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kimstills · 2 months

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i can see you

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

summary: "here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?”

content warnings: jealous!hotch, reader is a panther (aren't we all), bathroom sex, mirror sex, p in v, sexual tension, unprotected sex (r mentions being on birth control but wrap it before you tap it!), rough sex, dirty talk, size kink if u squint, spanking, hair pulling, choking, dom!hotch, sub!reader.

word count: 3.9k (y’all this was not supposed to be this long lmao)

notes: day 18 of @hotchfiles marchhotchness 'self-image' but also HEAVILY inspired by this post from @softhairedhotch because it made me go FERAL and i love jealous hotch (but pls lmk if taking inspo was okay!!) this is also my first hotch fic ever so pls lmk ur thoughts or any other feedback <333

aaron hotchner was not a jealous man.

he had no right to be jealous over something that technically did not exist or someone that technically was not his.

and although he only had himself to blame for that, he really did wish that you were his. and as much as he was telling himself not to be, he was jealous.

but it wasn’t the typical jealous where he watched you be approached by someone much younger than him—someone your own age instead of his—and by someone who already had him beat in reciprocating that flirtatious energy you often used on aaron himself.

no, this type of jealousy was one that was boosting his ego and making him feel lightweight, albeit the fact that it still made him see red.

it was a typical night out with the rest of the team, all of you having agreed that the eight of you were in need of a couple of drinks after some long weeks of paperwork and back and forth cases.

you were all engrossed in the conversation, but you had left the table to get yourself another refill on your drink and had taken far too long than it normally would have, the rest of the younger members—all besides reid—having decided on hitting up the dance floor throughout the time you hadn’t returned to your seat.

it was practically natural for aaron to look for you in a crowd, but what he hadn’t expected to find was you, sitting in a bar stool on the right side of the bar, being hit up by a man who had to have been a couple of years older than aaron himself.

the front hairs of the man’s head were peeking of several grey hairs, paired with a matching grey beard and an overall radiance that screamed of that older man type that you were apparently into.

the sudden revelation made aaron feel dizzy, the confirmation of your attraction towards older men making his pants tighten as he watched the way you stared up at the man with that sultry look of yours—the one where you were somehow able to perfectly mix mischief and innocence seamlessly together.

while you had used that look on aaron countless times before, times where it had been only you and him alone in his office, way past working hours, he had never done anything about it. but, god, as he watched you do it to someone else, out on the open, there was nothing he was currently regretting more.

aaron’s train of thought was interrupted as he felt someone kick him from underneath the table he sat at, whipping his head to the person in front of him only to find rossi staring at him with a smug look on his face.

he cleared his throat, “what?”

aaron mentally cringed at the way his voice wavered.

“you gonna be done being jealous anytime soon and make a move or are you just gonna sit there throwing daggers at the guy?” dave asked, brows raised.

he took a long sip from his drink, trying to avoid the question for as long as he could as he tried to compose himself, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,”

rossi rolled his eyes, “oh, please, aaron. you don’t have to be a profiler to notice the way you can cut the tension that’s between the both of you with a butter knife,”

aaron’s brows furrowed.

“you have all the confirmation you need right there,” dave pointed his thumb behind him, signaling at you and the man, “if that’s not enough for you, then i’m declaring you helpless at this point,” he let out a sigh, standing from his seat, “i’m going to get another drink and if i find you still sitting here, wallowing in your thoughts after getting my refill, i’ll go up to them and encourage her to go home with the man.”

aaron’s fists clenched at the thought. at the thought of you sprawled on the bed of another man, wearing that same look you had on just now and staring up at him as you—

his body acted faster than his brain did, and before he even had the chance to process what he was doing, he stood from his own stool, not allowing for another moment to pass by as he stormed over to where you and the man were sitting.

from your side of the room, you can see aaron make his way over to you through the peripheral of your vision, the excitement of finally getting a reaction out of him making your heart skip and your thighs press together as you took into count the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

the pressure you put on your thighs didn’t do anything to relieve the ache you felt in your core as he reached where you sat, coming to stand behind—was his name michael? although the stranger you had began talking to was definitely older than him, aaron was a good several inches taller, towering over the both of you.

he cleared his throat, cutting michael off from whatever he had been talking to you about as he turned around with a raised brow. aaron’s expression didn’t falter, not sparing a single glance at the man as his eyes landed on you, “y/n, can i speak to you for a moment?”

you mentally rolled your eyes. ever the formal one.

michael scoffed from in front of him, angling his body so that he was able to properly glare daggers at your boss, “we were in the middle of a conversation here, if you don’t mind?”

although your attraction for aaron skyrocketed in comparison to the man you had just met, you were thriving off of the jealousy radiating off of the one you wanted the most, the ache in your stomach only growing.

before aaron had the chance to shoot out a reply, you set your hand on michael’s forearm, giving him a small, but sad smile, “i’m sorry, michael,” you butted in, jumping off of the bar stool, “i’ll be right back, okay?”

another scoff comes from michael’s direction, “whatever,” he grabs his drink and rolls his eyes, “don’t even bother coming back,”

ew.

this time you actually rolled your eyes, grabbing at your drink and drowning the rest of it. you shrug, “older men are always a hit or miss,” you mumble, setting the glass down.

aaron’s hand comes to wrap around your wrist, a firm but gentle grip on it as he pulls you close to him, “let’s go,” he seethes in your ear.

you hide a smirk as you follow behind him, letting your body practically flail as you struggle to keep up with him. when he notices your staggered pace, he matches his footsteps with yours, moving his hand from your wrist to your waist as he guides you through the crowd and towards the hallway that lead towards the bar’s restrooms.

the both of you gave a silent thanks at the fact that there was no line, the hallway scarce and dimly lit with the exception of a few people standing together against the walls, either flirting or talking.

“what are you doing?” you ask, standing behind him as he knocks on one of the doors, his grip on your waist still very much present.

“you’ll see,” he mumbles, yanking the door open by the knob after no one replies and pulling the both of you inside before slamming the door shut behind him.

you try to take a good look at the interior of the bathroom, trying to guess if it was a good enough place to do whatever the two of you were about to do.

a faint gasp escapes your lips as you feel something hard press into your ass, immediately melting as one of aaron’s big hands comes to rub at the side of your leg, right below your hip. his whole body comes up behind yours, his other free hand coming to your stomach to press you into him.

“aaron—” you try to speak but get cut off as you let out another gasp, one almost like a sigh, as the hand that was rubbing at your leg sneaks further up and wraps itself around your hip, aaron’s thick fingers digging into your skin despite the material of your shorts that blocked his hand.

aaron dips his head so that his mouth is right next to your ear, his breath and the faint touch of his lips against the lower part of your jawline sending shivers down your spine.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, a total contrast from the vice grip he had on both your front and hip.

you nod quickly, your hand coming up to your right where he held your hip to wrap around his own.

“use your words, honey,”

the pet name makes you whimper and your thighs clench in spite of the fact that you were standing up. you let out a ragged breath as he awaits for your answer, the hand that was pressed to your stomach furthering down until it was right above your pelvis but below your tummy, pushing you further back until you could feel how hard he actually was.

you whine, your other hand coming to wrap around that one, too, “yes,” you sigh, “it’s okay,”

aaron presses his lips into that same spot below your jaw, gently and lovingly before whipping you around so that you were facing him and pushing you up against the counter.

not even giving you a chance to process what he had just done, his lips crash onto yours roughly, making you moan directly into his mouth. your bring your arms up around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and tugging.

aaron hisses, slapping at your thigh in a firm way that had you let out another moan.

“aaron,” you whine, pushing up into his chest out of desperation.

he hums, “do you want my attention now?” he asks through the kiss, “don’t wanna go back and talk to that guy you were all over just a couple of minutes ago?”

“no,” you mumble, huffing as he breaks away from you to wrap his fingers around your chin.

he chuckles as your lips form into a puffy pout, “here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?”

“no!” you whine again, your arms dropping from around his neck to wrap around his bicep, squeezing at the muscle to try and pull him closer to you, “just you!”

his confidence was beyond what it normally was, feeling you squirm from against him yet still wanting his touch, “really? so you weren’t planning on going home with that man? all those times you touched his shoulder or the times he would touch your thigh meant nothing?”

“yes, they didn’t mean anything!” you huff, “you’re the one i want to go home with all the time!”

aaron’s heart clenched at your confession, knowing that deep down you really did mean all the time. he had just never been sure if you truly were interested in living a joint life with him. up until now, that is.

he brings his hands to your back, right by your shoulder blades as he connects your lips once more. your shoulders relax and you lean into him with earnest, squeezing at the muscle from his bicep.

you hum, satisfied as he begins to run his hands up and down, resulting in the fabric of your shirt lifting with every time he went up, eventually ending up in nothing but rolled up fabric under his palm. he breaks the kiss once more to toss your shirt over your head and near the sink’s counter, leaving you in only your shorts.

aaron stared at your bare breasts, not expecting you to have not been wearing a bra despite the tight shirt you just had on.

you shiver under his gaze, opening your mouth to say something before he lowered himself and quickly attached a mouth to one of your breasts, the other one coming up to grab and squeeze at it. you moan, gripping onto the marble counter for support as he presses sloppy and wet kisses to each breast.

his fingers come to undo the button of your shorts, hooking them inside your panties before shoving both articles of clothing down your legs, signaling you to kick them off of you. you toed your shoes off as well, leaving you completely naked and bare for him while he remained fully clothed.

he turns you around gently, bringing you face to face with the sight of you completely stripped in the mirror, the image making you clench your thighs together once more as you stabilized yourself on the sink.

aaron’s hands soothed all around your body, a whimper leaving you at the feeling of his calloused hands groping at your breasts before moving down to your soaking pussy.

as if on instinct, you spread your legs open for him, practically inviting him to dip his fingers into your folds and inside your entrance. the thickness of both his index and middle fingers stretching you out. you knew you had always loved his hands for a reason.

a moan bounced off the walls as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, moving torturously slow before he began to pick up the pace. you could feel your slick drip onto the floor and probably onto the rest of his hand, but all you could focus on was shamelessly bucking your hips into your hand and spreading your legs for even more access.

“you’re soaking, honey,” aaron says, hand coming back around to squeeze at your breast again, leaving you gasping as he pinched your nipples.

you whimpered, “just for you,”

“‘just for me?’” he repeats, “not for anyone else, right?”

you shake your head no, pussy clenching around his fingers, “j-just for you, aaron,”

his hand left your breast to smack at your ass, making you jump, “good girl,”

with that, he takes his fingers out of you, a throaty whine leaving your lips at the empty feeling. you arched your back into him, but immediately stilled at the sound of him removing his belt filled the room. you watched from the mirror in front of you as he undid his pants button, reaching past his boxers to pull out his cock.

oh shit.

your mouth dropped at the sight of his dick spring out from where it had been confined, your slick hole clenching at nothing at how big he was. you knew that aaron hotchner was definition of big dick energy, always wondered what he was secretly packing, but now you wondered if you were going to be able to take it all.

he was thick, veiny all around with girth too thick that it hurt just looking at him. as much as you could tell you wouldn’t be able to walk after this, it excited you far too much.

you gulped, meeting his eyes in the mirror, landing on his hungry gaze, “is it going to fit?” you ask quietly, trying to bring your legs back together.

“we’ll make it fit,” he says, sounding confident of himself, a hand coming to stop you from closing your legs, “will you let me know if it’s too much?”

you take another look at his cock before giving him a determined look, “i will,” you nod.

he nods back, angling your head with his hand so he could press a kiss to your mouth.

you give into him easily, arching into him until you feel the tip of his cock slip through your wet folds and line up with your entrance. you had taken dick before, but never this big, so as he gave you one last look, you took a deep breath before feeling him sink into you.

you gasp, already feeling full by just the tip, though the slickness of your pussy helping you in adjust.

“still good, honey?”

you nod again, too busy focusing on how his length was stretching you out further than his fingers had.

smack!

aaron’s hand landed another spank on your ass, making you snap your heads toward him with a confused, dumbfounded expression. he glared, “use your words.”

you huffed, doing your best to not roll your eyes, “still good,” you replied, going back to focusing on how full your pussy already felt, “is it in yet?”

“almost, baby,” you whined again, pushing your ass back onto him and earning yourself another inch inside.

humming in delight, you felt aaron begin to move, setting a slow pace as he inched himself in and out to get you used to the length that was already inside you.

“aaron,” you sighed, “give it all to me,” you pleaded at him through the mirror, “i can take it,”

he studied your expression, all needy and flushed as you tried to buck your hips further back to fill yourself up more, “let me know if it’s too much,” he warned.

you nodded eagerly but didn’t get a chance to reply as he shoved the rest of his length inside, the tip immediately hitting that one spot. you gasped loudly, the feeling of his whole cock inside you awakening a hunger inside of you, “fuck,” you moaned, dropping your hands so that you were resting with your elbows on the counter, “please, aaron. move,”

he hesitated for another moment, and just as you were about to look behind you, you felt him begin to move, pistoling his hips into your ass roughly.

you let out a shriek, your hands grabbing at anything you could reach in order to stabilize yourself as he began to mercilessly pound into you from behind. he slipped his dick in and out of you each time, your pussy hugging the veiny length each time he did.

the sounds your juices made due to you being soaked vibrated against the room each time his hips hit your ass roughly, and it only edged you on further.

“a-aaron,” you moan, breasts jiggling against the cold sink as the girth of his cock stretched you out, “aaron! oh, fuck!”

you thought you had felt good getting his attention when you were back flirting with the guy, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his dick slamming into you.

from above, aaron grunted and groaned, fingers and nails digging into your hips harshly as he pounded into your perfect pussy. he loved the way you clenched around him, taking it back perfectly each time he slipped back in.

his hand reached for your hair, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against him with your back still perfectly arched. he dropped his hand from your head to wrap around your neck, fingers digging into the sides.

you gasped, not having a choice as you looked at him through the now foggy mirror, the image of your body rocking with every smack against your body only adding onto the sensation.

“such a perfect pussy,” aaron grumbled into your ear, “this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it sweetheart?”

you did your best to nod regardless of how weak your body felt, of the way you could feel your slick drip down to your thighs or the way you were drooling from your open mouth, “belongs to you, aaron,” you mumble, surprisingly coherently despite the way he was choking you.

“yeah, it does,” he grunts, free hand coming to grab at your stomach again before pushing against the spot where his cock was evidently sliding in and out of you, making you squirm, “this greedy pussy belongs to me. not to that bastard you were flirting with, right, honey?”

you nod again, eyes stuck on the tummy bulge you currently displayed, your hole clenching at aaron’s cock even tighter at the way the indent disappeared when he slipped out versus when it reappeared when slipping back in.

“feels so good, aaron,” you mumble, saliva dropping from your lips and onto your pointy, practically rock hard nipples that jiggled with each thrust.

“yeah?” he asks, breath hot against your ear, “taking it so well for me, such a good girl,” he praises, hand leaving from your stomach to slither down to where your bodies connected.

you let out a squeal as his middle finger slipped through your finger and his index began to rub furiously at your swollen clit, the feeling making the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten.

you babbled aaron’s name like a loose mantra, bodies rocking together as he quickened his pace after realizing that you were close to orgasming, hand tightening around your neck and finger rubbing even faster than before.

“c’mon, honey, come for me,” he encouraged, “come all over my cock, pretty girl,”

it was all the confirmation you need to let yourself go, body shaking and aaron’s name being repeated as you chased the high, glad that he was holding you up with his hands as your whole body stuttered.

the feeling of your pussy clenching and unclenching around him violently made aaron groan, sweat dripping down his body as he began to reach his own high just from the way your body reacted to orgasming from his dick. from the way he was fucking you and from the way he was naming you as his own.

you could feel his pace falter from behind you, lazily meeting his pace as you tried to encourage him to finish, “come in me, aaron, please,” you whined, needing to feel him fill you up to the point where his come would leak out of you, “fill up my pussy, aaron,”

he gave you a look of unsureness through the mirror before you nodded at him, “i’m on the pill. it’s okay. please,”

that had been all the confirmation he need for him to finish inside you, his cock twitching inside you as his seed filled you up, making you moan as you rode out your own orgasm, still clenching tightly around him.

you giggled at the way his body practically toppled onto yours as he tried to catch himself, bodies pressed together as he held onto the counter with his dick still inside you.

he snaked his hand around the side of your face as his breath evened, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and shutting up your whines as he pulled out from inside you with a kiss to your mouth.

“jack’s at a sleepover today,” he says after a few moments of silence.

you inch an eyebrow at him, watching as he leaned over to grab some toilet paper, snatching some off the holder before wiping himself clean of you and wincing at the sensitivity as he wiped gently at your own folds and thighs, “is he now?”

he hums, tucking himself back into his boxers and quickly buttoning his pants to help you put your own clothes on, “he is,” he grabbed your discarded shorts and parties from the floor and signaled you to lift your legs, “we can go home and i’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed and ask you to be go on an official date with me in the morning,”

your heart pulls as he buttons up your shorts for you, reaching for your shirt, too, “i’ll only say yes if we keep going when we get home,” you admit, making him freeze in his movements.

he pinched your nipple.

#marchhotchness #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #maddie’s stills

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unrefinedmusings · 1 year

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sweet, sweet sugar

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: meeting a man in a bar and trying to determine what about him is so damn alluring. it doesn't really matter though, it ends well for the both of you. part 2: snooze

warnings: smut, explicit sex, explicit language, age gap (reader is mid 20s, Joel is 36) riding, truck sex, nasty talk, MDNI, 18+

a/n: i love him, your honor. i will protect this tired dilf with my life. might expand on this, if so it'll be fluffy/smutty (no angst because the show is already enough pain for me)

---

It was his voice, you think. You had just relocated to Texas and were new enough to be drawn in by that deep Southern accent when he introduced himself.

Hi, uh, I’m Joel. Mind if I buy ya’ a drink?

Maybe it was the age difference. It wouldn’t be a first for you and the few strands of gray in his hair did make you a little weak in the knees.

It could’ve been his arms. Bumping against the hard muscles of his bicep as the bar stools you two were sitting on inevitably wobbled while you talked. Placing a light touch on his forearm when the liquid courage of your second drink kicked in, before your fingers made their way to his indecently thick ones to intertwine. Just the rough touch of his hands was enough to make you shiver.

His eyes were definitely a factor. Puppy brown orbs that sparkled brighter than starlight when he laughed, even under the dim lights of the bar. How they grew dark, almost black, when you leaned in close enough for him to catch a whiff of your perfume, the faintest hint of sweet vanilla lingering in the space between you two.

Or maybe it was just him. All of him. The way he hummed along to the country western songs playing through the bar’s speakers. The way he spoke to you with affection in his voice despite his gruff exterior. The way he talked about his Sarah: the pride while mentioning an A plus social studies paper followed by the anxiety while asking if he was talking about her too often.

As if loving his daughter too much could scare you away.

His scruffy beard and charm, his bad humor, his dad humor, his smile.

And the way he called you sugar, like that’s what you were to him. Nothing but sweetness and all too appetizing. Like he’d drink you up with his coffee every morning if you let him.

Your wandering hand made its way down to his thigh, resting just above his knee. He paused mid sentence and for a moment you worried you were being too forward. Your eyes meet his in a heated stare.

“You tryna’ misbehave there, sugar?”

You were and it landed you in Joel’s backseat, laid down with his body pinning yours. He’s kissing you. He’s still kissing you, hasn’t stopped since he pressed you up against his truck in the dark and nearly empty parking lot. He’s on your lips, until you have to pull away for air when he moves down the expanse of your neck, nipping and sucking along the way.

Your legs part for him, wrapping around his hips to dig your heels into the backs of his firm thighs. His hands find their way under your shirt, calloused fingertips forming gooseflesh across your skin before pulling the material up and over your head. He palms your heaving breasts, letting out a low groan at the feel of your soft flesh in his hands, before working his hands around to the clasp. Any restraint he might have had was tossed into the front seat with your bra.

Now he’s desperate, he’s hungry.

His mouth is on you, all over. His tongue licking at the marks he left on your neck and chest, his teeth making more down your torso. Lips wrap around your nipple and you arch into his suckling, letting him consume even more of you. Every one of his filthy, reverent kisses is more fuel for the fire growing in you. You tug on his dark locks when he reaches the top of your skirt, running his tongue along the line where fabric meets skin.

“J-Joel, please,” you beg, surprising yourself at how wrecked you sound already.

“I wanna taste ya’, sweet thing,” he teases, looking up at you with mischief in his eyes.

Moving his head down between your legs, Joel places sloppy kisses up the inside of your thighs. You watch him with heavy eyes, shuddering as the coarse hair of his beard grazes your sensitive skin. He brings his face to the crotch of your panties, nose nudging your clit, before taking a deep inhale. He licks at you through the soft lace before pulling it off entirely.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he rasps, the heat of his breath against your cunt enough to make your hips buck. Unbothered by your writhing, Joel wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you open for him before licking a stripe through your slick folds.

He groans at the taste of you. “Such a sweet pussy, so goddamn wet for me too.”

He dives in, circling your clit with his tongue before plunging inside you. Your thighs try to shut at the sensations, but his hands tighten their grip to hold you in place. You’re melting into his mouth and onto the seats, the fogged up windows an indicator of just how hot everything is right now.

Then his thick fingers are inside you, thrusting deep and hitting that spot you always have trouble reaching dead on. His mouth wraps around your clit, sucking on it like hard candy.

“Gon’ get a cavity from all this sugar,” he mumbles into your pussy, and the rumble of his laugh vibrates through you.

He thinks he’s so goddamn funny…

“Oh fuck,” you cry out.

It hits you like a rocket. He curls his fingers just right and you’re seeing stars, being pulled up and away into the atmosphere. He doesn’t stop drinking you in until you’ve floated back down to Earth.

Insatiable.

Your eyes are closed, but you feel his soft lips kissing your neck. He nibbles at your earlobe before whispering, “Did so good for me, such a good girl.”

Good girl. Good girl. Good girl.

It’s like a trigger. All the satisfaction from your climax faded and was replaced by a deep need to be full of him, to take him in and again until you fell into the night sky together.

“Fuck me p-please, please Joel, I need it,” you whine, hands clinging to his broad shoulders.

“Oh sugar,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

Joel uses one hand to pull you into his lap and straddle his thighs, while the other unbuckles his belt. You scramble to undo his zipper, tug his pants and boxers down, and unveil his—

Oh fuck.

Whatever it was before, it’s definitely his huge dick now. You let out a whine when your fingers wrap around the base without being able to fully encircle it. He rolls a condom down over himself before gripping your hips and guiding you to hover over the flushed red tip. Your forehead is pressed against his as you sink down, gasping at the stretch.

“Good girl, that’s it. It’s big, ain’t it?”

You huff against his cheek, “S’ big.”

“You can take it. Gonna take all of my cock, sugar.”

You do. Your toes curl and you feel like he’s splitting you open, but you take all of him. He rubs circles on your clit, making you gush around him and relax enough to move. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you start rocking your hips and slowly finding a rhythm. Every thrust is electric and the sweet sounds of how wet you are fill the car.

You’re clamped around him, raising and falling harder, faster. Whimpers spilling out of your lips as Joel thrusts into you, meeting your hips with his. You were close, your climax was racing towards you when his thumb found your clit again. Just a few touches to the bundle of nerves and you were toppling over the edge, head thrown back then falling limp into his neck. You shake in his arms as he continues to fuck you in his lap, quickly reaching his own release.

“Fuckin’ goddamnit, sugar,” he pants into your ear as he finishes.

He keeps you like that, strong arms holding your body close against his as you both catch your breath. You have no objections, nuzzling further into him and gently carding your fingers through his hair. It’s been a few minutes before he breaks the silence.

“Sugar?”

You hum and smile into his skin as a response.

“Could I get your number and, uh, maybe we do this again? Dinner too?”

He had the audacity to sound bashful while his cock was still inside you. You look up to see a pink tint to his cheeks, and you have to answer with a kiss. Slow and sweet.

---

💕💕💕 Thank you for reading 💕💕💕

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #hbo the last of us #hbo tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller imagine

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luvring · 17 days

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gn!reader fluff | “y’see somethin’ you like?” osamu asks, barely glancing at you as he shapes the rice in his hands into a triangle.

the stool beneath you wobbles as you lean forward—he really should get a new one—and smile, palm resting on your cheek. “yeah, i like watching you work.”

your eyes follow the veins on his hands to his forearms, up to his biceps and his chest barely hidden by his stupidly well-fitting black uniform shirt.

he hums. “well, that’s nice t’hear-”

“i love watching you make croissants.”

osamu pauses.

he looks at you, but no eyes meet—yours focused on his hands that move to wipe themselves clean on a towel before resting on his hips. maybe if you were stronger, you’d notice the smirk on his face. “what colour’s my shirt?”

a smile tugs at your lips. “red?”

fingers flick your forehead before you can wave them away. “ack- god, ’samu!”

he snorts and pulls you off the stool, forcing your head into his chest and muffling your groan while he pinches your cheek. “i should kick ya outta my kitchen for harassin’ the chef.”

“but he’s so hot and handsome, what am i meant to do?” you huff.

“at least don’t say i’m making croissants. am i french?”

“woah,”—you push away from his chest—“take that back right now. you know i’d never date a french man.”

“then why’d ya say croissants?”

“i don’t know, it was the first pastry i thought of! i love, i don’t know, macarons—”

amusement lights up his face as his arm takes you back into a head lock. “macarons? the also french desert—”

“fuck, stop, wait, oh my god, please,” a sound between a laugh and cry escapes you.

osamu cackles when you smack his chest with one hand, covering your face with the other. the onigiri is forgotten on the counter as he pulls it away to uncover your face, fingers threading through the spaces between yours.

your laughter dies down, and after using your free hand to pick a stray grain of rice off his shirt, you pout. “whatever, not french man. are you gonna kick me out of the kitchen for ogling you now?”

he only rolls his eyes. “no, it’s not like y’don’t already ogle me outside of the kitchen.”

another smack comes to his chest as you scoff. “wow. okay, it’s because i love you, you know.”

“yeah, yeah, of course you love the hot, handsome guy who cooks for you,” osamu brushes off your defense and picks up the last finished onigiri.

motioning to the stool and pretending you can’t see the blush that paints his cheeks, or smile on his lips, he huffs. “now sit back down so you can taste test this for me.”

#luvring.txt #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #very much related to my other samu post #still thinking about him. hrmghnnh #sorry 2 any french guys or their likers. c'est la canadienne en moi peut-être. qui sait

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jyoongim · 2 months

Note

Hola, I was wondering for an Alastor x reader (which isn’t particularly romantic if you don’t want it to be) where the reader needed a job and started working at the hotel?

But she’s pregnant (and hell born) so she’s struggling a bit and he helps her out with stuff when she’s tired :)

Alastor x pregnant!hellborn!reader

Something cute and fluffy to read

——————————————————————————

When you found yourself pregnant you were in shock.You didn’t know what to do or where to go.

You had saw an ad for a hotel in need of a another maid and decided you would give it a go.

The hotel was ran by the Princess of Hell, who happily accepted you. She had told you the hotel was for sinners seeking redemption. You thought it was odd, but a job was a job.

You were hesitate to tell her of your condition, thinking she would turn you down but she didn’t. She had told you the farther along you got that it was okay to ask for help.

So now you were a maid at the Hazbin Hotel.

All the residents were…surprisingly nice.

You sheepishly introduced yourself and hoped to get along with everyone. The hotel wasn’t in the worst state, but it could use a good polishing.

Niffty was often with you to assist when you couldn’t clean certain places.

The sunlight had alerted you that you needed to wake up and start your day. You sighed as you rolled out of bed and put on your uniform. You pouted as your belly poked through the material, you were about six months now and it was showing.

You made your way downstairs to head to the kitchen to begin cleaning, knowing you might have missed breakfast.

Charlie had been kind enough to leave you a list of things that needed sprucing up.

You were thankful that the kitchen wasn’t in too much of a mess.

Grabbing empty dishes and turning on the water, you began to clean.

You hummed a little song as you busted the suds. You were so focused on your task that you didn’t notice when Alastor waltzed into the kitchen.

Alastor’s ears perked when he saw you. You rarely saw the demon as you were usually busy, but he was pleasant company to keep.

”Good morning my dear! What a fine hellish day it is!” He chirped, causing you to spin around. You smiled “good morning Alastor” as you continued rinsing and piling dishes on the counter.

The two of you chatted as he made a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. You had finished washing everything and now to put things up.

You frowned when you got to the cups. You couldn’t reach the cabinets and putting too much strain on your back wasn’t good for the baby.

”How’s the little on fairing you my dear? It seems you’ve grown since the last time I saw you” the red demon inquired as he watched you try to figure out what to do with the cups.

You laughed ”heavy. It seems I am in need to let out a few inches in my uniform.” You rubbed your belly.

You spotted the tiny stool that Niffty used and smiled.

Shuffling a bit, you angled it so you could reach.

You were almost done placing everything when you misreached for a cup and because your center of gravity was off, you found yourself tilting off

”Aaah!” You squealed clenching your eyes ready for impact, when you fell into a firm chest.

”careful my dear”

you opened your eyes and see that Alastor was supporting you. You smiled sheepishly and thanked him, trying to wiggle out of his hold.

But the demon hummed as he carried you to the lobby and sat you down on a couch. “Al! I’m fine besides I have to other things to clean today” you pouted.

His brows frowned “nonsense! You can’t possibly clean in this state”

You huffed “Iam perfectly fine. Just didn’t realize how off balance I am now”

You stood, thanked him and went about you day.

But maybe he was right.

Your list was almost finished, but you had one last thing to do.

It was almost the late evening and you were tired from buzzing around the hotel. You were tired, sweaty, your feet felt swollen, and your back ached.

You growled in annoyance when you felt your baby kick as you scrubbed a mysterious spot on the rug.

”I’m almost finished and i promise you’ll get some grub” you patted your belly hoping to soothe the angry soul, but it seemed your baby was irritated.

A sharp kick made you hiss as you wrung out your sponge.

You checked the time, you didn’t know it had gotten so late.

Your stomach growled in protest as you hadn’t really ate anything all day.

You sighed and decided a quick break wouldnt hurt.

Huffing you took a seat on the couch and sighed in relief to be off your feet.

You didn’t notice that you had dozed off when a hand gently shook you.

Alastor.

”Oh Al did you need something? I didn’t even realized I had fell asleep” you rubbed your eyes.

The red demon snapped his fingers and a plate of food appeared. You blinked in confusion “You seemed tired so no one wanted to bother you, but Charlie was worried you hadn’t eaten today. You need to take better care of yourself dear. Its not just you you need to think about” He nudged a piece of fruit towards you.

You got teary-eyed. You had been feeling like more of a burden, but everyone did care about you, even the evil Overlord.

You graciously accepted the food and damn near went feral when you realized how hungry you were.

You patted your belly happily stuffed, your baby pressing against you, guess the little soul was happy as well.

”May I?” Alastor asked, eyes focused on your belly. You smiled. You didn’t take Alastor for the touchy type, but who could resist a pregnant woman?

You took his hand and pressed it against where your baby was resting. Your body buzzed as his static surrounded you and your baby kicked at his hand.

You let out a giggle “I think the baby likes you Al”

He smiled “oh I’m sure it’ll turn out to be as lovely as its mother”

You made a motion to get up and Alastor helped hoisting you up

”why don’t you take a rest hmm? Wouldn’t want you to be a sack of bone now would we?”

He escorted you to your room and you smiled at him as you opened your door.

”Thanks Alastor I really appreciate everything” you quickly pressed your lips to the demon’s cheek and giggled as static popped and wished him a goodnight.

Maybe raising a baby in a hotel wasn’t all that bad.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #Alastor fluff #alastor x pregnant reader #hazbin hotel fluff

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pucksandpower · 2 days

Text

Lost in Translation

Lando Norris x Reader + Carlos Sainz x Reader + Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: in which Lando doesn’t speak a word of Spanish, Carlos turns out to be the world’s worst translator, and Fernando is an opportunist

Warnings: manipulation

The bass thumps through the walls as you make your way through the crowded club, dancing bodies packed together under pulsing lights. You’re exhausted after a long day of photoshoots, but your agent insisted you make an appearance at this exclusive afterparty following the Spanish Grand Prix. Being seen is part of the job when you’re an up and coming model.

You spot an open stool at the far end of the bar and gratefully sink onto it, kicking off your heels under the counter. The bartender appears through the chaos, shouting something in English you don’t understand over the music. You shake your head apologetically and order in Spanish.

“One glass of red wine, please.”

As you wait, you glance around the club. Famous faces from the world of Formula 1 mix with socialites and celebrities. You recognize a few drivers and team bosses, fresh from the race.

Your gaze lands on a young man seated a few stools down, wearing a McLaren team jacket. His curly brown hair falls softly over his forehead as he leans against the bar, engrossed in his phone. Something about him looks familiar.

“Here you go.” The bartender sets your drink down. You smile your thanks and take a long sip, letting the bright aged flavors wash over your tongue. The alcohol warms your limbs, relaxing away the strains of the day.

You’re debating whether to stay for another drink or head back to your hotel when you feel the stool next to you shift. The young man in the McLaren jacket takes a seat, flashing you a charming grin.

“Hi there,” he says, his English words foreign to your ears. Up close he’s even more handsome, with lively color changing eyes and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. You don’t understand what he’s saying, but his body language is obvious.

You give him a coy smile in return. “Hello.”

He seems unfazed by the language barrier, launching into a lively stream of English as he signals the bartender for two drinks. You watch his lips form around the exotic words, catching a name here and there.

Lando. McLaren. Spain.

Each syllable musical and indecipherable.

When the fresh drinks arrive, you clink glasses together. The liquor slides down easily, warming your cheeks. You can’t understand Lando, but the spark in his eyes needs no translation. He’s flirting. And you’re enjoying the attention after a long day on your feet.

As the night wears on, you drift closer together, thighs brushing on the stools, hands slyly grazing. The pulsing music and alcohol blur the edges of your thoughts into a pleasant haze. All that matters are Lando’s eyes locked on yours, and the building tension that thrums under his touch.

Eventually he stands, holding out a hand with that charming grin. You don’t hesitate, letting him lead you through the sea of bodies toward the exit, the noise fading behind you.

The cool night air hits your skin as you step outside. Lando hails a cab, and you slide across the backseat, thighs pressed together. His hand comes to rest on your knee and you lace your fingers through his, exchanging coy glances in the darkness.

When the cab stops at your hotel, Lando insists on walking you to your room. As you step into the lobby, the bright lights feel harsh after the dimness of the club. Lando’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, guiding you towards the elevators.

In the mirrored walls of the elevator, you catch sight of your smudged makeup and tousled hair. Lando stands close behind you, eyes trailing over your figure in the reflection. You feel a flush rising on your cheeks that has nothing to do with the wine.

The walk down the plush hotel hallway feels endless, heightened by anticipation. Your hands brush and you exchange coy glances, the flirtatious tension building. At last you stop outside your door. Hands fumbling, you slide the key card into the lock while Lando waits eagerly beside you.

As soon as the door clicks open, his mouth is on yours. You melt into the kiss, the taste of liquor sweet on his lips. Stumbling backwards, you lead him into the room, fingers tangled in his soft curls.

You come up for air long enough to kick off your heels. Lando’s eyes blaze with desire as he shrugs off his jacket and reaches for you again. You meet him halfway, lips fused together, hands roaming. The backs of your legs hit the bed and you tumble backwards, pulling him down on top of you.

You lose yourself in the feeling of his body against yours, hard muscle under smooth skin. Gasps and moans fill the air as clothes are discarded piece by piece onto the plush carpet. The rest of the world fades away until all that’s left is skin on skin, racing heartbeats, the slide of sweat-slick limbs.

After, you lie tangled together as your breathing slows, floating back down to earth. Lando traces lazy patterns on your arm as you drift towards sleep, spent and sated.

The morning sun streaming through the curtains wakes you. For a moment you’re disoriented, then the memories of last night come flooding back. You stretch and roll over, expecting to find Lando, but the other side of the bed is empty.

You sit up, holding the sheet around you, and spot him standing by the window on his phone. He glances over at you with a sheepish smile. “Good morning,” he says.

You return the greeting in Spanish, then pause, realization dawning. Now, in the harsh light of day without the haze of alcohol, the language barrier stretches wide between you.

Lando seems to have come to the same conclusion. He looks at you helplessly and says something in English you don’t understand. You shake your head and respond in rapid Spanish, trying to explain that you don’t speak his language. But your words have no more meaning to him than his do to you.

You both stare at each other in bewilderment. Last night things had seemed so simple, but now you have no way to communicate. Lando runs a hand through his hair in frustration. You wish you could bridge the gap between you, but Spanish and English remain foreign tongues.

After a few more failed attempts at conversation, Lando pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his contacts, then seems to find what he’s looking for. Putting the phone to his ear, he says clearly, “Carlos, mate, I need your help.”

***

Lando lowers the phone from his ear just as a knock sounds at the door.

“That was fast,” he says with a relieved grin, crossing the room to open it.

You quickly pull on a hotel robe and smooth your tangled hair as much as possible. From the bed, you watch as Lando ushers another man into the room. He’s tall and handsome, with warm brown eyes and an easy smile. Something about him seems instantly familiar and trustworthy.

“Carlos, this is ...” Lando pauses and glances back at you with an apologetic look, realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“My name is Y/N,” you offer, giving the newcomer a small wave.

His face lights up in recognition. “Y/N Y/L/N! The Spanish model!”

You flush, surprised and flattered that he knows who you are. Before you can respond, Carlos turns to Lando and launches into rapid English. Though you don’t understand the words, his tone sounds polite yet teasing, making Lando blush faintly.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Lando mutters, running a hand through his curls. “Just tell her I’m happy to meet her and I had a great time last night.”

Carlos nods and looks at you with a hint of mischief in his warm brown eyes. “He says you are very boring and he regrets last night, but wants to let you down gently.”

You frown in confusion. That didn’t sound like a compliment at all. Lando is watching you expectantly, oblivious.

“Tell him I don’t understand why,” you say carefully.

Carlos turns back to Lando. “She says you’re an arrogant prick and she wants you to leave.”

“What?” Lando looks taken aback. “Where did that come from? Tell her I’d love to get to know her better over breakfast or something.”

“He says it was nice of you to help scratch his itch last night but he has better options,” Carlos tells you bluntly.

You fold your arms across your chest, irritation flaring. The flirtatious spark between you and Lando last night seems to have vanished in the light of day, replaced by this stilted miscommunication.

Lando’s brows knit together as he tries again. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended her in some way. Let her know I’d like the chance to make it up to her before I go.”

Carlos’ expression softens as he turns to you. “He says you aren’t bad to look at and you not being able to speak English is a bonus because that means he doesn’t have to listen to you talk.”

You nod slowly as anger takes over. “Tell him I want him gone now.”

“She says you’re the stupid one for thinking she wanted anything from you other than your money,” Carlos tells Lando.

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets, looking disappointed. “I-I thought we had a good connection.”

A hint of steel enters Carlos’ eyes. “He says that if he wanted a gold-digger, he would at least choose someone who looks good on his arm.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. Why would he say such a terrible thing? Anger replaces any lingering attraction you felt for Lando. You turn away, fists clenched, humiliation burning in your cheeks.

Lando looks utterly confused. “What … I don’t … Carlos, what is going on?” He stammers helplessly.

But Carlos is already at your side, murmuring comfortingly in Spanish as he guides you toward the door. “Don’t pay attention to him, he’s not worth it. Come with me.”

You let Carlos wrap a supportive arm around your shoulders, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. With one last glare at a dumbfounded Lando, you sweep out of the hotel room.

As Carlos leads you down the hall, you lean into his side, reassured by his solid presence. “Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “I just don’t know why he was so mean ...”

“I’ll take care of it,” he says with a wink. Whatever just happened between you and Lando, you’re grateful to have found a quick friend in Carlos.

And judging by the sparks you felt when he first said your name, perhaps he could be something more. For now, you push that thought aside, the day has already had enough drama.

***

The weeks following the awkward encounter with Lando fly by in a whirlwind of model castings, photoshoots, and fashion shows. But you find your thoughts continually drifting back to Carlos and his warm brown eyes.

When he calls you up and invites you to the upcoming Austrian Grand Prix as his guest, you happily accept. The chance to get to know him better away from the drama with Lando is too tempting to pass up.

The paddock thrums with excitement on race day. You smooth down the skirt of your flowy sundress and take Carlos’ arm as he guides you through the bustling team garages toward the pit lane. Your heels click sharply on the pavement, echoing the anticipation building in your chest.

Mechanics and engineers pause in their work to glance your way appreciatively. You flush under their gazes but keep your chin high. On Carlos’ arm, you feel like you belong.

As you near the bright papaya of the McLaren garage, Carlos casually steers you down a side path to avoid walking right by. You feel a twinge of relief not to chance running into Lando. That awkward morning is firmly in the past.

But as you round a corner, you find yourselves face to face with him. Lando stops short, eyes widening. For a moment, the three of you stand frozen. Then Lando breaks into a tentative smile.

“Y/N! I didn’t realize you’d be here. You look lovely.” His English words sound friendly enough, but you cling tighter to Carlos’ arm, waiting for the translation.

Carlos’ expression remains neutral. “He says your dress is too tight and it’s not a flattering look.”

You gasp, stung by the insult. All your insecurities about your body that you constantly fight to overcome as a model come flooding back at his cruel words.

Lando’s brows furrow in confusion, clearly sensing Carlos’ interpretation was off. “No, I just said she looks nice ...” He turns his attention to you, eyes pleading. “Y/N, I’m so sorry about what happened last time. I’d love the chance to take you out properly while we’re both here this weekend.”

Suppressing a smug smile, Carlos translates for you. “He says that while you’re not his first choice, you are easy in bed and he would like for you to come to his suite this evening.”

Tears of humiliation spring to your eyes. You stare at Lando in shock, feeling betrayed. Attraction turns to disgust in a heartbeat. How could you have ever felt a connection with someone who views you as nothing but an object for pleasure?

Lando is shaking his head frantically, obviously bewildered by your reaction. “I don’t know what you’re telling her, but this is not what I said!” He reaches out imploringly but you recoil from his touch.

He steps towards you but is cut off as your stiletto slams down hard onto his foot. He yelps in pain, hopping back. The slap of your palm across his cheek echoes through the empty side path.

“You are a disgusting pig!” You spit at him in your native Spanish. With a dramatic flip of your hair, you spin on your heel and storm away, fuming. Behind you, Carlos scrambles to catch up.

“Y/N! Wait!” Hearing his familiar voice, your rage melts. You pause, sniffling, and let Carlos pull you into a comforting hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, gently stroking your hair. “Lando is an idiot.”

You nod against his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut to hold back tears. Carlos’ steady presence soothes you. As your breathing finally calms, a voice speaks up from behind.

“Such dramatics!”

You turn to see Fernando Alonso striding towards you, an amused smile on his handsome face. He nods at your foot.

“That was quite the stomp you gave Lando back there,” he remarks with a chuckle. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, hermosa.”

You can’t help but smile back shyly. Of all the people to witness your outburst, it had to be your longtime idol in Formula 1.

“I’m sorry, I thought he said something rude about me,” you explain with an embarrassed wince.

Fernando waves his hand dismissively. “No need to apologize. I could tell something was getting lost in translation between the three of you.”

He shoots Carlos a pointed look. Carlos shrinks back and avoids Fernando’s gaze, shuffling his feet.

“Those younger drivers are still boys when it comes to women,” Fernando continues, turning his attention back to you. “You deserve better than to be caught in the middle of their silly games.”

His worldly confidence and flattering words make you flush. Glancing between Fernando and Carlos, you start to question the latter’s intentions. Did he mistranslate on purpose back in Spain to drive a wedge between you and Lando?

Fernando seems to read your uncertainty. He extends a hand to help you to your feet.

“Why don’t you walk with me instead of these children? I can show you what a real man looks like.” The challenge in his daring smile quickens your pulse.

You let him pull you up, feeling your anger over Lando’s remarks transforming into starstruck awe.

As he starts to lead you off, Carlos finds his voice again. “Wait, Y/N, please ...” he calls after you, distraught. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I care about you!”

But Fernando silences him with a scornful glare. “Don’t waste your breath. You had your chance.” With that, he guides you away, leaving a crestfallen Carlos behind.

Adrenaline courses through you at the unexpected turn of events. The paddock seems to part around you as Fernando walks with you, head held high. His hand on your back feels possessive in a thrilling way.

When curious eyes drift your way, Fernando pulls you tighter to his side in a clear message — she’s with me. Your heart pounds at the public claim over you.

As you walk, Fernando points out details of the garage and pit activities, answering your stream of awed questions. His deep knowledge amazes you as he describes complex race strategy like reading a storybook.

The command he wields here is clear. And by sticking close, some of that power transfers to you. Other women eye you enviously as you pass. For the first time, instead of feeling exposed in their judging looks, you feel empowered.

With Fernando, you have nothing to prove. He sees you, not as a dumb model or conquest, but an equal worthy of respect. When you hesitantly voice that thought, he smiles.

“Too few of the idiots here appreciate women for their minds,” he agrees. “But I enjoy a sharp intellect as much as beauty.”

You practically glow at the validation. Any lingering hurt or anger melts away, replaced with lightness.

Maybe things will work out just as they should after all.

***

The rest of the season and off-season flies by in a whirlwind of excitement and new experiences with Fernando. When he asks you to accompany him to the 2025 season opener in Australia, you eagerly accept.

In the months since that dramatic Austrian weekend, your bond has only grown stronger. Fernando makes you feel treasured and respected. Under his wing, you’ve blossomed in confidence.

And that extends to English. Fernando gently encouraged you to start lessons so you could navigate the international world of Formula 1. You dove in headfirst, determined to prove yourself.

Now, as you and Fernando arrive at the bustling Melbourne paddock hand in hand, you can’t wait to show off your progress. Fernando smiles proudly at your enthusiasm.

“Ready to give your English a try, hermosa?” He asks, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

You take a deep breath and nod. The words still feel clumsy on your tongue, but Fernando’s steadying presence emboldens you.

As you approach the row of motorhomes, your strides slow. The last time you saw Carlos and Lando still stings. But with Fernando beside you, you have nothing to fear.

Right on cue, the two young drivers come around the corner. They stop short at the sight of you, eyes widening. An awkward beat passes before Lando breaks the tension.

“Y/N … you look well,” he says carefully. Carlos shifts on his feet but stays silent.

Fernando gives them a curt nod. “Lando. Carlos.” His voice carries a note of warning — don’t try anything.

You lift your chin. Time to take control of this narrative. “Hello Lando. Carlos,” you respond in slow, deliberate English. “I am good. And you?”

They gape at you in surprise. “You’re speaking English now?” Carlos asks. “That’s great!”

You resist the urge to fall back on your native Spanish. Fernando believes in you.

“Yes, I learn,” you tell Carlos. “Fernando helps me … how you say … empower?” You glance at Fernando to confirm you have the right word. His approving smile emboldens you.

Lando looks bemused. “Er, that’s great. Your English is really coming along.”

You frown. The subtle condescension in his tone irks you. Your skills may be basic still, but you deserve respect.

“Do not patronize me,” you say sharply, the unfamiliar words feeling powerful on your tongue. “I am try my best. You just … how you say … celoso?” Again you double check with Fernando.

“Jealous is the word, I believe,” he confirms with a wink.

You grin. “Yes, jealous! You are just jealous of me and Fernando.”

Lando holds up his hands in protest. “No, that’s not it at all, I’m happy for you ...”

But you barrel on, relishing this opportunity to at last be understood. “You think I am just a model, not smart. But Fernando show me I can be smart AND beautiful.”

You take a deep breath before delivering the final blow. “He says I have … potencial. He believes in me. Not like you two boys.”

Crossing your arms, you stare them down defiantly. The speech leaves you feeling bold and powerful, despite the clumsy delivery. Fernando squeezes your shoulder proudly.

“I think that sums it up nicely, querida,” he praises. “Shall we?”

You nod and let him guide you away, confidently walking past a stunned Lando and Carlos. Their widened eyes follow you, seeing you clearly for the first time.

Once out of earshot, Fernando pulls you into a passionate kiss. “I am so proud of you,” he murmurs. “You found your voice today.”

You cling to him, heart soaring. With Fernando, you have grown more in these few months than in years past. He never doubted you could reach higher and fulfill your potential.

Your moment is interrupted by enthusiastic shouts in Spanish. You turn to see your family rushing over, eager for their long awaited reunion.

Laughing, you break from Fernando’s embrace to greet them. As you chat animatedly in your native tongue, you feel Fernando’s admiring gaze on you.

Later, in a quiet moment together, he brushes a strand of hair from your face tenderly. “You contain multitudes, Y/N,” he remarks. “Never let anyone put limits on you.”

You snuggle closer, overflowing with love and gratitude. With Fernando, the possibilities seem endless. He believes in the woman you have always been and the woman you are becoming, and gives you strength.

Whatever the future brings, you know you will soar.

749 notes · View notes

ode2rin · 14 days

Text

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending). You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is.

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge.

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.”

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face.

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate.

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage.

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected.

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning.

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted.

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.”

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea.

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?”

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty.

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it.

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.”

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs.

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter.

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious.

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.”

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street.

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser.

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways.

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

#☁️ my ode to you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #michael kaiser #blue lock fluff #first milestone event!#writing: 004

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 months

Note

Aegon bathing and asking his wife to join him

It's been so long since I posted anything about HotD. Have you seen the trailers? I'm so excited for the new season!! This one has been in my wips for a long time, but I kicked myself to finish it today to celebrate the upcoming season

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You entered the ensuite of your and Aegon’s shared bedchamber, hair unpinned and cascading down your back. Outside your quarters, they were always pinned into a braided hairstyle, concealing their true length to the court’s eyes. It’s good to have a distinction between the way a lady presents herself to the people and what is only for her husband’s eyes. Your day dress was replaced by an emerald green silk robe with dainty broderies along the lapels, a gift from the queen, given to you on your and Aegon’s wedding day. It was beautiful.

‘’There you are,’’ you said, seeing Aegon in the tub, steam rising from the scalding hot water.

His eyes shifted to you, the corner of his mouth curling when they fell on your attire. He poured more wine into his cup, splashing some water over the side of the tub due to the movements. ‘’My wife is a sight for sore eyes.’’

His speech wasn’t slurred, but it would soon be if he continued drinking.

You offered him a soft smile in response to his compliment. ‘’And my husband is about to be drunk.’’

Aegon grinned. ‘’I’m perfectly sober.’’

You shook your head as you approached, then sat on the stool by the tub as he bathed. ‘’If you’re sober, why is this pitcher almost empty?’’

Aegon laughed. He was caught.

‘’Will you be joining me in the bath?’’

He wished he could spend every night of his life just like this — just you and him, alone with one another. No more worrying about his duties as first son of the king and heir of the throne. No more worried about needing to produce heirs. Neither of you were ready to raise children, but his mother kept making subtle hints that a babe was needed soon.

‘’It depends.’’

Aegon leaned back in the tub and took another sip of wine, enjoying the warmth enveloping his body. ‘’I wouldn't mind some company,’’ he said with a playful glint in his eyes.

You chuckled, standing up and untying the sash of your robe. Under, you had on a nightgown made of the same material, but in a lighter shade. It had delicate thin straps and almost touched the floor. You until the ties of the straps and stepped out of the nightgown, which made Aegon’s mouth curl into a smirk.

Carefully, you stepped into the tub and lowered yourself to sit opposite him.

Aegon's gaze lingered on you, grateful that you were his. To his eyes, there was no woman more beautiful than you. Without a word, he reached out and gently took hold of your ankles, pulling your feet closer to him until they rested against his thighs.

Before getting wed, you had heard the whispers at court about how Aegon wouldn’t make a great husband. How he could never be faithful to his wife as he was always frequenting brothels and sleeping around. How cold he was emotionally.

He wasn’t like that with you. Everything that had been said turned out to be wrong.

‘’How long can we stay here?’’ he asked, his fingers tracing patterns along your calves.

You smiled at his touch, allowing yourself to relax. Despite the rumors and whispers that had surrounded him, you knew the truth — Aegon was kind, caring, and fiercely devoted to you. No one could compete with your beauty. He also had a dirty mind and a slight drinking problem, but you knew how to deal with him.

‘’As long as we want,’’ you replied, running your fingers through the water. ‘’We are not expected anywhere until the morrow.’’

Aegon sighed. He hated duty. ‘’Sometimes, I dream of a life where we can be together like this, without the weight of our titles pressing down on us. A life where we can choose our own path, without the expectations of others. I…I don’t want to be king. Unfortunately, my whole future has been planned before I knew how to speak.’’

—

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angelfic · 16 days

Text

— IT’S SO SWEET

pairing: jason todd x best friend!reader

summary: the 3 times jason takes care of you and the 1 time he lets you do the same. alternatively, jason thinks he's invincible, but his best friend needs to be protected at all costs.

warnings: unedited. again. pls don't kill me. swearing, kissing, mentions of blood/weapons/injuries, mentions of periods, reader is a nursing student, best friends to lovers!!! <3

author’s note: *shoves it at you* another one of these fics with the same format, this time with jason :) listen to 'sweet' by cigarettes after sex while reading this btw. and let me know what you think!! drop an ask or a message, don’t be shy!💌

1. when finals are going to kill you.

Sometimes you think being a vigilante like your best friend is worth the constant risk of dying if it means you never have to open another textbook again. When you voice this to Jason, he scowls like you've just threatened to kill a kitten in front of him.

"That's not funny. Don't even joke about that," he scolds, still frowning at you from the opposite end of your kitchen island. His Red Hood suit is sprawled out in front of him as he stitches up a loose hem, compliments of the last goon he most likely beat to a pulp. You make a face at the fact that his sleeve is covering your anatomy notes, ignoring the way he leans down in attempt to catch your eye. He resorts to snapping his fingers in your face. "Hey. Hey, I'm serious."

"Jason," you sigh, setting down your pen and resting your chin on your hand as you talk to him. "I'm studying for nursing school finals in my kitchen, because I didn't want to walk the five more steps it takes to get to my bedroom after making instant ramen. Do you really need me to tell you I'm not being serious about becoming a vigilante?"

His shoulders relax very slightly, but his expression stays annoyed. "You're going to give me an entire head of grey hair before I'm even thirty."

"Well, at least we know it'll suit you," you say through a yawn as you point to the white streak running through his hair. "So, if anything, you're welcome."

He gives you another withering glare, going back to his stitching. The tiny needle in his large hand distracts you for a minute until you realise that Jason has stopped sewing and you're actually staring into nothing now. He notices your eyes that have glossed over and immediately reaches over to slam your textbook shut, startling you back to attention. It isn't until he does this that you feel the exhaustion seeping into your bones, emphasised by the knot in your neck and the cramp in your writing hand.

Jason drags your textbook away from you, along with your notes. You take a second to appreciate how careful he is not to crease the pages, knowing you'd lose your mind. "Okay, you're done for today."

"Huh?" you mumble stupidly, his words registering in your mind too late and you realise he's just hijacked your study material. "Wh- Hey! Give it back, Jay, I have-"

"Finals, I know. Last I checked, you need to be alive to take finals and I don't see that happening unless you take a nap," he says, voice a little too calm for someone who you're about to pounce on and claw at until you get your textbook back. You sluggishly clamber off your stool and step in front of Jason, who immediately raises his arm to hold your textbook out of reach.

You look up at him and attempt an intimidating glare. "Hand over the textbook, Todd."

Jason raises his eyebrows, huffing out an exasperated laugh. "Lift one of your arms to get the book and its yours."

Your finger doesn't so much as twitch, but you sway a little until you reluctantly accept that maybe he's won this one. And maybe a nap does sound pretty good right now, you think with a groan, dropping your head so it rests on Jason's chest. Your arms hang floppily at your sides. "I'll kick your ass after my nap," you mumble into his shirt.

"I'm terrified," he deadpans, and you hear the thud of the textbook on the counter before his large hands come up to grip your waist so he can walk you backwards to your couch, knowing you well enough to anticipate your grumbles if he were to attempt to take you all the way to your bedroom. You smile into his chest.

"You've met your match, Red," you say as dramatically as you can for someone who's practically the equivalent to a sack of potatoes against Jason right now. When you feel the back of your legs hit the couch, you grip onto the bottom of Jason's shirt and tug at the fabric before he can let you go. "You're my human pillow, where do you think you're going?"

Before he can answer, you nudge him onto the couch and he obediently lies down so you can nestle in next to him and plop your head back onto his warm, muscled chest. You blame your exhaustion for your shameless behaviour.

Despite the tiredness, you can't help irritating Jason just a little bit more. "Hey, Jay. What would my vigilante name be?"

"Shut up," he says without any bite, resting his chin on top of your head. You snicker into his shirt, half delirious with fatigue but awake enough to feel his face moving as he smiles when he thinks you're not looking.

"Something cool. Like Nightwing," you mutter sleepily, poking the bear.

"What? Nightwing is not as cool as-" Jason starts incredulously, but cuts himself off. "Whatever. Go to sleep."

You hum, eyelids feeling heavy and you start drifting off, the last thing you register being Jason's fingertip tracing circles on your back.

When you wake up, Jason and his suit are gone, but you have a blanket tucked around you and a box of your favourite cookies on the coffee table.

2. when, apparently, you aren't immune to the streets of gotham.

Considering you live in the most corrupt city in the world, you probably should be a little more cautious about going out at night. It's not like you don't take precautions, though. Like every woman in Gotham, you're loaded with pepper spray every time you leave the house. Unlike every woman in Gotham, you also have multiple vigilantes in your phone with whom you share your location with.

Even then, you aren't stupid enough to step into any alleyways. You wish that were enough to stay out of trouble, but as soon as you realise the streets have completely emptied while you've been distracted with your thoughts, you start panicking a little.

You're fine, you reassure yourself as you slide your phone out your pocket to pull up your recent texts. You keep your screen open just for some reassurance, gripping the sides of your phone tightly when you hear some distant footsteps.

It's only ten more minutes to the convenience store, so you're more irritated than scared when you hear the footsteps quicken behind you, catching up. Your fingers fumble to text an SOS to Jason, but you accidentally tap send on your chat with Dick instead. With slightly shaky hands, you try and send one to Jason as well, hoping it's gone through when your phone is suddenly knocked out of your hand.

"Oh, for the love of-" you hiss, when you hear the cracking noise of your screen against the pavement and you don't risk reaching down to grab it. Instead, you turn around slowly to face a dark figure, clad in a cliche, all-black outfit and stood in a threatening stance. God, you hate Gotham.

"Hand over your-"

"Wallet, money, most prized possession," you cut the man off, probably very stupidly. "I know the drill, hang on."

He falters for a moment before anger clouds his expression and he pulls out a knife before you can get your wallet out. You try not to sigh in relief. For anyone else that might sound crazy, but knives you could manage. Being best friends with Jason Todd means of course you've been made to learn self-defence. Disarming someone with knives was doable enough to learn as a nursing student. Guns, on the other hand, are out of your league.

The fact that you know how to defend yourself doesn't make the knife look any less threatening and sharp, though.

"Hey, look, I'm not gonna be difficult," you say, dropping your voice to a low murmur as though you're trying to coax a cat out of a tree. "I'll give you my money."

"Yeah. Yeah, you do that," he rushes out, sounding confused. You kind of feel bad for him. Most people confronted with a mugger would probably be a lot more scared than you're acting and it's clearly throwing him off his game. You almost regret bothering to send your SOS and as you're thinking about how you're going to apologise to Dick for wasting his time, you go to grab your wallet to try and stall before the mugger becomes violent. "Stop! Put your hands up. I'll grab it myself."

You furrow your brows, about to argue that no, he fucking won't. But you see that the man's face suddenly becomes ten times paler than before and he's looking behind you instead. Your shoulders sag with relief as you spin around to see Nightwing in all his black and blue glory.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" he lowers his voice an octave and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. He seems to be focusing hard on acting like strangers, because anyone with eyes would see the problem very clearly in the form of a man wielding a knife.

"Please, help me," you respond, drily. Dick raises a brow at your flippant attitude, so you clear your throat, kicking it up a notch. You glance at the man behind you and try to look more terrified than you feel. "Please help me, Mr Nightwing. This guy's got a knife, and he's going to stab me with it."

The man frantically shakes his head, dropping the knife immediately and backing up. "I wasn't! I swear, man, I was just trying to scare her. Look, I'll just-"

"Hey." You hear another familiar voice boom, this time through a modulator. You sigh, lifting your head to see Jason, all the more threatening as Red Hood. His guns are already in either hand by his side and you have to respect the mugger for not passing out where he stands. If you didn't know it was Jason behind that mask, you'd be terrified to death. He tilts his head, evaluating the man. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere, I-"

"Exactly," Jason's warped voice comes out tight, and you hear the cocking of his gun, making you whip around to send a panicked look to Dick. He runs closer to you and you drop your voice to a whisper.

"I've got Hood, you take care of the guy."

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, not unkindly and the two of you snap into action.

You run back over to the mugger and step in front of him, making Jason falter in his movements and lower his gun. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths like he's exercising real control. "Move."

You stay as still as possible, arms splayed out in an attempt to cover the man behind you, despite the fact that Jason definitely possesses the skill to take him out even with you in the way.

"Put your guns away," you hiss when Dick has successfully restrained the man out of earshot and is dragging him away with ease. Jason steps towards them, but you stay in his way, using both hands against his chest to stop him. It's more of a symbolic gesture than anything, since you know you wouldn't be able to budge him an inch even if you threw yourself at him with full force. He stops anyway, looking down at you with his hands gripping his firearms tightly. "He was practically harmless. Let Nightwing deal with him. Please."

You're talking him down, trying to waste time so Dick can leave before Jason is able to do anything. You know you've succeeded when he tucks away his weapons, albeit reluctantly. Dick is too far away with the man now, anyway.

"What the hell were you doing out at this time?" he says, raising his voice instead of the usual quiet, deadly anger he reserves for the people who deserve it. It's how you know he's worried, when he doesn't try and control his temper. "And without dropping me a text first, so I could check on you? You do understand where you live, right?"

"Don't yell at me!" Your voice cracks in the middle of your sentence and you feel your lower lip tremble slightly. Jason stills. You refuse to cry, cursing your damn hormones and the fact you're a woman and the fact that you're cramping again. You aren't in the mood to talk to Red Hood right now. You want Jason. "And turn off your stupid voice thing!"

He obliges quickly, stepping closer to you. You're angry at one less thing now that his voice is back to normal. "I'm sorry for yelling. Please don't be upset with me, I was just worried-"

"You were going to kill that guy."

"Damn straight," he fires back, defensive again.

You glare at him and he has enough sense not to speak further. Shaking your head, you let out a frustrated groan. "He was a lousy mugger. That hardly deserves a bullet through the head."

"Are you forgetting that he had a knife?" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. Suddenly, as though he's remembering something, Jason folds his arms across his chest. "Why'd you call D- Nightwing for help first?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. How about next time, I'll ask the guy with the a knife if he can hold off for a second while I select the right contact number!" you grit out, hit with another wave of cramps, extremely tired of this conversation. "It was an accident, you idiot. I meant to text you first."

You can't see Jason's expression beneath his Red Hood mask and you aren't going to ask him to remove it in the middle of the streets, but you imagine he's mollified with the way his shoulders relax a bit.

Huffing, you walk away to get your phone, gingerly picking it up to inspect the newly made cracks all over. You vaguely register Jason standing over your shoulder before you shove your phone in your pocket, a problem for tomorrow. You turn around to face him and clutch at your lower stomach, breathing turning shallow.

"I was on my way to the convenience store," you explain, gritting your teeth. "I assume you're coming with me now?"

"Why did you need to go so late?" he questions, typically not letting it go. Instead of responding, you screw your eyes shut and puff out a few pained breaths. He immediately grips your shoulders and begins inspecting you. "What? Are you hurt? What happened, did he get you?"

"I have cramps, you ass," you groan, shoving his hands away. He ceases looking for an injury, and you don't need to ask him to remove his mask to know that he's relieved. "I was going to the store so late because I'm out of my sanitary products."

"Oh," Jason says gruffly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his voice due to his excessive worry. "Well, I kept a whole box of pads and stuff from the other month in my apartment. It's closer, come on."

You sag with relief, dragging your feet to follow him as the two of you walk to his place. You're in his apartment so often that you're not surprised it's stocked up with period products as well as your usual things for when you stay the night. You feel a funny little flip that has nothing to do with cramps when you consider how he kept everything.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Jason asks, completely serious, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I know how bad the cramps can get."

"I took some meds a couple hours ago, they're not the worst yet," you explain, shaking him off and trying not to think about him offering to carry you all the way to his apartment just because you have cramps.

You reach his complex quickly and he sends you up while he enters through the fire escape from a back alley as not to expose Red Hood's living quarters. By the time you've entered through his door, Jason is already there, judging by his helmet sitting on his kitchen counter.

"Be out in a second," he calls from his bedroom and so you flop down on his couch, face down in one of the cushions as you try to think about something other than the sharp needles stabbing your lower belly. He walks out while you're writhing in pain and sets down some pads, two painkillers and a glass of water on the coffee table. "Here, take them now and go sleep in the bed. There's some snacks in my nightstand if you get hungry. Do you need me to stay home?"

You reluctantly turn over onto your back and see that he's also holding your fluffy panda hot water bottle. You might combust, there and then. Pouting, you reach out for the panda, grabbing it to hold it close to your body and sighing at the slight pain relief. "I'm okay, you can go back to patrol. Thanks for looking after me, Jaybird."

"It's nothing," he shrugs, turning away to hide the pink flush appearing on his cheeks and grabbing his helmet. He shoves it on quickly and you try not to let out an unattractive snort of laughter. He turns on his voice modulator. "Text me if you need anything."

With that, he slips out of his window, making sure to shut it tightly behind him. You stay on the couch after knocking down a couple of painkillers and try to entertain yourself with some TV while you wait for Jason to come back.

You mournfully scroll through your phone, trying not to cut your fingers on the broken glass. The actual phone seems to be giving up on you as it takes forever to click on one thing to the next. Giving up, you toss it on the table and close your eyes. Making make a mental list in your head of things to do tomorrow, you add buying a new phone to it and prepare to say goodbye to a healthy chunk out of your bank account.

You don't remember dozing off, but your alarm startles you awake and you grab around for it on the nightstand next to you. Turning it off, you decide to brave the world outside the comfy sheets and realise you're in Jason's bed. He must have gotten back late and put you there, you think with a smile, suddenly happier than you were when first waking up. This happy attitude sours a bit when you nick ur finger on the broken glass of your phone screen trying to turn off the rest of your alarms.

Making your way out of his room and following the smell of toaster waffles, you see Jason plating up some breakfast for you. "Morning," you yawn, plopping down on a kitchen stool. "How was patrol?"

"Same old," he says, giving you the usual, non-descriptive answer. For all you know, he could have taken down an entire drug ring single-handedly and you'd be none the wiser. He sets down a plate in front of you, as well as a rectangular box. "Here."

You inspect the box, confused and wanting to focus more on the food before you process what it is and your jaw drops. "Jason Peter Todd. What the hell did you do!"

"Your phone broke," he says, gruffly, clearly trying to downplay the fact that he bought you a brand new smartphone, a later model than the one you already have. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Of course I'm going to make a big deal, Jay," you say, frowning. "I was going to get one myself today. Why did you waste your money on me? How much was it?"

"Don't worry about it," he says flippantly, plating up his own waffles. You should have known better than to ask. There's no way he's taking money from you.

You sigh, shoving your waffles and the phone out of the way to make your way over to him. "Jay," you say softly, grabbing his face in your hands. His eyes widen slightly and you fight the urge to smile. "I can't accept it."

"I said it was nothing," he replies, furrowing his brows and you release his face in favour of hugging him instead. "And it's not a waste if it's on you. You're taking the phone."

"It's everything," your voice comes out muffled by his hoodie. The cost of a phone really is nothing to Jason. It wouldn't have made even the slightest dent to his bank account, but that's not the point. "You need to let me take care of you for once. Oh, one more thing."

He hums in question, resting his chin on your head and wrapping his hands around you.

"If you buy anything for me again, I'm cutting a heart shaped hole in your suit."

Jason huffs out a laugh and you feel the vibration through his chest. "What about the coffee I get you after class every Friday?"

You stay silent.

He snorts, knowing he's got you. He drops a kiss on your head and grins when you look up to frown at him. "That's what I thought."

3. when this guy just won't take a hint.

Jason owes you big time. You've had the longest week of your life and yet here you are, in a floor length, dark red dress and heels, for crying out loud.

Realistically, this is the least you could do for him, showing up to a gala thrown by his father to keep him company. You're more than happy to do this as a favour to him, but that fact doesn't make the heels pinch at your toes any less.

"I haven't worn this dress since high school," you grumble, twisting it around your waist where it fits snugly. You're thankful for the fact that it falls loosely past your waist, or you'd have ripped it from your body by now. "If I eat one thing, it might actually tear."

"I'll give you my jacket when you spot the appetisers," Jason says, absentmindedly. You squeeze his bicep gently in thanks from where your arm is looped in his as he leads you into the venue. "Anyway, we'll be in and out, as always. Just making an appearance for Bruce."

"In and out," you repeat, lowering your voice as the two of you enter a more populated area. You know even though Jason moans about these events, he wouldn't be here if he really didn't want to be. He cares, even though he'd never admit it.

Groups of businessmen, celebrities, entrepreneurs; basically a bunch of rich people who are dressed in clothes that are definitely more expensive than your rent are milling about, every one of them with a drink in their hand. Their unwavering smiles and the constant trips to the bar are nothing new and you wrinkle your nose at the atmosphere of the place. "Do they even know what charity Bruce is throwing this for?"

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Bruce could be throwing this thing for homeless badgers and they'd be none the wiser," he mutters, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. Rolling his neck, he takes a deep breath. "I should go say 'hi' to him, while he's talking to a bunch of people. Prove that I actually showed up. You wanna come?"

You almost agree, not wanting to be left alone, but just before you reluctantly trudge over to a group of Bruce's boring business associates, you thankfully spot Jason's brothers by the bar. "I'll just go hang out with Dick and Tim, is that okay? I can come with though, if you want."

"Nah, go ahead," he says, detangling his arm from yours and giving you a reassuring smile. "Come grab me when they start getting annoying."

"Be nice," you warn, gently shoving him towards the group of men as you make your way to Dick and Tim.

"Hey," Tim greets you with a smile, glancing up quickly before returning to his phone. He does a little double take, eyes snagging on your dress and his smile turns devious. "Well, you look nice. You're wearing a very... nice colour..."

"Tim," you heave a deep sigh. Dick rolls his eyes, but he can't help the corners of his lips quirking up. "You can't keep doing this every time I wear red."

"I'm not doing anything, just making an observation," he shrugs, rocking back and forth on his heels in an attempt to look casual. Tim glances around to see make sure no one is in earshot before lowering his voice. "Hey, totally unrelated, but I heard Jaybird nearly shot a guy for almost mugging you."

"Tim."

"Leave her alone," Dick intervenes before Tim can needle you further. He definitely enjoys it too, but ever the golden boy, he seemingly wants to keep the peace. "How are you doing after that, anyway?"

"Fine," you nod reassuringly. "Thank you, again for showing up, Dick. I really appreciate it."

"Don't be silly, it's-"

"I heard he got you a brand new phone, too," Tim pipes up, cutting his brother off.

"Tim," you groan, thwacking him in the arm with your clutch. He barely flinches. "For the last time, Jason and I are just friends."

Tim opens his mouth to respond, but his eyes dart behind you and he thinks better of it, choosing to just smirk like the troublemaker he is.

"That's good news." You whip around to locate the source of the voice, finding yourself looking at a guy you've never met before. He seems to be around your age, dressed smart and very rich looking. You stand there stupidly.

"For who?" you ask, chuckling nervously.

He shrugs, giving you a charming smile. "Anyone who wants to buy you a drink. May I?"

Understanding dawns on you and you glance at Dick and Tim with wide eyes, feeling a little awkward that they're here for this interaction. Dick keeps his expression carefully neutral as he considers the man, whereas Tim frowns when he meets your eyes, jerking his head as subtly as possible in Jason's direction.

This has you glaring at him and just to prove a point, you plaster on a wide smile of your own and return your attentions to the stranger. "Yes. You may."

The two of you walk closer to the end of the bar and away from the others. You pointedly don't look at them. "What was your name?" you ask the stranger, mostly for the sake of being polite.

"George." A rich guy name, you think to yourself. If Jason were here, you know he'd have a million things to say.

He asks your name and you give it to him as he orders you a drink without actually asking what you want.

"Pretty name," George remarks, handing you a glass of something you've never had before. You pretend to take a sip, smiling in thanks. "So, what's your story?"

You try not to outwardly cringe at the question, sorely regretting tonight's decisions despite the fact you've been here less than half an hour. "I'm just here to keep my friend company." You keep the story short, not bothering to explain how you know the Wayne family.

"Ah, well. I dont blame you for looking so bored. I'm just here because I have to be as well," he mutters, swirling the contents of his glass. "Business connections and such."

"Oh." You find yourself being less and less interested in this conversation. "Do you know what the fundraiser tonight is for?"

"God, no," George laughs, taking a sip of his drink. You try your hardest not to grimace, mentally checked out of the conversation already. "It's always the same shit, anyway. Forget all that. Drink up and we can get out of here."

You nearly choke on your own saliva at his sheer confidence and set down your drink. "I really shouldn't. I'm, uh, I'm okay staying here."

"Aw, come on," he leans in a little closer than you'd like and you try to look as imperceptibly as you can for Dick or Tim, but it seems they've left you to face the consequences of your own actions. Traitors. "You don't look like you're enjoying yourself. What, you don't like me-?"

"Hey." You feel Jason's presence at the same time as hearing his voice. You almost laugh at how relieved you suddenly feel and you and relax into his hold when he places both hands on your waist. Jason drops his voice to a murmur that only you can hear. "Ready to go home?"

You nod, turning to leave. About to bid a quick goodbye to George as not to be rude, you open your mouth but get stopped in your tracks.

"She's fine right here, man," George says, voice as smooth as glass. If the glass is shattered into sharp, pointy spikes that are as uncomfortable as this conversation, that is.

Jason's previously polite smile hardens as his front is now practically plastered against your back. "She can talk for herself."

"She was actually just-"

"She's right here," you interrupt, squirming out of Jason's arms to step back. He drops his hands immediately, but doesn't look at you. Instead, he assesses George through a narrow eyed gaze. You can't decide if George is being brave, or stupid for not cracking under the weight of Jason's intense glare as he stands there, all six foot two of him posing a threatening picture. "Right, well. I'm just going to-"

"Hey, hold on," George says, averting his all-too arrogant gaze back to you and gripping your upper arm, jerking you slightly. You flinch a little when he moves into your personal space. "You aren't going to give me your number?"

His grip doesn't hurt, but it's a world away from gentle and you almost gape at the fact he doesn't seem to be aware of how uninterested you are.

Jason immediately clocks this, stepping forward. "Yeah, I don't fucking think so," he says darkly and then he shoves at George. Hard.

The people nearest to you gasp and titter when they see George careening into the stools at the bar and you slap a hand over your mouth, shocked. Shocked that Jason had actually gotten violent as Jason and not as Red Hood. All over a random creep, no less.

Before George even has the chance to recover from the surprise of Jason's brute force, you pull harshly on Jason's suit jacket, steering him out of the venue and into the hall. He follows you without protest, still breathing heavily.

"What the hell was that?" you hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, despite being alone out in the entrance hall.

"He grabbed you," Jason says slowly, as if he's confused as to why you're upset. His expression is tight, like he's being careful to control his anger even now that you're away from George. "I would have done a lot fucking worse to him if you hadn't dragged me out of there."

"You cannot go all Red Hood when you're Jason! It's suspicious as hell. Not to mention how you were practically back-hugging me like some sort of reverse bulletproof vest."

"I always do that," Jason says, calmly. The fact that he isn't raising his voice just spurs you on to raise yours higher. The multitude of emotions swirling around in a confused whirl around your stomach makes you nauseous.

"You hate being touchy in public," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Last month, you punched Tim in the stomach for putting his arm around your shoulder. Anyway, that's not the point! You're so occupied with trying to take care of everyone that you never consider yourself. Or let anyone else do so. Yeah, that guy was an asshole. But he was just an asshole trying to talk to a single girl. He wasn't some... some crime boss or villain or evil freaking mastermind for you to take down!"

"I don't need looking after. And he didn't know you were single," Jason scoffs, running a hand through his neatly combed hair, mussing it up. If you weren't so irritated, you'd take a moment to appreciate how much you prefer it when he looks like this. Real and raw, like the current expression on his face rather than closed off and emotionless. "You came here on my arm, wearing my colour, like Tim's always fucking going on about. You... you're my..."

"Your what, Jason?" you ask, hysterically. You're almost yelling now, finally ready to snap at Jason's inability to share his thoughts with you. He stays silent, face going blank again, an indication that he's closing himself off to you. Your shoulders sag from exhaustion. "Come talk to me when you can give me an answer. I'm going home, I'll get Dick to give me a ride."

You don't wait for a response as you walk back into the venue. Thankfully, Dick is near the entrance and you don't have to subject yourself to too many stares before he takes you home. You don't glance at Jason on your way out.

4. when he asks for your help.

You're moping. You don't bother trying to deny it, but you're definitely moping around your apartment since your fight with Jason. You wake early every day and get dressed and study, but your movements are almost robotic in nature.

Dick has tried texting you a few times, but you've decided to just avoid looking at your phone, because it's the one Jason bought and it just makes you feel even worse. You aren't sure if Jason's tried contacting you, but your phone stops going off around the same time as Dick's evening patrol and you don't let yourself dwell on it further.

The two of you have never gone this long without speaking and aside from the pit of unease in your stomach as well as the sadness hanging over you like a dark cloud, you're also just bored. You have acquaintances from your nursing course, but no one close enough to do anything with this late at night.

Oh, well, you think to yourself, Chinese food and Grey's Anatomy for the second night in a row it is.

You take a quick shower, standing under the hot water for longer than necessary to let the time pass. Getting out, you change into your second pyjama set of the day, opting for a hoodie when you feel a chill in your room that wasn't there before.

You go to shut your bedroom window with a frown, not remembering why you opened it. The handle is stiff and you internally curse your landlord for still not fixing it as you finally succeed in shutting the damn thing after a particularly hard tug.

It shouldn't have taken that much energy out of you, but you're panting when you walk out of your bedroom to enter the living room so you can sit in front of the TV and order the takeout that you probably shouldn't be eating.

Before you can even attempt to regulate your breathing, you look up in the direction of your couch to find Jason sitting there in his Red Hood suit and slap a hand over your mouth to smother your shriek.

"Oh my God," you gasp, your free hand flailing out frantically to grasp the door frame in an attempt to steady yourself. The minute it takes for you to catch your breath is enough time to take in the state of the vigilante sitting in the dark of your living room.

You switch the light on and Jason winces at the sudden brightness, but you take the opportunity to give him a thorough once over. His dark hair is disheveled and falling into his eyes from hours of confinement in his helmet and he has a fresh bruise blossoming across his cheekbone.

You hardly ever use the main light, usually opting for a warm-toned lamp instead, so when the main light casts the cuts and scrapes on Jason's body in a harsher light, you want to turn it off even more.

Jason's eyes flutter shut for a second and you immediately rush forward to assess him for any injuries causing major blood loss. "Did you get stabbed?" you ask clinically, your voice void of any emotion. "Are you bleeding under your suit? You need to stay awake-"

"I'm fine," Jason mutters, opening his eyes to peer up at you through tired eyes. "I'm not bleeding or anything. Just wiped out from patrol."

You relax slightly, taking a step back to create some distance between the two of you. "Oh. You snuck through my window to tell me that you're tired?"

"Anyone could have snuck through that damn window," he says, brows furrowing in disapproval. He's been hassling you about the security of your apartment since you can remember and you usually wave him off, but in this moment you bristle.

"You don't get to be annoyed at me right now," you say, crossing your arms and glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you here, Jason?"

He grimaces at the use of his government name coming from you and takes a deep breath. "I haven't slept."

"So, go home and take a nap," you say, exasperated, letting your hands fall to your side as you're about to turn around and walk back into your room. Before you leave, you hear your Nursing teachers' voices in your head, reprimanding you and you sigh. "And you want to clean those cuts before they get infected."

"Could you do it for me?" Jason asks quietly, barely audible. His jaw clenches with the effort of asking you the question. "Please?"

You blink at him. "But, I- You've never..." you trail off, not knowing what to say. Jason has always refused to let anyone else patch him up after patrol. Hell, he's even learned how to do stitches on himself when you're the one learning how to do them for a living.

"I want... to let you look after me," he whispers, looking at you imploringly like you're going to refuse. Your irritation immediately melts into something else that you don't want to analyse any time soon.

"Oh," you exhale softly, heart twisting unwillingly. You nod slowly, words escaping you again. "Okay."

Jason's head flops back onto the couch cushion and he sighs like all of the tension is leaving his body. His hair covers his eyes, but you don't miss the dark circles under them, contrasting starkly with his skin, pale from exhaustion.

You consider letting him stay there, but you know it'll be easier in the bathroom where you keep all of your first aid supplies and the lighting is better for when you're practicing your techniques. "Come on. Up," you say, gesturing to the bathroom with a jerk of your head and you walk away, allowing him to come in his own time.

While you're digging through your bathroom cabinet for all the supplies you've haphazardly thrown in after using them, Jason slips in and you glance over at him quickly. "Sit down," you mutter, reaching up for the disinfectant. It sits on one of the higher shelves and you have to get on your tiptoes to reach it. Jason instinctively moves to help you but you shoo him away, managing to grasp it yourself. "Sit down."

"Yes, nurse," he huffs out a quiet laugh and you bite back a smile, opting to roll your eyes at him instead. Setting your supplies down behind Jason, you focus your attentions on unzipping his suit. The way his arms are resting limp in his lap tells you that he's not wanting to move anytime soon. You bring the zipper down yourself and pull off each sleeve cautiously, not wanting to rip the suit further where the torn fabric is clinging to the bloody cuts in his skin.

Once the suit is hanging loosely around his waist, you see from the black tank he's wearing that the cuts are localised to his now bare arms from where he's been defensive, whereas the fabric on his chest and abdomen are intact.

Jason's eyes track your face as you assess the extent of his injuries and when you lift your face to look at him, he's unabashed, continuing to look directly into your eyes. Your cheeks warm and you stutter out a sentence "I-I'll be right back, one sec."

You rush out of the bathroom and into your kitchen to pull open the freezer and scramble around for a bag of frozen anything. Settling on a bag of peas that you have no intention of cooking anytime soon, you hurry straight back to the bathroom.

Jason eyes the peas warily and you raise a brow, daring him to challenge you. When he stays silent, you move forward to shove the peas onto his cheek where the bruise is a darker red mark than before. He hisses when the icy bag makes contact with his face, flinching away from it.

"Ouch," he mumbles belatedly, giving you a sheepish smile when your mouth sets in a line. You should probably be gentler with him considering it's the first time he's allowing someone to physically care for him and it's you he's choosing to cross that boundary with. It's not like you want to scare him off so he never asks you again, but you can't help still being annoyed with him after your fight.

You sigh, trying to relax your face into a non-threatening expression. "Sorry. Keep it on your face to stop the swelling."

Jason grasps the bag slowly as you let go, letting his fingers brush over your own. You clear your throat and focus your attentions on the cotton pads, dousing them with disinfectant. Jason looks at you through one open eye, the other obscured by the bag of peas. "You shouldn't be the one apologising," he says, after a beat.

You purse your lips, bringing a cotton pad up to Jason's shoulder. "I know," you say simply before you press the disinfectant into one of the larger cuts, harder than probably necessary. Jason screws his eyes shut and works his jaw, but stays quiet. "Did that hurt?"

Jason shakes his head immediately, letting out a short breath he was holding. "Nope. Felt good actually. Kinda like a cooling effe- Shit," he hisses, tensing his arm. You think that's enough torture for now, instead continuing to gently wipe away the blood and dirt.

"I won't apologise about that one," you say, shrugging. Jason cracks a smile and you find yourself hiding one of your own as you clean off the other, smaller cuts and scrapes that don't need bandaging. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Promise I'll be nicer about it this time."

Jason shakes his head again, so you dispose of the cotton pads and get the band-aids, the only noise in the bathroom being the sound of you rummaging through your supplies. When you spot the choice of band-aids, you grin. "Pick one."

Surveying the two that you hold in your hand, Jason's gaze lingers on the dinosaur patterned band-aid, before flicking his eyes up to yours and raising an eyebrow. He points to the other one. "I'll take the Hello Kitty."

Your grin widens, knowing he's only choosing the pink Hello Kitty band-aid to appease you. You're certainly not going to challenge him about it as you carefully peel off the backing to stick it over his shoulder. Stepping back, you tilt your head to evaluate him and nod. "You look very pretty."

Jason smirks, but the slight blush creeping across the cheek that isn't covered by the frozen peas doesn't fool you. "Pretty enough for you to forgive me for being such an ass?"

"That depends." You take a tentative step towards him, crossing your arms. "Are you going to stop being stupid?"

Jason lowers his arm holding the bag of peas and places it behind him. With both hands, he reaches over to your arms, uncrossing them to bring you forward until you're standing close. He's so impossibly tall in your tiny bathroom that even standing up, you're only eye level with him as he sits on the closed toilet seat.

"I can't promise that I'll never be stupid in front of you again. You kind of have that effect on me," he says, sighing like it's some curse inflicted on him. You thwack his rock-solid arm and he grins. "I can promise I'll let you take care of me from now on, though. And that I'm going to stop lying to you."

"What?" you ask, eyebrows furrowing. You're even more confused when Jason places his hands around your waist to guide you onto his lap, both your legs hanging off one side of him. You raise both eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his answer, but he merely stares at you, smiling. "Jason. When have you lied to- mmph-"

He cuts you off by pressing your lips together in a kiss, one hand still holding yours, intertwining your fingers while the other tilts your chin up so he can kiss you deeper. You're a little slow on the uptake, frozen from shock for a second, but it isn't long until you're kissing him back just as eagerly. You shift in his lap, lifting one of your legs to swing over to his other side until you're straddling him and Jason takes a sharp inhale, sitting up straighter and pulling your body closer to his.

He pulls away for a millisecond, before his lips reattach to your jaw, travelling down to pepper soft kisses down your neck and you let out a noise halfway between a sigh and an embarrassing whimper. Jason groans at the sound, nipping at your neck and you feel like you can't breathe enough air.

He pulls away again to catch his own breath and you take the opportunity to come to your senses and lean back, gently pushing at Jason's chest. You breathe hard, trying to lift your gaze from Jason's swollen lips and he seems to be having a hard time looking away from your own.

"Jason," you say, voice shaky and uneven.

"Mhm?" he hums distractedly, pressing a soft kiss on your jaw before looking at you again.

"You kissed me," you point out, stupidly. "You really, really kissed me."

"I did," Jason murmurs, both hands cupping your face. He swallows, expression going from dazed to nervous before he speaks. "You asked me what you are to me before you left the other night."

You nod slowly, head still reeling from the kiss. Truthfully, you were willing to pretend the conversation never happened if you could go back to being friends again. You missed Jason.

"You're everything to me." Jason's shoulders are relaxed, his face free of tension as he says this. You're so shocked by the fact that he doesn't seem to be in pain as he opens himself up to you, that it takes a minute to process the actual meaning of his words. Your lips part but he shakes his head, continuing to speak. "You're everything. And sometimes I can't even think about that too much, let alone speak it, because I'm scared it'll consume me. I'm scared you'll consume me. The idea of compromising your safety, the idea of you loving me back, all of it. I'm... I was scared."

You lift your hand to place it over Jason's, still resting on your cheek. "That's okay. I can think and speak enough for the both of us," you tease and Jason laughs quietly, his breath tickling the inside of your wrist and sending a shiver down your spine. "You're everything to me as well, by the way. And sometimes all I can think about is loving you. I was just waiting for you to say it first."

Jason smiles and you think the corners of his lips lifting up and his eyes lighting up is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, each time blowing you away like it's the first time you've witnessed it. "Does that mean I lose? Kinda feels like I've won," he tilts his head, pretending to think about it.

"Oh, you've so lost," you furrow your brows in a mockingly serious frown. "And I'll be telling Tim as much."

Jason stills. "Please do not tell me that he bet you fifty dollars I'd confess first as well."

Your jaw drops. "That little bastard was playing both of us?"

You start laughing when Jason lets out an irritated groan, dropping his head onto your shoulder to bury his face in your shirt. You thread your hands in his hair and wrap an arm around his neck. He sighs, half content and half resigned. "I say we don't tell him for as long as we can get away with it. Live in peace for a while."

"We're talking about Tim here," you remind Jason, leaning back to lift his head and look at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. And he'd literally never talk to you again if he knew we were hiding it after he finds out."

"I don't care," Jason says, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. He leans back to run his eyes over your face, drinking you in like looking at you is a rare occurrence that he doesn't get the opportunity to do much. "You're all I need, anyway."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd scenarios #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fluff #jason todd fic #red hood imagine #jason todd imagines #red hood x reader #red hood x you

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nanaslutt · 7 months

Note

gojo's first time meeting you and instantly noticing your freckles. like nothing other than your freckles, not even the clothes you're wearing rn or your hair or eyes.

freckles.

and im absolutely sure geto would be so fed up with gojo ranting about how he wants to kiss every single one of them.

oh my god this is so cute???????? this reminds me of gojos cannon reaction to seeing geto for the first time and thinking “bangs” lol

contains: fem transfer student!reader, 3rd year satosugu, geto choosing to stay at jujutsu tech au, the boys are both 19 here, Geto has morals, gojo uhhhhhh, crackkk, fluff, perv!gojo, masturbation, caught masturbating, fantasizing

note: the toji fic will b posted later tonight or tmrw morn :p

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Freckles………

If you looked close enough you might be able to see the white orbs floating around Gojo’s head,

“Uhhh, sorry is there something on my face” you spoke up when he didn’t say anything after you introduced yourself.

Satoru getting jolted out of his trance when suguru landed a mean smack on the back of his head, pouting at his dark haired bestfriend.

“Sorry about him,” geto apologized on his behalf, “he can be quite oblivious to how his actions affect other people.” suguru grit behind his teeth, looking out the corner of his eye to see satoru shooting daggers at him.

“Asshole…” the white haired man mumbled under his breath, looking up from under his white lashes, gaze set back on your face, watching you rub the back of your neck, saying something to geto.

Words leaving your mouth sounding muffled as his gaze dropped to your neck, noticing that the brown spots trailed further and further down the length of your neck, even traveling under the collar of your shirt, where the cloth obstructed his view.

Lip twitching up breifly at his annoyance, wanting to see just how far the freckles really went.

“Right satoru?” Suguru laughed, both of you directing your attention to the albino, “god da-“ smacking him harder once more on the back of his head, sending him his body curling in on himself on the ground and groaning, “manners satoru jesus christ.” suguru smacks a heavy hand over his face at gojos antics.

—

Gojo let his head fall of the edge of sugurus bed, silky hair falling around his ears, suguru laying against the headboard, flipping through some magazine, sugurus low-fi playlist playing softly in the backround.

“God….did you see how her frek-“ Geto swiftly cutting him off by kicking his foot into his shin, “satoru i swear to god if you say one more thing about her fucking freckles i’m going to cut out your tongue.” he spat, not looking up from his magazine.

For days after your first meeting he would not shut up about how cute he found your freckles.

Learning when you wore a skimpy tank top when sparing with shoko, that the cute spots not only covered your pretty face, but your arms and hands too.

Watching the light hit your skin as your body moved swiftly, shirt lifting when you flipped and twisted yourself, seeing the freckles and moles scattered across your tummy.

Shirt barely having lifted for a couple milliseconds, but he didn’t have good eyesight for nothing. Gojo quickly memorizing the placement of the dots and engraving it in his brain.

Brain practically short circuiting when the sun was beating down on the school a little too how one day, meaning he got to see you in shorts.

short, skimpy, tight, shorts.

It was like you wanted him to look, leaning over the counter, knees perched on the stool and elbows on the counter, cradling your soft cheeks in your hands as you spoke to shoko over the table.

Twisting your hips on the swivel stool, making the fabric of your shorts raise, letting him see even more brown spots on the insides of your thighs from his place on the couch behind you.

“torruuu,” geto caught him off gaurd, whispering into the shell of his ear, “quit bein a fucking perv.” turning to look at the not so friendly looking smile plastered on the dark haired mans face. ugh. buzzkill.

Taking them back to the present, “I know I knowww, you hate beauty we get it..” gojo drawled, sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes. Lucky the bed blocked geto’s view of gojo’s face from here, as he probably would’ve hit him.

“I just cannot stop thinking about kissing her cute little face, maybe her neck..” pausing for a second, getting too absolved in his words, “below her neck…” he whispered.

“Satoru, stop telling me about your perverted fantasies about our new classmate, please.” letting the magazine drop into his lap as he finally let himself look down at the man.

Geto quickly noticing the extremely obvious tent in his pants. “You have 2 seconds to get you and your boner off my bed or your not gonna like it.” geto growled.

Gojo let his body slide of the bed backwards headfirst into the hardwood floor. “You hate meeeee,” he dragged out his words dramatically, “You hate my happinesssss” he continued, geto closing his eyes and shook his head, feeling a headache come on at his antics.

“I hate your penis.” Geto corrected. “She has a mind of her own, it’s not my faul,” gojo defended, sprawling his limbs out on the floor.

“Did you just refer to your dick as ‘she’?” Geto asked, needing to clarify the insanity gojo was spouting, leaning over the end of his bed to get a better look at the white haired freak.

“Well yeah,” he stated like it was obvious, “cant be a ‘him’, that would be gay.”

Geto blinked at him, glancing at the ceiling to center himself before he looked back at the man on the floor. Leaning back out of view, he picked up the magazine, throwing it straight at gojos crotch. Of course now of all times when geto decided to assault him, he had his infinity on.

“Oh that would’ve hurt so bad,” gojo closed his lanky legs together, covering his crotch with his hands. “I cant believe you really went for my nads.” gojo bit his lip in offense, faux crying at getos meaness.

Geto just rolled his eyes in response, flopping back into the bed, folding his hands over his chest as he was left entertain-less.

—

When the two of you finally exchanged numbers, he used the opportunity to ask to take a picture together; for your profile picture of course!

Definitely not because he wanted to stare at the picture by himself for hours; pinching the screen between his fingers, zooming in and out of on the photo as he now could really map out each and every one of your freckles.

Blushing when his brain compared them to the constellations, how romantic he thought.

What happened next was… less romantic.

Phone laid out on the bed underneath him while his hand laid next to it, bracing himself as he hovered above it, other hand rapidly stroking his cock.

Staring into your eyes unabashedly, no geto around to tell him off as he engraved whatever piece of your face he wanted into his brain permanently.

Squeezing over the tip when he looked at how big his hand looked compared to your shoulder, palm resting on it in the photo.

Twitching at the mole placed perfectly on your cleavage, getting a great view of the crack between your breasts from the high angle he held the phone at. Mentally patting himself on the back for that.

He had zoomed in onto your half of the photo, not wanting to look at himself while he masturbated.

Mouth watering with the urge to press his lips against every single one of your freckles. Imagining you giggling and blushing while he tickled your face with his soft lips making him dizzy.

Gojo imagined your hand instead of his, wrapped tightly around his cock. He imagined pressing his length against your plush lips, rubbing the tip over them, feeling your tongue dart out and lick his tip.

Groaning out your name when he came, abs clenching when ropes of cum spurted out of his dick, and all over the sheets underneath him.

Grimacing when he watched some of it land on his phone screen; disgust being slightly overpowered by how erotic your pixelated face looked with his cum decorating it.

“Satoru did you take my charger again? Swear i’m gonna kill you-“ Suguru cut himself short when he slid satoru’s door open, taking in the scene in front of him.

Geto wasn’t able to fully see his phone, but he knew full well what his jerk off material was.

Satoru gave him a dopey grin, practically seeing smoke emit from atop getos head as he slammed the door shut, kicking his foot against the wood and yelling out, “cant believe i’m best friends with such a pervert!” down the hallway, voice getting quieter the further he got away from gojos room.

Satoru didn’t care though, gazing back at his phone, picking it up in his palm before using his thumb to smear the cum over your smiling lips lewdly.

He absolutely needed to get his hands on you, and he would make sure he did.

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yanderenightmare · 7 months

Note

How does Shiggy react to a darling who developed Stockholm Syndrome?

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: NSFW, captive darling, Stockholm Syndrome, ish benevolent sexism

fem reader

You kissed him a little while back.

It was strange, as though you’d forgotten yourself – lost yourself in the heat of the moment. But no, it had been deliberate and long-lasting – earnest and needy even. And had rendered him both speechless and in a panic.

He’d entered the room in a rigid mood and woken you up with a bite to your ass. Pulling your thighs snugly around him with his cock already swole between them – tugging your panties down your thighs while you were still rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a yawn.

You’d learned rather quickly never to fight him. He’d punish you with bitemarks and no food, and ultimately you grew too weak to reject him anyway. So your casual acceptance wasn’t anything new where you patiently awaited getting fucked – lying on your back while looking down at his fat member disappearing inside you with only a tiny moan slipping free from your lips.

You took him obediently as you’d done for a while – without protest. The only difference occurred after he’d twisted the two of you around so you could straddle and ride him. You’d pressed your naked breasts into his chest and taken his face in your hands – gently as you rolled your hips without guidance – and then, right before the kiss, you’d said, so very softly, “I missed you today… it’s boring here without you~”

Your voice was sultry, kissing him tender yet deeply – pouring sweet moans into his mouth while your hands tangled in his hair.

You’d traveled to his neck after, and he came as soon as your tongue licked the scars found there – digging his fingers into the plush of your hips, keeping you seated as he spluttered all his worth inside you.

He’d been in such a state of post-shock that he’d rushed out just after. Leaving you.

Kurogiri had pointed out his blush while he sat at the bar, mulling it over with a bottle of brown in his grip. He shuddered, recurring the feeling – your pillowy wet lips on his, those words leaving your tongue, your hands playing with his hair, pulling him close. His chest felt tight, just as tight as the furrow between his brows.

Dabi sat down a couple of stools away sometime later in the night. Often, Shigaraki would abstain from engaging in conversation with the guy, but really, at least in this case, he was the best choice of any to ask for input. After all, they weren’t all that different. Actually, when it came to basics, they were both pretty similar – same-aged, ugly, and ridden with family issues from scars to fractured memories.

Dabi gave him a dumb look, his brow raised as though to ask what he was staring at after noticing his side-eye.

“You still have the same girl?” He jumped straight to it.

Dabi’s dumb expression turned dumber. Confused, maybe not so much by the question itself but by why the boss was even talking to him. But most emotions are like matches for Dabi, and they burn out before they’re able to light any fires. Soon, the usual sense of disinterest washed over him, and his face eased up into that chronic jaded look.

Shigaraki nearly lost patience, reminded once again why he couldn’t stand the guy – rude as ever and so slow it made his skin itch. But then he gave his answer, “Yeah, I still have her.”

“She difficult?” Shigaraki followed up.

And Dabi took his time once again, hauling out the seconds before offering his answer in a drawl. “No, Stockholm Syndrome kicked in quickly.”

Shigaraki let it settle - Stockholm Syndrome – before looking back at his drink and repeating the thought once again. Stockholm Syndrome.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” He mumbled then.

Dabi sighed, taking a swig of his beer. It was already the third one, but he’d only been sitting there for about half an hour. “Not really…” He disagreed. “Most girls are better survivors.”

It was Shigaraki’s turn to look dumb, looking puzzled as he stared down the barrel to his bottle – in wait of an explanation – almost as though he was under the impression it was the drink who was speaking and not the patch-faced raven-head sitting beside him.

“They learn quickly to accept what will keep them safe, and then, they find solace in whatever they can to maintain their mental health as well…” Said raven-haired guy continued – then he scoffed. “Boys fight until they break. Leaving them a shell of what they once were. But girls don’t have the same pride.”

He swirled his bottle, stove-top blue eyes lazy, looking at the last of his drink storm with waves inside the green glass.

“They leave themselves behind and become someone new.” He offered a dry chuckle, and Shigaraki spotted the unsightly way his staples only barely held the split of his smile together. “It’s actually kind of scary.” He finished before downing the last gulp, setting the bottle down with a bang.

He swung off his stool, shoving his hands down his pockets, and walked away – his back turned.

“If I were you, I’d embrace it, boss. Despite what we try to believe, that shit feels best when it’s given willingly.”

Shigaraki sat there a moment longer. Long enough to get cut off by Kurogiri, who told him drinking anymore would be a bad idea.

When he got back to the room, you were sleeping again.

He stood and stared at you for a moment.

Was this a game you were playing? Was it a joke?

You’d pulled on one of his hoodies. And upon a closer look, you hadn’t showered either…

Strange of you to leave his cum inside you...

But thinking back about it, you hadn’t been so distant with him for a while already. You’d been trivial – conversational – even chirpy, if he could call it that.

Was it like Dabi said? Had you reached your breaking point for loneliness, leaving him to be your only resource? Or had you accepted the circumstances and willed yourself to play along?

He didn’t know, but the doubt stormed an upset in his mind as he lifted the covers and laid down next to you. But despite the exhaustion, the lure of sleep still wasn’t enough to make him close his eyes – he was stuck staring at you, mapping out all those qualities that make up your pretty face.

So deep in his studies, he nearly flinched when your eyes fluttered open.

A small smile graced your lips soon after. “You’re back…” You murmured, eyes softly blinking at him before you scooched closer – shimmying yourself over to him until you were all the way up against his chest, nuzzling your head against his collar with sleepy sounds of comfort. Resting there for a blissful moment before purring out a sweet “Good night~”

But he couldn’t sleep that night. Too busy listening to your soft snores – feeling the clingy way you clutched his cotton T-shirt.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch you either. For a long while – it was as though he was… scared almost. Freaked out by your doting – that way you’d hug him when he entered through the door – placing kisses on places he wasn’t used to – his cheek, his forehead, his neck, his knuckles.

Grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t go, Tomura…” You said once when he had his hand on the doorknob and the key halfway twisted in the lock. “Please… don’t leave.”

His throat went tight. It had been like that for a while – ever since that first kiss, actually, he’d been unable to talk to you – unsure what to say.

But you hadn’t the same issue.

“You haven't touched me in a while…” You continued, taking his hand away from the doorknob in both yours, playing with his fingers – bringing it up to your face – you cuddled it like he’d not threatened you with his touch many many many times before. “Are you bored with me?” You asked instead of the obvious, keeping him at a loss for words. “Or… have I scared you away?”

You? Scared him?

Your lips brushed his fingers as one of your hands made a slow descent – making him jerk with a gasp as it went straight to cup his groin – tender yet firm, giving it a squeeze.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” You said coyly, eyes doe-like but kittenish all the same, with a pouty and small smirk playing on your lips before you bit into them – brows cinching, giving him a flirty pleading expression. “Please, Tomura?” You said his name as though it didn’t belong to him. “It gets so lonely here…” You kissed his palm. “Won’t you give me a proper goodbye, at least?”

#yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shiggy #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere mha #yandere bnha #shigaraki smut #shigaraki thirst #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere tomura #tomura smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki x you #tomura x you

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eupheme · 8 days

Text

— drinkin’ in sunshine

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

Tags: softer!cooper, love-at-first-sight, bounty hunting, alcohol, brief sexual harassment, seduction with ulterior motives, manual restraints, semi-public PiV

Request: a sweet request by @victoria-grimesss - ‘the theme of the song “Orange Colored Sky” like love at first sight maybe she’s a bounty hunter too?’

A/N: based on an idea where Cooper would like to visit old bars, a small habit left from the man he used to be

You find yourself having to rethink your strategy, when you’re suddenly struck with feeling for the man you’re supposed to be hunting down.

The bar you find yourself in might be one of least favorite you’ve been in. A dingy sign marking the entrance, cast in shades of orange with the dip of the evening sun.

It's dark inside - flickering bulbs and oil lamps. Near the fringes of town, the murmur of voices and low jazz notes slipping through what remained of the glass-cracked windows.

Floors stained by god knows what, the bartop sticky against your elbow as your chin props on your palm. Full of all kinds of folk that would like to sink their teeth into you. Tear you from limb to limb.

But, they said you'd find him here. The him still undetermined, but for the amount of caps they're paying you, you were willing to take a leap of faith.

“Know 'em when you seem 'em," The man grunted. Giving you an appraising once-over, arms crossing over his chest, "Hard to miss. Black hat and a long coat. Five hundred caps for 'im dead. Boss don't want him alive."

You pick apart that detail in your head.

Reading between the lines. Either your target pissed someone off real bad, or he was too dangerous to be brought in.

Neither bode well for you, but you've been in this game long enough that you have a few tricks up your sleeve.

The scattering of tables look like campfires out on the open plains. Pockets of light, your eyes squinting - trying to find your quarry. Trying not to look too interested, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. No good could come from a gunfight here.

Eventually you catch him, from the corner of an eye. A tipped-down hat, a hint of that black coat and a leather vest from the bit of light from the table next to him. The dregs of something dark left swimming in a dull glass, the cut edges worn down from years of use.

You send another his way, a sweet smile for the bartender and a couple extra caps to make sure it makes it there.

Easier to get the job done at close range.

A drink paired with another doe-eyed smile. A murmured, well-placed “let’s get out of here” - and he’d be yours. Always worked like a charm, in a place like this.

Nursing your own drink as your legs cross, the collar of your jacket turned up. Shielding your face, as you do a quick check - loosening the snap on your holster. The sheath hidden at the small of your back.

When you look again, a jolt rings through you when you realize his eyes are already on you.

Almost as if he’d noticed you first - his gaze dark under the brim of his hat. The flip of his hand on the table - palm upright, two fingers crooking.

Beckoning you to him.

There’s something about him that you can sense from even here. Hairs on the back of your neck standing up, a stutter of your heartbeat.

You could still run. Cut ties and pass on through to the next town. Tell them it didn't shake out, if you ever have to take a bounty here again.

But you're drawn to him. Curious. It's been a while since a bounty has piqued your interest. It was always the same-old.

Raider with a chem problem. Man who stole something. A no-good scoundrel who ran off with a rich man's wife.

It has you moving. Slipping from the stool. Making your way through the dim room, to where a lean leg extends, kicking out the chair in front of them.

Three tables away and suddenly there's a hand darting out, pinching hard at your elbow. Sending you off balance as you grasp at their hand, nails sinking into their wrist. Your lip curling in a snarl, as you're tugged towards the man that sits, thighs spread wide.

"Been a while since somethin’ as pretty as you's been here." You can smell the sweat that clings to him, layered with the stench of watered-down beer, "What say you spend some time with us?"

His companion leers, and your pulse spikes. A hand drifting carefully towards your gun, the grit of your jaw as your mind races through your options.

There's a shadow behind you. Catching you in it, as the man’s eyes flicker to something above your shoulder.

"This one's mine, " The stranger drawls, “Why don’t you fellas find another toy to play with?”

A flash of something silver at his hip that has the man letting go.

Their eyes shifting away uneasily as you snatch your arm back. Turning to face the stranger, the grateful “thank you” already on the tip of your tongue.

But as you free it, his head tilts. Face catching the light, and you realize your savior isn't a stranger after all.

He's your target.

And... he's a ghoul.

The Ghoul, to be precise. He has to be - no one else talks like him, that old-world drawl. His reputation preceding him, you had heard time again just how efficient and ruthless he could be.

For a moment, you’re transfixed. Stuck staring up at him - across the cut of his cheekbones and the hollow of his eyes. A low flip in your stomach, for more than one reason. Something going soft, and then low and warm inside you.

Oh. You might just be over your head.

“Huh.” His eyes narrow, as he regards you. Doing their own slow sweep, from the top of your head down to the dust on your boots.

Something must have piqued his interest as well - there’s a slow jerk of his head towards the table, though he does not move.

Making you squeeze past him - your hips brushing up against his to pass by.

The drink still sits, untouched. An arm slung across the back of the booth that lines the back wall, as you fold into the chair opposite.

It’s only here that you get a real good look at him. The pulled-tight skin, reddened with radiation. The dark cavern of his nose.

His eyes are pretty. A shade that makes you think of the weather when things grow cool, late in the year. The lingering green before the earth turns brown for the colder winter months.

You think you wouldn’t mind them on you.

Not at all.

The Ghoul's knuckles tap the glass, nudging it towards you - bringing you back from your swirl of thoughts. His gaze fixed on yours, with the rasp of his voice.

"Ladies first."

You blink at him, "I got this for you."

A way to distract him. To open a window of opportunity, a way to get close enough to slip a knife between his ribs.

Or, that had been the plan.

There's the ghost of a smile. The peek of teeth as his tongue runs across them, as his head cocks to the side. Those eyes narrowing.

"Only a few reasons why a lady like yourself would get a fella a drink."

The lightness of his tone is betrayed by the careful way he watches you, down to the minute furrow of your brow - how your tongue peeks out to wet your own lips, “Here for a job, or for something else.”

The mention of a job makes your stomach clench, until you realize he must think you’re there to strike one with him.

"Either way, be in my best interest to ensure it hasn't been... tampered with.”

Perhaps not.

Perhaps you’d have to work harder… though the tight tether you have on your plan has started to slip through your fingers.

"You think I'd be capable of something like that?" Your eyes go wide with feigned innocence. Only half-acting, now.

Elbows propped on the table - a lean that does wonders for the hint of cleavage hidden in the loosened buttons of your shirt.

"Still workin' that out," His eyes sweep over yours, before dipping down to your mouth. And then, lower, "But, I think I got a good idea."

His voice lowers then. "Drink."

And so, you do.

The liquor is harsh when it hits your tongue. Strong and bitter - his eyes trained on the column of your throat as you swallow. A hand extended as you pass the glass to him. Fingers brushing, your bare ones against his worn leather gloves.

It's lifted to his lips after. His tongue dragging over the rim, where your lips had been - before he's tipping the glass back. Taking half of the rest with a long swallow.

"Maybe I just wanted to show my appreciation." You coo, "Heard all about you, after all."

"Is that right?" There’s another smirk - before his head is tipping, appraising, “This the only way you show your… appreciation?”

Your heart races, as you give him your best winning smile.

"Well, let's say you and I find out?"

Your moan is ragged, teeth biting hard into your arm in an attempt to muffle the sound. Never making it further than the back-alley of the bar.

His voice had been low, as he followed you out the side door. A growled out, “We doin’ this?”

Eyes watching the twitch of your hands, his own tensed at his sides. Twin wires, strung tight.

Your mouth had tipped up to meet his, instead of your blade. Teeth and tongue and the wandering press of hands as he backed you against the building, your shoulders scraping against the worn brick in the darkness.

Would be a shame, you had thought. Not to find out what this was.

This something that almost had a physical weight - that dulled the sharp edge of your senses. Never expecting to feel this way, as desire crashes soundly over you.

You could always find him again after.

Tomorrow, maybe.

Finish the job then.

But that was before.

Before the bottom of your resolve fell out, with the press of his thigh, when it rocked against your core. His hip digging into yours, so you can feel how hard he is for you.

A whine in your throat, a knowing tone in his rough answer.

“’ve got you. Know just what you need.”

He had spun you around - your wrists caught in his hand, the brick biting into your skin where he pinned them.

Legs kicked wide with his boots, the soft clink of belts and spurs and the solid press of his chest into your back as you rocked back needily against him.

You let him take you apart.

Split you open on his cock, as he does nothing to quiet your sounds. Teeth bared - his own moan bitten back as he feels the way you clench down, wet and warm around him as his hips pound into you. Breath hot where it fans against your neck.

“And whose did I say you were?”

It has your eyes fluttering shut, as his hand curls around your hip - slipping between your thighs.

“Yours.” You gasp.

His breath is ragged in your ear, “That’s right.”

You keen when he circles your clit, his fingers slick with your arousal. Everything else fading, expect for how he buries himself deep with each thrust, the way he has you winding higher and higher.

That last grip of the tether inside you loosening, when you finally let go.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” The Ghoul rasps, when he feels how you tremble in his arms, “Don’t you worry, ‘cause when I’m through with you...”

“You’re gonna forget all about why you’re here.”

how I imagine the cooper pov: “you’re either here to fight or fuck… and for you darlin’, I might just be down for either.”

thank you so much for the request!! I hope you liked this! 💖

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout series

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s-4pphics · 5 months

Text

click! 4 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black, angst… these hoes toxic, crazy sexual tension, kissing!!! :), fondling, dry humping, fingering!!, some dirty talk uh oh, slight unrequited love, bad communication… like awful, more slut shaming, mentions of awful parents, brief mention of alc and weed

This eucalyptus face mask is not doing what it’s supposed to!

Ultimate calming effect! Relaxation is at your feet and on your face!

… Yeah, right. Why is your blood pressure touching the ceiling, then?

It’s fucking Sunday and it’s dark outside. It’s not even seven yet. You can hear rustling in the living room and you know Ellie’s prepping for today. Your anxiety is through the roof and in the clouds!

Why the fuck did you accept this much responsibility again? What if you look like a fucking idiot and she fires you? Is this even a job if it’s a one-time thing? Your hands are sweating. Is it too late to jump out your window and plummet to your death?

Meow! Meow!

“Good morning, baby girl! Are you hungry?” You hear Ellie coo through the wall and your heart sores. You'd be smiling so wide if this mask wasn’t solid concrete.

You walk into the living room and are blinded by the bright ceiling lights. Your bill is going to skyrocket!

“Hi.”

Ellie, cat in arms, jumps at your voice, spinning to face you. Your skin is on fire as her eyes glaze over your appearance, cheeks tinting and fingers twitching under the thick fur.

“Hey… you look… you look nice,” She mutters back, and you smile.

“Thank you.”

Meow!

Ellie’s brow arches at the baby. “Yeah? You think so, too?”

Meow! Meow!

Ellie sets her down and lets her roam, shoving her hands into her sweats. She takes a step closer. “What’re we gonna name her?”

“Toothle— “

Ellie rolls her eyes, “Oh my god, that’s so fucking basic.”

“Well, excuse me! I’ll shut the fuck up!” You snark playfully, “What were you thinking, Ms. I don’t fuck with animals?”

“I already told yo— “

“AHT, AHT!” You hold a finger up to hush her and she scoffs, “Toothless is one of the best animated characters of our time! Loyal, cute as fuck! Fuck everybody else in that movie! Show the drag—”

“Pickle.”

“What.”

“I’ve been calling her Pickle! Her name is pickle.” Ellie’s smiling at the pattering kitten, and, for some reason, you don’t fight her on it. She looks so happy; Pickle it is.

She’s clicking her tongue at Pickle who rubs against her covered leg. With those gray sweats on, she’s luring two cats over—

“You ready?” Ellie exhales. Your eyes widen, yanked out of your drifting thoughts. You nod gently, jitters kicking in your fingertips.

“Sorry you had to wake up this early. It takes a while for me to edit and all that, but— “

“Ellie, don’t worry! I’m — I’m excited! Just, uh… Just guide me, I guess. You’re the one with the vision.” You’re not sure if the shoot or Ellie is making you nervous. She smells so good, freshly showered and warmth radiating off of her.

“… Guide you?” She smirks.

Suddenly, the air is hot. “Yeah, like… tell me what to do… f-for the shot.” You awkwardly point at the set.

“Giving me permission to use you?” She wisps and your lashes flutter, head bobbing dumbly in approval. The other cat has made her appearance! She’s meowing! Somebody stop her!

“Alright, then… go sit.” Ellie’s head nods towards the black stool in the middle of the backdrop, and you’re moving like a trackstar, plopping down on the stool. Ellie clicks her tongue again and Pickle meows.

“Gonna put her in my room for now. Don’t wanna scare her.” She scoops Pickle up and waddles into the short hallway, giving kit-kat one last kiss before softly shutting her door.

Your catless roomie is in front of you in an instant, fiddling with that big ass umbrella before adjusting her tripod.

“So, explain. What does all this do?”

“Um…” she looks through her camera lense. Right at you, “Different things. Has to do with light control for the most part. Red is your color, by the way.”

You gaze at your fit; You’re going to cry. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Some silence passes before Ellie grumbles, “You’re slouching.”

Your shoulders instantly straighten. Maybe too much, “No, I’m not.”

A blank look from Ellie as she peeks from behind the lense, “Don’t slouch. You’re the star, remember?” She jabs jokingly. You take a deep breath. Another clumsy adjustment trying to find a pose.

Ellie snorts as she watches you struggle, and you pout. “I'm sorry! I don’t know…” You move like a robot and she laughs. Why is she walking closer? Oh, fuck—

“Here.” Her hands grab your shoulders, and you go lax, right in her grasp, allowing her to move you however she wants. Her touch is melting your skin through your sleeves.

“Just… stay there.” Three wide steps, and she’s behind her camera, “Chin down a little.” She mutters. She’s encouraging with every instruction you follow, and you’re relaxing. Your movements are small, but by the series of bright flashes, they must be good enough to capture. You hope. Please, God.

“Stay right there. That’s perfect.”

“That’s it. Yeah, put your leg there.”

“Twist your body a little.”

I like that look, that’s good. Keep doing that.

You don’t know what your eyes are doing, but Ellie's eating it up. She doesn’t know what her words are doing for your confidence. She’s in your ears, in your presence, encouraging everything you’re giving the flashing camera. Your poses get bolder, eyes going softer the more you inspect her.

“Chin down again. Like… look through your lashes…”

Ellie’s so focused on you and it’s making your mouth water. She’s so calm and controlling, but not overbearing. She lets you take the reins and yanks them when she’s got something. The twist of your wrist, the flutter of your lashes, the doting expression on your face. It’s sparking something in her, you can see it from where you sit. She's so attractive when she’s working.

And then she smiles and your heart leaps. Flash.

“You like this.” She notes.

Another flash when you smile, “A little. This is fun.”

“Oh, yeah? I’m getting booked for your grad pics?”

Not if you fail statistics! “Gonna have to ask my dad! He’s picky!”

She hums with a light chuckle. “You look good in these. He’ll like me.”

More flashes, and there’s scratching at Ellie’s door. She sighs like it pains her to continue, “Hold on, baby! Almost done!” She coos at Pickle.

She mutters, “I’m gonna take, like… ten more. The mood’s gonna change a little if that’s cool.”

You stop yourself from slouching. “Sure, uh… what do I do now?”

“Imagine love as a vice. Think about the turmoil that comes with losing that feeling for somebody.”

Your mind instantly whirls to Dina and your heart cracks. What a turn of fucking events!

“Um… is that like… isn’t that like, a lot?”

Ellie’s unfazed, “Emotions are a lot. That’s the point.”

You don’t like this anymore. Vulnerability. Blegh. “… Okay.”

She’s waiting on you, but you’re frozen. You can’t stop thinking about every moment you and Dina spent together. Everything was so… good. It was filled with happiness. You anticipated every day that came because it meant you’d see her.

“Alright?”

You look up at Ellie’s call. You ignore her.

“Am I emoting well?” You snicker sarcastically. You’re aching inside.

She studies you, all over your face, but you’re stunted. You don’t know what to say.

“Yes.” She whispers, and you nod, mind wandering to the darkest parts of your memory. You miss being happy. The camera’s flashing, but you’re unperturbed. How much will you be able to ruin before you die? If your wallowing is jeopardizing the shot, Ellie doesn’t comment on it. You focus on the clock ticks coming from the kitchen.

Ellie’s gentle voice pulls you from underwater after a while, “Okay… I think that’s it.” Your breath is ragged and your fingers won’t stop twitching. You’re up from your seat with a breathy okay, sliding into the kitchen and stealing a water bottle from the fridge. There’s cluttering behind you but you’re desperately downing your drink.

She's closer than you think. Right behind you, actually! You almost choke when her hand softly closes around your bicep.

“Hey, um… You okay?”

You swallow harshly and nod, blinking away tears; She’s so close, “Love fucking sucks.” You joke wetly.

A laugh that caresses your ears escapes her, “Damn. Fuck that shit, then.”

“Finally, someone gets it! Fuck, like…” You set your water down and wipe away heavy droplets with your free arm. Ellie’s eyes travel over your face, lands of green sparkling in her pupils.

“I really appreciate you doing this for me.” She whispers.

“Of course!” Your smile is delicate, “I hope there’s something in there you can use.”

Her head shakes, smile as gentle as rose petals, “I got it, trust me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, your breaths in sync. “Was… Are you okay?” You’ve never seen her eyes this delicate. You nod, eyes dropping to her mouth on instinct. You’re suddenly back in your car, you and Ellie leaning over the center console to get to each other. Her breath is hitting your face again, and you’re itching for her to kiss you.

She’s reading your body language the closer she gets, checking in, memorizing every green light you’re giving her.

“Ellie…” You can’t even hear yourself. Her hand unravels from your arm, frosting your sizzling cheek like snowflakes. Her warmth is engulfing you, and with one last breath, her lips connect with yours. It's short lasting, though. Ellie pulls away, shock plastered on her face.

She's stuttering and slowly backing away… or something like that. You’re not listening, nor do you want an apology. You grab the drawstring dangling from her gray hoodie and yank her closer, mouth pressing against hers.

Ellie’s stiffness melts, weightless against you as your mouths mold together. She's sighing, arm wrapping around your waist, warmth simmering between your closed bodies. Your arms wrap around her neck as she inches forward, small steps until you're pressed against the marble.

The kiss is slow and steady. You both give in to each other, studying, memorizing every inch of her mouth. Gentle smacks sound in the silent space of the kitchen, clammy hands traveling anywhere they can reach: the nape of her neck, massages on your hips, steadying your stumbles as you push against her. Your fingers inch upwards until they're at her sloppily done bun, loosening the hair tie and pulling as gently as you can, soft strands wrapping around your digits like vines.

Ellie’s humming and her hips push against you, so you pull again, smiling gently into the kiss. She pushes again, harder this time, hips languid as they trap you against the counter. Your thighs widen for her, and she takes the lead, hands digging into your thighs and lifting you onto the granite.

The kiss turns desperate swiftly after, Ellie’s tongue pushing past your mouth, her hands slowly pulling your tucked shirt from your pants. You’re biting at her lip, caressing her thighs over her sweats, trapping her between your legs, keeping her close.

One last wet smack and you’re traveling down her jaw to the side of her neck, littering kisses all over her burning skin. You try not to make your inhales too obvious, but you can’t help it. Her scent drives you up a wall.

She follows your lead, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck, sucking the skin, lightly scratching at the skin on your hips. She yanks you closer, nearly sitting you on top of her, ass barely on the counter—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

You both jolt like you’ve been caught, a thin line of spit connecting your bottom lips.

“Expecting someone?” She mumbles dazedly, and you silently deny. “Are you?”

“Be serious.” She says flatly.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

The pounds on the door aren’t shit to Ellie, apparently; Her lips are back on you in a second. A gasp surges through you, “Oh, fuck! What if someone saw Pickle and they’re tryna— “

“She’ll be fine,” she whines between suckles on your throat.

You whimper wantonly, but the knocks get aggressive. It has to be Carol! You don’t want Ellie to stop, but you push her.

“E—Ellie— “

She releases you with an annoyed huff, giving you enough room to hop off the counter. Scratches and meows alert you once more, and you run to the front door, whisper-yelling to Ellie, “Hide Pickle! Hide her!”

“Okay, okay, damn,” She sighs in annoyance, heading back down the hallway. You can hear Ellie’s soft shushes to the kitty, meows swiftly replaced with purrs. You think Pickle has chosen her favorite parent.

You yank the door open and your heart plummets.

“Hey, uh… hi.” Abby’s voice cracks and her nose is glowing red. Your heart pulls in your chest at the sight of her soft eyes.

“Hi, Abby,” You say softly. She shyly peers at her feet. “How are you?”

A soft smile spreads across her face, “I’m not here to talk about me, I wanna apologize. I, um… I wanted to call but I thought I’d do it in person.”

“No need. I’m sorry, to— “

But Abby isn’t having it, dropping onto one knee in the middle of the complex hallway, taking your hand in hers, “Oh, how I treated Thee, for I am full of regret. What do I owe Thou the pleasure of forgiveness?”

You holler laughter, “Bitch, is that a question? What the fuck do I say to that.”

“… I actually don’t know, what the fuck— “

“You’re actually the fucking worst, get up,” You’re pulling your friend to her feet and wrapping your arms around her neck, pressing light kisses to her cheek. She lifts you and carries you inside, kicking the door shut.

“Was it Carol?”

You barely hear your roommate from behind you. Abby sets you down, and you’re met with a… blank Ellie. This version of her is almost unfamiliar.

“Hm?”

“Was,” Her eyes flicker towards your friend, “Was it Carol?” Your eyes flicker to Abby, confused as ever.

“Um, no, thank God, right?” You laugh awkwardly, “Ellie, this is Abby. Abby, this is Ellie, my new roomie.”

Abby slaps on her signature smile, extending her hand in greeting, “Nice to meet you. I heard a lot.”

Ellie’s eyes flicker between Abby’s hand and her face, eyes squinted. She only nods before murmuring to you, “Pickle’s fed. Lock the door if you leave.”

Your mouth drops, but before you can say anything, Ellie’s door slams shut, lock clicking, barricading herself, shut off from the outside. Pickle scurries into your open space at the noise. A stunned Abby finally drops her hand and turns to you with an expression reading I told you so. Your heart jolts and it’s painful.

“C’mon,” Abby coos, hands massaging your shoulders, “I owe you pancakes.”

You try to smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Not like it should at the mention of a free meal. For some reason, you feel guilty.

IHOP needs to have their holiday menus all year round; These cinnamon roll pancakes are fucking lethal! You shoved your platter down and already want seconds. Abby’s too sweet to you.

“Abby.”

“Hm?” She gnaws at her turkey bacon.

“I’m in a predicament.”

“What’s the matter.”

“I think I like Ellie.”

Your friend pauses before sighing, “Alright. So, what’s the plan?”

“To die, I think. That’s the only plan.”

“Don’t say that,” she chuckles. You shrug.

“We made out and I liked it,” You whisper, “Like, a lot.”

“Did y’all smash?” You shake your head.

“Are you gonna tell her?”

You scoff, “Did you miss the part where I said to die? I’d rather die. She hates my fucking guts all over again.”

“I don’t think she does.”

“You don’t know her, Abby— “

“I know a jealous munch when I see one,” She smirks, “I was one for a long time.”

Your jaw drops, “Really? With who?”

She grins, but it doesn’t meet her eyes, “Don’t worry about it.”

You pout. Why didn’t she tell you?! Poor thing. You place a comforting hand on top of hers.

“Promise to tell me before graduation. I need some shit to look forward to.”

“Like you’re gonna remember.”

“Fuck off! I never forget anything!”

“Yeah, anyway, your roomie was jealous— “

Your shoulders drop and your eyes roll. Ellie and jealousy? Together? Bullshit. Tomfoolery. Fake news.

“Abby, I can't tell her— “

“Can’t or won’t?” Abby arches a brow, “You know what you do and don’t want. You’re creating stupid rules that combat your feelings and wonder why you end up hurt. Cut it out.”

… Either face your fears of abandonment or die alone. Interesting ultimatum. You choose the latter.

“You’re very easy to read, believe it or not. You like her. Accept it or move on,” Abby mumbles around her extra-crispy hash brown.

You sigh. You’ve accepted it a long time ago; That's the issue. The only thing that can help you right now is more fucking cinnamon roll pancakes. Abby better leave this apology tab open.

You’re hit with the usual warmth of the apartment the second you step in, finding Ellie on the couch with her feet kicked up, mindlessly fiddling with your favorite pen. Her silence makes your skin crawl; You never know what she’s thinking.

“So, what,” You shrug, setting your to-go bag on the counter, “Are you just gonna pout or are we gonna have an adult conversation?”

“I don’t think you’re capable of that,” She mumbles.

“What does that mean?”

“It means what it sounds like. You’re fucking immature and inconsiderate.”

Your heart nearly stops, “I’m— “

She slices through your words, “Save that I don’t know what you mean bullshit for someone else. If you and that bitch are still fucking, why the fuck did you kiss me?”

Her accusation makes you snap, “First of all, I haven’t fucked Abby in weeks! And even if I did, that’s none of your fucking business! I can do whatever the fuck I want and I don’t need to explain myself to you! And you kissed me first so don’t start!”

A grin grows on Ellie face, head tipping back onto the couch as she laughs to herself, sighing in disbelief, “I never thought I would regret a kiss so much in my fucking life, oh my god.”

You scoff, ignoring the sudden ache in your chest, “Fuck you.”

“You want to.”

You hate how heat builds in your stomach, “I want to?” You snark, “You shoved your tongue in my mouth a few hours ago. You want to. Don’t fucking piss me off.”

You stomp to your room before Ellie can say anything above her laughter. Your door slams and you pace across your small room. You ignore the stress building deep in your joints; The term is almost over. You don’t need this fucking bullshit on your back right now!

To think you and Ellie were starting to get on good terms. If she wants to play that game, then fine; You’ve mastered the sport at this point! The kiss meant nothing to you either!

You hope her Christmas is fucking awful and she finds nothing but a pile of fucking rocks in her marijuana sock. What a cunt—

Meow! Meow!

Your heart pulls at the small scratches at your door. You need your baby to give you some love since a certain someone won’t. Pickle calls out until you open the door, but your sad smile disappears at the sight of that someone propped against your door frame.

“She wanted her mommy.” Ellie nods down at the kitten rubbing against your leg.

“Fuck you.” You spit.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!” You shout and lean closer, but she doesn’t seem threatened. That same sparkle in her eye is back, and, suddenly, your body’s flaming for another reason. The tip of her nose twitches, once, twice, three times, and you refuse to hold back any longer.

You grab her face and kiss her. Kiss her as hard as you can. She’s so fucking aggravating; Why can’t she ever mind her fucking business? You’re sick of her clocking your pussy! The kiss is hot and quick and it sends vibrations down to your toes. It’s not until gentle purring fills your ears that you gasp and separate from your roommate.

You bend down to pick up your little princess. Ellie’s lips reconnect with your neck the second you're upright. “Did she eat?” You mutter.

“Mhm. Twice.” You nod and kiss her small, furry head, “She’s gonna be scratching at the door.” You ponder to yourself.

“We’ll make it quick,” She mumbles in between harsh sucks to your throat, nibbles at your lobe. You escape the attention for a split second to grab Pickle’s small toy mouse from your dresser, tossing it down the hall and into the living room. Her small paws skip across the floor as she slides the trinket all over the hardwood.

“We’re not fucking.” You say harsher than necessary.

“I didn’t ask.”

You gently shut the door and jump Ellie’s bones, releasing all your pent-up frustration and anger into another kiss. The formerly gentle tugs of her hair are replaced with harsh yanks that expose her throat. Seconds pass and she’s pushing you onto your unmade bed, body bouncing before she climbs on top of you, reconnecting your mouths in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever shared… It’s doing something to your cooter, though. You’re wet as fuck.

Ellie’s fully onto top of you, body almost overheating from the layers of clothes between you. Her hips are sharp when they push into yours, swallowing all your stunned gasps and pleasured sighs. Your body is on fire and it’s making you lightheaded, but she feels so good on top.

Ellie’s cursing against your mouth and she bucks into you, right against the muscle of your thigh, and you just watch the flames spread in her orbs. Not the comforting greenery that you could get lost in for days. The trees are black and surrounded by clustered rubble. She’s grunting against your cheek, her nose hitting yours with every thrust.

A bold hand creeps between both your bodies and slips right into her wrinkly sweats, beneath her underwear, fingers drenched in seconds. You smirk when she whimpers your name between swears, palming the bud that throbs like a beating heart. Blush tints her cheeks the wetter she gets, pooling in your hand as you grind into her clit.

Ellie’s cute. You’ll give her that. So, you rub her harder.

“Agh, fuck, fuck— “

You're snickering to yourself but Ellie doesn’t care. She’s whining like a little bitch and humping you like a dog…

Does she top? You should ask her after this. Post-nut gay quiz.

“Finger me, put your— oh shit— “

“Hmm…” You suck your teeth, “Nah.”

She glares down at you, leaving fiery holes in your cheek, “Don’t f—fucking piss me off right now.”

You halt all your movements. “That’s all you’ve been doing since you got in this bitch. Shut the fuck up and take what I give you…” You pause, “Or get the fuck off me. Your choice.”

A full one-eighty, truly. How she goes from looking at you with intent to kill to a wounded puppy in seconds. Poor thing wants a treat. Your entire hand is drenched in her juices; She can wait a little longer.

“You ate my fucking Doritos.”

“W—What?” She sounds like she’s going to cry. You can’t stop smiling.

Slow circles on her clit, and her body wracks on top of you, “The ones I hid in the cabinet… Nasty little thief. Gonna buy me some more?”

Her breathing is so rapid, “You’re so s—stupid fuck— “

“You’re gonna do more than that… gonna show me what’s in that fucking portfolio like you promised.” You whisper, hot against her face.

This is the strangest dirty talk you’ve ever partaken in, but Ellie’s losing it on top of you. She hasn’t shut up yet. She’s hiding her face in your neck, words vibrating against your skin. You don’t know what she said, so you stop again. She sobs.

You sound sweeter than candy, “What was that?”

Ellie doesn’t answer. Just pants into your skin. You pat her clit a few times and she jerks to attention. “I asked you a question.”

“Feels,” She heaves, “Feels so fucking good— “

“I didn’t ask you that.”

“I’ll show you — fuck, okay? Okay, okay, m’so close— “

Your thumb brushes against her clit, “I wanna see it after you nut.”

She gasps words miles per minute, “I promise, Ipromise, touch me keep touching me— “

Ellie attempts to grind into your hand once more, but you stretch, slippery fingers sliding lower until the tip of your index catches onto her pulsing hole. You can barely hear, but she’s begging. Thank God you trimmed your nails.

You push in gently, Ellie’s teeth grazing the skin right underneath your ear. A shiver runs down your spine. She grins before biting down on it. You moan into the boiling air. Your finger gets swallowed by her walls; She’s so fucking tight and soft and she’s clenching with every moan, your thighs squeezing around her hips.

Ellie continues to grind on top of you, practically riding your finger, her moans increasing in volume.

“E-Ellie, look at me, sit up—“ She doesn’t hesitate, clammy forehead resting on yours as you stare into her glossy, lustful eyes. They’re fluttering with every deep grind of your arched digit and your heart skips a beat.

“Gimme one more, stretch me out,” she exhales onto your lips

“Sure?” You breathe.

She groans, “Yeah, fuck, m’gonna cum when you do— “

“You gotta cute face,” you whisper and giggle when her eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment, middle finger popping past the small entrance

“Fuck, babe, s’right there— “

Your walls clench at the name. Now you’re whining, “Gimme it. Hurry up so I can play with my kid.”

“O-Our fucking kid—“ She chokes.

You hum playfully, “Oddly domestic. Is this what marriage is like? Quickies in the laundry room when the baby’s watching Cocomelon?”

“No — fuck, do you ever shut the fuck up?” You can’t even move from hard her walls are choking you, “M’cumming, Jesus fucking— son of a— “

Ellie’s walls grip your fingers as she trembles on top of you, lips crashing onto yours as she groans in your mouth, and you smile. You should’ve spit on her tongue, but you held back. She’s not ready. Fucking gremlin.

Her orgasm rocks her into exhaustion, her body going completely limp on top of you as her hips twitch into your touch. You stare up at the ceiling, mind racing.

You technically didn’t fuck! Your pussy is quite convincing. You didn’t, but you want to!

“We didn’t fuck.” You mumble.

She huffs dryly, voice low. Here comes the goosebumps! “Sure.”

“We didn’t,” you bemoan and pull out, slick smearing on both your clothes before you present the wet digits in front of your face. Ellie finally lifts her head to join the inspection of your drenched, wrinkly fingers. She smells good.

“Go wash your hands,” she croaks.

“Mind your business.” You suck them clean and she snorts, rolling off and onto the bed. You sit up to open the door for Pick-Pick, but Ellie grabs your bicep.

“What?”

“You… You don’t want to…?”

You look around blankly.

“Do you want me to do something… like an exchange?”

You’re not sure how to answer, but thankfully, curious meows and light scratching distract the both of you. You’re moving like a robot into the living room, Ellie right on your tail, cooing at the baby who rubs all over her.

You take a seat on the… lavender-scented cushion. She bought a new freshener.

“Ellie.”

“What.”

“I don’t like you.”

A scoff from her, “I don’t care.”

You pause. “… Wanna sniff my punani?” You mock.

She takes a seat, swiftly followed by Pickle, and turns her head in your direction, lip between her teeth, “Can I?”

“What.”

“Just a whiff.” She hums between snickers. The sensors in your brain are on fire. Ellie is so confusing.

You scratch your ear, stealing her habit, “You… You want to?”

She grabs your discarded pen from the coffee table, “You want me to?”

Yes. “No.”

Ellie nods and continues to fiddle with it, obnoxiously clicking it over and over. She doesn’t fight you on it. How embarrassing. You really need head.

Your eyes meet your sock-covered feet, “… I was just kidding,” You mumble.

More pen clicking. “Come here for a second.” Your feet carry you at her grumble, plopping down onto the lavender-scented cushion. New freshener.

“Is this gonna be… a regular thing?”

Your head shakes a ton. It most definitely will not. You can’t take your eyes off how Ellie flips her pen. Her hands are bewitching. You need them in your throat again.

“I think we… just needed to get it out of our system?” You suggest. Unfortunately, it seems neither of you are convinced.

Pickle climbs up your sweatshirt, head rubbing against your chin. You peck her nose, “Why do you think that.” Ellie asks.

“I’m not fucking someone I live with.” Your words are blunt, but Ellie doesn’t seem shaken by them.

“Why.”

“Because.” You say with finality.

She sighs, “Because you’re scared of getting your feelings hurt by someone you care about again?”

The bomb she drops is unexpected, but causes even more damage. Your shoulders immediately tense, on guard, “What the fuck…” How did she…

Ellie winces, “Don’t uh… don’t be mad…”

“Why the fuck— how do you even know that?”

“Dina told me.” She blurts and you jump from your seat, glowering at the girl who sheepishly taps her fingers on the couch.

“The fuck do you mean Dina told you— “

More word-vomit. How long was she holding this shit from you? “S-She was my roommate. She’s the reason I got evicted— “

Your throat is closing, “…Is this a fucking joke?”

Ellie cowers at your tone, “Not really.”

“When the fuck were you going to tell me that you’re friends with my fucking ex?!”

“We’re not friends!” She says meekly. “And you weren’t official— “

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Ellie! What the fuck!” Your efforts of holding tears back fail, as usual. You’re sick of crying in front of this broad. “She fu—fucking ruined my life!” The stares you get will never fail to make you sick.

Ellie’s eyes remind you of glass. Breakable. You holler through sniffles, “Is that why you called me a fucking slut! Because that bitch told you some fake ass, fucked-up story about me whoring around campus?!”

“Dude, I’m— “

“I fucked over the sweetest fucking girl on campus, right? The world’s best fucking pitcher got her heart broken by some low-life fucking artist with no future!” You rant until your breath is short, “I was fucking in love with her! I-I wanted to be with her, I would’ve died for her! I’m— “

Your hands desperately grasp at your chest to get your heart to ease the knocking against your ribcage.

“You think I-I’m fucking easy, right? That’s why you came onto me earlier? ‘Cuz I’m a fucking whore?! A desperate sl—slut with no self-worth— “

The space you found comfort in is rapidly filling with darkness; You’re being sucked into a void of nothing and you can’t think. Ellie doesn’t move, just stares over you with feeble pupils, hand clutched around that pen, the end of it leaving an indent in her sweats.

Pickle plops down onto your feet as you cry. You take her into your arms and hold her as close as possible, scurrying into your room. You fall back against the door and it slams, sliding down the wood as Kit-Kat nuzzles your chin. She’s the sweetest fucking thing in the world. How could such an angel be left in the snow to die?

Time moves in a blur as you weep. Your mom would’ve held you if she were here.

What you would give for some parental guidance. You almost called your father.

Almost.

Click, click, click, click, click—

One, two, three, four. Breathe in, Breathe out. Five, six—

Thank God for your fucking custom pen. The noise is enough to distract her from breaking down in your tiny living room. She should’ve snagged Pickle before you did; She needs a fucking hug.

Ellie hates being yelled at. More than anything. More than you. God, she fucking despises you.

You look and sound nothing like her mother, but you’re oddly alike. She pondered whether or not that was the reason she was drawn to you; She always finds herself trapped in spaces with fucking deflectors.

She hasn’t even begun editing the photos from earlier. At this point, she doesn’t even want to use them. It’s a shame your eyes are so expressive; She would’ve burned the pictures she took of you the second you left with that bitch if she wasn’t so crunched for time. She needs to submit them so she can get the fuck out of here.

You’d be an excellent actress; You have emotions down pact on camera. The dark part of her brain convinced her that you were thinking of her with that doting, yearnful look in your eye.

The photography company keeps sending her emails about completing her work profile and her fucking portfolio submission. That’s the only form of motivation she has left, and even then, she hasn’t revisited those photos. She doesn’t have much time to make them perfect.

Ellie swallows the lump in her throat over and over, thumb pressing down, down, down. She can’t stop clicking your fucking pen. Just don’t cry.

Your sobs almost get her there, almost push her over the edge, but she shuts her eyes and counts each click, matching them with every heave she releases. You, somehow, sound just like her fucking mom.

And Ellie, despite the backwards relationship between the two of you, still fucking kissed you. She should’ve died right there in front of you. What a fucking joke.

But she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to. She’s never experienced affection like that; It was passionate and made her itch with a desire she hasn’t felt in a long time. All she wants is for someone to love her, hold her like you did, touch her like you did. She’s never felt that euphoric in her life, never witnessed so many bright colors at once.

Whoever told her being alone was easy was a fucking liar. No one should wake up and want to die every day, so why does she? Everyone thinks she prefers silence, but she doesn’t. Ellie craves contact in all forms. In any form. Desperately.

Why did it have to be you? Why the fuck did it have to be you.

Her brain is telling her she can’t wait to move out, so why is her heart amidst decay whenever she thinks about it? She’s going to suffocate in here, so she rises, pen still in hand, and snags her puffer and beanie from the couch. Her feet shove into her boots and she’s out, the front door slamming shut. She didn’t even bother to lock it.

Ellie takes the stairs and leaves the building on autopilot, no destination in mind. Just stomping through the splintering cold like a fucking yeti. Every breath oxidizes in a cloud before her as she recalls where she fumbled with you.

Dina.

Ellie’s cold hands frost her face as she wipes it, making sharp turns and stumbling on ice. She wants to go home; She misses her dad.

Dina seems to be the only thing you two have in common. You both might hate her more than each other. The horror she felt when her ex-roommate taped that eviction notice on her door is incomparable. Ellie was a struggling entrepreneur and practically fucking homeless overnight. All because Dina’s new fucking side piece.

Ellie and Dina, friends. Wait until she tells you about how she almost beat her and her girlfriend’s ass. If you’re even willing to listen at this point.

Ellie continues to walk, hands tucked under her armpits. At least she’s not simmering anymore in her rage anymore. She blocks down the way when she realizes she forgot her fucking phone. This would’ve been a perfect time to cry to her old man.

You’re not out of Ellie’s system at all. You’ve, unfortunately, claimed residency inside of her.

You’re scribbling with spilled wine on your shirt, outside noise muffled by the plugs in your ears. You don't recall leaving your room, grabbing a bottle and downing its contents, but the remnants of broken glass acts as a decent reminder.

Your hand is cramping from its grip on a new pen, but you can’t stop gliding the tip across the sixth sheet of printer paper. You hate what you’re drawing; The details are perfect, inked scratches practically muscle memory, and you despise it. It’s always her.

You’re going to be alone for a very long time. You’re too destructive for companionship, you’ve learned. How ironic: the one aspect of life you crave is becoming your demise, and your downfall is going to be tortuous. Recovery is never long lasting for you.

So, you sketch. And scratch. And erase, start again, hoping, praying, for an outcome that doesn’t feel so lost. You’re destroyed and desperate to find comfort. Was your father right when he called you sick at age twelve? Maybe something is truly wrong with you. Maybe one of the reasons why you constantly push and mask and hide.

Every insecurity you’ve garnered in high school is flourishing in adulthood, thick as vines and as strong as tree bark. Deflection is an art that you’ve mastered out of preservation; Too bad it’s trapped you in isolation.

The green in Ellie’s eyes holds stories. Somehow, this month feels like centuries. Centuries of studying the mass area of blossoming, healthy land beneath her pupils. Her eyes are sacred, almost too sacred to manipulate, but you draw them anyway.

You want to touch her again. You want her to touch you. Just one last time. You’re already a fucking failure; One last mistake wouldn’t hurt.

A teardrop musses the paper, so you scrap it like the others and start again. Ellie’s eyes are too pretty to be smudged.

You can’t stay here anymore. You hope Amaya understands. You hope Ellie understands.

You’d give anything to be able to call your mother.

You hear the front door open and close for the hundredth time tonight, followed by swift clicks of a pen. Guilt floods your system. You peer at a sleeping Pickle on your mattress before standing, opening your door to see Ellie entering hers. Your intoxicated brain notes the sex lighting in her room; Red LED. You talk before thinking.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you.” She jumps and turns at your cracked voice, eyes red. She smoked; you can smell it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— “

“I’m submitting my portfolio in the morning. I’ll be out by Christmas.” She says, monotone. Lifeless.

A dry huff escapes your closed throat. Your heart is breaking. Just a little, “I guess, uh… I can’t see it anymore, huh?” She doesn’t answer.

“Do you regret taking those pictures?” She mumbles.

You don't hesitate, “Not at all.”

She nods. The silence that follows is thick, weighing at both of your shoulders, holding you in place. Ellie’s breathing is finally steady, and it’s calming.

“Go to bed.” She whispers before entering her room, gently shutting it behind her. Some tears fall before you follow her lead.

Pickle is sitting on the edge of your bed, just watching you. You smile sadly and whisper, “At least you love me, right?”

A gentle blink from her. You sob; Another pair of green eyes to bring you comfort.

“I love you, too.”

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