#[ ic // reflections of misery ]

[witchembrace-a]

@goldenfists // continued!

"I saw you sitting by yourself, and you looked lonely, so I thought I'd accompany you~ Is that so wrong?" Jack hummed, smiling warmly as he spoke. He poured himself a cup of the freshly-brewed black tea, taking a sip without even cooling it down first; not that he truly needed to worry, he'd grown used to the pain by now.

It was still less painful than what he'd suffered when he was still but a babe.

In all honesty, Jack had entered the tavern not long after Sett had, curious nature overtaking him. He despised the rain anyways, and was seeking some shelter himself so as to not end up sick like he had in his youth (being stuck outside due to not having a permanent home was something he never wished to experience again). He watched the other man's expression closely, a tilt of his head following. "Why don't you try the tea? It's freshly made, and I promise you won't regret it~"

[captainseamech]

Incoherent mumbling

[shy-writer-999]

Giving Zoro a hand when he’s injured

WARNING: MINORS DNI. THIS IS NSFW CONTENT.

Author’s note: This is porn with plot. ~5.3k words. The smut starts at the asterisk I inserted, so you can skip the plot if you’d like. In this fic the reader (afab) gives injured Zoro a hand job. Includes Zoro touching himself and the reader later does the same. ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ \(๑•́o•̀๑)/ xoxoxo - see part 2 for more!

Giving Zoro a hand when he’s injured

Zoro tore one of his shoulder rotator cuffs in his last battle, and he was in bad shape. He also had a huge gash on his thigh that desperately needed to be cleaned and stitched up, but Chopper was on bed rest for a similar reason. The rest of the crew decided that you got to deal with Zoro while he recovered, because you had the most experience (other than Chopper) and least injuries.

Considering that Zoro had almost superhuman stamina and his body could repair itself quicker than most humans, the full recovery process would be a couple of weeks. Zoro would have to avoid using his shoulder for the whole time and he would need ice packs applied every 20 minutes for multiple cycles each day. And it was going to take Chopper at least four or five days to get back on his feet, so… that left you with lots of time babysitting the cranky swordsman. Those few days that you acted as Zoro’s nurse were the only days you had spent in such close proximity with him. Usually Zoro was always around, but you were far from close friends, he wasn’t overtly social, and when you were in the same room you were many feet away.

It would be safe to say that your proximity while you were taking care of him tortured Zoro. He couldn’t put a finger on it at first. You were annoying the fuck out of him. He had never noticed how annoying you were before—too smiley, too careful and tender with him when changing his ice packs, too patronizing… in reality, he was just projecting his misery and frustration on you, in part. But whenever you came into the room his blood pressure rose and he felt agitated, he couldn’t figure out what the hell his problem with you was, since you weren’t doing anything objectively wrong, either.

However, Zoro quickly figured out why you had been agitating him the second you were bent over his thigh, stitching it up. He was lying flat, slightly propped up because his pillows, cranking his head down to watch you work. He was prepared for the stitches to hurt and for the job to be shoddy—you were no Chopper, after all. But Zoro was quickly surprised. Your touch was as soft as a feather, you dabbed his wound with antiseptic so tenderly, gripped his leg firmly but delicately at the same time. Your stitches were swift and as smooth as could be, as painless as he had ever experienced.

Zoro had never felt care like this before. He could sense that you were adjusting your movements slightly to accommodate his comfort, and it caught him off guard. His gaze shifted from your hands to your face. You were so close. He could feel your body heat, see your chest rise and fall, bent over his upper thigh, focusing so intently. He always thought you were beautiful, but he had never been this close to you before. As you looked up quickly to check that he wasn’t grimacing in pain from your stitches, you locked eyes. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Zoro’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. Something stirred inside him. He had never felt this before. What was this feeling? Is it just her beauty that I’m taken aback by? How tender her hands are moving? Her closeness? Zoro reflected internally as his heart calmed down in a millisecond.

“Are you doing ok?” You asked, and briefly paused your work.

“Yeah.” He replied curtly. You got back to work.

It was amazing that he got flustered in that moment, considering that he was the Roronoa Zoro, being treated as tenderly and with as much care as a baby. He went back to watching you work, which had quickly turned into him staring at your face and hands. He was wrapped up in analyzing you, admiring you, so distracted that he forgot the pain for a moment. A thought intruded his mind—your head was down by his thigh, bobbing up and down as you leaned closer to get a better look at his wound. Your head was alarmingly close to his crotch. Would you look like this while sucking his dick? He was sexually frustrated as it was, so the thought wasn’t the most surprising. It’s not like he hadn’t imagined it before. But now that you were inches away from his cock, he couldn’t shake the mental image. His mind wandered. Would he grab your hair and push you down on it? Would you look up at him, like you just did, but with your pretty lips wrapped around his shaft? Before he knew it, he was starting to get hard. The timing was perfect though. You finished tending to his thigh and stood up.

“Okay, all done. Do you need anything before I leave?” You asked him, not noticing his bulge was growing bigger.

“No, thanks.” Zoro responded curtly again, and you left the room.

Recently, Zoro had been so sexually frustrated that he couldn’t go a whole day without excusing himself to the bathroom to masturbate—and you had been the object of his fantasies for weeks. He felt a bit guilty after cumming so hard to the thought of you straddling him, arching your back for him, spitting on his cock and sucking it dry, moaning sweetly as his fingers wandered inside of you…  Even before you were positioned down there by his crotch, he would see you walking around deck without a bra on and in a big t-shirt and he just couldn’t help but get ravenous thinking about you riding him.

Of course, you never noticed. You just thought he was sassy and kind of a dick sometimes. But he was being even coarser with you to compensate for how much you had taken over his mind. Having you so close to him for the first time, looking up at him while your body was bent over his, being able to see the outline of your breasts even closer and having an excuse to look… he wasn’t taking it well. He was getting harder by the minute, but managed to fight it off before you came back in an hour to carefully put ice packs on his shoulder. He held his breath when you got that close to him.

Zoro was shirtless, and while you were changing his ice packs and adjusting the padding, you couldn’t help but notice how tan and ripped he was. Even his scars were beautiful because they held stories, memories, pain, and strength. They told a narrative about his past, one which you admired him for. Zoro’s jaw was chiseled, his brow bone strong, his mossy hair was ruffled and endearing, his arms and chest were solid, like they were made of iron. He smelled good, which was weird, because you couldn’t remember the last time he bathed. He was rugged, beat up, covered in small scars and large ones, bruises, and marks. And he was all the more attractive for it.

“Is there anything else you need, Zo?” You had never used that cute nickname before. He took a second to answer because he was just staring at you, caught off guard again.

Zoro was thrown off by how much he was enjoying this, and he was realizing that he felt some sort of way about you. He hadn’t been annoyed, in fact, quite the opposite. He was sexually frustrated and didn’t know how to handle your presence. He realized that he loved it when you touched him, he even loved the sound of your voice. He was putting the pieces together. All things considered, it seems like he had an enormous crush on you that he hadn’t realized until then.

“Zoro?” You asked again, seeing he was spaced out. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” He waved his hand. When you left, the room felt empty. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Not only was he horny, but he was also bored. This is a painful combination, as I’m sure we all know.

The second day you cared for him was much like the first. You changed his ice packs many times. He only got up to go to the bathroom. The only thing that really sucked for him was the horniness and the boredom, neither of which seemed to have a cure that didn’t involve you.

“How’s your pain level?” You asked on one of your trips to his room.

“I’m fine. It’s not bad at all.”

“Ok cool. Do you need anything else?” You queried sweetly, again taking his breath away with your tender eye contact and attentiveness.

“No, I’m good. I’m going fucking crazy with boredom.” He opened up a bit, being the most real with you that he had been so far.

“Do you want me to read you a book? Or we can talk?” You asked.

Zoro thought about it for a second. He worried that he would get hard again if you were around for too long. You, his nurse, were a blessing and a curse.

“No, but thanks. I guess I’ll take a nap.” He responded, and you left the room.

Zoro waited until you were out of the room, and he heard your footsteps retreat down the hallway before he let himself get carried away again. He needed to masturbate as soon as possible. He’d gone almost two whole days without doing it, which was unheard of for him. Your presence was really throwing him for a loop. He let himself indulge in fantasizing about you for just a second and he was hard almost immediately. The blood rushed to his cock with such a speed that you’d think he would have gotten one of Sanji’s nosebleeds. His body was craving your touch. He felt like his core was on fire with need.

Zoro imagined you crawling on top of him naked and rubbing your sopping wet cunt all over his dick—he imagined you humping and grinding on it, getting off on it, before fucking yourself with it. He imagined you cumming on his dick and moaning his name. At this point his hand had crept down to palm at his erection through his pants. He was desperate for it. He grinded his palm down and over his hard bulge.

It had been so long since he touched himself. Zoro was starving for it. He imagined you sucking him off, cumming on your face, your mouth wide open to taste him, licking his cum off your lips. Zoro now took his cock from his boxer briefs and started stroking it slowly, up and down, moving his hand slightly so it felt just right. He was using the hand from the non-injured side of his body. He figured it would be fine, since he only had to worry about the other shoulder.

Zoro imagined fucking you from behind, fucking you from the side, fucking you standing up, fucking you over a counter, on the bed, on the kitchen table, in the crow’s nest, on the floor… He imagined cumming on your ass, on your tits, on your lips, on your stomach… he was stroking himself harder and faster now, fisting his cock furiously, precum smearing down his fingers, letting out muted gasps and grunts, wet sounds seeping into the air. He was getting so close to climax; he could see you so clearly in his mind.

Zoro was just a couple seconds away from orgasming when—“Hey Zoro, OH! Fuck!”

You had opened his door without knocking and just waltzed right in with a glass of water for him. You realized you forgot to refill it earlier and it had been maybe 20 minutes since you first left Zoro for his “nap.” When you walked in and realized what he was doing, your heart stopped, and your brain took a mental screenshot.

He was bent slightly, tensed up, his hand jerking up and down, his cock red and weeping precum, his head was thrown back. His brow was furrowed, he was panting, grunting, lost in pleasure. Zoro let out a small gasp when he saw you and immediately tried to pull his boxer briefs up, letting out an accidental and loud “FUCK”. As he tensed and tried to cover up his cock his shoulder seized up. Pain seared across his shoulders, up his neck, down his spine. He winced.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I-I’ll come back later!!” You screeched and turned around immediately, slamming the door. The interaction lasted a couple seconds but left you both flustered, disturbed, embarrassed, and cringing.

And holy shit, was Zoro embarrassed. His erection was immediately gone, and he was pissed at you for not knocking on the door. He was incredulous. In addition, his shoulder hurt so badly that it was pulsing in pain. Why the fuck didn’t she knock? His heartbeat was through the roof—he didn’t know how to feel either, that you, the person who he had been getting off to, had walked in and interrupted. Was he… turned on by that? Surely not, yet he felt some sort of way about it and couldn’t put his finger on it.

You knocked on the door timidly an hour later.

“Yeah. Come in.” Zoro replied and his tone was icy. You peeked your head in.

“Hi… Zoro, I’m so sorry for not knocking.” You gave him puppy dog eyes and frowned. He thought you even looked cute while apologizing. “I really am sorry.”

“You bonehead,” he replied, scathingly. “Can’t a man have a second of peace? Jeez. Fucking knock next time.”

“I promise I will. I’m sorry, Zoro.” You were both blushing crimson and avoiding eye contact. The awkwardness was palpable, the silence suffocating.

“I-I- brought you some food and water… and a towel, in case you… y’know… in case you needed it.” You placed the items on the bedside table and almost ran out of the room. You couldn’t take the cringe anymore and you felt the animosity radiating from Zoro (or so you thought). Later, you changed Zoro’s ice packs and checked on his thigh bandage. When you changed his ice packs you could see that his shoulder looked worse; it was more inflamed, and he was hissing air out of his teeth every time you touched it.

“Sorry Zo, I know it hurts. But you know, you really shouldn’t masturbate for a few days while you heal.” You scolded him slightly.

“I injured my other shoulder, I’ll be fine.” He rolled his eyes. He wanted you to leave him alone. Bright red blush flooded his cheeks.

“No, Zoro, it’ll irritate the shoulder and arm muscles that are healing on your right side, even if you use your left hand.” You objected. “It’s going to make it difficult to heal if you irritate it, so just hold off for a couple days, ok? I’ll still knock though.”

Zoro sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll try.” He was resigned and annoyed. Internally, though, he was cursing. How was he supposed to go multiple days if he didn’t manage to get off today? How was he supposed to keep himself in check if you were around him so frequently? He would go crazy, he’d die from blue balls, he’d cum in his pants if you got any closer to him. This was not good. Zoro was worried it just wouldn’t be possible. No masturbating for the next few days… it was unheard of for him.

As he was battling and mentally preparing himself to hold off on touching himself, Zoro was also dying from embarrassment. You had seen him in such an intimate and probably unflattering position—fisting his cock in bed thinking about you. Gosh. He thought that you probably thought he was gross, that you regretted being his nurse, that you would never speak to him of your own accord now. You, on the other hand, were absentmindedly wondering what he was masturbating to. Part of you wished that you could know, and you wished that it was you, and the other part told you to stand up and get a grip because you were too old to be pining after a man, period.

The next day you were changing the bandage on his thigh and reapplying antibiotic ointment when he got a boner again, and this time it was very noticeable. Zoro was accidently imagining you bending down in between his knees and choking on his cock. He was imagining you cradling his balls, slurping up and down, spitting on his cock and—oh God, he had a boner now. A full-fledged boner and you were less than a foot away from it. You glanced up from his thigh and immediately noticed it.

���Fuck—sorry.” He choked out. To divert your attention and downplay the awkwardness, he came up with a poor and somewhat weird excuse. “Go put some clothes on, lady. Sheesh!” You were wearing a black tank top, and he could see a tiny bit of cleavage as well as the outline of your breasts underneath it without a bra on (you rarely wore a bra on the ship because why would you?). He had imagined you peeling off your tank top, pulling it over your shoulders, your breasts free and naked… The boner was still raging, his pants became uncomfortably tight. You had, of course, taken note of how ridiculously huge it was.

You rolled your eyes. “Zoro, I always wear this!!”

“It’s indecent! GO put something else on!” He was using your tank top, exposed shoulders, and cleavage as an excuse for you to leave. He wanted to have a second to cool down and mentally try to extinguish his erection.

“Fine. Fucking hell.” You rolled your eyes again, genuinely annoyed.

Moments later, you returned in a light blue t-shirt, certainly more covered, but this was even worse for Zoro. The light color allowed him to make out the outline of your breasts even more. He cursed himself out for staring at you, but he couldn’t get his eyes to move. You noticed that he was laser focused on your chest and you started to blush. A fantasy flashed in his mind of latching onto one of your nipples and sucking, swirling his tongue around it while you moaned his name. Fuck. He still had the boner. It was getting even bigger now.

“Can’t you just hand me a pillow or something?” He asked, annoyed, and blushing vivid red.

“Ok Zoro, one sec.” You grabbed a pillow and threw it on him; he covered his erection.

The room was painfully silent. This was excruciating for both of you. Zoro’s hard on was pressing against the pillow and the pillow was doing far too little to conceal his erection, but even the friction of the pillow felt good.

When you came back with his dinner later that night the same thing happened. You walked in the room, set his dinner down, changed his ice packs and BOOM, another boner. He got even brighter red, and you matched him.

Zoro tried to defend himself from his rogue erections. He was worried he would make you uncomfortable. “Fuck, I swear it’s not you. I’m just dying over here. It’s been days.” He wrinkled his brow and looked at you, showing how agonized he was.

“You’ll be fine. Stop being so dramatic, Zoro.” You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that day. “If you jerk off it will hurt your shoulder though, don’t forget. “

“Aghhhh” he groaned. “Fuck. Okay, I get it. Now just leave me alone.”

“Okay, big guy.” As you closed the door to his room, you threw one last sentence over your shoulder, half joking: “But… if you ever need a hand, let me know.”

Zoro was stunned. What the fuck did you just say? There’s no way. He thought it was funny that you were fucking with him like that but boy, did he wish you would give him a hand. He felt like a dog in heat, like he hadn’t fucked in ten years, like he was going to go crazy if he couldn’t let his load off in the next twenty minutes. He was so frustrated by this state that he couldn’t remedy. Unless you were being serious… but there’s no way, right? He had a boner all day at this point and he was getting sick of it.

The next day was more of the same. He had an instant boner the second you were changing his ice packs; it grew bigger when you checked on his thigh wound. You tried to ignore it, he blushed and averted his eyes again. You started to pity him at this point.

“Zoro, I was being serious about helping you out,” you looked at him carefully. “You look like you’re in agony. Are you really this sexually frustrated?” You were semi-joking with him, trying to banter to let the awkwardness dissipate.

Zoro swallowed hard and locked eyes with you again. He couldn’t tell if you were being serious, even though you just said so.

“I feel bad for you.” You said again, looking at him tenderly. “I’ll help you out if you need it, it doesn’t have to be weird.”

Zoro cleared his throat. “If you’re sure…” He trailed off.

“I am your nurse, after all,” you tried to put him at ease, joking.

“Stop teasing me,” Zoro pleaded pathetically. “I’m dying over here.”

“You know, you’re cute when you get flustered,” you poked some fun at him. He blushed again, his boner huge and pushing on his pants, painfully obvious.

“Fine. Let’s just get it over with. I can’t take it anymore.” He looked at you with genuine anguish, his heartbeat racing each second, erection growing, rubbing against the coarse fabric of his pants, pulsing with need.

“Okay, but make sure to hold still. Don’t go shaking around or anything, it will fuck your shoulder up.” You cautioned him and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure I won’t be doing any ‘shaking around’. Now let’s just get this over with.” He was visibly distressed.

(*) You shifted closer to Zoro, sitting on the bed. Your hand crept up and ran over his boner, and he inhaled sharply, looking away from you, tensed up. You unzipped his pants and shifted them down, giving yourself just enough access to his bulging cock that was rock hard.

Another tug and his boxer briefs were down, freeing his cock, which sprung into the air, huge, girthy, long, red and inflamed already. Your hand tentatively grasped his shaft and he shuttered. Reaching your other hand to caress his balls, Zoro couldn’t believe this was happening. It was one of his fantasies. Your soft hand began to move up and down his length. It felt so fucking good. He was finally, finally getting off, after days of torment. He had to mentally steady himself not to cum within two minutes.

You looked at Zoro and he had thrown his head back, eyes closed, blushing and obviously embarrassed. His mouth hung open barely, letting out puffs of air. He was so, so worked up, it was unreal.

As you stroked him and massaged his balls you realized that you should have grabbed lube or something. You spat in your hand and started rubbing his cock with more fluidity. The wetness of your spit felt amazing. Electricity ran up and down Zoro’s core and his cock was pulsing, jumping in your hand. He let out a small groan. He wasn’t expecting you to spit on it and it aroused him more than he thought was possible.

Zoro’s tip started to leak precum onto your fingers. It was milky and white, pooling out of him, lubing his throbbing red cock even more. He lost composure and started to groan quietly. You looked up at him again and he was watching your fingers sloppily graze up and down his slicked-up cock. Your hand picked up speed.

“Does that feel good?” You whispered at him, both hands now stroking his shaft, leisurely jerking him up and down. He nodded clumsily and threw his head back with a deep groan.

“Fuck. Don’t stop,” Zoro said out hoarsely, and his deep voice made fire pool in your stomach. You were wet already. You wished you could put his cock in you and ride on it, grind on it, bounce up and down on it, moaning his name. You removed a hand from his cock and crept it into your pants, rubbing your clit under your panties. You couldn’t help it. He was groaning and moaning, panting, his dick twinging—you were unbelievably turned on.

When Zoro saw you touching yourself, his heart stopped. Your eyes met and you looked at him with need and desire so plain on your face it was shocking. His hips started to buck up into your hand, making you jerk him off faster and deeper. He was desperate. He needed more, he wanted to cum so bad, he wanted to moan your name, watch you cum from touching yourself.

“Oh my fuck, Y/N,” he whimpered. “Feels so fucking good. I needed this so bad, I was going crazy, I wanted you to touch me so bad.” Your face flushed red, and you fingers moved faster, your wetness seeping into your already soaking panties, gasping with pleasure as his words went straight to your pussy. Zoro was watching you pleasure yourself and it felt good.

“I wish I could fuck you right now,” you murmured quietly.

“Please,” he begged. “Please fuck me.” His voice was deep and gravelly, he was out of breath, his face twisted in pleasure, his hips jerking up into your hand fervently.

“I can’t,” you pleaded. “It will hurt you, Zo. We have to wait.” He furrowed his brow and closed his eyes, letting out another moan.

You took your hand away from your dripping wet panties and started to stroke him with your own wetness. Zoro could feel every drop of it. He was shaking, moments away from orgasm.

“I’m going to cum,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

Your hands moved faster, squeezing him tighter, encouraging him to let it out. Seconds later he let out a deep, desperate, harsh groan and convulsed. He came hard. His cum spurted out of his tip that was red and inflamed, shooting ropes of sticky milk all over your hands and on his own stomach.

He moaned your name deep, low, and drawn out, and your pussy vibrated. You moved a hand to rub your clit again immediately upon hearing his deep and needy groans. Hearing him utter your name so sensually made you feel feral. It was something you had been dreaming of for so long. As you came, you moaned his name back at him. “Zoro, fuck.”

After a moment of endorphins blitzing his brain, Zoro regained clarity. “Holy shit,” he panted out. “I needed that so bad.”

“I know you did,” you replied. Something came over you and you leaned up to kiss him. He went rigid and then slowly melted into your lips. It was intimate and special; it was more than just a transactional hand job—the kiss transformed the moment into something more than that.

Looking down at his cum that laced his stomach, you quipped, “I’ll have to try that next time.”

“Next time?” He looked at you cluelessly, blushing.

“Mmmhmm. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

( ˘ ³˘)♥ (・ω<) (^≗ω≗^)

check out part 2 if you're interested! thank u so so much for reading!!

also here is my masterlist :3

[lovelornings]

Tags are broken again what’s up - Part one out of two 

[ahhhwomen]

Eternal Slumber.

Vampire Empire

Part 5

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is kinda just a filler chapter while I work on requests (if anyone else have any feel free to drop by my inbox), so it may be a little while until part 6, that being said, enjoy lovelies!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), death, suicidal ideation  Minors DNI 18+

Summary: They say a taste of death can change a person forever. However, they never take into consideration, that maybe, that’s the only thing coating your tongue on a regular basis.

Word Count: 2k

Taglist

There are tiny spikes of ice against the metal, almost like a layer of fuzz over the orange rust. It creeps into every crevice, the metal bars groan and creak, and the water, frozen inside some of the weaker spots, bursts and tears apart the material.

The cold was affecting everything.

You stare at the metal hook responsible for keeping you in place. The concrete around it is dented and smoldering. With a microscope, it would look like a mountain falling apart. Stone by stone.

It wouldn’t take much force; you ponder if you could release it with just a weak tug. You probably could, but you don’t bother.

Your body sinks lower, and the concrete scratches against your stomach. Red welts burn in displeasure as the friction reawakens the former punishment. It’s as if the weight of your body has doubled overnight, you can’t keep yourself up.

It’s hard to breathe.

It’s hard to stay awake…

The cold was affecting everything.

Including you.

You glance out the window with meager eyes. The trees pass by faster than you can keep track. Your head pounds, and you want to rest.

Just for a moment-

A gruff voice disturbs your peace for the hundredth time.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

You had been lying in your enclosure all day, preserving your movements for only necessary situations. You wanted to dream it all away, but you knew you shouldn’t.

With both your nose a fresh pink and fingertips a bleak blue there wasn’t much to do other than to study your surroundings.

Your eyes glide over the same small details you have stared at for years, though there was a beauty to your misery, every corner and prickle of this place glittered against the slim beam of light from the hallway. The golden gleam reflected like sunlight against the ice, however, where you lay chained and tense under your red lamp, it felt more like a mockery.

With a sigh, you looked over to the empty shackles, frozen to the ground opposite of you. Your muscles burn as you grip the ground firmly and attempt to lift yourself up. Your arms shake in effort, your nails grinding against the pavement, but you can only manage to push upward for less than an inch.

Then a light thud echoes as you fall back down.

You’re so tired…

Your eyes slip closed for a second, there are a select few in the hallway that whine and growl, and you try to shift your focus onto them. Their hoarse voices screech against your eardrums, and you can’t help the grim expression as you listen to their cries…

There were more yesterday…

Of course, it was a given that this place took away some hope, but you know that isn’t the reason the numbers of distain more than halved overnight.

The rag over your lower half shifts away from you with every minuscule movement, it slides against your bottom, and slowly, the grime and dirt settled within the flimsy material slather itself against you as it leaps the final length and falls off.

It’s almost as if it knows you are too tired to move it back.

You are so sick of this place.

The cries are silenced as you hear the familiar thunder of shaking keys.

With a bitter glance to the other side of the room, you pity yourself; if you had any strength left, you would wrap the chains around your neck and hang yourself.

You huff in annoyance as the redhead shakes you vigorously yet again.

You can feel a swift, but gentle, slap on the back of your head. The redhead’s hand taps against you, her palm making quick contact with the greasy hair.

At your whining Wanda voices her opinion, “Don’t start with me, I told you not to fall asleep.” The powerful woman’s annoyed voice wraps around your lingering headache. Her calm tone was more like a booming against your forehead.

Shifting under the red leather, you whimper even more. The heating blasting towards you feels strange. Hot air sifts around you, almost like a tunnel of wind directed solely at your slumped frame. A noise, a mix of a hoarse cough and a weak cry, can be heard as Wanda shifts her own heat toward you too.

Realizing you won’t back down on your bitching, Wanda retrieves her hand with a roll of her eyes and refocuses on the road in front of her.

Trees and livestock pass by in a blur, there are tiny speckles of muck and dirt against the expensive windshield. Snow sits snug in the more stubborn corner of the window, small flacks forming a pile unmovable by the front wind.

Goosebumps prickle Wanda’s skin, the bite of winter making its entrance this early must really do a number on places like the shithole you´re from.

The car lifts for a moment as one of the bumps rustles the lambo, you shrink in on yourself, your pale skin retreating to hide under red leather. The redhead’s foot pushes downward harder, the exhilarator vrooming as she frowns.  

Wanda doesn't even know what possessed her to take you, but if she left you there, you would surely be dead by the end of the day.

Natasha was always far better at understanding humans, however, given the little bond you two have, she is unsure how the other redhead will react to your current state. She glances at you in her peripheral, your lips are tinged blue, same with your fingertips and toes.

You don’t even shiver, and Wanda passes another stop sign with no regard. Shivering is a good thing; it means your body is aware you are cold. No shivering is bad, like really fucking bad.

Her hands tighten against the steering wheel, the skin between her rings and knuckles, clamp and squeeze in an irritating pinch.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that if you aren’t yet hypothermic, it won’t be long until you are.

With a sigh, Wanda reaches over to settle the jacket more tightly around your frame.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the house, Wanda makes it in seven.

Natasha frowns, and the smell of burned vegetables invades her senses. With an irritated scrunch of her nose, the redhead goes to trash yet another pot of attempted soup.

The goo of estranged ingredients jiggles unsettlingly at the top of the trashcan as Natasha pours the substance out. The ring on her left pointer clinks against the pot as she places it back on the stove.

She can never get it right.

With a huff, the redhead pulls out her cell phone, her hand wraps around the silver piece and she goes to find her messages. Her thumb makes quick work of checking on Wanda yet again, the pad of her finger taps the screen rapidly, the remains of her failure smudges against the glass, and Natasha cringes.

Her unread reply to Wanda’s previous questions remains the same, wiping her hands and phone off with the kitchen rag, the redhead walks over to her preferred room of leisure.

The clacking of her heels hitting the flooring is dampened as she steps onto the carpeted part of their little den.

A soft glow illuminates the living room, and the tenseness of her shoulders lessens as she lets the orange hue wash over her.  

Plopping herself on the green couch she reaches over to her purse, the case reports she needed Wanda’s thoughts on lying on the very top. The paper brushes against her fingers, the white sheets threatening to tear as Natasha's nimble fingers search through the mess lower down.

She is just about to read them over again, when the familiar rumble of her wife’s car, pulls into their parking lot.

Shifting the gear stick, Wanda finally manages to park, your shuffling and whining had certainly not been helping. She can see her wife waiting for her by their door, but Wanda knows she is going to have to wait a moment longer.

You sit beside Wanda, your body wringing and shifting, you feel hot, and sweat rolls down your forehead.

The black belt meant to secure you through the drive feels more like a restraint as you push your shoulders against it. Bone threatens to pop out of the socket as the strong treads hold your weight back with ease, the pressure against your bruised body does little to deter you.

Wanda tusks, “Stop that.” Her hand reaches over to you and unfastens the belt, “Calm down baby, we are already here.”

Wanda pauses.

She scrunches her eyes, her left hand tightening the hold against the steering wheel.

Wanda doesn’t do nicknames, or sweet ones anyways, not unless it’s her wife.

Yet, the nickname had slipped without a second thought.

She has little time to think about it however, the sound of weak banging calls out to her, the redhead’s attention shifts and she groans in annoyance as you have now moved on to trying your luck against the metal door.

Your fingers run along the interior of the door, the pounding in your head makes it hard to see, and everything blends together in a mess of colors and sounds. You try to feel your way to the handle, but only expensive patterning can be felt as you try gripping the handle.

“You can never make it easy for me, can you kitten?” The redhead mumbles to herself.

The black tinted windows stop anyone from seeing what is happening inside Wanda’s car, but the taller woman can see Natasha shifting uneasily at how slow her usually effective wife is being.

With a sigh, Wanda rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, the silken material gliding and scrunching at the crease of her elbow.

In an attempt to settle you, if only for a moment, Wanda presses her right hand flatly against your chest. With a controlling movement, she pushes up and down to signify a breathing cycle more suitable than your erratic one.

She holds her unoccupied hand against your thigh, rubbing it up and down gently. The friction does nothing but alarm Wanda further.

Knowing she can’t turn around now, Wanda steps out of the car, your scent leaking out into the chilly wind outside their estate.

The shift in Natasha’s behavior is one not entirely surprising yet distinctively fascinating as the smell of your cold blood clings to the inside of her nose.

The taller woman moves to your side of the car; she secures you tightly in her arms. You try your best to squirm out of her hold, your hands clawing against Wanda’s covered biceps, but with how tired you are it’s little use.

You slump into the redhead’s body. Her leather jacket forces you even deeper into the scary woman’s embrace.

Realizing there is no winning this, you finally fall into the deep exhaustion that lies beneath your skin.

Natasha stands as still as a statue. Every muscle within her expands and contracts, but she can’t move.

Until she can.

At a young age she was taught that every choice one makes has consequences, every decision she has ever seen through in her life has been planned to the very tee before any move was made. She never “vamped out”, she never made a mistake, and every notion of her life was just how she planned for it to be.

Why, because Natasha knows restraint.

Your limp body lies seemingly lifelessly in Wanda’s hands.

Natasha doesn’t think.

The weight of your slim body is removed from Wanda faster than even she can comprehend, her leather jacket that was lying close to her chest, just as you were, is now gone, just like you. For a reason she cannot explain, anger bubbles beneath the exterior of the older woman as she watches Natasha carry you to the house.

With a speed unchallengeable Wanda stands just behind her wife. Her hands wringing the material in front of her in a firm grip, the black fabric is soft inside her clutch.

Holding her back by her jacket Wanda questions her wife, “What are you doing?” her anger lingers within her tone.

Enough so that any other day Natasha would stop dead in her tracks, today, however, was not one of those days.

The thick fabric of Natasha’s suit slips from nimble fingers as Natasha rips herself away from the redhead. With a blank face, she turns toward her wife, two prominent canines peeking out between soft lips.

“She is freezing to death.”

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[heartfullofleeches]

lava demon reader holding a popsicle to eat but they get distracted and it melts and falls on the ground.

"Love - would you care to see me make some snowflakes?"

The demon holds the popsicle between manicured claws as it turns. In watching the angel's craft, the treat melts almost instantaneously like soft wax to roaring flame or - frozen sticks of ice near a body created from the molten crust of hell. The demon mindlessly shoves the stick in their mouth once the performance was completed - spitting wood and disappoint from their tongue. They look down to see the colored puddle at their feet, two gumball eyes reflecting the misery in theirs.

"Aw, did your popsicle melt, dear?"

The demon sadly lowers their head - nodding.

"Come here. I have a better one for you." The snow angel's hand comes up to their horns with a comforting stroke along their curve - guiding the demon to their knees as the angel undoes their robes.

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 80)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this has narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 80 next>>

A/N: Full prose ahead. 2.7k words. Contains angst. Advance apology cause I don't know how to write angst, and Gojo fans, don't hate on me lol

You weren’t going to delay matters anymore. There was no point in doing so. The result will be the same at the end of the day, no matter how things play out. Because that’s just what you’re going to make certain of. You’re going to hurt Gojo Satoru, and you were going to make it so he won’t find it himself to seek you afterwards. Things needed to end between the two of you for his own good, be that at the cost of your own heartbreak.

He has noticed it, the way you’ve gone quiet while you two were walking around the village. You were pretty much acting detached from everything even though you were truly enjoying your time together, lamenting the impending thought that it wasn’t going to last, fleeting as the cherry blossoms that lined their driveway. At lunch, you were both pretty much on your phones since every conversation ended abruptly with your one-liners, and your heart clenched so painfully every time he would just smile, most likely downplaying it to you just not being in the mood like you always were. 

It was unfair. You’ve always been appreciative of Satoru because he never ever showed you anything negative. He brought you to beautiful places, always tried to make you smile, comforted you, and acted like a perfect friend you never thought you needed. However, all you’ve ever shown him was coldness, pretty bad mood swings brought about by the baggage you carried because of your father, and you were pretty much dishing attitude at every turn. And just when you thought you could forget about the pretenses and just open up to him, how you usually acted around him became necessary. It has to be done. Looking back, Suguru did tell you about giving Satoru too much to hold on to. You weren’t going to do that anymore.

And as if the skies were trying to reflect your misery over the whole matter, it started raining. Large droplets of water pelted your skin, cold to the touch. The air around you seemed too thick to breathe in as the heat from the ground rose. But at the same time, you felt numb to everything, merely standing there even as you watched the few people on the same path in the village disappear one by one to seek shelter.

Just then, you felt a large hand grab onto yours, pulling you into a sprint, so quick you thought you would throw up at the sudden feeling of being dragged towards another direction. The cobblestone beneath your feet turned into wooden planks as Satoru ran through the rain with you, your world filling with water, the cold feeling seeming to impact your lungs as you held your breath. Suddenly, your momentary numbness was gone, all feeling returning to your body, radiating from where he held you. 

You already knew you were going to feel miserable about it. It was expected. You weren’t angry. Just surprised. Surprised that the thought of parting with Satoru was so painful, it was debilitating. Surprised that despite that, you still had the mind to keep your thoughts straight enough to execute the final act in your little romantic play. 

The moment your head cleared, you found yourself under the eaves of an old tea house. Satoru stood next to you, chuckling, his hair and lashes glimmering with water droplets while you drowned in his icy blue eyes. You always wondered at how carefree he was and did everything, be it serious or fun, as if it was the last time, always to the fullest, alive, happy. Gojo Satoru was indeed a sight to behold, a balm to all the ugliness in the world, easy to find comfort in...easy to love. 

“I didn’t expect it to rain,” he said. He was smiling as he looked at the greenery being blurred out by the continuous torrents of water and the rising fog, but it fell when he glanced at you and noticed how you were just standing there, blankly staring at the ground. 

“Y/N, you’re shivering,” he commented, making his way towards you. You didn’t even realize you were cold until you felt him come closer to you. He groaned then, looking towards the road. “The car’s at the entrance of the village, too.”

You shook your head, about to tell him it didn’t matter, when he suddenly stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you close against his chest as he rested his chin on top of your head. He started slowly rubbing your arms, trapping you in the warmth he was creating while you just held your breath, feeling tears stinging your eyes. You blinked them back furiously, willing yourself to think straight as you dug your nails into your palms.

“Warm enough?” he asked, playfully tightening his arms around you.

It starts now.

“Smothering is more like it.” You threw the words out as coldly as you could, concealing the way you were breaking on the inside, laying it on thick by harshly removing one of his arms from you, but Satoru turned you around, caged you in his arms while he kept you within reach, your faces just inches from one another. 

“You seem distant,” he murmured. 

You scoffed, shaking your head as you glared at him as if he did something wrong. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I can feel it,” he told you, the laughter dying in his throat as he tenderly looked at you, a ghost of an expectant smile playing at the corners of his lips. You knew how they felt against yours, and you found yourself unable to breathe again as you looked into each other’s eyes, you being devoured by the depths of his aquamarine orbs as he searched yours, seemingly looking for answers to unspoken questions. 

Satoru briefly looked around the two of you, particularly at the direction of the path. The two of you were practically hidden from everyone where you were at the edge of the block, and with that in mind, he drew closer, his hand sliding lower down the small of your back.

“What –” You raised a hand to push him away, but he maneuvered your arm so it was wrapped around his shoulder as he closed the distance and claimed your lips with his. You were shocked, more for the fact that you responded to him on contact than the fact that he was actually kissing you at that moment. It felt natural, like breathing, as if you were meant to be doing just that with him. But that’s not what’s supposed to be happening. You weren’t supposed to allow him to get even closer.

His lips were plush and soft, and he tasted like candy floss and mint, rendering you sugar-high with his expert ministrations. His hands roamed the expanse of your exposed skin, making you feel hot even while you were wet from the rain. You were expecting everything around you to melt and boil over with how he was making you feel, just kissing you and not really doing anything much.

You pulled away, but he took that as an opportunity to start kissing down your neck as he made you lean against one of the large wooden posts that supported the eaves, both his hands keeping you in place as he kissed you with profound desperation as if he sensed just what you were about to do, the frustration seeping out through every pore of his skin. He pushed his body against yours, and it wasn’t long before you were melting into his touch.

We can’t be together. You suddenly realized that, and despite having no wish to detach yourself from him, you mustered all your will to do just that. Blood boiled under your skin, but it wasn’t because of the feelings his touches elicited but the thought that you didn’t deserve him. Again, you pushed him away, breathing heavily at the effort it took you to do so when neither of you wanted to pull away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dazed. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, feeling the heat behind your eyes as you glowered at him.

“We’ve crossed that line a long time ago, don’t you think?”

“I should not have allowed that.” You glanced at him, something akin to hurt briefly crossing his features. “Hell, I shouldn’t even be here.” 

“What? Why not?” he challenged, all playfulness gone. 

“Because I don’t want to be one of your conquests.” You knew you wounded him with your words just as you heard your heart crack in your chest. That was the last thing in his mind where you were concerned. You knew that, felt it with everything that you are in the past week you’ve been together. Probably even before that. And yet you were using it as a weapon against him. “I don’t want to be one of your playthings.”

“Playthings?” he repeated with inflection. “Y/N, I don’t –”

“It’s clear where this whole thing is going,” you cut him short, keeping your emotions at bay as you spoke calmly without giving away a hint of the roiling you felt inside you as a result of his kisses and every emotion you felt for him. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“I want out of this…this…” You took a deep breath. “Let’s end this.”

Satoru looked torn between confusion and hurt, pupils constricting as he looked at you in disdain and utter perplexity. “So suddenly? Why?” he demanded, his usually cheerful tone gone, now speaking with a cold bite.

You looked away, shrugging. “I just don’t want to do it anymore. Besides, our contract says we can get out of this arrangement without questions asked.”

He shook his head, his expressions contorting into different emotions – anger, sadness, loss – and then he looked at you with more resolve. “I refuse.”

You chuckled derisively at that. “You’re not exactly listening to me, but then again, when did anybody else’s opinions matter to you?” You just looked at him coldly. “If you value our friendship at all, you will stop trying to go there with me.”

He scoffed, scorn shining in his orbs as he bared his teeth in a harsh smile. “Okay, Y/N. I see how it is.” 

“Do you really?” 

“Believe it or not, I’m not as stupid as you seem to think, and I understand enough to see exactly what your opinions are about me regardless of how much you’ve reduced me to just this...this...” He breathed out heavily, shaking his head slightly as he let out a humorless laugh. “It’s crazy how you talk about our friendship while being that condescending.”

You wanted to retract what you said, take it back upon seeing how you were affecting him, but a bigger part of you, that side that thought this was right, refused to. You could almost laugh at how your feelings were mocking you, proving just how badly you’ve caught feelings for him, growing every time he showered you with attention and physical affection. It proved just how selfish you could be by wanting more – more of him, more than just a physical connection and the friendship you spoke of. You wanted him, all of him, to yourself, but you can’t have him. It’s the only way you can protect him. You will not have a hand in ruining his future just because of your feelings. 

Ah, Y/N, you are royally fucked! 

“Isn’t it true, though?” you stated, feigning boredom. “I’m not being disparaging on purpose, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrected, but you ignored it.

“I just want you to know my honest thoughts about whatever is going on between us.” 

“What exactly is that?”

“As of now, nothing. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s better that way.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he hissed under his breath.

“Then yes.” Liar! “It’s what I want.”

“I-I…” He inhaled rather deeply, shakily releasing air from his lungs, eyes watering. “No… I can’t give you that.”

“It’s not a question of whether you can give it to me or not. You don’t get a say in this. We have an agreement.” 

You pushed past him, meaning to just walk away when he pulled you back, making you face him again. His grip on your arm was tight, refusing to let go. He was shaking, seemingly disoriented and unable to make sense of what was happening, eyes probing yours, for any glimmer of hope that you were not saying what he thought you were. “Y-you don’t mean that, sweet cheeks.” He chuckled, cupping your face as he shook his head. “No…”

You tear his hand off you. “Enough –”

“Then fucking look me in the eye and tell me it’s just a contract!” he demanded, voice rising. His placid blue eyes were now storm-ridden seas, making chills run up your spine. You just realized you didn’t want to ever see this side of him; that he even had this side to begin with. But this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You deserved to carry the consequent agony of seeing it, committing it to your memory to remind yourself of what you did to him and why.

Go ahead. Hate me.

And just when you thought it was excruciating seeing him like that, his tears fell and you felt the sky burst open in your veins, bleeding pain, his and yours combined. “You know, you’ve always made me feel like I’m nothing.” He wiped his tears with his hand, a misplaced smile drawing itself across his mouth. “And I thought that was okay ’cause at least I get some pieces of you in whatever way I can.”

Hate me.

“You always made me feel like that’s all I can ever get and all that I deserve because I’m just this fucking shallow douchebag who’s spoiled rotten and used to getting whatever I wanted. That I’m just this player who’s incapable of being serious, so it doesn’t make any difference if you say shit like that to me, right?” He let out a pained laugh. “But believe it or not, that was never true when it came to you.”

I know that. I’m sorry.

Deciding to drive the knife even deeper, you said, “Why? Because you caught feelings for me?” You sneered at him. “We’re both just a passing phase. You know that. You can’t hold me responsible for your feelings.”

“Please –” He reached out for you, but you took a step back, avoiding him as if you found him repulsive. “Please don’t do this.”

You turned around, unable to keep up with your act anymore upon seeing his face, begging you. The Gojo Satoru was begging. You couldn’t watch, not anymore. You’ve stated your piece, and that was enough. He won’t forgive you for sure. He’ll hate you now. And even if that was the goal, you felt your knees buckling at the thought that you wounded him so.

“Y/N…”

Don’t look back.

You walked into the rain, taking heavy yet deliberate steps. 

“I love you.”

You paused. Despite his distress, he still managed to say it with the utmost tenderness, sincerity, and resolve. That’s just how he is – good, honest, unafraid. Everything you’re not. And maybe that’s why you don’t deserve him at all, even if the circumstances didn’t call for you to leave him. Eventually, you would let him go, and you would reason that it’s because it’s for his own good, but really, you’re just too much of a coward to love like he does.

You were about to take another step when he said it again, this time with more conviction. “I love you, Y/N.”

I love you, too, Satoru.

“I’m in love with you.”

“I love you.” He said it over and over again, and you took a step away with every single utterance of those words. Until all you could hear was the pouring rain. Until all you felt all the feeling ebbing away again, replaced by something cold. Until all that consumed you was the raw ache of knowing you’ll never feel Satoru’s warmth again.

A/N: Leaving you guys with this. I'll be uploading more over the next days. Just been hella busy.

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© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20240217]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[typical-simplelove]

How Did It End? (C. Alcaraz)

Author's Note: If you know the song, it only kind of follows the song, but this has been an idea circulating in my mind for a while. I want to say more, but then it would spoil the ending, so please read!!! Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: brief mentions/allusions to death

Taking a deep breath, you walked into the coffee shop. Despite being a mutual friend and getting good references from the in-between friend, it’s still nerve-wracking going on a blind date. Well, it was only a semi-blind date. You’ve met him before, and you stalked his Instagram after briefly setting up a time and date with him. 

Carlos Alcaraz. 

The man of the moment in the tennis world. 

A friend of a friend, who apparently, according to the mutual friend, has been asking about you. He’d been asking about you for the past couple of months, and the mutual friend finally decided to talk to you and talk up the man in question. 

Carlos was a stupidly beautiful man. From his side profile to his hair to his legs, he was an all-around beautiful man, and if your friend was telling the truth, he had a nice, funny, and great personality. 

He seemed to be everything you’ve been looking for in a partner. 

Once stepping inside, you moved to the side, wanting to people-watch and observe Carlos before walking up to him. He was standing near where the line for ordering and paying was ending, gesturing for people to get in line as he was waiting and not yet in line. He was nervous, pulling at the edge of his sleeves, playing with his watch. 

Deciding to take him out of his misery, you walk towards Carlos. It was as if he could sense your presence because when you’re a few feet away, Carlos looks up. When his eyes meet yours, a big smile grazes his face. 

“Hi, it’s nice to see you again,” Carlos says once he walks over to you. 

“Likewise,” you smile. “Should we order?”

He nods. “I was super nervous and got here early, so I know what I want.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Damn, that was cute. Carlos was cute—in every measure of the word. 

Maybe this date wouldn’t go so badly. 

When you and Carlos get in line, neither of you says anything. The likely conclusion was that you were focusing on what to order and Carlos was respecting that, but the nerves in your body were circulating like crazy, so maybe the nerves were part of the reason why you couldn’t put any words together to say anything. 

The heat reflecting off of Carlos’ body onto you is indescribable, and you can’t help but fan yourself as your body grows in warmth at his proximity. 

Thankfully, the wait in line isn’t long, and you don’t have to find something to say that isn’t along the lines of, “Your body is so warm that it’s making me overheat, but in a good way.” 

Carlos gestures for you to go ahead, and as you walk up to the cashier, you immediately feel iciness take over your body as you move away from him and his incredulous warmth. 

“Hi, yes, can I get a . . .” you begin, picking out your desired coffee and two pastries. 

“And, can I get a sweet iced lemon tea and the gluten-free, vegan chocolate-chip loaf, please,” Carlos says from behind you, and you’re suddenly very much aware of his body near yours. It’s so obvious that you can’t even begin to comprehend the insanity of Carlos’ order. 

As the barista turns their screen around to show you the total and awaits your credit card’s tap, Carlos’ phone is quick, resting against the screen. 

With a quick thank you, both you and Carlos move away from the line. “I could pay for myself, and us, by the way,” you mention, hoping you don’t sound snarky. You just wanted him to know that you were capable of it, that’s all. 

He nods. “Next time. Do you want to sit at that table?” He’s gesturing towards a little corner table. 

“Sure.” 

When you both take a seat, an awkwardness overtakes the two of you. Now, there’s no excuse of reading a menu to use as the reason for the silence. You try not to let yourself get disappointed. After all, chemistry isn’t always instant, and quick, easy banter isn’t always natural. Sometimes, it takes getting to know someone before that conversation easily flows and ebbs. You were hoping (more like begging) that the latter would the situation with you and Carlos. He had a pull on you, and you wanted to discover that pull. 

Thankfully, it’s only a few moments of silence before the barista calls out your order number, and Carlos is quick to tell you he can grab everything and bring it back to the table. You agree, but still get up, moving towards the napkins to grab a bunch. 

“Your order is quite an enigma,” you tell him after taking a sip of your coffee. 

“Enigma?” 

“A mystery.”

He nods. “In what way?” 

“No coffee?”

Carlos shakes his head, a smile gracing his face. “I think I add a lot of sugar to my coffee. I wouldn’t want you to think that I was a child on our first date.” 

“So you got the tea?” you tease. 

“Seemed like the safest option.” 

“But the loaf? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Carlos chuckles, letting his deep laughter fill the space between the two of you. 

“The drink has a lot of sugar in it, so I balanced it out,” he explains. 

You shake your head, trying to hide the wide smile that’s trying to broach your face. “That’s kind of ridiculous.” 

He shrugs. “It works for me.” 

You’re looking down at your coffee, and when you look up at Carlos, you find him already staring at you, his dark eyes looking deeply at you. “So,” you start, clearing your throat from the intimacy and intensity of the situation. “Tell me about your family.”

. . . 

“I’m one of four brothers,” he starts. 

“Four? Your poor mother; the level of testosterone in your household must have been insane,” you joke, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face. 

Again, he shrugs. Does he know how cute his shrug is? “I don’t know how to measure testosterone.” 

Your forehead crinkles in amusement as you shake your head. He’s so effortlessly funny and adorable that you’re not sure he’s real. How can someone this attractive also be silly, funny, and adorable at the same time? He was a paradox—a paradox that you wanted to learn more about. “Don’t worry about it; it’s more of a vibe than it is something to measure,” you explain.

“A vibe,” he repeats, looking contemplative. 

“Anyway, tell me more about your brothers,” you prompt. 

Thinking about his brothers, Carlos’ eyes light up. It’s clear how much he loves his family. He gives you brief introductions to his brothers, throwing in small comments and stories about the four of them. 

“Do you have pictures?” you ask, curious to see pictures of him growing up, beyond what you can find from stalking his Instagram or going deep in a Google Search. 

“Sí, sí,” he answers, pulling out his phone. In a few photographs, he shows you his family, taking a brief moment to watch as you take his phone for a closer look. 

“You have a cute family,” you say, smiling. 

Carlos wanted to comment on you one day joining his family, but he wasn’t sure if that was too forward for a first date and if it would make him look creepy. So, he opted to give you a small smile with a curt nod. “Tell me about your family. I’ve been talking a lot.”

It took you a moment to try to find the right words, and when you did, you dove in about your family and loved ones, telling small anecdotes about your childhood and the past couple of years. 

From there, the conversation flowed easily, with you and Carlos exchanging questions back and forth trying to get to know each other. Before either of you know it, the cafe is getting ready to close soon. 

“I guess we should get out of here,” Carlos says, eyeing the barista starting to sweep on the other side of the establishment. 

“Probably,” you reply, slowly getting out of your seat and collecting your trash. 

“Did you want to go do something else?” Carlos prompts, hoping you’ll say yes but also that he’s not being too forward. 

Glancing down at your phone, you notice the time and how it’s close to seven. “I want to, but I’ve got to get home and get some work done. I’ve got some assignments due soon. Maybe later this week or next?” 

Despite how long you and Carlos spent talking, the conversation, surprisingly never reached the topic of his tennis or your academic studies and work. 

“I have to leave for a tournament,” Carlos says, “but maybe when I get back and you’re in a lighter week of work and assignments?”

You smile. “I’d like that a lot.” 

//

“What are you studying?” Carlos prompts you after you both receive your ice cream from the vendor and begin walking along a path in the park near your apartment. 

You give him a small glare because he asked you the question right when you took a bite of your ice cream. When he catches your eye as you glare, he gives you a small smirk. After swallowing, you tell him what you’re studying. 

“How did you decide upon that?” he asks. 

“I kind of thought about what I didn’t want to do, and then from there, I looked at my options and used my personality and skills to find a path that I felt best suited me.” 

“Do you enjoy it?” 

You nod enthusiastically. “A lot, yeah.”

“Tell me about some of the classes you’re taking.” 

With a deep breath, you dive into the classes you’re taking—from the ones that are focused on the major and career path to the ones that fulfill your general education requirements. You also fill in Carlos about your job and the extracurriculars you participate in in addition to your heavy course load. 

“So, I should be honored that I’ve been put into your schedule more than once, considering how busy you are,” he jokes, but it’s clear that he’s sincere and is putting himself out there, showing you how important you are to him, despite only seeing each other for a month. 

A short laugh escapes your lips. “Don’t let that go to your head. Regardless, you’re pretty busy with tennis, so if anything the honor should be mine. You travel a lot, and I kind of just stay here.” 

“If it’s important, I’ll find the time for it,” Carlos says, no hint of teasing or flirting in his voice. He’s serious. You don’t want to look at him because you know his eyes are on you, and if the way your face is heating up from being under his gaze, you know his gaze is intense, making sure you understand fully the gravity of his words. 

You can’t help it, though, and look at him. He’s still looking at you, his eyes searching your face. He looks worried, as if he might have overstepped the unwritten and invisible line. Finally, the words leave your mouth, and you say, “I feel the same way.” 

“Good,” he murmurs under his breath, barely above a whisper. It’s a surprise that you can hear his words. However, whenever you’re around Carlos, your senses are heightened and elevated, so it’s no wonder you’re acutely attuned to his words. 

As if embarrassed, you and Carlos both turn away from each other, opting to look ahead as you both continue walking and eating your ice cream. 

“Why tennis?” you voice, trying to ease and thin the intensity brewing between you and Carlos. 

His eyes crinkle in line with the smile. Even though you’re only seeing his side profile, you can tell that he’s got a wide smile on his face. This might be only the second time that you and Carlos are meeting in person, but you can already tell that you’re falling fast and hard for this man. The past couple of weeks since the cafe date have been filled with you and Carlos communicating constantly. Between the memes and videos sent back and forth on Instagram to the actual, silly conversations conversed via text, there was no limit to reasons you could point to for Carlos being someone who you would want to keep seeing and potentially date further down the line. 

“Rafael Nadal” is his reply with little to no explanation. “He was my hero growing up, and I wanted to play just like him. And as I started playing, I started to love the sport. It’s all I want to do, now.” 

Your heart warms at his enthusiasm and love for the sport. It’s hard to find people who truly feel so passionately about something, and it’s admirable to see this trait in Carlos. “I’m glad that you have that.” 

“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving you a small smile. 

From there, the conversation stills, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s comfortable. It feels like if you say anything, it would be forcing a conversation that isn’t supposed to happen. Walking in silence is comfortable and unique and precious. You’re enjoying the peacefulness while walking with Carlos; it feels as if everything is right for the first time in a long time. 

Now and then, while walking, Carlos (or is it you?) will accidentally (but is it?) bump his arm against yours or will accidentally (again, is it??) brush his hand against yours. At first, you thought it was because sometimes it’s difficult to perpetually walk in a straight line, and he apologized for the first couple of times, but when he kept doing it and stopped apologizing, you tried your hardest to hide a bashful smile at his small attempts at physical contact. He was trying, and it was cute. It was clear, too, that he had no idea if his attempts were working, and he didn’t know how to initiate anything—if the inability to look at you and his perpetual staring off into the distance were any indication. 

You decided to take him out of his misery. 

“Are you done with your ice cream? I’m going to toss mine in the trash up ahead; I can take yours,” you comment. 

“Sure,” he replies, placing his empty container into yours for ease of throwing out. You try not to laugh at the way he made sure none of his fingers touched yours. When you looked up at him during the interaction, his eyes were hooded, and his cheeks were lightly dusted pink. You couldn’t tell if the pink was from the warmth of the day or from being around you; you were hoping it was the latter. 

When you and Carlos approached the trash can, you broke formation, jogging slightly ahead to toss the trash. As you rejoined him, you made sure to have your arm parallel to his, with your hand close to his. Carlos has been the one to take the initiative in physical contact, so you decided to follow suit, attempting to reassure it wasn’t one-sided. 

For a few minutes, now and then, you’d brush your hand against his, letting your pink finger gently graze his knuckles. The first few times you did the action, you could hear Carlos’ breath hitch. He was surprised and nervous, but it was cute. 

Damn, Carlos was so cute; you couldn’t contain how cute he was, in every definition of the word beyond physicality. 

You continued to tease him, trying to see how bashful he could get. Eventually, you decided to take him out of his misery when you noticed he stopped pointing out the ducks that he saw swimming in the adjacent lake or the little babies and toddlers in their strollers. In a swift motion, you linked your pinky finger with his, your thumb making soft circles on the back of his hand, across his knuckles. 

You wanted to hold his hand, but you didn’t want to push Carlos beyond what he was comfortable with. So, you didn’t do anything else. You kept your pinky finger interlocked with his. He didn’t make any motion or movement indicating he was uncomfortable with the action or that he wanted you to remove your hand. 

However, you did notice that his breathing got heavier. For someone as fit as Carlos, the short, brisk, and slow walk you were taking shouldn’t have been something that caused him to get out of breath. His rapid blinking was a dead giveaway. Carlos was building up the courage to do something. You didn’t want to spook him, but you also wanted to reassure him that you were okay with whatever he wanted to do, so you brushed your elbow against his. 

That seemed to be everything he needed because, within seconds, Carlos was taking your entire hand in his, interlocking your fingers with his. This time, you can’t help the wide smile that erupts across your face. 

Oh, this man. 

“Okay?” Carlos asks, nervously, not wanting to overstep anything. 

You nod. “It’s all okay.” 

//

For the next month and a half, or so, following your and Carlos’ date at the park, you were regularly hanging out and seeing each other, with the in-between moments filled with phone calls and text messages. Even if he was traveling, Carlos made a concerted effort to work around both your and his schedules to find perfect times to text you uninterrupted or call you. That didn’t stop, though, the random thoughts that popped into his head. These random thoughts never failed to put a giant, goofy smile on your face. 

There were no words to explain the way Carlos made you feel; the only way you could sum it up was that you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really liked him. 

Finally, after not seeing each other in person for almost two weeks, your work and class schedule aligned with Carlos’ training, business, and tournament schedule to have a movie night. 

Because he still lived with his parents and didn’t want to subject you to that (and you weren’t quite ready for that), the decision was for him to go to your apartment. It was the first time you were going to be together in one of your guys’ living places. Often, you hung out in public places together, from little cafes to restaurants to the times he joined you at the library or study locations during intense exam times.  

His being in your home was a new level of intimacy you weren’t ready for, but it was exciting to show him a new piece of yourself. 

When Carlos walked into your apartment (twenty minutes early!), you gave him an apartment tour, albeit a short tour. This didn’t stop Carlos, though, from asking questions about various decor choices you made or pictures you have hanging around the place. Even the smallest details weren’t lost on him, and he soaked in every moment of learning about your living environment. 

“It’s not a big deal, Carlos.” You try to take him away from the shelves littered with old picture books and frames and yearbooks. 

“It’s a very big deal,” he says, pulling a book with pictures from your first year of university. With wide eyes, you snatch the photo album from his hands, remembering some of the more embarrassing photos of you in it, not ready for that kind of vulnerability. 

You try to ignore the teasing pout on Carlos’ face as he tries to guilt-trip you into letting him see the photo album. “You brought some really great snacks and take-out; let’s eat.” 

Walking into your kitchen, you try to ignore the presence of Carlos in your living space and what it means for your relationship. Neither of you have brought up the topic of the status of your relationship. It doesn’t necessarily worry you, but you hope it naturally comes up soon. 

“Hey,” Carlos says, approaching you in the kitchen. He places his hands on your waist, gently, in an attempt not to spook you. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” And it was the truth; you just didn’t want him to see embarrassing photos of you. 

“Still,” he murmurs, kissing your temples, one at a time, before following the same pattern with your cheeks before moving to your neck, followed by your shoulders. “Should have asked first.” 

You turn around in his embrace to look at him. “I have very embarrassing photos of me in that album. I’m hoping I go to the grave before anyone else sees those photos.” 

“Embarrassing photos, you say? Now, I know what I’m doing when you go to the bathroom,” Carlos jokes. 

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, your face growing warm. You try to turn back to face the counter while still remaining in Carlos’ embrace, but his eyes are captivating you, and the feel of his hands on your waist paralyzes you. Without any words, you rest your hands at the back of Carlos’ neck and pull him in for a kiss. You can feel the smile/smirk on his face as his lips touch yours. 

“No promises,” he murmurs against your lips as you pull away. In one swift motion, he turns you around and moves to your side to help you get the to-go containers situated. 

With ease, you and Carlos set out placemats on your coffee table in front of your TV and set the various food, snacks, and drinks on the table to have for the movie. 

“Preferences on a movie?” you question, settling on the couch next to Carlos. You follow up the question by listing out the various streaming services you have. 

“Pick one of your favorites first,” he replies, moving forward to make a plate of food and snacks for himself. 

You nod, picking one of your favorite movies to show. There’s no better test to a relationship than showing the other person one of your favorite movies. As the movie begins and continues through the plot, you’re extremely aware of Carlos’ presence on your couch. It’s different, but you like it. You like him here with you, and you want him always here with you. 

Halfway through the movie, you’re moving to adjust your legs into a more comfortable position. You’re not quite sure which pose or stance is going to be the most comfortable, so you’re trying out a few different stances. Carlos notices, and when you stop moving but are clearly trying to find a different pose, he takes your legs and drapes them across his lap, resting his hands on your ankles, brushing little patterns along the skin on your lower leg. 

Yeah, that was the pose. 

“Okay?” he asks. That was his thing. Whenever he tried something physical that was new to your relationship, he always followed it up with this question. 

You nod. “Okay.” 

A brief smile overtakes his face before he returns his attention to the movie. Through the remainder of the movie, your legs are comfortable in his lap as his hands trace patterns across the exposed skin of your legs. Normally, you were very ticklish; you couldn’t get through a pedicure without giggling and flinching. However, when Carlos traces his patterns and touches your legs, you don’t notice it. You’re not ticklish one little bit. Interesting, you think to yourself. 

When the movie is over, you give him the remote. “Your turn. Pick a movie.” 

He nods, taking the remote in one hand, and leaving his other hand firmly on your legs in his lap. He’s scrolling through the various options when he gets a phone call. 

“It’s my mother,” Carlos tells you. “Okay if I answer it?” 

You nod. “Of course.” 

As he answers the call, you lean forward to grab some of the snacks on the coffee table. You try not to listen to his conversation, but his mother on the other side of the phone is loud. Either, she talks very loudly or the volume is very loud, and you’re not sure which one it is. 

“Where are you?” you hear his mother say. Your attention is heightened and focused on Carlos’ response. What is he going to say? You’re not looking at him, but from your periphery, you see him look at you as he figures out what to say.

“Out” is what he decides to go with. Okay, interesting. 

“¿Con tu novia?” she replies (with your girlfriend?). 

That makes you sit up straighter. Now, you were very interested in what he was going to say. 

“Sí” is what he follows with. 

You don’t hear what she replies with. Your ears are ringing with the knowledge that Carlos called you his girlfriend. Hopefully, he wasn’t just saying it to get his mother off his back and actually meant it. 

Another minute passes of Carlos talking on the phone before he hangs up the phone. You’re not looking at him, and he can’t get a good read off of what you’re feeling or thinking. He knows that neither of you has brought up the topic, but he’s been telling people he has a girlfriend. Maybe he should have talked about it with you first before telling people, but it doesn’t change how he feels about you and where he wants the relationship to go. He opts to continue flipping through the movie selections, giving you the time to process and figure out what you want to say.

“Am I actually your girlfriend, or is that something you told your mom to get her off your back?” you finally say, hoping it’s the former. 

“I hope you’re actually my girlfriend,” he replies, looking at you with hope and fear. “What do you think?” 

“I think I’m actually your girlfriend,” you answer, smiling at the way his shoulders relax and the wide smile overcomes his face. “Is that okay?” 

“Very okay.” With that, he leans over and gives you a brief kiss. He pulls you closer to his body, wanting to hold you and feel your warmth against his body. 

Well, that’s that.

//

This year’s Indian Wells tournament happened to be at the same time as your Spring Break, so you managed to find some time off from work to fly out to California to be with him during the tournament. You tried to sleep on the plane, but the nerves were wracking through your body. When Carlos is on the road and in different time zones during various tournaments, you managed to work around your schedules well to accommodate the best times to call each other. Not being there with him during tournaments meant you didn’t truly understand how the stress and pressures impacted him as a player. He tried to hide a lot of it while on the phone so that you didn’t feel helpless by only being available over the phone. The dynamics between the two of you would be different with you there in person. 

Additionally, this is the most time you’re going to spend with Carlos’ team. You’ve met them and had several conversations with the various team members, but you’ve never spent extended time with them. You hope they don’t think you’re going to be a distraction for Carlos. 

To say the least, you were nervous, and that didn’t even compare to the general nervousness you had for Carlos going into a tournament, especially with some of the troubles and issues he’s been having recently. 

Because of his practice schedule, Carlos couldn’t meet you at the airport, so you took a taxi from the airport to the hotel where you sat in the lobby waiting for him. He wouldn’t let you get your own room; he wanted you at his side (and bed). 

You only had to wait about an hour—like he said—before you saw him walk into the hotel lobby. He was searching for you among the various individuals sitting on the couches in the lobby, and when his eyes met yours, a giant erupted across his face as he moved towards you. You met him halfway, dragging your suitcase behind you. 

“Hi,” he whispers into your hair as he holds you tightly. 

“Hi,” you whisper into the fabric sitting on his shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks.” 

“A couple of weeks too many,” Carlos contradicts, pulling back from the hug and putting his hand in yours before he re-introduces you to his team. Some of the nerves you were feeling dissipated at the happy smiles on their faces. 

“All he’s been talking about the past week has been about you arriving here,” Juanki says. “I don’t know if I could take hearing about it for another day.”

Everyone laughs at Juanki’s remarks, and Carlos kisses your forehead. “I’m very happy you’re here,” he whispers to you. 

“Me too,” you reply and begin the walk towards the elevator to Carlos’ hotel room. 

The week flies by fast. Your days are spent attending various practices and sitting in the Alcaraz box during matches while relaxing with him in between it all. He’s excelling through the tournament, and before you know it, he’s preparing for his appearance in the finals, vying for the opportunity to defend his title. 

Throughout the match, you’re clutching at the sleeves of your sweater, trying your best to remain stoic like the rest of his team so as to support Carlos the best you can. 

But then the umpire says, “Game. Set. Match. Alcaraz.” And with that, the entire box jumps up and erupts in cheers, and your heart is bursting at how happy you are for Carlos. This was everything he needed to get his momentum back, and you’re so happy for him. 

The rest of the day flies by with media and congratulatory conversations and celebratory drinks and dinner. It isn’t until late that you have a quiet moment alone with Carlos. You’re sitting against the headboard of the bed in your pajamas, waiting for Carlos to change into something comfortable after taking a shower. 

When he’s ready, he climbs onto the bed and rests his head in your lap. On instinct, your hands go into his hair to play with it and give his head a massage. 

“I couldn’t do it without you here,” he murmurs against your thigh as he lowers his inhibitions as you massage his head. 

“Yes, you could have,” you contradict, believing in his potential more than he does. 

“Well, then, you were a special motivator to win,” Carlos continues, making your heart melt. You bend down and kiss the top of his head before you return to focusing your attention on his head in your lap. 

He has to be exhausted, but you can tell he’s trying his hardest to stay awake—to stay awake for you. After a while, he knows that he can’t remain awake for that much longer, so he says, “Come here.” He moves his body to his side of the bed and pats the space next to him. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms.” 

Who are you to deny this adorable man anything? So, you move to switch off the lights and move to maneuver yourself into his arms. When he’s wrapped his arms around your body just so, a sigh of contentment leaves his body, and within seconds, he’s out, his breath even and quiet. 

A small smile approaches your face as you kiss his cheek. Within minutes, you, too, are drifting off to sleep, both content with each other. 

//

Quietly, Carlos walks into your apartment, using the key you gave him. You told him that you were busy studying, getting ready for a week of midterms, assignments, and papers due, so he didn’t want to disturb you. However, he’s making sure to make some noise because he doesn’t want you to be startled when he makes his presence known. 

Quickly, he shrugs off his shoes and leaves the food and stuff he brought on the kitchen counter, looking around for you. You’re not at the kitchen table where you normally get work done nor are you at the couch where you tend to inhabit when times get stressful. Next, he checks the hallway leading to your bedroom and notices the light on in your room. Before he walks into your room, he returns back to the kitchen and grabs the bouquet of flowers and some of the snacks he bought before going to your room. 

When he gets to your open door, he knocks on the door to alert you of his presence. When you hear his knocking, you look up with a big smile and pause the music coming from your computer. 

“Hey,” you say, tidying up your bed, slightly, to make room for Carlos among the various textbooks, notebooks, and notes littering your bed. 

“Happy Anniversary,” he whispers as he kisses your forehead. 

“Happy Anniversary,” you repeat, pulling Carlos in for a hug. With his arms around your body, a lot of the stress that’s been holding you hostage leaves your body. “I’m sorry that I can’t go out tonight or any time this week.” 

He shakes his head. “Nonsense. We’ll celebrate our anniversary and you excelling at your work and classes.” 

“Thank you,” you say, patting the empty side of your bed for Carlos. 

“I’m going to put these flowers in a vase for you first, okay?” 

“Okay,” you answer with a small smile. 

“I brought you food and stuff. Should I leave it in the kitchen or bring it in here for you?” 

“Kitchen,” you reply. “It’ll give me a reason to get out of my filth, but bring some snacks?” 

“Obviously,” Carlos remarks before giving you a kiss and walking to put the flowers in a vase. When he returns, he comes back with various chocolate snacks, crackers, and gummies—more than anyone could possibly need. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing one of your favorites and immediately placing it optimally against your leg so you can grab some as you type away on your paper. 

“Of course,” he whispers back, climbing onto your bed. 

“I charged my tablet, so you can watch something on it while I get work done if you’re planning on staying.” 

He nods. It’s remarkable that even with all these things on your mind, you still can think about him and what he might need. “Whatever you need, let me know.” 

Carlos arrived at your apartment around late afternoon, and it’s been many hours since he arrived, and you’ve barely lifted your head to breathe. Despite using your tablet to watch a show (one of your favorites that he’s been trying to catch up on to watch it live with you), Carlos has been watching and observing you. He’s been watching you type away on a paper, finish it, check it off on your checklist, and move on to preparing various study guides for exams. 

He knows that you said you wanted dinner in the kitchen, but he knows trying to peel you away from your computer is going to be too much to ask, especially in the middle of completing an assignment, so instead, he watches and waits for you to check off something from your to-do list. When you do, he gently takes your computer off your lap and moves it onto the bedside table on his side of the bed.

“Carlos,” you whine. 

“Go to the bathroom,” he instructs. As you follow his instructions, he fluffs up your pillows and grabs another one to support your back before he goes to the kitchen to grab dinner for the both of you. 

When he gets back to your bedroom, you’re just leaving the bathroom after you used the toilet, washed your face, and brushed your hair. 

“I got you some food, so you can eat it while also getting work done,” Carlos says, gesturing for you to sit as he hands you a bowl. When you’re comfortably situated on your bed, Carlos places his bowl on the bedside table and gives you your computer back. 

When you get your computer back, you quickly make sure all your documents are saved before closing your computer and putting it to the side. When Carlos gives you a quizzical look, you say, “It’s our anniversary. The least I can do is have dinner with you.”

“No, if you need to get something done, it’s okay,” Carlos contradicts. 

You shake your head. “I need a break anyway.” 

“But you can—”

“I want to have dinner with you, Carlos, not my computer screen.” 

“Okay,” he says, a wide smile overtaking his face. 

While this might not have been the anniversary night Carlos thought he would be having with his partner, it was one he wouldn’t trade for anything. You’re a great source of support and love with his tennis career and his insane schedule, so it felt right to return the deed and support and take care of you when you were busy and needed him. After all, that’s what relationships are, Carlos is starting to learn. Taking care of each other, and carrying more of that weight when necessary so your partner doesn’t sink amid everything. 

Carlos made a silent vow to be your anchor for as long as you’ll have him—and he hopes it’s forever. 

//

“It’s kind of funny that three years ago, Chris was the one who introduced us, and now we just attended her engagement party, together, as a couple,” Carlos reflects, kissing your forehead. You lean further into his touch, letting his hand fall from yours so that his arm can wrap around your shoulders. He smelled good; he always smelled good. 

“Makes you think about how our lives would be different,” you continue. “We could have just been two strangers at this party.” 

Carlos shudders. “I don’t want to think about that.” 

“Good, me neither,” you reply, looking into his deep, chocolate-brown eyes. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Without saying anything else, Carlos takes your hand in his and begins the walk across the street. It was one of those longer avenues, with less than enough time to cross the street. You follow him, knowing you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. 

“You know,” he says when you’re still a few feet away from the mid-point of the avenue-cross way. “Attending an engagement party tonight has got me thinking.”

From his words, you kind of know where he’s going with his thoughts, but you still want to tease and embarrass him as he gets all his thoughts out. “Mmm, dreaming of your white, lacy dress?”

“No,” Carlos says, slightly defensively. You look up at him and can see a faint flush under the street lights as you’re still crossing the street. “Just that maybe we’d want that for us, one day? What do you think?” 

You’re still looking at him and crossing the street when you see his eyes go wide with fear. His face lights up with the white of a headlight, and for a split second you turn your head, and the bright white of the headlights blinds your vision. 

At least it’s with the love of your life, you think to yourself as Carlos squeezes your hand one last time. 

. . . 

As the headlights blared into your eyes, you blinked, bringing you back to the little corner table where you and Carlos were sitting—back to the present, away from your imagination. 

“I’m one of four brothers,” he starts. 

“Four? Your poor mother; the level of testosterone in your household is insane,” you joke, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face. 

He continues talking about his brothers, giving you little tidbits about their personalities and activities. He had no idea about the spiral that was going through your head at that moment. 

You’ve always known that you tend to overthink and think of the worst-case scenarios. That tended to be the one thing that prevented you from doing things, especially dating; not knowing about the in-betweens or how things ended was unnerving to you. What was going to happen after this first date freaked you out. 

“Tell me a little bit about your family,” Carlos says, a soft smile on his face, the smile lines around his eyes making you swoon. Oh, this man. 

“Well. . .” you begin, diving into your family and their various antics and personalities. They were a handful. 

This time, you decided, that it didn’t matter if you didn’t know how things would play out. You were going to try your best not to let yourself overthink and live in the moment. That was going to be difficult, you knew, but somehow, the way Carlos made you feel helped you realize that, no matter what, it would all work out just fine. 

You didn’t know how it would end, but the journey might be worth whatever the ending actually was. 

After all, you know you have an overactive imagination, leading to self-sabotage at the purest and best things in the world. 

This kind of connection with Carlos happened once every few lifetimes. Who were you to deny the universe the connection it wanted? 

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Errand of Mercy

Summary: Y/N is miserable from head to toe. Can the boys coddle her back to good health?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Nothing really. All fluff.

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Jensen Ackles x teen!reader, Jared Padalecki x teen!reader

Word Count: 1,467

A/N: I got a request from the dear @kayyay1219

...my request is another J2 x teen!reader where the reader doesn’t show up one day for work and Jensen and Jared are worried and they go to her apartment and see that she’s really sick. So they take care of her because she has a high fever and they try everything to get her fever down, like an ice bath or something. They call her cute nicknames are just being so sweet.

I said I could do it but it might be a while. Then the poor thing sent me this message this evening:

Hey I know you said it will take a while to get to my request, but I had a bad day and got diagnosed with Covid and really need a J2xteen!reader. It doesn’t have to have the reader diagnosed with Covid just J2 taking care of the reader, getting her fever down and calling her sweet nicknames. Thank you!❤️

So, needless to say, I got my butt in gear to try and give her some Jensen and Jared comfort. I hope this helps sweetie! Feel better soon! 😘

A/N 2: As always, this story is about a Jensen and Jared from a different part of the multiverse and doesn't reflect anything to do with their real life. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

Y/N wandered through her apartment door, exhausted beyond belief. Her body ached, she was sweaty and hot while also shivering. She was bundled up in a scarf and jacket even though the sun shone brightly and the breeze was light and warm. Her whole body ached from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. 

Even her hair ached.

The day had been miserable from the first minute she'd been forced to crawl out of bed and go to work. She'd had every intention of staying tucked up in bed and had called in to say she couldn’t make it. But her boss had insisted. They were already short staffed, and they couldn't manage without her. At least that had been the gaslighting, guilt trip her boss had gone with. 

And since technically she was an adult now, she figured forcing herself into work when she felt like death, just came with the territory. Though the way she saw it, if the word "teen" was still part of her age she shouldn’t have to be a grown up yet.

But she'd gone in. However, she was pretty sure the only thing she'd accomplished during her four hours at work was making all of her coworkers sick and spreading her plague throughout the population like she was Typhoid Mary. Between her coughing and shivering, she'd been useless and eventually her boss had very reluctantly sent her home. 

So now she was back in her tiny apartment and ready to go pass out. She knew she should make herself eat something, and probably have a shower just to wash the ick away. But she just didn't have the energy.

As she stumbled her way to the bedroom, there was a knock at her door. She moaned pathetically and slowly hauled herself back there. She didn't bother to look and see who it was; maybe it would be someone there to shoot her and put her out of her misery.

But it was so much better.

Standing on the other side of the door were her two favorite people in the world. Her adopted big brothers, Jensen and Jared. Her aunt had worked in the props department for Supernatural from the very first season, and Y/N used to visit her there all the time. 

She grew up hanging around the boys, who treated her like a little sister from day one, and that hadn’t changed just because the show ended. They teased and tormented her from time to time, sure, but they were also fiercely protective, the way big brothers should be. 

When Y/N's boyfriend had broken up with her a week and before prom, she was heartbroken and had planned on just staying home. But Jared and Jensen wouldn't hear of it. Instead they arranged a limo for her and three of her closest friends and escorted the whole group of them to the dance. 

While she and her friends had danced the night away, having an amazing time, the boys stood on the sidelines with most of the other adults all night, acting as incredible celebrity chaperones. Needless to say, Y/N was a big hit.

So, considering their track record for being there when she desperately needed them to be, it wasn't that surprising to see them standing outside her door with a bag full of snacks, delicious chicken soup from her favorite restaurant, and a bag full of medicine.

God, they’re amazing, she thought, as relief coursed through her. 

Despite her protests that she was going to make them sick, they tramped into her tiny apartment, looking too big for the space as usual. Within minutes they had her out of her jacket and scarf and were pushing her into the bathroom.

Jared pulled a small Eucalyptus plant out of one of the bags and hung it in the shower, turning the taps on super hot, so that steam was rolling through the bathroom. 

"Climb in, kiddo. And stay in there for at least 20 minutes. Sit down on the shower floor if you need to." He told her as a billow of steam followed him out the door.

She did what he said and twenty minutes later she was feeling a little better. Her chest didn't feel as constricted and heavy and her nose was a little less plugged. Plus the continuous, intense heat finally got rid of her inside chill.

When she went into her bedroom she saw that one of the boys had laid her comfiest, and fluffiest pair of pajamas on her bed and she pulled them on gratefully.

She went out to the living room and immediately sighed when she saw what they’d done. The glaring overhead light was off and her soft lamps and just a few candles lit up the room. They had peppermint tea sitting on the coffee table for her and a bevy of snacks were lined up beside it. They jumped to their feet as soon as she came in, and ushered her over to the couch. 

Jensen pulled her down beside him, tucking her under his arm. He kissed the top of her head while Jared laid out the assortment of medicines they'd brought. She described all her symptoms and he picked out the ones he thought would work best and handed them out to her like her own private nurse. A very giant, very hairy, incredibly sweet, private nurse.

After she was medicated, Jensen picked up her remote and clicked on the tv before passing it to her.

“You get to pick, sweetheart.” He held up a finger. “But just remember that you love us and we’re here on an errand of mercy. So…maybe we can forgo Bridgerton?”

Y/N chuckled. “How about a space opera?” 

Jensen raised a questioning eyebrow, but Jared clapped his hands together “Yes, bring on Luke, Leia and Han!”

So they slipped into a galaxy far, far away and Y/N watched for a while before falling into an exhausted doze. She roused a few times, coughing a little, but quickly fell back to sleep when her subconscious reminded her she was cozy and safe.

When the boys were halfway through The Empire Strikes Back, Y/N woke up for real. The boys paused the movie and brought her some of the warmed up chicken soup and another cup of peppermint tea. She sipped at the warm, steamy liquids and listened to the boys arguing over the best movie of the original trilogy. Jensen said Return of the Jedi, Jared said Empire Strikes Back, and she told them they were both wrong, and nothing beat the original. The debate was on.

But as they agreed to disagree and get back to the movie, she set down her tea and began to feel the shivery achy feeling return. Jensen noticed and pulled her up against him again, covering her with the fleecy blanket from the back of her couch.

Jared put his big hand on her forehead and frowned. “You’re really warm again.” 

He pulled out the thermometer and put it under her tongue. When he checked it, his frown deepened. “A hundred and two. Shit.”

He gave her two Tylenols and then got a pile of cloths and a basin of cool water. He put a wet cloth on each of her wrists and then handed one to Jensen, taking yet another to begin bathing the bottom of her feet. Jensen had her lay her head in his lap and then slowly ran the cloth across her forehead and cheeks, as well as along the back of her neck. 

For nearly a half an hour they continued, just soothingly running the cloths across her feverish skin and murmuring words of comfort. As the fever fell and her shaking stopped, she found herself dozing once again.

She woke as Jensen was carrying her to her bedroom. She opened her eyes and he smiled down at her.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re just gonna tuck you in. Your fever is under control now, but we’re gonna crash on the couch and keep checking on you through the night.”

Y/N just nodded as she saw Jared pulling back her covers. Jensen laid her down gently and smoothed back her hair from her forehead, before kissing her there. He held up her phone and then tucked it under her pillow. 

“You text us immediately if you need anything and we’ll be here in a jiffy to get it for you, okay?”

Jared bent to kiss her forehead too and then scrunched up his nose. “Unless you gotta pee, in which case, there’s really nothing we can do to help.”

She laughed softly at his silliness. 

“Thank you both, so much” She said as she yawned wide enough to swallow her own head.

The boys blew her a kiss and waved from her bedroom doorway. 

“Just get better.” They said in unison.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

@arcannaa

@viviwatchestv

@winharry

@ladysparkles78

@waywardcheshire

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2

[witchembrace-a]

Lacing long, red locks of hair between his fingers, Sunday's gold eyes gaze the other man a rather ... mischievous smile. "You know..." , Sunday paused, moving his gaze from his hand to making eye contact, "it's your blood that's red like those roses you're so fond of." (Perhaps there was a part of him that wishes to see it spilt one day...) [ trust love // sunday to argenti // pinokoni ]

prompt.

The gentleman's gaze froze when it met Sunday's mesmerizing hues, the way they shimmered in the light of the moon reflecting a beauty that lured Argenti ever closer. He was almost too distracted by such to realize what the older man was saying, but eventually, he did process the words spoken.

Humming, he leaned in closer, placing a hand over his heart with a dramatic flourish. " Why, yes, it is, isn't it ? This crimson river of life flowing through my veins is like a rose garden in itself, a reflection of true inner beauty ... "

Nope, he didn't quite catch on. The darker implications went right over his head. He was an idiot, plain and simple.

// @pinokoni <3

[thedreamlessnights]

Foul Little Thing

Summary: Astarion adopts a cat. Or, rather, the cat adopts him.

Warnings: Post-BG3. Major spoilers for BG3 Act III. Mentions of Cazador and trauma recovery, as well as starvation and animal malnourishment.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Here's a soft, short little story that I hope will warm your heart. Enjoy!

Since the loss of the tadpole, Astarion has been forced back to the misery of seeing the world in shades of grey.

He misses the other aspects of the sun, of course. The golden light that had warmed his skin for the first time in two centuries. The freedom to traipse around wherever he pleased without the fear of burning to a crisp. The plain normalcy of it - as if, for a moment, he could pretend he wasn’t what he was. All of that has been lost, too.

Most of all, though, what he misses is the color.

Darkvision serves its purpose: he can see what he needs to, and nothing more. There’s no joy to it. The washed out grey of life is as dull as wine tastes to him now. Once, that wine had been rich, heady, and sweet on his tongue. Two centuries ago. A life he can barely remember. Similarly, once - more recent than the wine - Baldur’s Gate had been a kaleidoscope of colors, rather than a myriad of loss.

In the light of day, Baldur’s Gate is a number of things. Sweet wrappers at a candy shop, glistening green and pink and blue, like the sky. Beautiful gowns on display in the windows, constructed from pearlescent silks, embroidered with an amount of skill even Astarion had to admire. The ocean’s deep blue in the distance, and the buildings painted in shades he’d almost forgotten existed. If he closes his eyes, he can see it now; he can make believe that it’s still there any time he wants it, that shining jewel of a city.

His for the taking.

Somewhere deep down, he knows he’d done the right thing in turning down the Ascension, but it doesn’t take away the sting of what he’s lost. He can no longer stroll into houses uninvited or walk through running water without it burning like acid, and if Cazador were still alive, he’d most certainly be vulnerable to his compulsions.

Some nights are worse than others in the aftermath of it all, but tonight is particularly bad. His chest seems to have filled itself with lead. The air is bitter and frigid, as it tends to be in the months approaching winter. Even the clouds above are a dull shade of grey - no silver moonlight to curb their gloom.

His ears feel iced over in the exposure, but he can’t force himself to go back home. Not yet, at least. Not even for the warmth of the pleasant little room he’s made for himself. His feet drift over the cobblestone, barely making a sound. The wind howls, tousling his hair as it sweeps past. Even this late, it’s rare to find the streets so empty, but they’re practically deserted now. Everyone else must have turned in, seeing the state of the sky.

If Astarion wasn’t so restless, he’d join them. If visions of Cazador’s cruelty weren’t blurring across the edges of his vision, he’d already be at home, tucked away with a book and enjoying his freedom.

More than anything else, this is what seems the most unfair: that Cazador can be dead - really, truly dead, and by Astarion’s hand - and yet still haunt him. Those scars and the memory of them being carved will forever mark his back and his mind. If he could see his reflection, it would be fangs and red eyes that greeted him, not… whatever color they used to be. And, on the worst days, the bastard is ingrained in Astarion’s thoughts, faded commands echoing against the shielded corners of his skull.

As a cutting gust of wind blows past, Astarion stirs from his thoughts, and finds himself almost home - just a few more minutes, and he’ll be there. His feet have started the path without him realizing. He can’t quite decide whether or not he’s grateful, or if stepping inside will make it worse, but it does seem gloomier than before, somehow. He picks up his pace.

Is it more grey than usual?

As if in response to his thoughts, there’s a bone-rattling rumble of thunder overhead, and the sky begins to pour rain. There’s not even a precursory drizzle, a light mist, a warning to give him time to run. No, instead it strikes down in a blow of icy water, soaking him straight to the bone and drenching his best boots.

“Oh, for the love of…” he sighs, throwing his arms out at his sides. He can feel his hair pressing flat to his scalp, undoubtedly a mess that will take ages to tame. He’s just started internally bemoaning the hours lost to fixing the extent of the rain’s damage when he hears a noise. Even worse, something rubs against his leg.

Astarion has always been one for instinct. Immediately, he’s leaping away, brandishing his favorite dagger - curled fingers ready to bury the hilt in a new home. Then, he sees his enemy. No enemy at all, really. A scrawny little beast, soaked just as he is, all wet fur and dirty paws and pathetic eyes that stare up at him. He can see the creature’s ribs.

The cat lets out a pitiful meow, and he can’t help but grimace at the sight of it.

“Shoo,” he says, but it doesn’t understand him. Instead, the wretched creature begins to purr, once again nuzzling against his now-sopping boots. The rain has made its way into his socks, and it’s almost more than he can bear. “Go on,” he says, louder this time, gritting his teeth against the discomfort. He has no time to deal with animals, and this thin, mangy stray is the last thing he needs at the moment.

It once again doesn’t listen, though. Instead, when he moves to press on, it follows him. Past the butcher’s shop, past the town hall, past the graveyard. “Oh, go on. Shoo!” he says again and again, as if one of these times the cat will take the hint.

It doesn’t.

It follows him all the way to his home, and when he shuts the door in its face, it sits on the doorstep and waits. Astarion knows it waits, because even after he’s peeled away all of his dripping-wet clothes, he can hear the weak pulse of its heartbeat outside the door.

“Foul little thing,” he mutters, but he can’t get the image of it outside of his head. Scrawny, weak, pathetic. It’s the last thing he needs. What’s he supposed to feed it? Blood? His house is empty, save bad wine. Even he knows that won’t do.

His gaze shifts to the nearby counter, and his brows rise in shock. As it turns out, he does have something. He’d been recently gifted a loaf of bread from a grateful contractor, unaware of his true nature, and he hadn’t bothered to throw it out yet. Cats can have bread, can’t they?

Or, perhaps they can’t. Maybe, in trying to help, he’ll end up killing it. It’s just the sort of thing that would happen to him.

Still…

“Gods above,” he mutters, casting a hand over his eyes. The sound of that pulse is driving him mad.

After a moment more of internal debate, he wraps himself in a warm, comfortable robe, fluffs out his hair as much as he can, and swings open the door. Just as he’d known it would be, it’s there, staring at him in silence. Sitting on the rain-soaked porch.

“Oh, all right,” he sighs, standing back to let it in. “Come in, then.”

The cat tilts its head, then rises to its feet, tail rising straight up. Then it starts to circle around him, purring as it nuzzles against him once more - brushing against his newly-dry legs and covering them in soggy rain water and who knows what else.

“Just wonderful,” he mutters.

Yet, for all he’s heard about the temperament of cats, this one isn’t so bad. It sits still as he dries it off with an old towel, only letting out a single yowl of complaint. It eats the bread up with no hesitation, and the nip it gives Astarion’s fingers barely stings. When he finally turns in for the night, it curls up next to the fire to sleep, and when he rises from his trance, it hasn’t made a complete mess of things.

It’s much too thin; this he knows. The hunger present in its visible ribs and weak movement is a feeling he’s all too familiar with. It’ll have to wait until the sun sets again, when he’ll be able to venture out and purchase some decent food. Yes, the basics of this little beast - hunger and exhaustion - are well known to him.

Everything else, however, is all too new. He should name it, shouldn’t he? He’s not very creative with these things. And it needs some form of bed, doesn’t it? Gods, he’s surely not meant to be in charge of anything like this. Taking care of himself is difficult enough as it is.

For a moment, he even considers reaching out to Gale. After all, the wizard had mentioned owning a cat, once, hadn’t he? Knowing him, he’s almost certainly an expert on the subject. Still, the thought of asking for advice is enough to turn Astarion away from it.

No, he thinks. He’ll handle this on his own.

Once the sun has gone down and Astarion is ready to start his nightly activities, he readies his supplies and slips his favorite dagger back into its sheath, intending to give the new occupant a few stern words about not breaking his valuables. As soon as he pushes the door open, though, the cat slides past his legs and darts away.

Astarion stares after it, an uncomfortable feeling churning in his gut as the black silhouette of its fur fades into the distance. “Well,” he says after a moment. “I suppose that’s that, then.”

After a brief internal deliberation, he heads off.

Work goes smoothly, as usual. Astarion gets his fill of blood before the vagrant dies, sating his hunger - but, for some reason, he can’t stop thinking about that stupid cat. He even, gods forbid, buys a few fish off the docks of Wyrm’s Crossing, and all the way home, the smell of them is nearly unbearable. He’s not sure if the cat will be back, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

Sure enough, as soon as he’s approached the doorway, there it is again - running in from the nearby park, circling around his legs and purring.

“Go on, then,” he says, swinging open the door. The cat’s tail rises and it enters, making itself at home in front of the fire.

Astarion takes one of the fish from the pouch and places it on one of his decorative plates, setting it on the floor. The little beast eats it up within seconds. The second fish is gone just as quickly, and the third follows soon after. Clearly, he’ll need to get more food than that in the future.

Then he attempts to make it a bed, fluffing up a spare pillow and blanket, but it won’t even lie on it. Instead, it blatantly ignores his hard work, jumps up on Astarion’s bed, and curls up into a ball - apparently meaning to nap.

Oh, who is he fooling? He has no idea what he’s doing. At this rate, it’ll be dead within a week, and his house will reek of fish. Not to mention his new sheets, and the havoc that will undoubtedly be wreaked upon them.

Letting out a long sigh as he internally admits defeat, Astarion takes a seat at his desk and begins to compose a letter.

Gale Dekarios

Waterdeep,

Western Heartlands

After all, he thinks, leaning back in his seat, there is nothing Gale loves more than talking about his knowledge.

[lynchsrqven]

Daylight (Megumi Fushiguro x female reader)

__________

Author’s note: hihihi. This is my first time writing something like this so I really hope you guys like it. Please let me know if you spot any grammatical/ sentence construction errors because I’m really trying to improve my writing:)

Content: a little angst at the beginning but mostly fluff

Warnings (?): mild cringe at the beginning

Word count: 1.8k

__________

"Gumi?" She muttered incoherently.

"Hmm?" He answered sleepily, his voice muffled.

The day before, Y/n had had a rather miserable day. Once training was over, which was around 5pm, she had walked back to her dorm and decided to reflect back on the days conversations and failures. Well half of the conversations were also failures so there wasn't much of a difference.

Originally, She had planned to clean her room, all surfaces of whose were covered with clothes, books or miscellaneous objects, while watching a movie. Unfortunately her day had gone by so glum that the prospect of watching a fun romcom seemed like too much to bear. Wait no- actually her day had gone by just fine. Normal. Perfect, even. It was her who was the problem.

She considered watching little women (honestly insert any film/series that brings you comfort) but then decided against it. She tried to clean her room anyways, only this time it was the amalgamation of swivels and memories, chaos and dejected voices in her head which kept her company instead of the buzzing of actors and actresses voices.

Midway transferring her clothes from the deranged bed to the closet she gave up and crumpled into a heap on the ground, mirroring the dirty clothes. She took her head between her palms and attempted to cry as she watched the bust of her sweater rise and fall. Crying always made everything better. The tears would wash away the hollow-ness in her chest and provide her some kind of comfort. After some time, it became evident that they'd taken a day off and she'd be stuck with the misery and claustrophobia in her mind for quite some time. She considered going to her bed no napping the feeling away somehow but didn't find it in her legs. Eventually she laid on the forgiving floor and fell asleep there, the cool of it caressing her cheek, a sensation still prevalent when she woke up. She checked the time- 9pm. Dinner would be over in an hour. She got up from the floor, momentarily sure of her pre-nap anguish's departure. Unfortunately it was still there, engulfing her awhole as she made her way to the bathroom- the next stop for her desolation.

Finally, at 11pm, she made her way to the boys dormitory and knocked at Megumi's door. Although she wished to deal with these bouts of depression herself, the desire to see Megumi subsided the former. Megumi opened the door slightly, his head poking out of the cornor. A small shaft of light illuminated the corridor's wooden flooring.

"Y/n?" His eyes wrinkled at the corner and he was now in the middle of the door frame. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see you."

He stepped away from the door, inviting her in. Once inside, she stood there a little akwardly not sure of what to do or say.

"I didn't see you in the cafeteria during dinner. Did you visit later today?"

"No I fell asleep." She partly lied.

“It might be open right now. Do you want to go?"

"Won't we have to pay if we went so late?"

"That's not an issue."

"That's okay, I don't really feel like eating right now." She partly lied again.

"Are you sure?"

“Yeah."

Now Megumi was looking at her silently, probably trying to analyse her behaviour.

"So what were you doing?" Y/n asked, trying to break the partly non-existent ice.

"Reading this book..."

“Oh nice"

"Yeah it's about this war in ancient Egypt."

“Tell me more about it." She urged as she seated herself on his bed, parallel to the chair infront of his desk where he seated himself. She wanted his boyish voice to cure her. And it did. Megumi liked to read non-fiction, a fact that struck Y/n as odd. While she herself liked to read, she couldn't comprehend why someone would want to read about real people and their real lives when they could just read...made up stuff. Something to give them a break from reality rather than pull them back into it. But sometimes, when Megumi told her about the various books he'd read, she'd get the appeal. Heck, she'd even want to try one herself.

Megumi was quick with this kind of stuff. Quickly elucidating the synopsis without any unnecessary details, a skill Y/n thoroughly lacked. Soon enough he was done telling her about his book.

"How far in are you right now?" Y/n asked him.

"About a hundred pages. It's not very long though. I only have seventy more to go."

"That's great, I love short books."

"What about you? Are you reading something at the moment?"

"Er yeah- Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard." Suddenly her book seemed very inferior compared to his.

"Any good?"

"Yeah it's pretty nice. I'll tell you more once I've read a little further."

"I see" neither of you having anything to say now.

"You can go back to your reading by the way. I don't really mind. I just wanted to be near you."

"No, I'd rather talk to you." He said as he came over and sat next to her. Y/n smiled weakly at him and quietly rested her head on his shoulder.

“By the way, are you okay?" Megumi asked as he reached out and held her hand inbetween their laps.

"Yeah..."

"Really?"

"Yeah, just- just..."

"Bad day?" He offered.

"Yeah. Bad day. Very bad day." She confessed as she tried to somehow bury her head into his shoulder.

"I see."

"Yeah."

"Would you like some tea?"

Y/n laughed at his suggestion. Although she didn't really feel like having tea, she didn't want to perpetually turn him down.

“Sure, why not."

He got up and went to made them tea. Soon enough, it began to rain. Once Megumi was done, he came and sat on the bed, one of his legs folded beneath him, the other hanging down. Y/n, previously at his desk, looking at some textbooks kept there, headed back towards him and sat down in the space between his legs. They drank their tea on the bed itself, something Megumi normally didn't allow. Once they were done drinking their tea, Y/n kept the cups on Megumi's desk and then returned to their initial position.

"I like your hands." She whispered to him as she held one of his in both of hers.

"Yeah?" She could hear the smile in his whisper.

"Yeah. Their very...masculine yet fragile looking." She moved his hand up to kiss it, a slow, hushed movement. She kept it against her mouth even after it.

"I like your hair," he told her, "they remind of that river we saw on our mission to Kyoto."

"Why do they remind you of a river?"

"I don't really know. I suppose it's because you insisted on collecting rocks from it once the task at hand was done. Itadori was very enthusiastic and threw water all over you. Some of your locks stuck to your face."

"Megumi, that was six months ago." She chuckled.

"The sun was directly on you and you were laughing and throwing water back at Itadori. I was reminded of that one song you like," He paused for a bit. "Daylight. That Taylor swift song."

Y/n closed her eyes, rabid butterflies flying aimlessly in her stomach.

"I love you." She whispered as she moved her face towards his, slowly locking in their lips.

"I love you too." She heard him mumble over her lips. He rested his lips atop hers even when the kiss was over. The rain escalated, a thunder boom triumphant over the heart beat in her ears. Y/n pushed herself deeper into his embrace, wanting his warmth to engulf her. Megumi softly fell on the bed response, now holding holding her next to him, both their feets still hanging from the bed's ledge. They stayed that way for a while.

"Do you want to stay the night?"

Although they weren't actually given any information regarding staying over at each others dorms, especially if they were of the opposite sex, y/n felt it went as an unsaid rule. Not that it mattered. She had stayed over Megumi's plenty of times before.

"I would like that very much." She pressed her lips at his once more. Megumi sat up, pulling her up along with him. He kissed her once more.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, okay?" He informed her. She nodded and laid down on his bed again. This time properly though- with her head on the pillow and a big blanked over her. Megumi joined her soon enough, his head somewhere infront  her own, his arms holding her loosely, but firmly. He fell asleep that way, her breaths sofly fanning his cupids bow.

-

"Gumi?" Y/n muttered incoherently. She had been awake for around thirty minutes now, her thoughts keeping her company and Megumi keeping her warm.

"Hmm?" He mumbled in response, his voice muffled. She had thought spending time would make her alright but thirty minutes of remembering yesterday had bought it back to her. Megumi's voice softened something inside her and suddenly her vision was blurry and soon enough her face was wet. Megumi suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her. She could see him physically panic. He wasn't very sure on handle such situations.

"Hey," he said and hugged her.

"You know, I really, really hate myself." She said said gave out a helpless laugh amidst her tears.

"Then...do you think you'd let me love you for the both of us?"

Y/n could only sniff in reply.

They stated that way for a long, long while. Y/n wallowing while Megumi held her.

"Do you feel any better now?" He asked as he caressed her cheeks.

"I do. Thank you." She leaned into his touch.

"Well then. Let's get you something to eat? If you don't feel like seeing the others I can grab something and bring it back for you."

"No, it's fine. I don't want the others getting suspicious. Can we go to my room first so that I can change into my uniform?"

On the way to the cafeteria, Megumi held y/n's hand. Not dropping it even when an intrigued Gojo in the hallway laughed at him.

"Hey lovebirds!" Panda greeted you both enthusiastically upon entering. Nobara shifted her chair a little so you had space to sit next to her. Itadori explained the plot of some movie he had watched to all of you.

And you watched as the daylight filtered in through the window and fell on your table, making everyone glow a little. And maybe, just maybe, you could step into their familiar hue and let go of your self hatred. Under the table, you interlocked your fingers with Nobara and grinned at Megumi.

___________

[moremaybank]

THIS LOVE (IV) — j.m

pairing actor!jj maybank x actress!reader

chapter summary you're set to turn down your management team's proposal, but a familiar face pops up and changes your decision. the plan is set in motion, and jj begins to move into your house. upon his arrival, you two share a moment that quickly turns sour and drives you away from him further.

warnings luke maybank (bleh), a trip and fall, an almost-kiss, language. let me know if i've missed any! [4.5k]

recommended listening daddy issues by the neighbourhood, nights like this by kehlani

this love — the complete playlist ;; the masterlist ;; the tag list

❝ CHAPTER FOUR ❞

Y/N

You press the lock button on your car keys, hearing the doors click. You make your way through the parking lot of Floyd Management. You’re about to tell Josh and Andrea that you’re saying no. You just can’t imagine having to embark on this journey with someone who left you with so much pain that it drowns out all the good times.

Contrary to what everyone may believe, this was not a rash decision. You chewed on it, going back and forth for days about whether or not you should just suck it up and agree to this fake relationship nonsense for the sake of the movie and the opportunities it might bring you. But then you thought about having to spend most of your time by the side of the man who broke your heart, kissing him and acting as if you’re in love with him. Re-connecting with JJ made your wounds feel so fresh again, and jumping on board with this plan would only add salt. 

And it’d sting.

You’re halfway to the entrance when you hear the voice of someone you never thought you’d have to deal with ever again. 

“Hey, there, sweetheart. You sure have done well for yourself.”

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, and you instantly grow cold. You shut your eyes and take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to come.

“What are you doing here, Luke? Shouldn’t you be in prison?” 

Luke rounds your body so he can speak to you face to face. He raises a hand to toy with a strand of your hair but you flinch, backing away immediately and keeping your distance. All he does is laugh softly.

“You’ve definitely grown up. Interested in taking the original Maybank for a spin? Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” His voice drops an octave and it makes your skin crawl.

“You’re disgusting. Get out of my way before I call the cops.”

“What are you gonna tell ‘em, darlin’? That I spoke to you?”

You stay silent, knowing that he’s right. He technically hasn’t done anything, and you’d simply look foolish.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you. I have a proposition for you, actually,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah?” You ask. “And what’s that?”

“I want you to help me take JJ down.”

You scoff. “I’m not helping you with anything.”

“You will if you don’t want me to release that sex tape of his and put an end to his career.”

You want to be surprised, but you aren’t. Luke Maybank has never been one to change or reflect on the mistakes of his past. He usually chooses the route of making more, and they’re always worse. And your sentiments weren’t just based on hearsay. You watched JJ go through all the misery caused by Luke. Had cleaned up the cuts and iced the bruises. Taken him to the hospital when his injuries were more than you could handle. You’d cook meals for him, bring an extra bag of lunch to school. Let him stay at your house when they’d shut off the power, water, and anything else they could thanks to Luke not paying the bills. He was an awful person, through and through, and though you were more than upset at JJ for how he scorned you, it’d never be enough to work with his father. 

“You know, all you ever did was make JJ feel small. You dedicated your life to drugs, alcohol and jail time, and you know what JJ got out of it? A mother who abandoned him thanks to your oh-so charming ways, and a father who did him more harm than good by sticking around. I wouldn’t help you if you were dying on the street,” you spit, shoving past him and trying to enter the building. 

“Then you can kiss your little costar goodbye.”

“Are you coked out right now? Or just delusional? I’m not going to let you do this to him. End of discussion,” you respond. 

“Well, you’d better hope JJ pays me and those girls that hush money. ‘Cause you know I’ll come to collect.”

-

JJ hurt you. The damage he’d done to you was once considered irreparable. It’d taken you years to work through that anger and betrayal and you still weren’t even a hundred percent there. But working with Luke? That was simply a line you’d never cross.

You ride the elevator to Josh’s floor, and once you reach it, you make a dash for the waiting area outside of his office. You spot the blonde you’re desperately in pursuit of instantly.

“I need to talk to you,” you blurt rather loudly. You don’t realize how booming your voice actually is until you realize that everyone else in the room is staring you down with confusion and shock written all over their faces.

JJ gets up from his seat and pulls you gently into a secluded area.“You didn’t need to come all the way down here to turn Josh and Andrea’s proposal down. I get that you don’t want to help me. I mean, why would you after what I did?”

“JJ—”

“No, it’s okay. Seriously, I did it to myself, and—”

You can’t wait any longer. “I saw Luke.”

JJ goes quiet immediately upon hearing those words. He’s so in shock that he doesn’t answer you right away.

“Did— Did you know that he was here?” You question, though you know the answer. You doubt he knew, because if he did, he wouldn’t be as quiet as he is at this moment.

He shakes his head slowly, “Nah…Nah, I didn’t.” He visibly chews on his words before hesitantly speaking again. “Did he…hurt you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Just in shock.”

He nods. “He say what he wanted?”

You moisten your lips, and your eyes abandon his. “He wants me to work with him…help him destroy your career.”

“Right,” he nods, crossing his arms. “Of course he does.” 

You watch him pace down the hallway, but not too far, holding his head in his hands. 

“Goddamn it!” He bites out. The JJ you used to know would’ve punched through the wall in front of him by now, and you can tell that the current JJ wants to, but he holds himself back. Once he calms himself down a tad, he turns back to you. His steps are large, helping him make his way to you quickly. “Where is he? I’m gonna kill him for going near you, and then I’m gonna kill him again for trying to fuck with my life.”

“JJ, don’t. He’s not worth the energy,” you say, trying to talk him down from the ledge he’s on.

His hands come to rest on your shoulders. “Y/N, he approached you. He could’ve hurt you. And I wasn’t even there to…” he pauses, taking a breath, “to protect you.”

Your eyes dart away from his once again as your body tenses at his touch. He senses your discomfort, and pulls away from you immediately. “Uh,” he clears his throat, “Sorry.”

You shake your head, “No, it’s— it’s fine. You’re shaken up. And understandably so.”

Your eyes cautiously find his again once you find the courage, and you can see that he’s trying not to crumble. You know hearing his name alone is terrorizing, and now that he has to deal with Luke trying to rip away everything he’s ever worked for…your heart hurts.

“I wanna help you.”

JJ’s head instantly shakes, notifying you of his disapproval. “No. I don’t want your pity. I’ll be okay, I’ll figure this shit out. It’s my own fault that I’m in this mess anyway.”

“It’s not pity, JJ. I might not be thrilled to work with you or about what you did, but…I’d never knowingly let Luke hurt you.”

“You…you don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t,” you tell him. “I want to. But I need you to understand that this doesn’t make things okay. It’s just about work. Business. It can’t be anything more than that.”

“Well,” he says, proceeding with an immense amount of caution. “Will you at least let me tell you what actually happened that day? It’s tearing me apart, Y/N/N.”

For the first time since you’d seen him again, your heart warms at his use of your childhood nickname. You missed it terribly, and you partially wanted to slap yourself and bring yourself back to reality. You’re scared. He’s starting to make the walls you’ve spent so long putting up crack just by speaking to you and having that ache in those damn blue eyes.

“I’m not…I’m not ready, and I definitely don’t want to rehash everything right before we do this. Let’s just go into this meeting, tell everyone that we’re on board and take things one step at a time.”

“But, Y/N—”

“JJ, please don’t make this any harder for me.”

JJ looks into your eyes, and you hate it, but you both know you’re on the verge of falling apart. “Yeah. All right.”

-

“You know, if you weren’t paying us to do damage control, JJ, I’d say that you were trying to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not that I’m his biggest fan, but this isn’t his fault. It’s on Luke. He’s always been selfish like this,” you add, trying to ease the prominent frown lines on Josh’s forehead.

Josh nods, “Yeah, I know. But I just don’t know how we go about this now. I mean, if we pay the hush money, there’s still a ninety-nine percent chance that Luke leaks the tape.”

“Then maybe we release it ourselves, like you and Andrea said,” you suggest. “That way, we can control how the public views it, and Luke won’t be able to hang it over our heads anymore. He’ll have nothing.” 

“Great,” JJ huffs, running both hands through his hair. “Now everyone’s gonna know I’m an ass.”

“Some of us already know that.” You earn a laugh from Josh, and a small smile from JJ to which you return. The both of you know that you’re half-joking, so nothing is taken too seriously. “For real, though. We explain to the media how Luke orchestrated the whole thing. It’s not the perfect solution, but it’s better than them getting to the public first.”

“All right, well, I have to talk to Andrea and get everything sorted out, but we need to get a head start on moving you two in together. My guess is that you’re going to need a few days to get used to being in each other’s lives again, especially if we want the public to believe that you two are in love. Oh, and we need to get a press conference planned so we can release your porno.”

“Can we not call it a porno?” JJ asks, half-heartedly glaring at him.

“It’s funnier that way.” JJ rolls his eyes, and you can’t help but snort. “Andrea and I will ensure that you know what you’re going to say about it.” 

“Nah. I got this. I’ll run it by you guys, but I know what I’m gonna say.” 

While they’re speaking about their upcoming plans, your heart is about to burst right out of your chest, and not in a good or exciting way. Pretending to love someone is one thing, but pretending to be in love with someone who you were enamoured with for over a decade after getting your heart stomped on by them…let’s just say it’s a completely different ball game. Yes, you’d convinced yourself that helping JJ was the right thing to do, mostly because you feared what Luke would do to him if you didn’t. But it’s now dawning on you that this is no longer just about filming a movie. Now you two are going to be watched constantly, even more so if everyone believes that you’re in a relationship. And not only that, but the tabloids will be inserting themselves into it constantly, which will more than likely complicate things. That was proven when JJ made his declaration to the world.

JJ notices the worry flash over your face as your mind wanders. “Hey, are you sure we need to move in together, like, right now? Isn’t it a little soon?” 

“Well it’s not like we can spring you forth into the public when you can barely hold eye contact for a minute. They’ll never believe that you two are together. So, yeah. I’m sure.”

“So…when will this all be happening?” You ask. You aren’t even sure if they can hear you, because you can’t hear yourself. The only thing your ears are picking up on is a high pitched ring brought on by your nerves.

“As soon as possible. I’m thinking by the end of the week. But it all depends on which one of you is fine with moving the other one in.”

Your eyes widen at the possibility of having to move into JJ’s house. You’re sure he has a nice place. It’s not even about that. The thing is, you’re already forcing yourself to go along with this ploy. And now you’re facing the chance of losing the comfort of your home and happy place? 

“We can…we can use mine,” you voice out timidly. 

“No, I can’t let you do that. I’m already dragging you into my mess,” JJ argues, albeit lightly. “I won’t put you out like that.”

“Well, I don’t want to be ripped away from my house and everything I know, JJ. This is already a lot.”

He extends his hand out, like he wants to grab yours and hold it in his they way he used to when he was stressed, but it stutters and falls back into his lap. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Besides, I have a million rooms in there that I never go into anyway. I’m sure you’ll make good use of them.”

He smiles slightly, “You got a game room?”

You know what he’s referring to, and you can’t help but sport your own tiny grin as well. “Of course I do.”

Flashback - Age 15

Y/N

“So, when you get outta here, and you become a superstar and buy an enormous mansion — which better have a bedroom reserved for me, by the way — what kinda rooms are you gonna put in it?”

You snorted a laugh. “What do you mean?”

He sat up from his place on your couch and rotated his body so that his head fell on your lap. He kicked his feet up on the other side, and looked up at you.

“Like, if I got my own mansion, the first thing I’d put in there is a game room. I’m talkin’ a pool table, a dart board, some arcade-style games like Pac-Man. A PlayStation. I dunno, the possibilities are endless. Oh! And I’d have a chess board for sure.”

You gave him a look, trying not to laugh. “You don’t know how to play chess, J.” 

“Hell nah, I don’t know how to play chess. It’ll make me look smart though.”

You hummed in agreement, letting your fingers run through his hair. You watched his eyes close as he relaxed into your touch. He let out an obnoxious moan when you started to scratch at his scalp lightly, and you smacked his chest with your other hand.

“Weirdo,” you mutter.

JJ simply laughs, before grabbing the same hand you’d whacked him with, holding it in his own. “Have you thought about it yet?”

“Thought about what?”

“What kind of rooms you’re gonna put in your house, dummy.”

You think for a moment. Different ideas float around, but then you land on one that you know you’ll make happen for sure. “Probably an entertainment room. Kinda like yours, but it’ll definitely have a big ass screen and comfy reclining seats like at the movies so I can feel like I’m in a theatre while crying my eyes out over my one millionth rewatch of One Tree Hill. It’ll have a mock concession stand, and a popcorn maker. And a Slurpee machine for good measure.” 

“Nice! I’m totally stealing that idea, just, without the whole crying over One Tree Hill part. ‘M not gonna waste my screen on that snooze-fest.”

“Oh, please. You were practically sobbing when Haley left Nathan to go on tour with Chris,” you mock. 

His eyes shoot open and his teasing smirk drops. “I thought we agreed that we’d never speak of that. I was high.”

“High on Naley, that is.” 

“Whatever.”

End of Flashback

“Then it’s settled,” Josh speaks, cutting you out of your daydream. “JJ, provided that Andrea and Y/N’s team are on-board, you’ll move into her house by Friday.”

Damn. Shit just got real.

JJ

It’s Friday, and JJ is now on his way over to your house in a U-Haul truck. He taps along to the rhythm of what he’s listening to on the radio, some Dua Lipa song that he’s certain is in the Barbie movie (and everyone should refrain from asking him how he knows that). The tapping is more mindless as he tries to settle the anxiety he has over this move. He knows that you’re already stretching yourself thin by agreeing to help him. But offering to let him move in to your house? Between this and his past mistakes, the guilt is starting to boil over.

Once he makes it to your gate, he hesitates for a moment before pressing the buzzer. 

“Who is it?” Your voice questions through the speaker.

“It’s J— ” he stammers, before correcting himself. “JJ.” 

So much for playing it cool. He couldn’t even say his name to you anymore.

“Oh, uh, hold on a sec. I’ll let you in. Just pull into the driveway, my security guy will come and help you.”

“Cool.” 

JJ hears a chime, and instantly, the gates begin to open. He drives through them, slowly pressing on the gas as he takes in the front view of your home. It’s fancy, but modest. A testament to you and your personality. 

Then, a tall man with a rather large build emerges from your front door and signals JJ to pull up to him. 

“You JJ?” He asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Y/N’s security guard, Dave,” the man speaks, introducing himself. He’s handsome — not that JJ noticed — and definitely more on the quiet side. “Throw the truck in park. I’ll get it unloaded it for you.”

JJ shakes his head. “Nah, man. At least let me give you a hand.”

“It’s all right. It’s easier this way. Go on inside, I’m sure Y/N will give you the grand tour.”

JJ gives Dave a nod, and approaches your doorway. This is it, he thinks. He enters your home, stepping into the foyer and taking a look around from where he’s standing. His eyes immediately land on two grand staircases parallel to each other, with a luxurious chandelier hanging right in the middle of them. It isn’t on, but thanks to the sunshine bleeding through the ceiling-high windows, it sparkles and casts a magical glow into your home. There was art hanging on the walls, sculptures on the front tables, and flowers that add a pop of colour into the monochromatic room. 

But something JJ can’t ignore is the smell wafting in from your kitchen. The unforgettable fragrance of your signature cinnamon rolls fill his nostrils and instantly take him back to much simpler times. He can practically see you now, with your hair clipped back and your World’s Best Baker apron secured behind your neck and your back. You undoubtedly have flour on your face, and your tongue poking out as you concentrate. 

You’d always been so domestic, a feeling that JJ longed to be around when he was younger. It’s nice to re-experience it now, even in his older age. Especially in his older age. He’s been coming home to an empty and quiet house for years now, and he hates it. It’s hard not to let the loneliness get to him.

As if you’re reading his thoughts, you yourself come through the entrance, just like he envisioned. Hair pulled back from your face, your same old apron attached to you (though it had worn a bit over the years), and a swipe of flour on your cheek. When you come directly in front of him, JJ’s tempted to reach out and wipe your cheek for you. Every time he did so when you were younger, the action never failed to pull a shy smile and heated cheeks from you. But now, he fears that you’ll back away and avoid him like the plague if he acts on his internal desires. So he doesn’t.

“Hey, have you been waiting here for long?”

“Nah. Not at all,” JJ assures you. He motions to your cheek, “You got a ‘lil something there.”

He watches you retrieve your phone from your back pocket and swipe to open your camera. Your mesmerizing eyes widen, threatening to pop out of your head as you scramble to scrub the powdery ingredient off of your face.

“Right,” you clear your throat, putting your phone back into your pocket. “So, uh, why don’t I give you a tour. Show you where you’ll be staying?”

“Sure,” JJ agrees.

“Okay, well, follow me.”

You turn around and begin to walk through the foyer. JJ, slightly distracted (okay, more than slightly) by your figure, stalls for a moment before his brain reminds him that he’s supposed to be trailing you. He takes large strides, catching up to you and praying that you didn’t notice. The two of you make your way around the main level, visiting the kitchen, dining room, living area. You show him the backyard, your pool complete with a swim-up bar and a hot tub. He notices that you have a few surfboards lined up against the wall of the change room and he smiles, happy memories of the two of you cruising the waves together back home flooding his mind. And last but not least, you made it to the room he’d been waiting for. Your rec room. 

It’s just as you described when you thought it out all those years ago. A huge screen for movies and TV. Rows of theatre-like reclining chairs. A snack bar with a Slurpee Machine. 

Next, you two focus on the gaming section. A colourful glow casts over the room thanks to the arcade machines, and it evokes a sense of nostalgia for JJ. His eyes light up as they trail over Pacman, Street Fighter 2, Super Mario Bros, Sonic the Hedge Hog, and Mario Kart. But the twinkle in his eyes lights up further when he sees Dance Dance Revolution in the far corner. 

“Hey, remember how we used to dominate at DDR back home? We massacred John B and Pope every time.”

You nod, the recollection of those times pulling at your heart strings. Still, you’re afraid of thinking too deeply on them. “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. And they aren’t here, so, I doubt it’d be as fun without them.”

JJ gives you an earnest look. “I get it, things are different now. But we live together now, Y/N. I want us to be able to get along. I don’t want us to feel like we have to avoid each other all the time, and I’m also not planning on spending the next couple months arguing with you every day. Maybe…maybe we could have fun. Make this whole arrangement bearable.” 

“JJ, it’s not that simple,” you say. 

He leans in, his voice soft. “I know it won’t magically fix everything, but we can try, right? For both of us?”

You gaze into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of sincerity. Sighing, you reluctantly give in. “Fine, but don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

He smiles triumphantly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

The two of you step onto the dance pad, and JJ chooses a song. Slide by Calvin Harris pulsates through the room. Your movements synchronize as you dance, and soon, laughter is spilling out of your mouths and mixing in with the song. JJ can’t help but look at you for a moment, all smiley and happy in his company for the first time in weeks. It’s nice to see you letting loose around him, finally. Unfortunately, things quickly go south when his foot falters, and he stumbles, pulling you down with him. You crash onto the floor in a tangle of limbs, and JJ lands on top of you. 

Your faces are mere inches apart, your breaths mingling. For a fleeting moment, time stands still, and it feels like before. It’s like he’s been transported back to your adolescent years, still best friends and teetering back and forth on the line between best friends and something more. And just when he inches closer, debating on closing the gap between you, you scramble to get up, gently rolling him off of you and making a beeline for the door. 

“Y/N, wait!” He calls after you. He practically has to chase you down the hallway. He reaches out, fingers gently circling your wrist and stopping you from getting any further. “I…I thought we were having fun?”

“Fun?” You ask, your tone seeped with indignation. “JJ, you tried to kiss me! I should’ve known this was all some ploy of yours to get into my pants again. God, I should’ve known better.”

“Wait, what? Y/N, that’s not what this was,” JJ defends. “That whole game thing…I was trying to reconnect with you. I never meant to bring up the past for you and hurt you again.”

Your eyes avoid his, and he knows you’re too scared to look into them. He’d reach out and hold your head in his hands the way he used to, gently force your gaze onto him so you can see his vulnerability, but this isn’t the past. You don’t trust him the way you did before. Hell, you don’t trust him at all. So his hands remain at his sides.  

“I’m willing to try. I’m willing to earn back your trust, to show you that I’ve changed. But you gotta give me a chance. Please, Y/N, just give me a chance.”

You ignore his declaration, and his plea. “I’ll have Dave show you to your room. The bed’s all made up, so you shouldn’t have to do much.” 

JJ watches you walk down the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“Out. I have to get out of here.”

JJ wipes a hand over his face, letting out a sigh of frustration. He was finally getting somewhere with you. Things were looking up. But in a flash, they all went downhill, and now, he’s slowly losing faith. 

Good thing that isn’t going to stop him from fighting.

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[powderblueblood]

🎵+ our girl lacy hehe

send me 🎵+ character name and i’ll write a lil blurb inspired by a song from their playlist (you can also request songs and i will do my level best. god is a dj and i'm god)

▶ MAKING THE BED - OLIVIA RODRIGO

and i'm playin the victim so well in my head, but it's me who's been making the bed or lacy visits her dad in prison and reflects on the life she's created*

*as part of the hellfire & ice universe

warnings for mentions of past parental abuse, incarcerated parent, slight drug mention, cussin up a storm as always

also the amount of time this has spent buried in my drafts! it's not right! but it is okay i hope thank you love you anon &lt;3

You had been putting this off for as long as was excusable to put it off-- as long as you could push it, you'd push it. Busy with school, with work now since your gig at The Bookstore had started (which he'd hate), with your... friends (which he'd hate even more, if he knew exactly who that company included).

But eventually, you do just have to bite the bullet and pick up the phone.

The bullet tastes rancid and the visitation room is always freezing. Doesn't matter if you wear your warmest coat--the mink that he bought you, that still smells of smoke from a garbage can at Roane Quarry--you're still practically vibrating by the time you sit down.

"You always ran so cold, baby girl."

Your father smiles at you through the glass. His eyes are wrinkled at the edges, kind of tired. They've got him behind there like a caged animal. Like you're supposed to tap on the glass of his enclosure and see if he'll respond with glee or fury. He's docile today. It's a change; the last couple of times you'd accompanied your mom here, he'd been seething.

"I think it's an iron thing," you muse vacantly, winching your shoulders in.

"Should eat some red meat."

"There's been a concerning lack of filet mignon in my life lately."

That makes him chuckle and that makes you smile. The orange jumpsuit reflects badly against his skin, extra harsh under the burn of overhead fluorescents. Makes you both look sickly; worse than you are. Misery loves company. There's no way you can tell him that you're actually...

"So how are you doing?" He asks you this question and there's a weight attached to it. He must know, right, he must have figured the shitstorm of trouble that you'd been in for in the aftermath of his arrest. The blowback on you. On your mom, who you were white-knuckling yourself into having pity for.

Your lips purse, tugging to the side. Again, no clue how to answer a question like that. Is he expecting game face? Is he expecting... honesty? You can't read it. So you shrug. "You know."

"I don't, Lacy. That's why I asked."

He has a terrible stare, your dad, the kind you can never get out from under. The kind that makes you feel like you're being constantly watched. In the walls, this guy. As if he knows everything already.

"Well, ah-- school is fine, I'm doing about the same as always," you try to smile as casually as possible, "An even keel of greatness, as you used to say, and extracurriculars are... yeah. I, um," and you attempt a throat-clear, "I dropped cheerleading."

Your father pinches his chin between his pointer and his index as you speak, scratching at the side of his face. Contemplative. The smoothness of this expression doesn't break as you drop that on him.

"Why would you do that."

Your toes curl up in your shoes, ten little ice blocks you're begging to thaw out. Your pulse quickens with such a rapid pace that you feel it in your skull. So, you try and answer like he might.

"Conflict of interest."

"Conflict being?"

"Tina and I came to an impasse."

"Pass it." His laconic brilliance outshines yours.

Your throat tightens. "Why?"

This makes his expression falter, his hand drop from his face. There's a weird rush of satisfaction in that, seeing a crack in the facade--but then you have to deal with what leaks out of the crack in the facade.

"What do you mean, why? Because. This is who you are. This is what you've worked for."

Sshrrk, slicing right through the prime rib of you. He doesn't even need to hear you out, because he knows you, he created you.

He saw you attempting to alter and distort yourself in order to be something perfect and said, good.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Take their standards and make it look like you could maintain them in your sleep, bleeding, blindfolded. Be better, and make it look beautiful. Make them love you, then make them fear you.

And if it doesn't fit, shave parts off of yourself until it does.

You doubt that your uniform would even fit anymore.

Your teeth grit so hard that your jaw starts to ache. "I just don't understand why I should--"

"Why are you letting them win?" he asks.

"I'm not," you insist and it turns your stomach, "I'm not letting them win, it's just-- Daddy, you don't know what it's been like out here for--"

"Of course I do. I bet they're saying horrendous, gut-punching things about me, about what I've done, about you-- but what makes you think that freezing them out is the answer?"

You choose not to mention that you'd actually thrown a Molotov cocktail at them the night of Steve Harrington's party. Reason being?

"Self preservation."

"Your fragile ego can't take it?"

"I'm not fragile."

"No, god, you're solid as a rock. At the first sign of trouble, you turn heel, you quit."

"Dad, that isn't fair."

"This life isn't fair. And frankly, Lacy, I don't have faith in your capability to make it on your own."

Something about the way he uses your nickname makes it feel like it's tied too tight around you.

"You're scholastically intelligent, sure, but you're a shell. You have no inner structure. If you don't pack yourself full of something, whether it's pom-poms or prom invitations or fucking diet pills to keep you pretty, you will fall in on yourself." A pause. "You're not a well-rounded person. But it doesn't matter, not if you can make people believe that you are."

"Is that what you did?" Your voice is nearly slurred. When your father wants to cut you down to size, it's the one time that sound moves faster than light-- and it makes your head spin.

"Yes."

"Worked out pretty spectacularly for you, Daddy." It knocks out words you ordinarily wouldn't say.

"You're the child. You're supposed to learn from my mistakes."

"Can I count them on one hand?" Sometimes he'd knock you back for it. But this time there was a sheen of bulletproof glass between you.

"Lacy."

"Is doing yourself up like Saint Jude Thaddeus and siphoning money out of made up charities one of them?" You wonder if he could crack it. Use that handset as a hammer and gather his might and crack it.

"Lacy."

"Is Al Munson another one?" That one lingers between you a moment. "He's a two-bit do nothing deadbeat lowlife that's never come clean out of a job, straight or otherwise. Or so I've heard. People talk. He's like a folk hero now. Does it embarrass you that trusting him was all it took to topple everything?"

A beat. The sense memory of his hand cracking against your cheek is so visceral.

"Does it embarrass you that your charm offensive wasn't offensive enough to fool someone as surface level as him?"

A beat. The feeling of letting him have it, as they say, is all the more real.

"Does it embarrass you that you should've known better?"

A beat. You feel like you've just done a bump of something very dirty. Something somebody would sell out of a tin lunchbox. Immediate headrush.

"You got sloppy trying to fill that gaping maw inside you. And what do you have now?"

"What do you have, Lacy?"

And the descent of fear.

You open your mouth to answer, but decide y'know what. You hang up the headset, and leave him there.

Bussing it back to Forest Hills, your blood slowly starts to recirculate in your veins. With that, second guessing starts to flood in. Should you have said that. Were you right. Did any of it get through. Were you cruel. Did he read you.

Coat shrugged around you, you discover Eddie sitting at the picnic bench on your lot. Handful of pebbles in one hand, old SpaghettiO can in clear sight. A flash of pink presses out of the corner of his lips in sheer concentration-- you watch him miss three shots before you call to him.

"Knew you were flukey."

Eddie's head cranes over his shoulder and he grins a grin so loud and lively that it puts color back in your cheeks. They apple up; you're smiling too.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You cross to the bench, propping yourself up on the table beside him. He keens into you, bumping his head against your fuzzy elbow like a happy cat. Playfully, you nudge him away, but he's relentless.

"Prison. Where the hell do you think?"

Eddie hits pause, stares up at you with eyes brimming with shit, dude and fuck, dude. "Oh. Did it suck?"

You start to shrug it off, to completely glaze over it like the donut of daddy issues you'll force yourself to swallow later. But then you take a second look at him, his big eyes yelling you can tell me, y'know.

"It was fucking awful. Like, horrible."

His spine bolts up a bit. "You okay?"

This one you roll around your head a bit. "Right now, yeah. Maybe it'll hit me later."

"Okay. So worry about it later." Eddie's nonchalance when it comes to dad talk is reassuring. To you, he's a zen master when it comes to disengaging with the goading nature of toxic fathers.

"Worry about it later!" you echo brightly.

"I'll stick around in case, for later." He's a good friend. And your stomach sort of flips.

"Take me to the movies?" An afternoon in the warm dark sounds good.

"Fuck you, what if I had plans?" Eddie pushes back only because it'd be weirder if he didn't.

"You don't," you say, pushing back too, "Unless aiming rocks into that soup can is a prelude to something much more spectacular."

"Maybe it is. Maybe I'm finally trying out for basketball." He misses another shot.

"At the eleventh hour." It's a little transfixing, watching him aim and score. Moreso than when she ever stood on any basketball sidelines. "Why are you so bad at this. You're usually kind of good at this."

"These rocks are too small!" he exclaims, animatedly frustrated. Another one, making a sharp ting! off the can's jagged rim. "But seriously. I got banned from the trailer for playin' my gee-tar too loud while Wayne was sleepin'."

Because vaudeville was always one of your fascinations, you mimic your shittiest Southern accent in tribute to his uncle, "Goddamn, boy, ain't nobody teach you any manners?!"

"Was you brought up or dragged?!" His is so much better than yours.

You chuckle. He chuckles. There's a moment, the two of you looking at each other with the softness of two people with nothing but dumb bits and dangerous families. What ludicrous kinds of lives you lead.

"So, movies?" Eddie says, like it's his idea. You let him have it. It's nice to share.

"We'll always have the movies."

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Police Dog: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Cop!Reader - Chapter 1

Welcome to the rewrite :)

I made a reference to another game series, lmk if you guys spot it ;))

You stared at your monitor, the dim screen barely reflecting back into your near-lifeless eyes as you mindlessly scrolled and robotically clicked through the usual files only to have to actually go into another file to really make any work at your mind-numbing task. Why were you even given this bullshit to begin with? You leaned back in your horribly worn chair, the spine and back cushion creaking eerily as the wheels squeeked against the “polished” stone floor. You picked up the paper cup filled with coffee to take a sip, only to sneer and place the flimsy cup back down. Your coffee had grown to be ice cold, there was a strange grittiness to the brew and it tasted like someone had replaced the coffee with ink.

You heard the constant rushing of other officers in the background, whatever your cubicle really allowed you to hear past the tall wood and styrofoam walls really. Mindless chatter, the bubbling of the water cooler, some cop banging the shit out a vending machine, that horrible fucking fax machine you wished the captain would put out of its misery. You were going to hear those grating sounds in your nightmares for the rest of your mundane life.

At least it wasn’t too bad, today. Normally, the oh so “charming” lifestyle New York City made things pretty ridiculous sometimes. The main office was pretty quiet today, so much so you could hear the very faint classical music playing overhead you normally couldn’t hear over the rambunctiousness of your fellow officers.

That was, until the bullpen was let out.

Just hearing that door slam open and the cops inside spilling out almost made you knock over your nasty ass coffee onto your keyboard. You slouched in your chair, leaning back as you finished your work finally after doing this boring nonsense all week. You took out the usb drive with a content sigh, toying with it in your hands as you listened in on what the others were saying. Something about a shoot out somewhere in the South Bronx caught your ear when you saw a reflection move past on your monitor screen when it stopped behind you. Turning, you quickly saw the tall and brawny figure of one of the sergeants who was casually leaning at the entrance to your cubicle.

“The captain’ll have your knees for leaning,” you turned back to your monitor. You were about to mindlessly pretend to look through stuff just to get him to go away, but he didn’t seem to get the hint. Turning back around after a few minutes, you noticed the stupid smirk on his face that you wanted to smack off so badly. “What?”

“He’s been havin’ ya on paperwork for the past two weeks. Don’tcha think somethin’s up?” his thick accent teased.

“Considering I’m the only one who knows how to do things the way he likes them, not really.”

The sergeant gave you a pointed look before shrugging.

“Whatever you say, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie, I’ve been in this department for almost a year now.”

He ignored you and sauntered off, definitely eyeing one of the female cops that would bat their lashes at him to get out of work for the day. Just as you started fiddling with the usb drive, your stationary phone started to ring. You picked up the phone, noting how you needed to fix the coiled cord as it somehow became tangled yet again.

“(L/n),” you greeted with your last name.

“Officer (Y/n),” the captain’s smooth voice greeted you from the other end of the line.

“I finished all the paperwork, sir, I have the usb dr-”

“I know you have, you always get the job done. Please bring the drive to my office, and hurry. I have another assignment for you.”

The phone cut off with a monotone buzz. Placing the cradle back into the receiver, you stood from your squeaky chair and started for the captain’s private office which was past the bullpen that still had some cops. The few that remained inside eyed you as you neared the captain’s door, their voices hushed as they started bickering about what it was you could’ve done.

You didn’t need to worry.

You knew that if you had fucked up, the captain wouldn’t have hesitated to call your ass out from over the intercom and demand to come to his office louder than any military drill sergeant.

His door was closed and the blinds were drawn shut which was a bit odd unless he was speaking to someone important. You stopped before the door and knocked promptly, eyeing his placard with his name written in dark ink across the golden plate.

“Come in, Officer (L/n),” the captain called out.

“Are you sure that-” As you opened the door, the conversation that was just going on had cut off.

Aside from your captain who was in his seat behind his grand desk, there stood another man. Tall and broad but fairly thin, he was imposing for sure. Dark, slicked back hair. A tan tailcoat hiding the strength you knew this man had. And when he turned to you, you couldn’t help but feel a little threatened under his intense gaze. His eyes looked as though he’s seen some fucked up shit, he looked fucking tired too, like he hadn’t slept in days. His grown out stubble also showed that as well. He eyed you up and down, not saying anything, his face was hard to read.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but here’s the flash drive,” you spoke up, offering out the usb drive to your captain.

You captain stood from his desk and beckoned you to sit in one of the chairs provided, but not before accepting the drive from you. Your captain sat back down at the same time as you, but the other man in the room just stood. He moved away from the desk a little bit, his chest to you but he was now looking back at your captain.

“Excellent work, like always.” Your captain turned towards the stranger, giving him a look you really couldn’t read either. “I promise you, Sheriff, she is the right officer for the job.” Sheriff? He didn’t look like the sheriff from the boroughs, and especially not any deputy. Was he maybe from upstate?

“I’m still not sure about this.”

His voice was deep and gravelly, like something out of an edgy comic book turned into media.

“Nonsense, Sheriff Wolf.” There it was again. Your captain turned towards you once again. “Officer (L/n), I’ve asked you here to see if you were willing and able to help Sheriff Wolf here with… a delicate situation.” You eyed the two back and forth slowly, confusion painted obviously all over your face. “You can back out at any moment if you wish to do so, but I must iterate the importance of keeping something this delicate between you and yourself alone. Nobody else must know.”

You eyed the “sheriff” warily once again. There’s no way your captain would do something stupid like leading you off with this guy. There has to be a reason.

“Okay?” You cocked your head in question. “What delicate thing are we talking about?”

You saw the stranger pull something from his pocket but you couldn’t tell what it was as it rested in his hand.

“Are you aware of what societies live along with us?”

“You mean cults?” you cocked a brow.

Your captain laughed, the stranger stayed quiet and unmoving.

“No, but that was a good one.” He regained his composure. “Let me rephrase this: Do you believe in the supernatural? The unknown?” You eyed your captain as though he were just some crazy loon. “There lives another society among us, a good portion of said society live right here in New York City across the five boroughs. Sheriff Wolf here is the- uh, peacekeeper for said group. You were the first officer to come to mind for this position.”

“What kind of secret society are we talking about?”

“Fairy tale creatures.”

A part of you never stopped believing in that kind of stuff, especially with some of the weird things that have popped up on the news recently. Photos of creatures that can’t be explained, videos that weren’t ever proven to be edited, miracles that just seemed to pop out of nowhere.

You eyed the stranger again before nodding to your captain.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll help.”

Your captain’s shoulders slouched a bit in relief before he smiled at you.

“Thank you, Officer (L/n).” He motioned to the Sheriff as he stood. “You’ll be reporting to Sheriff Wolf here until this situation is done. He will give you all of the details.”

Sheriff Wolf pocketed the item - which, now that you got a good look at it - looked to be a perfume bottle? He walked towards the door and opened it, waiting for you to get up and pass through before he followed soon after. You uttered a soft ‘thank you’ before you both walked together towards the elevator.

You both stood in silence as the metal shaft rolled down. You stared at the numbers ticking down, wondering to yourself about what you possibly could have just gotten yourself into. You worried at the inside of your cheek and figeted with your hands until the doors swing open at the chime. You both started off for the front door of the station.

“So-”

“Not here,” he cut you off. He flinched at his own words. He stuck his hand out to hail a taxi. “Not here, there’s too many people. I’ll explain it all when we get there.”

A taxi driver finally caught sight of the sheriff and quickly pulled up to the curb. You were about to start for the other side when he opened the door for you once again. You couldn’t help the little flutter in your stomach at just a normal gesture as you quickly climbed in.

The Woodlands. You glanced at the seemingly solid gold plate slapped onto the stone pillar as you wait for Sheriff Wolf to pay for the taxi. You peered through the wrought iron fencing at the towering building. It looked as though they were luxury apartments and nothing more. It could use a good powerwashing, though. Other than that, from what he barely told you in the taxi, this would be where you were going to stay for a little while if you wanted. You honestly wouldn’t mind it; No crazy traffic, not getting wet when it pours, you get to stay in bed longer.

“So you’re all, um, fairy tale creatures?” you tried to strike up a conversation.

“Yeah.” Something told you he wasn’t exactly the type for small talk, but the silence between you both was suffocating. The sheriff opened the gate for you as you both walked towards the front doors to the apartment. “Gonna stop by the Business Office. Snow will wanna meet you if she’s still there.”

You beat him to the entrance this time, holding the door open for him to which he gave you a semi-amused look. As you stepped inside, it really was a shock at how dated the lobby was. Hell, it even had a security guard asleep at the front desk, slumped over the desktop, hat covering his bald spot as he drooled on his tie. The carpet was so discolored from packed on dirt, the wallpaper was stained from years of neglect, the chandelier in the center had a few bulbs that were that spiders had claimed to be their new homes.

Maybe you wouldn’t stay here…

“Snow? As in Snow White?” you asked as he called in an elevator.

How bad would that be if the lobby looked like this? Did you just sign your death certificate?

The sheriff hummed in agreement as he pulled out a carton of cigarettes, a brand you’ve never seen before: Huff n’ Puffs. He tapped the bottom so only one cigarette popped out the top and he took it with his teeth. He fished out his lighter but stopped before he could light the flame, eyeing you.

“You good if I smoke?” he asked you rather politely.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

He lit the cigarette and pocketed his metal-plated lighter, making sure to blow the cigarette smoke away from you. You could smell that the cigarette was stale and a little old, but the way he scrunched his nose a bit drove it home.

‘What fairy tale creature was he?’ you couldn’t help but think.

 He didn’t look like any you’d recognize.

“Are you also a- uh- fairy tale person or…?”

He eyed you, throwing his brows up before puffing out another plume of smoke.

“Yeah.”

The elevator finally opened up, allowing you both to enter. You watched as he hit a button and the doors closed with an eerie creak before it jutted back to life. You were lying to yourself if you said you weren’t afraid of the thing collapsing underneath you and plummet into the basement.

“We never properly introduced ourselves.” You wanted to smack yourself across the face. Really? You bring that up now? He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, puffing out another plume away from you. “I’m (Y/n).” You stuck your hand out for him to shake. “You don’t have to say the whole Officer (L/n) schpiel, just (Y/n) is fine.”

He eyed your hand before he took it, and holy shit, his hand was big.

It was big and warm and calloused, and very strong. You could tell he was being gentle when he shook your hand.

“Bigby Wolf.”

Bigby? You never heard of a fairy tale character named Bigby Wo-

“Oh! You’re the big bad wolf?” you blurted out as your hands parted.

You felt like an idiot for not getting it earlier. Wow, just looking at him now, it kind of makes sense. But how was he… human?

“You got it right,” he gave an airy chuckle. “It took your captain a minute to get it.”

The elevator came to a direct stop, nearly toppling you over as the doors swung open. You quickly exited the damn thing, telling yourself you’ll take the stairs from now on as you followed Bigby down the halls.

“So - if you don’t mind me asking - how are you… human? Is that correct?”

“Normally, Fables that aren’t human need something called a glamour to make ‘em look human - to fit into the Mundy world.” He stopped and looked at you. “Mundies are people like you; Human.” He continued down the hall. “I didn’t need one after what Snow did to me before we all came here.” You briefly wondered what she did, but he filled in the blank for you. “She stabbed me with a special blade covered in werewolf blood.”

So he’s a werewolf? Like, a big, tall, hairy wolf man werewolf? Does he go crazy on full moons? Is that something you have to worry about now?

“Oh,” was all you could say. Your eyes briefly went to down to his coat pocket to see the faint outline of the perfume bottle. “Do you mind if I ask you another question?” He looked at you, stopping before a door and putting his hand on the door knob. “You had like a perfume bottle in your hand back in the captain’s office. What was that for?”

“It’s some magic shit the witches on the thirteenth floor concoted. It’s supposed to knock whoever out for a few minutes and make them forget about Fables. I would’ve used it on you if you said no.” He turned towards the door, looking at you barely over one of his broad shoulders. “Brace yourself, this isn’t shit you see everyday.”

What could he mean by that?

He opened the door and your jaw dropped. The place was fucking massive. Not only was it large enough to fit an entire circus in, it was also towering! You swore your entire station could fit in here with room to spare. You walked in, passing Bigby who was looking at you amused with his arms crossed. Your eyes scanned the towering bookshelves of books magically moving around and sorting themselves, spying the magical trinkets and statues that lined the carve outs of the wall. And the fucking ship. You watched as a fucking pirate ship lazily floated on by, the wood softly creaking as it turned in the air like it had down for so long.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “This is your office?” you gawked as you looked back at Bigby.

The sheriff laughed. He actually laughed, the cigarette nearly falling from his mouth.

“Fuck no. My office is basically a glorified broom closet,” he walked past you. He eyed the three empty desks in the middle of the floor with a short frown. He sighed through his nose and took out the now near-burnt out cigarette before he snuffed it out on the heel of his dress shoe. “Stay here,” he looked at you, “I’m gonna go see if Snow’s still here.” You nodded silently, quickly wondering why he looked up at the ceiling as he walked away. “And don’t be scared if a green monkey with wings falls from the rafters, he’s just drunk.”

Your eyes widened as you watched him disappear behind a bookcase. You turned around, looking at all of the magical items that littered the room in awe.

You understood why something like this had to be kept a secret, but holy shit, this was wonderful.

You spied something out of the corner of your eye and slowly walked towards it. Stashed in between two rows of bookshelves laid a large mirror with a very intricately wound golden frame. It looked to be freshly dusted unlike most of the other items in the room. As you approached it, you quickly found yourself slightly dizzy as the mirror swirled to life with hazy green swirls. A theater mask appeared before you, no face or body attached. It blinked at you and smiled softly as the mirror hummed with life.

“Welcome home, such as it is. This squalid office, these corrupted streets, they are yours now, and are bound to them.”

It was hypnotizing, your body relaxing in the green glow as you stared at the mask before it quickly faded away. You blinked, seeing that the mirror had returned to just that, and Bigby was now standing next to you.

“I never understand the damn thing,” he grunted and looked at you. “Snow isn’t here, probably went out for the rest of the day doing Deputy Mayor shit. I need to do some paperwork on you before we can actually start, come on.”

You were hesitant to leave the office so soon but you figured it wouldn’t be wise to make a bad impression on your first day. You followed him out and back down the office before stopping before another door similar to the Business Office. The same standard door with the same color of frosted glass for the exception of the writing of just his name.

He stilled his hand on the doorknob before looking at you sheepishly.

“I wanna start off by saying that I’m sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting to actually get the help I need.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You should see what some of the cubicles look like at my current station.”

“Oh, I know,” he wore a look of disgust, “I smelled the shit the second I stepped into the building.”

“My old station had worse.”

Bigby shuddered, his thoughts now running rampant at just the smells he could conjure up. That was horrifying.

He turned the knob and opened the door, still holding a little bit of embarrassment on his face as you fully saw his office.

It wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t great either. The walls which probably were painted white originally were now stained yellow probably from his smoking. You spied an extra large ash tray that looked to be from the 70’s when smoking wasn’t yet linked to so many horrors filled to the brim with a tower of snuffed out cigarette butts. There were files everywhere, some opened, most were closed. The file cabinets all sat overstuffed, his desk was covered with mugs of half-drunk coffee, his metal-mesh trash can was filled with dead pens and crumbled up paper balls. His poor office didn’t even have a window to even air out the smell, just a rinky dink fan in the corner.

There was something nailed to the flimsy drywall on the back wall, a plaque in the shape of the typical shield used for law enforcement and military. A gold panel had his name scripted, and underneath commended him for-

Three centuries of service?!

How old was this guy?

[itzgruvia]

Gruvia Week 2024

Day 4: Punishment.

type: hurt/comfort, sad.

Character: Gray Fullbuster/Juvia Lockser, ft a character i made for the plot and misery.

Warning: Mention of Suicide attempt and blood.

This fanfic is also available in A03.

It was pitch black, everything that circled him was like ink, no light was spotted , Gray doesn’t even know where he is, the darkness is missing with his senses, he feels dizzy about this place, everything seems to be shrinking by the minute.

Gray was gasping for breath, his eyes looking around him for an escape, a silver lining of hope from this dark place, but he couldn’t find anything, his confusion was turning into frustration. His body was aching with wounds, specifically the left side of his wound, the one where he had to stab himself to save Juvia.

Juvia.

Where is she now? Didn’t he see her before he fainted? Or was that just an illusion? 

Maybe it was an illusion, after all he knew how still she was when he saw her, there was no life in her, not anymore, her heart stopped, and she was cold, motionless on the ground.

Nothing mattered to him anymore that Juvia was gone, the one person that kept him on going, but he realised that too late, like always.

“You are right” a haunting yet melodic voice rang out into the abyss, he flinched, Gray did not expect to hear someone -or something- in this place.

“You were too late for every person you loved, Gray Fullbuster”, The ice mage grew wary of the person behind the voice, how come they knew his name and his past?

“ I am an angel of death and life” suddenly a face, made of a carved stone appeared in front of him, it scared Gray where it led him to fall on his back, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the Angel in front of him, it looked like a part of an ancient temple, but if Gray had one word to describe them, they were stone.

Everything about them was immobile, their eyes didn’t move, their mouth didn’t move, they were not humanly formed to put it simply.

“Who-” Gray stuttered to get the first word out “who are you?” and managed to ask, fear was gripping his heart.

“Like I mentioned before, I am an angel of life and death” they replied, floating around him, too closely for his liking. “And you are here to reflect upon your actions” their voice held a sense of authority yet Gray wasn’t able to comment about it.

“This is what you brought to your life and everyone else” they raised their hands, and slowly next to the angel, people began to emerge from the dark platform, people he knew too well.

First it was his father Silver, his shape made Gray feel nauseous, his limbs were in different angles, as if he was crushed by rubbles of a house, then it was Ur, she looked exactly like he left her when he ran away from Deliora.

Then it was Ultear, her body all burnt up.

Gray realised that those were memories of his past, the memories that made insomnia his friend; the memories that were haunted.

He couldn’t keep on looking at them, at the people that he long lost, the people he failed throughout his life.

“Yes, those are the people that you’ve failed all your life, the people that did everything” they pointed their long stone finger at them “for you”.

He knows what this angel was doing, he knows that they weren’t even one, they were his demons, the voices that kept on muttering words just to drive him to end his life, they were here just so he could do it again.

And yet he couldn’t turn away from them, he couldn’t block their hurtful voices, their haunting whispers that tormented him for ages.

“Why is it you who always brings an end to their life?” the angel was circling around him like a predator, “you needed to be reminded Gray, that you can’t have a good life, you can’t enjoy it” they whispered harshly next to his ear.

Gray held back a sob, his lips were wobbling and eyes were closed tightly. He brought his hands to his ears to block their voices, like he always did as a kid.

“So we took her away from you, as a punishment” the angel took his place again in front of him, and this time Juvia was there, her eyes were lifeless, not human.

His stomach dropped as he sensed what was coming, “no..” he breathed out, fear crawling his body.

“ no no, don’t do this to her!” he yelled.

“ Us?” the Angel said with fake innocence. Juvia’s wound began to appear slowly, her body was trembling, blood started to pour from her side.

Gray was terrified, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything, he just looked as the tears fell down from his cheeks.

“We did nothing” Gray started to black out, he felt his body lose its power over his limbs, and slowly he began to lose his senses as well.

“You did” and that was the last thing he heard.

He abruptly sat up from the ground, trying to take his breath in and out like Juvia trained him to do before.

When she was alive.

As he looked around him, and took in his surroundings, he saw her next to him, facing him, Juvia.

She was here, she was next to him, injured and completely worn out but she was breathing, her chest was going up and down, a beautiful rhythm that he felt immensely grateful for.

He was baffled, and slightly impressed if it weren’t of the tears that were falling, he brought his hand to his mouth to keep himself from sobbing like a baby, thankfully no one was around them to hear his sniffling.

It wasn’t a dream, it was real.

He brought his hand over her hair and caressed its blue waves. She looked so peaceful, her face was pale but not like how he found her at first, he stroked her cheek subtly not to wake her up.

“ you are okay” he muttered softly “that’s good”

The punishment could come later, if it means that she’ll be safe forever, and if he could just savour this moment with her.