#i think maybe my brain is kind of shutting down all emotions so that i dont have to deal with the big ones i dont want to deal with | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hinaaspanda · 2 years

Text

off limits! | j.ww

pairing: brother's best friend! Jeon Wonwoo x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content, swearing

genre: fluff, some angst, crack, smut; fingering, protected sex, dirty talk + praising

wc: 9,907

For years, you've had a crush on your brother's best friend; Jeon Wonwoo. Though, with him being so close to your brother, you couldn't do anything about those feelings, so you tuck them away and get over him. After not seeing him for years, you thought you were safe, free from a world of loving him. But, all of that changes when you meet him again... as your roommate!

a/n: hi! I'm back with my first fic for seventeen! I'm going through major wonwoo brainrot rn. this is also my first time writing for the smut genre so I hope you enjoy!

...

Currently, you stood before the one man you wanted nothing more than to avoid.

The best friend of your obnoxious brother, Jeon Wonwoo.

You felt Mingyu’s shoulder roughly brush past yours, dropping off the last of the boxes. You, however, couldn’t find yourself to put down the box nesting in your arms. You were too trapped in a world of shock to do so. Wonwoo pushed a few of his boxes off to the side as you watched Mingyu shuffle closer to his best friend—his best friend who had just moved away to an entirely new city for university, and who just so happened to be your new roommate.

6 feet under the ground has never looked more comfortable.

It wasn’t that you hated him or anything. As of right now, the two of you were—in a formal sense—acquaintances. However, a few years ago that would have been a different story. Sure, you may have never uttered more than a sentence to the quiet best friend of Kim Mingyu, but that didn’t stop you from growing absolutely infatuated with him. Thinking about him at every chance you got, daydreaming about him amidst the boring lectures of your high school social class.

His distance didn’t stop your heart from its emotional chase, but his proximity to your brother did. Every weekend Wonwoo would visit, every night he would stay late for dinner—it all reminded you of the roadblock that was your brother. So, after months of pining, with all the effort in your being, you finally decided to drop Jeon Wonwoo from your heart. What remained was the mundane label of acquaintances.

And now, roommates, apparently.

“I think that’s the last of it,” Mingyu said with a proud huff. Gathering his belongings, Mingyu strutted his way to the front door of your new home. The new home that, for some reason, you couldn’t forget was Wonwoo’s, too. Mingyu shot a pointer finger at your chest. “Call mom and dad when you get settled, okay? I gotta go. See ya y/n, you too Wonwoo!”

After bumping fists with Wonwoo for one last time, Mingyu headed out the door. The door slammed shut, and the two of you stood in silence, both of your eyes glued to the tops of your shoes. Not once in your life did you think you would ever say this, but maybe you missed your boisterous brother. Without his overbearing, annoying presence, the air between Wonwoo and you wouldn’t have been so thick, so tense.

To say this was a new situation to be in would be a deep understatement. Despite knowing him for years, you could never remember a time where you were alone with Wonwoo. Without distractions, or the overbearing presence of your brother. Just the two of you. Alone.

And now, you would spend the next few months just like that. Alone.

Without thinking, you break off the silence. Cringey– smack your head against the wall and curl up into a ball– kind of cringey small talk spills from your mouth. All the while your brain screams at you to shut up. Luckily, Wonwoo was kind enough to answer your embarrassingly useless questions about his life.

“You know, I’m surprised you even remember me” You suddenly spill out. Your eyes widen. What was wrong with you?

Wonwoo's head dipped down, his eyes catching a glimpse of you before falling back down to his slippers.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think I could ever forget about you.”

Woah. Okay. That was weird. You could feel your cheeks flare up.

Wonwoo and you each steal a glance from each other's eyes, like nervous middle schoolers at a school dance. You wanted to rip your eyes away from him and his… changed physique, but you once again caught yourself staring the moment he shined an innocent smile.

God, okay.

"Er, why don't we start unpacking?" you chirped hastily, wanting nothing more than to escape the suffocating air of awkwardness.

…

With a ceramic bowl in your hands, you stood still. Gawking at the towering shelf before you. It couldn't be helped, you didn't know what to do when the only vacant space for said bowl was at the very top of said shelf. You try a variety of preliminary solutions first; reaching with all your might, balancing on your tippy toes to close the gap. It didn’t work. An exhausted sigh pushed through your lips, that same sigh switching to a low toned groan by the end of it. The way you were going to reach it? Only God knew.

Safe to say, you were not expecting this specific solution.

You felt a sudden warmth ghosting behind you. Closely behind. Maybe a few centimeters. You inhale sharply, the shock stunning you. Your eyes graze over a particularly toned arm reaching beside, then past yours. It’s fingers snatching the bowl away from your pitiful ones. Your ears perk up to the sound of shifting, and another hand snakes around your side, fully entraping your figure against the counter. You prayed the heat of your skin came from the poorly conditioned apartment.

“Here, let me help you,” Wonwoo said nonchalantly, through a grin. So aloof, so opposite to how flustered you felt. His towering arm placed the bowl on the shelf. He stood in that position—trapping you against the counter—for a few more seconds (but what felt like an eternity) before returning to his own things to unpack. You barely stuttered a response, wanting nothing more than to suffocate in the bubble wrap from the boxes.

…

There was a specific horror when it came to sharing everything with Boo Seungkwan. You see, he had a slight tendency to make sure you never forget.

That man in question, along with you and your other best friend, Vernon, sat on Vernon’s couch. The original plan was to enjoy the weekend in each other’s company while watching a movie everyone could enjoy. Instead, you sat silently in the middle, munching your way through the chip as your two friends argued over the remote.

“No, I’m choosing. We are not gonna sit through another one of your stupid artsy films!”

“They’re not stupid, you’re just too stupid to understand whats going on!”

“Last time we watched a movie you chose, I had to sit through 10 minutes of two people having sex with a crowd of people moaning along. Never. Again.”

You wince at the memory of the movie that made a new definition of horror in your books. Vernon snatched the remote again. “My house, my movie.”

Seungkwan scowled. “Then we’re never watching a movie under your roof again. Next time we’re at my place.”

Vernon barked back. “With a couch we can barely fit on? Nice try!”

“At least we’ll be cozy and not traumatized!”

Vernon sighed, suddenly handing the remote to you. “Okay fine, why don’t we go to Y/n’s house next time, and she can pick the movie.”

You jolt at the sudden mention of your name.

Your eyes scan Seungkwan’s expression, an expression which switches immediately into one of mischief. An evil grin shines on his face as he sends a nudging elbow to your side. His eyebrows wiggle, and you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what was bound to come next. “Yeah! And we can finally meet Mr. Roomie/Mingyu’s best friend that Y/n’s got the hots for!!”

Heat running to your cheeks, you shove Seungkwan’s shoulder. Hard. “I don’t have the ‘hots’ for him, dumbass. I just had a… small crush on him when we were kids, that’s all.”

“Uh huh, okay.” His tone bled unimpressed. “That’s not what it sounded like when you called me last week.” Now Vernon was interested, cocking an eyebrow at your direction.

You nipped at your lips. Shit. He was right. When you called him—on the day you moved in—you sounded a little too freaked out to be completely indifferent about your new roommate.

It was unclear how you truly felt about Jeon Wonwoo. But one thing's for sure, it wasn’t normal.

“Oh, Y/n” Seungkwan sighed dramatically, throwing an arm around your shoulders for an embrace. “I dunno about you, but I wouldn’t ignore someone like him! I think there's definitely something there, girl.”

You never thought you’d say this, but you missed 5 minutes ago, when the topic of conversation was the unique movie tastes of your friends, and the chosen mode of communication was yelling, despite them literally being one person— you— apart. At least then, you weren’t stuck thinking about your berserk living situation.

…

There’s definitely something there.

Seungkwan’s words played over and over again in your head. On the bus ride home, as you got ready for bed, and as you tucked yourself in your cozy covers, those 4 words replayed.

As smart as Boo Seungkwan claimed to be, he was wrong on this one. You didn’t have feelings for your roommate. The night you moved in— the ceramic bowl incident, as Vernon liked to call it— was just a slip up. One mistake in a sea of second chances. You were fine. After all, a week has passed since you moved in, and to your surprise, the two of you were actually settling in quite nicely. Quick exchanges of small talk filled the shared air, replacing the tense silence your week began with. Slowly the two of you began to open up, chatting about your day during your shared meals. Wonwoo even proposed the brilliant idea of having a dishwashing schedule. You could still remember how proud he was when he thought of the idea.

It was almost… cute.

You caught yourself, fingers pulling down your cheeks as you try to hide the smile that came so automatically at the thought of that damn dishwashing schedule. The heat that rose to your cheeks when you think of how easy it was to talk to him nowadays. No. You were not going to fold now.

With a final huff jumping from your chest, you hop out of your bed, ready to start your day. Your day, that, with enough determination, would be free of weird thoughts regarding your roommate. You hovel to the apartment living room, your tired eyes immediately making contact with a certain bowl shaped head. Complete in his loose fitted white t-shirt, black joggers, and thin rimmed glasses. His fingers clutched onto a gaming controller, his fingers moving the controls that gave life to his first person shooter. As if your gaze summoned him, Wonwoo turned around, a smile beaming from his lips.

“Good morning!”

You watched him grin at you with his lightly tousled bed hair. You instinctively wrap an arm around your stomach, to hide the somersaults it was currently performing under your shirt. Convincing yourself that it was the morning hunger, you shine a bogus smile. “Morning!”

To say that he’s changed within the years you methodically avoided him would be a deep understatement. Though he was presently sitting down, past encounters with him proved that he towered over you. He’d always been taller than you, but now the difference was much more dramatic. And while he stood massively before you, at least back then he was lanky, built with little to no muscle. Now? God generously replaced that lanky frame with a physique gifted from, well, the gods. Sure, his shirt was loose, but his arm and chest muscles still managed to peek through the fabric. You catch your stubborn eyes staring at his broad shoulders a little longer than you expected.

His face managed to change, too. It grew more sculpted, his cheeks chiseled and jawline so sharp it could cut you. Though the idea of touching his jaw didn’t scare you off, only intriguing you. You shook your head aggressively, shaking away those horrid thoughts.

You pivot on your heel, beginning to make your way to the kitchen. You weren’t strong enough to handle whatever your heart was going through, so you opted for a light breakfast instead.

However, you can never have it your way, now can you?

The clicks of the controller stopped for a second, and Wonwoo’s voice peaks in your ears.

“Wanna play with me?”

…

“Uh, Wonwoo” You slowly inched away from the screen. After dropping into the game’s world, it had finally hit you that you had no idea how to even play. His gaze which burned your back, however. It distracted you from the game entirely. You clear your throat.

“How do you play?”

“Bruh” Wonwoo muttered, and you gave an apologetic laugh. Maybe you did deserve the lecture about not skipping the very simple tutorial that only played once so you wouldn’t die within two minutes of the game. You moved the controls randomly, dropping items and taking damage like it was no tomorrow, all against Wonwoo’s best interest. You almost wanted to do it out of spite, just to mess with him a little.

Guess Wonwoo had a little trick up his sleeve as well.

“Oh my god, okay, here.”

Without warning, you felt two muscular arms slither around your waist, connecting at the controller you also held snug against your chest. Sparks pop against your skin, and you shiver in surprise. You honestly couldn’t tell if your jaw was touching the carpet floor or not, or if you had the chance to blink. You couldn't make sense of anything. Nothing made any goddamn sense. The pads of his thumbs trace your fingers, your peripheral vision showing truly how small your hands were compared to his.

“This button is used to shoot, okay?” his voice rumbled deep—was his voice always this deep?— as he practically whispered flush against your ear. You couldn’t help but shiver at the contact. You inhale deeply, compensating from your current lack of air. The way each syllable tingled against your skin. You were never going to survive real life, never mind this stupid video game. “Here, you can check your inventory, and here, you can change your weapon.”

It was as if time had stopped. Your mind was going crazy. The delicate touch of his fingers, the tingles of his voice on your skin, his frame encasing yours in his arms—all of it. You couldn’t handle one single bit of it. You couldn’t give two flying fucks about the game at this point. A part of you wanted to stay, just like this.

Abruptly, however, the ding of the doorbell sounds throughout the apartment. The two of you jolt awake, and you jump away from each other. Wonwoo glances away immediately. Almost as if he was flustered. After composing yourself, you trot to the door, and peek through the apartment camera.

It was your brother. Kim fucking Mingyu.

…

“Basketball game?” You and Wonwoo chirped in unison.

“Yeah!” Mingyu grinned from across the kitchen table. He cradled the glass containers full of homemade food, a gift to you— courtesy of your thoughtful mother. He tilted his head to you. “I thought I texted you about it?”

You froze. “Oh.” Okay, it wasn’t your fault your brain had been quite preoccupied as of recently. “I didn’t see it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mingyu swayed his hand. “I want you guys to come watch!”

Wonwoo and you glance at one another, your movements falling in unison as you discuss the possibility of attending. A discussion that needed minimal words, as if you could already read each other’s mind. It piqued your brother’s interest, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Since when did you two get so close?”

You froze, fingers nervously dancing on your tabletop. A wave of fear shot down your spine as your eyes refused to look at Wonwoo; your brother’s best friend. You would very much rather die a slow, painful death, than to have your brother realize his best friend and his little sister were getting too close for comfort.

Of course, your cheeks heat up at the thought of getting closer with Wonwoo. You shake your head, squinting. Stop it. Now’s definitely not the time.

The low ahem grumbled from your side, and Wonwoo shifted forward. His tone sounded swift, almost panicked. Like he was trying to hide something. “We’re roommates, of course we’re close.”

Wonwoo looked at you once more, shining a smile. You turn to your brother, your smile being fully false. “Uh, yeah!”

You watched as Mingyu’s eyes darted between your figures, narrowing in suspicion before widening back up. You heave a sigh of relief. For once, you were grateful for your brother’s slowness. “Oh right, why didn’t I realize?” His laugh filled the kitchen air, and the two of you laughed along.

Right. You huffed. You and Wonwoo were nothing but roommates to each other. Anything more could lead to a confusing, and unfavorable event.

…

You watched as Wonwoo locked your apartment door, the evening lights peeking through the window serving as your first indication that it was time for dinner together. Dinner together. You couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit fuzzy as you placed down two of each utensil on your shared table.

You slap yourself. Snap out of it!

“Mingyu’s kinda slow, isn’t he?” Wonwoo’s voice perked through your ears. “He really forgot that we were roommates.”

Your chest releases a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah”

Roommates. That's what you two were. Though, you weren’t quite sure who that reminder was really for. You wanted it to be for him, but the sinking feeling in your chest could suggest who it was really meant for.

…

There were two sounds that took over the apartment air that Saturday evening. The faint audio of a romantic comedy, and the much more prominent sounds of you and Wonwoo, arguing about said romantic comedy.

“This is ridiculous,” Wonwoo gestured a very judgmental hand towards the screen, where the male lead just so happened to bump into his female love interest in a completely different country. “There’s no way he’d meet her across the country by accident, that’s not realistic at all.”

You waved your hands, frustrated at the sheer man energy Wonwoo was exhibiting, trying to explain everything with dumb realism. “Are you dumb? This is a drama, it’s not supposed to be realistic!”

Wonwoo only grimaced before quieting down, sinking into the couch before continuing the film. You knew he always had a bone to pick with anything that didn’t fit nicely into the realms of realism,—rich coming from a literal gamer, but okay— so it was a surprise when your brother’s best friend asked to join you during your weekly rom-com binge. Though now you were close to taking back your words, seeing as his only motivation was to give you a goddamn headache.

As the two of you grow immersed in the screen, with sprinkles of bickering here and there, an hour and a half passes on the clock, and the two of you finally reach the finale. The two main leads find each other at opposite ends at a crosswalk. The music queues and sudden rain pours in. As the walking lights turn green, the two characters meet at the center of the road, a passionate kiss locking between their lips. And with that, the credits roll. It was as unrealistic as you can get. A pure product of fiction. You were expecting Wonwoo to explode with confusion. This ending infuriating his realism fueled brain. However, he seemed to be focused on something else entirely.

“That was a bad kiss scene.” Your brother’s best friend blurted out. It took you aback, your eyes bouncing between him and the screen. “Huh?”

“There was no build up, the guy sorta just rushed in. If the audience didn’t know anymore, they would’ve thought that he just smacked her head or something.”

You looked back at the screen, thinking back to the kiss. He did have a point, the main male lead did seem a little rushed. You wonder if the kiss scene was actually as good as you initially thought, or if its quality was just masked by the cool lighting and special effects.

Wait. Your brows furrow. What did he even know?

Was Jeon Wonwoo a good kisser?

Almost immediately, certain thoughts take over your brain. Your heart was beating faster and faster with each tick of the clock above you. You nip at your lips. No, no, no. You couldn’t have those thoughts in your head. The last thing you wanted was to develop anything for your brother’s best friend. The consequences of doing such were too much for your tiny brain to comprehend.

Yet, why couldn’t you stop thinking about it?

“What do you know about kissing, anyways?” You probe defensively, though you weren’t sure what the defense was for. “You think you could do better or something?”

“Oh, way better.” Wonwoo said with a puffed chest and a familiar heat began to creep on your cheeks. “Unlike him, I wouldn’t rush it. I’d take my time with her…”

Wonwoo’s eyes met yours. “...Savor her.”

You felt queasy to your stomach. Only now, at this very moment, did you become very aware of how intimate you two currently were. Shoulder to shoulder on your living room couch, dim lights cascading off your figures as the evening light grew dark. Wonwoo’s chest was just centimeters away from yours, which was heaving in and out at this point.

“I wouldn’t be rough with her. If I'm kissing her, I need to cherish her. I never waste my kisses.”

Were you dreaming? So far, none of this movie night seemed to be real, except for maybe the very fictional film you watched. Everything else felt just like a dream

But for some reason, you didn’t want to wake up.

With one last ghost of his fingertips, Wonwoo pinches your cheek. You wake up to an innocent seeming grin before watching him shoot up from the couch. You didn’t go after him though, you were still too stunned, too frozen to move.

Why was Jeon Wonwoo shaking you up so much?

…

Panic quickly overtook you.

With the amount of steps you took while pacing around the living room floor, you were convinced you had just walked a marathon. Your teeth pick at the skin of your lips, your fingers—lined with anxiety—fiddling with each other. Your eyes dart back to the clock. 7:49.

In about 5 minutes, Wonwoo would come home.

To say that lately, you’ve been on edge when it comes to your brother’s best friend, would be a grave understatement. One moment, he’s snug against your frame while playing video games, or telling you how good of a kisser he was while watching a tv drama. The next? He's busy convincing his best friend that nothing stood between you aside from the mere label of roommates. Wonwoo was making you go crazy. And so, you found yourself building a wall between the two of you, one brick at a time.

At first, you deemed the plan too harsh. But one thing was for certain.

You couldn’t let yourself fall in love with Jeon Wonwoo. Your brother’s best friend.

During the past weeks, you ate together less, hiding behind the lousy excuse of school assignments. You avoided his eyes every time you grazed his figure at the hall. You don’t know how you did it, but you managed to avoid contact with your roommate. After all, you needed to do all you could to get rid of these estranged feelings.

Your original plan today was to avoid your brother’s roommate, just as usual, but your escape route for the day had miraculously blown up in your face, with both Seungkwan and Vernon both canceling on you mere hours before you were about to head out the door. And with no back up plan at your side, you had nothing else to fall back to once Jeon Wonwoo came back home.

A click sounds from the front door, and you jolt back to reality. Shit.

The door slowly swings open, and a figure emerges. He brushes his hair—soaked from the crashing rain outside—away from his face. Your stubborn eyes couldn’t help but travel down, briefly locking with the translucency of his white shirt, which the rain water made sure not to miss. His eyes meet yours, and for some reason, you couldn’t seem to rip yours away from his grasp.

“Hey y/n!” He chirped with a smile, his deep voice rumbling in your ears. You hum a simple response, eyes mapping out your escape route to the stairs— which wasn’t at all in your favor. Your only path to freedom was the hallway before you, the hallway that Wonwoo also stood in front of. With his eyes still burning through your figure, a question jumps from his lips. “Have you eaten?”

His words led to realize that you had, in fact, not eaten dinner. You couldn’t reveal that, though.

“I’m not that hungry,” A bogus smile lifts your cheeks. You thought that that was enough, that your words were plenty for him to accept your rejection. But, of course, a loud, low grumble echos from your stomach, causing the both of you to glance down. Wonwoo glances back up at you, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Positive! Now, if you’ll excuse me- ” You chirp, two words occupying your brainspace. Run. NOW.

You dash to the end of the hallway, eyes glued to the tiled floor. Maybe, just maybe, if you looked away, Wonwoo would forget that you were there.

Clearly, though, he didn’t.

Just as your shoulder brushed past his, you felt a harsh tugging sensation at your wrist. You spring back, your gaze meeting a particularly soaked chest. After stalling your hardest for about 5 seconds, you finally glance up. Wonwoo’s eyes, however, had already been on you. Hell, you were convinced they never left your figure since he got home.

“Is something wrong?” Wonwoo grilled, eyes taking the time to map your figure. You swat your hand, resisting the temptation to stay right where you were. Right in front of him. “Just not feeling it, that’s all,”

“I’m not just talking about tonight,” The end of his sentence grew rough and gritted. His grasp on your wrist grew tighter as he pulled you closer to him. “You’ve been acting weird for a while now, you don’t think I haven’t noticed?”

Isn’t it obvious? You thought. I need to get away from you. Otherwise, I’ll fall in love with you even more.

“You’ve haven’t said a word to me in weeks and you’re always stuck up in your room. At first, I was fine with giving you space but now, it’s like you're avoiding me.”

You pick at your lips, averting his gaze.

“I just wanna know what’s going on, y/n.” His voice sounded weak, almost desperate. Your heart chipped, your stomach churning in guilt. You stayed silent, your arm growing heavy in his grasp. Wonwoo finally sighed, shoulder slumping forward as he let your wrist go, defeat ghosting over his back. “Okay then.”

It was as if a bullet shot through your chest, your heart crumbling into grains of sand. Your heart swelled up, overflowing with emotions you couldn’t even fathom or explain. Your head was spinning on the spot. A part of you wanted nothing more than to give in, to forget it all and throw yourself into his arms. A flood of images rushed to your mind; Mingyu, Mingyu with Wonwoo, and lastly, Wonwoo with you. The image of his smile staining your mind a little longer.

You couldn’t be with him. It could ruin everything.

Pivoting your feet, you take one glance at Wonwoo. His gaze finally began to drop from your figure. You gulp, a cog in your brain suddenly shifting.

Fuck it, None of that mattered anymore.

It was all a rush. Without your brain properly functioning, you pivot again. Your chin aligned with his chest and your eyes finally met his. Confidently. As you threw every conscious and careful thought away from you, you took a step forward. And another. Until the gap between your figures closed shut. He stares back blankly, his eyes glinting with a sense of the same need your body flared up with, the need that you denied yourself so many times. All because of whatever labels you two gave yourselves. With your stomach flipping in on itself, you close your eyes.

And kiss him.

…

You were off limits. Jeon Wonwoo knew that much.

Wonwoo never knew why you stood out so much every time he’d stay over at Mingyu’s house. At first, he concluded that it was because you were an innocent girl hanging out in a sea of rowdy teenage boys. With his calm demeanor, you seemed like a dream to hang out with, compared to the others. Next, he concluded that it was just a coincidence, and that he wasn’t actually seeing you constantly. While that was partly true; the fact that you weren’t actually in his sight constantly, in truth, you plagued his mind like a disease. The symptoms? Lovesickness and a mild headache.

His love sickness came into play every chance it got. Every time you’d show up during one of Mingyu’s get togethers, every time you would spare him a wave before he left to go back home. Each and every time you entered his life, he melted into a puddle.

However, no matter how smitten he was with you, there was a constant reminder of the one person standing in his way. His best friend, Kim Mingyu. It was beyond wrong to go for the little sister of his closest friend, that was almost a given. And with that, Wonwoo let both you, and the idea of being anything more than friends, go. Though thinking back, Wonwoo could never tell if his feelings truly left.

Nevertheless, all of that would be forgotten at his second year in University. With his first roommate bailing on him at the last minute, Wonwoo needed a new roommate, and fast. Luckily, you were just starting at the same university, and needed a roommate yourself. So, without missing a beat, Wonwoo called up Mingyu and packed his things.

It didn’t take long for his heart to settle back into his old feelings the moment you two moved in together. It was as instant as fireworks popping in the sky. As soon as he saw your cheeky, gummy smile, Wonwoo could tell he folded. He was falling for you all over again. And when you began to open up to his conversations and accept his greetings, Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel bright inside.

There were moments where he couldn’t control himself, he was the first to admit. Moments he may have taken his secret feelings out of hiding for a little longer than expected. Safe to say, anyone could tell that Wonwoo was in love with you.

Well, except for you.

At least that was what Wonwoo thought the moment you began to ignore him. Began to build a wall of anonymity between you. Wonwoo was left at a loss. He didn’t want to lose you again. And that was why, when you finally kissed him, and a flood of emotions rushed in, Wonwoo had no other choice but to kiss you back with all the might in his being. He finally understood those rough kiss scenes in those dramas you loved so much.

An arm snakes around your waist as Wonwoo clings onto your frame, pressing it snug against his own. He felt bad for the once dry fabric of your bedtime clothes, rubbing against his— which had been soaked from the rain outside— probably wasn’t a good idea. But ultimately, it didn’t matter. A free hand cups your jaw, Wonwoo’s knuckles running white from excitement, thrill. It didn’t matter where, Wonwoo just needed to hold you. Keep you in his touch so you wouldn’t run away again. Wonwoo felt a set of fingers cling onto the buttons of his dress shirt, butterflies setting off in his stomach at the realization that they were yours. You felt the same way, you never wanted to let go.

…

Your lips pluck apart as the two of you take deep breaths, chests heaving. Your eyes hold onto each other as if they were each other’s source of life. Right now, it seemed like that was very much the case. After collecting yourself, your eyes dip down to your feet—the embarrassment finally settling in. Your head was spinning. Was any of this real? Had you just locked lips with the man you’ve had feelings for, for your entire life? Your chest heaved, heart beating rapidly in Wonwoo’s presence. In Wonwoo’s trance.

“I-I,” You stutter out, still breathless from the kiss. “I can explain!”

Wonwoo only chuckled, the deep timber of his voice rumbling in his chest. “What’s with the switch up? I thought you hated me.”

Shocked, you look up. “What? No! I could never hate you!” Your fingers leave his side, meeting in front of you, fiddling with each other. “I just… didn’t know what to do. I was conflicted. I’ve liked you since we were kids, but I couldn’t do anything about it because-”

“-of Mingyu, right?” Wonwoo finished your sentence. Your eyes widen. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. How’d you know?”

Wonwoo booped your nose with his pointer. “I felt the same way about you, dummy. Could you really not tell?”

Instinctively, you jab at his chest, taking note of how firm it felt under your fist. Jesus, could he be anymore perfect? You turn your head, averting his beautiful gaze. “You didn’t even tell me!”

“Should I have made it more clear? I was being quite obvious.”

Your mind wanders back to the past week, where various moments managed to send your mind spinning. They were all planned. Wonwoo wasn’t playing with you, he was simply showing you, demonstrating to you how he felt. And your foolish mind decided to run away. You were glad you couldn’t run far; running from him would’ve been a mistake you would never recover from.

You blush, though you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment, his flustering existence, or all of the above. You clear your throat, eyes wandering aimlessly. “So… what do we do now?”

“Well, if you're comfortable with it…” Wonwoo pulled you against his chest, both arms snaking around your hips. “I think we can forget about your brother for a while.”

You pick at your lips.

Wonwoo’s palm hugs your cheek. “Can I be your boyfriend, y/n?”

You smile, leaning into the warmth of his palm. “I think you already know my answer, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“Mm, care to remind me?” With his free hand covering your other cheek, Wonwoo teasingly pulls you in once more.

This second kiss seemed much more rushed, much more hungry. Your hands hang onto his neck, fingers gripping onto his collar tighter than before. Your chest heaves faster, breath hitching between each prolonged kiss. Wonwoo’s breaths grow restless, a low toned groan escaping his lips as his brows furrow.

Just for this moment, you could be free.

…

12 days. You had about 12 days of complete peace.

It was the stuff of fairytales. He was a fairytale. Jeon Wonwoo was the best boyfriend you could ask for. It didn’t matter how much you two saw each other, being roommates didn’t stop you from having such magical dates outside of your apartment. Cafe, bookstores and libraries, parks, you name it; he took you there. Though, your favorite type of dates had to be after classes, when the two of you would drive out to the edge of the city, wait for the sky to paint black, and have a late night picnic under a blanket of stars. Despite how much he loved sleeping in, he never forgot to make you breakfast every morning. He drove you to school and back, exchanged book recommendations with you, and knew just how to comfort you when you couldn’t seem to swim in a sea of blue. Jeon Wonwoo was a dream, and this time, you never wanted to wake up.

The only thing that itched at the back of your brain, that kept everything from being perfect, was that everything was a secret. To your brother, most definitely, but you kept a low profile about it around school. Or well, you tried to. But there were some days where you truly couldn’t resist sneaking in a few kisses in between classes. However, when it came to your brother, it was all a secret. It was safer that way.

A faint ping! jumps from your phone. You pull out the device. Your eyes graze the screen, meeting an image of a cat stuffie, and possibly the most gut wrenching message you had read. Ever.

Wonwoo <3 [5:30]: This cat stuffie reminded me of you, so I bought it ,,^._.^,,

Wonwoo <3 [5:31]: Baby, at least like the message, I worked so hard on that cat emoji :(

You needed to punch something. You were dying from his cuteness, all while the word baby stirred something in your stomach. You opted to reply instead.

y/n [5:34]: ur so cute, yk that?

Wonwoo <3 [5:34] Please use real words y/n

y/n [5:34]: it's not my fault ur drier than a desert >:(

y/n [5:35]: luv u <3 ill be home soon!

You close your phone. His texting could use a little work, you thought as the voice of Seungkwan perked in your ears. You turn to the sound of his voice, watching him and Vernon sit down with their trays of food.

“You could've gotten your food earlier if you’d stop texting your man for once,” Seungkwan’s voice by the last few words grew cold and sour, just like that overpriced lemonade he sipped. Your eyes reached the stars, a tired ugh leaving your lips. “He’s working on his texting skills. Let him live, Seungkwan.”

“Ugh alright, fine.” Seungkwan tipped his head back. “You’re lucky you two are adorable.”

“Dude, weren’t you the one who wanted them together in the first-”

“Who’s side are you even on??” Seungkwan whined, to which Vernon only cocked an eyebrow. Seungkwan jabbed his shoulder, and Vernon turned his attention to you. “I’m happy for you, y/n.”

A grateful response was about to seep from your lips, however, you couldn’t help but notice a glint of worry in his eyes. You tilted your head and Vernon continued. “...I really am, but what about Mingyu?”

You steal a sip from Seungkwan’s sour lemonade, wincing. “We’re keeping it a secret for now.”

“For how long, though?” Vernon piqued, tone laced with worry. “It’s gonna be hard keeping this up for a while.”

It was as if Vernon’s words sweeped the words from your tongue. He was right. How long were you gonna really manage this? Just then another ping! pops from your side. You check it, expecting it to be another gut wrenching, dry text from your boyfriend. Instead, you receive something much, much worse.

MIDgyu [5:53]: You’re coming to the game, right?

You almost spat out the lemonade.

…

Wonwoo’s head was spinning in agitation, and it was for a multitude of reasons. The cheers of the crowd, the squeaks of the player’s shoes, the discombobulating boom of the buzzer, it all rattled with his entire being. And yet, what got on his nerves the most, was that he was sitting away from you.

He watched as he fiddled with his thumbs; the game didn’t really matter to him anymore. He only looked up every time Soonyoung— the one he did end up going with— hollered at a goal. It definitely wasn’t hard to notice. At least someone was ecstatic to be there. Wonwoo, however, couldn’t quite say the same.

Wonwoo knew all the reasons why you attended the game separately, and all the reasons why you couldn’t attend together. This was Mingyu’s game, your brother, and his best friend’s chance to shine. It was too risky to even step foot in that gym together. He looked over at you, sitting across the gym with your friends, laughing at something Vernon probably said. And besides, he came to cheer him on as a friend.

He knew all of that, so why did his heart hurt just a little bit?

Soonyoung glanced over, curious. “You good, man?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop looking at you. “Yeah, for sure.”

…

The night was almost over.

That’s what you told yourself over and over again. The only thing that kept you sane. Panic was coursing through your veins, trying your hardest not to slip up in any way you thought possible. You loved your brother, but this was getting insane. Your sigh evolved into an irritated groan as you came back from rejecting your 20th invitation to grab a bite to eat after the game. You whip out your phone, suddenly all alone. Why did Seungkwan and Vernon have to leave already?

Just greet Mingyu and leave. You can still meet Wonwoo outside.

“Hey!” A voice ghosted your frame. You turn around stunned, but you have enough time to compose yourself before the voice continues. “Y/n, was it? Mingyu’s sister?”

You smile, eyes curling upwards to hide your anguish. “Yeah!”

The stranger stretched a hand out. “I’m Lee Chan! Nice to meet you!”

You could only hum a response before diving deep into horrid small talk. Judging by his jersey, hair soaked in sweat, and a water bottle in hand, you could tell he had just played. Your mind wanders aimlessly as you tune out his words. He didn’t seem harmless, so it didn’t really matter.

“So, I was wondering,” Chan suddenly starts, and you jolt back to reality. “Would you like to go get something to eat with me?” He jerks a thumb behind him, where your brother— and Wonwoo— sat.

Wonwoo’s frame appeared in your peripheral vision. Seeing him so far away, paying no attention to you; your heart sank just a little bit. Though, it wasn’t the physical distance that got to you, it was the reason why the distance was there.

Why did it hurt to keep it all a secret?

You smile, trying your best to let the athlete down gently. “Er, no thanks.”

“Oh come on!” Chan fought, a hand lightly gripping your wrist, though your reflexes were too slow to pull away in time. He was really starting to piss you off. “Just one date?”

Your brows furrowed. Tugging away from him, but it was no use. “I-”

“She told you her answer, didn’t she?” Another voice piqued behind you.

…

“Your sister’s single, right?” Chan’s voice irked Wonwoo’s ears. The athlete nudged Mingyu’s shoulder before taking a big swig from his water bottle. “I think I’m gonna ask her out!”

“Sure, buddy!” Mingyu shrugged, slapping Chan’s back before watching his teammate strut towards you. Wonwoo couldn’t help but scoff at Mingyu’s response.

A spark lit in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach. No, you can’t ask her out, asshole. A sigh leaped from his chest, attempting to cool off the sparks popping on his skin— though it wouldn’t work. Wonwoo felt his skin burn, the blood beneath it boiling. He tapped his foot, his eyes never leaving Chan’s frame—which made its way to you so effortlessly, so shamelessly. Wonwoo wanted nothing more than to leap out of his seat and run to you.

His girlfriend.

Mingyu nudges Wonwoo’s shoulder, chuckling. “Something wrong, big guy?”

Wonwoo’s eyes grew narrow for a second, but he quickly collected himself. “All good.” He muttered with a half-assed smile. One glance at his best friend was a reminder that shot him right through the heart.

You were Wonwoo’s, but he could never prove it. He could never tell him.

“No seriously, what’s wrong? You’re quiet, yeah, but never this quiet.”

Wonwoo looked over to you, towering beneath Chan’s obnoxious one. He watched you smile at him, chuckling at a joke of his that probably wasn’t even funny. His jaw tightened, his knuckles growing white under the pressure. It was getting harder to compose himself.

Your friend’s flirting with my girlfriend in front of me, and I can’t do shit about it. That's what's wrong.

But he could never say it out loud.

Chan throws a hand on your wrist, not seeming to let go. Your eyes, painted with fear, glance at the floor. A flame ignited in Wonwoo’s stomach, steam practically seething from his ears. His hands ball up into fists. He didn’t bother to take one last glance at Mingyu before shooting up from his seat and doing what he should’ve done way before; go see you.

…

“What’s your problem man?” Chan’s voice echoes in the now empty gym. Under the pressure of Wonwoo’s firm grim, Chan finally lets go of your wrist. You hold it against your chest as you, habitually, stand behind Wonwoo. Chan glares at the two of you, turning to Wonwoo again. “What, are you like, her boyfriend or something?”

Your heart stung at the word boyfriend. You grew pale, unable to respond as panic washed over your face. Your heart leaped from your chest, clogging your throat. All your measly body could do was part its lips as it turned around to face Wonwoo, anticipating his answer.

His name jumped out of your throat instinctively. Wonwoo stared down at the athlete, his words leaving as a hiss. “Take the hint, already. She doesn’t wanna go out with you.”

“Alright, I get it.” Chan threw his hands up “Don’t need to get so pissed, dude.”

Your world was spinning. Fear, panic, anxiety; it all overtook you. Your mind was in multiple places at once. However, you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit grateful for Wonwoo saving your ass— you weren’t sure if this Chan guy was capable of backing down. And yet, what you felt the most was the bitter taste of guilt; guilt for making your boyfriend feel all this anguish in the first place, making him keep the two of you a secret. After darting back and forth from the athlete and your secret boyfriend, your eyes finally stay on Wonwoo.

“Next time, think before you decide to hit on someone else’s girl.”

Your eyes widened, but you had no time to relish in your emotions as Wonwoo tugs at your arm, and marches out the door.

…

For the rest of the day you were silent. The air was tense in your apartment. The two of you uttered little to no words during dinner, and as the sun tucked itself into its blanket of midnight sky, the two of you barely gave the other a glance. You were overwhelmed, flowing to the brim with mixed emotions. You needed just a sliver of peace.

It wasn’t until you retired back to your own bed—the first time you did so in the days you two started dating—did Wonwoo speak to you again. You whip the door open, a little faster than you expected, and Wonwoo stands before you, head hanging low. His eyes finally meet yours, and you began to melt in his clutch once again. You couldn’t stay mad at him. He scratches the nape of his neck. “Can we talk?”

The two of you resume on the edge of your bed. He keeps a safe distance, only his pinky finger innocently grazing yours. “I’m really sorry, y/n. I lashed out at that guy who didn’t know any better. My own dumb feelings got in the way, and I probably ruined the secret. You have every right to be mad at me-”

As Wonwoo rambled on and on about how he was in the wrong, your mind could only think the complete opposite. After all, you didn’t want to hide Wonwoo anymore. You simply couldn't. Jeon Wonwoo meant too much to you, swelled your heart up with joy that you couldn’t fathom hiding him in the dark. With a huff, you finally come to a conclusion; you need to tell Mingyu. It didn’t matter if you’d come out the other end dead or with a missing limb. You loved Wonwoo too much to keep him a secret. Your mind couldn’t piece together the right words, so you collect his lips in a kiss.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t sure why you’d forgiven him so quickly, but the sweet taste of your lips were enough for him to melt, kissing you back.

“Do you think we could stop hiding this? Hiding us?” Wonwoo asks gently as he pressed your forehead against his, his voice toasting your skin. You smile, your giggles sending butterflies to Wonwoo’s stomach. “Yeah, I think we can.”

Grinning like a fool, Wonwoo pulls you into another kiss, his weight and the momentum of his movements toppling you onto the bed. One hand cupped your cheek, while the other planted itself beside you, pinning you against the bed. Your arms cling onto his neck, toying with the tag of his shirt as Wonwoo leaned further into you, his kisses leaving your mouth and trailing down your jaw. A warm sensation clouded between your legs.

His hand left your cheek, resuming at the hem of your shirt. After playing with the fabric, a finger slipped in; and then another, until his hand ghosted your bare waist. His touch sent shockwaves through your veins. Your breaths grew shallow as Wonwoo pulled apart from you briefly, his lips meeting your ear.

“May I?” His words didn’t reach past a whisper.

Face flushed, you grip tighter onto his shoulders. “Wonwoo,” You breathed.

“That’s not an answer, darling,” Wonwoo rasped. Your head was too heated, so you only managed to nod before Wonwoo snuck both his hands under your shirt. His fingers trailed up and up your body until he reached your tits. Wonwoo’s touch sent a whimper from your lips. Wonwoo twitched, his head dipping down to trail more kissed down your neck. His hands palmed your chest, pinching at the nipple sending more shockwaves to your spine. You arch your back, his name taking up your mind.

Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo

The man taking up your mind tugged at your shirt, his eyes narrowing in hunger. You obeyed, lifting your arms as he pulled the fabric over your head. Within seconds, your pants also escaped your frame, leaving you bare, with just your panties on. Wonwoo pulls away from you, his eyes scanning your figure.

“You’re beautiful, y/n.” Wonwoo exhaled.

You pull him into another kiss, still hungry for his taste. Though it was also to hide your flustered face from his smooth words. You adjust your legs, brushing against a particular hardness tenting beneath his pants. Wonwoo groaned against your lips, setting your skin on fire. His muscles tense, and you send a teasing hand to palm his hardness. However, Wonwoo swiftly grabbed your wrist, throwing it above your head; holding you hostage.

“Not yet, darling” He grunted, eyeing you. “I’m not finished tasting you...” A hand resumed on your tit, making your squirm. “...Savouring you”

You mewl at the familiar words. He continued peppering kisses down your neck, then chest, and finally to your stomach. All while leaving bite marks here and there, claiming you. His voice rumbles against your skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming about this. About you.”

It was as if your skin was a minefield, with how much it flared up at his words. You collect yourself, turning bold. “Shall we reenact your dreams, then?”

A glint of passion suddenly flared in his eyes, his hand roaming around in search for any way to make you moan. His lips arrive at your chest, and a hand grips onto your breast, lewd noises escaping your lips. You grip at his hair, which only fanned the fire as the other hand— which was already stationed between your legs— began to move. You didn’t even know when you had opened your legs.

Your core was much more than warm at this point. It was hot, steamy, pounding. But you couldn’t acknowledge it, not with your head spinning. Wonwoo’s fingers pressed further into you, playing with your folds through the fabric of your panties. Wonwoo chuckled. “You’re soaking, y/n.” He hooked his finger onto the fabric, pulling it aside in one swoop. He hissed. “And it’s all mine.”

One last whimper sent him flying off the edge. Ripping off your panties, Wonwoo slipped a finger into your folds. Your wetness sloshing between his fingertips. You let out a moan, biting your own fingers to contain the sound. Your head was spiralling, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Wonwoo was hitting all the right spots. Dirty noises began to bounce on the room’s walls as Wonwoo's fingers dug deeper into yours. He slipped another one in, spreading your core apart. You gripped the bed sheets, your hips gaining a mind of their own as they began to ride his fingers.

“My darling is so needy.” Wonwoo growled against your ear, making you shiver. His pace grew faster as your noises grew louder. With the pad of his thumb, he circled around your clit. You arched, the knot in your stomach tightening with each thrust of his hand. Your lips reached his jaw, peppering sloppy kisses on his skin. Anything to hold you down to reality. Wonwoo kissed your temple. “That’s it, darling. Cum on me.”

And you did. Your juices flowed out of your core, coating his palm. He brought his hand up, his eyes never leaving yours as he licked his palm clean; the reason why the warmth beneath your stomach never truly left.

Panting, you finally gain the strength to scan his frame, which was still fully clothed— much to your dismay. Your hands fly at his shirt’s hem. With his help, you pull it off, exposing his toned chest. You wanted to gawk, but you couldn’t bear to wait any longer. The thirst penetrating your core was killing you.

Impatient fingers tug at his pants— the tent beneath its fabric never leaving your sight. You wanted him, no, needed him in you. Wonwoo caught wind of your yearning stare, smiling as he unbuckled his pants. With one last kiss, he presses his forehead against yours. His voice reached back to a whisper. “Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

You whimper, your sound driving Wonwoo crazy. “I need you, Wonwoo. I need you in me.”

Without thinking, your hips grind your raw core against his underwear’s fabric. Now, Wonwoo was the one filling the room with his groans. You felt his dick twitch beneath the fabric as he reached forward, getting a condom. A string of curses leave his lips as you smile at the realization that he was breaking his composure because of you. Opening the silver packaging, Wonwoo pulls his cock out, your breath hitching.

You gaped at his size, eyes darting between his head and his, well, head. Wonwoo’s fingers ghosted your core once again, sending more shivers down your skin. With the plastic coating it, Wonwoo lines up his dick in between your folds, the contact igniting a flame that never went out to begin with. “Are you sure you want this, princess? We could always-”

“Wonwoo, I need you to fuck me right now or so help me god.” You blurted out, catching both you and your boyfriend off guard. He smiles, kissing the knuckles of your hand, making your stomach flutter. “As you wish, princess.”

Wonwoo finally thrusted into you, his girth grazing every inch of your walls. Your back arched, a moan bursting from your lungs. Wonwoo’s groans filled your ears with each— painfully slow —thrust. Your walls clamped onto his cock, holding him so well. His thrusts grew faster, a hand dipping down to your core, while another hand landed back on your breast. He fondled your nipple, which peaked from arousal— a sight that made Wonwoo twitch in your core. His other hand began slow circles on your clit once again, and you were convinced you were seeing stars.

Sounds of wet sloshes echoed, but they were no match for your booming noises and callings of each other’s names. Your nails dug deeper into his back, as Wonwoo’s thrusts grew more sloppy. He dug his dick further into you, making you squirm.

“I think I’m gonna-” You couldn’t bother to finish.

“I know, darling. Let’s come together, hm?”

Another mewl escapes. You hated how respectful he was.

Wonwoo thrusts one last time, and the two of you reach your climaxes. White fluid pools between your legs, and Wonwoo pulls out. Breathless, he pulls out before plopping beside you on the bed. Finally getting a chance to breathe, you look over to him, smiling. “Woah.”

Wonwoo snickers. “Really? Woah? That’s what you’re going with?”

You punch his shoulder, though it was too weak for him to even notice. “Hey! Don't blame me, I can’t think straight! Someone just fucked my brains out, cut me some slack!”

Wonwoo pulls you in for a hug. “I love you, y/n.”

You smile against his chest. “I love you more, Wonnie.”

…

“Care to explain?” The voice of your brother echoed in your apartment living room the next morning. You and Wonwoo sat in front of the aggravated Kim Mingyu, who had just found out the truth after his teammate spilled the beans at practice earlier that morning. Your exact fear was accumulating in front of your eyes. You hated to admit it, but you missed your cheerful brother. He was loads better than this new, grumpy Mingyu.

“Just sit down, okay? I’ll explain everything!” You flare up, catching the guy’s attention. Slowly, Mingyu inches down, until he reaches your eye level. “Yes, Wonwoo and I have been dating for some time now-”

“Why didn’t you guys tell me? Why’d you have to keep it a secret?”

You heaved a sigh and Wonwoo took over. “‘Cause we knew you’d react just like this. I know its wrong to date your sister just because we’re friends, but…”

Wonwoo glances back at you. “I love her too much.”

He turns his attention back to your brother, who was suddenly quiet. “I’m not willing to give her up anymore. So, if you’re unhappy with us, I don’t know what to tell you.”

The room goes quiet, you and Mingyu both stunned at Wonwoo’s confession. Mingyu looks at the both of you before letting out a sigh. He then turns to you. “Look, I admit, this’ll take some getting used to, but if you’re that serious about each other then… I guess I can learn to live with it. Just, no more secrets, okay?”

Your face brightens immediately, jumping towards your now non-secret boyfriend. You grew ecstatic, jumping for joy like a little kid. You turn to your brother, grinning like crazy.

Mingyu couldn’t help but grin at the sight of you. He turns to Wonwoo, jabbing a finger at him. “I know you’re my best friend, but if you ever try to hurt her, I will end you. Got it?”

Wonwoo glances down at you, curled perfectly in his arms. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

…

5K notes · View notes

midgardian-witch · 1 year

Note

From the prompt list: “Because every time I see you, all I can think about is kissing you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.” with Steven Grant please.

Since I already did this prompt with Jake I decided to approach this a little differently. And it turned out much longer than I had planned. I still hope you'll like it, anon 💙

Stupid Sexy Steven

tags: friends to lovers | kissing | cursing | Steven being effortlessly adorable and sexy | gn!reader

ships: Steven Grant/Reader

AO3

Edit: added AO3 link

“Because every time I see you, all I can think about is kissing you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

You've been avoiding Steven. It's not the bravest thing to do and you're not exactly proud of it but you don't know what else to do.

You need the space to figure out how to deal with your emotions. It's not an everyday thing you realize you're in love with your best friend. So avoiding it is.

You know you'll have to say something at some point, you just didn't know how to say it. It's like your brain just shuts off when you look at him nowadays. He's just so genuinely kind and loving, and that goofy little grin he makes when he gets excited, and the way his brows furrow when he focuses on something-

Focus. Don't get distracted.

So yeah, you get a little silly around him since you figured out that you have a crush on him. It happens. But also you don't want to make a total fool of yourself so some distance was in order.

You just didn't account for Steven to just not let that happen.

It's your day off when the inevitable happens. You were just getting ready to catch up on a TV show you had on your watchlist for a while when your doorbell rings. You get up, confused because you didn't expect any visitor or delivery, and walk over to your door. You open it to find the one man you didn’t plan on seeing.

Steven smiles at you, standing there in your doorway like an excited puppy.

"Hello! I hope I'm not disturbing you but we haven't seen eachother in a while and I wanted to check up on you."

Curse him and his puppy dog eyes. How could you turn him away like this?

You clear your throat awkwardly and step aside to let him in.

"Hi Steven. Yeah it's been a while. I didn't want to worry you."

He steps inside and you lead him into your living room.

"You've been busy then, yeah?", he sits down in front of your TV and you join him, "I mean you didn't answer my calls or texts either so I thought maybe you weren't feeling well."

It's only now that you see the little container he's holding. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

He got you soup because he thought you were sick.

And all the while you had muted him in your contacts so you wouldn't be tempted. You were the worst human being on the planet.

You take the offered soup, thanking him profusely. Quickly you carry it into your kitchen and return with some water for Steven.

"You really didn't have to do this. See, I'm fine."

You smile at him as you place his water on the table. Steven returns your smile before his face turns thoughtful.

Fuck, he looked so pretty even like this. His mouth twists into this little pout and you are once again wondering what it would feel like to press your lips against his, what sounds he would make as you lean in to kiss him, how he-

"-so it was either that or you were avoiding me."

You didn't even notice Steven was talking again. Curse Steven and his stupid, kissable mouth.

"I- well…", you stammer. You couldn't lie to his face, you had to say the truth. "I was kind of avoiding you."

You regret it immediately. Steven looks at you like a kicked puppy. "Why?", he asks and just with that one word your heart breaks for him.

It's too much, the guilt and the still lingering thoughts of Steven's lips on yours destroyed any brain-to-mouth filter you've ever had.

“Because every time I see you, all I can think about is kissing you and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

You slap your hand over your mouth, a desperate attempt to stop the words that have already left your lips. Steven stares at you, mouth agape and cheeks flushing. He starts stuttering and you can’t really make out what he's saying.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to just dump this on you. I swear I had a plan and everything.", you groan, annoyed at yourself and hide your face behind your hands.

Cautiously, softly, Steven asks: "Do you really want to kiss me?"

He sounds like he doesn't believe it, that you couldn't possibly want that. And that could not stand.

You take your hands off of your face and look directly into his eyes.

"Steven Grant, I have been thinking about nothing else for the past weeks than how badly I want to kiss you. So believe me when I say that yes, I really really want to kiss you."

The noise that leaves Steven's mouth is the sweetest sound you've ever heard, something between a whine and a moan. You can't believe that he doesn't know what an effect he has on people. But you're happy to show him.

"Would you- Do you want to- now?", he stumbles over his words, nerves overtaking him as he looks at you with such need in his eyes it almost leaves you breathless.

Not a moment later you are on him, lips locked with his in a desperate first kiss. You swear you can see fireworks behind your eyelids as your lips connect. Steven whimpers into your mouth and his trembling hands hold onto you for support. In your rush you push Steven into the couch, all but laying on top of him as the two of you kiss to your heart's content.

You force yourself to break apart from him with a gasp, forcing as much air into your lungs as possible. Steven looks up at you with dreamy eyes and a far away look, his face even more red than before.

"Could we- Can you do that again?", he all but begs and with a laugh you nod.

"Yes, Steven. As much as you want, whenever you want."

Immediately he pulls you back on top of him and seals your lips together again in another heedy kiss.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #steven grant/reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #fran-writes

661 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 19 days

Text

Part Two

no outbreak!joel miller x f!oc

series playlist

joel miller masterlist

series masterlist

She's tired. He's tired. They're neurotic. They're in love. Something needs to change. They need to change.

word count | 5.1k

chapter content info | 18+ little angst, couples counseling, just two tired people trying to figure out the tangle of their relationship together

a/n | part two is here, and i'd just like to say thank you to everyone being so kind about the first part - i know this isnt the usual peepaw fare, so thanks for giving her a chance - and also big thank you to @wannab-urs for beta-ing this bad boy <3

............................................

This is not a failure. She is not failing. They are not failing. Every Thursday at four o’clock she shuts her laptop and locks her office and stops in the bathroom at work, silently repeats these things to herself in her mind while she rubs her fingers at smudged mascara in the bathroom mirror. Like a mantra, though she’s not sure she’s fully bought into it yet. Because the truth is, she has had plenty of conversations with plenty of girlfriends that, really, they shouldn’t have been having about other girlfriends, not in the room with us girlfriends who, did you hear, started going to therapy and, did you hear, started going to therapy with their, oh no, husbands. Yes, she has been the bitch who has made jokes about death knells and a marriage’s last gasp for breath, jokes about the husband having the emotional range of a goldfish, and the wife being so up the husband’s ass she should give him a colonoscopy while she’s at it. She’s not really making jokes like those anymore.

She’s not supposed to be doing what she’s doing this Thursday at four o’clock. When they first went to Vicky (LMFT, for the record) her fundamental decree had been a period of full separation. Sixteen years, she had asked, and they had nodded, and she had said whoa boy, yeah, y’all need to back off each other before we do anything else. If Paula Dean had a penchant for self-help instead of butter, she’d be something like Vicky. And so, with all the care of a drill sergeant delivering commands, or a mechanic running a diagnostic on a fucked-up car, Vicky had told them how this is going to go. An apartment, she said, don’t care which one of you lives in it. Minimal contact between sessions, right, keep it civil, right, this isn’t for forever, right. So Joel got an apartment, and Tommy helped him move all the furniture in the basement with admittedly minimal, but still present, wariness, and for the last four weeks they’ve been doing everything their beloved herr-therapist tells them. She supposes it’s working, although you can’t really do much fighting when you only see the other person for ninety minutes every Thursday so, the results might be confounded, actually.

“Hey there.” Hey there? What the fuck, what the actual fuck. He doesn’t think he’s ever said those words to her, ever, maybe not to anyone actually. He feels a little insane, a little itchy under the skin, mouth full of cotton, brain too, because they’re not supposed to be doing this, not really. The first time she’s seen the apartment, or, well, the doorway of the apartment, doesn’t really seem interested in stepping further inside, running her curled palm up and down the strap of her purse and right, not here for that. He shuts the door behind him and then they’re on their way to therapy because it’s four o’clock on Thursday and this is what they do now at four o’clock on Thursday.

“Thanks again. I didn’t think my car would still be in the shop today.”

“Oh of course, you said it’s a transmission leak?”

“Yeah, the bad, expensive kind that’s above my paygrade. Guy said they’re still waiting on a part for it.”

“Well I’m off work tomorrow if you need a ride anywhere.”

“Vicky’ll get pissed.”

“If she finds out. Are you gonna tell on me to Vicky?” It’s a joke, they can joke, right? She laughs a little on the end of her words to make it clear, hey, it’s a joke, awkward and out of touch and unsure of what the rules are. But he offers a breath of a laugh, at least, fine, it’s fine, they’re fine, and now they’re silent driving to Vicky’s office.

Should he ask her how her week has been? If the kitchen sink is still leaking? He’s not sure. Not sure about any of it, really. Every week, Vicky asks them how they think they’re doing and Cass doesn’t even hesitate. Good, she says. Not fine, not okay, but good, usually with a sure, terse nod. It takes him a little longer to find the right word to describe how he’s doing. Not sure about that either, but it’s definitely not good. Some things are better, sure, easier not to argue when under foot, easier not to remember all the ghosts they’ve built up around themselves. But at the most basic level, he misses her, even misses arguing with her, in a perpetual state of missing something, walking around and wondering if he left his wallet at home, or if he remembered to call a client about a new build, wondering if he’s missing something essential, a limb or an organ he didn’t know about. No, none of that. Missing something else.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” She flexes her left hand over the steering wheel in response, her very bare ring finger making him feel a quick pinch of something he’ll call anger, though it’s probably something else entirely.

“No, Vicky advised I try not wearing it during the separation.”

“Why the fuck would she tell you to do that?”

“Joel.”

“I’m just asking.”

“You’re swearing.”

“Well, why didn’t she say the same thing to me?”

“Maybe because I told her this is how you would react.”

“I think I’m having a pretty normal reaction to it, actually.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just for now.”

“Right.”

“It is.”

“Seems like a strange thing to advise someone to do when they’ve been married for nearly two decades.” She parks outside of the office complex that Vicky works in, lets out a long sigh through her nose and doesn’t spare him a glance as she reaches around to the backseat and pulls her purse up front, producing her ring from somewhere deep inside of it and sliding it back on her finger.

“There, are you happy now?”

“Why the hell were you keeping it in your purse?”

“Oh my god, really?”

“That’s a real easy way to lose it is all I’m saying.” The truth is, she’s been keeping it in her purse in order to have easy access to it. Like a pulsepoint, sometimes she just needs to know it’s there, reaching into her purse underneath her desk and yep, still there, still okay. Sometimes she doesn’t get through a whole day without putting it back on. Like reflex, like ghost limb aching. But she’s not about to tell him that.

“Do not bring this up with Vicky.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll know we drove here together.”

“You’re that worried about what Vicky thinks?”

“She’s our therapist, I’m a healthy and appropriate amount worried about what Vicky thinks.”

“You know she’s not the arbiter of marriage just because she has a couple of degrees, right?”

“Really, the arbiter of marriage?”

“Are you doing that thing you do, is that what this is?”

“What thing?”

“Cass.”

“What thing?”

“Are you trying to win therapy?” Fuck him. No, really, fuck him. He’s doing that thing, his thing to her thing, half a smile in the passenger’s seat like he’s got her. Awful, of course he’s got her, smug and sure in his getting her. She doesn’t answer his question, knowing that her silence is an answer in and of itself and not really caring because they have therapy, damn it, and it’s going to be his fault if they’re late to therapy, damn it.

“You know, I’m starting to see why Vicky told us no carpooling to sessions.” Slammed shut, he sighs when she gets out of the car, thinking idly to himself that yes, he doesn’t necessarily disagree with that commandment of their therapist either. At the very least, Cass’ ring is still on her finger. He tried a few times in the past to get her something new, something nicer than the gold band he had given her when they were still young and still not able to afford much of anything, but sure enough in each other to want to keep doing it, all of it, together. No, she would tell him, doesn’t want anything other than the gold band. What she doesn’t know is that he pawned his grandfather’s watch and an electric saw for the ring the shop owner kept in a padlocked display case. Twenty-six years old, and looking back, he thinks he would have sold a whole lot more just to get it for her.

He used to call her pearl. Something about grit that would make her roll her eyes and ask him what late night National Geographic TV special he got that line from, all the while inwardly swooning because sure, she had been baby before, babe, an errant sweetheart even, but pearl was new, and tooth-decayingly sweet. And when he proposed, Sarah bouncing around them like a manic cupid, Cassandra made an ugly sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, little black velvet box and a ring that was more signet than wedding, simple and gold and a single pearl set in the center of it. Her hands clasped, she runs the pad of her finger over her ring, wordless and worrying it on the elevator ride up to Vicky’s office.

Vicky has a thing for lamps and art prints of naked women. Her waiting room is a little dim, no windows, green velveteen loveseat and two high-backed wooden chairs that they always take when they get here, his eyes scanning over the coffee table laden with back-ordered Psychology Today magazines, headlines about overcoming anxiety and exercising your way out of depression. There had been one about postpartum depression somewhere in the pile the last time they came, but he had made a point of hanging back after Cass left, some excuse about checking an insurance thing with Vicky, though what he really did was pluck out that magazine and throw it away in the men’s restroom down the hall. One less thing to worry about, at the least.

“Hi, you two, come on back.” The sessions always start the same. Vicky asks them how they think the week went, and they both offer up some iteration of fine. Vicky asks them if they’ve been upholding their phase of separation, and she answers before Joel can, pointedly not looking at him, yes, no contact between sessions. But apparently, this week is going to be different.

“We are nearing the end of the total separation phase. After this initial period of cooling off for both of you, the real work can begin.” Right, phases, because Vicky works in phases like this is some sort of military siege. He tries not to roll his eyes at the real work beginning.

“Can either of you remember the last date you went on together?”

“It would’ve been in August, right before the separation.” Cass scoffs at his answer, tilt of her head like, really?

“Tommy and Maria’s baby shower hardly counts as a date. But we did go to dinner at the end of July.”

“I don’t think your work banquet counts either.” Vicky hits them with that look, that yeah, that’s what I thought look, all raised brow and scrunched nose and nodding. Not that she is, but if she, hypothetically, were trying to win therapy, Cassandra thinks she wouldn’t be doing a great job of it right now.

“Right, well, you’ve made my point for me. It’s not unusual for people who have been together for as long as you two have to let things like this fall to the wayside. However, it can be very helpful to reestablish some of these routines. Think of it as marriage maintenance.”

“So you want us to start going on dates again?”

“Yes, but not with each other.” Did she? Did he? Hear that right? Cass is nodding like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, like, yes, of course, this is just the solution they’ve been looking for. This time, he doesn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, what?” Both of them look at him like, yes, keep up, please, let us explain this to you very slowly so you can keep up, please. Something about seeing what life is like outside of their marriage, testing the waters, seeing if they still like the same things without their extra marital limb, something about making a decision about their marriage, though he tunes most of that part out because, no, thanks, no new decision has been needed since he got down on one knee during that trip to Galveston, sunscreen and sticky sweet and he’s not sure if he or Sarah was more excited, but he was definitely more nervous. And Cass said yes, and then he wasn’t nervous anymore, not scared anymore, and that’s all there was to it, is to it, right? Right.

“This is the closing exercise of the total separation phase. It’s really important that you both have this opportunity to see what it’s like to be back in the dating pool. Think of it as a trial run of if you decide to make this separation–”

“No, no thanks. That’s not– we’re not those people, so, you know, we can just move onto the next phase.”

“Joel.” The mom voice of all things, and he knows for certain now that Cass is trying to win therapy, nudging her shoe into the side of his, and, come on, really? She’s really bought that hard into what Vicky’s selling? Now that, that isn’t like her, at all.

“What feelings are coming up for you right now, Joel?” She fucking hates that question, and she imagines that he does too, fingers drumming on his knee, long sigh, and she knows that look, that’s his getting ready to bolt look. Big man, big, skittish man who has accidentally nailed his fingers to house frames and hardly shed a tear. But feelings? Yeah, forget it.

“Uh, I guess I’m confused as to why that is so important for us to do. We came here to help our– to help us, not to create more problems.”

“And you think that if you and Cassandra went on dates, one date, with other people, that it would create more problems in your marriage?” Well, it’s hardly rocket science, Vicky, though judging by the way she’s speaking to him, he’s pretty sure he failed some kind of test of hers. He doesn’t particularly care.

“I imagine it’d do that to anyone’s marriage.”

“It’s just one date, it’s a part of the process.” She’s starting to get pissed, and trying very hard not to show it in front of Vicky should she get the what feelings are coming up for you treatment. When they agreed to start going to therapy, like a pair of dogs gagging down a pill, they had both agreed to put their full effort into it, and if Vicky wasn’t in the room with them currently, Cassandra would sharply remind him of that agreement.

“Maybe I should clarify the expectations around this exercise. It’s one date, preferably with people outside of your shared social circle, and it would be best if the focus is just on the date, no sexual relations.”

“Oh really, you think that’d be best?”

“Joel.” He gives her a slack and slanted look, speaking two different languages, apparently. And really, she doesn’t see what the big deal is. One date versus sixteen years is pretty obvious math for her to square up, though it doesn’t seem to be for him. But, watching him engage in psychological tennis with Vicky, some new jab dripping in sarcasm for every reassurance she tries to offer him, the realization comes to Cassandra slowly, simply. Joel is scared.

By the time they leave Vicky’s office, he feels deflated, defeated, because yes, they are, apparently, going to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them, scheduled in three weeks instead of one to give them time to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them.

“Can’t we just, you know, say we did it but not actually do it?”

“Are you serious right now?” Judging by the look she gives him, a quick, sharp flicker of her eyes before she focuses back on the road, he thinks he probably shouldn’t say anything else. He shouldn’t, but, well.

“Is this about pleasing Vicky, or are you just that interested in dating someone else?”

“Don’t be a child about this, Joel. It’s a therapeutic–”

“It’s bullshit is what it is. I don’t– I already know what I want, and I don’t need to go testing the waters to be sure of it. What I’m not so sure about is if you can say the same.” She can’t put her finger on anything specific, probably just a slow-building amalgamation of things. Stressful week at work, and the leaking sink getting worse, and her doctor increasing a medication dosage that’s made her body feel like something other than her body, and this fucking therapy and this fucking trying and she’s trying so hard and she feels like she’s failing and when she glances at him he looks hurt, really hurt, a close crumple in his face, deep frown, and it frustrates her because all she’s trying to do is do it right, and all she gets is this constant rhythm of resistance, this push and pull and yes, it’s all of that, all of that creeping up her throat tight and hot and curling behind her eyes sending salt pinpricks and sharp pangs. When the first sob breaks, it does so as a gasp, like a small and stunned thing in her chest. And, well, it’s never uphill from there, is it?

“Do you– do we need to pull over?”

“No, I don’t need to fucking pull over. I’m not an invalid, I can cry and drive at the same time.” Except it doesn’t come out quite like that, not smooth like that. The words get stop-started with each new shudder, new stutter, hiccuping on fucking and invalid. The world has gone to slanted stained-glass through all her tears.

Unsure what to do, but that’s nothing new. He doesn’t say anything else, watches her through the wary side of his eye, sobs turning into something more subdued, little wounded sounds high in her throat, a choice fuck you with a little more bite behind it when someone cuts her off merging onto the highway. He feels useless, feels like, maybe, this is what Vicky should be talking with them about instead of her siege on marriage plan. All he knows is that he seems to get it wrong every time, so this time, he doesn’t interject or intervene, doesn’t say any more than he already has. He lets her cry, and he lets her drive.

He doesn’t know when it happened. When he decided he was going to fix things for her, or just fix her, really. His lady in pieces and he was going to put her back together, and it seemed like every time he tried to, she just shattered a little more. That April is the obvious answer, the most shattered he had ever seen her. But the fighting had started before then, and so had the fixing that wasn’t really fixing. Like a relief, like a release, the slow realization that no, it never worked, and no, it was never going to work. The sobs turn into shivers turn into something even smaller. By the time they pull up in front of his apartment complex, it has passed.

“I just– I want to do this right, this therapy thing, and I want it to work, and I want it to work so we can be okay again. That’s what I want.” The words hang between them. He makes no move to get out of the car, and she counts her inhales in the silence, waiting for him to say something, anything. It feels like a child’s logic, or maybe a hail Mary, and she knows it, feels a little insane saying it, the words fitting strangely in her mouth. The brief wondering comes to her, what would she have said about where they are now to her girlfriends, what snark, what sharp jokes at their expense? Him in an apartment and a fifteen minute drive separating them and a woman named Vicky unraveling (and in theory, putting back together) their marriage in phases, fucking phases, and fucking Vicky. She doesn’t want to go on a date with someone else, and she doesn’t know why she’s taking Vicky’s instructions as gospel. But she does know, doesn’t she? It’s not about Vicky, not about Vicky and her fucking phases. Fixing, being fixed, that’s what she wants.

“So, you’re saying you want us to date other people in order to fix our marriage.” Grateful that she takes it for the joke he meant it as, it’s just enough to slough off some of the tension, roll of her eyes, please. They both let out a sigh, too tired for much else. But maybe, he thinks, this counts as progress, sitting here with her in the car and the sun washing everything down burnt and orange. He watches her eyes drop shut for a moment, fine lines like porcelain fissures and he loves those lines, liked catching her in the bathroom with her face pressed up close to the mirror and her fingers pulling those lines taut around her eyes, her mouth. He’d pull her hands away from her face, ask her if she was planning her halloween costume for next year, earning a scoff and a roll of her eyes and her trying to pull away from him, and he wouldn’t let her. Making it better with kisses to those lines, and eventually, her pressing her fingers as light as prayers over his, an implicit wondering, where did the time go?

“Look, if it really makes you that uncomfortable, let’s just lie to Vicky. We could still get like, an A-minus in therapy if we leave just one thing out.”

“I didn’t realize therapy came with a grade.” He smiles, all soft, and she can’t help the sheepish bloom in her chest, rolling her lips back into her mouth to hide her own grin, eventually, reluctantly, admitting in a quiet, skewed to the side voice, okay, so maybe, maybe I was doing that thing, that winning thing. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s a mercy. Just nods, of course, and of course, he knew, maybe even before she did, and is that knowing not a mercy too? She thinks it is.

“I want to do this right too, Cass. And, I mean, we’re paying Vicky enough money that we should do what she tells us to.”

“Are you saying you want to do it then?”

“Want is a strong word.”

“Okay, are you saying you’re willing to do it?”

“It’s just the one?”

“Just the one.”

“Alright, fuck it, let’s do it. We better get a goddamn A-plus at the end of this.”

“Mmm, gold stars too.” Another sigh, another settling. How nice, another sigh, another settling. It’s a strange equation, but she thinks it still adds up. Neither of them want to do this, not really, but they’re willing to, and they’re willing to because of each other. Willing to try and get it right for each other. Just, well, ignore the finer details of what getting it right entails.

“You hear from Sarah lately?”

“On Monday, yeah. Called to wish me a happy birthday.”

“Well, only off by four days, not too bad.”

“Oh no, she called on Monday because she was, and I quote, too busy the rest of the week to call.”

“Wow.”

“Right?”

“Is it bad that sometimes I kinda hate it?”

“Hate what?”

“That she’s like, a fully-formed person now. I miss the days when she was a little blob who liked holding onto me by one of my belt loops.” He has to smile, nod, because he knows exactly what she means. And the truth of it is that Sarah was so good, maybe the best, if he’s allowed to give his completely biased opinion. And the other truth, Cass is, was, one of those people simply meant to be a parent, a mother. He remembers when they first started dating, and all the exhausting maneuvering he did, getting his parents or Tommy to watch Sarah, a string of canceled dinner plans when his kid couldn’t seem to stop catching things at daycare. He was sure that Cass would lose interest every time another piece of his reality was revealed to her. After all, he was not unfamiliar with being left behind. But that never happened, she stayed every time.

It was Cass who first suggested it. Didn't want to impose, but what if, maybe we could, would it be okay if, why don’t we. They went to the zoo that weekend, if he remembers correctly, Sarah in tow, shy at first around the woman she barely knew, though she bloomed over the course of the day. Yes, he thinks, it was the zoo, because he remembers how by the end of the day, Cass had her on her hip, as easy as anything, so she could get a better view of the rhinos. He knows now that, even in those earliest days, she loved his kid just as much as she loved him. He knows now what a gift that was, and continues to be.

“She’s gonna be alright, Cass. We did good with her.” She sighs, yeah, we did. She had been worried about telling her about the whole lieutenant-LMFT thing, the whole quasi-separation thing, but that was a direct command from Vicky, letting the family know what was going on. Sarah had taken it surprisingly well when she called, could be good, mom, like a reset. Of course, they kept the worst of it away from her, and of course, she still knew something had changed, something not right between them. No one was left unscathed after that April.

From the start, loving him included loving Sarah. It was never difficult for her to do both. Sweet girl, bright like the sun girl, rounded cheeks and bouncing curls, and Cassandra found that her love for her had a particular effect on her heart. Whenever small hand reached for one of hers, whenever small face tucked into her neck, whether tear-damp or milk-tired, and eventually, whenever she was given the name mom, like a stop and restart of her heart, like something turning back on inside her and finally working right. An everything kind of love, to not only be chosen by him, but to be chosen by her too.

“Well, anyways, Vicky didn’t make any stipulations about birthdays, so I have something for you.” Just a small thing, she says, leaning over the console and into the back seat, and he knows better than to say no, shouldn’t have, because there’s already a perfect package being placed in his hands, navy blue wrapping paper and a white bow, and her hand cups underneath his for just a moment, there and gone.

The truth is she had already picked out this gift two months ago, what feels like a lifetime before this separation. Now, watching him open it, she’s a little worried it had been presumptuous of her, if not completely narcissistic. But if he thinks that, he makes no show of it, lets out a quiet laugh as he takes the watch out of the box and holds it up in the fading light to look at it.

“It’s a little sappy, maybe. But, well, we have something that kinda matches now.” Something is unfurling in his chest, heat loosening something he didn’t even realize he had been tightening up around. It’s a beautiful watch, rich leather strap and polished silver. And the face of it catches and shimmers a little in the light. He knows right away that it’s mother of pearl.

Here, she says, let me, and he does, feeling a little indulgent watching her fasten the watch around his wrist, and definitely breaking one of fucking Vicky’s fucking rules when he ducks his head down and steals a kiss, another one, letting the third deepen just a little, both of them humming because missed this, missed this, didn’t realize how much, but missed this.

“Thank you, pearly.” It feels good to be so close to him, noses brushing and smiles curling around each other. Feels like a relief.

“Happy birthday, one day ahead. We could, you know, do something tomorrow? Get dinner maybe?” Before he can answer, say yes, she’s already caught herself, sheepish smile and pulling a little further away and oh, right. She says sorry, wasn’t thinking, and they do an awkward dance around the whole thing, right, yeah, probably shouldn’t, right, yeah. He is not a hateful man, and it would be too strong to say he’d wish Vicky harm. But if something were to happen, in theory, that’d make Vicky go the fuck away, in theory, he wouldn’t be too torn up about it.

“See you next Thursday then?”

“Well, next next Thursday, because we have to do the– yeah.”

“Right, yeah.” Right, yeah, this is the part where he gets out of the car. The part where he goes up to his apartment and she drives home and they don’t eat dinner together and they don’t brush their teeth together and they don’t go to sleep together. Right, yeah. They say goodnight. He’d like to say love, but he doesn’t. She’d like to say love, but she doesn’t. And they part ways.

She hates being in this house alone. Leaves all the lights on all hours of the day and checks all the locks three times before going upstairs to bed. Passes by the closed door that remains closed with her breath held. She knows it makes no sense, but she’s been sleeping in the guestroom, makes the whole thing a little easier. Always had a tendency toward insomnia, tossing and turning brain and body.

When they were just starting to get more serious, and she was just starting to stay over at his more often, she got worried that eventually it'd drive him mad enough for the whole thing to not be worth it, neither of them getting much sleep as they learned how to share a bed together. And she doesn't remember how it started exactly, maybe out of a moment of pure exasperation, him draping just enough of his weight over her to press slower breath into her lungs and still her body. It became a routine, she'd ask could you? And he'd already know what she was asking for without her having to say any more than that. What she also doesn't remember, when that stopped working, when she stopped asking, and he stopped answering. She supposes it all happened slowly, just like the rest of it.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller fic #joel miller au

86 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 1 year

Text

Having ADHD and Being A Little Punk Rock

So....a huge amount of the discourse on Tumblr around neurodiversity generally is just venting. Which is good, it’s good to vent and Tumblr is a good place for it. And I know that often, when venting, the LAST thing you want to hear is someone trying to offer help or solutions. So generally I keep my mouth shut unless someone is speaking to me specifically.

But a while back I saw someone asking (rhetorically) about what people with ADHD wish their parents had known, and I had a lot of thoughts about that which I started jotting down. Reading the various ADHD tags, I also see a lot of teens and twentysomethings with ADHD who visibly have no coping mechanisms and no way of creating them. I don’t blame the kids, and it’s not some kind of personal failing on their part; they’re young, and nobody has taught them. But I look at them and I think, A little sideways thinking would help you out so much. Then, recently, I got an ask (thank you for the permission not to respond directly) that was full of feelings about not being able to process or communicate well, and feeling a lot of negative emotions because of it.

So, maybe it’s time to just throw this out there. I want to offer some advice as Fandom Dad with forty-three years of being neurodiverse and exactly seven months of actually being aware I was neurodiverse. Which for once is actually going to be pretty helpful! Because I looked at the world and I assumed my own neurotypicality and I thought, well, okay, but fuck all that.

Allow me to explain.

I think this can apply to a number of ways in which people are neurodiverse, but I have ADHD so that’s what I’m really speaking to here. With ADHD, there’s medication, and I strongly urge people to explore that option because medication is awesome when it works. But there’s also a lot out there about how to try harder, or trick yourself into doing something in a very neurotypical way, or use systems that may not work for you. I know; I tried some too, and the sense of failure, the sense of being an ongoing failure, is terrible. So I want to offer an alternative which has helped me a great deal, and may help other people with ADHD, particularly younger people.

People of any age, but especially young people who have ADHD, should be made aware that it’s okay to suck at things, to struggle, and to fail. Even if you think you should be good at something, even if everyone around you thinks so too, it’s okay to just be garbage at it and to acknowledge that fact. But just saying “well I’m dumb and can’t do this” of course isn’t actually helpful, and harms you a great deal, because you are a living person with feelings and if you’re self-aware enough to notice, you’re also too smart to be calling yourself dumb. Acknowledging that you’re bad at something, and even acknowledging that you’d like to succeed at it, is only part one of figuring life out.

Part two is deciding what to do about it, and more importantly, how.

I was always told I was smart, but I was told “You’re smart so you should be able to do this”, not “You’re smart, so let’s come up with a way around this.” I don’t think many people are encouraged to explore why they are bad at something, to understand their own brains and thought processes which cause them to struggle.

Decades before I knew I had ADHD, I had to figure out that one of life’s most important skills is not being able to creatively solve problems but to recognize when you have to. Anyone can sit around and come up with three or four ways to solve a problem, but it’s not actually often taught that you should also be aware of when this is needed. Often, when faced with a problem that is difficult to solve, we’re taught that our reaction should be the socially approved “I just need to try harder”. Sometimes that’s true, but usually it’s not.

More often, when we feel that instinct, especially as people with ADHD, we should say instead, “I’m not going to try harder, that’s bullshit. I’m trying already. I’m going to find another way to solve this problem.” Trying harder doesn’t work, after all, when your own brain is fighting you.

So you stop and think, if there were no rules to the world, how could I do this? You don’t have to work smarter; a lot of my solutions could reasonably be described as “work dumber”. The point is to work differently in a way that helps you specifically.

Stop trying to remember to take your keys when you leave the house and get a lanyard and hang them on the doorknob; if you lose them a lot, hang the lanyard around your neck when you leave the house.

Stop pretending you’ll remember to scoop the litterbox every night and set an alarm that tells you to do it. Or don’t, that works for me but might not for you! Maybe you have to put the litterbox somewhere you’ll see it right before bed (I ALSO do this for the days I turn off the alarm and then promptly forget it happened).

There are phone charging cords in every room of my home so that I never run down my phone battery, something that is mildly inconvenient to have happen but deeply anxiety-inducing to think about for me. And now I never worry.

The point is, don’t ask how you can do better at something, ask how you can make something easier for you.

Even rewiring your brain to ask the question is a learned skill, though. You have to consciously stop when you find something is fighting you and consciously think, how can this be easier for my specific brain? If we assume I am not stupid but am in fact fighting an invisible monster, how do I make the monster visible?

Life became roughly 60% easier for me when I started thinking this way. Of all the tips for time management and list making and organizing and de-organizing you can try and implement, none of that is necessary if you know how to ask yourself, “How do I do this differently?” and come up with alternatives that suit your brain.

Especially with neurodivergence, there’s no “one size fits all” when it comes to handling it, neurologically or emotionally. So I think that it’s important to be a little bit punk rock. Not necessarily in the way of defying authority but in the way of defying convention -- the ability to say “fuck you” to the Way Things Are Done and do one’s own thing is very liberating and healthy. You lose a lot of the benefits of creative problem solving if you’re also ashamed of the solutions. So I think the best trick I know of to succeed despite unmedicated ADHD is just to say “fuck you, there must be an easier way to do this.”

I’m garbage at cleaning my home (I can say that because I’m not only calling myself garbage, I’m using “I’m bad at this” as a stepping stone to solving the problem, and then I no longer feel like garbage and can joke about it with a healthy ego). I vacuum regularly and do the dishes and such but like...I don’t scrub the floors or dust or wash out the bathtub. That’s part of why I do November Cleaning -- so that at least once a year those things, that I never want to do but always think I should do, get done, but only have to be done once and at a specific designated time. So now if the bathroom floor is a bit grimy in the corners I just think, “Ah -- that’s for November” and add it to my November Cleaning list.

For my friend who struggles with communication, which is something I also used to really struggle with (and still do in some ways), one of my “make stuff easier” techniques for this was simply to...tell people.

“Hey, I tend to talk really fast when I get excited, so please tell me if I need to slow down.”

“Sorry, I have some hearing issues, I may ask you to repeat something -- it’s fine just to do it slower, I don’t need louder.��

“I’m upset and struggling, I need a minute.” (or even just “Hey where’s the bathroom?” so you can sit quietly for a moment and gather your thoughts. If you’re too upset to talk, it also helps to type them out, which I often do.)

If someone tells me something I want to remember, I’ll get out my phone and say “Sorry, I’m still listening, but I want to write that down so I won’t forget it.” I do all my writing-things-down in Google Tasks, then once I’m somewhere quiet and private I review the notes and move stuff that isn’t actually “to do” to another list. Sometimes I’ll tell someone “I’m so sorry, you just said something and I totally missed it, but it’s important to me -- can you repeat it?”

Most people find that kind of honesty, where you’re open about why you’re maybe talking at cross-purposes, really charming. It indicates that you think they are important, and you’re putting in effort to hear what they’re saying and respond to it thoughtfully.

I hope this is helpful in finding ways around some basic problems, rather than through them -- that being able to stop and think “This could be easier -- how?” is something that people can internalize and make use of. Going around a mountain rather than through it might look like it’ll take more time and energy, but it beats trying to punch through granite the whole way there.

#sam has adhd

2K notes · View notes

grandlinedreams · 6 months

Note

hello!! I've been reading your law works recently, and I absolutely love the way you write him- you just capture his character so well :,)

hopefully it's not too much to ask, but can you write about law/reader soulmate au? I don't have anything too specific in mind because i'm really not too good with making prompts 😔

maybe a bit angsty though? I would also prefer if it was in the canon setting, but modern au would be fine too :)

Thank you in advance!!

OH I'M A SUCKER FOR SOULMATE AUS as I've said before I think dkdjs my brain's still booting up for the day but absolutely!! Couldn't resist adding the quote I was thinking about yesterday because Law is so Kaz Brekker coded istg

[Heads up!: talk of soulmates/red string of fate, little bit of angst, fluff, the 'fell first vs fell harder' trope]

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

The question makes Law pause where he's in the middle of reading about a blood-borne pathogen, looking up and over. Splayed out over his bed with your own book in your hand, you stare back. He frowns.

"Why are you asking?"

You shrug. "It's in this book," you say, "It's talking about how there's different ways to look at it. If they're two pieces of the same soul just separated and always trying to make it back to each other, or if something called a string of fate ties them together."

Law makes a noise in the back of his throat. "That sounds ridiculous."

"So you don't believe in them?"

"No." He watches you for a moment, studying you. "Do you?"

You hum, lifting one of your hands and focusing on your pinky. You can almost see it, the neat knot of red tied around the knuckle, string that loops and weaves aimlessly through the air. If such a thing exists, you wonder where it leads, then about where you wish it would.

"No," you answer at last, "I suppose I don't."

ㅡ

If Law lets himself think about fate tying you to him with red string, it's far less romantic. But there must be something that keeps you in his orbit, silent pull to bind you to him.

It scares him. Scares him for how badly he wants to let you in, expose soft underbelly and trust you won't sink your teeth in and rip it all apart.

The push and pull is how he copes with it even though he knows it's unfair to you ㅡ taunts you with what could be, then pushes you away. Open and shut, over and over.

You're tired of it, he knows that. So he apologizes, not sure what exactly he's sorry for. Sorry that he only knows how to take and less how to give, that he only knows how to lose.

You understand that. He knows, you've told him before. But even you have your limits. "I will have you without armor, Law," you tell him, "or I will not have you at all."

He knows it isn't fair to you. But he wishes things were different, that he were different ㅡ and that when he lets himself think about that red string, it wasn't wrapped around your throat.

ㅡ

Law's emotions are a house of cards and his defenses a glass house ㅡ and all it takes for both to crumble is, of course, almost losing you.

It's through no fault of his own, but he still feels sick as he dabs at the blood threatening to drip down into your eye.

"What you did was beyond reckless," he scolds sharply, wraps soft worry in barbed wire, "if you'd stuck to the damn plan, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Sometimes you have to improvise." He gets the feeling you're not just talking about the situation at hand, but he doesn't care to analyze it at the moment.

"Whatever. You sound like that idiot Strawhat." He wants to keep scolding you, hammer home just how dumb you've been ㅡ but you're watching him, and the thin rubberband of his patience snaps.

The kiss is far from gentle. It's messy and clumsy, tastes a little like blood and gunpowder, but that hardly matters when you're kissing him back with the same kind of desperation.

ㅡ

Law doesn't put much weight in the idea of soulmates. It's a romantic connection at best and baseless for proof at worst, straddling somewhere in the middle.

But he supposes he does like the idea that you've always been meant for him, and he for you ㅡ that orbit gets easier to accept when he puts it that way. Or perhaps the atoms that make the two of you up have simply existed together for long enough in the grand scheme of things to echo through, even now.

You laugh when he tells you that, reaching to tug at a lock of his unruly hair. "Putting a scientific spin on it takes the romance out of it, Law."

His eyes flick to your lips and back. "Does it matter?"

Your expression turns thoughtful. "No, I suppose it doesn't." If you want to say more, Law doesn't know because he leans in to kiss you.

Be that you're a soul split in half trying to reunite or truly woven together by a thin red string, Law doesn't know.

What he does know is that you're in his bed, kissing him back, and that's all that matters.

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous #–ml: law.

205 notes · View notes

standfucker · 1 year

Text

The Break

Characters: Kid, Killer

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 7.5k

CW: Gore, graphic description of injury+pain+first aid, hurt/comfort, confessions, highly oblivious reader

Summary: You knew you were bad with feelings, but the fact that it took a severe injury for this to come to light was maybe a little concerning.

Ao3 Link

There had only been two moments in your entire career as a pirate where you didn’t live up to your “Slippery” epithet. The first time was when Eustass Kid had bested you in combat. Rather than killing you, he offered you a place on his crew, which you had accepted–partially in the hopes of becoming stronger, and maybe also because you kind of found him incredibly attractive. That was three years ago.

The second time was right now. The enemy’s weapons consist of giant, metal crab claws, one of which snaps shut around your forearm with the force of an industrial machine before you can shave away. You’re pretty sure the whole battlefield heard the snap. A few things run through your brain in quick succession:

One–that’s going to hurt really, really badly in a second. You only have a short amount of time to counterattack.

Two–this was karma for that conversation in the mess room a few weeks ago, where you taunted the others over your having never broken a bone.

“I grew up on a dairy farm. My bones are like iron. Don’t compare it to the shortbread you all have for a skeleton.”

“You just haven’t battled enough, Slip.”

“Wrong! It’s because no one can catch me. They call me ‘Slippery Y/n’ because I’m too fast.”

“Yeah, yeah. But not fast enough, since you’re with us now!”

“Fuck off!”

Not fast enough indeed. But at least, now, you’re within striking range of the enemy. He doesn’t block in time; your scimitar opens his throat like a cut purse and sends him to his knees, gurgling. Your arm is released and you collapse on the ground, but before you can get back up, the pain hits with an intensity that immediately rips an agonized scream from deep in your lungs.

It’s like your arm’s been doused in gasoline and set on fire. Burning and sharp, sharp, sharp, so overwhelming you’re nauseous. You make the mistake of looking at your arm, and the flash of white sticking through the skin nearly makes you vomit on the spot. Seeing it for what it is somehow makes the pain worse, leaving you breathlessly curling over yourself on instinct, unable to move. Somewhere next to you the body of your enemy thuds onto the ground, dead.

The battle against the opposing crew is almost over. Though it’s not much longer before the last enemy is slain and someone rushes to your side, it feels like an eternity.

“Slip, are you okay?” You hear Hip’s voice before you, high-pitched with concern. It drops once she notices your injury. “Are you–oh. Oh, fuck. Um, guys! Hey, you guys! Slip is really hurt!”

Footsteps, more voices. One by one, crewmates converge around you.

“Oh, ew.”

“Oh, shit, Slip!”

“Slip!”

“Get out of the way!”

That last one would be Kid. You look up in time to see him push past a crewmate, face taught in what seems like anger but you’ve since learned to recognize is worry. Most of his deeper emotions are like that, sitting in the shadow of enmity but easily discernible if you knew him well enough.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks, unable to assess your full state with you hunched over. The gruesomeness of your injury doesn’t seem to bother him. You shake your head, and relief softens his expression. “Okay. I know it hurts, but you’re gonna live.”

“I can’t get up,” you gasp, breath coming out short.

“Then I’ll carry you to the ship. Doctor’s on standby.” Kid crouches down next to you, flesh hand resting on your good shoulder. “It’s gonna hurt. Sorry in advance, Y/n.”

He’s the only one who doesn’t call you by your nickname. It makes sense, as he’s the one who caught you in the first place–it doesn’t really apply to him.

“It already hurts,” you reply, stupidly inviting more karma. Kid must think the same thing, because he frowns at you.

“Oh, just wait,” he mutters, and scoops you up as carefully as he can. The movement tears fresh hell through your arm, and you shout before you can even think to hold it in.

At least he doesn’t say ‘I told you so.’ It would only be salt in the wound, and you’re already in so much pain you can barely think. The walk back to the ship is its own trial, every step jolting your arm again, even with Kid’s best efforts to move smoothly. You tell yourself to be tough for about three seconds before it goes out the window. Frankly, you don’t deal with it well at all–you’ve never had a strong pain tolerance, it’s partly why you learned to be quick–but you manage not to scream with every step, so that’s something.

It’s a terrible shame that you’ll only remember this as excruciating–under any other circumstance, you would have cherished being held by Kid like this.

You glimpse your injury again, a wave of queasiness rising in your stomach, and press your face into Kid’s shoulder so as not to look. “I’m gonna throw up,” you say weakly.

“Since when does gore bother you?” Kid says under his breath, but you hear it.

“Since it is coming from MY BODY!!” you snarl. For once, Kid pities you enough not to scold you for talking back.

You’re shaking by the time you get to the infirmary. Most of the crew has come out of the battle unscathed, or with only minor injuries. The ship’s doctor is only concerned with you, and getting your bleeding to stop. But to close the rip…

“I have to reset the bones, first,” he says.

That was obvious to anyone with eyes, but you didn’t really think about it until just then. Your guts turn to stone at the thought, heavy and sinking as your heart starts to race. The lightest movement to your body is already enough to make you want to quit life on the spot; you are not prepared, capable, nor willing to see what it would feel like when the bone itself is directly touched.

“You can leave it as-is,” you say, not joking in the slightest, not caring if it sounds cowardly, not even caring that half the crew is surrounding the exam table to hear it.

Kid takes one look at the fear in your eyes and turns to the rest of the crew. “Get out,” he commands. Everyone complies without question, only Killer staying behind, the unspoken exception.

Once the last person closes the door behind them, Kid focuses on you. “Y/n–”

“I can’t do it,” you cut him off, eyes welling up with tears. “I–I don’t want to.”

“Tough,” Kid snaps. “This is what you get for getting caught.”

“Kid,” Killer says, a warning to go easy on you.

It’s not necessary. You can see right through Kid’s harsh exterior. He always gets upset when a crewmate is hurt badly. What he’s really saying is ‘this is what you get for making me worry.’

“No time for discussion,” says the doctor. “I’d like to get this done before any more blood is lost. Hold them down, would you?”

Before you can protest, Kid and Killer secure you in place: Kid’s metal hand presses down on your legs while his flesh one wraps tightly around your good arm, and Killer pins your torso to his from behind.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you cry out quickly, but you can’t budge against them both.

Kid nods at the doctor. “Do it.”

The disinfectant comes first, stealing the breath from your lungs, like acid on your exposed flesh. The doctor gives you no time to process the first action before he moves onto the second–rationally, you know it’s to minimize the amount of time you’ll be in pain, but you are incapable of viewing his actions kindly at the moment. He immediately forces the bones back to where they should be in one firm, expert motion.

The world goes white. Nothing exists anymore except for the pain in your arm, unimaginable and all-consuming. You don’t perceive anything else, blind and deaf to any stimuli that isn’t sheer agony. Later on, you’ll realize that you must have screamed, if the soreness when you speak is any indication, but you don’t remember it.

The intensity eventually wanes enough to restore your senses, though your head is still swimming from the assault. Your sight returns first. Instead of the cold infirmary, your vision is entirely filled by Kid, his face so close you’d be staring into his eyes if they were open. His forehead is pressed to yours, and he’s saying something, but you don’t process it until your hearing comes back a moment later.

“...did good, Y/n, you did good. You’re okay. Easy, you’re okay.”

Kid… you think dimly, followed by, huh. Have I seen him do this with anyone but Killer?

You don’t question it beyond that thought, hanging onto his every word. The closeness abates the hurt, even if just slightly, and you bask in it, taking any mercy you can get. Kid and ‘comfort’ aren’t things that generally go together, but to you–scared, in pain, and maybe just a little bit hopelessly in love with him–it’s everything.

Killer smooths your hair back. His solid chest against your back is grounding, helping you stay present through the haze of misery. You’re suddenly grateful he’s there, too, his presence equally as soothing as Kid’s, the degree to which triggering a new realization: It’s obvious in hindsight, but you’ve never been great at analyzing your own feelings, and as such, it only just dawns on you that you’re down just as bad for the first mate. The revelation would have been panic-inducing if it wasn’t for the pain currently demanding all of your attention.

“They still with us?” Killer asks behind you.

Kid’s eyes open, meeting yours. You’ve never seen them this close before. The irises are an orange-gold, reminding you of smoldering embers. Your breath leaves you once more, but you’re not sure pain is the cause this time. Though it must have left you delirious, because your mouth moves before your brain can catch up.

“You have pretty eyes,” you mumble.

Said pretty eyes widen, Kid pulling back in surprise. He glances at Killer. “...That answer your question?”

Killer hums, gently rubbing your good arm. You go limp, leaning your full weight back against him without shame, hurting too much to care right then. He doesn’t seem to mind, anyway.

There’s a faint tinge of pink on Kid’s face, and he smirks down at you. “Better be careful there, Y/n. You can’t blame what you say on a head injury.”

“Whatever,” you huff, knowing you can get away with being rude without repercussions for now. “I don’t–�� your words break into a gasp as the pain in your arm spikes so intensely that spots dot your vision.

Kid’s smirk instantly falls. You try to look at your burning arm, but he turns your head back so you’re watching him instead.

“Don’t look. He’s stitching it now. Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Another wave of pain has you fighting back a sob, barely able to keep it down. You instinctively go to look again, but Kid keeps your head from turning with a steady hand cupping the side of your face.

“Look at me, Y/n. There you go. Just hold on a bit longer.”

You try to do as he says, focusing on his eyes rather than the current torture, but it’s impossible. “Hurts so bad,” you whimper.

“I know,” Kid says softly. “We’re right here.”

The curved needle hooking through your skin isn’t the problem, nor is the nauseating sensation of the sutures sliding through the layers of flesh. Both, while admittedly sucking hard, are tolerable. The problem is that even as careful as he is, the doctor is still moving your arm with every stitch.

“Almost done,” Killer says, “almost done. You’re doing great.”

Am I really? you want to ask, but you’re currently unable to form anything more coherent than groans and curses.

The final trial is the splint, more unbearable movement to your arm that has you gripping the edge of the exam table so hard your knuckles turn white. Killer takes notice, peeling your hand from the table to hold in his, instead. Despite his hand being twice the size of yours, you’re pretty sure you crush it with the strength of your grip, but he doesn’t complain.

“I’ll apply a proper cast once the swelling goes down,” the doctor says once he’s finally, finally fucking done. “Rest in one of the patient beds and keep your arm above your heart as much as possible. You’re to sleep here until further notice.”

You’re helped into one of the beds, and once the doctor’s applied ice packs to your injury, Kid dismisses him. The three of you are left alone, Kid and Killer pulling up chairs next to the bed. Lying back, you stare blankly at the ceiling, catching your breath, humbled and terrified at the human body’s ability to feel such all-consuming anguish. Adrenaline still courses through your veins, making you jittery and hyper-aware, and you’re sweating, but at least the pain in your arm has simmered down to a dull, throbbing ache. While it still feels like the bones are screaming at you, you can endure it quietly, though it does make your eyes water.

With the diminishing of the pain comes just enough clarity for you to feel utterly and totally disgraceful. You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone on the crew scream like you had, and plenty of them had endured their fair share of awful injuries. So why couldn’t you handle it better? How could you call yourself a pirate after such a display? All of that, and still visibly on the verge of tears now that it was over? You’d be more embarrassed about crying in front of them if you hadn’t just spent the enitre past fifteen minutes acting like a complete bitch.

Kid may have said you couldn’t blame your words on a head injury, but you think the pain alone is enough to make you loopy, because you find yourself laughing shortly at the thought. It’s more of a huff and a grin, really–anything more would jostle your arm.

“Y/n?” Kid asks, concerned.

“It’s just,” you glance at him, then back at the ceiling, smiling ruefully. “I wanted to be tough, if you can believe that. But I couldn’t manage it… Pitiful, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Kid scowls. “That pirate broke your arm and you still killed him.”

“Only because I didn’t feel it right away. It doesn’t count. When push came to shove, I couldn’t handle it at all. I’m a Kid Pirate–I should be tougher. And yet, I…” You blink, and the tears gathered at the corners of your eyes break free, running down your temples. “I didn’t have it in me.”

“Y/n…?”

You look between Kid and Killer. Kid’s worry is evident behind the tension in his face, and while Killer’s expression is hidden, there’s nothing in his body language to suggest he’s upset with you. Your smile wavers, chest getting tight. The next wave of tears has nothing to do with pain.

“Aren’t you ashamed of me?” Your voice cracks, as if you couldn’t be any more pathetic.

“Don’t,” Kid says stiffly. “Don’t do the self-pity thing now. It doesn’t suit you.”

“But I–”

“Look,” Killer says, “everyone’s different, with different tolerances for pain. You don’t need to be unfeeling to be a capable fighter.”

Easy for him to say–Killer had the highest pain tolerance in the crew. Still, you don’t miss the compliment, mentally clinging to it like it could redeem you.

“You think I’m a capable fighter?” you ask, voice small.

“I invited you onto my crew for a reason, okay?” Kid says. “I saw potential. I still see it. You’ve gotten stronger since we first met.” Kid looks away. “...I haven’t once regretted my decision.”

“Oh…” Self-doubt tells you that Kid’s just saying those things to make you feel better, but experience has you discarding the thought. You know him better than that. Kid has always meant what he said, he wouldn’t make such claims lightly. The words are real and sincere, threatening to make you cry harder, but you force it down. He’s never liked dealing with tears.

Kid won’t meet your eye. From your angle on the bed, you can see a blush spread across his cheeks, darker than before. Maybe that’s why he makes to leave, pushing his chair back and getting up, Killer following suit. Or maybe he just means to check on the crew. Regardless, a surge of objection rises in your chest, every bit as selfish and puerile as a child protesting their parents leaving them in daycare.

“You’re going?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

They pause, Kid turning back to you. “Do you want us to stay?”

You don’t look at him when you nod shallowly, ashamed. But you don’t want to hurt alone. Rationally, you know you’re going to be in pain for a long while, and they can’t be at your side the whole time. Still, if they’ll let you, then you’ll be self-centered for just a bit longer.

Kid and Killer sit back down.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. Then, even quieter, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” Kid grumbles. “I told you to knock that shit off.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. He could be so rough about it, but there was genuine care behind his refusing to let you wallow in self-pity.

Killer takes your hand. “Is this the first time you’ve been injured like this?” he asks.

You nod.

“Listen... Sometimes, when you’re hurt bad enough physically, it messes with your head, too,” Killer says. “You feel vulnerable and insecure. Helpless, even. So,” he squeezes your hand lightly, “it’s okay if you’re more sensitive than you normally would be. No one's going to hold it against you. You came out of the battle alive. That’s what matters.”

Damn him and his tenderness, you’re trying not to cry. You pull your hand away, lower lip wobbling, and take a shaky breath, holding it down. You glance at Kid. He’s staring hard at your broken arm. Suddenly his ire stops being transparent–just like when you first joined the crew, you’re completely unable to discern what he’s really thinking. All you see is the discontent, so close to disapproval that it makes you uncertain.

“Are you, um,” you say nervously, “are you mad at me?”

“No,” Kid says, but it comes out a bit stiff. “At least, not for the reason you think. I’m proud of you for taking out that pirate. He was twice your size and faster, but you still won.” He taps his nails against his metal hand. “Y/n… When Hip said you were really hurt, I feared the worst. I thought you’d been fatally injured.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joke.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kid snaps, glaring. He’s gritting his teeth, eyes hard and angry, but then there’s a break, a crack in his expression. It’s just a glimpse, but for the first time, you see fear behind the fury. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Got it? Or I’ll break your other arm.”

Despite the harsh words, emotion swells in your chest, fuzzy and light. You feel yourself tearing up again. “Yes, captain.”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

You smile slightly. “Yes, captain.”

Kid leans back in his chair, arms crossed, scowl etched deep. You watch as Killer touches Kid’s arm briefly, reassuring. With the worst of the pain behind you comes the presence of mind to start overthinking, and you dive right in: They have each other. It’s clear that they care about you, but it will never be in the way you want.

The ache in your arm seems fitting, a backdrop of physical pain behind the emotional. Liking Kid is stressful enough, but now that you were aware of your feelings for Killer, it was compounded, growing like a chemical reaction into something huge and overwhelming. As a trusted crewmate, you pretty much have front row seats to the small intimacies those two exchange. How are you supposed to go on watching and not be eaten alive by jealousy?

Maybe you should leave. Maybe this was your sign that the good times had run out, and it was time to strike it out solo again. You don’t want to go–crushes aside, you were fond of the crew, having come to see them as family–but could you handle living with Kid and Killer now? The unrequited desire was already burrowing under your skin like a grass seed, threatening to travel and lodge deep into your heart. Cutting ties now would spare you more hurt in the long run.

But first you had to heal from this injury, something better done with the security of a crew protecting you.

Then, unprompted, Killer reaches over to wipe the sweat from your forehead, and you start reconsidering even that notion. If they were going to be gentle the entire recovery period, you were really gonna lose it. The compassion was too close to intimacy, a taste of what you couldn’t have.

"The next few months are gonna blow," you say, the true meaning of the statement masked.

"Just wait until it starts itching under the cast," Killer says lightly.

"Ugh. And I'll hardly be able to move." You grimace. "I'll need help even with basic tasks… You're right, Killer, it does feel helpless."

"It'll be fine," Kid says. "You have us and the crew."

He's still frowning, but you can read him again. Not that you need to with the frankness of his words.

"At least there's a bright side," you smile impishly, "if you're gonna be soft this whole time."

"Watch it," Kid warns, but his lip curls up just a bit. "Don't get used to it."

Too bad for him, you fully intend to abuse your power. It’ll be interesting to see how much you can get away with, and you might as well have some kind of outlet for these awful feelings in the meantime.

“Nah, I’m gonna enjoy it while I can,” you say, “because it’s not gonna happen another time. I’m gonna get even stronger, so I’ll never go through that again.” You wipe away the gathered tears with the back of your hand. “I’m gonna surpass even the shave technique. I’ll be uncatchable.”

Kid and Killer exchange glances–an impressive feat considering Killer’s mask, but that’s just the kind of wavelength they’re on–and then they look at you, Kid wearing one of his rare serious expressions. “I know the last half hour was rough, Y/n. But you won’t get any better as a fighter if fear is your motivator.”

That makes you pout, mostly because you know he’s right. Arguing that it had worked out for this long was pointless, because it really hadn’t. You only survived the fight with Kid years ago because of his whims, and today’s battle had ended in agony. You wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon, but maybe that was better. Maybe a reminder that you weren’t invulnerable was what you needed. So long as you didn’t succumb to fear, like Kid said.

“I guess it wasn’t entirely miserable,” you muse, thinking back to how Kid carried you to the ship. That was a lie–you were hurting far too badly to enjoy the contact–but the thought that it happened still made you kind of happy, in a messed up way. Maybe you were more touch-starved than you thought. “I got to be held. Can’t remember the last time I was that close to someone.”

Kid looks surprised, and then his expression slowly morphs into something smug, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. “If you wanted to be close to me, Y/n, you could have just asked.”

Your cheeks instantly flare hot, caught so off-guard all you can do is stare in dumb shock before you turn your head away. What the hell was he doing? Why would he say that? Now there was an ache in your chest as well as your arm.

“Is that what this was all about?” Kid continues gleefully. “Did you let yourself get hurt so your captain would come take care of you?”

No, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Regardless of what he meant by the teasing, it felt like a weight was sitting over your sternum. And really, he was such a fucking jerk, taking obvious pleasure in your flustered response. Honestly, why did you even like him?

“We’re right here.”

Your brain plays the memory back like a traitor, impressing the reason. Why did he have to be so damned nice to you? Why couldn’t he have been cold or stern or even harsh, like usual? This would have been so much easier if he just told you off for screaming, or called you a pussy or something, but no. He had to hold you and reassure you and now you didn’t know what to do.

“Stop it,” you say, but it comes out small and feeble. This was all too much, especially now. Killer had a point–you were in a delicate way mentally. The walls weren’t up, you couldn’t buffer any of these feelings. “Talk to me like that and I’ll leave.”

Kid pauses. “What do you mean, you’ll leave?”

“I’ll leave the crew.”

“What?!” Kid grabs the arms of his chair, leaning forward like he didn’t hear you right the first time.

“Slip?” Killer questions.

You avoid their eyes. “I can’t–I can’t do this. I can’t be around you if you’re going to be like… like that.”

“The hell are you talking about?” Kid demands.

“Slip, what’s wrong?” Killer asks. “Was it something we said?”

“No! I mean, yes!” you say, tugging at your hair with your good hand. “I mean… I…”

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” Kid says hotly. “What the hell is your problem?”

“I’m in love with you!” you shout. “That’s my fucking problem, Kid!”

Oops. Well. It was out now. Might as well go all-in. You cover your face as you add, “Killer, too. I love you both. I’m sorry.”

The shame settles like rot in your stomach, as nauseating as the physical pain was. There was no taking it back now. You expect shocked silence, or even Kid getting angry.

What you don’t expect is Kid, as casually as if discussing the weather, responding, “Oh. Yeah, I know.”

It takes a minute to process what he said, mentally flipping the words over in an attempt to parse them. Your hand slowly drops from your face, and you fix him with a look that manages to be both pointed and baffled. “...What?”

“I already knew that,” Kid clarifies.

You stare a hole through him. “...What?”

“What exactly are you not getting? I’m telling you I already knew.”

“Fucking excuse me?!” It finally processes, crashing over you like a boiling wave, drenching and searing all at once. “Since when?!”

“Since we met, you idiot.”

Your jaw drops. He had known all this time? For three fucking years? He knew?

“You’re not a subtle person, Y/n,” Kid says, then grins. “You got really, really worked up when I caught you that one time. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“You knew?” You look between him and Killer, at a loss. “The entire time?”

“Y/n, the whole crew knows.”

“What?!” You sit up so quickly it jostles your injury, sending a hellish jolt of pain through your arm that makes you hiss.

“Easy,” Killer says, gently pushing your good shoulder to prompt you to lay back.

“Don’t tell me to take it easy!” you snap, but acquiesce, letting him push you back. “What the hell do you mean, you knew… The crew knows… Oh my god…”

“There, there,” Killer says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Anyway,” Kid says nonchalantly, “you don’t have permission to leave.”

Ordinarily, you would say 'I wasn't aware I needed it,' but you're currently too stunned to reply. All this time. And the crew knows.

What are you to make of that? Kid doesn’t look upset. Killer doesn’t sound upset. They’re fine with your crush? Did such things really not bother them, or did they… No. There was no way. You can't wrap your head around the implications. There was no way. Right? Because if they liked you back, wouldn’t they have said something by now?

You have to find out. Living on this ship with that hanging over you is beyond what you can handle. And with months of recovery ahead of you, now would be as good a time as any to shoot your shot.

But you only get out "Do you–" before your voice catches, the query dying in your throat. You can't say it, can't bring yourself to ask. Something in your head is as broken as your arm, refusing to form the words.

Kid and Killer are listening, waiting for you to continue, but you shake your head. “Never mind.”

The answer to that question would hurt, and you’ve had enough of that for a good, long while. But without it comes the uncertainty, which almost feels worse. Unable to reconcile how you feel and exhausted from the aftermath of the adrenaline, you find you just want to be close to them again. Maybe you’re too much of a coward to ask the crucial question. But you aren’t above taking advantage of your current state to seek out a bit of comfort.

"Back when I was a kid," you say, "and I had to go to the doctor, my guardian would take me to get a treat afterwards. Like ice cream or something."

"Yeah?" Kid says, grinning wide. "Is there something you want from me? What could it possibly be, I wonder?"

Suddenly you're tongue-tied. You didn’t expect him to cotton on so fast, but underestimating Kid was why you had lost to him in the first place three years ago.

When you don't respond, Kid rests his chin on his metal hand, having the gall to look even more smug. "You need to say it out loud, Y/n."

Fucking jerk. Fine. "Um…" you start, fresh heat warming your face, "well, uh… Can I have, uh… A hug…?"

Kid looks surprised at that for some reason, raising a brow. What was he expecting? Still, he rises from his seat, and you sit up in anticipation. This was enough for now. Just to be held, one more time. You could figure out the rest later.

“That’s really all you want?” Kid says, looking at you like he can’t figure you out. He leans over you, towering, your height difference exacerbated with you being seated. “A hug?”

“...Yeah?” you respond hesitantly, unsure of what he means by the question.

Kid regards you for a moment, searching your eyes. Then he smirks. “I’ll do you one better.”

Before you can register the meaning of his words, Kid tilts your chin up, leans in, and presses his lips to yours in a firm and intent kiss.

Suffice to say, your brain promptly short-circuits. For a moment, not a single neuron fires. Then there’s a storm of activity, a thousand different thoughts and feelings screaming all at once. At the same time, a soft sort of tingling spreads throughout your whole body, fluttering and warm, so pleasant that you could cry. And, for just a second, like something out of a fairy tale, you don’t feel any of the pain in your arm. (You can never, ever tell this to Kid–he will hold it over your head for the rest of your life.)

While you’re too shocked to reciprocate, once Kid pulls away, you find yourself leaning forward, chasing the contact. He notices, if his widening smirk is any indication.

“Better than a hug, right?” he says, self-satisfied.

“Um,” you respond cleverly, still bewildered by the action. “Uh… Kid? Do you… Do you like me?”

Kid pinches the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I literally just kissed you. What the fuck do you think?”

“Wait, shut up. Hold on. Wait.” The fact that Kid doesn’t react to your telling him to shut up is a testament to his going easy on you, and you make a mental note of it for later. “If you liked me back, why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been flirting with you for years!”

Your eyes bug out at him. “You have?”

“For someone who thinks so quickly in battle, it’s amazing how slow you are on the uptake,” Kid says, exasperated. You frown, because rude, but he keeps going. “At first, when you didn’t respond, I thought you weren’t interested. But the way you acted around me and Killer proved otherwise. It was confusing as hell! Then, a few weeks ago, the crew was at a tavern, and you were approached by that bounty hunter–you remember?”

“Yeah… What about him?”

“He started flirting real heavy, and it all went right over your head. It was incredible to watch. I realized then that you weren’t sending me mixed signals on purpose, but that you were really just that fucking oblivious.”

You blink. “He was flirting with me?”

“He bought you a drink!” Kid shouts, throwing his arms out in frustration and nearly knocking over another bed with his metal one. Killer covers his mask over where his mouth would be, as if that would help him suppress a laugh.

“I thought he was trying to sucker me out of information.”

“He was trying to sucker you out of your clothes.”

“Oh… So that’s why you nearly killed him.”

You stare down at your lap as you try to process all the new information. Kid liked you back. Not only that, but he had been attempting to show it pretty much since the beginning. You knew you were bad with feelings, but the fact that it took a severe injury for this to come to light was maybe a little concerning. And what about Killer? He wasn’t nearly as open as Kid, so even if he had been showing similar signs, you would have never picked up on it.

“Does, uh,” you say, looking up at them, “does Killer also…?”

“Yeah,” Kid says, “Killer too, though he never flirted with you over it.”

“I kind of did,” Killer speaks up, “here and there, but I stopped when it seemed like you weren’t into it.”

You think back, trying to recall any times where that might have happened. While Killer seemed outwardly stoic, he was surprisingly affable toward crewmates, so you never thought twice about any lingering touches or supportive words coming from him.

“Um… Wow. I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to be confusing. I guess I just never thought it was possible that anyone would like me that way.”

“Why would you think that?” Killer sounds genuinely confused, and you tense, the question dredging up a host of bad memories. That was one traumatic can of worms you didn’t need to open, so you just shrug it off.

“Uh, no reason…”

“You’ve never been in a relationship?” Kid asks.

“Not really,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. All of this was new territory, the revelation that they were both interested leaving you stumped. “...What do I even do now?”

“Whatever you want.”

You stare at Kid, then glance away, cheeks growing warm in embarrassment before you even say it. “...I want you to kiss me again.”

“You really think you deserve it after all that you’ve put us through?” Kid grins, but despite what he says, he leans right back in to grant your wish.

The second kiss is softer, even tender. Your eyes close as you cup his cheek, and his hand covers yours. That fluttering sensation returns, prickling across your skin like you’ve sunk into a warm bath, enveloping and soothing.

When Kid breaks free this time, you can’t help but look at Killer afterwards, the longing in your expression making your thoughts evident.

“What, I’m not good enough for you?” Kid accuses, but you can tell he’s teasing.

“No,” you say brightly, safe in the knowledge that he won’t retaliate while you’re injured. Or so you thought–Kid pinches your cheek (with his flesh hand, at least,) harder and harder until you apologize. You rub your sore cheek, pouting. “I swear I’m not complaining or anything, but, uh… You don’t want to, Killer?”

Killer turns his head away, quiet for a moment. “...I will… Once you’ve recovered, and the cast comes off.” He looks your way again. “So you have the motivation to heal quickly.”

Later on, when you’ve gotten to know him more intimately, you’ll look back and realize that the ‘motivation’ line was complete bullshit, and that he was just covering up his shyness. But right then, you accept him at his word, though you’re a bit disappointed.

“Sure. Okay.” You lay back in the bed, a smile slowly stretching your lips. “I can live with that.”

Today was a one-two punch in staggering experiences. First you went through the worst physical pain you’d felt yet, then Kid revealed that he and Killer both liked you back. You were ecstatic, of course–but the fact that you never had to go through breaking your arm to learn of it made you more than a little mad at yourself.

“We can talk about all this later,” Kid says. “You need to rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kid looks at you sharply, and you get a funny feeling in your gut. Did… Did he like that? What a stuck-up asshole. God, you love him. Which is why you’re going to use that against him later.

“Try and get some sleep, if you can. The next island we’re stopping at has a pharmacy. Once we raid it and restock our medical supplies, you won’t be hurting so much, so just hang on until then. Okay?” Kid touches your cheek.

“Okay,” you reply, trying not to show how giddy the simple action makes you.

But given that he knew of your attraction all this time, he can probably tell anyway.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!” You glare at the crewmates sitting around your bed. The doctor will only let a few people in to see you at a time, so right now, it’s just Heat, Wire, and Quincy, the latter currently signing your cast. “Some nakama you are! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It would have interfered with the betting pool,” Wire says.

“Betting pool?!”

“After a while,” Heat adds, “it just became kind of a social experiment.”

“Betting pool?!” you reiterate.

“Relax,” Quincy says, capping the marker. “If you get worked up, the doc will kick us out.”

“Fine.” You scowl, but relent, shoulders drooping.

“So how’d it go down?” Heat asks. “Did you tell Kid first, or did he tell you?”

“I said it first.”

“Damn,” Wire mutters, fishing a thick wad of cash out of his pocket and passing it to Heat.

Your eyes widen at the blatant exchange. “I will fucking strangle you both!”

“With one hand?” Wire asks, and the three of them burst into laughter.

You throw your medicine bottle at his head.

After months of waiting, you’re eager to finally have the cast off, but a part of you will miss looking at everyone’s signatures. Heat even drew the crew’s jolly roger on it.

“Some pain and stiffness afterwards is normal. Your range of motion will be limited. After months of being immobile, the muscles are weakened,” the doctor explains. “You are to wait one week before any exercise or heavy physical activity with that arm. Understand?”

The moment the cast is removed and the doctor releases you, you go find Killer on the ship.

“Hey, Killer!” You wave at him with your newly-healed arm, though you find the action is more difficult than you expected, just like the doctor said. “Cast is off, big guy. Time to pay up.”

When Killer doesn’t respond right away, you think maybe he’s forgotten what he said months ago. He looks around at the other crewmates on deck, then takes your hand and wordlessly leads you elsewhere.

“Killer?” you ask as you follow, but he remains silent.

Killer takes you all the way to the captain’s cabin, closing the door behind the both of you. Kid is currently there, sitting at his desk and looking over a map, head turning to you as soon as you enter.

“Everything okay?” Kid asks, then, noticing your cast is off, he smirks. “Oh, I see. Went for it first thing, huh, Y/n? You must have really been looking forward to it.”

“Shut up, Kid!” you say, face growing hot.

Kid rises from his seat, coming to stand behind you, and rests his flesh hand on your shoulder, squeezing in threat. “Careful, Y/n. You don’t have that injury to protect you anymore.”

Despite the warning, something about the way he says it, voice low and smooth, makes your stomach knot.

“Alright, alright, fine. Yes, I’ve been looking forward to it, okay? I’ve been thinking about it every day since,” you admit, swallowing. “But, Killer, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Killer is silent once more. You scan him anxiously, trying to get a read on his body language. He seems tense, so it takes you by surprise when he quietly says, “I want to.”

“Oh.”

Killer steps closer, right in front of you, so you’re sandwiched between the captain and first mate. Belatedly, you realize he’ll have to take off his mask, which you didn’t think about before. You’re not sure that even Heat or Wire have seen him without it, and you’re suddenly nervous that you’re violating some boundary by asking him to kiss you.

Then, Kid moves his hand from your shoulder to your face, covering your eyes from behind. You hear a faint noise like rustling hair that must be Killer removing his mask. Unable to see, you can only wait, heart pounding. It feels like forever before you feel his breath on your face, not making contact yet–he’s hesitating. And then, finally, after months of patience, he closes the gap, soft lips capturing your own.

Just like that, all your nerves melt away, fading behind the static that seems to spark through your body. You reach out for Killer blindly, hands landing in his hair before they slide down to hold his face, pulling as if you could draw him even closer. He sighs into your mouth in response, making your knees grow weak.

After far too short a time, Killer pulls away, and your grip on his face tightens in reluctance.

“Wait, wait,” you mumble, “again. Please, I–”

Your protest is muffled by Killer’s mouth closing over yours again, swallowing your words and your sanity all at once. He’s firmer this time, indelicate and needy, large hands grabbing hold of your waist. The little whine that slips out of you is involuntary, and you hear Kid chuckle behind you.

Eventually, Killer breaks away, leaving the both of you stunned and flushed with endorphins.

“You have no idea, Y/n,” Kid whispers into your ear, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck. “How much he’s talked about this.”

“Like you haven’t been talking about them?” Killer says defensively. “The sheer amount of grievances I’ve had to listen to the last few years… Where do I even begin? First, there was–”

“Okay!” Kid cuts him off, uncharacteristically flustered. “I get it.”

You snicker, and Kid immediately wraps his metal hand around your hip, gripping just tightly enough so as not to be painful, but still securely enough so that you’re trapped in place. It’s huge in comparison to you, the pinky sinking into your thigh while the index presses into your stomach. You gasp, going rigid, the position intimately familiar–this was the exact way that Kid had caught you three years ago.

“You know, Y/n,” Kid says, his tone soft with warning, “you’ve been a real piece of work these last few months. Smart-mouthed. Insolent. Talking back to me. Thinking you were so safe because of your injury.” He’s speaking into your ear again, breath hot on your skin, and your heart starts to race. “I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted, Y/n, because I’ve been keeping track. Every comment, every cheeky little quip, I committed to memory, waiting for this moment. I think it’s time I paid it back. Wouldn’t you agree, Killer?”

“Definitely,” Killer responds without hesitation.

Heat courses through your body, collecting at the apex of your thighs. Still blinded by Kid, you can’t see Killer move, but you feel his rough fingers tracing your throat a moment later.

The third time around, you are perfectly okay with not having lived up to your epithet.

#one piece imagines #one piece x reader #eustass kid x reader #killer x reader #reader insert #zen writes

486 notes · View notes

moonlightspencie · 10 months

Text

tolerate it

Description: listen to the song by taylor, that’ll tell ya

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: it’s just angst lolll, hotch is kind of a dick, age gap relationship (hotch in his early forties, reader in mid twenties)

Word Count: 2k

a/n: based on the song obvi, but also this post from @greg-montgomery bc that idea had been rattling in my brain and ouchie but i’m glad other people had the same thought 👹

also: jack doesn’t exist in this universe for the sake of my brain

Befriending an FBI agent didn’t seem like a plausible next step when I decided to take a job as a barista. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was luck, though whether it was good or bad was hard to decipher.

It started out good.

We sat across from one another after my shift was over. I wouldn’t tell him that hanging out at my job after I was done wasn’t my number one choice purely for the fact that he smiled soft and sweet when he asked. We needed to talk anyways.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea, to be honest,” he mentioned, a shy smile on his face.

“Why is that, do you think?” I questioned.

“I have… A past. There’s been so much that’s happened to myself and my family. I have a demanding job. Dating, even the concept of it, has been hard since—“

He stopped, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he looked down at the drink in his hands. I could tell something heavy was weighing on him, and it hurt to see him looking so down. Granted, we hadn’t known one another for long, but he’d become a close friend. I knew some of his tells, at least.

He looked back up at me, finding nothing but sincerity when he saw me looking back at him.

“My wife, uh, she,” he paused, clearing his throat. “She didn’t just… pass away. She was killed. It was by someone my team was hunting down, and it was hard. I haven’t been looking to date since then.”

I nodded. “I understand, and I don’t want to pressure you. But, if you decide that you do feel ready, I’ll be here.”

He smiled, taking one of my hands from across the table. I swallowed down butterflies, trying to ignore the softened look on his face when he watched me.

“You deserve better. You should be with someone less busy. Younger.”

“I don’t mind a busy working schedule, and everyone has baggage. If you don’t want this, that’s okay. But I do,” I confessed, noting the blush on his cheeks as I spoke. “It’s all about communication, isn’t it? Making sure that if things are hard or messy or frustrating that you talk it out?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I just—“

“Hey,” I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Again, if you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

He let out a breath. “Thank you.”

I watched him for a while in the silence. He still had that cute frown on his face.

“I think the problem now is that I don’t want to wait,” he said at last.

I smiled back at him, taking his hand as he pulled me out of the little cafe.

Things started out so well. He’d give me a shy smile every time he showed up at my door to take me out somewhere. He’d call each time he was able to on cases. His sweet demeanor and hidden soft heart stole me over.

It was an easy ‘yes’ when he asked me to move in.

It was easy being with him for so long. But things always change. Sometimes for the worse.

A kiss hello and goodnight became the only times I’d feel his lips on mine. He’d work on what he needed to, sure to tell me any time I asked about what he was doing that I wouldn’t understand it.

I’d stand around, waiting for a drop of attention like a kicked dog. It never mattered. Conversations always turned into short arguments shut down by his cool, even-toned voice telling me I was overreacting. Who was I to think that I knew anything?

“You’re throwing a tantrum,” he huffed, annoyed.

I paused, staring at him in confusion. He stared back at me blankly. Of course he couldn’t be bothered to show any kind of emotion outside of a snap in his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have time for this,” he said, shaking his head.

He continued packing his thing to head to the bureau, and I once again stood alone, watching him. A mere inconvenience in his morning routine.

“If this is all in my head, just tell me,” I said quickly. “But it feels like you’re intentionally ignoring me. Like I’m some kind of child to you.”

He stared at me for a moment, his face indecipherable.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You didn’t ask me a question. If you want to know something, all you have to do is ask.”

He left after that, leaving me speechless in the living room, staring at the door of the apartment. I busied myself all day, trying not to think about it. Days when I was at work while he was felt fine enough. Not good, but fine.

Days when I was alone while he was out working though… I felt like a kid waiting for a parent to return.

I was in the kitchen with a glass of wine when he finally got home. He silently walked around the space. I’m sure he took off his jacket. Undid his tie. Set down his things and locked up the gun. Usual routine that I had no part in and probably never would.

He finally walked into the kitchen behind me, not bothering to say a word as he got a glass of water. Of course, I’d be the first to speak up.

“Are we going to talk about today?”

I turned, finally looking at him. He sipped at the glass of water, simply raising his brows in question. I furrowed mine in response, sick of him trying to shove away any semblance of communication.

“What about it?” he asked.

“What about it? We were kind of in the middle of talking when you left.”

“And we finished it.”

“No, we didn’t.”

He sighed hard. Quiet again. Brooding and stoic Aaron Hotchner. Never having time for anyone’s bullshit.

I wouldn’t have guessed my feelings were more shit on the pile to him. Guess I should’ve known better.

I looked at the plates that remained in the drying rack. Pretty and clean. I’d spent all afternoon doing the dishes, making sure they’d sparkle. If I couldn’t catch his eye anymore, maybe if he saw his own reflection in the plates, he’d realize I did something for him. It might remind him I was still here. In fact, the silverware was even cleaned and polished until they absolutely gleamed. I could probably blind myself with a spoon if I angled it from the sun just right. And I’d do it if he asked me to. Just to see him smile at me as I blinked back at him, trying to see correctly again. Three hours I’d spent on such a small task. Three hours while he sat in his office. I didn’t even know what he did in there, but I knew he’d been finished with what he actually needed to do for the day. I hoped that he might at least come home to see if I was still in the apartment. Would he even miss me if I had decided to leave? I didn’t know. I knew I could at least make him miss having clean dishes.

I moved swiftly, reaching for one of the plates. I held it in my hands, letting the weight of it weigh me down a little. I noticed how the kitchen light bounced off of the surface. Then, I looked at him.

He still had that stupid frown on his face.

Usually a moment like this would require that the person holding the glass wasn’t thinking straight. An accidental drop, leading to scary, sharp edges of glass all over the floor. Shock. Maybe embarrassment. A jump backwards. I did none of the above when I tossed down the plate onto the kitchen tile. It hit the ground with force, sending shards all across the floor in between us. The pieces shone up at his bewildered face as a taunt. They sparkled in my direction like a gleam of light in playful eyes that were daring me to do it again. And it was fucking cathartic.

I took another, ignoring the call of my name trying to stop me, and slammed it on the ground right on top of the remains of the first.

“Stop,” he said, voice raising just below a full yell.

I smiled to myself, holding the third of four in my hands. I couldn’t stop staring at the wreckage I’d already caused, but I let my eyes wandered in his direction.

“You want a tantrum?” I asked, holding the third plate just above my head. “I’ll give you a tantrum. What was it that you said to me? Uh… Oh! Right: ‘all you had to do was ask’.”

I let the plate drop, debris flying all around my feet, thought none of it was sharp enough to do harm. Maybe that was a part of the fun. The plates were thick and heavy. They weren’t made to break. But when they did, it was loud and hard and didn’t hurt me one bit. In any sense of the word.

As I reached for the final plate in the rack, he started circling to get behind me. He grabbed my arm, trying to stop me from letting it hit the floor. He turned me towards him.

“Stop. You’re acting like a child.”

I merely nodded. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Fuck off, Aaron.”

I whipped my hand hard enough to send the final plate flying. I wrenched myself from his grip after I heard the satisfying crash, stalking past him and out of the kitchen.

He stomped off after me, catching me as I started putting a few things in my bag in the bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

I laughed humorlessly. “Right. Like you care.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

Silence again.

“You’re everything to me, Aaron,” I said, staring straight back at him. “You were everything and your feelings were everything and what am I to you? Huh?”

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“And that’s it? Just a commodity. Someone who sits all nice and quiet when you get home so that you don’t feel completely alone. Someone who’ll light the candles and wash the dishes and try over and over again to love you. All for nothing.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s more than fair.”

“You’re acting so—“ he stopped himself, voice raising again.

“So what, Aaron? Immature?”

“That’s not—“

“Sorry, I totally forgot about the age difference. It’s not like you remind me every single time we get into any kind of argument,” I argued back, venom in my voice. “You’re so much older and wiser. You must always know better.”

He scoffed. I stayed for a moment, still squared up emotionally. I finally went back to packing a few things when I realized he wasn’t responding to me. He watched quietly as I went, fists balled up at his sides, almost convincing me that he actually cared.

He called my name again, this time much more quietly. I ignored him, zipping up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. He said it again, a little louder.

“What?” I snapped.

“Where are you going?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe my sister’s place.”

He sighed. “Are you coming home?”

I paused, looking at him as I stood in the doorway. He dropped his shoulders, finally letting his guard down.

“I don’t know. What happens if I don’t? If I were to pick up and leave and never look back?” I asked, steeling my face again. “I don’t think it’d make much of a difference to you.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Then figure out if you really want me in your life. Then I’ll give you an answer. Until then, I’m done giving everything to you all for me to turn up completely drained.”

“I love you,” he said, trying to convince himself just as much as he tried convincing me.

I nodded, heading for the door. I was done trying to convince myself I didn’t need him. I didn’t need empty words anymore. I had the truth: I found it in a neatly packed bag and a pile of broken dishes on the kitchen floor.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x female reader

368 notes · View notes

skzcollision · 9 months

Text

churchboy!felix x afab!reader (7/7)

| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 |

genre: fluff, smut, teen angst

synopsis: certain expectations come with being a pastor’s daughter. in everyone’s eyes you are a properly behaved girl, albeit rather timid. according to your parents, you aren’t as devoted to the church as you should be. they entrust you to an old family friend’s son, deeming him to be a good influence. these circumstances bring you two closer together and stir up all kinds of emotions.

MINORS DNI

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Did I ruin you?”

Felix blinks down at you through his lashes, eyes still puffy from sleep. A long beat of silence ensues as he tries to comprehend what you just asked him.

“Ha?” He scrunches up his nose in a way you find comical.

You laugh, then shake your head, turning your face back down. “Nothing. Just– thinking out loud.”

Finally succumbing to the soreness behind your lids, you let them slide back shut.

Your rest is cut short when you feel the sheets rustling and the pillow shifting beneath your head. Felix is too intrigued now to go back to sleep.

“No, talk to me.” He raises himself on his elbow.

You open your eyes, but don’t necessarily meet his. They bounce around, tracing the lines of his cupid’s bow, then his jaw. You rack your brain for a reason as to why you had even asked that in the first place.

It seemed to have slipped out on its own accord, with your thoughts running a mile a minute as you watched your lover rise to consciousness that early morning.

Maybe that question has always been at the back of your mind.

“Like, if we hadn’t met… you’d probably still be going to church, still be living with your parents.” You lock your eyes onto his, lips pulling into a tiny smile. “You’d still be a virgin.”

Air shoots out of his nose and his shoulders shake with a chuckle. “Okay, well you know I was going to move here to the city anyway. School’s in like a week, so what difference does a few more make– and technically, we are both still virgins.” He squints his eyes. “Half virgins.”

“Mm,” you relax beneath his touch as his fingers find your hair. “You get what I’m saying though?”

He shakes his head slowly, his words coming out the same. “Not really.”

You sigh, pushing yourself to sit up against the headboard. “Well you don’t really see anyone else anymore– we’re pretty much spending every waking hour together. Have been for like the past few months. And now, every sleeping hour too I guess. I drag you out here to the city, stressing you out with my family problems–“

“Woah, woah…” Felix grasps your hands in his, moving to sit up. He lowers his head to meet your eyes. “What, you think you roped me into this or something?”

“Something like that,” you nod, breathing out unhurriedly. “I doubt this is how you wanted to spend your last few weeks before school starts again.”

“Listen,” he pulls you into his arms, gently prodding your head to lay against his chest.

“I’m here with you, because I want to be. It is not because I feel sorry, or obligated. I spend every moment with you only because I want to. Even when things are tough, even when you get all snappy and bratty with me, I’m still going to want to be here. You understand?”

He lifts your chin, the purest form of sincerity in his eyes when he says, “this is fully my choice.”

You hold his gaze and nod in understanding, almost mesmerized by his words and the look on his face.

A shaky sigh slips past your lips as you muster up a response. “You think I’m bratty?”

His chest reverberates with deep laughter, the sound rolling through your ear. “Yes,” he smiles down at you in admiration. “You are… many things.”

You narrow your eyes, eventually pulling your gaze away when you feel like his is too much to handle. “I don’t know if I should feel insulted or not.”

Truly, you’re more ashamed than anything. You’ve had such a short temper lately, and he has been more than patient with you.

He chuckles, planting a lingering kiss on your hairline. “Feel like going out today?”

A gentle breeze rolls over you, ruffling your hair as you walk alongside the salty sea. The sunset paints the pale blue sky with a pinkish orange hue, warm sand sifting around your bare feet with each step.

Wanting to make the most of the remaining days of your summer, you and Felix spend all day doing touristy things around the city—something you never got the chance of doing despite living nearby all your life.

You have only been here a handful of times and even then, rarely got to do any proper sightseeing. Your parents believed that such activities were a waste of time, and only brought you to the city whenever you needed some new clothes or if you had an important appointment.

A leisure stroll at the beach is just what you need after a long day in the bustling city.

The deep timbre of Felix’s voice breaks you out of your reverie.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to talk about things for a while now.”

You glance to your side where the golden light hits his profile, highlighting the freckles across his pink-dusted cheeks.

“I’m glad you shared that with me this morning,” he says with a smile.

Your eyes drop to the shimmering sand. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not that good at communicating.”

“I know,” he says. “But is it okay if we keep talking like this?”

You nod, but not without the hesitation showing on your face.

“So what else has been on your mind?”

“Felix… I didn’t mean now.”

“Come on, healing time.” He skips in front of you, holding your sides. “Please? I don’t want you to keep these feelings to yourself. I can feel it stressing you out.”

You draw out a long sigh and meet his eyes, gentle but pleading. “Can we go sit in your car then?”

The walk back is a relatively long and quiet one, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you spill everything that has been weighing on you lately.

A heavy silence settles upon you as you sit side by side, watching the sun kiss the horizon. He doesn’t speak, and only reaches over the console, threading his fingers through yours.

“I guess– I thought all of my problems would be solved if I just got away from my parents, but somehow things are… worse. I just feel more lost than ever, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know who the hell I am.”

He nods profusely, thumb sliding over the back of your hand. “Yeah, I don’t think people get to know who they are ‘til they’re like in their 40’s, maybe even later. Maybe even never– I mean, that’s not to say you never will.” Felix offers a smile. “Do you think I know what I’m doing?”

To that, you only shrug.

“No one has their life figured out at this age– and even if you make plans, nothing is guaranteed... it’s better to just enjoy and cherish every moment while you still can. Life will work itself out.”

You both fall silent once again as you let his words sink in.

It feels as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, not all at once of course, but at the very least everything that needed to be said has been said.

You have been holding back due to fear—not of being judged by him, but burdening him with your worries. Although you’re beginning to realize that your relationship has taken a hit from your reticence, and you’re grateful for the gentle push Felix has given you to express your feelings.

His hand nudges against yours. “Did I make you feel better?”

Your face eases into a smile. “Yeah, those were some pretty wise words, Lix. I’m impressed.”

He then reaches over, a wide smile of relief on his face as both hands cup your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“For what,” you laugh at the unexpected proximity.

“For trusting me enough to tell me these things.”

You shake your head, lifting one hand to run your fingers through the strands of hair that stick to his temple.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you… I just don’t like dragging you down. I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“I don’t like seeing you sad either,” he says in between kisses to your wrist.

You lean over to bring your lips to his, a soft but urgent kiss. He envelops you in his arms and you melt further into him.

Felix pulls away for a brief moment. “Hey, don’t hide from me anymore, okay?” He murmurs, breath hot against your wet mouth. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” you assure him, gripping the back of his neck to connect your mouths again.

What started as an innocent kiss escalates into a whole ‘nother thing, quicker than any of you expected. Even with him pressed up against you like this, you somehow don’t feel close enough.

Much to your disappointment, he withdraws himself from you before things can advance any further.

You whine, burying your face in his neck. He laughs, breathing hard and stroking the back of your head.

“Let’s go home first.”

“No…” You protest. Your lips land on his skin, sucking lightly. “Need you now.”

There are no other cars around and his windows are tinted. No one would see you, unless they were intentionally peering inside.

He caves. You practically throw yourself into the back, Felix in tow.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

You move together in the cramped space, a feverish heat building between your bodies as you grope each other in the most unseemly places.

Your fingers trail up underneath his shirt, feeling the ridges of his stomach before pulling away to admire the exposed strip of skin.

A particular memory resurfaces at the sight.

The day your father had him baptized in a lake, both of you just shy of sixteen; the drenched white fabric of his shirt sticking to his body and revealing his shredded abs. That had been the time your infatuation for him began.

And now here it is in front of you again, in an entirely different context.

Felix emits a faint laugh at your gawking then quickly shoves his shirt over his head, cocking a brow at you as if to say better?

Smothering his chest with open-mouthed kisses, your hands slowly make their descent to the button of his pants.

More clothes come off, hands shaking and moving eagerly with excitement. You have already been intimate in more ways than one, yet this is the first time you are in front of each other baring it all—stark naked in the backseat of his car.

Still, you find him so beautiful, better than anything your mind could ever conjure up. With that dark look in his eyes as they roam desirously over your body, you know he feels the same way about you.

A chorus of moans rumble against your mouth as you deftly reach a hand between you to wrap your fingers around his leaking shaft.

He rests his head against the window, practically crumbling beneath your touch. You don’t take your eyes off each other this time when your mouth slides over his cock.

“Baby…” He gently pushes on your shoulders as your tongue drags along the underside. “Baby, please…” He speaks sluggishly, his tone hushed and raspy. “I’m not going to last.”

“Why,” you lift a brow, pulling your mouth away but not ceasing the movements of your hand. “Are you saving it?”

His eyes widen in fear that he had misread the situation. “I kind of assumed that we would– I mean, o- only if you want to,” he stammers.

“M’just teasing you.” You smile, wrapping your arms around him as you sit upright. “Of course I want to.” You pepper kisses along his jaw. “I’ve been wanting to do it for so long.”

To your surprise, he suddenly drops to the floor of his car, and with a light prod of his hand, you let your thighs fall open. He guides your legs over his shoulders, his mouth so close to where you want him.

Finally, his tongue laps over your clit—and you’re giggling without even realizing it, feeling giddy and almost drunk with delight.

“What?” He raises his head, smiling lightheartedly.

“Nothing, I just...” You caress his cheek, gazing upon him with affection. “Baby has always sounded so corny to me, but I like it when you call me that.”

“Mm,” he hums before lowering his mouth back onto your cunt. “Feel good, baby?” His dark eyes glitter with amusement as his face disappears between your thighs.

You can only moan in response, fingers flying to his blond locks, writhing desperately.

Eventually his fingers join his lips, slipping into you with ease. He goes down on you tenderly, the same way he would kiss you on the mouth. Less impatience than last time, and taking his sweet time working you up.

Soon enough, you unravel on his tongue, clutching a handful of his hair tightly in your fist. Felix groans low against your cunt, licking you up, rutting against the leather seat.

“Need you inside, please…”

A look of alarm flashes across his face as you drag him over you. You lay yourself down, adjusting as well as you can with the cup holder poking uncomfortably at your back.

“Shit, I just realized– I didn’t bring anything.”

“I’ll take a pill in the morning,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Felix…”

He can’t bring himself to refuse you now; your lashes wet with tears from your previous orgasm, lips pink and swollen from kissing as you wiggle beneath him, begging for him to take you.

A quiet growl rips from him as he ravishes your mouth with an impassioned kiss, his cock gliding across your slick cunt. You moan at the familiar sensation, brought back to the last time you were both tangled up like this—doing it in a place you weren’t supposed to, just like you are now.

Pain blooms when he finally enters you.

It’s a tight fit, you’re afraid he won’t be able to go much further.

“Mmph,” he groans into your mouth, arms shaking with effort. He separates from you momentarily, concern evident on his face. “Relax for me baby, can you do that?”

You nod, trying your hardest to loosen up for him. Anything he can do to alleviate the pain, he does. His hands don’t stop touching you, softly caressing every part of your body he can reach. His mouth is everywhere, scattering kisses along your face, your neck, your collarbones.

It takes a few moments, but with his gentle touch and words of praises, telling you how you’re doing so well for him, your pain ebbs away.

Felix’s movements are a little clunky at first, but he gradually finds his rhythm, responding to your cues, and going with whatever feels right.

You begin moving as one, your bodies molding to the shape of each other, driven to give and receive pleasure.

“You’re so warm…” He whispers in between a kiss to your forehead.

“Does it feel good?” You blink innocently up at him, a teasing lilt in your voice.

“You’re seriously asking me that?” He drops his head and laughs softly against your neck, bringing a sly smirk to your face.

It doesn’t take long for your orgasms to approach.

His body drapes over you, enveloping you with his affection and warmth. Hips rocking together, minds hazy from pleasure—until all you see, taste, and feel is each other.

Time seems to stand still in this moment, and god, you truly would love to be stuck here forever.

“I love you,” he sobs against your neck. “I love you so much.”

You repeat his words, and with your hands clasped next to your head, you finish together.

You have yet to figure out your place in this world; but right now, here with Felix, is where you have felt the most at home.

⭒

author's note: sorry it took me a while to get this out! i was struggling for a bit with writer’s block. thank u all so so so much for responding very kindly and interacting with my posts. it has been rly encouraging. idk if i’ll do another series in the near future but i definitely plan on writing more so if u want to be added to my permanent taglist just let me know!

| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 |

| taglist: @moasworld @acidgh0st @vixensss @yeetfellx @g00dtimenotlongtim3 @letrasalvientoblog @yourmercibeaucoupsblog @tfshouldidohere @sxurgrapes @babrieeee @fawnpeaks @skzswife |

#lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz felix #skz smut #stray kids #skz fanfic #lee felix fluff #skz fluff

245 notes · View notes

phillippadgettwrites · 3 months

Note

So. Any chance of a Dropped Call 3??

Dropped Call, Chapter 3

Rated X / 4743 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She thinks of it like a little toggle in her brain, like a switch. Or maybe more like a curtain that she can open and close at will. It’s something she developed as a teen, when her desire to remain pure of mind and body was in direct conflict with her desire to imagine what it might be like if Tommy Warner felt her up under her school uniform. Saturday night she’d stay up late discreetly discovering the hidden pleasure points between her legs, and then on Sunday morning she would simply flip the switch and go to Mass, her indiscretion so completely obscured behind her mental curtain that she felt no connection to Father Malone’s sermon on sins of the flesh.

Over the years, she’s found many uses for this mental trick. In school, in jobs, in relationships, she avoids being overwhelmed by her own emotions by simply setting them aside, behind the curtain, and pretending as though they don’t exist. It doesn’t always work, but she’s found that the more intense the emotion is or the higher the stakes are, the more effectively she can ignore it, at least until she’s alone. In a psychology course at UMD she learned that the term for this strategy is compartmentalization, and that when done to excess it can become maladaptive. Rather than examine whether her own compartmentalization was doing her more harm than good, she stuck that behind the curtain, too.

This whole bizarre situation with Mulder is taking up an increasingly large amount of space behind the curtain. So much space that she worries it could become uncontainable, that it could all burst through some Tuesday afternoon and ruin everything. She’s had to pull back on their friendship out of fear that the dam won’t hold, and the dichotomy of it all makes her feel like a stranger in her own life. She powers through each workday, counting down the hours until she can go home and stop using all her mental energy to hold the curtain closed. When she walks through her apartment door it hits her like a sneaker wave, and she spends the rest of the evening reading trashy romance novels, masturbating, or deep cleaning something just to keep herself distracted.

The worst part of it is that it’s just so stupid. She knows that they both want the same thing, knows it with absolute certainty, and yet she’s too cowardly to let it happen. She can cross all kinds of boundaries with a phone line between them, but the second his physical form is proximal to hers, the curtain swings shut and her walls go up, and she truly doesn’t know how to stop it from happening. As it turns out, defense mechanisms aren’t entirely voluntary.

It’s Friday, a week or so since their last sordid phone call, and Mulder is wearing his charcoal suit. He’s being excessively charming and she can’t stop smiling at him, despite her very best efforts not to. Not that she doesn’t want to smile and laugh with him, she very much does, but when he meets her eye and smiles at her like that, and she feels herself smiling back, the curtain strains against the weight of everything behind it and she begins to panic.

“What are you up to this weekend?” he asks when she starts to pack up her things a few minutes before five.

“Not much,” she says, not looking at him. “Grocery shopping. Maybe Mass with my mother.”

“Would it be okay if I gave you a call?”

She freezes. Mulder calls her all the time, near daily, and he’s never asked for permission to do so. The curtain bulges, threatening to split open, and she clears her throat.

“Sure, that’s fine,” she says, her eyes still downcast.

“Tonight?” His voice is so hopeful, and it makes her feel like shit.

“Okay.”

She puts on her coat and slings her bag over her shoulder. Before leaving, she forces herself to look at him.

“Have a good weekend,” she says with a polite little smile.

Mulder’s eyes narrow in that way that means he’s psychoanalyzing her, his head tilted increments to the side.

“Likewise,” he says, his tone unreadable.

She escapes into the hallway, holding the curtain closed with both hands.

Once inside her apartment, the weight of anticipation sits heavy in her pelvis and her ears tingle with the effort of listening for the phone. She changes into comfortable clothes and conveniently forgoes panties, barely registering the fact that she’s doing so to give herself easy access.

He could call at any time. It could be in five minutes, or five hours. When 8:00 pm comes and goes she entertains the idea of just calling him instead, but she doesn’t have any room for that behind the curtain so she decides to wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

He finally calls at 8:57.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he says brightly. “Long time no talk.”

Is he being facetious since they just saw each other a few hours ago, or is he referring to the last time she played the role of Electra?

“It’s good to hear your voice,” she says, then makes a face at herself. Electra is supposed to be sexy, not sweet.

“Ditto. What are you up to?”

She’s standing in the middle of her living room, piqued and nervous, but that’s probably not what he’s hoping to hear.

“I’m…talking to you,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” he says with a sigh, “I have a bit of a conundrum.”

“Oh?” Scully paces slowly around her couch and coffee table. Where is he going to take this?

“I was hoping you could help me out,” he says.

“Okay. What’s the conundrum?”

“Well, it’s about my partner,” he says.

Scully sinks slowly down onto the couch.

“Okay.”

She hears Mulder swallow thickly.

“So I think,” he begins, “that she might be interested. That she might…share my feelings.”

Scully’s heart leaps and begins to pound against her ears.

“That’s…that’s good news, right?” she says, reminding herself that she is Electra right now.

“It is, absolutely. Phenomenal news,” he says emphatically.

“So what’s the conundrum?”

“I think she’s too afraid to take the next step. I know she is, actually,” he says. She can hear the way the sunflower seeds in his mouth change the shape of his words, and she imagines him spending the hours leading up to this phone call munching on them and thinking about how to have this conversation. “And I think maybe she needs me to be the one to do that. But if I’m wrong, I run the risk of fucking things up between us.”

“That sounds difficult,” she says, her head spinning.

“So what should I do?” he asks.

Electra wants to answer the question, but Scully is frantically shoving things back behind the curtain, tugging at the edges in an attempt to keep it all hidden.

“I think you’re right,” she blurts out, closing her eyes. “I think she does need you to be the one.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“But should I wait?” he asks. “Maybe she’s not ready.”

“I imagine she’s as ready now as she’ll ever be,” she says, eyes still closed. The curtain is tearing right down the middle, the contents spilling out, and her stomach lurches.

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Scully sits up, opening her eyes. Was that it?

“No problem.”

“Hey, can I call you right back?” Mulder says, his tone much lighter.

“Sure, okay.”

Her heart pounds painfully hard in the roughly thirty seconds that she waits for him to call back. Maybe he’s going to call Scully this time. Maybe he’s going to put it all out in the open and force her hand. Even though it’s what she just told him he should do, she’s so terrified that she considers not answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey, me again, sorry about that,” he says.

So…she’s still Electra?

“It’s fine,” she says, then waits for him to speak.

“I was hoping we could try something different,” he says. “Bit of a role reversal.”

“Um, okay,” she says, curious but worried. “What did you have in mind?

“I’ve told you about my fantasies.” A pause. “I’d like to hear about yours.” Her entire nervous system short circuits, and she briefly loses touch with reality. “Electra?”

“Yeah,” she sputters, shifting around on the couch uncomfortably. “I’m here. Is that…allowed?”

Mulder laughs nervously.

“The arrangement is that I pay you to talk to me. There aren’t really rules beyond that.”

“Oh.” Her mind is going a million miles an hour trying to figure out how to sidestep this. “That’s, um…that’s quite private, though.”

“True. But I’d argue that you’ve been given unfettered access to my private thoughts, so it’s an equal exchange,” he reasons.

She can tell that he won’t push much further. He knows her too well to do that. But he does have a point, and she still harbors some guilt for not stopping him when he shared his fantasy with her in that first phone call.

“Yeah, that’s true,” she says. “What do you want to know?”

She senses his excitement, and she’s so conflicted between feeling excited herself and feeling terrified. There will be no coming back from this. The curtain is practically in tatters.

“I would be ecstatic to hear literally anything you’re willing to share,” he says carefully, tempering his eagerness.

Scully leafs through her mental file of fantasies, the ones she’s prone to revisit. Her cheeks get hot as she considers the idea of sharing any of them with Mulder, in no small part because he stars in every single one of them. But right now he’s talking to Electra, and Electra would be fantasizing about someone else. She finds an intact corner of the curtain and draws it up, separating herself from the situation.

“We’re in my kitchen,” she says, jumping right into it. “We’ve just had dinner or something and we’re cleaning up. He’s helping me with the dishes.”

“Who is he?” Mulder interrupts.

“He’s…a friend.”

“A close friend?”

“Yes. A best friend.” She can’t leave him to wonder if she’s talking about him. That feels too cruel. “A coworker,” she adds.

“What does he look like?”

Scully lays back on the couch, propping her head on the armrest. She pictures Mulder earlier that day at work in his charcoal suit, smiling at her over his desk.

“Tall. Dark features. Handsome.”

“You think so?”

She smiles and allows this brief break in their role play.

“I do. Very much.”

“So you’re in the kitchen,” he prompts her.

“We’re in the kitchen and we’re kind of joking around, laughing. He’s teasing me, but not in an unkind way. And there’s a moment where he’s looking at me and smiling, and something passes between us. Moments like that happen all the time, but I always look away.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” she admits.

“Of what?”

She takes a moment to consider the question. As conflicted as she is when it comes to her relationship with Mulder, she’s never allowed herself to think too deeply about what exactly she’s conflicted about.

“Of being hurt, I guess. Of being vulnerable.”

“You think he’d hurt you?” he asks, maybe a bit wounded.

“Not intentionally,” she says. “But I think it could easily happen.”

She senses that he’d like to explore this line of thought, but that would completely derail the fantasy. She hears a beeping sound and then a soft thud. Maybe the microwave. Leave it to Mulder to get hungry at a time like this.

“I’m sure he’d do everything possible to avoid that,” he says somberly. “So do you look away?”

“No,” she says, jumping back to the kitchen in her mind. “I don’t look away this time, and it becomes…intense. He steps closer and I realize he’s going to kiss me.”

“And you want him to?”

“Yes, very much. He kisses me and it’s sweet at first, but quickly becomes more…intense. Sorry, I can’t think of a different word to use.”

“Intense is a good word,” he says, encouraging her.

His connection is a bit muffled, like the phone isn’t quite lined up correctly to his mouth. She wonders if he’s in bed, and what he’s doing.

“He picks me up and puts me on the counter, which makes things much easier because he’s quite a bit taller than me. And we just kiss for a while. I guess…I guess more accurately it would be making out.”

“Do you think he’s a good kisser?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately.

“You’ve given this thought?”

“Yes,” she says again.

“And then what?”

Scully swallows. This is where things go from PG-13 to explicit.

“And then he pulls me down off the counter so I’m standing on the floor, and he turns me around.” Mulder is silent on the other end of the line. All she hears is a mechanical hum. “And he, um, he pulls my pants and underwear down. And then he sort of pushes me forward so I’m leaning over the counter.”

Her heart simply cannot take this. It’s been in overdrive so long she’s starting to sweat, and she’s lying completely still on the couch.

“What does he do?” Mulder finally asks.

“I think he’s going to…to take me from behind, but he doesn’t,” she says, her voice shaking. “He kneels on the floor behind me.”

“Tell me.” His voice is commanding, not pleading, and it’s effective.

“He, um, he eats me out from behind. He makes me orgasm that way,” she says.

She hears the rush of Mulder’s sharp inhale through the phone.

“Is that where it ends?” he asks.

She barely registers another set of beeps and another soft thud.

“No,” she continues. “After that he does take me from behind.”

“He fucks you?”

The sharpness of the word, from Mulder’s mouth, in reference to herself, makes her clit jump. Scully slides her free hand under the waist of her pants and swirls her middle finger around it languidly.

“Yes,” she breathes. “He fucks me.”

“Do you come again?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“He comes inside me.”

“You want him to?”

“I do.”

“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, his voice a near whisper.

“Yes,” she whispers back.

“Open the door,” he says.

“What?”

“Open the door.”

Her confusion gives way to horror as she recognizes the soft murmur of his voice in the hallway. She’s frozen in place, her hand down her pants and her widened eyes on her front door.

“Mulder, what are you doing?” she hisses, pulling her hand out of her pants as she slips down to the floor and attempts to hide behind the couch.

“Please let me in,” he implores, and she hears his voice in stereo.

“I can’t,” she whimpers.

It feels true. She feels physically incapable of walking to the door and allowing him to look at her after what she just told him.

“Then I’m going to let myself in,” he says.

He waits a beat to see if she’ll object, but she says nothing. She hears the scrape of his key in the lock and then the pop of the deadbolt. The door opens and she slowly stands up from behind the couch, the phone still pressed to her ear.

He’s standing in her entryway, his cell phone in one hand and his keys in the other, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He catches her eye and holds it for a beat, and she pulls the phone away from her ear, breaking eye contact to end the call. And then she just stands there, shell-shocked, staring at the phone in her hands.

She hears him slip off his shoes and pad across the room towards her. There’s nowhere for her to hide, physically or emotionally. The curtain is toast, and her fingers are coated in her own arousal, and Mulder is in her living room with full knowledge of what she wishes he would do to her. This is either the best or the worst moment of her adult life. She’s afraid to find out which.

He takes the phone from her and sets it on the coffee table. Next she feels his hands on her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. She complies reluctantly, and a few seconds tick by as the familiar intensity builds. She sees in his face how much he wants this, wants her, and it reaches that point she can’t bear where she always looks away. Just when she can’t take it any longer, when she’s about to avert her eyes to the fireplace, he kisses her.

At first it’s sweet. He presses his soft lips against hers again and again, a series of firm but chaste kisses that begin to devolve when she opens her mouth and he runs his tongue across the inside of her upper lip. He’s bent down and she’s on the tips of her toes, and it feels like she just can’t get close enough.

She squeals with surprise when her feet fly out from beneath her and Mulder tosses her down on the couch, quickly covering her body with his own. Their height difference compensated for, he kisses her deeply and intensely, and he is every bit as skilled at kissing as she imagined him to be. His hips are tucked between her open legs, and the more they kiss the smaller the gap between their bodies grows until she feels the hard ridge of his erection press against her clit. She whimpers into his open mouth, and he pulls back a little to look at her.

“Do you want this?” he asks breathlessly, and she nods. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” She nods again.

He shifts his body to the side to free up one of his hands, then resumes kissing her. His hand drifts up under her shirt, and she feels like she could come just from the knowledge that he’s going to touch her, that this is happening. He kneads her breast, gently pinches her nipple, all the while grinding against her hip. It feels so deliciously forbidden, like they’re two teenagers necking in a basement, until his hand slides down her belly and under the waist of her pants.

He pauses, giving her time to adjust or object. She just keeps kissing him as his fingers comb through her pubic hair and then trace the seam of one leg, and then the other. She remembers his fantasy, and she shifts one of her legs to the side to let him know she’s ready. That she wants it.

“Jesus christ,” he mumbles against her mouth when his fingers slide down her slick lips.

His touch, his words, his presence, have her on the edge already.

“Mulder,” she breathes out. “I—”

He pushes a finger inside her and she gasps as her cunt squeezes it tightly.

“Oh, Scully,” he says, grinding against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. “You need this.”

She can’t stop it. She’s coming with hardly any warning, with hardly any effort on his part, and with such intensity that she stops breathing. Mulder whispers things to her that she will recall later and blush, gently fucking her with his fingers all the while. It is absolute euphoria, and she’s so high on dopamine that she can’t bother feeling embarrassed for being so easy.

Mulder slips his hand out of her pants and she turns her body so that they are face to face, somehow both wedged onto her tiny couch. She runs her fingers through his hair and then cradles his jaw, and he watches her face with awe.

“That was unexpected,” she says quietly, and a grin breaks out over his face. “Thanks for coming over,” she adds, averting her eyes to his mouth.

His smile suddenly falls. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and she lifts her eyes back to his.

“I know,” she says, and then she kisses him.

The kissing goes on for a delightfully long while, and she finds that she very much enjoys the way that Mulder kisses. At the realization that she has the long awaited opportunity to get her hands on the everpresent bulge in his pants, she runs her palm firmly over the front of his jeans, and he groans.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, extremely unconvincingly.

“What if I want to?” she asks.

She feels him lurch under her palm.

“Then I’d say we probably need to take this party to the bedroom,” he says tightly.

They scramble off the couch, and he walks her backwards into her bedroom as he works her shirt off over her head. He removes his shirt as well, and they stand at the foot of her bed, his fingers tucked under the waist of her pants. A lamp in the living room is still on, but the bedroom is dark, giving them enough light to see without feeling exposed.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing panties,” he says, and she feels herself blushing.

“They just get in the way,” she admits shyly, and he makes a little sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a moan.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, and she nods.

She feels his eyes on her, but he’s very respectful. He doesn’t stand back to gawk at her or say anything lewd, he just kisses her face, the tops of her shoulders, anything he can reach without sitting down. Before he does so for the sake of getting his mouth on her breasts, she pops the button on his fly and he sucks in a breath.

“Easy, loaded weapon,” he quips.

“I’d be a hypocrite to judge you,” she points out.

“That’s, uh, not quite the same,” he says as she lowers his fly and slips her fingers under his boxers at his hips. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

She pushes his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs and then wraps her hand around his cock. Her eyebrows shoot up, and that’s before she runs her palm over the length of him.

“You know that I hate to inflate your ego,” she says, sliding her hand down to cup his balls, “but color me impressed.”

He chuckles and it dissolves into a groan. He sits heavily on the end of the bed, tugging her down with him, and she climbs into his lap. His cock brushes against her clit and she sucks in a shuddering breath.

“What do you want?” he asks, steadying her with his hands on her naked hips while he works his feet the rest of the way out of his jeans.

“...I don’t know,” she says, which is a lie.

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?” he asks, reading her mind as always.

She reaches between them and takes hold of his cock.

“I want this,” she whispers, feeling like she might burst into flames.

They start kissing again and she’s still stroking him, brushing him over her clit. She pushes up onto her knees a little and drags the head down over her lips and across her opening. She’s obscenely wet and Mulder is making all kinds of greedy, hungry noises: groaning and humming, grabbing at her ass and sucking on her breasts. He’s right there, and they both want this, and when she presses the head of him against her cunt and he starts to sink in, the energy in the room shifts.

“Oh, shhhhhhhhhhit,” he groans, his breathing suddenly ragged.

She feels proud, and sexy, and powerful as he stretches her open inch by inch. It hurts a little, but not near enough for her to even consider stopping. They’re both panting like they’ve exerted themselves and they’re only just getting started.

She lifts her hips again and sinks back down before she’s even managed to take him in all the way; she just can’t wait any longer. He has one hand on her hip, the other braced against the mattress behind him to keep them from toppling over, and his hips are eagerly flexing up to meet her. Each time she lowers herself back down she takes in a bit more of his length, until they are pressed tightly together and she feels the poke of his pubic hair against her swollen lips.

She stills and immediately he’s kissing her, sucking at her lips and humming noisily. She loves the sounds he’s making and how eager he is, how openly enthusiastic. God, she wants to make him come. Wants to feel him throbbing inside her, running out of her.

She starts to shift her hips forward and back, slipping him tightly in and out and running his shaft across her clit on each downstroke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “You feel…incredible.”

His compliment goes straight to her cunt and she flutters around him, making him moan.

“I’m gonna come,” she whispers shyly against his mouth.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me come,” he says harshly, like this is bad news.

But the idea of him coming inside her is enough to send her over the edge. She digs her fingernails into the back of his neck and presses her forehead against his as she clamps down on him, her mouth open and her eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my god,” she wails as a tsunami of pleasure crashes over her, sweeping her out to sea.

Mulder lets loose a stream of obscenities and she feels a hot rush deep in her belly. She rides him roughly as it just keeps coming and coming, and he falls backwards onto the bed, taking her down with him. He keeps thrusting up into her from below, and the wet slosh of both of them is almost embarrassing, had she the faculties for embarrassment. He finally becomes too soft to continue thrusting and there is a second hot rush when he slips out of her.

She collapses against him, her cheek pressed to his sweat-damp chest, and waits for the inevitable surge of shame and regret, even though she knows it’s not shameful and she certainly doesn’t regret it. Without warning, Mulder wraps his arms around her and rolls her to the side, which does nothing to contain the mess between her legs. He hovers over her, searching her face, knowing her well enough to predict that she’ll struggle in the immediate aftermath.

“You okay?” he asks, trailing the back of his knuckle across her cheek.

She gives him a weak smile and nods, though tears are pooling in her eyes. She’s not even sure why.

“Please don’t take my demeanor as an indication of anything,” she says, touching his waist. “It’s not about you, I just…this is difficult for me.”

“I know,” he says. “Take as much time as you need.”

She nods, waiting for the tightness in her throat to subside before she tries to speak again.

“I’m sure Electa doesn’t require this much emotional maintenance,” she jokes, swiping a finger under her eye to clear a way a tear before it has a chance to fall.

Mulder smiles at her and sighs.

“I haven’t called her in weeks, just so you know,” he says. “And I don’t plan to.”

“You can call whoever you want, Mulder, I have no right to an opinion on it,” she says quickly, panicking at the idea that he feels beholden to her.

He rests his head on her chest just above her breast and curls up around her, which feels a bit backwards but also feels very nice. She strokes his hair and he splays his hand out over the scar on her belly, and they are quiet for a beat.

“I’d like you to have a right to an opinion on it,” he says suddenly, quietly, and it takes her a moment to follow.

“...You would?”

“Doesn’t have to be right away, but yes.”

“Okay,” she says.

He doesn’t ask what that okay means, which she’s grateful for because she doesn’t really know. And even though she’s not brave enough to ask him to stay over, he seems to know that she wants him to, and he stays. She has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, but she trusts that they’ll figure it out together, like they always do.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic

73 notes · View notes

abcdefghijklmnopqrsblog · 21 days

Text

Okay so my scenario for if buddie is gonna be canon at the end of this season:

It's Maddie and Chimneys wedding. Everyone is celebrating outside, Buck and Eddie are standing beside each other with drinks in their hands. There's a silence between them which is not very pleasant and suddenly, both of them are like:"Can we talk?"

They look at each other kinda smile and buck or Eddie, doesn't really matter goes:"Yeah, let's just go in there."

So they go into some kind of tent. Eddie just starts talking something like this: "So, first of all I'm so proud of you and happy for you that you've discovered who you are and that things are going so well with Tommy." Then he gets all emotional: "And I really want that for you, to be happy and be yourself and live life the way you want. But for some reason I feel this -I don't know- kind of sadness or anger o-or maybe even jealousy. And it's kinda toward Tommy and maybe partly even towards you but mostly I think I'm just angry at myself. Because I like you buck, probably more than I should and I'm so stupid that I never said anything because now you're so happy and you're with Tommy, and you should be, but I'm just so jealous."

There's a silence and Buck is kinda smiling and blushing a bit but Eddie doesn't see that because he's so upset and he interprets the silence falsely and thinks that he did something wrong so:

"Oh my god, I shouldn't have said anything. That was wrong I'm sorry please forget I ever said any-"

And surprise surprise

Buck kisses Eddie to shut him up, similar to how Tommy did it to Buck.

They break the kiss and Eddies brain has just completely stopped working, (similar to Buck after the kiss with Tommy) and Buck goes:"I ended things with Tommy last week. I think I was so overwhelmed and confused with all my feelings and emotions that I didn't understand who I actually wanted."

They stand there, looking and smiling at each other.

Then obviously something has to happen to explain why their suits were so dirty:

Suddenly, Eddie grabs Buck by the neck and starts kissing him, the kiss gets heated and stuff. There's a glass of wine standing on a table, and when Eddie pushes Buck against said table, the glass falls on Bucks pants, so that's where the stain came from. Buck takes off Eddies jacket and unbuttons his shirt when ALL OF A SUDDEN, there's some kind of gas heating and some tablecloth catches fire. They don't really notice at first but then they do and because Eddies jacket is already thrown away, he only has his shirt to try to put the fire out.

When the fire is out they look at each other and just start laughing. Like literally holding there stomachs and having tears in their eyes. When they have calmed down a bit they start facing each other and Buck goes: " What took us so long?" And Eddie answers: "I have no idea."

They smile and Buck goes in for a hug. Eddie accepts and they are just standing there hugging and being happy. "So what are we now?", Buck asks "Well, I can think of something.", Eddie answers and slowly let's go of Buck. "Evan Buckley, will you be my boyfriend?", he says. Buck gives him a kiss and says: "Yes of course I'll be your boyfriend." They go in for a quick hug and then decide to go back outside. Obviously everyone is looking at them and seeing the state they are in, someone (Maddie or Bobby or Chminey or Hen) is like: "Fucking finally."

Okay so this actually turned out to be more of a one shot fanfiction but this is what I think could happen.

#buddie #911 abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckey x eddie diaz #maddie buckley #chimney han #bi buck #henrietta wilson #bobby nash

39 notes · View notes

radios-universe · 9 days

Note

how come you like heartstopper and not romance? is it that you like the idea of romance but not the real thing? did you say romance as in you just don't like being involved in it yourself?

i have no idea what post this might be referring to or maybe just in general but i probably have talked about this so here we go!

fun ask to get tbh i Do talk about this a lot

short answer: you’re right, i enjoy consuming romance media (especially queer media) because i love the idea of romance…. however, when i personally have gotten too close to it in the past, i just freak out.

no matter how much i think i want it, my brain and my body just shut down when i get too close… and then the aftermath of that can feel pretty shit! bc usually i’m just annoyed at myself in some weird way, as if i didn’t just experience the same thing as i did last time, and the time before….

LONGER answer:

in terms of heartstopper, of course there are aro/ace characters represented (i mean, come on, duh, even alice themself) but we all know it’s a very romance centric show/comic

i’ve never been able to define if it’s just… a sense of identity within the characters or just generally being happy for them or…. a whole mix of emotions but!

seeing characters im emotionally attached and invested in get together and be happy is like!!!! drugs!!! idk!!!! and probably the closest thing i’ll get to experiencing that with… another person which seems like a very odd thing to say!!!

but that kind of excitement is something i guess i could never feel with a relationship of my own so… living vicariously through characters like the ones in heartstopper actually really helps me with aromanticism? it’s odd! and that def doesn’t go for everyone but it’s at least what happens for me

to expand on the queer media comment too, i’ll consume queer media that even might not represent aro/ace people at all! and still feel that same fulfilment!

if you take a story about a character realising they’re gay, people will focus on them realising they feel attraction for the same sex. i mean, that’s what it is at face value.

but an equally important part of the representation for gay characters is the realisation that they are not attracted to the opposite sex. and THAT i can relate to.

when representation for aro/ace people is this sparse, you get pretty used to finding representation in people you don’t really expect to. and that’s also what heartstopper does for me, while it fulfils my desire for romance through me living vicariously, it also represents me, not just in its aro/ace characters, but in every queer journey! because there’s always a sneaky hint of aro/ace representation anywhere as long as we can do something about it! hah

#osemanverse #alice oseman #heartstopper #heartstopper comic #hstv #send asks #asks open #asexual #aromantic #aroace #asexuality #aro #ace #aromanticism #asks #anon asks

20 notes · View notes

likeadevils · 3 months

Note

I trust your opinion. If you were making bets about what TS11's themes, concepts and sound would be like.. What would you like& prefer? and what would you think Taylor would do?

thank you for trusting my opinion but i am god awful at predicting what taylor is going to do next. that being said:

i think something taylor learned with all too well, anti-hero, and cruel summer is to… trust her instincts, i guess? not that she hasn’t in the past, but she’s mentioned that those songs were her favorites of their respective albums, and she didn’t expect that the general public would enjoy them as much— at least, not to the degree that they have been. but they’ve all been #1s, and more impressively to me, they’ve all broken through into wider pop culture in a way that’s super hard to do nowadays. like can you tell me what’s #1 right now because i can’t. but anyways i think she’ll be following what she wants to hear a little bit more, and trusting that her and the general public’s taste is pretty aligned at the moment. so like, to boil it down into a bingo card prediction, the lead single is going to be taylor’s favorite song on the album

also, bingo square, the color will be white. no evidence just vibes

i think another thing taylor recently learned is trusting that not only her fanbase, but the wider pop landscape would accept complex ideas delivered with a complex vocabulary. in some ways i think she was really burned by me!— she had been taught that it’s the we are never ever getting back together and shake it offs that you send to pop radio, not the all too wells. and then me! got torn apart (deservedly or not), and then the world shut down and it’s not like she needs to find a tour off her next album so what the hell, let’s take out the immediate hooks and replace it with flowery language. and it was a massive hit! twice! but it’s not the kind of music she wants to make forever. so midnights was an added gamble— can you marry the hooks with the collegiate vocabulary? and you can! anti-hero was her biggest chart success ever! so i expect more dictionary/thesaurus starter pack memes in our future, no matter what genre it’ll end up in

that being said, i think she’ll be staying in pop. i maaaaybe could see a kind of pop rock thing happening— think like, the electric guitar she adds to don’t blame me when it’s preformed live.

regardless i do think she’ll be pulling in more rep influences— i’m not super in the buisness of trying to track down when exactly she’s been re-recording, so this is coming from swiftie brain rot not timeline brain rot, but if i had to guess i would say she was mostly recording rep over the summer and with the occasional ts11 track thrown in as well. but i could be wrong maybe she has three albums recorded. idk. i am very interested in what the rep sounds like though, i think that’ll be the biggest clue to what ts11 will sound like

i’m curious how auto-biographical it’ll be. honestly, i could see taylor creating a single character to inhabit and tracking their story throughout an album, which would parallel the emotions she’s going through, but not the exact situations. but that’s me projecting what i would need to do to process the fucking year she’s been through, and taylor has consistently been saying how much she gets from having people sing back the words thought she must be alone in thinking, so like maybe it’ll be intensely About Her, who knows

as for release, i’m a big post eras tour believer. like i know it’s been said a million times but god how impossible would it be to add another set to that thing. like we might get the announcement and lead single while still on tour, but not a full album

i’m also expecting a more talk-y rollout. i would bet we’re getting a couple of print interviews— not anywhere near 1989 or lover levels, but like, you know. rolling stone, vogue, maybe another time, that kind of thing. and in front of camera stuff too— zane lowe, a bbc live longe, some late night appearances, maybe going on kelly clarkson’s show. and maaaaybe a hot wings episode. maybe. i think taylor got a bit burned by the long roll out for lover, and regardless she had other priorities when it came to the midnights release, but it’s been a while and she does like to surprise people by doing something completely predictable. but also this is totally me being like pleaseeeee give interviews they help me with timeline research so much

i predict this every time but visual album!!! if i keep saying it one day it’ll be true!!! it just makes sense she’s been getting so into directing!!!

while we’re in the realm of things that would make me specifically go insane i just think it would be funny if she got paul mccartney to feature on a song. just to be petty. imagine your ex is releasing an album and she gets one of your favorite musicians to play on it. and after the sweet nothing debacle too. oh. so ouchie. also she would have paul fucking mccartney on an album that’s insane in its own right

while we’re throwing spaghetti at the wall. two word title. let’s get crazy maybe 3+ words why not (this is by far the least serious prediction if the title is more than one word i’ll lose my mind)

maybe some religious imagery for the visuals? i’m trying to think of aesthetics taylor hasn’t thoroughly explored. what’s coming to mind is stained glass windows and like, the wild west. this is not at all influenced by me being raised catholic in the american southwest what are you talking about

so to sum up i think i want a pop rock opera with a title along the lines of “the blank of firstname lastname” about a woman in the wild west that has climatic scenes in a cathedral?? i guess that’s the shape i want?? i was not aware that’s what i wanted when i started writing this post okay

#asks*#i’ve thought about this for like hours sorry to keep you so long

32 notes · View notes

idcbabyialreadylostmymind · 1 year

Text

Drunken Confessions

Pairing- Tarsem x reader

Summary- You didn't your self pity away and the new Olo'eyktan who may or may not have been ine if the reasons you drank finds you in your drunken state.

A/N- i found another one I'm in the bunt down for Tarsem gifs/photos 😫

You run over what happened today over and over again replaying every horrible part twice and then back again for good measure.

First a healer in training poured boiling water in the bowl you hand was in and not the one with the rocks for a hot rock foot treatment. So now you had a really ugly bandage on it, not to mention the pain.

And you stubbed your toes so many times you lost count, because of the coming flu that just had to show up in the most busiest time of the year, so you gad to be a cook, a healer, and a hunter.

Your body hurt just as much as your mind.

Tarsem, thats who hurt your mind. He took over the Olo'eyktan from JakeSully. He mesmerized you as if he was some kind of angel sent from Eywa just for you to look at. Now the insecurities of him shutting you out forever for the need to find a Tsahik and not needing, what you thought of yourself as a burden.

So you did what the best solutions to ignoring your emotions, you drank.

After cleaning the communal hall you grabbed six cups that were untouched. The cups held against your chest because they were so many, maybe it was to much but you needed it.

Going into the woods, you sat in front of the flowing water and started to drown in your own pity and alcohol.

You begun to pour the nectar from cup five to the empty cup four that was in your hand. "Just to top her off." You whisper to yourself before gulping down the drink. Three other emptied cups lay discarded on the ground next to you seeing as you just drank. Throwing the empty cups that were in your hand to the side, now holding the sixth one before the sound of the ground crunching got you on alert.

Your ear perk, usually you would get your dagger and in attack mide, but the drinks took effect you could care less. The stepping got close as you took another drink. You finally recognize the person when he sits next to you space made by the empty cup, it was Tarsem.

You laugh covering you mouth, the love of you life who doesn't know he is the love of you life sat in front of you as you drank it was like so cruel joke.

He took his garb that rested on his shoulders who showing his bare chest which you shamelessly goggled at until you took another sip of your drink, you were way iver you limit as you finished to sixth cup of the fermented nectar. Putting it with the others you look at Tarsem glazed eyes going over everyone of his features twice. "Did you drink all of these?" He asked and you had a lazy smiled and that answered his question.

You feel the effects of the drinks in your feet as you lie on the grass. "Are you okay?" He asked and you looked around at the plants in awe. "Ecstatic." You say wiggling your toes, you blink slowly as he chuckles. "I have been watching you-

"watching me." You repeat before giggling.

"Yes, watching you, and I see the stress you've been under. So I'm asking if my dear friend is okay." He said and that word, friend clawed at your brain. "I am fine, perfext even I want to go home, bed." You say as you struggle getting up he laughs gently before getting up and helping you up. You hands rested on his chest, his features in the nighttime of Pandora where shown more with the light bioluminescent freckles that were scattered across his face.

"Y'know wha- Tarsem," you say smiling hugely and her listened in closely as you spoke small. "I alway thought you are th' prettiest person around." Your slurred confession quickly made its way to his ears and you giggled at his reaction, as his ears perked, eyes widened, and cheeks deepened to a shade of indigo. "Y-you think I'm pretty?" He asked smiling back at you as he helps you walk. "The prettiest." You repeat looking around eyes slit ready for bed. He helps you up to your kelku.

He waits a minute till you turn around flashing him one more drunken smile before flopping down onto your cot curling your tail around yourself.

The next morning you awoke, your head was pounding, and your body begged for rest. But forcing yourself out of bed trying to remeber what happened last night and then it all flooded back. The six cups, the barely being able to walk back, Tarsem.

Your eyes widen Tarsem. And then you groaned as you remember your drunken Confession you made about him being pretty.

You sat in the woods, it was clear opening, safe not many people knew about it just you and Tarsem.

Speaking of him he stepped into veia making your face burn bright looking away playing with some leaf yiu found on the ground. He sat next to you and it was silent for a while before he spoke.

"So you think I'm pretty?" He asked an you look at the ground eyes clenched as you internally cringe.

"I think your pretty too." He says and you look at him shocked as he took your chin between his finger and place a kiss on your lips and you melt into.

Tags- @avatarbyamara

#avatar 2 #avatar 2022 #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar x y/n #avatar x reader fluff #tarsem x you #tarsem x y/n #tarsem x reader #tarsem avatar #avatar james cameron #avatar x you

300 notes · View notes

i-think-i-did-it-again · 8 months

Text

The Tour IX

Warning: swearing, make out, drinking, angst

Why the fuck did I do that? If all she wants to do is fuck my brains out a couple of times a day, I should let her and say thank you for it.

Colson paces around his hotel room, pissed at his stupid ego. He only shut you down because he was hoping you’d see him as more than just a fuck buddy. It felt dirty when you’d said it to him that it physically made his skin crawl. You deserved so much more than just a casual fling and he couldn’t believe you didn’t see that.

He was not in the mindset to put on a concert but he had to pull himself together. He had a quick shower, trying his best not to think about you as he cleaned his naked body. Every time he thought of you, he thought of your lips, your moans, your tight, wet pussy wrapped around his-

Stop fucking thinking about her!

Colson had to completely shut his brain off if he was going to get anything done. He shaved and jumped out of the shower, drying off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He picked out an outfit to wear to the venue, his concert outfit already in the green room of the venue.

He’d thought it was ridiculous when Ashleigh had suggested letting a stylist pick out his concert outfits but now he didn’t mind so much. She had good taste and the clothes were usually pretty comfortable on stage. Besides, he already used her to design and choose his outfits for events so it wasn’t like he didn’t trust her to a certain point.

A knock at the door interrupts just as he’s about to pull his t-shirt on and he growls quietly to himself, feeling particularly irritable after his conversation with you. He throws the t-shirt on and stomps over to the door. He’s surprised to find a very concerned Rook and Ashleigh standing there, staring at him, burning fire and brimstone into his soul.

“What do you two want?” he asks with a gruff tone, turning and walking away without hearing their answer.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Ashleigh asks in a panic. That makes him sit up and pay attention. Ash never panics.

“No, why?” he looks between the two of them when no one makes any attempt to answer. “Would someone please fucking answer, you’re freaking me out.”

“No one has seen her since we left the venue. I thought she’d gone to her room to take a nap but I’ve been banging on her door for half an hour with no answer,” Rook explains before pulling his phone out and dialling a number. “No, she’s not in here.” he tells whoever is on the other end of the line and hangs up.

It doesn’t make any sense to Colson. Why wouldn’t you have come back from the venue when everybody else did?

Hello, earth to dumbass! Maybe because you were a dick to her and she didn’t want to be around you!

Colson swallows the bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of you alone, upset and wandering a city you don’t know. He pulls his phone out and tried calling you but it goes straight to voicemail. It’s not like you to just disappear. What if someone saw you and grabbed you while everyone was off in their own selfish fucking worlds.

“Didn’t she leave the venue with you?” Ash asks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Colson immediately feels guilty.

“Um…no, we had a-a discussion and then I left to…to get something to eat and nap,” he quickly explains and they both eye him suspiciously.

“What kind of discussion?” Rook narrows his eyes at Colson and he’s never felt it before but suddenly he’s afraid of his best friend.

The sound of your voice echoing through the hallway sets everyone at ease. Colson, Ashleigh and Rook all stick their heads out to see you walking down the hallway, absentmindedly talking on the phone. When you look up to see three sets of eyes staring, you stop dead in your tracks.

“I’ll call you back,” you mumble into the phone to your friend. “Why are you all staring at me?”

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been calling you for hours!” Ashleigh is visibly frustrated and you’re not used to that emotion.

“Sorry, there was some drama at my old job and one of my friends called to vent.”

They didn’t need to know that you actually called her to sob about what Colson had said to you and that she was yelling at you to grow a pair, make the asshole sit up and pay attention. You consciously avoid his eyes, focusing only on Rook and Ashleigh’s gazes.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise how long I was gone for. I’m going to call her back and get ready.”

You push past everyone and head to your room, ignoring their stares that follow you down the hallway, and close your door securely behind you.

“What the fuck did you do?” Rook turns back to Colson, a dark look taking over his usually soft features.

“What are you talking about?” Colson deflects nonchalantly.

“She couldn’t even look at you. What the fuck was this so called ‘discussion’ the two of you had? Did it have anything to do with you swiping her room key from Ashleigh that first night?”

That night seemed so long ago now that Colson had all but blocked it from his mind. He wanted nothing more than to allow the memory to come flashing back to his mind but he pushed it away as quickly as it popped up. He knew Rook was just being protective of his friend and he couldn’t fault him for that but what happened between you and him was your own damn business.

“No, now leave it the fuck alone,” Colson gritted through his teeth before slamming his door shut effectively ending the conversation, for now.

The after party that Baze was throwing in his hotel room was so wild, you didn’t know where to look. In one corner there was Rook and Baze doing shots off half naked women, in another corner there was guys playing flaming beer pong which seemed like the dumbest idea ever, in another part of the room there was couples playing swap the girlfriend and then there was a bunch of people in the bathroom playing bathtub karaoke. You stood awkwardly off to the side, half listening to Ashleigh and Sophie’s drunk conversation and half watching the festivities. You could feel Colson watching you, a group of women hanging off him and trying to hold his attention.

You didn’t recognise most of the people in the room except for your friends. There was a few familiar faces from backstage and a few friends of Baze’s from back home. A lot of bikey types with long hair, extensive tattoos and dark expressions. This party didn’t seem like their sort of scene but they swayed along to the music anyway. One of them caught your eye and smiled at you and suddenly he didn’t look so intimidating. You smiled and tipped your solo cup in his direction and he winked at you.

He had jet black hair and dark brown eyes. His skin was tanned like he spent a lot of time outdoors. He wore a tight black t-shirt that hugged his rippling muscles perfectly. His tight black jeans showed off the muscularity of his thighs and his amazing ass. He either worked out a lot or was handcrafted by a Greek god.

He strides across the room, his gaze never leaving your face, and stands in front of you with a kind smile and warm eyes. You can smell his cologne and you can’t help but take a deep breath in. He’s even taller up close and if you had to guess, you’d assume he might even be taller than Colson.

“Hi,” the stranger calls out over the music.

“Hey,” you call back, standing on your tippy toes so he can hear you clearer.

“I’m Chase,” he holds out his large hand and you allow it to encapsulate your own.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

You notice a rather large rose tattoo on his right hand and you can’t help but stroke your thumb over it in admiration. Chase notices your interest and places his hand palm down in yours so you can study it closer.

“First tattoo I ever got, hurt like a mother fucker but I was pretty hooked after that,” he explains as you study the colouring and line work.

You look up his arms but frown when you notice no other tattoos. He smiles at you understandingly before lifting the bottom of his shirt to show toned abs and an extensive tattoo. You can only see part of it but you're pretty sure it leads the whole way up his torso. The bottom half of the tattoo appears to be the bottom half of a skull surrounded by more roses, all different colours. You can just make out the handle of a large sword that leads all the way up the length of his body.

“That must’ve taken forever to finish,” you eye the tattoo with approval, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it.

“Was a bunch of sessions spread over a few months but totally worth it. I’d be happy to show the whole tattoo some time,” he winks at you and you immediately blush.

You can still feel Colson’s stare on the side of your face and it takes all your strength not to flip him the bird.

You want to stare? I’ll give you something to look at.

You release your earlier self-control and reach out to run your finger over the edge of Chase’s tattoo. He watches as you trace his tattoo and suddenly the gesture feels way too intimate for a crowded room.

“I would love to see your tattoo but maybe not somewhere so public?” You look up at him with innocent eyes and his immediately light up at your invitation.

“Where did you have in mind?”

You take his hand and lead him to the door and down the hallway to your room. You unlock the door and slip both of you inside, feeling like you’re running away from something or somehow who’s following behind but you know it’s a stupid thought. When you’re alone in your room you’re suddenly hyper aware that even though Chase is a friend of Baze, he’s a complete stranger to you and now you’re alone in your room with him.

“Do you want something to drink?” you ask, slipping your way to the mini fridge that you stocked with your favourite drinks and a beer.

“Yeah sure, anything is fine,” Chase nods and sits down on the armchair near the fridge.

You pull out two beers and hand him one. You take a big sip for liquid courage and stare at the floor. When you make no attempt to speak, the room begins to fill with an uncomfortable silence.

“So how do you know everyone?” Chase asks politely.

“I went on a date with Rook once but we realise about halfway through the night that we were better off as friends,” you shrug, finding the story so embarrassing now that you see Rook more like an older brother than a friend.

“Oh so you’re not like secretly in love with him or anything?” he teases and you laugh but shake your head.

No, not Rook. Just his best friend.

“So, I’m pretty sure I was promised a tattoo viewing?”

The beer is mixing with the alcohol you’d already consumed and you’re starting to feel way more courageous. Chase grins a heartbreaking smile and places his beer on the floor beside him. He stands and lifts his shirt over his head, giving you a full view of his tattoo.

The top part of the skull has a red and black snake looping it’s way through the eye sockets, the colours so vibrant that it almost seems real. The flowers lead up around the skull, almost like it was dropped into a field of them. The sword is nestled between the flowers leading up to the middle of his chest. At the top of his chest is a banner that reads In rosa iaceat.

“What do the words mean?” you ask curiously.

“Loosely translated it means ‘let him lie on the rose’.”

You nod and move closer to him. You outline the entirety of the tattoo this time, not missing the way Chase’s breathing catches every time your fingertips move to a different aspect of the tattoo. His skin is warm and smooth but his muscles are hard. A complete juxtaposition. He smells even better up close. You stand on your tippy toes to study the Latin words sprawled across his skin. Before you can stop yourself, you lean forward and brush your lips along the words. He rolls his head back and lets out a groan of approval. You don’t know why you do it but for right now, you don’t want to think, you don’t want to analyse, you just want to do.

You run your fingers up his arms and wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer to you. He responds by placing his hands on your hips. You walk him backwards until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sits. You straddle his lap, already feeling his hard cock under you. You lean forward slowly, teasingly, and press your lips gently to his. That’s when he takes over.

Chase wraps his fingers in your hair and pulls you to him so your lips are firmly against his. He grinds up into you and you moan into his mouth. He pulls your t-shirt over your head and runs his hands down your back until he finds the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it and drops it beside you, taking your breasts in his large hands. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip before slipping it inside. You’re a furied frenzy of kisses, moans and hot breaths. Chase stands and just as he drops you onto the bed to hover above you, your door slams open causing your head to whip in its direction. A very pissed Colson stands in the doorway staring back and forth between the two of you. You quickly cover your chest with your arms and stare wide eyed at him.

“Get out,” he breathes in an eerily calm voice.

Chase looks down at you for a second before looking back at Colson. Without saying a word, he stands, grabs his t-shirt off the back of the chair and squeezes past Colson’s unmoving frame.

Before you even have a chance to tell Colson to get out and go fuck one of his groupies, he’s across the room and on top of you in a second. His lips find yours and his desperate kisses are so tempting you almost give in.

“Get the fuck off me!” you screech at the top of your lungs and Colson immediately leans back so you can wriggle off the bed.

You pick your bra and shirt off the floor and redress yourself. Without even looking at him, you storm back to the party in the hopes that Chase hasn’t left. You search the room and spot him standing with the group of men he started with except Baze, Rook and Slim are also in the group now too. You slip in between Chase and another guy, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looks down at you in surprise but drapes his arm over your shoulders and pulls you to his side. Rook quirks an eyebrow at you but you just smile.

Screw Colson. Just because he doesn’t want to fuck, doesn’t mean I’ll go without sex for the next 3 months.

#colson baker #machine gun kelly #mgk #tickets to my downfall #mgk imagine #ttmdf #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk x reader #mgk fanfic #mgk angst #colsonbaker #colson baker x reader #colson baker fanfic #colson baker angst

55 notes · View notes