#just pressing me on every little thing like i can’t have a pimple without him being on my fuckinf vase

[tallysescape]

every morning is a fuckinf problem whag the fuck

#during aspec awareness week??? fr??? during my week????? #head in hands #vent in taagggsss #just pressing me on every little thing like i can’t have a pimple without him being on my fuckinf vase #case* #i’m perfectly fine w the scabs/scars all of that but like he just won’t shut upppp for two seconds #like it’s not my fault u decided to use that in court and now if it could backfire on u #doesn’t even understand why i do what i do #every morning he finds something to lecture me about and i’m just #dude #8am #why do you love to hear yourself talk this much #just swapped one for another jesus fucing christ #i could argue back i’ve got a ton of practice with that but he yells AND he hits stuff so #scary ig? mom used to just follow me around and talk at me and grab me and take my phone for months #but she never really got loud or that physical i wasn’t afraid of her i just hated her #shrugs #we love staving off panic attacks in homeroom

[prettyboykatsuki]

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sfw alphabet | k. tetsuro

➳ tags ;; fluff, angst, alcohol + sex mention but nothing explicit

➳ a/n ;; reupload from my old blog that an anon asked for <3 

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 A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

➳ Kuroo is a genuinely affectionate person towards his loved ones. Naturally, he does like to mess with you just a bit by withholding kisses or hugs - but truthfully he can’t push it too much because he really likes showing you attention.

➳ Also despite himself and his love for teasing you, Kuroo isn’t a big fan of PDA! He likes having a hand resting on your back, rubbing circles into your hand and squeezing, or a very quick kiss to the temple when no ones looking but he prefers to show his soft side when it’s the two of you alone. He can go from making fun of you to wrapping his strong arms around you and whispering sweet nothings to you in a matter of seconds 

➳ Kuroos affection isn’t limited to touch, or is it even really dictated by touch. His love language is acts of service and quality time - so he more often than not shows his affection through gestures. Warm towels if you’re at his place, taking your car to get filled with gas, putting ice on your snowy sidewalk so you make it home safe. Kuroo’s nonchalance towards everything is genuinely funny contrast to how truly and utterly considerate he is towards you and your well-being. 

➳ Maybe not conventionally affectionate but affectionate all the same. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

➳ Kuroo is the kind of best friend that you have for like..10+ years. If you two feel truly platonically towards one another - he’s the kind of best friend that makes other people in your life insecure because you simply know each other so well and love each other so much in the sense that you’re platonic soulmates. 

➳ There’s probably no one in the world who knows you quite as well as Kuroo does and it goes the same for you. Neither of you can ever stop being friends because you two know too damn much about the other. Kuroo knows about the weird moles and pimples on your body and you know about his weird boner stories from when you two were in middle and highschool. You really can’t afford to stop being friends, so good luck trying to escape him. 

So. Many. Inside Jokes. Y’all are terrible sometimes. I don’t think either of you ever realize how many you’ve got and you end up referring to them so normally sometimes people don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and everyone just kinda sighs and lets you two talk on your own. AND yall wonder why no one wants to talk to you two… like you aren’t busy just talking to each other. Kenma is probably the only person who can decipher any of the shit you say, and let’s out a few breaths through his nose but that’s about it. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

➳ Kuroo doesn’t love full on cuddling, tbh. He’s more of a fan of like.. laying on top of each other or other smaller forms of affection. He also is pretty keen on liking hugs (loves backhugs.. giving and receiving. when he feels your body pressed against his back he literally melts) but he’s not big into spooning. He doesn’t mind it if you wanna do it though - if he knows you like cuddling, he’s down for you to do it but it’s not where he defaults. 

➳ Kuroos cuddles are more like you laying your legs in his lap and him massaging your calves. You falling asleep holding his arms. You playing with his hair when he’s tucked under you. He likes casual cuddling as opposed to cuddling sessions. 

➳ When he’s really exhausted though - he’ll give you a real worn out smile and pull you deadass on top of him. Like just your body weight on top of him (and no, he doesn’t care that you might be heavy. He knows that) and just stares up at your face. Bonus points if your hands come up and play with his face (LOVES THAT) 

➳ “long day, tetsu?,” as you cradle his face in your palms. He’ll pin your wrist with his hand and kiss the inside of it before rubbing his face against it like a cat. 

➳ “long day baby,” 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

➳ Kind of sad, but Kuroo knows how to take care of himself really well because of his parents divorce when he was a kid. He did a lot of cooking and cleaning really young because his older sister was out of the house but he was still young enough to be living there. She would do everything she could for Kuroo in other ways (i.e. helping pay for volleyball and shit like that) but Kuroo was a really independent kid and practically raised himself. Kenma’s mom took care of him too - but Kuroo was like 7 or 8 learning how to fold laundry. By the time he was in highschool, he pretty much did everything for himself. 

➳ In terms of domesticity, at a certain point - Kuroo genuinely just accepts you as The One and from then on, you two are a pretty serious couple. You live together early on, and are the kind of relationship in which both of you are just very assured that the other person is the one. Kuroo gets his first nice apartment with you on the lease, and eventually you two buy a condo together in the long run. He enjoys being with you a lot. Home is wherever you are you know. 

➳ Surprisingly, one of Kuroos favorite things to do with you is clean with you. You two have a playlist of music that you bump on your speakers as you do your spring/weekly cleaning. You take turns cleaning the bathroom each week. You’ll fold laundry while Kuroo fixes the bedsheets. It’s a team effort and genuinely one of his most beloved ways of spending time with you. When you both get tuckered out, you sit on the floor of your fresh apartment, and drink wine and watch sitcoms. Domestic bliss. 

➳ On another note, Kuroo can’t cook for shit baby - but he helps. He can cut kinda efficiently but he’s a hovering boyfriend in the kitchen so normally you just kick him out. Always does the dishes afterwards though! 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

➳ Straightforward about it. Kuroo isn’t gonna beat around the bush when it comes down to a break-up, because the decision to break-up probably took him a long time to get too. Kuroo has a soft heart, and he’s a hopeless romantic. Similar to how his childhood influenced him in one way, Kuroo can’t help but want to fix and repair every relationship he’s in. Even at the cost of his sanity, if it helps keep him and his s/o together, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. Afterall, why would he want to start over with another person? Kuroo chases love, but when he finds it for the first time, he cannot think about loving anyone but you. If you’re breaking up, it’s not over something petty. It’s after hours of contemplating whether this is the right thing to do for the both of you. Hours and hours of holding back tears and wishing things would be different. I can’t see him doing it first to be honest, but if has too - he’s to the point.

➳ To your face it might not seem like he cares. He just says it, those dreaded words. He gives you closure, about how it just wasn’t working anymore and all of that and then he just.. leaves. He seems fine. 

➳ As soon as he gets to the car, his head drops down onto the steering with a thud and his soft hiccuping cries turning into full blown sobs. His face is in his hands and he’s cursing under his breath. He feels like a part of him has been torn from his body and everything fucking hurts. It’s a pitiful sight. 

➳ He really misses you, you know? 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

➳ Hesitant about marriage, naturally. I don’t think I need to repeat myself on why. He’s still incredibly loyal to you. You two are the kind of couple that date for years. Like.. at least 8+ years of dating but tbh, neither of you mind that much. I think to be with Kuroo, you need to be willing and open-minded about the structure of a relationship. Kuroo values independence and marriage as an institution puts a lot of pressure on a relationship in Kuroo’s mind. He would rather you two continue to love and cherish one another without the extra force of needing to get married. 

➳ He does want too though, don’t get me wrong. Not at the cost of your emotional responsibilities being increased though, but as a way to show his loyalty. He’ll propose when the time is right for both of you - no pressure. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

➳ Kuroo isn’t particularly gentle in either way to be honest! It’s not bad though. 

➳ Physically, he can be gentle when it’s appropriate. Mostly during the day, or when he’s comforting you and it calls for more gentle touches. However, Kuroo’s emotions around you aren’t very delicate and he expresses himself through physical touch. So his hugs are passionate, generally. All of his affection is an expression of his strong feelings towards you - the correlation is strong so Kuroo isn’t really all that gentle. His love and his touch are full of feeling and strong. A little overwhelming in a good way. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

➳ Hugs are his favorite forms of affection. Hugs that last super long, like longer than they need too where you melt into his tight embrace and he can bury his face in your shoulder or in your hair and take a deep breath. You smell like you and that’s so much more comforting than you know. Kuroo hugs long and just right - arms around your waist with just enough pressure, his hands on your lower back. 

➳ He gives you hugs constantly. At home it’s back hugs, chin resting on your shoulder to peep at whatever you’re doing on your phone. In public, quick ones where he’s kissing your forehead before enveloping you in an over dramatic way to where you’re laughing. After a long day at the office, it’s a long, silent hug. Just gentle sighs and breaths, soft beating hearts. More like an embrace, you know. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

➳ Slow. If you’re hoping to verbally hear Kuroo say the words “I love you,” you’re in for a shit show and you’re gonna be waiting for a while. It’s not that Kuroo doesn’t want to say it, or even that he doesn’t know. He’s known for so long, probably way earlier than you did. The first time he almost said it, you two had been dating for only 3 weeks. It flustered him so much - he literally short circuited, stuttering trying to cover it up. The memory haunts him. 

➳ He says it after you two have sex for the firs time or after your first really serious fight - depends tbh. It just happens when he’s heavy in his feelings, like so overwhelmed by something. For him - admitting to it is genuinely some kind of end all be all. He loves you - openly and saying that is hard. It’s vulnerable for him. Kuroo got used to dodging his feelings. 

He shows you all the time how he feels. Saying it is just nerve-wracking and he needs a bit of push to do so. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

➳ Not super jealous! Sorry if that’s disappointing, but Kuroo is a really secure partner and he tries to dodge petty feelings of jealousy and rarely experiences them. Like.. if you just have close guy friends Kuroo really isn’t gonna throw a fit. However.. 

➳ Kuroo can always, always tells when someone is interested in you. It’s like a 6th, spidey sense he has. You, on the other hand, do not know when someone is interested in you. You just happen to think your co-worker of the opposite sex who always eats lunch with you and calls you his work-wife is being friendly and open with you but Kuroo can just sense it. Again, he isn’t a jealous boyfriend. Not at all. But seeing all the light drain from that guys eyes when you give him a kiss as he picks you up from work? 

➳ That felt pretty good, he has to be honest. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?

➳ Forehead kisses! So many forehead kisses! When he was little, Kenmas mom would smother him in affection and always pulled back his super messy hair to kiss his forehead. Kuroo picked up on the habit plus he’s pretty tall so it’s easier to reach you that way. Also a fan of just kissing the top of your head if he can. 

➳ He likes kissing your knuckles too, he’s traditional that way. His favorite is kissing your lips in little bursts. Kuroo likes the way your chapstick tastes so much, it’s actually kinda sweet. 

➳ His kisses are so full of yearning. It feels like you’re melting together, it’s fluid and tends to be passionate. When he’s feeling playful, he kisses you then pulls back and brushes his lips against yours before kissing you again and again again until you’re giggling. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

➳ So good with kids, holy shit. You wouldn’t expect it but he’s just a natural at it. He always picks up the fake phone, drinks the imaginary tea with the most sincere review. Makes it look super easy and kids gravitate towards him because he’s just so friendly. He’s not afraid to look stupid and he’s confident and handsome so they like him. 

➳ He loves talking to kids, too. Half the time they’re saying nothing and Kuroo is like fuck yeah you tell em, and he MEANS IT. 

➳ Kid magnet at parties, ends up spending more time with them than with the adults but he doesn’t mind tbh. He jokes about playing mom and dad like you aren’t busy picturing it the whole time, smh. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

➳ Tend to be pretty face paced! You two normally wake up at different times, with Kuroos crazy work hours - your schedules are pretty mis-matched. Kuroo shows he’s thinking of you by making sure the shower has enough hot water, that the towels are folded and fresh, and that the water is on for when you inevitably go downstairs for coffee or tea. Those are the three things he pretty much always makes sure to do as a way to say love. If he has time to write a note, he will - but if not, he sends you a text when he gets to work and you do the same for work/uni. 

➳ On Sundays, it’s a lot of sleeping in and making breakfast together and doing a shit-ton of nothing all day. Kuroo will pull you into him if you try to get up before him, cuddling into your back and whispering later in a gravelly morning voice. Sometimes you two shower together in an sfw way - Kuroo scrubs your back and you wash his hair. It’s fun and playful, but soft and intimate too. Kuroo always forgets to shave so sometimes you mess with the scruff on his chins. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

➳ You two always go to sleep together, at the same time if you can help it. If not, the other will stay up as long as they can or they sleep in the presence of each other. Neither of you are allowed to bring any work to bed, which is why there’s a desk in the corner of your bedroom. Work is work, sleep is sleep. Kuroo think’s it’s important to separate the two out, but sometimes if you two miss each other too much - you’ll just kinda hang around and sleep. 

➳ Like Kuroo will let you just curl up on his lap and sleep on his chest while he works without a word of complain, soft smile on his face and eventually telling himself it can wait till tomorrow.

➳ Other than that, you two sort of talk yourselves to sleep? You do your small, independent routines and then come together and just sort of chat quietly until one of you falls asleep, normally you. Kuroo will kiss your forehead when you do, whisper night, and turn over to fall asleep himself. You two always end up tangled in each other though. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

➳ You and Kuroo have a lot of deep conversations before you ever start dating. It just kinda.. happens? Like many things in your relationship but you two talk A Lot. You never really run out of things to say to each other, because Kuroo genuinely values your insights and vice versa. It’s a core of your relationship and the both of you genuinely like discussion - though Kuroo can get kind of into debate territory when he has a strong opinion on something. 

➳ When it comes to personal conversations, the words just.. come out of him. It’s slow for sure, but he can’t keep track of how much you know about him in the end. You always mention small details about himself and grin when you watch his face light up with a delighted surprise. It’s a gradual thing

➳ Kuroo has a lot of walls, so it takes a lot of time for him to really lay himself out in the open for you but he tells you eventually. In a way, he’s testing how long you can endure and be patient with his pacing for love. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

➳ Kuroo is rarely genuinely angry. He gets agitated over small things a lot but the moment is so fleeting, he forgets about the shit in like an hour. Really little things like getting cut off while driving or people who are rude to fast food workers. He gets a lil tick in his jaw and sighs, but gets over it really fast. Other than that, Kuroo is rarely ever mad. He doesn’t care enough about most things to be angry over it. 

➳ The only times he’s mad, is when something is really outright wrong or stupid. Like if a close friend is making an openly poor decision, Kuroo will get pissed. It’s the same with you - he wants what’s best for you and if you do something he knows is bad for you, it upsets him. Even so, he wouldn’t get angry with you. He tries to cool down as best he can to avoid as much 

➳ You do argue though sometimes, and damn they are nasty arguments. Neither of you goes unscathed but Kuroo isn’t too stubborn on apologizing and working things out. Too empathetic to your feelings to let it go on for a long time. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

➳ It’s more like what he doesn’t know about you. Kuroo remembers everything. He has a note in his phone of the way you like your food. He knows where you grew up, and about your childhood pets, and the way you used to play pretend. He knows how you do your hair, knows all your favorite things and things you hate and just the easiest way to get on your nerves and what makes your skin get hot. Kuroo keeps parts of you in his heart like memorabilia and finds it hard to forget things even if he wants too, attaching certain things to you in a way he hasn’t anyone else. 

Sometimes though, he forgets really random things. Like small things you don’t talk any offense too that more just confuse you. He knows the name of your parents, but forgets whether you’re left or right handed. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

➳ Tough to pick just one but it sticks out as the first time Kuroo was really having a shit day. Normally he tries to swallow down his feelings in moments like that -  forget,  when he’s around you and show you the parts of him you like. He already knows he’s on thin ice with his general demeanor, kind of mean and assholey. He has this constant worry you’re gonna get tired of all of it someday, tire of having to read between the lines about his feelings. He tries really hard to be pleasant around you. 

➳ But it wasn’t working that day, and he could just feel himself being unable to mask his feelings. You confront him about it, and he tells you - wholly expecting you to be.. well..annoyed with him maybe. He isn’t sure. But the way you handle it.. and handle him really sticks out in his mind. He tells you and instead of saying anything about it, you make him lean his head on your shoulder. Your cheek resting ontop of his hand, him holding your hand - you say “I’m sorry about your day. lets rest here and go get food,” and then just.. sit with him like that. 

➳ It was like you read his mind, there was just something so stand out about the way you handled his feelings. Empathetic, and giving him an easy out for how to deal with them. He’s used to being relied on, not relying on others. It honestly made him want to cry. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

➳ So, so protective of you. He shields you from a lot, probably a lot more than you have any idea about. It’s really second nature to him.He doesn’t even know why all the way, it’s just that he wants you to be away from things that could harm you. Mentally or physically, he would do anything to keep you content and away from bad things. Still, you insist on sharing burdens with him and even though he understands why it has to be that way, if he could take everything on for himself - he would. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

➳ You two don’t get a lot of time to spend time together during the week, so Kuroo puts a lot of effort into things like date night and anniversaries where you can take the time to celebrate each other. Kuroo prefers going out for date night, and likes spoiling you to very expensive dinners and shit like that. He doesn’t mind domestic dates if that’s what you like, but he loves to show you off (a bad habit of his tbh) so anywhere you can get nice and dolled up and Kuroo gets to have you on his arm is ideal. Posting you on all his socials, gassing you up all night with a hand on your waist. 

➳ In the everyday, it’s very little things he always does to make sure you know he’s thinking about you. Texting you, calling you on his breaks, sometimes he’ll have coffee and shit delivered to your apartment/office when he has some time. Small gestures and acts of love like that. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

➳ When he has a strong opinion, he gets really fucking arguementative. He is a BITCH to argue with because he really doesn’t like admitting he’s wrong, plus he’s petty with a sharp tongue. Don’t date him unless you’re at least a little tough because even if you’re getting hurt by his words, Kuroo finds it hard to snap out of his anger sometimes and can just be a real pain to talk too sometimes. Just very… debate? Sometimes feels like he just argues to argue.

➳ Other bad habits are small, but is forgetful about picking up after himself - mostly with clothes. If he’s tired from work especially, socks on the floor, pants in the hall-way like a trail. It slips his mind if he’s tired enough. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

➳ Not very! Kuroo is really hygienic but in terms of like.. making himself look good or better, eh. He still works-out because he finds the routine is good for him mentally, but he has this very natural good-looking aura to him and it’s genuinely effortless. If he put even a hair more effort into his looks, it’d be wild. That’s why he cleans up so good but he’s got this lived in kind of sexy look to him, a little scruffy, messy-ish hair but still really cleaned up. His looks just suit him so well. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

➳ Nah, but Kuroo doesn’t feel like he’s really himself with anyone but with you. He’d be devastated if something ever happened between the two of you, but in a way - Kuroo would feel like all good things come to an end just like you two did, so he’d move on. But there’s this lingering sense that he’s not himself anymore, like he doesn’t know who he really is unless you can pull out the authenticity from him. He always had his guard down around you so once you’re gone, they go right back up. He loses himself it almost feels like, like he doesn’t know exactly who he is anymore. 

➳ He struggles with impostor syndrome all the time, so it just worsens when you leave. It’s almost dehumanizing. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

➳ Kuroo has a soothing singing voice. It’s just nice, kind of low and soft. It’s gravelly too, but still so soothing. When you’re tired and ask him to sing to you, he will. He sings very gold Japanese love songs that his mom would dance to him with in the house when he was little. But his favorite thing to sing is fly me to the moon, he knows the words by heart. He has a hand on the small of your back with you curled into your chest, smiling as he feels your breathing go even. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

➳ He hates anyone who isn’t open-minded! That’s one of the things he absolutely cannot put up with. Ignorance is incredibly unattractive to Kuroo, and that goes beyond obvious things like bigotry but generally, judgement of other people because of how they live instead of their character. Kuroo is incredibly respectful of people different from him, because he thinks it’s more important to understand someone's character than get caught up in other things. If he feels that vibe off of someone, he will generally steer away from there. 

➳ He thinks if someone is overly concerned with how other people live, they’re bitter - that vibe turns Kuroo off. 

➳ Also Kuroo understands if his partner is insecure or has self-esteem issues, but doesn’t like people who bait for his attention. He prefers you just be authentic with stuff like that so acting out in a negative way for his attention can be a turn off.  

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

➳ Snoring! Very soft snoring, but he most definitely snores. Sometimes, depending on what position he sleeps, it’s not so.. gentle? and he wakes himself and you up. He apologies everytime and ends up sleeping on his back so he isn’t too loud. He also likes cuddling in his sleep but he doesn’t realize it most of the time so you’ll be half-way awake with this 6’4 man curled around you like a cat, not realizing it.

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#kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #kuroo imagine #haikyuu imagine #writing tag #not me uploading this at 6am

[nicka-nell]

If you’re alright with it, I’d like to request something with Aizawa! Maybe the reader is normally a very confident person but when they’re intimate for the first time she gets really nervous and insecure about her body to the point of ‘ruining the moment’ or something?

Hi Yes sure! I’m alright with it! I love Aizawa *u* This sounds so sweet! ♥ I hope I understand it right and that you like it!

I wish you a wonderful day and stay healthy and safe. :) 

Insecurity - ruining the moment 

Character: Aizawa Shouta x reader Warning: none

Even though you’ve only been together for half a year, you feel like you’ve been with Aizawa for ages.

At first, Aizawa was sceptical about your self-confident appearance, not knowing if there were only empty words behind it. But when he got to know you, he quickly learned that behind all that self-confidence, there really is a tough and wonderful woman.

It was a slow process, but before he knew it, he was in love with you. Lucky for him, you were in love with him too. Also, you were the one who asked him to become a couple and gave him a kiss for the first time.

He loves that you are so strong, so independent, and that you stand up for what is important to you.

Humming, you stand in the kitchen, unpacking the groceries as two wide hands wrap around your hip, and Aizawa’s prickly beard tickles your shoulder.

“Do you need help, kitten?” Kisses his rough, yet gentle voice your ear. 

You’re about to tell him it’s not much, but Aizawa already has the bag with the purchases in his hand and is clearing them out. Piece by piece, things end up in your closets as his questioning voice catches your attention.

“Did you buy new towels?” He raises his arm, holds a piece of black cloth in his hand and wants to unfold it just as you pull it out of his hand.

“This is a surprise! You know what? You keep clearing out the groceries. I’ll be right back!” You grin and leave him alone in the kitchen.

Quickly you slip into the bedroom, unfold the black fabric and take off the price tag before holding it in front of your body and looking into the mirror. A short black dress, not too tight to show everything of your body, but also not too loose to hide everything. 

You can feel the soft texture on your skin as you shove it over your body. It flatters your shape as if it was cut just for you. Probably that’s why you bought the dress. That, and to please Aizawa.

Your heart beats fast as you walk out of the bedroom and sneak into the kitchen on tiptoes, where Aizawa clears the last things from the shopping bag into the closets. He has not yet noticed that you are back, but when your warm hands lie around his eyes and block his vision, he becomes attentive.

“Surprise!” He hears your tender voice that makes him happy every time.

“Surprise? But I see nothing, kitten,” as soon as he has spoken his words, the view becomes brighter before his eyes, and you scurry into his picture. 

Aizawa’s eyes grow big, and he is also sure that his cheeks have gained a touch of color. Amazed, he looks at you as you spin with a lively grin to present him the dress. He can’t remember the last time you wore a dress, or if you had one at all. But this one looks so incredibly sexy on you. Your bare legs, the fabric on your beautiful curves, your collarbone that blinks out slightly through the straps and especially your proud, yet playful look as you bite your lower lip. 

“Do you like it?” You ask with a mischievous grin as Aizawa pulls you at your waist in his direction.

“If I like it? You always look good. But yes, I really like that.” 

“Really? Then show me how much you like it, Shouta.” You breath and hope for a little ‘I love you’ or some loving kisses. But what you get instead, you didn’t expect.

His expression is a mixture of lust and pure darkness as he chuckles and brushes his disheveled hair out of his face before reducing the final distance between you and pressing your body to his chest, his lips firmly on yours.

You feel like your heart’s about to explode. Aizawa is warm, his kisses almost too hot for your soul. Slowly, his fingertips stroll along your shape, down to your bare thighs, before he grabs you by these and pulls you up.

“Wah Shouta!” You squeal as he smiles at you lovingly and puts you on the countertop. Just when you want to ask him what he’s up to, his lips cut off your words and seek the warmth of yours. Yet, you don’t know how long you can withstand these increasingly wild and intimate kisses.

Aizawa’s hands, which have been exploring your covered body the whole time, now find their way under your dress, pull it from your thighs up to your waist and before you know it, you are only sitting in your underwear in front of him.

For a moment, your kiss dissolves, and he examines you with reddened cheeks. His breath is fast, his eyes are slow as they try to study every inch of your body.

Only now do you realize you are hardly wearing anything, and he can see all of your body. All the ugly things that bother you. Unconsciously you put your hands around your upper body, looking ashamed over at the light switch.

Although you always sleep next to each other, and you had seen Aizawa naked before, because he does not mind only in underwear or even without this, from the bathroom after a shower, to come to the bedroom and dress there, you feel insecure. Because you always wear your pyjamas. He hadn’t seen you naked. 

He won’t find you beautiful with all the marks you have, you think. You want to reach for the dress in Aizawa’s hands, but he pulls it away from you, looks you in the eyes with a wrinkled forehead.

“What’s the matter, Y/n? Why are you trying to hide from me?” Aizawa’s voice is serious, as is his expression as he wraps your face with his free hand and draws your gaze back to his.

“I- I don’t know, don’t look at me like that… I… don’t want you to… see me like this… I-” Sighing, he lets go of your face and you are sure that you have scared him away, but instead he puts the dress between his belt and pants and pulls you into his arms.

Instinctively, you place your hands around his neck to avoid falling when he leaves the kitchen with you in his arms and goes to the bedroom. In front of the big mirror in which you were looking at yourself with your dress just a few minutes ago.

Carefully he sets you down, stands behind you and asks you to look into the mirror. You still feel insecure, holding your hands back in front of your body, but he grabs your wrists and pulls your arms to the sides of your form.

“Look at you Y/n. What are you ashamed of? Your skin is so soft, so warm that I can’t help but touch it,” he lets go of your hands, pats every curve of your body. 

“Your breasts, your beautiful belly, your waist, your butt, your legs, everything is perfect on you. But your eyes are most beautiful when they shine at me as before, your charming smile, which takes my breath away. I know I rarely say this, but I love you Y/n. Everything about you. Do you really think a grain too much or too little will change that? That scars, stretch marks, pimples, cellulite or anything else disfigure a person who is perfect? Y/n for me, you are perfect and not just because of your appearance. Everything about you is just right for me. You’re beautiful, from the outside and from the inside.” 

At his last words, he interrupts your eye contact, instead giving you a kiss on the crown before his hands settle on your shoulders. 

“I wish you could see yourself with my eyes so you could understand how wonderful you are,” Aizawa whispers to you, as he gives you a gentle kiss on the crook of your neck. Just a second after, he reaches for the dress and presses it into your hands.

“Get dressed, my love. I’ll make us something to eat.” With a barely visible smile, he looks at you through the mirror one last time before leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him gently to let you think about his words in peace.

About Aizawa’s words that you’re perfect for him.

#aizawa x reader #shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

[lxvestxned]

y/n is massively afraid of toads, but tries to at least touch trevor for the first time with the graceful help of her best friend neville. while also in complete denial about the feelings they are starting to have for neville. fluff + gender neutral reader! 2500 words.

side note: please don’t make fun of me if i got toad-logic wrong in this one — the fear is real bro. LMAO.

Neville talks about Trevor nearly the same way one might talk about a younger brother. Mildly annoying, but also so very important to the point that he could not even remember his life before him.

Trevor couldn’t be a better gardening pal for him, save for when he disappears while Neville is deepest in concentration with his plants. He always entertains Neville’s miniature hat creations, sitting still and proper while Neville has a good laugh.

I could not be happier about his connection to Trevor. I haven’t brought it up to him yet, but Trevor seemed to be an important figure of worthiness to Neville. I also had to appreciate that Neville had the company of a pet in his quiet house on breaks.

I only wish I would have wised up and got on better with the toad.

Amphibians and reptiles are a bit of a sore spot. To put it gently, they are a thing of nightmares to touch or even to look at. Trevor’s skin was bumpy, coarse, and loose looking. Eyes bulging, dark, and unblinkingly horrifying.

Was his skin rough? Was he heavy? Was he slimy? Oh god, and what would his bones feels like? Could Neville feel him breathing in his hands?

My stomach swam to my throat with every thought. However, the guilt from my fear of Neville’s beloved pet made me feel much worse.

I can’t help recalling from years ago, the way I once jumped a foot away from Neville’s attempt at a lighthearted pat on my shoulder. Simply because I was hyper aware that he had held Trevor in that same hand not even five seconds before.

Neville recoiled too, shock washing off his features only while I frantically showered him in embarrassed apologies. He then promptly washed his hands for a full two minutes to make me feel better. The memory was one of those that frequently replayed in my head when I laid in bed trying my best to sleep over the wailing thoughts of regret.

In place of physical adoration for the toad, I bombarded Neville with questions about him any time they struck me. Each was gratefully met with a patient and particularly-amused response from the proud toad owner.

“Trevor is bumpy and all, he sort of feels like really extreme goose pimples— no, acne.” Neville spoke while lovingly stroking his pointer finger down Trevor’s back in the Gryffindor common room.

“He isn’t heavy at all actually. One time I had him in my hand, looked away for a moment, and when I looked back he was gone. I didn’t even realize.” He whispered to me, just as Professor Binns rambled back toward their side of the classroom.

“Trevor’s not slimy!” He said whilst playfully pointing the prongs of his accusatory fork at me, “you’re thinking of frogs! And even then, I’ve read that they only look it and don’t feel it.”

“I don’t know what his bones feel like?!” Neville laughed incredulously, “seriously, where do you come up with these questions?”

Turned out my latest inquiry was the one that lead me to my doom.

The clump of red, yellow, green, and blue students travelled up the snow-white hill, returning from a full and chilly Magical Creatures lesson. I walked alongside Neville on the trek, body automatically crawling with shivers on the thought of toads once again.

“When you’re holding him, can you feel him breathing?”

Neville let out a huff of laughter between pants for air against the hill’s incline. “I suppose so, I mostly notice his heart beat normally.”

“His heartbeat?!” My gloved hands squeezed into tight fists to resist my overreactive imagination from taking over. The ghost of a toad pumping it’s lungs and beating it’s heart in my palms was enough to make me visibly cringe— which I was determined to suppress at all costs.

Hermione, who was a bit ahead of us, slowed to join our pace, “Yes, Y/N, toads have hearts too, y’know.” She said.

“You’re joking!” I announced sarcastically.

“Why don’t you just hold Trevor once, then you’ll have all the answers you need?” Hermione laughed.

“I’ve asked her and she doesn’t want to.” Neville said.

“I do want to!” I sighed, “I just can’t.”

“Yeah, she said she can’t.” Neville reiterated.

“And why not?” If Hermione was anything, she was a problem solver. And I was suddenly determined to prove that I did, in fact, have a plan of action.

“I’m scared,” I said, “but, I figured if I could gather enough information about what exactly to expect... then, maybe I could do it eventually.”

Neville finally lifted his gaze away from the trail at our feet to smile at me. His smile was open-mouthed almost like he had words on the tip of his tongue ready to fall out. But, Hermione spoke up again.

“Honestly, it’s not as bad as you might think. I think you may even be over thinking all of this. Holding Trevor is almost like... like a leather pouch.”

I muttered, “sure, a living, breathing, beloved leather pouch.”

“You should probably try touching him first before you start carrying him around,” Hermione said right as we reached the plateau level with the archway back into castle walls.

Neville and I hung by the archway like we usually do, recapturing our breaths through the rigid air. I did not expect Hermione to stand with us, allowing Ron and Harry to be carried away with the crowd entering the hall.

Her determination loomed over the silence and I felt the need to accept that solution. After all, Hermione was bound to have another seven loaded up and ready to be dispensed. And not to mention, Neville’s eyes had an unwavering sort of gleam in them that I could not quite put a finger on.

I was suddenly and weirdly diagonal with one palm against the brick arch, the other on my hip, and the toe of my boot scuffing the snow. “I could probably do that,” I had to wonder whether I was at all convincing.

“I can help you,” Neville peered into my soul, to which I decided the gleam was, at the least, highly influential.

I gulped, “yeah, I can do it.”

— — —

There Trevor was, 15 centimeters of pure, mind-numbing terror.

I felt like I had only blinked since we were standing out in the pure white snow. Except, Hermione, Neville, and I were very much in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. Comfortable in my casual change of clothes after dinner, but also filled to the brim with dread as the reds of the room edged in my vision.

“Are you ready?” Hermione smiled as encouragingly as she could.

I finally tore my eyes away from the toad perched on the couch’s arm that Neville was half-blocking with his body.

“Yeah, of course! It’s not that serious!” I gave my best snarky smirk, as if I hadn’t just gnawed a small tear into my bottom lip.

I didn’t want to refuse Hermione the opportunity to be a part of her own solution to the problem that wasn’t hers. But, then again, I wish I did only for the sake of privacy.

Hermione’s presence was a bit heavy to endure. She conjured a very deep desire to prove myself a good friend to Neville with her eyes alone. Which meant false bravery was all I could manage to show at the moment. True feelings buried not-so-deep below that crumbling surface.

“You can do it, Y/N, don’t think.” Hermione relayed that unhelpful bit of information atleast a hundred times within the span of the last fifteen minutes. Although, I did entertain it every time.

With the sudden distraction of Neville turning to pick up his pet, I managed to squeeze a “Thank you, Hermione! I got it!” through the corner of my lips.

Unfortunately, every statement of bravery was like a mating call when among Gryffindors. I could feel sets of interested eyes triple upon our little gathering without even lifting my head. In fact, I was almost positive that Dean had made his way from across the room to lean over the couch cushions from behind.

I wasn’t ready for Neville to stand from his spot on the couch, nor was I ready for him settle down in a kneel in front of me. I could’ve forgotten Trevor entirely with the way I was focused in on Neville’s face. He hadn’t looked one bit nervous, which was a rare and reassuring sight. I had to smile at the thought that, for once, I was the one emitting enough nervous energy for the both of us.

He was pretty quiet up until that point, so his voice made my breath quicken as finality closed in around me. “I’m going to help you, alright?”

That was it, no going back. My face felt as though it was glowing redder than the room. The fluttering in my stomach clashed awfully against the dread that was already shacked up there. I clenched my jaw tight, trying desperately for a look of certainty as I nodded.

Trevor sat comfortably still between Neville’s palms, face nearly pressed into Neville’s chest. I almost wanted to joke that it looked like I was about to be proposed to with the arse of a toad, but Neville brought some humor of his own.

A mischievous grin crept over his lips first, “and you can wash your hands right after.”

I grinned despite the huff of sorrowful air that escaped me. The horrid memory filled me with a brand new sense of urgency to right my wrongs. I held him by his shoulders, “I’m really, really, really sorry about that!”

Neville almost bent forward in hearty laughter, until he realized that he shouldn’t bring Trevor any closer. “No, I know, I know! I was trying to lighten the air.” He shook his head gently, “Come on now.”

I scooted forward in my seat to plant my feet flat on the carpet, fists already balled up tight. “Yeah, come on now,” I echoed, perfectly-thoughtless, as Hermione instructed.

“I’m going to hold him right here, and he’s not going to move. All you have to do is put your fingertips on mine, okay?” Neville instructed so gently that I was ironically totally overwhelmed.

I took the look around the room that I was avoiding, and sure enough, Gryffindors were gawking from every angle. Hermione nodded and Dean was smiling extra wide.

I couldn’t find words. Instead a single shaky hand of mine unwound itself and reached forward. It very unhelpfully occurred to me at that second that I had never even touched Neville’s hands before. And you know what, it shouldn’t be strange to admit your best friend has nice hands. Because he does. Not helpful information, but definitely information.

I was almost worried that my aim was so shaky that I would miss his nails altogether and jab Trevor.

But before I knew it, I was touching the hand that was touching Trevor. Which, of course, reintroduced the smile to my face when reminded of Neville’s joke.

“Yes! Now, I’m just going to pet Trevor, and you can keep your fingers on mine until you’re ready, alright?”

I was too nervous to move my gaze from Trevor any more, but I presumed from the cheer in Neville’s voice that he was smiling hard.

He slowly moved his fingertips to the top of Trevor’s head, and I had to press harder to keep from slipping astray. Then, Neville did exactly as he explained.

My upper lip began to furl up as my imagination ran buck wild in my mind. The worst of all textures invaded my senses and made me want to cringe out of existence. My eyes squinted at the seemingly violent breathing and heart beating that bumped against his warty surface. Our fingertips stroked down his back so many times that my movements felt robotic.

It was automatic enough to break my stare away from it when Neville called my name, “are you breathing?”

I blinked a few times, and let in a gasp of air that I hadn’t even realized I needed. “Apparently, not.” I laughed, surprised by my hushed volume.

“Merlin, so much suspense for this?” a Gryffindor near the windows was met with a brief glare from Neville, but he concentrated on me.

“Why don’t you take a big breath, and then try putting your fingers in front of mine?”

I loosened up my face, as I took a deep breath in. The long breath out allowed my other hand to unwind as well. I parted my teeth, while my fingertips eased on to the very tip of his nails. “Okay,” I tried another deep, thoughtless breath.

“You can do it, Y/N.” He whispered.

I blinded myself with my unoccupied hand.

Trevor felt gravelly.

Like extreme acne.

His breathing was not nearly as noticeable as the racing heart, beating at the top of his body.

He had a spine.

Noticeable only because the several wobbly scribbles of a line that I tried to draw was not nearly as straight as the subtle ridge at the center of his back.

I eased the hand off of my eyes. Sure to embarrass myself as the sting of tears felt closer than ever. When I looked between us, the room felt a little bit bigger. Almost like we weren’t surrounded by onlookers awaiting my first true reaction.

Our knees were resting so carelessly against each others. Neville’s hand was no longer stroking Trevor with me, it was upright exactly the way someone would hold a ring box ajar. His face was flushed pink, a dopey smile on full display.

My heart floated up and out of my body, drifting high above my head like a balloon. A smile of my own lit up my entire face, while I cupped my palm on Trevor’s back like Neville did minutes before.

Dean and Hermione congratulated me on my fierce battle versus a backwards toad.

But then Trevor made an awful noise that made me jump to attention.

“Okay, Trevor’s done for... the rest of the year.” Neville hurriedly placed the toad on the table behind him.

When he turned to face me, the tiny bit of nerves that infinitely plagued his features returned while he was very caught up between continuing to kneel or standing up.

I hopped to my feet, helping Neville choose to straighten himself up as well.

“That was amazing, Y/N!”

“You’re, you’re— amazing, Nev!” I must have forgotten to resume thinking because I trapped him in a hug. His arms pressed against his sides and all.

After a burst of his nervous laughter rattled through the air, he tried to hug me in return. When only able to bend at his elbows, he hovered his hands over the edges of my back for a moment. Until finally he placed his hands even softer than the touch I just shared with Trevor.

Dean and Hermione swapped looks then, and I had to shut my eyes to pretend I didn’t notice.

#Neville Longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom fic #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x y/n #neville longbottom x you #harry potter imagine #neville longbottom imagines #neville longbottom fluff #neville x reader #neville x you

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Break My Heart (myg)

Summary: It’s over, and both you and Yoongi think about the past.

A/N: Thanks to @taegularities and @casuallyimagining​ for betaing this for me!

Warnings: angst, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, some making out and nipple play but this is mostly sad

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 5221

You try to push past him, but he throws you over his shoulder and you don’t even fight him, let him take you to the bed. His eyes are wet and his hands are soft on your skin.

“Don’t,” he starts, but you’re not listening. You’ve listened too much over the last year.

“Yoongi.”

He makes a whine in the back of his throat, hides his face in your neck. Your hands come up to rub his back - it’s like a reflex - before you push him off, head toward the door.

He won’t follow you. He never does.

You’re wrong, though. You’re wrong about so many things. He follows you into the hallway, into the elevator, keeps the door open with one foot while you try to shove him back out into the hallway. Finally, you end up fuming at the back of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him.

Yoongi’s trembling, you can see his hand shaking as he holds it out to you. He says your name, his voice hoarse and quiet.

“You wanna break my heart?

Your breath hitches in your chest as you’re catapulted back a year, two years, 5 years. You can see yourself then, your hair shorter and blonder, his hair darker. He was skinnier, then. Hell, so were you.

You were sitting on a curb, half crying and all drunk after a night out, trying to forget a recent breakup, when Yoongi sat down next to you, offered you what at first you thought was a handkerchief, but what ended up being a simple bar napkin.

“Hey,” he said softly, giving you a crooked smile and a tilt of his head. “Don’t cry. You wanna break my heart?”

It started so innocently, you and Yoongi. You were friends first, best friends even. He sat next to you on that curb, rubbed your back until you stopped crying, and you explained the whole situation to him, barely registering that he’d draped his jacket over your shoulders. He didn’t speak, just listened and nodded in the right moments, and when you were done, your cheeks hot from embarrassment of spilling out everything in your mind, he made this little hum in the back of his throat.

“So you need something to get him off your back,” he said thoughtfully.

You looked at him for a moment, stunned. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Your ex had been relentless in his pursuit to get you to talk to him after he’d cheated on you, and you were well and truly not interested. That night, you’d been sure you’d be free of him because he’d always been the type to go away for spring break, but he’d been there after all, chasing you around the clubs downtown. 

Yoongi (you remembered his name, he’d told you as soon as he’d sat down and introduced himself while you were crying), hummed again.

“I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” he said, and gave you this open, gummy smile.

You did trust him, somehow, even though you didn’t know why. He leaned in close, whispered his plan in your ear, and even though it sent a shock down your spine, you nodded. Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were just being curious. Either way, it started this thing. Started this slide, like a mudslide down the longest mountain.

You jumped in, with your eyes wide open, trusted him from the jump, and maybe you’d been wrong. Maybe you’d been wrong about a lot of things.

You were 20 when Yoongi had leaned in closer, just below your dangling earring, and planted the softest, most open kiss on your neck. Goosebumps pimpled your flesh, but you didn’t move, in fact, tilted your head to give him better access.

Seconds passed before he swept your hair from your shoulder, his fingertips brushing your skin, and you let out a breath with a little whine. He murmured something when he kissed you there again, this time sucking at your skin, almost roughly.

“Pretty,” you think it was what he said, but as important as that moment was, with all the things it started, that part was fuzzy because your head spun at the softness of his lips on your skin, the sting when he’d marked you there.

“There,” Yoongi said, still half mumbling, and you wondered how much he’d drunk.

His eyes were clear and warm when you looked at him, though, although his cheeks were dusted rose. 

“Uh, th-thank you,” you muttered, feeling small and embarrassed now after it was over.

Yoongi gave you that gummy smile again, and you felt better almost instantly. 

You didn’t know it then, but Yoongi always had that effect on you...until he didn’t. Until he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. Until you stopped counting the hours he spent away from the bed you shared. Until it was over.

Yoongi stands next to your car, hands on your hood, tears streaming down his face and his eyes pleading with you. But you block it out, look straight ahead, start the car and rev the engine until he moves.

At first, you’re not quite sure he will, but finally he steps back, shoulders slumped, defeated. You manage not to cry, at least not until you’ve pulled over on the interstate, cars whooshing by you as you cover your face.

It isn’t as if you hadn’t tried.

You know how important Yoongi’s music is to him, you know he’s been working on getting an album produced and you’re proud of him, you really are, but...

But: you have barely seen his face in three months. But: you keep sleeping on one side of the bed because it’s cold on his side. But: you fucking miss him. 

You want to talk to him about it, but how can you? How can you when you know this is everything to him? Even when you’d been kids in college, he’d dreamed of producing an album and this opportunity hadn’t just dropped in his lap, he’d worked for it. You’re supposed to be supportive, but all you can do is wonder how long it will be before you see his gummy smile again.

But: when he is home, he’s barely there, drinking too much coffee or scotch, depending on the time of day, barely looking at you, barely talking to you, grunting at you in response, mechanically eating the dinner you’d prepare.

One night, you’d push back from the table, frustrated, and it’d hit the counter with a thud.

Yoongi had looked up from his food, blinked at you as if he was waking from a dream.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“No,” you’d answered. “I’m not.”

You’d stormed off to the bedroom, and he hadn’t followed you. Hours later, he’d slid into bed next to you, his lips on your neck, the same spot he’d kissed that first night. 

“I’m sorry,” he’d mumbled against your skin, words slurred around the edges just like the night you'd met.

You could smell the red wine he liked at dinner on his breath when you turned, and they’d been on the tip of your tongue, the words. 

"What's wrong?" you’d wanted to ask. "Is it me?" 

That las thought had kept you from speaking, allowed those words to die in your throat as you’d looped your arms around his neck, tasted the red wine on his tongue.

Because: what if it was something big, something you couldn’t fix? Because: what if it was you? What would you’ve done, then? 

After the night outside the club, after Yoongi's mouth on your throat, you woke up the next morning and thumbed the mark he'd left while looking in the mirror.

Thinking about it  made your face heat and it got worse when you saw him on campus, big gummy smile and looking a lot less hungover than you, his bleached bangs in his face. 

"Hey, you," he said in this low voice, and you couldn’t help smiling back.

It went on like that, you and Yoongi, for months, and then a year, and then eighteen months. He walked you to most of your classes, bought you lunch, once or twice made you laugh so hard you'd snorted banana milk out of your nose. Things became easy with him, and it was so much like a friendship that you barely noticed when you began to fall in love with him.

Falling was easy, but gradual. By the time you realized it, he was graduating and you were a junior and you had no fucking idea what to do about it. You stood at the corner of his best friend's apartment, where there was booze and balloons and about 20 people, and sipped some foul smelling punch that someone had handed you, and looked for him.

You wondered how often you'd done this, looked for him in a crowd, felt your heart swell inside your chest when you found him, when he broke into that familiar gummy smile. You wondered how long you'd been in love and not known it, when he suddenly slid up behind you, his fingers light on your hip.

"Hey, you," he murmured, and you tilted your head back to look at him.

You smiled, just a bit, and he took this comical hitched breath.

"Y/n," he said, as if scolding you. "Don't look at me like that. You wanna break my heart?"

To this day, you aren’t sure if it was that he might’ve been leaving the country or that awful hunch punch, but your heart pounded against your chest too hard, and all you could think to do was to kiss him.

Quickly, without much thought, your lips pressed against his. It had been almost chaste, really, but Yoongi made this low, surprised sound in the back of his throat, his arms going around you and cinching at your waist, tightly, in this near possessive gesture that made your stomach tighten. 

And that was it, at least for you. He’d kissed you back, and you’d been all but lost.

Yoongi didn’t leave the country, despite his plans. Later you wondered if that’d been your first mistake: not being strong enough to let him go.

It’s raining now, the sound of it thudding on the roof of your car louder than your heartbeat, and you can’t stop crying, gasping in these hitching breaths every few minutes, your stomach clenching from the force of your sobs. You know it’s dangerous here, on the side of the road and you can’t even remember if you’ve turned on your flashers but that doesn’t seem to matter, all that matters is that you can’t breathe, something viscous and rotten in your chest and stomach, something like all the mistakes you’ve made and all the regrets you have, maybe all those words, those questions you should have asked but didn’t. They’re choking you, poisoning you from the inside out and it’s flooding, but you fumble with the door handle, push the door open and swing your legs out, putting your head between your knees.

When you lift your head, finally able to breathe again, wanting to feel the rain on your face, there’s the bright glow of headlights, and then a blissful black fades over your eyes. You’re almost grateful.

Your dreams are almost all memories.

It’s disjointed, at first, but then you know where you are. Yoongi’s loft apartment back in college, and you know you’re dreaming but you can feel his hands on you nevertheless. You remember them being cold, clammy almost, and he was trembling as if he was nervous.

You laughed at him when he fumbled with your bra strap and he made this grumble in the back of his throat that made you laugh harder.

The laughter died in your throat when he pulled your breasts out of your bra impatiently, dragged his thumbs across your nipples. Your skin felt hot, like you were fevered, when he leaned forward and marked that spot below your ear again, harder, his teeth grazing against your skin.

When you were bare and arching your back beneath him, he sat up on his knees, his eyes dark and hungry looking down at you. 

“God,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “You are gonna break my heart.”

It’s starts to rain when Yoongi watches you drive away, and he looks down at the pavement and thinks about the first time he saw you, head in your hands, sitting on the curb with your legs crossed like a child.

Something about the way your shoulders had slumped tugged at his heartstrings, drew him to you, and when you looked at him, eyes big and wet, it had been alarming how much it made his heart ache.

He always hated to see you cry.

You weren’t even crying much when he’d pinned you to the bed, hoped he could make it okay with kisses on your throat and chin, make you smile again. Not even when he begged you to stay in the elevator, in the parking lot, banging his hands uselessly on the hood of your car.

“You’re a million miles away, Yoongi,” you’d said, drying your hands after loading the dishwasher, throwing the cloth with more aggression than he’d expected.

“I’m right here,” he’d said easily, and you let out a long breath and he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Knew it was wrong because it was a lie and you fucking knew it. You knew him, better than maybe anyone else in the world.

“You act as if I don’t fucking know you, Yoongi,” you’d said, something vicious in your voice and he stayed seated at the table as you glared at him, stunned that you’d said almost exactly what he’d been thinking.

He doesn’t know why he’d been surprised. You’d always seen right through him, from the first night.

Yoongi remembers the night he’d finally confessed, after two years of watching the line of your neck, wishing he could kiss it again, leave his mark there, after two years of watching other guys flirt with you and pretending it didn’t make his skin heat up, something buzzing under his skin like a beehive. 

He remembers, suddenly and painfully, the way you’d tilted your chin up, turned your head to face him at his graduation party, remembers how full his heart had been, how joy had shot through him like lightning when he’d put his arms around you and you didn’t pull away, how just one corner of your mouth turned up.

He remembers wanting to tell you, wanting to tell you just how much he felt, how he felt full to bursting with you, like you’d burrowed under his skin. He remembers wanting to tell you how he planed every day around you, how the things he’d do almost scared him, the things he’d sacrifice, to keep seeing you smile every day.

Yoongi hadn’t known how to explain it so that you’d understand, so instead he’d done his best to press it into you with his hands and his mouth, like you’d somehow be able to feel it through osmosis, and maybe you had, because after that first night, things had caught on like wildfire.

He’d never told you, really, never actually confessed, and maybe that had been his first mistake.

Yoongi knows that you’ve been drifting apart for weeks. Months. He knows that he’s been absent, not you, knows how hard you’ve been trying but he can’t bring himself to talk to you about it.

What would he say? That he has this opportunity, that he has this once in a lifetime thing and he has to move thousands of miles away for it? That he can’t bring you with him, that they’ve made that crystal clear? 

Yoongi is still just as afraid as he was all those years ago, about what he’d sacrifice for you, because half of him wants to give it all up, tell them to fuck off, he’ll make music in a den in your little one bedroom apartment just so that he can be with you every day. Nothing has ever meant more to him than music, but you. You.

Yoongi can’t tell you that he has this choice to make, this fucking impossible choice but instead of making it, all he can do is try to push it away, ignore it, put it off another week and keep drinking too much when he’s home because he can’t bear the way your eyes plead with him to be with you, to be present and in the moment like the two of you always had been. He can’t bear to think of what it’d be like to not see your purple coffee mug on the counter in the mornings, to not be able to roll over and kiss that hallowed spot below your ear that he’d first marked all those years ago.

Yoongi hadn’t responded, looked down at the table until you’d slammed your hands down on it, angry, your eyes bright.

“Are you fucking someone else?” you’d asked, your voice eerily calm despite how angry you looked, and it was like a spear through his gut.

He’d scoffed, because that was ridiculous. I It wasn’t even worth a response but you stormed towards the door and his breath caught in his throat like a wriggling fish and he tried to stop you but you were absolutely fuming now, angry in a way he’d rarely seen you.

He braced his back against the door, thought that at least he could stop this, at least he could calm you down but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

Yoongi had ended up here, head spinning with the three glasses of wine he’d had at dinner and chest feeling , like you’d ripped his heart out when you’d gone away.

He stands there as it starts to rain, breathing hard, half dressed, and wonders where you’ll go. To your best friend’s apartment? Your mother’s? They’ve both always hated him, anyway.

Maybe all the time he’d spent away at the studio, those nights you’d come home late, maybe...maybe there was someone else. The thought makes his breath hitch in his chest, makes him stumble backwards as if someone has punched him in the stomach, before he turns to go back inside.

The thought sticks in his brain like a fishhook. You’d ask if he was fucking someone else. Is that because you were? At the very least, maybe you’d met someone. Someone who was attentive, someone who listened to you. Someone who was there.

Yoongi isn’t used to this feeling. He’s never been the possessive type, always had an amount of confidence that kept him from ever feeling too jealous. He remembers clearly the last time he’d felt this way, and of course, it was you. Wasn’t it always?

You’d never dated much, always been focused on your studies. Yoongi never even thought about  what would’ve happened when you’d start seeing someone.

He’d been your best friend for six months when you started dating a lacrosse player, a big guy (bigger than Yoongi), and even then, Yoongi shrugged off the slight irritation he felt when you canceled a dinner with him.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on a bench under a tree, studying before an exam, that he saw you with your new beau. You were laughing, piggybacking, your arms braced on his considerable shoulders. 

Yoongi’s skin prickled, like he had a chill or a fever. He felt angry, suddenly, and couldn’t put his finger on why. He sat there, fuming, unable to take his eyes off you, until your boyfriend slid you down, turned to lean down and kiss you, and then Yoongi couldn’t look anymore.

The anger roiling in his gut  turned to something else, something worse, something that dug in and festered over the next few days. He saw your laughing mouth behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, the way you were still smiling when your boyfriend kissed you.

He wondered late at night when he couldn’t sleep, if you were being held or, even worse, being fucked. It made something vile rise in his throat, like he’d had too much to drink and needed to purge it. It was another agonizing month before he realized he was in love with you, and another month after that before you and your boyfriend broke up.

He curses himself for drinking so much, wishing he could just get in his car and come after you. He fumbles with his phone, the screen swimming in his vision, and he wipes at his eyes angrily. You don’t answer, and he isn’t surprised, leaves a voicemail in a broken voice that he’d be embarrassed about if he had any dignity left. He hates feeling like this, out of control, as if there’s nothing he can do to quiet the madness in his head and his heart.

Yoongi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing in until he sees spots dance under his eyelids, breathing in deep to try and control his emotions. His mind is racing, thinking of what happens now, all the possibilities of the coming days and weeks and months and years.

You move out, he supposes. Come and get your things, take away all the pieces of you that have accumulated in the apartment over the years. He wonders if you’ll leave something behind, a piece of clothing, maybe that purple mug you like so much. Something he can keep, look at later and remember you.

What happens to all the pictures of you, online? Would you delete them? Block him on everything so that he can’t see your face even on a screen? Panic rises in his throat when he realizes you were always the one taking the pictures, posting them on social media, and he isn’t sure he has many saved.

Yoongi feels like he’ll surely go crazy if he doesn’t have some part of this relationship, something he can look back on that isn’t just memories, because it’ll feel like he made it up, like it was always one sided, from the moment he’d sat next to you on that curb.

Without something, how does he convince himself it was real, that you’d loved him?

On the other hand, what if you didn’t get your things? What if you left everything behind, kept being active on social media, moved on? Started living your life without him, moving on with a new apartment, a new partner?

Yoongi chokes back a sob, alone in the apartment but still holding back, still hiding, and he hates himself for it. When you don’t answer the second, third, fourth time he calls, he curls up on the couch, hoping that he’ll pass out, stop thinking, because it’s like his brain is vibrating in his skull with all the racing thoughts he has, a headache forming between his eyebrows. 

After some time and a few deep breaths, he fights the urge to upturn the second bottle of wine in the cabinet and thinks that there’s a possibility, however slim, that you might be back when he wakes up, tear streaked and soaked from the rain but still his, and the thought comforts him enough that he’s able to fall asleep.

He has these dreams, vivid and disjointed, where he’s reaching out to you and he keeps getting further and further away. Another, where you won’t even look at him, no matter what he says, no matter how much he begs.

When he wakes, it’s cold in the apartment. You are, were, always the one who’d turn on the heat, and he knows you’re still not home the second he opens his eyes.

Yoongi feels antsy all day, full of nervous energy, and he can’t stop himself from calling you every couple of hours, leaving text messages and begging you just to answer once, to let him hear your voice.

The second day is when he starts to panic in earnest, and he’s about to bite the bullet and call your mother when his phone rings.

The oxygen filters out of the air as he listens, and his heart starts pounding in his ears as soon as he hangs up the phone. He’s out the door wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and a tshirt, cursing and returning for his jacket when he realizes it’s still raining.

The hospital hadn’t said much, just that you were there, that he was your emergency contact, and he breaks all manner of traffic laws to get to you, trying not to think of what might have happened, of how it might be his fault.

When he arrives, it’s both better and worse than he’d thought - you’d been found on the highway, unconscious, and god knows how long you’d lain there in the mud before a passerby had stopped and taken you to the hospital.

Pneumonia, they say, telling him that you’ve been in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Yoongi had been your emergency contact. You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, and a night in the rain and in the elements hadn’t helped. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Of course he hadn’t seen how pale you were, how gaunt your cheeks were.

Yoongi stands there, wondering if the doctor can tell that all the blood has drained from his face, his heart thudding hard and useless against his chest plate.

He nods where he’s supposed to and when the doctor leaves the room, Yoongi sits down hard on a nearby chair in the waiting area. He can go in now, they’d said, but how could he? How could he go in there, see you hooked up to IV antibiotics, know that it’s his fault? People die from pneumonia, don’t they? His throat closes up with panic and he has to draw in a long breath through his nostrils to calm himself.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together. There’s this series of memories rushing through his mind, like snapshots.

Your mouth pressed against his, soft and almost chaste, his arms locked around your waist. He wanted to twirl you around to face him, kiss you hard and dirty in front of all his friends, mark that spot just under your ear again. Not to show them that he possesses you, not to show them that he can kiss such a beautiful woman, but to show everyone how much he loved you, how his every thought was tinged with you.

Instead, he kissed you back just as chastely, stuck to you like glue all night despite it being his party with many trying to come and congratulate them. He had his hands on you all night, at your lower back, sometimes just lightly on your hip, sometimes intertwining his fingers with yours.

And when he walked you back to your dorm, he shuffled his feet at the door, puffed out his cheeks and blown out a breath and looked up at you.

“Yoongi,” you said, and God, he loved how his name sounded on your lips, this lilt like you were always teasing him. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

His cheeks were already flushed from alcohol and he probably shouldn’t have, but you took his hand and he would’ve followed you anywhere, to hell if you’d asked him.

Yoongi had so many plans on how to confess to you before he’d leave the country to go back home, to try and work on music like he’d always planned, most of them some grand romantic gestures, but instead, he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets just inside your door, and called your name.

You turned, standing in the kitchen, and his eyes followed the line of your throat, the curve of your cheek.

“I’m gonna stay,” he blurted out, and he already had a very expensive plane ticket in his wallet but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Yoongi stands up, heads toward your hospital room but he stops at the doorway, hears the beep of the machines and it makes his heart stutter.

He stands outside the door, unable to look inside. More snapshots float through his mind as he leans back against the wall, breathing hard.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, right into the shell of his ear and it made him shiver. He was standing so close to you, one hand on your hip, the other braced on the counter as if he’d fall against you, fall into you.

“Mmm,” he managed, leaning forward, as if you’d beckoned him, and every inch of his skin that touched yours felt heated.

“What’s happening right now?” you asked, and he wanted to laugh but he couldn’t, looking into your wide eyes. You’d been best friends for two years, seen each other at your worst. Now all he could do was think about how much he loved every part of you, good and bad, inside and out.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and leaned down to kiss you, his hand moving to your lower back seemingly of its own volition, pulling you closer so that your breasts pressed against his chest.

His tongue slid against yours and his heart seemed like it might thud out of his chest.

When he pulled away from you, breathless, you let out a whine from the back of your throat, just like that first night when he’d marked you, and he couldn't stand it, the way it felt, how much he felt.

He wanted to run but something was pulling him toward you instead of away and instead, he kissed you again.

You pulled away this time, trembling in his arms.

“Yoongi,” you said again. “Are we doing this? Are you-”

“Am I in love with you?” he asked, chest heaving, it was as if he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

You nodded, slowly, your cheeks flushed.

Instead of speaking, Yoongi nodded back, slowly, and a small smile spread across your lips.

“Yoongi,” you repeated, his name from your lips his favorite sound. “Kiss me again.”

That memory forces Yoongi to enter the room, sit by your bed. You look sick and gray and he wants to take your hand but something stops him.

He thinks now that it’s settled, that he’ll talk to you, that he’ll rework his contract, do anything to make things better. Maybe it won’t work, maybe you’re done, but he can try. He has to try.

Your eyes are closed, lashes fanning across your cheekbones and when Yoongi reaches out to touch your face, he sees that his hands are trembling.

When you do wake, a few moments later, Yoongi wants to crawl under the bed and hide, knows that he’s probably the last person you want to see.

“Yoongi,” you call, and your voice is hoarse and confused but tears stream down Yoongi’s face because it’s still his favorite melody.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and that little smile spreads across your lips again.

“Baby,” you say, and his heart clenches in his chest as you take his hand. “You wanna break my heart?”

#min yoongi x reader #btscreatorscorner #bangtanheadquarters #noonasinnetwork #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts imagine

[muffindaddystyles]

Vamp!harry x readers first time being fully intimate! He’s scared of hurting her so he’s really hesitant to do it. it’s also her first time in general so maybe you can make it really fluffy please??

Sorry for being supppppeeerrr late but promise it's gonna be worth it. All my lovin!!

Vampire!harry at valentines day.

It's valentine's day. For Harry everyday is a day for lovin' but in vampire culture valentines is the key to the lock of ever love and showing your passion towards your better half. He showered Y/N in abundant of affection; was waiting for her to wake up on his bedside like an impatient puppy and the moment she blinked open her eyes he was all over her. Almost swallowing her whole. His plush lips kissed every inch of his lovie and muffled all her giggles with his heavy smoochs.

"Will you be my valentine?" He murmures against her mouth and she squeaks still sleepy, "ofcourse yes!" He was joyous and kissed her as many times as he could.

She was all smushy squeals and jumpy on her bum while ripping her gifts down, "Slow down poppet 's all yours." He laughed resting his chin atop her head. She got all blushy and shy in his arms when on her rummage a furry brallete top and shorts dangled with her fingers, "'s sooo cute Harry. Thank you!" She tries to kiss him but it lands against his chin. Pastel heart boxes full of rich chocolates and strawberries made her sky rocket over the moon dribbling him with her kisses and sweet whispers.

After exchange of gifts, chocolates and kisses they went to diner near her flat hands in hands for some tummy filling brekkie. They were inseparable, with heart twinkling eyes, tender gushes and sighs full of love for eachother. Anyone could spot them the couple from far like a bat under the moonlight.

It's cloudy and thick so she hauled him with herself flopping into poof of lavender fields the scent cocoons them as they stared into eachother's eyes with love and happiness till she lifted her fingertips to lightly brush it over his silken dollop of cheeks with a quirk of lips; it burns. To touch him. Lit her core on fire with desire and yearn to be his's fully.

He takes her cheeks and gently, gently, ever so gently smudges his candy lips against hers to taste her mouth. Sliding his palms down her spine under her bottom to pull her ontop of him without un-sealing his lips from over her's. Her hands meanders under his hickory curls that made him grunt and raise his hips to push against her womanhood.

"Want you, please." She whimpers putting the pressure down on his bulge jolting with the wave of pleasure with each swivel, "shh. shh 's okay gonna take care of ye' . . . Let's go home first." He pets her hair murmuring against her chin and plucks her pout when she shakes her head with eagerness.

"What lovie', didn't know ye' were thatttt kinky!?" He tickles her dimples at the sides and she scooches down into his chest with spurts of laughs, "Aish. 'M not . . just want you to take me."

"You'll 'ave me – darlin' in the best way possible." He sighs kissing her sweetly with tongue to explore her tangeriness and his nostrils flares when she whines with the flutter of her eyelashes.

//

"Come fo' me again baby." He says while licking up her folds with hunger pinning down her shivering thighs as his sleek fingers pumped her own cum back inside her. They came back home, undressed in haste and Harry wrapped her around him like a soft bear laying her down promising her that he'll fill her with his cock. Gave his tongue and fingers to her, playing filthy between her sticky thighs with three digits of his's buried deep inside her weepy pussy.

It's her second orgasm and still the knot in her stomach didn't unwind. It'll only after being stuffed full with his thick fat prick deep inside her wet cunt. When she whines trying to latch to his shoulders murmuring, "what if it'll not fit?" He giggles popping out her nipple from between his lips with a dirty noise.

"Now, I'll take it as a compliment but 'ave been warmin' ye up fo' a mo' haven't I?" He palms her breasts and runs his thumbs over her nipples while circling her clit; watching as she squirmed and whimpered under him. "You're wet fo' a proper nice fuck baby — bet gonna take my dick so well fo' me." He spreads her gooness down her slit dangerously close to her other hole. She gasps and he swallows it with a kiss pressing his thumb against her puckering pink hole while slithering his ring finger inside her dripping pussy.

"'S all fo' me?" He prods inside her making her moan breathily and she bobs her head desirous to have him all for herself. He tucks his trousers down while sucking her bottom lip tenderly, his erection slapping his lower tummy and her shivering hands brushes the aching tip of his cock making him rut in her grip.

"Oh me sweet bundle of blood." He whispers gazing into her earthy eyes with passion and love bitting his pale jutted lips when she stroked him spreading his pre-come down his thick shaft. He glides his palm under her back other cupping her jaw, "stay still fo' me moppet." He says in a low hum working his oozing prick between her folds making squelching noises. Sliding it down and inside her slowly almost loosing his balance knocking his forehead against her.

"S' tight." Her wetness allowing him to extend deeper till he pulled out making both of them whine, "shh. I gotcha lovie' . . ." He huffs bottoming out snug and warm inside her fluttering walls milking the tip of his cock, it pimples goosebumps at their skins.

He frees her wrists touching her sides, "you can move now." She quickly winds her forearms around his shoulders loving the way their bare skin feels together while they're intervined in such an intimate way. A shiver runs down his bone marrow when her lips skims over his throat and teeth grazes to find the perfect spot to mark him just the way he does to her, "tell me if it hurts yeah? don't wanna harm ye' in any way." He's grinding his hips at very gentle pace just to test waters. His hand groping and teasing her pebbled nipples sometimes sneaking down to flicker her clit.

"You'll not, please please . ." She tries to thrust into him but he pins them down glaring her sternly. He's awed how hooded with lust her eyes are, darker than his demonic ones and it's so sexy his hips quacks pummeling inside her unintentionally but it made her go feral, "'m serious baby." He nudges her thighs wider holding it down watching himself push inside her yearningly.

"Can you please fuck me now?" She breathes annoyed at him and he grins giving her chaste kiss on lips, "y'want that? dirty babe." Her eyes rolls back when he thrusts inside her continuously without a waver roughly while kissing her collar bones controlling himself to take a bite from her. He could listen how erratically her heart's been beating squirming his lips upwards as she arched and thrashed under him.

He sucks her nipple inside his mouth pulling at it with a hum and crimson rimmed irirses fucking her brutally to make her see stars and saturn.

"Wanna cum?" He presses his palm with force against her belly to feel himslef bumping through stroking his ego. Her eyes teary and button nose red as she nods, "then beg." He smirks and it made her tug at his roots from the pleasure of sight when his fangs poked out ever so slightly within his gums.

"Please harry. Can I come?" Her upper body shaking from avoiding to gush all over his cock and he twitches against her spongy walls with a whimper while playing with her clit, "yes cum right now." Her moans were the most erotic thing Harry has ever heard as she let herself limp in his arms feeling safe and happy coating his dick with her cum. Babbling incoherence under him and his face falls into her neck fucking her, overstimulating her with each stroke and she holds him tight cooing in his ear as he came hissing when her glistening soaked pussy tried to push him out.

After some minutes he recouped, kissing the side of her head trailing little pecks at her sweaty line bringing her up closer to his chest.

"Was I good?" His gaze soft and genuine. "The best." She hiccups tiredly. Cheeks blushed and eyes glassy, "How was I?" Her shyness clear. "I love how your pussy feels around me. Swallows me perfectly." He smiles whispering the end part and she whispers it back, "made for eachother."

He cleans her with baby wipes rubbing them between his hands before using them to swipe away his cum from her inner thighs. Hushing her softly when she whimpers as he nudges at a particular sore bite or her sensitive folds. Threw sheets into hamper and brought her favourite patched quilt to cuddle under it not letting her untangle her calves from his's at all.

Then in evening they baked together more like her checking out her love marks on her body in the glassiness of refrigerator while he squats beside the oven like an over excited puppy. She gasps dramatically wiggling her bum to have a better look then almost shoving it against his face making him tumble.

"Harry! you left a horrendous bite under my bum!!" He gives out a belly ache laugh slapping her arse playfully, "What can I say, moppet. Ye' got a cute lil bum. Couldn't resist biting ye'r peach" She huffs trying to grab him but in an instant he's turning into the weeny black creature flapping his wings down at her small lips smirking down at her in victory.

"Oi. You can't just turn a bat everytime you do somethin' naughty, it's unfair!" She puts her hands on her hips glaring up at him and he flies to the other direction but unfortunately knocks himself into the book shelf. Her laugh echoes into whole house as he transforms back into his humanly figure rubbing his head smiling up at her full of giddiness and she flops down beside him kissing his dimples with a grin that doesn't seem to disappear.

"Happy valentines day you fool."

#vampire harry smut #vampire harry #vampire harry x reader #dirty one shots #harry dirty one shots #harry smut #harry angst #harry styles smut

[waxingmoonwrites]

It Still Hurts - P.P

Warnings: Pimple popping, like one mention to sex, kissing, Petey being cute, lmk if I missed anything and I'll add it to here no questions asked!

Summary: Y/N notices a pimple on Peter's forehead and asks to pop it. The only way he'd let her do it was if he got twenty kisses. But miraculously, even after the twenty kisses are up, his forehead still hurts?

A/N: So I honestly have no idea what this is... just had the idea at school today, and decided to start writing. So yeah, hope you like it! Reblogs and likes are appreciated! (Is that weird to say? It feels weird....). Also, the thing about the reader liking popping pimples I can both relate to and not lol. Feedback is always welcome!

******

It wasn't often that Peter and Y/N got time together like this. With Peter being Spider-Man, and them getting close enough to college that the teachers and parents were constantly reminding them of it and reminding them to study and make sure that their grades were top-notch, so when they did get a chance to just sit and bask in each other's presence, they savored it for as long as they could.

They had put the TV on in Peter and May's apartment, but neither of them were paying much attention to it. They were both too focused on the fact that they were actually allowed to have a couple of minutes to themselves, without having to worry whether Peter was supposed to be off saving the world, or if they had a test they'd forgotten about that they needed to study for. They'd agreed that this Saturday was just a day for them to be with each other, and not care about anyone else.

Thankfully, May had understood, and had called up a few of her frends, and had arranged herself a girls' day. The only thing she had said before leaving was, "Use protection!" making both Peter and Y/N cringe slightly, as they had both just been thinking they would cuddle all day.

But, Peter being the frantic person that he is, didn't just want to be around his girlfriend, he also wanted to talk to her.

So he pulled away, and waited until Y/N had taken her face out of where she had burrowed it away in his neck.

"So... how was your week?" Peter asked, with a large, goofy smile on his face.

Peter's smile was one of the only things in the world that never failed to make Y/N feel better. Just one small smile from him lifted any bad thoughts she had towards anybody or anything in the world, and she wouldn't change it for anything.

Y/N sighed, a sad smile on her face. "Pretty crappy, to be honest. I was studying nonstop, but then my aunt came to town, and my mom wanted me to go meet my new cousin. He was cute and everything but he was also just a baby, and I had stuff to do, so the whole thing was kind of pointless...." she sighed again. "Let's just say that everything's better now that we're together. I know that's super cheesy and it rhymes, but to be honest, I don't care,"

"Neither do I," Peter said, leaning up ever so slightly to peck Y/N on the lips.

But that wasn't enough for Y/N. She had gone an entire week without seeing her boyfriend, and the surprised look on Peter's face when Y/N pulled away after wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a passionate kiss was amazing.

The two just stared at each other for a few more minutes, before Y/N spotted a red spot on Peter's forehead. Upon further inspection, she realized that it was in fact a pimple.

"You have a pimple on your forehead," Y/N stated. "Can I pop it?"

"What?" Peter's hand immediately flew to his forehead, and after feeling the small bump on his forehead he groaned. "You can't pop it, Y/N, that would be gross,"

Y/N gave him a confused look. "Why would it be gross? Have you seen those videos of people popping those giant pimples? They get that big because people leave them be for so long that they just keep growing. If you don't pop your pimples they may eventually get that large,"

Y/N knew she sounded kind of like an infomertial for some sort of cream or something, but she had always had a weird thing for popping pimples, and often did it for her younger brother, who was starting to get them on his forehead and was afraid of doing it himself.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Stawwwwp," he whined. "I don't want you to pop it,"

"What if..." Y/N chewed her lip as she thought. "What if I give you ten kisses?"

Peter pouted for another second before saying, "Make it twenty and you've got yourself a deal,"

Y/N smiled and gave him one kiss in advance before straddling his lap to have better access.

Peter cringed under her, and Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I'll be gentle and quick, okay? I love you,"

"I love you too," Peter squeaked out.

Y/N chuckled. Peter had done so many terrifying things that Y/N basically refused to think about, and here he was, worried about getting his pimple popped.

Y/N smiled lightly at the irony of it.

"Alright and... here we go,"

Y/N placed her thumbnails on either side of the pimple, and pushed down while pushing them together. She heard Peter take a deep breath, and finished up quickly, before pressing a kiss to the spot where the pimple had been.

Silently, Y/N then began placing the twenty kisses that she had promised Peter before popping the pimple. She peppered them around his face, then a few on his neck, and the last few on his lips.

"Do you feel better?" Y/N asked, wrapping her arms around Peter's neck and leaning into his shoulder.

Peter stuck out his bottom lip and said, "Actually... it still hurts a little..."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but sat up and continued kissing all over her boyfriend's face, loving every second of it.

"I love you Petey," Y/N mumbled against Peter's cheek.

"I love you too Y/N/N," Peter replied, nuzzling his face into Y/N's hair, breathing in the wonderful scent.

As much as they hated the thought of another long week ahead of them, at least they had each other. And that was all they needed.

******

#peter parker #peter parker blurb #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x yn #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #the ending was so random omg #im legit so nervous about this #be nice please? #😅 #i hope you enjoyed reading it if you did read! #have a great day or night!

[burntmcnuggies]

HC: Hawks gets a pimple

Hawks x Reader

Warnings: fluff! Slight mention of suggestive sexual intercourse and cursing! But that’s it! Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.7K

Hawks was having a good morning so far. The sunlight peeked through the curtains of his spacious penthouse apartment, letting the orange glow illuminate the usually dark room. His avian like eyes peeked open, dark pupils shrinking at the sudden invasion of brightness. He rose a heavy hand up to block out the light, groaning in reluctance to rise from his comfy bed next to you. Both his eyes opened slowly, remembering that you’d spent the night with him. His golden hues focused in on your sleeping face beside him. He loved moments like these, waking up with you beside him —even though he had to leave you. It always made his heart swell with warmth.

Once he lazily picked himself out of bed, careful not to wake you, he sent a few sturdy feathers to collect the fallen ones he’d littered on the floor and to dispose of them. He gave you one last look with a satisfied huff and a genuinely loving smile. His light footsteps padded against the hardwood floors as he went to his closet and began to dress for the day, leaving his pants undone so he could take a leak before he left. He slipped into the bathroom and out of habit sparred a glance at himself in the mirror. His eyes shifted to the toilet until he froze. WAIT—

Hawks jerked back around to the mirror and rushed over to the reflective glass, eyes shrunken and horrified at the rather large white bump that protruded from his skin, an irritated flush of his skin surrounding the small pore. “No, no, no, no, no. Oh fuck, shit, what the hell is that?!” His bare hands rose to gently poke and run his finger along the pus filled pore. He winced at the touch and pain that swelled around his cheek. The dashingly handsome hero had no idea what was now stuck on his face, blemishing his sex appeal and pride.

In a fit of panic he flew to your side and shook you gently awake. “(Y/N). (Y/N) wake up! I need your help!” You stirred and groaned in exhaustion, cracking your eyes open to see your lover with a panicked expression. “Mmm... what’s wrong Keigo?” Your voice was groggy and tired, laced with drowsiness as your body threatened to lull you back to sleep. “There’s something on my face, I-I don’t know what it is. Can you help me cover it up?” Your brows knit together at the urgency in his voice. Why was he freaking out about some cut on his face? He got small scratches all the time. “Keigo it’s just a scratch. Just put a band-aid-“ “ITS WHITE. It’s not a scratch!”

Your eyes opened in confusion and the instant you saw his face your pupils narrowed in on the irritated red patch of skin that dawned his right cheek about an inch or two away from the corner of his lips. “Keigo that’s a pimple. It’s norma-“ “A PIMPLE?!?!” His loud shouting instantly woke you up, and your ears rung in slight irritation at the unexpected squawking. He was urgently pointing towards the small pus head, anxiously awaiting your assistance. “Don’t yell babe... it’s not that big of a deal, everyone gets them-“ “I’m the number two hero, I’m a model, I cannot have some... some white thing on my face!! What’re people gonna think? That I’m dirty? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Never before have you seen Hawks so upset about something so small as a pimple. He did pride himself on his looks. He spent hours preening his feathers to have them look their best for the public to keep up his flashy reputation. He knows he looks good. Was this an insecurity seeping through?

“Should I pop it? Will that get rid of it?” He rose his hands up, ready to do the deed himself without hearing an answer. “No Keigo. That’s the worst thing to do. I know it’s tempting but you just need to clean your face and put some ointment on it.” “Can you buy it for me?” It was cute seeing Hawks so insecure about a pimple. Every gets them at least once in their life, it happens, but you’ve never seen someone freak out as much as Hawks over ONE pimple. “Sure babe, I’ll get you some. But you need to calm down, it’s not that bad-“ “I’m so ugly.” “...yes Hawks one pimple makes you the ugliest man in the world.” “...really...?” His wings dropped, looking at his reflection in horror and sadness. “Oh my god no. I was just kidding Keigo.”

“Don’t play with me like that. This is serious.” “And I’m serious when I tell you it’s gonna be okay and you need to calm down.” He still had a frantic look in his golden eyes once you told him to relax. He nodded and continued to eye the blemish in anger, hoping it would vanish if he glared at it enough. “Tell you what babe, let’s put a little bandaid over it with some Neosporin and you can just say got a little scratch from a fight with a villain. Sound good?” “You’re so smart, love bird. How did I get so damn lucky, or were you the lucky one? It’s always debatable huh?”

Once he was patched up and covered, he finished getting ready and kissed you goodbye, leaving through the balcony window. He ascended to the skies, wind bursting against his face and sweeping his hair back. His mind was still on the pimple that graced his handsome face. He brought his hand up and scratched his chin in thought. As soon as he got to his agency, he would look up all the fastest ways to get rid of a pimple.

“Hey love bird, did ya get the ointment?” “Yep, got it right in the cart.” Your eyes cast down to the ointment resting in the temporarily empty cart awaiting to be filled with groceries. “So I was thinking about what we should have for dinner tonight-“ “Can you pick up a few more things?” Your brows furrowed. “Like what?” “Face masks, face scrub, moisturizer, clay masks, oh! Get the charcoal ones too I heard those fuckin’ hurt but work good! Foam wash, some skin oil, sunscreen-“ “Keigo are you serious... baby that’s so much. It’s just one pim-“ “Sorry love bird, I gotta go, just use the black card okay? Love ya!” He hung up...

You did as he instructed and bought a lot of skin care products for him, along with some packs of chicken and some of his Georgia WAX coffee. Once you got home and put everything away, you started on dinner. It was rare if Hawks even got home on time, but you always made him some for him to heat up —if he didn’t get take out. To your surprise he came home quite earlier. “Hey love bird! Did ya get my stuff?” “Yeah, it’s all in the bathroom, babe.” “Hair clips?” “I already had some Bobby pins.” “You’re the best.”

When he emerged from the bathroom he had a charcoal face mask on, the messily long strands of blonde hair usually sticking up pinned down to his head and away from his face. You couldn’t help but laugh at the silly look on his face and the avoidance of his “manly” patch of scruff on his chin. “Were you worried it would take off your little beard?” “.....yes.” “I wish you’d shave, I hate it.” “Wh-What?! I thought you liked it!” “It looks like pubes on your face.” His face paled, well, as much as you could see. “Baby I’m kidding.” “Oh-“ he sighed in relief. “I was about to say there, you weren’t complainin’ when I ate you out last ni-“ “KEIGO!!!” He laughed at your embarrassment.

After dinner Hawks finally took his face mask off... or well he tried to. He was whining like a baby at how much it hurt. “Ow! Ow! Fuck! Why does it hurt so much?!” “You told me to buy it, you knew the charcoal one was gonna hurt you birdbrain!” “It said it would get rid of it fast!” “Who’s fault is that for telling me to buy it!” “It’s the internet’s fault for tellin’ me it worked fast!” Eventually you ripped the mask from his face and stared at all the tiny hairs and unnoticeable pores. “Hey look, it-“ you looked up at him and stopped once you saw his flushed red face. “Babe you okay?” “I can’t feel my face. Do I still have eyebrows?” You burst out laughing. “Yes Kei’.” “What about my scruff?” “Nope, gone.” “Liar.”

Afterwards you both put on some face masks and lathered each other up in some lotion in a very comforting way, not sexually, although he made some very sly comments that teetered on the edge. Against your wishes, you both ate some chips on the couch watching TV with Hawks shouting and throwing chips. “WHAT THE FUCK!!! THEY CANT KILL HIM OFF LIKE THAT!!!!” “BABE ITS A SHOW!” “ITS MY FAVORITE SHOW HE WAS MY FAVORITE CAUSE HE WAS HOT LIKE ME!!!” You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily at his cute childish antics. His eyes moved over to you, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“I love you, birdie.” Your cheeks flushed. “I love you too...” “Ah, after three years of dating, a year and a half of livin’ together, and you’re still embarrassed with me tellin’ you I love you? We’ve done worse ya know~” “Shut up. You’re... never around much anymore, and it always makes me happy when we spend time together, but... confessing your feelings... it’s a different kind of happiness all together. Words can’t explain how much your words mean to me.” His expression turned sullen. “(Y/N)...” “And I know it’s cheesy, it’s stupid, but... it’s how I feel... knowing you still love me even when we’ve been apart for so long... I love you, Keigo. Whether you have a pimple or not.” He frowned, eyes narrowing. “You ruined it.” “Really? Damn. Nothing gets past you does it?” You both shared in playful laughter until the masks were ready to come off.

The next day his skin was clear, surprisingly, perfect and smooth with the exception of his patch of scruff. He had taken a day off work, which was a bit odd but, heroes need a break too I guess? “Mmm... good mornin’ birdie~” His deep morning voice rumbled against your ear, shaking your core and making a small tingle twinge in the dark pits of your stomach. “M-Morning.” His lips littered the side of your jaw and down your shoulder. “Are you ready for our fun day off, love bird?” “Yeah, I’m uh... pretty excited.” “Oh yeah? Well...” His hand slowly slipped down your night gown, trailing his fingers sneakily to the hem while shifting his fingers up. He pressed into your skin to slip a hand into your panties, but you quickly stopped his hand. “Later.” “Whyyyy?” He whined. “Unlike you, I have work.” “Oh don’t worry! I already called ‘em and them ‘em you were spendin’ a day off with me for... personal reasons.” “........” “I-I love you...?”

Hawks still ended up being cock-blocked that morning, but he was awarded some juicy chicken with a side of pancakes. The morning was full of playful banter, loving gazes, and small kisses. “I booked us a massage today.” “Oh really? When’d you do that?” “Yesterday after I called your work.” “They let you have an appointment last notice?” He laughed. “I am the number two hero, and there are some benefits to being the most popular and handsome man in Japan.” “I think Best Jeanist tops you.” “Why must you always be so mean to me, Birdie.” “I’m mean cause I love you.” “That’s not how that works.” “...” “...” “Keigo.” “I know, I know, we won’t talk about it.” He’s playfully mean and teasing because he loves you too.

Later that afternoon you arrive at the spa and everyone is gawking at Hawks. Who wouldn’t? He is the most handsome man in Japan like he said. Oh, let’s not forget the glares some of his fangirls gave you, it never failed to make you a bit uncomfortable. “Hey there, we’ve got an appointment for two, a couples massage.” “Oh! Y-Yes Hawks everything is ready for you!” “Ah! Great! Thank you sweets~” He cooes out and sends the lady a friendly wink as she left. His slung his arm protectively around your waist and he kissed your cheek. You pouted. “It’s unbelievable what you can do with your charm.” “Tell me about it! I get a lotta free stuff; discounts, free reservations. All that stuff, comes with being so popular, ain’t that right?” “Fuck off.”

The massage was wonderful, absolutely amazing. It took a lot of the stress off your shoulders and gave you a bit of time to just relax and think about nothing. Your mind was blank, enjoying the silence and feel of someone else’s hands just rubbing the pain and stress away. There was also a very fashionable and professional facial. It was then you realized it. “Hawks, did you book these massages just to get the facial for your skin?” “Well yeah, how else am I gonna keep the pores away?” “You do realize I bought you like- tons of stuff for home right?” “Yeah! But this is more relaxing dont’cha think?” “Well... yeah but-“ “Just hush and enjoy the massage love bird.”

You were going to kill him. Bury him six feet under, you wouldn’t even attend his funeral. He wouldn’t even have a funeral you’d hide the body so well. The massage and the facial Hawks had booked cost way over $2K dollars. But with Hawks and his grade A flirting and charm, the price was knocking back to just $1.95K on the bright side... he saved you $500. Even though he paid. “Hawks why did you book such an expensive massage!” “Well, I really wanted the facial but I got more for the bundle, so I just went with that and decided to relax! You can’t tell me you didn’t like it, love bird.” “Of course I liked it, but just don’t spend SO MUCH money. All this over one pimple!” His face flushed. “Keep it down-“ you burst into fits of laughter at his embarrassment, you couldn’t help it.

He wore face masks everyday after the pimple incident and lathered up lotion before bed, making him all slick when he cuddled you. It was such a clear insecurity you never knew he would have, it was honestly very cute. At dinner when he finally returned home, he heaved a heavy sigh of exhaustion. “I’m home love bird.” He called out with a smile. You approached him immediately with his little face mask and gently pinned his bangs back, putting the cool moistened mask onto his smooth face. “Oh? What’s this? Givin’ me some special treatment tonight? What’d I do?”

“You’ve been freaking out the past couple days, so I figured I’d help you out just a bit.” A smile spread over your lips as you helped him out of his hero jacket, leading him down the hall to the bedroom. He laid his head against your lap, wings nudging your knees on either side of you while he laid on the bed calmly. “Thank you love bird...” “You don’t need to thank me, Keigo. And just so you know...” You leaned down and gently pecked his lips, giving him a sweet upside down kiss. “I love you cause you’re you, not because of your looks. It doesn’t matter if you’re covered in thousands of scars and pimples or whatever! As long as you’re my birdie...” His wings fluffed up, eyes going wide. “I’ll love you forever, my avian mate.” It was silent until he spoke up in a very flustered tone.

“...” “...” “Can we fuck?” “You ruined it, Keigo. You ruined it.”

#my hero headcanons #my hero academia #hawks headcanons #hawks bnha #pro hero hawks #hawks x reader #silly headcanon #bnha keigo takami #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader

[mrs-dynamight]

Be Nice To Me 3

Part 2.

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Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!Reader, Denki Kaminari x fem!Reader

Warnings: Eventual mature content, angst, hurt/comfort, love triangle, the reader is lowkey toxic, everything will be adressed in every episode (:

Chapter warning: Swearing but just a little bit of it. Kissing because this is still on fluff mode

Chapter: 3/? Yup still don't know

Synopsis: You're in love with your best friend Bakugou, and you're cofessing to him but things get a lot more complicated when Denki starts to treat you different *wink wink*

Word count: 2.2k

Author's note: Okay friends, this is a little longer but it's cute, and it has some interesting things that will be relevant to the story, so read carefully, aaaand I must warn this is a slowburn. Hope you like it

Chapter 3 My Oh My - Aqua

We both left the empty classroom and went directly to class 3A. Tenya saw us coming late and started rambling about how punctuality is key for heroes and how we as seniors should give example and just Tenya stuff.

The rest of the class went pretty fast, I was thinking about what Denki said, he sounded so serious when he said the gig stuff, maybe I was overthinking, he has always been nice with me, just nice, we are friends right?

All those years getting to know each other, being partners in crime, spending too many nights wide awake talking about our future, the amount of pressure being a “hero” meant, how at the end of the day we were still children risking our lives, he understood that better than most of our friends; some of his words were burned in my mind forever: “I love helping people, but sometimes I wonder who’s helping us?” “I’m afraid I’ll turn into a puppet of the hero commission, like Hawks did” “I’m afraid of losing myself in the process”; as far as I know I was the only one that knew this side of Kaminari, everyone else always thought of him as the dyslexic class clown, but there were so much more of him that only jokes and a funny face after using his quirk, such a complex mind, sometimes I wonder if he plays dumb on propose…

Thinking about Denki almost made me forgot how nervous I was for my date with Katsuki, but the ring of the bell that indicates the end of the class made me jump from my desk in excitement.

-Oi dumbass, see you in a while, be punctual- Bakugo said picking up his stuff and heading to the door without looking back at me.

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We talked about nothing in the way to the ramen restaurant, I wasn’t as nervous as I were on Monday and everything seemed to be going so smoothly, just as I thought, this was Bakugo Katsuki my best friend, the guy I was in love with, he had seen me covered in sweat and bruises from the hero training, had seen me cry over my failed math tests, he knew me, if he didn’t like me back I could deal with it, but this date definitely won’t ruin our friendship.

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-Don’t make me laugh when I’m eating, you idiot- Bakugo said between coughs from almost choking with his noodles

-I didn’t mean it, but it’s true my greatest fear are those wacky waving inflatable things they put in the cars sales, they scare the shit out of me- I said laughing and with a bit of embarrassment for telling this stupid thing to my crush, but he found it hilarious

-I’ve seen you take down villains with a single hand and without sweating a single drop, but your greatest fear is ridiculous Y/N-

That kinda sounded like a compliment, and knowing Katsuki it probably was, I couldn’t help but blush but if someone asked me it was the spiciness of the ramen.

-I’m also a little bit afraid of heights, not as I used to, but it makes me a little bit nervous thinking about falling to my inevitable death- I said slurping the last of the broth in my plate

-Heights? No way, that means we can’t go rock climbing because of a certain pussy- Said the ash blonde, finishing his ramen as well

-Why? Is Bakugo Katsuki planning on taking me on a road trip anytime soon? – Oh shit that sounded way more flirty than I had planned.

I turned bright red right after I said that and to my surprise the boy in front of me was just as red as I was, that’s it I just made Katsuki Bakugo blush, I can die a hero now. We were not looking at each other, not saying a single word, just awkwardly sitting in front of each other.

-I… I was joking ´Tsuki- I began but he interrupted me with

-Maybe I want to take you to a stupid road trip, what you’re going to do about it? You can chicken now and saving me seeing you cry in front of a rock, but that wouldn’t be very Y/N of you- Aaaaand just like that Bakugo’s back

-Let’s go, Draw, I still wanna kick your ass in Mario Kart before curfew and knowing you, you will want to play those claw things and get some weird weeb thing, like a figure of that loud anime guy you like, the one who plays Volleyball; and of course you will be wasting all your money in the process- This man knows me damn too well

I was about getting my money to pay but he stopped me

-I got this-

-But ‘Tsuki I invited you, I have to pay for it- I said but the waitress had already taken Katsukis money

-If you beat me at Mario Kart, I’ll let you pay me back, but if I win… Well we will see about that later- Bakugo said without looking at me

Was that flirting? Is Katsuki Bakugo flirting with me? Did he noticed this was a date and that’s why he wanted to pay? Nah, he’s probably doing it to bother me, but if anything made me bush a little.

-Oi, you coming or what? – I was so caught up in the emotion that I didn’t noticed he was already heading to the front door

We walked a couple of blocks to the arcade, it was still early in the afternoon, we had a couple of hours before our curfew and I was going to make the best of them.

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After the tenth time losing against him, I gave up.

-This is bullshit, I don’t know how but you’re cheating, there is no way I actually hit all those frigging banana peels, this game sucks, you suck- I said making an overdramatic mouth pout and crossing my arms on my chest.

I could hear Bakugos laughing on my side and when I turned to look at him, he had the most gorgeous look on his eyes, but when he noticed that I was looking at him he changed his expression.

-I told you so, you can’t beat me, but I’m a compassionate God, so I’ll let you choose the next game for you to lose in- His big smile was equally irritating as it was beautiful

Three games in and Bakugo was about to blow the whole arcade up, apparently, he can’t dance to save his life, so Dance Dance Revolution was the perfect game for me to choose. I was literally tearing up from laughter, he was so angry and upset.

-If you had spending more time with Mina and me you could have learned a couple of steps, but you had to go sleeping at eight like an old man-

-Have you seen this face? This is what a good sleep schedule does to your skin, but I guess you’ll never know about that-

-Oh god, is that a pimple? – I joked to make him even angrier, I leaned towards his face to mock him more -Oh he has a brother, and a whole family of angry little buds, this even looks like you-

He turned his head and his nose was almost an inch away from mine, his eyes locked with mines, we were so close that I could feel his breath, a little bit more and our lips would be touching, my mind was going blank, I suddenly forgot how to breathe, I thought that it was actually happening, I should close my eyes and go for it, I leant a bit closer, we were almost there…

-Y/N, we both know there is not a single pimple in this face- Said Bakugo moving his head back and creating some distance between us.

I felt my heart drop to the ground. He didn’t wanna kiss me, I probably made him uncomfortable being that close, I’m so stupid, I fucked up.

-There is the claw machine of the Volleyball dudes, and there is the owl one you like- Bakugo was trying to be a good friend to me, and as much as I appreciated it I was way too sad to even think about volleyball

After more than a half of my money spent, I was walking to the UA dorms with my Bokuto plushie and an ache in my heart. I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment, was I imagining everything? Was he not flirting with me? It felt so real, I wanted to cry, but that would only make things worse, I wasn’t looking at Bakugo for the first time since we’ve met. I couldn’t hold a conversation after that, I used the excuse of being too concentrated in winning the plushie, but now that we are walking side by side it feels weird not saying anything. Bakugo doesn’t seem to care, or even notice, he’s also very quiet, this feels way too awkward, I just want this night to be over and cry my heart out in my room. There is only a couple more blocks and this nightmare will end.

-Hey Y/N, wait- This is the first time I hear Bakugos voice since we started heading the dorms

I try to put my best “Everything is okay” face but I fail miserably when I see his face. I started to tear up and just hugged my plushie with my eyes fixed in the ground, I can’t see him in the face

-I’m sorry Katsuki, I wasn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation, I wasn’t thinking and…-

I was grabbed so suddenly I dropped Bokuto

Before I realized his lips were pressed against my own. I was way too shocked to respond to his kiss, to my very first kiss. He pulled back, and a sigh left his lips.

-‘Tch, don’t apologise, I didn’t wanna kiss you in front of a bunch of losers- He said looking to his side, clearly avoiding my confused gaze

I didn’t hesitate, I grabbed his face and kissed him, trying to let him know how much I waited for that kiss. He quickly responded to it, for someone as strong and tough as him he was being gentle and caring, if this ain’t heaven, I dare God to come down and tell me this isn’t what glory feels like.

We kept the kiss, it became more and more passionate, he got closer to deepen the kiss, I could feel his arms around my waist, and I could taste the melon soda he had at the arcade in his lips. I opened my mouth just a little and I felt his tongue slowly brushing against mine. This was the pinnacle of happiness.

We broke the kiss with blushed cheeks and racing heartbeats. This was too much; my head was spinning and I almost cried tears of joy.

-I thought you didn’t wanna kiss me- I said with a broke voice

-I didn’t- His reply felt like a bucket of cold water

-What? You’re kidding, you kissed me- Knowing Bakugo he just said that to mess with me

-Y/N I didn’t want to kiss you, but not because of whatever stupid thing your mind its thinking right now-

-Then why? You can’t just kiss me and then tell me you didn’t mean it, you don’t like me? –

-I like you, a lot, and that is why this is getting way harder that it’s supposed to be, I’ve been dying to kiss you for a long long time Y/N, you had no idea how much I have fantasized with having you between my arms and telling you just how much I like your dumb pretty face, I like you, and don’t you ever doubt it-

-Then, why? –

-I’m going to become the no. 1 hero, and that means I have to try even harder than the rest of the losers in this and the other hero curses, that’s why I will be having internships abroad this semester, with the bests heroes not only in Japan but in the world. I have to be the best in everything, having a girlfriend will only be distracting and possibly a complete disaster because I will be a terrible boyfriend being that busy with hero training, and asking you to wait for me is selfish, even for me. I didn’t wanna kiss you and then leave for half a year, maybe even more, but then you looked at me with those stupid kitty eyes and I just…-

-You’re going away? And you didn’t told me? – Now I definitely started to cry

-Oi! You’re the first one to know I haven’t even told my mom yet –

-I’ll wait –

-What? No I.. –

-I said I’ll wait for you, Bakugo Katsuki I’ve been in love with you since we first meet, I’ve been waiting two years for this, this is just half a year, then we will have all the time in the world-

Now it was Bakugos time to shed a tear

-You don’t have to; I don’t want you to be waiting for me while I…-

My kiss didn’t let him finish what he was about to say, he was tearing, I was tearing, but it was beautiful.

-Six months and then you’ll be mine Katsuki, get it? –

-I don’t think this is a good idea, you dumbass-

-Maybe it isn’t, but what are you going to do? Stop me? - I replied and then we kissed one last time

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Part 4.

I really liked how this turned out, I'm going to the the masterlist post soon so you can find all the chapters together. As always I'm starting to write and in my second language (just give me my certificate already) so any error let me know, and if you want to be tagged message me. LY

#bakugou imagine #bakugou fic #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #denki imagine #denki x you #denki fluff #denki fanfic #denki fic #denki headcanons #denki x reader #denki x y/n #denki x female reader #mha imagines #mha headcanons #mha fluff #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha headcanons #bnha fluff #mha x you #bnha x you

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #19 Hungry (Extra Credits)

Gurgling guts are gross, and annoying. If Charlette could silence hers forever, without starving, she would. But as biology would have it this was never going to happen. Instead she had to close her book, get up from her comfortable chair in front of her lovely desk and the small, window-framed view of the village outside and go to the pantry. It was a hassle, eating. Would that she could learn to survive off of aether alone like in the legends of monks in Ala Mhigo or Doma. But no, here she was, collecting eggs to feed into her fleshy construct in an effort to keep going. It’s ilms from being a paradox: spend time making food, so you can have more time doing other things. Well, there is the benefit that food is wonderful, especially this favoured snack of hers.

Scrambled eggs on toast was not just something she learned to make because Charlette spent as little time in the kitchen as possible. Yes, the fact it’s so easy to make a partially reanimated corpse could master it, and that it was one of the quickest meals to prepare, did play a role in her making it almost every sun. But it’s also, you know, really really good. Three eggs, two slices of good, fresh bread lightly toasted in a pan with a small knob of butter. No milk or anything to add during the beating, just a handful of chives. Yes, that’s a lot of chives, but no one else was eating this but her, so damn that opinion. It’s what breath mints were made for anyway. It goes right in the same bin as the idea of ‘creamy’ eggs do. If Charlette wanted to eat bird snot, she would throw pepper in a chocobo’s face and stand ready to catch it with her plate. Disgusting. If you can’t stab your fork into it, it’s not bloody cooked. The very thought of it was getting to her, as she scraped the crumbling treat from the pan, onto her toast. You could tell by how she was hitting the pan hard enough to attract some attention. “Hungry, Bluebell?” Algernon Bellamy peaked around the doorframe of the kitchen, his slate-grey face looking a little concerned when regarding his daughter's furious cooking. “Not going to snap another pan handle, are we?” Charlette gave her father a withering glance “No, and that pan already had a crack in it. This one is fine.” two long strides and he stood next to her, looking down at the simple meal. There’s a thing he did, when he was trying to sum up a gentle way of letting someone know what he thought, his eyes became very narrow and his lips very frowned. “You are done? With this?” he waved a hand over her lunch, a flick of a wrist and a downward glance not hiding his worry that she might say yes. “Yes, it is done.” oh he frowned so much more, you would think she had cursed his mother’s ashes. He held up a finger, swung it toward her “One moment.” and strode over to the pantry. Algernon never half-did anything, not his tailoring, not his posture, not his dress, not raising his daughters and certainly not food. His or theirs. It was insufferable. “Eggs on bread, darling, is not a meal. It’s curdled custard. An aborted cake. The lazy woman’s aioli.” Charlette’s stomach rumbled as she waited for him to get to his point. “I quite enjoy a good, aborted cake on toast.” his head shot out of the pantry, disappointment open and over-acted “How dare you.” and he was gone again. But not silenced. “If you insist on shoveling that gross fare into your beautiful face, then at least cover it like you would a pimple on your chin. With the food equivalent of make-up.” Charlette was standing at the doorway, just about ready to walk off and leave her father to his preaching. “You want me to slather base onto my eggs? Are you sure you still remember how to cook, ‘elder’.” he finally returned, holding three items. Half a cheese wheel, small enough to hold in one hand, a jar of pine nuts and a sprig of rosemary. “Don’t call me that, now set that plate down before I ground you, you little shit.” No, you never stop being your parent’s little one, no matter how tall or old or wrinkly you get. Charlette laid her plate down, and enjoyed this comforting fact by hiding it behind an impatient frown, and a gentle sigh. “It is inevitable, Bluebell. A Bellamy will always prefer the finer things. Do not fight it. Now.” he held up the cheese, then placed it down. “A sharp pecorino, grated over the top.” He snatched the grater from the wall, and handed it to her. “I’ll say ‘when’.” And Charlette went about it. The soft, white flakes of the slightly stiff cheese falling over her perfectly good meal added a light dusting over the top, just enough warmth within to make them wilt, and shine with a gentle melt. “When! Add a few pine nuts, not too many! A little salt, a little pepper.” Algernon grabbed a pinch of each and sprinkled them across the cheese-capped mounds. “And just a little crushed rosemary.” he plucked several leaves from the sprig, placing some in the palm of her hand, and holding some in his. Pressing his thumb into them, a soft crunch sounded out. Charlette did the same, Algernon spreading his over one eggy-slice, with a little flair of a lifted elbow, pinched fingers, but a raised pinky and ring finger. Charlette mimicked him, but lacked the confidence. “And there! I present to you, my sweet child, the miracle we have created. It is called food.” Charlette was aiming to be back at her books within minutes of completing that meal. But perhaps making them wait a little longer wouldn’t be the worst thing. After all she was busy enjoying the end to annoying hunger by sharing a slice of what was now her favourite snack, with her dad. “You really never saw me eating that before?” she asked him, her final bite having just been finished. “Of course I did. But you were not ready yet, to have your mind changed. Your stubbornness needed to age a little, get nice and lazy and lax with its duties.” Argument was on the tip of her tongue, but then she just let it go. How strange, she thought. “I suppose it did, in more ways than one.” He actually looked surprised. It was perhaps the best flavour she got to savour that sun.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv writing #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv rp #elezen #duskwight

[hyucks-archive]

rain.

word count: 4,350

genre: angst, fluff

member(s): donghyuck

warning(s): none!

author’s note: i have been feeling way too much for angst lately

D-54

“It’s raining.”

Extending an open hand out, you watch as the droplets of rain fall onto your palm. As the rain starts to get heavier, the rain drops begin to fall at an increased pace. You wait patiently, allowing the rain shower to soak your hand.

Donghyuck watches you silently. To him, it has always been a mystery as to how you are always so consistently fascinated by the rain, even though you’ve already seen it thousands of times by now. Yet, you always donned the same expression of amazement, the same smile of excitement, and the same eyes of infatuation when you encounter rain.

“Hyuck?” you call. Donghyuck hums in reply. “Do you think that rain will remind you of me?”

What a bittersweet question. Donghyuck knows for sure that he isn’t able to associate rain with anything else, let alone anyone else, but you. Donghyuck turns his head away from you, raising his chin to look up at the sky. Through the moonlight and the dimly lit street lamps, he is able to identify every droplet of rain. He takes in a deep breath, “Rain will always remind me of you,” he says.

Your smile widens at that. “Just like how the sun will remind me of you?”

Donghyuck turns back to look at you.

“Just like how the sun will remind you of me.”

D-48

“Come on Hyuck, please?” you beg, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to persuade Donghyuck into giving in to your whims. Donghyuck remains firm in his position, “I refuse.”

“But I’ve never tried it before, and I really want to!” you whine, holding a sole finger up, “Just this one time, hm? I promise, this will be the only time,” you say, the smile on your face slowly turning into a mischievous one. From Donghyuck’s expression, you can already tell that he is going to give in to you. He always does. It’s one of the things you love about him.

Donghyuck looks at you – your brows knit in desperation, your knees bent in plea, and your eyes full of excitement. He can never resist the high-tone, pleading voice you always manipulated to your advantage. It makes his heart melt, as much as he’d hate to admit it. But honestly, Donghyuck knows that even without utilising all of your antics, he will still give in to you eventually, because that is all he wants to be able to do for you. To be able to comply and give you everything you want. He is, after all, well aware that he doesn’t have much time left to do so.

“You have eyes too, you know,” he says, seating himself down on the high stool by the kitchen aisle. You squeal in excitement, hopping over to the sink to wash your hands, before returning to the ‘work’ station that you have already prepared, knowing all too well that Donghyuck will agree to letting you do this.

“If I tried them on myself, I won’t be able to see how they look like going on and coming off,” you say, picking out a pair that suits your fancy. “If I can’t see that then what would be the whole point of this?” you finish off, smiling with your tongue between your teeth as you peel open the capsule. Donghyuck smiles, reaching out to hold your hand.

You look at him, raising a questioning brow. Donghyuck soothes your palm with his thumb, sharing a silent moment with you through the eye contact. “Now I have to rewash my hands, Lee Donghyuck,” you say, scowling at the boy.

In reaction, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in close, resting his chin against your stomach. He stares up at you, taking in your entirety. He loves the way your features blend in so well together. His favourite part? Your pink, plump lips. Your lips that do not require any form of enhancement, and it already looks so beautiful, so kissable.

You notice the hazy look in his eyes, and he notices the pink that spreads across your cheeks.

“If you’re going to kiss me, you should do it now,” you say, your voice barely audible. Donghyuck hears it, nonetheless. He boosts himself up, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. It wasn’t enough, and he knows it. But, Donghyuck likes to keep you wanting for more, which is why he says, “Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” with the all too familiar smug smirk on his face.

“I’m only washing my hands because I want to put the damn contact lenses onto your eyeballs,” you say, a little too aggressively. You just didn’t want Donghyuck to think that he has control over you. Even though, it’s obvious enough, that he does. He chuckles at your angst.

“Don’t forget I’m the one with the power to poke your eyeballs, so I wouldn’t be laughing like that if I were you,” you taunt, faking a scowl. You pick up the first lens with your pointer. “Go on, I trust you,” Donghyuck encourages. It is only now, when you’re holding the lens, that the nerves begin to sink in. One wrong move and it’s going to cause damage to Donghyuck.

“How do I do it?” you ask. Donghyuck patiently guides you, “Hold my eye open with your other hand, put the lens on the eye, and you’re done.” He doesn’t forget to remind you, “I trust you, so just go for it. Don’t be scared.” While his words may be encouraging, the same cannot be said about his clenched fists resting atop his knees.  

“Okay, I’m going to do it,” you precaution. Donghyuck nods his head, pursing his lips. With a deep breath, and your full-strength focus, you bring the lens towards Donghyuck’s eye. While everything may be happening in real time, in your perspective, it feels like it’s happening in slow motion. You’re finally able to breathe when the lens comes into contact with Donghyuck’s eye, the boy blinking quickly a few times, allowing the lens to settle in.

He howls, bringing a fist to his forehead, “That is a big fat relief,” he says, finally able to smile brightly once again. You laugh, “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“How does it look?” he asks.

While you’ve always loved Donghyuck’s dark brown eyes, something about Donghyuck with grey contact lenses makes you feel a certain way. A certain, sexy kind of way. “Maybe you should consider dyeing your eyes grey,” you say.

“Would that make you happy?” he asks.

“You can’t dye your iris, Hyuck. There’s only scleral tattooing, and I’m pretty sure that puts you at the risk of vision loss.”

“I can just put on grey contacts every day for you,” he coos, reaching for your hand once more.

“Please, don’t act all mushy and sweet. You’re not that kind of guy,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You’re right. I just want to make out already. Are we done?”

D-32

Donghyuck lets out a loud yawn, purposefully stretching his arms and legs far and wide, taking a peek through the corner of his eye to ensure that you are watching. You let out a low chuckle, shaking your head as you continue to wipe down the countertops. Dissatisfied with the lack of attention, Donghyuck gets up from his seat, making his way over to you.

He rests his cheek on the spot that you are about to get to cleaning. Frowning, “That’s disgusting, Hyuck. I haven’t cleaned that area yet. Your face is going to grow pimples,” you chide. Donghyuck, with the same look of blankness, doesn’t react. Instead, in a monotonous, not to mention, extremely dramatic monotonous voice, he says, “What’s the point? Even if I grow pimples, you still won’t love me.”

You purse your lips, resisting the urge to burst out in laughter. Once again, Lee Donghyuck and his dramatic antics in his attempts to get your sole attention. It’s one of the things you love about Donghyuck.

“Go away, Hyuck, I’m working.” With as little usage of strength as possible, you give Donghyuck a light push, successfully getting him out of the way as you resume the cleaning of the countertops. With his undying spirit, Donghyuck snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you in so close, you could feel his entire body against your back. He rests his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose into the nape of your neck.

“I need attention,” he says.

“And I need to work,” you say, arm still moving as you begin wiping down the display glass.

“Fine, but I’m not letting go,” he says, tightening his hold around your waist.

You smile, continuing your duties with Donghyuck latched onto you.

D-27

You tap your foot impatiently, annoyance building up by the second.

“Hurry up, Lee Donghyuck,” you shout, turning to look out the window. The droplets of rain are just beginning to fall, and you’re afraid that if you are delayed for another moment, you might just miss the rain altogether. You don’t know if it’s going to be a light drizzle, or a heavy rain shower. Donghyuck is taking too long.

“Seriously, Lee Donghyuck, if you don’t come out here right now, I’m going out on my own!” you warn, already preparing to head out by yourself.

Donghyuck shuffles out of the room, his arms behind his back. You eye him suspiciously, “I don’t have time for your games, Hyuck. Whatever prank you’re trying to pull, let’s get it over with so that we can go out to the rain,” you say, closing your eyes, ready to accept whatever Donghyuck is about to throw your way.

Instead of the usual occurrence of some happening followed by Donghyuck’s obnoxious laughter, you hear the rustling of plastic, followed by Donghyuck’s sweet voice. “Open your eyes,” he says, so you do just that.

Donghyuck stands in front of you, holding out two raincoats, an adorable smile on his face. His grin only widens when he sees how your lips pull out into a beautiful, excited smile. “You bought these?” you say, peeling your eyes off of the raincoats to meet eyes with Donghyuck. He has never looked more glorious, more handsome, and more loveable, in any other moment, than he does, in this moment.

“Instead of just through your hand, you can experience the rain all over now,” he says, giggling at the end of his sentence.

Touched, you run forward, wrapping your arms around Donghyuck, pulling him in close for a snug hug. You press a kiss to his collarbone, “I really love you so much, Hyuck,” you whisper. He soothes a hand down the small of your back, “I know,” he replies in a cheeky tone.

With the raincoats on, Donghyuck interlocks his fingers with yours as he leads you to take your first step into the rain. As the droplets begin to hit you one by one, the warmth of excitement spreads throughout your body. In metaphors, being drenched by the rain has always been a negative association, usually with feelings of heartbreak. In this moment, though, being drenched by the rain has never allowed you to feel even more alive than you do now.

You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, allowing the raindrops to fall directly on your face. You giggle, “This feels great!”

Donghyuck stands by the side, watching as you raise both arms up, allowing your entire body to fully embrace the moment. He isn’t able to supress the smile that comes out knowing how elated you must feel. Holding a hand out, he watches as the raindrops land on his palm, one by one. Yet again, he fails to understand what you loved so much about watching the rain.

“What are you doing, Hyuck? Join me!” you call out, gesturing for Donghyuck to come towards you. He looks at you, smiles, and walks over.

As the two of you prance about in the rain, to Donghyuck, it feels like a scene unravelling before him, in slow motion. He notices every little detail – from the echoing of your laughter, to your pearly whites peeking out from your joyous smile, to the dewy shine of your skin that is illuminated by the moonlight, to the soft rose pink that decorates your two cheeks. Donghyuck notices how adorable your every little action is; the way your feet made little jumps, the way the jumps slowly become three-sixty degree turns, ultimately becoming twirls.

Donghyuck sees the way the droplets are flung left and right as you continued to twirl in the rain, your giggles a resonant melody to his ears. Donghyuck watches all of this. It’s a scene that is unique to his memory, one that only he will be able to recall in detail. One that he is supposed to reminisce in the future.

But, the rain that drenches you, the rain that seems to bring you so much joy. As it drenches Donghyuck in the exact same way, why is he left feeling cold? Again, today, he wishes that you don’t have to go.

Mid-twirl, you stumble, almost falling forward. Luckily, Donghyuck is quick enough to catch you. You turn to face him, smiling brightly, “This is better than anything else I’ve ever experienced in life,” you say.

“If you continue playing around like that, not only are you going to catch a cold, you’re also going to go back in with a bunch of wounds,” he says, tone melancholic. You know, and you understand, that rain isn’t a warm presence to Donghyuck, like it is to you. But all you wish for, is that each droplet of rain will become a unique memory to Donghyuck.

After all, love can come to anyone suddenly, just like rain. Right?

“Kiss me,” you say.

Donghyuck hesitates.

Clenching his raincoat in your hand, you pull him in, connecting your lips.

Even if it’s for one small, insignificant moment, you want Donghyuck to feel that rain is a beautiful, romantic existence, like himself.

D-19

You adjust your position, resting your head atop Donghyuck’s arm, pressing your cheek against his chest, draping an arm over his body. Donghyuck snuggles closer to you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, finger tracing stars on your arm.

“Did you stay up staring at this when you were a child?” Donghyuck asks, referring to the view that you had introduced him to – a glow-in-the-dark do-it-yourself night sky that you had whined about having your entire childhood. Your parents finally agreed to buying and putting up the glow-in-the-dark moon and stars on your 6th birthday, on the condition that you’d agree to three consecutive gift-less birthdays.

“Yeah, I used to love the night sky before I fell in love with rain,” you say, your lips spreading into a smile at the thought of how you used to collect tons of sticker books of the night sky. “What made your love for rain surpass your love for night skies?” Donghyuck questions.

You tilt your head upwards, trying to look at Donghyuck as you reply, “You.”

Donghyuck tilts his head downwards, twirling a lock of your hair with his finger, “Me?” He tries to recall an instance, if any, as to why he is the reason for your love of rain. He isn’t able to find the answer. “Why me?”

You press a kiss to his chin, readjusting the position of your head, snuggling closer to his side. “The rain was where I first met you. Remember that day, when you were devastated about your pet turtle running away?”

You feel Donghyuck’s body vibrate as he lets out a low chuckle. “Damn, I almost forgot about him.”

“When you were holding a ‘funeral’ for him in the open field, I saw you. I think that’s probably the point where my opinion of you actually changed. Seeing you weep like a baby made me realise you’re not as big of a jerk as you make yourself out to be,” you say, reminiscing the moments of bratty Donghyuck from your younger days. You never disliked him despite his annoying, borderline offensive behaviour.

“I thought we became friends because I approved of the pranks you pulled on Renjun,” Donghyuck says. You laugh; right, that was exactly how you managed to get Lee Donghyuck to pay attention to you – you assisted him in pulling the biggest pranks ever on his best friends.

“I wonder when, if ever, will we be able to go back to those carefree days.” You sigh, and Donghyuck presses a kiss to the crown of your head. He turns his body to face you, pulling you in for a hug. You can hear the calming beat of his heart.

“My favourite date will forever be our movie date,” he says, pulling away, looking down to meet eyes with you. You giggle, recalling that ‘movie date’ in vivid detail. “I’m pretty sure those people would’ve beaten us up if we weren’t in uniform,” you comment, recalling how the people seated in the row in front of the two of you almost threw hands at you.

Donghyuck laughs, “Hey, but who else can say that they’ve been to a movie theatre, pretended to be shocked, and threw the entire bag of popcorn at the people seated in front of them?”

“I’d do it again, even now.”

Donghyuck smiles at you, a gaze filled with love. “I know you would, and that’s why I love you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“But I’m still better at pranks than you are,” you taunt, sticking a teasing tongue out at him. Swiftly, you push yourself off the bed, knowing that the tickle war is about to begin. “Don’t let me catch you!” Donghyuck says, beginning his hunt.

Like every other night, the apartment resounds with laughter, painting the night sky a beautiful hue of pink.

D-6

Donghyuck opens another bag of chips, munching away as he watches you unravel the brown cotton twine. Cutting off the desired length, you put the two ends of the twine up with some tape, ensuring that the middle droops down, forming a curve. Satisfied, you dust off your hands, reaching for the polaroid camera you had prepared earlier, a full film cartridge already inserted.

You walk to Donghyuck, “Smile,” you instruct, capturing the moment before Donghyuck could say anything. The film prints out from the top of the camera. You pinch it between your fingers, waving it about as you waited for the picture to develop.

“I wasn’t ready for that,” Donghyuck complains. “I know,” you reply, nonchalant.

“Why did you waste a film on that?”

“It’s not wasting a film, Donghyuck,” you begin, “It’s building a realistic memory. Nobody’s going to believe you eat chips with a fake smile plastered on your face. That’s creepy,” you end off, shaking your head. As the ink bleeds out in the film, you’re able to see that Donghyuck’s adorable candid expression was perfectly captured. You smile, touching his two-dimensional cheek with your finger. “It came out nice,” you say.

You walk back to the wall where you had put up the cotton twine. Grabbing a small wooden peg, you attach the polaroid to the far left of the cotton twine.

“One down, nine more to go!” you announce.

“We’re going to take nine more photos?” Donghyuck asks, already ready to scowl. You nod your head, “We have to fill the entire twine up. We have to leave some form of tangible memory,” you explain, avoiding eye contact with Donghyuck.

“Oh, okay,” he says.

Donghyuck understands. To some extent, Donghyuck has prepared his heart for when the time comes, whenever that may be. It will be less torturous if you had told him, or even hinted at him in the slightest bit, when that time will come. But he doesn’t question it. Instead, he learns to deal with it. He learns to live every passing day, ending the day off with a grateful heart that the day has yet to come. He knows he isn’t going to be able to do that much longer.

“What’s next?” he says, feigning an anticipating tone.

D-3

You stand before the now completed string of memories. You smile, loving the fact that you were able to capture most of the moments that were significant to your relationship with Donghyuck, albeit some of it was staged just for the sake of having the memory as a photo. You wish you had picked up the habit of capturing your memories as photos, but you never did, and there isn’t much to regret now.

“Which one’s your favourite?” Donghyuck asks, joining you.

You point to the eighth photo of the two of you in the raincoats Donghyuck surprised you with. “Definitely that one. I don’t think I will ever forget that day. What’s yours?”

Donghyuck smiles, pointing to the third polaroid where he had on grey contacts.

“I thought you hated it when I forced you to let me put the contacts on for you,” you comment, looking up at him. “Who said I liked that part of the memory?” he retorts.

“What else can it be?”

“The make out session after,” he teases, smiling cheekily.

You hit him on the arm. “I think this wall is a pretty accurate representation of our memories, don’t you think?”

Donghyuck reaches for your hand, pulling you towards him. Your cheek rests against his chest, your arms naturally finding its way around his body. He breathes in your scent, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think we’re the best representation of our memories,” he whispers.

You close your eyes.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, the season is almost over. It is almost time for you to go.

D-Day

You’ve been staring at the luggage that you’ve packed, for the past twenty minutes. The time has come, yet you didn’t seem to be able to pick up your things and leave, like you had expected when you first came.

Lee Donghyuck. Donghyuck was a mischievous, fun-loving boy that you had met back in high school. At the time, being your young and carefree self, you were ready to do whatever it took to get what you wanted. So you began your pranking journey, indulging in the activities you knew Donghyuck loved, just so you could win that extra moment of his attention on you.

You failed miserably. Donghyuck never reciprocated your feelings. Not until you left town.

In the time that you were gone, Donghyuck began to rationalise his feelings. He slowly learned that the reason he always found himself walking past the bus stop where the two of you would exchange laughter, the reason why teasing Renjun wasn’t as fun as before, and the reason why he has been feeling so empty – he learned that it was all because of the absence of you.

To his extreme joy, a year later, you finally returned. That’s when the two of you were finally able to kindle your flame. But the two of you did it, in full knowledge, that it would be a seasonal thing. It will pass eventually. Yet, the two of you chose to indulge in it.

Was it worth it? Yes. A thousand times yes. Do you regret it? No. Absolutely not.

Taking in a deep breath, you pull out the luggage puller. Wrapping your fingers around it, you take one last look at your shared bedroom; you’re going to really miss it.

Donghyuck knows its time. The reality sinks in even further when he hears the wheeling of your luggage resonate throughout the apartment. Donghyuck is prepared for this. He has been, all along. He has to let you go. He knows he has to.

“I’m going to go now,” you say, meeting eyes with the boy. Donghyuck flashes a small smile, nodding his head.

Opening your arms wide, Donghyuck’s body collides with yours, the tightest, snuggest hug you’ve ever shared. He doesn’t want it to be the last. You know that there will be more to look forward to in the future. You just don’t know when that would be yet.

“I love you,” he says, pressing his lips to your neck.

“I love you too, Hyuck.”

Pulling away, he takes a step back, freeing the way for you.

“Goodbye, Hyuck,” you say, smiling sincerely. You’re doing everything you can to not give in to the lump in your throat. It’s beginning to kill you already, and this is merely the beginning.

“Bye,” he says, waving.

Refusing to prolong this painful, torturous moment any longer, you turn around, walking straight towards the door, fighting every urge to turn back, to run back to him. It takes every ounce of energy left in you to push the door open, and then, to close it behind you. You allow the first tear to roll down your cheek.

You pull out the polaroid from your back pocket. The photo of Donghyuck in his grey contacts.

Donghyuck looks to the memory wall. He notices the empty third wooden peg. He scoffs, shaking his head, a bitter smile on his lips.

“You’re so cruel,” he murmurs. “You had to take both my favourite person and my favourite memory away from me.”

Epilogue; D+94

Donghyuck turns his head in reaction to the pitter-patter of the light drizzle. “It’s finally raining,” he murmurs under his breath. Slipping on his jumper, he heads out of the apartment.

Donghyuck looks up at the night sky, the rain slowly picking pace.

Extending an open hand out, he watches as the droplets of rain falls onto his palm. As the light drizzle transitions into a medium shower, the rain drops begin to fall at an increased pace. He waits patiently, allowing the rain shower to soak his hand. A small smile finds its way to his face. Slowly, but surely, Donghyuck is learning to appreciate the rain.

He turns to the once occupied, now empty space beside him.

“Are you enjoying the rain too?” he wonders.

#nct scenarios #haechan scenarios #haechan angst #haechan fluff #haechan #nct angst #nct fluff #nct imagines #haechan imagines #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct haechan #fic #fic: rain

[2018shawn]

quarantine and chill

warnings: I haven’t written in a while so this may be sucky but have fun kids. not proof read : ----) nsfw/sexy times

“I already rearranged your wardrobe three times because for the first time in my life, I couldn’t watch another episode of Friends!” She exhaled, slumping herself down onto the second wheeled chair, her weight shifting the leather seated pew a few inches away from her other half who sat opposite, legs opened wide, still engaged deep in his work.

“You did?” He smirked somewhat, finally diverting his eyes away from the pages in front of him and swivelling his chair to situate himself completely parallel to her crossed armed, sulking figure.

“Yeah… I mean, first I did it in sleeve length, because you might want to dress weather appropriate. Then I didn’t like that, so I changed it to style of item, so all your tee shirts, then all your shirts, then all your sweaters etc etc…” She was rambling, but it made him smile. His heart was warm with the little gestures she’d always put into their relationship and she didn’t even know she was doing it. He also loved how her hands would wave around expressively every time she would babble on about things that weren’t particularly of any importance, just like she was doing now. He stretched out his arm and wrapped his fingers around the pad of the seat where her legs weren’t covering as she’d somehow pulled them up, holding them close to her chest. With one swift tug, the chair glided along the studio floor, only stopping when it came into contact with his own chair, disallowing for her to be any closer. “But then I eventually decided on colour order, which isn’t of any practicality whatsoever, but… it looks pretty” She shrugged, outstretching her legs to rest over his thick thighs which were unfortunately covered by his I’m in isolation sweat shorts.

His hands synchronously, starting at her ankles, traced her soft legs, leaving a trail of goose pimples behind from his delicate touch. He’d always wondered how someone could get their skin to be this level of soft 24/7, but she always insisted that it was just down to the vanilla pumpkin body butter she used all year round, despite the fact it was a seasonal fragrance. “I’m just… BORED” She groaned, not allowing his hands to get any higher than the bottom of her own gym shorts, because that was just too much of a dangerous territory for his hands to be in without her feeling like melted butter. He happily allowed their hands to entwine, more than approving of any bodily contact with her. Her legs were still strewn over his, their bodies looking like a complicated position of figures, but to them, it was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Her bum was barely resting on her own seat, and was more supported by the way her legs slotted through the arm rest of his chair mixed with the strength of his arms, feeling the need to try pull her as close as possible. “I’ll finish up here, bub. I’m sorry” He apologetically smiled, but he knew full well how much she understood his need to keep in contact and communicate with his team. He followed his statement by tugging gently, but strongly enough to shift her weight, allowing her body to completely disconnect with the office chair she was sat on. He pulled her close enough so that their chests were almost touching, and for once, she was towering over him due to the sitting position they’d found themselves in. She attempted to look down at his chiseled features, wanting nothing more than to stay this close to him forever, but her wild hair fell in front of her eyes, restricting her view. She blew on it several times, in an attempt to move the auburn, bouncy waves but failing miserably.

Laughing up at her, he untangled his fingers that were still being held captive in hers, and brought his hands up to push her wild lion-like mane behind her ears. “Hi...” he almost whispered, more than happy to see her stunning features smiling back at him.

Just as she was about to reply, he cut her short, to her surprise, his lips landing on hers with the softest yet eager passion, almost as if his life depended on the kiss. She moaned quietly into his lips in return, which made his dick twitch with lust beneath her as she unknowingly turned him on, just like most days. He wanted her more and more each second that past. And that feeling was more than mutual. 

Their lips were wet, making up for the time he’d been working in his home studio and she’d be pottering around upstairs in an attempt to put a stop to her boredom. His hands tangled in her now extra messy hair, whilst hers balled up the fabric of his shirt in her hands. She was the first to pull away, finishing the romancing with a nose boop. He’d never understood how someone could be incredibly, painfully sexy at the same time as being adorably sweet. “Shawn... I'm...” Kiss. “So...” Kiss. “Bored.” She finished with a smile, wriggling her legs in an attempt to try and get out of the locked position but failing immensely. 

Ironically, the force of her pushing down in an attempt to try and get herself up was not helping the situation happening in his gym shorts and he wasn’t sure if she knew. She of course, did know, and was an expert at playing him to his weaknesses, knowing absolutely full well he loved nothing more than for her to be on top of him. 

“Let’s go on a date.” He blurted quietly, face still as close as could be. She screwed up her face which way by far her normal reaction to a suggestion such as this. “Erm, Shawn... I don’t know if you’ve spent that much time down here you’ve forgotten there’s a worldwide PANDEMIC...” she theatrically began, “meaning you, nor I, are in any position to leave that god damn front door... unless it’s time for our daily 60 minute walk outside” She rested herself on the studio desk, careful not to lean back a touch too much and start pressing a bunch of buttons she had absolutely no idea how to work. The one time he left her in charge to press one single button, she ended up deleting the backing track and setting his microphone to auto tune. Still to this day has he never even figured out himself how to do that. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t wine and dine you” He smirked, mirroring her movements by placing a hand either side of her, the muscles in his arms bulging as he gripped onto the wooden surface so he didn’t fall for her more than he already had. She never showed any signs of feeling it, but she was hot. And bothered. And everything in between. 

“Oh...” she quietened, cheeks blushing slightly crimson after her dramatic reminder that they were in fact in quarantine. 

“So, if it’s possible, go make yourself look even prettier than you do now and meet me in the kitchen at 7pm” he smiled, fingers finding their way back to her soft hair, and not for the first time this evening if he had anything to do with it. 

She pressed a hand to his chest, and tried to make it look like it didn’t take all of her effort to move his firm body. They both knew it did, and he was smug. She walked away with just a touch extra of a hip sway, not needing eyes in the back of her head to know he was staring like a 13 year old boy. “It’s an... isolation date” she smiled, turning round to look at him again, her figure leaning into the doorframe, fingers tapping on the sound proofed walls. The walls that had heard their screams so many times before. The walls he wished she wasn’t walking out of right now. 

--

She was humming along to some summer walker song she barely knew the name of, applying her favourite shade of Milani lipstick to accentuate her favourite facial feature - her lips. It was a loud hammering on the bedroom door that snapped her out of her concentration, only then just realising how loud her music was playing. The banging repeated when she didn’t respond. To say she was confused would be an understatement; the only person would it would be is Shawn, so why in the heck wouldn’t he just walk into his own bedroom like he normally does without a care in the world? The third attempt of a knock was what interrupted her make up routine in order to swipe down on her phone screen to quieten the music, although she couldn't help but laugh at the same time before she walked over to the door. “Shawn, this is your room you...” She flung the door open and became instantly speechless. 

It wasn’t Shawn. It was a greek God with muscles almost bursting out of his black, crisp shirt. A jawline that could cut a bitch. Curls that could make her go dizzy. With another harsh blink and fresh breath, it was only then she realised it was Shawn. “...dumb-ass.” She finally finished her previous sentence, unknowing whether she’d been staring at him for 5 seconds of 5 minutes. 

“That’s not a very nice way to address your date...” He began, pulling his arm from around his back and stretching out towards her, his hand holding a single pink rose, “dumb-ass.” How he’d managed to pull a ‘date night’ outfit out of the bag without having access to his room baffled her, but it didn’t take too much of her thought, it simply just left her stumped for words - which is something she wasn't often. “You look incredible” He continued, aware of the silence from her, but instead of pointing out and making a deal about it, he prompted her.

“So do you” She smiled, reaching and taking the rose in one hand, filling the void with her own fingers. He welcomed her gesture, but instead of pulling her in like he normally would, he simple raised her hand and placed a sweet, gentle kiss on the back of her hand which only made her giddy with butterflies. 

“Care to join me downstairs?” He smiled, not letting go of her hand and holding it as if he had no other choice. She nodded, feeling nothing but warmth and first date nerves - although it was far from their first date. They chatted on their way down the stairs, Shawn one step below her at all times, making sure he was her weight - he knew high heels were not her strong point. They were most definitely his weakest when it came to seeing them on her. 

Some dumb joke he told her on the way into the kitchen made her belly chuckle, almost that much she didn’t see that vast amount of candles and decoration surrounding the dining table that sat adjacent to the open planned kitchen. The white, marble table was covered in tea lights, illuminating the room bar the under cupboard lights shining from the kitchen. A small gift bag was sat in what would be her normal seat. The seat where she'd eaten many a breakfast, cried and laughed uncountable times and on the odd occasion, ridden Shawn until they both physically couldn’t move. “What... I... How?” 

He turned around to face her once he’d realised she’d stopped walking and began walking backwards, watching her speechless features taking in every little detail. “If we can’t go for date night, I'll bring date night to you” he shrugged, eventually reaching her chair and pulling it out for her before ushering to have a seat. 

The next few moments were spent opening the bottle of wine, which she was grateful for, and both of them getting back to as normal as can be. “Thank you” She interrupted his story on how he’d tried to do something fancy with some asparagus but of course it failed miserably. 

“What for?” He laughed, placing the white wine back into the wine colour and lifting her glass towards her, prompting her to do that same. She obliged happily, and the room was filled with the sound of a clink. 

“This, it’s beautiful” 

“Beautiful setting for a beautiful lady” He took a large sip of his wine, as if he needed the liquid courage, to which unbeknown to her, he did. He laughed nervously, and she instantly knew he was up to something, because the Shawn she knew only shuffled around on his feet and lingered for 2 seconds too long when he was waiting for something to happen. “God, I was going to wait until after dinner but, can I ask you something?”

Bingo. 

“Anything” She smiled, using her heeled foot to push out his chair for him, realising that if he didn’t sit down soon he’d probably end up on the floor. He couldn’t cope with it; the sexiness, mixed with the politeness, mixed with the bare leg that he so desperately wanted wrapped around his neck. He snapped himself away from that thought, picking up the small bag he’d place on her place mat, fiddling with the tiny bow that was on the string. “So, it’s occurred to me, these past few weeks have been awful for many people and I wish nothing but the best for everyone...” He felt himself beginning to babble so took another sip of his drink. “But for me, it’s been an eye opener.”

She stared at his lips when he talking, “oh?” she asked, her heart beating ten to the dozen. 

“I’ve enjoyed every single second of you being here. Even when you leave your socks all over the bedroom floor, or use a different glass every time you have a drink of water or... you’re just annoying actually” He laughed, resulting a light slap on the arm from her. “But seriously, I can’t imagine you not being here anymore and I'm so happy this whole thing hit when it did and not when I was halfway across the world and couldn’t travel to you.” His hands were clammy, his head was fuzzy and his mouth was dry - even with his third large gulp of wine. To most people it would be no big deal, but to him, the question meant everything. It meant he may have to deal with the rejection he’s had to deal with many times before, it meant he would have someone to wake up too in the night when his anxiety was unsettling him, it meant he’d finally found someone he knew understood him. “I don’t want you to go...”

“Go? I’m not going anywhere. We haven’t eaten yet and I'm hung...”

“Move in with me?”

--

“So, maybe now you’ll have to rearrange the wardrobes again and make some room for yourself?” he cooed, with a hint of smugness in his voice. Not that he was smug 2 hours ago when he was shaking like a leaf over asking her to move in. She was finishing putting the pots away, even though he insisted not to do it, she insisted she’d like to wake up tomorrow and not have to think about doing it. He helped... by pouring more wine. 

“Hmmm... I'm not too sure you know” She giggled, throwing the cloth down onto the counter and turning around, her high heels clicking against the floor as she did so. She was feeling happy, tipsy, grateful, everything she always felt when she was in his presence. 

“Reckon I could help you be sure about that” She knew he was feeling the influence of the wine because he has a constant smirk on his face now. Not that she minded; he looked sexy. He used his foot to push himself off the bar stool that he was half sitting on, half standing against. 

“Oh yeah?” She asked, raising her eyebrows as she watched his tall, thick figure walk towards her until he was eventually overpowering her much shorter frame. He placed an arm either side of her, officially blocking her in. 

He was close enough that she could feel his every breath, even more so when his head dipped down and his lips lingered just millimetres away from her own. He hovered there for a second, until he physically couldn't resist finally tasting her. She was more than accommodating to him, falling straight into his trap like putty, just like always. Her hands unwrapped from around her own body and snaked around his, palms smoothing over his soft shirt. She smiled against the kiss as her fingers fiddled with the belt loops on the back of his trousers, which only made him itch closer. He kept one hand on the kitchen counter, whilst the other glided up her body until it reached around the back of her neck, grabbing a handful of her of her perfectly curled hair. With one sudden tug, her head is forced backwards, leaving a welcoming amount of skin accentuated. Her eyes remained closed, taking in every sense other than sight. 

She could smell his deep cologne; a mixture of juicy and spicy with an innocent hint of vanilla that oozed sexuality. Hers? Hers has base notes of patchouli, mixed with a hint of jasmine and was one of the only scents he loved more than that damn vanilla pumpkin body butter. She could hear and feel his lips, effortlessly at work, sucking lightly at the skin around her collar bone as if he was tracing the positioning of her perfume. The sound of his lips smacking her skin was enough to make her weak at the knees and she was eternally grateful that he was somewhat supporting her body. But most of all, she could feel his love. His passion. The energy overpowered the room and she wanted to be held captive in it forever.

His soft but husky groan snapped her out of her dreamy state just in time to hear him speak quietly. “Turn around”, he instructed, moving both hands to her hips to guide her 180 degrees. She obeyed him without question, submissive to his every demand. One hand remained on her hip, the other pressing on her shoulder blade, that was only a fraction covered by the spaghetti strap of her dress, in an eagerness to get her bent over the counter. He made sure to push up against her ass, the hardness that was growing in his trousers pushing into her. If she wasn’t wet for him before, she definitely was now. 

The ruched fabric of her dress fell perfectly over her peachy ass and if he wasn’t so ready to fuck her senseless he'd take a step back and stare at her all night long. Her dress had risen up as she leaned over the counter, giving a peak of some lacy underwear he’d picked out and bought for her on a previous occasion. His hand reached around the front of her legs, firmly resting on the front of her thigh, his thumb tracing patterns on the inner part. He could hear her breathe getting deeper and needier. So he gave her exactly what she wanted and shifted his hand further up, bring the material of her dress with it until it ended up just below her stomach. 

His other hand kneaded at her ass in-between gripping her hip for support. His busy hand toyed with the top hem of those lace panties that he loved ever so dearly. “Shawn...” She exhaled, pressing her head to the marble countertop in frustration. The ass-hand left her hip, reaching up and grabbing a section of her hair just like it had done earlier on in the evening. A gentle tug gave her no choice but to follow the direction of his strength and turn her neck to face his still-smirking features. 

“Patience, baby” He cooed, knees bending slightly for his hand on her thigh to be able to reach exactly where he wanted. Before she knew it, his fingers were no longer toying with the hem of her panties, but filling them instead. Moving down to her sweet, desperate folds was all she needed to let out a loud groan that echoed throughout the kitchen. She was wet, needy for the touch of his skin on hers. Two fingers stroked the entrance of her, whilst his thumb only just toying with her clit, instaltaniously making her twitch in tune with her groaning. He was toying with her and she knew it, but she couldn’t help but whine and plead for more. He gave her more of what she wanted, rubbing harder on her clit and pushing the tips of his fingers into her folds, rubbing at her juices. 

He swiftly removed his hand, wanted to feel more; taste more. Before she knew, he’d tugged her around to face him again and she loved the way he had the strength to move her body without her having to think about a single thing. His hands on her hips, grasped tight and she knew what he wanted and of course, went along, jumping onto the kitchen counter, automatically wrapping her legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer. “Are we really gonna do this in your kitchen?” She giggle, innocently, making his cock twitch. 

“Our kitchen, my love...”

#Shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn mendes smut #Shawn mendes fanfiction #Shawn mendes oneshot #Shawn mendes fluff #dom!shawn #boyfriend!shawn #part 2????

[imnotcameraready]

more than beliefs (5: mother knows best)

A/N: still trying at this ! i still don't own any tables so honestly, writing has been kinda hard :') but i'm still up to a polished chapter 7 and know VERY well what is happening in chapter 8, so we're looking pretty good. i wrote all of chivalry chapter by chapter so.....hoping this goes well :'D

WARNINGS: manipulation, plotting a murder, paranoia description, blunt force trauma, assault, amnesia, blood, graphic description of violence — this chapter’s the first doozy! if i missed anything, please let me know!

Words: 4378

AO3 link!

enjoy!! <3

“Now, this might be a controversial opinion, but the second Little Mermaid movie is a top-tier Disney sequel,” the Director said, idly mixing a teaspoon around in his hot chocolate.

Roman scoffed. He was sitting on the Director’s couch, wrapped in a blanket while they watched 2005’s Just Like Heaven starring Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon. The Director had suggested they watch something from Disney, but while Roman loved the whole library of Disney movies lining his shelf, he couldn’t choose which one he wanted. To his surprise, the Director didn’t have a favorite, either. He’d said he was fond of the cookie-cutter damsel in distress narrative of older Disney stories, which Roman tried (and failed) to take offense to, but did agree that many modern movies like Big Hero 6 had interestingly complex and developed stories.

“I just prefer the expansion on oceanic lore. And I’m a sucker for a good parental storyline, when the former protag takes on the motherly role.” The Director took a sip of his coffee.

“And here I thought you weren’t one of my creative advisors,” Roman said with a smirk, crossing his arms upon his pillowy throne.

The Director scoffed, and as he rolled his eyes Roman could have sworn that he was blushing. Maybe he was embarrassed. “Just because I’m not David doesn’t mean I can’t have opinions on works of art,” he sounded dejected—Roman guessed that was fair. The Dragon and Damsel and Child, most obviously, had strong opinions on art yet no artistic inclinations.

It was still up in the air if the Thief did. It didn’t seem like he had many opinions on things that weren’t consequential to Roman’s direct safety, but he was very quiet. Roman didn’t rule out the possibility of the Thief just not wanting to share that information with him, which was….well. Unfortunate.

Roman wished he got to know his advisors better. Ever since they were separated from him, Roman feels like he’s been at the grinding stone with them all. The Thief had spent the whole wedding either swearing or screaming suggestions angrily, and when he wasn’t, he was comforting an incredibly distraught Bard. The Damsel and Playwright tried to help the most but... He had barely even seen the Artist outside of their creative sessions. He had barely seen the Dragon or Child, period.

The Director was an interesting one. Roman had everyone’s phone numbers, because, well, he wasn’t about to use carrier pigeons. Though that might be super cool to try one day. But the Director was just about the only advisor to casually reach out to him. He would send Roman memes. How did he even get memes? Roman and Remus had created an Imagination-version of the internet, so it was likely from their co-sponsored Imagination Tumblr or something. The Director putting in the effort and time to think of Roman during such small instances was what made Roman feel more comfortable here, though. That’s what made him trust the Director with these sorts of situations. Almost made them closer...

Was that selfish? To favor one part of oneself over others? Surely not. It was similar to recognizing flaws, or pimples and blemishes. Not to say any of the others were blemishes. Drats, even Roman’s internal monologue was demeaning to himself.

“Do you want any more coffee? I’m going to go refill,” the Director’s voice jolted Roman out of his stupor, and he looked up with wide eyes.

“No, I’m okay,” and after a small beat, he added, “Thank you again for housing me. I can’t imagine what Phillip would want to say after yesterday’s debacle.”

The Director scoffed. Roman snuggled into his blanket more, listening to the Director pour himself another mug and reply. “Anytime, Roman,” he chuckled, then put on one of the most outlandishly fake accents Roman’s ever heard. “I live to serve~”

“Sto-op,” Roman groaned, throwing his head back and shooting the Director a glare—well, glaring at the kitchen door. There were walls around all of the rooms here, unlike the Mind Palace.

The Director laughed even more when he returned, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed on the cushion. He held his mug in his hands for a few seconds before talking, tone much more sober.

“I do have to say. I’m surprised I was the one you came to.” The Director’s voice is a little more quiet. “I thought for sure you would have sought comfort with Cadence or Gavin before me.”

Roman blinks. “I guess….I didn’t want to be judged again.” He looked back down at his lap, at the blankets piled up there and his own coziness. “Every time I come back after an argument, or after making a fool of myself, it seems everyone has an opinion on how poorly I handled a situation. None of them really acknowledge….It must have been….”

He’d been a little confused about it, too. The trust issue.

“Janus has strung my emotions along enough for it to be fair that I don’t trust him,” Roman said, voice soft as he tried to put how he’d been feeling into words. “Right?”

That was as close an explanation as he could get to. Because it all boiled down to the trust issue, in his understanding of the situation. As much as Patton wanted him to let go of the situation, Patton was focusing on the mustache quip rather than the whole trust thing. Janus knew Roman had wanted to go to the callback. But Roman also wanted to be a good person, if that’s what Thomas wanted. Thomas wanted to be a good person so Roman also wanted to be a good person.

But when being a good person directly went against Thomas’ dreams, Janus stepped in. And sure, he argued that they weren’t supposed to be self-sacrificial, but wasn’t that a hero’s job? When did a hero ever get to keep anything before sacrificing everything? Isn’t that what made sense?

Janus didn’t even do a good job at explaining it, not until all the damage had already been done. This was different from just giving Roman the perfect set up for a theater display, this was Janus pretending that he wanted what Roman wanted. This was Janus pretending to be his friend but wanting Thomas to...be a bad person?

He didn’t understand. Maybe Patton was right. Maybe Roman just didn’t understand. And that’s what made his disgruntlement so confusing, because in his heart, Roman knew Janus was trying to help, he knew that, he understood. But then why did it hurt so much?

“Oh, honey, he’s gone way past that. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking he’s been helpful,” Macbeth’s icy voice cut through the thoughts wrangling Roman’s mind.

The Director was so self-assured. It was comforting. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as he explained.

“And Patton, Logan, turning around just to say you should let it go and listen to him after he’s lied nine times out of ten?” the Director threw his head back and let out a sharp “Hah! No, your anger is rational. And defensible.”

“Why won’t any of the others agree with that?”

The Director starred at Roman for a minute. Just a little too long. His eyes seemed to press Roman into a corner, under a box. Scrutinized.

They both knew that “others” wasn’t a reference to the other Sides. The Director kept his distance from Roman’s other advisors, he knew that, but Roman didn’t know how far. The Director wasn’t the kind to just watch them, was he?

“They all have their opinions. About Disney and otherwise.” He took another drink of his coffee then shook his head, standing up, motioning for Roman to follow, “May I show you….something. Without you thinking I’m crazy?”

Now, that’s always a fairly worrying question to hear. “No, no, I trust you,” Roman said with a slight grin.

The Director must have been able to see how it waned, because he chuckled, smiled back. “I think we’re all a little zany. But that’s the charm. Phillip is undoubtedly the scariest, as much as Draco tries. The Prince, Damsel, whichever you want, has a noticeable villain complex.”

Wait, what?

The Director raised his hands in mock defeat. Showing his hands, like he were trying to assure Roman that he wasn’t being suspicious. But the hairs on Roman’s neck rose. He led Roman to the door just besides Roman’s room. When he first started visiting the Director, he explained that this was his study. Roman had never gone in. Because, you know, when you respect someone you also respect their privacy.

“I’ve only ever spoken to Marlowe, but, you know. I’m the Director of players I can never meet. I had to take notes,” he added the final part quietly.

He glanced over the combination button pad on the door. Roman hadn’t noticed that. What room would require a combination lock? And who would be….Was it to keep him out? Or someone else? Maybe the Playwright, the Director mentioned he’d been over before. Keep anyone out, it seemed.

“I….notes?” he was flabbergasted. What the fuck was happening?

“Yeah.” The Director opened the door slowly and motioned for Roman to follow.

Inside were papers. One wall was a large tackboard, photos and sticky notes and papers pinned up, connected with lines of colored yarn. Roman felt his mouth fall open as he inspected it. There were notes on all of his advisors, all seven of the others, even some of people Roman didn’t know. There was someone with four eyes. Someone with antlers. Who were they? How did this all fit together?

Why in Athena’s name did the Director have corkboard notes on the other advisors? That was a lot more than a little weird.

“I...You’re wonderful, Roman. So productive and pristine and princely, as you deserve to be. But there are some areas where you can stand to improve.” Roman was probably only processing some of the Director’s words as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a metal stick, one that looked oddly like a wand.

He held it in one hand, and suddenly it extended, until it was a pointer. The Director held both ends of it and watched Roman for a reaction, a response, something.

“I would have to agree,” Roman stumbled over his words a little, eyes still glued to the notes—there were some by the Child that read ‘Naive/Trusting/Problem?’—before he slowly turned back to the Director with a weak grin once again. “I mean, I might be pristinely princely, but those P alliterations don’t include perfect. No one’s perfect.”

“It may be an unattainable dream, but we’re well familiar with those. We can only strive for improvement! And when improving you and yourself, that means making changes to them,” the Director gestured up at the wall of photos, of the parts of Roman’s self, and smacked the Child’s photo with his pointer. “I actually only thought I would be reading these notes, so forgive me for any, er. Sharp language.”

Roman knew that self-improvement meant adopting new mindsets, but he had no idea that putting parts of himself into characters involved changing them as well, though it did make sense. Self-insert characters had to change if you were changing the self that was being inserted. Right?

If he wanted to improve….it made sense. He had to change himself, including the facets of himself.

“That’s fair,” Roman murmured, “Okay. These….You could take these notes to the other advisors. Surely they’d accept it?”

“At this point, I don’t know who would kill me faster,” the Director scoffed, then gestured at the Damsel’s notes, a cluster of sticky notes and drawings and photos of the Damsel at a well enough distance that it was closer to stalker-ish. “Phillip wouldn’t want competition. Marlowe agrees that he can be quite standoffish when threatened, and a newcomer claiming to be one of Roman’s advisors? Someone who doesn’t have his respect in a royal manner?”

The Director pointed to the Thief now, a even more grave expression adorning his face. “And Eric. Tell me you think he would accept a newcomer of any kind. Just tell me. Especially near Gavin. And the Child himself probably wouldn’t like me.”

Well, that sounded off. Roman leaned on the wall besides the door, back against his hands as he continued to inspect the wall. There were notes on the other advisors’ behaviors, their antics.

For some reason, Roman could almost imagine Janus or Logan doing this. It was something close to weird and something else close to endearing. Was that weird?

“Why not? Gavin’s pretty trusting.” Roman didn’t look away from the wall as he replied.

“In fairness, he might like me, but I don’t know if I could ever come around to liking him. He’s the root source of all our issues, especially our present issue with Janus, Patton, Logan. Even past issues with Remus, if I’m remembering them properly. What Gavin represents allows us to be easily swayed.”

That got Roman to look away, look down at the Director. He was glaring up at the Child’s photo with something fierce, which startled Roman enough. I mean, that was a whole child there. What would inspire this much hatred?

“Really now?” Roman wanted to know.

“He gets us to let our guard down. It’s at Gavin’s behest we take chances, but it’s that same honesty that leads us to broken promises, taking in lies like they’re candy. I don’t know what I would do with him,” the Director sounded disappointed.

That was a fair analysis. All of the advisors—the Playwright, the Thief, the Child, Bard, Artist, Dragon, Damsel, Director—they all represented different parts of Roman, similar to how the Sides represented parts of Thomas. In theory, they worked together. In practice, that was far from the truth, but Roman knew for his sake that they were trying their best.

They all oversaw different parts of Roman’s psyche, too. The Playwright, for example, was most similar to Logan in that he represented Roman’s research and organization, on a creative and egotistical level. The Playwright—Marlowe—could be trusted with knowing how many liters of blood were in the human body as well as every one of the Sides’ favorite karaoke songs, even the exact time and date they met Nico.

The Child was Roman’s belief, his ability to dream. It was fair to assume that that made him the most naïve part. Perhaps it was even a fair conclusion that the debacles with Janus were caused by what the Child represented.

Roman hadn’t thought of it like that. The last time he’d talked to the Child, Gavin, about the situation, he had seem incredibly disappointed.

He’d never stopped to ask what the Child was disappointed in, though. Was he disappointed in Roman? Or in himself? Did the Child know he was the one who had pushed Roman to trust Janus? Did….There was no way that this was….the Child’s fault. Was it?

“Huh.” Roman’s voice echoed emptily to himself. A pit opened in his stomach, something difficult to grasp. The root cause of his burdens couldn’t be his ability to dream. His dreams themselves, his hopes, his beliefs. He….he was the daydreamer, the creator. That couldn’t be a flaw, could it?

The Director watched him, but Roman hardly noticed. It was only for a few seconds, too, of stoic silence before the Director interrupted his thoughts with a huff, looked across the board. “This is quite a bit of insight at once. Maybe we should finish the movie.”

“Director?”

Roman and the Director both turned to the open doorway, the later slapping a hand over his own mouth immediately. With a flick of his wrist, the door closed quietly, clicking just loud enough for the both of them to hear. They also heard the Playwright in the living room, footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor.

“Director?” the Playwright called out again.

“Fuck,” the Director whispered. This must have been an unplanned visit.

“What? We can just go out and say hello,” Roman said back, though his demeanor and body language spoke of worry, almost fear.

The Playwright was well known to be a pacifist. And the Playwright knew about the Director, knew about Roman knowing the Director. He was a little surprised to find that the Playwright didn’t know the Director’s name was Macbeth, but Roman knew the Director to be a man of secrets.

“He doesn’t know I….He doesn’t know you’re here. He barely knows we talk,” the Director looked around the room and pressed a hand to one of the walls, “Fuck. How are we going to get him out?”

The rock beneath the Director’s hand morphs into a doorway and he opens it. The Playwright was standing in the living room, close to the front door to the home. He looked up at them both, eyes widening when he met Roman’s. Before Roman could say anything, even think of something to say, the Playwright spoke with ease.

“Roman’s here? Thank goodness. Virgil’s come looking for him,” he gave Roman a small smile, strained but caring all the same.

“Ah.” Roman stiffened. Virgil came looking for him? In the Imagination? Why? How? He didn’t have his own passage into this space yet, how’d he get here?

He didn’t want to talk to Virgil. As supportive as he’d been, especially when it came to taking care of Thomas, there were still some areas where Roman wanted to be alone, wanted to process his thoughts alone. Virgil was...vindictive. Which was a strong word to use, but an apt one. Virgil’s distaste in Janus made it hard for Roman to form his own thoughts, which was why he often tried away from Virgil as much as Patton.

He wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation, and the Director must have been able to tell, because he physically looked like he didn’t want Roman to go.

“I actually didn’t expect to find you here, though I’m not entirely surprised,” the Playwright must not have been privy to these feelings, glancing between the Director and Roman, shock still gracing his features.

“Really now,” the Director said, tilting his head, “Why not?”

“I just didn’t know Roman had met you, but of course, even I’m not as omniscient as Creativity himself,” the Playwright stepped closer, reaching toward Roman. “You have to come up, though. Virgil said everyone’s worried.”

Roman starred at the Playwright’s hand, unsure of what to do with the gesture. He knew everyone would be worried, on a baseline. Closed doors didn’t do well around the Mind Palace, especially his, especially after his splitting incident, but that didn’t mean he had to cater to everyone else’s worry. He was allowed privacy.

Before he formulated a response, though, the Director placed a hand in front of Roman. His smile toward the Playwright turned sour, lips pursed in a mix of thought and anger.

“He doesn’t have to go see Virgil if he doesn’t want to.” Roman felt some of the tension in his shoulder alleviate at the Director’s statement, as basic as it was.

The Playwright, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand. He looked between Roman and the Director again, surprised even further by how familiar they seemed. There had been a fair amount of transparency in Roman’s relationships with all of the other advisors that there must be some dissonance to see him be so familiar with someone he hadn’t even expected Roman to know. Something about that surprise, the bait and switch, the lie, felt fulfilling.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to alleviate Virgil’s worried and tell him to leave again,” the Playwright explained slowly. “I’m sure, if Roman told him he wanted privacy, he would understand.”

“I’m sure, if Virgil could understand that, then he wouldn’t have tread where he shouldn’t. You can’t make him do anything.” The Director’s voice grew darker, hand unwavering.

“Make him?” the Playwright sounded so confused.

Roman was also confused where the Director’s notion came from, but it was validating to hear reminders that Roman’s decisions were his to make. But nothing in the Playwright’s tone was forceful.

For a moment, it seemed as though the Playwright would drop his confusion.

Until he took a step forward, toward the Director and Roman, with one hand outstretched. Roman didn’t know what he’d been planning, but he knew the Playwright wasn’t a sporadic man. He hated adding physicality to situations where debate and discussion could suffice. So, in hindsight, it was likely the Playwright was reaching out to make peace.

The moment passed in mere seconds.

He was taller than the Director by a noticeable few inches, so the Director bent his knees. He pushed Roman behind him with his outstretched arm, acting faster than either Roman or the Playwright could react to. The Director stuck his leg out and grabbed the Playwright by the fabric of his shirt, behind his neck. The Playwright, surprised by the sudden movements, tripped on his leg and let out a sharp gasp of surprise.

Besides them was the living room coffee table. As the Playwright fell, the Director redirected his head toward the table, shoving him away from Roman.

It felt very spur of the moment, and it happened in a true moment. The Playwright let out a scream, sharp and fearful, before his forehead collided with the edge of the metal table. He fell beneath it unconscious. Blood pooled at the Director’s feet as he stood back up.

Roman’s hands shot to his face immediately, as soon as the Playwright started falling, and he could only stare in horror at the scene. The Director, too, seemed shocked at his own reaction. He starred at his blood-stained socks for a little while, breathing heavy enough for Roman to hear. It must be the adrenaline.

“I,” the Director’s voice caught in his throat.

Roman watched. Just watched. The Director swallowed, turning around to face Roman with a mirroring horrified expression, eyes wide with surprise. “You have to make him forget.”

“What?” Roman’s voice was strained, almost a whisper, and he cleared his throat to repeat. “Excuse me?”

What kind of request….?

“If Marlowe remembers this, we’re fucked. He knows you’re here. He’s going to think I attacked him. I-I did attack him,” The Director took a slow breath, turning to look at the body on the ground before shaking his head—unable to look. “David is going to kill me.

“Make him forget. He can stay here. For a bit. We can figure this out,” he put his hands up towards Roman. “We-The other Sides’re gonna follow Virgil. We both know that. And, uh. Only Marlowe knew I was here. So we’ve got time to figure out how to, uh. Play this off.”

Roman starred at him with wide eyes. The past two days had been such a long mess, he didn’t know what to do. Physically, he could remove the Playwright memories. He’d be a blank slate of a character, only backstory. What would that do? The Playwright’s backstory was that he was the Playwright. He didn’t have some elaborate parent-death or chosen-one-esque story that he could fall back on. Poor bastard wasn’t even the one who had Roman’s memories prior.

But the Director was right, in a way. If they wanted more time to think about everything—the other Sides were looking for him? How did Virgil get in here? Why would he be looking for Roman, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stomp away from a verbal duel, why now?—then they couldn’t have the Playwright ratting them out.

When he manipulated the Imagination directly, his powers were red. Remus’ were green. It was distinctive. So when Roman sank down, put a hand on the back of the Playwright’s head, his hand turned red.

It blended in with the blood.

Roman felt vile. He had to do this, or else the others would find him. A quiet, dull part of his mind told him that didn’t matter but….he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t.

He pulled gently, as though tugging the thoughts out, and something glistened red and gold as he did. Then, Roman let it go, and it disappeared. It reminded him a little of Dumbledore pulling his own memories out in Harry Potter. Roman didn’t feel much the chosen one, either, though.

“There,” he said quietly.

The Director let out a soft breath. It didn’t sound like either of them knew what to do, to be fair. Maybe the Director hadn’t even expected this.

“I’ll….here.” The Director looked up and pointed at the wall behind the couch.

The couch scooted forward a little, enough for there to be a walkway behind it, and the room simultaneously pulled away from the couch. Then, a door formed on the wall. It clicked once, then swung open. Another room.

Roman stood still, staring at his hands—was that magic or blood?—while the Director leaned down to pick the Playwright up. The man hadn’t moved since being bludgeoned by the table.

“Under the sink in the bathroom is a first aid kit,” the Director said, voice stoic, taking the reins on the situation, “I’ll make him a bedroom and bandage his head. Then he can stay for a day or two. We must figure out what to do, about the other Sides and about Marlowe.”

That was fair. He’d only stay a little.

Dimly, Roman remembered that this was the Imagination, he mastered this world, so he could technically get rid of the Playwright’s wound. He could get rid of his memory and the wound and send him right back to his home, right back to the Artist, good as normal and none the wiser.

But….something in the back of his head stopped him. And the Director pulled him into the other room faster than Roman could overcome whatever clouded thoughts were plaguing him.

#chivalry au #roman #roman sanders #ts roman #sanders sides fic #clap clap clap clap #tw blood #tw violence #tw assault #tw blunt force trauma #tw amnesia #AND WE HIT ONE OF THE BIGGEST ISSUES IN THIS FIC #LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THIS WAS THE FIRST CHAPTER I WROTE LKGJKHJGKJGH #marlowe goes through it #its okay he needed a cognitive recalibration

[hopelikethemoon]

eyes for you (Javier x Reader) [smut]

Title: eyes for you Rating: Explicit  Warnings: Smut (fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, not my best dirty talk, vaguely voyeuristic, sex in a public space)  Notes: Set at some point in Miami in the maybe today, maybe forever universe. Sadly no Josie in this one.  Dedicated to @grapemama​ who 100% gave me this idea.  Summary: Javier and Reader spend a Saturday afternoon out drinking with Connie and Steve. 

Javi ran his hand down the length of your bare leg, before sliding back up so his fingertips rested just beneath your shorts. “Having fun?” He questioned, his voice raised to combat with the noisy bar around you. 

You nodded, bringing your beer bottle to your lips as your eyes lingered on his face. He caught the way his gaze dropped to your mouth as you tipped the bottle back. Just for him, you let your tongue trace the rim of the bottle before you sat it back on the table. You were warm — comfortably so. You had already finished three beers and the fourth had gone down just as easily. Several abandoned shot glasses littered the table in front of you. You had lost track of which ones had been yours and which had been ordered by Javi, Steve, and Connie. 

“Yeah.” You answered, before you started to move out of the booth. “I’m getting another beer.” 

Javier caught one of your belt loops, keeping you from going much further. “I’m coming too.” His words slurred together, but he had no problem sliding out of the booth and following after you to the bar. 

You leaned heavily on the bar, ordering a glass of water and another beer. Javier ordered himself a whiskey neat, wrapping his arm around your waist. You pressed close to him, catching the way several of the women in the bar had been looking at Javier — not that he seemed the least bit aware of their attention. “You’re very handsy today.”

He chuckled, giving your hip a squeeze, “You’re very attractive today.” 

“And you’re drunk.” You teased, curling your arm around him and giving his ass a playful squeeze. “But so am I, so.” 

“Here you go.” The bartender stated, sitting your drinks down in front of you. 

“Thanks.” Javier answered, but his eyes never left your face. Neither of you were truly drunk, more blissfully tipsy if anything. 

You felt your chest flush hot under his heated gaze, goose pimples rising on your skin. “Javi.” You whispered, a half second before his mouth crashed into yours. You gasped, lips parting just enough for his tongue to invade your mouth. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, your other hand grabbing at his shirt to keep yourself steady as you sank into the kiss. It didn’t matter that you were standing in the middle of a bar — all eyes on you. All that mattered was sating the need you felt for him.

“Easy there kids,” Steve taunted, clapping you both on the shoulders as he joined you at the bar. “There’s a motel down the road.” 

Javier pulled back and muttered, “Fuck off Steve.” 

You blushed even hotter than before, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before grabbing your water and beer off the bar and heading back over to the table with Connie. She arched a brow at you which prompted you to laugh, “Don’t.” 

“I have to admit, I’m a little jealous.” Connie remarked as she sipped at her rum runner. “Ever since we adopted Olivia, things have simmered out.”

You took a drink from your beer and folded your arms on the table. “It took us four months to get back to normal.” Your eyes drifted back towards the bar, catching Javier staring at you while Steve tried to talk to him. “Not that we really had a normal. I was already three months along by the time we got together.” 

Connie grinned, “You’ve never have really discussed how you two got together.” 

“Aside from getting drunk at a bar,” You gestured around you and shrugged. “It just happened, I guess. We were partners for years and we worked well together.” It was hard to pinpoint exactly when it happened — especially with the fog of alcohol filling your head. “The first three months were hell and then… I don’t know.” You laughed nervously. “The dumbass started sleeping at my apartment and he just never left.” 

“You two really go together.” Connie remarked as she took a sip of her drink. 

You curled your fingers around your beer, tapping it against the table lightly. “Just strike while the iron is hot. If Olivia’s down for a nap or you’re both awake in the middle of the night.” 

“Thanks.”

“You and Steve are good together too. For the record.” You looked back towards the bar, catching Javi’s gaze again. The heat in his eyes made your heart flutter and your legs clench together instinctively. 

As your eyes focused back on Connie, you caught sight of a woman who was very clearly sizing Javi up at the bar. She had a cute little sundress on and was daintily sucking at her fruity drink while she was making eyes at him from further down the bar. Not that he seemed aware. 

“Sorry Connie,” You said as you started to scoot out of the booth. “Only one of our guys has a ring.” You quipped, before you headed back towards the bar, beer bottle in hand. You put a little extra sway in your hips as you approached him, intercepting the sundress girl before she even had a chance. “Hi.” You breathed out with a smirk. 

“Hey baby.” Javier murmured, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and drawing you into his side. “I was hoping you’d come back over here.” 

“You were about to have company,” You nodded your head vaguely in the girl’s direction, which prompted Javi to laugh. 

“How the hell do I never notice?” He gave your shoulder three little squeezes as he kept you close. 

“A person might think you’ve been tamed, Peña.” Steve quipped, snatching up his glass of whiskey off the bar. “See ya back at the table.”

You sat your beer down on the bar, before sitting down on the stool that was now accessible without Steve standing there. “Let’s give them a couple minutes.” 

Javier ran his hand down the length of your back, setting alight a new fire between your thighs just from the mere touch of him. “They good?”

You nodded your head. “Connie’s just looking to reignite things.” You wiggled your brows suggestively, before letting your eyes rake over him. 

“Good for them.” He quipped, resting his hand on your bare thigh. “I can’t blame them.”

You crooked a finger at him, tilting your face so you could kiss him. It wasn’t quite as needy as the last kiss had been, his tongue didn’t thrust it’s way into your mouth — but that didn’t stop the spike of lust that coursed through you. 

Javier’s hand slid further up your thigh, teasingly brushing his thumb against the apex of your thighs, the seam pressing just right. You caught his wrist abruptly, eyes burning as you met his gaze. “Not at the bar.” 

“No sense of adventure,” He pouted, before kissing you again. Javier pulled back, bumping his nose against yours. “Ah, now I see who you were talking about.” 

You looked back over your shoulder and barely stifled a laugh as you caught sundress girl quickly averting her gaze. “She’s not your type anyways.”

“Yeah? And what’s my type?” He cocked his head to the side. “I’m curious.”

“Javier,” You rested your hand on his chest, fingertips playing with the exposed skin where his buttons dipped low. “I’ve played wingwoman for you before.”

Javi made a face, “Don’t remind me.” He crowded close to you and rested his chin on your shoulder. “Should’ve been you all along, baby.”

“You’re so sweet when you’re tipsy.” You grinned at him, letting your hand trail down over his stomach, before daringly tapping at his belt buckle. You could clearly make out the strain of his hardening cock through jeans and it made you clench your thighs subconsciously. “Javi?”

“Yeah, baby?” He questioned, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “What is it?”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, drawing him in close so you could whisper in his ear, “I think we should go see if the bathroom is vacant.” Your tongue swept out over your bottom lip as you pulled back, watching him. 

His brows shot upwards and an easy grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Fuck yes.” He breathed out. “Want me to head there first?”

You nodded, “I’ll be there in a second.” 

“This,” Javier started as he stole a kiss. “Is why I love you.” 

You shoved him in the chest playfully, “Go.” 

You turned back to face the bar, your heart hammering in your chest as you counted in your head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. You grabbed your beer, drinking down the rest of it before you slid off the stool. You made your way towards the back of the bar, down the short hallway where the bathroom was tucked away. Javier was nowhere to be found — which suggested that the bathroom had been vacant. Just like you’d hoped. 

You knocked lightly on the door. There was a pause, before the door cracked open. It was just like Columbia — the memory of that night burned into your mind forever. You glanced behind you, just to make sure no one was watching, before you slid inside. 

The second the door was locked, Javier descended upon you. His lips slanted over yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth, sweeping over the roof of your mouth, twisting against yours. Your hands were quick to work at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open and greedily touching every inch of skin you could reach. 

You should’ve been embarrassed by just how wet you were, but you’d spent the better part of the last two hours trying to ignore how much you wanted Javier. Blame it on the beer or the way his hand kept stroking your inner thigh — you’d had him on your mind. Then he had to go and kiss you and you’d thought you’d lose it right then and there. 

Javier dragged his mouth away from yours, pressing a row of kisses along your jaw as he worked to shove your jeans down your hips. “Your ass has looked so fucking good in these today.” He told you, his hands sliding around to palm at your ass cheeks as he looked down at you, breathing heavily. “Thought you were trying to make me lose it every time you sauntered over to the bar.”

“I was.” You breathed out, surging up to kiss him again. You reached down and forcefully worked his belt open, your hand snaking into his jeans to stroke his cock through his boxers. 

He caught your risk swiftly, dragging it away from him. “No.” Javi said firmly, holding your gaze. “Take your panties off for me and go stand in front of the mirror.” 

You swore your heart skipped a beat. Slowly, you shimmied out of your panties, before tossing them aside with your abandoned shorts. You found his eyes in the mirror, lips curving into a smirk as you watched his predatory reflection. 

“Don’t make me wait, Javi.” You taunted, leaning forward as you widened your stance — leaving yourself wide open for him. 

Javier stalked forward, one hand coming to curl around your throat and drawing you back against his chest. “Watch.” He rasped out close to your ear, as his other hand found its way between your thighs. “Fuck.” 

You bit down on your bottom lip, keeping your eyes locked on his eyes as he ran a finger between your thighs, feeling for himself just how slick you were. “I told you. I was thinking about your cock.” You smirked at him, rolling your hips downwards. 

“I can tell,” He pressed two fingers into you, his thumb ghosting over your clit. “I want you to come for me. Can you do that?” Javier tightened his fingers around your throat, not enough to leave a mark but enough to momentarily make you gasp for a breath.

“Yes.” You breathed out, nodding your head. You didn’t trust your words — not when he had his fingers dragging in and out of your cunt. Your fingers squeezed at his forearm, holding onto it for support as your legs wobbled. You could hear the slick sound of his fingers every time they pressed into you, the feel of his breath hot against your neck. 

“You look so fucking good like this.” Javier told you, tightening his hold on your throat again as he stared down your reflection. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

You clenched around his fingers in response to his words. 

“That’s right, baby.” He chuckled, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. “Are you going to let me come in you?” Javier asked, nipping at your earlobe. 

“Yes!” You gasped out, rocking down in time with the movements of his fingers. “Please.” 

“I knew you’d like that,” He smirked at you. “Sitting there with our friends while I leak out of you.” His fingers pressed into you, reaching a spot that made you see stars. 

You moaned, louder than you should’ve considering where you were. His voice, in tandem with his fingers, pushed you over the edge. You arched back against him, grabbing at the sink for support as your body convulsed around his fingers. 

“Fuck, I love watching you come.” Javier panted out as he pulled his fingers out of you. 

You caught ahold of his wrist before he had the chance to wipe his fingers off. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapping your lips around them. Your tongue swirled around the digits, tasting yourself on them, before you released them with a wet pop. 

Javier didn’t hesitate after that. He grabbed you by your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he held you steady. His dark gaze found yours in the mirror and for a second you could’ve sworn it was two years ago — a different bathroom, a different country, but that same deep-seated need. 

You reached behind you, fingers seeking purchase in his hair, clinging to the back of his neck as he pounded into you. It was quick paced, like sex had to be in a bar bathroom. There was no time for tendering touches, languid kisses, savoring thrusts. All there was time for was his cock driving into you, his hips snapping as he slammed into you. 

“That’s it baby.” He panted out, “You feel so fucking good.” 

“Javi.” You clenched around him, a second release starting to build right behind the first he’d coaxed out of you. 

His pace faltered and he grunted out something that sounded like your name as his gripped tightened at your hip, holding you steady as he filled you — his cock throbbing within you as his own release washed over him. 

“Come for me,” He urged, stroking at your clit to try to bring you over the edge. “Come on.” Javier’s mouth found your pulse point, tongue sweeping over your skin time with the stroke of his finger.

Your eyes screwed shut and you clamped your lips closed to keep from crying out as your release tore through you, your inner walls pulsing around his cock, milking every last drop out of him. 

There wasn’t much time to bask in the after. Javier reluctantly pulled out of you, tucking himself away before kneeling down to help you put your panties back on. He kissed your thighs lazily in the golden haze of your pleasure, looking up at you with such adoration you actually felt tears prickle in your eyes. 

You caught your reflection in the mirror and blushed at how thoroughly fucked you looked. Little red spots had started to form on your neck from the way he’d curled his fingers around your throat, the scrape of his mustache against your skin.

But you both managed to keep your composure as you went back out to rejoin Connie and Steve at the table. You let Javi go first, heading to the bar to get new drinks, before sliding into the booth beside him.

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and laughed as he looked between the two of you. “Trying for kid number two?”

“Fuck off, Murphy.” Javier countered, flipping him off as he took a drink of his beer. 

Your chest was flushed red with embarrassment, but you didn’t let it show on your face. You shrugged your shoulders, leaning into Javier’s side. “Sometimes you just have to seize the moment.” 

“I am so glad you two decided to start this after I left.” Steve pointed a finger between you. “You would’ve been impossible at the office.”

“Hey,” Javier sat his beer down. “I’ll have you know we kept it very professional after we were together. No one even knew until we told them.” 

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “I’m impressed.” 

“You’re only young once,” You remarked, giving Steve a stern look. “Have some fun. Fuck in a bathroom.”

Connie hid her face in her hands and laughed nervously, rubbing at her bright red cheeks. “Oh my God.” 

Javi wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in close so he could press a kiss to your temple. “You good?”

You nodded your head, wrapping your arm around behind him. “I’m perfect.” You told him as you rested your cheek against his shoulder. You were warm and content and it had nothing to do with the beer or the bathroom sex. It had everything to do with the man beside you. Being in a similar place with him — reflecting on that not-so-distant night from two years ago…. You were goddamn lucky. Who would’ve ever thought that the lonely man who fucked up everything he touched would end up being your better half. That the habitual bachelor, the perpetual flirt, the sometimes sleazy romancer would have your undivided attention. Because the girl in the sundress had very much been his type — but he only had eyes for you. 

“Hey.” You nudged his leg under the table and he pulled his attention away from whatever Steve was discussing with Connie.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” You whispered, smiling at him. 

Sometimes he still looked so surprised to hear those words come from you, “I love you too.” He responded, leaning to press a sweet kiss against your lips. 

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #pedro pascal x reader

[ao3bronte]

Mamma Mia AU [Part 4]

READ PART 3 HERE!

Does Your Mother Know

Luka sits back and enjoys the view of the rehearsal dinner from the polished oak counter at the open bar, sipping his second Hennessy of the evening. Things had gone off without a hitch and now the wedding party is socialising amongst themselves, enjoying the ambiance and the splendour of the space since they have it rented out for another few hours. Alya’s Buzzfeed friends come and go from the bar but Luka only has eyes for one particular woman…

...until an old ghost from his past catches his eye.

“Couffaine,” Kagami Tsurugi divides the crowd as she stalks her way up to the bar, her empty crystal tumbler grasped between her fingers. She sets it down onto the gleaming wood and wordlessly beckons the bartender to fill her glass with the bottle of Japanese whisky hiding behind the Grey Goose, “It seems Los Angeles is treating you well.”

Luka sizes her up, his heart rate increasing as he soaks in the silhouette of her navy pencil dress, accented by a peekaboo cut out at the hollow of her spine, “It’s nice, I’ll admit, but not as nice as Paris.”

Kagami hums, bringing her tumbler up to her lacquered lips, “I’ve only been a few times. I find the whole country pretentious, really. I prefer the unconceited simplicity of home.”

“And is home here? Or back in Japan?”

“I split my time evenly between the two,” she replies, savouring the eighteen year old Hakushu whisky on her tongue, “Between business and competition, I find the dichotomy of the two quite...pleasant.”

“But you prefer Paris.”

Kagami nods, “Naturally.”

“Let me guess,” Luka’s lips quirk, seeing right through her prose for the melody lying within, “Your mother is back in Japan.”

“She certainly isn’t here,” Kagami raises a brow, “And she certainly doesn’t know I’m taking part in a wedding instead of the European Fencing Tournament in London this weekend.”

“I’m sorry,” Luka can’t help but laugh a little, “I only met your mother once. She was scary.”

“I’ll probably never hear the end of it for ‘betraying the family name for nuptial frivolities’,” Kagami shrugs, “But some things are worth toeing the line for.”

“Don’t I know it,” Luka nods, “Are you here for long?”

“I’m flying back to Tokyo Monday morning,” she takes a long swig of the amber liquid and hisses, “I don’t expect to see the light of day for a while once the press catches wind of my presence here.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Luka soaks her in and frowns as the delicate harmonies of her heart song begin to clash discordant.

“My mother has no qualms in reminding me of the mandatory respect I owe to the family name. To rebel, as I’m doing now, is practically unforgivable.”

It’s Luka’s turn to hum, leaning forwards, “So run away.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me,” Luka’s wolfish grin takes her aback, “I’ve read about you on the internet, I know you’re wealthy. What’s stopping you from stretching your wings?”

“My mother,” Kagami’s mask of calm finally cracks, revealing the cacophonous melody of her mind, “She would kill me.”

“A little distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Luka turns away for a moment, watching Marinette blush furiously in front of the blond man she’d been successfully avoiding all dinner, “And I doubt Tomoe would slice your head off if you took a little extended vacation, considering you’re the only heir to the family business.”

“It’s not a risk I’m willing to take,” Kagami replies, downing the rest of her whisky in one go. She turns to the bartender and orders another, “Besides, where would I go? My mother will send her guards to find me if I stay in Paris.”

“Come stay with me,” Luka smiles at her over the rim of his glass, enjoying the crescendo of her chorus, “Trade in your épée for the sun and the sand.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Kagami mutters into her whisky, her brows furrowed once again, “She’d disown me.”

“Good thing you’ve already cashed that trust fund then,” Luka swirls the rest of his Hennesey within its crystal confines, “That’s the first rule of show business, right? Get your money somewhere where no one can touch it.”

“I can’t risk it.”

“Your heart song tells me otherwise.”

Kagami’s stare is unrepentant, “I’ve always wondered how you did that.”

“We all have our superpowers,” Luka shrugs, “You’re the greatest fencer on the planet and I can hear the melody of a person’s thoughts.”

“Yours seems to be more useful than mine.”

He smirks, “Yours is sexier.”

The tension between them thickens, “When do you leave for Los Angeles?”

“I have a red eye booked for midnight on Sunday,” Luka responds, “I wanted a day to sleep off the hangover before hitting the clubs stateside.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” Kagami lies blatantly, barely even bothering to pretend the possibility isn’t teasing her thoughts, “That would be very irresponsible of me.”

“It would certainly be rebellious, something you’re clearly not.”

“I am a perfect daughter. I’ve never rebelled in my life.”

“Of course,” Luka nods, “You never used to sneak out with Adrien and party the night away on my houseboat back in lycée.”

“You’re mistaking me for someone else entirely,” Kagami counters, a smirk playing on her lips, “A Tsurugi would never.”

“And you certainly never beat all the boys in your grade at keg stands and beer pong,” Luka shakes his head, “That must have been someone else too.”

“Exactly,” she nods resolutely, stretching one of her long, slender legs in his direction to nudge him in the knee.

“Except there’s no one quite like you,” Luka wraps his fingers gently around her ankle, his calluses rough against her skin, “Devoted. Composed, yet fiercely independent. I can hear every little bit of it, the spiking percussion that segues into understated meditations, the energetic, multi layered melodies that transition into sweeping musical tapestries. I’ve only ever heard a heart song as compelling as this one once before, but I lost the opportunity to be with her long ago.”

Kagami looks stricken, her façade finally crumbling as she soaks in the weight of his words, “You never told me.”

“You were dating Adrien then,” Luka explains, his fingers tracing soft patterns up her calf, “And then I moved away to Los Angeles. I never lost track of you though. I was even there when you won the North American Championships in San Diego last year. I came just to watch you kick ass.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” she blinks, her pupils blown wide.

“That’s because you left right after,” Luka’s ministrations caress the sensitive hollow at the back of her knee, “You’re always at the beck and call of your family, a fearless soul locked in a gilded cage. I know you’ve tried to let go—”

“—and it hasn’t worked out so well in the past,” she breathes, her lips parting as he runs his fingertips along the outline of her kneecap, “But I guess you already knew that if you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

“I keep tabs on all my friends,” he smiles, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he glances downwards, “I’m not just a dumb rock star, you know. I value my friendships with the people who liked me before I hit platinum.”

“And I value the men who don’t kiss my ass just because I’m rich,” she laughs through her nose, goose pimples prickling along her skin.

“Sounds like we might just get along after all.”

They finish the rest of their drinks together in comfortable silence.

#miraculous ladybug #mamma mia #lukagami #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi

[spaceskam]

a moment with you

BELMANES AFFAIR FIC BELMANES AFFAIR FIC

ao3

Isobel had never been so nervous in her life.

It was her bachelorette party just a week before her wedding and she was all the way in Texas. Noah was nice and he was doing and he was good for her. There was no reason to be nervous. Most of the time she wasn't. Typically, she was nice and good and happy. But sometimes she just couldn't help but hear a little voice telling her to get away while she still could.

"Oh, stop worrying," Krista, the daughter of one of her mom's friends, said.

Most of the people attending were daughters of her mom's friends. Those were the only acquaintances she had. She typically relied on Michael and Max's company, but her mother had thrown this party and she said it was bad enough that she wanted Michael to be her Maid of Honor (a title he hadn't even whined about changing) and that she needed an all girl party. But this all girl party only maid her feel more alone and more nervous.

"He's rich and he's handsome and he's nice, that's basically the holy trinity of guys around here," Krista went on. Isobel forced a laugh. She was right. Most guys didn't have two of those attributes, let alone all three. "Your just having cold feet."

"It's normal," Haleigh said, "I was terrified before my wedding. I thought about leaving, like, a million times."

"Exactly," Lacy added, "I still have second thoughts. It's normal."

But it didn't feel normal. Why should it be scary to marry someone who you're 100% sure about? That didn't seem like it made sense. Besides, Isobel was still young. She was barely 23, she had time. Was she rushing? Should she wait?

As if one cue, a group of Navy men walked into the hotel's bar. She knew there was a base nearby, but she hadn't expected to see a familiar face amongst them. Gregory Manes, a boy she went to school with, stood a little bit taller than most of the group. He had that familiar kind smile and almost instantly caught her eye. His cheeks turned a little red at the eye contact and he looked away.

"Ooh, maybe we could get them to buy us drinks," Krista suggested as she deliberately gave a flirty look their way. She caught the eye of one of the men beside Greg. Isobel only had her eyes on one man.

They eventually got them to come over to them, the small group of Navy Sailors fitting in with her bridal troupe. Isobel didn't talk much at all though. Instead, she spent the next hour or so staring at Greg. Every little shy smile he gave and how desperate he seemed to not stare back at her eased that nervousness in her mind. But not because she was sure she was marrying the right man.

Slowly, one of the girls would retire for the night, most of them going alone and their respective Sailor finding another girl to entertain them. That happened all the way until Isobel was left alone with Greg. They both stayed silent.

She could hear her inner Max bitching about her friends leaving her by herself in a bar and her inner Michael telling her she needed to practice her powers for when creepy guys talked to her. She couldn't help but smile as she thought about Max sneaking mace onto her key ring and Michael hiding a switchblade in her purse. The thought almost let her miss how flustered Greg looked at the sight of her smiling. That was new and unbearably sweet.

Then all she could think of was Michael's cynical speech of settling down without enough exploring.

"So, you're getting married," Greg said. It was the first thing he'd said that was just saying he didn't want a drink to his friends earlier in the night. Isobel breathed in deep and leaned forward. She hadn't drank either.

"Apparently," she sighed. She stared at him, drinking him in and wondering if a man like him would be willing to do something so wrong with her. But she was stressed and unsure and she needed something. She needed to feel something other than... this. Was it normal to feel so lonely just days before your wedding?

Besides, he was a sailor, she would never see him again.

“Well, I’m happy for you, Isobel,” Greg said, giving that sweet little smile. It mirrored the one from high school. He was a senior when she was a freshman, so he hadn’t given her any attention, but she remembered being unable to take her eyes off him in the halls. There was just something about him.

And, considering he still knew her name, maybe there was something about her. 

“Do you wanna do something with me that’s wrong and might leave us both feeling guilty in the morning?” she asked, throwing caution to the wind. She was tired of caution and tired of the emptiness. Greg’s face didn’t change, but his eyes scanned over every inch of her that he could see above the table. 

“Like what?”

Isobel breathed in deep, wondering what his neck would look like covered in lipstick prints. 

“Come up to my room?”

She didn’t expect him to say yes so easily, but he did and Isobel gave him a smile that was more thankful than she would admit. She hated how desperate she was to feel something. Anything. 

Greg told his friends that he was walking her to her room and then they went towards the elevator. They stood a foot apart the whole ride up, Greg’s foot tapping the floor while her fingers tapped in tandem against her thigh. When did elevators get so slow?

“Don’t most girls share one big room on their bachelorette trips or is that just, like, the movies?” Greg asked as they walked down the hall at a normal walking pace. Okay, maybe slightly faster than normal.

“This may come as a shock to you, but the girls I’m here with aren’t my friends,” she admitted. Greg’s mouth formed an ‘o’ and he nodded.

“That would explain why they left you by yourself with me. Isn’t sticking with your friends, like, rule one of girl code?” Greg asked. Isobel smiled at him as she pulled out the key card.

“I wouldn’t know.”

They both slipped into her hotel room, the king sized bed all made up with fresh sheets. The door closed behind them and then things became a little more real. Greg didn’t make a move towards her, hovering by the door as if he was scared to push too far despite the fact that she pulled him up here because she wanted him to.

Isobel decided she would have to make the first move which was fine. She didn’t mind that. She kicked off her heels and put her clutch on the little table before turning to him and holding out her hand. He gave a confused smile.

“Jacket,” she instructed.

“Oh, right,” Greg laughed, shrugging it off easily to hand to her. She laid it on the table neatly beside her clutch and then turned to him. The Navy t-shirt beneath it seemed to hug his arms tight in just the right way while also just making him seem down to Earth.

The thought made her laugh.

“What?” he asked, smiling too as he dared to step closer. Isobel touched him for the first time, her hands laying on his hips and tugging him close. Greg smiled wider, so genuine and so kind and it was for her. Sometimes when Noah smiled at her, it felt like it was hollow. This was anything but.

“I just can’t believe I’m doing this,” Isobel admitted, pushing his hands up and over his chest. She couldn’t wait to get his shirt off.

“Are you sure you want to?” he checked. She locked eyes with him as she moved her hands to the back of his neck. He was warm and only getting warmer as his cheeks reddened.

“I really am.”

Isobel pulled him down to her and there was no going back as their lips connected. Her heart seemed to skip a beat or seven and something unknown shot through her body. Maybe it was desire, maybe it was something else entirely. She wasn’t sure.

She pressed flush against him, desperate for as much contact as she could have. His large hands splayed across her back and held her just as close. She never felt so desperate for contact. There was something about him and, now that she had a small taste, she didn’t understand how she was supposed to stop.

It was good. Too good.

“I-I think we’re drunk,” Greg said, trying to explain why this felt so right when it was sufficiently not. His simple little kiss seemed to light her on fire. That wasn’t normal.

“I’m not drunk,” she admitted, knowing she didn’t have a drop of alcohol in her system, “Are you?”

“No,” he breathed, voice a couple notes too high. Isobel smiled slightly, a laugh bubbling in her chest. She couldn’t remember a time someone had made her feel so good.

And it was just a kiss.

Isobel led his face back to hers, kissing him again and he smiled through it. Her hands went to his belt as his cupped her face. She usually didn’t like when people touched her face, but, when it was him, she didn’t mind. Maybe she would mind if she ended up with a pimple on her wedding day, but that wasn’t now and that wasn’t this.

She slipped her fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans after unbuttoning them, pushing them down just a little. She kept them on just enough to palm him over his jeans and enjoyed the way his breathing got a little heavier, still kissing her like his life depended on it. Isobel liked that.

Greg slid his hands from her face down over her arms then, starting from her thighs, he dragged them up her sides. Every nerve in her body felt so ungodly aware of him. She wanted more.

Isobel pushed him away and his eyes were wide, scared he’d done something wrong. She gave him and smile and she hiked up her dress, pulling it over her head and throwing it to the side. He quickly got the memo and ditched his shirt. She grinned at the sight.

With his shirtless body and his jeans undone and hanging low on his hips, he looked straight out of fucking magazine. Or, he would if he was posed. Isobel moved back in with a purpose regardless.

Strong hands pressed into the bare skin of her back, warm and all-encompassing. He held her so close that it brought her to her toes and she wrapped her arms around his neck. One of his hands slid down, getting a good feel of her thigh and her ass and she was more sure than ever that her entire nervous system had been rewired to react specifically to him. Oh, she was obsessed.

“Hold on,” Greg told her, voice lower than it’d been earlier. Isobel smirked, pulling away just enough to get a good look at his face. He was gorgeous. And he wanted her. She did as he said and he crouched down just enough to grab the back of her thighs, picking her up with a level of ease that made her stomach twist.

Greg carried her the few steps it took to the bed and they fell onto it. The night dragged on, full of touches and kisses and soft, obsessive laughs.

It was strange for something so good to come so easily. Each touch seemed to convince Isobel a little bit more that he was wired to please her. She hardly had to think or direct him, he just knew. He took her apart with ease and removed all her worries and fears.

For the first time in a long time, her mind was clear. So clear that, when he fell to the bed all fucked-out and boneless with his jaw slack as he remembered how to breathe, she didn’t kick him out of her bed like she was supposed to. This was a one night thing, something to make her feel less like she was making a mistake, something to remind her what it was like to not feel numb--which may be why she found herself moving closer. 

Isobel watched him as she touched him again, this time a hand on his damp chest. He opened his eyes and tilted his head her way. Greg smiled at her, pure as breath itself. His eyes were adoring in an innocent way that clashed with the things she’d just done to him. She was utterly obsessed.

“You are...” he breathed, somehow smiling wider, “God, I...”

Isobel hummed, “I know how great I am, don’t worry.”

Laughter bubbled out of him and he turned on his side again, leaning in for a kiss. Just like before, they it too well against each other. She made the same stupid choice for the millionth time that night and pressed closer, draping her leg over his hip. His hand clutched her calf like it was sacred and pulled her until their their legs locked together.

“Stay,” Isobel said, her fingers dancing over his sharp jawline. It wasn’t a request; it was an order. He smiled like the sun and turned his face to kiss her palm.

“Of course.”

Greg fell asleep half on top of Isobel, his face pressed against her collarbone. His body was covered in scars, but he was still soft and cuddly in contrast. The weight of him lulled her to sleep in a way she couldn’t quite comprehend.

They woke up early the next morning and kissed. They drank shitty coffee together and kissed. They showered the scent of each other off and they kissed. Isobel put on his jacket for him and kissed him one last time.

She knew she could never see him again, but she would feel his hands on her skin forever.

-

Isobel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand after she threw up for the second time that day.

“Say the word and I’ll get us the fuck out of here,” Michael told her as he rubbed her back, “I’ll cause a big scene, you know I can.”

She gave him a thankful smile, but she still shook her head and just held out her hands. He pulled her to her feet and fixed her with a look that just offered to get her out of his wedding again. He could feel how fucking terrified she was and there was no use in hiding it.

“I’m gonna be okay, this is just cold feet,” Isobel said. He didn’t seem so sure. “I just need to get it over with. Check and make sure I didn’t get anything on my dress.”

Michael gave a grim smile and did as she said, sifting through ruffles and layers just in case she got something on it. When they were sure it was fine, he fished out an unopened travel toothbrush, travel toothpaste, and a flask full of acetone from his pocket. She raised an eyebrow as she took it graciously.

“Call it sibling intuition,” he bragged. Isobel rolled her eyes and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she said, “But you can go now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I need a few minutes to be alone.”

Michael double checked that that was indeed what she needed before he kissed her forehead and left her alone. With a heavy breath, she downed the flask and then turned to the sink and brushed her teeth before touching up her makeup. She had paid a makeup artist nearly $500 to do her face and now she’d ruined it.

After that, she walked over to the main part of her dressing room, standing in front of the full body mirror. She looked pretty. She was objectively pretty. Her hair was done, her makeup was done, her dress was big and expensive. And yet she felt like shit.

Not for the first time in the last week, she found herself thinking about Greg. The way he touched her and smiled at her like she was the most brilliant thing to ever happen. But, of course, that had to be her nerves talking. Noah loved her and thought she was brilliant too. He would do anything for her. And that’s what she wanted.

But then the door to her dressing room opened and she found herself getting confused all over again.

Greg stood there, dressed all fancy in his Navy dress blues. He looked her up and down slowly with his lips parted slightly. Isobel didn’t know what to do. She took him in just the same, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Why the hell was he here? How was he here?

“Wow,” Greg breathed, taking a step inside and letting the door close behind him, “You look beautiful.”

“I know.” Greg smiled wider, nodding slightly. 

“I know you know,” he laughed, coming even closer, “But... God.”

“How did you even get here? How did you know where and when?” she asked softly, her veins pulsing beneath her skin as he got closer to her. She wanted to touch him so badly but that was so wrong. 

“I have my ways,” he said, stepping into her space and letting her dress hug his legs, “Had a day off. I needed to see you.”

“Yeah?” Isobel asked, trying and failing to push away that giddy feeling. His hands reached for her waist and she couldn’t find it in her to tell him no. She only found it in her when he started leaning in for a kiss. “Don’t mess up my lipstick.”

Greg grinned and nodded, moving to instead press a pair of kisses on her shoulder and the crook of her neck. There was no reason for those kisses to feel so goddamn good. She wanted to melt into him.

“What are you doing here though?”

Greg seemed to remember what he was there for and stood up straight, his chin raised with a purpose. 

"Don't marry him."

Isobel's eyes widened and she shoved Greg away from her. Even though he was all broad shouldered and beautiful, he seemed to be lacking in intelligence. But his eyes were wide and determined.

"I'm literally about to walk down the aisle!"

"Are you 100% you want to spend the rest of your life with him?" Greg asked. Isobel didn't answer fast enough. "Exactly. Don't marry him."

"I am not leaving him for some guy I just met!"

“I’m not asking you to leave him for me, I’m asking you to leave him for yourself.”

Before Isobel could come up with anything else to say, someone knocked on the door of her dressing room.

"Isobel? Are you okay in there?" Ann Evans asked. Isobel and Greg both had wide eyes full of panic.

"Um, yeah, give me one minute!" Isobel called before turning her attention back to Greg as she hissed, "Hide."

"Hide?" he repeated softly. Isobel scanned the room quickly but sadly came up with no hiding spots for an average sized person, much less the over 6 foot Navy sailor.

So she did what any logical person would do and shoved him onto the ground, stuffing him beneath the poofy layers of her dress. A quick look in the mirror proved that it hid him easily as long as she ignored his hot breath against her thighs.

"Come in!"

Her mother came in hesitantly with a smile on her face, closing the door behind her. Isobel stood still and Greg was just as frozen, but he was breathing and that was enough to make her brain short circuit.

“Max told me you were having second thoughts and I wanted to make sure you’re not going to be making a run for it,” Ann said not-so-jokingly. Isobel forced a smile and nodded. Ann was the one who told her to go through with this in the first place. He was nice and rich, she’d pointed out, and it apparently doesn’t get better than that.

“I’m not, I’m fine, I just needed a minute alone,” Isobel said. Greg’s hand carefully laid on her leg, rubbing up and down in effort to console her. He clearly had no idea how much his touch fucked her up. 

“You look beautiful,” her mother said, smiling at her, “And you’re going to look even more beautiful with that ring on your finger.” Greg’s forehead rested on the back of her leg, his fingers tucking beneath the garter on her thigh.

“I know, Mom.”

“And maybe you’ll come around and make friends after you quit your job,” Ann pressed. Isobel furrowed her eyebrows, suddenly forgetting that she needed her to leave immediately.

“Quit my job? I’m not quitting,” Isobel insisted. Her mom gave her one of those smiles that said she didn’t believe her. “I’m not, Mom. I’ve just started my own business, I’m not giving up just because I’m married.”

“You need to focus on being a wife now,” she said, “And thinking about children.”

“I--” Isobel started, feeling a little taken aback and confused on why she was seemingly trying to ruin her wedding day. A pair of lips pressed to the back of her leg, clearly trying to give her some form of comfort. The worst part was that it worked. “Mom, can we talk about this later?”

“I just think this is important for you to think about,” Ann said. 

“I know, Mom, just, please,” Isobel said, shaking her head, “Not right now, okay?”

Ann nodded, “Okay. Later. I would hug you but I don’t want to mess up your makeup. Or mine.”

“Okay.”

She watched until she was gone before she basically pushed Greg out from beneath her dress. He fell to the floor and looked up at her with big, puppy eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice soft and sincere. And she wasn’t alright. Not one bit.

So perhaps she did a little bit of a reckless thing by dropping to the floor on top of him, desperate to feel good again. His large hand pressed to her back and one touched the side of her face as she moved down for a kiss. She didn’t care about her lipstick or her makeup, she only cared about the way he held her close and with a purpose.

They laid on the floor for a few minutes, sharing kisses as he whispered promises that it would be okay in between each. He sounded so sincere.

“You’re marrying him, aren’t you?” Greg asked, careful not to run his fingers through her carefully styled hair as he moved it over her shoulder.

“You heard my mom, I have to,” she said simply. He sighed softly, but didn’t argue.

“Okay. I’ll still be here.”

She melted into him even more. She laid against him just a few minutes more before she had to get up and fix her face.

Greg was gone before she walked down the aisle with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes.

-

Newly wedded bliss only lasted so long.

The honeymoon was nice, the first few weeks were nice. It reminded Isobel why she agreed to be with Noah in the first place. But the problem was, Noah never stopped being nice. It was Isobel who stopped feeling things again. She always found herself disinterested and numb to the point she was beginning to think there was something more going on than a marriage she was too unprepared for. Did depression medication work on aliens?

She wondered when she was going to see Greg again more often than she should and, on more than one occasion, found herself regretting never swapping phone numbers. But he was in Texas almost two hours away at his naval base and she could never guess when he would be around. 

That is, until she got a phone call from an unknown number.

“Evans Events, this is Isobel, how can I help you?” she recited, using her best customer service voice. She was still trying to get her business off the ground and, well, she had to be super nice for that to happen.

“You can help me by comin’ to a Motel 6 an hour outside of Roswell,” Greg said, his voice alone making her knees feel weak with gratitude, “Can you do that?”

Isobel looked at the clock. It was noon, Noah would be getting home at six. As long as she was home before that, there would be no problems.

“Meet you there at one?” she asked.

“I’ll be there.”

Isobel basically ran to her car.

The drive was agonizingly long, but it was worth it. Greg had texted her the address and room number right after the call had ended. She parked outside the room and was damn near giddy as she walked up to the room. It was the first time in a week that she’d felt happy. It was like he knew she needed him.

Greg opened it after the first knock, looking stunning in civvies and a smile that had been crafted specifically for her. She stepped inside and right into his arms. She bypassed a hello, preferring a kiss that brought her senses back to life. She wanted to bury herself in his lips.

“Hey,” he breathed as the kiss ended and he brushed her hair behind her ear, “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” Isobel told him, reaching out to smooth his eyebrows before touching his lips. He smiled that sweet smile. It was electric.

“I missed you,” he admitted and wasn’t that insane? This was only the third time they’d met like this, the third time they’d spoken. So why did she miss him too?

“Take me to bed,” she told him instead. He didn’t need to be told twice.

Isobel figured she would never fully understand the reason why she couldn’t let go of him or why they fit so well. There was just a draw between them that was addictive.

Which is why it became a thing. It started as something that would happen every other week, two weeks apart stewing with only a text or two. A couple months into that, she discovered Snapchat and it became easier to talk more. That made it harder to stay away. So they started meeting every week, everyday that Greg had off and Isobel morphed her schedule to fit his. She wanted him always.

But all good things come to an end.

A week after her first wedding anniversary, Isobel found herself tangled in the sheets with Greg, laughing as she rid his chest of excess icing. It was his birthday; it seemed fitting share a cupcake that ended up more on his chest and on her tongue while his hands were busy being tied to the bed. But now his hands were free and caressing her skin like he always did. Like she was special.

“Did you even get a good bite? It was custom,” she admitted with a soft laugh as she scooped off the last bit of icing from the dip of his collar and pressed it to his lips. He licked it off graciously. But there was something off about him.

“Yeah. I did, thank you,” he said softly. She tilted her head, rubbing his chest softly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, giving an exaggerated pout to lighten the mood. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes and that was horrifically uncharacteristic. She felt the air shift into something more serious.

“I don’t know how to make it sound good,” he sighed, “So I’ll just say it. I’m getting reassigned to a base in Cuba. Guantanamo Bay.”

A startled laugh bubbled out of her. “Is that a fucking joke?” But it very clearly wasn’t. “Say no.”

“That’s not really how that works, Isobel. I’m not high-ranking or anything and I only have a pretty useless teaching degree. I have to go into active duty,” he said. She pulled away, her heart slamming in her chest. She didn’t want him to go any further than he already was. He was her little piece of happiness, her only thing that was hers. He couldn’t leave. This... this wasn’t supposed to be so temporary.

Or, was it?

“You can’t go,” she told him. He gave her those puppy eyes, but they only hurt her this time. She turned her body away from him. 

“Iz,” he said softly.

“When are you leaving?”

“In a few days.”

“When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

The floor seemed to drop from beneath her feet. She wanted to cling to him and refuse to let him go. She didn’t want him to go. Maybe she could get in the right persons head...

“We can write,” Greg suggested, his hand gently touching her spine.

“And have my husband see a love letter from someone in Cuba? Not a goddamn chance,” she spat. He sighed at her hostility.

“We could get you a P.O. Box?”

“No, no, this is just supposed to happen. This is it. This is over,” she insisted, climbing to her feet and trying to find her clothes. Tears burned in her eyes and she refused to let him see. He was leaving her. He didn’t deserve to see.

“Isobel, come here,” he said. She couldn’t seem to find any of her clothes and her level of frustration was on a steady climb. Her throat was tight and she wanted to scream and she wanted to hate him and she wanted to lock him in her closet forever so he couldn’t leave. “Isobel.”

“I can’t find my fucking clothes!”

“Isobel.”

Strong arms wrapped around her and her face was pressed into his neck. He held her there and he let her hide her tears on his skin.

She texted Noah that she’d be home late.

-

Isobel had heard stories of wives of soldiers being unfaithful while their husband was away. She never pictured she would be in a twisted version of that, forced to hide her ever present worry that her secret side-piece would die overseas and she wouldn't get a proper goodbye. Hell, she wouldn't even get to mourn. They weren't supposed to know each other. She wasn't allowed to be sad.

But she was sad. All the time. Because he wasn't there.

She didn't mean for it to happen and, honestly, she was surprised that it affected her at all. They were supposed to be nothing. But, with him gone and the long spans of silence from the man who just got her in a way she couldn't describe, she suffered.

Noah was noticing that she was upset and he was overcompensating and it made things harder. She was being a bad wife and it made her feel guilty. She wanted to be better, but it was hard when her heart hurt. So she buried herself in her work and sex with her husband, but that didn’t seem to make her feel anything either. It just pushed her thoughts away until she was alone in the bath and thinking about the way Greg’s face fit in the crook of her neck perfectly.

And now that Noah was off on a business trip, Isobel had all the time in the world to think about Gregory Manes and his stupidly broad shoulders and his kind eyes and his strong hands and his soft skin. He was so goddamn easy to miss.

It was probably why when someone knocked on her door, she got more excited than she should’ve been.

“Noah called, said you needed someone to cheer you up,” Michael said. Isobel hid her disappointment and gave a thankful smile, accepting the flask full of acetone as she let him inside.

She was sad and empty, but she loved her brothers more than anything. Maybe she needed to start hanging out with them more. Maybe then she could stop thinking about some guy who she shouldn’t be missing in the first place. She was a married woman. She hadn’t seen Greg in months. It was time to stop.

Isobel and Michael sat on the couch in her big, empty house as they passed the flask back and forth. When that was gone, Isobel grabbed a bottle of whiskey and they did the same until they were both feeling the effects.

“I’m just saying,” Michael said, “If ladies want to be wooed, they should go after a guy who is not me.”

“You’re the perfect guy to want to fix, though. You’re not helpless or hopeless, you’re just a little reckless,” Isobel explained. Michael shrugged.

“I’m just tired of having people throw shit at me ‘cause they’re mad I slept with their sister.”

Isobel sighed and shook her head, hiding her amused smile with the bottle of whiskey as she took a long swig. When she pulled it away, Michael was eyeing her.

“What?” she asked.

“When are gonna tell me what’s fucking with you?” he asked, “I’ve been keeping my mouth shut, but it’s only getting worse. Are you having blackouts again?”

“No,” Isobel sighed, “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” he shot back, “C’mon, you know I’m not gonna judge you. Just tell me, maybe I can help.”

Isobel stared at him for a moment, wondering if she could trust him. She knew she could, but still. It took a moment of back and forth before she decided she needed to get it off her chest and who better to tell than Michael? Besides, it’s not like she was still seeing him. 

“I’m in love with a guy I can’t have ‘cause he’s stupid and playing GI Joe overseas,” she admitted, taking another sip. The amount of research she’d done on Guantanamo Bay since he’d left was ridiculous, especially considering she didn’t even know it was a real place until he told her. She’d just thought it was a made up place for the fucking Harold & Kumar movie.

Michael stared at her for a moment before he snorted a laugh.

“I’ll fuckin’ drink to that,” he said, stealing the bottle of whisky and raising it in solidarity before gulping down half of what was left. He only stopped when Isobel pulled it away from him in fear he would drink all of it. 

“What are you talking about?” Isobel scoffed as she cradled the bottle to her chest so he couldn’t take it. Michael rolled his eyes and sunk into the couch.

“What, you think you’re the only depressed one waiting for your lover to come back from the war? You’re not special,” he said. Isobel watched him, trying to piece together his words in her mind. Who the hell was he talking about? Had she been so wrapped up in her own bullshit that she didn’t even notice he was going through his own.

“Who?” she wondered. He tilted his head in her direction and gave a tiny smile.

“Alex Manes,” Michael said, his voice a little wistful as if the name was simply that fucking sacred. Isobel couldn’t help but laugh as she sunk into the couch beside him.

“What is it about the Manes family that has us so fucked up?”

“I don’t know,” Michael sighed, “Must be somethin’ in the water. You think Max has a secret love affair with one of the other brothers?”

“Unlikely, but that’d be hilarious.”

“It really would be.”

They fell silent again, just passing the bottle back and forth until it was completely empty. It was easy to again lapse into thoughts of Greg and hoping he was okay. She just wanted him to be safe.

“I hate him sometimes,” Michael admitted softly, “For leaving me. I know that’s just how it works, but...”

“I know. I’m constantly pissed at him for leaving, but then I just miss him so much it hurts,” Isobel whispered, “I cut him off completely when he left so I didn’t have to think about it. Am I a bad person?”

“No,” Michael decided without any further context, “You’re just human.”

They both broke into laughter at the claim, laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks and laughing until it wasn’t funny and then no longer laughing as they cried about what they didn’t have. They didn’t talk about that again.

But a month later, Alex was home for a couple weeks and Isobel kept her distance. Michael was on his best behavior if only because he had his man back. Isobel was happy for him.

Even if she was jealous.

-

Isobel got a call from a long, unknown number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey,” Greg’s voice said, smooth and thankful that she answered. Isobel had to grip the corner of the counter. It’d been a year since she heard his voice. “Sorry, wasn’t sure if you’d answer if I called you on my phone and I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Why wouldn’t I answer if you called on your phone?”

“I don’t know, not sure if you wanted to see me again or not.”

Isobel didn’t know what to say. It’d been a year. Their affair was long over. She should’ve gotten over him and forgotten all about him by now. She’d never been tempted to find another lover in the year without him. He was a one off, a mistake.

So why was her skin itching for him again?

“You say that like I can see you again,” Isobel said, trying to sound normal. It was hard to act like she wasn’t desperate for his hands to be on her. No one felt like him.

“Yeah, uh,” There was rustling and she held her breath. “I’m home. Going house hunting tomorrow on the Res out where my mom grew up. Wanted to fully get out of my dad’s reign.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, trying not to jump to conclusions.

“I’m getting out, Iz,” he said with a breath of relief. Isobel’s hand covered her mouth, sinking down a bit into the counter. She didn’t have words for how good that sounded. “No more shitty restrictions. I’ll be close to you again. For good. If you want me still.”

If you want me still. As if she could ever stop.

“When can I see you?” Isobel asked softly.

“When can you get away?”

“I have a wedding out that way in about a month, I can tell Noah I’m checking over the venue anytime you’re free,” she said. He hummed softly, the sound reverberating beneath her skin.

“Thursday would be good. I can get a room,” Greg said.

“So I’ll see you Thursday.”

“I’ll see you Thursday.”

When Thursday rolled around, Isobel found herself bubbling with excitement to the point where she got there early and had to drive around for 15 minutes so she didn’t seem too early.

She was overflowing with nerves, checking her reflection to make sure she looked good. Part of her was terrified that it wasn’t going to be as good as it used to be, that maybe, over the last year, she’d built it up in her mind to be something that it wasn’t. But she missed him and that was enough to ignore that terrified voice in her mind.

Isobel parked and climbed out of her car, deliberately walking at a leisurely pace. She refused to seem overly eager. He did not have that same reservation.

Greg swung the door open before she could knock and tugged her into his arms. He hugged her so tight he nearly pulled her off the floor. Isobel’s eyes fell closed as she hugged him right back. She never wanted to let him go.

“God, I missed you so much,” he groaned against her neck, “You look stunning.”

“I know.”

Greg laughed with his whole body, giddy with excitement as he lifted and spun her as if this was a cheesy romance movie. Sometimes with him, it really felt like it. How come they could go a year without speaking and still pickup like this? It had to be a cheesy romance.

“There’s so many things I want to tell you,” he said, pulling away just to cup her cheeks in his hands, “But can I kiss you?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

“Yes,” he laughed, but he leaned in all the same.

They seemed to crash together in the middle, though, some gravitational force pulling them together after being too far apart for too long. She was finally remembering how to breathe. It felt like coming home.

The kiss broke eventually, their foreheads resting against each other as they absorbed the feeling of being close again. She never wanted to leave. 

“I love you,” he whispered, letting out the words into the world. Isobel stared at him, unsure if she should say it back. She was married and they hadn’t seen each other in forever. How could he love her?

But that all seemed debunked by one simple fact: she loved him too.

“I love you too,” Isobel admitted. His body deflated with a shaky sigh of relief and his hands squeezed her sides gently.

“You have no idea how much I’ve waited to hear that.”

-

“You’re, like, a whole grown adult.”

“Well, I’m 30, so it’s about time.”

Isobel smiled at Greg as she ran her fingertips over his counter. He’d finally bought a house and, even though, it was still full of boxes, she was proud of him. He had gotten a job as a teacher and gotten a house and he was close. Albeit, an hour drive, but that was closer than Cuba.

“So, you’re sure you can stay over night and there won’t be any problems?” Greg clarified, looking over his shoulder. He was make stir fry and Isobel could’t help but smile. This was going to be their first meal together. Years of fucking around and they were going to have a meal. 

“No problems, Noah is out of town, won’t be back until Monday,” she confirmed. He didn’t say anything right away, so she walked closer. She placed her hands on his hips and slid his arms around him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. She pressed her lips to the back of his neck and smiled when she pulled away and saw the perfect little imprint. He wiggled away just enough to separate the meal onto two plates.

They brought the plates over to table and sat down. Isobel again was hit with how much she adored the picture of them. Both beautiful and and picturesque, sharing a meal in their house. It reminded her of when she was little and would watch sitcoms from the 50s and 60s, trying to learn the perfect way to be human. She grew out of that, but, still, some part of her found it charming.

“So,” she said, riding that high of domesticity, “How was your day?”

Greg looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. She flashed a smile and he melted like he always did. It was one of those things she loved about him.

“Uh, well, good,” he said, “I got to see you, that always makes a good day.”

“Not what I meant, tell me about how it feels to be a teacher,” she prodded. They very rarely talked about every day life like this. Well, they did, but usually with one off sentences of how a day was frustrating and how they wanted a distraction. This... This was normal.

“Oh,” Greg said, smiling easily, “Well, I’m slowly but surely figuring it out. It’s a little weird because it’s been so long since I student taught, but kids are super flexible and they’re learning with me.”

The next hour seemed to go by fast as Isobel listened to him go on tangent after tangent. He told her stories about the kids he was teaching now, kids he student taught, random stories from college, stories from being in the Navy. It was so... normal. 

"I think you’re giving me new kinks,” Isobel told him after they put the plates in the sink, draping her arms around his neck, “Because there is something so sexy hearing you be so goddamn caring.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The last time she saw that had been when he told her he was leaving. Her stomach dropped and she leaned back to get a better look at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked hesitantly. Greg stared at her before he licked his lips and let go of her completely. It was even more terrifying than before.

“What are we doing here, Iz?” he asked softly, “Seriously, what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. He huffed a laugh.

“What do I mean? I mean, I just spent an hour talking about how I’m a grown man and settling down and making something of myself only to be faced with the fact that I’m still the other man,” he said, shaking his head, “I tired of being the other man. I love you so much, but how long are we supposed to keep this up? How long am I supposed to be your side-piece? Forever? Because I can’t do that.”

Isobel stared at him, lips parted as she tried to keep up. Part of her wanted to claim it was coming out of left field, but it wasn’t. It was clear from the moment he came home that it wasn’t quite the same. He was tired of sleezy motel meet ups. He wanted a relationship. 

“I-I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said, “I’m sorry if I made you feel less than.”

“That’s the problem,” Greg told her, his voice cracking as his eyes started to fill with tears, “I don’t feel less than. Every time you look at me, it feels real and I forget all the excess bullshit that comes with having a fucking affair with a married woman. And then you look away and I remember all over again. And it almost kills me. Every time.”

Isobel took a shaky breath, swallowing hard. Logically, she should’ve expected this conversation. They could only carry on for so long. But, god, it hurt.

“I never want to hurt you,” Isobel insisted, “I love you. You know I do.”

“I know,” he said, nodding his head, “So divorce him.”

“It’s not that easy to--”

“Divorce him or we’re done,” he said simply, “I’m tired of this back and forth. I need to know if I need to move on.”

“Greg,” she tried, trying to smile, “C’mon, we can--”

“No. No, I’m putting my foot down. Leave him or this is it. Full stop.”

The two of them stared at each other, both waiting for one of them to cave. The silence was deafening.

Then it was shattered by his phone ringing.

Greg reluctantly grabbed it and then even more reluctantly answered. Isobel watched at he listened to the voice on the line and the color slowly drained from his face, leaving him terrifyingly pale his jaw slack.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, ending the call and then basically running for his keys.

“What’s going on?” Isobel demanded, following him as best as she could, “Greg! Will you stop and tell me what’s going on?!”

He didn’t answer her, just slammed the door and his truck was pulling out of the driveway within a handful of seconds.

She found out a few days later that his brother Alex had been in an accident. Isobel was able to distract herself by taking care of Michael. One of them deserved to drink their pain away and his at least wasn’t self-inflicted.

Greg didn’t call her and she was too scared to make the first move.

All over again, there was radio silence.

-

“Alex knows everything. His family is involved in the conspiracy that tortured and killed the other aliens. He’s tangled up in all these terrible memories in my life and... I love him.”

Isobel’s heart dropped into her stomach and them they both fucking plummeted to the ground beneath her feet. She knew that she had bigger issues going on, big things like dealing with the fact her husband was a murderous, manipulative alien. She finally had that piece that made sense, that that was the reason she clicked with Greg and yet still could never even think to leave Noah. All manipulation and control.

And yet this seemed to be a bigger fucking bomb.

“Wait, what?” Isobel breathed, “His family? As in Greg too?”

Michael seemed to slowly come out of his personal haze as he realized the extra layer to what he’d said. How come he never said that to her before? How long had he spared that little detail? How much did Greg know?

“I don’t know,” Michael admitted softly, “All I know is being with someone that... that’s so close to all that hurts. So maybe you got lucky dropping Greg when you did.”

But Isobel didn’t feel lucky. Not one bit.

“No,” she said, sniffling as she shook her head, “No, go fucking grab Alex and make it stop hurting.”

Michael blinked in confusion. “What?”

“I wasted so much time thinking my marriage was important only to figure out it was a sham and that the guy I love probably knew every single thing about me and loved me through it. All you’re saying is that you had one of those too. You have someone who knows all the bullshit and loves you. Don’t let go of it.”

“Isobel, I can’t just--”

“Yes, you can,” she insisted, shaking her head, “Go get him. Don’t waste time fucking around when you know he’s it. I know how that feels. Don’t do it.”

He stared at her for a moment and licked his lips, nodding. “And you’re gonna go to Greg even after not seeing him for, like, a year?”

“Yeah, I really am. I’ll call you if I make a fool of myself, but you better not answer because you should be giving a long ‘I Love You’ speech, okay?” she insisted. Michael huffed a laugh, genuine nerves on his face as agreed.

“Good luck, Izzy.”

“Yeah, good luck to you.”

The hour long drive to the res gave her a lot of time to try and think of what she was going to say. Still, when she knocked on his front door, exhausted and desperate, all she could do was be thankful that he answered.

“Isobel?” he breathed. She tried to smile.

“So,” she said, “A little birdie told me you might know more about me and my family than I thought.”

Greg’s face seemed to flicker through a million emotions, clearly unsure on how to react. She decided that was fair enough.

“I wanna talk. About everything. And I want to start over.”

“Start over?” he repeated.

“I’m a widow,” she explained simply and his eyes widened, “I’m not exactly ready to jump into a relationship, but I... I don’t know, I miss you. And I found out you know things. I keep trying to piece together when you figured it out, but I can’t and then I just realized we didn’t talk much. I want to talk to you. I want...”

“To start over,” Greg said, firmly this time like he knew exactly what she was saying.

“Yeah. I wanna learn about you. I still love you so much and I... I only know so much about you. It doesn’t make sense, but I want it to,” she explained, “So can we?”

Greg stared at her and she stared back. She felt more open and on display than she had in a very long time, maybe ever. But, God, it felt good.

And, as he opened the door wider, it felt even better.

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