able to go so long being fine with quick kisses and self gratification.

The first kiss reminds you of how amazing it is to be kissed by Adam whenever the more dominant side of him comes out for a bit of fun, the way that his hands anchor themselves on your hips before one slides up your torso to cup your face, the sureness of his tongue in your mouth--everything feels amazing, and it's almost like it's too good to be true.

And then Adam pulls away for air and your eyes are opening and his lips are against your clothed shoulder, breathing in deeply with a smile on his face.

"I'm sorry we've not been--well--" you start. Adam tilts your chin upward and presses a kiss on the underside of your jaw. "I've been a terrible--"

"I've missed this, sure," Adam says, pressing another kiss against the underside of your jaw. "Yeah. Of course I've missed it, Y/N, but I absolutely understand that you've been busy. Work has kept me busy, too, so I'm just glad we can have tonight. I've missed you so much and I just wanna make you forget about how shitty the past months have been. Wanna make sure the only word you remember how to stay is my name, and that's what I'm going to do tonight, puppy. Sounds good?"

You nod eagerly, which makes Adam laugh as the hand that's on your hip gives it a squeeze.

Your gaze becomes affixed to a random point on the ceiling as Adams kisses rove across the scope of your neck, one hand on your jaw to move your head whenever he wants better access.

After a point, you start to realize that his kisses are getting longer and not too long thereafter you realize that Adam is carefully laying hickeys over your neck and is taking his time with doing it.

You want to murmur a quip, do something to jab at the possessiveness hickeys usually carry, but right as you go to do so his lips and tongue find a home on the pulse point on the right side of your neck and all you can do is moan softly, one hand finding his hair.

"Adam," you whisper. "Fucking hell, Adam--you're going to drive me insane. Please don't stop."

You hear Adams laugh, slow, amused, a little sadistic. "Well, if I'm the one who drives you to insanity, I think that means I'm the one who has to pull you out of it, doesn't it, puppy?"

With the use of that one, silly nickname, you're reduced to what is basically a human shaped puddle, and Adam knows it. Whenever he calls you his puppy in a slightly dominant tone, your knees are at risk of giving out and the look you give him is tantamount to torture if he intends to tease you until you're begging.

"Mhm," you hum, moaning as Adams lips press in a peck against your pulse point. "Also means the same if you put me into subspace with all this foreplay, Adam."

Adam grins, and you let him tilt your chin so that your head turns to meet his gaze.

"Of course," he says. "I'm basically an aftercare god, despite the fact that Scott dunked on me for it while believing a cigarette afterwards is anything less than the bare minimum--I'll take good care of you once the session is done, puppy. I promise."

Your shoulders relax at the reassurance, and you grin as Adams lips press against your forehead.

You nod after a second. "Okay," you say. "I--thank you, for this. Pre-emptively."

Deep enough into subspace and you'll borderline on mute, only able to focus on how Adams ministrations feel. You have no doubt he intends to take you there tonight, so you feel the need to thank him before you slink that far in and have to wait for it to wear off to speak a coherent sentence to him again.

"We both need it, so it's my pleasure," Adam says, starting to undo the buttons of the black long sleeved button up you'd worn to work and had yet to take off that day. "And yours--it's both of us. I promise I'll start getting more dominant in a sec, these buttons hate me."

You laugh a little, helping him undo the rest of the buttons. "They're square. They hate everybody, me included. Getting this shirt on was a nightmare this morning and I've been reminded as to why I never wear the damn thing."

Adam uses the small of your back to guide you off the bed just enough to be able to completely take the shirt off, following it by the oddly quick--Adam is very, very good at undoing the pesky little hooks that hold bras together, oddly--removal of your bra.

His lips are on yours again, one hand on your bare hip while the other finds itself cupping your face, tongue gliding across your lip in asking for entrance which you grant as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

Kissing Adam in moments like that is always amazing--kissing him has been one of your favorite things since your romance started, even quick and chaste kisses that don't last more than a few seconds. Kissing Adam has never ceased to be an absolute delight, whether it led to sex or was used as an alternative form of "hello" "goodbye" "good night" or "good morning."

And then his lips start traversing down your neck once more, and then they go further.

Adam starts draping kiss after kiss across your torso, lips pressing against you in a way that allows his tongue to poke through his teeth as he kisses you with his mouth slightly open. Every single touch of his cold tongue against your warm skin makes you clench around nothing, quickens your heart rate and feels so impossibly delightful. Adam is kissing you in a way that damn near drives you insane, and you feel yourself sinking into how good his lips and tongue feel against you as he delivers praise between kisses.

"Such a good puppy for me, mm?" Adam murmurs when he's close to your belly button. "Taking all of this so well even though you probably just want me inside you already. Such a good cumdump for me, puppy. Perfect."

You hum in response, eyes drifting down to meet his gaze as he looks up at you. He smiles, briefly, before continuing with his kisses, letting himself spend a lot of time on your hips before his kisses rove across your stomach.

He kisses along your v-line slowly and in a way that makes you want to start begging, hands roving up from your hips to your biceps.

He glances at you for a second in the asking, waiting for you to nod. You do so and Adams hands move to your pants, taking them off along with your underwear before laughing at himself.

"I've got you here, lookin' fucking perfect," he says, kissing your bicep. "And yet I'm still clothed."

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt and he lets you pull it off, kissing the side of your shoulder as he watches you toss it near the laundry hamper in the far left corner of the room. Next come his pants and his boxers, which Adam takes off in a manner that's somehow effortless despite his continued kisses to your biceps throughout the process.

"I forget how much I love your arms until I'm kissing your biceps again," Adam says, laughing a little. "Fuck, baby. Your arms are fucking gorgeous."

You hum, pressing your head into the pillow behind you as Adams kisses start up again and his hands start wandering. One settles against your face, cupping it softly, and the other goes wandering delightfully down your torso, not stopping until his fingers are millimeters above your clit.

He pauses, gaze meeting yours in a way that feels almost a little sadistic.

"Gonna make you come so many times tonight, baby," he says. "Safe word?"

"Hibiscus," you whisper. It's a precaution for when you get really kinky, a word you came up with but, five years into your relationship, have yet to actually use.

Adams lips press against the center of your collarbone, "good puppy," he whispers against the skin.

His fingers start making slow, tantalizing circles around your clit, and his kisses continue, roving down your torso and staying in the general area of your hips and stomach.

A few minutes pass you by, and right when Adam has picked up the speed and is bringing you to the edge of an orgasm, he stops.

When he notices the disappointment in the way your head falls back onto the pillow, he wastes no time in licking his fingers clean of the wetness spread across them.

"Didn't think I'd let you come so soon, did you, puppy?" Adam moves up, lips near your ear. "I did say I'd make you come multiple times tonight, but I said nothing of letting you do so without a little edging first. Gonna edge you until the sun goes down, at least, and then make you cum until at least one or two in the morning. Gonna call in sick tomorrow, too, so that I'm not worrying about waking up and going into work."

"How much more time until the sunset?" You ask. It's four--the sunset can't really be so far off, can it?

"An hour," Adam says. "But--to be fair, a lot more can be done in an hour than one might think. Also--eight hours between five and one am. Assuming that the session exhausts you, you'll probably wake up close to noon tomorrow, but there's snow in the forecast and I'll probably make you a cup of tea if I wake up before you do."

You hum. "Thank you, Adam," you whisper. He kisses you deeply, and you can still taste yourself on his tongue.

"Don't thank me," he says when he's pulled away. "It's what good partners do, especially when I'll have practically rearranged your guts and it'll be a reward for doing good anyway."

You laugh. Adam presses a kiss to your forehead as his hands once again ground themselves on your hips and yours find his shoulders, holding him close.

"I love you, baby," he says. "Sorry that work has been shit."

"I love you too," you respond. "And--that's not your fault. Please don't blame yourself for mistakes that aren't yours, Adam. Please, just kiss me. Wanna forget about work and stupid fucking Earle--just wanna think about how good it feels to be touched and kissed by you. Please."

Adams lips press against your forehead again, his hands cupping your face.

"Gonna make sure you do," he says. His lips move to your biceps again, and you shudder an intake of breath as he leaves a hickey in the wake of one of his kisses.

You have a thought to call him a hickey fiend but don't--the risk of joking with him when Adam is in dom mode is not worth the reward even slightly.

His kisses trail down your face to your neck, and from your neck to your chest. You moan a little when his lips find your nipples, biting gently as his hands give your hips a contented squeeze.

Your head falls back onto the pillow beneath it, and you smile slightly as you hear Adams contented hum as he kisses along your chest from one nipple to the other.

The next several minutes are spent in pretty much the same state. Adam kisses your chest and neck with an open mouth, tongue all too eager to leave a trail of saliva behind his kisses. He's mostly quiet as he goes about it, but every time he does something to make you moan his hands squeeze your hips in acknowledgement.

And then his lips move to your stomach, spending an absurd amount of time leaving hickeys in the less obvious places. He spends more time on your hips which tells you you'll have dark hickeys to look forward to once you have the time to investigate the state of your body in a mirror, but he's not always the dominant one when you two are having sex--you'll find your moment where he's in a particularly submissive mood and douse his body with light-ish hickeys in some very obvious spots.

His lips move down to your thighs, and his gaze meets yours.

"You're feeling all right?" He asks, lips pressing gloriously against the top of your right thigh. "Need you to make space for me, puppy. Haven't paid your thighs attention in so fucking long--'nother minute of waiting and I will go insane."

You laugh as you spread your legs and Adam positions himself in between them, lips moving across your thighs as his arms slip under them and his hands find your hips.

The amount of attention he devotes to your legs alone is almost a little excessive--it takes him ten minutes before he's content to move from your right leg to your left, and then he's focusing on that leg just as long.

Then again--Adam has always loved your thighs. You've had moments of insecurity that they were too big to handle but he's always met your insecurity with reassurance, promised that he'd tell you if he was having trouble breathing whenever he asked you to sit on his face. He loves your thighs and your biceps, which are two of the areas where you find most of your insecurity.

And then you feel his breath against your folds, and you breathe in deeply while clenching around nothing.

"Wanna taste you, puppy," Adam says. You're nodding eagerly before he can even finish the sentence, wondering how it was that you managed to go eight months without feeling Adams mouth over your folds, his lips on your clit.

Adam is good at giving oral--he is fucking amazing at it, and as his tongue presses flat against your folds, his gaze holding yours, you find that it seems he's still as good as he was eight months ago.

His tongue runs through your folds for a very long few seconds before it presses against your clit. You moan at the contact, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as his tongue moves in circles around the bundle of nerves.

His tongue moves back to your folds, and your hand goes to his hair. You don't hold him in a tight grip or anything, just enough to ground yourself and keep yourself from slipping away.

It's hard not to slip into it, though. The grip that Adam has on your hips, the way he's eating you out like a man starved and that goddamned nickname he always uses whenever he's domming. All of it is so much combined, so much after eight months, and all you want to do is slip into subspace and just let Adam use you however he wants.

He keeps going until you're so close--teetering on the edge, nearly ready to come on his face--and then he stops, pulling away with a glistening mouth to take a breath.

And then he's lifting himself off of you, pulling himself up to press kiss after kiss after kiss to the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, and his hand is cupping your face.

"Please, puppy," he says. "Don't wanna go eight months without this ever again. Missed it."

It takes everything in you to drum up a response, still working through the second almost-orgasm of the evening.

"Never," you manage to mumble as your head turns, seeking Adams lips. He kisses you slowly, meaningfully, and you have a moment--just a moment--where you hate yourself for letting sex get away from you for such a long time.

Work has been eight months of never ending stress, eight months of managing one hundred and sixty people, dealing with a boss who claims to care about the team but only offers a raise to the five people from whom a guy stole off time rather than firing the idiot. You feel bad--work has taken the majority of your head space since March, and that doesn't feel fair in the fucking slightest.

"Adam," you whisper. He presses a peck to your lower lip and darts his tongue out to wet his own.

"Yeah, puppy?"

"Missed you," you respond. "'M sorry about work. I promise I didn't mean to get so busy, it's just--Earle and his fucking scheme, and Monica refusing to fire his sorry ass while he has the time of his goddamned life in Monaco, and--ugh. I don't mean to ruin the mood but it's just not leaving my head."

Adam laughs, presses a kiss to your forehead. "I know how you get, Y/N," he says. "I'm too drunk on the thought of your thighs around my head to even get slightly turned off right now but that's not the point."

He laughs again, thumb gliding across your bottom lip. "I've been worried about you but I knew work was probably the reason for your late nights, baby. I promise, it just made me cherish our lazy mornings even more. If you don't like working there, you can always quit, too--you've got your rainy day savings, and my job lets me cover the rent and have money left for groceries if you don't get something right away. Has anything else been bugging you or is it just work?"

"Just been in a funk," you respond. "The sex is helping a lot, but I've always found that being with you helps me like nothing else can. Needed this, Adam. Even if you've kept me from orgasming twice so far."

"Fifteen more minutes til sundown," Adam says. "You'll be so sick of coming when I finally start letting you, baby. I think I have it in me to last eight hours, but that's because I'll be giving myself a reprieve. You, however, might not get one. Dunno--it depends on if you'll want one, really."

"You'll know I do if I use the safe word," you respond. "Just--be soft with me, mm? I don't think I can handle being degraded too much, if at all. I'm scared that if you call me a slut with a mean tone I'll just fall to pieces and start crying."

Adam laughs, presses a kiss to your temple. "Think I've done enough edging," he says. "Kind of just wanna kiss you until you're begging me for more, baby. Sound okay?"

You nod, arms wrapping around his shoulders. "You really wouldn't be mad if I quit my job?"

"I would be the opposite of angry at you if you just announced it and didn't even give your two weeks," Adam says. "You've spent the majority of the last year giving them an arm and both of your legs in the effort it's taken to keep things afloat. You're up for a significant raise which I would wait to see if you got, but there are places that pay the amount you'd be getting after your raise as the starting salary, which only goes up after the first six months. I'd start applying to those places if I were in your shoes and I didn't get the raise I fuckin' deserved."

Adams lips drop to your collarbone. "'M so in love with you," he says. "And I'm sorry that work has been such a shitstorm lately. If you want, you can switch from a marketing job to working for a salary that covers rent and groceries with me at the bookshop? They're hiring all the fucking time and it means I can basically just...spend the entirety of my break just kissing you relentlessly if you do decide to join up."

You laugh, pulling a hand through his hair. "Maybe," you say. "If I don't get the raise."

Adam laughs, gently biting against your collarbone as his hands find your hips again.

"Love your hips, puppy," he says. "Will probably have to put lotion on the hickeys I left on 'em. Got a little carried away."

"I'll get my revenge somehow," you respond. "If you ever find yourself in a submissive mood, I will absolutely cover your neck in them."

"I like hickeys in obvious places, so long as you keep them light,"

"Oh, they will be. Everywhere but your pulse point--I happen to like your pulse point, Adam. Might get carried away worse than you did with my hips."

Adam bites your collarbone again, kissing up the center of it to the underside of your jaw before his lips are once again against yours.

"I love you so fucking much," Adam says into the kiss, giving your hips a hard squeeze. "Fuck, Y/N. Gonna make sure all of your stress is gone from your mind completely. Just want you to be thinking about me, puppy."

All you can do in response is moan into Adams mouth, closing your eyes and moaning once more as he uses your moaning to slip his tongue into your mouth, one hand coming up to cup your face.

You spend the next little eternity kissing, moaning whenever Adams hands squeeze whichever part of your body they've ended up near or on--typically your ass, just below it on your thigh, your hips, or your tits--and occasionally tugging at the hairs near the nape of his neck, where one of your hands rests.

And then, Adam pulls away. You gaze at him as he holds himself up by his elbows, a handsome smirk on his face.

"You're all right?" He asks.

The truth is, all you can think about is the memory of his cock inside you and you're convinced it's slowly driving you nuts, but by all other accounts, yeah.

You nod. "I'm amazing, Adam," you say. "Need to feel you."

As you speak the words, Adam is already reaching for his night stand on his side of the bed, grabbing a condom.

You roll it onto his length, one of your hands overlapping the hand he places on your hip as you lie back down.

Adam positions himself at your entrance, pushing into you slowly even despite how wet you are--you're more than ready to feel him, but Adam still goes slow to be cautious.

When he bottoms out, both of you moan. Your lips are almost right next to Adams ear, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, so the sound of you moaning just makes Adam want you more. One of his hands is on your breast, and he squeezes it, rolling the nipple between his first finger and thumb as you clench around his length.

After a minute, you're telling Adam he can start moving and his thrusts come to a slow start as Adam figures out the pace he wants to start with.

His lips have dipped close to your ear when he whispers, "you're so wet for me," and he kisses the side of your head before adding "such a good puppy. Fuck--you're amazing."

And you're moaning in response, starting to get cockdrunk as Adam moves in calculated thrusts, one hand propping himself up by the elbow and the other against your hip.

Your thighs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, and Adam laughs as he lifts the hand on your hip to cup your face.

"You like this, baby?" He asks. You moan, nodding slightly as your eyes close, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Such a good puppy for me," he says. "So good, baby. You're doing so good."

And then you moan again, and Adam presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. He quickens the pace of his thrusts, lips moving to your neck as the hand that was on your face moves to your clit, rubbing circles around it and delighting in the moans it brings from your throat.

Your release spurs his on, and while you moan and release around him Adam releases into the condom, thrusting his way through the aftershocks and the way that your legs start shaking with them.

He pulls out and discards the condom, heading back to you quickly and peppering your face with kisses.

You find yourself in a state of complete and total relaxation and euphoria. Adams hands on you make you sink further in, and Adam laughs a little--you're looking at him like he's the love of your life while you're practically drowning in post-orgasm bliss, which is a delightful and meaningful addition to the times in which you've looked at him like that, particularly whenever he's decided to surprise you with breakfast or when you wake up to find him admiring you as he'd woken up before you had.

"You're feeling all right?" The orgasm had been a little intense.

You nod, and Adam presses his nose against the apple of your cheek, pressing a quick kiss there as his hands find your face.

"Going quiet?" He presses his lips to your forehead. "Not for long, baby. I have at least seven more hours with you, yeah?"

You nod, and Adams lips are on yours again.

A lot of the time, you start to realize, will be passed with Adams lips against yours, his hands going somewhere on your body as you moan and whine at his touches.

You don't hate the idea, though--Adam is a damn good kisser and absolutely knows what he's doing with his lips and tongue. You've proven yourself capable of lazily making out with Adam for hours several times, though that was when the two of you were kiss fiends in the honeymoon phase and couldn't go more than twenty minutes without it.

But then, Adams lips trail from your lips to your chest, paying attention to it as his hands move from your face to your hips. Once he's paid satisfactory attention to your chest, he moves to your stomach, where, per the presence of your hips close by, he stays for a long ten minutes.

Then his lips are on your inner thighs and your hand is in his hair and all you can do is moan, one word waiting and ready at the tip of your tongue but not falling off of it.

You watch through half lidded eyes as Adams eyes lock on your cunt, nod fervently when his gaze meets yours and his head tilts in the asking.

His tongue finds your clit and he moves one finger, slowly, into your hole as his lips follow his tongue. You turn your head and moan into the pillow in an effort to silence yourself, but the noise level at which the moan sits is still so obscene that Adam chuckles, shaking his head as his left arm slips under your thigh and his hand finds purchase at your chest.

Adams tongue moves around your clit in evenly paced circles, finger moving at a calculated pace as he adds another. Adams fingers curl around your g-spot once every fifteen-ish seconds, and every time your moans get louder because of the action, Adam laughs a little and presses his tongue flat against your clit.

Adam has you pushed to your orgasm in fifteen minutes. You barely have time to warn him before you're coming over his mouth, chin, and his hand, but Adam hardly cares. He only licks his fingers to clean them and juts his tongue out to run it over his lips, all while holding your gaze.

And then he's kissing you and you're tasting yourself, humming into the kiss as Adam reaches one arm out and fumbles for the nightstand in search of another condom.

Adam gets it and rips it open, sliding it onto his length and motioning for you to get on your knees and turn around. You do as he says and Adam slowly slides into you, the both of you moaning slightly as he bottoms out.

Adam waits a minute for you to adjust to him, and once you have he starts thrusting. He sets an even, quick pace and moves a hand to your clit, moaning as you lean back and press your back against his front.

Adams lips find a spot in the space between your neck and shoulder, and every last one of the sounds you make spurs him on. His moans are low, typically comorbid with yours, and they come in between the praise he manages to mumble out as he moves and you start moving back onto him.

"So good," he mutters, biting gently against your shoulder. "Fuck--"

You moan in response, unable to form any coherent thought other than Adams name.

"Adam," you whisper as the pace at which Adams finger touches your clit increases. "Adam--"

You feel him smile against your skin, a cocky grin taking up his face.

"Yes, baby?" He asks, moaning as you clench around him. "Gonna use your words for me, mm?"

"Adam," it's the only word that comes to mind right now, though it'll be one of ten, at best, once he's pushed you to orgasm again.

"Adam, oh--" You moan as he snaps his hips up into you.

Adam keeps the pace he's set and it's not long before you're moaning loudly as Adams lips and tongue suck a hickey into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, your release occurring just seconds before his own, before he's a moaning mess as he thrusts into you through the aftershocks.

Adam pulls out and lays you back onto the bed before rolling the condom off and tossing it into the trash.

The cycle continues that way until you find yourselves nearing one in the morning. Your lips are wet with your own saliva after you've pulled off of Adams length and he's being sweet, your face in his hands as you start moving to sit on the bed.

"One more for me, baby," he says. In eight hours, you've come more than eight times, your legs are basically jelly, and all you have on your mind is Adam. "Just one more, mm? Then I'll run us a bath and we can just relax, I promise. Aftercare god, remember?" He laughs a little at the tail end of his sentence, cringing at himself a little bit.

And you're nodding, smiling at Adam as his lips find your inner thighs and you're blissed out on post-orgasm euphoria--Adam had let you touch yourself while sucking his dick, and you'd come over your hand as he shot his load into your mouth, which you'd agreed to let him do--and it's fifteen minutes til one and Adams lips against your thighs is absolutely amazing.

And then his lips and tongue go to your cunt, and you're moaning as your thighs wrap around his head, which leads to him laughing and squeezing your hips.

And Adam eats you out carefully, slowly, moaning as he does so. He's taking his time with you because you're blissed out and will definitively need to be easy on yourself in terms of walking after all that's been done. He's moaning, tongue moving through your folds in a way that feels incredible to both you and him, and his lips find your clit as he moves to start fingering you.

Adam sets a good pace, quick but not too quick, and curls his fingers at your g-spot with every thrust. You're moaning loudly despite the time and Adam is loving it, and then you're coming on his lips and his tongue and Adam is licking it off your cunt and his lips with a focused precision.

Then Adam is getting up, pressing a kiss to your forehead and telling you he'll be back in a few minutes. He tells you he loves you but doesn't expect a response--you're absolutely too blissed out to say much of anything, and he loves it because it's the first time in eight months where you've looked so relaxed, the first time in eight months where you've felt it.

Your eyes close as Adam leaves your shared bedroom, and you hear him starting up a bath. You smile to yourself, pressing your cheek against the pillow, having a brief, floaty thought of I am so lucky before Adam comes into the room again, smile on his clean face.

He kisses your eyelids, hands finding and interlacing themselves with yours.

"C'mon," he says. "I've run us a bath, baby. Gonna relax your legs, which are definitely sore by this point."

And then your eyes are opening and he's helping you stand as he tells you how much he loves you and how amazing you were during the session, and his lips are against your forehead in a kiss.

You're mostly quiet as Adam leads you to the bathroom, humming as you get into the tub with him.

You press your chin against Adams shoulder and in the next few minutes, you're still tired but the water is still hot and you're starting to form coherent thoughts again.

"Thank you," you whisper, pressing a kiss to Adams wet shoulder. He hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"For what?" Adam asks.

"For the last nine hours," you say. "For making me forget about work stress and for the sex."

Adam laughs, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "The sex was enjoyable for both parties, then," he says. "And--you're welcome, but you don't need to thank me. Just wanted to help you de-stress a little, and I'm glad I could do that."

You're in the bath together for thirty-ish minutes after that, and you let Adam wash your hair as he peppers your hickied neck with kisses and his hands run along your biceps. You wash his, and you spend the time waiting for the conditioner to set talking about your plans for the day as the day has turned.

Adam intends to let you sleep in and to make breakfast, and you intend to at least move from the bedroom to the living room after you've woken up so that you can read from the comfort of your couch.

You get out of the bath and, because your legs are still pretty sore, have barely any choice but to let Adam help you back to your room and sit on the bed as Adam gets dressed and grabs you clothes.

You get dressed into a pair of black boxers--they, Adam decides, will be comfier than sweatpants--and a hoodie Adam had during his baggy clothes phase that's baggy on you, too, and covers two thirds of your thigh before your knee amidst laughter and kisses that you share in the relative dark.

You and Adam end up going to sleep on the couch anyway so as to avoid halfhearted fighting about who sleeps on the wet spot on the bed from the sweat emitted during sex, curled up in each others arms with a thick, warm and fuzzy blanket covering you both up to your shoulders.

#adam stanheight #adam faulkner-stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #adam faulkner-stanheight x reader #saw 2004

[jellyclogs]

How op men react to an s/o with really bad periods

Triger warnings: period and Simi fainting

this is kinda a comfort fic for me, im suffering through my period and its ruff. sorry if y/n falling to the floor in pain seems over dramatic but its just how my period like to roll so here we are.

if you have any requests feel free to ask me or if you want a part 2 with more characters

quick edit forgot to list up here who festers in this fic: Shanks, marco, law, Mihawk, Kid, zoro, Sanji

Shanks

This man is very  patient with you. He sits there with a smile on his face,well you bitch and moan about how shity it is . He can't help but think it's adorable when you get so over dramatic about your period. He has seen you grin and bear it through pain, you usually act calm, cool and collected when you're suffering, so it takes him by surprise when you're a big cry baby about this. He's glad that you don't feel like you have to suffer through it alone and trust him enuff to go to him to just complain or if you need help.

The first time you had your period around him He didn't quite understand how much pain you were actually in. He thought you were just playing it up. It only hit him how much it hurt when you crumpled to the ground hissing curling up on yourself. He froze in that moment, watching you just breathe in and out slowly trying to breathe through the cramps. Then he rushed forward and picked you up holding you to his chest whispering sweet nothings to you as the wave of cramps listened up.

 He adores you so much and hates seeing you in pain. He will tease you a little bit about it but the moment he sees that you're not having any of it he drops it. He won't make a big deal about giving you special treatment when you're like this. more cuddling, getting you sweets, making you laugh whenever he can, and staying close to your side as much as he can. He wants to be right there if you topple over again. He won't say it out loud but you scared the shit out of him when you did that.

He kinda finds it funny when he finds you in weird places and or positions that help your cramps. Whether it's laying on the kitchen floor because the cold feels good on your back or sitting with your legs up against the wall and back on the floor because it's the only thing that's helping with your cramps in the moment. He usually just joins you and begins talking your ear off to distract you from the pain.

Marco

You always try so hard to keep the fact you're on your period a secret. The men of the Moby dick find periods gross and don't get what's the big deal since it happens once a month you should be used to it. You do your duties and do your best to be your normal self. You would not just up and tell Marco or realy anyone what you were going through.

Marco would notice the little cracks in your facade, the wincing when you thought no one was around or the fact you took longer to do your chores. He'd start getting really concerned when you started spending most of the time in your room. His first thought is not that you're on your period, it's that you got hurt and weren't telling him. He'd be pissed that you hadn't come to him to get patched up.

He would try to wait for you to come to him but after a day of watching you suffer in silence He'd confront you. When he saw your face flush and start to fumble with your words he would think he caught you. Before you could realy explain He'd be dragging you to his clinic, calling you an idiot and a moron the whole way there. He would adamantly state, "I'm the doctor on this ship you can't go around hiding wounds from me, how am I supposed to patch you up if I don't know your hurt yoi"

Once their He'd grab his med kit and damned you show him your stomach. Watching you he was pretty sure that's where the Injury was.

You would lift up your shirt and say, "I'm not hiding a cut or something," you would sigh looking anywhere but his eyes, "just on my period." You'd mumbled.

Marco would face-palm, ofcores that was what was up. You weren't the type to definitely hide injuries out of embellishment. He'd reach out his hand and set it over your stomach letting his flames like over your skin. "Still you should have come to me." He'd huff.

After he knew what was going on He'd be just the sweetest. Getting thatch to make you chocolaty things and soothing your cramps with his phoenix fire. He would tell you that, "I'm a doctor, your period isn't gonna gross me out, please let me help you." He will make sure you're taking pain pills as often as you can and help you with your duties if you were in too much pain to do them.

As a doctor he would understand how bad your period could get and he would make no complaints if you demanded to stay near him since his phenix fire was the best way to treat the pain. This man would secretly be bragging to the other crew members that he is your favorite and that's why you were hanging out with him so much.

Law

He would know that you were on your period the day you started, he wouldnt mention it but keep an eye on you. He would not be the kind to pamper you, not at first at least. He would think she’s had thes for years she can handel it. He would definitely slip you chocolate’s and make sure you had enuff pain killers.

He would probably keep his distance from you. He cares about you but the fact he couldnt help you would piss him off. He hates seeing you in pain, and hates that he can't help. He would get snippy with the crew and work himself harder.

His work would be disrupted by bepo rushing in a bit of a panic, saying you had walked into the kitchen then just crumped to the ground, sitting their for a minet befor geting up and acting like nothing happened. Law would sigh and get up from his desk befor telling bepo hed hadel it and you were fine or atleast going to be.

He would find you in your room curled up on your bed with almost nothing on, just a shirt and some panties pants just felt like a hassle pulse it isn't like you were gunna be wondering around the ship like this. You were a though cookie and usaly just worked through pain so seeing you like this did worry law. He would bite his lip and curse himself for being so caught up in his own emotional pain to properly take care of your physical pain.

He would slip into bed with you and hold you in his arms. He’s not a very cuddly person so this would be a big display that he was worried about you. He would just hold you and apolagize for not being abel to take away the pain. He would love to take the pain on himself, he knew he could handel it, but that just wasn’t the way his powers worked. He thought about swapping harts with you for awhile, but hew knew how long it would take you to lern his devil fruit to revers it.

After that he would keep you close to him, sure it hurt that he couldnt help her as much as he wanted but being around you made you feel better so it was worth it. He would still be quite snippy with the other crewmembers but would treat you gently.

Mihawk

He would have no clue how to act around you. He was wit you because you were strong and he respected you, so seeing you reduced to a shambeling mess kinda upset him. He would at first act like he didnt notce any thing was wrong. He tought it would save your pride. He would flinch any time you let out a pained noise. He cared so much about you that you being in pain was awful.

He would wait for you to ask for comfort, its not that he didnt want to comfort you, its that he didnt want to insult your pride or your strength. He knows you are a tough girl, he also knows you arnt afraid to ask for help when you need it. Prona would think hes being an ass, and would let him know.

When you finaly came to him you wouldnt exchange words, all you would do is climb into his lap. He would set his wine glass aside and hold you to his chest, gently rubing circles on your lower back. He would whisper praise to you in spanish calling you brave or strong, he knew you didnt speek a lick of spanish so you couldnt yell at him for being to soft.

You would know that he was being soft and gentle and were willing to be treated like glass at the moment. You need it and you wold just sit and take it in. 

After you came to him like this he would start to pamper you, running you a bath every night, rubbing your back, bringing your favorit foods. He would certainly be a little over protective to, hoovering around you when you were doing pretty much anything.

Porrona would have no clue why he had so drastically changed his attitude. She would cross her arms and puff out her cheeks calling him an unconsiderat jerk. Why was he like this?

If you ever dropped from the pain you better believe hed hold you for the rest of the day. He would never admit it was because he was scared of getting hurt, he would give you excuses like, “can i not just hold you, miamore?” or “ but if i put you down who wil worm my chest?” 

He secretly loves when your like this, when you are relying on him so much. He knows your stong and fully capsule of taking care of your self but he liked having the chance to pamper you and remind you that you can alway lean on him.

Kid

He is completely grosed out by the whole thing. He can't handel the sight of bloody tampons or pads so you better wrap them up tight with toilet paper. He will kinda avoid you, your relation was not just sex but a hell of alot of it was, and he dosent like that he can't fuck your brains out.

He would order his crew to get you what ever you need or wanted. He will make them treat you like a princess. If he so much as herd them complaining about it they would be in a world of pain. This guy sees you as his so you can't disrespect what belongs to him.

Kid is a ruff guy but would not like seeing you in pain like that. He is the only one aloude to cause you pain. He would kill any one who put a hand on you it was bull shit that he couldnt just rip your uterus out and see your pain go away. He knew that you werent playing up your pain up. You never once would show the full force of how bad anything was, so seeing you show any display of pain ment you had to be in sirius pain.

He would honestly freek if you ever just dubbeled over infront of him, the look of pain on tour face the tears in your eyes, would feel like a stade wound to him. He would pick you up off the floor and not put you down. He would not sugar coat why, “Your falling over like your a fucking nobel who got dirt on their clothes, like hell i'm putting you down. If i did youd probably keel over and die.”

If you ever asked for him to cudel with you hed make a big fuss but would give in pretty eazy. He probably wouldnt fight you at all if the two of you were alone but infront of his crew he had to much pride.

Zoro

He has no clue whats going on with you. He dosnt like the fact that you seemingly pulled away from him and started talking to that damn cook more. He would defntly be cross wiht you and draw away from you. He was a stubborn man. If you were gunna pull away from him then hed do the same. He wouldnt notice the pain you were in at all.

He would make a bitchy comint about you around nami and robin. Nami would punch the shit out of him. She would be pissed that he thought you were two timing him with the cook. Shed say, “If this is how you act when shes on her period then maby she should leave you for snaji.” 

 zoro would look at her so confused, “What the hell is a period?”

Both Nami and Robin would be on their asses laughing. Once they calmed down enuff they would explain what a period was to him. They would also explain that you have some of the worst periods they’d seen.

He still dosnt realy get it but is no longer mad at you. He starts harassing the cook for chocolate since robin and nami said girls like that when their on their periods.

If you just dropped from the pain hed panic a littel. Hed pick you up and rush you to chopper. He would not listtel to you when you told him, “Its ok, i just got hit with some realy bad cramps.” he would set you on chopper’s exam tabel and damned he fix you. 

Chopper would ofcores know about your situation, hed ask if you hade taken your pain pills on time or if you need more. He would get you  a heating pad and tell zoro that you fine, with tears in his eyes. Chopper feels awful he can't do more.

Zoro would be so ok with more cuddles. You may not look at him and think hes a cuddly guy but he can't get enuff of sungeling up with his s/o. He loves being abel to hold you and feel like hes protecting you from the world.

Sanji

This wonderful cook instantly knows when your on your period. He honestly dosnt mind when your on your period, he sees it as a chance to pamper you like the princess he knows you are. He loves cooking your favorit food’s fore you. He will whip up what ever dessert you want. He also try’s to feed you foods that will reduce inflammation. 

He always want to hold you so you wanting to be held more is a win for him. He gives you back maseshes as often as he can. He loves being abel to bring you relife, though it may seem like some of his actions are sexula they arnt all he wants is to take your pain away. He will barrow books from chopper and read up on the best ways to treat periods. He would probably be willing to let you bathe in his blood if it ment you were no longer in pain.

Sanji would full on scream the first time the pain sent you to the floor. He would have a hratatck. He would rush to your side and pull you to his lap begging you to be ok. You ofcores had worned him this could happen but it didnt realy prapar him fore it. Once he was sure you werent going to die he would pick you up and bring you to the bath.

Hed run you a bath and sit with you in it. He would hold you and just be with you. He loved you and wouldnt dare leave your side when you needed him.

#one piece #marco the phoenix #marco the pineapple #marco #shanks #trafalgar law #law #black leg sanji #sanjionepiece #zoro #roranoa zoro #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #captain kid #kid #x reader #comfort #comfort fic #my uterus has comitted treason on my body

[mandowifey]

Exhume

Miguel O'hara x Reader

This is part of a nonlinear story.

Warnings: This has multiple changing POV's (Im trying here), PwP, dark!Miguel, captive reader, stockholm syndrome, NSFW, dead dove, this has officially become 'dub con' territory. Au events, following along the movie SORTA. Reader is referred to as she/her pronouns.

Lil warning: this was hastily written in different points of the past couple months. I wanted to release it as is and not over edit the work I put in. The next chapter(s) will be more refined. Enjoy the slop LOL

° ° °

The space behind Miguel's eyes throbs as Jessica speaks up. Not that he hadn't found kinship with the woman before everything, but lately, he'd been irritable more than usual. While he tried to conceal it and bury himself away in his work, of course, his infuriatingly perceptive companion would notice.

His patience was wearing thin. He didn't mind the company before, but now that he had you, he wanted time to check the cameras. More than once, he'd caught you attempting to break loose or creatively end your life. Keeping you alive meant being attentive, and right now, Jessica was making that difficult.

"Miguel, are you alright?"

What kind of answer could he really give?

'No, I'm exhausted trying to maintain the multiverse while simultaneously covering the fact I have lost my mind and am holding a young woman hostage in my loft.'

Instead, he sighs and drops his shoulders. "Yes, Jess, I'm fine-"

"You aren't, I know you. I know when you're hangry, or moody or brooding, or when you are in need of your 'medicine'. This isn't fine." The woman folds her arms just below her bossom, against the swell of her belly. Miguel had congratulated her somewhat bitterly when she told their group.

Gritting his teeth, he pawed his face before he looked at her. "What do you want me to say?" Miguel snipped, a flash of red glinting in those onyx orbs. Jess seemed unphased and stood her ground with a frown.

"Just tell me what's going on. You know me, anything that's troubling you, I'll help." Her voice changed, adopting something acute to motherly. Jessica was by no means a soft woman before, but pregnancy had upset the balance of her hormones and now, sometimes, her rough exterior broke to show the gentle soul nestled within.

Miguel watches her, catching her gaze before averting his eyes shamefully. "It's nothing you can help with." He turned the broad canvas of his back to her, staring at the array of holoscreens above the control board. His fingers itched to press the code to the loft, wanting to check on you. He typically watched off and on in five minute intervals, but with Jess standing and practically breathing down his neck, he couldn't.

The woman tilts her head at the vague response, her brows raised behind her yellow glasses. Persistence was one of her strong suits.

"Try me."

-

Time ticked down like sand through an hourglass. Dragging, unyielding in its slow descent. You struggled to amuse yourself now. Tv, YouTube, baking, none of it worked anymore. You felt compelled to do something with your time but couldn't determine what. Puzzles became boring now that you'd completed each one three times. Sometimes, you cleaned and took things apart just to put it back together.

All this time, locked in a tower.

You started to feel bad for zoo animals.

As your mind began to drift away, so did your resolve. Instead of dreading his return, you looked forward to it. In the morning following your break, you had almost begged Miguel to stay home with you. Your hands ached to feel the weight of his face between them. Your lungs missed the way he compressed you. Miguel left you yearning for more, especially after the evening you had consented his touch.

Instead of sleeping the day away, you turn music loud on the speakers and close your eyes. It wasn't much, but you imagined yourself on a stage, dancing in an empty amphitheater. Shy ministrations became wild as you lost yourself in the fantasy. You were having fun, feeling almost childish in your amusement. Miguel had never confirmed your suspicions, but you knew he had the place rigged with cameras.

Part of you hoped he enjoyed the show - as silly as it was.

You spun and twirled, throwing yourself over the chair and couch, dramatically flinging yourself off the furniture and laughing as it became less of a dance and more of a mosh pit. A sensation of freedom and peace washed over you, taking you off your feet with each lunge and jump. Arms out, you did circles on the coffee table before falling backward off of it and onto the plush couch. As the song faded, your eyes opened at the ceiling, and your smile began to fade.

Nausea hit you like a truck.

Even with the room spinning, you scrambled and found your way to the kitchen trashcan. Knocking it to the ground along with yourself, you shoved your face into it just in time to vomit. Lunch - a sandwhich and chips - mostly digested and not nearly as enjoyable as it was going down, fell from your mouth in violent, painful heaves. Sweat from your wild dance routine now mingled with the sweat of being sick. Beads traced down your forehead and temple as you puked again, your shoulders bunching.

A fever rocked through you, aching to the bone. Coughing, you gasp for air as your eyes water. Lesson learned: Don't mosh pit in the living room. You wait on the cold tile floor until the nausea passes. Drawing upwards, you fix the trash can and groan as you get woozy. Bracing a hand on the island, you wobble towards the bedroom, having to go slow and lean your weight against the nearest surface.

Once you reach the bathroom, you turn the cold water on and keep the lights out. Undressing was impossible now that your limbs felt like cement blocks. As you climb in, you lay on your side as the shower rains down onto you. With your eyes closed and fever addled brain not working, you don't notice the steam rising off your body.

-

"A... girlfriend?"

Jessica looked skeptical with her hips tilted in the opposite direction of her head. A frowned pinched in her face, and nose slightly crinkled. Miguel was a lot of things, but she had assumed that after all he'd been through, he lost interest in companionship. Though, it would explain why he'd been ducking out of missions and avoiding any talk about it. Her shoulders relaxed as she acted like she made sense of it in her head.

"Well, I- I mean, that's great." Her skepticism was replaced with a genuine smile. "That's pretty big, I won't tell anyone." She laughed and rested a fist on her hip. Before Miguel could begin saying thanks, she cut in; "If you tell me about her. I want details. Is she cute? Is she local? A Gwen?" A grin stretched across her features as she drew in closer, the other spider staring at her with a confused and somewhat uncomfortable expression.

Something beeped rapidly, and Lyla came into view near him. "Miguel, there's something wrong." Her voice chirped in his ear. Jessica looked between the two, her brows raising. "Multiverse? Anomally?" She was ready to spring into action. Miguel shut down the console, and his mask reformed over his face. "No, I'll be back tomorrow." He jumped from the platform and landed noisily on his feet. The man took off into a sprint, tearing past Jess and vanishing out the door.

Once gone, Jessica stood in silence. While the gears churned in her head, she frowned, knowing Miguel was lying.

-

With the loft situated at the tip of the tower, Miguel typically would ride the elevator up. Lyla had brought it to his attention that something was seriously wrong with you, and his instincts had him ferociously clawing his way up the side of the building. Pieces of cement and glass falling behind him as he tore himself upward, powerful shoulders and biceps flexing as he propelled on. Anything could have happened to you, and his mind went to the darker extremes.

After just a few moments, he crawled onto the balcony and ripped the door hard enough to break the lock. The force he used to tear the sliding glass door open caused an entire panel to shatter on impact as he walked inside. His mask pulled back, exposing wild red eyes and furrowed brows.

"Y/N?"

Miguel's sensitive ears picked up on the sound of the shower, and he cleared the living room in a single jump. A sweet smell tickled his nose, and he recoiled slightly, unsure what he was smelling. More panic pricked at his guts as he felt the desire to nest and protect you grow. "Y/N!" He barked, stepping into the bathroom and looking at your clothed, soaking form in the tub. "Dios- what are you doing?" He withdrew his gloves and felt the ice cold water. Hissing, he turned the shower off and dropped to his knees.

"Hey, hey," his voice softened, his burning red irises fading to brown as he delicately tried to lift and move you. As his bare hands touched you, he was stunned at the sheer amount of heat radiating off your body. "Hey!" He snapped, feeling a familiar dread building in him. Miguel was suddenly back in that alternate universe, watching everything fall apart and his daughter dying in his arms. That helplessness returning, realizing something was seriously wrong with you.

"C'mon, come on. Open your eyes, you're okay. You're okay." He pulled you into his arms and lap, cradling your soaked body against his. "Look at me, please. Please." His voice tightened, and a lump formed in his throat. Seeing you so pale and limp made him uneasy. His fingers press to your throat, feeling for a pulse. When you cough, he startles and stares down at you.

"There you are."

"Miguel.." You croaked, your throat raw from puking.

"Yeah, I'm here."

He was standing slowly, keeping you bridal style in his strong arms. "I missed you." You smiled, eyes still closed as you tucked your face into his chest. He felt his heart pound, heat rising to his cheeks as he took you to the bed and peeled your saturated clothes off. "You did?" He asked, flicking his eyes to your peaceful and tired expression. Miguel watched as you smiled and nodded, your little hands reaching to find him blindly. He leans close, pushing kisses to your palms and rubbing his face into them. A whine builds in his throat, relief hitting him now that you were conscious.

Miguel stood and tucked you naked into the bed. You curled up, still feverish but comfortable in the warmth. He runs back and forth from the kitchen, fetching you water and saltines, along with a small bin from the bathroom in case you need it. When you slumped and your breathing slowed, Miguel climbed into the bed behind you and curled his massive frame around yours, his own eyes feeling heavy. That sweet aroma persisted, making his heart pound and bones itch. There was a lingering desire to tuck you up somewhere high and far away, to build you a nest of webs and keep you from the world-

"Did you like it?"

Your voice pulled his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

Squirming yourself into his chest, you yawn and sag into the pillows. "My dance." You sounded dreamlike. Miguel was confused but pushed his face into your neck as he squeezed around you gently.

"I loved it, kid."

-

It was only nightmares in your slumber.

Your body, swelling and growing more until you burst. Spiders crawled out of your belly and along your skin, chittering as they began to feast on your skin. You were helpless to watch, sobbing and frozen, suspended in red, vibrant webbing.

"You're doing so well, you'll be ready for the next clutch soon."

His voice came from the dark, peering red eyes and a silhouette against the inky black. You sob and cry for help, but he only watches as your offspring take bite after searing bite.

"Such a good mother, Y/N."

As you sob, he says your name again.

Then again-

"Y/N!"

Blackness becomes light, and light gives way to the familiar face of Miguel. You gawk up at him, aware your heart was pounding. Miguel cupped his hand against your cheek, brown eyes wide and concerned as he leaned over you to check your eyes. "You alright? Bad dream?" He leaned closer, knocking his forehead to yours and sighing. "Thought you were a goner." He mumbled, his breath fanning your lips.

Everything in you felt electric. You recalled getting sick and stumbling into the shower, but you hadn't been sure what followed. It was difficult to discern your memories with him so close. He smelled differently to you now, too. His scent was stronger, comforting in the sense that you had a strong urge to push your face into him and inhale.

So you did.

Miguel jerks with surprise as you sink into his chest, clutching at him and breathing in. The smell was borderline hypnotic. You already had begun the process of crumbling for him, and now you were sinking even further. A large hand touches your back and rubs gently, uncertain. The change of heart confused him. "That fever really cooked your brain, princess." You smile against his shoulder and rub your cheek into his collar bone.

"I had a fever?" You lean back, looking up at him and admiring the strong line of his jaw. Miguel tilts, looking down at you. The eye contact makes your heart throb and heat rocket to your groin. "You were burning up when I found you. You had dragged yourself into the shower and passed out. Lyla picked up on the dip in your vitals." His thick fingers pet through your hair, dragging along your scalp and coming to rest at the base of your neck. The concern in his tone was palpable.

More warmth pooled on your insides, your heart quickening and loins catching fire. Miguel caught your scent, and his nostrils flared. At this distance, you could see when his pupils stretched and blew out. He drew a shaky breath and curled his fingers tighter against your neck. This reaction from him was new. Certainly he got riled up when it came to fucking you, but something was different. Your scent was amplified tenfold, and he could hear the patter of your fast pulse beneath your skin.

Jaw aching, Migule suddenly released your neck and tore himself across the bed. You were left stunned, sitting half obscurred by the think blankets as your captor stumbled out of the bedroom. Slipping out of the bed, you stand and realize how good you felt. It was a strange sensation, like having a really good nights sleep post workout. "Miguel!" You call, hearing him rummaging around. Stepping into the bathroom, you rinse your mouth and brush your teeth before heading out in one of his discarded shirts.

"Shit."

Miguel tossed things from the drawers and looked around. "Miguel?" You ask again, and he swivels to look at you. "Keep back." He warned, his teeth sharp and eyes glowing. One of his hands covered his nose and mouth, trying to keep your scent at bay. Miguel felt it had to be time for another shot. He had no idea you were having the same issue, like a tiger in a cage. All you could see was him, your body tightly coiled, ready to burst. Your skin itched, your bones tightened, and you struggled to form a coherent thought. The both of you stared at each other, wordless and trying to keep composure.

The scent of you was killing him. He could smell your sex and practically taste it with how strong your pheromones wafted over his olfactory sensors. This was different than when he was off his medicine. He wasn't hungry for blood. He was hungry for you. Every part of you calls to him like a lighthouse in the night. He wanted to nestle inside of you and draw your warmth for his own. In the same breath, he felt the powerful urge to breed you, to nest you, and to keep you safe.

His smell was doing almost the same to you. You had woken up with a new set of senses. You could see him better, hear him better, and smell him better. Your skin burned with desire, craving his own against it. An ache grew in your own jaws, the desire to sink your teeth into him and take him as yours, to cover him in your smell and ward off any others. To tell the world he was yours, only yours.

Something broke inside of you both.

Miguel came towards you as you rushed towards him and caught you in his arms. Your limbs wound around him like pythons as your mouths crashed together. The kissing was frantic and sloppy. Teeth against teeth, spit, and blood spilling from burst lips as you both fought tongue to tongue. He moves you backward, knocking you against the fridge and making you grunt into his mouth.

"Baby," you gasp, petting a hand through his thick, dark hair before gripping it like a vice. When you yank his head back, Miguel hisses. His red eyes are wild and teeth bare as he looks at you like an animal in a cage. "Fuck me."

Miguel takes you to the bedroom, bumping into various objects along the way as you devoured one another. He throws you down into the mattress - harder than intended - and you bounce and snarl. Something is different now. You feel alive, you feel *strong.* Baring your own teeth, you shift on all fours, lunging at him with your arms out. The bigger man catches you and throws you down again, and something in the bed cracks.

He descends upon you before you can retaliate. "You're an animal." His voice was breathless, amused as he grabbed your hips and flipped you face down into the mattress. Usually, Miguel controlled his strength to avoid breaking you. But now he grabbed you relentlessly, holding you down as he shoved the shirt up your back. "Gonna act like a wild bitch, I'm gonna fuck you like one." Miguel's voice was heavy with lust, growling out of his chest.

You struggle, but dip your back and widen your knees under you. While your new instincts begged for you to bite and mark him, they also simpered at being put in their place. Cunt leaking, you whine against the blankets. Miguel inhales, savoring your scent as he slaps your ass , claws out. The hit stings, making you lurch forward and shriek. Your own nails dig into the blankets, tearing them as you shove back towards him. Miguel watched the mark bloom on your skin, and he smirked as he cupped your mound and shoved in two fingers.

The heat of your insides is searing, and he gasps, pumping to the knuckle in quick, strong movements. You keen for him, shoving back to meet him as stars burst behind your eyes. "Fuck me, please." You couldn't recognize your own voice. The desire so strong you were certain you'd end up melting into the mattress itself. A chuckle rumbles behind you and you whine at the loss of those thick fingers, though you weren't empty for long. Miguel's cock forces inside, filling every inch of available space within you.

You two groan in tandem, and you shove back to force him to hilt. Miguel grunts, his large, calloused hands grasping your hips to start pumping you on his dick. His dark eyes honed in, watching your tight body swallow his length like it were made for him. The sounds you make are unhinged. Sharp cries mixed with breathless groans as he punches the air out of you. Your mind is white hot, and your cunt sears from the friction of him dragging within you.

"O-oh, o-oh f-f-fuck." You manage to gasp out between thrusts. The sound of your bodies plapping together nearly as loud as your cries.

Miguel grins, teeth flashing as a fist slides up your spine and grips into your hair. Grasping at the root, he curls his digits and yanks. Your face is pulled from the bed and your back in a deep arch as he continues to fuck you. "There's my girl. Look at you." He was panting too, his body wracked with the same heat that ravaged yours.

"I wanna feel you cum, princess." Miguel shifts his weight after a few good thrusts. Forcing your head into the blankets, he leans his weight over you and begins to rock harder. Pummeling your end with each pump, his hips colliding noisily with your ass. You are certain he might break you. Shrieking in response to the new angle, you drool and babble for him, his cock stoking the swelling bubble inside you.

You were babbling to him, pleading for him to stop - possibly from a force of habit - but also begging him to cum inside you. Miguel can't make it, and neither can you. As he collides his dick against the spongey, puckered hole of your cervix, you feel fireworks. Your cunt clenches down around him in a wave of convulsions so hard it nearly forces him out. Miguel holds your hips, no longer thrusting but pushing against you to keep himself nestled deep. The milking of your pussy tugs him over the edge shortly after you.

The hero bucks once more for good measure as he empties inside you. His cum hot and thick, painting your insides and saturating you with his essence. As you both catch your breath, you feel Miguel slip out of you and whine from his absence. Large hands flip you over, and he scoops you up. Settling back and leaning against the headboard, Miguel rests you in his lap. For just a moment you look at one another. Sweaty and flushed from sex.

You lean forward, hands on his shoulders as you steal one kiss, then another. Miguel chases your mouth with his own, his hands smoothing over your hips and squeezing before repeating the motion on your ass. "What has gotten into you?" He mutters into your starving mouth. You pause, a hand moving behind his head to grip his hair and yank his head back. Miguel flinches, looking up at you through lidded eyes.

"Aside from you? Nothing." You hum, admiring his jaw and the grooves in his cheeks. "That's funny." His voice was flat, but he did smirk. "Think you can go again, old man?" You release his hair to focus on sitting up on him. Miguel blinks, then nods, his hands back on your hips.

"Good boy."

-

When you both were fully spent, you laid in his arms. Miguel was watching the ceiling, listening to you as you rambled about trips you took outside the city. It all felt strange to him now. Your scent, your cooperation, the way you touched and looked at him. He couldn't place what happened - assuming maybe you had finally snapped. But that wouldn't account for your smell.

Breathing in through his mouth, he tasted your pheremones and felt his chest twinge again. He could feel those urges from before growing; to nest you, feed you, and protect you. Then, the pieces started to fall in place.

You getting sick.

The change in your smell.

The change in your behavior.

How you ached for him.

Miguel's mouth pressed to a thin line as he ran over all the facts again. Then again, and again. No matter how he tried to explain it, there was only one answer. His dark eyes flicked down to you, watching as you rubbed your face into his chest and sniffed at him. He watched your mouth open and the glint of your newly growing fangs as you nip at him. Miguel feels his heart begin to race, recognizing now that you were changing too.

There was no other explanation.

"Miguel? Did you hear me?"

The pound of his heart drowned your voice out. This had been what he wanted, hadn't it? To fill the void his daughter left? To find new happiness and move on, to have another chance?

Panic was building now. Everything was uncharted territory. You were changing, pregnant with his child(ren?) and he was going to be a father again. Miguel didn't register your little hands on his cheeks or the way you continued to say his name. All he could hear was the screams of people around him as their universe caved in. He could feel his daughter's weight fading from his arms, leaving him empty. Now you were pregnant and everything could go wrong.

How did he take care of a pregnant woman without getting caught?

Where would you go for check ups? It wasn't like an OBGYN worked in the tower. There were too many holes in his plan now, he would be risking keeping you to himself. He hadn't thought this part through. Now he could potentially lose you both - not to mention the complications of carrying mutant spider spawn.

"Miguel." Your mouth presses to his.

Eyes widening, he saw you. You sat on top of him, eyes big and face concerned. Miguel clasped your hips and held you close. "Where'd you go?" You ask, rubbing his chest. He stares up, watching for a moment before he sighs and takes your wrist. Pulling your hand to his mouth, he kisses your palm before pressing it to his cheek. "Long day at work, is all."

He knew lying to you wouldn't work for long. No doubt you'd realize sooner rather than later that your body was no longer just your own.

Miguel could cross that bridge when you got to it.

"I'm sorry." You mumble, shifting off of him. "Let's get some rest then. We can shower in the morning." Nestling yourself into his side, you stretch an arm over the expanse of his stomach and squeeze him gently. Miguel wrapped an arm around you and squeezed gently, his eyes still fixated on the ceiling.

It was going to work out.

It had to.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara headcanons #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara headcanon #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderman x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader

[weirdkpopgirl]

I Think It's Love | Renjun Fic #1

Title: I Think It's Love

Genre: Fluff with slight angst

Warnings: subtle mentions of reader being insecure in the beginning

Word Count: 1496k

Author's Note: Uh, am I crazy for posting at such a crazy hour (it's almost 1 am a the time I'm posting this), considering the fact I have two finals literally tomorrow? Most likely yes. But that's what anxiety does to you lol. Also, I'm just a sucker for romance, and I think Renjun embodies that really well. So I hope you guys like this. Thank you for reading ^ - ^

Also, the title was somewhat inspired by Taemin's song. I also apologize if this is poorly edited.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Every so often, Renjun’s eyes drifted to the black and white clock on the back wall of the rehearsal room. Usually, he was so focused on memorizing their choreography, especially when new moves came into play. But today, his mind kept wandering to something else. Even his members noticed the boy was more distracted than usual.

“Hyung, you’ve been checking the clock for the past half hour,” Jisung nudged the male, looking slightly concerned.

Mark was next to speak out. “Yeah, what’s up with you man?”

Renjun hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should answer honestly. But he was never one to beat around the bush.

“(Y/n) gets off of work soon, and I was thinking about going to see her,” He confided.

The Dreamie’s ears perked up at the mention of a girl’s name. “(Y/n)? You mean the café girl?” Chenle asked incredulously. 

Renjun felt a flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks and the urge to hit the younger boy for talking in such a loud tone. Of course, the other boys were quick to ask more questions.

“Oh?” Haechan’s eyebrows raised at his friend. “Does our Renjun-i have a little crush?”

The young singer groaned as Jaemin and Jeno chuckled in the background. He shot them an icy glare.

“It’s not like that,” He protested half-heartedly. Of course, he was only lying for the sake of his pride.

Over the past couple of months, Renjun spent more and more time with you. When you guys first met, you had been so timid. The first few times he stopped by the café, you had been so hesitant to engage with him. You could only offer a passive greeting before asking what he’d like to order. He picked up on how your gaze remained fixated on the touchscreen cash register, almost as if you were afraid you would break if you made direct eye contact with him. 

Other customers might get annoyed with such a meek person. But Renjun was rather drawn to your reserved nature. He was so used to being around his members who were quite loud and boisterous. You, on the other hand, acted in complete contrast, exuding a mysterious aura that intrigued him.

So gradually, Renjun put in more effort to be friendly to you when he came to order his regular coffee. He started with polite questions, asking how your day was. From there, he would occasionally compliment your hairstyle or the cute sweaters you always wore.

Eventually, Renjun could feel you warming up to him. Initially, he just saw you as a younger sister he felt oddly protective of. But he began to feel different as he got to know you more. Your shared interests in food and music, as well as your life values, revealed a lot to him about who you were as a person. Renjun concluded it was the first time you opened up to him when he officially fell for you. 

He had caught you on one of your bad days and offered a listening ear. You were a bit reluctant to be vulnerable to someone, especially a guy. But Renjun’s encouragement allowed him to learn about your deep-seated insecurities. Despite how weak you felt after practically spilling your life story, all Renjun could think of was how strong you were. Later, when you admitted that you had a hard time getting close to people, Renjun felt a sense of satisfaction. He knew that he earned a special place in your life, and it only confirmed his feelings for you.

“Are you sure?” Jeno questioned, snapping the boy from his daze. Renjun let out a sigh and glanced back at the clock. He realized he had been lost in thought for longer than intended.

“Okay, maybe it’s more than just that,” He huffed, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel before gathering his things. “But I really need to get going now, so don’t wait for me.” 

Renjun left the dance studio and made his way to the café he’s grown fond of. A small smile stretched on his lips when he spotted her mopping the floors through the windows.

You internally grumbled when the ringing sound from the door set off. 

“Sorry, we’re closed—” You started to say in the politest tone possible. Until you glanced up to see a boy wearing a light denim jacket over a plain white tee and dark pants. The black cap covered his currently silver hair, but you could still recognize it.

“Are you really going to turn away a customer?” He joked from the doorway.

You chuckled, “What are you doing here?”

“I actually finished up my schedule earlier today, so I thought I should walk you home,” Renjun said, trying to sound nonchalant as he scratched the back of his head. “It’s not safe to be alone at night, you know.”

Honestly, you were quite touched by his gesture. But you tried not to make it too obvious. “Thanks, Renjun. That’s so sweet of you.”

You quickly put away the mop and closed the shop so that you could walk out together. The two casually took turns listening to the other talk about their busy days of work and school. It felt refreshing, to have someone to vent to after a long day.

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked as you arrived at your apartment. It seemed rude not to offer him to come inside after he had been so kind to walk you home.

Renjun was already reading your mind when he shook his head no. That was how he found himself being led into your home, so you could make a late dinner for the both of you.

He watched in amazement as you prepared tteokbokki from scratch, carefully measuring and mixing the ingredients. He was used to making the pre-cooked one the guys would get from the store. But seeing you skillfully create this dish on your own, left him quite impressed.

You had to stifle a laugh when a low growl echoed from the boy’s stomach. Since you were close to being done, you beckoned him over to taste.

“Here, try this for me,” She instructed, raising the chopsticks to his mouth.

Renjun tried not to blush as he let you feed him. He chewed slowly, taking in the flavors from the spicy sauce and the softness of the rice cake. But he couldn’t help but think of the thoughtfulness behind your actions. Immediately sparks lit up, and his heart was pounding like a drum. 

Meanwhile, you nervously anticipated his reaction. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He began to reply, feeling jittery as his eyes locked with hers. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Then, before she could properly process what he said, Renjun leaned in to close the gap between them. Her eyes doubled in size when his soft lips came into contact with hers in a tender kiss. Just as she was about to respond, he pulled away with an almost petrified look.

“Oh my gosh, (Y/n)-ah…I’m so sorry,” He stepped back to apologize, running a hand through his hair in distress. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I should’ve asked fir—”

Afraid he’d continue his awkward rambling, you took it upon yourself to cut him off. You bravely pulled him by the collar of his jacket so your lips could meet once again. Though he was taken aback by your actions, Renjun instinctively closed his eyes and surrendered to the kiss. It felt so natural to cradle your face in his hands, while your fingers gently pressed against his back. The taste of each other’s lips and the warmth of his touch were overwhelming. Renjun couldn’t hold himself back from deepening the kiss.

Neither of you realized how much you had wanted this until it happened. Moments later, you pulled away gasping for air but with shaky smiles on your faces.

“So I take it you feel the same?” He asked, still breathing heavily.

Seeing the endearment in his eyes made you want to cry and laugh all at once. But for the sake of maintaining your sanity, you nodded shyly.

“I think I’m in love with you too, Huang Renjun.”

Those words were all he needed to hear for a wave of relief to finally wash over him. He pulled you into a tight embrace, thanking you for reciprocating his feelings. You could feel the thudding of his heart against your chest, as he held you close.

You spent the rest of the night together, eating tteokbokki and exchanging shy banter about this new step in your relationship. As the night wore on the both of them just knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful and exciting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #hrj #huang renjun #renjun x reader #renjun scenarios #renjun fluff #renjun fic #injunnie #kpop #nctzen #czennie