#or everything that's going on in this movie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undercoverpena · 1 day

Text

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me you if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

#javier pena x reader #javi peña x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier pena smut #javi peña smut #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

251 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 1 day

Text

Sin Summer (Gaz) Rating: E (MDNI) Words: 4.8k Tags: Gaz x f!reader, anal, body writing, tickling, pwp, dirty talk, rimming(f!receiving), clit torture(minor), vibrators, overstimulation, free use, dollification(sort of), Gaz is a nasty freak and I love that for him Summary: You're having a lot of fun(and sex) staying with Ghost, but you're still learning your way around the barracks. Good thing Gaz doesn't mind being walked in on. <Part 4 ao3

It’s decided that you’ll stay in Ghost’s room. Less likely anyone will inspect his rather spartan dwelling is what you’re told. Really you think Ghost just wants to keep you to himself. Unfortunately it’s not all sex and blowjobs. The space of time when Ghost and Johnny are off doing whatever soldiers do is sort of boring. You spend two days just sitting in Ghost’s room reading naval fiction(the only thing that man seems to have on his small bookshelf) before Ghost gives you a look and tells you you’re not trapped on base. The man even hands you a card and tells you to have fun.

Which just opens up a whole new world for you. Free room, free sex, and you’re right by a bus station. You spend the rest of the week exploring London and sending postcards to your friends back home. You know where you’re sleeping every night and every morning you wake up to Ghost’s giant frame between your legs. You may as well be in paradise. Except the mattress sucks and you’re having to look up yoga exercises just to get the kinks out of your back.

Ghost shows you where the bathroom is, though he has his own, and gives you the key to his room. “Free reign” you’re told, something about the rest of the team being out and the recruits being home. Doesn’t matter much to you. It’s the military, there’s always people on deployment or off doing something. The specifics are unimportant. You’re here for one thing.

You open the door to Ghost’s room, unlocked, he must be back from training.

“Two words baby:” You call out, bursting into the room with your usual flair, “Crotchless. Panties.” You shake the little pink bag dangling off your fingers. Only it isn’t Ghost you’re talking to.

Your eyes dart around the significantly less spartan room, the football flags, family pictures, record box and definitely not Ghost unpacking a suitcase on the bed. No, this man is smaller, with beautifully warm umber skin and broad shoulders. Actually everything about him seems to radiate warmth, from the deep brown eyes that sweep over you, to the growing smile that lights up his face.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you blink, hold your hand up to shield your eyes from looking at the sunshine on his face. He laughs and it’s movie worthy, are you in a dead wife montage or something?

“You’re the bird Soap was talkin’ about,” Ooh even his voice is like honey, you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything sweeter. You’ve heard Ghost call Johnny that once or twice, this must be one of the guys they said was on mission.

“You’re…” You fish for the names Ghost gave you. You weren’t really paying attention when he told you. Not your fault, his dick was in your mouth.

“Kyle,” Kyle introduces himself, “can call me Gaz if you want.”

“Pleasure,” You return his smile. He tips his head, eyes dragging over you slower this time. His gaze feels heavy, appreciative, thoroughly and explicitly interested. When he blinks you find his gaze holding yours and your cheeks heat.

He holds his hand out, and you walk closer to shake it. His grip is firm, his fingers wrapping around yours are tight and unyielding. When you go to drop his hand, he yanks you closer, pulls your arm up, leaning back as you’re forced against his chest. Your heart beats a little faster, your face burns, and your breath catches.

“Now what-” Gaz asks, his mouth dropping to brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks, “-is a pretty doll like you doing with those two muppets?”

You tip your head instinctively for him. The stubble along his jaw, evidence he’s been without a decent shave in weeks, tickles your neck and you can’t help the bubble of giggles that escape you. Gaz breathes you in with a sigh. You feel his lips curve into a smile and he rubs his scratchy cheek against the sensitive skin until you’re laughing and squirming to try and get away from him.

His grip on you is like iron, even when you shriek and giggle, bumping him with your shoulder until you’re breathless and hiccupping. Your stomach hurts from laughter, the hand he isn’t keeping held out of the way pushes against his firm chest. Nothing you do seems to budge Gaz. The same way you can never move Johnny or Ghost. His fingers pinch your side, and you flinch away from him.

You bounce when he tosses you onto his bed, still letting bursts of laughter slip free, your neck tingling with the memory of his touch. Gaz drags his hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble for himself, and reaches down to strip his shirt over his head. Your cheeks hurt with how hard you’ve been smiling, your heart still fluttering giddily, but you feel like your lungs stop breathing as Gaz’s hand wraps around your knee and drags you back to the edge of the bed.

“They been takin’ care of you properly, doll? Givin’ you everything you deserve?” He coos, his hand sliding up your leg. You nod, push yourself up onto your elbows to watch Gaz watching you. He tips his head, brows twitching together like he’s trying to feign concern. His smile feels hungry as his eyes drag over you, “Got no reason to play with me then, right?”

“I mean,” Your eyes dart to his belt, “I’ve got some time.”

“You sure?” He leans to kiss your knee, dragging his lips over the inside edge and up the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Haven’t seen anything as pretty as you in months, might not wanna let you go afterwards.” His tongue darts out, presses against the inside of your thigh and licks a broad stroke that makes you shiver.

It makes you feel like a virgin the way he looks at you, talks to you, touches you, like he could eat you alive. What do they say about pretty faces? Christ you can’t remember when his hands are so eagerly tugging down the zipper on your skirt. His brows draw together as you lift your hips to help with shucking your underwear. Gaz’s hands grab under your thighs as soon as your clothes hit the floor, pushing your legs up towards your chest, forcing your hips up so he can get a good look at you.

His hands are softer when they drag down your thighs, still marked with callouses, but you’d bet he’s better about wearing gloves. You grab your knees to try and hold yourself in position for him. If you’d thought he was going to inspect your cunt you’re surprised to feel his hands grip your ass, and spread you apart. Gaz tips his head, kneading the soft flesh as he breathes out a groan.

“Look’it that,” He coos, and you feel his thumb brush over your asshole, “knew they wouldn’t touch it.”

Your cheeks blaze with heat. Christ, you’re a slut but this man is doing something to you. It’s not like you’ve never had anyone play around back there, but the slow appreciative way he just touches you, runs his thumb over the tight hole so you can feel the drag of his skin, makes you shiver. The way Gaz talks to you too, like this was a sure thing, a known thing, like Johnny and Ghost were saving part of you for him. You may as well be a toy they’re passing around, stress relief between deployments. The thought lights a fire in your chest, makes your skin prickle and your pussy wet. You can get into that.

“You ever had anyone back here, doll?” Gaz asks, his eyes raising to yours. His hands don’t move. You give a short nod, trying not to give the impression of innocence that he seems to drape over you.

“Fingers, and mmph-” You sink your teeth into your lip, holding Gaz’s gaze as he bends down, his tongue held out to roll ever so slowly over your ass. He makes sure you’re watching him, makes sure you can see the way his tongue licks you, the tip of it flicking over you in teasing strokes before his eyes drop and he spits on the hole. You swallow, feel his hands slide over the curve of your ass to help you hold your thighs.

You can safely say you haven’t had anyone eat your ass before, and it’s making your chest feel a little fluttery. You’ve had folks dip down there when they were giving you head, but never with this sort of singularly focused effort. Not with the sort of eager breath that Gaz lets out, the drawn brows and open mouth. He licks the flat of his tongue over your ass again and again, the unfamiliar feeling making you squirm until he presses the tip of it against you. Gentle, testing, pressure that makes you whimper. Not because of the way it feels but the implication of it, the taboo.

Just the knowledge that you’re doing something new makes heat wash over you. His tongue burns a stripe over your hole, stopping just short of your cunt. Gaz hums, teases the edge of your pussy with the tip of his tongue before dipping back down. It sends a flash of warmth over you, your clit tingling with need as your cunt throbs. You’re sure you must be soaked, you can feel the wetness starting to drip down over your ass, a hot shameful roll of slick that makes Gaz smile.

“Dirty thing,” He tells you, the honey in his voice seems to coat gravel, a rough need deepening his words. Your cheeks may as well catch fire, your voice lodged in your throat as you try not to pout at his teasing. Your stomach tightens in quick bursts, both of your holes clenching around empty air.

You always figured anal was better left to the people you spend more than one night with, maybe you should rethink that. Although you highly doubt the men that had begged for it would have had half the enjoyment Gaz seems to be getting. He pulls back to spit on your asshole again, watching the roll of spit over you, He drags his hand from your thigh to your pussy and you tense. Gaz lets out a huff of laughter.

“Soap’s spanking you raw, huh?” He guesses far too accurately. You wonder how often they do this, bring girls back to play bunny until they’re off on deployment again. You suppose it must get boring on base with nothing to do but prep for the next mission. “Don’t worry,” He drags the wetness that coats your cunt down to rub over your ass, “I won’t touch her again.”

You don’t recognize the threat, just nod and try to breathe through the shame that tries to burn through your body. God you are not a virgin on their first one night stand, you shouldn’t be so flustered over this. It’s not a big deal, you coach yourself, you’ve wanted to try this, and it’s not like he isn’t going to fuck you afterwards. Foreplay is just… a little awkward sometimes, that’s it.

He tastes you, not properly, but finally. Gaz groans at the way your slick coats his tongue, lets him push it against your ass. The slick lubricates you enough for him to wiggle the muscle into your tight hole. It makes your eyes flutter a little, the feeling so alien, so different from the exploring fingers that usually made their way back there. You try to hold still, try not to feel like you’re doing something wrong letting him wiggle his tongue into your ass. It doesn’t work and you find yourself reaching to grab a fistful of short hair.

“Gaz,” You whine, unsure if you’re asking for more or less. It doesn’t matter. Gaz pulls his mouth from you and leans back, smacking your ass to watch the way you clench at the sharp sting of pain.

“On your knees, puppet,” Gaz orders, “edge of the bed.” You’re quick to turn over, stretching your arms out in front of you as you settle on your knees and arch your back. You hear the cap pop on a bottle of lube --you assume it’s lube-- and then Gaz’s thumb is rubbing slick against your ass. He presses, presses, presses. It feels like it takes ages, but it must only be a few seconds. The feeling makes your breath catch in your throat, makes warmth burn up your spine and down your legs. You feel Gaz’s other hand pet up your back, pulling your hips back for a better angle as he rubs back down.

“There you go,” He tugs at your rim, his fingers squeezing one of your cheeks, “fuck look at that.” He sounds almost breathless, completely enraptured by whatever he’s seeing. You can feel, fuck- you whine against the bed, feel him press his thumb in a little deeper. You’ve had guys do this while they fuck you, but never alone. Somehow it feels more intense like this, more focused. One finger is never enough to make you whine, let alone make your eyes roll back, but when he pulls his thumb out you moan against the bed. You can feel your pussy clench, can feel the heat dripping from you as you whimper into the mattress.

He’s teasing you, you know that, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. Gaz replaces his thumb with a thick finger and your eyes roll back. That sinful pressure and heat are starting to melt your brain a little bit, and when he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, mumbles about needing more lube, you can’t help the way you shiver. It courses through you like a twitch of your hips and settles in the way your fingers clench at the sheets. Every little motion feels so much bigger, so much tighter, than when your pussy is played with. You’re eased into the deep end of the pool, but that doesn’t mean you float.

Quite the opposite, you sink hard. You push back into the feeling, push back until you feel Gaz’s knuckles and hear him chuckle, “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” You prickle with heat, goosebumps raising over your skin unbidden. Gaz draws his finger back and you feel the cool dribble of lube over your hole. It slides around his finger, only to be scooped up by a second finger pushing into you.

You whine at the stretch, push your face into the mattress until you can’t breathe, until your stomach is clenched tight and your hips are trying to rock back into the feeling of being stretched. You feel so full, and yet so maddeningly empty. Your pussy is awash with heat, your clit tingles, you want so badly to feel his hands on either of them, to be filled properly in the right hole. Gaz takes his time working you open, admiring the way your ass yields to his fingers’ tugging and scissoring, growing softer under his ministrations.

The slight discomfort of it fades all too quickly into something mind numbing and you find yourself on the edge of orgasm. Your untouched cunt wound too tight to do anything but clench and dribble as your ass is fucked open on deft fingers. Your thighs shake, your muscles wound too tight to do anything but shiver. You just need a little more, just a little something extra. Gaz, mercifully, drags his unoccupied hand over your cunt. You whine when he circles your clit, and scream when he pinches it hard. The pain jolts through you, electric. You’d wanted more and you got it, the stimulation just enough to send you over the edge. You come on nothing, clenching desperately around Gaz’s fingers. He hums, the hint of a smile at the edge of his voice. He pinches you a little harder, twists his fingers and you keen.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of your ass, working you through your orgasm. If you thought Johnny’s spanks were bad they didn’t prepare you for the sharp sustained pain that Gaz put you through. It hurt so good, almost distracting from the building pressure of Gaz’s fingers pumping into your ass. You sob when he releases the bundle of nerves and soothes his thumb over it.

Your cheek is smushed in a puddle of your own drool by the time he adds a third finger.

“How’re you feeling, puppet?” You can hardly think to answer, just let your eyes roll back and slur out a, “good” that makes him chuckle. “Good,” He reaffirms, “have you begging in no time.”

You don’t know how he could expect you to beg in these conditions. Your face is pressed to the mattress and you barely have the space to breathe when you feel like you’re about to break on just his fingers. You mumble something, but it isn’t words, just sounds that dribble out of you with each languid thrust of Gaz’s fingers. You don’t have the energy to do more than take it, which doesn’t seem to be the point. No, you know that’s not the point when you feel Gaz’s fingers leave you.

You feel so terribly empty. Stretched out and ready to go without the actual- You hear a click, and then buzzing. You move to push yourself up onto your hands to see what Gaz is doing and he’s quick to push your shoulders back down. You whine under his heavy hold, then you feel the cool unyielding plastic of an egg vibrator being shoved into your aching cunt. You clench around it, pull it deeper into your pussy as Gaz pushes it inside and nestles it right where he wants it. Another two clicks and the vibrations kick into a higher gear, tingling up your spine and making you moan. When Gaz’s fingers ease back into your ass, once again dripping with lube, you feel the fullness from both sides and press your hips back into the feeling. Gaz’s fingers push down against you, feeling for the vibrator and giving an annoyed hum. You don’t count the number of times he clicks the vibrator’s button, only know that suddenly your vision is going white and you’re shaking apart on the toy.

So much stimulation without a care to your poor cunt, your body is too greedy and you’re paying the price for it. If you were just a little less desperate, a little less edged by the fingers inside of you, maybe your orgasm wouldn’t rip through you like it does. Your back bowing as you bite the bedding and rock with the movement of Gaz’s fingers, clenching and unclenching desperately around the vibrator. You wonder if you could convince him to play with your clit. Maybe he’d be nicer this time if you did beg.

“Please,” You murmur, “please, please, please.” You don’t even know what you want him to do. Fuck you, you suppose. He swats your ass, the sharp smack of it filling the room and making your hips jerk. You fading orgasm makes the pain melt all the quicker into pleasure, tempting you to wiggle your hips and earn a second.

“Please what doll?” He asks, his voice is almost cruelly teasing, “good toys know how to use their words don’t they?”

“Please fuck me,” You may as well scream it for how badly you want him. All this build up, all the prep, you’re aching to feel his cock, aching to be filled. He’s not fucking your cunt, you probably don’t have to worry about being oversensitive. Right?

Gaz’s fingers leave you, and there’s a brief shuffle of fabric, the tear of a condom wrapper, and the familiar press of a cock nudging against your hole. You can feel the slip of lube over the synthetic barrier, the liquid pouring over your hole and his cock. You’re sure he’s upending the bottle, hoping to make this a little easier on the both of you. His fingers squeeze your ass, cool and wet with something, as he holds the heavy length and eases his blunt tip into your stretched hole.

You have never been this loud in your life on just the insertion. Hot pressure drags every thought out of your brain. Your hands claw at the bed spread, Gaz’s fingers tightening as he holds you in place and inches his cock into you. You feel tight, feel heat spreading through your core from that singular point, your pussy drips like a faucet onto the bed. Poor thing still drooling and clenching around the vibrator, even with a cock filling your ass. You’re too worked up to care, too drunk on the feeling of a cock pushing into you to do more than moan. There’s the slightest shift, just a centimeter of pullout as Gaz works you open, and you sob. Your hand shoots back to grab his wrist, something to hold onto when you feel like you’re losing your mind.

You’ve never been like this before, never felt like your legs were going to melt, like you’d be a puddle on the bed if Gaz weren’t holding you up. You have to clench your jaw just to swallow the spit filling your mouth, just to stop the stream of soft whimpering moans that leave you. You release his wrist just to fist the sheets, trying to hold onto some semblance of your sanity before it all leaves you.

Gaz pushes his fingers into your hair and grabs tight at your scalp. It’s a dull sort of tug that pulls you up, forces you back onto his cock. “Stick your tongue out puppet,” Gaz tells you, and you’re happy to oblige. You open your mouth, tongue out and your back arched from his grip. “What a sweet little slag you are,” Gaz hums, “glad I caught you before the captain did.”

Even if you knew what he meant, had the brain power to register the advice, you don’t have the words to agree. Gaz’s hips meet your ass and he stills, circling his hips to let you feel the reach of him. He’s deep, thicker than his fingers, and maddeningly deep. You don’t stop the drool that drips off your tongue and onto your chest. Gaz leans over you and pulls out, again you feel like your brain might be melting out of your ears. Every inch of his cock burns against your rim, fights against the tightness of your body, the unyielding muscle. He pushes back in and you have to adjust to the feeling a second time. It’s almost enough. You’re sure he’s just giving you time to get used to it.

Another slow pull out, and then his hips snap to yours. It feels like all the air is being knocked out of you, a shudder rolling up your spine at the motion. You barely get the time to take a breath before he’s doing it again and again. Tears start to prick in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling of it. The vibrator still buzzing away in your cunt, paired with the sharp pace Gaz sets push you to the edge faster than you thought possible. Your muscles tense, your spine arches, and Gaz murmurs in your ear.

“Such a pretty doll for me, aren’t you?” He coos, “Arching your back so nice, bet you wanna fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you puppet?” You nod against his hold, your hips already starting to move. “Good girl,” Gaz’s smile curves against your ear and for the first time in months you get the strangest feeling. Your heart clenches and you-

You wish it was Ghost saying those words to you.

The thought is quickly wiped away on Gaz’s next thrust, your mind as full of him as your body is and unwilling to compromise that with something as petty as a tiny little ache in your heart. You moan Gaz’s name for him, and enjoy the way he pants in your ear as he drives his hard cock into you. He releases your hair to hold your throat, his fingers gentle in direct contrast to the harsh slap of his hips. You feel the murmured praises more than hear them.

“Pretty thing, gorgeous doll, taking it so well,” Gaz’s breath huffs out, his lips dropping to your shoulder before he’s up again. “Tell me how much you love it,” He orders.

“Love it,” you slur, moving to grab his wrist again, you press it tighter against your throat, missing the thick unyielding grip Ghost always seems to have, “feels so good.”

“Can’t believe no one’s fucked this tight arse before, Soap said you were a proper slag.” You don’t have an answer for that, only push yourself back on his cock like a proper slut should. It makes him groan, the sound musical next to your ear. He holds his hips still and you do it again, pushing yourself down his length before pulling back. Gaz lets you drop back onto the bed, his fingers greedily spreading your ass apart to watch your hole swallow him with each stroke. “There you go,” He hums, “proper slag was right, takin’ every inch.”

You nod against the bed, fingers clenched tight in the sheets to help you rock back. It’s too much, and your hips stutter, earning a smack before you pick up your pace again. It’s not your fault though. He hits something inside of you, brushes against the vibrator, and you find your hips trying to run away from the feeling. Heat and pleasure dance behind your eyes when you squeeze them shut, your body isn’t used to this sort of treatment. Gaz takes over when your hips start to wiggle away from him, his hands clamping onto your hips and pulling you back until you’re sobbing.

Gaz’s fingers find your clit again, rubbing light circles between mean pinches. Everything feels wet, your cunt throbbing with heat and need that’s barely supplemented by the way he pinches you. You don’t care about coming a third time, it’s too much, and not enough at the same time. You feel insatiable even as your orgasm starts to tighten in your stomach. The tension in your body draws up and up, snakes its way up your spine to grip the base of your skull. You turn your head to push your forehead against the spit soaked sheets, just trying to ride out the hungry waves of pleasure.

“Wanna make you come,” You choke out, and Gaz let’s out a breath.

“You want me to come?” He questions, sounding almost confused before his smile eats through the fog, “Am I bein’ too mean to you puppet? Don’t mean to break my toys,” He sighs, leaning against your back as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with a wet smack, “but it is more fun when I do.”

His teeth dig into your neck and you feel his pinching turn into a hard, fast, rub. You clit finally being given the kindness you were craving and sending you screaming over the edge. Your voice is choked off by the way Gaz weighs you down, the way he drives his thick cock into you like he really is aiming to break you. There are tears flowing down your cheeks when you feel his hips still and head him growl out a groan.

Gaz rests his forehead against your shoulder, his breath panting against your sweat soaked shirt. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before pulling out. You whimper at the burn, your muscles still wound tight and needy. Your arms shake when you push yourself up. You don’t think you’ve felt so worn out in ages. Gaz presses you back down, kinder this time, and you feel a wet wipe moving over your abused hole. You take the invitation to stay mostly horizontal, gathering your thoughts back from wherever he’d fucked them out of you. Something felt tipped presses to your low back, makes a few quick strokes, and then Gaz is offering a hand to help you up.

Another clean cloth wipes over your cheeks cleaning up tear stains as Gaz murmurs how good you were for him. He helps you to get your skirt back on, and signs his name in sharpie on your underwear. “A souvenir,” He winks, “wouldn’t want to forget your first time.”

“Don’t think that’s gonna happen,” You tell him, still feeling a little out of it.

“You’re with Ghost right?” You hum, and give a sluggish nod of your head. Gaz laughs, lacing your fingers together and leading you to the door, “Alright, come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Kay,” You agree, letting your mind wander as he pulls you down the hallway towards you familiar, if a little spartan, room.

(Divider by @cafekitsune)

#x reader #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #gaz modern warfare #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz x reader #gas garrick x reader #f!reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #sin summer #MDNI

190 notes · View notes

lazyjellyfish300 · 1 day

Text

What's Mine is Yours💘

Miguel O'Hara x gn!Reader

CW: none, fluff, little self indulgent oops. Just something quick. INSPO FOR THE DISNEYLAND BIT: @teenidlegirl go read her Disneyland headcanons they're so good!

WC: 856 ish

----

As Miguel's partner, everything you love quickly becomes everything he loves too.

Miguel doesn't think of himself as easily influenced. He's not a follower by any means. I mean he's the spider society's leader. But now, that you're in his life, he's acting out of the ordinary.

Romance flicks? Could never really stomach those. Now he's seen all of the Nicholas Sparks movies and Twilight Saga. And of course he's Team Edward.

Those reality shows you love with a lot of fighting and drama he normally thought were insufferable? He's on season 9 episode 12 right along with you, even though he won't admit it.

He'll watch from the stairwell, eyes peeking down at the screen which you're so absorbed in. Over time, he'll eventually be at the bottom of the stairs, then the kitchen, then the room starts to get a little cold because he stood there watching with the refrigerator door open too long because he's just "getting a snack." Now he's standing behind the couch, arms folded.

He's like a vampire, he can't join unless you invite him in.

You give him a little sneaky grin as you pat the empty spot next to you on the couch and he shakes his head as he sits down, trying to play it all cool.

"I guess I can watch a little bit with you."

Then when the drama's getting good, his arm eventually leaves the spot from around your shoulders. He's leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, which he's nervously bouncing (I totally headcanon Miguel with having restless leg syndrome), his hands covering his face as he focuses intently on the screen until the villain finally gets the karma she deserves.

"Thank God! I'm sick of her ass!"

Those fluffy fuzzy socks you like to wear? He expects you to buy matching ones for him. And even when he has his own, he'll still fish yours out of the laundry basket. No wonder all of them turn up missing.

He came with you to get a pedicure just for shits and giggles, but when he put his feet in the warm water and laid back against the massaging chair? Oh yeah, he's coming with you every time now. Sorry.

Disneyland? Oh God, why would you drop hundreds of dollars to stand in line for 2 hours for a 3 minute ride? Crowds and people being dumb in public are his worst enemy. But, seeing how you cry at the fireworks and softly hum the music of all the Disney songs you've loved since you were a kid, how cute your cheeks look all puffed up when you go to town on a cream cheese pretzel, the way you scream on Big Thunder Mountain, the way you close your eyes and take a deep inhale every time you walk into Pirates of the Caribbean as the AC hits your face like it's crack, the way you smile and gush when you walk up to Winnie the Pooh and friends and give him a big hug while Miguel takes your picture.

Even the park is getting to him a little bit. You're making him feel special, like he's finally able to be a kid again, experience that giddy feeling of magic and a world where fantasy is real like through the eyes of a child, because he never had that growing up.

Okay, now he might be okay with going to Disney. But only every other year or so. And you can live with that for now. Walt Disney World is already booked on your calendar for next time. Now to convince him that airfare to Japan isn't even that expensive so you can also go to Tokyo Disney...

He never ate breakfast in the mornings besides like a protein shake or a black coffee at most. Now, going to cafes and a little pastry is religion to him, all thanks to you, his cute partner who reminds him it's the most important meal of the day.

His restaurant orders have changed, slightly. He'll try what you're having and soon all your favorite spots are now his.

You jokingly buy him his own skin moisturizer for Christmas because yours runs out much more quickly than it used to, when you catch him red handed using it behind your back.

He's been to more concerts, read some more books, ate some new foods, experienced more things all thanks to you.

He never so much as hung a stocking for Christmas, now the apartment halls are literally, decked out. He used to never answer the door on Halloween, now there's 8 boxes of king sized candy bars and a planned couples costume well in advance. He loathed Valentines Day and all that consumerism, Hallmark bs, now it's marked religiously on his calendar.

His whole world a little more colorful as he knows it.

A matching coffee mug sitting in the cupboard next to his that used to sit all alone.

Because one of the ways he feels the closest to you even when he can't be physically with you is to enjoy all of the things you love. They belong to him now too. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

----

@thatone-writer @1-900-venusluvs

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o'hara x you

201 notes · View notes

usereddie · 1 day

Text

s8 where they’re all separated and working separate shifts and buck starts making other friends and it starts to making his relationship with eddie stand out a little. some of the guys invite him out for drinks and he says he can’t because he and chris are gonna go see a new horror movie since eddie hates them and then they’re having dinner. someone goes “yeah, i love hanging out with my step kids.” someone else pipes in, clapping buck on the shoulder as they walk out of the locker room “family night, have fun. next time, though?” and everything shifts into focus.

#911 abc #buddie

199 notes · View notes

deeva-arud · 2 days

Text

Deeva Årud - Tsumsted Wonderland Voice Lines

Summon Line: Pointy ears, wings, freckles and blue marks under its eye… it really looks like me. What a strange situation.

Groooovy!!: Apparently, this tsum feels relaxed when I cover it with my wings.

Home: By some unexpected turn of events, there’s two Deevas now. It’s okay, we won’t cause you any trouble.

Home Idle 1: You want to hold my tsum? That’s going to be complicated… Don’t worry, you won’t be hit, but it’ll fly away if you try to approach it. Until it warms up to you, I’m afraid it won’t let you touch it.

Home Idle 2: When I was about to start my violin practice, I looked back at my tsum and found it holding a tsum-sized violin. It took me by surprise. Where did it get that from? And how could it play with those tiny arms?

Home Idle 3: My tsum was helping me convince my club members to practice a song together, but then Kalim brought out a box of pastries his family gifted him. I can’t believe its curiosity also succumbed to those delicious foreign snacks…

Home Idle - Login: Back at the dorm, someone thought my tsum was just a regular plushie because of how still it is. As soon as he stretched his hand towards it, it took flight. The shriek he let out hurt my ears but I still find the scene amusing.

Home Idle - Groovy: Hovering over a salmon dish and hopping around my cup of jasmine tea… well, it’s supposed to represent me, I wouldn’t have expected less. Unfortunately, I doubt it can eat any of that.

Home Tap 1: Even if tsums can’t talk, Sebek’s does a spectacular job at showing its loud personality using just body language.

Home Tap 2: Cater’s tsum constantly follows my tsum to show it photos and music on its phone. It seems his tsum also took a liking to mine, huh? It reminds me of when we were first years… Not that he stopped doing that now, though.

Home Tap 3: It seems my tsum and Jack’s bonded over cacti. It was heartwarming seeing them quietly observing plants together.

Home Tap 4: Floyd’s tsum went on “bored mode” while I was doing my shift at Mostro Lounge. I spent several minutes picking it up from the chairs so the customers could get a seat.

Home Tap 5: Tsums are cute. But the fact that they came down from the sky, looking and acting like us is a bit eerie. It sounds like the plot of a horror movie.

Home Tap - Groovy: I can’t help but think about the place tsums come from. Is everything made of round and squishy materials? Stacking can also scare away predators? Wait, do you even have predators? …Hm, no reaction, I may be wrong.

#After a year I can finally release this into the wild!!!#she was supposed to appear in the first tsum event tho :']#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #deeva twst #my art

222 notes · View notes

nonranghaes · 1 day

Text

heads up! fem!reader and housemate!perf unit. reader wears makeup/a dress in this. this is for me lol sorry

for a moment, you brace yourself. living with four men has been... something. but you know them. you know they'll give you an honest opinion... and maybe hype you up when you aren't feeling so well. they've been great about the latter thing before, but something about getting all dressed up for your birthday feels different. the makeup, the new dress you just bought... you just bite the bullet and step out of your tiny room and into the living area of this sharehouse. soonyoung and jun are sitting on the couch, watching a movie when you step into view.

it's while they're giving you a once-over that you speak up, "do i look fine? we have time, i can go change or fix my face or--"

soonyoung immediately raises his voice enough that you know chan and minghao can hear him, "whoa! who is this?!" he slaps jun's arm, playing up whatever bit he's doing with a genuine look of curiosity on his face. "a celebrity?!"

jun looks at him, then you, and then immediately jumps into character. "ohh, i think she is!" he grabs onto soonyoung's arm. "when did a celebrity start to live with us?"

the bathroom door opens, and chan steps out, toothbrush in his mouth. he looks around at the way soonyoung and jun are now babbling, asking for pictures and autographs, when he looks at you. he steps back inside for a minute, and you can hear him spit before he comes back. "you look great," he says with a soft smile. "sorry about them."

you want to tell him it's fine. that you don't mind two of your silly boys hyping you up so sweetly right now. but it's a second later that minghao steps out of his and jun's room, pausing for a minute as he looks at you. he gives you a nod after a minute, but stops. the others go quiet as he makes his way over to you, reaching a hand up, only to stop.

"is this supposed to be smudged right here?" he asks softly, gesturing underneath one of your eyes. when you shake your head, he nods. "look up for a moment."

you do, and minghao is gentle as can be as he fixes where your mascara or something must have smudged underneath your eye. he steps back a second later, hands resting on your upper arms as he gives you another once over to make sure everything else is in order. then he reaches up, squeezing your cheeks.

"you look beautiful," he says with a smile. "remind me to get your autograph later."

(you don't... but you do several pictures with your boys before the night is over, and you aren't surprised when they pop up on their social media accounts bragging about you... and wishing you a happy birthday.)

#nonranghaes.thoughts #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #nonranghaes.svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #svt imagine #seventeen x you #svt x you #xu minghao x reader #hoshi x reader #jun x reader #dino x reader

172 notes · View notes

aperrywilliams · 3 days

Text

I Need You Now (Spencer Reid x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader)

------------------

Author Masterlist

------------------

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader.

Summary: After the break up with his girlfriend, Spencer isn’t taking it in the best possible way. Memories flood his mind and the guilt of what he could have done differently. When everything is lost, there is no more to do than to go on, even if the only certainty in his heart is that he needs her now.

Word Count: 2.1k (a little thing)

Warnings: Angst. Spencer overthinks over and over again. The reasons for the breakout are not explicit, but you can infer them. Alcohol consumption. Open ending (hahahahahaha). I’m sorry (I’m not).

A/N: Full inspired by I Need You Now by Lady A. Please don’t sue me.

---------------

Pictures perfect memories

Scattered all around the floor

---------------

It’s late when I unlock my apartment door. As soon as I open it, it is the darkness that welcomes me and not you.

At other times, you would have jumped from the couch to greet me, throwing your arms around my neck and kissing me all over my face. And even if I always complained about you being up late for me, I silently loved it.

Sometimes, when I returned at dawn, I found you asleep on the couch with a book open on your chest. Those times, you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't like the idea of waking you up.

That isn’t happening tonight, though.

You’re not on the couch. You’re not home.

And the worst part is that you said you are not coming back.

---------------

Reaching for the phone cause

I can't fight it anymore

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind

For me, it happens all the time

---------------

Our love story started pretty close as a romantic movie would do. I bumped into you on my way out of a coffee shop. You were going to go inside but were distracted by your phone. You didn't see me coming out until you were stumbling, and before touching the ground, I secured you with my arms.

I was the one who apologized profusely, even if you were the one who didn't watch your way.

When I finally looked at you, words left me. And to hear your voice telling me not to worry didn't help my cause.

I would have asked for your number if I were bolder.

I didn't and let you go instead.

But luck must have been by my side when we crossed paths again.

The same coffee shop, two weeks later.

I got inside that morning and saw you at the counter waiting for your drink. I recognized you immediately.

Without a second thought, I walked up to you. Before I could say anything, you looked up and recognized me, too. A smile tugged your lips when you saw me.

“Hi,” I greeted you.

At that moment, I realized I had actually spoken to you. Why did I do that? What was I going to talk to you about?

“Hi. Glad you haven’t got a coffee yet,” you quipped. Making me stutter.

“Oh, no, no. I wasn’t thinking of spilling my coffee on you. I mean-” I stumbled over my words.

“Don’t freak out. I was joking,” you hastened to explain. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“A joke. Yeah. Uh. I knew that,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Why was it so hard to sound casual?

“Yeah. I figured,” you chuckled. “Will you tell me your name this time?”

That day, my fate was sealed.

We exchanged phone numbers, and against the odds, I was the one who called first.

That was followed by text messages and some coffee dates.

We both were pleasantly surprised at how naturally the conversation flowed between us and how much fun we had together. Forgetting our first encounter where I couldn't stop stuttering, as the weeks went by, I relaxed enough to be myself.

I can recall the time I told you I loved you. I was a nervous wreck, and as the words left my mouth, I only wanted to take them back because I couldn't stand the idea of being rejected by you, of losing you.

You were the one who told me not to be afraid of telling the truth because you felt the same way. I can swear it was one of the best days of my life. A passionate kiss sealed our confession as we vowed to be each other forever.

Nothing of that remains now, though. And I know that the one to blame is no one but me.

---------------

It's a quarter after one

I'm all alone, and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control

---------------

Why did things go down between us? We were perfect for each other. People told me that often, and I believed it, too.

After dating for over a year, I asked you to move in. I was excited to begin a new phase in our relationship, although you were a bit reluctant. Not for lack of love or wanting. You said you were head over heels for me, but you have been cautious about your love life. The last time you had a serious relationship, things ended pretty badly for you. That time, you swore not to go through something like that again, so you were careful about protecting yourself.

I knew that, too. You told me what happened to you a few months after we started dating. I swore I would never hurt you. I loved you, and I would never do anything to harm you.

I’m now sitting on the same couch where we spend so many movie nights. The same where truths were told, dreams were discussed, and we planned a future.

With a drink in my hand, I glance at my phone over the coffee table and feel the urge to hear your voice. I want to grab the device and dial your number even if you told me not to call you again, even if I agreed not to contact you again.

But I miss you, even if every day I tell the world I'm doing better and I will get over it.

The truth is I don't know how to do it without you.

I need you now.

---------------

And I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

---------------

Never did the silence overwhelm me as much as it does right now. It’s past midnight, and I can only think about what I should have done differently.

Maybe I should have opened up about what was happening before. You always knew I had a hard time expressing my feelings, but with you, that never was an issue. That’s why I can’t figure out why I did differently this time.

You told me I didn’t love you anymore, and that’s farther from the truth. I couldn’t stop loving you even if I tried.

Why did you say that, though?

Because I stop nurturing our love.

Because I took it for granted.

I made you doubt your worth and how important you are to me. I stopped listening. I stopped seeing. You gave me the signals, and I overlooked them.

Yeah, the job seemed more important at the time.

Of course, lives were on the line.

It's funny because none of that matters to me right now.

Missing you is something I never thought it could be a reality. How could I think about that when you were by my side to stay? Even the times I hurt you, you said you were to keep up no matter what. It was an unconditional love until it wasn’t. And I can’t blame you for leaving. It's all my doing, and I deserve to be alone. I deserve it, but I can’t stand it.

---------------

Another shot of whisky

Can't stop looking at the door

Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind

For me, it happens all the time

---------------

There are times when you think of me. I do think of you every day. When I wake up alone in my bed or when I drink my first coffee in the morning, you are not teasing me by pouring all the sugar from the container.

I think of you when I check my phone, and there are no texts from you. When at night I don’t want to go to bed because you are not with me to let me love you.

I can still hear your footsteps on the hardwood floor of this apartment.

I can recall, like yesterday, the times we danced in this very living room. The time you build a fort with cushions and blankets just because I told you once I loved that as a kid.

The nights when you let us watch foreign films so I could translate you whispering in your ear. The same nights when the movie ended were long forgotten because we were making out just like the first time.

I don��t think I can stop recounting every single memory we shared: the good ones and the bad ones.

Because, of course, I, too, remember the fights, the arguments, the silent treatments. But above all, the talks and our agreement of never going to sleep mad at each other.

---------------

It's a quarter after one

I'm a little drunk, and I need you now

Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control

---------------

With the alcohol running in my blood now, I can’t stop thinking about if your affections belong to someone else now.

Of course, I can’t be mad or blame you for it.

But my heart aches when I think about it.

I know I lost you the moment I allowed you to walk out that door.

But the damn phone is still there, tempting me, pushing me to call you. Even if I don't know what I could tell you.

Or maybe I do: I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I fucked up. I love you. I miss you. I need you.

Would you believe me this time?

It’s wishful thinking. A naive one?

I don’t think any word I could say right now can do some repair to the pain I caused you. But I could try.

I grab the phone with trembling hands and start typing the first three numbers: 8-6-7...

I can do this so that I will continue: 5-3-0... just one more digit.

But I know you’ll not answer. And if you do, it’s unfair to you for me to do this. I should respect your wishes. It’s the bare minimum I can do.

So I toss the phone again over the coffee table, and the tears run freely this time.

---------------

And I need you now

And I don't know how I can do without

I just need you now

Guess I rather hurt than feel nothing at all

---------------

If anything, I feel jealous of the person who will love you the way you deserve and will call you his.

In the same way I did a time ago.

Maybe I just need to get used to the idea. I lost you, and there is nothing I can do even if I still need you here.

I had the privilege of you letting me love you, and I’ll be grateful for having the chance.

Curling on the couch, I see the damn phone watching me again, defiance me. I’ll not give in this time. I owe you that much.

I was so immersed in my new determination that I could barely register the two knocks on my front door. It’s past one am, so I just assume it must be on a neighbor's door.

But then I hear another two knocks again. It is louder this time and impossible to ignore.

Grumbling, I stood from my spot.

I already know who it is. Derek Morgan has been adamant about pulling me out of my misery in the way he only knows: going out.

I could pretend to be deaf and pretend I didn't hear anything. But I know Derek; he won't settle, and he will use his spare key to get in anyway.

I open the door, ready to scold him for showing up at my door at this time. But words kept stuck in my throat when I confirmed Derek was not the one who was standing at my door.

“Hi. I’m sorry for showing up here without warning. I guess I didn’t think this thoroughly.”

My mouth opens and closes several times with nothing to say. At the lack of words, you continues talking.

“I thought I should call you first. But I wasn’t sure if you would pick it up. But if it’s a bad moment, it’s okay; I can go.”

Does telepathy really exist? I don't know, but I don't want to question it either.

“No, no. It’s okay. Would you like to come in?”

Your face shows something similar to relief. A bit of anxiety, maybe? I’m sure I’m not doing better.

What kind of test is this? I don’t know, but if it is the last chance I’ll get to do things right, God helps me to doesn’t fuck up.

------------------

A/N2: Bonus point if you know where her phone number comes from.

------------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #aperrywilliams #amanda perry williams #i need you know #lady antebellum #lady a #Spotify

164 notes · View notes

ikeuluvr · 2 days

Text

at-home dates || enhypen hyung line

synopsis - what enhypen's hyung line would plan for your stay-in date night

idol!enhypen x reader / established relationship + fluff fluff so much fluff / warnings - none! / wc ~300 per member

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

Heeseung loves spending his nights off of work playing his silly little video games. Luckily for him, he has a significant other who loves those silly games just as much as he does. You two would stay up until ungodly hours spewing profanities and making bets on who’s going to win each round. Games have gotten so heated that the members would stumble out of their bedrooms yelling at the both of you to shut up and go to sleep while you let out a faint ‘sorry’ before bursting into laughter after they left the room. Heeseung had you playing anything and everything from Super Smash to Fortnite. Your favorite to play together, however, has always been Mario Kart. Heeseung honestly sucks at it, but his victory dances when he rarely beats you is what makes it so special to you. He doesn’t have to know that you let him win sometimes just to see him happy… As the night gets later, Heeseung usually turns to his personal favorite, League of Legends. You typically don’t play with him because it’s simply not your taste, but you never get tired of watching your boyfriend play. The way his eyebrows furrow and lips purse into a pout when he’s focused is the cutest sight to you. Though much of his attention is on the game, Heeseung is always quick to notice when you get restless and shuts down his game immediately to carry you to his bed so the two of you can cuddle the rest of the night away.

Before an endless night of cuddles and Netflix binging, there’s no doubt that you and Jay need some baked sweets to keep you awake. Jay would bring out all of the ingredients and insist on doing all of the work so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger, but he knew you would figure out a way to help like you always did. You ended up wiggling your way into mixing the batter while Jay got the baking pans ready and started to clean the mess that was made. He couldn’t help but to glance at you every once in a while and smile at how concentrated you looked while doing such a simple task as mixing. During one of his not-so-subtle glances, he would notice you’re doing it all wrong and wrap himself around you, placing his own hand on the one you’re using to poorly mix and guide you through it. Your heartbeat accelerates feeling his breath against your cheek and his whispers of how well you’re doing. When you couldn’t take the entire zoo in your stomach anymore, you swiftly dip your finger into the batter, quickly smearing it across your boyfriend’s face garnering an offended gasp. Without responding, Jay grabs a glob of his own and chases you around the apartment until he gets you cornered in the living room. He wraps his right arm around your waist and pulls you against his chest as he wipes the brownie batter all over your cheeks and nose, a small drop landing on your lips. “Let me get that for you,” he’d tell you with a smirk before locking your lips together, cleaning the batter off of you himself.

Despite his jaw-dropping stage presence and a face that was hand-sculpted by every deity known to man, Jake Sim is a dork. There was no surprise when you found out he also happens to be a movie junkie. He’s watched all the greats and never fails to flash crazy eyes your way after you tell him all of the films you’ve never seen. From that moment, Jake made it his initiative to make sure you’ve seen all of his favorites and is quick to plan several movie marathon nights a week. He’d fill the coffee table with your favorite snacks and pop an obnoxiously large bowl of popcorn for you to share. Jake obviously had you start with the entire Marvel franchise. He’d thoroughly explain why you have to watch in release order and not chronologically because that’s supposedly ‘an insane thing to do.’ When you would become confused he’d pause the movie to answer any and all of your questions, excited that you’re interested enough to want to understand. On night three of the movie marathon and the beginning of phase two of the MCU, Jake surprised you with four boxes of Marvel Lego sets for you two to build while you watched the movies of the night. Practically bouncing off the walls, Jake would open the sets for you and organize the pieces into neat piles, telling you to let him know if you need help. You loved seeing how his eyes glistened and how his lips never faltered out of a smile while he built his legos and watched his favorite movies. Jake could never get away with staring at you every once in a while either, eventually planting kisses all over your face, thanking you for spending time doing the things he loves.

Sunghoon loves to spoil you, spending all of his paycheck on you, buying you anything you want, or taking you to your favorite restaurants and making sure you order the most expensive meal. Gift-giving is absolutely one of his love languages, but what he enjoys the most is the laid-back nights spent at home where you do nothing but lay around, cuddle, eat, and simply co-exist with one another. Feeling the urge to do something different, Sunghoon wanted the two of you to play board games tonight. He brought a backpack filled with games he found around the Enhypen apartment and some extra ones he went out and bought just for tonight. Excitedly, he sprawled all of them out all over your living room, showing you and explaining everything he brought. There were classics like “Monopoly” and “Sorry” in addition to some you had never heard of before. Sunghoon tells you that he doesn’t know what they are either, but he bought them because the boxes were shiny and cool. After a small debate, both of you came to a consensus to start the night with something simple, so you chose Halli Galli. Sunghoon placed the bell in the middle of the coffee table and sorted the cards between the two of you. A whole ten minutes of gameplay passes by and you’re beating Sunghoon at an astronomical level. You laugh until you can’t breathe anymore each time he screams about how you’re definitely rigging the game. You loved seeing this side of your boyfriend; the playful, loud, and obnoxious side that accompanies his toothy smile and contagious laugh.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

masterlist

#enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen fluff #enhypen heeseung #enhypen heeseung x reader #enhypen jay #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen jake x reader #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen hyung line #enhypen scenarios #enhypen reading #enhypen x you #ikeuluvrcreations

156 notes · View notes

trueebeauty · 3 days

Text

"𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎" -gun, goo, james lee.

𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊

Never in a million years would you have thought that today would be the day you see Gun so calm.

He's calm all the time when he's with you, but this one is quite different.

It was a rainy day today, and the two of you were on the couch, absentmindedly watching a movie together.

Though you were too busy cutting Gun's fingernails, all because you claimed they were getting too long.

Surprisingly, Gun actually took better care of himself than you would've thought. (Gun was offended)

His hands, although rough and calloused, were always clean, and so were his nails.

"I'm done," you muttered as you clipped off the last remaining fingernail.

Turning to face a stoic Gun, "Do you not like it shorter?" you asked, tilting your head.

"I don't care for it," Gun responded, typical.

You looked at his trimmed hands again, admiring his hands for a second as you caressed them.

Gun's fingers intertwined with yours, and he pulled you closer, "What is it?" he murmured, his voice low and gentle.

You gazed into his eyes, captivated by the tenderness you found there. "Nothing," you replied with a soft smile, “Just admiring you."

Gun's expression softened before he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You're one to talk," he said, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

A shiver ran down your spine at the simple yet intimate gesture, and you found yourself leaning in closer, drawn to the warmth of his embrace.

The movie long forgotten, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in each other's presence, the soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows providing a soothing backdrop.

Tentatively, you reached up too, tracing Gun's face with your fingertips, committing everything to your memory. His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and you admired how someone so strong and scary could also be so gentle and vulnerable in your arms.

Gun's hand found its way to the nape of your neck, his thumb caressing your jaw, and you felt yourself melting into his touch. With a featherlight tug, he guided you closer, your foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, but you heard it.

Thinking you imagined it, you look at him in disbelief, "What?"

Gun's eyes locked with yours, and you saw a vulnerability there that you had never witnessed before. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and repeated, "I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a warmth bloom in your chest, spreading through your entire being. You searched Gun's face, looking for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty, but found none.

"I..." you started, your voice catching in your throat. You had dreamed of hearing those words from Gun countless times, but now that the moment was here, you found yourself at a loss for words.

Gun reached out, his calloused fingers gently caressing your cheek. "You don't have to say anything," he said softly. "I just needed you to know."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as a thousand emotions washed over you. Love, joy, relief, and a tiny spark of fear – fear that this might all be a dream, and you would wake up to find it was never real.

But as you opened your eyes and gazed into Gun's gaze, you knew this was no dream. This was real, and it was more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

“I love you, too.”

“I know,” he teased, bringing your hand to his lips and planting a featherlight kiss on your hand.

𝐆𝐎𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐌

You've known Goo for basically your entire life. You grew up together, took martial arts together, graduated together, went to the same schools, studied together, walked together, shopped together, ate together, and even took baths together.

There was never a day where you two were apart... well, that was until he met this strange one-armed man.

Suddenly it became, "I'm going to be late, so eat without me."

"I can't, I have to go return something," he'd shout before closing the door.

Then he started coming home bruised, specks of blood on his clothes, a cut here and there.

"Goo, what the hell happened?"

"Ah, didn't know you were up. Just almost got robbed..."

"Robbed? By who? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a homeless man."

But one thing Goo didn't know is that you could tell when he lied - he smiled wide, too wide. You don't even know if he was aware of this tell himself, but you sure as hell were.

Even if you didn't recognize his lying smile, he was just too obvious. A homeless man? Robbed? Goo Kim? Only an idiot would believe him.

It didn't make the constant lies to your face any better. It just hurt.

Hurt knowing that he didn't trust you, didn't confide in you, left you behind for who knows what shady business.

And he acted as if everything was normal.

You had reached your limit.

After an awkward silence, you finally spoke up. "Aren't you going to tell me what's wrong?" Goo said, frustration evident in his voice.

"I-I didn't actually expect you to come," you admitted nervously.

"What do you mean? You said you were in danger–" Goo paused, realization dawning on him. "Oh."

"Yep. Now that you're here, we need to talk about a lot of things— where are you going?" you asked, seeing Goo head towards the door.

"Out," he replied curtly, reaching for the doorknob.

You immediately blocked the door. "Out where?"

"Out to get some air," Goo said dismissively, trying to downplay the situation.

"We're not done here. You can't just show up and then leave."

Goo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I’m late."

"Late for what?" you insisted, your voice rising.

Seeing Goo go silent, you continued, "You’ve been like this for months now. I waited for you to explain, but you never did."

Goo opened his mouth to respond, but you kept talking, the words tumbling out rapidly. “So tell me what is going on right now, or I swear I will–”

Before you could continue, Goo stepped closer and gently placed his finger over your lips, hushing you. His eyes locked with yours, and you fell silent.

“Or you will what?” Goo asked.

You slapped his arm away. “I’ll do something really bad,” you said.

Goo rolled his eyes. “Like what?”

As soon as he said that, he felt a burning pain between his legs and collapsed to the ground, breathless and numb.

“That,” you said, a smile on your face.

“Owww,” Goo whined, starting his dramatics.

Rolling your eyes, you sat on the floor next to him, side-eyeing him as he rolled around. Having enough, you grabbed his hair and made him face you. “Tell me,” you said.

"I love you."

You froze, heart pounding at Goo's confession. He took the moment to gently remove your grip and pull you down to lay beside him, never letting go of your hand.

Your hand trembled in his grasp.

"I want to tell you everything, but it's dangerous. I don't want them to find out about you," Goo continued, his voice calm.

"W-who's them?" you asked hesitantly, anxiety creeping in.

"Bad people," he replied vaguely.

"Who are the bad people?" you pressed.

"Evil people," Goo said simply.

Rolling your eyes, you turned to face him, your noses almost touching. "You're being very vague."

A small smile played across his lips. "I want to be."

You frowned. "So you'll never tell me the full truth?"

"I will, just not right now. It's better if you can enjoy your life without this weighing on you," he said, tenderly brushing a stray hair from your face.

"And what about you? Will you be able to enjoy your life?" The thought of Goo suffering alone made your chest ache.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," he assured you, though his eyes betrayed a hint of sadness.

"That just makes me worry more," you confessed, holding his gaze imploringly.

Goo let out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, truly. I hate keeping things from you..."

You both laid there in silence for a few moments as Goo's thumb gently caressed the back of your hand, a tender gesture that didn't quite ease the ache in your heart.

Finally, you took a deep breath and met his gaze again. "I don't like this, keeping secrets from each other," you said quietly but firmly.

"Doesn't feel right after everything we've been through together."

"Believe me, I hate it too. More than anything, I want to be fully open with you." He brought your entwined hands up, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

"But some truths are better left unsaid, at least for now, to keep you safe."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he gently shushed you again. "I'm not in any immediate danger, I promise. This is more about protecting your peace of mind."

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you reluctantly nodded. As much as it pained you, you knew you had to trust Goo's judgment on this.

"Just...promise me one thing?" you asked, your eyes pleading.

"Anything," he replied without hesitation.

"Don't shut me out completely," you said, your voice wavering slightly. "I need you, even if I can't know every detail right now. We're partners, right?"

Goo's features softened, and he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours. "Always, I'm not going anywhere. I'll tell you what I can."

It wasn't a perfect solution, but for now, it would have to be enough. You nuzzled closer, letting the solidity of his embrace ease your worries, if only temporarily.

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐄

You sat on the balcony's doorstep, watching the storm and pretty city lights. The rain pattered against the concrete, and flashes of lightning illuminated the skyline, casting a glow over the buildings.

You enjoyed the quietness and peacefulness, but you felt empty inside, a hollowness that couldn't be filled by the beauty surrounding you.

As the wind picked up, sending a chill through your body, you gazed out into the night, lost in thought. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of a blanket being draped over your shoulders.

Before you had a chance to turn around, a familiar figure sat behind you, their arms encircling you, holding you close. All at once, you felt a comforting warmth envelop you, and you knew exactly who it was.

In that moment, the emptiness disappeared, replaced by a sense of contentment and belonging.

You leaned back into his embrace, letting the sound of his steady breathing and the rain calm you, "When did you get home?" you whispered, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

You felt him move, his lips brushing against the crook of your neck as he placed a tender kiss there. "A few seconds ago, I was looking for you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

Melting into his arms, you sighed contentedly. "I didn't hear you," you admitted.

He chuckled softly, the vibration resonating through his chest and into your back. "You seemed lost in thought," he said, tightening his hold on you ever so slightly. "What's on your mind?"

Turning your head, you met his gaze, those eyes that always seemed to peer straight into your soul. "Nothing in particular," you replied, offering him a small smile. "Just enjoying the view."

His thumb traced gentle circles on your arm as he studied your face, a tender expression on his own. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" he said, his tone laced with concern.

Nodding, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, a soft, reassuring kiss. "I know," you whispered, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders in his presence.

He pulled you closer, his arms a comforting anchor, and asked, "Have you eaten anything today?"

A chuckle escaped your lips at his concern. "I should be asking you that. I know they don't really care about anything other than if you're pretty and scandal-free," you teased lightly as you flicked his pink hair in his face.

Shaking his head with a laugh, he pressed a kiss to your temple. "You know me too well," he murmured against your skin. "But I'm more worried about you. You tend to forget about taking care of yourself when you get lost in that beautiful mind of yours."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn't deny the truth in his words. "Alright, alright, you've caught me," you conceded, turning in his embrace to face him properly. "I may have skipped a meal or two today, but only because I was so absorbed in my writing."

His brow furrowed in that adorable way it did when he was concerned for you, and you reached up to smooth away the crease with your fingertips. "Promise me you'll eat something soon?" he urged, capturing your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Gazing into his eyes, you were struck once again by the depth of his love and devotion, you didn’t know how you got so lucky. "Only if you promise to do the same," you countered with a soft smile. "Deal?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he returned your smile, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. "Deal," he agreed, sealing the promise with a tender kiss that made your heart flutter.

You both pulled away from the kiss, slightly dazed and breathless. As you gazed into his eyes, filled with so much adoration, the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them.

"I love you, James."

A look of surprise flashed across his face for the briefest of moments before melting into an expression of pure joy.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as a smile spread across his lips. "And I love you," he murmured, cradling your face in his hands.

Leaning his forehead against yours, he let out a contented sigh, “More than you could ever imagine."

#lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x male reader #goo kim #james lee #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #gun park #gun park x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism thoughts #lookism fanart #james lee x reader

170 notes · View notes

bethanydelleman · 1 day

Text

Even the smooth surface of family-union seems worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable beneath. - Persuasion, Jane Austen

One problem I have with the adaptions of Persuasion is the removal from Kellynch. Both the 2007 & 1996 movies show Sir Walter and Elizabeth go off in the carriage and then Anne go in some cart like a peasant. It's movie shorthand for neglected child, but it's not right. Lady Russell takes Anne and Sir Walter would never let his daughter travel that way.

The Elliots neglect Anne's mind and don't value her input, but I am sure she has fine gowns and everything else that makes her look her station. Because Sir Walter wants them to appear as a happy, prosperous family. Anne's neglect is emotional not material.

When Anne gets to Bath, the Elliots want Anne at every party, whether she wants to go or not. She's not like Cinderella in that way, neglected and left out, she's unloved and not listened to, which is harder for a movie to demonstrate.

#anne elliot #persuasion #jane austen #adaptation problems

128 notes · View notes

lixxpix · 2 days

Text

wish you back - h.js

w.c - 2.0k | genre - highschool!au/slice of life | pairings - jisung x gn reader | authors note - omfg i'm back from hiatus 😭 anyw req by my bby @starseungs i hope u enjoy <3 req can be found here!

life brings about many surprises, one of which comes in the form of han jisung.

life as a highschooler wasn't easy, navigating through workloads, teenage crushes, and the struggles of a growing and developing brain.

most of all, the concept of soulmates.

soulmates were a thing you would expect from a movie, a fictional world. yet, it was very much true, girls gossiping over potential soulmates in the hallways, boys proposing to their girlfriends in soccer games, happy couples strolling down the streets of the city. your life was lived in monochrome, the classic black and white. it was only when you met your supposed soulmate at the age of 18 that everything would explode, a vibrant splatter of colours that finally allowed you to see the world as it was, not just through a filter. people described it as the feeling of warmth on your skin, the thrill of it all, the reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, pink, all the hues, like home.

but that blood red string scared you.

what was so good about soulmates? the idea of having the rest of your life laid out before you, pre-destined and fated, scared you. what if your soulmate lived halfway across the world? what if you would never meet your soulmate, destined to die a lonely death while everyone else danced under the stars with their loved one? what if you didn't like the life planned out for you? what if you had to live the rest of your life seeing only black and white, and never see the yellow of the sun or the fresh green of the grass and the vibrant red of the flowers? what if your soulmate didn't want you?

it was especially the latter of the questions that haunted you the most.

you feared, with a frightening worriedness, that your chosen one would reject you. you had heard stories of people being rejected by their chosen soulmate, only to either live out their lives in misery or take their own life. no one was ever the same after meeting their soulmate.

to be honest, you would rather live forever in a world with only black and white than to go through that heartbreak. you would never allow yourself to fall in love, you vowed. soulmate or not, heartbreak was something you never wanted to experience.

---

"oi!"

"what do you want for your birthday? y'know what, nevermind, it should be a surprise." jisung grinned, ruffling your hair as you scowled at him.

"don't remind me, you know how much i dread the damned day." you groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat.

your 18th birthday.

the day you would finally meet your soulmate.

life had been so peaceful until now, you thought. until someone would come into the picture and fuck everything up.

just 7 days to go until the day. 7 days wouldn't be that bad, right?

wrong.

day 7. day 6. day 5. day 4. day 3. day 2.

each day, you could feel the trepidation settling into your bones, a chill running through your spine every time you looked at the clock on the wall, until that very day.

the day was normal, well-wishes from your parents and your gift given to you, the new bag you had been yearning for, significantly improving your mood, a smile on your face as you walked to the bus, corners of your lips lifting up and eyes crinkling. your eyes zeroed in on every person as you boarded the bus, squinting in anticipation of the bright colours that were supposed to burst in your vision. luckily, the world remained black and white, not a single spot of colour. you looked down at your phone. damn. the only classes you had with jisung were in the afternoon.

throughout the day, everyone showered you with birthday wishes, gifting you beautifully wrapped presents, yet you couldn't find it in your heart to be genuinely happy, a fake smile plastered on your face as you thanked them for the wishes. it wasn't that you didn't appreciate the gifts, truly. you just dreaded the change that would come in a few hours or so. in a few hours, you would be meeting the person that you would spend the rest of your life with.

"class dismissed!" you startled awake with a jolt, unconsciously having daydreamed throughout the class, lost in thought. as you scrambled to move onto the next class, hastily picking up your textbook, a hand stopped you. you flinched in surprise, heightened alertness instantly kicking in. a girl held out your pen to you, the world still remaining in black and white.

thank goodness.

up next was biology, your hated arch nemesis. groaning half-heartedly to yourself as you dragged yourself to your locker to dump your heavy textbooks in, a voice broke you out of your reverie.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY-" a voice screamed, causing you to yelp in surprise, head whipping around in surprise as you finally saw the offender of your eardrums.

oh.

time seemed to stop.

red, the colour of his old beanie.

brown, the colour of his soft silky hair that you loved to thread your fingers through.

black, the colour of his old sweatpants and backpack.

yellow, the colour of his pins on his backpack.

blue, the colour of his fluffy hoodie.

purple, the colour of his keychain.

white, the colour of the blinding brightness that seemed to overtake you for a millisecond.

han jisung was your fucking soulmate.

in his hands was a badly wrapped present, wrapped in a bright yellow paper, his lips parted in shock and surprise as he started dumbfoundedly at you.

"oh."

he could only sputter, his boba eyes round and wide as the present dropped to the floor in shock.

han jisung was your soulmate.

fuck.

"uh- so-" jisung's hand came up to scratch the back of his head, eyes wide in disbelief.

"so uh- we're..."

"soulmates." you could only say in response.

should you be happy? you were supposed to jump in joy, after all. anyone would expect someone to be happy after bagging the person who was simultaneously your best friend and your secret crush.

but why did it feel like you and jisung were headed on a one way train to doom?

"i- i gotta go." you stammered, turning around and dashing out the hall, breathing laboured as you heard him call after you in desperation.

no, no, no-

life was going so well. he would never want you, ever. he would never see you in that way. your friendship would be ruined. you would lose your best friend.

life seemed to bustle around you as you ran. greens, pinks, purples, hues of every shade faded into your vision as you ran, tears finally cascading down your face, dripping onto the lush grass beneath your feet. you couldn't bring yourself to look at anything, eyes tightly shut, a stark reminder of what would change.

---

[57 missed calls]

jisungie

hello?? y/n? i know you probably don't want to see me now... but i'll be here waiting for you, ok? it's probably hard to accept that we're soulmates... but take your time:) seen at 12.03 a.m

jisungie

you didn't come to class today... r u ok?? take care of yourself seen at 15.39 p.m

jisungie

its been five days already i miss you seen at 23.12 p.m

---

you threw your phone across the room, head buried in your shoulders as you muffled a sob.

fuck him and his perfect personality.

if only he were that easy to forget, to let go.

but he was han jisung. perfect in every way. as if you could ever dream of forgetting him and his warm touch, his wide grin, his fluffy brown hair hanging over in his eyes with a boyish innocence.

"ding!"

you groaned in annoyance, flinging the sheets back, stumbling out of bed, and quickly wiping away your tears.

probably one of mom's online deliveries again.

walking down the stairs, you swung open the door.

"hi, you can leave the delivery there-"

except it wasn't even a delivery man.

it was han jisung.

"jisung-?"

you could only stammer in response, eyes widening as you took a step back.

after all, what was one supposed to say to your soulmate that you'd been avoiding for days?

a flash of white and pink caught your eyes. your gaze drifted down to his hands, only to be met with a bouquet of pink, white, and red tulips, a beautiful arrangement wrapped in pink tulle and tied together with a elegant white ribbon.

"uhh... surprise?" jisung smiled anxiously before scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as his face turned crimson red.

too stunned to speak, you could only stand there gaping at him. after what felt like an eternity, you finally spoke.

"what are you doing here?"

"wait... lemme just- uh- compose myself. big speech, y'know?" he grinned in nervousness, fidgeting slightly, clearly a bundle of nerves.

"so..." he exhaled. "i know i'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but... i don't blame you. but however you feel about us being... soulmates, it doesn't change the fact that i don't mind being your soulmate. i was... pretty happy at first, but then you ran away, so i-"

"wait, happy? i thought you would be mad, or angry, or anything-" you cut him off, brows furrowing in confusion.

jisung gulped. "i had feelings for you."

"what-?" your heart rate skyrocketed, a ringing in your ears, the thumping of your heart against your ribcage, all making you painfully hopeful, pleading with the gods to not break your heart and dash your hopes again.

"i- i had feelings for you. so... no matter how you want this whole soulmate thing to turn out, even if you don't feel the same, i'll be happy either way knowing you're my soulmate. if you don't want it to, this won't change anything between us, we can go back to living our normal lives-"

jisung was cut off by the feeling of soft, plush lips on his, crashing into him with a ferocity as your arms were thrown around his neck, teeth clashing with his, warm hands threading into his hair.

you didn't think you would ever get used to kissing jisung, you thought. every single touch, smile, even a tiny glance set your nerves ablaze. the feeling of his pillowy lips on yours was thrilling, his hands threaded into your hair and pulling you closer by your lower back, pressing you flush against him until there was so space between the two of you, bridging the gaps that felt like oceans forcing the two of you apart.

finally, the two of you parted with a gasping 'pop', ears red and cheeks flushed, staring at each other in childlike wonder.

"thank you for the tulips," you smile, taking them from his hands and planting one last kiss on his cheek, "they're lovely."

jisung's ears turned bright red, stammering out a 'you're welcome' in response as you laughed at his antics. "oh, that reminds me," he smiled giddily, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful baby pink coloured box, gently opening it. you gasped, inside was a beautiful necklace with a heart charm in the middle, simple and elegant. "i was gonna give this to you on your birthday, but... well, you ran off, so here." he smiles nervously awaiting your reaction, and is pleasantly surprised when you squeal and plant a big fat kiss on his lips. he helps you put it on, your lips finding his again as you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer. "it's beautiful, thank you." you smile, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

"so you'll accept me as your soulmate?" he asked, eyes wide as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously waiting for your answer.

you nod, smiling. "i accepted you as my soulmate the moment i found out, i just... thought you wouldn't feel the same way back... so i just avoided you. in hindsight, that sounds pretty stupid," you sigh.

"aish, we could've kissed a long time ago if i had just told you i felt the same!" jisung groaned, pulling you closer as you laughed and smacked his arm in playful indignation. "at least we worked it out." smiling softly, you allowed yourself a moment of peace, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

"out of all the people in the world, i'm stuck with you, han jisung. but you're the best person to be stuck with."

#stray kids #angst #fluff #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #jisung x reader #jisung x you #jisung x y/n #skz angst #skz au #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine

147 notes · View notes