#and in the morning nothing will be different

[erwinsvow]

little sad bitchy!reader moment: her and rafe are at the country club with topper and kelce and some other friends of rafe and one of the guys starts saying how she would be a horrible wife and mother (bc of the way she is) and she honestly is so hurt by it and i think she would almost try to change the way she is around rafe a little just so he wouldn’t think that about her…

sobbing thinking about it and listening to this (https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLX2Pdcv/)

hi my love this was so amazing and wonderful to write! im sorry its kinda long, hope you like it ♡

in all honestly, you stopped caring what people said about you a long time ago. you weren't the way you were because it was funny, or to get a reaction out of others. that was just the way you've always been, and there was nothing you hated more than letting people walk all over you and get away it.

that must be why the comebacks would fly out of your mouth before you could stop them, if you even wanted to stop them. why you never stopped to think twice about the people who didn't want to talk to you again or the boys who didn't want a second date.

you weren't easy to handle, not that you wanted to be, but you knew you weren't.

it seemed easy enough for rafe though.

he never seemed to wish that you'd bite your tongue or tell you to act differently, behave a certain way. no, he'd laugh and fire back something, or agree with you and say something you remember to add to your collection of insults.

rafe liked you as you were. that's why he fought so long and hard to get you, something that you didn't take lightly. you were committed, and the more days that went by, you found yourself softening up more and more with him.

rafe knew a side of you that a select few had ever seen, much less engaged with. you liked it this way, having a boyfriend you could be yourself around and be a little soft around.

until you overhear a boy at the club talking about you. in all your years of life, you've never let a boy make you feel upset, and you didn't want to start now. a comeback brews the second he mentions your name—of course it's the idiot one, the one whose parents pay for his grades and doesn't know anything besides losing at pong and scaring away girls—but it dies in your throat when you hear the words that follow.

"i mean i get it, she's hot, but i don't know how cameron puts up with her."

"what're you talking about? she's just like him," kelce says, and you feel briefly grateful for him.

"dude, she's a bitch. i've never heard one nice thing come out of her mouth. totally untamed. you can't bring a girl like that home to your folks, they'd hate her. especially his folks. and don't even mention long-term. imagine coming home after working all day and your girl is bitching at you? i mean, no offense but what kind of kids is she gonna raise?"

you hear laughter, and when your face feels wet, and you're confused for a moment. you look up at the ceiling, wondering if there's a leak, when your eyes flood again and more tears fall down.

crying, and that too over what one of rafe's friends said about you. this isn't like you. frankly, it's pathetic. those idiotic boys don't know the first thing about you or your relationship with rafe—they don't know the conversations you have and all the things you both agree on and the way he laughs when you fire back at him.

but somehow, feet leading you outside and to your car, fingers texting rafe some excuse for why you went home early, you end up letting it affect you.

rafe comes over the next morning—he texted you something but you didn't reply. worried for a moment about something you've never been concerned with before, you think a nicer girl would have texted him back right away, that you should have texted him back.

he doesn't knock, never does. your parents aren't home but he has your spare key, letting himself in and up to your room. he stops at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"hey. what happened last night?" he asks it like he doesn't know what happened—which is good, you want it to stay that way. the thing you would have said yesterday bubbles up, coming to your lips. maybe if you'd gotten your head out of your ass, you'd see my text.

"wasn't feeling good. came home."

"you feelin' okay now?" he gets closer to you, and you look up at your boyfriend. i'd be fine but that asshole you already hate ruined my mood. will you run him over in your truck?

"better." you stop for a moment, you don't want him to think something's wrong. "how was your night?" he looks at you a little confused.

"it was fine. borin' without you. kelce asked where you went too."

"y'know i always liked kelce," you say, smiling again. you think you can get better at this.

rafe takes you out for lunch, and then you wanted to go shopping in the afternoon and get your nails done. it's a whole day, and you like spending it with him. you swallow down what your mind usually thinks and opt for being nice instead, polite questions and trepid commentary.

the waiter brings you the wrong drink—and though you're not so much of a bitch to hurl insults at teenager servers, you're normally annoyed enough to say something and get your correct drink. instead you sip it quietly, waiting for rafe to start the conversation. when you don't, he looks at you in that confused way again.

"you okay?"

"yeah. fine. you okay?"

if he thinks something's wrong, he doesn't say anything. at the mall, nothing looks how you want and even the things you like don't feel right. you'd let rafe buy you whatever you want, normally giving him a twirl in the dressing room and thanking him very sweetly.

"you want that dress?" rafe asks, his arm resting on a rack while you comb through mindlessly.

"no, it was too short."

"that's never been an issue before." ha-ha. pervert. looking up my skirt aren't you? knew you were desperately horny for me but this is down bad even for you.

"trying to dress better. and it'll be cold soon."

"hey, look at me." rafe uses his hands on your shoulders to turn you from the clothes, facing him. "you okay baby?"

fuck, you know you messed up. he only calls you that when he's being serious—the rest of the time it's princess, angel, sweetheart. all things that you are definitely not.

"i'm okay. i just don't want it. but thank you." you don't know it, but he thinks you're upset with him, spending the next hour in the nail salon racking his mind for the reason why.

your nails are fine, they look pretty enough. shorter than normal with a clean french manicure, you admire them from a distance. you suddenly feel like crying again, wondering why you didn't get the pink acrylics you like, rhinestones and bows and all the other things that were pretty to look at when you flipped people off.

in rafe's passenger seat after, you keep staring at your hands, feeling another tear slip down. rafe's not looking at you, he's looking ahead, still unsure what was going on.

"baby, if i did something you gotta tell me, i don't like seein' you like this-" when he turns his head to glance at you, you're looking back at him with your pouty face and wet cheeks—two things he's never seen before. "hey. what's wrong?"

you couldn't stop the downpour if you tried—tears falling quick and fast. you hate that anyone's seeing you like this, especially rafe.

rafe is nice to you, and you soften up around him. you didn't really realize that he softens up around you too. he wipes your tears away, keeps a hand on yours the whole time.

"can you talk to me? what's goin' on?"

"yesterday.. one of those guys said that i was a bitch-"

"which one? to your face? when? i'll fuckin' kill him-"

"no, he didn't know i was there. it's not that, i know i am. i don't care about that. he said that-" your voice cracks, something else you hate, that you don't want rafe hearing. "sorry. he said you couldn't bring me home. and that you would hate coming home to me-me being all mean. and that our kids would be mean too."

yes, you're mean. but rafe's mean too, and none of your friends have ever said anything like that about him. you like that he's mean, that he's like you—you think he's the closest thing to a soulmate you could ever find.

"don't fuckin' listen to any of them for a second, got it? they don't know anything."

"rafe, i-"

"no, seriously. they yap because i wasn't there to knock him out. and he says it when you're gone 'cause he knows you'd make him cry if you were there." you sniffle, though you already feel better.

"but i didn't. i started crying instead." you hate even thinking about it.

"s'okay, it happens. but don't believe a word of that shit. i wanna come home to you everyday. hear everything you say. i want all of it."

"really?" you ask him, wiping away your tears, appreciating the hand on your thigh and how sincerely he's looking at you. "i thought you'd be mean if i cried in front of you."

"it's hard enough to be mean to you."

"you're such a sap. should we go get ice cream and braid each others hair after this?" he laughs, and you laugh. "thanks rafey."

"no problem, kid."

"don't call me that." rafe groans, and you smile.

#bitchy reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

[barcaatthemoon]

i like the way you kiss me || alexia putellas x reader ||

alexia likes things the way they are, so you try your best to do so as well.

minors dni, 18+, smut warning

you swore that alexia was doing it all on purpose. there was never any time for you to get ready whenever she texted you that she was coming over. it wasn't like you were trying to turn your apartment into some intimate love nest, but you would have liked to have a bit more warning than what you were getting. it was almost like alexia was halfway through the parking lot when she finally decided to text you.

tonight was no different. you had just gotten back from a rather boring tinder date when she told you that she was on her way. less than five minutes later, and alexia was knocking on your front door. it was almost funny when you opened it up, alexia dressed up in a black tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants that did nothing but accentuate the dildo between her legs.

"what if i hadn't gotten back in yet?" you teased. alexia didn't say anything as she strolled right past you. you rolled your eyes as you shut the door and followed her back into your bedroom. these visits were getting quicker and quicker. it wasn't necessarily that it irked you, but you wished that alexia showed a bit more effort. however, you'd never be able to tell her that.

alexia always gave you exactly what you wanted whenever things came down to it. she kept you completely satisfied sexually. that was what this arrangement was, anyway. she wasn't there to hold your hand or kiss you in the early hours of the morning. alexia came over to fuck you, and unfortunately for your sanity, she did it perfectly.

"i saw the pictures of that guy, there's nothing he can do that i can't do better," alexia said smugly. you wanted to say something to knock her down a few pegs, but you couldn't. alexia had a point. there was nothing that a past partner had done for you that alexia hadn't done better already. you were fairly certain that there was absolutely nothing this woman couldn't do in the bedroom. she had turned you onto things that you had sworn up and down you'd never do.

you shut alexia up the only way that you could think to, by kissing her. alexia pushed forward abraisively as she backed you up until you hit the mattress. alexia broke the kiss to sit up and pull her tank top off, knowing that any protests you'd have would die right there. it was almost scary sometimes how easily alexia could just take control of you with the simplest of actions.

"that's a pretty dress. why don't you turn around for me?" alexia asked you. it was confusing sometimes how she'd ask you so sweetly to do something for her right after a show of force. you turned onto your stomach and let alexia lift your hips up into the air. you were used to being in this position, alexia loved to see you on your hands and knees.

she lifted the skirt of your dress up as she nudged your legs open. alexia licked her lips at the sight of your barely concealed pussy. she wasn't sure what she wanted to do first, so she practically dove in between your legs face first. alexia's tongue peeked out to taste you as her fingers pulled your underwear to the side.

"fuck, ale," you moaned. alexia only pushed further, this time dipping her tongue inside of you as far as she could get it. you could feel your legs shake a little as she wriggled her tongue inside of you.

"don't cum yet." alexia teased you. you could feel a bit of embarrassment at being called out, but it was quickly overshadowed by a wave of pleasure. alexia worked you up to the brink of an orgasm before she completely withdrew from you.

"alexia," you whined at the loss of contact. alexia smirked as she watched you try and push back against her only to find out that she had moved completely off of the bed. you tried to turn your body around to look at her, but that was when you felt her hands return to your body as she grabbed your hips to keep you in the position she wanted.

"no," she told you sternly. you swallowed at what you would have considered a very sexy version of her "captain" voice. it was very nearly the one that you were used to hearing on the pitch as she ordered you around, but this one had a bit of heaviness to it that came with alexia being aroused. "stay like this. if you move, i'll make sure that you don't cum for the rest of the night. i'll keep you right there on the edge until i'm done, understood?"

"yes, ale. i'm sorry." you ducked your head down in shame. alexia seemed satisfied with your apology and moved back onto the bed. this time, you could feel the head of her strap-on as it pressed against your entrance. alexia ran the tip through your folds a couple of times before she pushed it inside of you. "oh my god, alexia!"

"yeah, that's right. scream out my name while i fuck you. i don't want there to be any confusion for your neighbors. i'm the only one who fucks you this good," alexia said directly into your ear. she was leaning over your body as she said these things to you. alexia's hips moved slowly, never completely exiting you with any of her thrusts.

it wasn't until alexia was back to standing up straight that she finally pulled out completely. you were on the verge of whimpering for her to come back when you felt her slam her hips forward. she kept a strong grip on your hips as she thrust in and out of you repeatedly. each of her thrusts rocked you to your core, pushing moans and all sorts of absolutely filthy noises out of you.

"ale, can i cum? please, i want to cum," you begged. alexia didn't answer as she continued to thrust in and out of you. you tried to wait for her to give you some sort of answer, but it never came. instead, you lost your fight as waves of pleasure overcame your body. your legs gave out, but alexia didn't stop thrusting until you were practically crying for her to get off of you from the sensitivity. "are you leaving?"

"i'll see you at practice tomorrow, okay? maybe i'll come over after," alexia told you. you stared at her sadly as she grabbed her clothes to put back on. she was ready to head back out the door when she finally stopped and acknowledged you again. "don't get pouty, we'll have almost all afternoon tomorrow. you won't be able to sit when i'm done with you later."

that wasn't what you wanted to hear, but you couldn't ignore the excitement her words had coursing through your veins. alexia walked over and captured your lips in a kiss, the lingering taste of you still on her tongue. beneath that, however, was the absolutely addicting taste of alexia. that was what you wanted, to have her kissing you all night long, but like always, alexia dipped as soon as she could.

"get some sleep. i need you well rested for tomorrow," alexia told you. in some twisted way, you were pretty sure that she was trying to look out for you. however, you couldn't read into it too much or else you knew that you'd be sorely disappointed.

#minors dni #minors do not interact #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso smut #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

[fourmoony]

James and reader having a lazy weekend!! They usually have pretty active weekends due to errands and seeing friends, but this weekend has been made the LAZY WEEKEND! Lots of eepy cuddles in bed and on the couch, easy meals with yummy snacks, and movies on 24/7!! Cozy pajamas with only the softest blankets too teehee

I love this!! I need a lazy weekend with Jamie and I need it NOW! Thanks for requesting, sweetheart!!

cw: brief mention of sex, 800 words

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this level of content. It’s a peace that blankets your entire apartment, your entire body, right down to your muscles and bones. For the first time, you’re not thinking about the million errands that need to be run, the assignments that are piling high for various different classes, or birthday dinners, nights out with friends, sports games that you have to cheer at. Everything is quiet. Even the television, of which has been turned down to a significantly low volume, is quiet.

On a normal day, you’d feel like a slob. Almost an entire weekend on the couch, eating takeout and snacks, letting the dishes pile up, the washing basket overflow, and your phone go ignored would usually have your nerves on end. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when James has you tucked into his chest, a leg nestled between yours, and his hands rubbing incessant circles on the skin of your hip. You’re both lying facing the television, watching what’s probably your fifth movie of the day.

Every morsel of your being feels calm. You're grateful for your life, especially so that you get to live it with James and your friends. But there's always something happening, always some event or dinner and you really do enjoy them, enjoy spending time with the people you love, but it's nice, for once, to just be lazy. It's nice to lay on the couch and watch movie after movie and eat shitty takeout with your boyfriend.

You're sure the noise of your chaotic lives will resume first thing on Monday morning. But it's Sunday afternoon and you're floating on the high of your boyfriend's lazy touches and a weekend spent doing nothing.

"I wish we did this more often." James mumbles into your shoulder, as though he's been reading the very thoughts running through your mind.

His voice is laced with lethargy, a lazy husk that would make you kiss him silly if you weren't so comfortable. You sigh wistfully in agreement. The calm and quiet of it all is great, but even more so, you love just being close to James. You love the quality time and the lazy cuddles, the slow sex and the feeling of him constantly surrounding you. "Me too. Our lives are too hectic." You agree.

James grumbles a laugh and the feeling of his chest rumbling against your back makes you smile. "You'd rather be a social recluse?" Your boyfriend teases.

His pointer finger and thumb pinch the skin of your hip playfully. You roll your eyes at his teasing. "No," You deny, rather petulantly, "It's just... we're always doing something. I'd like a couple days a month where we can just exist. You know?"

He hums thoughtfully, thumb smoothing over his pinch mark. "I'm sure if we try we can make that happen, baby."

Your muscles protest when you turn in his grasp, chest to chest, until you're looking up into his stupidly beautiful eyes. James' eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. How bright they were, how when he smiled, they lit up like fairy lights strung across the most perfect landscape. They never fail to steal the breath from you, a melted honey-hazel colour you wish you could bottle up and sell, if only to make yourself a millionaire so you and James would never have to work, again, so you could spend all day every day snuggled on the couch, watching shitty Channel Five movies.

His eyes steal the breath from your lungs, now. James looks at you with such gentleness, such love, that your chest constricts and you feel that overwhelming, all consuming sense of love that only he has ever made you feel. "Really?" You ask, ghost of a smile on your lips.

It makes James smile wide, your evident happiness to his suggestion. He's so giving, so caring. Sometimes, the amount of love you have for him feels like it might swallow you whole, crush you into a thousand tiny pieces.

"Really. We'll find time. 'Cause it matters." His words are final.

You hum happily, push your face as far into James' sleep shirt clad chest as it will go. His arms tighten around you, warmth and the familiar scent of him encompassing your very being. Right now, this moment here, you never want to leave it.

"I love you." You tell him, and the words don't feel enough. They don't feel like justification for the way you feel about James Potter. They never will.

James' lips are soft and warm as they find the skin of your forehead, a reassuring kiss left there that you think means James gets it, and he feels the same. "To the moon and the stars."

"And all the way back?"

James huffs a laugh, arms squeezing even tighter. "And all the way back."

#marauders #james potter #fourmoonys asks #james potter fic #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #james potter x f!reader #james potter fluff #james potter angst #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #fourmoony #angst #love #fluff #smut

[nayziiz]

Empty Bed | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (her/she)

Author's note: This ended up being a lot shorter than I intended. My brain hasn't gotten over the LN4 win yet, so that's where my thoughts have been the last few days. As always, please send through your thoughts, suggestions and requests!

Masterlist

When Charles awoke to the unfamiliar silence of their bedroom, he stretched out his arm instinctively, only to find the chill of an empty space beside him. It was the first time he had woken up alone in their home; the rhythm of their lives often dictated separations due to his racing commitments or business trips to Maranello. But this time was different. She was always home when he was.

As the morning light streamed through the curtains, casting shadows across the room, Charles couldn't shake off the eerie feeling of emptiness that enveloped him. He reached for his phone, half-expecting a message, a call, anything to reassure him that she was okay. Yet, there was nothing.

The absence of her presence seemed magnified, her scent lingering faintly on the pillow next to him. It was a scent he had grown accustomed to, one that brought him comfort and warmth. But now, it only served as a painful reminder of her absence.

He tossed and turned, the sheets feeling colder than usual against his skin. The weight of her absence pressed down on him, suffocating him with a sense of loneliness he hadn't anticipated. He missed the sound of her laughter, the way she would hum softly while making breakfast, the way she would curl up next to him in bed, her head resting against his chest.

It wasn't just the physical absence that unsettled him; it was the realisation of how much he relied on her presence, her companionship, her love. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but wonder how he would get through the days ahead without her by his side.

He reached for his phone again and video called her. Charles's heart skipped a beat as her face appeared on the screen, her smile illuminating the otherwise dim room. For a moment, he simply gazed at her, soaking in the sight of her, as if to reassure himself that she was real, that she was there, albeit miles away.

“Hi, my love,” she greeted him, her voice carrying across the distance, reaching him like a lifeline. Her words washed over him, filling the empty spaces within him with a warmth he had been craving since he woke up to the emptiness of their bed.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he feared that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile connection between them. “I miss you.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with longing and yearning. He watched as her smile softened, her eyes reflecting the same longing he felt in his heart.

“I miss you too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it won't be long now. I'll be back before you know it.”

“I don’t know how you do it, baby, waking up here all by yourself,” Charles's sigh carried the weight of his emotions, mingling with the air between them like a tangible presence. He watched as her expression softened, her eyes filled with understanding.

“It's not easy,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But knowing that you're out there, doing what you love, it makes it a little bit easier. And besides, it's always worth it when you come back home to me.”

Her words wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, soothing the ache in his chest. He reached out, as if trying to bridge the physical distance between them, his fingers grazing the screen where her image flickered.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words a declaration, a promise, a lifeline in the vast expanse that separated them.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice echoing his sentiment across the miles that stretched between them.

And in that moment, as they shared those three simple words, Charles felt a warmth bloom within him, chasing away the chill of the empty bed, filling the space around him with a love that knew no bounds.

Each morning without her felt like a countdown, a reminder of the distance between them. And as the days passed, the iciness of the empty bed seemed to seep into his bones, leaving him longing for her warmth, her touch, her love. Oh, the things he wished to do to her when she came back…

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #charles x reader #leclerc #ferrari f1 #charles leclerc 16 #forza ferrari #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc smut

[adkawariatka]

So it’s a follow up of my previous post. it’s Tim perspective on how Damian changed and his reactions to them.

Tim wos tired but that’s nothing new. He should have slept at least two hours at night, but what’s done is done. He sits at the kitchen table sipping his third espresso and watching his siblings. When Bruce enters he looks at those present and seems to count. Ha that might be needed Tim thinks. After third attempt of his murder by demon brat that’s expected. Speaking of demons… Tim hasn’t seen Damian outside patrol for quite long. Not that he is complaining not having constant threat to your life around is nice but demon still should be at manor. Maybe Tim missed something when he wos looking into his case for last two weeks…

-Does someone saw Damian in manor lately?

When no one answers the question Tim sits straighter. That’s bad news really bad news.

-he wos at patrol tonight but outside from that no.

Dick answers. Well it’s Sunday at 10:00 in the morning. It’s not impossible for Damian to go out but where? It’s not as he has any friends. Tim snorts to his thoughts. He imagined demon brat talking to other kids „incompetent idiots that’s not how you hold katana!!!”. So no he doubts that possibility. He can see Bruce’s jaw tighten in worry. Ok so they need to find the brat. Before they can get serious about any action they hear front doors open and Alfred greetings

-Good morning Master Damian

And the demon enters kitchen as if nothing wos wrong. As if going out of manor as 10 year old alone wos acceptable. He greets father then Dick and to his suprise him also. And tries to go to the living room but Bruce stops him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

- where were you?

Tim winces it sounds more as a growl than a perfectly civilized question. Bruce parenting skills are shit as always. He knows that it’s out of worry but still….

-I wos on a walk

Damian is perfectly calm. That’s good. Tim is too tired for furious demon right now.

- who give you permission to go out without supervision?

And Damian watches him carefully. Tim can see him taking slow deep breaths. Huh, weird.

-you told me to make friends so I am working on it.

Tim almost spits his coffee. Working on making friends!? He hopes that any children that Damian chased with his katana are unharmed.

- you shouldn’t go out without anyone knowing where you are going. You need permission

-I am not a kid I can take care of myself!

There is the demon that Tim knows.

-it’s not a matter of being a kid or not. I need to know where you are as your guardian I am responsible for your safety

-tyt it’s pretty clear that I can protect myself

-but in this family you don’t need to. We have different rules.

And Tim saw something that he never saw before. Damian hestitated. Took a deep breath and asked like a civilized human being without anger or insults

- then if I inform you where I am going and when I will be back I can go?

Tim can’t believe it. Demon brat is… talking. With words like normal human being. Tim checks his coffee. He really needs to sleep more. Halucinations are bad sign.

-

But sleeping didn’t change the fact that Damian acted weird. After school and patrols he disappeared for „walks”. Tim knew something wos going on. But Bruce let it go. Damian started to inform him where he went and for how long and it actually checked. Dick even checked his location and everything lined up. But that wosnt the end of strange behaviors from Damian. The demon brat often glanced at Tim when they were in the same room. Not stared but glanced trying to be subtle. Well like for assassin training he wosnt so stealthy as he probably thought. Tim expected another attack soon. He started to carry battarangs with him around the house. when he started doing that and Damian caught on he did even weirder shit.

Imagine one evening when they were all in the living room and Damian enters. Of course with his katana that he keeps with himself at all times in the manor becouse Bruce forbidden him outside of hause and procedes to lock eyes with Tim and leaves his weapon near the door. Tim is staring at Damian as if he grew second head and he isn’t the only one.

From that time whenever Damian is in the same room as Tim he leaves his katana close to the door. Tim smells a trap. Whatever the brat is doing it can’t be good. Even if that gesture is kind of reassuring…. Tim is no fool. He will not be swayed by nice words or acknowledgment of his work or even leaving weapons outside of range of Damian’s hand.

One day after patrol, when Tim started to get ready for going to his room. To work of course, becouse the sharp eyes of Alfred didn’t leave him for a moment and distracted him from his case. He realised he is not alone. Damian followed him like shadow. Tim didn’t speed up his walking to not let the demon realize that he knew about his presence. Slowly he closed fingers around his batarang to make sure he will par first blow of katana. They were before Tim’s room when Damian started to speak

- Drake can we talk?

That sounded off. Damian didn’t talk he stabbed. More often Tim than anything else. But he sounded hestitant…. Well he has a weapon and when they enter his room they will be on his ground. He will know environment and hidden weapons there. He will have huge adventage when the fight will barek out.

-Sure why not

Tim let’s them in. He allows Damian to enter first. That way he has his back to Tim it’s safer that way. When the door closes Damian turns around Tim grips batarang in his pocked and waits for the start…. And nothing. Damian stands in the middle of his room locks his eyes with Tim’s and glances at his hand in his pocked. In the well lighted room it’s no mistakening that shape for anything different than a weapon. And then his guest procedes to holds his hands up palms to Tim in universal sign of no violence. Tim is dumbfounded. Damian clears his throat and starts:

- Drake I have been doing some reaserch… and it turned out I wos…. Misinformed. My past actions towards you were caused by my lack of knowledge and I shouldn’t have attacked you. I will not repeat that mistake again. I mean no harm to you…. Anymore

- What? Misinformed?! You stabbed me! Multiple times!

- I am aware Drake And I…

- no if you think that I will buy this story then You are delusional and

- I am sorry Timothy!

Damian cut him off. And Tim shut his mouth and looked at Damian. Really looked. He wos fidgeting and he actually flinched when he raised his voice. He stared at the floor and squized his hand so hard that it must have hurt. Tim stared in shock.

- Holy shit you are serious

Damian raised his gaze at Tim. And nodded. For once he looked as 10 year old boy. God Tim wos a dumbass. Damian WOS 10 years old. And lately he tried to be non-threatening towards Tim. Every weird action linked into a pretty clear picture. it looks like Damian finally realized his actions were wrong and came to Tim…. And Tim shouted at him.

- I ok let’s make things clear you realized you were wrong after what 8 months of leaving under one roof together? And…

Damian started to shrink in on himself and Tim stopped himself shit he wos doing it wrong. He crouched to be at Damian’s eye level and started again.

- No sorry first things first thank you for telling me. I appreciate the gesture. And lack of weapons for last month… It’s good to know you won’t try to kill me anymore. I don’t think I can just forget of what you did but… we can try to work it out. What do you say?

-that sounds reasonable Timothy.

Wow its so weird to agree with the brat… no Damian. Wait did he call him by his name!? While Tim wos trying to organize his thoughts Damian murmured something that caught his attention, that probably wosnt for Tim to hear.

-he wos right…

- It wos draining patrol I won’t take more of your time Drake. Good night

-who wos right?

Tim wosnt going to let that go. Someone talked Damian into doing this and he needs to know who. Dick wos unsuccessful in teaching Damian in basic human interactions. So must be someone outside. Bruce is too much emotionally conspirated, maybe Alfred. If yes then there is no reason to worry. But someone from outside could have hidden goals. It wos dangerous. Damian seemed suprised by his question but did not hestitate.

- My friend

And wosnt that a mistery. Tim needed to check that „friend” no matter what. He could be using Damian or plotting to hurt Wayne’s. But he wosnt going to let his suspicion break just created string of trust with his younger brother. He will check that stranger on his own in a way that Damian won’t realize. For know that wos enough. Damian wos opening the doors to go to his room when Tim added

- what happend to Timothy?

Damian slammed the door in his face. And Tim burst out laughing. He wos not going to let that go.

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #league of assassins #siblings #family bonding #trust #trust issues #danny phantom #danny fenton

[undercoverpena]

12. stormy sky

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter twelve of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.6k chapter warnings: anxious!reader. allusions to bad mental health day/sadness. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is dedicated to all those who sometimes just need a day, a hug and a love. i see you, and i love you (notes at the bottom).

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It wasn’t often you felt the storm coming before it arrived.

At times, it was kind enough to make itself more obviously known than on other occasions. Sometimes, it just happened, almost beyond your control—a feeling that wells up inside, leaving you in a funk for a day or two.

An unexplainable force that commands you to smile outwardly but crumble inwardly.

Then, you rise again the next morning, or in a few, completely anew—like nothing had ever happened.

Occasionally, it rides in on unexplainable sadness that follows you like a rain cloud, spreading out into swelling grief that chokes you from the inside out. Other times, it would be a headache that bloomed behind your eyes into something uncontrollable, unmanageable, that only settled with bedsheets and darkness.

As soon as the email appeared in your inbox, you felt the latter. It throbbing, pulsing—beginning somewhere between your second to final nerve.

Things shifting; a wave forming. One which rose inside of you when you weren’t aligning with the person you were working with. It growing. Swelling. Expanding inside of you to the point you were sure it was going to dislodge bone and deform you forever. The words on the screen slowly blur, barely discernible as sentences and not just another paragraph of failure.

You knew this could happen. From time to time creative visions weren't always going to align. A thing you reminded yourself of regularly, routinely. Telling yourself it in the shower, mirror or as you make your third coffee past midnight.

It never does lessen the sting, though.

Just like now, when your hand can't seem to stop slamming the lid of your laptop shut, or when you find yourself nervously nursing your lower lip between your teeth, a bubbling sensation begins within. Your mind fractures, allowing a flood of negative thoughts to pour forth, corroding, spewing and slathering itself over everything good.

You clutch at your phone, feeling the rubber of your case. Not even thinking; not even checking the time—just calling.

And hoping.

Waiting.

As soon as you hear his sunshine-like voice say your name and 'Are you okay?' (practically spoken as one word), you feel yourself take a breath.

Becoming aware, only then, of how damp your cheeks are, that your hand is shaking as he repeats the question, more gently, less dunked in worry.

Surprisingly, it feels easy to say no. To unravel silently to him as he asks you a question you rarely have been asked: 'Do you want to talk about it or something different?'

It’s small, a simple thing. But your heart swells. Your shoulders unlodge themselves from your ears and your spine softens, making the choice, all with far too much ease. Taking in the sound of his voice as he clears it, you hear him ask lowly and gruffly if you're comfortable before he begins explaining how he has a non-permanent tattoo of a creature on his arm.

Not a dinosaur, Rainy. Not even something born or created from Jurassic Park—and how he was worried that due to its placement, people would think Harold’s had become rougher, more dangerous business.

“Dangerous?”

You swear you hear him shrug. “People might see me, all tattooed up and think the worst of the place.”

Giggling, your fingers massage your head. “Where is it?”

“Guess.”

For a brief moment, like when light shines from behind the clouds, you grin. Guessing, naming body parts you know it couldn’t be, but only to hear his laugh—bathe in the joy that he can only summon, rinse your woes in it in the hope tomorrow you wake lighter.

“Ass.”

“They’d definitely think Harold’s had fucking changed if my ass is out baby.”

Smirking, climbing into bed (his advice, one you happily took). “I think I’d visit more. It’s peachy.”

Peachy he scoffs, but you swear he’s grinning. Adjusting the t-shirt as you lie down—one of his, stolen (with permission) from the drawer you’d made for him, taking in the scent of him, all musk, wood and man as you welded it with the voice as you discover it’s on his cheek.

“How are you going to explain that one?”

His laugh flows down the phone, meeting your ear as you lean against your pillows, trying (with all that you have) to almost convince yourself that he was here—and not streets and streets away.

Morning, guess what doesn’t come off with soap and a scrub? A monster.

Hope you slept okay, baby. Can bring a coffee round on my break. Can even see if I can sweet-talk a larger one for you. Put it in a flask.

Rainy, you awake?

Baby I don’t mean to worry, I bet you’re fine, just busy caught up in doing work, but just let me know you’re okay.

I have the spare key still from that delivery. If you don’t want to see me, tell me.

You’re not sure of the time—drifting on wood out at the sea of your own making. Having done so for a while.

Distantly aware of the passing of time. That it was no longer 3 am, which had been the last time you'd last checked the time. The sun is far too bright through your curtains; desperate to claw its fingers in and yank you from your sheets.

It doesn't, can't.

Instead, you're floating; lost somewhere between awake and asleep—only being disturbed, rocked from it, at the sound of your front door opening. The stiffness of the door, the squeak of a floorboard. All things which should fill you with alarm, but barely make your head move.

Because it's thumping.

Pounding.

Too much stuffed in there to do anything but lie there. Split at the seams, the rest of you shaken like a snow globe.

It crosses your mind—briefly—that if they were here to rob you, they’d find very little to take. If they were here for you, they were most definitely mistaken. Your eyes struggle to stay open, even if your ears are tuning, trying to twist to each noise, only relaxing when you hear the intruder mutter fuck.

Because you know that fuck. Know the exact voice as though it lives in your head with the one that wouldn't quiet at 3 am.

For the most part, you have to admit Frankie is quiet. A skill he likely gained from his former life, the one where it was a necessity. He just didn’t know your home. You only being able to tell he’s here from the little things, like that he’s not completely aware your front door gets a little stuck when it’s really warm and that some floorboards are looser than others.

In the same way, he doesn’t know that if you open your partially shut bedroom door slowly, it groans like it’s being personally offended—

“Mierda.”

You’re sure you croak a Hi Frankie.

You think it anyway; wanting to give an invitation to come closer, to move further in as your eyes try to focus on the money tree named Moana. With each blink, the leaves slowly come into focus as you begin to adapt to the brightness cast in by, what you now assume must be the afternoon. Blinking when you see him crouch down, all soft curls and silky brown eyes.

“You worried me.”

Swallowing, struggling to shove the dryness back, you clear your throat. “Headache.”

He’s gentle, slowly placing his palm on the side of your head, thumb brushing over the skin above your brow as he shifts in his crouched position. “Worse than that time you told me about?”

“About the same.”

It’s quiet, the way he answers with okay. Thumb doing a final swipe before you hear a pop of his knee as he stands, a mumble of Be right back, baby before the floorboards creek and you can hear him opening and closing cupboards in your kitchen. With a sigh, you close your eyes briefly, being roused by a gentle breeze caressing your cheek to find he'd returned, a glass of water in one hand and a crinkling packet in the other.

“Do you want to get in?”

“Sure,” he says, in the familiar deep voice—as you shuffle with ease.

Not daring to lift your head, to move too quickly or violently. The mattress dips as the bed groans when he throws his feet up, sliding into the warmth you’ve been creating for hours, finding his eyes—how that worry is still there. It swirling, likely mixing with the gold flecks and deep browns you admire every chance you can get.

You worry you've spoiled them, tainted them. Made them swirl with sadness caused by worry. And the thought makes your insides hum, as though someone has plucked all your strings. The twang of it trying to mix with the other emotions you don't feel equipped to unpiece.

“I’m s—”

“Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, firmly. Not accompanied by any smile.

A thing you know he means when he asks you, voice wrapped in satin, if you can take a sip for him. His arm slides around you, trying to pull you close as you do more than that, but rather consume, drain, and finish the glass.

When you hand it back, you think about the fact that a you with your head not coming apart might have teased him, might even throw your leg over his and asked him if he thinks sex gets rid of migraines like it does headaches. But, the words catch, stick and clag to the roof of your mouth.

Something rising, the emotions you’d shoved down trying to weave up. Climb. Stick their spikes into your oesophagus and crawl out your mouth. That is, until his palm spreads out, the width of his fingers sliding further up and along your spine. The act aiding you, guiding you to take a measured breath. One that stammers, hammers. One that floods inside of your chest, rising and rising like it wishes to crash against a beach and take everything to shore—

But, then it eases, calms.

All being gobbled back up, calmer waves lapping as you shift, seeing him lit by muffled, golden yellow. Listening to his heart, the breaths he takes as you try to follow them—even the scratching of his beard as he tucks himself closer and asks nothing, except silently, to be here.

Eventually, when you stop counting seconds, the quiet is broken—not rudely, or unnecessarily, but just with: “What can I do?”

“You’ve done it.”

Turning to see him—to find the gaze you know will already be on you. To look at the face you think of and have truthfully only wanted to see, there. You begin to explain, letting it all unravel, it unspooling from your tongue. Maybe sharing too much, like that no one you’ve dated has shown up like this before, and that you don’t ever expect him to do it again.

Shifting closer, as you continue talking, eyes closed to not aggravate what is trying to lessen, as you add extra context, sharing what happens, that you’re okay—but that sometimes you’re not. Statements, mainly. Likely broken sentences you somehow mash into paragraphs. Filling in the gaps, from the last weeks to now, to the email and then the call. How it happened—

“Maybe it’s because I’m happy.”

“Hmm?”

Shrugging gently against him, your chest fills with air before you exhale it in one long drag through your nose. “Maybe because I’m happy, my work isn’t that good.”

“Maybe.” His fingers find your chin, turning your eyes to his. “Or maybe he’s got very high expectations and the two of you just aren’t a good fit.”

Chewing your lip, you lower your gaze. “Yeah, maybe.” Unconsciously turning into the palm resting on your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as you dare yourself to find his eyes. “I really hate people sometimes.”

Snorting, you feel his lips press to your forehead. “Let me tell you about this fucking asshole who tried to tell me the white paint he was buying wasn’t white.”

You press yourself closer to him ready to listen, hand sliding across his middle as you grasp more of his shirt, finding the smallest smile trying to crack through.

The next time you wake it’s to the smell of breakfast.

There's humming too, occasional words floating from the kitchen through the open door of your bedroom.

A coy smile already tugging across your cheek, the storm having waned, moved to the distance. But still, you test to see if it's safe as you lift from the pillows—sleep rubbed from your eyes as you spot the crumpled side of the bed. See the empty glass you’d drank before he held you, the jacket he’d been wearing when he’d showed up impromptu folded on the floor near the dresser.

Then, the grossness hits. The awareness that your skin feels claggy and awful, shuffling your feet from the bed, all the way to your bathroom.

His t-shirt peels from you with reluctance. The sadness eventually glides down the drain as the water falls down your skin—stepping out feeling refreshed.

Smiling as you head down the hallway, not forcing a smile as you slide your hands around his waist, fingers moving under the band of his tee, as they stroke over soft, warm skin and the dark hairs that swirl across his middle.

“Thank you,” you say, the words so large you hope they land with the weight you intend them to.

He turns and kisses you, whispering a don't against your minty mouth. Hovering for a moment there, before his mouth finds you again, more hungry, more laced with words as he presses you against the counter. Nowhere to go as he tilts your chin up. “You're worth showing up for, Rainy.”

You swear your heart triples in size as you bury your face in his tee and grin something stupid against him as he continues to sing whatever is playing out loud on his phone.

Do we need to go furniture shopping before or after you put the shelving in?

Probably before in case we need to order things. How’s your mini project coming along?

Well, I followed this tutorial by this very handsome man, and it seems easy to do, but my kitchen shelf isn’t straight.

Did you follow all of the instructions?

Now why would you assume I didn’t?

Because it sounds like you didn’t make sure it was level, baby.

Rude.

But did you?

I may have assumed that my eyesight was good.

How many holes do I need to fill in?

Oh, just the one.

In the wall.

Oh. Eight.

Since the moment he picked you up, you've been buzzing with excitement, just as you have been all week since he told you where he was taking you.

A skip in your step when you locked your door, the sun warming your skin in the short walk to the door he'd opened for you. Remembering how he teased you on the phone last night—you made a Pinterest board of what it could look like?—as you sat cross-legged on the couch, listening to him, shaking your head at the camera.

He handed you the coffee—brewed and made by him—only when you were seated. Another thing you were also sure had added to the swirling excitement in your stomach.

The drive, thankfully, hadn't been long. Undoing your belt when he kills the engine, his palm pressing down on your knee.

“No plants.”

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

Leaning across the centre of his vehicle, he pulls your lips to his. “A very polite ask.”

“You don’t fancy your own Benedict or Henry?”

The tip of his nose touching yours, “I really don’t.”

You suggested other names as the two of you walked to the store's entrance, hand slotting inside his. Only silencing from your torment when your footsteps echoed softly against the glossy tile floors—blending with the rumbles of distant, murmured conversations, phone rings and furniture being rearranged.

Suddenly, the two of you were enveloped in the scents of polished wood and fresh upholstery, a scent you’re sure you used to like, but now really freaking loved.

Because this place is nice. The soft glow of overhead lights bathed the showroom in a warm, inviting ambience—casting a gentle spotlight on each carefully curated display. It was a scene straight out of a home decor magazine—every homeowner's dream.

"C'mon, Rainy," he coos, guiding.

Adding a soft this way from the back of his throat, becoming aware of his fingers brushing over the back of your jeans—along the pockets, along the expanse of your ass as you eye him, finding that same shy smirk that could explode into something more devilishly and ridiculously hard to resist.

A thing he already is without trying.

A thing which worsens when his arm comes around and keeps your side flush to his as the two of you make the way to the rows and rows of desks.

It makes sense to begin here.

To choose the ‘centrepiece’ of the room—as Frankie had explained on the drive—because everything has to fit around it. A thing you’d teased that you thought he was good at making things fit. To which he’d, playfully, replied that he was good, but he wasn’t fit-a-desk-and-a-dresser-an-armchair-and-shelving-good. A thing you'd promptly argued.

Stepping from his side, fingers brushing over the top of one, you glance over at them all. How they’re all vying for your attention, each with a unique allure. From sleek modern to rustic wood.

Catching Frankie's eye and with a mischievous grin, you take a seat behind one of the desks.

“Frank DIY’s office, how I can hammer you a good time today?” you say into the faux telephone, “Oh, I am sure Mr Morales would be able to… bend over and get himself in—I mean, you in.”

Frankie shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as you get up and sit behind another, typing on the desk as a keyboard, pretending to stare at the unplugged monitor that had no computer with it. Then moving to another, one with a desk mat and no other items than a plant that looks chewed by tiny teeth, before pulling yourself on the wheels behind one with drawers and a keyboard but nil else.

“Oh, hello sir. Your 2 o’clock is here.”

“Is that right?” he asks, folding his arms. “What am I doing for this appointment?”

Smirking, fingers poised over the keys. “They wish to know how to check if a desk is stable. For two people.”

You hear him take in a breath. Lips threatening to spread into a smirk before he clears his throat. “To work at?”

Shaking your head, you grin.

“I’ll have to call my assistant in. She’s a handful, bad with drilling, but, she can help me.”

Laughing, almost hiccuping from it, he stares down at you—palms still very flat against the desk—as it fades and spreads into a smile that hurts your cheeks. “There it is.”

“There’s what?”

“My smile.”

Eyes widening, you snort. “Your smile?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Mine.”

Rolling your lips, standing from the wheely chair, you raise your brows. Moving around the edge, fingers dancing along the wood until you’re standing perfectly in front of him—eyeing him, as always unable to take your eyes from him.

“I think I like this one,” you add, running the tips of your fingers over the smooth surface of the desk. “There’s no price though—or sizing.”

Frankie glances at it, eyes flicking from each of the sides as he likely does math gymnastics. “You’ll have a lot of space for your dresser—the butterscotch one.”

“You just know that do you?”

“Grab a measuring tape and I’ll confirm it,” he grins.

Hand on hip, you arch a brow as Frankie's laughter fills the air, but you can see it in his eyes, the challenge.

“Get it yourself, Morales.”

Pinching your ass, he walks around it. “I’ll remember that.”

Shaking your head, he snaps a photo of the desk—staring at his screen to check it before locking it. His hand offered to you.

“Chairs?”

Leaning close, voice dropping, you—all velvet-like— whisper, “Your face not on offer when I’m working?”

Pink spreads up his neck, tongue clicking against his teeth, he smiles. Grins. His fingers tighten around yours as you’re sure his eyes actually sparkle. “From the way you weren’t able to form sentences last time, not sure you’d get much work done.”

The chairs, for how colourful and varying they were, felt less fun than desk shopping. Most of them were out of reach, high up on shelves—having to assess whether they were as comfortable as they looked or if it was a lie. A game that got less and less fun the more you trailed.

Frankie, likely guessing your joy was wavering, grabbed a basket at some point—allowing you to peruse the mini plant aisles and other decorative things. For your shelves, he said, for the shelves, you replied, grinning, even as you grabbed a particularly wiry cactus you named Cisco.

“You think you’ve got at least one of everything in here?”

Fake laughing, your elbow confidently finds his side—hearing a gruff huff from him. “Almost. I just need—”

Eyes spotting it, body moving all of its own accord as though the required item had been lit under a spotlight and heaven-like noises had begun playing. Fingers gliding over each, brushing over fleece fluff that left marks of your touch, to more knitted, firmer types, too many choices all to be shared at, contemplated.

You feel it before you see it. Pain flaring from your side as your head whips—meeting the disgruntled face of another shopper, the end of their cart still firmly against your side as though somehow, you were the one who was required to move. Even after he’d practically rammed the cart into you.

“Hey man, watch it,” Frankie says, arm sliding around you, pulling you close.

The smallest of gaps made, created, between yourself and the offending cart. The pain throbbing, the embarrassment simmering, as you fight rubbing the impacted sight as it continued to pound, hearing:

And maybe, if you had looked across, you would have seen the man scoff—observed the expression that made Frankie tense even more protectively next to you You would have noticed why his usually soft smile shifted into a thin line as a storm brewed inside of him before you heard:

“She's the one in the way.”

An adult-like response if you've ever heard one. A thing you shake your head at, but reach your hand up to touch Frankie's chest, tapping lightly as you watch him visibly swallow whatever had been about to come out of his mouth. Instead, he mutters a few choice curses under his breath, shooting a silent but determined look to the person as they mumbled the most pathetic apology known.

But, you didn’t, don’t.

Because, if you had, you'd have missed the way it all vanished when his eyes met yours. How it was erased, wiped all clean. Every affliction on his face, from the hardened eyes to the twitch of his nose, slipped away back to its recess.

“You alright, baby?”

Not one blame placed on you; not even a thought to do so, as his knuckles brush your cheek.

“I’m fine, Butterscotch. It's nice to meet protective you, though.” His eyes shifting from you quickly, the deepest of reds flooding his ears, you flatten your hand to his chest. “I appreciate it.”

Meeting your stare, he swallows. “You sure you're okay?”

Biting the inside of your cheek when his palm, warm and spreading heat, begins stroking over the offended area, you nod. Grinning.

Because if anything, you're pretty sure you might be in love with him.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

notes: i've drip fed rainy's difficult client for a few chapters now, as well as her little wobbles with anxiety. i know this isn't everyone's experience, but i think we can all relate to those days when getting out of bed just feels hard. i hope you're all okay, and just know i'm always here. no one is ever alone when the grey clouds are overhead, even if they clouds hope to make us feel that way. ily all, jo.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

[grandline-fics]

Hi! Liquid Courage introduced me to your work and I love the way you write so I thought I should trust you with a request of mine:)

Law x reader; in one point in time one of them subtly confessed but the feeling seemed to be unrequited They both are pining for each other, both have a sweet spot for each other and a connection beyond friendship but both just turn a blind eye to it/not think too much about it. One night after drinking a bit much Law(or reader) starts getting a little touchy but not in a sexual way. (ex. they are sitting next to each other and he slowly hooks his pinky with hers) The touches convey untold truths that are still felt the next morning. After that the touches and the longing stares continue until one of them breakes by the intensity of the moment and decide to confront the other.

I will leave the fate (and the nature) of said moment up to you. Thank you in advance for considering it! Cant wait to read more of your work<3

ps if it helps you in any way in my mind this is kinda angsty. I love angst+possessiveness but I don’t mind how it will come out for you! Really I don’t t mind if you switch up the whole scenario… whatever works for you

If you’re inspired by music, these two play in my mind: All i need- Radiohead + Just pretend- Bad Omens

DESCRIPTION: You’re both silently in love and finally decide to confront your feelings

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption, brief angst at fear of unrequited feelings, mostly fluff

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,591

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I hope I was able to create something that matched what you were looking for and that it's to your liking.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

From the day you joined the crew Law knew you were someone different. You had a presence he relaxed around a lot faster than others he’d encountered in his travels. You managed to gain his trust and proved yourself a capable and crucial member of the team and situated into the crew to the point no one could really remember a time before you. It felt effortless to be around you and Law counted you amongst one of his most trusted and closest friends. And for the longest time friends was all he considered you to be. Whether through a mix of sheer obliviousness and professional refusal to indulge his feelings any further than that. The line was clearly established that you two were just friends. 

However the heart wants what it wants and emotion is very separate to logic. Despite you both maintaining a friendship as deep as they came, your bodies still sought each other out. When it came to chores you were always close by. If not side by side you where always in the same room. When he was working on medical tasks you were his second, working in silent tandem with your own set rhythm that no others could match if they tried. While it annoyed the crew to no end why nothing deeper ever happened between you both, they decided to say nothing out of fear that if they did point out the obvious connection then that flow and peace between you both would shatter and be destroyed. 

One evening the entire crew were in the communal area celebrating Bepo’s birthday with a lot of drink and laughter. You called it quits after a round of a drinking game was finished and moved cautiously to the closest sofa for safety, knowing that you were less than graceful when you’d been drinking and the last thing you wanted was to injure yourself and disrupt the festivities. Law smiled down at you as you slumped into the space beside him, resting your head lazily on his shoulder. While he hadn’t been actively playing with the game he had been steadily drinking and was at the same level you were. “Sure you didn’t want to play to the end?” He asked curiously.

“Nah, another round and I’d have been passed out.” You mumbled, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. A slow content smile spreading across your lips when Law also moved to accommodate you, his hand curving around your waist so you slotted better against him. Neither of you paying much mind to the position from both the alcohol in your systems and the natural feeling that overcame you both to be seated like this. As you both continued to watch and laugh at the antics of the crew who were still conscious and playing their game, your hand rested over his, your fingers absently looping around his. 

Occasionally through the remainder of the night Law would subconsciously play with your fingers that were looped through his, he only became aware that he was doing it when it was finally time to go to bed. When your hands parted and you reluctantly shifted your weight off of him to stand you both became acutely aware of the lingering sensation of each other’s warmth and touch still clinging to your skin. The walk to your own room was a hazy blink but as you settled into your bed, you couldn’t help but touch your hand, doing all you could to memorise the feeling of his touch as you fell asleep. 

The next morning you woke feeling a strange kind of weight on your shoulders and mind that had nothing to do with all that you’d drank the previous night. It was a good thing you knew your limits with alcohol so you could wake relatively hangover free, still a little stiff and dehydrated but nothing that would leave you bedridden all day. No this feeling was the awareness of how you felt with Law and being in his presence brought you. The more you thought about it the more you saw that you’d felt this way for the longest time, you just hadn’t truly brought it to the forefront of your attention before. 

You got out of bed and readied yourself for a new day, grateful that it would be a day of minimal tasks and filled with a lot of free time given how heavily the crew had been drinking for Bepo’s

birthday which meant you had the time to organise your feelings and adequately deal with things between you and your Captain. You were also grateful that the abundance of hungover crew meant you would have extra privacy in case things weren’t resolved amicably. You walked down the corridor and stopped outside of Law’s office. Regardless of the previous night’s party he was always here first thing in the morning without fail. As always you knocked once out of courtesy and entered, closing the door firmly behind you. When you met his gaze you felt yourself freeze. You could see the realisation and hesitation you were feeling mirrored in his eyes. As comforting as that should have been you still couldn’t bring yourself to move closer or speak. 

“About last night.” “We should talk.” You both spoke in unison, a hurried mess coming from both of your mouths as opposed to your usual calm and relaxed way of speaking around the other. You fidgeted where you stood and gestured for him to speak first while clearing your throat. Law watched you carefully and let out a long sigh, noting how tense you stood and how you kept looking into his eyes and dropping your gaze again only to repeat the action less than a second later. Were you only trying to maintain eye-contact with him out of respect but failed to do so because of shame? Was it regret? He knew how he felt but the last thing he wanted was to force something on you. “Last night I overstepped the mark. Yes we’d been drinking but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh…” You were taken by surprise by his somewhat stilted declaration. Had you misread things? You hadn’t thought so. Now you were even more confused and found disappointment spinning in your stomach, the feeling only furthering your awareness that you had genuine feelings for Law. You weren’t known to be insubordinate but today you felt like pushing things because his statement truly didn’t seem like the man you thought you knew. “Captain, you held my hand and I returned the gesture. That’s not overstepping the mark. That’s barely walking in the mark’s direction… Do you regret doing it?” As you spoke you couldn’t help but run your thumb over your fingers that had been in his hold mere hours ago. “Because I don’t.”

“Regardless…It’s unwise to further this topic.” Law tried to sound firm but he was honestly thrown, he hadn’t been expecting you to feel the same as he did but he’d spent all last night and this morning trying to convince himself his feelings were one-sided and that it was fine that way because he shouldn’t pursue a relationship with a member of his crew. He wasn’t one to get his hopes up and at the same time he was also one to deny himself of something that made him happy to prevent the pain of losing it in the future. “We would be better to leave things as they are before they escalate.”

“Does that mean you want things to escalate?” You asked coyly finally taking a step towards the desk he sat at. 

“It wouldn’t be right for me to start something with my subordinate.” Law offered the argument, not able to give much weight to his words as he openly watched you approach, giving no inclination for you to stop or to leave. You both knew that had he wanted you out of his presence he would have either ordered you away or used his Devil Fruit to accomplish the task himself. 

“Captain, we’re pirates. What’s right and wrong and rules don’t exactly apply to us. Do they?” You asked simply, keeping the desk separating you both to allow him his personal space as you smiled at him. “All that matters is what we want. I’ve been honest, will you be honest with me, Captain?”  

Law stood and braced his hands on the desk, beginning to close the distance between you both. You’d made convincing points and deep down he hadn’t wanted to find a way to argue against them, not when it came to you and the feelings he’d finally accepted to himself that had been there for a very long time. “Are you sure about this?” He asked, offering you one final chance to take it back because he knew once this started he wasn’t going to let you go. Your answer was a simple one, you leant in with a smile and curled your fingers around his that were braced against the surface of the desk. The wordless but deep connection you had with each other was reestablished and cemented even further as you leant in, able to share a soft and tender kiss with your Captain. However the moment couldn’t be savoured for long because within seconds the chorus of calls echoed through the Polar Tang as the rest of the crew had awoken and were suffering their hangovers and calling for their Captain to help them cure it.

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece x you #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece scenario #one piece imagines #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law #one piece law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x you #law x you #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar op #law one piece

[daisyblog]

New Friend

Unexpected Love Masterlist Summary: Harry meets Jacob.

YN could feel the nerves start to creep in as the time for Harry to arrive approached. Deep down she knew she had nothing to worry about, but that niggling thought at the back of her mind pushed forward reminding her that if Jacob didn’t like Harry or if things didn’t go to plan then she would have to end their relationship.

Jacob had been excited all morning, wanting to know when Harry would be arriving and if they could bake something for him. They had spent a couple of hours baking brownies, Jacob insisting that Harry would love them “because everyone loves brownies”.

After spending the morning tidying and baking, Jacob suggested going to the shop to get some snacks for their movie night. As they walked around the store, YN couldn’t help but laugh at how Jacob continue to pick up different types of treats and saying “Just incase Harry likes these”.

As YN watches Jacob playing with his Lego in the lounge area, she thinks back to a few days ago when she sat down with him and asked if he’d like to meet Harry.

---

YN had already asked Jack if he was happy for Jacob to meet Harry, he screamed with excitement knowing YN would never introduce someone into Jacob’s life unless she was serious about them.

Jacob was cuddled up to her on the sofa, they were watching Toy Story, one of his favourites. “Hey Jakey…can I ask you something?”. YN ran her fingers through his hair, knowing it was something that helped him relax.

“Yeah”. His eyes didn’t leave the screen as they focused on Woody and Buzz.

“Uh…Mummy has a new friend-“. YN began, trying to explain in simple way.

“A new friend?”. Jacob’s voice was curious but his eyes only left the screen for a few seconds.

YN nodded. “Yeah…and I like my new friend a lot…and I was wondering if you would like to meet him?”.

Jacob was still distracted by the scene on the tv. “Yeah…will he be my friend too?”.

“Well not straight away but once you get to know him I’m sure he’ll be your friend too”. YN smiled at how innocent he was despite his mature social skills.

“What’s his name?”. Jacob continued to ask questions.

“Harry”. YN felt herself smile as she said his name. “Is there anything else you want to ask Mummy about him?”.

Jacob sat in thought as he tried to think of another question, but he quickly shook his head and continued watching the film.

---

Jacob was watching Manchester United play as YN began clock watching knowing that Harry would be arriving any minute. She got lost in the excitement of Jacob cheering on his favourite team, when the doorbell rang.

YN quietly walked to answer the door, knowing Harry was the one standing behind it. “Hi”. She smiled widely as she stepped aside for Harry to walk in.

“Hi…you look beautiful”. Harry complimented YN with a quick peck on the lips, whilst they were alone.

The blush crept onto her cheeks. “Aw tha-“.

“YEEEEESSSSSS!”. Jacob’s voice shouted from the next room, causing Harry to have an amused grin and YN to laugh knowing someone must have scored.

“Sorry!”. YN let out a laugh. “Jacob is watching football and I’m guessing someone’s scored”.

Harry held his hands up in defence. “Hey…that’s a boy after my own heart”.

“He’s a Manchester United fan”. YN explained knowing how much Jacob loved football.

Harry smirked as they both still stood in the hallway. “What a coincidence, so am I”.

Harry followed YN through to the lounge and he could see Jacob sat on the edge of the sofa, his eyes focused intensely on the game. “Hey Jakey”. YN tried to get his attention.

“Mummy they scored!”. Jacob announced as he heard his mother enter the room. Excitement clear in his voice.

“Wow that’s amazing!”. YN shared the excitement despite not knowing much about football. “I said you were their lucky charm”. Jacob gave YN a toothy grin.

“I think we going to win”. Jacob looked behind YN to where Harry was standing. He looked to YN with a shy smile.

“Jacob, this is Harry”. YN explained to the little boy before she continued. “Do you want to say hello?”.

“Hello”. His voice was quiet as he looked at Harry with a shy expression.

“Hi Jacob…thank you for letting me join you and Mummy for some dinner”. Harry knew this was a huge deal for him but an even bigger one for Jacob.

“Guess what Jakey”. YN knew she had his attention from the way his eyes lit up when he heard the word guess. “Harry loves Manchester United too!”.

Jacob’s little eyes widened as far as they could. “Really?”. He couldn’t believe it, when Harry nodded with a big smile. “My Daddy says they’re the best team”.

“Your Daddy is right…they are the best team!”. Harry agreed.

“Mummy? Can Harry watch football with me?”. Jacob asked, his eyes large as they pleaded.

YN smiled. “Yeah of course he can”. Harry gave YN a smile of relief as he took a seat next to Jacob. She couldn’t help but look on at the scene of them both at the edge of their seats as they waited for a score, or how they spoke about different players.

---

Harry had insisted on buying them all pizza in the evening and as they all sat around the dinning table, Jacob had began asking Harry questions.

“Harry? How old are you?”. Jacob took a bite of his pizza.

“Twenty five”. Harry answered another question, as he picked up another slice of pizza.

“My Mummy is twenty five…but I’m five”.

“What’s your favourite colour?”. Harry joined in on the questions. YN smiled over to him from where she was sat next to Jacob.

“Blue!”. Jacob answered quickly. “My Mummy likes pink…my Daddy likes green…Zara likes red and…Theo likes….Mummy what colour is Theo’s favourite?”. Jacob info dumped as he tried to recall everyone’s favourite colours.

“I’m not sure sweetheart…I don’t think he has one yet”. YN answered. “He’s still little isn’t he?”.

“Theo’s my baby brother”. Jacob turned to look back at Harry.

Harry pretended this was new information to him. “Waw…you’re so lucky having a baby brother”.

“Have you got a brother?”. The questions kept coming. YN laughed at how inquisitive her son was.

YN interrupted. “Sorry…Jacob is a social butterfly after a while…aren’t you Buddy?”.

“I’m used to questions….but these are definitely my favourite ones”. Harry waved off YN’s apology. “I don’t have a brother but I have an older sister…her names Gemma”.

“Mummy has a sister and a brother”. Jacob revealed a new piece of information to Harry. He noticed YN smile down at Jacob, but he could see it wasn’t her natural one. It was more forced and like she was putting on a show. “But they make Mummy sad”.

“Okay sweetheart…why don’t you go and choose some snacks and we can watch a movie”. Whilst Jacob was oblivious to YN changing the subject, Harry wasn’t but decided staying quiet was for the best right now.

---

Jacob had chosen for them to watch Cars and insisted to sit next to Harry, so he could share his snacks with him.

“Harry look how fast they go!”. Jacob’s voice was excited as the screen showed all the cars racing around the track. “Watch….vrooooom!”.

“They are super fast!”. Harry agreed as he watched the scene in front of him. “Who do you thinks going to win?”.

Jacob was fascinated by the cars fighting for first place. “Uh…I think Lightning McQueen!”.

“Oh here they go…they’re starting to go faster!”. Harry encouraged Jacob’s excitement. “He’s nearly there….is he going to do it?”.

“HE DID IT!”. Jacob shouted and turned to Harry who was signalling him for a high five.

About half way through the film, Harry felt a heavy movement on his arm and as he glanced he noticed Jacob resting against it with his eyes closed. “All this excitement has worn him out”.

“He’s been so excited all day to meet you.” YN explained as she looked down at the sleeping boy, who had made himself comfy against Harry. “He really likes you already…when you went to the bathroom earlier…he whispered to me asking if he could have hair like yours”.

“He’s adorable…today’s been one of my favourite days”. YN felt her heart swell with warmth at Harry’s words. “And I’m hoping there’s many more to come”.

“We’d like that!”. YN gestured towards Jacob, who was still sleeping soundly. “You’ve definitely made a new friend today!”.

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @vikiii07-blog @sleutherclaw

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harrystyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles series #harry styles writing #one direction #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x oc #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles fic #harry styles series masterlist #harry styles masterlist #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #louis tomlinson #niall horan #zayn malik #liam payne #harry 1d #one direction imagine #one direction fanfiction #harry edward styles #dadrry

[strawberrymochin]

Springtime Fushiguros♪

Context-: exploring the memories of childhood of fushiguros, marking the spring time of you and satoru gojo.

Period- tsumiki gets her first period. Gojo and Megumi panicking around.

Gojo streched himself on the couch, turning sides to get hold of the tv remote, switching it on, totally ignoring the pile of laundry he's supposed to get done.

Yawning to himself, he sits up straight. It's boring, enjoy a sunday alone, especially when you have gone out with shoko to help her out with some of her queries. He could have bothered megumi, annoying him would be a great time pass or maybe getting him practice some of the new moves he learned.

Or maybe he could have played with tsumiki, letting her tie his hair into pigtails, doll him up. Adore his skin with different cute holographic stickers and have a kitty party. And even rummaging through your closet, hosting a fashion show.

However, today none of the kids bothered to show their faces.

A rushed creak of door opening echoed through the apartment, above the sound of the television. Gojo turned his head to the side, to see megumi....with dread plastered face.

"What happened? Saw a ghost or something?" Gojo's lips curve into a smug smile, pleased to get an opportunity to tease megumi. Though it vanishes quickly when Megumi's expression doesn't seem to falter.

Megumi's steps are rushed towards his sensei, eyebrows knitted in a worried form.

"Tsumiki's bleeding." Said megumi, pointing his hand towards their room.

Gojo got still for a moment his eyes travelled to megumi's hands. They were trembling.

"What! Did you use you accidentally used your cursed energy on her?!" Gojo stood up hastily, walking up to the kids room, trying to locate tsumiki.

"No." Megumi followed him.

Gojo's eyes scanned around the entire room— tsumiki's nowhere.

Megumi dragged him to his sister's bed by his sleeve. As the bed came clear in view, among the tousled sheets of pink strawberry printed ones, sharp in contrast with plain whites of megumi's, there was a huge stain which seemed like fresh blood.

"She went to the bathroom hurriedly, and I saw her shorts had blood stains....what happened to her? Is she going to die?"

"Goddamn! Did she ate those cookies made by shoko?"

"Huh?! I did saw her having some this morning!!"

"Fuck! She must have been poisoned then....her cooking is disaster anyways"

"No doubt she's your friend."

"Wha—"

"What do we do now??"

"What do we do nowww???"

"I wouldn't have asked you, if I would've known what to do!!"

"No wait...i know....imma get an ambulance first and then," he halts midway before reaching hell for leather to get an ambulance, "wait a min....." He straddled his way back to miki's bed, bending down to scrutinize the stains properly.

"Ahh....I see...but she's only 9 years old..." Gojo mumbled to himself, tilting his head to the side, while megumi glares at him annoyed.

"Why aren't you hurrying? Go get an ambulance!!" To this gojo replies nothing but goes to the corner of the room, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Miki... it's me. Gojo sensei. Is your stomach hurting?" For moments it's complete silence, till gojo speaks again, voice more soft, this time, "Don't be afraid Miki, it's fine. Tell me. Open the door of you feel like."

After a few seconds of hushed silence, the door of the bathroom unlocked, creaking a bit, revealing a tear stained tsumiki, eyes puffy from crying, looking down.

"Is it hurting?" Gojo asks tsumiki, fists dragging the hem of the tshirt, trying to hide the stains nodding her head slowly.

"You're a grown up girl Miki! Congrats!" Gojo chimed as tsumiki, with eyes filled with fat tears threatening to fall, looked up at him. Gojo had the kindest smile on his face, as he forwarded his hand patting on Tsumiki's head. His little girl's blooming fast. Though he cherishes it, there's a pang in his chest. It's already been two years. Why does time flies so soon? Why can't its wings freeze? Why can't the blissful moment last forever?

Megumi's stands behind him totally dumbfounded.

"So Tsumiki's fine? And she won't die right?" Megumi asks frowning, however there was a little relief on his face.

"Ofcourse not idiot," gojo flicks megumi's forehead earning an 'ouch' from him, "Your sister is just growing up. She got her first period which is a 100% normal thing. And we don't need ambulance for that."

Tsumiki tilts her head at confusion. Period? She thought. Gojo continued, "what we need is, a—"

"What?" Megumi asks dubiously as gojo's face falls.

"Umm... I will just call y/n a bit..." He says, asking tsumiki to stay there till he returns. Megumi, however, uncertain of gojo's decisions follows him to the living room, where he picks up his phone dialing you.

Then, to his washroom checking in the cabinets. "I can't seem to find it."

"Find what?...just ask y/n san."

"As if she's picking up my calls...i will be back in a few minutes.....be with tsumiki till then.

Before Megumi could ask what he's exactly planning to do, he senses the flow of cursed energy as gojo's figure fades in a quick blink of eye. He teleported to somewhere leaving Megumi and tsumiki home alone.

By the time he's back, teleporting to the entrance, wanting to hurry up to tsumiki, he's greeted by shoko bumping midway.

"Woah! What the heck dude!!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Well I'm here, since your girlfriend brought me in. Damn what do you have in those?"

"Is y/n home?"

He rushes inside to see you caressing tsumiki on the couch as Megumi sits on the opposite one, reading a book.

"Toru— omg.....what do got in there?" You gasp at the two huge plastic bags. Before he could answer, shoko snatches the bags from him peaking inside.

"He got pads and tampons along with cramp medicines, chocolates and heat pack and oh— there's menstrual cups too."

"toru, it looks like you robbed an entire pharmacy!"

"I couldn't find any in the cabinets," gojo sighs joining you guys on the couch. "And i didn't knew what tsumiki would prefer, moreover you weren't picking up my calls. Are you fine now Miki?"

Tsumiki nods at him with a smile, as he ruffles her hair. "Now that you're home, I guess everything's fine."

"You handled it well too. And you too megumi, you really care for your sister even though you don't show it much." You compliment as tsumiki giggles seeing Megumi blush.

"Yeah I mean you gotta see who's he learning from!" Gojo says with his signature smirk, spreading his arms showing off his greatness.

Silence,

Awkward Silence,

More awkward silence.

"Whatever." You, Megumi and shoko say at the same time, as you shift your attention back to tsumiki. Megumi goes back to reading his book while shoko goes to the kitchen.

Later this evening, shoko bought a cake to celebrate tsumiki's first period. Gojo sang on the top of his voice as shoko lectured the fushiguros on how this is a thing every girl has to go through.

As the kids were busy with shoko, gojo excused himself to the kitchen, where you were pouring out hot chocolate for everyone.

"Want a sip in advance?"

"I would love to have that but—" gojo's voice wavered a bit.

"Hmm?" You looked at him from the side of your eye, wanting him to continue.

"Is it okay for a girl to get her period when she's 9? Those parenting books and those internet articles said that the average age is somewhere between 10 to 12..."

You smiled to yourself at his question, leaving no doubt that one day he will surely be a great father. Maybe he even sees himself as a father figure for the kids. How pure and innocent is he?

Being born so strong, he had such huge responsibilities over his shoulders, barely allowing him to have his childhood. Growing up devoid of affection, gojo knows how important phase it is, thus he tries his best providing for Megumi and tsumiki. Making sure, the kids won't face what he faced.

"Nah, its normal to get it a year earlier or so, it depends on the girl's body." You assure him. Gojo leaned on the counter next to you, gazing the kids with shoko.

"They are growing so fast, ain't they?" He sighs.

"They are...." You sigh, " you want the time to stop?"

"Would be itching for that to happen." Gojo chuckles lightly, as his crystal blue eyes met yours.

"I love you."

"I know you can't resist my charm."

"Shut up. And say it back."

"I love you too my dear villian, my wicked angel, my sweet nemesis, do you even know how cunningly you've stolen my heart, even though it was yours to belong with."

"God! satoru...shut up."

a/n- had to post again for a glitch. Please reblog or like if you feel so.

#jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen x satoru gojo #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk satoru #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jjk x you #springtime fushiguros

[newluvrs]

Anton ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: CRUSH - UNFLIRT word count: 3.2k bb note: shoutout to the last 1 min of this song... dpr supremacy

In the early hours of the morning, wrapped in the long limbs of your boyfriend you come to a realization.  Nothing in the world could make your heart glow as softly as it did when you were with him.  Before you met him you weren’t necessarily insecure.  You knew you were pretty, maybe in an unconventional sense, but regardless you knew your beauty was there.  Your biggest insecurity being that you felt like you lacked a certain softness, a certain gentleness that the rest of your friends seemed to hold.  Baggy clothing and dark tones making up a majority of your wardrobe not exactly screaming feminine to you.  You tell yourself you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that you were comfortable with your body and the way you chose to express your femininity.  But you would be lying if you said you didn’t wish you could be different sometimes.  

When Anton came into your life, you immediately knew he liked you, and you liked him.  Fitting him into your life felt like the most natural thing in the world.  The way in which you started scheduling time for him between classes, or pre-emptively ordering his favorite drink when you went to the café on campus, or how bits of him have slowly started to make themselves apparent in your apartment.  A toothbrush kept for him on your bathroom counter, a drawer reserved for him and his just-in-case clothing, the scent of his cologne lingering on your bed sheets.  You had had boyfriends in the past, but everything with him just felt so natural, so easy.  

With him you didn’t feel like you had to hide anything.  With him everything you did felt desirable.  He let you know you were pretty as you did the most mundane things.  Pulling you into a kiss right after you applied your lip balm.  Kissing the back of your neck as you toy with the clasp to your necklace.  Wrapping his arms around you, pressing himself into your backside as you do your skincare routine.  He was obsessed and you were in love. 

The one downside to this being: if he found everything you did to be desirable, that means everything you did made him hard.  He was embarrassed and apologetic at first, face bright red at the fact that he just got hard from watching you do your post shower routine.  But honestly you just found it hot.  To you there was nothing to be embarrassed about, it just made him unbelievably endearing.  The first time it happened you kissed him through all of his apologies as you stuck a hand down his pants, basking in the sounds he made as he came.  You had no idea that this would be a frequent occurrence, but you would be lying if you said you hated it.  

He stirs next to you now, sighing sleepily as he pushes his hand up your shirt, his massive hand splayed on your tummy.  You’re grateful for the slowness of the morning, having spent the last several days with the both of you waking up and going to sleep at odd hours in an attempt to be prepared for your final exams.  With your back to his chest, you just lay there waiting for him to come to, absentmindedly playing with his fingers, quietly humming to yourself.  He adjusts his placement behind you, pulling you tighter to him as he places a kiss on your shoulder.  It would be a sweet moment if it weren’t for the prominent bulge against your ass.  You try not to laugh at him for it, choosing instead to ignore it.  Or at least you tried to, until he pulled you against him again but this time shifting his hips as he does so before placing a leg between yours.  The placement of his leg against your cunt combined with the occasional kisses being left on your neck leave you feeling a little restless.  You try and move to slip away from him, but all you end up doing is pressing yourself further into him, making him shift his hips against you again, you letting out a soft sigh as he does so.

“Stop squirming.”  

“Then stop pressing your hard on into me??” 

He lets out a groan as he tightens his hold around you, curling into you as he mumbles against your hair.

“I was trying to be sweet.. you ruined it.”  

You could practically hear the pout on his lips, rolling your eyes at his dramatics.  

“If you’re gonna say that at least act like you aren’t totally humping me right now.”  

And its true, he’s gone from subtle pushes against you to full on grinding, a hand placed on your waist fingers digging into your sides as he huffs from behind you.  

“’s your fault.. you’re just so soft and sweet.”  

To emphasize his point he trails a hand up from your waist to grab at your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers.  Your body arches against him at the contact, trying to grind back onto him.  Noticing this he moves back to your waist, pulling you down against the leg still slotted between yours as he presses kisses to your jawline.  You can feel the hard outline of his cock through the fabric that separates the both of you, and you’re so grateful that the both of you passed out in just boxers.  The way the pressure of his leg feels against your cunt makes you sigh, the pleasure satisfying with each push and pull.  It’s starting to get hot under your comforter, and you can feel how sticky you’re getting with each push against him, growing wetter by the minute.  

Reluctantly you pull away from him, doing your best to detach yourself from his still-moving hips and death grip on your sides.  You choose instead to turn to look at him for the first time this morning and you’re met with the prettiest sight.  His dark hair is messy over his eyes, all fucked up from sleep.  A light blush is dusting his cheeks as he lets out little pants and just as you suspected, his pretty lips are pulled into a pout.  You feel so lucky to be the only person who gets to see him this way.  You feel even luckier that he makes you feel so wanted.  Lucky that he’s here with you, in your bed, tangled in your sheets, and horny because of you.  So deeply in love with you in all your ratty t-shirt, barefaced, boxer-wearing glory.  

Before he can question why you pulled away, you’re kissing him, lips locked with his as he places a hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place.  The way he gasps into your mouth as you slide a hand over his boxers feels correct.  You pull away from the kiss as you palm him, watching the way he closes his eyes and tosses his head back into your soft pillows.  He wraps a hand around your wrist to keep your hand still as he grinds up into it, and you smile at how cute he is when he whines.  If you were meaner you would pull your hand away to see the way he chases you, but the way he looks right now is just too heavenly.

“Fuck y/n, feels so good.”  

You just let out a hum at his reaction before you pull your hand away too soon, much to his discontent.  When he opens his eyes he just barely catches as you lick your palm before sticking your hand under his waistband, making direct contact with his hard cock.  His reaction is immediate, bucking his hips up into your hand as you slowly start to jerk him off.  He tosses an arm across his face, groaning out into the stillness of your bedroom as you press gentle kisses against his throat.  

“feel good?”  

“mhm.” 

Content with his answer, you move to lie against his chest, just resting your head against him as he fucks your hand.  It’s sweet and slow, this moment that you share.  It’s only interrupted when his moans start to take on a whinier pitch as he starts to push at your hand still wrapped around him.

“Y/n fuck, wait- don’t want to cum yet.”  

Slowly you come to a stop, pulling away from him even as he subconsciously tries to push against you again at the loss of contact.  When you sit up to look at him he looks sheepish, trying to keep up the façade of innocence like he wasn’t just fucking your hand.  Instead of pressing him about it, you let him lay you down, pulling you into a kiss as he does exactly what you just did to him, mirroring the way you slipped a hand into his shorts.  He slides 2 fingers through your wetness before slowly pushing them into you, shallowly thrusting them inside you until your walls start to let him in.  His palm grinds against your clit as he rubs at your walls, pulling away from making out with you so he can push your shirt over your chest.  Leaving open-mouthed kisses against your tits before he sucks one into his mouth, nipping at it occasionally as he finger fucks you.  All you can do is lie there and take it as you gasp into the air.  You want so badly to keep your eyes open so you can see him and how pretty he looks when he pleases you but it just feels too good.   He pulls away from your chest to watch how you react to what he gives you, cock aching in his boxers at the sight.  

“You’re so pretty baby.. I could watch you forever.” 

You feel warm inside at his words, turning to hide your face from his gaze so he can’t see the way your face is starting to redden.  It’s all in vain though because he slides his fingers out of you, grabbing your jaw to kiss you using the same hand that was just inside of you.  You have half a mind to feel even more embarrassed but its just so hot.  The kisses getting messier as both of you succumb to your desire.  Your lips swollen from the way he pulls away to occasionally nip at them before pressing his mouth against yours again.  When you start to pull on his shirt he gets the hint, breaking away from you to pull it over his head.  He tosses it somewhere on your bedroom floor before pulling yours off as well, leaving kisses on your chest with each piece of skin that gets revealed.  

It's so intimate when he goes back to kissing you, your bare chest pressed to his as you cling on to his broad shoulders.  The skin-to-skin contact makes you dizzy, throat going dry at the vulnerability of it all.  Soon enough you start to want more and he can tell, the change evident in the way you start to squirm for some semblance of relief.  He kisses you one last time before sitting up, reveling in the way you try to chase his lips.  

“How do you want it?” 

He says it so nonchalantly like he’s ordering from a takeout menu, as if the two of you aren’t naked from the waist up.  

“Mmm… I think I want to be face down today.”  

It only takes you a moment to contemplate, feeling like you’re not willing to leave the comfort of your pillows right now.  

He smiles at you, a quiet “okay” leaving his lips as he moves to grab a condom from your bedside drawer.  You turn to lay your chest against the mattress, bringing your pillows around you so you’re more comfortable.  You make a point to leave your boxer-shorts on, knowing that he likes to be the one to take them off, he’s such a boy in that way.  Admiring him from afar, you watch quietly as he pulls his own off, sending him a wink when he catches your gaze making him offer you a shy smile.  He positions himself behind you, rolling the condom on as he does so, lip bit in concentration.  

When he’s finally ready, he leans down to give you a kiss before rubbing at your waist, watching how goosebumps arrive in the wake of his cold hands.  Finally, he’s pulling your underwear off, mumbling a quiet “fuck” to himself once the entirety of you is on display.  You know he likes to take his time to look at you so you let him, feeling as his fingers go to play with you more.  He smears your wetness over your pussy, lithe fingers toying with your clit.  A groan leaving him when he watches the way you throb, growing wetter from the minimal contact.  Slowly, he eases 3 fingers into you, your body accommodating the additional stretch easily.  You feel so warm wrapped around him, your soft walls clenching sporadically.  He’s just so fascinated by your pussy, call it the boy in him but he just can’t help himself.  When you start to whine he breaks his trance, taking the hint without you having to say anything.  

“Sorry baby got distracted, you’re too cute.”  

You don’t respond, just pushing yourself back into him, feeling greedy now.  He takes the wetness collected from you and smears it up and down his cock before lining himself up with you.  You both hold your breath as he pushes himself into you and its so slow.  He would never want to hurt you in any way, so no matter how wet you are he’ll always rub at your clit, a habit he picked up after your first couple of times together, mirroring what he saw you do.  In this position he knows he can’t until he’s bottomed out, so he’s pleased when he sees you bring your own fingers to your cunt, rubbing tight circles.  He feels reassured when you start to relax, opening up for him more as he brings a large hand to rub circles against your lower back in an attempt to soothe you.

When he finally bottoms out, his hips are pressed flush to yours.  If you could see him you would be able to see a light flush dusting his cheeks and chest.  And it’s all just so soft, the both of you breathless and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet.  He wishes he could kiss you but he knows you’re feeling lazy, and additionally he knows how intense your orgasms are in this position so he settles for pressing kisses along your spine, biting occasionally at the top of your shoulders.  

“Ton.. need you to move.”  

Your voice is whiny and breathless and he succumbs immediately, easing himself in and out, a slow push and pull.  It becomes apparent to him another reason why you wanted this position, so you could bury your face in your pillows when you get too loud.  He just started and already you’re whimpering and shaking with each stroke.  He places both hands on your waist so he can help pull you back against him, and he feels satisfied when your noises grow in volume, whines of “so deep” leaving you.  

There’s nothing wholesome about what’s partaking in this room, but regardless he’s so in love.  He loves the subtlety of your softness, and it makes his heart swell when he sees it grow in private, like you trust him enough to see these sides of you.  He would spend a lifetime between your legs if it meant he could convince you that you were perfect.  His heart stutters in his chest when you reach a hand behind your back in an attempt to grab his.  He does just this, but settles on placing his hands by your head, maneuvering you so your hand was interlaced with his by your face.  He fucking meltswhen you lift your face from the pillows just enough to leave kisses on his knuckles.  

“feels so good Ton, you’re fucking me so good.”  

“yeah baby? How’s it feel?” 

He loves that when you’re fucked out enough, all of your embarrassment flies out the window, your filter leaving you.  

“Can feel you so deep, it’s so perfect.  Feel so full.”  

He lets out a groan at your words, moving to fuck you with more purpose now, wanting to hear the way you cry out as you cum.  

“Can you play with my clit for me?” 

“Of course I can baby, don’t even have to ask.”  

You sound so whiny, he could die.  His heart breaks at the way you reluctantly let go of his hand, moving instead to grip at the pillows but immediately you forgive him when you start to feel him rub at your clit.  You aren’t gonna last much longer, and neither is he, you can tell by the way his movements are getting sloppier, his moans turning into whimpers.  He just fills you so good, you’re never gonna want anyone else.  When you feel the familiar tightening in your tummy, you let him know.  

“’m gonna cum.”  

“Okay baby, just let go for me.  Know you feel so good, go ahead and cum.”  

When you release, your hand reaches to grab at his still rubbing on your clit, trying to grind into it as he fucks you.  He drops his head to your shoulder blades to leave kisses, murmuring quiet praises to you as he fucks you through your high. Your orgasm is intense, lasting awhile as he chases his own high, and you make sure he can hear your clearly the entire time, gasping and whining into the open air to encourage him.  

The way you clench around him sends him over the edge, arms growing weak with the effort to keep himself up as he nearly collapses.  Wrapping his arms around you to bring you as close as possible, your back to his chest as he thrusts into you messily as he cums, filling the condom.  He bites at the top of your shoulders trying to conceal his whimpers as you lay there shaking in his arms, still on your own comedown.  

“So sweet and perfect y/n, feel so fucking good and soft.”

It’s like he’s in a trance as he says it, hips slowing down but still moving against you, moving to grip at your tits now as he slurs the words.  When he finally halts his movements, he brings a hand to your face, turning you to kiss him even with the awkward angle.  When you’re both done he finally collapses next to you, pulling you with him as he’s still inside you.  You’re both so sensitive, but it’s just warm and sweet.  

“Want to sleep like this?”

He leans up on an elbow and kisses at your cheek, moving to pull the duvet back over you as he asks. You just nod at him sleepily, content to just stay this way, too lazy to move but also wanting to stay in this moment longer.  

He leaves one last kiss on your lips before settling behind you once again, the same way you woke up.  With him completely wrapped around you, head tucked into the crevice of your neck.  As the two of you drift off, you wonder how such a sweet boy found his way into your life.  He wonders the same thing about you. 

#riize smut #anton smut #riize x reader #anton x reader #riize hard hours #riize #anton

[rainybubbles]

Unrequited love and 141

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

Suggestive theme for Soap's one /!/

SIMON : you were his second choice.

You gazed into his eyes, and within their depths, the truth unfurled. His lips remained sealed, yet their silence spoke volumes, delivering a verdict you dreaded.

"I'm sorry, I don't like you that way," he said, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

-Such has been the pattern of your existence.

-You were never anyone's first pick—neither for your family, nor your friends, nor your school.

- You were always the second choice. And for a brief moment, you thought maybe things were different with Simon.

-Maybe his kindness towards you meant something more, maybe his tough exterior was just a front.

-But no, it wasn't like that at all. You felt foolish, like you were living in a dream.

-"Let's just forget about this, it was dumb," you whispered, trying to brush it off.

-"Yeah," he agreed quickly. Too quickly. And you knew why. He never saw you in that way.

-"You'll find someone better," he said, trying to be comforting.

-You fought the urge to scream, to rail against the clichéd reassurance.

-"Less emo, maybe?" you joked, but it didn't ease the pain.

-He chuckled, a sound you used to love, but now it only reminded you of what you couldn't have.

-"You'll find someone," he repeated, but you knew it wasn't true. All your crushes ended the same way, and Simon was your last hope.

-"I should go home. You have stuff to do, right?" you said, feeling the awkwardness between you both.

-"Yeah," he confirmed, not asking you to stay like he usually did. You knew you messed up.

-You forced a smile, hiding the tears, and left.

-Walking back to your apartment, the rain mixed with your tears, and it all felt like one big mess. You wanted to forget about Simon, but at the same time, you wanted more of him. It was torture.

-Back at your place, you picked up your phone and saw a message from Johnny. Simon has been seeing someone. It hit you hard.

-"When?" you replied quickly.

-"This week. He wasn't sure, but it's been going on for months," came the response.

-And then you realized. 

-Those moments you shared with Simon—they weren't meaningless. 

-They weren’t figments of your imagination.

-Him without his mask, the flirt jokes, the stay-in at his flat…

- They were moments stolen in the absence of his true desire, placeholders for another. 

-You were nothing more than a substitute, a convenient distraction until his heart's desire was available. 

-You were just a stand-in until his real crush was available. 

-You were a second choice.

-"What a coward," you muttered to yourself, feeling angry and hurt.

__________________________________________

SOAP : hookup who wishes more

His lips brushed against your neck, the sizzle of breakfast in the pan, and you allowed yourself to drift into reverie.

A life entwined with his seemed within reach.

Yet, the harsh reality pierced through when he reached for his phone to answer another call from another one night-stand.

In his bed, you were just another person, another quick fuck, maybe the one he was most comfortable with, like an old pair of socks.

But not the only one. Just someone he could rely on when he needed.

It was silly to have feelings for him.

But sometimes, when he stayed in the morning, asking about your family or giving you birthday gifts, you couldn't help but hope.

Maybe he was trying to tell you something. Until he left again. Until he talked about others. Until he was with someone else.

You lived close to his place, always there when he wanted you. Even though you knew your place, you couldn't bring yourself to cut him off, to tell him to stop.

Your heart craved his attention, even if it was only for a moment.

"Could ye pass me the salt, Nox?" he asked casually.

That wasn't your name, nor a moniker he bestowed upon you. Your body tensed, gripped by a sudden realization. He had mistaken you for one of his fuck buddies.

The agony engulfed you, clouding your thoughts.

"It's not my name," you whispered, barely audible.

"Sorry, Ah wasn't payin’ attention," he apologized, planting a kiss on your forehead.

Focused. The word echoed in your mind as you struggled to find your voice. "Leave," you whispered.

"Whit?" he asked, confused.

"I said, leave."

“Wait, if somethin’ happened, I can help-”

“That's the problem, John. You can't help. You can’t have it both ways. You can't treat me like your lover one moment, only to discard me for someone else the next. You can't oscillate between warmth and coldness. I'm tired of being strung along by your attachment issues. I know your family, John. I've met them all. Yet you introduced me as a friend. After each deployment, you sought solace in my arms, whispering promises you never intended to keep. I've had enough."

"I can change, just give me a chance—" he pleaded.

"No," you said firmly. "You want fun, I want commitment.I won't demand something you're incapable of giving. But I refuse to be ensnared in this farce any longer. Leave my home, and never return”

"It's a misunderstanding, please, just listen—" he begged.

"You called me by the wrong name," you said, your voice breaking. "While I made breakfast, you were texting someone else. You even made plans with them while we were supposed to watch a movie together. It's clear to me now."

John left, leaving behind a mess of emotions. You cried, but you also felt a sense of relief. Next time, you promised yourself, you would ask for honesty from the start, before getting caught up in another tangled web of confusion.

__________________________

GAZ : waiting for someone who doesn’t wait for you.

You stood there, shivering in the biting cold, lips pallid, hands tingling crimson from the chill, yet refusing to let a single tear betray your anguish.

As each shop shuttered its windows, the empty streets echoed with the hollow sound of your hopes crumbling, brick by brick.

You clung to the belief that Gaz would never abandon you, not after everything. So you lingered, a lone figure in the twilight, yearning for his arrival.

But when he finally materialized, it was a dagger to your heart. His arms wrapped around another, their laughter slicing through the silence like shards of glass.

Together they sauntered into the very restaurant where he had promised to take you, where they shared a meal that should have been yours.

Fingers trembling, you reached for your phone, desperate to bridge the chasm between you and him.

Yet he flicked his device off with callous disregard, leaving you to drown in a sea of unanswered questions.

Why? Why would he toy with your emotions like this, dangling the prospect of reconciliation before your weary eyes only to snatch it away?

He had been the one to reach out, resurrecting memories of a bygone era when you were each other's world in high school, planting seeds of hope for a future together.

And foolishly, you had clung to those promises, waiting with bated breath for his return, even as the minutes stretched into hours.

You had always been waiting for him.

You had always been the one chasing after Gaz, in school, in matters of the heart, in the delicate dance of friendship.

But now, as you trudged towards the desolate bus station, the bitter irony of it all weighed heavily upon your shoulders.

The clock struck midnight, and a message flashed across your screen, belated apologies dripping with insincerity from him.

 In that moment, the truth became painfully clear: you had always made time for him, carving out precious moments in your hectic existence, while he couldn't spare a single second to offer a genuine excuse, a shred of explanation.

And so, as the bus rumbled towards an uncertain destination, you vowed to reclaim the pieces of yourself that you had willingly sacrificed at the altar of his indifference.

 For in the end, you realized, the only person worth waiting for was the one who would never keep you waiting in the first place.

__________________________

Price : he loved you. You love him.

You watch as his fiancée weeps, tears staining your own cheeks. It's not the same for you. It's not joy, it's sorrow.

Yet, despite the ache in your heart, your eyes betray you as they linger on how handsome John looks in his pristine white suit. Your heart, it seems, has impeccable taste.

You hear him uttering his vows, the crowd erupting in cheers.

But your mind is fixated solely on the fading of his smile. You know it's just your own jealousy speaking, suggesting that perhaps he harbors a secret desire to halt this union.

You despise it, yet you can't silence the relentless overthinking that observes how he subtly recoils when their hands touch, how his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, like a fleeting shadow of itself.

But now is the time for speeches, or forever hold your peace, isn't it?

And your decision has been made, etched into the stars since the day he shared his dreams of them, seeking your approval.

The festivities commence, and you remain composed, aloof, deliberately distant from him, from them. You're afraid—afraid of divulging everything, afraid of shattering it all.

"You've been keeping to yourself," he remarks.

"Is that an inquiry, Captain?" you retort, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words.

"You're not in the military, don't call me that, dear."

You manage a wry smile.

"I don't fare well in crowds," you confess.

"I know," he acknowledges softly. "I just wanted a moment to talk."

"About what?" you inquire cautiously.

"You seem distant, from everyone," he observes.

"I... I just need time to recuperate from something, nothing significant," you deflect.

"Is it... physical?" he probes.

"No," you reply curtly.

"Emotional?"

"John."

"I just want to understand," he persists.

"Ignorance is bliss," you murmur, a trace of bitterness tainting your words.

"Yes, but not when it comes to you," he counters.

"John, please don't push," you plead.

"I will.You can't just shut me out like this," he insists, his brows furrowing in exasperation.

"Watch me," you retort, your jaw set stubbornly.

"Why are you like this?" he demands, his voice rising slightly with pent-up frustration.

"Like what?" you counter, your own patience wearing thin.

"Closed off. Distant. It's like you've built a wall between us," he argues, his words laced with hurt.

"Maybe I have," you admit, your voice softening just a fraction.

"Why?" he implores, his eyes searching yours for answers.

Irritation flares within you, fatigue settling in. You've had your fill of this celebration, of the clamor, of the happiness that seems so out of reach.

And then, it slips out.

"I love you. Satisfied now?" you snap.

His expression morphs, a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"You can't just drop that bombshell on me," he whispers, his voice tinged with betrayal.

"I warned you, John. Don't try to shift the blame onto me," you retort, your tone strained.

"Why... Why didn't you say anything before?" he implores, his frustration evident.

"Because you paraded around with people who bore no resemblance to me? Because our friendship means everything to me, and I couldn't risk it," you confess, your voice trembling with emotion.

His anger simmers beneath the surface.

"Listen, I'm sorry. Let's forget this, you have your fiancée and—"

"I loved you too," he interjects, his admission cutting through the air like a knife.

"What?" you gasp, stunned.

"Before my fiancée, I... I was utterly in love with you. I... damn it, we could have... Why didn't you say anything?" he laments, his voice thick with regret.

"John, no," you murmur, your heart breaking all over again.

"I love her now," he adds hastily, as if trying to extinguish the flicker of hope that ignited within you.

"You can't drop this bombshell now. It's cruel," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"I know," he admits, his gaze dropping in shame.

"You're a coward. You've moved on, and now you leave me with this 'what if,'" you accuse, the words bitter on your tongue.

"It'll fade," he offers weakly.

-"Fuck you, John," you hiss, the finality of your words hanging heavy in the air.

-You never see him again after the wedding. You couldn't bear to, not to his fiancée, not to him, not to yourself. Perhaps, you muse bitterly, ignorance truly is bliss.

if you want more : my masterlist

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #call of duty x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #ghost simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader

[my-love-is-sunlight]

Law + mexican s/o

I am a believer that Skypiea was 100% supposed to represent Mexico I mean… the whole history and design of the island screamed Tenochtitlán to me. Also I am Mexican so I gotta represent am I right? 🇲🇽🦅🦅🦅

Masterlist

Pt. 2

If your name is specifically very noticeably Mexican, he’d be very curious and ask the meaning and the proper pronunciation

Obsessed with your accent and loves when it slips out

He would never forget the first time you made him chilaquiles he literally ascended to heaven

Definitely would ask you to cook him your traditional meals, probably fell in love with the cuisine and he can’t live without it now

A sucker for tamales

The day you made pozole, everyone begged you to never leave the crew and keep on making it for them

“You better treat them right Captain” said Penguin as he served his 4 plate of pozole

And don’t get me started on tacos… you are legally obligated to cook tacos at least once a week

Bepo would help you make tortillas and die happy if you let him eat the first one

Law’s mortal enemy is el mazapán, he almost fainted when you made him eat it, he thinks it’s the most disgusting thing on this earth

He finds it kinda amusing how your voice changes when speaking spanish, also would beg for you you teach him because he feels left out and wants to understand what you say

100% would get mad if you start speaking spanish and won’t translate afterwards. What if you’re talking shit and he doesn’t know it? FOMO (even if it’s about him)

The kind of guy to find the fact that you’re bilingual extremely attractive, you’re so smart

Would tease you if you forget words or don’t understand certain slang, but would always translate/explain it to you he doesn’t want to make you feel left out

Loves to swear in spanish, like the most mexican curses

His favorite one is chinga tu madre

One of his favorite activities is cuddling while you whisper sweet nothings in spanish to him

You once told him that even though names can’t be translated, he would probably be called Lorenzo and he hated it and of course you call him that to rile him up because its hilarious

100% bought a book to also teach himself some more spanish and impress you

You once wore a traditional outfit for a banquet and absolutely loved it he couldn’t stop complimenting you and eventually you gifted him a handmade shirt that he treasures

You gifted him some nice boots too and he wears them religiously

He noticed every time November would roll by, you’d buy flowers that’d sit under some pictures, and would also make some decorations with skeletons on them. When you explained what Día de Muertos was and that those were pictures of your loved ones that had passed away, he was so amazed and next November he’d add a picture of Corazón in your altar and bought stuff you were missing to complete it

Eventually the tradition was embraced by the whole crew and everyone would participate putting together a bigger altar on display for everyone

You’d paint everyone as catrines and best believe everyone is exited to be part of it, celebrating your culture and those that are not here is so precious to the crew

Viernes de carne asada at the submarine

There would probably be some cultural differences between you and Law; for example he probably thought you were so damn loud (a lot of ppl had told me we are very loud?) or wouldn’t get your sense of humor at first

Confused on why you keep every damn plastic bag inside another bag

Home remedies scare him, what do you mean you’re putting lemon on your cut? Would accept some sore throat drink tho

Freaked out the first time you did a limpia on him but he’s used to it now, still thinks it’s stupid tho and he’ll roll his eyes and grumble

He. Loves. Vaporub

When you proclaimed it was absolutely magical he laughed, but when then witnessed its power now he always has some on him

When he hears your music blasting in the morning he knows you’re on cleaning duty

He would probably listen to spanish rock and would ask you to translate the lyrics

When you moved in to a shared room with Law, he noticed how a lot of the decorations were so colorful it was comical how contrasting it was from his personal style. You were adding color to his life, literally and metaphorically

Noche de loteria once a month everyone plays and sometimes it gets out of hand, Law is so competitive he is winning no matter what

You asked Law to dress as a charro for your birthday. At first he acted like it was annoying but honestly he liked the all black outfit and ended up loving it

He’d wear it around to fluster you

Would bend whenever you call him “mi vida” or “mi amor” but would get mad if you do it in front of others, that’s for his ears only also hates pda

Honestly he loves everything about you and understands how your culture is a huge part of who you are, so he is eager to learn about and connect with it, but most importantly to allow you to embrace it, after all the heart pirates are your family

Might make this a series with other characters feel free to request

#one piece #law x reader #trafalgar law one piece #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar d water law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #hc #law headcanons #law one piece #trafalgar law #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #mexico #trafalgar law fluff #fluff #one piece fluff #one piece headcanons

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

part one | two | three | bonus chapter | four

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

[theotherbuckley]

I'm Not Going Anywhere

bucktommy ficlet | 1.4K | G | read on ao3

The first time Evan spends the night over, Tommy panics. He panics when he wakes up in the morning, sun seeping through the gaps of the blinds. He expects to wake to a warm body wrapped around his front, Evan drooling onto his chest adorably, the way he was positioned when they went to sleep. Instead, he wakes up cold. He frowns, his eyes still closed as he lets out a groggy grumble, reaching out and fumbling with the sheets trying to locate his boyfriend. He slaps around at nothing but cold sheets. That’s when his eyes snap open and the panic seeps in. Because Evan’s not there. Hasn’t been for a while, as the coldness of the space beside him suggests.

Tommy should have known better. He doesn’t have many, if any, people who seem to want to stick around for him. His parents always thought he was more hassle than he was worth. He was constantly tossed between them during the divorce, neither one seeming too interested in keeping him for any longer than their agreement stipulated. His first girlfriend didn’t love him, which he supposes was only fair since he could never love her either. That didn’t make it hurt any less when she gave up and left. He caught his first boyfriend cheating on him when he came home early from a shift. They’d just lost a kid and his captain had sent him home. He had wanted to come home to his boyfriend, cuddle on the couch, watch some dumb romcom to cheer himself up. Instead he came home in a sleep-deprived daze, not registering the sounds coming from inside the apartment until it was too late. He didn’t have it in him to do anything more than let the tears stream down from his blood shot eyes. His boyfriend and his— whatever— left without even an apology. It was then that Tommy told himself he’d never let himself fall for something that wasn’t real.

The point is that Tommy should really know better. He thought maybe Evan was different, that he would want to stick around. But it had only been their first night together to have Evan scared off and running for the door. Tommy sighs, rolling onto his back and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. He debates spending the day moping in bed, but his bladder forces him to get up. After relieving himself he patters back to his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to figure out where the hell he went wrong. Did he come on too strong? Did he do something? Or was there just something wrong with him? 

A knock at the doorway startles him out of his spiral and he turns to see a half dressed Evan leaning against the frame. His hair is sticking out in every which direction, full of unkempt light brown curls. He looks ridiculously adorable standing there in his boxers and what looks to be one of Tommy’s shirts. It hangs loosely around Evan’s body, it fits Evan well actually, but it’s very different to the normally snug, tight fitting shirts that Evan normally wears, the ones whose buttons seem to be constantly fighting for their life. The sight of Evan in his clothing sends a wave of heat through his body, a warmth settling somewhere deep in his chest, chasing away the negative spiral of thoughts in his mind.

“Thought I heard you get up,” Evan says, grinning at Tommy who’s still stuck staring at the beautiful man in front of him. “I—I made breakfast, I hope you don’t mind,” Evan continues, ducking his head as a dusting of red blooms across his cheeks and down his neck. 

Tommy smiles at him then, a wide smile that has his eyes crinkling in the corner. He gets up, walking over towards Evan and placing his fingers gently under his chin, lifting softly so that Evan has to look at him. “You made me breakfast?” Tommy repeats softly, unable to hide the awe in his voice. 

Evan tries to duck his head again but Tommy doesn’t remove his hand from his chin. 

“Yeah. Is that— is that okay?” He looks so shy and nervous and that simply won’t do. Tommy leans forward, presses a chaste kiss to Evan’s lips, once, twice, three times because he simply can’t resist. Evan’s cheeks now almost match the colour of his birthmark. Tommy thinks he may just be the cutest man to ever exist. 

“More than okay, thank you,” Tommy says, his voice cracking lightly with sleep. Evan beams at him, standing up straighter, feeling much more confident now. Tommy wraps his arms around Evan’s waist, pulling him flush against him and tucking his head into the curve of his shoulder, unable to stop himself from seeking a little bit more comfort from his boyfriend.

“You okay?” Evan asks when Tommy finally pulls back. He’s always so caring, always able to sense when something’s not quite right.

Tommy nods, “Better now,” he says sincerely. 

Evan tilts his head a silent question to elaborate if he chooses. Tommy ducks his head this time. “I just—” Tommy shakes his head, “didn’t know where you went,” he finishes.

Evan’s expression drops and his eyes widen as the pieces click together. He’s quick to apologise, “I’m so sorry Tommy, I—I didn’t think! I just wanted to do something nice for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you wake up, I’m so—” Tommy cuts off his rambling with a sweet kiss to his lips. 

“I know, baby,” Tommy says gently, the pet name slipping out. 

Evan blushes the prettiest shade of pink and he smiles. “Good, cause—cause I’m not going anywhere, just so you know,” he says confidently. “Unless— unless you get sick of me,” Evan adds, insecurely seeping out.

“Don’t think that’s possible,” Tommy admits.

“Good, good. Come on I made pancakes,” Evan says, dragging Tommy by the arm towards the kitchen. He stops suddenly and Tommy crashes into the back of him. He raises his eyebrow at him quizzically. Evan simply smiles, hand coming up to rest on the back of his head and Tommy finds himself being pulled into a much deeper kiss, a startled moan leaves his lips but it only seems to spur Evan on more. Evan finally pulls back for air, placing another two chaste kisses to his lips before deeming that to be good enough. “Good morning,” he says in a way that has butterflies blooming in his stomach. He thought he was too old to feel this way but with Evan he can’t help but feel like a teenager with a crush. 

“Mmm, good morning indeed,” Tommy murmurs, unable to resist pulling Evan back in for another quick peck. 

Evan chuckles, a sound that Tommy could happily listen to on repeat. “Come on, the food will get cold.”

Tommy follows him out to the kitchen, eyes widening when he sees the food laid out. He didn’t even know he had that much food in his pantry. “You made this all for me?” Tommy says, voice heavy with emotion.

“Of course,” Evan replies simply, settling himself into one of the seats at the kitchen island. “I hope that’s alright,” he says again, and Tommy doesn’t miss the way Evan looks to him for assurance. 

Tommy smiles at him, pulling out the chair beside Evan. He places a soft kiss to Evan’s cheek, before sitting himself down. “Thank you,” Tommy says.

The breakfast is one of the best that Tommy has had in a while. He can’t help but moan after he takes his first bite. He looks up at Evan who’s practically scoffing away at his pancakes in a way that Tommy should not find as adorable as he does. He lets out a chuckle, unable to look away from his boyfriend.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Evan says when he notices Tommy staring. He brings his hands to his face, wiping at it in an attempt to get off something that isn’t even there.

Tommy shakes his head fondly. “No, no, just admiring the view,” he says, smiling at Evan, relishing in the way Evan immediately goes pink. Tommy loves how easy it is to make him blush, how easy praise affects him. He makes sure to take note of that for later. “You look good in my clothes,” he tells Evan, who only seems to get redder. Yeah, Tommy thinks, he could get used to this.

#911 abc #911 fandom #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 fic #purple writes #bucktommy #tevan #911 fanfic

[zedif-y]

something that i keep coming back to is the idea of what would've happened if impulse or bdubs ate that golden apple in double life.

would it have unsynced their hearts? would it have unravelled their soulbind?

would one of them have survived?

maybe the realistic answer is that they both die anyway. maybe things stay the same and they end up bleeding in the snow as pearl trudges out of the fight alive. maybe it wouldn't have made much of a difference at all.

but what if. what if.

what if they were the only ones left? what if the apple made all the difference?

...i like to think they would've gone home.

home is a bit of an overstatement at that point, what little is left of it just barely standing, their items destroyed. there is no more bed to sleep in, no dinner table nor warm food.

but.

(impulse looks up, squints.)

there is still the roof.

(he nudges bdubs with a grin. bdubs grins back.)

so they make do.

(they're damn good at that, if nothing else.)

i think that it's late in the afternoon when they settle on the roof of their old home, limbs aching from the battle and dried blood on their clothes.

i think that they put together a makeshift bed, barely big enough for two.

i think that the sky begins to grow dark as they patch each other up, scraps of bandages tied lovingly around shared wounds.

i think that the world slows, turning into shades of pinks, oranges, and purples.

i think that they sit side by side.

bdubs sighs, his head on impulse's shoulder.

"what a day, huh?"

impulse huffs a laugh, "you can say that again."

his hair's a mess, ruffled like all the mornings before, the ends singed from lava and explosions. his lip is split, the sting echoed. the colors of the sky sit reflected in dark eyes. dried blood stains his cheek.

bdubs lets his gaze linger, drinking in the sight.

in the still quiet of the world, bdubs looks at his husband and thinks him beautiful.

then, impulse turns to him, a teasing smile on his lips.

"are you just going to sit there and stare at me?" he asks. "there is an entire sunset in front of us, you know."

"maybe i'd just rather look at you," bdubs replies, easy as breathing. impulse laughs, but his cheeks are pink, warm under bdubs' kiss.

i think that they sit there until the moon rises, laughing and bickering until the stars light up the night.

the question, then, is what happens next?

perhaps there is a lifetime more painful than this one. perhaps it is multiple. perhaps this universe holds no room for kindness towards its victors.

but pretend with me, for a moment, and imagine a world where the universe says sleep.

you may rest now, it whispers, soft as the wind as they close their eyes. you have earned it. you have done well.

under the stars, side by side, two heartbeats start to slow.

until they finally, finally stop.

(here, they are the first to win happy.)

#impdubs #impulsesv #bdoubleo #bdouble0 #bdubs #hermitshipping #hermitshipblr #hermitfic #double life smp #dlsmp #trafficblr #trafficshipping #trafficshipblr #ryan's writing #idk . word vomit or whatever

[memoriesndew]

𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞 @𝟒𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖘

clean space, clear mind

one of my main goals right now is to keep my space clean, being in a disarranged space always makes my mind feel cluttered. here are a few things I want to focus on:

making my bed in the morning

practicing saturday resets

sweeping my room - most days

practicing self-care

practicing self-care is essential for maintaining your physical, mental, and emotional well-being. here are some ideas for self-care activities I want to incorporate into my routine

the 3 S's: sunlight; sip; self-reflect

do 1 self-care task every day

reading at least 10 pages of my current book each day

watching an episode of my current show once a day

pilates mornings {courtesy of love you twice}

some form of body movement

dabble in 1 hobby every day

get my study on

I'm not really active in studying these days and I really want to give my all to language learning and finally be consistent in using my language learning notion page and I really want to get into maths

schedule language learning sessions

use flashcards or vocabulary apps to memorize words

allocate time for writing exercises such as essays, journal entries, or creative pieces - in different languages

record yourself speaking and review to identify areas for improvement

devote time to studying grammar rules and sentence structures

schedule regular problem-solving sessions to work on math exercises or problems

work on my physical appearance

working on your physical appearance is important because it can significantly impact your confidence, self-esteem, and overall well-being. When you take care of your body through exercise, proper nutrition, skin care, and grooming habits, you not only look better but also feel better mentally and emotionally. As they sometimes say look better feel better

set a schedule for exercise sessions 4-6 times a week

monitor portion sizes to avoid overeating

have a daily skincare regimen

stretch regularly to alleviate tension and promote flexibility

get 7-9 hours of sleep each night

have a hair care regimen

try different aesthetics - like in outfits

focus on my goals

track food intake

study for at least 1 hour every day

update notion daily and weekly to keep track of progress

update notion with workouts for the week on fridays

dedicate 20 minutes to catch up with a friend

do daily tasks under each goal

mindset

I plan to take on the growth mindset. growth mindset is my belief that nothing is fixed and I can always grow. I'll embrace learning, adaptability, and self-improvement, knowing that it leads to greater success and fulfillment.

all the habits I plan to keep to

intermittent fasting (16:8 or 18:6)

eating indomie and bread once or less a week (I'm trying to eat a variety of foods, these days it's always indomie or bread, indomie or bread)

sleeping before 11pm

waking up at 7am

reducing my portion sizes

no night time snacks

workout 4-6 times a week

actually keep to my workout programs - stop adding more workouts to the program so it doesn't overwhelm me and makes it harder for me to workout

hit 10k steps 6-7 times a week

starting my day with God

#girlblog #girlblogger #girlblogging #that girl #it girl #self care #self love #glow up #becoming that girl #self improvement #self help #self development #wonyoungism #pink pilates princess aesthetic #pink pilates girl #pink pilates princess #clean girl aesthetic #clean girl #green juice girl aesthetic #green juice girl #girly #health aesthetic #health blog #fitness #fitness blog #mindset #girly stuff #notion #pinterest #memoriesndew