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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭 || (kinda)dark!javier peña x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || he's your dad's best friend, he's a narc, he's the guy you've been calling 'tio' most of your life... so he's not the guy you want to run into when you're out partying a little too hard.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 6.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || dubcon smut (18+ only; oral f receiving, unprotected sex, reader is under the influence and under duress), age gap (not specified but it's big lol but they are of course both adults), dad's best friend trope, pseudo incest (reader calls javi tio/uncle but they are not related), drug use, jealousy, unprotected sex, orgasm control, rough/aggressive sex, we're talking complete total and permanent gut rearrangement, crying during sex (from overstimulation not like, being sad), hair pulling, 'sir' kink (briefly), creampie, basically just a kinky filthy mess idk what else to say

The bass was so loud you could feel it in every part of you— like your own heartbeat, but everywhere. The throbbing music, the heat, the sweat; it was an overwhelming experience, even before you took the pill… but now, it was transcendent.

Everything was lit up in electric colors, neon pink and green blending together into some impossible color you couldn’t describe; the dancers around you had their arms raised in the air, jumping and swaying with the music, and it reminded you of the waves in the Caribbean Sea— you know, the ones you never had time to go see even though you lived just a few miles from the beach.

Frankly, you didn’t have time for this either: you should be studying for midterms, but the stress of college was becoming overwhelming and you were reaching a breaking point.

Or, maybe you already had, considering this was your coping method. It wasn’t your usual approach, but you hadn’t needed anything this drastic before. Maybe it was because you weren’t just escaping from the stress of school, but from the tension at home with your parents.

Perhaps what was most frustrating about that situation was that you were pretty sure they didn’t even realize how badly they were driving you insane… especially your dad. He didn’t see any problem with the fact that he tried to control every aspect of your life, regardless of your age. You could appreciate them not wanting you to do anything dangerous or harmful— you could even understand the whole ‘my house, my rules’ thing to an extent— but it went too goddamn far every day. You couldn’t go anywhere else without being questioned, yet you couldn’t exist at home without being criticized.

That was why you were here, and here, you weren’t being critiqued or belittled or micromanaged— actually, you were very… well-received, to put it lightly. You’d caught more than a few glances this evening, and now you were getting more than that: they were dancing with you, pressing against you… touching you.

It should’ve felt wrong, but you’d been craving approval of any kind, and the lascivious looks up and down from the guy in the indigo silk shirt felt like a compliment when you had a couple drinks in you.

A hand covered in gold rings groped your ass, and you hummed through a wide smile. He spoke into your ear, but even so close you couldn’t hear anything— it didn’t matter, anyways; you nodded, dazed. You figured the pill was enhancing, if not creating, whatever connection you felt with this stranger, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care how risky it was to go home with him, either, you just needed to feel tonight.

The voice in your ear mumbled something about how sexy you are, and you were about to melt into the arms of whoever it was— but then you heard another voice, just behind you. This voice was familiar; this voice spoke your name, and you turned around sharply.

"Tio!" you gasped as Javier glared down at you; you'd never felt so small in your life. He could do that so easily, but usually by giving you a big bear hug or calling you niña; this was a less pleasant method. “I— what are you—?”

“Work,” he answered shortly, yelling just to be heard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

No, you shouldn’t be anywhere that Javi was working, but you especially shouldn’t be here— a nightclub, known for wild hook-ups and party drugs. Dancing with guys. Wearing a dress you picked out specifically because you liked the way it showed off your… everything.

“What would your daddy think if he saw you like this?” he growled, grabbing you by the arm, and you whimpered but gave in to him— no point arguing, or denying anything, now.

He dragged you through the club, out the back where you could talk without the music drowning everything out. It was still loud until the metal door shut on its own behind you— and even still, you could hear the thumping of the bass, catch a few notes of the melody here and there, but you weren’t really focused on that with Javi giving you the glare of a lifetime.

“Never thought you were that kinda girl,” he frowned.

“I swear, I don’t usually do this, I just… I…”

“You what?” he snapped.

“Sorry, I…” you trailed off again. “Kinda out of it right now, and you’re so… that light’s really bright…” you complained as you squinted at the streetlight behind him.

He grabbed your face suddenly, forcing you to look up at him; you couldn’t believe how he could basically hold your entire face— and control your entire body— with one hand. He used his thumb and pointer finger to hold one of your eyes open wider; you winced and tried to move away, but he managed to get a decent enough look anyways.

“Are you fucking high?” he realized with a snarl.

“I— just one pill,” you whimpered.

“What was it?”

“I… I don’t know for sure…”

“Jesus,” he sneered, dropping your face and crossing his arms. He looked away from you, shaking his head, then put his hands on his hips in that disapproving way he did so well. “What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I just never get to do anything fun— don’t you need to be wild sometimes, do something a little misguided?”

“A little misguided— taking drugs from strangers, from men, letting them… touch you like that…” he shuddered as he said the last part.

You gulped, looking down at the ground. You were kind of hoping he hadn’t seen that, somehow…

Grabbing you by the arm again, he all but threw you in his truck; shrinking in the seat, feeling quite shy despite how you’d been acting just a few minutes ago, you watched him walk around the back in the mirror so he could get in the driver’s side.

There was silence as he started the truck and put an arm around your seat to back out of the alley, silence as he started to drive, silence as you went back and forth between looking over at him sheepishly and staring down at your hands in your lap.

But when you looked out the window at the passing scenery, you narrowed your eyes. "You're…not taking me home?" you realized.

"And give your dad a fuckin' heart attack, you coming home at this hour— dressed like that?"

Your heart sank with guilt.

"No, I'll figure out what to do with you later,” he decided. “I'm guessing you snuck out?"

"I… told him I was staying with a friend…"

"Then he must not be expecting you until morning. You can stay at my place."

"Thank you, Tio, I swear I don't usually do this, thank you so much—"

"Hey. I didn't say I wasn't gonna tell him the truth when I bring you back tomorrow."

You swallowed, glancing out the window as your eyes stung.

He sighed as he shut the door, and you sheepishly crossed one arm over your stomach to hold your elbow.

Last time you were in his apartment, it was for some dinner… thing… anyways, your parents were there, as were a bunch of other people they worked with, and you were sure the whole thing would be incredibly fucking boring. It was, for a while, until Javi broke away from the others to talk to you— and he made you laugh, he spared you all the dumb questions about how college was going and talked to you about real stuff: music, dreams, life. You always felt like you could talk to him about the things you could never talk to your parents about…

But you didn’t want to talk to him about this. Especially not when he put his hands on his hips and gave you that stern glare.

“What the hell did you think you were doin’ in a place like that—?” he began but you interrupted with a sigh.

“I’m sorry— I just needed a- a release! You know?” you tried to justify.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before he glanced away from you; you, meanwhile, looked down with shame. You never expected to feel so guilty for this— if anything, part of you had fantasized about your dad finding out just so you could tell him off in the argument, explain to him that it was his overbearing nature that drove you to something so risque. Of course, now that the likelihood of that argument actually occurring had skyrocketed, it didn’t sound so appealing. “Your dad’s gonna have a cow,” Javi warned you.

“I know! I know,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a second. “But I’m an adult! I should be able to do what I want!”

He scoffed a bit, and you frowned defensively. He obviously resented those times you referred to yourself as an adult— even if he couldn’t deny it, he always acted like it didn’t really count. You weren’t a ‘real adult’ yet in his eyes, still being in college and a bit starry-eyed according to some, and that always bothered you. It’s not that you thought you really had it all figured it out at this age, it’s just that you wanted more respect and more acknowledgement of your efforts.

The look on Javi’s face made you pretty confident you wouldn’t be getting much of that tonight. "Just don't tell him, okay? Please, Tio…"

"I won't tell your old man what you're up to," he promised, and you sighed. "But you need to."

"I— I can't," you whimpered, "he'll lose his shit! You know how protective he is…"

"Clearly he's got a good reason!" Javi snapped, and you spun around— you couldn't look at him now, not after he saw you like that.

"He's gonna kill me," you whimpered, defeated.

He stepped up behind you, wrapping one arm over your chest and holding your shoulder. “S’gonna be okay, sweetie…” he mumbled to you. “He’s not gonna kill you— he loves you."

"But he thinks I'm still a little kid," you explained with a pout.

"He can't help that," Javi laughed softly, kissing the side of your head. "You're grown up now, but you're still his little girl…"

You smiled a bit. "You really think I'm grown up?" you asked weakly.

"Yeah," he assured, "not sure how it happened, but you are— still young, of course."

You laughed a bit, relaxing in his embrace, soothed by the familiar smell of his aftershave and his strong hand rubbing your shoulder. Without either of you saying anything, the air somehow shifted… perhaps because of the way he moved his head, and you could tell that he was looking down at you. Perhaps because he let out a long sigh through his nose that fanned over the top of your head.

His voice was as low as a whisper when he spoke again. "Can't believe how grown up you look dressed like that…"

The fingers of his free hand traced over your thigh, even starting to move inwards, and out of both nervousness and ticklishness you clamped your legs together.

"Aww, don't be shy now," he pouted. "You'll be a whore for all those guys but you're playing innocent with me? Don't even try it, baby, I know what you want…"

You sighed out a long, shaky breath as you relaxed your legs so he could reach between them. It didn't really feel real, especially when you shut your eyes— then it could be anyone touching you.

"I know what this sweet little body needs," he continued, almost whispering as he spoke in your ear, making it impossible to forget it was Javi behind you. "Those little boys can't take care of you… need a real man to treat you right."

"Tio," you gasped as one finger just barely brushed over your panties, "d-don't—"

"Don't what, sweetie?"

"Don't… touch me like that," you breathed. "It's wrong…"

"But you like it so much," he noticed with a smile right beside your ear. "You like the way Uncle Javi is touching you— you like all this attention from your Tio, huh?"

Too afraid to respond to that, you shut your eyes tight as you felt him rub you through your panties more firmly, pulling up the bottom of your dress enough to expose the white cotton covering you.

“Still a good girl underneath your slutty outfit,” he smirked.

“What— what are you do—?” you began to breathe out, until he ran the blunt edge of his fingernail over the seam of your lips through the fabric— when he traced over your clit, your whole body jolted.

“Oh, babygirl,” he cooed, “you know what I’m doing. Say it.”

“You’re… touching me…” you panted out, rocking your hips as he began to rub slow circles against your panties— each with more pressure than the last.

“Where?” he prompted, his voice rough and echoing against the curve of your neck, which he began to kiss passionately a moment later just to make it that much harder for you to speak.

“My… fuck, my pussy!” you managed to get out, and he groaned with pride as his teeth brushed against your pulse.

He suddenly let you go and spun you around, pressing you to the wall and then pressing himself to you in turn. The hard bulge against your hip made your walls throb, but his face made your heart drop— you couldn’t forget it was him, and it felt so fucked up knowing he had just done that to you. You opened your mouth to tell him this couldn’t happen, that it had already gone too far, that you needed to somehow forget this ever happened.

But no words came out; they couldn’t, when he delicately lifted your chin so you had to stare right at the darkness in his eyes.

He moved closer, closer, until instinct forced your hands to jump up to his chest— god his chest, it was so firm and tanned and you swore you could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt— and stopped him from kissing you. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

What kind of dumbass question was that?! What’s the matter? Your Tio Javi, your dad’s best friend since forever, the guy who bought you your first bike and taught you how to whistle— that guy, calling you a whore and kissing your neck and touching you down there?! God, you knew you were messed up over this because you were mentally referring to your equipment as down there, like you were a little kid again.

But by god, you were not a little kid. Clearly, he knew that better than you thought he did. But you couldn’t believe this was really happening— it felt like a dream, but too terribly real.

What’s the matter, he asks, like you couldn’t spend all night listing everything wrong about this. You only gave him one reason aloud, though: “My dad will kill me.”

He smirked, a short laugh coming more out of his nose than his mouth. “Only if he finds out,” he replied. “Are you gonna tell on me, niña?”

Though very little, you shook your head.

“Are you gonna tell him that I brought you here and touched you like that?” he continued, voice lower and rougher, fingers dancing over your hip again. “Are you gonna tell your daddy how you got on your knees for me, let me fuck you like a whore, creamed on my cock over… and over…”

You shuddered as he left the softest trail of kisses up your neck.

“...and screamed my name until you lost your voice?”

"Fuck," you sighed, melting into his arms as he held you at your waist— his hands were so big that you felt especially delicate when he held you. "Javi, we… we shouldn't…"

"But you want to so bad, sweetie," he noticed with a fake pout. "You're a half-second from begging me to teach you how grown-ups fuck, I can tell."

Your thighs clenched together and he smirked.

"Just kiss me," he encouraged softly, lifting your chin with his fingers. "Just kiss me, baby, and I'll show you. I'll give you whatever you want."

You hesitated, looking up at his warm brown eyes, admiring his face and lingering over his lips… they did look perfectly kissable…

Shutting your eyes, you leaned forward and kissed him; instantly, he turned it from an innocent peck to a hungry gnashing of lips and teeth, his tongue dominating your mouth and muffling your moans.

His hands ran all over you and he started to guide you to walk with him— he turned you both and walked backwards down the hallway, dragging you until you toppled into his bed together.

"Lay back, baby," he instructed as he climbed over you, "your Tio's gonna make you feel so fucking good, sweetie… gonna fuck you like you need, I promise."

He sat up, almost making you want to chase for more of that kiss, but he reached up under your dress and pulled your soaked panties down your legs.

"Oh my god, look at this cute little pussy," he purred, spreading your lips apart and tracing up the seam of your cunt to find your bud. He traced it gently with his thumb— even the softest, slowest circles over it made you shiver and whine. "Sensitive, too. Poor baby, need me that bad?"

He crouched down lower, and you whimpered with anticipation. "Javi…" you mumbled nervously.

Before he even put his mouth on you, he leaned in close and took a deep breath through his nose. "Smells fuckin' perfect," he grunted, and you moaned just because he said that. "Can't wait to taste you, niña, been waiting too long…"

You wanted to ask if he'd been waiting longer than just tonight, but you were distracted by the wet, sloppy kiss he gave you, right on your aching clit. Instantly your back arched and your mouth fell open into a silent scream.

He was painfully, infuriatingly good at this— like second nature, he just looked up at you and watched while his tongue traced your clit exactly how you needed. You could just tell he did this all the time, that he had made his fair share of women scream and sob and beg with that tongue; you writhed and whimpered, shutting your eyes tight so you wouldn't have to see him looking up at you anymore.

He devoured you with wide, hungry licks, his mouth overwhelming you and his nose poking at the apex of your mound. You could feel his long sigh fan over your sensitive skin when he kept his mouth wide open, lapping at you desperately; you’d never seen him this… lacking in composure. This animalistic. It made you feel hot all over.

Maybe the only thing more embarrassing than how quickly you barrelled towards your peak was how easily he recognized it.

"Wanna come, baby?"

He only broke away from you just long enough to groan it out, and then he was right back to making you squirm and sob. "Yes, fuck, please!"

"Beg," he ordered, muffled by your clit in his mouth, eating away at you mercilessly.

"Fuck, Javi— please make me come with your— with your tongue, I— I've never come from that before, fuck it feels really good… please…"

He hummed around you, suckling harder at your throbbing bud.

"Oh— f-fuck, I wanna— please," you choked, "I'm so close…"

You felt him smile, and then you felt him do this thing with his tongue that made your thighs quiver around his head.

"Please, can I?" you whimpered.

He pulled away, but you could still feel his breath fanning over you and it made your walls tense up. "I like you asking for permission," he praised, "do it again."

"Please let me come," you groaned, arching your back when he latched onto you again. "I'm so close, just don't stop, please don't fucking stop—"

He didn't, which you took as permission— not that it really mattered since it was inevitable now with or without his blessing— and you shut your eyes tight as the electric feeling danced all over your body. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you only caught one more glimpse of him staring up at you with a scalding heat in his eyes.

Instantly it became too much, the sensations his tongue delivered to your clit painfully forcing your whole body to spasm. Gasping, you grabbed at his hair and sputtered out: “Stop, stopstopstop—”

He broke away and dropped your hips back down onto the bed, his smile glistening with your come. An instant later he sat up to start opening his belt, that grin turning suddenly into a snarl. You looked up at him with wide eyes, still trying to catch your breath, dizzy even as you just laid there watching him lick your wetness off his lips. “Need to fuck you,” he said, simple as that.

You still couldn’t really believe this was happening; the effects of the pill were mostly faded, but this felt like some bizarre dream anyways. Seeing him like this was just beyond surreal.

“Flip over— hands and knees,” he instructed firmly while he unbuttoned his jeans. You wanted to remind him that this was insanely wrong, that you thought of him like family and thought he saw you the same way— but then you remembered that what you’d done tonight was wrong too, and that he was your only hope of getting away with it and avoiding being locked in your room for the rest of your life.

"Shouldn't you… shouldn't we use a condom?" you suggested softly, and he smirked a little.

"We don't need that," he assured.

Doing as you were told, though it took some effort on shaky legs, you stared down at Javi’s bed under you— you’d seen it before, even slept in it before (though when that happened, he always took the couch), but it felt incredibly different now.

Speaking of things that felt incredibly different: getting fucked by your tio. He held your hips and pushed his cock into you, and you whimpered loudly as the stretch challenged you right from the start. You heard a soft moan from behind you, a needier sound than you expected from him, but it was drowned out quickly by your own cry as he buried himself in you completely. “Mm,” he hummed, fingers digging deeper into the plush of your ass as he stayed still for just a moment. “That’s good…”

Shivering, even though you were hot enough to sweat, you hid your face with a quiet whine right as he started to thrust— with a lot less patience than you expected.

"You're not embarrassed, are you?" he wondered, petting the back of your head as if trying to coax you out of the pillows. "Actin' all shy… what have you got to be shy about? Getting fucked on all fours like a slut, the fuck you acting innocent for now?"

"Please just slow down—" you gasped, reaching back behind yourself to try to grab his thigh.

"Hell fucking no, this is what you wanted," he groaned.

Whining, tears stung your eyes and you just tried to hold onto the bunches of his sheets in your fists.

"Wanted me for a while, didn't you? Dressing up all sexy when I came over for dinner, showing off how much you've grown… didn't even wear a bra, I could see your tits getting hard, wondered if it was because you were turned on. Turned on by your Tio…"

You weren't blind, you knew Javier was attractive, and you knew he did well with women— but you honest to God never thought about him like that. He was just your Tio Javi.

And now he was pushing you down between your shoulder blades to shove your face into the bed. Whimpering, you gave in, but the angle forced his cock even deeper and made you arch your back up with a yelp. "Shh shh, no baby, need to take it all," he scolded you softly as he pushed your back down. "Need to keep that ass up for me— show Tio that ass, good girl…"

It was hard to stay like this when it meant letting his cock hit way too deep— it hurt, and you sobbed with every thrust. "Please, s'too much, I need a break—"

"A break? We just started," he laughed. "You can get a break after I come, but you're gonna be in this bed all night showin' me why I should keep your secret."

"God, you're just so deep," you whined, "it hurts…"

"Yeah, but it feels good too, doesn't it?"

Even though you somehow felt guilty, you nodded.

"Yeah," he encouraged again, "you like getting fucked like this, baby. Never had your whole pussy used? Never had a cock this deep?"

So deep that it shot up your spine and made the back of your eyes burn? No, you'd never felt this before; you sobbed with pleasure, already totally overwhelmed.

He grunted as he increased his pace, already picking up speed each time his hips collided with yours; the bed was creaking a bit, too.

"Fuck," you gasped, toes curling. His cock’s fat head was pressing into something so painfully deep inside you, and just as much as it made you want to beg him to give you a little mercy, it made you feel like screaming for more and praying this could never end.

You heard him grunt as he fucked you even faster; he must have heard you sniffling, in turn, tears falling from your eyes near-silently as the pleasure overwhelmed your body. "What are you crying for? Never had a big dick like this, huh?" he chuckled. "Then just say so."

"I never… I-I've never had a… a dick this big before…"

"Mm," he hummed with approval, grabbing a handful of your ass and tilting his head so he could get a better view of his cock plunging into your hole. "Never been stretched out like this? That's too bad, I can tell you fuckin' needed it. Went out tonight cause you needed some dick, huh? Well you got more than you bargained for, honey, it's too much for this little pussy isn't it?"

"Yes!" you sobbed.

"Can't take all this?"

"Yes, Tio, please—"

"Don't tell me to slow down again," he warned. “I know what you need, sweetie.”

He grabbed you by your hair and forced your head back. "Ow!" you yelped instinctively. "Fuck, Javi!"

"Act like a slut and you're gonna get fucked like one," he reminded you, a frustrated sigh falling from his mouth. His pace quickened once more, thrusts coming faster until the sound of his hips and thighs smacking against your ass filled the room.

"I'm sorry," you choked, "I'm sorry, okay?"

"For what?"

"D-doing drugs," you listed, "going to clubs— acting like a s-slut…"

"Fuck," he grunted, "it's okay, baby, I'm gonna— god— gonna make it all better… gonna teach you how to be my good girl, okay?”

You whimpered as you nodded. “Please…”

Another tug on your hair made you whine and arch your back, letting yourself go a bit more limp in his grip as each thrust rocked your body. “First,” he began, “you need some discipline.”

The hand on your hip let go to give you a sudden spank on your ass; you yelped and jolted, the pain somehow only adding to your pleasure a second after the initial sting had faded.

“Your daddy never gave you enough of that— discipline,” Javi chuckled, “I warned him he was gonna spoil you. Guess I was right, look at you now?”

He smacked your ass again, hard enough that you cried loudly— probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear. That thought made your face burn with embarrassment. Anyone who shared a wall with Javi had probably heard his bed partners before, heard women screaming his name— why did that thought make you feel sick and sad and empty?

Of course, you were anything but empty, you were full to the brim and it felt like he might split you in half each time he pressed his hips to yours. “Once you get some discipline,” he continued, “you need to start doin’ what you’re told.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you choked out. You almost screamed when the hand that had been holding your hip slipped down to search between your legs; he grunted a bit as he roughly found your clit and rubbed it in fast circles.

“Then you need to learn some manners,” he continued, “like sayin’ thank you when I touch this pretty pussy for you.”

“Thank you,” you blurted out, your voice hoarse and wobbly— even weaker than you felt. Your hips were instinctively trying to buck away, running from the amount of raw sensation forced upon you, but you were trapped by the strength of his arm.

All at once it all changed: he slowed his pace, though he went just as deep if not deeper with each movement; he leaned down and pressed his chest to your bare and sweaty back, putting his lips against your ear; he kept touching your clit, but the circles were slower, smoother… sweeter. “S’that better, sweetie?” he whispered roughly. “Is that how you need it?”

Biting your quivering lip, you nodded; you fought another wave of tears that burned at the back of your eyes, but you were less embarrassed to cry now than you thought you would be. You’d cried in front of Javi before, plenty of times— skinned knees, dumb boyfriends, failed tests, he’d been around for plenty of that. Obviously, this was much more vulnerable than anything that had come before, and yet it felt bizarrely natural… he pulled out this side of you so easily, a side you didn’t even know existed.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed at you gently, kissing the curve of your jaw, and you finally stopped trying to stop yourself from shaking (it wasn’t working anyways). “So good for me…”

Everything was so blurry now, you barely even noticed him guiding you to lay down and roll over: you just noticed him pulling out, and pouted a little as if you actually thought he might just stop completely for no reason.

Noticing your displeasure, he smirked proudly. "Just wanna see that pretty face, sweetie," he soothed. But when he pushed back in, the new position made everything feel new— and, somehow, even more perfect.

"Fuck, Javi, s'really deep…" you mumbled, though it was deep in a different way than before— not as painful, yet even more mind-numbing.

"Uh huh?" he taunted. "Never had somebody fuck you right, baby?”

You shook your head. You had no idea it could be like this— you thought it was normal not to come, for the guy to jackhammer for a few minutes and leave. You didn't even know you could make noises like this…

"Say it again," he encouraged with a moan, watching your face intently.

"It's really… really deep…" you breathed, legs shaking as he held your hips down and tried to get even deeper; he started to grind up against you to force every last millimeter inside, roughly rubbing his pubic bone on your sore clit.

You squealed, barely able to take all this sensation, and he flared his nostrils. "What's really deep?"

"Your cock," you clarified.

"Whose cock?" he taunted.

"Yours, Javi, fuck! Stop asking me questions when I can barely fucking think!" you whined, and he laughed as he returned to his original motions.

“Just one more,” he promised. “Gonna come for me, niña?”

“Yes, yes,” you admitted through a choked sob.

He leaned down, blanketing his body over yours. "Call me Tio when I make you come," he whispered his demand in your ear, and you shuddered.

Each thrust was faster than the last, harder too, and you sobbed as heavy pulses of pleasure took control of your body. "I'm so close, I'm so fucking close," you panted, unable to speak above a whisper.

"I know, I know," he soothed, kissing your face with more tenderness than you expected or felt you deserved.

"I— please—"

"Shh, you're doing so good…"

It all collapsed at once. "I'm— fuck, I'm coming! Tio, I'm coming!"

He growled and latched his lips onto your neck, fucking you through it; your pussy pulsed in an erratic pattern, a new slickness coating him and running down your thighs. You would've been self-conscious about staining his bed if you had any room in your brain for it— but you couldn't think about anything, you even forgot to breathe for a couple seconds. "Good girl," he groaned, "coming nice and hard for me. Good fucking girl."

Suddenly, your arms wrapped around his shoulders— his broad, heavy shoulders, barely damp with sweat— and your shaking fingers dug into his skin. You hugged him tightly, maybe to keep yourself grounded as convulsions rocked through you, maybe for a little comfort through such an excruciatingly ecstatic sort of feeling.

When it all seemed to gather right in your gut, it finally slowed down and you went all but limp under him— though your arms stayed draped over his neck.

"Fuck, Javi," you moaned lowly, his thrusts faster and less even as he looked down at you with an exhausted smile of his own.

"Fuck, I wanted to make you come again," he admitted, "but I can't last much longer— you're too fuckin' tight, baby, little pussy's too fuckin' good, gonna make me come…"

"Please," you whined, partially out of submission and acceptance of your desire to make him come, partially out of excitement for a chance to breathe after he finished.

"Gonna come inside you," he warned suddenly, and you gasped.

"Wait, pull out," you pleaded, a small bit of your sanity coming back as the height of your pleasure had passed, "come on my face o-or something…"

He grinned when you said that, and you sort of regretted it. "That's cute," he decided, "but I wanna fill this pussy— see you nice and stuffed with my come— and I know you want that too, baby…"

You whined, hating how right he was, but you panted as you tried not to let the pleasure completely override your logical reasoning. "But I'm not— I don't—"

"I'll get you a pill in the morning," he promised, his voice rough and needy as he fucked you even faster— he hissed in his breaths through his teeth, almost snarling at you. "Fuck, I'm so close— tell me who owns this pussy now, princess."

"Yours, Javi, it's yours," you sobbed, hating how true that really was. "Yours to fill— you can come inside me, Tio, nobody's ever…"

You didn't even finish the thought, and he moaned as his grip on your hip tightened. He seemed pleased by the fact that you'd never been creampied before, even more excited to empty himself into you. "Beg," he ordered.

"I— I want you to come," you blurted out, not really sure what you were doing and struggling to put a thought together anyways. "Please, I want… want it inside—"

"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck," he rushed, and a moment later he stopped as deep as he could go, letting you feel every pulse as he filled you.

You gasped, almost wanting to squirm away out of instinct and try to stop him from filling you, but he held you down and kept you helpless.

"God, yes," he moaned in a breath, grunting as he started to grind his hips on yours to get himself that slightest fraction of an inch deeper.

He let his weight relax onto you and though it made it tricky to breathe, you just accepted it, finally shutting your exhausted eyes.

You were probably more than half of the way to sleep when he brought you back to reality by carefully rolling off of you; you winced as he pulled out, first from the soreness and then from the gush of sticky heat you felt coming out a moment later…

Javi stayed on his side, propped up on one bent elbow, and looked down at what you could only assume was a completely gaping pussy— and all his come leaking out.

He swiped two fingers through the mess he'd made, letting them linger on your throbbing clit until your hips jolted away; smiling, he brought the fingers to his lips and tasted his own come from your hole. "Fuck, Javi," you sighed, taken aback by the erotic, sudden gesture.

"You wanna taste too, princess?" he smirked, moving his fingers back to your pussy— but this time he didn't just scoop up what was leaking out. No, he suddenly slid two fingers into your incredibly sore cunt, making you wince from the sting and watching your face carefully with a sigh.

When he pulled his fingers out, after twisting them around inside you for a moment, they were coated in both of you. His free hand held your chin and tilted your mouth how he wanted it, guiding you to take both his fingers onto your tongue.

"Lick it off— good girl, like that…"

His praise made your exhausted walls clench just one more time.

"Taste how good we are together, baby?" he cooed. "You did so good for me… I haven't come like that in a long time."

I haven't come like that ever, you wanted to reply, but your mouth was full. When his fingers were cleaned off, he laid down beside you and wrapped you up in his arms. The strangeness of it hit you again: you, him, naked in bed… you still couldn't quite believe it was real.

"How much sleep do you need before you can go again?"

You widened your eyes and looked at him, amazed to see that he clearly wasn't joking. "Again? Javi, I'm gonna be sore for weeks already—"

"You're young, you can bounce right back," he promised, "I bet in a couple hours your pussy's gonna be even tighter than it was when we started."

You bit your lip. "I guess I can— I mean, maybe one more time, if you let me sleep a little first…"

He smiled and kissed your head, making you sigh and hide your face in his neck. He smelled the same, that's what was so weird— he smelled like he always had, the same aftershave as you remembered from all those years ago, and now you were naked and sore and used. "Okay, sweetie, get some sleep," he offered. "I'll wake you up when I'm ready to give you another load— I bet you're gonna like the way I wake you up, too."

As he chuckled lowly, kissing your neck right by your ear, you shut your eyes and tried to ignore how bizarre this was so you could rest.

His fingers gently tickled your thigh, tracing random shapes that left goosebumps behind, and whispered praises in your ear to lull you to sleep. "That's my good girl," his low, gentle voice blended in with the growing darkness of slumber.

Even mostly asleep and exhausted like you'd never been before, you got the sense that being his good girl was on ordeal that lasted more than just one night. In fact, you hoped it did.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #javier pena dark fic #dark!javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

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maiiiwrites · 9 months

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★ | ATTENTION STUDENTS . JPEG

PAIRING ! theodore nott x f!reader

IN WHICH your arrival at hogwarts is stirring up trouble

you roamed the halls of hogwarts. feeling overwhelmed in a good way. no words are enough to explain how happy you are to finally be here. the transfer process took so long and stressed everyone who handled it. thankfully your parents assigned someone to do the papers for you.

your arrival at hogwarts mid term grabbed everyone's attention. everyone had questions and wasn't exactly quiet about their theories. they wanted to know who, what, where, why you we're here.

"a new student? in the middle of the term?"

"how odd is that?"

"look there she is, the new student"

you continued walking, not bothering to acknowledge the students trying to get your attention. you were only looking forward to one person. in that exact moment, your eyes finally met for the first time in months. you couldn't mask your excitement from that interaction alone.

theodore didn't expect a new student, much less his lovely girlfriend. his gaze softened and a small smile managed to slip through.

two souls finally feeling each others presence after being apart for too long

that's how it went for the next few days. just simple little glances and the occasional exchange of letters. much to theodore's dismay, his subtle actions of affection did not go unnoticed by the group.

blaise was particularly nosey about his relationship with you. he was always the one who caught onto the small smiles across the hall, playing on the thread bracelet on his wrist, and the hidden love letters in his desk drawer.

"sooo.. theodore what's up with you and the new gal," blaise not so subtly asked during breakfast.

theodore perked at the mention of you, "nothing."

"oh come on there's obviously something! at least give me a hint," blaise continued.

"sure. here's a hint, im not telling you."

theodore knew there was no escaping this. they're bound to find out sooner or later. for now, the plan was to stay silent and leave loose ends. leave them curious for a while, but his fool proof plan came crashing down the moment you walked in the great hall.

you smiled at your friends seated at the table. looking forward to having your stomach filled. however, boys surrounded you with gifts and letters before you could even settle down.

you attempted to slip away but they were simply too much. feeling more crowded by the passing second. theodore didn't like how crowded you seemed. the obvious panic on your features was his last straw.

he abruptly stood up from his seat and walked towards you. leaving his friends intrigued by the sudden outburst.

theodore easily made his way to you and wrapped his arms around your middle. the action catching you by surprise until realizing its just theo. your theo.

"everyone back off! you're making my girl feel uncomfortable,"

the whole hall went silent at the confession. the crowd of boys slowly disappeared heartbroken and taken aback from theodore's claim. leaving his act of affection on display for everyone to see.

you turn around facing theodore. finally seeing him up close since your arrival.

"is it just me or you got prettier since the last time i saw you?" you teased.

theodore rolled his eyes and kissed the corner of your lips. "you've been causing a lot of trouble lately," theodore hummed.

you gasp, faking offense by his words. "are you accusing your sweet girlfriend?"

he laughed at your silly antics and hugged you tighter. "never, trouble."

you smiled hearing your special nickname.

"i love you and all but your friends are burning holes through my head," you point, particularly at blaise. theodore finally realized you're both (still) in the middle of the great hall wrapped in each others arms.

he chuckled finding the entire situation funny. theodore finally let you go and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "i better go back, trouble."

"does this mean we can visit each other now.." you beamed.

who has he to deny your love and attention. "always."

#www.iloveharrypotter.com #. * ᕀ my blurbs ° .#harry potter #harry potter x reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fluff

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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 3 months

Text

Hold On & Don't Let Go - LN

Request: Can I please request some Lando fluff of the reader going to Perth with Lando and is good friends with Daniel and they go motorbike riding and Lando is scared she’s going to hurt herself because she has a reputation of being clumsy. Thanks :)

Y/n had managed to get a concussion in their ski trip before Christmas by falling off the railing of the chalet balcony. Her hands and knees are still scabby from falling on some steps in Bali. So when Daniel suggested they go dirt biking.

Lando's heart dropped at the sight of sheer excitement on y/n's face.

She loves getting to explore and try new things.

"Y/n..." Lando states with a tone she knows all too well at this point. "You can't even ride a bike."

"I can ride a moped." Y/n pouts but that doesn't exactly support her argument. Last time she rode a moped, she landed herself in a canal. "Please, just one go?"

"Come on, Lan. She can handle it." Daniel laughs grabbing Lando's shoulders and giving him a shake of reassurance.

Really Daniel more than anyone knows of Lando's protectiveness for y/n, since he was the younger man's teammate when the relationship started.

"Please?" Y/n pouts before he sighs and nods making her beam and kiss him quickly. "Let's go!"

Y/n tightly takes his hand and begins to tug him towards the gear that they need to wear.

"Alright, but you are not getting on that bike till you are as padded up as can be and actually know what you're doing." Lando states grabbing a helmet and plopping it down on her head.

Lando seems to find every possibly form of extra padding while she shoots looks at Daniel and Martin who are both giggling at Lando's excessive covering of his girlfriend. It's not really unnecessary, they have both witnessed her.

Daniel watched her managed to roll backwards out of a moving golf cart going around the paddock at 10 mph. So he gets why Lando wants her to be slightly more protected during her time on a dirt bike.

"Lan...I'll be ok." Y/n smiles from under her helmet.

"I don't want you to get hurt." Lando sighs while properly clipping the helmet in place. "Does it feel secure? Not moving around too much?"

"I'm set. Please can you get ready?"

Y/n is a little less than impressed that her boyfriend has made her look like she's about to go into a bomb site while he is wearing shorts and a helmet.

"Really?" Y/n pouts while Lando looks at her.

"You are prone to injury even when we're not doing extreme sports."

"12 year old boys go dirt biking. It's not extreme."

"It is for you." Lando smiles then pulling her close. "It's for me more than it's for you...please?"

"Fine. But only because I know if I take one thing off then you'll not let me even try to step foot near one of those bikes." Y/n sighs softly before she tilts her head looking at him. "So you're ready...I'm ready...Daniel, Martin, you guys ready?"

They do all get moving towards the bikes. Daniel talks y/n through it and there's a visible moment that y/n almost looks scared, and Lando know because he's watching her instead of watching the Australian talk them through.

Lando loves Valentino Rossi, he's been on bikes before. But his girlfriend is definitely trying to listen and think of ways that she can possibly avoid the injuries that Lando is justifiably scared of her having.

Martin and Lando go first, shortly followed by Daniel while Lando talks y/n through on the second bike.

"You think you got it?" Lando questions after triple checking she knows the brakes. Clearly the most important one for if she wants to stop. "Baby, I can't stress this enough. Shout if you need help, ok?"

"Ok." Y/n nods admittedly feeling an anxiety begin to build.

"Alright, are you ready?" Lando asks earning a nod.

Lando honestly holds his breath as he watches Daniel help her get the engine on and give her a thumbs up before she jumps forward then stopping a little making Lando suck in a breath. He's letting Daniel take the lead with guiding and helping her just because he doesn't think he can do it without instantly wanting to just drag her off the bike.

Eventually she starts moving again and to Lando's relief she's managed to keep balance so she doesn't slam into the ground like she did when he tried to teach her to ride a bike.

She does go significantly slower than they had, clearly nervous about her own reputation and bad luck even just in the past couple weeks. Though Lando feels a bit of guilt knowing he definitely contributed towards her fears.

"She's alright, mate she's got this." Martin assures the brunette who is watching looking like he's almost in pain. "She's having fun."

Y/n goes around a couple times slowly getting faster before finally coming to a stop next to them, managing to make getting off the bike the moment she trips trying to throw her foot over the bike to rush to Lando. Thankfully all the padding does the perfect job of protecting her.

"Alright, well maybe I should be happy that's the moment you hit the deck." Lando laughs pulling her back up almost as quickly as she had fell. "So dirt biking? Something you want to take up?"

"Um...maybe? But I think I was a bit slow." Y/n laughs as Martin and Daniel take off again, giving the couple a moment in each other's company.

"You picked up the pace."

"Well I tried. It felt a bit wobbly when I was going slow." Y/n shrugs before Lando reaches under her chin and pulls the helmet up off her head. "Can I take all this stuff off now?"

"Do you not want to go back on?" Lando asks softly with a frown. "Don't let me ruin it for you, baby."

"No. I...I didn't like it that much. Not like I did with the jet skis." Y/n mumbles shaking her head then feeling his other hand come up to cup her face, kissing her softly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think not being able to ride a bit did work against me a bit."

"Why don't you come on the bike with me? You might have to hold on and not let go, but that way I know you're safe and you can just keep hold of me."

"Can two people even fit on them?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine." Lando nods kissing her again. "You're not sitting out on this one after only one go around."

Y/n does perk up at the idea of being with Lando on the bike. After all she trusts his ability to drive much more than her own. She's had far too many bumps while driving the have led to her having to pay for the repairs of other peoples cars and even written her off from a no claims bonus on insurance.

After getting her helmet back on, Daniel returns to them giving Lando a chance on the bike and actually helping y/n onto the bike behind the McLaren driver before he waits for her to give him the ok to let him know she feels she's securely holding onto him and doesn't feel at risk of falling.

He does go around some of the small dirt hills a little slower, but quickly picks up the pace and feels her helmet almost digging into his back while her arms have tightened around him to a crippling degree. Though he's laughing and yelling as he rides around.

When they come to a stop, she waits for him to climb off before he helps her.

"How was that?"

"Not for me." Y/n murmurs looking almost ill before Lando laughs and hugs her tightly.

"Ok, jet ski is a yes. Dirt bike is a no." Lando nods helping her out the helmet again. "At least you gave it a go. And it's one less hobby you might want to take up that I have to worry about landing you in the closest A&E."

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chalametluvrz · 1 month

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dating timothee chalamet

timothee x afab!reader (mainly gn! expect on nsfw bits)

towards the start of the relationship, i think he'd be pretty anxious

he'd often find himself messing around with his hands a lot on dates

or stumbling over his words a little too much with a small giggle

if you've ever seen old interviews of him when he was younger. you know the ones where he gets all shy and giggly? that's exactly how i envision him to be with you

after some time, that's slowly replaced with his hyperactive ass

and let me tell you, boy never shuts the fuck up that's not a bad thing

because of his schedule, he rarely gets to see you in person

so whenever he does, he just has so much to tell you and so much to talk about that he just ends up coming out with a cluster-fuck of words

he always tries to facetime you at least a couple times a week

and let me tell you, the call will always start with him saying 'oh, i missed your pretty face' or 'seeing you has made my day'

boy is madly in love

and even though he hasn't said it yet, it's fairly obvious he's not hiding anything

he's the kind of person to want to keep your relationship on the down low

because if you're also famous, he wouldn't want to cause any issues or drama through tabloids

and if you aren't, he'd feel awful dragging you into the world of hollywood

eventually though, as most celeb relationships do, you got found out

someone caught you out on your 6 months anniversary

and that was it; twitter was going mental

timothee soon figured out that he probably had to say something

but honestly, he was kind of relieved he didn't have to hide you anymore

the morning you two woke up and saw yourselves going viral on twitter, there was a bit of a mad scramble between the two of you

before eventually, timothee chilled out

'but now i don't need to hide we're together, anymore. i can let the world know you're mine.' he'd say to your confusion at his relaxed state

cute but also now all of timmy's fans are stalking your instagram

cooking meals together!!!

i have a feeling timothee's love languages are more tailored towards physical touch and acts of service tell me im wrong

so cooking together is such a beautiful thing for him

as much as timothee loves taking you out, i think he'd much prefer to cook a fancy pasta dish together with wine over that any day

he also strikes me as a cosy movie date guy

but honestly, it more than likely turns into something else

don't fight me on his, he's a horny guy

like bro would get a hard-on just snuggling with you

when you first started dating, he'd get all shy about it

he'd apologise frantically and his face would be redder than ever

after dating for some time, he'd be less phased

unless you showed and expressed discomfort with it of course

after the shock of you dating slowly weaved out of the fans

timothee would definitely start posting you on his instagram

he just needed the world to know how obsessed he is with you

arguments are rare

extremely rare

they usually only happen when timothee is stressed

feelings get heated and you end up making some snippy comments at each other before one of you gets up and leaves the room

after you've both had time to cool down, you're both mature enough to talk it out and apologise for whatever each of you or one of you has done

communication is a big thing for timmy, so i think arguments are heavily avoided because he encourages you to come to him about anything

any concerns, rants and problems you have, he wants to know

he's a flirter, let me tell you that thankfully not with others

always dazzling you with compliments

you're in the crowd at a press tour? he's staring, smirking and winking at you the whole time

you're supporting him whilst he's on set? the man can't take his eyes off you and is coming to hold you the second the shot is taken

you're on facetime? every odd sentence is him saying some suggestive comment or simply how stunning you are

the man cannot get enough of you

going back to the horny thing...

he has a high sex drive

there's absolutely no doubt about it

he is a giver!!! the man aims to please!!!

could eat you out for days

i've already made a headcanon about him eating you out so i will be brief BUT!!!

he's messy!!! the wetter the better!!!

will overstimulate you with hid tongue any day

and then make sure you cum on his cock as well

you know what they say about tall, skinny boys? wink wink

i'd say he's a good 7 inches, 7 1/2 at a push

he knows how to please you, and he's eager to learn what makes you tick

even though he's mainly a dom, i can see him being a sub at times

only on rare assurances though

being his date to things like the met gala, oscars etc

after being open about your relationship, he couldn't wait to take you everywhere and anywhere with him

loves it when you wear his clothes

but i feel like all boys do?

especially when he's away, opening up a facetime call to see you sat there in one of his t-shirts. he actually thinks his heart might implode.

this boy will actually love you with his whole heart

the cutest, softest and proudest boyfriend around fr

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet headcanon #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet scenario #timothee chalamet drabble #laurie laurence #paul atreides #willy wonka #lee bones and all #little women #dune #wonka #headcanons #imagine #smut #drabble

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reasonsforhope · 13 days

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Flint, Michigan, has one of the [United States]'s highest rates of child poverty — something that got a lot of attention during the city's lead water crisis a decade ago. And a pediatrician who helped expose that lead problem has now launched a first-of-its-kind move to tackle poverty: giving every new mother $7,500 in cash aid over a year.

A baby's first year is crucial for development. It's also a time of peak poverty.

Flint's new cash transfer program, Rx Kids, starts during pregnancy. The first payment is $1,500 to encourage prenatal care. After delivery, mothers will get $500 a month over the baby's first year.

"What happens in that first year of life can really portend your entire life course trajectory. Your brain literally doubles in size in the first 12 months," says Hanna-Attisha, who's also a public health professor at Michigan State University.

A baby's birth is also a peak time for poverty. Being pregnant can force women to cut back hours or even lose a job. Then comes the double whammy cost of child care.

Research has found that stress from childhood poverty can harm a person's physical and mental health, brain development and performance in school. Infants and toddlers are more likely than older children to be put into foster care, for reasons that advocates say conflate neglect with poverty.

In Flint, where the child poverty rate is more than 50%, Hanna-Attisha says new moms are in a bind. "We just had a baby miss their 4-day-old appointment because mom had to go back to work at four days," she says...

Benefits of Cash Aid

Studies have found such payments reduce financial hardship and food insecurity and improve mental and physical health for both mothers and children.

The U.S. got a short-lived taste of that in 2021. Congress temporarily expanded the child tax credit, boosting payments and also sending them to the poorest families who had been excluded because they didn't make enough to qualify for the credit. Research found that families mostly spent the money on basic needs. The bigger tax credit improved families' finances and briefly cut the country's child poverty rate nearly in half.

"We saw food hardship dropped to the lowest level ever," Shaefer says. "And we saw credit scores actually go to the highest that they'd ever been in at the end of 2021."

Critics worried that the expanded credit would lead people to work less, but there was little evidence of that. Some said they used the extra money for child care so they could go to work.

As cash assistance in Flint ramps up, Shaefer will be tracking not just its impact on financial well-being, but how it affects the roughly 1,200 babies born in the city each year.

"We're going to see if expectant moms route into prenatal care earlier," he says. "Are they able to go more? And then we'll be able to look at birth outcomes," including birth weight and neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) admissions.

Since the pandemic, dozens of cash aid pilots have popped up across the nation. But unlike them, Rx Kids is not limited to lower-income households. It's universal, which means every new mom will get the same amount of money. "You pit people against each other when you draw that line in the sand and say, 'You don't need this, and you do,' " Shaefer says. It can also stigmatize families who get the aid, he says, as happened with traditional welfare...

So far, there's more than $43 million to keep the program going for three years. Funders include foundations, health insurance companies and the state of Michigan, which allocated a small part of its federal cash aid, known as Temporary Assistance for Needy Families.

Money can buy more time for bonding with a baby

Alana Turner can't believe her luck with Flint's new cash benefits. "I was just shocked because of the timing of it all," she says.

Turner is due soon with her second child, a girl. She lives with her aunt and her 4-year-old son, Ace. After he was born, her car broke down and she was seriously cash-strapped, negotiating over bill payments. This time, she hopes she won't have to choose between basic needs.

"Like, I shouldn't have to think about choosing between are the lights going to be on or am I going to make sure the car brakes are good," she says...

But since she'll be getting an unexpected $7,500 over the next year, Turner has a new goal. With her first child, she was back on the job in less than six weeks. Now, she hopes she'll be able to slow down and spend more time with her daughter.

"I don't want to sacrifice the time with my newborn like I had to for my son, if I don't have to," she says."

-via NPR, March 12, 2024

#united states #flint michigan #michigan #cash aid #basic income #poverty #poverty relief #child poverty #mothers #pregnancy #prenatalcare #healthcare #healthcare access #public health #child development #good news #hope

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russellsppttemplates · 12 days

Note

Since we know our favorite papaya gamer boy is gonna be a dad for the third time, how about his wife being afraid of things taking a bad turn in this third pregnancy because of her last one, and Lando admitting he's afraid too, but they're gonna do everything in their power to make things smooth this time around?

Love me an protective attentive hubby!

Cw: reader is pregnant, mentions worries associated with pre-eclampsia, prematurity and themes associated with them

"I can tell something is worrying you - you have that frown line Fraser has on his forehead too", Lando nodded as he rubbed your feet and ankles since they had swelled a bit lately.

"What if I can't be a good home for this baby, too?", you asked as Lando quirked an eyebrow at you, "Fraser had to come earthside earlier because my blood pressure was a mess, and before that I spent days in hospital trying to make sure he had the least amount of deficits possible. What if I can't carry to term this time around either?", you whispered the last part, almost like if you said it any louder, it was bound to happen straight away.

"I'm scared too, my love", Lando spoke after gathering his thoughts, "but we are doing what we can to make sure this baby cooks for as long as they have to before coming to us - we're having extra appointments to check with everything, we're being active and healthy, I'm also travelling as less as I possibly can, and we have both of our parents coming here for help on a schedule so you don't stress out so much - I know you'll never admit it because you think it's a dirty expression, but those two?", he pointed in the direction of the kids' bedrooms, "they're definitely my children because of the chaos they cause and it's stressful. I love them to death - I'd do anything for them -, but, my word, is it hard sometimes?!", he giggled as you nodded in agreement, "I'd never want you to feel all the parenting stress on your own, it's not good any other time and it's especially not good when you're carrying our little one", he smiled, kissing just above your baby bump.

"I just want to be a safe home for them", you rubbed your babybump.

"And you are, Y/N, their first home and the safest of them all - and even though I'm not wishing for it, if it happens again, we know we can handle it and most of that is because your such a strong woman", he praised as he sat next to you and held your hand in his, "we're in this together and you can always come to me whenever these scary thoughts come around", he kissed your lips.

"Thank you", you whispered again, pecking his lips.

"That's not a nice greeting, I deserve better, gorgeous girl", he smirked, supporting himself on his arms while carefully hovering over you while he was able to, "you deserve better, and apparently they say this can be very relaxing and lower your blood pressure so you're in for a fine night", he said as he stole a proper kiss from your lips.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lando norris blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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xxsabitoxx · 7 months

Text

Showering / Kinktober Side Quest 3… kinda

Aged up! Megumi x AFAB Reader

Warnings: Fluff with intimate moments / not really sexual but ya know… still fun :)

You shower with your boyfriend quite regularly. Especially after you return bloody and worn from missions. Whether it's a mission only one of you went on or a mission you shared, it doesn't matter how tired you both are, you're climbing into that shower together to take care of each other.

"Turn around." Megumi's voice is thick with exhaustion, motioning you to spin so your back faces him. You do as you're told, forehead pressed to the cold tile wall as Megumi starts to gingerly scrub your bloodied back. "I'll put a salve on it when we're done. It's not too bad, but it will be irritating if I don't wrap it." This time, you had taken the brunt of the damage.

Megumi hated it, to say the least.

“Can’t it wait for morning?” You mumble, eyes closed as you focus on how good it feels when he passes the soft cloth over your bruised shoulders. “No.” And his tone his final, no room for any retaliation. You always put up a fight, it got on his nerves most of the time but… he always won.

“Fine” you whined, you pressed your cheek into the cool tile now, your face feeling warm from a mix of the steam and Megumi’s gentle touch. His fingers were delicate as they moved lower.

Megumi’s hands are nimble, scrubbing your lower back with such tenderness it only made your face feel warmer. Intimacy like this with your typically cold and stoic boyfriend always sent your heart into a flurry. You knew him long enough to know he had this side, a side reserved only for you.

But that didn’t make you any less flustered, it never ceased to give you butterflies. That was another thing you utterly adored about him, despite being together for years at this point, your heart still skipped a beat when you saw him.

“Ouch.” You hissed, he was pressing the warm cloth over a harsh scrape on your hip. “Sorry.” His tone was slightly strained, he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain. Even on days where you had headaches or just weren’t feeling great, it made his chest tight. He never wanted you to feel these things, even if they were naturally occurring. You always teased him for it.

“…s’okay Meg.” You sighed as he finished up on that one area. “I’m almost done, I swear.” He sighed, dropping to a crouch to deal with the damage that had even effected your right ass cheek. “Poor baby.” He murmured as he used the cloth to gentle clean the skin. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Of all places to get injured, your ass wasn’t ideal.

“Don’t make me blush, Gumi.” You drawled the rest of his name, always alternating between the two nicknames but rarely saying his full name. “Sorry.” He teased, easing the stress in your heart as his tone turned a little light. When he was done, he placed a gentle kiss on the small of your back, trying not to smirk when you visibly shivered. "Can't help it."

You pushed off of the tile, turning as Megumi stood to his full height once more. You wasted no time wrapping your arms around him, pressing your face into his wet chest. “We still need to clean up.” He murmured softly as he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. “We already did.” You mumble back, eyes closed as you listened to the steady thump of his heart.

“I cleaned your cuts and scrapes, we still need to clean your body.” Megumi sighed, letting his hands rest on your hips because he didn’t want to hurt your already wounded backside. "Can we just stay like this for a bit?" you knew his answer, maybe that was why you hugged him a little harder. "No, because you'll fall asleep standing if we do."

You sighed, grumbling softly as you pulled away from him to grab your body wash. "Stop pouting." Megumi's tone was teasing, his pretty eyes lidded with exhaustion. He still needed to bandage your back, which was the only thing keeping him from falling asleep along with you. "No" you mumbled, pouring the liquid out to begin gingerly scrubbing your sore body.

This angry act stood no chance against Megumi's soft "Can you wash me?". You sighed, turning to him with a pout still present on your lips. "Of course, I can, Gumi." He smiled, pulling your soapy body close to his as you started to scrub his arms. "Can't really wash you when you hold me like this, Gumi." there was a hint of laughter in your tone, one that made Megumi hold you a little tighter. "You're doing just fine."

Green eyes locked on your hand, watching your fingers massage his skin until suds appear. "Oh, whatever." You worked diligently, trying to ignore the way your back burned as the hot water ran over your marred skin. It took longer than necessary, but you were turning off the water and stepping out of the shower finally.

Megumi's hands still held a tenderness as he used a towel to slowly pat your back dry, uttering soft apologies when he heard your breathing stutter. "you can lay on the bed and I'll patch you up." You nodded, eyes closed as you walked from the bathroom to your bedroom. You managed to get a pair of underwear out of your dresser before flopping onto your plush mattress to wait for Megumi.

He entered the room a few minutes later, setting the medical supplies on your nightstand before going to get underwear and pajamas. No words were spoken, mostly because Megumi assumed you were passed out by now. You were close to it at that point, inhaling the comforting scent of your blankets as the bed dipped.

He worked with care, smiling when you shuddered in relief as the healing salve was spread on your broken skin. Despite the ache in his bones, his body begging him to sleep, he didn't rush a single step of the first aid process. He was comforted by your gentle breathing as he cut the gauze and secured it with medical tape. You had managed to fall asleep once your back was finally relieved of pain.

Which meant Megumi did everything right. That was enough for him as he flicked off the lights, crawling under the blankets and pulling them up over the both of you carefully. "Good night." He basically slurred out, exhaustion already making him relax into a blissful sleep.

#dividers from Benkeibear <3 #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #megumi fanfic #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jjk imagines #megumi imagine #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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onlyjaeyun · 7 months

Text

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝟓𝟎

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘: 𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐰𝐜: 𝟑.𝟑𝐤 (not proofread)

⤲ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

"How is it going boys?"

Heeseung's voice is shaky and a lot hoarser than just a few moments ago, as the thought of finally doing what he's been daydreaming of for the past decade is actually about to become reality.

His eyes nervously roam the now fully decorated rooftop, the warm june breeze making everything a lot more bearable and for the first time in about twentyfour hour he feels like his lungs are actually filling with oxygen.

He knows you're not going to say no, it's something you've both discussed way too many times for people who have only been officially together for less than a year, yet the excitement, anxiety and feeling of being overwhelmed has definitely taken over his whole body in a way he's barely able to handle.

The thought of actually wifing you up, the way he's been joking around with it for all these months, is becoming way too real and for a short moment he can't help but wonder if it's really the right time.

But with your new apartment's keys in his bag and the contract signed, his new job as the department manager for one of Seoul's biggest companies secured and you both being so sure about it, he simply doesn't see the point in waiting any longer.

In fact, he's never been as sure about basically anything as he is about proposing to you.

"We're all set, Seung", Soobin, one of his coworkers and closer friends responds calmly, "just send us the message and we'll blow this place up."

"Stop saying it like that or we're going to get arrestedd,you stupid bitch", Yeonjun, the team's former number seven responds and for the first time in about thirty minutes Heeseung actually bursts into laughter.

As soon as those two hang up, the soon to be fiancé' turns around to look at his childhood friends who have decided to celebrate the evening with a beer, both of them meeting their best friend's gaze and shooting him two big smiles, reminding him just how grateful he is to have a found family like them.

And as your boyfriend is currently busy with something you have absolutely no suspicion of, you're thanking the people from the catering service for their hard work as you send them home with all the leftovers, trying your very best not to gag at combined smell of fish and beef.

Jungwon hasn't left your side all night, no matter how many times you've tried to get rid of him to avoid anybody's suspicions or just questions, your best friend has simply refused to do just that.

"When are you going to tell him?"

He says and looks at you with his pretty eyes, cheeks slightly flushed from the few glasses of wine he's had already and as your brain processes his question, you can't stop your lips from stretching into a big smile.

When you first realised just how much time it had been since you had last gotten your period, you didn't think much of it. Mostly because you've been used to the irregularity ever since you had started taking the pill a few months back and even before that your body was prone to skip a week or two whenever life got a little too stressful.

If it wasn't for the morning sickness you'd been feeling these past few days, you would have never thought of a possible pregnancy for another two months.

The walk to the pharmacy and back home as well as the whole process of taking the test had quickly become the longest hour of your life and as soon as the second line on your first test had appeared, your whole life changed in an instant.

By the time the third one came back positive as well you were already a sobbing mess as happiness, excitement, anticipation but also fear, worry and shock slowly took over your body.

For a really short moment you even let your anxiety take the best of your thoughts, yet as soon as you remembered your most recent conversation about the future, life after graduation as well as marriage and children, you managed to get rid of everything that wasn't joy or excitement.

You never once worried about your boyfriend's reaction because despite skillfully hiding it behind jokes and dirty talk, you know how badly Heeseung's been wanting to become a father from the very beginning. He never even tried to be subtle about it, all he did was wait for you to feel ready and even if you hadn't actually planned for it to happen until your own graduation, you're still just as excited and subconsciously ready for it as you would have been if it happened two or three years later.

Lee Heeseung is the love of your life, the man you you dreamed about ever since you actually understood the concept of love and there's absolutely nobody in this world you could ever imagine as the father of your children other than him.

And after a night of celebrating him and his best friends like this, you're pretty sure it's the perfect time to let him know about your upcoming addition to your little family.

"Hoonie said everyone's going to go up to the rooftop because the boys are setting up some blankets and stuff and I thought maybe I could make Seungie stay here with me for a bit and tell him when you're all upstairs."

Jungwon attentively listens to your plan, his smile as big as ever and you can't help but tear up at the sight of pride in his bright eyes. You've never seen him this happy and to think that he's actually going to move to Seoul and therefore be here throughout your whole pregnancy instead of having to wait three years until he finishes his degree makes it a lot more difficult to hold yourself back from crying.

Never in a million years would you have ever expected your first year away from your old life to be so perfect, yet despite all these years of abuse and agony, you've finally reached a point where life feels good and every day you wake up grateful and happy. The patience and hard work has definitely paid off.

"That sounds great", Jungwon says and pulls you into a tight hug, knowing you both will actually burst into tears if you look at him any longer, "but you should join us first and then take him downstairs. Wait for everyone to settle down or it'll be too obvious."

With a sharp nod you agree with your best friend, placing a quick kiss on his cheek before you let everyone know that you'll be with them in a bit, taking absolute advantage of your empty apartment as you finally pull out the little onesie in Heeseung's favorite color and the little #01 on its back as well as one of the positive pregnancy tests from your closet and allowing yourself to take a few deep breaths.

However, it doesn't take long for you to feel slightly overwhelmed because despite having realised it all already, you know telling your boyfriend about it is going to make it even realer than it currently feels, which is why you decide to try and distract yourself just a little longer by joining everyone upstairs.

You don't exactly know what to expect as you breathlessly and slowly climb the stairs to stop yourself from passing out, yet the last thing you expect is for the floor to be covered in rose petals as a road of little candles lights the way for you.

"What the–", but you don't get to finish as your favorite love song suddenly starts playing and all of your friends start cheering loudly.

It takes you a good minute to spot your boyfriend at the end of said candle way, holding onto a bouquet of your favorite flowers for dear life, his perfect lips stretched into a wide smile, eyes glossy and cheeks slightly flushed.

You don't even realise what the hell is going on and that you haven't moved an inch yet, until your best friend tells you to and with a thick veil of tears blurring your vision you finally start approaching the man of your dreams.

And as you slowly walk towards him, Heeseung can feel his heart thrumming in his throat, the blood rushing through his ears to the point where every single noise seems to ne way further sway than it is until you come to dtand right in front of him.

With a shaky hand he reaches for you and guides you to stand in front of your friends, your brother watching you with excited and proud eyes and if it wasn't for all the emotions you're currently feeling, you definitely would have noticed a single tear finding its way down his cheek.

"Park Y/N", Heeseung says calmly once the volume of the music slowly goes down, his voice shaky and everything about his demeanor gives away just how nervous he is, "my first and only love."

And as soon as those words hit you straight in the face, you physically can't stop a tiny sob bubbling up from your throat, genuine happiness and adrenaline making its way through your system at the realisation of what this actually is.

"Over a decade ago I fell in love with you, your warm heart and kind soul, those perfect eyes and your sweet smile. There has never been a day I didn't think of you and holding your hand right now still feels like a dream", your boyfriend's words are genuine and honest, something you've gotten used to yet still can't really process no matter how much time passes.

You try to calm yourself down once you notice the nervousness in your boyfriend's facial expressions, holding onto his hand just a little tighter before he hands you the bouqet and slowly moves his hand to reach for something in his back pocket.

"I've thought about this exact moment ever since I really understood what love meant and not a single time in my life have I associated it with anyone but you." With his smile still as big and bright, you attentively watch the love of your life pull out a little jewelry and just when your hands find their eay to your mouth, Heeseung slowly steps back to finally get on one knee.

A sight so beautiful you're genuinely afraid you might be dreaming.

"You're my childhood, my youth and my whole life. You're my home. Everything I have, everything I am belongs to you, including my heart and I want to spend the entirety of the rest of my life to become a man you can love and be proud of, who's worthy of your presence in his life."

At this point nobody among you and your friends can actually hold back their tears and for a short moment your gaze shifts to your older brother, who has been trying his best to keep it together but decided to finally give in at the sight of his two favorite people loving each other so dearly.

"Will you please make one of my biggest dreams come true and become my wife?"

Heeseung has lost count on how many times he's changed his lines and how many times he's practiced different versions of this exact speech in his head, in front of the mirror and under the shower. At one point he even started practicing it in front of the two elderly ladies at the company's cafeteria, yet at the end he still decided to just go with what his heart has to say.

Something he's never had problems with when it comes to you.

And as you slowly start nodding your head with tears streaming down your cheeks, he swears the whole world starts spinning in slow motion.

One of his biggest dream has finally become reality, a realisation hitting him so hard he actually forgets to move.

But there's no need for him to because by the time his mind catches up on what just happened, you've already thrown your arms around his shoulders with a soft sob multiple "Yes"s, quite literally pulling him back into reality.

The following minute is filled with nothing but silence from the both of you as you hold each other and take in the warmth of the happiness oozing from your shared moment.

Heeseung, who's basically overwhelmed with joy, drops on both of his knees as he's holding you in his arms and tries his best to keep his cries at bay.

And once you pull away to let him put the ring on your finger, the sudden sound of fireworks going off startles you in the best way possible, yet also elicits another soft cry from your lips.

"I told you I'm going to wife you up", Heeseung chuckles and places a soft kiss on your lips, his big hands holding your face like you're a piece of glass, so fragile he's afraid you'll break if he's too rough.

"And I told you I'm always ready for it."

Those words earn you a literal standing ovation from all of your friends, cheering and hollering from all of them exceot your brother, who's still as quiet as ever, yet never once stops to smile.

Heeseung doesn't hesitate to back away from you as soon as he spots Sunghoon approaching the two of you from the corner of his eyes and before either one of you can say something, you're pulled into another tight hug.

A hug which holds so many emotions, so many memories and so much love, you actually feel yourself drowning in it all in the best way possible.

"Congratulations", Hoonie whispers softly, too afraid of the possibility his voice might break if he spoke too loudly, "I'm so happy for you, little one. You deserve this and so much more."

At this point your pregnancy hormones and all those pent up emotions from the past few years have decided to team up, so you basically stand no chance in forming a coherent sentence which actually makes sense. All you can do is cry in your brother's arms as the realisation of you both finally living a life of peace and harmony has become true.

After a round of hugs, even more tears, from both the boys and the girls, as well as a fit of loud laughter because of Jongseong's random comment, you spend the following ten minutes in the arms of your new fiancé, your eyes either fixated on his face or the ring on your finger.

By the time you hug your brother one last time, it's way past two am and you can feel the exhaustion and tiredness taking over every bit of your body, yet know there's still a very important thing left to do for you.

After a nice long shower, the two of you quietly get ready for bed, Heeseung's hand always somehow touching you, a habit he's picked up along the way and you still giggle whenever you remember the reason being his mind not comprehending that you're actually here and his, so he had to make up for it with skinship.

"I actually wanted to fuck you to sleep just like you deserve but I'm afraid we're both too tired, hm?", Heeseung whispers into your ear as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his strong chest into your back.

"Mhm", is all you can say as your heart slams brutally against your rib cage at the thought of the upcoming few minutes.

You don't even notice the way Heeseung's hand has found its way up your chest to your neck and as soon as he feels your rapid heartbeat, you find yourself being turned around to face your slightly worried fiancé.

"What's wrong?"

The question is the first one to come to his mind, something he's yet to get rid of since it's more of a trauma response than an actual question.

"I have to tell you something, Seungie."

"We've been engaged for less than two hours, please don't tell me you wanna call it off", he breathes and throws his head back, leaving you absolutely flabbergasted.

"Oh, my God", he suddenly says a little louder than you expected and with big eyes you watch him fall to his knees, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his head against your belly with a faux cry.

"Please, don't leave me, I'd be nothing but the shell of a man." And those words basically give you the rest. With a loud, ugly chuckle you push your hands into his hair and start shaking your head, knowing he's not serious but still reassuring him.

"Give me a second, will you?"

With curious eyes Heeseung slowly pulls away and watches the way you walk to your side of the bed and slowly oulling out a little box, bigger than the one for your ring he carried in his pants the whole night, before you make your way back to him with your grip way too tight.

"Open it", you say softly and try to drown out the loud beating of your heart in your throat, the feeling of having to throw suddenly overwhelming you and with a soft sigh you try to calm yourself down.

Seungie doesn't say anything as he takes the box from your hand and does as he's told, lifting the lid and revealing your little present to his big, glossy bambi eyes.

"What..."

A beat of silence follows the single word before he reaches for the pregnancy test and stares at it for way longer than necessary.

You have no idea what's going on inside of his head and for the first time ever since you've found out about your pregnancy you're actually anxious about his reaction.

What you're not awarenof is the way Heeseung's brain has yet to process what the fuck he's looking at, meanwhile his chest has filled with a warmth so comforting and calming, it actually feels dizzying.

You're pregnant.

You, the one woman he's loved all of his life, his now fiancé, are pregnant with his child.

The realisation feels like an actual dream and without giving it another thought, Heeseung lands a harsh slap against his own cheek to see if he's awake.

As the sting of his sweet attempt spreads in his face, the tears have already blurred his vision and with a single one finding it's way down his cheek he looks up at you.

"Oh, my God", a breathy chuckle of disbelief leaves his lips just before he gets up to be on eye level with you, his big hands reaching for your face to press your forehead against his and you still feel unsure until a row of soft sobs start filling the tension in your shared bedroom.

"We're actually going to be parents?"

All you can do is nod, choking on your own tears making it eay too difficult to respond verbally.

You've never seen this particular expression on Heeseung's face and as it reaches his pretty eyes you realise it's nothing but oure joy and excitement, maybe even a hint of relief.

"We're actually going to be fucking parents."

And as he gently wraps his around your body, Heeseung feels a wound in his heart slowly healing, a wound so deep he had managed to suppress it's pain all these years.

"This is the best day of my life", he whispers and inhales your sweet scent, his hand subconsciously moving to rub over your belly, "thank you so much. Thank you for healing me. Thank you for seeing me worthy of your love. Just – Thank you."

Heeseung doesn't give you the opportunity to respond as he pulls you into a passionate kiss, knowing everything he failed to voice out is going to reach your heart through this one kiss.

Not many words are exchanged between the two of you until you're burying your face in his neck, your eyes heavy from the exhaustion of the day, yet Heeseung makes sure to be the last one to speak just before you fall asleep.

"I love you so much. My first and only love."

(A/N: i'm not going to say much bc ive cried so much already and gotta save it for the epilogue injust hope you guys enjoyed this one and know how much i love and appreciate all of you. thank you for making this journey unforgettable and so, so special.)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

#enhypen social media au #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen writers #enhypen fluff #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #lee heeseung x you #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung social media au #heeseung smut

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tarjapearce · 7 months

Note

soccer family wife meeting Miguel’s family for the first time?

👀 Miguel has a potty mouth.

(This is before meeting her family btw)

"So... when you're gonna introduce your girl?"

"A Pitufina?"

Gabriel didn't hold back the ugly snort at the nickname

"God, that's such a terrible pet name."

Gabriel poured the coffee for the both as Miguel prepared breakfast. A bit of Huevos rancheros and fried red beans to pair it with.

"She might come later, she's been busy."

"Right."

Gabriel put two of sugar to his mug as he handed Miguel his. The proceeded to heat up some day old tortillas.

"You're gonna tell mom about her?"

"No."

Miguel's voice monotone, but firm. Gabriel sighed and slanted over the counter, eyes on the tortillas as he crossed his arms in his chest.

"Look, I don't wanna be that guy, but... don't you think it's been years?"

"Yeah. Keep them coming."

"Just do it out of politeness. She'll find out one way or another And you know how mom gets."

He flipped the tortilla and Miguel served.

"I couldn't care less what she thinks. Pásame el chile. Besides that's precisely why I don't want them to meet." (Hand me the chili sauce)

"I just wanna know why you won't talk to her about this. Like... You've gotten a girlfriend!"

"Por Dios, you're so annoying at times. Get over it. Yeah, I'm dating. So?"

"I was worried, Miggy." Gabriel gave a dramatic sigh as he put the other tortilla to heat up, "Thought you'd end up as a true hermit living off caffeine and stress. "

"Cabrón"

"Tú el doble." (You're it double)

"En fín. Cállate y come." (Anyways, shut up and eat)

"I'm just happy for you. I... I know you don't believe me when I say stuff like this. But Im glad that... Pitufina or however bizarre pet name you wanna call her, is with you."

Gabriel sipped his coffee and sighed.

"You've been less of an asshole lately. You have fun even, so I'm glad. Happy you can finally get some peace with yourself and she seems a good woman too. So... Congrats. "

"Thanks."

"What if she asks to met mom?

Miguel shook his head.

"Doubt it. Mom is troublesome. Nothing is fucking good enough for her. Just like Pitufina's mother."

"Kinda understand why you got together now"

Miguel snapped his head towards him with a glare.

"Ya no te cuento ni vergas." (I'm telling you shit.)

"Okay, okay, terrible joke. Sorry. Just... How bad is it?"

"Bad. Strangers practically. Won't expose her to meet mom and throw at her face her own troubles. Mi niña has had enough as it is."

Gabriel's eyes widened upon his older brother's words.

"I think I might get used to this sappy version of you."

"Make fun all you want but even I know there are limits when it comes to being a dick. So don't mention this to mom." Miguel's eyes fixed him with a staid face as he waved his index finger as a warning to him, "And I mean it, Gabri. Don't want her to also ruin this for me."

"I won't, relax. Is not like we're really close or something."

------

Your knuckles held the wheel tighter as you approached Miguel's apartment. He wanted to introduce you to his family.

So you put yourself in an outfit appropriate for the occasion. A little blazer with a tank top underneath, some jeans and matching low platform espadrilles.

Miguel rarely to never mentioned his family to you, and the sparse times he did, only mentioned his brother.

You had seen Gabriel a couple of times but never interacted with him beyond a couple of words or pleasantries if the situation demanded for it.

You parked and let Miguel know that you were outside. He lived in the second floor of an apartment complex.

He came out after a couple of minutes dressed in his stay at home clothes. A stark contrast on your outfit. You bear hugged him and he kissed your temple.

"Uh... why are you wearing that?"

"What?

You gestured

"I feel so overdressed now"

"You're fine. You're meeting Gabriel."

His arm wrapped around your waist as you made your way towards his apartment.

"Just him?"

"You sound disappointed"

Shaking your head with a smile as you climbed up the stairs. He chuckled.

"I'm not. I was nervous at the thought of meeting your parents but... knowing it's only Gabriel is less nerve wrecking."

He sighed and stopped you as his apartment came in view.

"Long story short, I don't get along either with my mom and the sperm donnor is out of the picture. Gabriel is the only constant one in my life. "

You kissed his cheek and held his hand tightly as you held a little gift on the other one.

"Thanks for telling me. I was thinking in escaping while you distracted them. But glad it won't be necessary. "

He chuckled at your attempt of lightening the mood. His keys tinkered as they turned and opened the door.

"Gabriel?"

The younger O'Hara looked up from his seat in the living room with a smile, turning the tv off

"Hey" He stood and approached you both. You gave him the little bottle of a collectible mezcal bottles.

"Miguel told me you liked this brand."

"You didn't have to, but highly appreciated." The nickname kind of made sense for Gabriel now that he saw you next to Miguel.

You introduced himself as you shook Gabriel's hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, thanks for tolerating my brother enough to date him."

You snorted as Miguel glared holes his way.

"He's not bad. Except when he runs out of coffee"

One of your arms wrapped around Miguel's waist as he held and entwined your fingers with his on the other.

"Ah you tell me. I'm the one that's sent to the store to replenish. Older brother privilege and stuff."

You couldn't help but giggle.

"Didn't know you bullied your brother like that."

"Can't believe you're in his side."

"Hey, I'm the youngest too. Totally relate on that"

"Anyways, a pleasure to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Gabriel.."

"Don't wanna sound rude but I gotta go meet a client. See you guys later."

"Ve con cuidado." (Careful out there)

"Have a nice day, Gabriel."

"You both too."

Gabriel retreated to his room to then leave the apartment with his laptop.

"You can breath now, Pitufina"

"Stop calling me that? Please?"

He shook his head and kissed you.

"Then it wouldn't be fun to do that"

"Ya pues. Dame otro." He kissed you again with a smile and you giggled. (Enough. Gimme another one)

"Wanna watch a movie or you want me to cook for you?"

"Both? Please?"

"Sure"

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#Pre Soccer Family #t writes✨

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yumeka-sxf · 9 days

Text

I try to stay away from negative topics, but after hearing talk on social media yesterday and seeing this post from @such-a-downer, I just had to give my two cents about the complaints regarding yesterday's chapter being "another short mission" and that Endo is somehow being "lazy" or whatever.

I honestly don't understand this mentality of criticizing manga-ka, or any artists really, because they aren't delivering by whatever standards you personally think are appropriate. To me, it just seems like entitlement because Endo has no obligation to cater to any specific fan's wants. This is his story to tell the way he wants, and his characters to develop at the pace he deems fit. This isn't a business contract where we're paying him to deliver content we want every two weeks without fail. If I'm consuming the fruits of someone's creative labor for free, I certainly feel no right to complain if sometimes their content isn't what I wanted or expected. I'm fine with that because 1) I know it's what they (the creator) wanted/needed at the time, and 2) even if a particular chapter wasn't my cup of tea, I know other fellow fans out there somewhere are enjoying the heck out of it, and that's cool!

We also have to remember that SxF is basically a one-man show. If Endo is busy or sick or whatever, it's not like he can have someone fill in for him to write and draw the series. That's what a hiatus is for, that's what making a short chapter instead of a longer one is for...that's how artists should be treated so they don't get burned out and stressed. Plus, art shouldn't be rushed. Any artist knows that there are times when you have trouble coming up with ideas and maybe need a little extra time to develop a more complex section of the story. To immediately jump to conclusions that he's lazy or doesn't know what he's doing is ridiculous. Maybe he didn't feel good for a few days, maybe he's been busy with other SxF events, maybe he just needed more time to get a particular future arc developed, or maybe he just has basic IRL obligations to take care of like we all do...you don't know what's going on in his life, so don't make assumptions.

Another thing to keep in mind is that it's literally impossible to please every fan. One of the comments I read for example, someone was ready to drop the series because we haven't seen much of Yor in "a while." All I could think of was "didn't she just have a pretty big role only four chapters ago when they went to the ski resort?" Plus she was the star of chapter 91, which was less than ten chapters ago. So according to this person's standards, four chapters without seeing a particular character is "too long"? What if it was only three chapters, would that be acceptable? It's not right to push our own personal standards of a series' pacing as the "correct" way: some people want to see more of character X while someone else wants to see more of subplot Y, so should both complain that the manga-ka isn't doing right whenever they focus on something else? I'm not saying you shouldn't make criticisms of a manga-ka's work, but the criticisms should come from within the narrative itself, not superficial things like chapters focusing on subplots/characters you don't want to see or not having enough "plot-advancing" content when it's not a plot-focused series.

People who have read SxF up to this point should know the general flow of the chapters: mostly slice-of-life episodic, with more plot-heavy, intense arcs once in a while, like the cruise arc and bus arc. It's an ensemble series that spends most of its chapters focused on at least one of the Forgers, but occasionally other characters here and there. That's how the series has been for years and will likely continue to be. So if you keep complaining because you only like the dramatic story arcs and not the "nothing happens" episodic chapters, then maybe the series just isn't for you. It's totally fine if that's the case, but don't act like Endo is doing something wrong because he's not providing the particular thing you want in his story.

To summarize, Endo has no obligation to cater to particular fans' standards, just as we have no obligation to keep reading his work if we don't like it. But being a fan to me means respecting the creator's pace and vision even if it's not always what I personally want. I can find something to enjoy in every chapter because I'm a fan of SxF, not a fan of one particular aspect of it. But I also will not complain every time my tastes aren't being catered to and will simply occupy myself with other things while I wait. What's the big hurry, after all? I'm in no rush for SxF to wrap up its plot and I'm glad Endo isn't rushing either.

And that's all I'm gonna say about this topic, lol. On a happier note, I'm going to finally see Code White on Thursday! 😁 More to come later~

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers

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sunkissed-zegras · 2 months

Note

🌱 can you do a little blurb about Jack Hughes asking you to move in or like mid-move cuteness? Thanks Ev! Congratulations 🩷🩷

𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐟𝐢𝐥-𝐚 | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 593

♡ ─ warnings | nothing but fluff and mention moving-in stress, jack being a sweetheart!

♡ ─ ev's notes | AAAAA TYSM MY LOVE, I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!!

"Babe, did you get the Celsius' from Target?" You came into you and Jack's new bedroom. He looked up from his phone and his eyes landed on you before nodding.

"If you're gonna get one, can you get me too? They're in the fridge." Jack asked with a tired smile.

This entire week had been exhausting to say the least. You and Jack had just moved in together in an condo and you were still in the process of settling down. The unpacked boxes, the furniture that needed rearranging, and the constant back-and-forth with utility services had taken a toll on both of you. Despite the exhaustion, there was a sense of excitement in the air as you both entered a new chapter of your lives, together.

You made your way to the kitchen, which was slowly but surely taking shape. Opening the fridge, you found the Celsius' neatly arranged on one of the shelves. Grabbing two, you closed the door and headed back to the bedroom where Jack was still engrossed on his phone.

"Here you go," you said, handing him one of the drinks before collapsing on the bed next to him, letting out a loud sigh.

"Thanks, baby." Jack replied as he chuckled at you, cracking open the can and taking a sip. "Moving is no joke, huh?"

You shook your head with a small but tired chuckled. "Definitely not. But hey, at least we're finally in our own place. It's starting to feel like home."

Jack nodded in agreement, his tired expression softening. "Yeah, it does. I appreciate all your help this week. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course," you replied, leaning in to give him a quick peck. "Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"

He smiled, appreciating the sentiment. "Absolutely."

You both sat in comfortable silence as you looked at your new messy room. There was a mix of both your stuff; Jack's hockey equipment on floor and all your clothes on the vanity, it was a perfect little mix of you two. It wasn't just a chaotic blend of belongings; it was a variety of your lives merging into one.

"Can you believe we're finally living together?" Jack mused, breaking the silence.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, smiling. "I love it. Our own little space, together."

Jack's arm wrapped around your shoulders, creating a comforting embrace as you both sat there, surrounded by the remnants of your busy week. The room may have been messy but it was a reflection of the life you were building together.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" Jack continued, his gaze wandering around the room. "I mean, we've talked about this for so long, and now it's actually happening."

You nodded, tracing patterns on his hand with your fingers. "I wouldn't want it any other way. It feels right."

He smiled, his eyes meeting yours. "Agreed. This mess is our mess, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

You smiled warmly up at your boyfriend as you finished your celsius, sighing. You moved to get up but Jack pulled you back into his arms. "Let's take a break for now," he suggested, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We deserve it."

You gladly settled back into Jack's embrace, feeling the warmth of his affection enveloping you. The mess around you seemed less daunting, and the exhaustion of the week faded away as you focused on the present moment.

"We doordashing again or what?" Jack mumbled as you laughed, nodding. "Cus I'm not cooking."

"Chick-fil-a again, then?"

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#❀ evangeline's 1k celly!!⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚#jack hughes #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes fic #luke hughes #new jersey devils #jack hughes x you #nhl imagines #nhl angst #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey

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luveline · 8 months

Note

Not sure if I’m doing this right because I’ve never really taken part in one of these but please can I request something for zombie Steve and reader with the below prompt:

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —send me a hurt/comfort request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 2k or less

Maybe like, some time shortly after they started to become romantically involved or after he first calls her his gf, and Steve has a bad day and is a little short with reader and she’s worrying he’s regretting crossing that line with her but then he reassures her he’s not regretting it.

Sorry if I’m doing this wrong and no worries if you don’t like it, I just seriously love zombie Steve, especially when he’s a lil grumpy grump but always wants to make up for it afterwards 🥰

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you for your request, you did it perfect don't worry! steve zombie!au —steve gets stressed when food is in short supply, but he cares about you more than you think. fem!reader, 2.5k

cw starving / food insecurity

"I don't think we can make it another day if we don't find something tonight."

Steve's shoulders go rigid at your statement, backpack reflecting glaring light.. It's dark as night, the room illuminated by two twin flashlight beams. New batteries have the lights constant and consistent. It's a shame you can't live off of batteries.

You're hungry in a way you've never been hungry before. Never. You and Steve have been starving for days. You have a pounding headache leaking down into your teeth that's made you quiet and Steve is quieter, pointing his flashlight into the next kitchen cabinet. The only thing inside is dust, motes swimming in a sea of white.

What's worse, you're terrified to hop houses at night, because from afar, deep in the forest surrounding the residential neighbourhood you're in, you've been hearing wolves. Deep howls chasing a filling moon.

You're so hungry you've had to risk it.

Your head is heavy on your neck as you look up into another cabinet. "We're gonna die," you say. You can't help it —maybe it's the genuine and inescapable despair of thinking you'll die, maybe it's his recent bout of loving affection, but lately all you do is complain.

"We're not gonna die," Steve says.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"How could you? All these houses have been stripped clean, there's nothing left–"

"I just know, alright?"

He slams the cabinet door shut and stalks to the other side of the kitchen. These houses are huge, rich people places with endless bedrooms and their matching ensuites. He shoves his weight into the door leading to the garage. You don't have a choice, following him in. Steve wants space but he can't have it, splitting up makes you feel sick.

Your hands under his t-shirt, his hands on your back. An admission. I've been calling you my girlfriend in my head for weeks.

Your Steve's girlfriend. He's your boyfriend, and he's gonna get eaten by a zombie in a garage in the middle of nowhere suburbia and you'll be all alone without him.

"Steve," you say, irritated. The garage is even darker than the kitchen, no windows for moonlight to crawl inside. He's turned his torch to the storage bins behind a black, sleek car.

"What?" he asks, using the brunt of his palm to lift a lid.

"What do you mean, what? If I walked away from you like that you'd bite my head off."

"Jesus," he hisses, quickly turning his light away from the bin he's opened. "What the fuck?"

You creep up behind him to direct your own flashlight. You don't want to talk about what you find inside.

Defeated and distant and wishing things could be different, you and Steve clip your rucksacks at the waist and prepare to move in the dark from this shitty empty house to the next. You can't sleep; Steve won't say it, but you think he might be scared that you'll both be too weak to get up again if you lay down. This is the final push.

You don't ask for his hand. He grabs one of your rucksack straps and you slink down the concrete steps of the house back onto the picture perfect streets. An entire apocalypse and the only evidence is smashed glass. The cold night bounces off of the sidewalk to chill your calves, your old jeans little defence against the cold. It's so, so cold lately.

The next house is locked. You and Steve look at one another, and whether you can see him in the moonlight dregs or if your mind knows him well enough to fill in the gaps is anyone's guess. He looks reluctantly hopeful.

You take a silent walk around the house checking for points of entry. When each door you come across is locked and each window tightly locked, you kneel at the garage door and force your icy fingers beneath the door. Steve helps, flat of his knife scratching the asphalt. You lose all the feeling in your fingertips as Steve struggles to get his hands under as well, but together you sigh, pained, and lift the garage door with the last of your strength. You army under first quickly, almost dropping the shutters as Steve follows.

Fingertips aching with quick-blooming contusions, you attempt to help Steve stand. He ignores your offered hand.

This house is the same as the other, so while it's dark, it's manoeuvrable. Same daunting marble staircases up on to a balconied landing. Across to the left is a lone bedroom with huge windows and a staircase to the attic, and across to the right a handful of equally spacious rooms. You hadn't bothered searching the bedrooms in the houses before, figuring that whoever combed the kitchens to the insane degree they have was as desperate as you are now, and would've already done so.

But this house was locked.

You're filled with aching hope. You need to eat. You don't want to die. You don't want Steve to die. If there's nothing here, you aren't sure you'll have the energy to search another granite kitchen.

Steve wastes no time opening a cabinet.

You both stand still in shock.

Cereal. Boxes and boxes of cereal.

"What do you think the sell by date is?" you ask.

"I don't know." He pulls down a box. It's off by a year. Pulls down another. Off again. Something awful inside of you wants to tear into the cardboard and eat it anyways. Too bad food poisoning can kill you quicker than hunger.

Steve leaves the cabinet door open and moves to the next, practically ripping it off of the hinges. Your torch beam shakes with excitement when you see the insides, golden cans stacked high.

Steve picks one up. Tosses it aside. "It's cat food."

Well, if all else fails. The thought makes you want to cry.

The next cabinet is full of glassware, and the next china plates. Steve opens a fifth and sixth at the same time. It takes you a second to calibrate the sight in front of you.

"It's not more cat food, is it?" you ask quietly.

Steve breathes out hard, grabbing a handful of skinny cans, metal popping against the counter as he drops one. "It's fish. Tuna fish."

And just like that, you get to live.

The last cabinet has a short supply of soups and bare essentials, enough for a week between you both (rich people ate less processed foods, apparently). It's the fish that promises security, a hundred cans of bluefin, yellowfin tuna, a couple cans of caviar.

You and Steve eat it in the kitchen with fancy spoons. The smell is undesirable but it doesn't make you feel sick until hours later, half asleep on the kitchen floor.

You stand up, ushering him with you, and pull yourselves with heavy emphasis on the handrail up the stairs to the first bedroom you come across. You take your toothbrush from your bag despite the begging pull of sleep and brush your teeth, eager to escape the salty tang of fish. If Steve wants to kiss you tonight, you'd rather taste like Arctic Fresh than fish.

"Can I have some?" Steve asks.

You raise your brows, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. While he brushes, you construct a little lamp using the low-power torch and a half full water bottle. The room is far less intimidating after that, light reaching into the corners and exposing the raw wooden beams above. Steve spits his toothpaste into the wastebasket and leaves the room. He returns as you're taking off your shoes, disapproving as he drags a chair in. He hooks it under the door handle, jigging it to test.

"I can't wear them anymore," you say.

"Okay," he says.

You'd hoped finding food would make him less snappy, but no luck. He's even quieter than before.

You get changed in silence, like you've both decided now you're not hungry that actually you'd been kind of filthy. It's just… your reality. You want to be clean, and fed, and brushed, but you're grimy. You settle for another layer of deodorant and a fresh pair of underwear.

Steve is looking at you, half-naked. He's allowed, it doesn't matter, but he averts his eyes when you catch him and doesn't speak to you again. Thankfully, your sated hunger removes despair to some extent. You climb into bed and Steve slides in next to you, and for a few hours, you sleep.

Waking up is a new agony.

You're bad at being separated from one another, and finding him gone fucks you up. Your heart immediately leaps into your mouth, a raw, beating thing. The daylight disarms you at first, blinking against it, but proves to be your friend when you find Steve's shoes at the end of the bed. It's a marker, a note from him to you: I'm still here.

He's leaning heavily on the countertop in the kitchen with a notebook laid flat and a pen in hand, tallying up the cans.

"Hey, you scared me," you say, his shoes in one hand, yours in the other.

"Sorry."

You put the shoes on the counter.

You hesitate to touch him first. You'd been thinking last night before you slept, his hand near your hip instead of on it, that Steve's finally realised he doesn't want to be with you. Like a near death experience, he'd had an epiphany. Why would he want to spend the bare strands of a life that he has playing house with you?

He didn't have a choice. One sudden day and you were his burden.

Steve takes your hand without looking. Firm, he squeezes his fingers between yours and pulls you into his side. "It's a month's worth of food, easily. But it might make us kind of sick if we aren't careful. There's Mercury in it. Less than the cheap stuff, but we still shouldn't be eating so much." His arm presses to yours. He meets your eyes over his shoulder. "I hate fish."

"You're talking to me today."

He looks down at the notebook, his eyebrows pinching in like you've stepped on his foot. "I– sorry. I wasn't very nice, yesterday, I guess."

You're relieved to hear his apology, not because you really even want one, but because it means he isn't as mad at you as you thought. "I was complaining."

"It was all shit. You're allowed. I… was stressed."

"It was all shit," you agree, explaining away his bad mood. But, last night, he didn't wanna hold you. It sounds pathetic but on a small scale, this is your life. Any change feels foreign.

"I wasn't mad at you for complaining."

You feel the back of his hand with your thumb. Fine hairs, skin rough from a few weeks of the elements. "Thanks for clarifying."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Steve looses go of your hand to put his arm on your shoulder. His fingertips skirt against your back, tickling gently. His eyes are serious but his mouth curves with a smile. "Why are you upset?" he asks.

"I'm not."

"I think I'd know."

It seems silly now to tell him with his touch, his face this close to yours. You take in a shuddering breath and his expression pinches.

Steve stands as close to you as he can without hugging you. "Hey, tell me," he says.

You push your tongue against your teeth, thinking. Tears threaten to collect, a burning lump bobbing in your throat at his question.

"Do you ever regret this?" you ask. "Sometimes I think you do."

"This?" he asks.

"Me and you."

Steve laughs, and that really is foreign what with the last few days of moroseness you've had. It's not a humoured laugh, just a shocked one, the sound inking his words as he says, "We're not something up for regretting."

"What's that mean?"

"It means," —Steve ducks his head a little, eye to eye with you as his arm curls behind your neck— "it's not even an option. Us, me and you, you alone, it's not an option. I don't regret what's happened or what's happening between us. I wish… I wish I'd been less of a dick to you. I wish I was nicer to you now, and that's a shitty thing to say, but this–" Hid eyes flare with annoyance directed inward. "I get fucking abysmally moody because I can't believe I'm this bad at taking care of you."

You lift your chin ever so slightly and Steve kisses you. Sweet but a little rough, like he'd been waiting for an offer.

"I don't regret this," he mumbles, tapping the tip of his nose under yours. You lift your head, and he fits another kiss to the seam of your lips.

"You didn't wanna hug me or anything last night–"

He hugs you immediately. "I'm sorry," he says over your ear. "It was just a bad day."

"But I'm here with you. I'm having the bad day with you, I want to be there for you," you say, semi-desperate.

"I'm sorry," he says again, relaxing as your arms fold behind his back.

Steve pets your back. You wish things were different, that he could be hugging you somewhere different. You can picture it, Steve dropping you off at some college class or putting his hand in your back pocket on the way to dinner. Things could be so much better and they never, ever will be.

You don't ask, afraid to even suggest it if he hasn't thought of it, but you worry Steve is with you out of habit. Bad habits are hard to break, but anyone can stop smoking if they really want to. He could move on.

He must read your mind.

"Sorry," Steve whispers, leaning back to kiss your cheek. "I'm a shitty boyfriend sometimes when I'm trying to be good at keeping us alive. You're the only good thing. I'm really sorry, honey."

You nibble on the inside of your lip and hug him harder. "Stop saying sorry. You didn't do anything wrong, I just think too much."

He breathes out in surprise at your ferocity, dropping his head into the curve of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he says anyway.

Unbeknownst to you, it's in lieu of a different confession.

You crack a smile. Steve pulls away to fret over your face uselessly, wiping away things you can't see and smiling back like a guy in the movies, all confident and flirtatious. It's a stark difference to the previous gloom.

"Let's go find some water," he says, taking the side of your face into his palm. "I smell bad and you're shiny."

"Nice, Steve."

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #luveline’s 40k party

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panda-noosh · 5 months

Text

authors note: oh hey. enjoy!

ask me about commissions!

--------

this is Daryl's fault.

all Daryl's fault, as most things tend to be nowadays.

this isn't the first time you've been held captive in the three years since you joined Rick's group. in fact, you get captured at least once every fortnight, but you always took it as a sign you were doing your job right; hunters cannot be hunters without a brief spell of missteps, and getting caught by the enemy is usually high on the list of scenarios that could take place. by now, you are used to it.

but this is different, because it's Daryl's fault, and that makes it ten times worse.

the rope holding your wrists together is painful, skin already red raw despite the fact you've only been tied up for an hour. Daryl tells you it will hurt less if you stopped trying to maneaveur your wrists enough to flip him off, but that doesn't stop you from continuing your attempts.

the walls are oozing condensation. it drips onto your head, slides down your nose, gets in your eyes, and it smells like damp. mould grows in the cracks in the floor. mice dart in front of you, as if boasting the fact they are free to roam and you aren't.

the worst part is, your knives are nowhere to be seen.

"i didn't even see them take them off me!" you exclaim. beside you, Daryl has barely moved. his hands and feet are tied in the same way yours are, but he's putting up no fight to get free, or even loosen them. he keeps his head down, shoulders sagging, shifting every now and then with his ragged breaths. you can't make out his expression due to the curtain of dirty brown hair shielding his face, but you would like to think his expression is one of pure guilt and sorrow for being the idiot who got you both captured in the first place.

"oi," you hiss. "a little communication would go a long way right now."

"what do you want me to say?" he bites; anyone else would back away from that tone, but you're not anyone else. you're the person put on this earth to be a pain in Daryl Dixon's ass, and that's exactly what you plan to be.

"i want a plan," you reply. "the others are expecting us back before nightfall."

"we're not getting back before nightfall."

"not with that attitude." you sigh, doing yet another pointless scan of the room - well, dungeon more like, considering the amount of rock and concrete there is. "how long has it been since they left? do you think they'll feed us?"

"we're not dogs, y/n," he grumbles. "we're hostages. chances are, next time we see them, it'll be so they can slit our throats."

"i didn't really get that vibe off them, to be honest. i know we're tied up and everything, but i think we can negotiate."

finally Daryl looks up, bloodshot eyes bored. "don't even try. things always go tits up the minute you open your mouth."

your jaw drops open. "are you serious? how can you say that when you're the one who got us into this situation in the first place?"

Daryl rolls his eyes, looking away. "i never asked you to come with me."

"yeah, well, someone has to keep you from killing yourself."

"you can keep me from killing myself, but not getting kidnapped?"

"i'm not a miracle worker."

Daryl scowls. you scowl back, even though he's not looking at you. it would be so easy some days to just punch him square in the face, but you've never let yourself get that far. at the end of the day, and as tough as it is to admit it, Daryl is the only one in the group you can properly talk to, whether he likes it or not. everyone else is too. . . flowery, too keen on sparing your feelings. they know what you've been through, and that effects everything they do when in your presence.

Daryl isn't like that, and for some reason, it feels safer to be with someone who tells you the truth, and nothing but the truth. sometimes, it feels safer to be with someone who hates your guts.

still, that doesn't mean he doesn't drive you completely mad. the way he chokes up in stressful situations, offering no help or communication - this is a life or death situation, and yet he still insists on kneeling there with his thumb up his ass. you could scream. in fact, you're so mad at his silence that you're being driven into your own silence, unable to come up with a plan when you're so angry at the idiot beside you.

he's a domino effect. a bad one. a domino avalanche.

you sigh heavily, closing your eyes, tilting your head against the concrete wall behind you. Daryl glances over, but neither of you get a chance to continue arguing - as much as you'd love to - before the rickety wooden door on the other side of the room creaks open. light spills in, blinding you, but you don't let your discomfort show. instead, you stare right into it, waiting for the face of your captor to appear, because you don't remember it all too well. they were wearing balaclavas for one, the smart bastards, but you can imagine they're young with the shabby way they've tied you up, and the complete whim of which they decided to-

"what the fuck."

two people come into view once the door is closed. their faces are lit only by the flashlights they carry, but the puny yellow light is enough to show the wrinkles indented in their leathery skin. the flashlights shake from elderly trembles, held by veiny, pockmarked hands damaged from years - years - of hard labour never soothed by retirement.

you and Daryl share a look; something isn't right. these can't be the same people who managed to pin you to the ground and tie you up.

that would be too embarrassing to even fathom.

"are you awake?"

the voice is frail but commanding.

"yes," you reply, earning a glare from Daryl that you ignore. "quite hard to sleep on concrete."

the flashlight pivots in your direction. you wince.

"right, stop blinding me, would you?"

"what's your name?"

"who's asking?" Daryl grunts.

the stranger - the male - steps closer. "the people who have the power to kill you, or let you go. i suggest you cooperate."

you stare at Daryl, hoping to God he can feel what you're trying to say through gaze alone; he needs to work with these people. they didn't come in here guns blazing, which means there is room for release if they just cooperate, but that word has never been something Daryl fully understands. right now, you need him to understand. right now, you need him to use his brain, need him to-

he spits on the concrete, right at the mans feet.

you close your eyes, resisting the urge to start cursing.

"go to hell," he growls.

the man steps back and wraps an arm around the female's waist. she curls into him, shooting daggers at Daryl as she places one hand on her husband's chest, as if protecting him from Daryl's lack of manners. you really can’t say you blame her.

“there’s no need for the hostility,” the man says. “we did what we had to do; you can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

“the wise thing would have been to leave us. kill us, even.”

“he doesn’t mean that,” you hasten to add.

daryl shoots you a glare before continuing. “instead you tie us up and bring us to your base. what good is that going to do?”

“it keeps us in control,” the female replies. “just because we want the upper hand, doesn’t mean we want you dead.”

daryl scoffs. “biggest load of horseshit i’ve ever heard.”

“do you want us to kill you? because, young man, that can easily be arranged,” the man growls.

your heart jumps in your chest; this isn’t going as smoothly as it could be going, all because daryl can’t keep his mouth shut. he’s the quietest guy in the group when he shouldn’t be, and the biggest loud mouth when he should.

your brain work at a mile a minute as daryl and the elderly couple have a stare down. it’s your first instinct to scan the room for any weaponry, but then you imagine yourself actually slaughtering this elderly couple, and your stomach twists; there has to be another way, some kind of reasoning you can find, even ground you can all agree-

your eyes land on the wedding bands on the couple’s fingers.

you don’t even fully process the next words out of your mouth, just dive head first into the ridiculous idea that has suddenly sprung to your mind. “look, i’m so sorry about my husband. he gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

daryl’s head snaps around, mouth open,ready for a retort, but you’ve stated digging the hole, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin it now.

“i’m sure you understand, being a married couple and everything.” you laugh nervously. “we were actually just talking before you came down - we think i’s so admirable that you two have grown old together. it’s the kind of marriage we want. of course, the cards we’ve been dealt make that a little more difficult, but hope prevails.” you look at daryl and smile. “hope prevails. isn’t that what you said, dear?”

daryl only stares.

the elderly couple share a glance. if you’re not mistaken, they look almost sympathetic, and when they look back at you and daryl, their expressions have changed entirely, watered down to something you can certainly work with.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. “i always get carried away when it comes to taking about him. we’re newly weds, you see - got married just a few weeks before the news broke about. . . well, everything.”

“oh, goodness,” the female gasps, wrinkled hand covering her mouth. “you poor souls. did you at least get to have your wedding?”

“a tiny one,” you reply. “people were isolating, you see. my own mother, god rest her soul - she never made it. we had to put her down the day after.”

the woman shakes her head like this is the worst story she’s ever heard come out of the apocalypse. you glance at daryl, urging him with your eyes to play along, though you have very little hope you’ll ever get him to tart spewing bullshit marriage stories. the least he can do is stay quiet - that’s all your asking.

“we’re married, though, and we’re together,” you continue. “that’s what we’re focusing on.”

“yes, of course,” the man says. “do you . . . do you have a home to go back to?”

“a group, actually,” you reply. “we have a few young’un’s waiting for us. don’t tell anyone, but i think of them as our children now. they’re probably worried sick.”

the couple share yet another glance, and you know you’ve got them. when it comes to old married couples, the idea of a young couple mirroring their experience with marriage is always an easy fix; if you want anything, just tell them it’s because you want to end up like them, old and in love. they fall for it every time.

the woman inhales shakily, letting her hand drop to her side before she pulls a knife from a tiny sheath in her leggings; you almost whistle appreciatively at the blade, how shiny and well-kept it is, nothing like your own which have grown almost completely dull with age and overuse, and very little care on your part.

she walks over and slices the ropes from daryl’s hands, and then she steps back and waits. you blink at the scene, waiting patiently for her to make her way over to you to do the same, but she doesn’t. she just stares at daryl, lips pursed.

she’s waiting for him to make a big scene about being released.

what would a young, married man do in this situation? probably rush to his significant others side, smother them with kisses, ask them if they’re okay. daryl just rubs the raw skin on his wrists, cursing quietly under his breath, seeming almost oblivious to the audience watching him.

panic grips your chest. you have to do something before they realise something isn’t right.

“baby, you’re free!” you exclaim.

daryl’s head whips around. “huh?”

“you’re free!” you repeat. “come here, let me make sure you’re alright.”

daryl raises a brow, but he’s at least got the common sense not to say anything in the presence of your captors. slowly, he crawls over and kneels in front of you, confusion still etched on his expression. you rake your eyes over him dramatically, feigning worry; in truth, he looks to be in better form than you are, his wrists not even raw from the ropes.

“what are you-“ he begins.

“you’re okay!” you throw yourself forward, letting him catch you, and then you do the extreme part of the plan. without warning, you press your lips to his. he grunts against your mouth, eyes widening, fingers curling around your biceps, but he doesn’t pull away, and you almost sob in relief. you were fully expecting him to shove you to the floor, probably fight his way out of this dungeon and leave you for dead. instead, he goes still against you, but his lips don’t leave your own. you’re almost tempted to push your luck and stick your tongue in his mouth just to piss him off, but there’s a time and place for things like that, and it certainly isn’t here and now.

you keep the kiss short and sweet, pulling away with a smile you hope is convincing. the elderly couple are looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars in the sky; apparently the kiss was all they needed, as the man walks over and finally cuts the ropes binding your wrists. the cold air against the raw skin makes you hiss in pain, but you don’t let it take you from the character you have suddenly developed. as soon as you’re free, you throw your arms around daryl’s neck and drag him in to a hug. his hands hover at the small of your back.

you turn your head and whisper in his ear, “play along, you son of a bitch. i’m trying to get us out of here alive.”

he drops his hands, wrapping you in his arms. a warmth spreads through you, an odd sense of relief tat you don’t want to acknowledge when you’re in this position with daryl dixon.

“you two get home safe,” the man says, his voice being the only thing to remind you and daryl that you can actually let go of each other now. “tell your folks we’re sorry. we didn’t mean no harm.”

you pull away from daryl. he keeps his arm around your waist, tugging you into his side like the old little actor you never knew he could be. “thank you. honestly. we appreciate this.”

daryl gives a nod, which is probably all you should expect from him.

and with a final goodbye to your captors, you walk up the stairs and into the night.

——

daryl doesn’t speak the whole way back to camp. you didn’t really expect him to.

nonetheless, you still try. you would hate to go back to camp with all this tense energy between you, a direct result of daryl’s inability to communicate like a regular human being.

he barrels ahead of you, letting all the branches swing back in your face. usually you would tell him to fuck off and stop being a child, but it’s obvious what happened has shocked him, and the last thing you want to do is make it worse.

maybe you shouldn’t have kissed him. maybe you shouldn’t have let things get that far. hell, you probably could have worked out some way to get free without telling lies, but in the heat of the moment, it was the only thing you could come up with.

it worked, didn’t it?

“daryl!” you holler after him. “daryl, come on. slow down.”

“keep up,” he shoots back.

“are you mad at me?”

he tugs on the ropes holding the prison gates together; in the distance, glenn stands atop one of the watchtowers, watching you like a hawk.

you grip daryl’s arm. “are you mad?”

he pulls away and glare before finally getting the gate open; he doesn’t give you a reply, instead storming off without another word, which you suppose is answer enough.

you follow him into camp, eyes cast to the floor in any attempt to hide your emotions from anyone you might come across; it doesn’t matter that you’ve been gone for hours - you don’t want to explain why daryl has marched off in a huff, because that will be the first thing they ask you. always you, like you’re tied to the man in some way.

you make your way to the canteen without seeing anyone. you slump in one of the metal chairs and finally take time to rub at the raw skin of your wrist; it burns, but the sting is familiar at this point. you could easily go another few days before having it looked at, but of course hershel has other plans.

“you’re like a bloodhound,” you say, sensing his presence in the doorway.

the click of his cane echoes. “what happened?”

“what always happens - we got in shit, got out of shit. now we’re here.”

“now you’re here.” hershel kneels in front of you, taking your wrist for examination. “where’s your other half got to?”

you wince. “don’t call him that. he’s nothing of the sort; especially not right now.”

hershel raises a brow. “no?”

you sigh, looking at the ceiling; hershel is one of those men you are able to trust with anything, the grandfather of the group after dale died. you have told him secrets, confided in him with embarrassing questions, but he has never judged you. in fact, nine times out of ten, he knows what you’re going to say before you’ve even said it. still, he expects you to make an effort, which is why he doesn’t fill in the blanks, just inspects your wrist whilst waiting for you to speak.

“it’s complicated.” your go-to statement when it comes to daryl. “we ran into some people, and we had to. . . play pretend, and i don’t think daryl appreciated it very much.” you wince, cheeks burning. “did i violate the poor guy?”

“i’ll need more details before i can answer that.”

you hesitate. “we kissed.” hershel’s head snaps up, but you’re quick to clarify. “we had to kiss. the only way we were going to get free was by pretending we’re a married couple.”

hershel blinks. “i’ve. . . never heard of that tactic before.”

“either have i, but it worked like a fucking charm.” you sigh. “only problem is-“

“daryl’s huffing.”

“yep.”

hershel shakes his head, muttering almost to himself. “i don’t understand that man. he makes absolutely no sense.”

“he has every right to be mad,” you say. “it took him off guard, and we all know daryl doesn’t like surprises.”

“yes, but. . .” hershel shakes his head, taking your wrist again. “never mind. i’ll have a chat with him; i want to check him over anyway.”

——

the days pass, and daryl continues ignoring you.

you’re very good at pretending this doesn’t bother you; the group are absolutely none the wiser, not mentioning daryl to you once. however, you refuse to be in denial - you have greatly pissed daryl off, and you don’t like it.

your hunting trips aren’t the same without him. they’re lonely, and boring, and too quiet; you never realised how often you turned to him when it was just you in the woods, and no one else, how often you leaned on him to take your mind off everything going wrong in the world. without him, these hunting trips are almost scary.

of course, it would be easy for you to approach him, just ask if he wanted to hunt, but you can’t throw your pride away like that.

so you spend the next few days trying to distract yourself from his ever-looming presence. he stands in the corner of the room during group meetings, arms folded, avoiding your gaze. the fact he finds it so easy to completely block you out is a punch to the gut, but you refuse to let it get to you.

you will not be the first one to break.

two weeks pass with no disturbances at the prison. days actually start to grow boring, a repetitive cycle of prison upkeep and hunting that drives you insane. you tell carl this as the two of you sit on the floor of the courtyard, watching the small pile of walkers cling to the gates; you and rick fixed them up yesterday, so you’re in no rush to get up.

carl scoffs at your complaint. “have we not earned a little boredom?”

“yes,” you grumble. “i knew you were going to say that. make me feel all bad and stuff.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” he shrugs. “i’m enjoying the boredom.”

“not like you.”

“keeps dad calm. can’t ask for much more than that.”

you nod. “fair enough, i suppose. fair-“

carl suddenly lurches forward, eyes narrowed. immediately your knife is in your hand and you're joining him, one hand on his shoulder, the other curled around the hilt of your knife.

you don't need to ask him what he's looking at, because you see it instantly, the one breathing being amongst the dozens of corpses clawing at the gate.

"fuck," says carl.

"watch your mouth." and then you're both on your feet, sprinting for the gates. you catch glenn's attention up in the watch tower and wave your hand above your head, signalling for him to get the others. your heart pounds with an adrenaline you haven't felt in days, you're dizzy with it, on the verge of-

you nearly trip over your own feet when you finally get a glimpse of who the person is.

the same woman who watched you kiss daryl. the same woman who took you captive and forced you into this situation.

the same woman who let you go when she could have easily slit your throat.

"carl, wait!" you grab his arm and yank him back. "i know her."

carl doesn't lower his gun, merely glances up at you with a raised brow.

you step forward, pushing him behind you. the woman meets your eyes and continues to yell, slamming her hands desperately against the wire fence; a few walkers have already noticed her, slowly peeling away from their group and making their way towards her. by the looks of things, she doesn't even have a weapon; she's come here out of pure desperation.

"what's going on?" rick hollers, sprinting down the hill with most of the group close behind. "y/n?"

"open the gates!"

"what-"

"open the gates!" you demand, before thrusting your knife through the fence and into a walkers brain.

you ignore the confusion happening behind you and just hope they're following your orders. you continue to stab and yell, drawing the dead away from the terrified woman and towards you.

it doesn't take long for daryl to join you, though you aren't sure who he's doing it for. even though this woman showed you kindness, she is still the one who kidnapped you in the first place; you aren't sure if daryl would appreciate her presence near him again. and yet he takes the walkers down without hesitation, even helping glenn and rick rip the gate open, allowing the old woman in.

she's disgruntled to say the least, gasping and stumbling. she collapses at your feet, and that's where she breaks down completely. tears streak the mud caking her face, dripping into a mouth held open in absolute horror. her grey hair is matted with blood, and her husband is nowhere to be seen.

you glance at daryl, and for the first time in days, he looks back.

"someone grab her," rick orders.

"no," you bark, pushing maggie back. "can't you see she's distraught?"

"that doesn't matter," rick fires back. "we don't know who she is, how she found-

"y/n said no."

all heads turn to daryl. he meets everyone's gaze, letting them know he is not one bit intimidated before looking back at the woman. too caught up in daryl's overall presence, you hadn't even noticed the woman go silent, flicking her gaze between you and daryl like you're some kind of spectacle.

you kneel next to her. "hello again."

----

you and daryl decide to talk to her together. nobody else allowed in the room.

he's nervous, or furious - you don't really know which one. he paces back and forth, crossbow not leaving his hands once; rosalie stares with wide eyes, glancing at you like she expects you to do something about it.

you have a sip of your water. "you can ignore him if you want. he never really adds anything to the conversation anyway."

daryl whirls. "you know, your little jokes really aren't handy in situations like this."

"good thing i don't give a fuck-"

"no, of course not. everything's just a big game to you."

"why are you yelling? you think that's going to-"

"please."

rosalie's voice is barely a whisper, but you hear it nonetheless. she sounds so fragile, so broken - so much so that you actually feel guilty for being so hostile in front of her. you have been in this interrogation room for nearly twenty minutes, doing nothing but bicker with daryl.

"please," she repeats, not looking up. "don't fight. we don't need any more of that in this world, especially between two people who love each other."

daryl stiffens, and you wince. that's right - she thinks you and daryl are married.

you fold your arms on the metal table. "rosalie. sorry. look, you have to understand why daryl and i have been sent to talk to you. this - you showing up out of nowhere. . . it looks a little weird. we just need some answers."

"why are you here?" daryl demands.

you shoot him a glare and repeat the question, softer this time. "why are you here, rosalie?"

she sniffs, wipes her nose on her blood stained sleeve. "our base got ambushed. patrick didn't make it; they got him while he was trying to protect me." she squeezes her eyes closed. "i ran out and just. . . kept running. your prison was the first place i came across that looked like it had any sign of life." she opens her eyes again. "i didn't know it was you two. i promise i didn't."

"bullshit," daryl scoffs. "it don't matter that you just kept running. this place is in the asshole of nowhere. you couldn't have found it unless you had us followed that day."

rosalie's eyes widen, darting to you for support you can't give her. despite daryl being a known drama queen, he also has a point right now. rosalie could have ran for days, but the chances of her finding the prison without forewarning of it's whereabouts are slim.

daryl stalks over, leaning close to rosalie's terrified face. "what do you want?"

she pulls back, and you don't miss her wince when she does. "i-i don't want anything you're not willing to give. i just needed a place to rest. i'm exhausted."

"you think we should give you anything after-"

"where are you hurt?"

daryl looks down at you, that familiar glint of frustration in his gaze. it's a look you've become accostomed to, so it's easily ignored, especially when you're focused on something else. you didn't notice it at first, but the wince rosalie makes every time she moves is becoming increasingly suspicious.

rosalie stares for another few seconds, as if waiting for you to retract your question. you lean forward, pushing your knife closer with your elbow.

"i've been nice to you," you say. "and i'll continue to be nice if you tell me where you're hurt. why you're hurt."

daryl stiffens. "a bite?"

you narrow your eyes. "i don't know."

rosalie shakes her head violently, fresh tears beginning to leak down her face again. "i'm not bitten! i swear i'm not bitten!"

you grab your knife. "show us."

immediately she scrambles to her feet and yanks up the hem of her pink jumper, revealing not a bite, but what looks like a nasty burn mark. still, you and daryl have been through this before, are both well aware that there's no such thing as being too cautious when it comes to injuries. it's an unspoken routine when daryl grabs rosalie's arms and tosses you the flashlight always strapped to his belt. you catch it with ease, shining it on the throbbing, wrinkled mess on rosalie's hip.

"well?" daryl grunts.

"looks like a burn." he drops her; she lands back in her chair with a clatter.

you glare at daryl.

he plucks his flashlight from your fingers. "now what? we keeping her here or not?"

"you're letting me decide?"

daryl shrugs, but you don't miss the tiny blush rising to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by going back to his pesky pacing.

you decide to leave the teasing till later, instead turning to rosalie. "hershel will want to check her over."

"why does hershel have to know? send her out on her ass without telling him, he's gonna be none the wiser."

you raise a brow. "you're not really that evil. the tough guy act doesn't work on me." and just to add salt to the wound, you add, "we're married, remember?"

daryl scowls, but that blush only gets more pronounced. you're finding this quite fun.

"okay," you say to rosalie. "we're gonna get our medic to look you over. that burn doesn't look too good. once he's said it's alright, the group should have some idea of what to do with you."

rosalie hollows out her cheeks, slumping back. "thank you." "don't thank us yet," daryl grumbles. "we aint decided yet."

----

daryl lets you in his cell that night.

it's the first time in a while he's let you follow him to bed, the first time in a while you've actually wanted to. after everything that happened when you were captured, it seems almost. . . inappropriate, even though these little sleepovers have never been anything more than a platonic comfort for you both, just having someone there to exist with.

daryl doesn't invite you in or anything, simply lets you hover in the doorway as he sits crosslegged on his bed, busy sharpening an arrow.

you fold your arms, watching him. it's always jarring to see him like this - sitting still, doing something slow paced. he's the type of man you expect to always be in motion, like he might cease to exist otherwise. when he's sitting still, you can admire everything about him, and there's nothing he can do about it.

"you didn't like it, did you?"

you say it because that's really the only thing you need to say, the only elephant in the room. judging by the way he freezes, it's obvious he knows it too.

"i thought it was our only chance of getting out of there." you shrug. "you know me and my stupid ideas. i should have asked you first."

"you admitting you were wrong?"

you hold your hands up. "just 'cause the word 'sorry' melts your brain, doesn't mean it melts mine."

he glares through the tops of his eyelids, making you grin.

you step into his cell. "i'm just messing. i really am sorry."

"stop apologising," he grumbles. "fuck, it worked, didn't it? we got out alive."

"alive and wed."

he scoffs, but it's close enough to a laugh that you make your way over to his bed and take a seat. he goes back to sharpening his arrows, and suddenly it's just like old times. it was only two weeks of his silent treatment, but you still missed the evenings spent just like this, watching him work, those calloused hands so skilled in anything he puts them to. you can imagine a ring on his knobbly finger, though you aren't sure why the image sends heat racing through you.

"have you ever been in a relationship before?"

the question takes you by surprise; it's not the kind of thing daryl would ever ask about, not a topic he particularly cares about. when you look at him, he keeps his head down, tongue gliding across his bottom lip.

you shift on the bed, bringing your feet under you. "not a serious one, no. i'm better on my own, i think."

"ain't that what they all say?"

"what about you? have you ever had that special person?"

he pauses a moment too long. your heart jumps, a flood of some dark, grim feeling filling your body before you can get a hold of it.

you clap a hand over your mouth, gasping dramatically. daryl groans, lifts his head to tell you to shut up, but you need to bury this burning jealousy somehow, and the only way you can come up with is by embarrassing the shit out of daryl.

"you have, haven't you?" you grab his arm. he lets out a hiss of pain, drawing his arm back to reveal a droplet of blood welling on his finger.

you flinch back. "shit, sorry!"

daryl glares, placing his finger between his lips, and holy god, why is the room getting so stuffy? why can't you stop staring at his lips? those same lips you kissed only two weeks ago, those lips you have tasted, those lips-

"i've never been in a relationship," he grumbles, snapping you out of your daze.

"i don't believe that," you scoff. "a fine, sociable man like yourself? surely the ladies were dropping at your feet."

daryl rolls his eyes. "funny."

"seriously though. never?"

"don't act so surprised. you haven't either."

"yeah but that's. . . different. i'm . . . me."

daryl freezes, eyes snapping up to meet yours. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"well, i'm not exactly the best person to-"

"shut up y/n. you're ridiculous."

your eyebrows rise. "woah, okay. fuck you, dixon."

he just shakes his head, going back to his arrow sharpening. this is what he does, one of the many things that infuriate you about him; he will say or do something entirely out of pocket, and then go silent when you confront him on it.

but it's been years, and you're used to it by now. taking a deep breath, you try steering the conversation someplace safer. "you know if rick decides to let rosalie stay, we'll have to pretend we love each other."

he flicks his eyes up. "why do we?"

"well, she thinks we're married."

"who gives a fuck what she thinks? she's our prisoner now."

you roll your eyes, exasperated. "don't call her a prisoner. we're not tyrants, daryl."

"everyone's a tyrant."

"she came to us." you sigh. "we could just stay away from each other if you think that's easier."

his reply is quick, almost panicked. "what good will that do? married couple it is."

just to really seal the deal, you shake hands. it goes quiet after that, neither of you knowing what to say or how to proceed. still, you don't leave his cell, enjoying his presence more than you would ever willingly admit. despite him being a complete pain in the ass, he's still your closest friend in this place, the guy who knows you better than anyone. the guy who somehow managed to break down every wall you've ever put up, all whilst keeping his perfectly in tact.

---

rosalie is released from the infirmary and put under watch, but she is still free to roam the halls of the prison. rick decided an injured, unarmed, grieving old lady isn't much of a threat in the grand scheme of things, and you weren't going to argue. you have no problems with rosalie besides the fact you have to get uncomfortably close to daryl when she's around.

again, this isn't something that ever bothered you; once upon a time, you and daryl would spend hours with each other, out in the woods hunting, or just sitting in each other's company. however, after your last little sleepover, being in daryl's presence has become a very confusing experience, one you don't have time to face head-on. all those weird, warm feelings you felt just don't make any sense.

nonetheless, you keep up the charade when rosalie's around, because it's easier that way. even daryl agrees, which is why he sits beside you now, an arm thrown loosely over your shoulder. you can hear glenn and carl snickering behind you, but rosalie is talking, so you can't do anything about it.

she's in the middle of a story about the travels her and patrick used to embark on, how they aren't even from atlanta, but got caught there after the first wave of walkers made an appearance.

she's explaining how they didn't fret, because at least they had each other, when she turns her attention to you and daryl and says, "i'm sure you two understand. this world could really do some damage if we didn't have people we love."

daryl's grip tightens, and you purse your lips. you can appreciate rosalie's optimism, but her naivety takes the forefront; how can she say such a thing to a group of people who have lost everything, have watched their loved ones get ripped to shreds one by one? it wasn't that long ago rick lost his wife, carl his mother, you a friend.

you sniff, grabbing daryl's hand to keep your angered trembles at bay. "very true, rosie, very true."

"such a good thing that daryl and y/n have each other," glenn chimes in, amusement dripping from every word. "not so lucky for us - they can be loud when their - uh - love takes over."

carl chokes in his attempts to keep from laughing.

"oh!" rosalie gasps, abashed. "goodness, well, at least that spark is still there. i loved patrick dearly, but when you're busy surviving everyday, you don't get time to . . . you know."

"i wish you'd tell that to these two," glenn continued. "almost every night its-" and then the little bastard starts slapping his hand against the wall just to really get his point across.

you spin around and punch him right in the leg. carl bursts into laughter as glenn cries out. even rosalie laughs, a nervous little titter that tells you she doesn't want to get on your bad side.

you slump back in your seat, and daryl immediately wraps his arm back around you, tighter this time, like he needs something to hold on to or he'll lose his temper. you flick a glance his way, but he doesn't meet your eyes, jaw set and gaze straight ahead.

you turn back to rosalie, shaking your head. "ignore them."

"they're just jealous anyway," daryl pipes up. "couldn't make someone moan if they tried."

you choke and bury your head in your hands; this is not where you expected the conversation to go. around you, everyone besides daryl is doubled over in fits of laughter, a sound you would have treasured if it wasn't for the fact it's aimed at you.

you glance at daryl through a crack in your fingers. he smiles smugly, chewing casually on a toothpick. you hate that he looks so good after embarrassing you like that, putting the image of that in your head, and now you feel all warm and gooey, like you might melt straight into his arms.

rosalie excuses herself to help maggie and hershel with dinner, and glenn and carl follow suit shortly after. you dislodge from under daryl's arm, ignoring the way you instantly crave the weight of him again.

"didn't realise you had such a sense of humour," you say, plucking your shoes from the floor. "good job by the way; arm over my shoulder and everything. you're really sticking to the character."

he shrugs. "might as well have fun with it."

"fun?"

"watching you get all flustered?" he trails his eyes down your body, back up again in a slow, almost sensual way. "my idea of fun."

you blink. he stares right back, and the thing is, he isn't even doing anything he wouldn't normally do. the man is just sitting there, waiting for you to reply to his teasing remark, but there's been something in the air these past few days, finally coming to immobilise you for good. you can't even keep the eye contact as heat crawls up your back.

"right," you mumble, looking away. "that's all good then. glad we got that over with. i'll see you later."

he lifts his hand in an amused little wave, ending the conversation and allowing you to scramble from the room.

----

"you were stomping too loudly the entire time. no wonder we didn't get anything."

"if anyone was being too loud, it was you."

"bullshit, daryl. i would have had that rabbit if you hadn't-"

daryl shoves past you, storming towards the prison. you grit your teeth and follow close behind, desperately trying to keep calm. another unsuccessful hunting trip, and daryl is clearly losing his patience - still, he doesn't have to take it out on you, and you're not going to let him.

"you can be such a child, you know," you call after him. "there's still plenty of food in the kitchen, so you don't need to be throwing all your fucking toys out of the pram."

"oh, shut up!" he exclaims. "all your smart little remarks ain't helping!"

"i'm not saying them to help, i'm saying them 'cause you're being a fussy little-"

he whirls around and pushes you against a tree.

you gasp, but the noise comes out weak and choked by the fingers gently tracing a line along the column of your throat. daryl presses his knee between your legs, all but holding you up at this point, because suddenly he is so close you can see the tiny green specks in his blue eyes. you have half a mind to shove him away, tell him to go to hell, but the words fail you when he drops his forehead to yours like it's the most normal thing in the world.

you swallow thickly. "w-what are you-"

"no more yelling at me," he says quietly. "rosalie is standing at the gate."

you go to turn your head, but daryl catches your chin, keeping your gaze pinned to his.

"don't look over," he orders. "that'll be too obvious."

without another word, he trails his fingers down your throat, hooking them in the neckline of your shirt. you rise on your toes, you can't help it. you've never had him so close to you before, never had the opportunity to crave this proximity so much, but there is a fire lit in your stomach right now that is impossible to ignore.

"y/n," he croaks, sounding just as desperate as you feel.

"daryl," you manage. "i-is she still looking?"

he nods without looking over, but you take his word for it, because you don't want the moment to end just yet.

you watch the movement of his eyes, the way they slowly slip to your lips, lingering there. he wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue, throat bobbing, and suddenly this isn't a performance. suddenly you are overcome with the urge to grab him, drag him into you, audience or not.

you have the strange, impossible feeling that he might want the same thing.

but that doesn't make sense, because daryl doesn't like you in that way. from day one, his boundaries have been clear when it comes to you - you're his hunting partner, someone kept around to make life a little easier, his pain in the ass. not once has he ever expressed feelings for you. not to your face. not like this.

his hands fall away from your throat like leaves tumbling off a branch. your breath escapes you in a rush as you wait for him to step away, but he does no such thing; his hands find your waist, and he oh-so-gently nudges your hips back against the tree.

"y-you're taking this roll very seriously," you manage.

he huffs a laugh, breath fanning your face. his eyes slip closed. "right."

you cup his cheeks. "hey, open those eyes or she'll think we're breaking up."

he looks at you then, the eye contact more intense than it has ever been before. daryl isn't an emotional person, but he could fool anyone with the gaze he levels on you, like you're the only person in the whole world.

you draw back, hand still holding his face. "hey. what's wrong?"

"nothing."

but his answer is too quick, too orchestrated.

you furrow your brows and finally risk a glance at the prison gates; rosalie is nowhere to be found.

"coast is clear."

daryls eyes snap over, and he immediately stumbles away. "right. good. let's get back."

you watch him leave, legs still too weak to follow. he runs a hand through his brown hair, tugging on the strands, a complete demeanour change that leaves you stunned. you don't want to acknowledge your racing heartbeat, but it's difficult to ignore when it is so all consuming, so confusing.

you have to take a few calming breaths before heading to the prison. you duck under the gap daryl made in the fence and head to the canteen, desperate for a distraction. you think you've managed to sneak past the group until you actually enter the canteen to see hershel sitting at a table, all on his own. you have half a mind to walk away, avoid any conversation, but then you remember this is hershel.

"need company?" you ask, sitting across from him.

he looks up with a smile, though that expression is quickly replaced by furrowed brows and a frown. "what's wrong with you?"

you don't meet his eyes. "what do you mean?"

"you look like you've ran five miles."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

he lowers his head in an attempt to get a better look at your face. you do everything to hide away, but you should know better when it comes to hershel greene - nothing gets past him.

he slowly leans back, having clearly inspected your flushed cheeks and frazzled hair enough to make his own conclusions. "oh."

"don't start," you grumble.

"you know i hate gossip, but could you explain. . ."

you chew your bottom lip, twisting the ring on your finger. "just. . . daryl. rosalie was at the gate, so we had to keep up appearances, obviously. he's just. . . really good at his role. got me a little flustered, that's all."

hershel is silent for a beat too long. you risk a glance up and catch his sceptical eyes, all furrowed brows and a frown so deep you think you may have accidentally hurt his feelings somehow.

"what?" you ask.

"rosalie was nowhere near the gate."

you pause. "huh? yes she was. daryl-"

"rosalie's arthritis had a flare up this morning; she's been out cold all day. hasn't even left her cell."

your heart stops, because surely that isn't right. daryl wouldn't have gone anywhere near you if rosalie wasn't watching. you were having an argument, for crying out loud, and lord knows the only way daryl settles an argument is by blanking you, not pinning you against a tree and making your insides turn to complete sludge.

you go to tell hershel this, but the words die the moment you see the amused little smirk pulling across his face.

"what?" you spit.

"is it not so obvious?"

you know exactly what he's referring to, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "clearly not."

hershel chuckles. "my dear, that man is head over heels for you."

please don't.

"that's not true."

"you don't believe me?"

"it's not like that with me and daryl. we're hunting partners at best." you don't mention the way your heart races when he's around, the way you aren't comfortable with anyone in the same way you are with him, the way you would call him your best friend.

hershel tilts his head, but you can't meet his eyes. that would give too much away.

"y/n," he says softly. "come on now."

"you're looking too deep into things."

"i would agree if daryl hadn't confessed his feelings to me personally."

you open your mouth to shoot back a reply, but again, the words die the minute you process what hershel has just said. a confession from daryl? daryl dixon talking about his feelings? the idea is so bizarre you nearly start laughing, but the shock has left you almost immobile, so all you can do is blink, waiting for hershel to get to the punchline. he stares back, not a trace of humour on his face.

realistically, you know this isn't something hershel would joke about, but you can't bring yourself to accept any other possibility. it doesn't make any sense. it doesn't fit in the puzzle that is you and daryl.

"he. . ." you shake your head. "what did he say?"

"will you believe me if i tell you?"

"what did he say, hershel?"

"that he thinks he's in love with you, and it scares him." a soft smile graces his lips. "that's why i was so confused when he reacted the way he did to you kissing him. i would have thought he would be over the moon." "but that's. . . why wouldn't he just tell me?"

hershel scoffs. "when has daryl ever made his own life easier?"

you close your eyes, letting your head fall into your hands. "holy fuck."

"rosalie was nowhere near those gates today, my dear. i can promise you that."

you stand before you can think better of it. you are suddenly overcome with the need to see him, to look him in the eyes and hear this confession for yourself. you don't care that he'll be put on the spot, that his anxiety will probably morph him into a hostile beast. you need the truth, because going one more day without it might just drive you mad.

hershel doesn't even try to stop you. you storm out of the canteen and make a b-line for daryl's cell, pushing past a confused rick and carl on the way.

of course, daryl is laying on his bunk, crossbow held over his face as he inspects the weapons underbelly. he looks over when you storm inside, opens his mouth to no doubt yell at you, but he doesn't get the chance as you grab his crossbow and chuck it onto the floor.

"do you love me?"

the colour drains from his face in an instant. it is answer enough, so answer enough, and you nearly crumble under the weight of it. part of you wants to kiss him, another part of you wants to yell at him for making all of this so complicated, for denying himself something good just because he's less in tune with emotions than the corpses walking around.

you trail your hands through your hair. "oh, daryl. . ."

"did that old fuck tell you?" he sits up. "i swear to-"

you push him back onto the bed. "don't you dare start on hershel. you wanna know where rosalie's been all day? nowhere near those fucking gates, that's for sure." daryl looks away, but you're not playing games any more, not when your heart is beating so fast, and you don't know if it's out of anger, or excitement, or dread, or all of the above. you just need things to be straight forward from here on out. you just need the truth.

"daryl, what was that?" you demand. "why . . . why would you play along instead of just telling me the truth?"

"it's a lot harder than that," he grumbles.

"how long?"

he narrows his eyes. "huh?"

"tell me how long you've felt this way. since i kissed you?"

he scoffs like the suggestion is ridiculous.

you raise a brow. "before?"

"a long time before," he replies. "that's why the kiss. . . freaked me out so much. i ain't used to that shit. especially not with someone. . ."

you pause. "someone you love."

he squeezes his eyes closed. "it's so fucking stupid. hershel should have kept his goddamn mouth shut."

"rosalie's on bed rest. i would have found out eventually." you take a step closer and reach for his hand. he stares for a moment before slipping his hand in your own; his fingers are rough, yet the minute he intertwines them with yours, you realise you never want him to let go. "it's nothing to be intimidated by. it's not stupid."

"it is stupid. it should be the last thing on my mind. the dead are up and walking, but all i can fucking think about is you. it's always just you." he shakes his head, grip tightening the smallest bit. "i'm caught in a hoard and all i can think about is where you are, if you're safe or not. do you know how fucked that is? how in my head you are?" he scoffs in disbelief, tilting his head back. "christ, and you don't even try. you never have tried; you just managed to completely take me down without a care in the fucking world." he rakes his hands down his face, groans into his palms. "i should hate you for it."

"but you don't."

he drops his hands into his lap, dejected. "no. no, i really don't."

he looks up at you then, expectant, like a child waiting for their next task. you can only stare back at him, because there isn't an awful lot a person can say after an admission like that. you wish you could reply with something coherent, something that would get your own feelings across, but for the first time in history, daryl has articulated your emotions for you. every experience he so heart-wrenchingly described is one you have experienced yourself, so there's nothing you can add.

so instead, you guide his hand to your waist and let him draw you in. he's hesitant at first, never taking his eyes off you as you step between his knees and take his face in your hands. for a man so muscular, his cheeks are soft and round, a feature you've always found so amusing and appealing at the same time.

he inhales shakily. "you're still a pain in my ass."

"but you love me."

he scowls, but there is no denial.

you grin, and finally your mind clears enough for you to kiss him. for real this time.

he stiffens for just a moment before easing into it, grip tightening on your waist to pull you closer. you slide your hands over his shoulders, deepening the kiss, feeling his body against your own. you taste the cigarettes on his tongue, a flavour so perfectly him that it doesn't even gross you out. your nails bite into his back, forcing a growl from his throat that nearly has your eyes rolling into the back of your head with how desperate it leaves you.

that's how you know it's time to pull away.

he chases your lips, hands never leaving your waist even when you gently push him back. he groans, pressing his head to your stomach as he says, "why'd you stop?"

breathless, you reply, "it's the middle of the day, daryl, and these cells aren't exactly private."

"so? as far as everyone knows, we're a married couple." his hands slip lower, making you gasp. "and according to glenn, we're known for being loud anyway."

you swallow thickly. the only response you can give is another kiss, only this time you do let your eyes roll into the back of your head.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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manicpixiefelix · 2 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 18.

Summary: Love as seen in the stars, in the flowers that bloom, in your best friend's eyes, and in the taste of him on Oliver's tongue as you catch him in the bathtub. Summer continues at Saltburn.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; vouyerism, dom!reader, handjob, bathwater as lube, cumming almost untouched, pervert/enabler dynamics. I cannot stress to you enough that both the reader and Oliver are COMPLETE AND UTTER FREAKS ABOUT FELIX in the bathtub scene.

A/N: 6670 words. this chapter is very special to me for a lot of reasons, but mainly because there have been several scenes that i've been writing for a while now that have all found their forever home in this chapter. if you have any feedback or thoughts about this chapter or the story so far, i'd always love to hear them! also something something bath water something ;o)

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Things were easier to navigate now that you understood Oliver. Or at least you thought you understood. Less fucking around with Farleigh and Venetia in Oliver's peripheries; when you put yourself on display, it was as an extension of Felix. If Felix had noticed the change, he hadn't commented on it. Considering how much effort you put in making him feel good and moan like a whore for Oliver's benefit, he probably appreciated it.

Things with Oliver himself were getting better by the day too, it seemed. More and more he was reaching out for you again. Sitting too close, sharing your space, seeking you out when his time wasn't filled with Felix. There's less tension too, on the nights you share in the lilac study. Oliver's been through the book you'd given him on the Estate, and has moved on to picking out books he'd found on your bookshelf, it seemed. You, having quickly identified the flower he'd mentioned as the honeysuckle, native to Australia, had also moved on to books from your Summer reading list for your upcoming year at Oxford. As the first week of Summer is coming to an end, it seems as though Oliver had finally settled in at Saltburn.

"Do you miss your room?" Oliver asks one evening. Without even looking up from your own book, you give a fond laugh, shaking your head.

"It was more just a formality half the time," you tell him with an easy smile, "a place to keep my stuff." Looking at him beside you on the sofa, you see he understands the implications, the holidays you and the others have reminisced about, the trysts masquerading as something much more innocent that you would share with them all when you were at the Estate. There's nothing judgemental in his eyes, there never was when it came to Oliver, "why?"

"It all just feels very much like you in there," he offers, gaze wandering as he speaks, "Felix's room feels very You-And-Felix, and I get bits of him in your room too, but it feels much more you." You're actually rather surprised by how well you understand what he means, "like up on your roof you've got these little stars. They glow. I didn't notice them the first few nights."

Your smile widens, all bright and warm, and you close your book.

"Do you want to have a sleepover, Ollie?" You ask with a childish kind of glee. The offer seems to take Oliver by surprise, but you lean forwards, "like an actual sleepover, like we're kids again."

"You still do just sleepovers?" Seems to escape Oliver without him quite meaning it to, and for a moment your expression does falter a little.

"Yeah," you can't help but feel a little self conscious, "promise I'm not trying to seduce your or anything," then, shifting your legs from him you shuffle back to sit cross-legged on the sofa, "we actually do them kind of a lot, or, well, I do. I think Farleigh and Ven have a few and I know when they get tipsy Ven and Fi have had a few. Sometimes after events when we were teenagers we'd all head back to one of our rooms and end up all passed in the same bed trying to fit in like sardines, all four of us."

"That's very cute," Oliver says softly after a long moment of silence, and when you finally meet his gaze again, he's smiling.

"Yeah," you grin once more, "we were."

Which is how you ended up back in Oliver's room, back in your old bed, looking up at the canvas that made up your ceiling, stretched across the full length of the room, rigged and taught, littered with a constellation of glowing stars. Oliver, laying still beside you, asks about it, and you have to explain that there was no way in hell you would ever be allowed to mark the actual roof of any room in the Saltburn Estate. Which he realises makes a lot of sense once you say it out loud.

"But you should see Felix's ceiling, it's much more impressive," you tell him softly, not even aware how your smile was coming through even in your words. Oliver, bedside you, was simply quiet as he gazed at the glowing dots, "haven't you ever looked up at the ceiling in Fi's room?"

"Not properly," Oliver admitted quietly, and the silence lapses out between you both for several contented seconds, "did you two do this?"

"I did," you said proudly, "and this is just from what I had left over."

"What do you mean?"

"About this time, uh," you considered for a long while, trying to remember the full context of the stars that littered both yours and Felix's ceilings, "seven years ago I think, Felix pretended to have gotten really into astronomy as an excuse to always be out of bed, out on his balcony at night."

"But... he wasn't really?" Oliver's head shifted on his pillow to look at you and your amused smile. You shook your head.

"He picked up smoking from Venetia, she was bribing him with cigarettes to hide both her own habit and the fact that she gave it to him."

Oliver shifts beside you on the bed, no longer content with looking at the stars you'd placed there, interested, it seemed, only in watching you.

"How old was Felix?" He's looking at you, clearly listening and invested, but he seems distracted by something.

"Fourteen," you sighed, "Ven was fifteen, which really isn't much better -"

"And how old were you when you picked the habit up from Felix?" Oliver asks with the faintest, knowing quirk of his lips. Embarrassed about how well he seemed to know you, your whole face scrunched up momentarily, "fourteen?" Oliver teased when you refused to answer, grin widening as you squeezed your eyes shut. Still, he went on, "so when you say Felix pretended to get into astrology seven years ago to hide his smoking habit, you mean you and Felix pretended to get into astrology seven years ago?" And this is when you feel Oliver's gentle fingertips touch your flustered face. His fingertips beginning to glide so gracefully along your features, as you relaxed into a simple, embarrassed smile.

You really weren't trying to do anything untoward with him tonight, you weren't lying about that. Still, you wouldn't rebuff any kind of gentle affection he had to offer.

"Well, yeah," you admitted, and Oliver makes a noise for you to continue as he seemed to be wanting to map each delicate feature on your face through touch alone, "but Fi ended up really getting into it. Went through this whole big astronomy phase that year - I say that year; he still really into it - but back then, it was..." you closed your eyes, letting yourself be immersed in the memory of how excited Felix had been. Felix was always a beautiful sight to behold when he was passionate.

"Little Felix," Oliver mused fondly, "bet he was desperate to be an astronaut." Oliver touches you like you're porcelain, so delicate and precious, his fingertips skimming your cheeks and brushing your eyelashes.

"Actually," you laughed a little, though not unkindly, at the memory. Opening your eyes, you turn just enough to be looking at Oliver, to catch the adoring look in his eyes as his hand stilled, now simply holding your cheek, "he wanted to be the guy who got to give speeches about the stars and planets and the universe every day at the planetarium," you recounted, "and become a Doctor of Astronomy so he could make the videos they play in the room with the domed roof that you get to lay back and watch in the dark," you grinned, "but also then he could still be the guy who gave the speeches, but he'd get to answer questions about his own movie about the universe as well." After a moment of silence, Oliver smiles so widely and genuinely; you know he can see it so clearly, "he'd be so good at it, wouldn't he?"

"He'd be cute," Oliver agreed softly, fondly.

"So for his fifteenth birthday, I spent weeks designing and figuring out how to rig this piece of canvas across his whole roof, since I couldn't paint or mark his ceiling, what with this being a heritage building," you explained, proud little smile on your face, "and I asked my nan about all these paints and fancy pigments and stuff that would last and would glow in the dark, because nan's a painter and she's always had this gift with like, making her paintings look like they glow," you turned to Oliver, expression so adoring, "but Fi turned fifteen while we were at boarding school, so the very next break we had, I convinced him to spend the first week visiting Farleigh and his aunt in America, while I was back here, spending night and day on this. I had the whole canvas stained navy, and nan even stayed here for a few days to help me with painting it all perfectly and making sure all my paints would do exactly what I wanted them to, and we painted this canvas-ceiling I'd set up for him to look like his favourite starscape at the London Planetarium." Giving a loud, contented sigh, you added almost as an afterthought, "there's probably a bunch of the print outs of references I used somewhere in the study; the Planetarium people were so lovely."

"Is that why Felix is doing a physics degree?" Oliver practically gasped like it was a revelation; right, you forgot Felix rarely bothered to explain anything about his academics to anyone. When you confirmed as much, Oliver seems somehow more shocked, "I never got the impression that he thought much of uni." It's... not an incorrect observation to have made about at least half of Felix's academic career.

"He gets weird about it, about talking about it and stuff, thinks he sounds like a nerd," you agree after a moment, with a fond laugh, "he's got this weird mind for physics and anything really related to space and stars and astronomy, but he'd rather complain about the electives that he takes despite knowing he'll hate them."

"Then why does he take them?"

"A lot of them are actually my core subjects," finally you admit, a little abashed, "he knows I'm not as fond of my course as he is of his, so he takes them out of solidarity and complains the whole time." You're pretty sure Oliver can hear the sickeningly sweet undercurrent of I love him, I love him, I love him in your tone, but you can't help it. Neither of you have much more to say on the matter, but you think you know what Oliver's thinking. Something about favouritism, about best friends, about how he's pretty sure that Felix Catton wouldn't do that for anyone else.

And he'd be right.

"Hey Ollie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I move closer?"

"'course," his voice is warm and soft and before you even move he's coaxing you closer to him, arm around you, letting you rest your head on his chest.

"Thanks for letting me sleep over," you yawned, but the affection in your voice was sincere. A chuckle rumbles through Oliver's chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Thank you for suggesting it."

Oliver's warmth is familiar and foreign all at once. How is it that you could have missed someone so much despite only having spent one night beside him.

However the following morning, over breakfast, Elspeth gives you a reminder about an upcoming event that you'd been trying desperately not to think about.

"Y/N, darling, I just thought I'd remind you about the Arts Collective dinner we'll be hosting in a few days," her voice is carefully neutral as she brings it up. You freeze, "Duncan needs to finalise the numbers today so the kitchen can start figuring out what we need to order. We'll be gathering in the fairy garden for drinks and canapes beforehand." What she's really trying to ask is if you'll be in attendance considering your mother's name is on the guest list. Before you can properly answer, however, she turns to Farleigh and asks if he's still intending on joining the garden portion of the gathering.

"As usual, I will I'll indeed be showing my face for wine and cheese," he says, though his smile is tight, "at my mother's behest."

"I'll be taking dinner in my study that night," you force a smile at Elspeth, and she gives you the same kind of look that was so often directed towards Pamela. Pity. Sympathy. You poor, dear, thing, I understand. In a moment, however, she brightens once more and asks if Oliver would like to join the pre-dinner gathering, or if he'd simply like to attend dinner, dismissively assuming that both of her own children would be forgoing the garden themselves - she'd be right.

You can feel Felix looking at you as you return your focus to your breakfast, but you remain uncharacteristically stoic for the rest of the meal. As your plate is taken away, you try to shake your negativity, looking up and around as you ask if any of the others have plans for the day. Swimming, reading, lounging around; leisure, as always. But you feel as though you'll get lost in your own head if you don't do something with yourself today.

So instead, you find something suitable to garden in, and spend a good deal of the day in your garden, uprooting all of the purple pincushions in preparation. It's satisfying to be working with your hands, satisfying to be ripping the flowerless stalks up by the roots and disposing of them in a bucket to later be composted. You'd brought your iPod and little speaker and make a day of it in the garden, waiving the staff off who offer to help, only asking them what the garden needed that day.

You till the soil you'd just disturbed, mixing fertiliser in in preparation for the plants due to be arriving in a day or two, and water the rest of the plants in both rings. You take great care, admiring each flower in bloom, and even the more utilitarian ivy that curled across the latticed archway of an entrance.

Some of the staff members bring you food and water throughout the day, and for each one that does, you invite them to stop and sit and talk for any time they had spare. All seem surprised by the invite, and even moreso when you seem to know them by name, and how eager you are to ask them about themselves. They also all seem grateful to get off their feet for a few minutes.

Duncan sits very awkwardly opposite you at the picnic table. He does not touch the food he has brought you, even as you push it to the middle of the table, as an offering. Duncan does not ask questions. Duncan has never much liked speaking unless spoken to. But still, you know he's more than willing to refuse a request for company such as the one you'd made, so you take the kindness for what it is. He watches you down the bottle of water he'd also brought like your life depended on it.

"How long has it been since you last applied any sunscreen?" He does finally broach the surprisingly comfortable silence. He'd provided you with a tube of the stuff as you'd announced your intentions to spend the day gardening, and now it sat at the other end of the picnic table with the gardening tools. You promise to reapply after you'd finished your lunch, but smile at him warmly. He gives one of his awkward smiles back, and asks if you need a hat, which you decline.

"Your mother has confirmed that she will be in attendance with the Arts' Collective," he says, and you go still, "what would you like to be brought for dinner that evening?" The confirmation stings, but you know this is Duncan's way of showing he cares about you. You get to pick your own dinner, unlike most other nights, and he won't subject you to the cruel anticipation of wondering just whether your mother really would or would not be in the same house as you.

Trying your best to smile, you let him know that you'll think about it, and get back to him tonight. With a faint nod, Duncan stands smoothly, and leaves the garden once more. He'd always been good to you, in his own way.

By mid-afternoon, you've done all you can, and head back to the house to soak, and perhaps even have a sulk about the upcoming event, in the tub until you had to get ready for dinner.

Except Felix doesn't even knock before he bursts into the bathroom, already in his suit with a bottle of champagne in his hand. He's practically radiating joy as he informs you that he and the others had managed to get their hands on several bottles of champagne and are going to hit the tennis courts before dinner.

Black tie tennis and getting absolutely shitfaced sounded great right about now. You were already feeling pretty recovered from the day seeing as you'd spent over an hour in the bath already, so much to Felix's delight, you agree to join them with a delighted grin. From somewhere behind him, Venetia also orders you to wear something flashy.

"If you're in a black suit too I swear I'm going to scream!"

Which is how you end up in your bright red suit pants with the red, silk paisley embroidery, and matching suit vest, buttoned up, with nothing beneath it. It's also the kind of thing you can move in, throw yourself around in, which is perfect for how the five of you play tennis.

Champagne bottle in one hand, tennis racket in the other, the sunset paints you all a joyful gold. Swapping in and out on all sides to play even games, you find yourself forgetting everything that had been weighting you down, instead drowning in your friends laughter. So often your gaze is caught by Oliver and Felix, cheering, drinking, playing. Love swells in your chest at the sight.

You all share giggles over dinner, and while Elspeth and James and Pamela can all clearly tell that you're all already drunk, the way the five of you are all grinning softens their exasperation.

After, not wanting this rather fantastic evening to end, you end up on one of the many balconies or patios, you're not sure which, sharing a sofa and several cigarettes, and the last of a bottle of champagne with Felix. He's got his head in your lap, pointing out constellations, but all you can see is him, the stars shining in his eyes and wide, excited smile he always got when he was rambling about something he was passionate about. Good how you loved his passion; you wished Oliver were here to see him like this. Of course Oliver loves him, and of course he's desperate for Felix to love him back; to be loved by Felix was -

"You're thinking about Ollie, aren't you?" Felix's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you can see he's grinning up at you, nothing but affection in his eyes.

"I'm thinking about you," you corrected, carding your fingers through his hair.

"You're always thinking about me," he says it so easily, so dismissively, throwing the idea away despite how vain it would sound if it weren't rather true, still he takes on a teasing tone, "you get this look about you when you think about Ollie," he reaches up and pokes your cheek.

"He loves you," you give a contented sigh after a moment, expression turning soft, of course he does, how could he not? But that's also kind of a given.

"And you," Felix's jabbing finger turns to a gentle hand holding your face, "that's why we're being absolute sluts, isn't it? Trying to get him to make a move?" And you laugh, loud and bright, in agreement. But then, after a moment, there's a change in Felix, something in his eyes. It's not jealousy, but it's more serious than before.

"Fi?" Your voice is soft, and he smiles at you, overwhelmingly adoring.

"I've been getting to watch you fall in love," he said gently, incredulously, "how weird is that?" Something tightens in your chest.

"Again," you correct. Felix gives you a vaguely confused look, but you can't help but shake your head at your beautiful fool of a best friend, "you get to see me fall in love again, Felix." You roll your eyes, but as he's hit with the implications of your words hit him, a beautiful flush works its way up his cheeks. He actually has to cover his face with his hands, embarrassment and joy lighting up his expression.

"You're so sappy," he crows, "you are so fucking sappy!" You practically cackle with glee draping yourself over him, onto his chest, the two of you awkwardly wrapped up in each other on this little sofa. As your laughter dies down, you give a faint hum.

"But he's not your competition, for the record, he never really was -"

"I'm not jealous! I've told you that!" Felix insists, "I thought I made that clear!"

"You have, Fi," you laughed, "but what I'm saying is... well, he knows I love you both, and he loves me, but he's not -" ever going to love me the way he loves you, God, you can't say that. It takes the last bit of self restraint you have to bite that back, shifting to get a little more comfortable, you reach out and stroke Felix's hair.

"Fi, I have spent months watching him fall so in love with you, the way I often hope, or," you laughed a little self conciously, "feared, the rest of the world would," and slowly Felix uncovers his face, those big, brown eyes of his full of all kinds of hope and affection, "he was never your competition, Fi, he's mine," you joked.

"Oh," the flush on his cheeks only grows steadily darker, and the faint exclamation comes out as more of a breathless gasp, "Ollie's your competition for..." He grins sheepishly, like he just wants to hear you say it.

"You, Fi," you tell him with an affectionate grin, but for it up with a nonchalant shrug and teasing smirk, "though competition implies that either of us would make you choose."

You would never let him know the full truth. You'd let him believe wholeheartedly that while you both loved Oliver, he reciprocated that wholeheartedly. Which was... mostly true. True enough that it kept Felix happy and you happy enough.

Yes, Oliver loves Felix, and therefore loves you by extension. Only you knew how sharp that distinction really was.

But you realised Felix was right; he was watching you fall in love with Oliver, and you too had been watching him fall for the boy as well, even if it did seem to be a slower process than it had been with you. You reasoned that Felix had far more reason to be cautious with his heart, especially with men. The first and last boy you'd seen him fall in love with broke his fucking heart at Saltburn, you knew part of him was terrified for history to repeat itself. But clearly he couldn't stop himself from falling in the end.

It was a waiting game now, either Oliver makes a real move and proves his love and loyalty to Felix, or Felix makes a real move and proves to Oliver that his affections are entirely, overwhelmingly genuine. So you'd be the proxy when you had to be, something a little safer for them both while they built up the courage.

Though you're not above stressing this tension that's building between them. The bend before the break, how far it would go before it snaps and you can all stop dancing around this thing that you all clearly want.

And an opportunity arises in the days that follow.

Saltburn creaks it's own kind of melody, it always has. You've become used it, learned the ebb and flow of the house and it's noises, the way it settles itself as it cools from the Summer afternoon heat. You know which door is shutting in the rooms adjacent to yours and Felix's just by the sound of the latches alone, and you know all too well which floorboards squeak along the halls you frequent.

On Felix's balcony, winding down for the day with a book as he takes a bath before bed, you don't hear the creak of the little hall between Oliver's room and the bathroom. The blinds are drawn over the bathroom window, but you catch a faint bit of movement in the mostly dark hall and give pause in your reading.

You could barely make out the arch of a shoulder through the break in the blinds, but you could tell that beautiful, bathing Felix had himself a captive audience. Part of you wondered if it was by chance or by choice, if Oliver was watching or simply listening, and if Felix knew either way. He'd have to; there's no way Oliver was adept enough at moving through Saltburn silently that Felix hadn't heard that awful floorboard that creaked right before the bathroom door.

Oh there was purpose to this, you were sure. Felix knew the feeling of Oliver's gaze upon him, the want he so callously toyed with, seeing it in Oliver's eyes all too often. All the world's a stage for Felix Catton, you just wonder what kind of reaction he's trying to pull from tonight's audience. Settling back in with your book, all you can do is wait.

When you hear the water start to drain from the tub, you still take your time, give them both time for anything to occur, before you feel a sense of disappointment or defeat in your heart.

"Can I come in and brush my teeth yet?" You knock loudly at his door and hear Felix laugh on the other side.

"Since when do you knock?" Wrapped in his robe and sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Felix is drying his hair with his towel as you come in. Before you can answer, he follows it up with, "since when did you care if I was in the bath for that sort of thing?"

"It's called respecting your privacy, Fi," you tell him, swanning past him to get to your toothbrush. You do give pause, however, stopping in front of him, and he lowers the towel, as if in anticipation. For a moment you lift his chin, loving the way he grins in almost sappy anticipation, and you give him a quick peck on the lips before you're moving on again and he's back to getting the water from around the edges of his face and ears.

Oliver, who'd watched the whole exchange after slinking into the bathroom from the opposite door, looks quickly at himself in the mirror as you join him in collecting your toothbrush.

"Do you want me to start respecting your privacy?" There's half a joke in Felix's voice, since it's a strange sentiment for you both, especially at Saltburn. Oliver's gaze flicks to you, then to Felix in the mirror.

"If I needed privacy I know you'd respect it," toothpaste on your brush, you leave Oliver's side of the bathroom to join Felix, the two of you having devolved from a real conversation, into some kind of silly, mock-conversations entirely consisting of eyebrow movements, and trying not to choke on your laughter as you brushed your teeth.

Oliver was watching, of course, Oliver was always watching, but you kept noticing the way he'd glance at the bathtub as it continued to drain between the three of you, stealing focus. There was tension in his shoulders, in his gaze, in the way he held himself. Never turning away from the sink - you'd bet he was hard. Oblivious Felix - at least that's how he appeared - was doing nothing but the most mundane bathroom task, which still wasn't able to help Oliver's current state with the way he was glowing, content and beautiful in the steamy bathroom, hair still slick and curling and clinging to his beautiful face.

You watch Oliver swallow hard in the mirror, but then his gaze meets yours. In this moment you don't do anything, you barely acknowledge what you saw, but you see the rapid way he starts to blink as he looks away, as if hoping he'd imagined the look in your eyes.

You finish brushing your teeth in silence after that, only stopping to wish Oliver good night after Felix does, the two of you closing your door to the bathroom.

"I'm going to finish my chapter then I'll be right with you," you tell Felix with a warm smile, picking up your book on the balcony as he yawned loud and wide. He tells you there's no rush, that he'll be out in only a few minutes. True to his word, after a long day, his deep breathing starts to take over not too long after the lights go out.

Except for the one in the bathroom. Just as you'd expected.

You turn out the lamp on the balcony, and move quietly through the darkness. Yes, you know the way Saltburn creaks and moans, know how to make yourself known, or how to slip through the shadows like you're made of them. The old house is well maintained, the hinges on doors don't creak if you move them right, you can slip into the role of observer with ease if you know how.

Behind you, you close the door almost all the way, making sure the latch sits flush with the door for privacy without it's click of proper closing giving you away.

The water is still draining from the tub, Felix's water, and Oliver there along with it. The running water echoes through the old pipes, but not loud enough to cover the lewd noises you hear from the bathtub. The slurping, the moaning, the grateful sighs of contentment to be afforded this moment of perversion.

You let him have his moment. Then you let the door click shut.

Immediately Oliver sits up, panic on his face; he looks like he wants to say something, to explain himself, say anything, but he can't seem to find the words. It's like he was expecting Felix. Or even if he was expecting you, he was expecting judgement. When you remain quiet, remain observant, you watch his panic fade to something wary.

Why? You knew exactly what he was doing, why are you just standing there, watching him? You can see the questions in his eyes, and feel your heart rate pick up. Slowly, you move towards him. Slowly, you let yourself smile.

Oliver sits back in the tub, never taking his eyes off of you, the way you stalk around the space, predator and captured prey, caught red handed. Your fingers trail the lip of the tub, graceful, threatening, until you get to him, his shoulders pressed against the porcelain. His expression is taut, defiant, ready to push back against any kind of mockery or blackmail attempts, you assume.

No, you want him to relish this moment.

You curl your fingers in his hair, leaning down by the edge of the bathtub to make sure he finally sees how pleased you are by this development. The moment he realises, you can see his thinly veiled panic turn to a conflicted kind of desire. But you don't give him another moment before you crash your lips to his, wasting no time, licking at his lips to deepen the kiss, to taste Felix on his tongue.

And you climb into the bath with him, sitting on your knees between his spread legs, mouth on his like you're desperate to devour each other. Oliver is pressed against the edge of the bath, one arm along the edge, the other braced beside him, his mind still catching up to the moment even as he gasps into your mouth.

You break the kiss, the faintest hiss from your kiss-bruised lips being all he needs as a reminder to be quiet. Everything about him has changed, has become needy, pupils so shiny and dark with lust you could lose yourself in him. Instead, you let go of his hair, taking his jaw in a forceful grip, tilting his head to the side roughly, fingernails digging into his cheek. But his eyes flutter closed, choked kind of whimper escaping him, half muffled behind your hand over him mouth as you carefully angle his head back a little further.

He'd indulged himself in Felix's bath water, pressed himself into it, tried to lose himself in it, and the remnants of those moments of extasy clung so delicately to his skin. You take your time, kissing delicate drops of Felix's water from Oliver's beautiful features like a lover, temple to cheekbones down to his jaw. When you finally relax your grip on him, his head tilts enough for him to meet your gaze. Oliver is yours, totally and completely at your mercy. Good. Once his gaze moves to your mouth, to the pleased, hungry smile you wore, he couldn't look away.

With your hand trailing down his body, teasing against his ribs and belly until your nimble fingers find their way beneath the elastic of his pyjama pants, he tries to meet you in the middle, tries to kiss you, but that's not how this game goes.

The hand you'd been using to brace yourself over him pressed against his chest, pressing him back against the porcelain, and you go with him, your cheek pressed to his, lips by his ear, his heavy breathing, desperate panting in your own. The hand on his chest finds his necklace, entangling two fingers in it until it became tight enough that you could feel the hard way he swallowed when you finally wrapped your hand around his achingly hard cock.

"Good boy," you purred into his ear as you worked your hand up and down his cock, already leaking precum into his boxers. Oliver bites down on your shoulder to muffle his moan, and you have to fight to keep your own whimper quiet. The two of you find a rhythm, panting echoing in each other's ears and Oliver's hips rocking to meet your hand each time.

When you move away, Oliver looks momentarily despairing - no, please, don't stop! - in his eyes, but you reassure him with a languid kiss as you ease his pyjama pants down enough to properly free his cock. Now, when you sit back on your heels, he watches you with a dark kind of want in his eyes. Like a cornered animal, unsure of what to expect, but full of anticipation nonetheless; he watches you reach behind yourself to the drain, to the last remnants of Felix's bathwater still clinging to the metal and porcelain. You gather as much of the liquid as you can across your fingers, palms pressing into the mostly diminished puddles.

You can see it when Oliver realises what you're doing, the way his eyes transfixed on your hand as you wrap it around him. Already slick with his own precum, your hand glides with the remnants of Felix's water. Oliver's head drops back against the edge of the tub, mouth open and desperate and gasping, his eyes closed. God he's gorgeous like this.

He coaxes you up to him this time, and you let him, press yourself to him, rocking gently along with the movements of your hand and his hips, close enough to fucking to tease you both. For all this was about Oliver, every part of you felt alive and on fire with need, and seeing him like this, getting him into this state and knowing how he looked at you, how much he wanted you in this moment, it was doing things for you. Fantastic things.

When he gets close, he wraps an arm around you, hand holding the back of your head in a far firmer grip than you'd been anticipating. But there's a thrill about it, about how he holds you so tightly, his lips by your ear as you obligingly speed up to meet the frantic pace of his hips.

"Felix~" he keens, a desperate whimper in your ear amid dizzying, gasping breathes, hot against your neck. And again, Felix's name pulled from Oliver's lips like a desperate prayer for only you to hear. Something about hearing it tips you over the edge, and you realise how close you are in this moment. All it takes is you making the faintest whine, a noise of encouragement -

"Felix, please," Oliver gasps, and your breath catches as you see stars behind your eyes. You barely feel it when Oliver sinks his teeth into your shoulder once more, his orgasm hitting mere moments after yours, cumming all over your hand and his stomach. Finally, Oliver lets you go, eyes wide as you lean back with the widest, satisfied smile. There's blood on his lips, watching you with this unreadable expression as you sit back on your heels again.

Your head's still spinning, endorphins pulsing through your blood alongside the adrenaline.

Neither of you move for a long moment, still sizing each other up it seemed, at least until you raised your hand. Oliver all over you. You won't be the one to back down; his eyes meet yours and you smile, all satisfied and wolfish as you slowly lick your fingers clean. He's transfixed again, watching the way you lap him up.

No-one's ever looked at you like that, like they're desperate for you to devour every inch of them. But the moment can't last, not outside of your memories at least.

You leave in silence, just as you'd arrived, leaving Oliver alone in the bathtub, watching you like he can't quite be sure it wasn't all a dream. You hope he dreams about this, about your blood on his tongue and Felix's name on his lips.

Except you reach for the door handle only to realise it's cracked ajar. Its closed over, door almost flush and closed, but not quite. Huh. You could have sworn... But you shrug off the thought, slipping back into your room and making sure to shut the door properly behind you.

Pyjama pants and underwear both damp for several reasons, you pull them off and quickly toss them into the laundry hamper. At this moment, you can't bring yourself to bother with anything more than a new pair of underwear before you're crawling into bed beside Felix. Who's on his side.

Huh.

Felix never sleeps on his side because it messes with his shoulders. He's also still, like he's holding his breath. When you curl an arm over him, cool hand resting on his chest, you can feel his racing heartbeat. Finally, his breath comes stuttering out. Pressing yourself up against him, you hum faintly, hand drifting lower, teasingly. You rest your hand low on his belly, between the gorgeous, defined lines of his hips, but refusing beneath his waistband. There comes a faint huff from Felix, but it's indecipherable; he's still on edge, clearly having realised that you'd connected all the dots.

When you speak it's practically a moan, voice low but sharp in his ear as you let your fingers dip lower. What a night it will be to remember, spent keeping your boys happy.

"Fi, you fucking pervert."

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