#it's been on y to draw list for months

[pitchthepeach]

Based on @astronomical-fog ’s wonderful And if you close your eyes

#they're a family!!!!!! #icemav #top gun #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #the mortifying ordeal of having to draw kids!! kids feet!!! all laughing at renaissance paintings until we have to draw the babies ourselves #i spent more time on Bradley's shoes than anything else and for what !! #also go read that story it's a gem and lives in my mind rent free #top gun 1986 #bradley bradshaw #it's been on y to draw list for months #shiny happy people #bradley rooster bradshaw #fanart

[dullahandyke]

Hey guys I think I might be disabled (thinking abt the dozens of things he hasnt done bcos the executive dysfunction is debilitating)

#think it might genuinely have been months since i last brushed my teeth #my life is built on 'must x before y' and it is literally awful #ok im gonna draw ip a detsiled itinerary w thriling items such as 'take meds' and 'shower' #so i have an ordered list

[leonw4nter]

Holding Our Dreams As You Lie To Rest

Dad!RE4R!Leon x F!Reader

“Time of birth, 2:31 AM.”

“Time of death, 2:31 AM.”

The nurse lays his newborn daughter on her mother’s still chest, the first and final time his daughter would ever get to feel her mother. Her unbroken cries drowned out the beeping of the heart monitor, a stark contrast to the state of eternal peace her mom will forever be in. They kept their daughter on her chest for a few more moments before lifting her back up, her cries growing louder as her tiny hands stretched out to try and hold on to her mom as if she knew she would never see, feel, hear or be with her again. Leon felt as if he’d been killed twice, losing a life in the same moment he gained a new one; he wanted to cry, to scream, and gently rock your body back and forth but he can’t– he has to be a father. He has to. He bends down, taking her cold hand in his trembling ones and presses kisses as he looks up at you. Eyelids curtained your eyes that once held a brightness greater than a million suns, pale lips fixed into a straight line; lips that would never smile again. He moves over to your face; you’re still beautiful, even when death stole the color and life from your features. He hugs you tight and buries his face in the nook of her neck, softly sobbing and whispering apologies as he strokes your hair one last time; you always loved it when he did that. Doctors come in and unplug her from the machines, fixing her before draping white linen over her body and taking that bed out of the hospital room. A nurse approaches Leon with a small voice, her own eyes slightly glossy as she extends her arms and gently moves the baby to Leon. He takes her in his arms, a flurry of overwhelming emotions overriding his ability to process this moment.

“I’m sorry, my dearest daughter.” he whispers. “I’m sorry for robbing you of the chance to have a mother.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“She’s growing so fast, honey. She’s a strong girl just like her dad,” you softly say as you pat your growing belly. Leon is splayed out right on top of you, situating himself on your legs and nuzzling his cheek into the side of your belly.

“Yeah. 3 months more and I’ll have two girls in my life,” he softly says with a smile.

“Baby?”

“Hm?”

“Have you thought of names for her?”

“Hm… no. Not yet. I want you to be the one to name her. I mean– you’ll know her best. You’re going to be carrying her for nine months, it’s only right that you’ll get to name her.”

“Don’t you have any ideas for names?”

“I have some in mind.”

“Like what?”

“Araminta, but we can call her ‘Minty’ for short. It sounds cute, right? What about ‘Cassandra’? I was asking Hunnigan for some ideas and she offered that and I think it’s nice too. ‘Jewel’ sounds great too. Oh– what about ‘Stella’? I think it’s a very pretty name.”

A twinkling laughter escapes your lips as Leon lists out all the names he finds pretty, musing about possible combinations that sound prettiest. Another hand moves to the top of his head, gently ruffling white spun-sun strands in between your fingers, a pleased hum reverberating throughout Leon’s chest. The laughter stays short-lived when you feel a kick to your rib, causing you to jerk and yelp.

“You alright, Y/N?” Leon asks as he sits up, eyebrows creasing in concern.

“Yeah. The baby just kicked,” she says with a small smile. “Nothing too serious.”

Leon bends down as he places a kiss on the top of your bump, his hands resting on your waist as he draws small circle patterns with the rough pads of his fingers.

“My precious daughter, don’t kick your mom too much, okay? Don’t keep her up at night and give her some time to rest. Daddy’s going to be here for you, don’t worry. We can’t wait to meet you too.”

Leon would give up anything and everything if it means keeping his girls safe and sound. He’d hold the sky up if it meant providing a secure sense of safety and happiness for his wife and daughter.

“Oh? She stopped kicking.” you softly say with an amused lilt to your voice. “Guess all I needed was for you to speak for her.”

“She’s a smart girl, just like her mother. God, I’m too lucky to have you both in my life.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Claire, can… can you come over? She won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do…” Leon hoarse at the other end of the line as he holds his daughter with one arm and his phone in the other. His daughter has been crying endlessly, depriving them both of sleep. He’s tried everything– soft singing, rocking her back and forth, feeding, checking her diapers, burping, readjusting the swaddling of her cloth but none would calm her down.

Oh, Y/N. I don’t know what to do. She needs you. I need you too. Can you come back to us? Please?

“Have you tried laying her near some of Y/N’s sweaters?” Claire suggests. “God you’re so stupid for not considering that. She might be missing her mom,” Leon thinks to himself. Placing the phone down, he rushes to his and Y/N’s room to find her favorite sweater. He lays the pastel lime-green sweater on her crib before placing her down, gently patting her belly and pressing kisses to her puffy cheeks.

“C’mon honey. Please… please stop crying. I-I don’t know what to do, I’m sorry that mom’s not here right now- Dad’s really sorry, sweetie.” Leon quietly says as he feels some of his own tears stream down his cheek.

Eventually, she stops crying and falls asleep. Leon looms over her, her tiny hand holding on to his thumb. He feels pity for her; he broke the promise of making sure she grows up in a perfect family. He feels as if he doesn’t deserve his daughter, he couldn’t even grant Y/N the dream of becoming a mother. She had long wished for a child of her own, to be able to be a mother and he couldn’t give her that. She carried his child for nine months, enduring morning sickness, swelling ankles, and every single bodily hysteric and he didn’t even give her a chance to see your daughter.

The faint noise of the doorbell from downstairs shakes Leon from his thoughts, putting on a shirt and going downstairs to pick up the door.

“Claire?”

“You just suddenly dropped the call after I suggested the sweater thing so I came down and went here. How’s she? Is she asleep?”

“Yeah. The sweater did just the trick.” he bitterly says. A silence lingers between the two for a bit before he speaks up. “I miss her, Claire. I miss Y/N. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know if–” his voice cracks. “I don’t know if I’m up for this without her.”

Claire moves to Leon and engulfs him in a tight hug, tears of her own flowing down her freckled cheeks. Y/N’s death was not easy for everyone who gracefully waltzed into her life– Chris, Claire, Rebecca, and Jill all hurting in their own way but not as profoundly deep and scarring as Leon.

“I know you do. We all miss her, Leon.”

Leon sobs into her shoulder, his body shaking as choked sobs leave him. Truly, he felt like the worst person in the world.

“Claire, look at me. Look at her– I took Y/N away from my own daughter. I stole her own mother away and she’s never fucking coming back! I’m lost and nothing without her, I don’t even know how to stop my daughter from crying. My daughter needs Y/N and I can’t give her that. All I can provide for her are pictures and her clothes because there’s no mother to sing and hold her.”

Claire holds him tighter, her hands gently patting Leon’s back as she stays silent and lets Leon spill all of his feelings.

“She wouldn’t be fucking dead had I brought her to the hospital two hours earlier. If only I listened to her and took her there when she started bleeding instead of choosing to mow the damn lawn I wouldn’t have ruined my daughter’s life from the start. Her heart would not have failed her– I wouldn’t have failed her if I was actually a decent man, Claire.”

“Leon, you’re more than decent. You’re doing everything you can for your daughter and that’s what matters–”

“But I’ll never fill in the Y/N shaped hole in her tiny heart. No one and nothing ever could, no matter how hard I try.”

Leon’s fought all kinds of monsters and abominations, barely making it back each time but it was worth it to see his Y/N’s brilliant face beaming at him everytime he stumbled home. If he could save someone from the horrors of bioterrorism, why couldn’t he save his own wife by simply sending her to the hospital two hours earlier than he should’ve?

Claire couldn’t say anything. It’s not that she agreed with whatever self depreciating fact Leon said but whatever words she would say won’t make anything feel better. Y/N shaped Leon into who he is now– changing and transforming him into a person no one knew Leon could be capable of becoming and her death simply left Leon a shattered and broken person; a shell of his former self. Leon would go through that fateful night in Raccoon City a hundred times again if it meant having her back– even if Y/N would fall out of love with him or be destined with someone else, as long as she was happy and alive. Happiness is the last thing Leon deserves right now. Standing at the doorway of his home, Claire held the shattered pieces of the blond and offered him a shoulder to cry his broken heart on.

Later that night, Leon laid down on his side of the bed whilst he moved his daughter to Y/N’s side so that she would be around her scent. He enjoyed silent nights with you, just laying in the same bed and smiling at the fact that he married the maker of all his dreams but now the silence was a painful reminder that a half of him perished forever. He left her things as they were before the two headed to the hospital, not wanting to wash the clothes she wore just to have some form of her around for just a little longer. He left the mug she drank from untouched as well and he didn’t bother to hide the bath products Y/N left behind in the shower. Her makeup products were still neatly lined up on the counter and he often wore her hair ties on his wrist but he avoided looking at the wedding band she took off. Y/N’s fingers have started swelling and on doctor’s advice, she took it off but kept it around her neck with a chain. The funeral was especially difficult, seeing her lie so stiffly with her features looking a little different. He didn’t have time to grieve because her parting gift needed him the most. Speaking of parting gift, he finds himself thinking that she left him a tiny version of herself to keep him company. She’d absolutely berate him if he gave up now so he hanged on with what little might he had left in him, giving his all for their daughter. He goes to sleep with the prayer that he’ll see Y/N, even for just a quick moment. Even if it’s just in his distant dreams.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

6 years later.

“Do you want more sandwiches or is that enough already?” Leon asks his now 6 year old daughter.

“Nuh-uh. I’m full already.” she responds. Leon moves from his place and inches towards his daughter, a wet wipe in hand to wipe some crumbs from the corner of her lips before pulling out another wipe to wipe her greasy fingers.

“Wanna know something, daddy?” she suddenly asks.

“Hm? What is it?” he responds.

“Auntie Claire told me that our loved ones in heaven send us signs sometimes. She says her own mom sends her and she says she feels a lot better when her mom does. Has mommy ever sent us a sign?”

The question takes Leon off-guard, his gaze drifting to your marble headstone before returning back to his daughter. With a pained grin, he responds to her question.

“Yeah. Mommy likes simple things that make us happy, so to me, she appears as a warm drink on a cold day. Sometimes she’s a particularly nice ray of sunlight. Sometimes, she’s the rain that waters plants. I guess those are signs she sends us.” and I hope you send some more, Y/N. I still miss you.

“So does that mean Mommy’s sign can be a good bedtime story?”

“Yeah.”

She thinks a little more, getting up and giving her mom’s headstone a small pat. With a tiny finger, she traces her name and date of birth.

“We saw a tiny kitten with blue eyes on the way here, right daddy?”

“Mhm. Why? Do you want a kitten?”

“Maybe. But Uncle Chris told me that mommy’s favorite color was blue. I found it weird at first because blue is a boy’s color but Aunt Jill said that it’s a color for anyone. She also said that blue is mommy’s favorite color because it’s the color of your eyes.”

Leon fights back tears, a surprised laugh making its way through his throat despite a lump forming. He nods, his heart fluttering at the fact.

“Yeah, it was, though a lot of her things weren’t blue. Mommy’s an interesting person that way.” he fondly remembers.

Y/N’s death anniversary doesn’t get easier any year, the unbearable pain of remembering her longer than he’s known her weighing on his tattered heart. His daughter finally comes back to him and sits beside him on the picnic blanket, a tiny hand reaching out to hold Leon’s. He can’t believe his own daughter would want to hold the same hand that gets dirty with the blood and muck of biological hellions.

“Auntie Ashley told me you also used to have a friend named Luis when you were in Spain. She said he was funny and smart and nice. Do you think Mommy and Luis are best friends in heaven? She needs someone there too because we’re both still here.”

“Yeah. I hope they’re friends.” Leon had to respond in a more hushed voice to keep his voice from cracking and his tears from spilling, his daughter’s innocence both warming and shattering his heart. “You have her eyes and her lips. Your eyes wrinkle the same way as hers when something makes her smile bright and you scrunch your nose when something makes you laugh. In your face, she is alive.”

NOTE - First angst on this blog!! Woooo!!!! I blasted Mitski while writing this and luckily I did NAWT cry (-> cried in the shower instead). If you're feeling a little sad now that I wrote this, feel free to check out my other fics that are NOT angst (shameless self-advertisement /j). That's all and thanks for reading!!!!! :) UPDATE: Leon photocards haven't arrived yet.

The wave dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #angst #light angst #resident evil 4 #resident evil x reader #biohazard #resident evil 4 remake #re4 remake #re4r #resident evil angst

[strwbrrymlkjh]

alhaitham x gn!reader

entering a romantic relationship with alhaitham the scribe was one thing but expecting, hoping, to maintain that kind of relationship with alhaitham the acting grand sage was another. or alhaitham asks for another chance.

tags: texts in italics are flashbacks. POV changes. angst, neglected reader, lack of communication, mention of alcohol consumption, inaccurate lore, i have no idea what alhaitham does as the acting grand sage, maybe ooc, not proofread

wc: 2.2k

AO3

An unmistakable mop of silver hair greets you as you make your way through the hallway of your tenement. Sensing your presence, the figure turned his head to your direction and locked eyes with you. The intensity behind those familiar green eyes instantly rooted you to your spot. One look at his face was enough to bring back the painful memories you tried so hard to bury for the past month.

°

Entering a romantic relationship with Alhaitham the Scribe was one thing but expecting, hoping, to maintain that kind of relationship with Alhaitham the Acting Grand Sage was another.

Ever since his reluctant acceptance of the position of Acting Grand Sage, you rarely saw your boyfriend at home. In fact, you barely see him at all. You understand that he was preoccupied with rebuilding Sumeru and the Akademiya, yet you cannot help but miss his presence; the slow mornings where he would enjoy the cup of coffee you prepared for him, the peaceful afternoons that you would spend together reading in your living room, the dinners filled with pleasant conversations as you recounted your day. You miss him.

The sound of your front door closing jolted you awake from your nap. Sitting up from your spot on the couch, you greeted your boyfriend who just arrived home.

“Alhaitham. Welcome home.”

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?”

“I was reading, actually. I just closed my eyes for a second, and then dozed off, I guess.” You responded, chuckling weakly.

“I recall telling you not to wait for me.”

“I know, but -” I miss you. You cannot bring yourself to tell him. He was already burdened enough as is, and the last thing you would want to do is to add to his worries.

He sighed and offered his hand for you to take. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

°

“Haitham, are you free tomorrow? It’s been a while since we visited the Grand Bazaar."

“I apologize Y/N, but I cannot come with you. I still have to review these research projects in need of funding.” He gestured to the thick bundle of papers that littered his desk.

You offered him a smile. “Alright. We can always do it next weekend.”

°

“I think I can make it in time for dinner tonight.” Is what he said.

You have no idea how long you sat in your dining room waiting for him. The food you prepared was now sitting cold at the table. Glancing at the clock, you felt a sad smile tug at your lips. Another missed dinner. You let out a heavy sigh as you started clearing away the plates you carefully arranged hours ago.

Alhaitham is a very busy man, and with everything that’s going on in the Akademiya, you knew better than to ask him to do things you used to do together.

At this point, the growing list of broken promises were too many to count.

Soon enough, all the pleasant dinners turned into late night meals eaten alone and the once warm bed became your only witness of the cold nights and the silent mornings you endured on your own.

°

After what felt like an eternity of staring at each other, he took a cautious step towards you.

“Y/N.”

Pretending you didn’t hear him, you bit the inside of your cheek and fished for your apartment keys inside your bag.

Once again, you hear Alhaitham call out your name.

You are certain that if you bite any harder, you would draw blood, but it was the only way to keep your barely composed façade from cracking.

A warm hand held your wrist as you were about to unlock the door. Startled, you pulled away as if burned. You rubbed the area, a nervous habit.

Even at a distance, you wouldn’t miss how the light left Alhaitham's eyes after seeing your reaction to his touch. The apology was at the tip of your tongue - you did not mean to pull away, you were just surprised, you wanted to tell him.

Your gaze traveled from his crestfallen face to his disheveled hair, sunken cheeks and the out-of-place cape. Looking at him now, you are certain that nobody would be able to tell that the man before you is the intimidating Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya.

Despite yourself, you wanted to reach out and touch his face, card your fingers through his hair, wipe the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You clenched your fist at your side to stop yourself.

A month ago, you left your shared apartment with a promise not to get pulled by his gravity again. You feel your resolve falter now that you’re in his orbit.

Green eyes met yours once more and you felt your cheeks heat up. You averted your gaze and headed for your apartment door.

“Wait, Y/N. Please. Can I talk to you? Ten minutes. No. Five. Five minutes is enough. Please, I just need to tell you something.”

You stopped in your tracks. The desperation that laced his voice reminded you of the moments when you had to fight for even a minute of his time.

°

“It was one date Y/N.” Alhaitham reasons out. “Do not make it a huge deal.”

You turned to him, a look of indignation on your face. “One date? It’s our anniversary Alhaitham. Is it really too much to ask for one dinner with you?” You exclaimed. “I looked like a fool. No, I felt like a fool waiting for you to show up. You did not even think about telling me that you couldn’t make it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose before turning to you. “I apologize, but you are well aware that I have more pressing matters to attend to at the Akademiya.”

You did not think that your heart could break any further. You have known it for a while now; his duty always comes first.

°

Alhaitham knew that he did not have the right to be here and his presence was likely to hurt you. It was nothing new, he thought grimly. It seems that that was all he has ever done these past few months - cause you pain.

He unintentionally drove you away and now he was here, consumed by regrets yet filled with determination to do better. That is, if you give him a chance to do so.

It seems the odds are against him as he watches you rub the wrist he touched. It was one of your nervous habits. It could also be that you were trying to erase the lingering feeling of his skin making contact with yours, a voice whispered in his head.

You stood unmoving after he practically pleaded you to hear him out and it was enough to give him a sliver of hope.

He cleared his throat. “Have you been well?”

“You came here to ask me that?” You responded, the disbelief evident in your tone.

“No. I mean -” He closed his eyes tightly, willing his headache to go away. The lack of sleep was getting to him. This was not how he wanted this to go.

Gathering the will to speak again, he continued, “You weren’t answering my letters and I simply wish to know how you have been faring.”

No, these were half-truth, excuses. If he really wanted to earn another chance, he should start with being honest with you, with himself. So, he said, “I am sorry. I wanted to see you. I missed you, Y/N.”

The silence that followed his statement was deafening. He watched you study his face before he heard you ask, “Are you drunk?”

“I did have a couple of glasses at the tavern, yes. But I assure you, I am completely aware of what I am doing at this moment.” He answered honestly. “I am the worst, aren't I? I do not even have the courage to face you sober.” He bowed his head, a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Sorry, I’m just - I really am sorry.”

“Is that the reason why you’re here? To share your newfound drinking habits?” You responded coldly.

“No, I do have my reason.” He raised his head to look at you behind his blurry eyes and the sight took his breath away. “But … were you … were you always this beautiful?” He blurted out before he could stop himself. Though, it was not the alcohol speaking. It was the truth. The sun was setting behind you and it bathed you in its glow, casting a halo around your head.

He felt himself struggle for a silent breath as he took his time taking you in. “You are so beautiful, my love." The term of endearment hangs between the both of you.

You shook your head. “You’re drunk, Alhaitham.”

“I’m not.” He insisted. “I’m not. It’s just … I can’t believe I hurt someone this beautiful so deeply.” And in a quieter voice, as if talking to himself, he whispered, “I’m such a fool.”

He knows he cannot win you back like this; not with flowery words and praises of your beauty. Still, he wanted to tell you that and many other things he was not able to.

Panic welled up inside him as you shook your head and unlocked your door. Chasing after you, he had half the mind to hug you from behind to stop you from leaving. But he knew he shouldn't push his luck right now, if your reaction earlier is anything to go by.

"Y/N, please."

You turned to him. "Then, enough with the nonsense Alhaitham. Just say what you have to say and leave." Your tone was calm but he heard the slight tremble in your voice. Even now, he was hurting you without meaning to.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he said, "What I wanted to say is that I am sorry. I know I have countless things to apologize for and I … I cannot express how sorry I am. The word 'sorry' is not good enough." He looked down, ashamed of himself, a Haravatat scholar not having the right words to convey his intentions.

He wanted so badly to tell you how much he regrets taking you for granted and to let you know that since you left, all he could think about is you. Even when he somehow manages to stop doing so, everything he looks at seems to hold a piece of you and you invade his thoughts once more, as if you never left in the first place.

Your favorite mug sitting untouched in the kitchen cupboard reminds him of the coffees you used to make for him. The books gathering dust at his study bring back memories from when you would sit beside him, warm body pressed against his as you read your own books. The bed which was too big for one person makes him think about how lonely you must have been, spending those cold nights and silent mornings alone.

He lays awake at night in that same bed, haunted by the defeated look in your eyes the day you decided to end your relationship, or what's left of it. You were tired of fighting for a place in his life, you said.

The logical part of him argued that you were both better off this way. As long as he was the Acting Grand Sage, he knows that he cannot be the man you need, the man you deserve.

But here he was, hoping that you would still have him, because there's no one else for him but you.

"I - I am so sorry." He has no idea how many times he has uttered that word now. "For taking you for granted, for not fighting for you, for letting you go so easily. Y/N, I love you so much. I don't think it's possible for me to love anybody else." He confessed.

His hands itched to wipe the tears that streamed down your face. Gauging your reaction, he took a tentative step forward. "I know that I have no right to ask this from you, but Y/N … can you let me stay by your side again?"

°

Your heart was racing, everything around you was spinning. Contradicting thoughts were swimming inside your head - you wanted to say yes because you still love him, but at the same time, you wanted to push him away because you're afraid of getting hurt again.

You did not notice the tears freely cascading down your face until a hand wiped them away. Looking up at him, you said, “I don’t know Alhaitham. With the way things are between us …” You trailed off.

He reached for your trembling hand and brought it to his lips. “I never stopped loving you, even if my actions made you think otherwise. Let me prove it to you.”

Seconds pass without any response from you, Alhaitham speaks again, "You do not have to give me an answer now. Take all the time you need. I can wait." His grip on your hand tightened before letting go. “You should go inside now. It’s getting late.”

You nodded absentmindedly. He took a step back and you instantly missed the warmth that his body has to offer. You stepped inside your apartment, but for some reason, you cannot close the door while he is still there.

“Thank you for hearing me out. I meant every word I said, Y/N. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

thank you so much for reading! comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated ♡♡♡

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #alhaitham #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #genshin #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin alhaitham #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #tags are hard

[simplydnp]

WAD: Cover Art

dan is still working on selling the distribution rights for We're All Doomed! so i decided to make some DVD/Blu-ray disc jacket art!

this is my attempt at a traditional jacket design! none of the images used are mine, but i did create the concept and design:

as i was making the first one for myself, i was struck by the fact that 'well, it's for me, so it doesn't have to look like a stereotypical jacket cover' which led me to be more artsy in my approach for the next one:

i was really enjoying the creativity and space to explore, so i went looking for more inspiration for a third design. this led me to dan's favourite Muse album: Origin of Symmetry, which i paid homage to:

after the first Muse album, i looked at their catalogue to see if there was more inspiration there. i was just thankful dan's favourite was easy stylistically to mimic, unlike say, 2009's The Resistance...

thank you @danielhowell for the inspiration!

nerdy stuff & reference pics below the cut!

General notes

i don't know how to use photoshop! i entirely brute-forced my way through the whole project, and the only tutorial i looked up was for the gradient text in the 4th cover

this wasn't even the original project i was working on! you'll eventually get to see that though

and this one also inspired art for the disc itself so stay tuned 👀

i will do anything for authenticity so these are Full of intentional details

matching fonts is a nightmare

the traditional cover

took the longest, as it was the first.

the barcode numbers are the date of the first video he uploaded on dinof, and the last tour show date (in m/d/y)

i changed 'iceland' to 'poland' on the front cover, as he never actually went to iceland, and poland wasn't ever on the list even though he did go there

the orange may look a little off-center in the front, but these designs need to include space for a spine between the front and back cover, i promise it's right 😂

the black and white cover

inspired by the 'i want to believe' aliens poster

the cover art comes from his metal band merch shirt design

i had to manually shrink the text, line by line, and ensure it all lined up on the back!

i even made the logos on the back greyscale

the Muse: Origin of Symmetry cover

a shockingly perfect style for a WAD cover. i'm so glad i used the cubes, even if they couldn't be orange.

there's some versions of the art online where the sky is even more orange and it baffles me how i haven't seen any parallels like this before

the Muse: The Resistance cover

this cover was never supposed to see the light of day! i meant it when i said i was grateful i didn't have to try to adapt this complex design... and yet, i tried anyway.

i did all the grid lines by hand, including the jagged/broken edge parts, shading each section, and then drawing every star.

the hardest part was getting the gradient on the back text to cooperate. photoshop's gradient settings are surprisingly limited

gotta shout out @amazingphil for being the reason i knew what this cover looked like--it's the only muse album i knew the art of before embarking on this quest!

obligatory sob story:

i've been extremely and suddenly ill for 6 months. it is difficult to function moment to moment, but especially in doing little things just for me. this is the first and only art project i've been able to feel inspired to not only work on, but to finish, and despite the pain and long hours, i enjoyed every minute of it. thank you, dan, for creating this space for me to explore, and thank you, everyone here, for being wonderful support during this time 💞

#it's finally here!! i hope you all love them as much as i do #dnp #c.text #dan and phil #daniel howell #phan art #hey phil look at this #we're all doomed #wad #c.art #word

[thatsthat24]

Sanderstober 2023

Upon request, I’ve provided new art prompts for this year’s month of October!! As always, feel free to do all or some of these, pick and choose whichever stands out to you! If you missed a day’s prompt but still wanted to do art for it, absolutely do that and post it whenever you want, no worries whatsoever. It’s all completely laid back and just for fun! I’ve added to this list without consulting old ones, so if I used a repeat idea, it’s possible that I just was interested in seeing more of it again this year!! Hope you all enjoy! If you’re wanting me to check them out at all, you can use the tag, #Sanderstober2023 🎃

Oct. 1st: Give me a spooky or Halloween-y figure and how he looks on Sep. 30th (their off-time, go as comical as you’d like) and then how they look Oct. 1st (traditionally how they are known to look!).

Oct. 2nd: Give me a flower design inspired by a type of candy of your choice!

Oct. 3rd: In celebration of the awesomeness that is Fionna and Cake, I’d love to see you take a character, or characters from your fave series, and give them a multiverse makeover (what they’d look like in a different universe, under different circumstances)

Oct. 4th: Take any historic landmark, and give it an autumn or Halloween-y makeover

Oct. 5th: Since I’ve been on my D&D kick with Roleslaying with Roman, what would any Halloween- or spooky-themed character be in a D&D world? What would be their race? Their class? Their backstory??

Oct. 6th: Google a Random Color Generator and use it to give you three colors. Then use those three colors to create a new Halloween creature or character.

Oct. 7th: Along the lines of Spiderman Noir, take any character you want from some sort of fiction, and depict how they might look like in any other time period!

Oct. 8th: In the spirit of having fun with both Halloween AND Christmas, take a Halloween story/character and draw what they might appear as if they were actually a character talked or sung about in a Christmas story.

Oct. 9th: Take a group of characters from one of your favorite pieces of content and create tarot cards featuring them. Google tarot cards to get inspiration if you need!

Oct. 10th: Take a musical (one that I would suppose wouldn’t already be scary) and create a poster for it as if it were the title of a scary movie

Oct. 11th: Google a Disney character generator, pick out two characters, and create what a mash-up of those two characters would look like!

Oct.12th: Pumpkin spice latte obviously has its spotlight during the fall, but could you come up with another special coffee concoction for another season/holiday of the year?

Oct. 13th: Take a Fall/Halloween concept or character and use it as inspiration for a fashionable outfit

Oct. 14th: As a tribute to Barbenheimer this year, take any character from Barbie or Oppenheimer and depict how they’d appear in the other movie

Oct. 15th: Take the last text you received. Use all or part of it to base a whole movie off of it of any genre, and create a poster for it

Oct. 16th: Take one of the names of your current pet, old pet, or friend’s pet, and use that name as the inspiration for a superhero. What would that superhero look like?

Oct. 17th: Is there a phrase that one of your parents or friend says all the time? Take it and imagine it’s the name of a children’s book. What would that children’s book cover look like?

Oct. 18th: Take a Disney villain, and depict them as a Disney princess

Oct. 19th: Take a Disney Princess and depict them as a Disney villain!

Oct. 20th: Take any Greek god and imagine what their preferred activity might be on an average Fall day.

Oct. 21st: Take a board game (one that I would suppose wouldn’t be scary) and create a poster for it as if it were the title of a scary movie

Oct. 22nd: This is an annual favorite of mine - take take any character(s) from a piece of content of your choice and depict them like a Tim Burton character

Oct. 23rd: Take a famous brand logo (Toyota, Playstation, Campbell’s Soup, Facebook, literally any logo from anything) and design a Pokemon inspired by the logo and color palette! Bonus for naming it and giving it stats!

Oct. 24th: In the spirit AGAIN of having fun with both Halloween AND Christmas, now take a Christmas story/character and draw what they might appear as if they were actually a character talked or sung about in a Halloween story.

Oct. 25th: Another favorite of mine: take any character(s) from a piece of animated content you enjoy, and draw them in the style of another piece of animated content!

Oct. 26th: Go to the latest playlist you were listening to, put it on shuffle, and see what song it plays. Take the title of that song and use it as inspiration for a Halloween/Autumn themed drawing of your choice.

Oct. 27th: Take a favorite pair of characters from a piece of content you enjoy and depict what their matching Halloween costumes would be!

Oct. 28th: [Random event from this past year] … and Zombies!!

Oct. 29th: Every town’s got some local businesses with interesting names (Jerry’s Tire Barn Emporium, stuff like that). If you know of one in your local town, take that name, and imagine it to be the name of a Haunted House. Depict what that location may look like. I wanna learn about some funny local business names.

Oct. 30th: Take one item from your desk/workspace, anything you want. This item is now the inpiration of a brand NEW cryptid (like Sasquatch, Loch Ness, El Chupacabra, just some legendary creature we have yet to find hard evidence of). Depict what this cryptid would be!

Oct. 31st: And, of course, in typical fashion for the big day, give me any character(s) of your choice, from any piece of content, enjoying Halloween in whatever way seems appropriate to them!!

Hope you all have a WONDERFUL October! And hope you enjoy these different art ideas! Looking forward to anything it may bring about!

#Sanderstober2023 Prompts #Sanderstober2023

[calicoheartz]

So ready to be fed tonight 💛

I was wondering if you could do a jealous!Caitlin x reader that's maybe slightly suggestive? It's okay if not !!

Green Eyed Passion ; Caitlin Clark ⟢﹒

summary : jealous! caitlin x reader 🫣

wc ; 773

warnings : very suggestive , read at your own risk.

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : anon , you have just been served a full course meal. This was sooo fun to write!!! enjoy besties ◡̈

Caitlin is used to being confident in herself. As an extremely talented and successful basketball star, she had no trouble attracting and dealing with unwanted attention. However, when she started dating you, a young and attractive individual who had a captivating personality, she found herself facing a new emotion: jealousy.

It all began innocently enough. You had been dating for a few months, and everything seemed perfect. You rarely argued, had little disagreements, and most importantly you shared the same interests. Never failing to make eachother laugh even in the worst of situations, it was obvious that you were each other’s person.

But one evening, as you both were attending a team event, Caitlin couldn’t shake the feeling of this rather unfamiliar emotion.

You however, were in your element. A dimly lit bar filled with different characters from all walks of life, it fascinated you, you absolutely adored engaging in conversation with others. Your charisma drawing in people like moths to a flame, your eyes sparkling in every animated conversation you found yourself in. Caitlin however, watched from the sidelines; simply smiling politely as she watched admirers approach you to strike up simple exchange.

Her mood, however, quickly soured when she noticed you talking to a fairly tall, and attractive figure. A little bit too close for Caitlin’s pleasure.

She continued to watch you from across the room, how your laugh echoed, how close you two were, stirred up feelings she didn’t even know she had. Trying to shake off this feeling, she joined a group of her other teammates, trying to take her mind off of you and your seemingly interesting conversation. But she couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at you and this mysterious stranger, immediately being stung by a wave of jealousy.

As the evening went on, Caitlin found herself being more and more isolated. She tried to engage in conversation with you, but to no avail. You seemed distracted, with your attention constantly drifting back to the figure.

Finally, unable to contain her jealousy, she approached the both of. Simply grabbing your wrist and muttering a “Sorry, please excuse us”, as she quickly dragged you away to a secluded area inside the bar

“What's going on?” she asked harshly, clearly trying to mask her jealousy. You took a step back, clearly confused on what she meant, “huh? What do you mean?”. She furrowed her brows at your response, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. “You know what I mean y/n. What is going on?”. She glared at you, her 6’0 frame overpowering yours as she simply corned you against the wall.

You smirked, now realizing why the brunette was acting so strange. She was jealous. It was very rare for Caitlin to act like this, and the outcome would only lead to one possible scenario. You were about to get your shit rocked.

You bit your lip, simply batting your eyelashes at her, sweetly saying, “i don't know what you mean, baby”.

Ohhhhhh shit. That did it. If she wasn't turned on before she definitely was now. And to be fair she wasn't the only one, you could feel a slight stickiness in between your thighs.

As if it was second nature, she captured your wrist, not even saying a word, and dragged you out of the bar and into the passenger seat of the car.

Even on your way back home, not even a slight glance was given to you, her knuckles as white as your bed sheets as she aggressively gripped the steering wheel. You knew you were fucked. She knew you were fucked, now what is going to be done about it?

As soon as you arrived at your shared apartment she immediately pinned you against the wall, her hands immediately finding their way into your locks, intertwining them in between her fingers. With one free hand, she caressed your face, as she slowly started to place wet kisses on your chest, leaving soft love bites in the process. You let out a small, but audible moan at her actions, letting her know to keep going. She slowly kept going down until she reached your collarbones until she abruptly stopped. You pouted, cool air quickly hitting your flesh where her lips had once been seconds earlier.

She gave you a sly smile, lowly muttering

Why would you start something you wont be able to finish?

omg okay woah that was intense !! definitely will write more content like this in the future.. 😏 tysm for reading lovelies !

#wlw #caitlin clark #headcannons #my hcs #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wcbb #wlw imagine #caitlin clark x reader #suggestive #kate martin #hawkeye #22 #paige bueckers x reader #wlw post #wlw love #iowa wbb #wbb

[impishjesters]

jax with a fem! rabbit reader pregnant of his litter of 6 bunnies (3 boys and 3 girls) and everything went well with y/n and the lil bunnies who are at the moment blind, hairless and deaf...

warning(s): it's honestly just some soft new dad Jax note(s): Since they aren't actual bunnies I didn't really include the blind and deaf part, but they are very much hairless. They are baby-sized though, I blame a fanart I saw once with Jax and his lil mini-copy babies and had to draw inspo from it. Also not mentioned but Jax was just being a lil shit, some of the kits do take after you. A/N: You can't tell me Jax (even as a joke) wouldn't try and name his kids after himself in some horrible manner.

Exhaustion still rang high even after a quick nap, popping out six babies would do that to you you suppose. You’d caught a decent glimpse at all the kits when they were cleaned up but once everything was done and clean and you were taken care of, you conked right out.

You woke to hushed whispers and a few cries, no doubt one of the kits being fussy. If anything you are amazed Jax has kept them so quiet—that or you were in a deep sleep. Probably the latter.

“Who’s being fussy?”

Jax mumbled a silent ‘fuck’, he didn’t mean to wake you, even if it wasn’t directly him who woke you. “I got ‘em, babe, you just rest.” He scooped up the fussy kit in question, giving them a gentle rock to try and soothe them.

“They’re probably hungry..” You moved to sit up and Jax rushed over to shove pillows behind you. “Hand ‘em over…”

He hesitated, so far it was just the one, but if they kept crying it was only a matter of time before the others did too. Jax carefully handed the kit over and simply watched you begin to breastfeed like it was nothing—not that you didn’t have practice with someone on your—

“I can practically hear you staring at my chest.” You gently ran your finger over the kit’s cheek while they fed, finally having a moment to really look over your little munchkins.

They looked like an exact copy of Jax, sans the thicker coat of fur, but you already knew they’d have to grow into it. Lightly tinted lilac skin and cute little ears tucked away, and if their eyes were opened there was little doubt they’d also have his eyes. “I carried these suckers for months, don’t tell me they all look like you.” You teased.

Jax snickered, perching himself on the edge of the bed to watch the two of you. Fuck, he was not prepared for just how beautiful you looked with his offspring. Sure you looked amazing when you were pregnant, that big ol’ belly was something he could see you wearing again in the future, but now? There was something breathtaking about seeing you holding a baby, his baby. And there were six of those little boogers.

“Sorry toots, these handsome genes are just too strong.” He ran a hand over his head, swiping his ears back before they sprung back up.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “that would be my luck. At least I didn’t get rug burn.”

The two of you share a quiet giggle at the joke before the kit pushes away from your chest. You burp the kit and not a moment after Jax takes them from you, laying them back down with their siblings.

“So I know we were struggling for names… and since they all took after me. I thought we could name them all after me.”

Coming up with six names had been a difficult task, but you did have a list—he was just being a little shit for the sake of seeing you smile.

“We are not naming our kids ‘Jax’.” You know he’s kidding but that doesn’t make the image any less scary, or stupid. Imagine Christmas with six little Jax’s and trying to differentiate all those damn presents.

He scoffed playfully. “Nah, there can only be one Jax. I was thinking Jaxson—” you let out a snort, “then there’s Jaxica, Jaxcella—”

“We are not naming them like that, oh my god.” Jax sat beside you with a playful pout and threw his arms carefully around you. “There will be no Jax-themed naming, at least give me one thing since they all look like mini yous.”

“Fiiiiine..” he groaned. “Guess I could be persuaded to let you name them all.” You lay your head on his shoulder, looking up at him curiously. “For a kiss.”

“Really? Our children’s names are on the line for a kiss? Avoiding years of future bullying by having the same Jax-themed names all boils down to one kiss?” What a goober. “You drive a hard bargain. Deal.”

The smile on your face is all he really needs, seeing you exhausted and stressed earlier made him annoyed for you. The nurses were stupid and making you more stressed than you needed to be—being a pain in your ass was his job, not theirs. Hell, he nearly decked someone earlier for upsetting you.

You nudged your face against him, he’d spaced out, and if you knew this man you knew he was no doubt thinking about something unnecessary. “Whatever it is isn’t important.”

“You’re very important, and so are those six little wrinkly nuggets.” he huffed. Leaning down he kissed you, it was gentle and sweet, like he was afraid of hurting you. Cute.

“That’s right I didn’t get to see, was the doctor right?”

“Three boys and three girls.”

You let out a groan, picturing all the future sit-downs and explanations you’d have to give to the girls and boys about heaven knows what. “You potty train the boys, I got the girls.”

“Deal.” He quickly spat out.

The two of you sat there quietly, just watching six little chests rise and fall until Jax cleared his throat catching your attention.

“I know it’s a ways off, but wanna really embarrass the kids by you giving the boys the sex talk and I’ll give the girls the period talk?”

You slapped his chest with your free hand, the other coming up to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, you are awful.”

“I’m not hearing a no.” he hummed.

“We’ll see, periods can be embarrassing and sensitive I don’t want you—”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not actually gonna be a dick, sheesh… I’m wounded you’d think I’d mess with my own kids—”

“You would.”

Jax pouted, giving you a little playful shake before dropping the topic as a whole. Yeah, he’d definitely prank his own kids—but that wasn’t until later on, he had to soak up all this cute baby shit for now.

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader #jax #jax x reader #tadc jax

[mochinomnoms]

The Private (not) Thoughts of a Moray Chapter 1: I wonder if you look both ways (when you cross my mind)

Gender Neutral Reader x Jade Leech

Chapter 1 preview:

“Henchman? Are you okay?” “…Yeah, thanks guys, I didn’t realize how sick I was getting… this magic thing is hard.” Snorting at your whiny tone, Ace still looked at you with a bit of sympathy. “It’s that telepathy stuff that’s the problem right? Not magic!” “Although,” Grim spoke up, left your arms and stood on the step instead. “That could just be a unique magic thing, right?” “Yeah! Though it’s basically impossible for someone to have a unique magic active all the time…” Deuce rubbed the back of his head, looking at you frustrated. “You’d probably be blotting, maybe it’s something else?”

[wc} - 3,699

back to chapter list

A year ago today, you, Y/N, entered Twisted Wonderland with nothing but the clothes on your back, a rotting, haunted dormitory, and a fire-breathing cat creature. You were but a mere  human with no magic to defend yourself with and no way to return to your home. Today, after months of sweat, tears, blood and 7 consecutive overblots, you have become known as the infamous prefect. 

It was a title well-deserved for the human that survived the overblots of several powerful mages, especially in the case of your dearest, Hornton (you still called him that even now, he seemed to like it). But it ended surprisingly well, with minimal casualties to the students and to the overblotters. You really should give thanks to the Seven for that.

Though it’s really less impressive than it sounds out loud, as without the help of your fellow freshman, Ace and Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek, and even Grim, it wouldn’t have been possible, as you still remain mostly magicless. 

Mostly.

Despite the mirror declaring you “empty”, and though it was true for most of your time at NRC, it seems that your extended stay has slowly granted you an affinity for magic. At the rate you’re learning at though, you can mostly cast small spells, like light spells in the dark, and small healing spells courtesy of Nurse Goethel. 

You personally found it pretty impressive that you could cast spells now, though the one time you mentioned as much, Ace insisted that you were the equivalent of a little kid proudly showing off a shitty stick figure drawing of their family. 

You choose to view that as a family endearingly encouraging their kid’s budding artistic streak!

Besides, that wasn’t your only budding ability, as you noticed during the graduation ceremony for the seniors. The freshman, per tradition, were in charge of the concession stands before the graduation ceremony. From what Crowley told your class, this was to help build character and build financial literacy, for he was a generous headmage that prepared his students for the real world.

You, of course, knew that it was probably just because it was cheaper than hiring someone.

Here you, Grim, and your 6 fellow classmates worked at a booth outside the coliseum, currently selling bouquets and garlands to the graduates’ families. Soon enough, the conversation shifted to summer plans. 

“Ahh~ I’m super excited to go home! My family’s gonna go to the beach! I'm so looking forward to seeing hot babes!”

“Of course you are Ace,” Jack sighed. “I’m just looking forward to some cooler weather back home.”

Deuce looked over as he adjusted the garlands, Heartslabyul-styled, in his hands, “It’s gonna suck being alone on campus for the next three months. Are you sure you don’t want to spend summer break with one of us?”

“Ehhh? I didn’t say anything like that!” Ace scoffed. “Don’t lump me in with you, Juice!”

“Don’t be rude, Ace!”

“Deuce is right! Y/N! We have room at my home, Meemaw- I mean, Grandma -would be happy to have you!” Epel piped up from behind the booth. “And I’d finally have someone my age with me in town.”

You smiled as your fellow incoming second-years bickered amongst themselves. Jack looked exasperated at the Adeuce’s arguing, as he usually did. On the other hand, Epel was blatantly ignoring the two as he looked at you with puppy eyes, embracing his cuteness (just this once) to convince you to join him home. 

“Cease your arguing! It is unbefitting of you as soon to be upperclassmen to a new class of students!” Sebek barked, looking quite silly as Grim laid on top of his head, a scene that would’ve been impossible two months ago.

“Nyah! Quiet down, you’re even louder when I’m on top of your head!”

“Mm-hm, I appreciate the concern--Grim get off him--but I can’t,” You grabbed Grim from Sebek, who leaned down to your head to help. “Crowley’s giving me a bigger allowance if I stay to care for the fairies again.” 

Grim curled himself in your arms as he pouted. “The cafeteria and school store are gonna be closed again! How am I gonna get my premium tuna from Sam now?!” 

“Don’t whine about something so trivial! Prefect, are you sure you don’t want to spend at least a weekend with me and my Mom?” Deuce asked you once again. 

“Ah, I’d have to ask if the ghosts could cover, but a weekend should be fine, but we’d better get back to the concessions.”

“Right you are, human! We should be celebrating the graduation of our upperclassmen!”

Jack winced at Sebek’s increasing volume, “Lower your voice, Sebek. It’s already too loud with the crowd as it is.”

Wincing alongside him, you rubbed your temples as the noise from the crowd grew with the number of attendees. You'd expect a graduation to be a busy event with loud crowds, but that was before you could hear everyone’s thoughts as well.

It’d started off slow, just after the last overblot, with soft whispers floating in your mind like will-o-wisps in a dark forest. They grew, as fire does, with those whispers becoming more and more prominent. Soon you could hear your classmates daydreams, worries, and secrets, like the soft crackle from a campfire. It wasn’t like you could control it though, each little fire from your peers grew together to become one large, blazing wildfire. In the forest of your mind, one unprepared for any sort of magical blaze, it tore through you, leaving your mind burned and throbbing from the endless feed of thoughts. 

I can’t believe it’s the end of the year already!

Ah! Damn they’re loud…

Geez, Mom, stop embarrassing me, it’s my graduation…

Make it stooooop!

Maybe I should stop for a graduation garland. Would he want an NRC one or Savanaclaw one?

Pleeeease… it hurrrts!

a͔̱ͪ̓̅ͅw ͚͚̜̈́ͮ̾mán,̧ i̷̞̼ ͉͕̟͛̉ͦw̡̭̩͚͒̀̓ḁ̖͎s̶͍̻̩̉́͂ h̠o̒҉͕ṗ̭i̯ͦn͙̒g ̭̱͆ͥt̸o͕̟̫ ̤̓s̸e͉e̦̮̞͟ ̶̑͗h͏͖̠ï̪̻͓ͦ̎m̹̺̼̐͛̆ ̴̻̟̞ḅ͚efͪ͐̕o̖ͅr̦ͧḙ̹ ́ţ͔ͨh̲ͤḙͪ ̼̦̀ć͖er͓̝͕̀̓͐̕em͙͚̑̈́ȏ̟͍̹̓̓n̢̔͐͌y ̡̺ŝ͌̒t̶̪͂ąrt̞ͧeͬͫd̷

It hurts!!!

s̩̝̝ͪ̄̈h̦͉̱̰̾ͬ̄̾i̴͍̹̅͗t̬̬͇̙̳ͅ ̠̫͙̼̯͐̓ͫ͌̒ĭ͕̗͔̺̍̎̑m̛ ̱̣̗̠r͗ͧǜ͉n  n͢i̴̫͐ng̵ͅ ͇ḻ̬͙̠͋͆͆ͬa̹̬͚̺̯̯͔t̔̋ͨ̋ͬ̑e̖̹͚͓͖͚̙̅̌̉͆̌̉ͭ,̢͉͚ ̟̺̄ͦȉ̹͟ ̴͙̫̿ͫh̻͓ͨͦo͛͛̊̂̂̿ͯp̪̙̠̬̗ͣͤͪ̎̆͘e i͚̝͇̲̜̠ͣ̐͌̑̓̋ ͘c̉ͧ͌̓͂ a̳͚̐̚n̤̰̖̮̘͍͖͂͋ͧͯͫ̈̒ ̩͊g̷ͦͯ̈́̿̆̊̾e̴͖̙̲̮̦̰̮̽ͨ̑͌̉̿̅t͉̳̯̙ a ́̄̌ͦ s̈́̏́͟e̝͇̮ͥ͋̀ḁ̯̼̪̮̅̌̓ͩͥ̚ͅt̰̝ͥ̏ ͕̰͇͚͝

what up w ẅ̰̗̠͇͛͗̓h͇̱̥̔̈̽a̮͓t ̛̦̜͓͔̒ͧ͑̈u̽ͧ̓ͨ̾̐͝p̢ ̫͓wì̹͉̹̮t̰̪̝̞hͦ̐ͬ ͐̿th̋̇ͪ̃̊̈̇͏̠̜̯̤̝̯͉e ̴̯͎̦ͨ͐ͩp̅ͤ͆r̠͙̂̔e̥͑͡f́ë͈̭͍́̇ͬct?̧͙̭̥̞͎̬̠     make it stop!!   ȁ͍̘̝̩̄̂̿̐ͅw͇̪̯̥͕̞͚ ̧̭͍͕̼͈͕́̓̋̉̀̒̾ͅmàn͖̝͍̻̹̈͐̐̎̏ ̴ ṯ͇̭͕̼̏̉ͧ͒ͥh͏e̘̠̜͔̖̓̃̑͑̅y͓̣͙̭̤͔̘ͤ̎͂ͫ͛ͩͯ'̸̘̖̺̤̿̇̿̌r̬̰̮̩̜̞̫e͕̠̯̤ͧ̆̌̾ ̳̝͈̞̔͂̅̃l̯̘̻̖͔̝o̤̺̽͐o̪k͖̼̼̝̜̬i̙͕͙̯͈ͪ̆ͦ́̿̌ͅn̥̯͔̗̼ͅg͙̞͓͉͕̽͑ͦͭ͋ ̺͙̻̩̏͆̈́͊k͕͓̣̫͙̖̝i n̩͕̂̎͝d̵̞͖̘̦̳̟̺͂̂ͣ̑ͯͫ̇a ̛͈̺̲̥͉̮͇ͫ̎ͩ͋̍͛͗ s̮͍̘͎̼͔̥ĭ̑ͮ͑͂c̢̪̠k͇̜̾̆.̜̳̘͔̟̙.̦̦̎̓.̹̀̄ͅ stooooop! Ÿ̳̼̱͚̱̹́̈͊͒̅̋̀/͌͢N̠̳̠̰̖̜̻ͤ̋ͪ͒̒̋̆?̣̯͖͖̫̥͒̌̂ͣ̆̚ 

Iş̘̭̺̱͇̖ͧ͛̀̉ͭ̏̚ͅ ̷̜͍̩͈̹̻̥̋́̋͆ͣ̃̚t̼͐hȅ̋̊̉̑ ͍̺͇ STOP IT!!!!! h̖̳͜ͅu͌ͬ̅͆͊͑́҉͈͓̭̮̲̥͓m̹̟̟͇͚a͎̳͉̗̟̳n̥̘͈͚̫̣͉͊̾͗̏̃ͥ̿ ̝ͧg͎̅ő̳͔̖̞̄ͣ́n̪̰͈̝̙̣͕̆ͥ̄ͮ͒ͤͬṉ̖͕̍ͯ̚å̡̼̪͔͍ͦͣ̚ ̒̆͞p̯̝ǔ͙k͎͎̪̜͇͔͒́̉ͨ̓̏e̷̞̺̖?̯̘̻

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

H͇͖̱̪͘e͇͍̲͍̺͈ͅnc̟̘̘̟͖̎̐͊ͧ̅́ḣ̋ͦm̪̚ḁ̟͍͓̻n͊͘?̬͙ͣ͛

“Y/N?”

You felt soft purring against your chest, where you had been clutching Grim tighter to your chest as you hyperventilated. Grim pressed his head against your chin in an attempt to comfort you as tears flowed from your eyes. You could still feel your head pounding when Ace and Deuce approached with concern. 

“You don’t look too good Prefect, do you need to take a breather?”

“Deuce is right, come on let's take you back to the dorm!” Ace placed a hand on the small of your back and began leading you away from the crowd. “See ya later guys!”

“Hey! You can’t just skip out of work like that!” 

“Trappola! Get back here!”

“H-hey wait! Deuce, give back the garlands!” 

Ace continued walking as Deuce ran back to hand Epel the products in his hands. “Oh sorry can’t hear you from here, Prefect is super sick, gotta blast~”

Leading into your friend, you let him guide you to your dorm, Deuce catching up to you as well. While it was still relatively packed along Main Street, even with the ceremony starting soon, the crowds dispersed as you two headed closer to the dorm.

Ah man, the line at Sam’s is super long. Maybe I can cut in somewhere?

Oh look at the Great Seven! Wait, that one’s an actual lion?

The botanical garden is closed! Nooo, I was gonna confess there before we left for internships!! 

As the four of you approached to the dorm, you visibly relaxed as both the voices and thoughts of the crowds quieted down. 

“Hey, we’re here,” Said Deuce, relaxing slightly as you approached the gate to Ramshackle. “You wanna just sit out here for a bit? The weather’s not too bad.”

You nodded and relaxed as you and your friends sat on the stone steps of the dorm, taking a deep breath as only the faintest of voices made their way to your head. From this far away, it made for a more pleasant ambience, like those YouTube “study with me” videos you’d put on for studying back home.

“Henchman? Are you okay?”

“... Yeah, thanks guys, I didn’t realize how sick I was getting… this magic thing is hard.” 

Snorting at your whiny tone, Ace still looked at you with a bit of sympathy. “It’s that telepathy stuff that’s the problem right? Not magic!”

“Although,” Grim spoke up, left your arms and stood on the step instead. “That could just be a unique magic thing, right?”

“Yeah! Though it’s basically impossible for someone to have a unique magic active all the time…” Deuce rubbed the back of his head, looking at you frustrated. “You’d probably be blotting, maybe it’s something else?”

You snorted at his comment, drawing strange looks from them.

“You could’ve just said I’m weird. It’s a well known fact at this point.” Sighing dramatically, you threw yourself down to lay on the steps with your wrist resting on your forehead, tossing back your head for extra effect. 

“Magic or not, I, the Ramshackle Prefect, will always be the strange little human! Whether it’s the strange human with no magic, or the strange human with weird…uh…mind magic!” You heard him snort. “I, alas, remain a spectacle!”

Rolling his eyes, Ace flicked your forehead (“Ow! Ace what the fuck!”) at your dramatics and sighed. 

“You know, I was joking earlier. You can join me—or Deuce, I guess (“Hey!”)—during the break. We’re not all-knowing like a certain housewarden friend of yours, but we can help you figure out what's up with you.”

So far, only Ace, Deuce, and Grim knew about your newfound ability. And while it was the thought that counted, neither really knew anything about spontaneously gaining magical abilities. In fact, no one, not Crowley or even Hornton, really knew what to make of your new powers. Adding telepathy on top of the mix seemed like a good path to trouble. In the meantime, you found it best to keep it between you four, even if you felt bad leaving your other three friends out of the loop.

I bet my brother can help us figure out something, he works at a pretty swanky university back home! 

You sighed and adjusted yourself so that you laid on your side, Grim curling up to you as you looked up at your friends. Ace sat a few steps down, so he could stretch his arm alongside your back, while Deuce laid his head on your waist. 

Almost a year's worth of life-threatening fiascos have led to your closeness to your dearest friends, and Ace’s casual PDA with you and Deuce certainly helped bring your little group close together. 

“I’m not gonna ask that of you, as much as I appreciate it.”

Why not? “My mom would love to have you over! It’d be no issue!” We could meet up with Ace and go to a library or something.

“That’s not the point Deuce,” You responded. “I just want to be able to do things on my own, and do you and Ace even live close enough to do that? Isn’t the Queendom pretty big?”

What? He didn’t mention me. Ace made a face at you as you answered. “Are you reacting to his thoughts?” Man that’s kinda creepy.

“Shut up, Ace.” Sorry… “I’m not trying to be creepy!” 

Deuce smacked his side. “Don’t call them creepy!” Don’t be rude, Ace!

“Ya, what he said, don’t be rude!”

“He didn’t even say anything out loud!”

You blew a raspberry at him, the other Heartslabyul student snickering at his exasperated look.

You’re lucky you’re both cute…and stop laughing at me Deuce!

Grin widening, and migraine fading, you wiggled your eyebrows at Ace. 

“Oh~ you think we’re cute? Deuce, he thinks we’re cuties!”

Eh? Me cute?

“Okay! That’s definitely not fair! Shut your mouth now before you spill all my secrets!” Ace grabbed at you as he tried to cover your mouth, blushing, failing to notice Deuce’s equally red face.

“Nyah!!! Watch it! No crushing the mighty Grim!” The little cat hopped out of the way and into Deuce’s arms as the two of you began to playfully wrestle. “I can’t be smushed before I become the greatest mage ever!”

You and Ace continued to fight for a few minutes, Ace gaining the upper hand as you were already laying down. Eventually, he finished your fight by simply holding your hands hostage in his, and laying across you, preventing any movements other than squirming, much to the other two’s amusement.

Unable to wrangle your hands back, you ceased your movements, huffing. Haha, I win. Instead, you relaxed, finding his presence on your chest comforting, like a weighted blanket.

Silence overtook the four of you for a few minutes, Deuce looking off into the nearby woods, Grim grooming himself, Ace settling in for what looked like a nap, and you gazing at the sky as stars began to emerge in the dusk.

“It’s just…” You spoke quietly, breaking the silence as if telling a deep secret. Maybe you were. “I’ve been so dependent on others while here, and now I feel like I can take that burden off of others.”

Your comment disrupted the comfortable quiet between you all. 

“You’re not a burden,” Not to us. Deuce spoke up, his voice soft. “But I understand, wanting to become independent.” I want the same too. 

“If you were a burden, we wouldn't've stuck around for so long you know!” More brash, but just as soothing, Ace scoffed. We love ya too much for that, anyways. “I think Deuce would agree with me.”

“Besides!” Grim piped up, standing up now with hands on his hips, You’re my henchman! “I need my henchman! You wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without me!” How else are you gonna survive without the great Grim!

You smiled at the three, taking a deep breath. 

I don’t know what I’d do without you guys. I wonder what would’ve happened, if we never crossed paths the way we did. 

Grunting, you push Ace off to the side (“Hey!”) and stood up, stretching your limbs until they gave a satisfying pop. 

“We should probably head back, Riddle’ll probably have both your heads if he finds out you're missing from concession duty.” 

“Ah shit.” You’re totally right. 

They’re right. “Are you sure you’ll be okay though? It’s gonna be way more crowded once the ceremony starts.” Deuce stood up with you, letting Grim take a perch on his shoulder.

Myah! I’m taller here! 

“Hm, yeah I think so.” You held a hand to Ace and helped him up. “I’ll just focus on whatever you two start dozing off about! Don’t think about anything gross though, Ace.”

He threw his hands up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” What? You think I’d think of dirty thoughts? “It’s not like I’m actively trying to think of stuff to freak you out!” 

“… I heard you think about whether or not you’d fuck your own clone—”

“THAT WAS ALL CATER!”

Laughing at Ace’s red-faced embarrassment, your little group walked back to the coliseum to join your friends before the graduation, and the end of the school year, finally commenced. 

Geez, it’s crowded.

Ah man, I hope I’m not forgetting anything. 

I wonder if they’re gonna let us keep our rooms when we get back.

The food’s gonna go bad! Come on, let me get to the mirror!

My internship will start right away, I should tell them goodbye now. 

I wonder who’ll be housewarden now that Leona’s gone. 

I can’t believe I went through the entire year without meeting Idia, my own housewarden!

We can’t lose you!! Come back, I can’t work the lounge without you!!

Groaning from both the noise of the crowd and their thoughts, you rubbed your temples, reminded of the night before. Grim was still at the dorm, peacefully dozing off the morning away. At least this time you could blame your friends for keeping you up at the impromptu sleepover. 

“I told you to go to bed early,” That’s how you get sick, Prefect. 

“Shaddup Jack, that’s not why I’m feeling sick.”

“... I didn’t say anything about you being sick?” Did I say that out loud? “Uh, you’re okay, right?”

Waving off your slip-up, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just tired. Hey, who’s gonna be Savanaclaw’s housewarden with Leona becoming a fourth year? Do y’all have, like, a throw down or something?”

Crossing his arms, ears flattening, Jack shook his head. That’s stupid. “No, of course not.” They’d probably do that if they could honestly. “Leona had appointed Ruggie, surprisingly, but he didn’t want it. Said he didn’t want to fight with whoever might become vice housewarden later on.”

“Eh? But I heard that he took it after all!” Epel chipped in, hair swept back in a ponytail and skin immaculate despite the late night activities (damn Vil and his pristine skincare routine). “What made him change his mind?”

“A-ah, well, I uh-” Rubbing the back of his head, Jack suddenly looked embarrassed. “asked me to be his vice housewarden, and I couldn’t refuse an upperclassman’s request.” 

“Woah, what!” No fair! “I can’t believe he asked! Vil didn' even spare a glance at me!” Epel pouted, his accent emerging before he caught himself.

“I mean, good for you Jack! I’m happy for you!” So unfair…

“Yeah man! Don’t be so bashful about it!” It’s super cool! Ace and Deuce approached you two, out of breath from running over, “Riddle definitely didn’t consider one of us for vice! He asked someone from his year to take Trey’s place.”

The pair had woken up late and ran over to pack up the rest of their things (or at least Ace did, Deuce had his stuff already packed, but couldn’t find his shoes at Ramshackle this morning), so both were slightly disheveled. 

“Of course not! Rosehearts would only expect the best of his dorm to lead the rest by example! Something the two of you humans fail to do!” Unlike me! My lord asked me and Silver to take his and Master Lilia’s place! Oh, joy to be considered a guiding leader by the Young Master! 

 “Unlike you two, I was deemed worthy by the Young Master to be Diasomnia’s new vice housewarden!” Sebek chastised the two, dressed in rather prim clothing that didn’t differ too much from his dorm uniform. “If you two were to shape yourselves up, then I’m sure Rosehearts would’ve considered once of you as his vice housewarden!” 

Groaning, Ace rolled his eyes at Sebek, who made an offended noise, before throwing an arm around you. “Hey Prefect, you know our offer still stands-”

“What do you mean our offer, Ace, I made it first!” Deuce grumbled. You’d probably make them clean your room or something as payment.

Shut up, Deuce. “-You can always stay with one of us during summer break! The headmage probably has someone else that can care for the fairies anyways. Enjoy the break with us!” Ace grinned and gave a sly chuckle. Plus, you can wear a super cute bathing suit to the beach with me! Yeah, I know you heard me~

“...Thanks Ace, maybe next time.” Deadpanning, you reached up and yanked on Ace’s ear, who started yelping in pain, as you pulled.”No guys, I promise I’ll be fine! Some of the juniors—or I guess seniors now—they’re gonna be coming to the college during break to solidify their internship credits and stuff. Plus I got the ghosts, so I won’t be lonely!”

Deuce looked at you with furrowed brows and concerned eyes. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes, but don’t worry,” you winked. “I’ll definitely be coming by to meet your mom. I’ll let you know so I can figure out the ferry and bus and stuff!”

“Oi! You can’t say that and not visit me too! It’ll basically be in the same area,” Ace whined, he’d accepted his fate with his ear in your hand.

“Yer gonna visit my place too then!” No fair to see just them!

“I’ll be visiting Epel’s place later in the summer, so we can meet then too,” Jack offered, a small smile on his face.

“Then it would only be acceptable to visit Briar Valley too! The Young Master—” And I. “—should be your first visit!”

Smiling at your friends, you felt incredibly lucky to have made a small family for yourself in a home away from home. Soon enough though, each passed through the magic mirror, exchanging promises of visits in the near future, though Sebek’s voice still rang in your ears.

Even when the last of your friends stepped through the mirror, you loitered around the mirror chamber and wished farewell to your other acquaintances and friends. Cater even gifted you a custom phone case before leaving, promising to message you on Magicam when he returned before his internship. As the crowd became smaller and smaller, you yawned and determined that it was time to take your leave and sleep for the rest of the day with Grim. 

Turning to the exit, someone’s peculiar thought entered your head.

Ah, no goodbyes for me, my cute little pearl? How devastating! Why don’t you look my way, cute little Y/N?

Whipping your head around with wide eyes and a flush face, you scanned the remaining students for the person whose thoughts you heard. Searching for someone looking your way, or looking sad, or something, you came up empty. A few students from Heartslabyul, Ignihyde, and Octavinelle remained. From the remaining students, you only recognized Azul and the Leech twins, none of which were looking in your direction. 

Tired and confused, you shrugged and simply continued your leave. Though, not without one final thought entering your brain. 

Finally leaving? Until next year then, my little pearl~.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst jade #jade leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech x yuu #mochi fic #thoughts of a moray

[alrtyhoney]

VAMPIRE!

(You can't love anyone 'cause that would mean you had a heart.)

The rundown: Miguel had an image to uphold and you are in the way of him keeping up appearances.

Content: Miguel x !Reader / Angst! (wc: 2011)

Miguel had an image to uphold. He is of many things; stoic, cold-blooded, mean– some of the words you’d hear from whispers and passing spider-men. Of course he knew that, knew everything that came from everyone’s mouth. The walls talked, and by walls, it was mostly from those people that tolerated him. 

“You know people would talk more nicely about you if you weren’t so..” Peter B. trailed off, trying to find a description that didn’t seem offending. Not that it ever bothered Miguel, but he wasn’t in the mood to be sent out early back to his universe. 

“Stoic? Restrained?” He listed a reply, uninterested. 

“Closed off.” 

He wasn’t exactly expecting that. It wasn’t like the people knew him well enough to see who he was way past his shell of a tough man. He wasn’t closed off– He wasn’t heartless enough to not let people in and by people, you. Only you. 

It was only you that saw through him; the only one who tried to put the bricks of the wall he had built down one by one. You were gentle– genuine. Every word that he wasn’t. You made his brain short circuit, his spine rigid, and palms sweat. 

The problem was, while Miguel was all those mean words, he was also dense; unknowing, stupid, insensitive. He didn’t know how to love.

You were patient. It was satisfaction enough that Miguel had given you attention before; like you existed and wasn’t like any of the million other spider-men. You knew you weren’t imagining it when he had softened around you.

Days passed and melted into months– months into years and years into moments he couldn’t take for granted. Just how could he push you aside when you have been nothing but perfect to him? Before you knew it, he had asked you to be his and when he did, you saw nothing of what they called Miguel. 

It was surprising– Miguel wasn’t as overbearing with someone. And while everyone was delighted that someone had made him less hostile, a few comments had made his stomach churn in shame. (Who knew a woman was all he needed to release tension– jeez! / I wonder how y/n could put up with someone so nonchalant. Poor her.) They probably didn’t mean harm, but it made Miguel undeniably embarrassed. 

And before he knew it, he was pushing you away– slowly.

(“What ya working on, boss?” You had plopped on one of the tables from his office, legs swinging as you watched him from his platform. 

“Work. Something you should be doing too.” Miguel had answered, still focused on the plenty holograms but lowering the platform nonetheless. Something you’ve learned about him was he’d never be direct– everything he’d imply was for you to figure out. It wasn’t like you didn’t expect him to be an easy man, but it was still a privilege to know the little things about him. 

You jumped off from where you were sitting to join him, reading the reports from the desks that surrounded him, while stealing glances to what he worked on. It took every strength for Miguel to not soften his shoulders– jaw tightening so the smile that was threatening to seep through wouldn’t show. God, he yearned to touch you; to have you near him all the time. 

Something about you made him feel normal– just him. 

“Date night?” His body jolted slightly when you whispered, your warm breath fanning over his ears as you lovingly nuzzled your head against the crook of his neck. You had risen onto the tips of your toes, chest pressed against his as you waited for his response. 

He chuckles, the sound deep and resonating in your chest as you draw close to him. Unable to restrict himself anymore, he turns to you. He puts his weight against the machine behind him, positioning you between his legs. His crinkled eyes and warm smile make your heart swell, and for a moment it's just the two of you: no worries or troubles. No image to uphold.

"How could I possibly turn you down, amor?" he murmurs affectionately, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He revels in the giggle you let out and it makes him shiver with so much love. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” You trailed off jokingly, drawing circles on his chest. “You seem busy.” 

“Never too busy for you, you know that right?” You hummed softly in reply, leaning your body against his and letting him play with the strands of your hair.

Suddenly, Jess came into view, her gaze focused intently on the papers in her hands. It wasn't until she had realized that someone was in the room with her. "Miguel– oh, y/n, what are you doing here?" she asked in surprise.

Miguel quickly rises to his feet, coughing and shifting nervously. He turns to face away from you, “Leaving. She was just about to leave.” Miguel blurts out, tone dismissive. 

You feel the heat of embarrassment and confusion spread quickly through your veins as you stand there, your heart aching. You had stared for a second or so before he finally looked back at you. “Leave. Now.”

Your eyes widened and that was the cue you needed to go. “Right– right! Was just about to leave.” You quickly scurry to leave, murmuring a soft ‘I’ll see you later.’)

You were respective of Miguel; knew of what troubled him. After that occurrence, he had pampered you– apologized a million times in between opening up. I didn’t mean it, love. He said, she caught me off guard.

You were still patient. You understood that it was never his intention to hurt you, but your mind was blaring alerts in bright red. Do you perhaps embarrass him? This wasn’t the only time it had happened– wasn’t the only time he had left you in a clueless state. 

(“So, you and y/n.” Hobie had begun, tinkering with his machines and carefully extracting different parts from them.

Miguel was aware that the seemingly casual conversation was only a ruse to distract him while he continued to steal from his devices, but he indulged nonetheless. Reprimanding him wouldn’t help anyway. “What about her?” Unbeknownst to him, you were in the same place. You couldn't help but feel your eyebrows rise up to the sound of your name.

“I don’t know, you tell me, you dense bloke.” Hobie let out a huff, then plopped himself down in an office chair and began to spin it around in circles. He knew about it anyway. You would tell him about Miguel and your relationship, told him what made your heart race and what troubled you greatly.

Hobie wanted to hear it from Miguel– wanted to confirm your uncertainty. 

Miguel hesitates as he ponders, eyebrows knitted together. He clicks his tongue in frustration before finally giving an answer “An associate? Coworker? I don’t know what you want from me.”

You felt a sudden weight crash down upon you— your mouth became parched and your chest seemed to constrict. It was like something was pressing hard against you, making it difficult to breathe. An unwelcome realization dawned on you as you pieced it all together. 

“Ouch. You hear that, y/n? If I was you, I would’ve dumped this oaf.” But you had been gone before Miguel even got the chance to set his eyes on you and he knew he had messed up again.)

“I’m not closed off.” Miguel had muttered under his breath– a bit too defensive to his liking as he clicked away on his keyboard aggressively. Peter didn’t miss the shift on his behavior and he decided to push further. 

What was with everyone and questioning about his personal life?

“You know what I mean– Jess, help me out here.” 

“What he means is, it wouldn’t hurt to be less uptight.” Jessica said, “I mean, look at you and y/n. It’s not so hard to be friendly.”

Peter's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his furrowed eyebrows clearly expressing his disagreement. “Friendly? Look me dead in the eyes and tell me the heart eyes he’s shooting y/n is friendly.” He butted in with Mayday babbling in the carrier strapped to his chest like she was on the same page as his father. 

Jess rolls her eyes, “I just don’t think Miguel’s the type to be all lovey-dovey.” She replies, both hands lifting in a gesture of surrender. “Besides, y/n is waaay out of his league.”  She can already imagine it - Miguel trying his best to sweep y/n off her feet with corny pickup lines or gestures that didn’t seem like him.

They didn’t know about them; no one did. It wasn’t like they made their relationship public. 

Blood rushed to his ears as they continued to banter about him, frustration brimming to the point of overflow. They continued to talk about him like he wasn’t there in front of him– like what he felt didn’t matter. He finally turns to them, expression clearly unamused. 

And unbeknownst to him, you were just around the corner. You marched towards his office, chest puffed and heart pounding as you advanced. Your mind was made up, finally giving in to the voices waving red flags. It wasn’t fair– wasn’t just that you had given your heart for him to throw around. However, his voice stopped you from making your appearance known; it was firm– angry.

“The fate of the multiverse depends on me,” He started off and it takes all the strength in Peter to not roll his eyes, “I do not have time to be in a relationship– let alone be with someone as soft-hearted as y/n.” 

It was like a strike to the gut and you only want the ground to swallow you whole now. Your legs threatened to buckle, begging you to leave but you couldn’t. It was wrong of you to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help it; His words were answering every question you had in mind in the worst way possible, breaking you apart and squashing every butterfly that fluttered inside your stomach.

“Just what do you mean about that?” Peter comes to your defense, shoulders stiffened. 

“I do not need someone weighing me down.” 

Peter was having none of it— absolutely did not believe every word that fell from his lips. He knew it was love; the lingering stares, the small touches. He wasn’t a fool to ignore the signs, Miguel just needed a push. “But you tolerate her more than the others! You like being around her!” 

“Peter, just leave it.” Jess attempts to calm the escalating tension, but her words seem to fall on deaf ears as Miguel speaks again.

“Isn’t it our job to endure? What’s another headache to tolerate?” He said before finally looking away, ready to walk out. “Now stop asking because I have enough of having her around. Don’t make me talk about her too.”

What he didn't expect was that you were already standing in his path, cheeks wet with tears and lips pressed together in a deep frown. His heart sank as he took your presence in, letting it seep like a rain of needles. The realization had hit him like a bag of bricks. You had heard their conversation– heard every single thing he said. 

You quickly wiped away your tears, focusing on anything but the face of the one who caused them. You couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, not when he had you clutching your chest as you listened. It threatened to leap out, pounding against your ribs. “Yeah Peter, I think he said enough.”

“Amor,” He had whispered, walking towards you only for you to step backward in return. 

You had left the scene and the shame that swallowed him was nothing compared to the embarrassment he swore was unbearable. Miguel is of many things; stoic, cold-blooded, mean. And they were right– all of it. 

#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara angst #atsv angst #across the spider verse angst

[cryptidghostgirl]

Rapture (Alastor x Ex-Partner!Gn!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: ANGST.

Word Count: 3,000

Previous Part: Ritornello

Next Part: COMING SOON

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Rhapsody Master List

A/N I got a request a while ago to continue this so here is the next part!! Sorry for taking so long. When you guys request things,, it lets me get to them quicker which I appreciate (esp when its about my own projects) :)

It had been about a month since Alastor had joined the hotel staff and things were going smoothly. Well, as smoothly as they could go when trying to rehabilitate sinners but, some good things had occurred. The best of them had been the addition of their newest guest: Sir Pentious.

Y/n had been suspicious of him at first, as had Vaggie and Angel Dust. They had heard of him before, fought with him in the past according to Pentious himself. Y/n knew the demon had a desire in him, a want to become what they despised most. It became quickly evident that when he had joined the hotel, Pentious had not only given up his war machines but that dream of his as well.

Settling in to the new pattern had been... difficult. It was such a strange thing for Y/n to be around Alastor. There had been a time, a long time, when they had known his every affect, the essence of his being. That time was gone. He was not the many they had known just as they were not the demon he had known. However, there was something that lingered between them still -- the memory. It filled the silent spaces, consumed the air. It was large and complicated.

The first week or so after his arrival, Y/n had been a wreck. They didn't cry, they didn't yearn for him, but they still suffered. It was so hard to escape the old patterns. Each demon found themselves nearly doing things, saying things, experiencing things that belonged in the lives they had once led, not the ones they were involved in now.

Y/n had stopped missing Alastor when their relationship with Charlie had solidified. Suddenly, despite the fact that he was right before their very eyes, inhabiting the same places as they did for the first time in three decades, it was almost like they were loosing him all over again.

Slowly, the need to stop themselves faded. There was no longer the necessity of catching the words in their throats, of pinning their hands to their sides, of burying questions or requests in the recesses of their minds because the need, or habit perhaps is the better word, began to fade. New routines came into being. The world kept turning.

Still, there was the odd awkward silence. Still, Y/n felt a tingle in their spine, butterflies in their stomach, when they ended up alone together. Alastor just smiled through it all, like he always had.

The only real step Alastor had taken that showed any emotion at all towards his former lover was that he blocked any contact Y/n had with Husk and Nifty. Y/n was intent on interrogating them, seeing what sort of a master he was, learning their stories and working to free them from their contracts. Alastor must have sensed this, must have guessed, drawing on his own experience with them, that they would want to do something like that. Every time Y/n managed to come even close to a moment alone with one of them or the appropriate environment for a more personal, private conversation, he appeared and shut it down.

If Y/n were younger, they would have thought it was a game. Perhaps some part of them still saw the competition in it all but, if they did, Alastor couldn't tell. They had changed -- god had they changed -- but, so had he. Change was what time did to a person. He couldn't blame them.

Alastor spent a lot of time watching Y/n. He wasn't sure why, for what he was searching. It was a compulsion. He searched for the bits and pieces he remembered of them, tried to fill the gaps between who they were, and the person standing before him now.

There had been some things he was able to observe. Firstly, Y/n's diet had changed. While before they had eaten whatever was available, now they seemed only ever to eat raw meet. Alastor had absolutely no idea why and the only plausible reason he could come up with was simply that they liked it. Second: where Y/n used to spend hours composing, messing around with various instruments and musical genres, they were rarely found with even their lute in their hand nowadays. Alastor knew that a busier schedule provided by Charlie and the hotel could be at fault but, that answer was unsatisfying. Y/n loved music more than anything, more even, Alastor was almost certain, than they had loved him.

There were a handful of other small details, minor things about the way they held themselves, the musicality of their voice as they spoke. Then there was the biggest change, the cloud looming over his head. This was the way Charlie had changed them.

The days of Y/n running off, rushing away mid conversation, were gone. They regulated their emotions with much greater ease now, Alastor had even caught them doing breathing exercises a few times. There was a certain sense of freedom he hadn't seen them hold within themselves in a long time, not since they had first gotten together. While on the one hand he was happy for them, grateful beyond belief that Charlie had managed to help them regain that sense of themselves, it hurt on the other. It hurt so much because he had tried and this was the evidence that the failure had been his, not theirs. He had tried, he had given them his all, and it hadn't been enough but somehow, in some way, Charlie had been.

Charlie had been enough for Y/n. Charlie had... had... Alastor hadn't.

Something had happened. Alastor didn't know what because it had happened without him. If he had had the chance to talk to Y/n about the interim, the time they had spent apart, he would have. The thing was, Y/n didn't seem too keen on the idea of a private chat.

They were never rude to him. No, they always kept a friendly lilt to their voice, said hello to him when their paths crossed. Alastor could tell they weren't avoiding him either. He knew that if they were, he would never see them at all and he saw them all the time so it wasn't that. Still, every chance he had, every spare moment they shared just the two of them, Y/n found a way to quickly and kindly exit the conversation.

Alastor could force them to engage with him, he knew that, but that had never been their style. There was no precedence for it. He lied to himself, saying it was just that he knew how Y/n would react if he tried to capture them, to force them into any situation they didn't want to be in. He needed to be at the hotel and Y/n had the power to remove him from his position. He told himself that, again and again, while the real reason lurked under the surface.

The truth of the matter was: Alastor did not want to force them. He never wanted to force Y/n to do anything, whether physically or through mental manipulation. Even the consideration of such action felt like a betrayal of them, of himself in a way, of what they had.

What had they even had? Alastor had been in love, loved Y/n still in an odd and nostalgic sense but, he was also angry with them. The newfound regret of having failed them mingled with the decades old infestation of anger, of feeling like they had failed him. At the end of the day, they were the one who had left first. Alastor might have said the words, pulled the trigger, but they were the one that left. They had withdrawn from him long before that conversation on the hill. Y/n committed the murder, allowing the corpse to dry out in the sun, to be picked apart by birds and wild animals. Alastor had just buried the body. It had been the right thing to do, it had been necessary.

Slowly, the silences between them lost most of their tension, became a bit more comfortable. Slowly, they each learned to inhabit their new roles in one another's lives. There had been something and, yes, that something was gone, but there was a new something growing in its place. Alastor had thought the ground was barren. He was grateful anything grew at all.

They were gathered in the lobby, Y/n running a workshop on how to properly wrap presents. Alastor, like the rest of the hotel staff, had been invited to participate but, he had opted to watch. It was a skill he already had, one he had no use for. There was no need to learn what he already knew, but watching Angel, Husk, Pentious, and Nifty struggle was entertaining.

"Okay, well..." Y/n put a finger to their chin, gazing at the box Nifty was holding up to them with pride.

It was perfectly wrapped in white paper with a big black bow on top. Beside the bow, Nifty had drawn a detailed picture of a cemetery for all the bugs she had killed in the hotel thus far.

"You did a great job." Y/n finally settled, patting Nifty on the shoulder, "Well done."

Nifty squealed in glee, turning to present the box to Angel for him to examen. Angel had managed to get tangled up in his project and, realizing this, Nifty quickly dropped her own in order to help him. Witnessing this, Y/n smiled.

Alastor felt the place where his heart would have skipped a beat if things weren't so complicated. He felt the lack of an emotional reaction almost more deeply than if he had had one.

Just as Y/n moved to help Nifty untangle Angel, Charlie bolted into the room.

"Y/n! Y/n Y/n Y/n! I figured it out! I finally figured it out!"

Y/n turned to Charlie as they came to a stop before them, breathing heavily. Their brow was furrowed, their head tilted slightly to the side in confusion.

"Figured what out, Sunshine?"

"Your curse?" Charlie replied as if Y/n should have known.

Y/n tensed. Charlie didn't notice, but Alastor did. He knew them too well not to. It also did not escape him how actively they were avoiding looking at him.

"Y/n, if you get redeemed, wont it go away? Curses can't exist in Heaven, can they?"

His mind was absolutely reeling. What curse? In all the years he had known them, Y/n had never once mentioned a curse. The others gathered seemed equally as surprised and at a loss as he felt.

"I..."

At last Y/n looked at Alastor. Though only a few seconds had passed since Charlie's revelation, it had felt like an eternity. Charlie followed the path of their gaze, the smile falling from her face immedeatly.

"Fuck, wait, I... fuck. I'm so sorry, I-"

Y/n took a deep breath, turning back to Charlie with a smile fixed firmly upon their face.

"It's alright."

"No!" Charlie insisted, "I swear, I di-"

"No, Charlie, it's alright. I told you, I stopped looking for a cure years ago."

"But you cou-"

"I don't want a cure." Y/n shook their head, taking Charlies hands in theirs, "I want to stay here, at the hotel. With you."

Almost as soon as Y/n had spoken, Charlie's eyes filled with tears.

"I... I..." she stuttered for a moment before throwing herself into Y/n's chest, "Thank you!"

Y/n patted Charlie's back with a comfort that was unexpected to Alastor's eyes. The look on their face as they pulled Charlie from them, wiping the girls tears, was a sort of kindness Alastor had never seen.

A curse? What curse?

A million questions flooded through his mind as he continued to watch the pair.

"I have some business to deal with, are you okay with me leaving?"

Charlie sniffed, nodding her head slightly.

"Do you want to help finish the workshop? We're wrapping presents."

"You're wrapping p-pr-presents? That's so sweet!"

Charlie's tears started anew and Y/n chuckled, ruffling her hair comfortingly.

"You sure you're okay if I go?"

"Just go." Angel advised, getting up and walking over to Charlie, "we can handle this."

Y/n shot him a grateful smile before turning on their heel and walking up to Alastor. He looked down at them, his expression unreadable.

"I'm ready to talk." they stated.

Alastor nodded.

"Let's go."

----

When the shadows released them from their grasp, Y/n half expected them to be on the hill, their old haunt. It would have been fitting for Alastor to do something like that and he had every right to be so cruel in their mind. Instead, he had brought Y/n in to their studio. The anger radiated off him, the confusion, and still he had thought to offer them such a kindness.

Y/n, their back to Alastor, balled their hands into fists. They could feel the panic rising in their chest, the fear. They took a few deep breaths before turning to face him.

"Do you want to ask me anything? Or do you just want me to talk."

Alastor crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised as he tapped one foot impatiently on the hardwood floor.

"Stupid question." Y/n nodded, "Right."

They took one final steadying, breath and then, they began to speak.

"So, curse. Um... fuck."

It wasn't that they hadn't thought about what they would say before. They had. They had played this moment out in their mind in a hundred different ways a hundred different times. Nothing had ever seemed right, felt right, gone right. Even if it had, they had no idea of where to begin now. The memory of all that practice had been ushered out long ago by the anxiety.

"Some overlords got mad at me and cursed me?" they said at last, their words coming out as more of a question than a definitive truth, "I..."

"Is this why you always left? Is this..." Alastor ran a hand through his hair, looking away, "is this what your secret was? The curse?"

Y/n nodded and Alastor sighed.

"I know you must be furious." Y/n began, trying to keep their voice steady, "Angry that I was so foolish as to allow-"

"That's not why I am angry, Y/n." Alastor cut in, "That's not why..." he shook his head, "I am angry because you didn't tell me."

The breath caught in Y/n's throat. They took half a step back.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Halfway between an accusation and a plea. He was begging them, he had only done that once before. Y/n hadn't been strong enough then, but they were now.

"Because it was my burden to carry, not yours."

"I carried it anyways! I knew something was wrong, for years! I just had no idea what, no... no... frame of reference. Why didn't you tell me!?"

"I... I..." there was no hiding the truth, Y/n looked away, "I was scared that you would leave."

Alastor watched them in disbeleif.

"And you left anyway." they finished.

"I left because you didn't tell me. We could have stuck together, figured it out. We could have..."

It was Y/n's turn to be angry now. They turned back to him, their eyes alive with fire.

"We could have what?! You could have what?!" the scoffed, "You think I don't know it was all my fault?! You think I don't... don't blame myself for everything?! Didn't know why you really left?! Didn't... didn't realize?! I fucking know that you left because I didn't tell you! I know I caused... that I..." they let out a frustrated little scream, their hands tangling into their hair, "I. Know."

"You could have told me then, why didn't you? Why didn't you stop me if you knew you could!?"

"Because I was scared!"

Their eyes began to grow dark, their skin shifting and writhing like there were bugs crawling beneath its surface. Seeming to notice this, Y/n closed their eyes, taking a few deep breaths before opening them once again.

"Is that the curse?"

"Part of it." they admitted, "If I don't stay calm, I don't get to stay... well, stay me."

The reality of the situation hit Alastor like a ton of bricks, like a moving car. He did his best to calm himself.

"Whats the rest of it?"

Y/n said nothing and so, he tried again.

"I could have helped."

"Helped how, Alastor?" they asked, their voice coming out tired and nearly desperate, "How?"

"I could have found a cure."

"There is none." Y/n shook their head, "Believe me. I can do things to stave it off, keep it at bay but, nothing will take this beast away from me."

"You could try being redeemed."

They raised a fist to their chest, holding it over their heart. A pained expression had taken over their face, their body curling slightly in on itself.

"I don't want to. Not anymore. It... this thing... it's a part of me now. Besides, I couldn't leave Charlie."

"She has lots of people who care about her, people to take care of her. I am certain she would be fine."

"No, you don't understand." Y/n shook their head, "I can't leave her. I know she'd be fine on her own. She is such a wonder, such an incredible person. I need her."

"I wanted you."

Y/n straightened up, their eyes meeting his as their hand fell back to their side. They stared at one another in silence.

"I am sorry."

Alastor had never expected to hear those words. Not from them, not from anybody. He wasn't worthy of apology.

"I am too."

----

NEXT PART -> coming soon

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[circle-with-me]

it’s golden, like daylight

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Content warning/tags: fluff, lots of fluff, romance, brief mentions of smut, slight hurt w/comfort, noah being the sweetest bean.

Summary: It’s your three month anniversary with Noah, and he’s got a surprise for you.

Word Count: 4.3k

Tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @tearfallpixie @cind6547 @malice-ov-mercy @meekahy @cookiesupplier @lacktoesandtoddlerants @midnight-eternals @jilliemiw86 @lyschko666 @lma1986 @somewhere-diamond

If you want to be added to my tag list please sign up here.

A pair of long arms twist around your waist and pull you close. The warmth of his body radiates through yours and you sigh contentedly. This had become a semi-weekly occurrence. Over the last month or so, Noah had started sneaking in your bed — slipping under the covers and drawing your body to his. He’d bury his face into your hair or neck, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Occasionally it would turn into sleepy sex, his slow, deep thrusts into you from behind taking you apart piece by piece. Most of the time he was just there to be next to you. He told you that going to sleep and waking up (again) next to you set him on a good course for the day. The two of you hadn’t been together long, but he wasn’t afraid to admit that to you. You loved how vulnerable he was.

As you lie in his arms, you notice you don’t feel as rested as you normally do. You pry one eye open and it’s significantly darker in the room than it usually is for his visits. You glance at the clock and see the time — 11:58 pm.

As you turn your head to nuzzle into him, he places a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Mmm, a midnight visit. What’s the occasion?” He plants another kiss, then another. You feel him smiling against your skin.

“You don’t remember, bug?”

You rack your brain but you’re so sleepy nothing is coming to mind. Noah is apparently impatient as he squeezes you.

“C’mon baby..” he whines.

“I’m sorry, Noah. I’m so tired I can’t even think.. please tell me.”

Noah chuckles softly and nudges your cheek with his nose so you’ll look forward. You notice now that the clock says 11:59 pm.

“Let’s wait until midnight and see what happens.” He whispers.

The room falls silent — the only sounds are your breathing and the traffic outside. Noah traces light patterns against your tummy and you sink further into his chest reveling in the feeling. His face is half buried in your neck, his eyes peeking out to keep an eye out on the time with you. You look at him through the corner of your eyes and wonder how you got so lucky. There’s this beautiful boy in your bed, in your life. What he saw in you was a complete mystery but you prayed to whatever higher power would listen that you could keep him.

“Bug, you’re not watching.” He says with a soft smile. Your eyes shoot over to the clock just in time for it to flip over to 12:00am.

Noah squeezes you tight and whispers into your ear, “Happy three months, baby.”

The realization that he wanted to be here with you the second your anniversary settles in and you’re quickly overcome with emotions. Your eyes well up with tears as he peppers your face with kisses. Suddenly, you feel terrible because it didn’t occur to you that was what he was here for. You were afraid he thought you had forgotten. The tears start falling much faster and Noah is quick to notice.

“Y/n? Bug, what’s wrong?” He asks, pushing your hair out of your face.

You shake your head and bury your face into the pillow. The muffled sobs coming from you make Noah worry even more. He pushes up on his elbows and kisses your shoulder.

“Please tell me. Did I do something wrong?”

Your laughter confuses Noah, but it’s the most ridiculous question he could have asked.

You turn your head slightly to look at him. His hair falls in his eyes, soft and full of concern, as he gazes down upon you. Noah kisses your palm when you bring it to cup his face as his thumb brushes away your tears. He shifts down to you where his face is hovering over yours. No words are said, however his face silently pleads with you to tell him what is going on.

“You haven’t done a thing, baby. You’re perfect.” You sniffle. “I’m just upset because I don’t want you to think I forgot about our anniversary. I’m just tired. I wasn’t thinking and I…I’m sorry.” You cover your face with your hands, crying quietly. There’s no initial response from Noah and you’re sure you’ve screwed everything up.

“Baby..” He says through quiet laughter. He pulls at your hands so he can see your face but they won’t budge as you’re slightly embarrassed now. He huffs and you move one finger slightly, peeking out at him. He spots you immediately and grins. You quickly move your finger back to its original position.

“If you’re not going to let me see that beautiful face of yours then I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

You feel the bed shift as he swings his leg over your body, he pushes you flat on your back and cages in your hips with his legs. He attempts one more time to pry your hands off your face to no avail.

Noah chuckles. “Have it your way, then.”

His fingers sneak under your shirt and wiggle against the skin of your ribcage, causing your stomach to contract. You giggle and squirm underneath him but hold your hands tight to your face. He continues around to your back and down your sides trying his best to get you to move your hands but is unsuccessful.

You feel a presence close to your face but don’t dare to look. “Guess I'm going to have to take it up a notch.” He whispers in your ear, and kisses the lobe. You giggle, knowing what his plan was and that you were going to fail miserably. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let up until everything was fixed.

Noah focuses his hands on your stomach, tickling and your hands instantly fly to his to push them away. Your laughter and his fills the room. He grabs your hands and gently places them above your head. He kisses your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips.

“I know you didn’t forget, bug. We just talked about it not long ago, remember?”

The memory of your conversation from the day before resurfaces in your mind. Originally he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to spend time with you on your actual anniversary due to band obligations but he surprised you and told you that he had rearranged some things to make it work. You were overjoyed and couldn’t wait to spend the day with him.

You wiggle your arms and Noah lets go of them. As you wrap them around him, you let out a breath.

“You’re right, thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Noah’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. The moonlight shining through the window casts against his face. No one has ever looked at you the way Noah has. He gazes at you as if you hung the moon. It’s almost like he is trying to memorize your face. It’s a look of devotion and admiration, and it gives you butterflies.

“I have the whole day off and it’s our anniversary.” He leans down and kisses your lips softly, his next words ghost against them in a whisper. “I want to make sure I spend every second with my best girl.”

Noah spent the rest of the night making love to you. He took his time, pulling climax after climax from you. He spoke soft praises in your ear about how good you were for him, how amazing you felt, and how you were made just for him. He finally let you fall asleep around sunrise, your head against his chest, both arms wrapped tightly around you.

Dishes clanking in the kitchen wake you from a deep sleep. You roll over to see the time: 10:00am. The joints in your legs and arms crack as you stretch and yawn. You put on a hoodie and a pair of shorts and walk towards the kitchen.

Noah hears your footsteps on the tile and whips around. He grins and opens his arms wide.

“There’s my sleepyhead!”

As grumpy as you are in the mornings, his smile is contagious. You all but run into his arms and he hugs you tightly. He nuzzles his head into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“I was about to come in there and wake you up.”

You laugh and look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “I’m so sorry but someone kind of wore me out last night.”

Noah cocks an eyebrow and smirks. He leans down and places his lips close to yours but doesn’t let them touch.

“I didn’t hear you complaining last night.” He breathes.

You nearly shiver at his words but manage to keep your composure.

“Who says I’m complaining now?”

He chuckles and slides along the counter, revealing a tray of food that was behind him. On the tray there was a plate of pancakes, a smaller plate with eggs and bacon, a small bowl of fruit, and a glass of orange juice. You stare at him in awe but notice his face drops a little as he looks at the tray.

“I actually wanted to wake you up so I could bring you breakfast in bed… but I guess I was too loud, huh?” Noah says, rubbing the back of his neck.

He looks so nervous like he has messed everything up. You silently curse yourself for not staying in bed longer and ruining his plans. You stand on your tiptoes and place a kiss on his cheek.

“This is perfect, baby. Thank you so much.”

Noah’s eyes light up.

“You know, I can still bring it to you in bed. It won't be a surprise anymore but I’d still like to.”

You nod your head and giggle. Noah smacks your butt playfully as you turn around and head back towards your room.

A few moments later, Noah enters the room with the breakfast tray. He walks slowly towards your bed, careful not to spill anything. He sits the tray across your legs and climbs in next to you. You look down and notice something was different. A small vase with daisies had been placed in the corner. Your heart explodes in your chest. Could this man be any cuter?

You take Noah’s face in your hands and kiss him. “Thank you, Noah. This is so sweet.”

He rubs your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses you again. “Happy Anniversary, Y/N.”

To your pleasant surprise, Noah had much more than breakfast planned for your day. He took you to get your nails done, then to lunch at your favorite restaurant. Afterwards, you went to Pacific Park to ride the ferris wheel and walk on the beach. He even took you to buy a new dress and shoes for dinner, despite your protests.

As you walk to your front door he stops you and places a blindfold over your eyes. He leads you to your room and has you sit on the edge of your bed. He leaves the room for a moment, then reenters. You hear shuffling and something lands on the bed next to you. He removes your blindfold and you look around the room, noticing nothing different.

“Get dressed. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He leaves again before you can say a word. You slip into the red dress he bought you that cost more than you would ever pay, but as soon as he saw you in it he insisted on buying it for you. Or rather, as soon as he saw you in it he pushed you back into the dressing room and fucked you in front of the mirror so you could see how beautiful it looked on you.

After that he said you couldn’t return it to the rack, so he had to buy it for you.

The black strappy heels you put on were also Noah’s pick. You had to hand it to him. The man knew how to dress even when it came to dressing other people.. or maybe he just knew what he wanted to see his girl in.

You sit at your vanity and touch up your hair and makeup. The door opens and when Noah walks in you nearly drop your mascara. He’s in a black long sleeve dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, black trousers, and black leather chelsea boots. A gold watch on his wrist accentuates the black outfit perfectly.

“Ready, bug?”

You swing your legs delicately over the vanity bench and stand up. Noah’s breath hitches when he sees you. The dress looks even better on you now than it did at the store. Every curve and slope of your body is accentuated by the silky fabric. Your hair falls in soft curls over your shoulders and he notices you put his favorite shade of lipstick on. His heart aches because you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and he knows you have no idea.

Noah holds his hand out for you and smiles softly. Graciously, you take it and he places gentle kisses on your knuckles. “You look so beautiful, baby.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks as you beam at him. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Davis.”

Noah laughs and holds out his arms, giving you a twirl to show off his outfit. “I do clean up pretty well, huh?”

“I better make sure we don’t go out in public with you looking that good. Someone might steal you from me.” You tease him.

Noah pulls you in an embrace, enveloping you in a deep kiss. It leaves you breathless, wishing it would never end, but it does. He separates from you, his dark brown eyes staring into yours.

“That’s never going to happen, baby.”

Noah insists on covering your eyes as he opens your bedroom door and leads you out to the hallway. He decided to forego the blindfold this time so it didn’t ruin your makeup. After some playful arguing, a lot of giggling from the both of you, and you nearly falling, he manages to position you right where he wanted you.

“Okay… you can open your eyes.”

Shades of red and white cover the floor, the petals scattered there form a trail that leads to the living room. Flameless candles light the dark hallway. Behind the floral aroma a delicious scent fills your nostrils and you hear movement in the kitchen. Is someone cooking?

Your eyes light up at the sight before you as you clasp your hands together in front of your face. As you turn to look at Noah, you realize he’s already watching you with wonder.

“Baby, it’s beautiful.” you say, softly. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

He chuckles and places a hand on the back of your head kissing your temple. “We’re not done yet, baby. You haven’t even made it down the hallway.” He points at the small table next to the living room door and you see a heart shaped balloon, a card, and a small black box. You reach the table and open the card.

A polaroid of the two of you on your first date falls out. You pick it up and admire it. He had taken you to a movie and then to the swan pedal boats at Echo Park. He snapped a picture of you two, the LED lights on the boat illuminating your smiling faces. On the bottom, Noah wrote:

Day 1: Our First Date. The beginning of us.

You grab the black box and open it to see a small gold bracelet inside. Dangling from the chain you see a tiny swan. You run your thumb over the grooves in the metal where its wings are, eyes brimming with tears.

“Here, let me.” Noah says, delicately placing the bracelet around your wrist. He presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist and laces his fingers with yours. “C’mon, baby.”

He escorts you into the next room. If you thought he went all out for the hallway, you were unprepared for the living room. More flower petals lie on the floor and on the couch. The house was dark, the only light was what little daylight could peek through the shades and more flameless candles that Noah had placed everywhere.

A gigantic red heart balloon arch was placed above the couch. You laugh internally imagining Noah trying to get that thing inside your house. Suddenly, it hits you. When did he have time to put it in your house? More movement in the kitchen reminds you of your mystery chef. Sweet Noah. He has a plan for everything.

There’s another single heart shaped balloon, white this time, attached to the coffee table with a card and a smaller black box. Careful not to disturb the rose petals, you sit on the edge of the couch. The card holds another polaroid of you and Noah after one of his concerts. You’re hanging off of him as he kisses your cheek.

Day 32: My biggest fan.

The box held a single charm. A small gold concert ticket Noah had customized with “Bad Omens”. He attaches the charm to your bracelet and you lean into him. You play with the charms as he rubs your back. “Everything ok, bug?” He whispers.

You look up at him and nod, smiling. You choose not to say anything, knowing if you did you’d start crying. Noah stands up. “Let’s keep going. We’re almost to the best part.”

The next table had the same set up. The photo was a blurry one you had taken after a night out. You were both in bed and Noah had red lipstick, the very same you were wearing this evening, all over his face from where you had been kissing him. You were still kissing him in the photo. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder, humming.

He was remembering the night just as you were. You had stumbled into the house drunk, unable to keep your hands off of each other. The lipstick you were wearing made it onto many other parts of his body that evening and he insisted on taking photos of it all. You made him promise to keep the more risqué ones locked away, but it seems he chose the most appropriate one for this evening.

Day 72: My wild girl…and why red is my new favorite color.

Your cheeks heat at his note. Noah growls in your ear teasingly and kisses behind your ear. He prompts you to open the box, so you do. A red lips charm lies inside causing you to burst out in laughter. Noah laughs as well and attaches it to your wrist along with the other two. He pats you on the butt and guides you into the dining room.

Fairy lights were strung from the ceiling. A white tablecloth and dark red table runner had been placed on the table. A large vase of flowers, a mixture of roses and daisies, sits in the middle. The table was set beautifully; plates and utensils all in their places. A bottle of wine was placed next to a bowl of strawberries. He really didn’t leave out a thing.

Noah pulls your chair out and helps you in. He slides into the chair opposite you and gives you a big smile you can’t help but mirror. As soon as you place your napkin in your lap, someone busts through the door from the kitchen. You’re shocked to see Nicholas, also dressed up, with two plates of food. He practically floats over to you and places your plate down first, then Noah’s.

“Nicky..” You speak as you gently grab his arm, pulling him down to you. “How much did Noah pay you to do all of this?”

“Not a dime, darling. I did this out of the kindness of my heart.” He says, flashing you a sweet smile.

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, but he just winks at you. “You’re important to Noah, so you’re important to me. It’s my pleasure.” He kisses your cheek and you thank him.

“You’re welcome. However, Noah, next time you want a huge balloon arrangement snuck into her house, you’re on your own. That thing was a bitch to get in the door.” Nicholas calls out as he walks back to the kitchen.

“Nick, you know you’ll do it again in a heartbeat if I ask.” Noah yells.

“I don’t know shit!” Nicholas’ muffled yell from behind the door makes you snicker.

Conversation and laughter make dinner and dessert pass by quickly. After he passes out dessert and cleans up the kitchen, you catch Nicholas attempting to slip out quietly. He gives a little wave and you smile and wave back, a silent thank you.

Noah checks his watch and quickly stands up. “We have to hurry or we’ll miss it!” he exclaims, excitedly. He brings you out to your back patio. There are no fancy decorations. Just a polaroid camera, a black sharpie, and a familiar small black box.

The sun is setting now. The sunlight shines through the clouds, and the sky turns beautiful shades of pink and purple. Noah sighs in relief.

“We didn’t miss it.”

The realization that Noah was so worried about missing the sunset with you is painfully sweet. You watch him as he grabs the camera and stuffs the sharpie in his pocket. He turns you both around so your backs are against the setting sun, and he drapes his arm around your shoulder. You wrap around his torso and he rests his head on yours, snapping the photo.

The polaroid shoots out of the camera and he shakes it. Once the photo appears you look at it at the same time. The golden light shines through and around the two of you. Almost as if the two of you were glowing.

“I think this is our best one yet.” You say.

Noah agrees and hands you the black box. The final charm. This one was kept in a satin bag inside the box so you were extra careful with it. You place it delicately in your hand. The heart shaped charm was made of red murano glass. You gaze at the charm in awe of its beauty. It was perfect, just like all of the others.

Noah stares at you, at the sunlight shining on your face. He had spent years chasing the feeling he has in this very moment with you. All of the pain and heartbreak he had caused and experienced meant nothing anymore.

You were right in front of him and everything he ever wanted.

He had spent so much time agonizing over this night. Was it too soon? Should he wait? Would you feel the same way? He wanted everything to be perfect for you. You were perfect.

Noah sits the photo down. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you passionately. You taste like wine and honey from dessert and he licks further into your mouth yearning for more.

When he pulls away he places his forehead against yours. His hands never leave your face, his thumbs running along the apples of your cheeks. You stare up at him through your lashes, watching as his mouth opens and closes again.

“I love you so much, y/n.”

Your stomach turns a million flips at once. The pounding of your heart makes you dizzy. Tears well up in your eyes and you smile so hard your cheeks hurt instantly. He makes a surprised noise as you roughly attach your lips to his.

Noah takes your response as a positive one, assuming you wouldn’t kiss him if you don’t feel the same way. However, his anxiety is getting the better of him and he can’t wait any longer. He gently separates the two of you, the noise you make is so pitiful he regrets it immediately, but he has to know.

When he looks at you, he is unprepared for the pout you give him. It was so cute he couldn’t help but laugh. You stomp your foot but you’re also laughing.

“Why did you stop kissing me?” You question, still pouting.

“I’m sorry, baby, but…I need to hear you say it. I have to know you feel the same way.”

It dawns on you that in your excitement you had failed to respond to him. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Baby, of course I feel the same way. I’ve actually wanted to say it for a couple of weeks now but was afraid it was too soon. I’m so glad you said it, though. All of this you’ve done for me today… This has been the best day ever. No one has ever loved me or taken care of me the way you have. I love you more than anything, Noah Davis.”

Noah grins and lifts you off the ground, twirling you around. He smothers your face, neck, and shoulders with kisses. When you thought he was done, he started again.

“Baby, are you ever going to stop?” You say through a fit of giggles.

“Nope, never.” He says, his voice muffled by your neck.

You whine and he groans playfully.

“Fine, but you have to say it again.”

You sigh, pretending like it was so taxing and kiss his nose. He smirks at you, waiting.

“I love you, Noah.”

Noah gives you a satisfied smile and pulls the sharpie out of his pocket. He uncaps it and picks up the polaroid. He taps the marker on his chin for a moment in contemplation and then begins to write.

Day 90: Our anniversary. Sunset.

The day you said you love me.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #bad omens fluff

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

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

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

[the-marshals-wife]

The Bad Batch Having a Token of Their Love For You Would Include (Bad Batch x Reader)

A/N: I love these boys so much and I thought of this instead of going to sleep all week. I really hope y'all like my idea for Echo's especially. He deserves the galaxy and more.❤️ (I also had extra ideas that are definitely still in character but probably "anachronistic", so I just labeled them bonus. I mean we have finally 'caf'' aka coffee in SW canon, so maybe there's hope for hoodies 🤭)

Description: Bad Batch x Fem!Reader | Warnings: none, just lots fluff and kisses

★ Bad Batch Tag List ★ @dantes-devil-huntress @sageislostinspring (comment to be added!)

Gif credit: user mutantfactor

Hunter

He would get a tattoo of your name

Hunter did not need his heightened senses to be certain that he had fallen in love with you - if anything, they just strengthened his conviction that you were the one he was meant to find

Being the intensely devoted and thoughtful man he is, you were on his mind constantly, and he wanted a symbol of his love to be as a part of him as you had become

He didn't even tell you at first because he wanted it to be surprise

It wasn't until he changed into plainclothes for an undercover mission that you noticed the new black ink on his right bicep

You grabbed his arm and stared at the Aurebesh letters spelling your name

"You like it?" he asked, a little nervous

Speechless, you pulled him into a kiss

"I'll take that as a yes" he smiled, before getting another embrace filled with kisses

Whenever you have time alone together, you love to slowly trace the letters with your finger and listen as he dreamily talks about the future

Later in your relationship, he would want to add to it with a portrait of you, and someday, the names of your children

Bonus: he would keep anything you gave him like a pendant or a ring and wear it whenever he could (this man would totally wear one of your scrunchies and make it look hot - a product of his 'girl dad' powers that you find very attractive)

Wrecker

He would keep your shirt to cuddle with

The only thing Wrecker has ever been discreet about in his entire life is his feelings as he was falling for you

It wasn't for lack of trying. He had been officially head over heels for months, but every time he tried to tell you, his words suddenly came out wrong

You thought it was adorable, and you were sure he'd figure out how to say what he was feeling when he was ready. It just gave you more opportunity to realize you were falling for him too

What you couldn't figure out, however, was where your favorite shirt had disappeared to

That is until, after days of searching, you finally caught a glimpse of it tucked beneath the pillow in Wrecker's bunk

You were stifling a giggle when he walked up behind you, looking nothing less than mortified

"Oh, Y/N! That! I uh...I found it on the floor and I was going to give it back to you! But it smelled really nice, and pretty...like you, and um, then I forgot..." he stammered, his face bright red

You smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "Keep it."

In the weeks following, you would refresh it with a spray of your perfume every so often when he wasn't looking

He would also draw doodles of you whenever he had downtime

You were all on a mission not long after the discovery of that day, and during his watch, you rolled over to see him drawing in the sand with a stick. He'd scribbled your initials together within a heart, surrounded by a dozen tinier hearts.

Suffice to say he was not the only one feeling absolutely smitten from then on

Bonus: speaking of shirts, you would absolutely be the couple with the "If lost, return to ___ + I'm ___" tees (likely worn with your matching homemade 'friendship' bracelets)

Tech

He would keep a recording of your voice and laughter

Tech is a private person when it comes to his emotions, but he feels very deeply, even if he isn't sure how to best express his growing affection for you (he thinks it's obvious, after all)

It's this very reason why you doubted that he returned your feelings at first, until you walked by him one day and heard the sound of your own laughter, playing over and over

"What's that?" you questioned, now recognizing the moment that had caused your sides to nearly split (Wrecker had just taken the most dramatic fall into mud you'd ever seen, immediately after bragging he was 'too heavy' to slip)

Tech muted the sound and kept his stare on the datapad, "I capture auditory recordings of all of my interactions for analysis, and file away important data for later reference."

"My laughing is 'important data'?" you smirked as he hesitated for only a moment

"Well, no. Not technically. It is, however, a pleasant sound that reminds me of you, and one that I would like not to forget. By that reasoning, it is important to me," he stated, calmly meeting your awe-struck gaze

It took all your strength not throw yourself into his arms right then and there. He went back to filing his recordings, oblivious to the fact that he had just irreversibly won your heart

He'd also incorporate you into some of his private passcodes

Anything from your initials to your eye color to your favorite flower - just some of the many details that he associates with you and remind him of how much he cares for you

Bonus: if he had a lockscreen/background, it would definitely be a picture of you. He would also be the type to make you a playlist of your favorite songs all from memory because he knows you that well

Crosshair

He would engrave your name on his rifle

Crosshair is a man of conviction and loyalty, and when he was certain that he could trust you with his heart, he wanted to display his loyalty in turn

Modifying his rifle in any way at all is significant, so ingraining your name on the scope is a very personal gesture to him

He caught you completely by surprise on a mission, casually showing it to you while you had watch together

You were stunned to see your name glistening in the firelight, every letter expertly etched into the smooth metal, "Cross, I can't believe you would do that for me..."

"Your love makes my aim true," he replied, wholly sincere

This one remark sealed your fate, giving you both the courage to lean in and share your first kiss

"Then you will never miss," you whispered afterward

You spent the rest of your watch sitting close together in soothing silence under the stars

He would also carve your initials into the wall of his bunk

Wherever he would go, you would be there also. His devotion is unyielding, and you have a partner until the galaxy itself burns up

Bonus: a huge sign of his affection would be letting you wear his clothes. He may act disgruntled, but it's all in jest because would be the boyfriend that's extremely proud to see you walking around in his hoodie

Echo

He would have your handprint on his armor

It seemed like a lifetime since he'd had the handprint from Captain Rex on his chestplate that had meant so much to him through those long years of war

When Echo is sure of something, nothing can move him from it. Not much time was required for him to know that he wanted to share his life with you, and that he wanted your handprint on his armor

He confided in you quite a bit about his past in the GAR, and you knew about the original print, but you never dreamed that he would ask you to replicate it

"Are you sure?" you asked in disbelief

"I am, Y/N. There's no one else whose mark I'd rather carry with me, and no one I want by my side more. On and off the battlefield," he confessed, taking your hand in his

Tears welling in your eyes, you dipped your other hand into the red paint on the table, placed it carefully onto his chest, and pressed your lips to his

More than a symbol of love, you both knew this was a vow to keep fighting for a free galaxy where you could build a future together

He would also have a photo of you in his personal things

He's not afraid of letting his relationship with you be known around his brothers, but his horrifying experiences imprisoned by the Separatists have made him extra cautious in all things. He keeps his photo of you safely tucked away and never brings it on missions, not wanting to risk it falling into the hands of anyone who would ever want to harm you

Instead, whenever you're apart, he holds his hand to his chest before he drifts to sleep and dreams of you. The nightmares are all but gone

Bonus: you two would totally have matching caf mugs with snarky sayings. "Grumpy parents in the morning" vibes all the way

#the bad batch imagine #the bad batch headcanons #hunter x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #echo x reader #star wars imagine #star wars headcanons #the bad batch #my writing #yes wrecker's and tech's are a bit longer #they're my faves what can i say? 🥰 #plus echo and yn are totally married now i don't make the rules 🤭 #the bad batch x reader #bad batch headcanons

[theoreticslut]

「 your kiss is on my list 」

eddie munson x fem reader

summary: a little game of truth or dare leads to lots of shock, a not jealous eddie, and your first kiss.

requested: no

word count: 2.7k

warnings: alcohol use/mentions of being drunk, slight playboy steve (early s1 personality), jealousy, pet names (honey, angel, & princess), bed sharing, fluff

a/n: if you don’t know by now, i love eddie munson so fucking much. i’m literally getting ideas for him daily. i hope you like this & if you’ve got an idea you’d like to see written, feel free to send it to me! Xx

title insp. from kiss on my list by daryl hall & john oates

“Oh my god!”

“Gross!”

“You’re a pig, Harrington.” Robin’s voice cuts through the rest of yours as he and Eddie laugh at the confession.

Needing time and friendships away from the little group of 15-year olds you’ve all somehow adopted, the five of you - Steve, Nancy, Robin, Eddie, and yourself - have started having weekly get-togethers. Sometimes you’ll all sit around and watch movies as you munch on junk food, and other times you’ll have a makeshift house party/game night like tonight.

“You asked for the truth!” Steve laughs, taking a swig of his beer as an amused smile settles on his face.

“You didn’t need to be so detailed. We’re not drunk enough for that yet.” You groan, trying to clear the mental image your brain cruelly created.

“That’s not my fault.”

“You’re right. It’s not your fault that you’re a complete lightweight.” 

“Hey! Not a lightweight.” He defends, slightly pouting as he points at you.

“Yeah, he’s not a lightweight, honey. You just don’t drink enough.” Eddie pipes in, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he stands behind you, having gotten up to get himself another drink.

“Are you really going to make me the villain here, Eds? Just because I’m not a borderline alcoholic like the rest of you?” 

At your cocked brow, all Eddie can do is smile, chuckling as he shakes his head, pulling you against his chest as you sit on a stool at the counter jutting out into his living room.

After the events of spring break, the two of you have become quick friends, having spent a good majority of the six months that have passed together. The rest of the group - especially the younger kids - love to tease the two of you for how quick you became “friends” - as they like to put it. 

You don’t mind though. You really enjoy having Eddie around, and it’s not like you haven’t had little thoughts of him from time to time. It’s just that you’re friends, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

“Of course not. I’m just trying to get you to drink more, princess.” He smirks as you roll your eyes at him.

“Get me a drink and maybe I will.” You challenge, meeting his eyes as you do.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get back to pl-aying the game!” Robin almost whines, hiccuping as she does so.

“Steeeeve, you get to ask someone.” She giggles, definitely drunk at this point in the night.

“Alright. Y/n, truth or dare?” Steve questions, and you pretend to think about it for a moment.

“Hmm, I guess I’ll go truth.”

“What was your first kiss like?” 

At the question, you can feel Eddie turn his attention to you, apparently being curious of the question himself as he hands you a drink.

“Gonna have to give me another question, Harrington. I don’t have an answer for that one.” You chuckle airily, popping the tab open on the can before taking a sip.

“You don’t have an answer? How come?”

“Have you not had your first kiss?!” Nancy gasps, drawing a hand to her mouth as she watches you.

At her question you feel everyone look at you as a silence settles over the room, waiting for an answer as you sip on the beer Eddie brought you.

“Why do you all look so shocked?”

“Because you’re like…you. How have you never been kissed?” Steve questions, completely mind blown at the knowledge. 

“Because I haven’t….?” You question, not sure what other response there is. 

Looking around at everyone, you find that they’re all still in stages of shock or confusion.

“I volunteer to be your first.” Steve comments, filter gone with even the tiniest bit of alcohol. 

“Like hell you will.” Eddie snaps, glaring at the jock.

“Why not? I’ve been told I’m a great kisser.”

“He is.” Nancy mumbles, giggling in her drunkenness.

“See?” The prior ‘king’ points out, a slight air of smugness to him as Eddie grinds his teeth.

“Because her first kiss should be with someone she actually likes, Harrington.” Eddie scoffs.

“But she likes me. Don’t you like me, y/n?” 

“Someone as more than a friend, asshole.” 

“If she’s comfortable with me, though, wouldn’t that be more important than ki-“ Steve starts to question before Eddie cuts him off, the two arguing about the topic as if you weren’t even there.

“Shut the fuck up or i’ll make you shut up. She’s not going to kiss you.” 

As Eddie talks, you feel him step closer to you, as if trying to protect you.

“What’s it to you anywa-wait, are you jealous?” Steve asks, mouth agape as he scoffs humorously.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not, bud.” 

“I’m not. I just don’t think she should be kissing you.” Eddie states.

“Besides, I don’t think Nancy would appreciate your lips on someone else’s.”

As the two boys argue with each other, you look to Nancy and Robin, who just seem amused. 

If anyone had asked you four hours earlier how a game of truth or dare would turn into a discussion of who your first kiss should be, you’d have no answer, having thought it impossible. Sitting here, though, you realize how absolutely nothing is impossible for this little group.

“Hey, buttheads! The only one who has any say in who y/n’s first kiss will be is y/n. Yeah?” Robin questions, cutting the two guys off from their argument.

“I would hope so.” You retort, looking up at Eddie as he hovers over your shoulder, still glaring at Steve as he grinds his teeth.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m serious though; I’ll happily be your first kiss if you want me to be.” Steve states, sitting back on the couch as Eddie lets out a tense breath.

“I’ll let you know if that day ever comes.” 

He nods, taking a big gulp of his beer, finishing the can as Eddie turns his attention to you.

“Do you want another beer?” 

“Nah, I’m alright, Eds. I’ve still got some.” You smile, shaking your can to show it’s still about halfway full.

“Alright.” He mumbles, smiling lightly as he releases a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he stands to the side of you.

~.~

“Bye guys! I’ll see you later. Be safe!” You call, waving to your three friends as they climb into Steve’s car, leaving you and Eddie to yourselves in his trailer.

Watching them drive away, you turn to close the door but stumble over your feet.

���Careful, honey.” Eddie states as you giggle, righting yourself up again and closing the door.

“I’m good, Eds. Promise.”

“You’re not drunk are you? We were up all night the last time you got drunk.” He questions, hoping you’re only tipsy. 

Even though he knows he’d stay up with you all night again, listening to you ramble about whatever crosses your mind, giggling as you slur your thoughts to him, he’d much rather get some sleep.

“Not drunk. Just tipsy and tired, Eds.” 

“Alright, angel, if you say so. Let’s get to bed, yeah?”

He watches as you nod, smiling softly before you shuffle across the room to him. Chuckling lightly, he slings an arm around your waist to help guide you to the bedroom where you’ve stayed plenty of times before.

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a shirt I could borrow? I didn’t think to bring pjs.” You pout, looking over to him with sad eyes.

“Course I do, princess.” He chuckles, digging through his dresser to find a clean shirt. He’s definitely got to do laundry this weekend.

“Here you are, honey.” 

As you turn to him, he tosses you a black tee shirt, some metal band logo on the front of it. It’s worn, the band’s logo faded and crinkled in spots, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything softer. 

“Thanks, Eds. Be right back.” You lazily smile, making your way over to the small bathroom.

While you’re gone, Eddie changes into pajamas of his own - the only time he wears them. Typically he’d just sleep in his boxers, possibly with a tee on, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Hence why he found himself digging out the few pairs of cotton bottoms he had stuffed in one of the bottom drawers of his dresser the first night you had stayed over.

You’re also the reason he’s been washing his sheets more often, not wanting you to be sleeping on a dirty bed. He may have only known you a handful of months, but he’s almost completely changed his habits at home on the chance that you’d be over.

He’s tidying up his bed as you come back in from the bathroom, his shirt hanging on your frame, just long enough to cover you. He can’t help but notice how much of your thighs are on show though, gulping lightly as he tries not to stare.

You’ve never been anything but beautiful in his eyes, even from the first time he set eyes on you back in the boathouse, wild with fear as he held a broken bottle to Steve’s neck. In all honesty, half the reason Dustin was able to talk him down was because he was so focused on you, wanting to know who you were and why you were here, looking for him of all people.

You’re the reason he dove into the lake back when all five of you ended up in the upside down. You had been friends with Nancy before all of this came about, and as soon as she dove in after Steve, you were diving in after her to make sure she wasn’t doing anything more stupid than diving into murky waters to save her ex - whom she still has feelings for - as he was being pulled under. 

Although you had called him stupid for following all of you into the water, he had done so for the same reasons, having wanted to make sure you were safe. Not that he needed to worry, though, as he found out when you fearlessly fought demobats off from the five of you.

If Steve thought he’d get your first kiss, he’s dead wrong. Why would he get your first kiss when he’s always been too focused on Nancy. Eddie’s the one who’s always had eyes for you. 

“Eds, you ready for bed?” You question, pulling him from his thoughts where he realizes you’ve been waiting for him.

“Yeah. Sorry…zoned out.”

“I noticed.” You giggle, crawling into the bed as he gets himself settled.

As you situate yourself into the bed beside him, a silence falls between the two of you where his mind continues to race.

“You’ve really never kissed anyone before?” He questions, still not believing it.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” 

“It’s not. It’s just, surprising. Like Steve said, you’re…you.” 

“What does that even mean?” You chuckle, looking over to him with lightly furrowed brows.

“You’re pretty. Like really pretty, and you’re so fucking cool. You’re kind, and warm, and so good with the younger kids, but you also kick ass. You’re just…amazing.” 

“But people like Steve just see that you’re pretty and find that good enough.” Eddie huffs, jaw setting as he juts his lip out.

If you weren’t trying to calm him down, you’d find his angry little pout adorable, but you can’t focus on that right now.

“Hey - look at me.” You coax, turning onto your side to face him.

“Why are you all upset, Eds?”

“Because people like Steve shouldn’t be your first kiss. He just wants to kiss you, and that’s not right. You deserve to have your first kiss with someone who actually likes you, you know?”

“That so?”

“Yeah. I mean, at this point you shouldn’t just go for anyone. Go for someone that’s going to want more than just a kiss.”

“It's cute when you’re jealous, Eddie.” You smile, loving how he stutters and pouts at your words.

“I-I’m not jealous. You can kiss whoever you want.”

“If you say so…you have nothing to worry about, though, Eds. I won’t be kissing Steve anytime soon.”

“If I were to kiss someone, it’d be you.” You state, smiling to yourself as he nods, sighing in relief at your first statement as he’s a little behind. You can see his brain pause as your words slowly sink in.

By the time he’s turning his attention to you, though, you’re already turned away from him.

“Say that again?”

“If I were to kiss someone, it’d be you, dumbass.” 

“Are you saying-“

“That I like you? Kind of.” You chuckle, glancing at him over your shoulder as his brain works through your words.

When they all finally process, all he does I stare at you in shock, with a little bit of confusion thrown in. You like him? Like actually like him? And you want to kiss him?

“Wh-what does this-?” He questions, wondering what this means and where things are going right now.

“I think you should kiss me. If you like me, that is. If you don’t then it’s-oh!” You half gasp, half moan as his lips find yours.

Registering the fact that he’s kissing you, you find yourself relaxing into the mattress, letting your lips follow his.

“You talk too much sometimes.” He mumbles, barely a centimeter of space between your lips.

“No more than you do.”

“At least I’ve never told you to kiss me and then kept talking as if you wouldn’t. Just tell me to kiss you and shut up so I can.” 

“Kiss me again then, but don’t stop.” You challenge, just wanting to feel his lips on yours.

Upon first meeting Eddie, you can’t say you were immediately enamored by him. You more so just felt sorry for him for everything that had happened, knowing how terrifying your first experience with the upside down shit is. 

As you and the group helped him though, talking to him as he tagged along, you found yourself being amazed by him. Between the way he would joke around, the way he looked out for the young boys, the way he fought even though he was terrified, and the way he cared for you even though he’d only just met you, you found yourself seeing him in a whole new light. One that slowly had you falling in love.

It wasn’t until after the fact, though, when the two of you started hanging out frequently that you truly fell for him. You got to see all the different sides of him from how passionate he was about Dungeons and Dragons to how peaceful he got when playing his guitar, even to how much he truly was a teddy bear by nature. 

He was everything you ever wanted in a partner, and it was even better that he was insanely attractive with his wild hair and big, chocolate-y eyes. How could you not end up falling for him?

“Your lips are so soft, honey.” Eddie murmurs, forehead resting on yours as he smiles against your lips, eyes closed.

“I think yours are softer.” You smile, running your thumb over his cheek as you look up at him.

“Not in the slightest.”

At his chuckle, you can feel your heart race as a soft smile finds a place on your lips. It takes a moment longer before he pulls away from you just enough to look over your face, admiring each and every feature.

“You know, I think I just might love you.”  He comments, watching your smile deepen as you shy away from his words.

“I think I just might love you, too, Eds.”

With your admission, a smile grows on his face before he’s leaning back down to you, pressing his lips to yours in a needy - yet loving - kiss. There’s nothing that could make the two of you happier right now when you’re curled up together, lips molding with each other’s as you let every unspoken admiration leave your body wordlessly. 

Every kiss only solidifies the silent admission that you are his and he is yours, and nothing could possibly be better than that.

-------------------------------------------------

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#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #st fanfic #stranger things fluff #st fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

[twiceinadream]

“Santa baby.”

Requested: Nope

Prompt: Fem! S/O finds a slutty Santa outfit and surprises Mina with it.

a/u: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! I apologize for being gone for so long, life has been really busy and to be honest I have had the worst writer’s block for months. I really struggled to finish this one but I wanted to push through and deliver my annual Mina Christmas post. I hope y’all enjoy! Thank you so much for all the love and support.

Word Count: 1.7k

Category: NSFW and Fluff

The soft glow of the Christmas lights you and Mina had set up around the apartment left it feeling even more homey than usual and the slightly too tall tree you and Mina had bought on a whim was set up in the corner of the living room. Filled with ornaments the two of you had collected from various trips and from all the different countries Mina had visited while on tour. A plethora of presents decorated the bottom of the tree and soft music played from the surround system as your girlfriend sat blindfolded on the couch.

Ever the patient woman, Myoui Mina sat perfectly still where you had left her a little over five minutes ago, promising her an early Christmas surprise. You had to shake off your nerves as you emerged from your guy’s bedroom, dressed in a very skimpy Santa outfit you had seen while Christmas shopping earlier that month and bought it on a whim with the intent of surprising your girlfriend with it for Christmas.

So you finally worked up the nerve to finally put it on and show her. It was a particularly short red dress, with faux white fur on the border, a small black belt and buckle around your midsection, and a little bow nestled between your breasts. As a finishing touch you added a Santa hat that now sat atop your head, “Okay, you can take your blindfold off baby.”

Mina hesitated for a second before reaching up and removing the eye mask you had forced her to wear. She blinked for a second as her eyes readjusted to the low light before her jaw fell slightly ajar and her pupils dilated, “Wow.”

The statement was simple but the appreciation in the Japanese woman’s eyes was unmistakable as you felt your body flush with heat, “What do you think, baby?”

Mina smirked as she beckoned you forward, her hand finding its way up your thigh, “I’d say you just put yourself on the naughty list, Y/N-Chan. The very very naughty list.”

You gulped as your girlfriend gave you “the look”. As you lowered yourself to your knees between her parted thighs, “What are you going to do to me, mistress?”

“Let’s see.” Mina hummed as she looked up in thought, “Oh I know, why don’t you get on my lap and tell me. Tell me what you wish for Santa baby.”

You rose slowly from the floor as you positioned yourself over one of Mina’s thighs, straddling it but not lowering yourself. You knew better than to do anything without her permission, “May I sit, mistress?”

“Yes.” You bit your lip as you held back a small gasp as a delicious pressure greeted your clit as you settled atop your girlfriend’s knee. Mina hummed in approval, “So, tell me Y/N-Chan, what do you wish for this Christmas? Oh, and move.”

You let out a breath as you began to grind, “I wish for…” Mina raised her thigh so it pressed harder into your cunt making you stop to regain your focus as you felt your wetness seeping into the flimsy thong you had worn beneath the dress, “for whatever pl…pleases you, mi..mistress.”

The Japanese woman stayed silent for a few moments more as you continued to grind, her thigh becoming slicker as your breaths grew labored. “Good answer, keep going.”

You nodded more focused on your pleasure than your mistress’s words as you felt your peak drawing nearer. But Mina did not appreciate your lack of response, “You’re being naughty, stop.” But you weren’t listening as you continued grinding, moans slipping past your lips as you were a hair away from cumming.

However, you never reached the blissful end you were expecting as Mina took hold of your hips and pushed you off her thigh. Causing you to stumble back onto the floor as a very unsatisfying orgasm ripped through you, your inner walls clenched around nothing as the ruined orgasm finally passed. Your eyes brimmed with tears as you looked up to meet the disappointed gaze of your mistress.

Mina tsked as she stood up from her spot on the couch, “And here I thought you were a good girl this year, Y/N-ah. But I guess not. Do you know what happens to naughty girls, baby?”

You felt a small tremble of pleasure and fear race up your spine as you nodded slowly, “Th..they get pu…punished.”

That brought a smile to your girlfriend’s face, “Correct. So,” her voice turned dark, “bedroom. Now.”

You were quick to do as you were told not wanting to upset her further as you scrambled to make it to your guy’s shared bedroom. You knew better than to upset Mina further as you took your place on your knees at the foot of the bed.

“Look who wants to be a good girl, now.” The Japanese woman’s voice was condescending as you felt small under her domineering gaze, “Come.” Mina sat at the edge of the bed, her legs once again spread as you finally realized the outline of your favorite strap-on under her trouser seams. You crawled forward as you waited for her next instructions, “I don’t have all night, get to it.”

You immediately sat up on your knees as your fingers worked as nimbly as they could to unbutton and unzip your girlfriends slacks, finding that she forwent any panties as the strap all but sprung up and nearly hit you in the face. The toy had never looked more intimidating as it did in this moment as you looked up for permission, “Suck.”

Mina’s words were simple but they had the desired effect as you ran your tongue up the length of the strap, coating it in a thin sheen of saliva as you licked up to the head of the shaft. Even though you knew your girlfriend couldn’t fully feel the true effects of your tongue, but you would be damned if you didn’t give her a good show. And by the way Mina was slowly bucking up into your mouth it was having the desired effect.

You continued teasing the head of the toy before you felt a firm pressure at the back of your head as your mistress began forcing more of the strap into your throat as you had to prevent yourself from pulling away as you relaxed. When Mina believed that you got the message she stopped urging you forward letting you catch your breath as you took in more of the toy till you physically couldn’t anymore before pulling back to the head. You took a second to breath before going back down but this time you wrapped your fist around the base of the toy and began stroking up to meet your lips, causing the toy to rub against your girlfriend’s clit and g-spot as the insertable part was jostled by your movements as well.

Mina moaned as her hips rose to meet your mouth, inadvertently forcing more of her cock into your throat as she chased her peak. Drool spilled from the corner of your lips and pooled into your palm, slicking your hand’s movements as your girlfriend drew closer to her orgasm. Your girlfriend’s breathing became ragged and her pace was beginning to falter, a signal that had been ingrained into your brain that she was close. But before you could send her hurtling into the pleasure filled abyss, for the second time that night she pulled you away.

The feeling of the toy slipping out of your mouth startled you slightly but you didn’t get a chance to question it as Mina reversed your positions and stood from the bed. Pulling you up then bending you over the side as she flipped up your skirt and pulled your ruined thong to the side. The insides of your thighs were covered in your wetness, you moaned as you felt Mina run the strap through your folds, slicking the head even further before she positioned the toy at your entrance. “Color?”

You didn’t even need to think, ��Green!”

Without wasting another second your girlfriend pushed in, your inner walls gladly parting for your mistress’s cock as you moaned aloud. You felt unbelievably full as she bottomed out inside of you, Mina held still for a few moments to allow you to adjust to the stretch for pulling out till only the head of the strap remained inside before thrusting back inside.

The ruined orgasm you had experienced earlier in the evening came back with a vengeance as the knot in your stomach was wound so tight that you swore it could snap at any second. Your body was flushed with pleasure as your moans grew louder as you began rocking back to meet Mina’s thrusts, “F..fuck I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum!”

This time your girlfriend didn’t stop you, “Cum for me Y/N-ah!”

You didn’t hold anything back as you felt the knot inside you snap, you bit the comforter to prevent yourself from screaming as Mina continued fucking you through your orgasm. But your fingers began digging into the bed when you realized she wasn’t stopping. “Mi…Mina!?”

“One more baby, give me one more.”

Her voice was calm as her brows were creased in concentration as her hips somehow sped up and began thrusting into your harder as she too chased her orgasm. Tears stung your eyes as your body began to overload with pleasure as you felt an even bigger orgasm building up inside of you. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room where your moans didn’t as you began falling over the edge again.

A scream ripped itself from your chest as Mina thrusted into you for a final time as she came, but your brain was a mess as your inner walls gripped along your mistress’s silicone shaft attempting to milk it for all it was worth as you squirted slightly onto the floor. Your legs shook so bad that if Mina had not been holding you up you would have collapsed onto the ground. You barely realized how sleepy you were becoming as Mina slowly pulled out and began helping you into bed.

She quickly busied herself with cleaning and undressing you before undressing herself and slipping into bed beside you. You immediately curled into her arms as Mina placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“You truly are the best Christmas gift I could have ever asked for.”

You smiled as you felt sleep begin to take you, “You too, Minari. Love you.”

Mina didn’t even get a chance to respond before you were asleep in her arms, a soft smile gracing her lips as she held you closer, “I love you too, Y/N-Chan. Merry Christmas.”

#twice #fortwice #twice imagines #twice prompts #twice smut #twice fluff #myoui mina #twice mina #myoui mina x fem reader #myoui mina x reader #merry christmas #twiceinadream