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#and I have a few event fics I need to finish first

dreamlandcreations · 1 year

Note

ayooooo sorry to bother you, but it's there a possibility that the "Timetravel AU" moodboard will be a series or a one shots?;;; 😅😅😅 thank you love you~!

Hi!

Not bothering at all 🥰

I have another Darkling x Reader series in the making but maybe after that

If I get to it, it's definitely gonna be a series though 🙈 I think it's title will be Like calls to like

#darkling x (darkish) sun summoner series in the making #I didn't like the moodboard for it so it's not posted yet #and I have a few event fics I need to finish first #and I'm trying to redo what went away from my queues 😔🫣

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snickerdoodlles · 4 months

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one of my most formative fandom experiences was a comment i had gotten on a fic i wrote for a halloween themed fandom event.

this was for a manga/anime, so the fic was a general ghost story obviously set in Japan. the beginning of it involved a pizza delivery and while writing it, i had spent like 30 minutes just double checking tipping customs and the types of pizza they serve and even fell down a wikipedia rabbit hole looking up the history of pizza in Japan.

now, i just like the research part of writing, i do stuff like this because i have fun doing it. and while i was writing this particular fic, i had laughed at myself for my 30 minutes of googling that amounted to 2.5 offhand lines in a 3500 word fic. i didn't think anyone would care about or even notice those particular details except for me, especially since none of them were relevant to the ghost part of this ghost story.

except, when i had sent this fic to a Japanese friend, the first thing she said to me about it was "OH MY GOD YOU GOT THE PIZZA RIGHT"

and that was the moment when it had really clicked for me. what had just been 30 minutes of effort on my part had become a moment of relief for her. my friend was far more used to reading ethnocentric fic that ranged from unintentional ignorance to outright superiority against part of her culture (the original story's culture no less). and even with the "innocent" ignorance (heavy quotes on that) far outstripping any outright maliciousness, that's still so many people saying her culture was not worth learning about. the pizza in my story was a small detail, but i had cared enough to put in some effort to check it. and for her, coming from a fic experience where her norm was bracing for hundreds of inaccuracies born of ignorance, especially at that time after a flood of stories centered around "Halloween as a cultural holiday in the US" premises instead of the "Halloween is a commercial gimmick in Japan" reality, seeing someone put in some effort even for minor story details meant something to her.

this also throws me back to the discourse that arose in a french show fandom a few years ago because there were a lot of fic authors that wrote 'dollars' instead of 'euros'-- but when people brought this up as a prevalent issue across the fandom but an easy one to fic/watch out for, many of these writers instead pushed back to complain that they were posting stories for free and it wasn't that big of a deal. which really upset a lot of people, but then this upset was met with a new wave of indignation that people needed to 'get over it' because they're writing fic ~just as a hobby~. but, even if 'dollars' instead of 'euros' wasn't a big deal, by digging in their heels about the issue, they were saying "your culture isn't worth even five minutes of my time or effort."

I've been thinking about these things lately because the ethnocentrism in Thai drama fandoms is...staggering. just over the turn of the year, there were waves of Christmas fic for Buddhist characters. and just. Christmas in Thailand is a tourist thing at best. sometimes a pop culture gimmick for international audiences or maybe an offhand high school thing to blow off steam between midterms. it's not a cultural thing. and even if a character is a part of the Christian minority, a Christian Thai's holiday customs and culture are going to be vastly different than a Christian's customs in the Americas or Europe. and while the Christmas fic is at least finished for now, I'm already bracing myself for the Easter fic wave that also seems to pop up for Thai dramas. it's so frustrating to see this sort of cultural overwrite all the time, especially since most Thai drama holiday works aren't about Thai holidays.

but the thing that really got me bristling about all of this again was i saw a post the other day where op said that they weren't going to write [thai drama] fic because they don't know much about thailand.

what an absolutely appalling statement to make.

google is right there. wikipedia is free. you don't even have to leave tumblr or AO3 to learn more because there are Thai natives in fandom who write essays to explain common elements of their culture. hell, even just watching these Thai stories and considering the values and messages imparted by the narrative framework and story lens tells you something about that culture. the audacity to look at a culture different from your own and say "this is not worth my effort or time to learn anything more about," are you kidding me?!?

the messages and values of a story tell you about the writer's values, which are going to carry their cultural values, beliefs, and biases. Thai culture is going to be heavily relevant to any Thai story, even the ones that aren't explicitly about Thai culture/customs/etc. (hell, Thai bl/gl as a genre alone-- just the fact that queer Thai writers are making these stories in Thailand's current political climate is highly political, even the "fluffy" ones that don't seem to make outright political statements.) to approach any story like it was made in a vacuum is to remove the writer(s)' culture and values and to overwrite them with your own.

especially because this is fandom. these are the lowest stakes to learn! it sucks to see people say things like "but i'm scared i'll get something wrong" and hold up that fear as a shield to justify their ignorance. no one's expecting anyone to get every detail right, especially not for a culture that isn't theirs, just make an effort to learn something new about it. pick out something that caught your eye as different to learn more about and see where it leads you.

and for the record--making a mistake trying to broaden your horizons is a far, far better thing to do than to superimpose your culture on everyone else's because you're scared to confront your ignorance.

edit: check out this reblog thanks

#fandom

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lucciolaaaa · 8 months

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Silent treatment

Pairing: Theodore Nott x reader

Author's note: Hiii! This is the first ever fic I've written and English isn't my first language so be warned :)

Summary: Theo and you have been best friends since you could remember until he randomly starts ignoring you, maybe he just needs to work on his communication skills.

Warnings: Very small amount of swearing, kissing (but not graphic at all), I guess angst with happy ending, friends to lovers, probably grammar and spelling mistakes sorryyy, reader is implied Slytherin and pureblood

Theodore Nott was a man of few words. Even when he was with his friends he mostly listened to his rowdier counterparts, never feeling the need to be the center of attention in any way.

No one was surprised when he sat on the train on the first day of fifth year and didn’t say much, just a quick greeting and some strange sounds only his friends understood when they asked him something. It wasn’t weird to them, but it was weird when you sat down beside him and he barely even looked at you.

You and Theodore (or Teddy as you called him) have been close since you could remember. Your families being close always meant you were at the same boring events that he was obligated to attend. Ever since you were five years old and you bumped into each other on the balcony at some tedious christmas dinner you had been inseparable, it was hard to find one of you without seeing the other. When you turned 12 your parents had started to tease you, claiming there was love in the air and promising the pair would wind up together at some point. You would always look at each other and laugh every time someone mentioned this, how could you ever be in love with your best friend?

You hugged the boy expecting something in return, but you were disappointed when he barely even moved. You felt your heart break a little bit but chose to ignore it, maybe he was just tired or something. Even if he didn’t hug you there was no reason to ignore him.

“How was the party yesterday? Sorry I couldn’t go, my mom wouldn’t let me until I finished packing my bag and you know how long that takes me” you said with a giggle. Theo looked at you and gave a thumbs up and a tight lipped smile. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he had given the answer to anyone else but he was never like that with you, all of your friends were surprised, looking at you expecting a better answer while Theo turned towards the window. You decided to turn and talk to Pansy, if Theo doesn’t want to talk why would you make a one-sided effort?

It had been two weeks since fifth year started and Theo still wasn’t talking to you. You were extremely hurt, you had been fine, you hadn’t had a fight, you’re wondering if you did something wrong but can’t remember anything, no one understands his sudden change towards you. Pansy was mad at him, she had spent a lot of time talking to you and comforting you at night. Mattheo has asked Theo multiple times what his problem is but he wouldn’t give a straight answer.

You thought your friendship was over, your dearest friend was ignoring you and it hurt, it hurt more than anything. You had given up hope, tired of giving and not receiving. You were sat at your desk finishing some potions homework when an owl flew through your window and dropped a note on your desk. You were surprised not expecting anything at this hour of the night.

When you opened the not you were surprised, you could clearly tell it was Theo’s handwriting. ‘Meet me at the astronomy tower’ the note read. You quickly put on your shoes, willing to be caught by Filch it didn’t matter at the moment. You told Pansy you were leaving and then quickly left your room.

You rushed to the astronomy tower, you were out of breath with how fast you were running up the stairs and the three times you almost tripped on your way here.

“Did you run a marathon on your way here” Theo snickered after seeing he state you were in.

You resisted the small smile that wanted to break out on your face after hearing him joke like that again. “I’m not in the mood for jokes Theodore” you managed to say with a straight face even shocking yourself by using his full name.

“Wow, are we back to full name?” He tried to joke again, but after seeing your face he stopped “Sorry, no more jokes”

You looked him directly in the eyes, fighting back tears that you couldn’t tell if they came from hurt or anger. “I’m glad you’re done ignoring me but what do you want”

Theo looked a bit shocked at how serious you were but understood why you were acting like that “Look I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you” he said while walking closer to you.

“Sorry isnt really enough Theo, you’ve ignored me for two weeks without any reason” the tears you were trying to hold back were threatening to spill “Did I do something wrong?”

“No no no, you didn’t do anything wrong” Theo quickly responded, feeling guilty he was the one making you feel like that, he was used to comforting you instead. “I promise you did absolutely nothing wrong, its just me” after a pause he added “I don’t really have any reason to give you, I’m just terrible at expressing what I feel, I’m really sorry” his eyes bouncing around the room while he talked, not being able to make eye contact.

“What do you mean? Talk to me, I’m supposed to be your best friend not someone you ignore” Your voice cracking at the end.

Theo looked at you opening his mouth a few times but never finding the right word to start with. “I don’t want to be your best friend anymore, I can’t handle just being that” he looked at you and your confused expression “I want to be more, I really like you and I have for a while. I can’t stand when you talk to me about another guy because I need you to be mine. I preferred ignoring you than feeling the pain on not being enough for you” he said quietly finding your glossy eyes at the end.

“Theo you are so fucking dumb” you scoffed while he looked at the floor “How could you ignore me just because you like me, huh? You should have talked to me, I know its hard for you sometimes and I don’t blame you but you can’t just run away because you assume I don’t like you back when I clearly do”

“You like me back?” he looked back up at you with a smile

“Is that really he only thing you took out from what I said?” you said with a laugh, that beautiful laugh that Theo had missed for a while now. “You have selective hearing don’t you?” You asked while closing the space between you and looking into his eyes. “I really do like you Teddy, but you have to promise you’ll talk to me from now on, I will not stand being ignored, I’m here for you for whatever you need”

“Yeah, I know” his hands moved automatically, one hand towards your cheek and the other behind your neck “But I really do mean it, I want you to be mine”

You just smiled and leaned in connecting your lips your hands wrapping around his shoulders “I guess I can be yours Nott” you whispered before going back in for your well deserved kiss.

Maybe Theodore Nott was quiet and it was hard for him to express his emotions but in the end your parent were right, you would find your way to each other no matter the circumstances and hardships.

#theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theo nott fic #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #slytherin #slytherin boys #theodore nott fic

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marc-spectorr · 2 months

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𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒎

pairing: duke leto atreides x fem!reader

summary: It's the night before your wedding to Duke Leto Atreides and he finds you struck by panic about your future in Caladan.

warnings: 3.1k wc. arranged marriage, panic attack, anxiety, mentions of conceiving. my limited dune-lore knowledge. soft!leto.

a/n: first leto fic ahhh!! i may or may not write more parts to this in the future. i had so many ideas but if i wrote them all in one fic, it would be a long one (not to mention it would take 1001 years to finish and post). anyway, feedback is very much appreciated! hope you enjoy :)

—

Caladan.

There is a beauty to it that you cannot deny. It's captivating from the very first glance. An indescribable sight, unparalleled to anywhere else in the universe.

Of all the worlds you could be in at this moment, a part of you is glad it's Caladan. In spite of the circumstances that brought you here, you try to be grateful for it. Surely, there are worse places to live on than this.

Here, the ocean is vast, stretching far beyond the starlit horizon. A fresh breeze carries the salty scent of the water towards you. It tickles your skin as if it were a feather, the light coolness sending goosebumps along your arms. You tug your shawl more closely around your shoulders.

It is far from the hot desert landscape you know and love. Despite its recent hardships, that planet was once home to you. It still is. You wonder how long it will be before you consider Caladan as such. It's been one week since your arrival, and you're in a period of adjustment, which in truth, has not been too easy.

The beach is empty, unsurprising as the moon has moved far past its highest point in the sky. You can't sleep. You haven't for so long. Similar to all the nights prior, you had tossed and turned endlessly under silken sheets before deciding to go for a walk. You found no comfort in your bed despite the mattress beneath you being the softest there ever was.

It could be the chambers themselves, surrounded by four dark walls that are still very much foreign to you. You must get used to it, you remind yourself. In fact, it's more than just a room that you must get used to.

Tomorrow, your life will change more than it already has when you moved to Caladan.

Tomorrow is the wedding—your wedding. Many esteemed members of the Great Houses will be in attendance, alongside your closest family and friends, who are now worlds away from you. They will all be present to witness you exchange vows with Duke Leto Atreides, a man you barely know.

You exhale a deep, long sigh and draw your knees under your chin. Gentle waves lap onto the shore, the white foam almost reaching your toes before ebbing away. You watch in comfortable silence, the hypnotic rhythm of the waves creating a sense of calm.

Unwittingly, your mind combs through recent events. You spent plenty of these last few days surrounded by those more interested in your upcoming nuptials than you are. You've grown weary of feigning smiles every second in their company, of pretending to be okay when you are far from it.

You feel alone. You are alone.

It’s a sacrifice—leaving behind the life you had to help your struggling home world. Things are changing faster than the time you have to process them. But you can't afford to wait—the sooner you marry Leto, the sooner your father and your people's burdens will go away.

You are doing the right thing. The noble thing. It's what you were raised to do. The last thing you wish is to be seen as a disappointment.

Still, it doesn't mean you have your worries and doubts. You lack experience, having never courted someone before. You question whether or not you would be fit to be a wife to the stranger who is the Duke of Caladan. You're well aware of the responsibilities you would have to uphold, the expectation that one day you will need to bear him an heir…

You shut your eyes, trying to push past the feeling of your heart starting to pick up and thud heavily against your ribs. But the pit of anxiety gnawing at your stomach grows and grows, and it's a losing battle. Not even the ocean waves that mesmerized you moments ago could distract you from the mounting panic inside.

Your thoughts batter you from within like a storm raging out of control. The pressure and expectations others have on you— that you have on yourself— can't be stopped.

They're too loud; they refuse to be ignored this time around.

Your body trembles, your breaths are short and shallow, and it feels like you are drowning; you're helplessly caught in a dangerous current that pulls you under the water. The weight in your chest drags you down and deeper, sinking and sinking until you hit the very bottom of the depths of your own mind, deprived of any air, any light.

It's only until a voice calls out your name over and over again that you resurface. Warm, gentle hands urge you to sit right back up, and you don't have it in you to fight against them. You don't remember curling up on your side, wound in a tight little ball, nearly burrowing yourself into the sand bed as if wanting to be swallowed whole.

"Breathe, darling... Listen to my voice and just breathe, alright? One... two... three..."

You can't see him, not through the hot, stinging tears obscuring your eyes. But you can hear him. His voice's hazy, soft lull is strangely familiar, yet you cannot place whose it is.

He coaxes you repeatedly, and you focus on his words as if they are your one and only lifeline—as if they are the calming waves reaching the shoreline.

You do as he says. You breathe.

"One... two... three... That's it, my lady. Deep breaths for me, and again— one... two... three... Good girl, and again. Breathe..."

You're unsure how long has passed by the time your heart slows, and your breathing evens out. Your blurred vision clears once your tears have settled, and your eyes widen when you recognize the face before you.

Duke Leto Atreides kneels beside you, dressed in a manner you have never seen him in. He has on a loose white shirt and dark lounge bottoms, his graying head of curls mussed by the wind blowing past.

You're uncertain why he's at the beach alone at this late hour despite being seemingly ready for bed. Perhaps concerned guards informed him of your wandering about the castle in the dead of night. Did he come all this way in search of you?

Leto’s dark eyes search your face for the reason of your distress. Embarrassment sweeps over your cheeks— you cannot imagine how much of a pitiful mess you look. God, what if you've ruined it? What if seeing you this way, so weak, and frightened, and pathetic, has Leto wishing to rescind his agreement to marry you? What if, what if—

"Hey, shh… Relax. There is no need to fret," Leto soothes. He must have seen the worry in your eyes, but instead of ridicule as you anticipated, he looks at you with concern.

You cast your gaze down, catching sight of your hand in his. He hasn't let go of it since finding you, and when he notices your muscles tense up from the anxiety that seizes your body once more, he squeezes.

Leto squeezes your hand firmly but nowhere near the point of pain. His words are a quiet murmur in your ears. "Don't go back there, darling. Stay here, on this beach. Squeeze my hand back so I know you're here with me. Can you do that for me, please?"

With his other hand, Leto places a finger under your chin to tip it upwards, meeting your eyes. Again, he holds your hand tightly and brushes his thumb over your knuckles. You concentrate on him, matching your breaths to his. The tension starts to slip away bit by bit, and when it does, you finally squeeze his hand back.

"There you go. Just breathe, you're alright," Leto murmurs with a small smile. It dawns on you how close he is when the sound of the ocean becomes second to his voice. "Better?"

You swallow, then nod following a brief pause, not trusting yourself to speak.

Moving slowly so as not to startle you, Leto picks up your shawl from the ground, dusting it clean of grains of sand before draping it over your shoulders.

You expect him to leave, seeing you have regained some semblance of composure. You much prefer that he would. You can't handle explaining to Leto what was wrong. Is wrong.

The air turns silent as you face the water, wiping the dried-up tears from your cheeks with your fingers. You don't see Leto in your peripheral vision, but he's there, watching you. You can feel it.

"Here," you hear Leto say. Glancing to the side, you find him still sitting next to you. He offers his handkerchief, gently motioning it toward you when he senses your hesitation.

With the slightest smile, you accept the piece of cloth, whispering a "thanks" and looking away.

It occurs to you then that this is your first true moment with Leto. Before today, you had only seen glimpses of him. The most time you have spent with him was during your first encounter, and even then, it wasn't for long.

You chalked it up to Leto having no genuine interest in you. Why would he? He has duties that are much more pressing than entertaining you.

It's not much of a surprise. It would be wrong of you to expect for more. Ultimately, this marriage is not one for love but born out of necessity. A political alliance. A guarantee that your people will be well taken care of. That's the agreement.

Not to mention, you've heard them— those hushed talks amongst the servants and guards about how Caladan does not stand to gain anything from the union.

They are not wrong; many have supposedly expressed concern, including members of the Duke's inner circle. You wonder if he will come to regret his decision one day.

"You've had quite a fright there."

Leto's voice cuts through the silence between you. He shuffles from behind, sitting where he can better see you. You stop yourself from glancing down; it would be rude, and you don't want to tarnish both your image and your family's name even more than you already have.

"I-I am deeply sorry, my lord. You shouldn't have to see that," you manage to get out, catching the way Leto's brows knit together in response.

"There's no shame in such. Why apologize?" he asks you in a soft tone. "And please, there's no need for formalities. Call me Leto. After all, we are betrothed to one another."

Your throat suddenly dries at the reminder that the man before you is your soon-to-be husband. You wring your hands in your lap and give him a nod, skirting from answering his earlier question.

Leto is quick to pick up your nervousness. You can almost see his brain working to piece it all together and grasp what was happening when he stumbled upon you.

You dread what words Leto might say, fearing they will be judgments made against you. You hide from his piercing stare, picking at your nails until a pair of rough yet gentle hands gathers yours, halting you.

Leto squeezes your hands softly, very much like he did before, and it soothes the part of you that has always ached but you could never get rid of.

"You do not have to carry your burdens alone, my lady," Leto murmurs, leaning to catch your eyes once more, and he does. "Whatever it is, unload it on me. Now, tell me what's wrong."

It's almost cruel that your instinct is to doubt him. But if the sincerity bleeding into his voice wasn't enough for you to give him a chance, then it's the tenderness in his gaze. You see the understanding in them, the concern and genuine desire to ease your troubles away.

Your initial perception of Leto has been wrong. You've been wary of him. Intimidated. But this is no man holding no care for you. He could have easily walked away after finding you amidst a fit. Instead, he stayed. He's here when you were convinced he would never find the time to be.

You open up to Leto like a floodgate, admitting to him the thoughts that plagued your mind from the day you learned about this marital arrangement, your nervousness for tomorrow's wedding and your fear of solitude in Caladan in the days that would follow.

You feel selfish, guilty even, for saying all of this out loud. You have no right to complain when the locals here have treated you with only kindness. Others would dream of being in your shoes—of living in a beautiful land, gaining an honorable title, and having a husband who would make you the envy of many.

Why must a blessing cause you great grief?

Leto listens to every word with undivided attention. He lets you speak freely and honestly, never once interfering between your sobs and sentences. He clears his throat only when the whispering waves of the ocean have lingered in the space between the two for some time.

"You are right when you said some of my advisors opposed me marrying you," Leto begins softly, gauging every bit of your reaction as he speaks. "They told me it would bring no benefit to House Atreides—that all we'll do is use up precious time and resources for a dying planet already beyond saving. Their words, not mine."

There is a quiet beat. Leto glances towards the horizon, where the first faint inklings of dawn break through the skies. He continues: "I realized then that those men do not uphold the same values I believe in. Caladan has more than enough riches to go around. There is no humanity in turning a blind eye to people's suffering—especially when we have it in our power to provide aid.

"I've had plenty of disagreements with my advisors, but I couldn't allow those without hearts to remain on my council. My lack of presence is not because I had no interest in getting to know you. Rather, I was ensuring those who showed little care for my bride and her ancestral land no longer served as advisors of mine—a task that regrettably stole time I would have spent with you."

You fall silent. The breath that leaves you seemingly takes more of the load on your being. Your respect for Leto grows. You see now the kind, thoughtful, benevolent man he is.

How could you have been so wrong about him? You'd been irrational, too assuming. So afraid he would turn out to be the complete opposite when he gave you no valid reason that he's such. You should not have been quick to judge his character when you had known nothing about him in the first place.

"I... thank you, my lor—Leto," you eventually say, turning to him. Shame and remorse cling to your tongue. "I am terribly sorry again. Had my mind been sound, I would've realized my distress is unwarranted."

"Nonsense. You're overwhelmed; your worries were reasonable. All I want is the two of us to be on the same page," Leto replies. The warm smile that adorns his lips when you correct yourself and address him by name lingers. “Let's start over, shall we then?"

You watch as he stands on his feet, reaching out his hand towards you. With Leto's help, you pull yourself up from the sandy floor, shaking off the pins and needles stinging your limbs. He holds his hand out once more, this time for a handshake.

"Hello, I am Leto and welcome to Caladan. It is a pleasure to meet you and an honor to have your presence here."

A smile blooms across your face as you shake his hand, formally introducing yourself to Leto the way he had. "I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to this. I, my father, and our people are eternally grateful for your generosity."

Leto makes a small bow of his head, capturing your hand between his own. Something inside you feels lighter now. The air around you, once thick like water, isn't anymore.

"You will no longer have to worry about your home world. I will make certain they receive all that they need—as for you, as well. I am here for you, even if it's simply as an ear to listen."

A pause. Leto's voice melts a touch softer. He looks at you with eyes deep and brown as the bark of a pine. "In a matter of hours, you and I will wed. It's merely for formality's sake. What goes on between us as husband and wife is nobody's business but ours. Please know that I ask for and expect nothing in return for agreeing to this arrangement. You will never be forced to do anything you do not wish to. Ever. Is that understood?"

You take in Leto's words, becoming aware of the unspoken ones, those hidden between the lines. Their implications settle on you, and you let out a quiet breath of relief into the air.

"I do," you assure before adding, for what could be the hundredth time since Leto has joined you, "Thank you."

“You’re welcome, my lady.”

The sun peaks over the skyline, casting bright golden rays over Caladan. Leto briefly glances in the distance, the silver strands of his mane and beard catching the light, and they glimmer before your eyes. He smiles wide, the lines on his face crinkling as he watches the sunrise.

You also find yourself smiling, spending a moment more studying Leto's profile before turning to what's ahead of you.

Caladan takes your breath away, even more so in the daylight. You can fully appreciate it now that the storms in your mind have passed, and it's as clear as the skies.

"It's a beautiful day to get married." Leto remarks as the two of you gaze out to the water. After basking in the peaceful silence, he meets your eyes again, offering you his arm like a gentleman would. "Come, let me escort you back to your room. We both should rest up a bit before the festivities start."

Nodding in agreement, you quietly say goodbye to the ocean and allow Leto to guide you away from the beach. The sand beneath your shoes eventually turns to a rocky pathway at the foot of Castle Caladan, its grandeur towering over you.

A warm hand slips into yours.

"From now on, you will never feel alone," Leto says, pressing a soft squeeze to your hand. His hold is comforting, and reassuring. “You will always have me at your side, darling. I promise you that."

You smile at Leto, feeling something tender unfold in your chest when he returns a smile of his own.

You believe him, and for once, you think you will be okay.

—

taglist: @pigeonmama

please note that i’m starting a new taglist for my fics. if you would like to be included, let me know :)

#leto atreides x reader #duke leto x reader #dune fanfic #duke leto atreides fanfic #leto atreides fanfic #leto atreides x you #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #my fics

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imaginesmai · 6 months

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Taken - Azriel

This is long and this is messy. I don't know where this came out, but shoutout to @marscardigan because she requested this fic so long ago I almost forgot. Enjoy the ANGST.

This is a fic inside the baker!reader universe from Right around the corner. You don't need to read the fics to understand but it will help you!

Plot: you're taken in the worst possible situation, and Azriel fights against time to find you.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, blood, wounds, death (not main characters).

You should have closed the bakery a while ago, you knew. You should have also taken a few days off and relay on Elain a bit more. As a matter of a fact, there was a long list of things you should have done better, most of them converged in the last month, but you were busy. And stubborn.

A very busy, very stubborn, very pregnant baker who was closing the bakery way too late.

You had been lucky that morning when you had won the first argument. It was Nyx birthday in a few days, and the boy wanted a special cake with the shadows of his uncle. And you had been working on it even if you were supposed to be on house arrest, only because Azriel was with you at all given time.

But that day, your mate had a meeting and he couldn’t stay with you, so originally you weren’t supposed to go. Originally. Since Azriel loved Nyx as much as you, he had agreed to leave you at the bakery on your own and not chain you to bed.

You hoped that agreement was still valid if he discovered how late it was.

“Alright” you muttered, looking down at the cake with your hands resting on your swollen belly. “I think it’s coming just fine, huh? One more floor and it’ll be the event of the year”

The cake had a base covered in black chocolate, small curls that simulated shadows coming from the bottom. You had already finished the worst part, and had the rest of the shadows ready in the oven for tomorrow.

While you admired your work, you rubbed your hands absentmindedly across your stomach. At the beginning on the third trimester, you looked ready to give birth. Maybe it was because of the wings, or maybe the baby already took upon his father’s size.

“I hope your tastes are less expensive than your cousin’s” you said, smiling when your rubs were answered by a strong kick. “That didn’t feel like agreeing”

The shadows that were already yours pushed you once more to the door, like they had been doing for the past hours, since the sun came down. Raising your hands up in defeat, you took the first step back home.

“Alright, I’m going. I’m going” you chuckled as they pressed more urgently now that you started walking. “I’m fine, it’s late but I’m finishing. Promise to put my feet up when I get home”

Talking with the shadows and with your baby was as common as talking to yourself. Just as Azriel, you seemed to understand what they wanted to tell you. You endured their constant tugging and pulling as you closed off the bakery.

Only when the door was locked and you turned to take the few steps to your house, you realized just how late it was.

“Oh” you blinked, looking around you. The babe sent another, softer kick.

The street was empty, the night silent. Not even the few cats that purred in the shadows happened to be there that night. Even though it was a summer night, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you put the key on your pocket and took the already usual wobbly steps.

At any given moment, you liked to think, you would have been more aware. Azriel had trained you for it, his family had too in the last years. But still, that one time you would have used any of that training, you couldn’t.

Your hand only made it to the knock of your door when the faebane arrow went clean through your shoulder. A clothe covered your mouth as the few shadows tried to blind whoever was behind you, not given you any time to scream or call for help. Gripping onto the last thread of consciousness, you tugged on the bond.

The meeting was taking far longer than what he would have liked.

It was supposed to be easy, to talk the problems out and to let Keir go with a warning. That was why Rhysand had asked him to come along, so that his shadows would snoop around while the male was busy. Because, if the high lord had known it would take so long, he wouldn’t have dared to separate Azriel from you.

Since you both solved your last argument, things had gotten better. He was ready to give himself to you, to become a better man for you and to be what you needed. And seven months ago, it had kept going – you were pregnant, with his child.

And if Azriel thought you were beautiful before, watching your body swell with a new life, watching you become a mother, made you perfect. The thought of you and your future child was what kept him put during hours.

He had known you were at the bakery alone; had known he was supposed to be home before dinner. But he waited, because he didn’t have a reason not to. Azriel felt a tug at the bond during the meeting, and sent a reassuring pull back.

He waited, until Keir left and he put a foot out of Hewn City. Cassian was waiting for them with his arms crossed, his back to their brothers.

“Missed us much?” Rhysand teased, letting himself smile for the first time in that day. “Is staying with – what’s wrong?”

Cassian turned around and his face fell. Azriel recognized earlier than Rhysand the fall of his shoulders, the slump on his wings. There was tension and pain written all over his face. His spymaster-mind ran over a few possibilities before his brother locked eyes with him – an attack to Velaris, an update about Beron’s plans, the revolution in the human’s lands. He even had time to worry about Nyx.

Then, he locked eyes and his breath got stuck in his throat.

“What?” he blurted out. The look on Cassian’s face threatened to swallow him down a spiral of panic. “Cassian, what?”

“What happened?” Rhysand asked, although he was already reading the general’s mind.

“Y/N’s been taken. Don’t know where yet or why” the general spoke, without dropping Azriel’s burning gaze. “I’ve got guards up in the sky and through Velaris”

“Taken?” the high lord asked again, frowning.

“Your shadows came into the wind house, somehow… Nyx knows. He told us what they saw. We are looking for her already, don’t panic. We will find her”

Rhysand could see through Cassian’s eyes, the burst of Azriel’s shadows and a crying Nyx in his room, waking him up. His son telling him about the shadows warning him in his sleep, asking the general if it was true and why they said that.

He looked at Azriel, who looked as pale as the bone wall behind them. The Illyrian tried to come up with something to say, just as he had done in so many similar occasions. It was him who remained calm when Rhysand went under the mountain, when Nyx’s life was threatened just after he was born. Azriel made plans, he was a skilled warrior.

Still, he could only tug on the bond and horrify at the emptiness that came back.

“I can’t feel her” he confessed, finally looking away from Cassian to Rhysand. “Why? Why can’t I feel her?”

“She isn’t dead” his brother answered immediately. “You would know. It’s the faebane, you won’t feel her if they have used it. Cassian, what do we know?”

“No smells, no traces. Bakery was empty and her apartment too. They must have taken her in between”

“Who would fucking take a pregnant woman?” Azriel blurted out. “She’s pregnant. She’s – fuck! In between? It’s – it’s two steps! There’s no space in between!”

“What else?” Rhysand ignored him.

“They sent a note”

Azriel’s panic died down for a moment when Cassian handed his high lord the note. He quickly snatched it away. Barely able to keep in place, he turned his back to his brothers and shamelessly used his shadows in his favor.

He heard his name being called, felt Rhysand demanding to be let in. His own power wasn’t a match for the high lord’s, but it would keep them out enough to read the note.

One of the first rules he applied when it came to kidnappings was to keep the family and loved ones out of it. They didn’t think clearly, and without wanting to, could endanger the victim. But it wasn’t just a person, it was you.

So, ignoring his own rules, he opened the note.

If you want Y/N and the baby safe, the spymaster will present himself at the given coordinates before sunrise. Impaled with faebane and with no hidden tricks. Once we deem so, we will deliver the girl in Windhaven.

Each hour past sunrise will be paid. Don’t be late.

We do not appreciate being hunted.

There were words, that made sentences, and that should have made sense. But all Azriel could see was your name, the word baby, and feel his chest tighten. That wasn’t a clue, there was no way they would find them before sunrise and bring you home to him. Right then, he understood why they kept family out of those types of matters.

The note was snatched out of his hands by a very angry looking Rhysand, with a pained Cassian behind his back.

As Rhysand read the note, Azriel let himself have a moment of sorrow. He turned every emotion upside down, explored them instead of refusing to acknowledge. For years, he had feared the possibility of you being taken from his side. There would be time to panic once he had you in his arms, to worry about the baby once he could touch your belly once more and check your pulse and breathing.

Azriel tugged on the bond once more, feeling the crushing emptiness back. There was nothing, and he was threatened to become nothing too. Instead, he tugged on the faint, thin bond that was still developing. It was barely a thread of your own, fragile but promising.

The bond with your child had been the cause of your discovery. One day it was only the two of you, and then Azriel felt something else. He tugged on that and, even if he didn’t receive anything back, he knew.

“They’re in the mountains” he looked at his brothers. “Can’t say where, but far from Windhaven”

“How are you sure?” Cassian asked, but Rhysand smiled knowingly. Sadly.

“The other bond. You shouldn’t pull too hard, Az. It’s – “

“I won’t. But I’m not letting one second go if I can find her” Azriel cut him off with a hard look. “You’re wasting your time in Velaris”

“Don’t you dare, Az”

Cassian words were lost in the wind as he winnowed away, Rhysand barely touching his forearm. He knew he shouldn’t tug on the bond so soon in his child’s life, that it would only put him at risk. Risk an early labor, risk your discomfort. But if it meant it would take him back to you, he would rip the word apart piece by piece.

You didn’t know how, but after all those years, all those good memories built that replaced the bad ones, you just knew. You recognized the painted walls, the stains on the ground, and the smell from the fire.

Nothing had changed over the centuries that had passed by, you realized. The tavern was just as terrible as it had been, just as dirty. They were just as tall and broad as they were, although not that many. And you were that scared girl that they ripped their wings from, tucked into a corner.

While they stared at you, you only hug your belly and tried to keep your tears at bay.

You had woken up a while ago, and they had only whispered between them. From what you had gathered, they didn’t expect the pregnancy, and were worried about it. The one who had clipped your wings so long ago wasn’t around, thanks to Azriel, but you recognized their faces.

You also recognized the blood stains on the ground and walls, courtesy of your mate and probably the reason you were in that position.

“It has closed” one of them broke the silence, frowning. “Why has it closed so soon? We just took it out”

“Must be the babe” the taller one, whom you remembered to be called Sandor, shrugged.

“It’s the third time – “

“All right, girl, you already know to stay put” Sandor sighed, as if it was a simple routine.

You refused to talk, refused to anger them just like you had done in the past and pay for your actions. It wasn’t just your life in the game, and right then, your priority wasn’t it.

With only the moon light through the window, Sandor knelt in front of you and grabbed a clean arrow. Two bloodied ones were discarded on the ground, ripped out of your shoulder and arm. Apparently, they didn’t want to risk you healing around the arrow, in case it would somehow affect the baby.

That didn’t mean they weren’t willing to stick another one once the wound was closed and there was a chance of Azriel feeling you through the bond.

For a moment, Sandor hesitated. It was clear that he wasn’t comfortable about your belly or the situation. Hurting you to get Azriel might had been fine, but hurting pregnant-you was debatable.

“Just do it, man. You might already ring the bells and light a bonfire” the nameless one snapped.

“Do you want to do it?” Sandor turned around on his knees. “Clyde, I’ve got a pregnant woman at home. And she looks ready to burst”

“It’s not your woman, it’s his. Do you want to stare at what used to be Burton?” Clyde pointed to the darkest stain. “Tell him if he wants to consider, take his time”

As they argued, you finally felt it. A tug, a breeze, nothing more than a feeling, but it was there. It was Azriel pulling at the bond like his life depended on it, with so much strength you were sure he was using power that wasn’t only his.

You blinked surprised at the change. It had taken you all your willpower not to panic when you woke up feeling nothing on the other side, and they hadn’t let enough time for your body to recover from the fae bane to feel it again. But as they argued, you silently cherished the discovery. Maybe it was the baby’s strength, maybe it was the cauldron leaning in your favor or any other force, but not only you were healing fast – you were getting the bond back.

Still looking at them, you tugged back. The bond went silent for a second, and you pressed against it again. You were hit with an overwhelming amount of worry, of fear but also love and relief. Azriel’s emotions became yours, and you were so glad it was about to be over that you unfocused your gaze.

It was enough for Clyde to notice your far-away look, and realize what was happening.

“Fuck, she’s warning him!” Clyde rushed forwards, taking the arrow out of Sandor’s grip. “You think you’re so smart?”

You blinked your fogginess away when he walked towards you, coming back to your senses. There wasn’t enough amount of love or assurance Azriel could send you that would stop you from panicking.

“No, wait” you pushed yourself farther into the corner as he moved closer, screaming at Azriel as loud as you could through the watered bond. “I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“You knocked-up, useless, brat” he gripped your ankle and pushed you towards him, your back and head hitting the ground. “Let’s see how you tell him this”

The momentary pain of hitting the ground wasn’t enough to drown the anguish of having a new arrow dug into your leg, just above your knee. The ceiling became blurry and his voices tuned out as you screamed in pain, your bounded hands trying aimlessly to break free.

You couldn’t remember the pain from the first one, seeing you were knocked out, and Sandor had managed to make the other one hurt less. But Clyde pushed his body weight onto your leg, the bottom of the arrow piercing the ground. You looked up and watched horrified as blood started leaking out through your pants and under your leg.

Moving away from him only caused the arrow to shift, but being near him was putting your baby close to the monster. So, in your panic, you tried to ease the pain by lifting your leg while shifting farther into the corner.

“How’s the bond now, uh? Is your pussy boy there?” he chuckled, while Sandor looked away. “Go on, tell him how bad we are”

“We should move” the third one spoke for the first time. “If he has felt her, he knows”

“You heard the boss” rough hands tried to push you up while you cried out.

“No” you repeated, letting Clyde put your whole weight up and almost collapsing after him. “Please, just let me go. Let me go”

Gone was the keep-quiet-don’t-talk. The tears kept rolling down your cheeks as Sandor stepped on your other side, holding you up a bit gentler than Clyde. Your baby started kicking on your side, and between the pain and desperation, you felt like throwing up and passing out.

Their chatter as they discussed what to do next was background noise. Certainly, they weren’t taking the arrow out that time, risk or no risk of being sealed inside and affecting the baby. You could barely stand up between your kidnappers and remember how to breath at the same time.

You wanted Azriel, that was the only thing you were certain. You shouldn’t have closed so late, you shouldn’t have gone to the bakery on your own, and you shouldn’t have gotten out of bed that morning. The baby agreed with you, answering each thought with a powerful kick to your kidneys and bladder.

You tried desperately to think about positive things, to keep yourself sane enough. Closing your eyes, you thought about him. His hazel eyes, that shone with a special light when he saw you between the crowd. His mouth, that curled up so lightly every time you stared at him. The freckles in his cheeks, that one that snuck up to the corner of his eye.

You could almost hear his voice reminding you to breath carefully and gain control of your body when the pregnancy pain hit, and you tried to do the same. Taking a deep breath through your mouth, holding it in. Letting it go through your nose.

“Oh, sure, because winnowing her again is the best solution, right?” Sandor scoffed loudly.

You moved your toes lightly, relieved to notice that despite the burning and overwhelming pain, you could still feel everything. From your feet to your head, you twitched every part of your body, finally able to breathe through the pain.

That didn’t mean you could move without them hauling you up, or that the baby was anymore happy.

“Enough! We’re moving now. Grab the things. We winnow – “ the anonymous man startled you, making you look up.

“I need to go the bathroom” you whispered, although it was heard as if you shouted it.

Three pair of eyes looked at you with raised brows, one pair certainly more annoyed than the other two. You didn’t know how far had it been since they took you, but it was still night time. During the last weeks, you had been paying a visit to your bathroom at least once every two hours.

And that was being generous.

The babe kicked again against your bladder, making your knees wobble. If you didn’t catch a bathroom, in a minute, you would have to let go.

“Sure. Do you want me run a bath too? Clyde, you could massage her feet. Is our lady tired of standing up for so long?”

“Nestor, she’s pregnant” Sandor was the only one looking slightly affected by your request. “My Lorren – “

“Your Lorren is home and we are here. Stop with Lorren!” Clyde let you go to push Sandor’s shoulders, which made you stumble back.

“I’m not carrying her if she’s gonna pee herself”

“She’s gonna be a big girl and hold it, right?” Nestor gave you a tense smile. “And you’re going to winnow her to the cabin”

“I’m not taking her to the cabin, man”

And while you stood up and waited for them to decided where to take you, you felt your bladder giving up. It wouldn’t be the first time you peed yourself, and with the strength your baby was kicking you right then, you were amazed that you managed to hold it for a few seconds.

Clyde and Nestor kept arguing loudly about the cabin, while Sandor just looked at you with a scrunched nose. You would have felt embarrassed, but you were in pain, you were scared and tired. It was hard to stay standing at any given moment with your belly. Whether it was the wings or the baby’s size, you were heavy.

The discomfort of the arrow was starting to become secondary. Even though you had just peed yourself, you still felt the kicks against your bladder – and almost against every part of your soul. You gripped the only thing available when another wave of kicks hit you, that being Sandor’s arm.

The man realized at the same time you did what was happening, although he didn’t have time to voice it out.

“Damn it!” Clyde barely missed the door coming out of its hinges. He didn’t miss the knife that embedded itself on his throat.

“Sandor, shoot him!” Nestor yelled to his friend, who was too busy keeping you off the ground now that the only support was holding his open neck. “Shoot!”

“Pathetic”

His voice was like a cold breeze in the summer, the feeling of his shadows helping you gently to stand up making your breath speed up once more.

Azriel appeared like a dark angel through the open door, his eyes not even leaving you as he stopped an arrow with his bare hand. His wings covered the moon behind him, but they didn’t stop the next figure coming through. Before Clyde hit the ground still chocking on his last breath, Rhysand had winnowed himself and Nestor out of the tavern.

You briefly wondered if death by Azriel’s hands right then would have been better than by the spymaster’s hands later.

Your mate said nothing as Sandor was ripped out of your side. Only by gripping his arm and pulling him away from you, you heard the awful crack of his arm breaking into two.

Sandor cried out, only getting a few seconds to acknowledge his arm before his left wing is ripped out of his back. Azriel’s shadows assessed your body with a sickening speed, coming to the same conclusion you had.

You were lowered softly onto the ground, silently watching what Azriel had always hidden from you. The unleveled part of him, the one that came out when someone he loved was in danger. He feared that part would take you away from him. But as you watched your mate tear Sandor to pieces, you only felt relief at his presence.

The male wasn’t done screaming for his life when he fell dead to the side. His mangled body was blocked from your view by training leathers and tearful hazel eyes. Everything he had felt during the last hours, that he had denied himself from so he would find you, crashed hard.

His scarred hands held your face while he scanned your body, stopping on your untouched belly and bleeding wound. He didn’t even flinch when he touched your soaked pants to pull it out.

The pain you were in in that moment prevented you from feeling anything more than a discomfort at the pull.

“You’re alive” Azriel cried out, not holding his tears back. “I thought – for a moment, I thought… I couldn’t feel you. And then I did, but you were gone. I didn’t know what had happened. I almost died, Y/N. You’re alive. You’re okay”

“Az” you whined, one of your hands gripping his shoulder harder than it was necessary.

“The baby’s bond… I followed it to the mountains. I know I shouldn’t, but I pulled it” he placed one hand on your belly, laughing tearfully when he felt a kick back. “I love you. I love you both so much”

There weren’t words to explain what Azriel had felt in the last few hours. How he had stumbled down into the snow when he had felt your end of the bond alive, how desperate he had been to follow it. Then, it had gone dark and if it wasn’t for Rhysand following him, he would have crashed right there.

He was glad his brother had been there, that he had taken a male away for questioning. Once you were safe and with Madja, he would make sure to take his time.

Azriel pressed a shaky, wet kiss to your forehead, then another one to your nose. He kissed each and every tear that had stained your cheeks in the past hour, finally pressing his lips against yours.

When he moved back, ready to winnow you both back to Velaris and hold you close for a week, he was surprised to see new tears running down your cheeks. What he thought was terror for the kidnapping, the anguish of your captors, hadn’t left your face.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned, leaving his own despair for later and looking back at your body.

“Az” you repeated.

You had realized what was happening before him, had known just before Sandor. His shadows couldn’t possibly understand what was happening, and so, Azriel didn’t. Any pain you had felt during that night paled away from the complete, absolute fear the crippled you as you stared at your mate in that dark tavern, where your worst memories had taken place.

“I’m here” he reminded you, his hand caressing the belly. “Where does it –“

“It’s coming” you finally admitted, watching the realization hitting him. “The baby’s coming”

It had felt like peeing yourself, like normal kicks, you guessed. What had given it away was crippling, motherly realization that your baby wanted out. That bond that had connected you to it was more present than ever, and somehow, you knew.

Azriel paled even more if that was possible. Right there, sitting in the dirty, bloodied and now empty tavern, your water had broken. You wanted to break down crying, because of course, given your history your baby would choose that moment.

When Azriel didn’t say anything, you lip wobbled again. Because, if he didn’t have the answers, who would?

“It’s coming” you said again, feeling like a broken record. “What do we do? What -?”

“I’ll winnow us to Velaris” Azriel interrupted you, knowing the answer before saying it.

“Madja said we can’t” you reminded him, although he already knew. “Oh God. Az, it’s coming. What do we do? I’m having a baby. I’m having a baby!”

Indeed, one of the first things Madja had advised you against was winnowing while pregnant. So close to the date, it would only trigger an early labor – and on the date, it would be dangerous to the baby and you. Rhysand would be back in Velaris by then, probably thinking you two were just fine and happy together once more.

And winnowing away to warn him and bring someone was out of the equation, since he wouldn’t be leaving you for a while now.

So Azriel gathered himself together and gave you a hesitant smile.

“We can do it” Azriel whispered, not sure of the truth behind his words.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving you. We’re here together, and we can do it. Madja told us what it’s like” Azriel tried to sound confident for you, for the both of you, but it came out as a question.

“We’re having a baby”

The first rays of sun entered through the empty space where the door was as you stared into his eyes. You could risk winnowing back and losing the baby and your life, or you could send away Azriel and hope he made it in time back with Madja or any other healer. Neither of those options felt like surviving to you, so you nodded at him and willed that tear to be the last one.

Azriel leaned in and kissed you softly. His lips were salty, from his tears or your own, and kind. While his shadows brushed every available part of your body, you let yourself forget about the closing wound, about the trembling of your knees and the pain in your belly.

Kissing him would always feel like the first time, like fireworks and Starfall. His nosed brushed your own and his tongue deepened the kiss. One of his hands cupped the back of your head, the hair there already covered in sweat. Even it was cold with the morning breeze, you were ready to get out of your body.

The kiss ended way too soon, just as another kick, or contraction, hit you harder than before. You sucked a breath and almost stumbled to the ground.

Azriel was quick to roll his sleeves up, lowering you until you were laying on the ground. Looking up at him, he gave you reassuring smile and hesitant nod.

“We’re having a baby” he squeezed your shoulder.

You tried to smile as another contraction hit and the first scream broke the silent morning.

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773 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 6 months

Note

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

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earthtooz · 2 years

Text

in which you give bakugo katsuki the silent treatment

warnings: 2.3k words, fluff fic, slight hurt but mostly comfort, bakugo is sad :( he doesn't like being ignored, i wrote this weeks ago i can't remember shit about what i put in this. UNEDITED ASF!!!

a/n: this was not supposed to be a standalone fic, this was actually meant to be a multi-character thing about giving them the silent treatment but that didn't turn out as planned bc i have no time so i only have bakugo ready lol! hope you enjoy

there’s a pair of crimson eyes burning holes in the side of your head and you can feel the gaze penetrating further and further into your skull with each passing second.

you almost have the nerve to ask when bakugo katsuki learnt how to use his armour-piercing shot with his eyes.

but alas, you bite the inside of your cheek and continue ignoring him, fingers tapping away on your keyboard to finish up your report.

it’s now day three of your silent treatment. your boyfriend has endured 48, painful hours of the punishment that he rightfully deserved and he’s been restless for all 48 hours. it’s a miracle that he’s survived this long because you totally would’ve expected him to blow up already.

how ironic that he’s acting sensible now yet couldn’t hold his tongue when you two were taking down the villain.

the event that caused bakugo’s predicament was actually the report you were finishing, a gang of villains - experienced ones, had broken into a high-end jewellery store and stolen majority of their dazzling diamonds and you and bakugo just so happened to be on site.

you were expecting a robbery chase that happened at least every three days. what you weren’t expecting, was that they were good. like, really good.

one of the thief’s quirks kept grazing you and it didn’t help that the communication between you and bakugo was off that day, so when you meet up with him again after splitting up, unconscious villains in tow with a few injuries to pair with it.

he failed to stop the big words that tumbled out of his mouth.

“what the hell was that? you seriously failed to listen to some simple instructions? you might wanna go back to being a fuckin’ sidekick because of how shit that was and you have the nerve to call yourself a pro?” thundered the explosive blond, whose face was getting closer and closer to yours with each passing second.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you took down the villain, what was the big deal? “excuse me?” you muttered lowly.

that seems to tick him off even more, “you heard me! that was embarrassing to watch, kept getting hit and injured by some shitty extra. we don’t need heroes like you to screw things as simple as a robbery chase up!”

bakugo had been ticked off the second he first entered the agency this morning, so you were aware he was in a bad mood and you probably were the final strike to him letting loose of his temper- but that was not an excuse for the venom he was spitting. no matter how desperately you wanted to retaliate, you kept your cool for the sake of your relationship and also because you were in public. you didn’t need anyone listening to realise that it was you that bakugo was shouting at, so with no sound, you turn around and meet up with the police, villains in hand.

that seemed to shut him up pretty easily, thank goodness to your eardrums.

“we took ‘em down,” you said the second the police scrambled out of their cars. you tried to keep the frustration and anger out of your tone but the way you threw the villains with a little more force than necessary against the police car caused the officers to flinch.

a certain blond appears not long after, now calmer and more guilty-looking.

“thanks you two. we dug through our records and found out that these criminals have been wanted for a while. kept escaping under our noses,” one policeman says with a grateful smile. you don’t bother to return it, blaming it on the cut on your cheek.

“no problem. just call us if you ever need us again,” you tell him with a proper nod.

you and bakugo watch the policemen secure the villains, not moving until the last car leaves your sight.

he turns to you and finally says something to break the suffocating tension between you two.

“you should probably get some first aid for those cuts.”

bakugo tries to sound normal- really, he tries, because the second you turned around and left him in the alley, he realised the magnitude of his stupidity and felt his heart drop to his stomach, fearing for the worst.

with a small ‘tch’ from you, you’re gone the next second from his sight, probably flying back to the agency.

you don’t speak to him. even when he spams your phone with check up texts, even when he returns after patrol, even when he walks into your office whilst you rapidly type away at your laptop furiously, making more typos than you’d like to admit.

“hey,” he says sternly, trying to capture your attention with little success. “c’mon, talk to me.”

bakugo rounds the table and bobs down beside you, careful not to aggravate you by touching you even though it was hard to resist the temptation. natural boyfriend instinct.

“y/n, i didn’t mean what i said back there, i swear,” he continues, “i was just, fuckin’ mad at- i don’t even know, and i shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

it’s beautiful how he can say everything beside ‘sorry’.

“please don’t ignore me.”

he’s frowning, and you really wanna look at him and respond, but you don’t and this dance continues for the next two days. bakugo asks if you want coffee; no answer but he brings it for you regardless. bakugo asks if you need help sorting through the mess of papers on your desk; no answer but he cleans it up regardless, in the exact way you like it. bakugo asks if you need him to run by the support gear department to check up on your costume; no answer but he does it for you regardless and tells you all the updates as well. (he’s not doing it for your forgiveness. this is a usual routine you two have so even without your answers, he knows whether you’ll say yes or no.)

now he’s sitting in your office whilst you finish writing up the report you’ve been neglecting for a while because often, to speed things up, you and bakugo split up the paperwork but with you pretending like he, your boyfriend, doesn’t exist, that wasn’t really possible.

at the 67th hour of no speaking, he snaps. now that you two were officially off the clock and could return home or do as you please, bakugo spends no time picking you up from your chair with little to no effort as a noise of surprise slips past your lips.

you want to ask where he was taking you as he glides through the halls with determination and vigour, his shoes clanking against the marble floor with each step he took, keeping you secured in his arms, pressed against his chest.

there’s a string of curses that you could yell at your boyfriend right now and don’t be mistaken, you could very easily take him down, if it weren't for how much you had missed him.

(you feel slightly terrible for keeping up this silent treatment because that pout on his face is growing by the second, but it’s what he deserves and you wouldn’t relent until a proper ‘sorry’ is given.)

in your moment of zoning out, bakugo has reached his car and seated you in the passenger seat, leaning over you to secure your seatbelt. the kiss he places on your face practically radiates with his complacency at getting you safely in his car.

you huff and cross your arms as he rounds the vehicle to the driver’s side. bakugo hands you the aux and you take it, plugging in your phone to find your shared playlist and you don’t miss the smirk he has when he sees the familiar playlist name pop up on the screen.

the drive is painless enough with no words being exchanged, the music muting the silence that still had some tension lingering in it.

bakugo’s taking you back to his apartment and sure enough, the second the car is parked (perfectly), bakugo tells you ‘don’t move’ before exiting and jogging around to get to your side.

you let him pick you up again with a sigh but it’s all for show, especially the way your heart flutters when you notice he’s hugging you a little tighter this time.

he’s probably afraid you’re gonna run off (he’s had that fear since you first started dating).

sure enough, the explosive blond doesn’t set you down until he steps foot into his bedroom and from there, he throws you on his expensive ass bed with ease, clambering atop you before crushing you with all his weight.

a little ‘oof’ escapes you.

“‘m not getting up till you speak to me,” he lazily threatens, wrapping his arms around your middle. “so you can either get comfy or stop messin’ around.”

“i’m still mad at you, y’know,” you murmur, bringing your hands behind your head whilst staring up at his ceiling. the man lying above you stiffens, taking his head out of his chest to look up at you.

“i’m sorry,” he gruffly confesses, unable to look you in your eye when you glance back down at him with your jaw agape and eyes widened.

yes, he should have said the apology ages ago. yes, it’s been long overdue. yes, you were still surprised that he managed to get those two syllables out of his mouth.

above all, bakugo katsuki is stubborn, unrelenting and powerful, and you’re surprised he succumbed without you suggesting for him to apologise.

you sit up on your elbows, recovered from your brief moment of shock to tell him, “you’re not forgiven.”

“what?” he gawks, outraged, “what else do you want from me?”

“it’s been two days! you could’ve said ‘sorry’ two days ago and i would have forgiven you!”

“fuckin’ hell, i didn’t think of that.”

“bakugo katsuki, are you really that stupid?”

“take it back!”

“not until you take calling-me-a-lame-hero back!”

“i’m sorry! i take it back!” he winces, “you sure know how to kill a man, huh? i’m sorry, i didn’t mean what i said, now talk to me again, y/n, these past few days have been torture!”

you can’t help but smile at his desperation. he never acts like this for anyone so you’re going to enjoy these rare moments of vulnerability for a little longer.

“told me to go back to bein’ a side kick,” you huffed, “that’s not a bad idea actually, maybe i’ll listen and apply to be midoriya’s. or todoroki’s. they’re climbing the ranks quite quickly-”

“-y/n!” he’s whining now and you’re afraid you have a manchild lying atop you now.

“i’m joking.”

“you’re mean.”

“oh so now i’m the mean one? what about when-”

“-shut your mouth!”

“is this another one of your instructions? telling me that i’m unworthy of being a hero to the extent that i need to shut my mouth-”

“-stop it!”

you fall back on his pillows in a fit of laughter and as your giggles fill the room, bakugo can’t help but feel his heart ache. this is what he’s been yearning for for the past few days, moments that are so unexplainably, unabashedly you that he realised he doesn’t want to go another day without it. now that you’re back in his arms, he knows everything will be okay, especially with the familiar feeling of your hands carding through his hair.

“i’m really sorry. i didn’t mean to be that mean,” he begins after a moment of silence. it takes a few more seconds for him to continue, “i was just freaking out seein’ you get hurt and i was really fuckin’ panicking because those injuries were totally avoidable. i should have protected you and i shouldn't have gone at you for just doing your job. i was scared.”

you can't help but melt a little at his confession, and the way you can feel him frown into your skin whilst tugging you closer, you feel more loved than ever fathomable.

“thank you, katsuki. i appreciate it but you know i can take care of myself, and i know you’re always going to protect me when i need it. i trust you, more than anyone else.”

bakugo closes his eyes in content as he tugs himself closer to you than what should be considered possible. you welcome him for all of his roughness and raggedness. he just might be doomed if he didn't have you.

“we should really move in together,” you suggest.

“yeah, yeah we should.”

after a few minutes of silence, you begin to speak up, “i have my night patrol soon, you have to let me go, babe.”

he squeezes you tighter, “but i literally just got you! i’m getting my three days worth of attention, fuck your patrol.”

“that’s not very heroic of you,” you murmur, “now let me go.”

“no.”

above all, bakugo katsuki loves you.

hai hai :D thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed that PLS CONSIDER REBLOGGING!!!! i hope that i didn't fuck anything up too much lul i'm so tired but anyways, YAH REBLOGS HELP OUT SO MUCH SO PLS!!!!! one click 🗣🗣🗣

that's all from me, hope to see you around the blog! - earf

#idk what this was #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugo imagine #bakugo katsuki #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader

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dancingbirdie · 7 months

Text

I Promised You (Chapter 2)

Here it is! The second/final part to this fic request I received. I worked SO hard on this, and I'm super proud of how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy!

I'm thinking about doing a possible epilogue with a dash of smut and domestic bliss but it's just a thought at this point. Let me know if you'd be interested in something like that!

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, FLUFF, angst, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

The three of you agreed it would be best to wait until the next morning before you attempted the spell. It irked you, having to wait yet another night, but you recognized the soundness in the logic. A good night’s rest and complete sobriety were more prudent, especially attempting something as audacious as this.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to rest without the aid of a sleep potion, so you downed a bottle in one swallow before forcing yourself to crawl into bed. Not long after, Astarion joined you in the four-poster you shared, lying on his back and staring vaguely at the canopied silks above you. You turned on your side toward him, trying to gauge his expression.

“If it doesn’t work —” he began, breaking the silence.

“It will,” you affirmed in an ironclad tone.

Astarion nodded absently, his train of thought undeterred.

“But if it doesn’t… I want you to know that it won’t be the end of the world,” he finished, turning his head to look at you.

You stared at him dubiously, quirking a brow.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I know you. I know how hard you push yourself. And I know that if this somehow doesn’t work, you’re going to blame yourself for it. If you’re even still here to know if it doesn’t work. Gods,” he grimaced, turning to stare up at the ceiling again. “I still can’t believe the two of you have convinced me of this.”

“I appreciate your assurances, darling, but they’re not needed. I know this is going to work… I can feel it in my bones,” you smiled, reaching for his hand over the covers. Your fingers intertwined easily. He lifted them to plant a kiss on each knuckle.

“Nevertheless, I wanted it known. I don’t want you crawling on your hands and knees begging for forgiveness if it fails. The very idea that you’re even willing to try this for me is more than enough.”

“I love you,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. Your eyelids began to droop. You could feel the beginnings of the sleep potion taking effect.

“And I love you, my darling,” Astarion returned, sidling closer and wrapping you in his arms.

You fell asleep to the sensation of him kissing the crown of your head.

***

You roused from sleep to the chiming of the first morning bells, your senses on high alert.

It was morning. It was time.

You peered over your shoulder to see Astarion still lying beside you, his eyes closed in meditation. You reached a hand behind you to poke him, gently, in the side.

He scoffed but kept his eyes closed. “Keep those jabby little fingers to yourself, pup.”

“Just seeing how alert you are” you teased.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I’m perfectly aware of my surroundings,” he quipped.

“Good, good… That means you’ll be expecting this!” you laughed as, all at once, you half-jumped, half-clambered on top of him, pinning him to the bed.

He hadn’t been expecting it, if his annoyed cries of outrage were anything to go by.

“Unhand me, you little beast,” he cried as he attempted to pin your arms to your sides. “Have you gone completely mad?”

You giggled as he wrestled you into compliance, grinning mischievously as you sat atop him.

Seeing your expression, he huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Honestly,” he chided. “Can’t you ever just behave?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” you smirked, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours.

He squawked in surprise at your suddenness before leaning in to kiss you deeper.

After a few moments of heated embrace, you broke from the kiss, both of your breathing a bit ragged.

“Gale will be here soon,” you murmured. “We best get dressed.”

“Bah. Don’t mention him when I’ve got you straddling my lap like this,” Astarion grumbled.

You laughed but wiggled your way off of him anyway. He growled his disapproval.

“It’s almost time,” you whispered excitedly, darting across the bedroom to fish some clothes out of the dresser.

Astarion turned to recline on his side, head propped up in one hand, watching you from his vantage point on the bed. Piddling about the room as you were, you failed to notice the look of sincere worry splayed across his features.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Almost time.”

***

Gale arrived shortly after the two of you had dressed and descended the stairs to wait in the den. Per usual, all the curtains in the cottage were closed, preventing any sunlight from creeping into the rooms. Or any prying eyes from peering in. Not being blessed with dark vision as you and Astarion were, Gale muttered a string of curses as he stumbled into an overgrown houseplant you had been nursing, nearly invisible in the gloom. Astarion suppressed a laugh while you murmured a series of apologies and began moving hurriedly about the room, lighting candles to help the wizard see a bit better.

Anticipation skittered across your skin and through your body as you helped Gale prepare for what was to come. You conjured a cot, gathered some medical supplies, and laid out some blankets for when you inevitably passed out. Meanwhile, Gale set to work on warding the room to prevent any collateral damage to the cottage or neighboring houses should the spell go awry. You tried to avoid glancing at Astarion, who was perched in his reading nook, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. You hoped that if you just carried on, business as usual, it would make him less inclined to call the whole thing off. And, too, he despised being coddled in front of an audience, even if it was your old companion Gale.

Finally, finally, all the preparation was complete. You turned slowly to survey the room. Formerly the den, it now resembled a half-hospital ward, half-wizard’s keep with all the furniture shoved aside to one corner, a cot and medical supplies positioned in another, and a sizable runic circle drawn in chalk in the center of the room. You had everything you needed. Now, it was just time for the spell.

“Do you feel ready?” Gale asked carefully, observing you taking in the room.

You turned to him and smiled.

“Yes. I’m ready,” you answered. Confidence bloomed in your chest as you walked forward to take your place in the very center of the runes. Then you turned to Astarion.

“How about you, darling? Ready?” you asked, reaching out for his hands.

You could see the anxiety in his eyes, rounded as they were, but he nodded once and rose with preternatural grace to walk forward and take your hands. You both stood stock-still, facing one another.

Despite being on solid ground, in the comfort of your house, it suddenly felt like you were on the precipice of something incomprehensible. This home, this room where you had shared so many wonderful memories, was now a liminal space. Whatever was to happen, neither of you would be the same afterward. It was a heady feeling, the awareness that you were about to walk headfirst into cataclysmic change.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Whatever happens. I love you.”

“And I love you,” you returned, smiling broadly. “Whatever happens.”

With a final reassuring squeeze, you slipped your hands from his. Closing your eyes, you rested your palms on your diaphragm and began to take a few deep, concentrating breaths. Centering yourself for what was to come.

When you opened your eyes again, you felt ready. Calm. Assured.

“Let’s begin,” you intoned. Both Gale and Astarion nodded wordlessly.

With your eyes locked on Astarion, you reached into the well of magic within your body, drawing up power slowly, methodically. You began channeling it through your fingers. Almost as though they were doing it on their own accord, your hands lifted to begin performing the spell’s gesticulations, your wrists twisting and fingers curling with perfect precision.

Then, in a low but strong murmur, you began to recite the required incantation in Celestial. It was a lengthy script that you had spent months memorizing and practicing in order to pronounce the words flawlessly. The words poured from your lips in lilting, seamless tones as you continued to shift your hands and maintain your gaze on Astarion standing before you.

After a few moments, the candles you had lit around the room snuffed out in unnatural synchrony. The runes encircling the two of you began to emit brilliant white light. While they touched you as well, the rays seemed to direct themselves intentionally toward Astarion, bending so that every bit of him was illuminated from head to toe. The light left him unharmed, however, washing over his skin like a gentle caress. The effect left him looking like a veritable angel. You committed the sight to memory, glorious as it was.

It carried on like that for some time, uninterrupted, but you reckoned you were nearly halfway through the spell when you felt a sudden shifting within you. The sensation of your magic changed. What had once felt like open channels coursing through your body was now beginning to feel more constricted. Like something was compressing your power.

Sweat began to bead on your forehead, and your bones began to ache as though your entire body were being drained of all its energy. Distantly, you realized that one of your knees was also beginning to buckle. But you couldn’t stop now. You knew from your training with Gale that if you paused, if you faltered in the incantation or hand movements even once, the spell would be ruined. And there would be no second chances.

Refusing to be deterred, you pushed with all of your might against that fatigue, willing yourself to maintain your focus on the spell. On Astarion. On the look in his beautiful eyes. Was it just your imagination, or were they starting to look a bit different?

Just as you began to feel your second knee buckle, a strong pair of hands braced around your shoulders. Holding you up, providing you support. You couldn’t break to look behind you, but you didn’t have to. You knew it was Gale. Your kind, long-suffering companion. Your closest friend. You trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t let you falter.

Sustained by his added support, you managed to utter the last remaining lines of the incantation. Your arms were heavy and growing lethargic, but you willed your hands to finish the final movements. You could feel you were on the verge of unconsciousness. Your magic was screaming in your veins to relent, but you bullishly forced your body into compliance.

You will not fail, you chanted in your mind. You promised Astarion this would work.

Finally, finally, the last syllable fell from your lips. As the room descended into hushed silence, you felt your magic give one last, desperate surge before abandoning you completely. The shock of it caused you to lose all remaining strength, catching Gale by surprise as you slumped gracelessly to the floor.

You lay there with eyes wide open, but you could barely take in your surroundings. Everything appeared to be covered in dark, gauzy film. You could hear rustling around you, above you. Then a pair of hands were grasping your face. You couldn’t make out the words they were saying to you.

In your last few seconds of consciousness, you could have sworn you saw a pair of startling blue eyes peering down at you, concerned.

Funny, you thought in a delirious stupor, none of your friends had blue eyes.

***

“Vital signs all look to be in safe ranges. Their magic is completely depleted, but that will resolve itself over a few days of rest.”

Astarion listened to Gale’s explanation, but his eyes never wavered from your face. It was so foreign, seeing you like this, wan-faced and unconscious. Of course, he had seen you injured before, but no wounds had ever rendered you so still and lifeless. It felt utterly unnatural for you to be this motionless, when you were usually such a tumbleweed of frenetic energy. The anxious, nonsensical part of him was itching to shake you awake, will you into consciousness by sheer brute force.

“Astarion, did you hear me?” Gale’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes.”

“They’re going to be completely fine.”

“Yes.” Astarion replied absently, eyes never leaving your face.

“Astarion.”

“What?” he hissed, finally lifting his gaze to the wizard. His voice had as much bite to it as a rattlesnake prepared to strike.

“The spell worked,” Gale smiled.

“I– I know,” Astarion replied, peering back down at you. “My fangs are gone, I think.”

He paused, swallowing thickly, before continuing. “I can’t feel them anymore. It just feels like regular canines now.”

“Don’t you want to take a look?” Gale asked cautiously.

Astarion’s eyes flitted up to meet the wizard’s gaze and then back down to your sleeping form.

“We don’t have mirrors in the house,” he replied in a timid sort of tone, sidestepping the question.

“I can conjure one. Here–” Gale paused, then began murmuring a few phrases in a language unknown to Astarion.

After a moment, an ornate, floor-length standing mirror shimmered into existence in the center of the room. Astarion flinched, staring at it, caught between two diametrically opposed urges to flee from the room and sprint toward the mirror. How was it that both feelings could exist simultaneously in his body, a distant part of him wondered.

“Go on,” Gale encouraged. “See for yourself.”

Astarion glanced down at you one last time before releasing a shaky breath and moving from the side of your cot to the center of the room. He approached the mirror at an angle, so that he couldn’t yet see his reflection. If he had one.

He knew he should just charge up to the blasted thing and see for himself whether it was true, that the spell had completely worked. But something about the mirror just felt more real, more meaningful, than the notable absence of fangs in his mouth. And that made it a thousand times more intimidating. Seeing his reflection for the first time in over 200 years? It was something he had only dreamed about for decades and decades. Astarion didn’t know how he would bear it, if he stepped in front of that mirror and saw nothing but the back of the room reflected.

He knew Gale was watching him surreptitiously as he tried to maintain his composure. He really did not want to break down completely in front of the wizard, no matter how good a friend he had been to you both over the years.

Finally, clenching his eyes shut and with a grumbled “Fuck it, just look” to himself, Astarion sidestepped to stand fully in front of the mirror. He opened his eyes.

And then he was watching himself open his eyes.

His beautiful, cerulean blue eyes.

The jaw of the face he saw in the mirror dropped, mouth opening in shock. His jaw. His face. It was his mouth he was watching as it opened.

He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Slowly, he raised one hand to his hair. The mirror image tracked his movements. He watched himself as he threaded his fingers through his curls. His silver, perfectly coiled locks. He marveled at how they laid so carelessly posh on his head, giving him a tidy yet windswept sort of look.

His other hand lifted to touch his jaw. His eyes tracked his fingers’ movements in the mirror as they traced the sharp cut of his jawline. When he turned his head, he noticed the puncture marks on his neck were nowhere to be found. Not that he had ever seen them, of course, but he had felt them. Those warped indents left over from Cazador’s brutal transformation process. Many of his unfortunate victims over the years had commented on how barbaric the scars appeared against the otherwise perfect skin of his neck. But looking at himself now, nothing remained on either side of his neck than spotless, alabaster skin.

His eyes darted wildly about his reflection then, barely able to comprehend everything he was seeing. His unblemished, pale skin. His full lips. His refined patrician nose. His sharp cheekbones. His delicately pointed elven ears. His perfectly defined brows. The thick, dark lashes that surrounded his eyes. Blue eyes. The broadness of his shoulders. His trim waist. His lean yet muscular legs. The way his physique alluded to a subtle but powerful amount of strength.

He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And he could see it for himself now, for the first time in centuries. He could see it all for himself, those things his former lovers had praised him for. The things you complimented him on. The features he caught you ogling time and time again.

And then, he felt something truly remarkable inside his body. A sensation long since forgotten but now returned to him in full force, as though it had never left. His heart was beating in his chest. Pounding, in fact. Almost as though it would blast a hole right through his ribcage.

It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and stupefying all at the same time. And suddenly, like a swift punch to the gut, the magnitude of it all wrenched the very breath from his lungs. He crashed to his knees, watching his reflection as he slumped before the mirror.

A strangled cry clawed up and out of his throat as his mind twisted itself in knots, trying to accommodate this reality alongside everything else he had known and experienced before. He felt altogether too much and nothing at all. Tears poured from his open eyes as uncontained sobs wracked his body.

Amid his emotional outburst, Astarion registered a gentle hand against his upper back. A solid presence against his side. Gale. Dear, sweet Gale.

Distantly, he realized the wizard’s hand did not feel like a searing heat against him anymore. In fact, he felt no warmer than Astarion felt. Like their body temperatures were near equal. Before, that had only ever happened when his spawn siblings or Cazador had touched him. But now, he was as warm as any other living being.

Living. Being.

Before he could seriously reconsider it, Astarion crushed Gale in an embrace as he continued to weep, the need for companionship and solace a sudden ache within him. The wizard held him with all the comfort and compassion a friend could offer, rubbing his back in soothing circles and murmuring words of assurance.

Finally, after some time, Astarion peeled himself away from Gale’s embrace. He dried his eyes on the cuff of his shirt and attempted to restore some remaining ounce of his dignity. Gale sat quietly next to him, affording him some companionable silence to gather himself.

“Ahem,” Astarion coughed, attempting an air of normalcy. “Th-thank you, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend,” Gale responded with a gentle smile. “Truly, I am so happy for you.”

Astarion nodded, peering about the room, his eyes landing on the mirror once more.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” he murmured, watching himself speak the words.

“Well, you could always take the test one step further and walk outside,” the wizard suggested.

“No,” Astarion shook his head, glancing back at you, asleep in the cot. “I want to wait until they wake up. Do it together.”

Gale nodded in understanding. Peaceful silence permeated the room once more.

“Gale?” Astarion asked after a few moments.

“Hmm?”

“If you tell anyone I wept on you like a newborn babe, I’ll fucking kill you.”

A hearty guffaw erupted from Gale’s mouth at Astarion’s words.

***

Consciousness rose up in you slowly, as if emerging from a deep body of water. You felt around the sheets blindly, realizing you were back in your bed. Strange, given the last thing you remembered was slumping to the floor before Gale’s feet.

Had the whole thing been a dream? Your mind reeled at the thought.

Then you hesitantly reached down, reached inward, for your magic. The result was immediate and evidence enough: your well of magic was not nearly as expansive as it had been before. What had once felt like a reservoir the size of a lake now felt akin to a pond. Still potent, but a much smaller resource.

That’s okay, you reasoned to yourself. It will all be worth it, if it worked.

You refocused your attention to your surroundings, peering around the room for any sign of Astarion. You had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or days later for all you could gather.

After a few moments, you heard the door creak. Your eyes darted over to the sound of the noise, and you watched as Astarion cautiously entered from the hallway. At the sight of you awake, he paused in the doorway to look at you.

His eyes met yours. Blue eyes. Dark, cerulean irises.

Then he gave you a broad smile. No fangs. Perfectly normal, elven teeth.

Suddenly you found yourself unable to see anything as your vision blurred behind a rush of tears. It worked.

It really, truly worked.

Your arms outstretched, you beckoned to him, childlike, wanting nothing more than to feel him close to you. Astarion huffed a laugh as he crawled into bed with you, pulling you into a warm embrace.

Laying your head against his chest, you began to weep anew as you heard his heart beating against your ear for the first time. A reliable, strong thump-thump, thump-thump. It was, without a doubt, the loveliest sound you thought you had ever heard. Astarion said nothing, just held you as you cried tears of pure joy, of relief, into his shirt.

After some time had passed, you finally detached yourself from his chest, putting enough distance between yourselves that you could truly take in his changed features. You noted the absence of the puncture wounds on his neck. You stared unabashedly at his gorgeous eyes. Tentatively, you reached a hand out to part his lips with a finger. He chuckled as he surmised your intentions before opening his mouth slightly to allow you to see his perfectly normal-looking canine teeth.

“Have you gone outside yet?” you whispered in a scratchy tone, your voice rusty from lack of use.

“Not yet. I was waiting for you, darling,” he smiled.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Oh, about a day and a half, I’d say,” he replied. “Your snoring has been absolutely egregious, by the way,” he continued, a wicked little smirk gracing his mouth.

You smacked him lightly on the arm. “How dare you!” you cried with mock outrage. “I cure you of vampirism and this is the thanks I get?”

“You cured my vampirism, not my cheeky personality, darling,” he teased, but then grew more serious. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

You squeezed his arm in assurance. “I feel fine. Still a bit weak, but I should fare better after some food and a little fresh air.”

“And your magic?” he eyed you carefully.

You paused, biting your lip.

“Don’t sugarcoat it, darling,” he warned.

“I think it took a lot from me. Permanently, that is. My well of magic feels much smaller, but it’s still enough to defend myself with, if the need ever arises.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The look on his face was one of utter guilt.

“Don’t be. Astarion, look at me,” you beseeched him, clutching his face in your hands. “I would do nothing differently. I’d give it up all over again for this. To see you cured. This is a gift.”

He let loose a halfhearted laugh. “I think it should be me saying that last bit rather than you, my dear.”

“Are you kidding? Think of all the blood I’m saving myself now that you’re finally cured,” you quipped, winking at him.

A true, hearty laugh bubbled past his lips. “Leave it to you to say something so crass during such a serious moment.”

“But you love me,” you cooed, leaning in for a kiss.

“Always, my darling,” he returned, pulling you closer to him as his mouth descended upon yours.

***

The first morning rays were peaking over the horizon when you cracked open the cottage door to peer outside. Your gaze wandered across the rolling hills beyond the main thoroughfare, catching glimpses of the herdsmen and farmers who were out beginning their days’ work. They were the only other folks up and moving about at this time of day.

You took in the cloudless sky, painted with beautiful pastel smatterings of oranges, pinks and blues. The air was pleasantly misty as a gentle breeze washed across your face, bringing with it the subtle scent of chimney smoke from neighboring houses.

It was, by all accounts, an incredibly mundane morning. At least for everyone else besides you and the pale elf lingering behind you on the doorstep.

“Are you ready?” you asked, looking back at Astarion.

His gaze was trained on the sunlight beginning to peak over the hills. He nodded absently, allowing you to take his hand in yours as the two of you began strolling down the road.

His fingers were tense as they interlaced with yours. You could tell his body was priming itself to flee at the first sign of discomfort. It was knee-jerk survivalist behavior. You knew it would subside after today, which is why you remained a silent, comforting anchor of support by his side.

As you continued to walk, the two of you took in the comforting signs of life around you. The smell of fresh bread baking in someone’s oven. The bleating of a family’s goat. The quiet clucking of hens in their coop. The laundry hung out to dry. You watched as Astarion took it all in, his eyes wide with wonder at being able to see this side of living once again. He hadn’t been able to witness it since the tadpoles in your brains had been destroyed.

By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, you and Astarion had made it out of the little town. You were walking along a well-trod path through the hillside when the morning light swept across your skin. You felt Astarion flinch at the sensation, his fingers squeezing yours in a vice-like grip. You paused your walking, turning to face him instead.

He was gorgeous, half of his face limned in the gentle warmth of the sun. His eyes filled with such hope and happiness it threatened to rend your heart in two. You watched as he looked at you and then down at his hands, flipping them over, studying them in the light. Noting how they didn’t burn or blister.

“See? It’s real. You’re cured,” you whispered, smiling up at him. His blue eyes met yours.

“A whole lifetime of this,” he murmured, returning your grin. “Of you. Of the sun. Of living,” he emphasized, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. It was beating like mad beneath your palm.

“Here’s to all of it then, darling,” you replied before capturing his lips with yours.

***

TAGLIST: @call-me-nyxx, @tenderlyuniquepatrol, @arioneway, @twistedcutie3, @bloopthebat, @my-bunny-prince, @starlight-ipomoea, @iceice-baeby, @moonmaiden1996, @dark-star-exe, @campfull-of-weirdos, @yokaimoon, @im-just-a-simp-le-whore

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mysticmunson · 1 year

Text

walls of jericho (e.m.)

summary: eddie's guard has been up for everyone, but you make his reservations tremble, and he doesn't know what to think of that.

authors note: hi i wrote this and it's very angsty. the semester is finally done so i'll hopefully be around more :) much love. xx elora. (my blog is 18+)

warnings: allusions to smut, angst, eddie being bad w emotions :( (there’s a happy ending) eddie is 22 and reader is 21 :)

thank u to my loves @lilacletter @bimbobaggins69 and @andvys who i spoke about this fic with! :D

As soon as the words left your mouth, Eddie thought he was dreaming, that you weren’t sitting on his bed and timidly asking him a question he never expected. You nervously twisted the hem of your black cotton skirt, not daring to look into his eyes that widened with surprise.

“Will you take my virginity, Eds?”

He knew you were having a hard time intimately as you told him almost everything, with a few failed dates ending with a peck on the cheek. As you both grew older, it became more embarrassing for you to be so inexperienced, even if he assured you it was fine.

Perhaps it was a stupid idea that shouldn’t have been announced, but his response made it even worse after he was assured you were being serious.

“Only if nothing changes then okay.”

His hands roamed to uncharted territories, feeling how your skin warmed beneath him and your breath staggered. His lips touched yours for the first time after years of only meeting the apples of your cheeks.

Your voice bounced from your chest as he entered you, the soft hymns of your pleasure clashing with the harshness of his room. He hushed your winces as you accommodated to his latex-covered cock, never more vulnerable than at this minute.

His bister eyes bore into yours, mouths agape as your breath exchanged for gasps, while he was applying pressure to the bundle of nerves beneath your navel. Bliss arose from thin air as you finished, his hips stuttering shortly after as some of his body weight remained on you.

As his nose pressed to your ear, he knew he fucked up, but he couldn’t bring himself to move until you squirmed. Rolling to his side, he didn’t meet your gaze that shot at the side of his cheek.

“How was it?” You asked meekly, pulling his sheets to your chest to cover yourself, adjusting to the viability of his old pillow.

“Good, you’ll make a dude real happy.” He quipped, staring at the popcorn ceiling above him, not daring to welcome the immense warmth he felt coating his gut. He told himself it was because he was in orgasmic bliss and that he knew you’d delight someone with your body.

The night went on after clothes returned to both of your bodies, he noticed your abnormally quiet demeanor, but decided you must be a little shocked at the recent events until you went to leave.

“You make me happy, Eddie.”

He shrugged, mumbling a ‘you too’ as he yanked off his shirt from today and put on an older band tee with a hole on one of the seams. He’d remove his sweatpants once you left.

“No, Eds, I mean… You make me really happy, I like you.” You spoke, sounding celestial in a cream-white blouse. With the look he gave you during sex, it gave you the motivation to speak your mind, but now with his silence, it felt grim. “Please say something.”

His back was to you now, looking down at the wrinkled sheets, cursing the fact he let it get this far. He couldn’t face his emotions now, he needed to be alone.

“You didn’t say anything.” He stated coldly, but you awaited some hope, that this couldn’t be the result. “The one thing I said was that nothing changed.”

“Nothing has changed, Eddie, it’s just-” You consoled, but the burn behind your iris’ were betraying you.

“No!” He snapped, turning to face you with beet-red cheeks, “I told you no feelings, don’t try to make me the bad guy. You’re my best friend and we need to agree that you didn’t just say that, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that he stomped to his front door and swung it open, waiting for your heavy footsteps to leave in embarrassment. His head hit the door as it shut, biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut. It was for the best, he’s doing this for both of you.

That was hard to believe as he heard your choked cry before your car purred, pulling from the trailer park until it became a small light near the highway. Grabbing a beer, he switched on a record and took off his pants.

He lit the rolled blunt tucked in his bedside table and took a deep hit, feeling his fingers tingle as he vanished into the thrashing of Steven Duren through his boombox. The walls of Jericho etched inside of his mind teetered, but never fell and he wouldn’t let that happen.

The barriers within him remained stagnant as he went through the next week, remaining his chaotic self on the battlefields of Hawkins. He showed up full of energy for Hellfire, only earned one day of detention, and sold to more clients than normal.

Meanwhile, the drive home was one of the most humiliating moments of your life, trudging inside your apartment and getting in the shower. It was foolish to believe he liked you this way, just based on how kind he was with you. Your stomach churned at the thought of him looking at other women as he did to you, that every ounce of sincerity you believed was contrived.

The week came and went as you worked and caught up on school, focusing on that instead of on yourself. How sometimes you could smell his cologne from his presence weeks ago, feeling the grazing embrace at encompassed your shaking frame only to be left alone in your bedroom.

You had called Robin and Steve to catch up as they missed movie night the Friday before, the night you and Eddie became closer then further than ever. The diner floors were freshly waxed, your shoes announced your presence before you could say hello.

“Hey, what’s up?” Robin questioned as you sat, “Where’s Freakazoid?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, grabbing the plastic-covered menu, and looking at the fake images of the food that wouldn’t hit your table. The mention of Eddie made you queasy, anxiously pondering if every time you left your apartment is when he would call, but each time, the call log remained barren.

“What? You two are inseparable, I thought you held hands when you pissed.” Steve joked, but was genuinely curious about the metalhead’s disappearance.

Robin and Steve hadn’t seen Eddie since last week when he returned a VHS copy of a western that Wayne liked. Nothing seemed peculiar and they told him why they couldn’t make it to movie night a few days later as Robin got a B on her calculus test. Her grades seemed to be the one thing her mother focused on, so she was grounded aside from work.

Your continued silence made them confused further, looking at one another to see if there was a missing component, but nothing was transmitted. A waitress came by to collect your order before heading off, coming back briefly to give you your drink.

“What happened?” Steve asked, noticing your shoulders tensing and scratching at your collarbone.

The humility was consuming you, unable to pick up your phone and call him, the number you knew by heart. The self-confidence that you had been working on vanished over a few sentences, your face shoved into your pillow as you drifted into the white noise.

“Nothing, just needed some space.” You disclosed, revealing the slight truth without too much of the bigger picture.

“Lies. Lies. Lies.” Robin bites with no malice, sipping her Dr. Pepper from the glass cup, “You’re acting weird, don’t act weird, that’s hair’s job.” Steve elbowed her arm at the dig, scoffing as he drank his Coke, fidgeting with his watch.

The truth sat on the tip of your tongue, knowing it would feel better to remove it from your sole subconscious, but it also held a bomb. One that would reveal the intimacies, your naivety, and Eddie’s coldness. The two were a sarcastic pairing, but they weren’t cruel.

“Eddie and I slept together, my first time.” You mumbled, looking at the gold dainty rings on your fingers before up as Steve choked on his drink, not expecting the answer. He would’ve heard of it from his friend, surely, but he also knew you wouldn’t lie.

“What the- So what happened?” Robin caught herself, seeing your defeated expression as you drew shapes on the table with your fingers.

The hardest part became lodged in your throat, constantly in an internal battle of if Eddie was being cruel or honest or some odd combination. His words were blunt, but he began with them. It was you who spoke out of turn, but it felt so cruel.

“I told him I liked him,” You whispered, the wavering in your voice rising, “He told me we agreed on no feelings and that he wouldn’t be made the bad guy. He made me agree that I never said anything, but he hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Looking dumbfounded, the pair opened their mouths to provide comfort, but the waitress returned with their meals. For Robin, a plate of pancakes, and for you and Steve, two burgers and fries. Grabbing the ketchup, you tapped the bottom of the glass to slide some out.

“Shit, Y/N,” Robin breathed out, eyes still widened, “I’m sorry that’s-“

The sound of your drink hitting the table ceased her reply, though the action wasn’t done with intention on your part.

“No, no. I shouldn’t have said anything, he said from the beginning he didn’t…” You trailed, eating a fry to push the wail down your scratching throat, “Like me.”

Wiping his mouth with the white napkin, Steve scoffed, pointing in your direction. “Don’t, he’s being a total jackass! He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

Nodding, you let Robin divert the conversation to something else that consumed her mind, more than happy to think of anything, but those brown eyes looking in yours. Halfway through a story about an interesting couple that made their way to the beaded back section of Family Video, you excused yourself to the restroom.

Waiting a brief moment, neither one of them could hold back the commentary they desperately wanted to spill, but refraining for your own well-being.

“What is his problem!” Robin scoffs, shoving a syrup-covered bite in her mouth, “He had to have known how she felt, I mean, she’s not exactly the best about holding her love back.”

It was true, you were affectionate to people you cared for, and Eddie was one of your closest friends. You had seen him at his lowest and highest, for every midnight drive and stroll in the mall. You didn’t falter your affection when kids began to tease you both with Eddie receiving the brunt, choosing to stay at his side.

The feelings were contemplated for years, many mocking your demeanor in which you would shrug off their teasing. But the constant reminder of how you did act differently with him lingered until one day you sat across from him silently as he wrote out his latest DnD campaign that you knew. It scared you, but somehow being hurt by him would be okay in your mind if it meant you could have him briefly.

“It’s weird as hell, man. I’m gonna talk to him, it’s not fair to her.” Steve mused, sympathizing with the abandonment of a first lover not reciprocating their feelings.

While Steve’s first had been a random girl at a party, he still experienced immense pain sitting beside her in geometry. He didn’t even want to conceptualize the pain you must be enduring, hoping it would vanish rather than fester.

After you returned, the discussion resumed about strange customers and annoying strangers until there were only crumbs and reminisce of syrup.

Waving goodbye, you went back home, the quiet car ride reminding you too much of that day just last week that had you crying all over again.

Steve dropped Robin off at home before driving to Forest Hills with Eddie’s van nowhere to be seen. Groaning, he smacked the steering wheel, now deadset on finding his friend before the sun went down.

As he went through town, he looked for the car, stumbling across the record store sticker between a Radio Shack and Dairy Queen. Spotting his target, he pulled into the parking lot and headed inside, the dust swirling as the wind brushed past the old types of vinyl.

A girl with long black hair was talking to Eddie, feeling his muscles through his leather jacket and fluttering her eyelashes. He watched as she noticed the time, scribbling down a series of numbers.

“I’d love to see you play sometimes, I’ve heard great things about going backstage.” She purred, her voice becoming louder as Steve snuck closer, only appearing when she had vanished.

Grabbing the small paper from his friend's hand, he shoved it in his pocket and crossed his arms. He resembled an upset parent, too tired to deal with bullshit, but caring too much to let it go unnoticed.

“Hey! Man, what the fuck?” Eddie exasperated, holding his arms up, “Give me that.”

“No, not until you explain why the hell you’d say that to her.” Steve stated, raising his brows in anticipation.

What excuse could he possibly give for viciously rejecting his best friend and having a random girl touching him up in a public place, all within days.

“What? How did you even hear, I thought it was just the two of us in here until you showed up! Honestly thought she’d give me head in the bathroom-“ Eddie began smugly, smirking at how she came onto him on her own accord.

“Oh my God, I don’t care about her, I mean our best friend who’s been crying for a week.” Steve clarified, grimacing at his words.

He didn’t miss as his friend’s face went slightly pale, arms falling to his side, looking to the side at the selection of 1960s hits.

“It’s none of your business, nothing even happened.” He huffed, turning on his heels before his Reeboks scuffed out of the old building, but Steve was hot on his tail. He never realized how broad his friends' strides were until now, barely able to climb into his passenger door unwarrantedly.

Eddie huffed, his finger tapping against the leather steering wheel cover that was beginning to peel. Steve stared at his profile, anticipating some form of reaction that would involve a yell, but the silence felt heavier.

“Get out of my car, man.” Eddie sighed, looking over at his friend, “I wanna go home and smoke.”

Steve shrugged, stepping from the van and slamming the door, retreating back to his BMW. He clicked the button before pulling away, leaving Eddie in the parking lot with the other older cars.

Truthfully, Eddie should’ve anticipated that Steve wouldn’t give up that easily. So when the BMW pulled into the trailer park moments after Eddie had, he acted annoyed, but let him inside anyways.

“Don’t be stingy, I want hits too.” Steve said, walking behind him and into his room which had clothes scattered against the ground and beer cans on the dresser.

“Don’t get fucking pushy, Harrington, why should I give you my good weed?” Eddie questioned, biting words as he pulled out his grinder.

Sitting beside the other man, he began twisting the silver container, hearing the small blades slice the fresh bud that he could smell.

“I just want to know what happened, calm the fuck down. And I should get your good weed because my high school parties made you so much money!” Steve retorted, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, making sure his shoes hung off the bed.

This was true, Eddie was able to help Wayne with bills during high school because of their unspoken deal. Steve would keep the assholes away from Hellfire if Eddie sold him good weed and sold the rest at Steve’s parties. It was a just arrangement and became the building blocks of a peculiar friendship.

The pair sat with just the sound of the old AC machine filling the space as Eddie took rolling paper and set it on his thigh. Years of practice came in handy, assembling the blunt in record-breaking time and lighting it with the lighter from his right pocket.

Taking a hit, Steve remembered why he used to smoke frequently, it was soothing. Definitely much easier to take than alcohol which left him groggy and nauseous the following morning.

“So?” Steve began as his friend's shoulders visibly tensed, taking a deep drag and holding it in his chest before it seeped through his cracked lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie falsely assured, picking at a piece of skin beside the nail of his middle finger, and looking down at his lap.

“Cut the crap, dude.” Steve snapped, but regained slight composure at the reminder that Eddie would likely not respond well to hostility, “She told me and Robin what happened.”

The forced laugh sounded bizarre, but he kept up the facade of being annoyed with you for being hurt. In reality, the thought that you went to someone else with a problem instead of him gnawed at him, but it was only because he was the problem.

“I told her from the beginning I didn’t want anything to change, it wasn’t a crime.” Eddie scoffed, gulping when he remembers the disappointment in your eyes, a similar one being in his friends.

He feels a set of chills when he faintly hears your cries from outside his front door in the back of his mind, the smoke on the exhale burning more than usual. He kicked off his tennis shoes, thudding on the floor and rolling twice over. Crossing his legs. he picked at the cut on his hand-ripped jeans.

Steve looked at his friend in silence, the smoke blurring some of his features in the dim light of his room. He wanted to get angry at his words, but he had known him for a few years now and knew there were layers to his emotional presentation.

“What did she say?” Eddie caves, hearing the thumping against his chest in an anxious manner, taking another hit to combat the nerves.

“She said you took her virginity and when she said she liked you, you said you agreed no feelings, that you wouldn’t be made into the bad guy, and that you both need to pretend she didn’t say it.” Steve sighed as his friend winced subtly at the venom in those words, the awaited guilt bubbling, “Remember how Mary made you feel?”

Eddie’s throat constricts at the mention of the mysterious woman he met one night at a bar near Indianapolis, a spur-of-the-moment road trip to see a band he liked when he came across Mary. She had no idea he was seen as a loser and that he was a virgin, she came onto him and he was thriving.

After a quick fuck in the back of his van, he felt overwhelmed as she slipped out the door. His face was flushed as he adjusted his clothes, tossing the condom in a plastic bag he got from the gas station. When he asked if she wanted his phone number, she laughed, pulling down her shirt.

“I don’t roll like that, loverboy.” And she was gone. The intimacy they shared made him believe this was unlike any other time, that she truly was becoming infatuated with him, but she left without a trace.

He hoped he’d be able to win her over until she saw her going into another guy's car, speeding off to the sound of Aerosmith.

The memory upset him, he didn’t like being vulnerable during sex afterward, only doing quick fucks where they both understood what they were agreeing to. The mere mention of her name put him back in that spot, sitting in silence as he watched her walk back into the club.

“That’s not the same thing.” Eddie cringed, passing the weed to his friend who took the final hit before putting it out in the ashtray. Despite the alleviating drug, they both felt the pressure of the actions and the reciprocations.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Steve accepted, giving his friend confusion for a moment, “It’s actually much fucking worse.”

Eddie’s blood began to boil as his insecurity soared, Steve was one of the only people who knew about the incident with Mary, and he only discovered it after Eddie accidentally revealed he wasn’t a virgin anymore. He tried to avoid the harsh rejection, but it was hard to explain the story without it.

“No, it was not, asshole!” Eddie rejected, crossing his arms like a petulant child, that resentment of that night and every time someone left him hanging knotted in his body.

“Really? It’s not?” Steve taunted as Eddie shook his head, “Fucking a stranger and them leaving is worse than being your best friend’s first, someone who stood by you through every time you got yourself into trouble, and when they opened up, you raised your voice at them and said they never said anything?”

The reality of Eddie’s words swiftly made him lose his breath, running a hand through his curls, catching on one of his gaudy rings. Removing his finger, he pulled it from his hair, fiddling with the silver band with a small bat engraving.

The ring had been a gift on Eddie’s 16th birthday from you, secretly saving up most of your money from your summer job to pay for it, and one he never took off.

“Why’d you say it?” Steve asked gently, “It’s not like you man, especially not with her.”

“The last thing I need is to lose her, the greedy part of me couldn’t stomach the thought of her being with someone else either.” He revealed, inadvertently revealing his feelings, “No one would’ve treated her right for her first time.”

“I know you don’t want to tell me how you feel, but you need to tell her. What you did was really fucked up.” Steve added, “It’s okay to be scared, but it’s not fair to hurt people who weren’t. She worked up a lot of courage to do that.”

The mention of courage almost broke his composure, recalling every time you mentioned being terrified of rejection. That your crush on Matthew in freshman year ended terribly when someone told him your feelings, leading to him mocking you in front of everyone.

He hated that he was added to the list of men who did you wrong, even after wanted to beat up every single one before him. He needed to make this write somehow or, at least, soften the aftermath. He had to be something he grew to despise, vulnerable.

Days went by before Eddie finally found the strength to approach you, a sick feeling in his belly that he couldn’t shake as every night passed. He approached your door Thursday evening, his boots sounding against the hollow apartment hallway. He ignored the hidden key by his foot as he knocked, one he would’ve used weeks ago.

The door flew open, the breeze blowing some of the hairs from your glowing face, resting your shoulder against the wood. He fought the urge to slump his shoulders when he saw your face slightly fall, mouth opening to see the tip of your teeth.

“Hey, kid, can we talk?” He adjured, his leather jacket making his skin heat further under the nerves.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You murmured, moving back to allow him in, shutting the door behind him as you went to the living room.

The room was spacious, with a couch from the 70s you had found at a garage sale that Eddie helped you transport it to your home, decorated with blankets and pillows, and a boxy television.

Both of you sat down on the couch, your bare knee touching his denim-clad one, but to his dismay, you move it quickly. He watches as you fidget with your fingers, looking down at your lap.

“How are you?” He asked, scratching his collarbone that had been exposed by his stretched shirt collar.

“I’m fine,” You nodded, “How are you?”

The response was polite, but it wasn’t you. The tight-lipped smile was a facade, not comparable to the radiance your laugh exuted.

“M’okay, wanted to talk to you though.” He replied, turning towards you with a knee on the cushion.

“Okay, I just have a, uh, date tonight so it can’t be too long.” You disclosed, turning towards him as his face dropped, the blood in his veins freezing.

Opening his mouth to respond, he nodded, beginning to play with the rings on his fingers.

A date. You have a date. How could he interject this? What good is it to pour his heart out when you have someone getting ready to see you. He wasn’t one to harbor regrets, but now, he wished more than ever that he hadn’t done what he did.

In that same vein, he also knew he was shit at masking something he cared about when looking them in the eyes. He couldn’t walk out of here with that same weight on his chest. He needed to wrap it in a bow and leave it at your feet as you chose to share it or throw it away. No matter what, it wasn’t just his anymore.

“I’ve been a dick,” Eddie conceded, “I’m sorry for running last week, you didn’t deserve that. I fucked up.”

Even when mad at him, he watched as you softened at his self-depreciation, something you fought with him about. It scared him sometimes when he would realize just how much power you gave one another with the other.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you. At all.” He expresses, the intensity not waning, “As weird as it sounds, I got angry because I knew I felt the same, but I know me. I know my track record, how nothing good ever lasts, and how I screw it up eventually. I- I just can’t lose you.”

Looking at him with a perplexed stare, he saw you contemplating if he was being genuine. You never doubted his sincerity till now, but he could understand why.

“You’re incredible, I don’t know why you’ve been my friend for so long, and why you would let me be your first time.” He exhaled, the faintest smile that didn’t brush his dimples, “You excite me, enchant me, but you scare me.”

Standing to pace, he ran a hand through his valleys of curls, “You scare me because when I was inside you and any other time before, I couldn’t fucking think of anywhere else I’d rather be.” The tears he hadn’t released in years burned as he choked, avoiding your eyesight.

“I know you have a date, so I’m going to go, but I-” He stopped when he saw your feet near his.

He looked up just before you met his lips, hugging him like a vice as he returned it, trapping each other. The shock of what you were doing was prevalent as his lip quivered, hungrily meeting yours.

“I like you too, Eddie. That didn’t change.” You murmured against him as he said a quick reply and kissed you, “I’ve liked you for longer than I’d like to admit.”

Not giving you time to jump, he yanked up your thighs that soon wrapped around his waist. He, thankfully, knew the inside of your apartment like the back of his hand and found your bedroom quickly.

Before he set you down, he pulled away, almost moaning at your puffy lips and glistening eyes.

“What about your date?”

The warmth rose to your cheeks as you pulled yourself closer to his chest, staring downwards. “I lied, I just wanted to see you jealous.”

The fake squawk of repulsion from him made you bite back a smile, seeing his brown eyes enlarged and his pink lips expanded. He dropped you to your bed suddenly, but his body covered yours soon after.

“Well, mission accomplished, I wanted to slash his tires.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled at your giggle, “You’re an absolute, menace.”

As the laughter subsided, the look in his eyes softened as the walls of Jericho fell to rubble. You could see the soft slivers of light brown within, the glass-like quality of the eyes you could see with your own closed.

Pushing his hair back from his face as he did yours, it was almost like seeing one another for the first time. Practically every other aspect of yourselves had been revealed to one another except that one small part. The part that contained the future you had no idea existed yet.

It was in that moment he felt complete tranquility, that everything he fought so hard to protect was safely nestled within your grasp, but he also knew you had been holding it for quite some time now.

“I want you to make love to me, Eddie.” You whispered, your breath fanning his face and stroking all stress-driven crease etched on him.

His agreement was sealed with his mouth, kissing down your neck, lingering on the sensitive points that derived a louder whimper than the one before it. As your eyes fluttered closed, a sharp bite hit your earlobe, making you squeal.

“Eds!” You squirmed, but it was no match for when he placed all his body weight on top of you with a laugh that vibrated you.

“That’s for getting me riled up about your nonexistent boyfriend.” He teased, kissing behind your jaw, rubbing his nose against the soft skin.

“I mean, now I do have a boyfriend.” You sighed, turning your head to meet his throat as he rose, cheek pressing to your forehead. Your lips were so delicate, the scraps of lip balm went to his reddened neck, nibbling on his collarbone.

“Really? Who?” He joked, expecting an extravagant response as he had given you, but he was always surprised by you.

The legs on the bed quickly wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against your core and hands went up his shirt, nails scratching his broad back just enough to leave a temporary mark.

Moaning unabashedly, he buckled his hips against you, fist tightening. Sitting up he tossed his shirt to the ground, smirking as you looked at his body in awe, licking your lips.

He stood to pull off his jeans, getting his right foot stuck in the tight material. Kicking it off in frustration, you watched fondly at his struggle, removing your own clothes until clad in undergarments.

When freed from the denim, he was about to crawl on top of you before he scanned your body, mumbling a blend of curses. Yet, you sat with a shy smile, giggling at his affections toward you.

“Oh, you’re gonna ruin me, kid.”

hi im giving you a hug.

1K notes · View notes

thelastofhyde · 20 days

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut.

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass.

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp.

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips.

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment.

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically.

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too.

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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hischierswhore · 10 months

Text

mr perfectly fine

part 2 of this fic

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

"Rise & shine, sleepy head” Kika said as you slowly opened our eyes, only to be met with the blinding lights from outside. After grabbing the pillow and burying your face in it to conceal you from the harsh lights, you noticed the room got darker, meaning Kika had closed the curtains.

“How did you even get in?” You rubbed your eyes.

“Spare key”

“30 more minutes? Please?” You begged your friend to give you a bit of extra time.

“If I give you 30 minutes, you’ll ask me for another 45 after so no. Get up” She pulled the sheets from you and dragged you out of bed.

“Why am I going to this thing anyways?”

“Because I have an extra ticket for this event, and you promised me that you would come”

“Just take Pierre or something” You said, still half asleep

“He’s already going with the rest of the grid. Obligations” Her words immediately snapped you awake.

“The rest of the grid?” Kika nodded.

“You might not even see Lan- sorry. He who shall not be named. You’ll be with me the entire night” She gently rubbed your arm in attempt to reassure you that all would be fine.

Kika was the first person you told about the breakup. You ghosted everyone for a few days after Lando had left you, ignoring all calls and messages from the outside world. Kika, your best friend, was beyond concerned with your sudden disappearance and decided to pay you a visit. Using her spare key, that she also seemed to use for non-emergency reasons, she walked right into your home and found you sitting on the couch with the bags under your eyes heavier than ever before.

"What if he tries to talk to me?" You threw yourself on your bed dramatically, watching as Kika browsed through your wardrobe. Following the breakup, you had stalked Lando's social media and he didn’t seem to be fazed by the breakup, and if he had, he didn't show it.

He returned to his life of traveling and nonstop adventures with his fellow drivers. Attending all sorts of parties and festivals, which he was free to do, but what wasn’t right to you was how he didn’t seem hurt in the slightest.

It’d been a month since that night. You still remember the stove illuminating the “1:58am” across your living room as you watched Lando leave.

“What about this one?” Kika pulled out a sparkling red dress and showed it to you.

“I don’t know-“

"Think of this as revenge. You can show him what he's missing. And if you do run in to him, so what? You know I won’t hesitate to give him a good ole’ karate chop in the head" She karate chopped the air, and you burst out in laughter at her movement.

If you wanted revenge, like Kika suggested, you needed to show up looking my best and not let your emotions take over.

After you & Kika had finished getting ready, you called an Uber to take you from your flat over to the event you were attending.

You both entered the banquet hall with all eyes on you. Or maybe their attention was on Kika and her stunning (per usual) dress. Either way, you rarely ever got attention like this, and to say it scared you was an understatement.

You both approached the trio of Pierre, Carlos and Charles, joining in on their conversation.

“We missed having you around, Y/n” Charles said as he rubbed the back of his neck. The group hadn’t seen you in a while due to your breakup with their friend.

“I missed seeing you guys” You said as a figure joined the group. You head turned to greet the person but you immediately jumped back, shocked at the sight: It was Lando, with some new blonde by his side.

Your plans of getting revenge went flying out the window, and right now you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed and never leave. The group was just as shocked as you were, glancing between Lando and the blonde.

You leaned into Carlos’ ear and excused yourself, to which he nodded and promised to relay the message to the rest of the group.

As you bolted to the nearest bathroom, you wanted to burst into tears. You locked yourself in the stall and tried your hardest not to cry, instead trying to think happy thoughts.

Back at the group, Kika noticed the moment you left and turned to Lando. The blonde had also excused herself to go speak to some of her friends.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve, Norris” She sounded completely disgusted with Lando.

“What did I do?” Lando asked as he looked around, watching as Charles smacked a hand onto his face in disappointment.

“What didn’t you do, Lando? You broke up with Y/n only a week after your podium in Silverstone because you “had to” for the sake of your relationship? In what fucking world does that make sense?” Kika said before Carlos spoke up

“You claimed to love her, but then you show up here, only a month after you left her, with a new girl on your arm? Guess you really did love Y/n enough to replace her like nothing”

“And then you acted like you did nothing wrong. You didn’t show the slightest bit of remorse for leaving her, with that shit excuse by the way” Charles added.

“Have you even apologized at all?” Pierre asked, watching Lando’s gaze fall down to his feet.

“No” He mumbled.

“You really think he would apologize? He left her hopes high, insinuating that he would come back for her, when in reality it was just an excuse to find someone new” Kika was nearly shouting at this point, and Pierre signaled for her to go find you to ensure you were okay.

- later on -

You were sat at your table with Pierre, Kika, Charles and Carlos. You were all talking when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned your head to see who was trying to get your attention and it was none other than Lando himself.

“Can I help you?” You asked as you turned your attention back to the rest of the table, not wanting to speak to him right now, or at all for that matter.

“Can we talk? Alone?” You sigh as you nod your head, unsure as to why you’re even agreeing to this. You excuse yourself from the table and all eyes are on you as you walk away with Lando right behind you.

You turn to face him once you’re out of sight from everyone at the event.

“What did you want?” You folded your arms across your chest. Lando inhaled deeply and he seemed nervous.

“I want to apologize. For everything. I wanted to focus on racing and winning and I just couldn’t see myself doing that with you in my life”

“So… you lied to me and made it seem like you were doing this for me? You made it seem like you were going to come back for me, Lando. But really you just wanted to leave and never return”

“I shouldn’t have made it seem like that. I’m so sorry” You stayed silent, contemplating what to say next.

“Who’s the blonde?” You questioned, watching the lump in Lando’s throat.

“Oh she’s uhm… my date” He refused to make eye contact with you as you scoffed at his answer.

“Interesting how you said you loved me and that you always would, yet you replaced me like nothing happened at all and moved on after a month. Somehow you’re “Mr Perfectly Fine” after all this, so clearly you didn’t love me half as much as you said you did ” Lando could only mutter apologies yet still refused to make any sort of eye contact with you.

“Well this was lovely, but I’m going to go back to my table” You said nothing else as you made your way back to the table, shoulder checking him as you passed. You walked back into the dining hall to see everyone quickly turning their heads back around to seem as if they weren’t waiting for you to come back.

As you sat down, you felt a weight lifted from your shoulders; you were finally free and you would be alright someday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist

@chelseagirl98 @firehazardxx @judesgfirl @celestialams @xjval

#✎ natalie writes #lando norris #lando norris angst #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine

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hoshigray · 11 months

Text

˗ˏˋ Summertime ⛱ Madness ˎˊ˗

Dear Diary...summer is finally here, and you're ready to spend it all with your best buds — Itadori, Megumi, and Nobara! Because the season is meant to be eventful, no? Though, how eventful? You already have plans with your friends to make every day count...Yet, so much has happened this summer that you NEED to write it all down! Especially since five men, in particular, have put you through a complete whirlwind of a summer...

Collector's Note: Hi, hello!! This is my first time doing something like this, but to commemorate getting 1k followers (tysm!!), I felt this would be a fun way to celebrate!! These entries will be posted throughout the summer (with dates provided), so keep your eyes open for when a diary entry opens! They can be read as standalone fics, but some (2-3) may be linked with one another. And no, they are not gonna be in first-person, only for this post as a sort of introduction to the pieces, lol. And FYI: these adorable sea-themed dividers are made by the wonderful remi (@cafekitsune), whose dividers I use non-stop!! Thank you sm for the dividers as always, remi, love what you do sm!!

Diary Status: ongoing!!

Word of caution: fem!reader - modern AU - age differences (the reader is at least in their 20s; the guys' ages will be specified in their respective fics for convenience's sake) - explicit content/nsfw so minors DNI - mentions of alcohol/drug use - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - taboo (consensual sex b/w professor/undergrad; a friend's relative) - size differences - one night stands - be sure to read the content warnings (cw) to fully grasp what each fic will contain before reading!

Intrigued readers: wanna be tagged when an entry is posted? Lmk in the replies plz!

✎﹏﹏﹏ 📖 Y/n's Diary Entries 📖 ﹏﹏﹏✎

Dear Nanami Kento... ༄ My Professor's Final Spring Praise

Entry Narrative: Before my summer break officially started, I had to finish my last in-person exam with Professor Nanami. It was so tough, but I made it through! I was the last to leave, so I thanked the professor and shared some final words before heading to my dorm to finish packing up. However, how do a few gratitude and praise exchanges end up with me on his desk and him between my legs? Contents: professor! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content so minors DNI - taboo (consensual sex b/w a professor & undergrad) - age difference (the reader is at least in their 20s; Nanami approaching early 30s) - fingering (fem! receiving) - cunnilingus - semi-missionary position (reader lies on their back on a table while Nanami stands) - public sex/sex in a university classroom - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - pining if you squint - praise - pet names (baby, darling, love, sweet pea) - clitoral play (licking and sucking) - kissing/makeout sessions. Completion: July 3rd (Nanami + my bday :DD so I better see y'all wish me and my hubby a hbd or this shit isn't getting released >:T)

Dear Satoru Gojo... ༄ Sweet Blind Summer Fling

Entry Narrative: Due to a bet made by Nobara, I made an online dating account to set myself up with a blind date. Although a bit witty and annoyingly childish, Gojo's remarkably handsome and sweet...So, how the hell did I end up sleeping with him on the first date!? Contents: switch! Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content so minors DNI - blind date/online match-up - age difference (the reader is at least in their 20s; Gojo is around early 30s) - texting back and forth - sex at a hotel - one night stands - consensual sex under the influence - protected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - cowgirl + lotus positions - pet names (angel, baby, dollface, pretty, princess, sweet thing) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - mentions of drug/alcohol use (reader and Gojo don't get blackout drunk, but y'all get tipsy) - a bunch of silliness bc it's a Gojo fic (duh). Completion: July 24th

Dear Suguru Geto... ༄ Swim in Waves, Chill in Caves

Entry Narrative: I went to the beach with my friends!! Only for me to...run into Gojo again!!? And to make things crazier, I met his attractive best friend who heard "so much" about me??!! Thanks to Gojo's nonstop blabber-mouth, Geto was interested in me in ways I would rather not be known for! Contents: Geto x fem! reader - explicit content, so minors DNI - age difference (the reader is at least in their 20s; Geto is around early 30s) - oral (m! + f! receiving) - heavy depictions of a blowjob - semi-handjob - sex at an open area; cave by the beach - 69+ doggy style/backshots + missionary position - unprotected sex but Geto doesn't shoot inside (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - fucking while the sun sets, lmaooo - pet names (baby, cutie, sweetheart, sweetie, princess) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - Gojo is here so expect some silliness. Completion: August 4th

Dear Choso Kamo... ༄ In[put]s & Out[put]s

Entry Narrative: My friends and I are getting ready to go out, but I'm feeling a little nervous about my outfit since it looks a little risqué... So, I took a pic of it and sent it to Itadori to hear his thoughts. Come to find out...I instead sent it to his half older brother, who was coming to pick me up......and he liked the outfit so much that he gave me his personal opinion?? Contents: still deciphering... Completion: TBA

Dear Toji Fushiguro... ༄ Secrets, Sweat, and Summer Fever

Entry Narrative: The gang and I hung out at Megumi's place for the last week of summer. But when I'm left at the house alone with Megumi's hot father, how am I supposed to act normal after "accidentally" eavesdropping on him jerking off to me!? Also, why and how the fuck does he know about my personal endeavors!? Contents: still deciphering... Completion: TBA

© hoshigray 2023 ~𓆉~ Diary entries above are collected by, written by, and belong to me, so please do not steal, edit, or post my works. Or I'll find all the people in your family who don't know how to swim and throw 'em in the ocean (and yes, that includes you). :/

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candycandy00 · 1 month

Note

Hi! I decided I'd try my luck with this. I love your writing btw, your Doll House fics are just amazing. Congratulations on 2k followers, you deserve it! Here's my request for the event:

Character: Tomura Shigaraki

AU Setting: Prison

Spice Level: NSFW or Slightly Spicy

Mood: Writers choice

Kinks: Daddy kink, size difference, virgin reader, praise kink, and if you want, non-con.

I was thinking maybe Tomura is a prisoner and Reader is a guard working at the prison. Thank you! I'm excited to see the results!

Shower Duty - A Shigaraki x Reader Fic

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Quirkless AU. Shigaraki is a prisoner, reader is a guard. Straddles the line between Dubcon and Noncon, so beware!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k followers event! Any feedback is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

You’ve only been working as a guard at this high security prison for three weeks, and you already want to quit.

It started out so well. The pay is good, the warden isn’t a complete jerk, you get along with your coworkers, and even the prisoners are relatively well behaved. Sure, they occasionally flirt with you or make inappropriate comments, but as the only woman guard, you’re not surprised.

However, a week ago you were transferred to a different section of the prison, and that’s when you found out that Shigaraki Tomura, the infamous serial killer and terrorist, is being held here.

Everyone in the country knows his name. Everyone lived in fear of him while he was on the loose, carving a path of murder and mayhem across the nation. And everyone celebrated when he was finally caught and sentenced to life in prison, but the public was never informed of which prison he would spend the rest of his days in.

That was six years ago. You were a teenager then, but even you had watched the trial on the news, being equal parts terrified and fascinated by the thin man with long white hair and peculiar red eyes. He had remained totally silent throughout the trial, showing no emotion whatsoever. No remorse, but no pride or malice either. At one point he looked directly at the camera, and the intense look in his eyes gave you nightmares for weeks.

So when your coworker led you to a cell with no bars, only a tiny window slot to look through, you were shocked when you looked inside and saw the notorious killer.

He was sitting on his cot, reading a book. He looked a little different, naturally after six years. His hair was longer, still that shocking white color, and he was more toned than you remembered. He probably lifted weights like the other prisoners did for recreation. He glanced up at the window slot, and his ruby eyes met yours. By reflex, you pulled away.

For the next few days, you had to patrol this hallway. No one ever went into Shigaraki’s cell, for any reason. Food was pushed through the slot on a tray. He was taken from his cell once every night to shower. It had to be when there were no other prisoners in the shower room, because the guards needed to focus their attention on him. Two armed guards had to escort him to the shower and then escort him back.

The guards didn’t seem that worried about him. In six years he has been completely docile and quiet. He rarely speaks and shows zero inclination for violence. Actually, he’s a model prisoner. At least that’s what the other guards told you.

Once, you were one of the guards in charge of taking him to the shower room. You tried to avoid looking at him as he undressed in front of you and the guard standing beside you. But it was literally your job to watch him, as awkward as it was. He didn’t seem embarrassed to have a woman in the room, probably because he has a surprisingly nice body, well sculpted, with impressive proportions.

After he finished showering, he dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, and as you stepped beside him to escort him back to his cell, he spoke to you for the first time.

“Enjoy the show?”

You looked at him in shock, more from hearing his voice for the first time than from his words. But once those words sank in, your face flushed with heat and you frowned at him. “Murderers aren’t my type,” you shot back, and nothing more was said.

Today, three days later, you find yourself on shower duty again. You and a friendly coworker are standing just outside the reach of the water’s spray, watching Shigaraki lather himself up, when both your radio communicators buzz with sound.

“Riot in Cell Block D! Everyone available head to Cell Block D to assist!”

You turn toward the door to rush over and help, but your fellow guard stops you. “I’ll go. You stay and watch him!”

You glance at Shigaraki, who is taking his time rinsing off, then back to the guard. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay?”

He shakes his head. “Have you ever seen a riot before? It’s wild! People are throwing punches left and right, shoving, kicking… it’s dangerous! Look, Shigaraki has been perfectly behaved since he’s been here. He’s not gonna mess up his record now. Besides, you have a gun. If he tries to make trouble, just shoot him in the leg!”

With that, the other guard runs off, leaving you alone with the wet, naked serial killer.

You place your hand on your holstered gun, just for your own peace of mind, and watch him warily. He glances over at you, and his eyes widen very slightly. He’s probably surprised to find you alone. A hint of a grin passes over his face, and he turns his body to face you, giving you a very clear view of his nakedness.

It makes you want to avert your eyes, but you can’t. Especially not now, being the only guard in the room. He probably knows that.

Suddenly Shigaraki groans and grabs the wall of the shower as he staggers toward you, as if he’s dizzy.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your hand still on your gun. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know…” he mumbles, holding his head with his free hand. “Feel like I’m… passing ou-“

He lurches forward, falling, and you rush to catch him in your arms. It’s simply human nature to try to catch a falling person, a reflex you can’t control. And as soon as you feel his hard, dripping wet body against yours, you realize your mistake.

His hand moves swiftly to your gun, pulling it from the holster and tossing it across the room, far out of your reach. Your first instinct is to reach for your radio, to call for help, but he has one of your hands in a vice grip as he knocks the radio out of your other hand. It smashes on the tile floor, and you have no options left but to try to fight him off.

The struggle doesn’t last long. He’s taller and stronger than you, and he probably has a lot of experience subduing people by force. He killed a lot of people with his bare hands after all.

He manages to knock your feet out from under you and you crash onto the wet floor as the water from the shower pours over you both. He drops down to his knees, straddling your thrashing body, and quickly pins your hands back, on either side of your head.

“Stop fighting, or I’ll have to hurt you,” he says, his voice frighteningly calm.

You go still, smart enough to know better than to waste your energy on a losing battle. “You’ll never escape,” you tell him, trying to sound sure of yourself.

A disturbing grin spreads over his face. “Who said I want to escape?”

“Then what are you…?” Your voice trails off as you realize what he intends to do. “No!” you shout, struggling beneath him.

He grips both your wrists and then slams them against the floor. “Be still, or I’ll snap your neck! And when the other guard comes back, I’ll snap his neck too! I’m serving a life sentence, I’ve got nothing to lose!”

You go limp, whimpering as he straightens up, releasing your wrists. Even with your hands free, you’re still unarmed, on your back, helpless. Trying to fight him will only get you killed, and possibly your coworker as well. You’re dealing with a murderer, so his threats are definitely not empty.

“That’s it,” he says, lightly stroking your now wet hair, “that’s a good girl. Now keep being good for me, and you might just enjoy this.”

You look at him with venom in your eyes. “I would never-“

He covers your mouth with his own, his tongue slipping past your lips and mingling with yours. When he pulls away, he’s grinning at you again. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, where your eyes linger. You can deny it all you like, but I know what you want.”

“You’re wrong,” you tell him, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Really? Guess we’ll see.”

You can feel the water on the floor seeping into your clothes, the edge of the shower’s spray hitting your left arm and shoulder, as his hands move to the buttons of your shirt. With nimble, steady fingers, he unbuttons them, shoving your shirt open to reveal your white lace bra. Then he pushes it up, above your breasts, exposing you.

Turning your head to the side, you avert your eyes as his hands squeeze and rub your soft flesh. You refuse to make a sound. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Once he’s done groping your chest, he moves down, unbuckling your belt, then unzipping your standard gray uniform pants. You draw in a sharp breath as he yanks your pants down your legs, but otherwise remain silent.

“Moment of truth,” he says, then he pauses. You glance back at him, and he says, “I’ll make a deal with you. If your pussy isn’t wet at all, and not from the water, I’ll stop. I won’t touch you again. But if you’re all sticky and ready for me…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You squint your eyes closed, and he pulls your panties off before opening your legs. You feel his fingers touch you, slide into you way too easily, and then he laughs.

“In knew it! You’re drenched.”

You open your eyes, your face hot with embarrassment. “It’s the water! I’m not… aroused.”

He holds his fingers up, moving them like scissors to show the stretchy strings of fluid. “This isn’t water.”

You look away again, tears blurring your vision. Even you don’t know why you’re turned on by him. He’s a killer! “Just… don’t hurt me,” you finally say. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Huh?” He looks confused for a moment, staring at your face with red eyes until your words click. “Wait, never? So you’re…?”

You don’t say anything to confirm it, you don’t have to. You’re waiting for some gross comment or mockery, but he just leans his face down close to your ear and says, “I’ll take care of you.”

What does that mean? Before you can react, his fingers are inside you again, probing, stroking, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. You let out a small cry, and then clamp your hand over your mouth. You swore you wouldn’t make a sound!

Shigaraki grins down at you. “Cute,” he says, before dipping his head down to kiss your neck. He’s being strangely gentle, kissing you like a lover, making your heart flutter even as your mind rejects everything that’s happening right now.

You feel pleasure building in your core, and you fight the feeling with everything you have. You can’t cum from being touched by this monster! You just can’t!

Mercifully, he stops, pulling his hand away and licking his fingers. You watch him, your breaths coming faster, your heart pounding. Then, you feel his hands on your hips, holding you in place. You don’t struggle as he pushes himself inside you, slowly and carefully, looking you in the eyes. You’re not even sure if you want to struggle anymore.

There’s a disturbing beauty to him as he hovers over you, his damp white hair spilling over his shoulders, his intense eyes shimmering. When he begins moving inside you, he starts with shallow thrusts, slightly stretching you as he goes. There’s a bit of a sting, but nothing like you expected, especially with him.

“You’re doing so good,” he says into your ear before kissing your lips again and thrusting a bit deeper. “Being such a good girl for me.”

As he starts to go faster, harder, he reaches down with one hand and strokes your clit with his fingers, making your hips buck reflexively. A moan escapes you, but at this point you’ve stopped caring if you make noise. You both hate this and love it, and you can’t decide which emotion is stronger.

The pleasure builds again, spiraling through your body, and this time, nothing you can do will stop it.

You cry out as you climax, your back arching. Shigaraki has one hand on your thigh, the other buried in your hair, and he keeps fucking you deeply as you ride out the storm of pleasure, clenching tightly around him. Eventually you feel him twitch inside you, and then he cums, not even bothering to try pulling out. He coats your insides completely, looking down at you with twisted affection in his eyes. “Good girl,” he says, before pulling out of you and standing up.

He showers off again while you scramble to put your wet clothes back on, having no idea what to do about this. And so when your fellow guard finally returns, you’re silent besides telling him you got wet catching Shigaraki when he nearly fainted.

Your mind is racing. Shigaraki dresses and smiles at you as you escort him back to his cell, looking almost smug.

As you lock the door, he looks at you and says, “I hope you’ll be on shower duty more often.”

#shigaraki x reader #shiragaki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #x reader #candys2kevent

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neonghostlights · 11 months

Note

I seriously love all the fics u write especially wasted years. I had this idea of rockstar eddie finally getting tired of hooking up with groupies and random celebrities and wanting to settle down with Reader. Hes really sweet and in love with her but everytime they go out one of his hook ups confronts him again or hes constantly getting dms or texts from previous situationships and shes just so over it and feels she cant compare to celebrities or beautiful groupies and he feels terrible cuz he really wants to be with reader. Happy ending as always. 🖤

Hiii! Thank you so much❤️ you have no clue how much that means to me. I wanted to keep this a little different from Wasted Years so I made it modern!rockstar!Eddie Munson x Teacher!Reader (a series I wanted to write but never got around to. who knows, maybe I'll write it some day)

Warnings: jealousy, poor self image, insecurity, break ups, crying, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort 18+ only

Wordcount: 2.7k

Show Off

The tabloids never cared about you. You could be a fly buzzing by Eddie’s pretty curly hair for all they cared.

In the past year and a half that you two had been together, you had been ignored, cropped out of pictures and shoved to the side by paparazzi and touchy fans alike.

You usually didn’t mind being on the sidelines. He was famous before he met you and he would be famous after you. You signed up for this.

It was fate, the way you and Eddie met. Or maybe it was just a coincidence; just the way life went. But you liked to think it was fate.

You had found yourself dragged to a music event by a coworker that you had just met. You were new to the school as a middle school teacher and joining a tight knit group of coworkers was scary. You had no idea that Robin, the music teacher at your school, knew one of the bands playing and was actually friends with them.

You didn’t know what to expect when she had dragged you backstage to say hi to her friend. You had heard the name Eddie Munson before, had seen the photos of him on social media, but past that you weren’t much of a fan. Although, you had to admit you did discover that you had a few Corroded Coffin songs in your playlist once you did some digging. When Eddie found that out he thought it was hilarious.

Sparks flew when he shook your hand. At first, you thought that it was something that only you had felt. You were ready to brush it off as being star struck. But when he had asked for your number before you left, you knew he felt it too.

The rest was history. A year and a half later you were happily in a relationship with a rockstar. At first, you thought it was a joke. Why would a hot rockstar want to date a middle school teacher from a small town? But Eddie proved to you over and over again that he was serious about you and him.

When people close to you found out that you and Eddie were dating, they thought you were lying and tried to laugh it off. Then, when they realized you were telling the truth they pitied you. You were fed rumor after rumor of what they had heard Eddie Munson gets up to in his free time from the partying to the groupies.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you to hear that the man you loved was so desired by the world. There was a stark contrast between the rumors and the man you grew to love though.

Eddie would fly you out to see him in LA often. He had begged you to move out there with him full time. You wanted to, but you at least wanted to finish off the school year. You didn’t want to have to put the kids through the trials of a new teacher.

It was currently spring break and you were on a two week trip to LA to visit Eddie. You had arrived earlier that day and were currently sitting at a restaurant together. It was one of those fancy ones, with the thick white table cloths and the waiters in suits and ties. The spot was popular for LA stars to frequent.

Eddie had insisted you looked so beautiful that he needed to take a picture of you as soon as you got to the table. You knew how this worked, he would take the picture and set it as his new background on his phone until he got a new picture of you that he swore was the best of all time. Pictures of you never ended up on his social media. He wanted to keep your relationship private, which you understood. But sometimes you wanted to be bragged about. You wanted the world to know that Eddie was spoken for. But it was his choice.

“How was your week?” Eddie asked as you were waiting for your food to arrive.

You sighed, not wanting to complain but this school year was eating you alive. Middle schoolers were a tough group to control sometimes and more often than not you were coming home with a massive migraine and an existential crisis.

“It’s okay, I guess. Testing is coming up and I feel like the principal is practically breathing down my neck. I’m so ready for summer break,” you admitted with a small smile. Summer break meant staying up here with Eddie full time. Something that you were both terrified and excited for.

Eddie nodded in understanding. He knew how much your job stressed you out. “It’ll get better soon. Just think, this summer me and you are going to be so relaxed. We can lay out by the pool everyday and go to the beach. I’ll even get you a shelf for all of your books. Hell, I’ll get you a whole room for all of your books.”

You let out a quick snort of a laugh. “Are you offering to build me a library to try to coerce me into moving in with you?”

“Is it working?” He asked with a smirk as he leaned back in his chair, one arm laid against the table.

You reached to take his hand in yours, to tell him that he didn’t have to flash his money or offer to buy you things to have your affection but when you reached your hand for him another hand had appeared, and it was currently rubbing your boyfriends arm.

You recognized her from instagram. She was a model and had been rumored to be with Eddie in some capacity before you and him had gotten together. You never asked him about it, not wanting to know about his previous hookups. Your heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

You and Eddie made quick eye contact before turning and facing one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life. Eddie looked up at the woman, probably just thinking it was a fan with poor boundaries. His face turned to panic when he realized what was happening.

Eddie moved his arm from her grasp quickly, shooting an apologetic look to you.

“Eddie,” she cooed. Even her voice was pretty. “So happy to see you here.”

Eddie cleared his throat. This was fucking awkward. “Nice to see you too, Claire,” he said politely. He held eye contact with you like he was telepathically trying to send you a message.

She seemed to have expected a bigger reaction from him based on the way she frowned slightly before smoothing her features. She followed his line of sight to you and you couldn’t help but squirm a little under her stare.

“Aw, you’re taking your assistant out for dinner? That’s so sweet,” she said, manicured fingers tapping against the table cloth.

Eddie’s politeness leached away at her words. The dinner plates arrived at the table and the waiter seemed to be as enthralled by her beauty as everyone else was. It felt like the whole restaurant was staring in your direction.

You looked down at what you were wearing. Eddie had bought you this dress as a surprise and you thought it was so pretty. You had followed a makeup tutorial to the best of your ability when you were getting ready earlier. You didn’t end up looking quite like the woman in the video but you thought you had done a decent enough job. Your hair hadn’t been done professionally lately so it was a little dull. You had just been too busy with work to keep up with your appearance. Eddie never seemed to mind how you looked so it wasn’t a priority. Maybe you were mistaken.

“Nice to see you but I want to eat my dinner now,” Eddie said coolly. His tone was calm but his face wasn’t.

Claire scrunched her face up at this, like she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t taking the bait. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon,” she said before scurrying away at his dark look.

Eddie let out a deep breath that he had been holding in. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think anyone would interrupt us.”

“It’s okay,” you said with a wave of your hand. “I just wanna eat before it gets cold.”

Eddie agreed, but his eyes lingered on your face for a bit. If he noticed how you were feeling he didn’t say anything.

It didn’t hit you until after the bill was paid and you were leaving the restaurant that he never corrected Claire when she called you his assistant.

The next day you woke up to Eddie peppering your face with kisses. You stretched, feeling the release of your joints popping.

“That was a good one,” Eddie commented after a particularly loud pop of your back.

“What time is it?” You yawned.

“Early. I got a call to head down to the studio for a bit this morning. There seems to be some sort of crisis they need my input on. I promise it’ll probably be about an hour. I’ll bring some coffee from that place you like back.Will you be okay if you’re alone here for a bit?” He asked while rubbing your lower back.

You shot him a shy smile. “Can I have a muffin too?”

Eddie laughed. “Of course.”

Eddie got ready and was out the door before you knew it with promises to bring you back all the muffins in the world.

You climbed out of bed, too awake to go back to sleep and went to the living room. You melted into Eddie’s soft couch with a blanket and book. You were content until your phone started to ding.

Robin: You’re with Eddie in LA right?

You: Yes. Miss me already?

Robin: Okay. I saw something this morning that was weird and wanted to check with you.

You: Weird? What was it?

Robin: Google Eddie.

You immediately swiped open your browser and typed in Eddie’s name. The first result was his wikipedia page, and then underneath were a row of gossip sites with updates from early that morning. You clicked the first one to be greeted by a picture of Eddie and Claire at the restaurant the night before.

Her hand was on his arm and she was smiling down at him with a salacious look. Eddie had just turned his head with a polite smile on his face. You remembered when this happened, it was just before he realized who was touching him.

Someone must have snuck a picture right when she got to the table. It had been taken at the perfect angle so you weren’t seen in the picture at all, not even the back of your head.

‘Love is in the air for these two. Model and Rockstar spotted on romantic date.’

The words burned your eyeballs as you read them. Was it really so unbelievable that you and Eddie were together that they completely dismissed the possibility that he was on a date with you instead.

You knew it was a mistake but you had to check and see what was being said on social media. You immediately went to Eddie’s page and clicked on his most recent photo. Underneath was thousands of comments, but the one to stick out the most to you was from this morning. Claire had commented a row of fire emojis right around the time the gossip sites started posting the photo, adding fuel to the rumor.

How stupid of you to think that you could compete in Eddie’s world? There were beautiful women practically fighting to get near him and here you sat in your pajamas on his couch looking like a wreck. Even when you did try it obviously wasn’t good enough for Eddie or the world.

You jumped off the couch, your socks skidding across the floor.

You needed to get out of here. You couldn’t breathe in this house anymore surrounded by Eddie’s things. You wondered what the people back home thought, the few that knew you and Eddie were together. Were they laughing at your pathetic attempt at happiness? Did they know the whole time that this was going to fail?

You ripped your suitcase out of the closet. You hadn’t even had the chance to unpack anything yet. Eddie had put it in the closet as soon as you got there, joking that if he hid it from you then you wouldn't ever be able to go home.

You pushed the thought out of your head as you grabbed a few toiletries that you had brought and through them in your bag. The sound of the front door opening and closing had you freezing.

“Babe?” Eddie called through the house. “I hope you can eat four muffins because they had a lot of different new ones to try- What are you doing?” He finally asked when he reached the bedroom. He held a paper bag in one hand and a tray of iced coffees in the other. He set them down on top of his dresser.

You turned away from him, not able to look him in the eye as you did this. “I’m going home, Eddie.”

“What? Why?”

“I just, uh, I don’t think this is working out. I’m sorry,” you cried, wiping your tears as quickly as they came.

“Is this because I left this morning? I told them not to bother me anymore. I’m sorry, baby,” he said as he wrapped an arm around you. You cried even harder. You were breaking up with him and he was still just trying to comfort you.

“Why am I a secret?” You asked into his shirt.

“What?” He pulled you away from him so he could look at your teary face. “You are not a secret.”

“No one knows about me. Everyone thinks you’re with a model even though I was right there. Even she thought I was your assistant and you didn’t even correct her. You don’t ever post me. It’s like you want people to think you’re single,” you accused.

Eddie’s face fell. “That’s not true. We go places together in public. You know I don’t post you because I don’t want people in our relationship. You’re the most important thing to me and I don’t want it to be ruined by all the bullshit.” He waved his hand in the air as he spoke.

“I’m not good enough,” you told him, grabbing onto your suitcase again.

“That’s a lie. You are good enough. You’re the only good thing I have, baby. Please.” Eddie was crying now too. It ripped your heart out to see.

You let go of your suitcase, rushing towards him and wrapping your arms around him. You squeezed him tight like you were hoping that would help put his tears back in place. You felt awful now that you had made him cry. You had expected him to not care if you left. You thought that it would be freeing for him to be without you.

“Please don’t cry,” your voice came out muffled against him. “This is my fault.”

“This is not your fault,” he told you. “It’s mine. I was so worried about protecting you that I didn’t take into account how it felt for you.”

“It’s just, it’s not a secret that you were with a lot of beautiful women before me. It hurts to think that they think they can still get with you.”

“Baby, I know I have a past but they don’t compare to you. You are all I have wanted for the past year and a half and you’re all I’m gonna want for the rest of my life,” he admitted.

“The rest of your life?”

“Why do you think I’m trying to get you to move in here so bad?”

You sighed, wiping your tears against his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I love you,” he said as he tilted your face up to meet his.

“I love you too,” you sighed as your lips met his.

Later that night, the internet went crazy when a photo of Eddie’s beautiful girlfriend was posted on social media, introducing you to the world as the one that stole his heart.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #modern!rockstar!eddie munson x teacher!reader #modern!rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson request

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inmyicyworld · 8 months

Text

New purchase

kinktober - lingerie kink, mirror sex

Summary: You just got a new expensive lingerie set and decided to tease your mafia boss boyfriend with some sexy pictures.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: mob bucky barnes, established relationship, smut, p in v, lingerie kink, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, sexy pictures, doggy style, butt slapping, hair pulling, dirty talk.

Author's note: I know for a fact that I won't be able to write for every day of the Kinktober event, but I still want to be a part of it lol. So if any of you have some spicy (or not) ideas, my inbox is open for requests or suggestions.

Also, I had too much fun with AI stuff and y'all... this Bucky Barnes makes me literally weak in the knees😩😩 (I have a few more AI-generated pics to add to my fics, if you'll like it.)

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

As soon as the message from you popped up on Bucky’s screen, he was no longer involved in the conversation with his people, who were reporting on the situation that got a few men killed.

No, now his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone. To the photo that you sent him, to be exact. You were standing in front of the mirror in the new blue lingerie set that Bucky definitely hadn't seen before.

“miss you, baby.”

Bucky took a deep breath, studying every little thing in the photo—from your half-hidden smile to the soft skin of your legs and stomach—and noticing the way your boobs were perfectly sitting in that almost see-through bra. Fuck, to be right now on top of you instead of sitting here was a dream. You knew what effect you had on him and that Bucky loved your expensive lingerie, but he couldn't just leave now, right? Controlling Brooklyn was not easy, especially when some brave idiots tried to threaten him.

“please, Jamie…”

Another text message with an attached picture appeared in front of him, and his pants immediately became much tighter. Now it was from another angle. You were on the bed on your hands and knees, your spine perfectly arched to show your round ass in just a little piece of fabric that shouldn’t even be considered underwear.

Flashbacks from all the times Bucky was holding your hips while thrusting into you from behind filled his head and he almost wanted to moan out loud. No, it was impossible to listen to whatever Peter was saying, especially when it was the first time you sent such photos.

“You better stay in this position, baby. I'm coming.” He typed quickly before suddenly getting up from his fancy leather chair, making the whole room go quiet.

“D-did I say something wrong, boss?” Peter’s face became white. Bucky probably looked really angry right now, but only because he couldn't touch you and bury himself in your heat at that exact moment.

“I didn't listen, Parker. I need to go; finish here without me. Steve, you're responsible.” Bucky took his jacket and stormed out of the room without another word.

You were walking around the bedroom in nervousness, as if it were your first time waiting for Bucky from work. But now something was different, though. You knew that he was busy, and you hated disturbing him, but after looking in the mirror at yourself for too long, you got so confident and bold that you decided to text him with photos, which you had never done before.

Your best friend Nat took you out shopping, but even though Bucky always gave you his card and told you to buy whatever you wanted, you never actually did it. Until you saw that unbelievably beautiful blue set. Bucky went crazy every time you had new pieces, but they weren’t as expensive as this one because you always bought them with your own money. Your friend basically shoved you into the changing room and convinced you that it cost every single penny, so you gave up and used Bucky’s black card.

The loud noise of the slammed door came from the first floor, and you knew that your boyfriend had come home. Fuck, it has been only 15 minutes since he messaged you, and he was already there.

You sat at the edge of the king-size bed, facing the door. And in just a few seconds, heavily breathing and slightly annoyed, Bucky stood in the door frame. If you hadn’t been dating him for almost a year now, you would’ve thought that he was angry, but the way he licked his lips and the look in his eyes while he was scanning your almost naked body told you otherwise.

“You’re such a fucking tease, babydoll. I had an important meeting, and you just had to send me those photos, huh?” Bucky grinned at you, taking off his expensive jacket and rolling up the sleeves of the white shirt. He took small steps toward you, but you were too focused on his tattooed and veiny forearms to notice it.

You blinked only when a soft but firm hand pressed under your chin, making you look Bucky in the eyes. The realization of how ridiculously wet you were hit you hard, and Bucky probably saw the way your cheeks blushed because his lips curled in a one-sided smirk.

“You’re looking like the sexiest thing on the planet, but you’re blushing. God, you’re amazing, baby.” His eyes slid down your body, covered in a thin lace, and you swore that his eyes darkened within a second.

“I just thought that I became wet by just looking at your hands.” Bucky growled at your words. He took both of your hands into his, silently asking you to stand up from the bed. "Sorry for bothering you at work, I just... I don’t know.”

“I don’t care about work as long as I can see my amazing girlfriend looking so incredible. Is this new? I know every single piece of clothing that you own; I’ve never seen this before.”

“Nat convinced me to buy this... from your card. I hope you don’t mind." Bucky chuckled at your words.

“I told you a million times to buy whatever you wanted. My money is your money, ‘key? Now spin for me.” He lifted your hand above your head, helping you to spin around and show him every little detail of your new purchase.

The bra, which perfectly lifted your boobs, so they seemed nice and round. Matching lacy blue thongs and a garter belt that was attached to the tights sat on your waist, showing every curve of your hips. There was nothing left for imagination. You looked so soft, delicious, and sexy, but those cute little flowers all over the fabric made Bucky want to destroy you.

“So pretty, goddammit. I need you right now.” He firmly grabbed one side of your face, connecting your lips in a hot and messy kiss, while the other hand trailed its way from your neck down to your soaking wet panties. “Still can’t believe that you’re mine. The most beautiful woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.” Bucky growled into your lips, refusing to let you go. “Is that all for me? Are you so wet because of your naighty little photos or from my hands? Tell me.” Two fingers run up and down your covered folds, making you moan into Bucky’s mouth from the stimulation.

“Both… Jamie, please. I need you.” You tried to grind your hips on his hand, but Bucky gripped your thigh and lowered his mouth onto your hot neck.

“‘M not gonna let you get off on my hand, not today. You teased me with those sexy pictures, so I think it would be fair if I just fucked you senseless. That’s what you asked me to do anyway, right?” You just eagerly nodded, hoping that Bucky would do anything. The heat in the lower half of your stomach was almost painful, and you felt awfully empty inside, squeezing around nothing with every kiss Bucky had left on your sensitive skin. “Should I bend you over the bed? Or maybe on the floor in front of the mirror so I could see how good you feel when I fuck you?” He asked mostly himself.

Bucky pulled away from you, admiring fresh red marks on your collarbones and neck and already knowing that you'd blame him in the morning before work. His lips were swollen and his hair was a mess, but you still bit your lip at how sexy and pretty he was. Lately, you didn’t spend much time together because of his job, and now you wanted to spend every second admiring and touching him.

“I don’t care, Buck. I just want you, I miss you.” Your hands flew to the collar of his shirt, opening every button until his tanned chest was on full display.

“Get on your knees and hands, doll.” Bucky mumbled, and you knew that he had lost all of his patience.

You lowered yourself on an expensive white rug and teasinly moved your ass from side to side, looking at Bucky through the mirror. His eyes stuck on your body, and he licked his lips once again. You saw the way his pants were barely holding the hardness behind them, and your mouth instantly started watering from that thought.

“Are you going to fuck me or keep starring at my ass?”

He smirked at your words and fell onto his knees behind you, slightly pushing his covered hips into yours and making you both moan.

“Oh, I am going to fuck you? Don’t worry about that, doll.” The sudden slap on your ass cheek made you loudly gasp; your mouth stayed slightly open as Bucky was massaging your burning cheek with one hand and unbuckling his pants with the other.

You felt the silky-soft skin of his cock between your legs when Bucky ran his length on your wet panties. “It’s too pretty, I don’t wanna take it off of you. ‘M just gonna push them to the side.” He took your underwear out of his way, lining the leaking tip with your wet entrance.

You couldn’t stay steel, so Bucky had to grab your hair, raise your head, and perfectly arch your back. You whined at the slight pain from his grip, but it soon turned into a loud mixture of a moan and Bucky’s name when he pushed inside of you.

It never failed to amaze both of you how perfect you were for each other. The sex was incredible every single time. Your body instantly adgasted for his size; your wet and soft folds gripped his cock firmly, as if your body didn’t want him ever to leave. Bucky honestly didn’t even remember the sex before you; at that time he thought it was nice, but since the first night with you, everything has become blurred, and he couldn't look at any other woman in a sexual way anymore.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck, James!” You cried, squeezing him harder and gripping the soft material under your hands.

“Holy shit, doll. Your pretty pussy ‘s taking me so well; she’s so greedy for my cock.” Bucky slapped your ass again at the same time as he bottomed out in you. You tried to stay focused on the reflection in the mirror, but that teasing little push of Bucky’s hips right into your g-spot made your eyes roll back. "What? You can’t handle it, baby? But that's what you asked for. You thought that you could just send me these things and not get fucked like a naughty little girl?” He chuckled, immediately increasing the speed of his thrusts.

“I just wanted you, J-Jamie, fuck!” You cried at another slap on your ass. Red hand prints were already visible, and you knew that it would be hard to sit the next day. “I need to cum, please…”

“Already drunk with my cock?” Bucky chuckled, slightly squeezing your hair in his hand, until you opened your hooded eyes and looked at him in the mirror. “Look at you, always so perfect for me.” His blue eyes studied your reflection. Your still covered in bra tits bounced every time he pushed his cock inside of you, and Bucky felt like he became even harder because of the fact that he couldn’t see you fully naked.

It felt like he wanted to split you in half with the power of his movements. Your skin slapped into each other, and the wet sounds of your pussy were almost too loud and inappropriate for you, but Bucky didn’t care. He moved fast and hard, mumbling praise words under his breath, which you barely understood, being too close to cum.

“Bucky, ‘m gonna cum… Please, let me cum, ‘m so close.” You loudly moaned when your body started trembling and your hands were almost too weak to hold you up.

“Do it, doll. I’m right behind you. Cover my cock in your cum.” Your mouth fell open, and your eyes instantly closed when you finally came, clenching around him. Bucky looked closely as your face expression changed—it was his favorite thing.

He pushed into your tight cunt a few more times before freezing as his own orgasm came. You moaned at the feeling of his hot seed feeling you from the inside.

“Just like that, doll. You did so well.” Bucky soothed the skin of your thigh and reddish cheek, finally loosening the grip on your hair. Your hands couldn’t hold you up anymore, and you collapsed on the soft rug with a muffled puff.

Bucky slightly chuckled, slipping out of you, and flipped over your exhausted body so you could face him. You both were flushed and slightly sweaty. Bucky brushed your hair from your face and lowered himself to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders until he fell on top of you.

“I’ll call Nat so she can take you shopping tomorrow. Use my black card and get yourself everything that you like, because now I want to see you in every possible shade and variation of lingerie, doll.” Bucky mumbled near your ear while his hands traced the soft skin of your ribs and stomach.

“I don’t want to spend your money, James.” You laughed.

“Then I’ll give my card to Nat, so she can spend it on you. Because I won’t leave you alone anymore, doll. You drive me crazy looking like this.” He started kissing your neck, going lower to your chest. You just sighted, knowing damn well that there’s no point in arguing and that your amazing boyfriend would find a way to make you buy more lingerie. “Are you ready for round two? Because I really wanna put those pretty tits in my mouth.”

Whatever you wanted to say died on your tongue with the first touch of Bucky’s wet tongue, and your brain went completely blank.

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