#you can’t actually see them that’s where the fear comes in it’s fear of what the darkness hides fear of the unknown which is why i think

[saintsenara]

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”  He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.  “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”  He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.”  Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.  “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, as defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ”  Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?”  riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #if wizards had the concept of safeguarding it would be a game changer...

[therealdogsinmymind]

✩ Turnabout ✩

18+ MDNI

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AO3 Link | Word Count: 5,206 | Chapters 1/1

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Synopsis: Jinwoo comes home injured and you’re brimming with excitement at the idea of being able to tend to his wounds like the good old days, however things get a bit carried away…

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Pairing: Sung Jinwoo/Male Reader, Sung Jinwoo/You

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Tags: Reader POV, Male Reader, S-Rank Jin-Woo, Minor Injuries, Domestic Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Communication, Established Relationship, Cock Tease, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Premature Ejaculation, Dacryphilia,

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Picture from @oo0mika0oo ‘s icon edits

It’s not often that S-Rank hunter Sung Jinwoo suffers defeat these days. Frankly it just doesn’t seem to happen anymore, and you’d never admit it to anyone but you wish just a smidgen that sometimes he would come home bloodied and bruised like he used to when he was an E-rank hunter. You miss taking care of him; kissing his wounds better and knowing that you serve a purpose in his life. You’re not really sure what your purpose is these days; you mostly cook for Jinah and wait for Jinwoo to come home from fighting whatever big bad he’s facing. Not that he does most days.

You’re not expecting today to be the day he comes home, uncharacteristically beaten down. You find yourself brimming with delight when he appears from nothingness behind you, smelling of dirt and blood. It’s fucking gross, but the point is that he’s disheveled and that’s a rare sight. You don’t turn around, you can’t, he’s taken to slumping over your back; however you can see him in the reflection of the window, his face is busted up.

”Tough fight?” you hum the question, internally vibrating with joy that he’s come home to you seeking comfort.

”No. Just unnecessarily long,” he sighs into your hair. You want so badly to turn around and look at the full damage but he has you trapped under his weight. You’re sure he wants to wallow in his displeasure at having been injured so you’ll have to make do. You reach back and card your fingers through his hair, it’s lightly coated in dirt but not too bad. He sighs softly at your touch, leaning into it. You wonder what he got up to while he was gone. You missed him so much it almost doesn’t feel like he’s really here but the warmth seeping into your back is solid proof.

“You’ve been gone for a week, y’know?” There’s a slight melancholy air to your tone that you can’t disguise. He tenses up and you can’t help but feel bad for kicking him when he’s down like this. “It’s fine, I know you’re busy. I just wish you’d call.” Jinwoo tightens his hold on you as if you’ll wither away at any moment.

”I was inside a system gate, I’m sorry my love, I didn’t intend to be away for so long.” The stupid fucking system, sometimes you hate it, you know it saved Jinwoo’s life but sometimes it feels like it’s also trying to take everything he has. It’s taken large chunks of his emotions, he’s had to fight to regain some sense of some of them. It’s taken his time away from his family, his normal life, and one day you fear it’ll take him away from you entirely. It’s just some kind of game after all.

You pull yourself away from that line of thought. ”Like I said s’fine. I used your black card, so we’re even… sorta.” You pause for a moment, before explaining further, “It’s a gift from both of us to my mother, her birthday is next week.”

He sighs into your hair before kissing your head, “My love, you can use that for whatever you want. I don't care. I would actually prefer you do.”

”Yeah well…” The thing is, you still flinch when pulling it out, the concept of spending money scares you. After spending so many years where you and Jinwoo’s family barely scraped by, it's a hard feeling to shake. “Anyway that’s not important, you seem tired. Why don’t we sit, hm?” He doesn’t fight you, seemingly content to let you guide him to the couch. Once in a while he doesn’t argue when you try to get him to sit down for two seconds and it’s a fucking blessing but you don’t suspect it’ll last long. 

Sitting him down on the couch you take a step back to assess the damage while he leans his head back and closes his eyes. His legs are spread wide and his arms are sprawled across the back of the couch, he seems exhausted. He’s notably tired and visibly frustrated, you assume he’s annoyed with having been injured. There seems to be blood on his shirt, you wonder if it’s his, but hope not. Most glaringly his face is busted to shit. His nose seems to have some dried blood under it, he clearly scraped his cheek and it looks like he has a black eye forming. Not to mention he’s absolutely filthy, but otherwise okay. Smiling crookedly you step between his open knees, placing one hand on the back of the couch for balance as you lean over him and place a whisper of a kiss on the corner of his mouth. You miss intentionally to get his attention then start to pull away in tease.

“Mm, do it right.” He snakes a hand behind your head and brings you back in. Pulling you into a soft kiss that clearly resonates ‘I’m home, sorry I was gone, I’m here now.’ It’s an I love you in its own right. 

You kiss him softly for a few moments before pulling away just enough to whisper, “Let's take a shower.”

He huffs a laugh against your lips, “That bad?” 

“Well you’re covered in blood for one... But I’ll wash your back so don’t worry about it m’kay?”

”You don’t have to do that,” Jinwoo says, gently tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“Yeah but I want to… Are you saying you don’t want to see me naked?” You reach up and your hand captures his mid-air. You press it to your cheek and he strokes your skin with his thumb.

Jinwoo shakes his head in defeat, ”Hard bargain.”

”I’m known for those,” you grin.

He pulls you in for another kiss, this one heavier than the last but still airing on the soft side. It’s wet and hot but slow, no real sense of urgency behind it. When you part he bumps his nose against yours, “You’ll let me cook after?”

”You’re injured so that’s gonna be a no, but you can cook tomorrow. Make me breakfast in bed or something.”

”I can do that,” he says with absolute seriousness. 

”That was a joke.”

”No, you’ve put the idea in my head now, I’ll think of it as a quest.”

”Oh shut up.” You’re laughing regardless, maybe the system is good for something once in a while. You offer him a hand and you swear to yourself that you’re fully prepared to pull him off the couch but you know you aren’t that strong, he’s deceptively heavy. Your hand stays offered anyway and he takes it mostly just for the sake of touching you, getting up entirely of his own right. He holds it for a few seconds, squeezing it gently once, and then lets go before striding towards the bathroom. You note that he walks away with far too much grace and ease for an injured man. For fuck’s sake the guy could at least pretend to be phased. It seems like he took his two seconds on the couch and now he’s good. Shaking your head you follow him, pulling your sweater and shirt off in one movement behind his back; maybe you can at least surprise him a little. You slip your shorts and underwear off much the same way, struggling a little to not make noise or stumble in your walking as you do so. All that’s left is your stupid little over the knee socks because your legs get unbearably cold but pants were the devil's invention. You have no way to take those off easily but that's okay, you suspect he won’t mind. 

You say nothing, letting him flick the light on to the dressing room and turn back to you on his own. Jinwoo’s about to say something but as he sees you he pauses hard, completely short circuiting for a moment. You have to hold it together at the slack-jawed look on his face. 

“Hi,” he says stupidly, fully acting as if he’s never seen you naked before. You lose your battle, as his response makes you bust out in a fit of giggles. 

“Hi, baby- You good?” 

“Yeah…” Jinwoo says, dazed, “I just forget how lucky I am.”

”Alright smooth talker…” you roll your eyes, you really don’t think you’re all that special; especially not when he has celebrities and S-rank hunters with their eyes on him. He seems to know what you’re thinking so he grabs your hand, dragging you further into the dressing room. You toss your clothes near the washing machine and let him pull you along. He pushes you against the sink and boxes you in. You don’t even have to meet his eyes to know he’s looking at you with that intensity that you fell in love with. 

He seems to struggle with his words for a moment, you know he’s not always the best at fully expressing himself these days, it’s okay you can wait. Eventually Jinwoo lets out a soft breath and says, “I love you.”

You blink at him, wide eyed. He doesn’t say that much, he shows it in other ways, but he rarely says it. You smile softly, reaching up to caress his cheek for a moment, “I love you too.” 

He captures your lips as soon as the words are out of your mouth; this kiss is different from your last. It’s wetter, harder, Jinwoo slips his tongue into your mouth quickly. He slides an arm behind your back and pulls your hips flush, your bare cock rubbing against his pants, it forces a moan out of you. The sound seems to get lost in between your lips but the way his grip tightens means he heard it just fine. His other hand grabs your thigh and hikes it up so you’re left resting in his hands lest you want to balance one leg alone. You know he’s insanely strong but it always makes your cock throb when he lifts your full weight like it’s nothing. Then as if hearing your thoughts he uses his grip on your back and thigh to lift you onto your toes so you truly have to rely on his strength alone, unable to support yourself in any meaningful way. His injuries are momentarily forgotten by you as you’re too busy whining into his mouth and gripping tightly at his shirt. 

Thankfully things shift and it’s his turn to moan when his hand adjusts itself on your thigh and comes in contact with your stocking. You can’t help the small bit of laughter that bubbles from your lips, forcing you to pull away from the kiss.

Surprisingly, Jinwoo speaks before you can, “Remind me to get you more of these…” He plays with the hem of your stockings, they begin to slip down past your knee a bit and his breath catches ever-so-slightly. “They’re good.”

”You’re so ridiculous.”

”I’m a simple man.” 

“Yeah baby, I’ve noticed.”

Jinwoo doesn’t bother with a retort, opting to kiss you instead. You let him kiss you breathless for a few minutes until you pull away and mumble against his lips, “You’re wearing far too many clothes.”

”I can fix that,” he mumbles back. He seems loath to pull away from your lips, kissing you again and grinding his hips against your bare cock, almost certainly just to hear you moan.

He pulls away, setting your leg down gently and gives you a second to find your balance before he steps away, pulling his shirt over his head as he moves. You usually try not to boost his ego too much but you find your eyes raking down his chest regardless. He smirks and you roll your eyes, caught red handed you guess. He does seem to have a blossoming bruise on his ribs but no blood so that’s good at least; it must not have been his. Jinwoo shucks off the rest of his clothes and you pointedly don’t watch just to avoid giving him the satisfaction.

When he’s done he moves back into your space and you hum, thinking about what you want to do; this is supposed to be about him after all. If you give this man an inch he’ll take a mile. You can’t let him take control, he'll aggravate his injuries for certain. Instead of letting him pin you to the counter again you take his hips gently and spin the two of you around. When you push him against the counter he raises his eyebrow, curious enough to let you do as you will. 

It’s then that you sink to your knees, glad for your socks, you’re sure your legs would be freezing otherwise. You hear Jinwoo suck in a sharp breath and you hold back a smile. Instead you lick your hand, letting a dollop of spit fall out of your mouth into your palm before you take a hold of Jinwoo’s cock. He hisses as you begin to stroke him slowly, twisting your wrist every so often, bringing him to full hardness. Occasionally you swipe your thumb over the head but largely you stay away from any movement that could really bring him to the edge. Instead you choose to pepper his hips and thighs with kisses. 

He whines a little, “You- hah- you're being mean…”

“Oh?” you hum, your tone lifting in a way that makes Jinwoo stiffen.

“No- You're not mean. You're not mean I didn't-”

“Baby if you want me to be mean-” your hand lightly squeezes the base of his cock right before you lean forward and give the head a small kiss. His hips jerk a little but it's a miniscule reaction in comparison to the moan that's torn from his chest moments later when you properly wrap your lips around his cock. 

“Please, please-”

You pay him no mind, instead taking care to suck slowly and softly at the head of his cock. Sounds of distressed pleasure spill from Jinwoo’s lips as he contorts over you. You pull off of him with a pop and sigh in mock disappointment.

”Baby you’re going to hurt yourself. You’re injured!”

“I can fix that! Will you stop fucking with me please and thank you-“

You bite him unkindly high up on his inner thigh to which he jerks again. “You want me to take care of you! You came slumping back to me after you got your ass beat so sit there and be good! Stop bitching and maybe I’ll be nice to you, fucking hell.” You know that’s not true but sometimes being mean to him is the only way to get him to shut the fuck up.

”Yes, dear.” He drags a hand down his face, acting resigned to his fate as if he’s not about to get his dick sucked. 

You eye him dubiously, usually you love his spirited nature, but right now you’d much rather he just relax, he never does that these days.

You wrap a loose hand over his cock and stroke it gently, the barely there pressure a tease of a touch more than anything. “Jinwoo…” you coo softly, your fingertips running up his cock lightly, “Will you let me take care of you? Pretty please?” you ask nicer this time, trying to soften him up to the idea of not pushing himself for fucking once.

Jinwoo sighs in that way he always does when he’s about to tell you no, so you lean forward lick a stripe up his cock before taking the head in your mouth and swirling your tongue over the tip. He takes a shuddering breath and seems to pause in his answering so you pull off and plead again, “Please, baby? I like taking care of you, you know I do. Let me?” You don’t waste time before putting your mouth back on his cock, he hasn’t even answered yet but you need to keep him in your good graces. Is this a little manipulative? Definitely, but god forbid this man be kind to himself so maybe you need to take drastic measures. 

“Okay- okay, you win-” he concedes, voice a little strained, hands gripping tightly at the counter. That was actually easier than you thought it would be. You wonder if he’s wound up after a whole week in a system dungeon, doesn’t time pass differently there? You can’t remember. Regardless, you'll do what you can to help. 

  You hum around his cock, delighted due to his obedience, happily taking him deeper into your mouth in turn. The weight of his cock on your tongue feels good almost too much so. Sometimes you wonder if you’re a little too far gone for this man. Sitting with half of him in your mouth for a moment, the rest of his cock in your hand, you wonder what kind of face he’s making. Is he finally being patient? He’s stopped bitching at least. All that you hear from him is heavy pants as you begin to bob your head. He whines a little as you rub circles into his hip with your thumb, a silent plea for him to not buck his hips. When you’re pretty sure you’ve gotten the message across you take his cock down to the base. It invades your throat and you struggle with its size, trying desperately to accommodate and not pull off entirely. Jinwoo gives a choked moan and pride surges through you despite your current struggle.

You must accidentally dig your nails into Jinwoo’s hip as suddenly there’s a hand on the back of your head holding you there. “Shh, it’s okay you’re doing amazing,” he says, panting slightly, “When you pull back breathe through your nose. You know how to do this, you’re almost there, just relax.” You squirm under his hold a little, not because you want him to let go, it’s the opposite really. His sweet words flood heat to your stomach and you’re reminded very quickly that you’re not wearing any clothes when your cock throbs. You manage to further relax your throat, but you get to a point where you absolutely need to breathe so you tap his leg and he lets go of your head. You pull back slightly, making sure to keep half of him in your mouth while you take a breath, before taking him back into your throat. You gag around him a bit, drool sliding down your chin faster than before. 

“Can I grab your hair- please-“ he begs, voice strained. 

You take a moment to suck on the tip of his cock before pulling off entirely, “Mhm, go for it. You can move my head around if it would help you feel good, I know it’s been a while since I’ve done this…” Not that that’s your fault, he never fucking lets you, always too determined to fuck you within an inch of your life. 

“I- You’re doing perfect I just…” you raise an eyebrow at him, Jinwoo never gets this embarrassed you wonder what it could be. 

“If there’s anything-?” You want him to feel good. 

“Can… I cum on your face?” You hum in faux contemplation, you’re going to say yes but it feels good to see him stare at you longingly, eyes blown wide, red splotching his cheeks. 

“You wanna mark me? That it?” You stroke his cock slowly, it twitches in your hand, how delightful. 

“Yeah,” he says, nearly choking on the word. 

“Mm, sounds nice. Go ahead baby, take what you need.” You say sweetly, taking a steadying breath before you take the tip of his cock into his mouth. Barely a moment later he grabs a fistful of your hair and shoves your head down onto his cock entirely, forcing himself into your throat. You gag harshly and a loud moan escapes him, echoing through the room. With one hand on his hip to steady yourself, your other hand sneaks down to your own cock, finally granting yourself some relief. You fist your cock and tug at it harshly, now that you’re finally touching yourself you’re unwilling to build up slowly; you’ve been waiting long enough. Jinwoo uses your mouth not aggressively but it’s forceful enough to make you gag on every thrust, tears streaming down your face.

“F-fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry…” he chokes out, tightening his grip on your hair before he pulls you off for a second. “Breathe.” You take a few harsh gasping breaths, then he guides it back into your mouth and quickly shoves your head down; breaching your throat once again. This time he doesn’t pull your head off, he keeps you there, squirming. You dig your nails into his hip and tug rapidly at your own cock, twisting your wrist on every stroke, getting more desperate as Jinwoo uses you. You can’t even see him anymore, tears flowing too openly. You fear you must look like a mess. With spit pouring down your chin onto your chest, cheeks soaked with tears, cock spilling precum over your hand; truly this man knows how to reduce you to nothing. You’re glad that Jinwoo seems to be enjoying the show at least. More than enough proof coming in the form of him panting, whines escaping him whenever your throat constricts around him.

Eventually he yanks your head back, tugging at his cock quickly, your spit making his hand slide across his skin with a quick slick sound. You kneel at his feet gasping harshly, your own pleasure paused momentarily. You close your eyes and the sound of his broken moans mingle with your gasping breaths. It fills the air and for a second it’s all you know.

“I-” he starts, just slightly too late, cumming on your face without any real warning. You whine quietly, you love him so much. You wish you could see the blissed out look on his face but you know he wants to look at what he’s done to you for a minute. 

Unable to help it, your tongue pokes out and licks a drop of his cum off your lip, it’s terrible, truly. You don’t mind if it’s him though. Especially because he moans a little at the sight. 

“There’s ah, hold on.” Water runs for a moment and then a warm wet cloth gently dabs at your face, notably your eyelids, he must not have wanted you to get anything in your eye. “You can open your eyes now.”

You blink your eyes open a few times even as he continues to wipe softly at your face, cleaning tears off your cheeks and saliva off your chin. He looks at you intently as he cleans you up, determined to do a good job, he’s too sweet sometimes.

“You didn’t cum,” he says, matter of fact.

Shrugging, “I was more focused on you, I’m not concerned.” You’re hoping he drops it but you suspect he won’t. You will your boner to magically fucking disappear.

“I am,” he insists and you don’t have time to stop him before he moves and drops to his knees beside you.

“You’re injured-ah!” Your protests about his health are cut off when he takes your cock into his hand. He strokes it twice before running his thumb over the tip and you give a choked whimper, bucking your hips. 

Grasping for his wrist you try desperately to pull his arm away as he strokes your cock but you feel weak all over. “You- I can’t- Jinwoo!” As you call his name you fold over, spilling cum over his hand. You sob broken syllables that sound like a mantra of pleas as he continues to jerk at your cock until tears are streaming down your face again. 

When you bat weakly at him he finally lets go of your cock and you lean against him, panting. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and you whine, if he says a single fucking thing about this you swear to god; you'll have to kill him.

“That was faster than usual,” he comments idly, as if talking about the weather. 

“A week! You were gone for a week!” You smack him tiredly, you know it doesn’t phase him at all but it’s the thought that counts. This is why you didn’t want him to touch you, you were entirely too wound up, you knew if he put his hands on you at all you’d embarrass yourself. He sighs and kisses the side of your head again, mumbling an apology into your hair. You sigh in return and nod against him despite the pit it sets in your stomach. You wish he wouldn’t do that now, you hate apology sex, that’s not what this was supposed to be. 

You try to push yourself off the floor only to find your legs weak, man fuck Jinwoo, you hate that guy. Your face goes red as you mumble, “Help me up…” you tack on just for good measure, “And if you laugh I’ll kill you.” 

“Of course, of course.” He stands with a grace that you envy and proceeds to not help you up but instead sweep you up into his arms. You make some vague noises of protest that he ignores and he laughs quietly. He sets you on the counter and kneels to slip your socks off, he really is acting like he’s not hurt at all. You didn’t do much to help, did you? 

You sigh, disappointment filling you, so much for caring for him, things really have changed. He’s going so many places you can’t reach; what are you supposed to do with that knowledge? What will you do the day he doesn’t need you anymore? It feels like that day has already gone and passed and you’re not sure why he keeps coming home to you. 

“You’re getting in your head,” he says from where he’s knelt before you. 

You hum and give a noncommittal shrug, unsure where to even start. Hopping off the counter you softly mumble, “I’m going to shower.” When you shuffle past him you enter the bathroom and make a point to gently close the door behind you, despite the original intention of a shared shower. It’s a quiet sign that you want to be alone. Despite this, he enters a few moments later, once you’ve turned the water on. You sigh, he’s terrible at reading signals, or maybe he just prefers to ignore them. 

”Hey,” Jinwoo starts as he wraps his arms around you from behind, flattening himself against your back. “Did I hurt you?”

There’s no point in hiding it, ”No… yes… it���s not you, I just miss meaning something to you.” He makes a wounded sound that you can hear clearly over the water. It’s surely warm enough by now but his arms tighten around you and you’re unable to step under it, trapped in his hold. 

Resting his chin on the top of your head he asks quietly, “Why would you ever think you don’t?”

You sigh restlessly and pull yourself from his arms, “You know how I used to have a purpose? You would come home beat to shit after a raid and I would take care of you? That doesn’t happen anymore! I even had one job today and I fucked it up! I barely did anything for you! I didn’t even tend to your wounds…” You find yourself breathing heavy, tears beginning to spill from your eyes. You sniffle hard, wiping at them aggressively. Digging the heels of your palms into your eyes you wail your biggest fear, “ I don’t have any use to you anymore!”

He tugs one on one of your wrists, pulling on it gently and persistently, until you let it fall away and look at him. ”You don’t need a use, dumbass. You’re not a tool. You’re the love of my life,” he says it so straight faced you physically reel back, accidentally stepping directly into the shower stream and scaring the crap out of yourself. You jump out of your skin when the water touches you suddenly. Jinwoo has to use his hold on your wrist to pull you into his chest, keeping you from falling. 

Your tears freeze up out of shock, “You don’t have to be mean about it!” You cry, shrilly, “I’m wallowing!” You push off his chest and scrub any remaining tears off your face.

”You’re being stupid!”

”Ouch!” The mood feels worlds lighter, Was that it? Did you really think of yourself only as a tool? You feel like this insecurity won’t go away overnight but at the moment you feel less like you’re drowning so there’s that. Regardless of your lighter mood you sigh, “I still think you should get beat up more often, I like taking care of you.” It’s mostly a joke but there’s a crumb of truth to it, maybe you guys can compromise somewhere. Perhaps he could come home for dinner more often or something, you’ll talk to him about it later.

”That’s…” he pauses for a while before he sighs and goes on, “I didn’t get beat up.” He rubs the back of his head, a nervous tick he’s never quite kicked. “I tripped leaving the system gate. Busted my face on a pile of rocks if you can believe it…” He can’t meet your eyes, looking anywhere else as his face goes quickly red.

You blink at him, wide-eyed, “No fucking way…”

He groans as if he’s dying, ”Do you think I would make that up for fun?”

You can’t help it, laughter bubbles out of your throat and escapes you in uncontrollable bursts. You can’t breathe, you’re going to die, holy shit there’s no way. Oh man, you shouldn’t be laughing at him like this but it’s just so human. 

You have tears in your eyes as you tell him, “I love you so much- you are so uncool.”

Jinwoo’s head whips towards you, cheeks still red, “Says the guy who-” 

You nearly choke on your words trying to get them out faster than he can, “Do not finish that sentence!”

He holds up his hands in surrender before scratching at his chin, “You know… I thought it was kinda cute.”

You turn away quickly, padding over to mess with the water temperature, “What was that? I can’t hear you over the water!” 

Jinwoo silently comes up behind you, which shouldn’t even be possible with the wet floor, bullying you up against the wall. He boxes you in from behind and speaks into your ear, “If you’re that pent up… How many orgasms do you think I can wring out of you?” You shudder against him and open your mouth to speak but only a whine comes out when he places a loose hand on your throat. Not to choke, just resting there and feeling your pulse more than anything. “Let me take care of you this time, hm?”

“Hah- Jinwoo-” you whine. This man fights dirtier than anyone you’ve ever met. Maybe you can’t say anything, you did the same shit earlier, turnabout is fair play and all. 

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling headcanons #solo leveling #sung jin woo #only i level up #solo leveling fanfic #solo leveling jinwoo #Zephyrs Stories

[piichuu]

♡ SLEEPING ON THE COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT

ft. toge inumaki, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, yuta okkotsu, gojo satoru, geto suguru, itadori yuji

WARNINGS: it’s my first time writing yuta so might be ooc, gn!reader, fluff

TOGE INUMAKI

the two of your are staring at each other. toge is sitting on the floor, right by the couch as you’re on your side, head on a pillow and a blanket wrapped around you. the reason for this is a fight you two had via text, all about the fact that he’s never home these days because he’s been too busy with work.

it had taken a toll on you that you weren’t able to see him and it eventually snapped, but it wasn’t exactly his fault. he wasn’t the one who chose to to spend his entire days at work instead of home together with you, it was his boss who decided that and he had nothing to say about it. he’s been dying to see you, but he didn’t expect you two to not spend time with one another when he finally came back home and actually had the time.

but you soon realized that sleeping on the couch wasn’t the most mature choice, so when he entered the living room and sat by the couch, you whispered a small “i’m sorry,” before getting down on the floor and wrapping your arms around him, allowing toge to pull you into his lap so the two of you could hug each other close. “i know it’s not your fault, i shouldn’t have spent the only time this week we had together, not being with you because i was mad because of something stupid.”

he shakes his head and kisses your cheek while eventually standing up to then take your hand and lead you into the bedroom so the two of you can sleep together. he can’t communicate with spoken words, but as he puts his arms around your waist when you lay down under the covers, you know that it will all be okay, you’ll get to spend more time together again.

NANAMI KENTO

“darling, you don’t have to sleep out here. come to bed and we’ll talk about it there, okay? let’s not be mad at each other,” your boyfriend says while leaning against the doorframe leading into the living room. he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants as he’s just about to go to sleep, but he won’t if you aren’t there with him.

you’ve just made a bed for yourself on the couch as he talks to you. his voice is soft and comforting, like it always is, no matter the amounts of fights you’ve had. maybe that’s what’s most frustrating, how he can forgive you so easily after you’ve been yelling at him and the fact that you’re the one who’s trying to avoid him when he’s been nice to you all day.

you allow a sigh to escape your lips. nanami is still standing further away from you, not wanting to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable in case you’re still angry with him. you were jealous, you had seen him with someone else when you walked past a cafe on your daily walk home from work, but it had only been a coworker of his that he had a meeting with since they were new and needed guidance. but you couldn’t help the fear that took over your entire body, the fear of losing him forever.

“i’m sorry, kento,” “it’s okay, i know you were just scared. but you never have to worry, because there is no one else for me, no one else. okay?” he steps closer to you, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him close. nanami can’t help but smile to himself, putting his own arms around your waist so he can pull you as close as possible. “we’re okay, darling. let’s just go to sleep now, hm?”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

he sighs from where he’s standing right beside the couch. you’re already asleep, but no matter for how many hours he tried, nothing seemed to work. he regrets how he raised his voice at you when he got home. everything in his life seemed to have brought him to frustration and just seeing that you hadn’t picked up some clothes you left on the floor caused him to break. if it was a usual day, that wouldn’t have bothered him. he would simply just pick them up and put them on a chair or in the washing machine, but today was different.

you had gone to sleep on the couch in case he would still be mad at you, but he had calmed down as soon as night fell and regret had washed over him, causing his sleep to be disturbed by his own thoughts, which is why he’s here, by the couch, not knowing what he’s supposed to do with himself.

he bites the inside of his cheek as he carefully lies down beside you. he would never want to admit that he can’t fall asleep without you in his arms, but it’s the truth. he needs to know that you’re there, that you won’t leave him, that he can make it all up to you no matter how long it takes. megumi would allow you to beat him into a pulp if that’s what it took for you to forgive him, he never wants to look at the dried tears on your cheeks ever again.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you’re still asleep, but even in that unconscious state of yours, an arm slowly makes its way to grab his t-shirt, making sure he’s there. he places a soft kiss to your neck as he holds you tightly in his arms. “i love you, i’m sorry for being an idiot. i won’t ever do something like that again, i promise.”

YUTA OKKOTSU

he bites his lip anxiously as he’s holding your hand, trying to hold you back from leaving the bedroom. he’s aware that you’re trying to get away from him so you can sleep on the couch on your own, but he won’t allow you to go to sleep without hearing his apologies first. he needs you to hear his apologies, even if they’re in vain.

yuta had been ignoring you today, not intentionally of course. he’d been stressed from the amounts of curses he had to fight today. it had all become so overwhelming that everything else just became a blur. he forgot about everything else and his only focus had been to fight curses and to then come home and stress even more about the fact that he could get another call that would tell him that he had to fight yet another one.

he was tired, overworked. the constant stress of not knowing whether he would get out of the fights alive or not. he knew you were worried about him and just wanted him to rest, but he couldn’t. he had to work, no matter how much it affected him mentally, but he couldn’t take it anymore and he understood that as soon as you had to yell at him to get his attention.

“i- i’m sorry, baby. i never meant to ignore you, it’s just overwhelming. it’s all so overwhelming and i wish i could spend every single minute of every day with you, but i can’t and i’m sorry about that too. just, please don’t sleep out on the couch, it’s uncomfortable. it’ll hurt your back,” he says while holding onto your hand tightly. there are tears forming in his eyes while speaking and when you turn to look at him, he’s instantly forgiven.

you cup his cheeks and stroke them comfortingly. “it’s okay. it just-it wasn’t nice being ignored but i know you never intended to, it was just frustrating. i worry about you and i really hope you’ll get a break sometime soon. you need it and you deserve it,” you smile at him softly and he nods, sniffling while burying his face in your shoulder. “let’s go to sleep together.” “yeah, let’s go to sleep together.

GOJO SATORU

“don’t be mad, baby. i know it was stupid to scare you like that, i’m sorry,” he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning down so his cheek is pressed against yours while he’s speaking. every once in a while, he presses a few kisses to your skin, wanting you to know that he’s truly sorry.

earlier this evening, he hadn’t replied to any of your text messages when he was out with friends. he had seen the texts but wanted to see how you would react if he didn’t answer. this was an idea he would soon regret, he realized it almost as soon as you began calling him at least ten times per minute.

when he came home you had been crying and he’s never felt as bad as he did when seeing you like that because of something he did. after that, you refused to talk to him. he understood why, but he didn’t want you to sleep on the couch, he wanted to hold you in bed and kiss you while apologizing as much as possible.

“i’ll never ever do that again. i’m always gonna text you and call you so you know i’m safe. i don’t ever want to hurt you, i’m so sorry,” he strokes your hair and eventually, you turn to look at him, tiredness clouding your eyes as you look at him through the dark. “it was really stupid satoru.” “yes” “and you’re dumb” “yes” “and i will personally kill you if this ever happens again” “you won’t” “yeah, i won’t.”

you sigh and lean into his touch as he cups your cheek and rubs it comfortingly. “i can cook you breakfast tomorrow,” he mumbles, causing a smile to appear over your lips. “you better, and give me lots of hugs and kisses too or you’re not forgiven,” you giggle and he kisses the tip of your nose with a bright smile on his face. “i could never say no to that.”

GETO SUGURU

“stop staring at me, suguru.” “i’m not staring.” “liar” “shut up”

you don’t even know what the fight was about anymore, but you still allowed it to go on for long, so long that it’s now lead you to sleeping on the couch, but geto suguru will certainly not allow you to sleep out here. if he has to drag you into the bedroom and then lock the door so you can’t leave the room and is forced to stay in bed with him, he will do just that.

“get up from the couch and come to bed with me,” he says but you stare at him blankly while slowly sitting up. “ask nicely and i might consider it,” suguru rolls his eyes, but eventually gives in, taking a deep breath as if it’s one of the most difficult things he’s been asked to do. “please y/n, come back to bed, i don’t wanna fight with you anymore.”

you don’t even think about it and he knows you aren’t either, you both already knew you’d be ready to come back to bed with him as soon as he asked the first time, but there’s no fun in that. unfortunately you’re both tired, so asking him to call you all these pet names to make you listen to him doesn’t even cross your mind. you just get up from the couch and let him put an arm over your shoulder as he leads you into the bedroom, kissing your cheeks. “you’re not mad right?” “no, it’s all forgotten.”

ITADORI YUJI

his hand is warm as it brushes over your cheek. he’s been placing kisses to your face for minutes now, wanting you to know that he’s truly sorry for getting mad at you earlier today. he wants to see that pretty smile of yours back on your face, he wants to hold you close when he falls asleep, hearing your soft breathing against his neck as you go to sleep in the warmth of his embrace.

you eventually have to put one hand on his arm as he begins to pepper your entire face with kisses, not even stopping to catch his breath. giggles soon begin to escape your lips which only causes yuji to continue. he can’t help but chuckle lightly when hearing you giggle and he looks at you fondly when pulling away, brushing a hand through your tangled hair. “i’m sorry, baby. i really am,” he whispers before leaning down to rest his head on the edge of the couch.

you turn to your side to look at him, now wearing a light smile on your face while staring into the warmth of his eyes. “did you have a bad day?” he sighs when hearing you ask that question, but he nods his head and rubs your cheek. “yeah, there was a lot to do today. i’m sorry for lashing out on you, it’s not like me at all, i’m so sorry for making you feel sad. i’m sorry for acting like that.”

yuji closes his eyes when you lean in to kiss his lips. it’s a short but sweet kiss, only filled with love. “it’s okay. maybe it’s a sign for you to take a break from work tomorrow so you can rest, one day wouldn’t hurt,” you mumble and he nods, reflecting your smile with one of his own. “yeah, a day wouldn’t hurt as long as i get to spend it with you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #itadori yuji x reader #nanami kento x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #toge inumaki x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #itadori yuji #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #nanami kento #toge inumaki #yuta okkotsu #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk headcanons #x reader

[sootsz]

qsmp has accidentally stumbled into a psychology experiment that would make the stanford prison experiment sob in fear. they’ve gotten a bunch of cc’s, and tens of thousands of viewers, to be deeply emotionally connected to pixel eggs. in doing so they’ve presented a problem:

how the fuck do you get outta this

the eggs were obviously never intended to be permanent (logging on every day to do tasks isn’t feasible to upkeep forever) and they were even given a vague limit of When Mama Dragon Comes Back (and then, of course, the “6 days til they die” thing). now you’ve made it so quackity (and his team) have a big ol dilemma, where two things are true: 1) they can’t keep the eggs forever since it’s not sustainable 2) you can’t take away the eggs without, oopsies, emotionally damaging your friends that you invited to have fun on your server.

turns out, when you give a group of humans all their own fully-realized individual who presents as a (weak, vulnerable) child that is in need of care from them, whatever instinct has kept us alive for generations goes “!!!!!” which is both really cool and compassionate, but also kinda concerning!

because, well: not sustainable! and if the eggs aren’t sustainable, what’s the alternative? killing them?? no! just look at jaiden’s reaction to bobby “losing” a life, even when it wasn’t his last one. or bad’s genuinely heart wrenching reaction to dapper losing a life. or how quiet and angry phil got after chayanne and tallulah had a “nightmare,” before it was resolved. that’s not acting. that’s real. what the hell will they do if the eggs actually die? from what i see, the cc’s are taking the “6 days til death” thing as something that’s avoidable. a threat that can be overcome. and for their sake, i hope it is.

ever played a dnd game where you actually feel insulted bc of smth someone’s pc did? yeah. that x20 because there’s SO much overlap between “streamer persona” and “literally just who they are”. and this level of roleplay character bleeding is cool, but i hope the eggs are handled carefully, or all those involved might end up actually hurt.

there’s also the whole added element of fans, many of whom only tune into the streams for egg content. the plot is very egg-centric. the roleplaying and characterization that the cc’s are doing is all centered around the eggs in one way or another. it’s been going on for a month, but it does not feel at all resolved, and plot-wise it would completely mess up so many plot threads happening if the eggs were all to go (charlie’s unresolved deal with lil j, quackity’s goal to bond with tallulah, the trial, etc etc) so if you take away the eggs, you risk messing up the whole vibe they’ve got going on, and facing backlash from fans who are also emotionally compromised by pixel eggs

we inherently want to protect the cute and vulnerable, and by god are these eggs cute and so very fragile. (then, there’s another layer of people’s own issues that they project onto the eggs. be it desire for paternity, some kind of maternal instinct, or, even in the matter of chayanne, using chayanne as a sort of way to cope with loss by making connections between chayanne and technoblade. which is beautiful and very sweet but would give chayanne dying some additional emotionally charged elements which i think should be avoided at all costs). there’s a reason that movies and other media generally do not kill named children characters—audiences really hate it. it’s taboo for good reason.

which leads us to

schrodinger’s egg: until sunday, they r both alive and dead. and this is both good and bad. god help us all

#please handle it carefully please handle it carefully please handle it carefully please handle it carefully please handle it carefully pleas #eggs :) #qsmp #quackity #Wilbur soot #tallulah #Philza #Charlie slimecicle #pleaasseeeeee #and this isn’t even touching on how the eggs feel #emotionally connected to somebody #never to talk to them again #having to watch them be sad #knowing it’s because of you #kinda fucked up #badboyhalo #dapper #Jaiden animations

[mrsriddlenott]

Best Friend!Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Angsty but a Happy Ending, kinda college AU but not important, some Fluff, no real warnings besides language.

Kinda trying a newish style so lmk if it’s better or worse or if you don’t mind either way.

Summary: When your best friend Theo sleeps with your childhood bully in a moment of weakness, wanting you.

Theo Nott had never had a shortage of girls at his disposal. He could have fun whenever he wanted. With whoever he wanted. So why wasn’t he having fun without her here. She was mad at him, he knew that, but he never would have thought she’d missed his celebration party. He had basically just won the team their whole match for fucks sake. So where the hell was she?

Okay, maybe he had crossed a line last night but she would have said something if she was mad enough to skip his party….right? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been with girls around her before. He didn’t realize his feet were carrying him to her dorm room until he was already banging on the cracking wood and breathing heavily as he spoke, “Come on y/n/n you gotta come out and celebrate with me.”

The door creaked open only a slit, a smile quickly painting his face as her gorgeous eyes he feared he’d never see again peaked around it, “Hey you,” He said through his smile, “Are you gonna come out to the party?” His face fell as he attempted to enter the room, only for the door to be held firm making him chuckle nervously, eyeing what he could see of her.

“Um I’m actually a bit tired and I think-“ The sound of a distinctly familiar chuckle had his eyebrows shooting up his face, only now was he realizing the scent of overly expensive cologne….and arrogance. Her eyes shut tightly as she huffed out in annoyance, allowing Theo to shove into her dorm room to see Draco Malfoy perched shirtless on her bed as though he was the king of the world. For some reason he couldn’t stomach the sight of it, him, his teammate, his friend, on the bed he spent most of his weekends on, his safe space for him and his favorite girl.

“We were a little busy Theo so if you don’t mind.” Draco propped himself up as he spoke, using her favorite stuffed animal, which he himself had won her a few summers ago and he snapped. “Get the fuck out.” He didn’t understand why he took it so personally, Draco probably didn’t even know the little cat was y/n’s favorite which made it all the more infuriating, “Get your fucking shirt and get out or I will throw you out Malfoy, and we both already know who will win that fight.”

Draco laughed as he yanked his shirt off the floor before shooting a wink in y/n’s direction and slipping out the door still half naked while Theo slammed it behind him. “What the fuck were you thinking, Draco fucking Malfoy, seriously?!” Her face was shocked but angry, so angry his breath picked up and his heart raced as he tried to calm down and speak softly. For a long moment the room was nearly silent, she was waiting for him to speak but he couldn’t.

She scoffed at him before starting up, “Oh so you can get with whoever you want but I can’t, is that how this works now?” Her eyes were watering, he could see them glistening but she didn’t let the tears fall and he couldn’t hold his own back if she hadn’t as well. “It’s Draco y/n. He’s just using you.”

“Okay? And maybe I’m using him too, maybe I just wanted him to fuck my brains out like he promised,” The thought had bile rising up his throat as anger began to overtake him, “Maybe I just wanted to forget the image of you fucking Pansy Parkinson at a party you threw for me!”

She huffed at him as her eyes rolled, he couldn’t form words, he didn’t know what to say, it’s not like the truth would be any good. He had fucked Pansy and of course he knew somewhere deep down she would be mad but he couldn’t admit he was only with Pansy that night because he wanted y/n. It was a pitiful excuse and made no sense even to him, he was looking for her, he wanted her and he was finally going to tell her. But there she was. Dancing and laughing and having fun without him. He needed her, in every meaning of the word, his world would crash and burn without y/n but hers would go on spinning, clearly. It could have been any girl really but Pansy was there and he didn’t think.

The look on y/n’s face when she walked in on them hurt him more than anything he could imagine. She had come looking for him. To spend the rest of the party with him he guessed, and he hated himself for ruining it. “Are you gonna say anything?! You fucked the girl who made my life hell for years at Hogwarts Theo, did you even think about how that would make me feel? How that would make this friendship look?” She hadn’t called him anything but Teddy in years and somehow it was that which broke him. He was crying now, stumbling over failed sentences as he tried to explain.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you’re right I didn’t think. I was looking for you and I- I fuck you were right there and I should have come up to you anyway but you were so happy and you didn’t need me.” His words spewed out uncontrollably, he didn’t know he could feel half the things he felt for her and he couldn’t explain most but he would keep going until she kicked him out, “You never needed me, you’re so perfect and independent and I rely on you so much, I can barely get out of bed without you waking me up.” He watched her face as she watched his, she was hurt and confused but listening nonetheless so he continued.

“I don’t know when to stop okay, and that’s not an excuse it’s not I just needed someone….I needed you and I wanted you and I couldn’t have you, and when I went to leave she was there and she wanted me and I’m such an idiot I know that. I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t even think of how she bullied you all those years ago and I’m such a bad friend, you deserve better you really do.” He fell to his knees as her tears dripped down her cheeks to the floor, he couldn’t stop his own sobs as he cradled his face in his hands, “I can’t lose you.” He mumbled through his tears as he heard her feet shuffle around.

He jolted, eyes finding hers much closer than expected as her warm hand cradled his shoulder, “I don’t want to forgive you, but I love you and I need you more than you know, the only reason I’m so calm without you is because I have to balance out your insanity.” You chuckled through tears, “I can’t be mad at you for sleeping with her, you’re both adults and we were all children when we started at Hogwarts and it’s been long enough that we can leave that in it’s corridors. It….it just hurt because….I” She sighed before she continued, “I was jealous, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I wasn’t really mad because you fucked Pansy, I’d be mad if I walked in on you with anyone….because they aren’t me Teddy.”

His heart broke as he heard her, he wanted to be with her since he was a child, he loved her in more ways he thought possible and every time he thought it was done growing he found a way to love her more. And now he knew she felt the same.

~~~~

#theo nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott oneshot #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott x fem!reader #theodore nott #theo nott x fem!reader #theo nott #fluff #hp fluff #harry potter #hp #hp fandom #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter fandom #hp fanfcition #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #angst #theo nott angst #theodore nott angst #harry potter angst #hp angst #harry potter oneshot #yn

[macfrog]

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

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Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #san angelo

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I’ve had my share of [Crowley voice] you idiot thoughts at both of them over their terrible communication skills and severe chronic inability to say what they mean. But like. I get it.

For 6000 years, they had to talk in code. They had to express themselves in grand gestures and subtext and plausible deniability, out of fear of being found out. And they got really good at it! They developed a whole secret language of ways to say I love you because they couldn’t say it out loud.

But now that they can—and need to—talk about what they are to each other with actual words, they don’t know how.

Neither of them know how to say what they want, openly, and to ask what the other wants. And (I think this is a crucial component) they don’t know how to fight. They’ve had enough spats to have a 350+ year old apology dance, but they have repeatedly avoided talking about the really big differences in their worldviews and what they value, because those conversations would immediately bump up against the things they try hardest to avoid (doubt and guilt for Aziraphale; rejection for Crowley), and because that could lead to a real disagreement that they don’t know how to get around. And then where would either of them be? Alone.

So they bicker and they have drunken philosophical debates and they make up and do little dances all while not really talking about the big differences in how they see the world. And then when the pressure is on they have horrible miscommunication blowouts where they end up talking past each other and hurting each other deeply because they don’t even realize they’re not on the same page.

Upon rewatch I think this is part of why Crowley seems so unhappy in the early episodes. I think he did hope that once they weren’t working for Heaven and Hell, things would go in a more explicitly romantic direction. (But of course he won’t just come out and say that, until the absolute last ditch moment.) From his POV, he’s made his desires perfectly clear (he hasn’t) and I think he thought that working for Heaven was the last thing holding Aziraphale back. And then they cleared that hurdle and nothing changed. Or not enough. Because the problem goes deeper than that.

And bless(/damn) them, they’re still trying. The confession was clearly so hard for Crowley, and would have been even without the first half of the scene, because he’s working against his deepest insecurities. He can’t even finish his sentences, and yet he’s still trying. And I do think that Aziraphale was working up to his own version of it (he’s so openly physically affectionate with Crowley this season, much more than in the past) but he’s always moved a bit slower with these things, and then it was too late. (It’s always too late.)

But even if they’d both been able to openly say their I love yous, they still have this thing sitting between them, which is that Aziraphale doesn’t understand why Crowley would never go back to Heaven, and Crowley doesn’t understand why Aziraphale would want to. And having that conversation goes right to the heart of how they’ve both been damaged by the system of Heaven and Hell, which is why I suspect they’ve both instinctively avoided it before now. And at some point in s3, they are going to have to talk about that.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #there’s a whole boatload of metaphors in ‘can’t talk to each other because we’ve always had to talk in the subtext’ #that i suspect i will be digging into more

[nightdiary]

first dates with enhypen

word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!

✧ heeseung - tinder date

you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.

there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.

the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.

you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.

then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.

as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.

you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.

you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.

“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”

“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”

snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.

but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.

“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.

as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”

your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.

as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.

you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”

stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.

with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.

maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.

✧ jay - rollerskating rink

for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.

you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.

“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”

your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.

“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”

“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.

“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”

the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.

“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”

jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.

“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.

as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.

“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.

jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.

snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”

✧ jake - bowling

“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 

“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”

“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”

but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.

“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”

jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.

unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.

“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.

“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”

jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.

you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.

but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.

“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”

the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”

✧ sunghoon - laser tag

your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.

the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.

surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.

in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.

taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.

your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.

“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”

“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.

looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.

sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.

“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.

“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”

there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.

so that’s what you do.

“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.

seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.

sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.

“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.

“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.

“victory kiss?”

✧ sunoo - picnic

ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.

they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.

your hands itch to reach out and trace them.

“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.

you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.

“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”

"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”

“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.

“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”

groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.

“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”

sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.

“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”

reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”

sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.

your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.

he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–

“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”

pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.

“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."

✧ jungwon - boba place

in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.

“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”

jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.

“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.

you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”

jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.

“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”

you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”

jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”

“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.

still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”

“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”

you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.

jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”

you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.

“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”

jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.

“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."

“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.

“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”

“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.

jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”

✧ niki - arcade

“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.

the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.

“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.

the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.

“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.

you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.

“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”

“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.

with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.

“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.

“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 

the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.

“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”

staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”

the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”

laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.

you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.

“so– fried chicken?”

#nightdiary.writes #enhypen #enhypen headcanons #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #heeseung headcanons #jay headcanons #jake headcanons #sunghoon headcanons #jungwon headcanons #sunoo headcanons #niki headcanons #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #jungwon x reader #sunoo x reader #niki x reader #heeseung fluff #sunghoon fluff #jay fluff #jake fluff #jungwon fluff #sunoo fluff #niki fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen boyfriend #enhypen scenarios

[waitimcomingtoo]

How Do I Get You Alone?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: When you get stuck in the lab together during an earthquake, you and Peter share a moment but have to hide it from your dad

Masterlist

Peter was working in the robotics lab in Stark tower one day like usual. He had his earbuds in and was blasting music so loudly that he didn’t hear you come in. He happened to look up and saw you standing in the middle of the lab with a clipboard in hand. He screamed in surprise and tore his earbuds out, allowing the music to sound throughout the echoey lab.

“Were you listening to Justin Bieber?” You asked as Peter quickly paused his music.

“No.” He scoffed and flipped his phone over so you couldn’t see that he was in fact listening to Justin Bieber. You nodded your head skeptically and started to walk around the lab as you wrote things down on your clipboard. Peter sucked in a sharp breath and felt his cheeks redden as he watched you. He’d been working with Tony for 6 years now and harbored a rather large yet secret crush on you for the duration of that time. It wasn’t often that you were alone together, so he needed to make every moment count.

“What are you doing here?”Peter wondered. “I mean, not that you can’t come in here. Obviously you can. Your daddy owns the building. I mean, your dad. Unless daddy is his preferred pronoun-“

“Peter. Relax.” You cut him off. “I’m just doing a routine checkup to make sure everything in the lab is working as it should be. Ignore me.”

Peter wanted to tell you that he could never ignore you but didn’t want to freak you out with his desperation, so he tried to tell an anecdote instead.

“You know, at my last routine checkup, my doctor said that my prostate actually-“

“Don’t finish that sentence.” You pointed at him as you cut him off again.

“You’re right. Good call.” He nodded and stayed silent. You gave him a tight smile before continuing to walk around the room and check things off. Peter watched you and had a millions things he wanted to say but none of them seemed cool enough to impress you.

“So is everything up to par?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Par?” You asked in confusion.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were gonna ask what that meant. I just know it’s a phrase people use. I think it’s a golf term? But it might be a volleyball term.”

“Right. Well, everything looks good.” You said and put your clipboard down on the lab table. That’s when Peters dinosaur patterned lunchbox caught your eye.

“Except for this. Is this yours?” You asked and held the lunchbox up.

“No. I’ve never seen that. Someone else must’ve left it.” Peter lied.

“The label has your name and grade written on it. And the grade just says “college”.” You pointed out and turned the lunchbox to show him.

“Someone must’ve have written that as a joke.” He mumbled and looked down.

“Hm. Well someone packed you baby carrots and hummus. Probably also as a joke.” You humored him and Peter looked up in surprise. He never saw you as anything but serious but that almost seemed like a joke.

“Yeah. Probably.” He smiled. You looked at each other for a moment and he felt the overwhelming urge to just admit how he felt about you.

“So, uh, I don’t know if you like to eat dinner or anything but-“

Peter was cut off by a loud alarm ringing through the entire building. You immediately tensed up and looked around as the lights flashed red.

“What’s that?” You asked and moved closer to Peter.

“I don’t know. It’s either the earthquake alarm or the tornado alarm.” Peter answered. Just then, the ground began to shake and your clipboard flew off the table. You looked at Peter with wide, fear filled eyes and moved to where he was.

“Definitely earthquake. Get down.” Peter instructed and ducked under the table. Once on the ground, he shot a web at each of the machines in the lab to keep them in place. You scooted beside Peter and held yourself tightly as your entire body shook with anxiety.

“What do we do?” You asked him. He’d never heard you sound so vulnerable so he put his own fear aside to be there for you.

“We’re gonna stay under the table and draw our knees in so that nothing falls and hurts us.” Peter calmly explained. You nodded many times and wrapped your arms around your knees.

“Okay.” You voice shook as you answered him.

“It’s gonna be okay. This will be over soon.” he assured you as the earth continued to shake.

“Have you ever been in an earthquake before?” You asked him.

“No. But I hear they’re not actually that bad.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From the little voice inside my head that tells me every night that it wasn’t that embarrassing when I called the teacher “mom” that one time.” He weakly joked. You actually laughed for a second but went right back to being scared.

“That’s so embarrassing. You don’t even have a mom.” You laughed nervously. Peter had never told you that and wondered if that meant you had asked your dad about him.

“I know. And it actually happened multiple times.” He admitted.

“What? How? Wouldn’t the embarrassment of the first time make you hyper-vigilant of what you were saying so you never did it again?”

“Shh. The earth is shaking.” He said and waved his hand. You started to laugh until something fell off the table and you screamed.

“Shhh. We’re okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.” Peter said and wrapped his arm around you. He thought it might be too much but you immediately wrapped both arms around him and buried your face in his chest. He blinked in surprise before holding you tightly and keeping you as close as possible. Parts of the ceilings and things from the tables fell down and crashed onto the floor, leaving you screaming and shaking with fear each time.

“AHHH!” You screamed. “Something cold and wet just touched me.”

“It’s okay. It’s just my baby carrots.” Peter said and caught a few of the falling carrots.

“Peter.” You whined when you heard him eating them.

“I hope it knocks my hummus down too. Come on, earth. Shake my hummus onto the floor.” Peter called out.

“This isn’t funny.” You said just as Peter hummus fell in front of you.

“Holy shit.”Peter whispered. “Do you think I’m a witch?”

Before you could answer, an overheard light came crashing down in front of you and smashed against the floor, sending sparks flying everywhere. You screamed again and clung so tightly to Peter he thought he might bruise.

“Are you okay?” He whispered into your ear as he rubbed your back.

“No. The earth is spitting in half right now and we are im a very high floor of a very high tower.” You answered and he realized you were crying.

“Well when you put it like that….” He mumbled.

“I don’t know what to do.” You whimpered. “I don’t know how to get us out of here.”

“That’s okay. I don’t know what to do either. The only earthquake training I can remember is to tell someone you trust.”

“That’s not for earthquakes. And it’s different for me. I always know what to do. That’s my job.”

“Right now your job is don’t get squished.” Peter told you.

“You don’t understand. Knowing what to do the only thing I’m good at.”

“That’s not true. You’re so good at…” Peter trailed off when he realized he didn’t have any examples to give you off the top of his head.

“To be fair, I don’t really know you that well.” He said after a beat of silence.

“You’ve known me since you were 15.” You reminded him. You had pulled your head off of his chest to look him in the eyes but neither of you let go of the other.

“I know. But you’re kinda…” He trailed off again and shrugged his shoulders.

“Mean?” You said with a sad smile.

“No, no, no.” He quickly assured you. “I wasn’t gonna say mean.”

“But I am. I didn’t even say hi to you when I walked in. I never say hi to you. You’re always so nice to me and I’m always acting like I’m too cool to be nice back. I don’t know why I do that. I don’t mean it.”

“Hey, I never thought you were mean. I always thought of you as the cool, collected, stoic daughter of my boss.”

“I really thought the last word was gonna be another “c” word but you said stoic instead.” You laughed half heartedly.

“I know. I wanted to complete the trio but the only “c” word I could think of was conglomerate.” Peter admitted. You looked at him curiously and he turned red with embarrassment.

“It’s a type of rock.” He said quietly.

“Cumulonimbus.” You replied, making him smile.

“Constable.” He said back.

“Cassiopeia.”

“That too. Thats a lot of “c” words. And we didn’t even say the naughty one. We make a good team.” Peter said with a soft smile. You smiled back and realized you had never been this close to him before this moment. Your smile faded and you gulped.

“Peter, I’m really scared.” You admitted. He nodded his head and rubbed your back up and down. You had your arms around his neck and he had his around your shoulder and waist to keep you as close as possible.

“Well, don’t be. This will all be over soon and we can leave. Everything will be fine.” He assured you.

“What if it’s not? We don’t even know what’s happening outside of this room. My dad could be…” You trailed off and your eyes filled with fear again.

“Hey, it’s okay. Your dad built a metal suit when he was trapped in a cave. The earth shaking a little is not gonna stop that man. I’ve seen him swallow Tylenol with no water.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly as a tear rolled down your face.

“For what?”

“Distracting me.”

“Oh, well, you’re welcome. And, I don’t know, it’s kinda nice.”

“What is?” You wondered.

“Talking to you. We never really get to do that.” Peter pointed out.

“Yeah. Maybe after this, we could-“

You were cut off but another light exploding and showering the room with sparks. You let out a scream and buried your face in Peter’s neck again as he wrapped his arms around you to shield you from the sparks.

“It’s okay. I got you.” He said into your ear.

“Peter, I don’t want to die.” You cried into his shirt.

“You’re not gonna die. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“But-“

“Shhh. I would never let anything hurt you, okay? I have you. No matter what else you have in your head, I am with you and I am not going anywhere. You are going to be just fine. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” Peter assured you as he cupped your face to make you look into his eyes. Once you processed what he had said, you pulled him by the shirt into a kiss. Peter’s eyes flew open but he quickly got over his initial shock and deepened the kiss. The room was crumbling around you but neither of you paid it any mind. You tangled your hands in his hair as you kissed him and he did the same to you. It didn’t feel like a first kiss. It felt comfortable and familiar and warm. By the time you pulled away to get some air, the earthquake had stopped.

“It stopped.” You realized.

“I love you too.” He said breathlessly.

“What?” You asked when you realized he had said something.

“I said we should get out of here and make sure everyone’s okay.” Peter quickly lied.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” You nodded and got off the floor. You helped Peter up before surveying the damage. The machines were okay but there were chunks of rubble and debris everywhere. Peter moved things out of the way with ease and never let go of your hand as he lead you out of the lab. He kept you close to his side as the two of you made your way to the living room. That’s where you found your dad and a few other team members.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay.” Tony said and let out a relieved sigh.

“I’m okay, daddy. Peter was there-“

Tony ran past you and grabbed his People’s Choice Award out of the rubble and gave it a kiss. You sighed and rolled your eyes until he noticed that everyone was looking at him.

“What? This are harder to win than an Oscar. They give those to any old hag.” Tony said in defense.

“I’m okay too, dad.” You said sarcastically.

“Oh yes. My precious angel princess baby. Are you okay?” Tony asked as he went over to give you a hug. You hugged him back for a while as Peter hung back and watched with a soft smile. You let go of Tony and wrapped your hand around Peter’s arm.

“We’re okay.” You answered.

“We?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. It would have been really bad for me if Peter wasn’t there. I had no idea what to do. But he pulled me under a table and kept me calm.”

“Peter did?” Tony laughed in surprise. “I’ve seen Peter scream at his own fart.”

“Hey, that was one time and I wasn’t expecting it to make a noise and I especially didn’t think it would echo like that.” Peter said in defense.

“Well I’m really grateful he was with me.” You told your dad.

“Wow. Thanks for not letting my daughter get squished, kid. I owe you one.” Tony said and proudly patted Peter on the back.

“Anytime.” Peter smiled weakly.

“Well, now that we know the most important people in the tower and possibly all of New York are okay, you should go see your aunt. She probably wants to know if you’re dead or alive right now. I mean, unless she doesn’t really care.” Tony shrugged. You made eye contact with Peter and gave him a sad smile. He nodded his head and understood what you mean, you didn’t want him to go so that you could talk about what had happed, but you couldn’t admit what happened in front of your dad.

“Right. I should go see her.” Peter said without taking his eyes off you. You kept your eyes on him as he left the building and wrapped your arms around once he was gone.

Peter had never gotten your number despite the years you had known each other but he was desperate to talk to you. The kiss was the only thing on his mind for days and it got to the point where he could no longer sleep. Tony was busy with construction to repair the damages from the earthquake so Peter couldn’t go over to see you. But to his surprise, he was sitting in his bed one day watching TV on his laptop when you appeared in his doorway.

“Hey. Your aunt let me in. And your doorman was reading a Highlights magazine so I don’t think he even saw me enter the building, so.” You said as you leaned against his wall. Peter quickly threw the covers off of himself and set his laptop down.

“Oh, hey. Come on in. I wasn’t touching my private parts or anything.” He said and immediately regretted it.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Well I just didn’t want you to think that because my hands were hidden under the covers.” He tried to explain himself but there was no coming back from that.

“I wasn’t thinking that but now that you mention it I kinda think that is what you were doing.” You said out of the corner of your mouth.

“Psh. I wasn’t.” He scoffed and pushed his laptop away.

“Show me your laptop then.” You shrugged. Peter turned red and he handed him laptop over to you.

“Oh. The episode of Glee where they all switch characters. Nice.” You nodded when you saw what was last opened on his screen.

“Thank you.” He said sincerely.

“Weird thing to jack off too, though.” You shrugged as you sat down on his bed.

“No, I wasn’t-“ Peter quickly tried to explain himself until he realized you were just joking. He smiled shyly and shut the laptop to give you his full attention.

“So, I wanted to talk about the other day.” You began.

“The other day? Could you be more specific? I’ve been alive for a long time.” Peter played dumb and scratched his head.

“The day when there was an earthquake. And we kissed. And you peed your pants.”

“That pee was there when we got to the lab. I just happened to sit it in.” Peter insisted.

“Right.” You chuckled. “I wanted to talk about the kiss though. If that’s okay.”

There was a long, long pause between the two of you and Peter contemplated his next move. The kiss was all he was able to think about since it happened but he didn’t want to make it seem like he was desperate. You were staring into his eyes, hopeful for a certain response, but he was too stupid to give the right one.

“What kiss?” He said finally.

“Okay. This was a mistake. I’m gonna go.” You sighed and got off his bed.

“Wait.” Peter caught your hand and pulled you back towards him.

“Is that your jacking off hand?” You asked and pulled away from him.

“No. I wasn’t - never mind.” He whined. “My hands are clean. Just sit down.”

You rolled your eyes a little but sat back down on his bed.

“I also wanted to talk about the kiss. I’m just extremely nervous and constantly uncomfortable.” He admitted to you.

“I mean, same. So let’s make this as quick and painless as possible. All I wanted to say is that I think we should keep it between us. The kiss, I mean. We shouldn’t tell anyone.” You said and Peters world crumbled down.

“Oh.” He squeaked out. He was disappointed but you had an unreadable look on your face so he decided to play it neutral.

“So I should cancel the little banner and sea plane I hired to fly over the tower to announce our kiss to the pedestrians below?” He asked, making you smile in relief.

“Yes. I would appreciate that.” You chuckled.

“Will do.”

“Cool. So let’s just agree to keep this our secret.” You repeated and he nodded while avoiding eye contact with you. You stared at him for a minute and felt guilty for making him upset. You decided that he deserved to know the truth about that day.

“But, uh, that’s not the only reason I came over. I had a lot of things I wanted to say to you the day of the earthquake but with everything going on I wasn’t able to get you alone.” You continued, making Peter’s hope come back.

“Oh? What did you have to say?” He asked. You took a deep breath before looking into his eyes.

“Peter, when I kissed you-“

Just then, Ned came into Peter’s room for the planned hangout that Peter had entirely forgotten about. Your sentence stopped abruptly and Peter sighed in frustration.

“Hey Peter. I think your doorman is in diabetic shock again. I just walked right by him and he didn’t even move.” Ned said.

“We kissed during the earthquake.” Peter blurted and you threw your hands up in exasperation.

“Why would you say that? I just said we’re not telling anyone.”

“I’m sorry! He’s my best friend.” Peter explained before covering his mouth with his hand to keep from blurting anything else.

“No way. You guys kissed? So does that mean you’re like together now or no?” Ned asked and touched his two pointer fingers together.

“Well, we haven’t really talked about-“ You began.

“No. We’re not together.” Peter said with a tight smile.

“Got it. Friends with benefits. Nice.” Ned nodded.

“What? No. We’re not that either.” Peter laughed in embarrassment as his face turned red.

“Yeah, no one said anything about that. We’re barely even friends.” You added.

“Barely even friends but you made out? While the earth was shaking? What would Greta Thunberg say?” Ned asked and put his hands on his hips.

“It wasn’t making out, really.” You lied. “It was like a tiny little peck on the lips. It was nothing. Right, Peter?”

“Oh, yeah. Thats so right. We barely even kissed.” Peter added to your lie as he wondered why you were downplaying it so much.

“Excatly. It was no big deal. We were both just scared and panicked so we kissed a little bit. It happens. But it didn’t mean anything.” You replied, making Peter freeze. He had spent so long thinking about the kiss only for you to say to his face that it meant nothing.

“Yeah. It meant nothing.” He said and looked down at his lap. You picked up on the sadness in his voice and looked over at him.

“Right.” You said weakly.

“Less than nothing.” Peter added and rubbed the back of his neck. You sighed and realized you had absolutely messed that up.

“I don’t know. I was really scared too but I did not try to french the lady I was hiding with in the TJ Maxx I was in.” Ned replied.

“You went to TJ Maxx without me?” Peter gasped.

“You know I’m a bigger maxxonista than you are. I can’t stay away.” Ned whispered harshly.

“The earth was crumbling. You could have died there.” You pointed out.

“There’s no place I’d rather spend my final moments in.” Ned shrugged.

“Anyways.” You interrupted. “I should get going. Uh, thanks, Peter. For what we talked about.”

“Yeah. No problem.” Peter smiled sadly.

“So what exactly did you guys talk about?” Ned asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. She just needed help with the Wordle.” Peter lied and you smiled in appreciation at him.

“And she came all the way here to ask? Damn, girl. How hot was that kiss? I’m genuinely asking. I’ve always said Peter and I should kiss just to know what the other is working with but he always says no.” Ned told you.

“You know what? I think you guys should do it. It’ll bring you closer as friends.” You told them.

“See, Peter? She gets it. Now pucker up.” Ned said and closed his eyes as he leaned in.

“No. I’m not kissing you. Not with those chapped lips.” Peter backed up. Ned gasped and touched his fingertips to his lips.

“Okay. Well, bye guys.” You smiled awkwardly and got off Peter’s bed. You were about to leave when Ned spoke up again.

“What was it?” He asked you.

“What?” You asked.

“The Wordle. I really want to get it right on the first try just once and really impress the people at The New York Times.” Ned explained.

“Oh, uh…” You trailed off and looked to Peter for help.

“Heavy.” Peter said quickly.

“Right. It was “heavy”. Now you know. So I’m gonna head out. Bye, Peter.” You waved to him.

“Bye.” He waved and felt that same sadness from the day of the kiss return.

“Bye, Ned.”

“Bye, sweetie.” Ned gave you a big smile before you left the room.

“You dirty fucking liar.” Ned said once you were gone.

“What?”

“That’s not today’s Wordle. That was days ago. You lied. What are you hiding?” Ned asked.

“Nothing. She was just asking me not to tell anyone about the kiss.”

“If it was no big deal then why would she care?”

“Because it was a big deal!” Peter admitted. “It was the hugest deal. She had her hands all up in my hair and I had my hands all up in her sweater but over her undershirt because I’m a gentleman. We were going at it so hard, we didn’t even notice the earthquake stopped.”

“Oh my God.” Ned gasped. “That stuff never happens at TJ Maxx.”

“I know!” Peter jumped in excitement.

“You have to tell me everything. Who kissed who?”

“She kissed me. And unbuttoned three of my shirt buttons.” Peter said and held up three fingers.

“Woah. Three? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

“I don’t care. It was the greatest moment of my life. But I also thought it was gonna be the last moment of my life so I don’t know if that had any impact.”

“I doubt it.” Ned shrugged. “But what happens now?”

“I don’t know. We were talking about it but then you came in so we never got to finish. And I thought we were both into it but then she said all that stuff about it not being a big deal so now I don’t know where we stand. What do I do?”

“You need to finish the conversation. If you don’t, this kiss will just be a one time thing and you’ll never know what it meant to her or what it could have become. You need to find out how she felt about it before too much time passes.”

“I don’t know. What if she doesn’t want to talk about it because she’s embarrassed that it happened? Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to tell anyone.”

“Or maybe she faked the earthquake just to kiss you.” Ned suggested.

“That’s probably it, yeah.” Peter said sarcastically.

“Whatever the reason is, you need to talk to her. And soon.”

“You’re right.” Peter nodded and a silence feel between the boys as Peter thought everything over.

“Should we go to TJ Maxx?” Ned asked after a beat of silence.

“Well, yes.”

Peter didn’t hear from you for a while after that. He wasn’t allowed back at the tower until the reconstruction was complete so he couldn’t even go see you. He still wasn’t sleeping because now he couldn’t stop wondering about your last conversation. Not only had you downplayed the kiss, you also asked Peter not to tell anyone. That left him thinking that you regretted it and it didn’t mean anything to you despite how much it meant to Peter. After two weeks of hearing nothing, Peter got a text from Tony that the tower was open again and he could come back. Peter went over right away to see what Tony had done with the place and much to his surprise, you were there too.

“Oh. Hi.” You blinked in surprise when Peter walked into the main room of the tower.

“Hey.” Peter nodded curtly. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“Neither was I. Dad? I thought we weren’t letting anyone in until all your Kids Choice awards were back-“

“I never said that.” Tony cut you off. “Never, ever said that. I invited Peter over to thank him for saving all my precious technology. Those webs were the only thing that kept all my billion dollar machines from smashing into tiny little expensive pieces.”

“It was no problem, sir. It’s my job to protect what’s yours.” Peter said without taking his eyes off you. You felt your face heat up and looked down.

“Okay. Weird way to phrase that.” Tony commented. “I also wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. The dining room is fully remodeled and I was gonna have family dinner tonight with all my girls. And you’re my honorary girl so I thought I’d invite you as well. What do you say, kid?”

“Oh, I don’t think he wants to do that.” You said and looked at Peter. He was thinking the same thing; if he came over for dinner, there was a 99% chance the news of the kiss would slip out and Tony would reign hell fire onto Peter.

“Yeah, that’s okay. I appreciate the invitation but my aunt is already cooking something.”

“Oh God. Your aunt is cooking? Then you simply have to come over. I’ve tasted her food. No one should be subjected to that. You’ve been through enough. Please, eat here.” Tony insisted. Peter looked to you for help and you shrugged in defeat.

“Okay. Sure. Thanks. I’ll eat dinner with your daughters and wife. Nothing weird is going to happen if I do that.” Peter nodded stiffly.

“Again, weird way to phrase that. But I’ll see you at 7. Sound good?” Tony asked. Peter looked at you again and you nodded your head.

“Yeah.” Peter sighed. “Sounds good.”

Part two

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[awkwardauthorwrites]

Jealousy, jealousy

Word Count: 5.5k

Themes: fluff, pining, Sebastian is a bit of an ass. I left Y/N’s house as ambiguous as I could so you can use whichever one you like :)

Warnings: All characters aged up to 18+. Potential spoilers for HL

“You’re staring,” Ominis murmured before letting out a quiet sigh. “Again.”

“She’s talking to Weasley,” Sebastian muttered back, his arms folded across his chest.

“Which one?” he asked, a wry smile slipping into his face. Ominis didn’t need to be able to see to know Sebastian was glaring at him. 

“Garreth, you prat.” A brief silence fell over the pair as Sebastian continued to watch the interaction between Y/N and Garreth Weasley. Y/N threw her head back and laughed at something Garreth said, and Sebastian felt something in his chest tighten as the sun caught on the natural highlights hidden in her hair. “He can’t be that funny.” Garreth muttered something to Y/N and she turned in his direction to catch his eye. He felt every nerve in his body as she smiled sweetly at him and waved her fingers to say hello before looking back at the wizard in front of her. “He’s just using her.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ominis’ eyebrows shot up in surprise as he turned his head to look at Sebastian (he hoped he was, at least).

“Isn’t everyone?” Sebastian asked. Ominis had been there with him that fateful day in the bathrooms. They had both heard what had been said, had both heard the chorus of laughter and agreement that followed.

“Everyone but you, you mean.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ominis,” he looked away from Y/N to narrow his eyes at his friend beside him. “You’re not using her either.”

“Aren’t I?” Ominis asked. There was a beat of silence between them before he laughed loudly at the lack of response from the brunet, and he could almost picture the incredulous look being shot his way.

Sebastian would blame the sun, he decided, if anyone asked why he was frowning in your direction. It had come out today, and the trio had taken advantage of the warmth it provided to sit in the gardens by the north entrance for the castle. It seemed they hadn’t been the only ones to have the idea and it wasn’t long before Y/N had leapt from her position in the grass next to him to greet Natsai Onai and the red-clad gaggle that seemed to follow. Sebastian couldn’t help but begrudge Natty (who was a wonderful witch despite being in Gryffindor) from stealing you away from him. He had been content with your arm pressed against his, your legs touching as you stretched out beside him, head almost resting on his shoulder as you watched the clouds drift by. 

Ominis twirled his wand idly in his hands, the sensor pulsing every-so-often to let him know Sebastian was still brooding beside him. Although he didn’t need it to, because if he listened carefully he could hear Sebastian mutter to himself occasionally as he more than likely watched Y/N from across the gardens. It wasn’t loud enough for Ominis to hear everything he was saying, but he did manage to catch phrases such as stupid Gryffindors and was just going to hold her hand. The latter made Ominis snort in amusement. Sebastian had been working up the courage to admit his feelings for the third member of their little group since the beginning of their sixth year, and now here they were nearing the end of their seventh and final year.

He had tried to tell Sebastian - time and time again - that there was nothing to fear and that he strongly suspected you returned his feelings, but he refused to listen. Ominis wouldn’t outright betray your trust and inform Sebastian of the late night conversations they shared where you voiced your concerns for the brunet, voice tinged with more than just friendly admiration. Instead, he subtly tried to push the pair together with flimsy excuses to explain his perpetual absence. Not that it did any good when either of you refused to acknowledge the Erumpent in the room. 

It could be worse, he mused, I could actually have to witness the pining between them, instead of just hearing about it.

“Get up,” Sebastian nudged Ominis gently and stood up. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to save Y/N,” Sebastian replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Y/N doesn’t need saving,” Ominis rolled his eyes, but stood up nonetheless, brushing grass from his robes. “In fact, I need to remind you that she has saved us. Several times.”

“Well, call this us returning the favour,” he tugged Ominis in the right direction softly before letting go of his robes and stalking over to where Y/N and Garreth were sat talking, set a little apart from the rest of the Gryffindors. “Y/N…Weasley.” He nodded once at the wizard and came to a stop right next to Y/N. Ominis, wand held aloft, offered the ground an awkward smile. “I can’t believe you left us for a bunch of Gryffindors,” he looked down at her, forcing a chuckle so he didn’t start an inter-house fight. “Are we not enough for you?”

“Don’t start,” Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “Garreth was just telling me about his newest potion idea.”

“Planning on getting her into more trouble by making her sneak into Sharp’s office for supplies again?” The comment earned Sebastian a nudge in the ribs from Y/N, but Garreth chuckled and shook his head.

“Actually, I was hoping Y/N would accompany me to the Forbidden Forest soon to gather some ingredients.”

“Not man enough to go it alone?” Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. The tips of Garreth’s ears were tinged pink as he looked between the three of them, before an easygoing smile fell across his features. 

“Is that why you keep asking her to join you on trips to spider caves?” Ominis let a laugh slip out at Garreth’s words, and Sebastian shot him a glare for it. Y/N shuffled nervously on her feet between them all, sensing some tension simmering under the surface. She wasn’t sure why they were both standing there, chests puffed out, and had a feeling she didn’t want to know. The only one who didn’t seem to be stancing was Ominis, who looked just as out of place as she felt. 

“I don’t mind going into the forest,” Y/N supplied quietly. Two pairs of eyes shot her way, and Ominis looked a little to her left. “I mean, I need to go anyway. Ms Bugbrooke asked me to go and check in on a unicorn she named Hazel and find a way to keep her safe.”

“I thought we were going to go do that this weekend?” Sebastian asked.

“You could all go,” Ominis supplied. He could feel Y/N relax from beside him, her hand reaching between their robes to squeeze his arm in gratitude. “Saves for multiple trips to the forest.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Sebastian frowned, crossing his arms. Garreth gave them all a half-hearted smile and shrugged.

“You let me know, Y/N. I’ve got to get to Charms, I can’t be late again or Ronen will tell my aunt,” he shuddered at the thought and waved goodbye to the three of them before turning to walk away. Y/N offered Garreth a forced smile as he left and waited until he was well out of earshot before whirling around to face Sebastian and hit him with her glove.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Sebastian. It doesn’t become you.”

“Sweetheart, everything becomes me,” he sent her a cocky grin, his body language loosening now that Garreth was gone. “Do you want me to walk you - both of you - to class?” He bent down to pick up her discarded bag and slung it over his shoulder. 

“Don’t change the subject,” she sighed in annoyance, her eyes narrowing. “You always seem to do this whenever I’m speaking to someone.”

“I don’t do it to Poppy, Natty, Imelda, or Ominis.”

“Please, leave me out of this,” Ominis muttered, looking away from them as they began to walk to the castle for class. Even though he knew he couldn’t see it, Sebastian still shot his friend a look as if to say way to back me up, help me out here and hoped he would get the message. The trio walked in silence until they passed the History of Magic classroom.

“Why don’t you let me talk to any of our classmates?”

“You’re talking to me, aren’t you? And you speak to Ominis all the time,” Sebastian gestured at his friend, who cringed internally at being brought back into this. He hoped if he kept silent that they would forget he was there, and perhaps he could sneak off and make it to class on his own. Not that it would do much good - he shared his next class with Y/N, and Sebastian was sure to follow. They had overheard a conversation between her, Imelda, Poppy and Natty about the chivalrous actions some of the wizards at the school took to get the attention of the witches and which ones in particular seemed to charm the girls the most. Ever since then Sebastian had held her school bag and walked her to every class. 

“Stop trying to be charming, Sebastian. I’m annoyed at you.”

“You think I’m charming?” Sebastian grinned down at her, earning a quiet whack as she hit him with her glove again. “Why are you so violent today?”

“Why are you so bothersome today?” she shot back. Ominis smiled to himself and walked a little faster. As much as he enjoyed hearing Y/N rip into Sebastian, he did not want to get caught in the middle. 

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fight the chill that lingered in the stone walls after the warmth they had felt outside. Sebastian had been acting differently lately. Some days he was attentive, almost sweet; others like today, he was a nuisance, plain and simple. She never knew who she was going to get - the man who greeted her with coffee and a smile in the mornings, his hand lingering on hers after he handed her the mug, or the sulking mass walking by her. Her eyes fell on his back, watching as his muscles rippled through the white shirt, at her bag hanging on his shoulder.

He never aimed that gruffness in her direction, she realised. Even now, he was holding her bag for her and looked over his shoulder to see if she was still with them, a breathtaking smile falling on his face when he caught her eye. It was only ever when one of their male classmates spoke to her, standing a little too close that he began to act out, and despite his protests that she spoke to Ominis, she had seen him do it with him too. It was to a lesser scale, but even this morning he had placed himself between the pair as they all sat in the sun, his shoulder pressed against hers.

“Why won’t you let me speak to any men?” the words slipped out of her mouth before she could process them. Sebastian came to a stop and looked at her in confusion. She was vaguely aware of Ominis slowing as well from in front of them, a low groan escaping from him. 

“What?”

“That conversation you were having with Garreth wasn’t exactly pleasant, and it’s not the first time this has happened.” Sebastian watched as she twisted her fingers together nervously and longed to take her hand in his. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“You think Weasley is going to make you happy?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“I-I don’t know! But how am I meant to find out when you keep…”

“When I keep…?” His casual tone infuriated Y/N, and judging by the amusement in his eye and the twitch in the corner of his mouth, he knew it.

“When you keep acting so possessive!”

“Maybe I’m just a good judge of character and know none of those simpering idiots who keep coming over are enough for you.”

“Enough for me - ” Ire flared at his words and she gave him a withering look. “You have some nerve, Sebastian Sallow. And you,” she glared at Ominis, who had the decency to look a little frazzled at her anger. “I expected better from you, you’re always by his side whenever this happens. Care to explain yourself?” Ominis shook his head slowly and backed away a few steps as Sebatian came forward.

“Don’t take it out on him, he had no part in this.”

“Good to know the stupidity started and ended with you, then,” Y/N snapped. She turned her back on him and walked a few steps away to calm down. “Why do you always do this to me, Sebastian? Give me one good reason why you keep acting out like this.”

“I’m only looking out for your best interests. You need someone who will challenge you,” Sebastian stood taller, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “Not a lapdog who will roll over every time you call their name. You need an equal.” Ominis grimaced at his best friend's words and slowly began to back away. He didn’t make it too far before someone bumped into him, pausing to listen to the argument occurring in the hallway.

“Who are you to presume anything about my happiness?” Y/N stalked forward to poke Sebastian in the chest roughly. “Who would even fit within your insane standards for me? Who would challenge me, make me happy, treat me as their equal?” she asked, all but spitting the words at him. “You?”

“Maybe.” Sebastian shrugged, not quite meeting her eye as he shuffled between his feet nervously.

“You…” Y/N let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re something else, Sallow.” In all the times Y/N had imagined Sebastian admitting he may return his feelings for her it never went like this, in a corridor attracting the attention of their classmates with their fight. “I have done nothing but wait for you to notice me for two years, Sebastian. And when I finally realise you’ll never see me the way I want and decide to move on, that’s when you’re determined to want me?”

“I don’t just want you,” his voice was hoarse with her declaration. Two years? How could she not see that I’ve noticed her, that I've only ever noticed her? How could this have gone wrong so fast. 

“You’re nothing but a jealous coward.” With one final poke to the chest, Y/N took her bag and started to walk away from him and the little crowd that had gathered.

“You think I don’t know how selfish I’m being?” Sebastian called out, suddenly finding his voice. He followed her path, near enough pushing anyone aside who stood in his way. “I would give anything - anything - to go back to that day we first met. Back when all you were was Atë personified, before I realised how absolutely breathtaking every inch of your soul is. You’ve ruined me, Y/N!”

“And that’s my fault?”

“I’m not saying that!” Sebastian groaned and reached for the sleeve of her robe to pull her to a stop. He quickly rescinded his hand when she shot him a menacing glare as if to say I dare you.

“Then what are you saying?” she asked. Doubt clutched him, stopping the words from leaving his mouth. He must have waited a beat too long to respond because Y/N sighed, and the disappointment on her face was enough to bring him to his knees as she continued to walk away from him, the students they had attracted parting to let her through. She had made it halfway down the corridor when sharp panic squeezed his chest tightly.

“I’m in love with you!” he shouted after her. His face flamed at the confession, at the sudden whispers of those around him as his words echoed down the stone corridor. Y/N stopped, and for a second Sebastian felt hope that she would turn around and say she loved him too. That it was him she wanted, who she always wanted.

“Well, you have a funny way of showing it.” He watched in despair as she walked away from him, slipping through the doors that would take her into another hall. There was a dull roaring in his ears, drowning out the sudden whispers that had started around him. A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he looked over slowly to see Ominis, a grim look on his face. Sebastian couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in his gaze, to hear the voices around him talking about his rejected confession. 

“All right, show’s over!” he growled, shaking Ominis’ hand from his shoulder. “Everyone clear off.” He rolled his shoulders and stood a little straighter before stalking down the corridor. The younger students jumped out of his way, and he caught the looks of pity from those in his year. Poppy tried to step forward and speak to him, but he just shook his head at her and walked out of the hall and made his way to the Undercroft. 

*~*~*~*~*

It had been nearly a week since Y/N and Sebastian’s argument in the middle of the hallway and she could still hear people whisper about it as she walked by, as if she couldn’t hear a word they were saying. A group of Ravenclaws were sitting at a table in the library near Y/N, Poppy and Imelda, and every-so-often they looked over and started to giggle. 

“Just ignore them,” Poppy murmured to her.

“No,” Imelda glared at the group, who immediately quieted down and looked away. “They need to learn to keep their mouths shut, or I’ll do it for them.” She raised her voice just enough for them to hear her threat and they quickly packed their things and left in a flurry of navy robes. 

“You can’t threaten everyone in the school, Imelda,” Y/N said with a sigh, not looking up from her Charms textbook. Another group would soon come and replace that one, and the cycle would just repeat itself. 

“Watch me.” Her grin was unnerving to say the least. “What’s he doing in here?” Y/N looked up to see Sebastian walking up the stairs into the upper part of the library where they were currently sitting. He looked around, a little unsure of himself and Y/N’s heart clenched in her chest at the sight. He always looked so confident, even when he was utterly terrified, but now he just looked lost. “He better not come over here.”

“Imelda,” Poppy sighed and shook her head. “We don’t even know if he’s here for Y/N, he could be here to study.” Even though Poppy was right, Y/N couldn’t help but wish that he was here for her, that he wanted to speak to her.

“No you don’t, wipe that look off your face,” Imelda pointed her quill at Y/N. “Don’t go mooning over him after what he’s put you through. You don’t need someone who’s going to treat you that poorly.”

“He doesn’t exactly look great himself.”

“Who’s side are you on, Sweeting?”

“I didn’t realise there were any.” Y/N rolled her eyes as the pair continued to bicker, her gaze turning back to Sebastian, who had turned in their direction as he heard Poppy and Imelda arguing. He caught her eye and began to slowly make his way to their table, casting a weary glance at Imelda as he neared.

“What do you want, Sallow?” Imelda snapped at him, turning on him as he got closer.

“Hello, Sebastian, are you alright?” Poppy nudged her in reprimand and offered him an awkward smile.

“I-I’d like to speak to Y/N, if that’s okay,” he asked, not quite looking at any of them. 

“Come to shout more declarations of love in my face?” It was a low blow, and Y/N knew it. She watched as he flinched slightly and looked away from her, his shoulders slumped in defeat. She was vaguely aware of Poppy grabbing onto Imelda’s robes to pull her away while the latter protested as she stared at him. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days, and his shirt and robes were rumpled. “Sit down,” she muttered, closing her book. “You look like you’re about to pass out from exhaustion.” 

Sebastian listened, his hands running through his hair as he slumped down into a seat. He looked awful, Y/N noted, eyes wandering over his frame. It went beyond the creased clothes and the lack of sleep. He looked paler, and Y/N watched as he sighed heavily and rubbed a hand down his face. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I went too far.” There was a different level of weariness in his voice, it went down to his bones, his very soul. The man in front of her was not the one she had fallen for. Her heart ached as he looked up at her slowly with dull eyes. “I always go too far.”

“You do,” she murmured. His eyes slid shut at her words and he braced himself for a blow that wasn’t coming. “And yet, somehow, I always forgive you for it.” She hated admitting it out loud, but once her rage had simmered and the adrenaline had left her a few hours after their fight, she had forgiven him. She could never stay mad at him for long. Even after their only other argument that had happened in the Undercroft years ago when he had called her ignorant for trusting a goblin and stormed out she hadn’t been hurt or angry, just concerned for him.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.” She waited until he looked at her before giving him a small, teasing smile. They stared at each other for a few seconds in silence, each drinking in the different ways the other had changed in the past few days until Y/N sighed and looked away again. “I’m not an object to be possessed, Sebastian. You can’t just stake your claim on me.”

“I never…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be like this. I just…” he sighed and tried to sit a little straighter in his seat. Y/N waited patiently for him to finish his sentence, waited as the wheels turned in his head and he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his heart constricting in his chest and he saw the matching dark rings under her eyes. 

“I’m not going to fight you, Sebastian,” Y/N said gently, reaching his hand. She stopped before she could touch it and instead started to fiddle with the quill Poppy had left behind. “You can say what you need to.”

“It’s not pleasant.”

“None of this has been.”

“No, it hasn’t,” he smiled without humour and finally looked her in the eye. “Ominis and I once heard a conversation in the bathroom. I don’t think they realised we were in there, and they were gone before we could confront them. They were talking about you. About how they wanted to spend time with you and ask you to accompany them - alone, might I add - to the Three Broomsticks so that they could be seen with the Hero of Hogwarts.” Sebastian all but spat the nickname out, hating it in that moment. “They all left before I could see who they were. Ever since then I’ve stood between you and anyone who looked like they were trying to express interest because I didn’t know who was genuine and who was just using you.”

“Garreth…” Sebastian hated himself for being the one to break the news, for putting that heartbroken expression on her face. Y/N felt her stomach churn in revulsion and grief. She wasn’t stupid, she knew there were people in the school who only wanted to be seen with her because of what she was as opposed to who she was. She knew some of the requests she politely turned down for company and a drink in Hogsmeade weren’t out of attraction, but rather a ploy to get into her graces. She never suspected Garreth would be one of them. She was hurt - not because she had feelings for him, but because she had thought they were friends. 

“No, I made a mistake with him.” He pulled a face as he admitted he was wrong. “It turns out he actually wants to get to know you - the real you.” Oh. Oh. Y/N felt her face flush and Sebastian looked away. He couldn’t bear to watch her blush over Garreth Weasley, or anyone, for that matter. 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?”

“Your delivery was less than ideal but…did you mean it? Do you mean it?” she asked nervously, her voice no more than a whisper. Sebastian hated the look on her face, hated seeing her so unsure of herself.  

“Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since our fifth year.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he held a hand out for hers, letting her make the decision if she wanted to take it or not. A few seconds passed, and he was just about to rescind the offer, when she shyly placed her hand in his. He squeezed her hand gently, his thumb brushing her knuckles as he tried not to think about how perfectly her hand fit in his. “It means that I want you to be happy,” he murmured, “and if Weasley makes you happy - or anyone else who wishes to genuinely court you - I’ll take a step back.”

It hurt him to say the words out loud, to voice the possibility that after all this she wouldn’t want him anymore. Not the way she had once, the way he currently still wanted her. He let her collect her thoughts, watched as she chewed on her lower lip. 

“What if…what if I don’t want you to?” Y/N asked, voice so quiet he almost missed it. 

Sebastian’s heart stuttered at the blush that rose to her cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to be the only one that made her blush like that ever again. For the rest of their lives. The thought startled him slightly, but he realised it was true. He wasn’t saying he wanted to marry her (although, a rather enticing image of Y/N floating down the aisle to him in a white dress did flash to mind), but he wanted to stay by her side. Whether that was in a friendly capacity or more. Merlin, did he hope it was more. 

“I meant what I said too, about waiting for you to notice me,” she continued. 

“Darling, I’ve not noticed anyone else since the day I met you.” He brushed his thumb across the back of her hand again and squeezed it gently before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. He watched in satisfaction as her blush deepened, and tried to read the flicker of emotions that passed across her face. “I’m more than aware my confession was…something, to say the least (Y/N rolled her eyes at this) but I meant what I said. I’m in love with you, Y/N Y/L/N. I have been for a while now.” She looked away, unable to handle the deep emotions swirling in his eyes, that are written clearly on his face for anyone to see. She didn’t doubt for a second that he was telling the truth. “I don’t expect you to say it back.”

“I…I’m not good with all of this. I can’t quite say if it’s love but…” Her face burns, and she feels as if it will be a permanent shade of red after this conversation. “I am entranced by you, Sebastian Sallow. I’ve never been in love before, never felt it in anything more than a friendly capacity, but with you…it’s different. It runs far deeper than I can explain.” She presses a hand to her chest, right above her heart that is beating so hard it’s a wonder he can’t hear it. “I can’t picture my life without you in it, whether that is as a friend or more.”

Y/N doesn’t know how else to put it into words. She can’t seem to say that it’s been him from the very beginning. From the moment she beat him in their first duel and he was thrilled instead of being put out she knew she was in trouble. She’d only fallen faster and harder since then, from their first trip to Hogsmeade where he flirted with her the whole way, until the day his uncle had died and she had talked Ominis out of sending him to Azkaban. 

“You don’t need to say it back,” Sebastian repeated, his grip on her hand tightening as he took note of the adoration in her eyes. “I mean, how could you not be in love with me?” Y/N laughed loudly before clapping her hand over her mouth suddenly. They waited with baited breath for Scribner to come and reprimand them, only relaxing when they couldn’t hear her making her way up the stairs. 

“You have to apologise to Garreth.” Sebastian groaned at her words, but there was a smile on his face that he couldn’t quite hide from her. Already he looked better. He still needed a good night’s sleep, in Y/N’s opinion, but life was returning to his eyes and he sat a little straighter, a little taller. 

“Where does this leave us?” he asked, shuffling his chair closer to hers so their knees could press together under the table. He hooked one foot under her ankle and tangled their legs together, enjoying the look on her face as he did so. 

“I’m still mad at you. But knowing you did this to be noble…to protect me. That lessens the blow.” She gently squeezed his leg between hers, grinning to herself as she watched him take his turn to blush. “I do hope you know I don’t need protection though.”

“My still-healing ego from our first Defence Against the Dark Arts class together remembers.” 

He’s rewarded with her laugh again, her real one, and he makes a silent promise to make her laugh the same way every day for the rest of their lives. Every muscle in his body loosens at the sound, and he feels like he can finally breathe again when she grins at him and tugs him a little closer by his tie.

“If you ever pull a stunt like this again…” Although there was still a smile on her face, the threat was evident in her eyes. He nodded quickly, throat bobbing as she twirled his tie between her fingers and let go. She watches as he looks down at her lips nervously and gratification shot her through as his face slowly flushed. A smirk falls on her face at this, and she raises an eyebrow at him when he finally looks up to meet her gaze. “Feeling a little warm?”

“What, no.” He leans back and rubs the back of his neck, his blush deepening.

“Ah, so you’re just blushing like a third year at the thought of kissing me.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“So you want to kiss me?”

“Darling, I always want to kiss you.” The look he gives her makes her stomach flip.  “Can I…”

“Not until you ask me properly.”

“To kiss you?”

“Sebastian.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” he grins, loving the way she rolls her eyes at him. “Will you do me the honour of joining me on a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Sebastian, it’s nearly curfew.”

“And when has that stopped you before?” he laughs and begins to gather her things into her bag before slinging it over his shoulder. He holds a hand out to her expectantly and waits until she grabs a hold of it before they leave the library, waving goodbye at Imelda and Poppy (who are doing their very best - and failing - to eavesdrop). They make it as far as the doors that lead to the greenhouses when Sebastian pulls her under the stairs, ensuring no one can see them as they dip into one of the shadows. She meets him halfway, pressing their lips together in a long overdue kiss. 

“Do you have any final demands for this? For us?” he murmurs against her lips. 

“Only one.” Her fingers run through his hair and his heart stutters in his chest. “I’m never going to make this easy for you. I'm going to challenge you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebasian sallow angst #sebastian sallow fluff #jealous!sebastian sallow x reader #jealous!sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x slytherin!reader #sebastian sallow x gryffindor!reader #sebastian sallow x ravenclaw!reader #sebastian sallow x hufflepuff!reader #hogwarts game #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #awkwardauthormasterlist #awkwardauthorwrites #awkwardauthor

[trevuorzegras]

━╋ MY RIGHT TO BE HELLISH

jealous by nick jonas

summary: In which famous actress y/n y/l/n was seen at a Canucks game, which sparks rumors. (part 1/4)

pairings: quinn hughes x actress!reader.

platonic!jack hughes x reader. social media au

faceclaim: dove cameron

next part

newestupdates

newestupdates: Actress y/n y/l/n spotted at the lastest Canuck’s vs Ducks game wearing an old Quinn Hughes jersey! Opinions?

tagged: yourusername

liked by canucks, njdevils, and more

user1: i say we i don’t know, leave her alone and let her live her life?? 😭

liked by yourusername.

yourusername: i was invited to the game, so i attended, i was also PROVIDED with the jersey. don’t stretch it.

↳ canucks: thank you for attending! we are sorry this got out of hand!

↳ yourusername: not your fault what’s so ever! things are always blown out of proportion. canucks

user2: wait her and quinn would be cute??

↳ user3: he plays hockey, and she acts 💀 they’d never have time to themselves.

user4: you guys post anything at this point. y/n can’t even go to a hockey game in PEACE ☹️

user5: puck bunny

↳ yourusername: i’ve watched hockey since i was a kid, i am not a puck bunny, and can 100% guarantee i know more about the sport than you do. thank you for your input though, johnathan!

↳ user6: she ate i fear. (i do not fear. we all knew she would) yourusername

user7: _quinnhughes

yourusername

yourusername: thank you @canucks for the amazing opportunity! i loved every minute of this game. and we won 8-3?? 🤔 #gocanucks

liked by canucks, lhughes_06, and more

njdevils: come to a devils game next? 🫣

↳ yourusername: lmk when and where & im there!

user8: i know you guys see luke lurking in her likes. i cannot be the only one 😭😭

↳ user9: thought i was going INSANE STOP

lhughes_06: _quinnhughes HELLO? YOU WERE IN THE SAME ARENA AS Y/N Y/L/N AND DIDNT THINK TO TELL ME?

↳ _quinnhughes: i have no idea who this is luke

↳ yourusername: slightly offended, quinnifer _quinnhughes

jackhughes: yeah come on over to a devils game, we’ll actually acknowledge you

↳ yourusername: like i said, when & where and i’m there jack (:

user10: Y/N GOING TO A DEVILS GAME

user11: how does quinn NOT know y/n

↳ lhughes_06: my thoughts exactly

user12: lukey boy is LURKING 👀

canucks: we loved having you! hope to see you again very soon, y/n!!

↳ yourusername: i love whoever runs this account

user13: the way she didn’t tag anyone in these pictures 😭

↳ yourusername: they don’t need tags (:

↳ user14: LMFAOOA SHE SAID FUCK THEM HOCKEY PLAYERS FR yourusername

liked by yourusername.

njdevils

njdevils: since q. hughes didn’t appreciate ms. y/l/n. these hughes’ will 😈 #GONJDEVILS

tagged: l_hughes, yourusername, jackhughes

liked by jackhughes, yourusername, and others

user15: DEVILS AND CANUCKS BEEF??

↳ user16: more like jack & luke vs quinn beef 😭

yourusername: was an honor! i absolutely adore the jacket, thank you guys so much. <3

↳ canucks: the betrayal.

↳ yourusername: quinn didn’t even know who i was, do you guys even love me 💔 canucks

user17: the picture of her and jack GUYS STOP

↳ user18: why do i ship them.. 🙃

↳ user19: no i completely get it. user18

↳ user20: no?? they make no sense.. user19

jackhughes: YUP WE LOVE AND APPRECIATE Y/N OVER HERE canucks _quinnhughes can you guys relate?? 🤔 didn’t think so

↳ canucks: you are EVIL jack hughes.

_quinnhughes: i didn’t know a girl once now my team is beefing with my brothers’ team. great.

↳ yourusername: i apologize, i tried to tell them to be nice ☹️

↳ _quinnhughes: not your fault my brothers are evil yourusername

user21: okay but the jacket is fire

↳ yourusername: exactly! never taking it off

↳ canucks: traitor! yourusername

user22: jack and luke look so GOOD

↳ user23: LITERALLY WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT IT??

user24: jack and y/n, quinn and y/n that, WHAT ABOUT LUKE AND Y/N GUYS HEAR ME OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

↳ _quinnhughes: she’s too pretty for either of them

*this comment has been deleted.*

user25: I KNOW YOU GUYS SAW THAT??

↳ user26: ARE WE TRIPPING????????

next part

turning this into a story, how we feel? 🫣 it’s definitely going to be a short one, i’ll possibly go longer ones in the near future, but not right now! feel free to request anything!

check out my navigation, here!

check out my nhl masterlist, here!

#quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #new jersey devils #vancouver canucks #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl hockey #hockey x reader #hockey #hockey x you #social media au #instagram au #instagram #social media #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras x you #jamie drysdale

[mykoreanlove]

Ever wondered what it would be like to be pregnant by Chan?

„I need to get out of the house. Come get me, please.“

„What’s wrong? Something with the baby?“, your best friend asked concerned.

„It’s Chan. I can’t be around him anymore.“

„What? Why?“

You took a deep breath before explaining this ridiculous situation.

„He just wants to fuck me all the time and I can’t handle it anymore. Please, save me from this pussydrunk.“

Your best friend broke out in laughter, unable to answer for minutes.

„Are you for real right now? He’s always been like this. Why does this bother you now?“

It was true - you had a very active sex life which you adored. You adored being with him intimately, no matter the time nor place but ever since you got pregnant his sex craze became too much to bear.

„It’s different now that I’m pregnant. It’s like he‘s addicted to my pussy now.“

„Because of the pregnancy?“

You nodded quietly.

„Yeah, something about me carrying his child is driving him nuts.“

„Girl, are you for real?“

You sighed annoyed as she wasn’t taking you seriously.

„I fucking mean it. I don’t even have to do anything, just passing by him is enough for him to get hard. He literally grabs me and fucks me brainless, as if he wanted to add a sibling.“

Your friend snorted amused.

„So you’re telling me your very hot boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on is addicted to fucking you? And you want me to get you out of that? Babes, is the baby messing with your brain?“

„Shut the fuck up, my pussy can’t take it anymore, I-“

You heard the door open and shut up, already fearing what was about to come.

„Baby, are you home? Where is my beautiful, sexy goddess that is carrying my little Channie?“

„I gotta hang up“, you whispered hastily.

„Why? Is your cock appointment due?“

„Oh shut it“, you wanted to answer but got interrupted by Chan.

„There you are“, he was smiling happily while holding a giant bouquet of flowers in his hands. You hung up and smiled proudly as he was getting on his knees and started talking to your baby.

„Hey little one, I missed you“, he whispered sweetly.

Seeing him like that melted your heart, you just knew that he was going to be an amazing dad.

Chan started pampering your big belly in kisses while stroking your thighs.

„Actually, there’s something else I missed“, he breathed out hastily as he looked into your eyes with a deep longing.

You gulped as his big hands glided over the insides of your thighs, squeezing them lightly.

„Wanna know what else I missed?“

You nodded silently.

Chan let go of your thighs and started kissing your leg, starting with your ankle and going up to your knee. His eyes were piercing through you, they were full of desire and passion.

He continued kissing your leg before spreading them, making room for his head between them. The view of your pregnant belly and juicy pussy made him hold his breath, he felt like entering heaven again.

Seeing him like that made you throb, even though you were sore and fucked out for the week you couldn’t hide your desire for this man.

You were always his, always at his mercy.

Chan’s plush lips landed on your core, kissing through the fabric while mumbling: „I missed mommy the most. Want me to show you how much?“

#mykoreanlove #bang chan fluff #stray kids bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan stray kids #bang chan x female reader #bang chan fanfic #bang chan oneshot #bang chan drabbles #stray kids channie #channie smut #bang chan imagines #skz channie #bang chan x y/n #skz chan imagines #skz smut #skz soft thoughts #skz chan scenarios #skz chan x reader #skz chan smut #skz chan fluff #chan smut #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan imagines #chan scenarios #chan drabble #chan x you #chan x y/n

[mapiforpresident]

Please Don’t Leave Me Part 2

Part 1

~~~

Alexia couldn’t hear anything besides ringing as she fell to the floor on her knees. 

“Ma’am, Mrs. Putellas, can you hear me? Y/n needs to be rushed into emergency surgery. I need your verbal consent as her wife to operate on her.” The doctor stood there trying to get Alexia coherent enough to listen to watch what she was saying.

Finally Alexia replied, “yes, yes do anything possible to save her please. I can’t live without her. Please help her.”

Hearing the commotion from the hallway, Mapi stepped out of Ingrid’s room just as the doctor rushed back into the room to take you to the operating room.

“Ale what happened? Is y/n ok, they said she was stable.” Mapi said becoming more frantic at why Alexia was balling her eyes out on the floor in the hallway instead of by your bedside. 

“She… she… her heart… they have… to operate… now. Her heart … it was beating so fast. I was just holding her hand … talking to her. I… I told her that I’m pregnant.” Mapi let out a gasp at this, handing going to cover her mouth as the other pulled her best friend closer. “I found out this morning, I was planning… to tell her tonight. I had it all planned out. I bought a little Barca jersey with her number and everything. We’re going to be parents. We’re supposed to be parents together. I can’t do this without her. I can’t lose her. I can’t do this alone.” 

Mapi sat there in shock for a minute taking in what her best friend told her as she gave her as much comfort as was possible for the situation. Mapi knew that the two of you had been trying for a baby for over a year now. Alexia had confided in Mapi many times throughout the rough journey. There had already been many failed IVF attempts and this was going to be your final one. You and Alexia agreed to take a break if it didn’t work. She knew how excited Alexia must have been just that morning when she saw the test was positive. She also realized she and Ingrid were going to be aunts. She couldn’t imagine what her best friend was feeling now. Sure her wife was also in the crash, but Ingrid was for the most part ok and would just need a couple of months to heal. You were in much worse condition. Neither Mapi nor Alexia filling knew what the emergency surgery you were just rushed to even entailed. 

Mapi decided that sitting on the floor would not make either of them feel better, so she stood up. She then lifted her best friend up who gave little protest before leading her into Ingrid’s room. As soon as she entered the room with a sobbing Alexia, Ingrid’s face dropped.

“What happened, where’s Y/n. You told me she was stable. Oh my god,” she said, fearing the worst. She had never seen Alexia looking like this, she knew something terrible happened to you. She had actually been planning to get in a wheelchair and come visit you in a couple minutes. 

“Something happened and her heart started beating really rapidly. She is still alive, they just decided to operate on her now instead of waiting until tomorrow.” Mapi said as she led Alexia to sit in the chair in the corner of the room.

“I’m so sorry Ingrid, I’m so sorry,” Alexia said as a fresh wave of sobs fell over her.

“It’s not your fault, Alexia. Y/n is strong, she will pull through. I know she will.” Ingrid said to both Alexia and herself. Her older sister is the strongest person that she knows. 

“It is my fault I was talking to her when it happened. I told her that she has to get better and that she can’t leave me b…because I’m…. I’m pregnant.” At this Alexia looked up at Ingrid for the first time. Ingrid was laying in the bed looking bruised and banged up, but overall ok, and Alexia was relieved to see her sister-in-law ok. She knew her and Ingrid would both need to lean on each other and Mapi no matter what happens. 

~~~

Alexia sat in the chair in the corner of Ingrid’s room for seven long hours, only moving once to silently go to the bathroom. Nurses came in and out of the room to check on Ingrid and Mapi tried to check on her a couple times, but Alexia couldn’t move or talk or think.

Finally a doctor slowly entered the room. She walked over to your wife and kneeled down in front of her.

“Mrs. Putellas, I’m so sorry. We did everything we possibly could. Y/n’s heart stopped twice during surgery, but the second time we were unable to get it restarted. She passed at 2:54 am. You can see her one final time if you would like, along with her sister and sister-in-law. Then we will have someone come and talk to you ok. Would you like to see her?”

Alexia sat there in complete shock. She knew that there was a chance you wouldn’t make it through the surgery, but to actually hear your time of death was a completely different thing. You were gone. The love of her life and the other mother of her child were actually gone. Just this morning you had woken up to Alexia placing kisses all over your face and you had gotten up to make the two of you breakfast. You had driven to practice together singing to a song on the radio that you had no idea what the words were and then telling her about a prank you wanted to pull on Mapi and Patri later that day. Now she would never look into your eyes again, hear your laugh again, kiss you again, sleep curled in your arms again, be in your presence again. 

She slowly nodded to the doctor. She wanted to say goodbye to you. She got up robotically following the doctor heading to see your now lifeless body one final time.

~~~

Alexia kept pictures of you all around the house. Your daughter Gracie loved looking at all the pictures of her other mom all around the house. She would always ask Alexia about you and Alexia was always happy to tell your daughter all about her brave, beautiful, athletic, intelligent mother. 

Gracie was currently sitting on the living room floor, in a toddler Barça jersey with your name and number on the back, playing with some magnetic blocks Pina had given her for christmas. Right as the tower fell over, the doorbell rang. “Mamí… someone’s at the door,” Gracie yelled to Alexia who was currently making dinner in the kitchen.

“I’m coming, I’m coming bebita, I think it might be someone here to visit you. Do you want to come help me open it?” You got up and ran over into your mamí’s awaiting arms. Alexia walked over to the door and swung it open revealing two of your favorite people.

“Tía Mapi, tía Ingrid, you made it,” Gracie said, practically launching herself into Ingrid’s arms. “Look at the jersey mamí gave me. I am five today. Mamí says I need a new big girl jersey because I’m a big girl now.”

“You are such a big girl, your mummy would be so proud of you Gracie. She would love this jersey,” Ingrid says as she peppers Gracie’s face with kisses as she carries her back into the living room. Just then Patri and Pina also walked into the house with a couple other Barça girls. Ingrid set her down so she could run to show off her new jersey to anyone that would listen.

Ingrid then walked into the kitchen to help Alexia finish preparing all the food as Mapi brought the way too many cupcakes she bought and set them on the counter. “She is getting so big, she looks and acts  more and more like y/n every day. I’m so happy how proud she is to wear her jersey,” Ingrid said as she worked alongside Alexia.

“I know, I can’t believe she is five already. I can’t believe y/n has been gone so long. I miss her so much everyday. I keep thinking it will be easier to live without her, but it never is. I don’t think I could have done this without Gracie.” Alexia looks over to see Patri throwing your daughter up in the air and catching her. She beams and all Alexia can see is your smile on her daughter's face. She lets out a few tears as Ingrid pulls her into a hug. 

“Y/n would be so proud of both of you. You have done an amazing job raising Gracie. She is watching over both of you and will continue to be proud of everything you both do. She loved you so much.”

“I know I just wish that she had the chance to be a mom. I want so bad to watch her be a mom. And I know Gracie loves me and our little family, but I know it hurts her sometimes to not know her other mother, especially when she comes home and talks about how all her friends have two parents. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair, to you or to Gracie, but you are both doing an amazing job and I know Y/n is here with us right now making fun of us for getting so emotional instead of eating the cupcakes.” Alexia lets out a teary smile at this. Just then Gracie appears in between them asking her mamí to pick her up.

“Mamí, why are you sad?” Gracie asks in her innocent little voice trying to help wipe Alexia’s tears away as Mapi pulls Ingrid into a comforting hug knowing that Ingrid missed her sister just as much as Alexia missed the love of her life. “I just miss your mummy, she would be so proud of how big you are bebita.”

“I miss mummy too. I want to be a goalie like her when I grow up.” 

“You will be the best goalkeeper Barcelona has ever seen bebita. Do you want to help me take drink orders for all your tía’s” Alexia asked, knowing you loved to go around with your little notepad and pretend to be a waitress. 

At this you wiggled out of your mamí’s grasp and ran back to the living room. Alexia watched as her daughter ran out of the room with your name on her back ready to watch Gracie continue to grow.

~~~ The happy ending will be out later today to make up for this!!!

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #fc barcelona femeni #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #mapi leon #ingrid engen #woso blurb #woso imagine

[stvrchaser]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head. 

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.  

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh. 

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly. 

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you. 

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics. 

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground. 

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up. 

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits 

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjotv x reader #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #clarisse la rue fluff #pining #but they’re already dating #they’re just horrendously down bad for each other and it’s kind of embarrassing #x reader #healthy bit of banter #and trying to convince clarisse to let percy live to see another day #breaking news: summer camp gets awkward when ur gf has beef w the middle schooler #you can’t say she didn’t try to help him ok

[sunshine-zenith]

A thought — Ballister and Ambrosius’s relationship probably wasn’t public in the movie until the end. They probably weren’t secretive about it, given how Todd (someone neither of them like or would confide in) was clearly antagonistic to Ambrosius after Ballister’s jailbreak, but even then that just might be because their connection was well known — they liked each other more than any of the knights liked them, most being neutral overall to Ambrosius and outright bullies to Ballister. No one in the public seems to know about them

Media perception is a reoccurring factor in the movie, with the opening scene giving exposition in the form of a news cast. During it, Ballister is shown to be controversial, with a there being a few comments questioning the Queen’s choices related to him. Ambrosius is also brought up as someone everyone’s looking forward to seeing officially knighted, with no one questioning his relationship with Ballister or even bringing it up

While everyone is fearing and hating Ballister after the Queen dies, Ambrosius is still popular among the masses — people stop him in the streets to get his autograph. Nimona, who admittedly probably didn’t do much digging into Ballister beyond the initial news reports on the Queen’s deaths, seemed surprised that Ballister and Ambrosius had a connection. She even had an “ohhhhhh” moment after picking up on their vibe the first time they saw each other post-arm chop (and yeah she initially calls Ambrosius Ballister’s nemesis, but she clearly clocks that something romantic was going on given the “arm chopping is not a love language!” comment). She also asks if he wants to die in a (literal) closet, which like. Y’all.

Before the Queen’s death, all their PDA is in private (on the catwalk) or subtly around other knights (helping each other put on their armor with lots of heart eyes and lingering hands). Otherwise, their interactions are those of Two People Who Are Close but aren’t necessarily explicitly romantic (Ambrosius wanting to throw hands on Ballister’s behalf, teasing each other, Ambrosius cheering with the crowd). Granted, there wasn’t a lot of screen time for them to just be happy before Everything Went Wrong.

We can’t really judge whether they were private from their interactions after the Queen’s death, since most are focused on a “so this traumatic thing happened and I don’t know where we stands right now” vibe or have them just fighting. The three times Ambrosius says he loves Ballister, one was just the two of them on the catwalk, one was in a mental rant and not actually out loud, and one was while they were trying to hide their identities. Ballister continues to defend Ambrosius, saying he’d believe them if they could just talk and that the arm thing is just “complicated,” “part of their training, up until Ambrosius outright tries to arrest them (which might as well be a breakup without saying “we’re breaking up”).

In the comic, the Director says she knew about their relationship and that she disapproved. Given how much she manipulates things, it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew in the movie, and encouraged them to downplay things at least — “you should keep your private lives private so you don’t taint your public images/yes we support you, obviously, but you’re here to protect the people, not show off to them/you don’t want to overshadow things with more controversy, wait a few years until after you’re knighted/what if this is just a phase, it would be a mess to clean up if you go public now/people will talk if they hear Gloreth’s only current descendant, a promising young man, is being courted by someone they aren’t certain about who comes from nothing and can’t pass your genes on/you have each other, shouldn’t that be enough?/etc.”

We don’t see them be in a relationship publicly until after the wall — the symbol of fear of the unknown, systematic abuse and oppression, refusal to learn and grow, and let’s be real homophobia/transphobia — comes down and the Director — the one going to murderous extremes out of fear of change — is dead

I dunno. This movie is a large celebration of being queer, but it’s also about how queer people are demonized by society to the point of everyone suffering. Ambrosius is the model minority everyone loves but no one knows because all eyes are on him; Ballister is both tokenized and targeted from the moment the public meets him, having to prove himself over and over until the public unquestionably turns on him entirely; and Nimona is called a monster for just being herself. All three already had to hide who they really were. I’m not 100% sure if Ballister and Ambrosius were out or not about being together, but it’s not a stretch to see, and it fits in with the themes/arcs of this movie

#this is a mess #nimona #nimona movie #spoilers #ballister blackheart #ballister boldheart #ballister x ambrosius #ambrosius goldenloin #the sun shines #meta #cy meta #long post #broke 100 #broke 500 #broke 1000

[certainlynotasimp]

Okay, first of all, how are you? Hope you’re doing well! Drink plenty of water, stay hydrated- Second off, your Sunny fics? *chef’s kiss* so mainly, what if anybody made Sunny cry and Miguel had to find out about it? And Sunny’s trying not to make it seem like a big deal in order to keep Miguel from, you know, absolutely obliterating anyone.

Come on, Baby, Cry.

((Miguel O' Hara X Female! Reader))

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much for the compliment. All my readers? *Extra chef's kisses* I am very hydrated and I got so excited to write this for you and to add some angsty content lol. I hope you enjoy this and let me know if you are disappointed or if you love it.

A/N: I also wanna address two things before I post this too. 1) thank you so much to the anon who asked me to include translations for the Spanish phrases as I was honestly not thinking about doing that. I will do better to include the translations at the end of the fics. 2) There are gonna be some triggering topics explored in this one-shot so if you don't want to hear about near injuries to children or child loss, then I understand if you don't want to read it. Feel free to enjoy my other fanfics and here's the post where you can stay notified on happier Sunny and Miggy fanfics.

Warnings: Grumpy x Sunshine, Barely using (Y/N) ((Sunny is just their nickname, not their actual name.)), Female pronouns, PTSD, Mentions of Child Loss, Endangerment of a Child ((No children were actually hurt, just traumatized)), Trauma, Comforting, Fluff, Angry Miguel, and Google Translate Spanish.

The room fills with squeals and giggles as the chase between the chubby toddler and the jumping spider. Mayday swings her little self around the corridor as the young woman follows behind amused by how agile the little tyke was. 

‘Maybe she’ll make a good sidekick in the future.’ The smiling woman muses in her mind before a bloody image flashes in her mind. Shaking her head, she clears the idea out of her mind as Mayday reaches an open window. 

Her quick scream of horror as she accidentally swings herself out of the window causes the woman’s blood to run cold as she flings herself out of the window after her. “MAYDAY!”

The adrenaline coming from her heightened fear causes the whole thing to appear to be trapped in time as the spider woman falls with the screeching infant falling inches away. Tears clouded her vision as she shoots out her webbing to the pillars around them as the images of flames lick at her eyes. 

So many flames, and too many buildings at once. Screams and pleas from below as she tries to be there. They didn’t matter to her, not at that moment. The only one who mattered was him. Did he scream like that too or did he not even feel it?

Using her webbing, she quickly creates a hammock for Mayday to fall on a few feet from the ground, thankfully trapping the wailing infant so she can’t escape. Unfortunately, reality doesn’t set in time for the spider as she slams into the titanium flooring below, knocking the air out of her lungs.

Many spidermen gathered as they heard the commotion, but she could only focus her blurry vision above her as she tries to regain her sight. A familiar blur of bright pink swings up and grabs the ball of ginger hair in a muddled mess of cries. He quickly drops down to where the disoriented woman was splayed out below with the whimpering infant in his arms.

“Hey, Sunny, you alright?” Peter calls his friend. The damage didn’t look bad from the outside, but he was sure she had some nasty concussion with how she was looking at him.

Hobie crouches down beside the crumbled girl and carefully lifts her head up with one hand. “Oi, Sunshine, you there?” He mutters as he looks into her eyes. He holds up his hand and makes three fingers pop up. “How many fingers do you see, love?”

With a cough, the woman croaks out, “Three?” Her eyes begin to focus as her enhanced healing works out the stars in her vision. With the help of Hobie and Peter, she stands up with a whimper at the feeling of her shattered ribs forming back together. “Damn, I forgot that falling several feet actually hurt.” She attempts to joke despite her wheezing breath. The crowd around them laughs as Peter sighs in relief.

“Thank god, you’re alright.” Peter mourns as a glint of regret shines in his eyes. “I’m sorry for all this, Sunny. I shouldn’t have let her bring the web shooter here. She almost swings herself out of the window all the time and MJ told me that one day I won’t be there to help the next time it happens.” Mayday’s cries end as she sees her favorite play partner up and well as she shows off her gummy smile.

“Well, luckily I was here to save the day.” The disoriented spider muses as she returns the infant’s smile as the men chuckle. The crowd dissipates leaving the injured spider with her two friends.

“I’m still really sorry, P. I got distracted and didn’t see that the window was open.” She winces as she blames herself for being so neglectful.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. This little rascal will probably send me to an early grave with all the mischief she causes.” Peter jokes as he tickles his now roaming daughter, chuckling at her excited squeals.

“Good thing you don’t have a kid, Sunny.” Hobie chuckles. “You would lose them in a heartbeat.”

The bright atmosphere shatters as the woman abruptly pulls away from her friends. The men look at her confused until they saw the look in her eyes. The normal warm and inviting gaze that they all thrived under was gone, only a dark void was staring back at them. Their light now shining in hurt and sadness as memories cloud her mind. Her lip trembles in a tight line as tears begin to roll down her face. 

Hobie looks confused at the sudden shift, but Peter realizes something as he looked at his trembling friend. Her eyes burned with tears as they locked with his. She had a haunted look about her. It's a look only parents can ever understand and fear. The look Peter himself almost experienced. “Hey,(y-” Before Peter can comfort her, she activates her mask and turns invisible before running off, her muffled sobs leaving them speechless.

Hobie groans as he realizes two things. One, he just made the sweetest person in the world cry. And Two,...

Miguel is gonna kill him.

~~~~~~~

The warm glow of the portal illuminates the surveillance room as the blue spider steps out covered in a musty yellow goo. Lyla smirks as she observes the little chucks slipping onto the ground as Miguel attempts to dust off the slime from his large shoulders.

“Was your mission successful, boss?” The assistant snarks as she sends out a little robot to follow the annoyed Spiderman. The little bug-like contraption eagerly swallows up the disgusting mess Miguel left as he walks up to the platform. “The anomaly was captured and disposed of. Next time, warn me if William Baker is made of anything except sand.” He grumbles as the sound of the little robot annoyed him even more. 

“I’ll make a note of that.” The AI giggles as she downloads the mission info from Miguel’s gizmo. “Also ‘Miss Sunshine’ is here and she doesn’t seem too happy.” She says before fading out.

Miguel’s eyes widen upon hearing that his sunny partner was upset. She was never upset. Never. With concern eating away at him, Miguel shoots out a web and swings himself to the platform above. He lands softly as he sees the scene in front of him.

His sunshine sat in his usual seat in front of the monitor. Her costume was dirty with a chest compression brace wrapped around her ribs as her choked sobs wheeze out of her. Her mask was off as her head rested against the ice pack in her hand, her back leaned forward as her attention was focused on the image before her.

He already knew what was on the screen.

He knew that file name by heart just like how he knows Gabriella’s.

File SW-0001425

World 16457-0

Spider-Woman- (Y/N) (L/N)

Age of infection- 23

Occupation- Intern Medical Research Assistant in the Genetics Department of { REDACTED } working under Dr. {REDACTED}

Sacrifice: Ben (L/N), age 4, Son of (Y/N) (L/N), 1 year into being Spiderwoman

Cause of death: Blunt Force trauma and Smoke inhalation caused by a multi-location attack caused by { REDACTED}

Status of Universe: DESTROYED

On the screen, the laughing face of a younger Sunny shines as a chubby cheek of a baby boy with dark curls smooshes into hers. The faint sound of a child mimicking the smooch of a kiss can be heard as the overexaggerated gasp of the woman causes the toddler to squeal. “That was such a sweet kiss, Benny. Can mommy have another one?” The sweet voice soured the air as the sobbing woman mournfully watches her baby boy.

The baby she failed.

Miguel approaches behind her and slowly takes the mouse from her weak grasp. The broken woman sighs as she realizes her miggy is here with her now, but doesn’t turn to look at him as he pauses the video. Her baby’s matching eyes stare right back at her before Miguel turns the chair around to face him as his mask disintegrates. His eyes glow red under the light of the monitors as he searched her sore eyes. Her face was red with a noticeable bruise along the left side of her face. Tears and snot crusted over her soft features as her lips remained turned into a trembling whisper. Her pupil shone in self-loathing and searching for his comfort. He could tell that this episode isn’t just one of her low days, something happened.

Something happened and he wasn’t here to stop it.

Miguel closes his eyes as his hand caresses her cheek. The warmth of her flushing face nuzzling into his palm allowed him to ground his rage as he focuses his gaze back onto his beloved.

“Mi luz, ¿qué pasó?” He seethes as he looks deep into her eyes. 

She shakes her head as she tries to avoid looking into his concerned ruby gaze. The glass bridge was already cracked as she internally debated with sobbing everything that happened into his warm embrace or to protect her friend from the wrath she knows Miguel will unleash if he knows what was said. The warmth of his other palm cupping her cheek, guiding her to a wandering eye to look at his frowning face nearly broke her.

“It was nothing, Miggy…”She whispered as her voice trembled again. She tried to control her eyes from unknowingly confessing while she tries to bite the wobbling pout. “It was an accident…”

“What.” Miguel runs his thumb under her abused mouth as a piece of her disheveled hair was swept back. “Happened?” His demand is punctuated as he holds her in his stare. His eyes burned with barely contained fury and protectiveness as he studied her reactions. “Odio verte como la suya, mi amor.” He admits with a sigh.

Leaning forward, Miguel places a firm kiss on her forehead as his beloved’s breath shudders at his touch. The gentle heat under his touch left her trembling as the glass began to crack. “Let me ease your pain…” He whispers as he trails his kisses down to her eyelids. “These eyes are meant to be filled with happiness, not sorrow…” The cracks deepen as he gently kisses her nose. “I can’t undo what has happened…” The corners of her lips were caressed by his as his nose brushed against her cheeks causing her eyes to meet his mirrors. Her sorrow and helplessness are reflected in his ruby eyes as he kneels on the ground between her legs. A silent plea breaks the resolve she built as he mutters into her ear.

“Please, mi sol, at least let me feel your pain too…It's me and you against the universe remember…Por favor no me dejes solo ... No quiero perderte de nuevo.” He begs as the tension shatters. 

With her arms snaking around his shoulders, the little spider confesses all that happened hours prior into his ear. Each detail, each scar, burned into his mind as she clung to his neck and hair. His inferno of rage almost imploded until he looked back into her eyes again. The relief of letting go of all of her troubles made her face look years younger as she looked at him with her big vulnerable eyes. 

Hobie will have to wait. His love needed him now.

In a silent nod, Miguel wrapped her weak legs around his waist before he stood up. Feeling her snuggling into his throat, he carries her toward her room down the hallway while the annoying robot follows them to clean up the mess. As he enters the room, he releases some of his anger by smashing the bug with his foot. 

“What was that, Miggy?” She croaks as she weakly tries to look over his shoulder.

“Just a bug,” He sighs as he approaches her dresser and grabs his spare set of clothes from his drawer. “You want your clothes or mine?”

“Yours…” She shyly admits as he feels the heat returning to the cheek on his neck. 

“Muy bien, niña bonita. Lo que quieras.” He whispers as he grabs another set of clothes that he knows will swallow her. With that, he carries them into her personal bathroom and spent the night slowly bringing back his sunshine.

~~~~~~~~

A deep scream rings out through the Lobby as they see a flash of blue fury tackles the residential metal head into the ground. Peter hurries to save his colleague along with a few other Spidermen as Mayday laughs at the anarchist getting thrashed by the clawed man spewing Hispanic curses at him.

~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Mi luz, ¿qué pasó? - My light, what happened?

mi sol - my sun

Por favor no me dejes solo ... No quiero perderte de nuevo. -Please don't leave me alone...I don't want to lose you again

~~~~~~~

taglist:

@ameliadraws 

@tojisrightnut

@whyareyoubored

@silly-lovestruck-em

@luvil1y

@chims-kookies

@himesuedi

@22carolina08

@chaoticevilbakugo

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@hoshhoshh

@isaidoop

@pheroineux

@rosiepetalss

@aniya7

#spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fandom