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creamflix · 3 days ago

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cw: mentions of sex & reader menstruating, nothing detailed or explicit [for nsfw].

read part one here

three years.

three whole years of loving each other in your own chaotic way.

but when the anniversary actually rolled around, you felt like someone had hit the reset button on your social skills. standing in the kitchen that morning, you blurted out, “it’s our anniversary. we’ve been together for a long time,” as if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.

sukuna blinked at you from where he was tying his tie, raising an eyebrow like he couldn’t believe what just came out of your mouth.

“no shit,” he deadpanned, though his lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk.

you huffed, crossing your arms. “i’m just saying. it’s... a big deal, y’know?”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, brushing past you to grab his keys, but you caught the way his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual.

truthfully, neither of you were handling it well. anniversaries weren’t exactly your forte. it wasn’t like you didn��t say “i love you” to each other, but those words carried weight between the two of you — too much to just toss around casually.

and now, faced with the unspoken expectation to do something, both of you were stumbling like teenagers on a first date.

sukuna spent the entire morning at work distracted, fidgeting with his pen and snapping at his coworkers more than usual.

am i supposed to plan something? he thought. i was the one who proposed, does that mean it’s my job? the pressure was getting to him.

finally, he decided to keep it simple: your favorite takeout from university, a nostalgic callback to the start of everything.

meanwhile, you spent your day spiraling in a completely different direction. romantic gestures weren’t exactly your specialty, but the thought of doing nothing felt worse.

so, you left work early and dove into something utterly out of character — a full-on romantic dinner, complete with candles, music, and a dish you’d only ever made once before.

by the time the evening rolled around, both of you were a mess. sukuna trudged through the door first, looking disheveled in his wrinkled work clothes, seven plastic bags in hand, each one stuffed with takeout containers. he didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before stepping into the living room.

“yo, i got —” he started, but froze mid-sentence when he saw you.

you were standing by the dining table, decked out in an outfit that screamed special occasion, with your hair done and everything. the table was set like something out of a movie: a full spread of homemade dishes, soft lighting from the candles, and an awkward tension hanging in the air because, honestly, what the hell were the two of you doing?

“...what the fuck,” sukuna finally said, his voice soft with something you couldn’t quite place.

you shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “i figured... i’d try something different.”

he stared at you for a beat, then down at the bags in his hands, then back at you. “you made all this?”

“yeah.” you shifted on your feet. “thought it’d be nice. but uh, if you don’t wanna eat it, we can always —”

“shut up,” he cut you off, a grin breaking across his face. “you’re insane, you know that?”

“takes one to know one,” you shot back, but your cheeks were burning.

he dropped the bags unceremoniously on the counter and crossed the room in a few quick strides. before you could say anything else, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug that was somehow both firm and gentle.

“you’re ridiculous,” he mumbled against your hair. “but you’re my ridiculous.”

you rolled your eyes but melted into his embrace. “yeah, yeah. happy anniversary, jerk.”

he laughed, low and genuine, and for a moment, the awkwardness faded. the food didn’t matter. the plans didn’t matter. just being here, in this little apartment you called home, with him holding you like the world didn’t exist outside these walls — that was enough.

even after three years together, the idea of using the typical, sugary nicknames made you both cringe harder than nails on a chalkboard. no “babe,” no “sweetheart,” no “love.” for some reason, it just didn’t fit.

instead, you’d toss out things like “dude,” “bro,” or, on particularly annoying days, “boy,” just to get under his skin. the way sukuna’s eye would twitch every time you called him that? priceless.

but sukuna wasn’t innocent, either. his repertoire of names for you was a mix of creative insults and borderline threats, delivered with just enough affection to remind you that he didn’t actually mean them.

“woman,” “brat,” “shit for brains” — those were the classics. and when he was in an especially foul mood? let’s just say the creativity really started flowing.

the funniest part? even in public, neither of you switched it up. at restaurants, when a waiter would ask for your order, you’d say, “he’ll have the steak,” and sukuna would fire back with, “she’ll take the fish,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

no “my love” or “my darling.” just “he” and “she,” like a couple of reluctant coworkers at a team lunch.

the one time you tried something different, it didn’t end well.

“what’ll it be, babe?” you’d asked one night, trying to suppress a grin as you glanced at him over the menu.

sukuna lowered his menu just enough to shoot you a look so disgusted you swore you could taste lemons in the air. “what the hell did you just call me?”

“babe,” you repeated, forcing the word out like it physically pained you.

he grimaced, his nose wrinkling. “don’t ever do that again.”

you’d burst out laughing, and from that moment on, the unwritten rule was solidified: no “cute” nicknames. not unless you wanted to ruin the meal for both of you.

and yet, despite all of that, there were moments when the truth slipped through. when you were out with friends, you’d proudly call him “my man,” as if daring anyone to challenge the claim.

and sukuna wasn’t any better — he’d talk about you to his buddies like you were the most important person in the world, casually dropping “my lady” into conversations like it was nothing.

but back home? it was business as usual. “yo, dude,” you’d yell from the kitchen. “did you put the laundry in the dryer?”

“hell nah, woman,” he’d yell back. “do it yourself.”

sure, it wasn’t the most conventional display of affection, but it was yours. no sickly sweet terms of endearment, no over-the-top romantic gestures — just you and sukuna, trading insults and sharing a love that, in its own weird way, felt perfect. would you trade it?

absolutely not.

you and sukuna had never been the type to ooze affection. no heartfelt “good lucks” or mushy “come home soon” texts.

instead, your love language was passive-aggressive threats with just enough bite to keep things interesting.

“don’t fuck it up,” he’d said before your job interview, leaning casually against the counter with a smirk that hid the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than usual.

“look who’s talking,” you shot back, adjusting your jacket in the mirror. “aren’t you the guy who choked on his coffee before his last one?”

“watch it, brat,” he muttered, grabbing his keys, but his lips twitched.

underneath the snark, though, there was always something unspoken. a silent, shared understanding that you were rooting for each other, even if neither of you would ever outright say it. and during that waiting period — the nerve-wracking limbo between interviews and callbacks — the usual jabs quieted.

it wasn’t a truce, exactly, but you both found yourself going easier on each other. sukuna would make sure you had coffee in the mornings, leaving it on the counter without a word. and you’d restock his energy drinks without him asking, slipping them into the fridge while he wasn’t looking.

when the calls finally came, first for you and then for him, the celebration was as understated as your relationship. no grand hugs or squeals of excitement — just a knowing look exchanged from across the room, a rare, genuine smile curving both your lips.

“guess you didn’t screw it up,” he teased as you set your phone down, but his voice was softer than usual, the edges rounded out by pride.

“guess you didn’t either,” you replied, tossing the comment back at him with a grin.

and maybe — just maybe — there was a fleeting kiss in the mix. something quick and almost shy, as if lingering too long might make the moment too heavy.

“don’t think this means you’re off the hook,” he muttered afterward, trying to play it cool, though his hand rested on your waist a beat longer than necessary.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” you quipped, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze.

this was just the start, the first step in what would be your new life together. and even if it wasn’t wrapped up in the typical trappings of romance, it felt right. because with sukuna, love was never about the obvious.

it was in the things left unsaid, the quiet gestures, and the stubborn refusal to admit just how much you cared — though, deep down, you both knew the truth.

you still remembered the first time sukuna kissed you.

it wasn’t some grand romantic setup or a scene out of a cheesy romance flick — it was just… sukuna. blunt, stubborn, and perfectly him.

it was after graduation, a so-called “first date,” though neither of you called it that. he had taken you to the same drive-in you’d always gone to during halloween, the one with the faded screen and popcorn that tasted more like cardboard than butter.

but this time, they weren’t showing the usual campy horror flicks you two loved to make fun of. no, this time it was la la land.

you’d raised an eyebrow when he mentioned it. “really? la la land?”

“what? you’re too good for musicals now?” he shot back, pulling into the lot like he wasn’t questioning himself at all. but you caught the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a bit, like he was bracing for you to laugh at him.

“no, just didn’t know you had a thing for jazz hands,” you teased, grinning when his scowl deepened.

the movie started, but naturally, the two of you barely made it through the first twenty minutes without bickering. the popcorn bag was snatched back and forth between you, each accusing the other of hogging all the caramel-coated pieces.

“you’re eating all the good ones!” you snapped, clutching the bag protectively.

“you’re imagining shit, woman,” sukuna retorted, leaning over to yank it back.

in the heat of the squabble, with your faces inches apart and insults ready to fly, he kissed you. just leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, all sharp and sudden, like he had decided there was no other way to shut you up.

you froze, your brain short-circuiting for half a second, before he pulled away with a smirk that made your blood boil and your heart race all at once.

“what the hell was that?” you demanded, staring at him.

“you were being annoying,” he said, like that was the most logical explanation in the world. but his smug expression faltered just a little when you glared at him, lips parted like you were about to really let him have it.

“you don’t just kiss someone and then pull away like that, you asshole,” you huffed. and before he could reply, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him back, pouring every bit of your irritation — and maybe a little something else — into it.

the second kiss was different. softer, slower, and entirely mutual. neither of you pulled back this time, and when you finally did, both of you were slightly breathless.

“still annoying,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“still an asshole,” you shot back, crossing your arms, though your cheeks burned so hot you were glad for the darkness of the car.

after that, there wasn’t much attention paid to the movie. there was a lot more kissing, though, a lot more bantering between each one. and while neither of you would ever admit it, kissing him made you feel like a stupid, giddy teenager. like you wanted to kick your feet in the air and giggle, even if the thought made you cringe internally.

it was ridiculous, it was messy, and it was entirely the two of you. just the way you liked it.

your relationship with sukuna had always been a clash of opposites.

back in your college days, he was infamous for his revolving door of women — never the same face twice, always someone new on his arm. sukuna, the loud, reckless heartthrob who could charm his way into anyone’s bed.

and then there was you: exclusive, reserved, someone who didn’t let just anyone close enough to even try. while sukuna’s name was tossed around in gossip, yours carried a quiet weight, a mix of intrigue and admiration.

it wasn’t that you were some saint — far from it. you weren’t a stranger to sex, but you didn’t hand it out like candy at a parade. your friends teased you about your “dry spells,” but you’d always brushed it off. you had standards, that was all.

meanwhile, sukuna? standards weren’t exactly his thing, or so it seemed.

so, when the two of you somehow transitioned from bickering frenemies to a full-fledged couple, there was an unspoken tension between your histories. you knew who he was, what he’d done, and he knew exactly how tightly you held your walls up. still, you worked together, two stubborn halves of something that somehow clicked.

until one night, when things heated up unexpectedly.

it started innocent enough — if “innocent” was a word that could ever describe sukuna. a clumsy makeout session in his dimly lit apartment, his hands tangled in your hair, your breath mingling with his as he pressed you against the couch. it wasn’t your first kiss, far from it, but this one was different. there was a weight to it, a hunger neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“you’re terrible at this,” you muttered against his lips, though your shaky breath betrayed you.

“yeah?” he shot back, his voice low, teasing. “seems like you’re still here, so what does that say about you?”

you rolled your eyes, but before you could quip back, he kissed you again, harder this time. his hands moved to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

it escalated quickly, too quickly. his mouth moved to your neck, and you felt the scrape of his teeth against your skin. a shiver ran through you, your hands gripping his shirt to ground yourself. this was sukuna — your sukuna — and yet, this was a side of him you hadn’t faced before.

you froze slightly when his hands wandered lower, testing the waters. for a split second, you weren’t sure what to do.

your mind raced with contradictions: the part of you that wanted to pull him closer, to let yourself get lost in him, and the other part that wanted to smack his hand away and call him out for moving too fast.

“seriously?” you blurted, breaking the kiss and glaring at him. “do you ever not act like a horndog?”

he smirked, cocky as ever, though his hands eased up. “what? you didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”

“maybe because i was too distracted by your terrible kissing technique,” you shot back, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“you’re full of shit,” he said, leaning back with an exaggerated groan. but there was something softer in his gaze, a flicker of hesitation that wasn’t usually there.

“look, if you’re not into it, just say so. i’m not gonna —”

“shut up, sukuna,” you interrupted, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him back down. your lips crashed against his, and this time, there was no hesitation.

it was messy, passionate, a clash of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless. every time you thought you’d had enough, he’d kiss you in a way that made your head spin, and you’d find yourself pulling him closer all over again.

maybe you’d slap him later for being an overconfident ass, but for now? for now, you let yourself get lost in him, in the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world he’d ever want. and, as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t regret a second of it.

sex with sukuna was its own breed of unique — a stark contrast to the wild stories he carried in his history. where you once expected a whirlwind of dominance and filthy words, what you got was something raw and unexpectedly tender, the kind of connection that made your chest ache in the best way. it wasn’t the slow, candlelit romance people wrote songs about, and it wasn’t some grand kink-fueled adventure. it was quiet, comfortable, and somehow, so deeply you two.

sukuna had his reputation, sure. tattoos, a sharp tongue, and an aura that practically screamed i don’t care about your feelings. in his youth, you imagined he’d been the kind of guy who thrived on power plays in the bedroom, leaving women weak-kneed and breathless for all the wrong reasons. hell, he probably relished in it, back in the day.

but that wasn’t what you got.

instead, he was gruff, but not in the way you’d expect. it was the kind of gruffness that came with holding back, with trying to temper himself into someone who could make you feel safe and seen. when he leaned over you, his usual arrogance was softened by something quieter, something he didn’t say out loud but you could feel in the way his hands traced over your skin.

“this okay?” he’d grumble, his voice low, trying to sound nonchalant, but you caught the way his eyes searched your face for any hesitation.

you’d nod, a little too bashful to form words, and he’d pause, eyebrows raising just slightly. “i asked if it was fine, not if you could sit there like a scared rabbit.”

“sukuna,” you’d groan, slapping his shoulder. but your face would heat up anyway, and he’d smirk like the cocky ass he was, though his hands stayed steady, patient.

if you didn’t answer quickly enough, he’d ask again, his actions slowing to a near halt. “hey,” he’d say, leaning down just enough so his lips brushed your ear, “you gonna tell me, or do I have to stop?”

“don’t stop,” you’d finally mutter, voice barely above a whisper, and he’d let out the most obnoxious chuckle, something halfway between pride and amusement.

“thought so,” he’d say smugly, resuming his movements — but gentler than his tone suggested, always so much gentler. it wasn’t about control or ego, though you knew he liked to push you just enough to make you squirm. no, it was about making sure you were there with him every step of the way.

it was new, this side of him that catered to you, the way he’d catch your gaze when he thought you were feeling shy or uncertain. sometimes, you wanted to throttle him for the way he’d tease you, like it was a sport. other times, you wanted to melt into him for the way his hands would guide you, steady and secure, like he had all the time in the world for you and no one else.

but your favorite part? it was always the aftercare.

where sukuna usually thrived on chaos and crudeness, after sex, he was different. softer, quieter, almost dazed. he’d hold you like he was afraid you’d slip away, his arms wrapped around you a little tighter than usual.

“you good?” he’d ask, his voice gruff but quiet.

you’d nod, and he’d huff, pressing his chin to your head. “drink some water,” he’d grumble, even as he was already reaching for the glass on the nightstand.

he wouldn’t joke as much, at least not in the way that made you want to kick him. instead, he’d run his fingers absentmindedly through your hair, muttering about how you’d better not go passing out on him. he’d press lazy, almost featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach without moving too much.

and if you curled closer to him, burying your face in his chest, he wouldn’t say anything. he’d just hold you tighter, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back, grounding both of you in the moment.

sometimes, you’d laugh to yourself, thinking about how this man — this loud, sharp-edged, unapologetically rough man — had turned into a vanilla sap just for you. and other times, you’d bite your lip and blush at the thought that he was yours. completely and utterly yours.

you’d never admit it out loud, but the way he took care of you? the way he toned down all the bravado and just was with you? it made you love him more than words could ever say.

the first real fight wasn’t the playful sparring you and sukuna usually indulged in. it wasn’t the sarcastic quips or half-serious insults that usually left both of you laughing by the end. this time, it was different.

the argument started small, something inconsequential, but quickly spiraled into a storm of raised voices and sharp words. sukuna’s tone was harsh, and your stubbornness was just as sharp. you were used to challenging each other, but this felt heavier, like neither of you was willing to back down.

“you’re not even listening to me!” you snapped, your voice breaking in frustration.

“yeah? and you’re so damn perfect at communicating?” sukuna shot back, his words biting.

the tension was suffocating, the air in your shared apartment thick with unresolved emotions.

and then it happened — he grabbed his jacket, slammed the door, and left.

the sound of the door shutting echoed in your ears, and you froze, your chest tight. sukuna didn’t just leave. not like this.

he left home.

it wasn’t just an apartment. it was the place where you built something together, where you shared quiet mornings and loud, chaotic evenings. it was the place that held laughter, tears, and everything in between.

and now it felt unbearably empty.

you wanted to scream, to throw something, to lash out at the ache in your chest. but you knew that chasing him down with your usual fire would only pour gasoline on the flames. so you swallowed your pride, slipped on your fuzzy slippers, and bolted out the door.

you spotted him a few blocks down, his tall figure unmistakable even under the dim streetlights. his pace was fast, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. he looked pissed, but there was something about the way his shoulders hunched slightly that made your heart clench.

“sukuna!” you called, your voice louder than you intended.

he didn’t stop.

“dammit, will you stop walking for one second?” you yelled again, jogging to catch up to him.

when he finally turned around, his expression was a mixture of anger and surprise. “what the hell are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “it’s late.”

“yeah, and whose fault is that?” you shot back, before taking a deep breath. no, not this time. no more yelling.

“look,” you started, your voice softer now, though your chest was still heaving from the sprint.

“i’m sorry. i mean it. not the sarcastic, biting kind of sorry. a real one. i shouldn’t have — ” you paused, struggling to find the right words. “i shouldn’t have made it about winning. i was wrong.”

sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. the silence stretched, and you felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes.

“...dammit,” he muttered, his shoulders dropping. “i was a dick too.”

you blinked, surprised. sukuna rarely apologized, and when he did, it was never straightforward.

“yeah, you were,” you replied, a small, tentative smile creeping onto your face.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you don’t make this easy, you know that?”

“neither do you,” you shot back, stepping closer.

he sighed, his hands leaving his pockets to pull you into a hug that was as awkward as it was comforting. “you’re lucky i didn’t get too far,” he grumbled into your hair.

“you’re lucky i chased after you,” you countered, though you clung to him just as tightly.

and just like that, the tension broke. it wasn’t perfect — there were still things to talk about, wounds to mend — but in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms on a dimly lit street, you both knew this was home.

sukuna would never say it outright — hell, he’d rather swallow nails than admit it — but he had your back when it came to that time of the month.

he tracked your cycle like a tactical mission, not because he was obsessed with you or anything (his words), but because it was easier to prepare than to deal with the aftermath of being caught off guard.

“what, you think i like listening to you whine about not having your stupid chocolate?” he’d grumble, dumping a bag of your favorite snacks onto the counter with an air of exaggerated suffering. but there was no mistaking the care behind the gesture, no matter how much he tried to play it off.

medicines? stocked. pads and tampons? stocked. heating pads? ready to go. hell, he even had a backup stash of painkillers tucked into his drawer at work in case you ran out at home.

he wasn’t perfect, of course. sukuna had zero patience when you were in one of your mood swings, snapping at him for breathing too loudly or sitting “wrong.” but he’d weather it, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.

“you done yelling at me, or you wanna go another round?” he’d ask, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

but the moment you started crying — whether it was over a sad commercial or pure frustration — his entire demeanor shifted.

“hey, hey, cut that out,” he’d say, pulling you into his chest despite his grumbling. “you’re not allowed to cry over dumb shit while i’m around, alright? i’ll give you something real to cry about.”

when you were touch-starved, he’d let you cling to him, even if it meant sitting through a three-hour movie you’d already watched ten times. when you were touch-repulsed, he’d keep his distance but stay close enough to hand you water or make sure you were comfortable.

and when you were too tired to shower, he’d step in without hesitation, grumbling all the while. “can’t believe i’m doing this,” he’d mutter as he adjusted the water temperature and gently washed your hair. “you owe me a massage or something after this.”

he’d change the bedsheets without complaint, tossing you one of his oversized shirts afterward. “don’t stretch it out, or i’ll kick your ass,” he’d say, but you both knew he didn’t mean it. he even kept a corner of his closet stocked with clothes he didn’t mind you ruining — shirts and sweatpants that were practically yours at this point, though he’d never admit it.

“don’t get used to this,” he’d say, watching as you shuffled into the living room in his clothes, burritoed in a blanket. but the way his gaze softened as you curled up on the couch, finally comfortable, betrayed him.

for all his rough edges, sukuna handled you with a quiet kind of love — grumbling, sarcastic, but steady. he might call it “dealing with your bullshit,” but deep down, you both knew better.

it wasn’t a night you’d easily forget — not because of the celebration itself, but because of what came out of your mouth when you were deep into a rum-induced haze.

the bar was alive with the thrum of music and the clang of glasses, laughter and shouting merging into a chaotic symphony that somehow suited you and sukuna. the two of you had ridden in on bikes, looking like a mismatched pair of rebels — him towering, tatted, and menacing, and you just as fierce but smaller, less overtly intimidating.

"you know," sukuna drawled, leaning against the bar with a lazy grin that had been charming women for years, “if you weren’t already mine, i’d be trying to pick you up right now.”

you rolled your eyes, though your own grin betrayed how much you enjoyed the rare moment of his playful charm. “you’re an idiot,” you shot back, taking another shot and wincing as it burned down your throat.

but then, in the lull between his next teasing remark, you blurted it out. “i love you.”

the words landed like a hammer.

sukuna froze, the smirk slipping from his face. the rowdy atmosphere of the bar seemed to fade into static as he stared at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was trying to gauge whether or not he’d heard you correctly.

"what?" he asked, voice lower than usual, his usual bravado stripped away.

you blinked at him, too tipsy to care about the weight of what you just said. “i love you, stupid. don’t make me say it again.”

and just like that, it was as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. sukuna, the guy who had once been a whirlwind of hookups and no-strings-attached chaos, was sober in an instant. not because he didn’t like what he heard — no, it was the opposite. it was because those words had been lodged somewhere deep inside him, waiting for the right moment to claw their way out, even if he refused to admit it to himself.

he didn’t say anything right away. instead, he paid the tab, his movements oddly methodical, and threw his leather jacket over your shoulders.

“c’mon,” he muttered, voice gruff as he guided you to the door.

“what’s the rush?” you slurred, stumbling slightly as he helped you onto the bike.

“the rush is you’re drunk and saying shit you don’t mean,” he snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

you didn’t protest after that, leaning into him as he drove the two of you home. by the time you reached the apartment, he was practically hauling you inside, grumbling about how you were a lightweight.

as he set you down on the couch and pulled a blanket over you, the words escaped him, unbidden and softer than he’d have liked.

“i love you too, idiot.”

he thought you were out cold, your breathing slow and even. but the faintest smile tugged at your lips, and a quiet mumble escaped you:

“heard that.”

he froze, a flush creeping up his neck. “shut up and go to sleep,” he barked, but the gentleness with which he tucked you in betrayed him.

you didn’t say anything else, and neither did he, but the air between you felt lighter, warmer. it wasn’t perfect or grand, but it was yours — messy, stubborn, and just enough.

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soobnny · 1 day ago

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it takes two — hyunjin x reader ; comfort fic where he helps you shower due to ur inability to after you’d accidentally wounded yourself (1.1k words)

prompt is very specific but i hope u enjoy

You’re starting to get annoyed.

The gash on the palm of your dominant hand has been keeping you idle. You stare at it with bitter eyes, and while hard to admit, there is self-awareness that you’d done this to yourself.

Had you listened to Hyunjin, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place, but no. You just had to think that cooking at midnight would be a good idea.

It’s a hard pill to swallow. Your best friend was right, you shouldn’t have done it, but you do not want to live in a world where Hwang Hyunjin is right. The ringing of his “I told you so’s” is already echoing in your ears, just like they’d done before, and just like they will in the following years.

But, right now, you’re really starting to get annoyed.

It’s your second fruitless attempt at a shower, but no matter how hard you try, the sting on your hand is too painful to bypass.

The bathroom tiles are tauntingly cold against your feet, and there’s frustration squeezing at your sternum and clenching your chest.

You feel like crying.

It’s how Hyunjin finds you half an hour later, still fully clothed, knees pressed to your chest and face twisted in a sob. Forgetfulness is a feat you’d always had (Hyunjin always had to set up reminders on your phone so you’d remember), and you were too upset at not being able to do anything to recall that your best friend was coming over.

“Hey, hey, why are you crying? What’s wrong?” There’s a prominent furrow to his brows as he rushes to sit beside you, voice laced with concern, yet soft enough to not startle you. He knows it’ll only make you cry more.

“I know I should’ve listened to you. I know.” Your voice wavers. “But I just want to shower. I haven’t been able to do anything today because of this stupid wound, and I just… I just want to shower.”

Hyunjin scoots towards you, taking your hand in his. He’s careful not to touch your scar, and your face twitches at the sight. “Have you cleaned it? Does it hurt a lot?”

You nod, bowing your head to press against your knees so you won’t have to look at him. You prepare yourself to be scolded, but it never comes. Instead, he finds a way to pick you up. You’re overwhelmed by his sudden scent.

“What are you doing?” You say through sniffles and quivering teeth.

“Are you okay with your clothes being wet?”

“What?”

He sucks in a breath. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

At his words, you only weep harder. Hyunjin’s never been the type to do anything remotely close to this. Disdain has always dripped down his tongue when his friends would ask him to do anything that involved levels of intimacy, but here he was.

That usual disdain is absent.

“Hey, stop crying.” He whispers, lips fighting a frown at the sight of your droopy nose and your red, puffed out eyes. “Please.”

He carefully sits you in your bathtub, circling around your bathroom so he can collect the things he’d be needing. It doesn’t take a minute before he’s squatting right in front of you. “Is this okay?”

You can only nod.

Hyunjin starts running your bath, making sure your injured hand is out of contact with the water. “Just keep it out here for now, okay? Just so it doesn’t sting. I’ll clean it again after I wash your hair.”

He’s gentle with you as he wets your hair, fingers threading through the strands. He does this for a while until he’s smoothened it out. He knows how much it can hurt when it tangles.

You hear the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then his hands are back on your scalp, massaging the shampoo into your hair. It feels nice—contrasting to the frustration you’d felt earlier. You’ve almost forgotten why you were so upset. You can only feel his fingers through your hair and the comfort that is distinguishably the presence of your best friend.

“Does that feel better?” Hyunjin asks, eyes soft as he looks at you. His fingers don’t stop digging into your scalp, but it seems that everything else in the room stops when he looks at you like this, when there’s nothing else to hear but your heartbeat and the water running.

There’s a twist in your stomach that had been in your chest earlier. You don’t know what it is.

“Better.” You mumble, and there’s a faint smile on his lips when he hears you.

When enough time passes, he uses your dipper to rinse the foam from your hair. It feels vulnerable, sitting in your bathtub while Hyunjin washes your hair. You’ve never done this before, and there is warmth sitting where shame should be.

You never feel embarrassed around him.

Similarly, Hyunjin faces his own dilemma. He didn’t think about it when he made the offer. All he knew was that his own heart felt like breaking when he saw you crying, and he’d do anything to alleviate your pain. It came over instinctively, like it was the right thing to do.

Ah, my feelings are a lot more than I thought, he thinks.

It was inevitable. It had grown little by little. A smile here, a laugh there. He just never thought he would willingly give up his indifference for the touch of someone else so easily. But it was you, and it will always be you. You are the first introduction of what craving feels like. Every small touch from you is electrifying, and Hyunjin feels himself allowing more room for intimacy as long as it was you.

“I’m gonna wash your face now, okay?” Smooth hands cup your cheeks, moving your head from side to side so he can spread the cleanser evenly on your face. He mirrors the way he applies it on himself, fingers moving in circles and rubbing as gently as possible. “Close your eyes.”

He’s a lot closer now, and Hyunjin feels his breath hitch as he rinses the foam from your face.

“This might hurt a little, okay?”

He dips a cloth into some water, taking your hand and letting it rest on his palm before dabbing it on your hand. You wince at the contact, the sting is as sharp as you remember it being, but the contrast in which Hyunjin treats it dulls the pain a little. While his hands are firm, there’s a softness to his touch that you can’t quite explain.

Your pupils blow up when he meets your eyes. “How are you feeling now?” He asks.

You know it’s over, but you want to stay in the water a little longer.

“Thank you.” It’s not the appropriate response, but it says everything it needs to. There is still that unidentifiable feeling at the pit of your stomach.

He can only smile. His brain hates to bear witness to the romance that’s playing in his head.

So, he lets his heart beat instead.

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aerynwrites · 2 days ago

Text

God Forbid

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: had this idea in my head and it wouldn’t leave so here you go lol. Sorry for the later than usual post but hope yall enjoy! Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: attempted SA, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, home invasion, breaking and entering, Simon saves the day as usual lol, gun violence, reader using a gun, soft at the end.

You can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips as you light the candle in front of you, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon hitting your nose once the wick catches and starts to burn. The windows in the living room connected to the kitchen are open, a gentle breeze shifting the gauzy curtains and bringing in the cool autumnal air.

It’s the perfect day.

It’s a Saturday, so you have the day off work. The weather has been wonderful you’ve been listening to your favorite music as you practically glide across the kitchen most of the day baking or moving to tidy up the house. Even now, veggies sit half chopped on the kitchen counter, broth on the stove getting ready to boil and -

Simon’s coming home.

That’s what made it the best day of all.

He had texted you early that morning - long before the sun rose from the horizon. He said he’d be home around dinner time if all went well with flights and such, and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered in your chest or the smile that split your lips.

He’s coming home.

He had been away for six months this time - the longest he’s ever been gone. And while you were able to talk to him more often than usual, it just wasn’t the same as him being here. It never was. But you never complained. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Simon - he had even tried to end things with you early on claiming you “deserve better than a ghost…”

But you’d shut him down and after some tears and reassurances on your part…he’d stayed.

But it wasn’t without conditions.

He tried to keep his work life separate from his one with you. He truly did. But being in the military - being part of the task force he was - it made him paranoid. After a year of trying to shield you from his own worries and fears, he couldn’t do it anymore.

You’d been hesitant when he brought up the fact that he wanted you to learn to defend yourself. You didn’t mind taking the self defense classes he’d signed you up for, even going so far as to accept training from Simon himself. But when he brought up the fact that he wanted you to learn your way around a gun…you’d almost said no.

But the flash of fear in his eyes made you relent. Something had scared him, and nothing scares him. So you’d agreed - silently grateful when he mainly insisted on you just knowing the basic like where they safety is, how to hold it and of course how to fire.

“God forbid you ever have to use one,” he said, voice grim. “But at least now you know how.”

All of it was worth it though.

The joy he brings you when he’s here and the joy you bring him vastly outweigh anything else.

You smile to yourself again as you move back to the cutting board.

God…you can’t wait to see him.

The next while passes by slower than you’d like, the giddiness of his arrival making the arms of the clock seem to move at a snails pace. But as you’re moving to dump the vegetables into the stew, you hear the telltale sign of a the front door knob jingling.

Excitement explodes in your chest and you’re heading for the door before you can blink. It still hasn’t opened, and you let out a small chuckle as you reach the door, imagining Simon fumbling with the keys and muttering curses under his breath. You reach for the door, unlocking it and pulling it open with a laugh.

“I didn’t take you for the nervous type, Si-”

Your words cut off abruptly when you come face to face with a stranger on your door step. Three of them, actually. Tall, muscular, intimidating military types that make a pit open up in your belly. Your fingers tighten on the door, closing it every so slightly as to lessen the opening into your home.

“Oh, uh…can I help you?” You ask, fighting off the dread settling in your stomach.

You can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, but alarm bells go off in your head as the two men in the back glance at one another for just a moment, whispers you’re unable to decipher leaving their lips.

The one in front is the one to respond, words laced with an accent that you immediately identify as Russian.

“You can, actually,” he says casually, one thumb hooked through his belt loops while the other rests casually above the pistol on his hip. “We need to speak to a Simon Riley. Is he here?”

At the mention of Simons name you struggle against the instinct to freeze up. All of Simon’s warnings from the past flooding to the forefront of your mind.

“If someone ever approaches you asking about me, don’t answer them. Ever.” His voice is firm. “They aren’t asking after me in a friendly way, I can promise you that.”

You smile, trying to feign confusion.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” you lie, palms getting clammy. “Maybe you have the wrong house? You might want to try-”

A heavy palm settling against the door cuts you off, the man in front of you looking down at you with an evil grin.

“Come now, little one. Please don’t lie - it just makes things harder.”

Panic shoots through you in an instant, and before the man can react you slam the door closed as hard as possible, flipping the deadbolt in place as you run back through the kitchen to where you left your phone.

Loud curses come from the other side of the door, and just as you reach your phone you hear wood splintering from behind you as they kick the door in. You see Simon’s name lighting up the screen on your phone and you answer as you grab the kitchen knife from the counter and move to sprint towards the back door.

“Simon!” You cry out, bumping into the couch in the living room as you hear thudding footstep behind you.

“You need to get to a gun,” his voice is steady, unnervingly so. He must have seen the men approach on the cameras he has installed around the house. “I’m almost there, love, please-”

You can hear the roar of the engine in his truck in the background as you approach the back door. It’s so close, just within reach, if you can just-

Your fingers barely brush the knob before a thick arm is around your waist and in half a breath you’re airborne. It isn’t long, but the shock of your feet leaving the floor, your phone falling from your hand as well as the knife, it makes the impact against the coffee table that much worse.

Air is forced from your lungs as you tumble roughly over the wooden surface, the table toppling over as you crash to the ground. The vase that was in the middle shatters as it follows you, and in a strange moment of delirium you can’t stop the wave of disappointment hat washes over you as the daisies that were in it scatter across the floor.

It doesn’t last long though, because soon your lungs burn for air that you can’t seem to inhale, your eyes move to see the man that had thrown you as he stoops down to pick up your phone, clicking a button and allowing Simon’s booming voice to crackle though the speakers.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” He spits, vitriol lacing every word. “If you lay a fucking hand on her, I’ll kill you myself-”

The man above you tuts mockingly as he approaches you, and you manage to find the wherewithal to rise up, hands behind you as you try to scoot away from him. You notice the other men pacing lazily around the room, seemingly unconcerned with the helpless woman on the floor.

“Now, now, Simon,” he jeers, “You mustn’t be so violent. I simply came for a chat, that’s all.”

The man’s hungry gaze never leaves you, but you don’t deviate from your path backwards across the living room carpet. The end table at the end of the couch is your goal - more specifically the 9mm pistol in it’s drawer, loaded and ready to fire whenever necessary.

In a moment of sheer bravery you jump to your feet, lunging for the table and its contents. The metal is somewhat familiar in your palm, and you manage to it raised at the intruder and the safety switched off, but before you can do much else a skilled fist knocks the weapon from your grasp and you don’t see where either goes as you’re tackled to the ground by one of the other men.

He’s heavy on top of you, squeezing what little breath you had from your lungs rough fingers tangle in your hair. You barely have time to react before blinding pain erupts from your head as it connects painfully with the floor beneath you - once, twice, three times until the assault stops.

Unfamiliar warmth trickles down your face, pain blooming from your nose and out in a spiderweb of pain as the tears finally come. You can just barely hear Simon’s enraged curses over the phones speaker, the entire world muffled as fear and panic and pain set in full force.

You’re going to die.

The man on top of you moves just enough to flip you over onto your back beneath him, the world spins around you, not stopping when your body does, and you have to fight the urge to vomit. The main assailant laughs cruley from where he stands above you, letting out a low whistle.

“You’ve got one feisty bitch, Simon. I’ll give you that…” he trails off for a moment, completely ignoring the curses being spit at him from the other end of the line.

He nods at the man trapping you, and without hesitation you feel his hands move down to the waistband of your jeans.

“I was honest,” the leader drones on. “We’re not going to kill her,” he appeases. “But you’re going to wish we did.”

You can’t stop the wail that escapes from your throat as he undoes the button of your jeans, your eyes immediately moving to check your surroundings for something - anything - that will save you. you feel the hope slowly drain out of you as you shove uselessly at the man on top of you, until a soft glint of metal shines at you from beneath the couch.

The gun.

In a moment of pure desperation, pure panic - a moment of life or death - the classes that Simon insisted you take, force their way through your panicked mind. In one quick movement you thrust your hips upwards, managing to just ever so slightly throw the man above you off balance just as you bring the heel of your palm up into his jaw with as much force as you can muster.

The impact startles him, you can physically hear and feel his teeth clack together from the force of the blow as he lets out a shout. You use his surprise to buck him off of you just enough to scramble to the right. The metal is cool against your burning skin and you turn just as you feel his hands on you once more.

The crack is deafening and your ears are ringing once more as dead weight settles in top of you. a chorus of shouts ring out around you but you can’t react, the body on top of you effectively trapping you to the floor your only weapon pinned between your chest and his.

You seem to observe the world through a fish bowl, the sounds far away and vision distorted as your mind tries to make sense of the visceral fear coursing through your veins. You hear more shouting, louder this time, and more gunshots and all you can do is close your eyes and cry as you wait for the inevitable.

But as soon as it started, it’s over.

Silence backfills what the ringing in your ears doesn’t, until you hear a faint call of you name.

It’s just your name over and over until the weight that’s on your chest lifts and your eyes fly open in panic until stormy brown eyes capture your own as calloused yet gentle hands pull you up from the floor.

Simon…

More tears flood your vision at the sight of the man you love in front of you, a strong arm wrapping around your waist. You can see his lips moving though the haze, but you can’t understand what he’s saying the ringing in your ears still blocking everything out, your panicked mind still scrabbling for control.

Simon reaches up, snapping his fingers next to your ears a few times until you start to register the noise, and when you flinch, he stops - letting go of you only long enough to shed his jacket and bring the soft fabric up to your face.

“Simon,” you say, his name coming out on a sob.

He shushes you softly, wiping gently at what you realize now, is the blood trickling down your face.

“I’m here love, you’re alright, you’re safe…”

Finally you get your limbs to cooperate, hands reaching out to clutch desperately at his shoulders, balling the fabric of his shirt between your fingers.

“A-are they…can they-”

Simon shakes his head, eyes filled with regret and sorrow. “They can’t hurt you. Not anymore. Made sure of that.”

At the acknowledgment of their demise, you break down even more, but this time out of utter relief.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, moving to shelter yourself in the familiar warmth of his chest, “I - I tried. They asked abo-about you and I tried to stop them but I-” more tears interrupt your words and Simon just holds you tighter.

“You did good, love” he assure you, his own voice breaking. “Goddammit,” he mutters. “I knew this was a bad idea, I knew it - I told you-”

You just clutch him tighter, shaking your head.

“Please don’t,” you shudder, fear gripping you again. “Please don’t leave me.”

He drops the jacket opting to wrap both arms around you, holding you tightly against him.

“Never,” He promises firmly, lips pressing to your temple.

He continues to hold you, rocking side to side gently until your cries quiet and you’re able to take full breaths once more. Only then does he pull away, examining you quickly.

“I called the team when I found out what was happening,” he says quietly, hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. “They’ll be here any minute to deal with…all this.”

You nod, wincing at the jolt of pain it sends through your head, making a frown tug at his lips.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

You nod again, gentler this time, and Simon goes to stand. However, you stop him before he can get up, and he looks down as you wrap your arms around him again.

“I still love you,” you tell him softly, able to read his inner insecurities from a mile away.

He freezes at your words, struggling to accept them before letting his shoulder finally fall.

“I love you too.”

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #edit: for formatting

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livingsurreal · 3 days ago

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More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer

My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post

That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U

Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.

Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.

Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.

Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.

Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it. He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)

He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.

And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.

So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?

According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.

That tells us two things:

They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.

They failed, massively.

Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).

But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.

But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.

That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?

Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.

So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.

I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.

Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.

But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.

Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.

I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.

And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.

For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.

Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.

Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.

To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.

Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.

Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.

After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.

And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.

Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.

First of all – unexpected.

They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.

Second – companion.

That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.

The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.

He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.

Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.

If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.

The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”

And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.

(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)

Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.

Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.

Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”

And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?

“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.

If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.

Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).

A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.

Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.

Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.

Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.

It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.

Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.

Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.

“I can’t… At my…”

“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.

And again, he lashes out.

“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.

“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.

No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.

When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.

Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.

But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.

And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.

All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.

The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.

In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.

They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.

Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“

Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”

Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)

One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.

Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)

Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.

Rook did not know he is an early riser.

That leaves two possibilities:

They never had sex up until that point.

They did have sex, but never spent the night together.

Now what does that mean?

This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.

But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.

They never slept with each other

Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?

Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)

But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.

So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.

Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.

He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)

But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?

2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.

They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.

So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.

Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.

Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.

And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.

And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to get them back? Those walls came crashing down.

His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.

So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.

He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.

A few (way to many) examples:

And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.

Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.

Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.

Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?

In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.

Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.

Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?

That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.

In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.

In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.

Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.

Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.

And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.

Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.

“I love you.”

#emmrich #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #emmrich meta post #meta post #character study #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da #datv #dav

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dollishsz · 21 hours ago

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HOW DIFFERENT BATBOYS APOLOGIZE AFTER A ARGUMENT ── .✦

a/n: Lowkey I feel like I’m like slightest but problematic in arguments (not me exposing myself) but srs I got this request by a anon! (Here) So yeah tysmm, I won’t be writing the argument because lowkey, I can’t do angst at this time 💔😞

(Tags: how different batboys apologize after a argument)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The "I'm Sorry, But…" Apology: Bruce’s apology might be a little stiff at first. He’s not great with words when it comes to his emotions, but he does know how to make up for things. His apology might start with something like, "I know I’m… difficult, but I didn’t mean to hurt you." The real comedy comes in when he tries to "fix" the situation by throwing money at it—like suggesting an extravagant dinner or buying you a new wardrobe because, "I know it will make you feel better."

Trying Too Hard to Be ‘Normal’: He might try to act like he’s “not Bruce Wayne” for a second, attempting to be goofy to show you he’s truly sorry. Picture Bruce awkwardly trying to make a joke: "I’m sorry I made you feel like I was ignoring you. How about we go out… without my bodyguards this time? You know, like a normal date?"

The Silent Apology: More often than not, Bruce will show you he’s sorry with actions, like preparing your favorite meal or doing something thoughtful (such as leaving you a handwritten note or taking care of something you've been stressing about). But if you press him for words, he might simply mutter, “I’m not good at this… but I am sorry,” and leave it at that.

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The Full-On “I’m Sorry, Please Forgive Me” Routine: Dick is extremely sorry whenever he’s messed up, and he knows how to make it entertaining. He’ll show up with flowers, chocolates, or maybe even your favorite ice cream. And then, with a totally sincere but dramatic flair, he’ll say something like, “Listen, I know I was an idiot, and I have no excuse except that I’m clearly emotionally stupid when I’m upset. So please, for the love of all things holy, let me make it up to you.”

Humorous Apologies: Dick might also make you laugh with his over-the-top apologies. Maybe he tries to outdo himself by setting up an elaborate “romantic” date, only for it to completely go awry (think spaghetti noodles flying everywhere or a very unromantic “romantic” location). He’ll laugh it off, saying, “Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly how I imagined it… but you have to admit, it’s unforgettable.”

The Super Dramatic ‘I’m Sorry’ Speech: After an argument, Dick is not shy about admitting when he’s wrong. He’ll deliver a heartfelt, exaggerated apology, something like, "I was a fool, and I see now that I was wrong. You are perfect, and I am definitely not. How do you put up with me?" Then, he might give you puppy-dog eyes, as if expecting you to immediately forgive him.

JASON TODD ── .✦

The “I Know I Messed Up, But… Here’s a Gift” Approach: Jason is quick to apologize, but it’s not usually with a heartfelt speech. Instead, he’ll show up with a gift—maybe something small but thoughtful, like your favorite snack or a new book he knows you’ve been eyeing. He’ll casually hand it to you and say, “Alright, alright, I messed up. But you know I’m not great at this, so here’s my attempt at being a decent human being.”

Comedic Self-Deprecation: Jason, knowing he’s not always the best communicator, might start with a little self-deprecating humor. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I am a jerk sometimes. But hey, at least I didn’t set anything on fire this time, right?" He’ll try to make you laugh with his inability to fully express himself, but you know he means it.

The “I’m Sorry, Now Let’s Get Back to Normal” Routine: Jason might awkwardly try to move past the argument, brushing it off with a gruff, "Look, I��m sorry for being a pain. Can we just… go back to how things were?" It's not the most eloquent apology, but it’s Jason, and it’s his way of saying he wants to make things right without diving too deep into feelings.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The "I Overthought This" Apology: Tim is a perfectionist, so when he messes up, he’ll overthink how to apologize. He’ll probably try to do something really thoughtful, like writing you a letter or planning a whole day dedicated to making it up to you. But the real comedy comes when he gets so wrapped up in planning that he’s awkward about it. "I, uh, made you a list of everything I could do to make it up to you, starting with… well, taking you out for dinner. You like sushi, right? But if you prefer something else, I can also—"

The "What Do You Need?" Routine: Tim might also take a very logical approach. He’ll ask, "What would you like me to do to fix this?" but in a way that makes it seem like he’s creating a spreadsheet of ways to apologize. "I’ve compiled some options for you to choose from. Option one: Dinner. Option two: A walk in the park. Option three: Let me do your laundry for the next week…”

The 'Nervous, Over-Apologetic' Tim: Tim is likely to be the one who apologizes over and over again. He’ll say “I’m sorry” about a dozen times in a single conversation, with increasing levels of anxiety. "I really didn’t mean it that way. I’m so sorry. Are we okay? You don’t seem mad, but if you are, I understand, and I’m really, really sorry."

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

The Reluctant Apology: Damian isn’t one to apologize easily, and when he does, it’s more formal. He might say something like, “I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for.” And then he’ll awkwardly pause, before adding, "I... didn’t mean to upset you." The comedic part comes when he clearly doesn’t understand how he’s hurt you. He might ask, “Is there anything I can do to make it right? Or… was this just another one of your moods?”

The Unintentional "Nice Guy" Apology: Damian will give you something as an apology—perhaps a bouquet of flowers or something that he “found interesting,” but he’ll likely be very stiff about it, saying something like, “This is for you. I thought you would appreciate it. It’s… an apology gift.” He’ll be surprised when you react positively, since he’s convinced that you’ll just think it’s lame

A Small Gesture of Remorse: As an apology, Damian might ask you to join him for a quiet walk or for tea, giving you a rare moment of sincerity. He might even throw in a joke (but it’ll be one of those very dry ones), saying, “The tea will be of the highest quality, so I suppose that should count for something."

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fanbasetwo · 2 days ago

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✦ ZB1 MAKNAE LINE TAKING CARE OF THEIR GIRLFRIEND WHILE SHE'S ON HER PERIODS!

001. PAIRING , zb1 maknae line ! afab reader

002. GENRE , scenario, reaction work

003. WARNING(S) , mentions of blood and cramps obviously, kissing, cuddling, pet names, lmk if more

NOTE FROM SENA , literally on my periods as I write this. basically dedicated to me and my period twin @teaxeee! take care of yourself sweetie 🤍 MASTERLIST!!

SHEN RICKY . . . ✦

“Baby, are you okay?” Ricky's voice rang out once more, tinted with a sense of worry. He had completely lost track of how many times he had checked on you that day, but he just couldn't help it. Not knowing how long you had been in the bathroom was one more reason Ricky was getting even more anxious because you were on your period. When you finally got out, you walked slowly, looking totally pale and sickly. His sharp gaze picked it up at once. “You should have just told me,” he murmured and came up to you in seconds. Without letting you say another word, he swept you off your feet into his arms, once again swooping you with ease. Unable to protest, you buried your head into his chest while the unrelenting beat of his heart soothed your pain. “I've got you,” he whispered in that soft way of his, escorting you to the couch, where comfort and Ricky's caring heart awaited.

KIM GYUVIN . . . ✦

You lay awake in bed, glaring spitefully at your boyfriend, who was snoring softly beside you. Gyuvin was such a picture of peace, blissfully ignorant of your battle with the dreadful cramps. The green-eyed monster made its home in your rib cage. “Hey! Quit snoring,” you whispered, poking him hard. Maybe it was the mood swings, or perhaps it was pure injustice, but if you could not get any sleep, he would not either. Gyuvin stirred before opening his eyes slowly. He did not say anything but shamelessly nestled you closer while curling you in the protective embrace of his arms. For a moment, he let his hands fall on your belly. Circles his fingers with slow and soft movements on your belly “Still hurts?” he managed to say, a little sleepy but shown great care and gentleness. Your growing outrage melted halfway into oblivion as you gazed into his half-open eyes and tousled hair. “Not much now,” you murmured against his touch. He surely was your haven amid all this pain.

PARK GUNWOOK . . . ✦

Gunwook wasn't the type who liked much physical touch, but he had pretty much been nothing but kind to you. That didn't prevent him from being justifiably frightened of your moods during your periods. Today was no different. “What is wrong?” he asked, freaking out because you suddenly broke into tears. His dark sarcasm, one that regularly made you laugh, had surprisingly worked against him. “Did I say something wrong? Baby, please...” he was just racking his brain now to come to terms with what click had gone awry. In the moment, tears bubbling in your throat, you slurred something unintelligible, leaving him even more frazzled. But Gunwook would never give up on you. He scooped you into his arms and began to cover your tear-stained cheeks with desperate but awkward kisses. “Don't cry,” he murmured, sounding much more like his usual self. “I'll stop making jokes, I promise.” It was typecast to make him cringe, but he'd surely do anything else, probably endure your periods, just to get a smile back on your face.

HAN YUJIN . . . ✦

Yujin had always been the shy one in your relationship, and while you were still navigating its early stages, moments of awkwardness were inevitable—like today. Unaware of the red spot that had appeared on your pants, you walked beside him after your date, chatting casually. Yujin suddenly slowed, his cheeks tinged pink as he glanced at you. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, his voice soft but steady. Before you could respond, he was already shrugging off his jacket and draping it gently over your shoulders. It was oversized, enveloping you completely and, unbeknownst to you, discreetly covering the red period spot on your pants. You blinked at him, confused by his sudden action but touched by the gesture. “Thanks…” you mumbled, still unsure what had prompted it. Yujin gave a small, reassuring smile, his hand brushing yours. He didn’t need to say anything; his quiet thoughtfulness spoke volumes.

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comesatimecomesashadow · 22 hours ago

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meteor *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ soft lover! wanderer x shy! gn reader

cw *ೃ༄ wanderer's short temper, mostly fluff

summary *ೃ༄ what wanderer is like when he's in love with a shy person.

note *ೃ༄ i missed writing for my biggest hyperfixation of late 2020 ngl; Sorry if this is short i've been busy all week T^T..

masterlist *ೃ༄

Now, Wanderer (In his past) was not known for his kindness with others. In fact, he was known for being ruthless, imperious and most of all: An insufferable, rage-stricken boss. You didn’t change that, no, you met him after he changed himself. After he realized that no gnosis could fill the void in his ‘heart’ if he did not accept his past himself and learn to be better. Loving you only unlocked parts of himself that he didn’t even know he had. Especially since you contrasted his sometimes brash nature so well. Loving you led to happenstances such as..

ᥫ᭡ i.. Becoming your voice.

Your shyness was something that irritated Wanderer at first. However, after he became close to you — and eventually your lover, he sometimes spoke for you when you felt it was hard to do so. If you want to order something at a restaurant in Sumeru, he was ready to order for you. If you had trouble asking people for things, he’d be asking before you could ask him to do it. In difficult situations, he became your voice.

“They didn’t ask for this, they wanted the Biryani, thank you.” The waitress nodded and carried the mistaken dish back to the kitchen. “Saved by me again.” Wanderer gazed into your eyes with his chin resting on his palm as usual, “Seriously, what would you do without me?”

ᥫ᭡ ii.. Defending you.

There are a lot of people out there who may be understanding of your shyness, but there are many who certainly aren’t. Whether it be a coworker, an irritable merchant or someone from the Akademiya, Wanderer wouldn’t allow them to hold your shyness against you. Wanderer would defend you and nine times out of ten, they end up just leaving after receiving (possible) death threats. Wanderer isn’t afraid to go to those lengths for you.

"You might want to reconsider talking to my partner like that.."

ᥫ᭡ iii.. Helping you.

If your shyness is something you’d like to change, Wanderer wouldn’t have any problems helping you with it. However, his methods are very.. ‘Tough-love’-ish. What do I mean by this? Well..

“How do you expect to change it if you don’t practice overcoming it?”

Wanderer was never the type of person to sugarcoat things. That was one of the many characteristics that didn’t change when he let go of his past. However, this doesn’t mean he’s mean to you or bears you any ill will when you fail at being direct or speaking up for yourself. Instead, he allows you to fail but won’t refrain from telling it like it is.

“You’re going to have to order for yourself this time.”

“What? But-!”

“Part of overcoming it, is practicing it in small instances such as these. You can do it, I believe in you.”

Wanderer has come a long way from his past tyrannical self. But he’s still as direct as ever. Even if you’re a shy person, Wanderer has no problem being in love with you.

#scaramouche #wanderer #wanderer genshin #genshin impact #wanderer x reader #jume fics #wanderer fluff #scaramouche x reader #genshin wanderer #genshin fluff

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videokilled · 2 days ago

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Vox’s face gave a brief twitch of glitching annoyance when he was outright ignored. (Missing the irony.)

But knowing his mood was sliding south fast, he could just use the other bathroom for now. And he was too crabby to pester the other about it anyway. He knew a fight when he smelled it.

The sudden attitude from the other was entirely baffling- they had been cuddling not 5 minutes ago.

Mustering the scraps of self control that he had, he just exhaled and turned away and moved out of the room.

Why did this always seem to happen right as he ordered food. Why did they have such a habit of NOT eating the expensive food he ordered in.

Vox’s stomach growled. Nothing could keep him from this breakfast this time. He was hangry.

He spent the next 20 minutes or so taking a shower in the guest bathroom, then doing all his amounts of self care and morning routine that he could from being not in his tower.

Showering, using his scrub that he loved, screen cleaning, OLED maintenance, buffing out any dings in his claws, and of course trying to pull the one antenna straight- to which it stayed for all of three seconds- before flicking back down to its kinked inward shape.

Pulling on them made his eyes water, and he didn’t like to overthink how that worked.

Regardless, when the door was knocked on to signal the food being dropped off, Vox walked out fully dressed in his usual suit. Also seeming in a million times better of a mood. (Appeasing his powder deficiencies,) And with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

He fiddled with his cufflinks as he went to the door and retrieved the food.

“The food is here.” He called, but if there was no immediate sign of Alastor, he would wander on over like a lost pup till he could set eyes on the other.

Vox say there upright unmoving for several more moments. Then finally seemed to have a conscious thought. He needed his phone to order food.

Feeling around in doomed vain the bed for his phone. He wouldn’t find it, he hadn’t even brought it into the room with him when they fell asleep. Having been pulled from his own darkness.

He stilled slowly after a moment. Tension growing just slightly as if he were holding back a little tantrum. Then he finally just scooted to the side, and pushed himself off the bed to shuffle out of the room. A bit stiff and clumsy. Still not totally conscious. His sleep pants were a bit twisted and rumpled. And his shirt had disappeared in the nice. Something that happened often when he got hot.

He picked up his phone from somewhere in the other room and presumably distressed immediately by the amount of missed calls immediately, a rather thin quiet groan was pulled from him.

Vox did very slowly shuffle back though. Tapping into his phone to call presumably Valentino back.

Then handed the phone to Alastor with the app open to pick what he wanted to eat.

The call still active on the top bar of the phone, but no call audio.

“What.”

“Morning.”

“What did you call me for.”

“That’s what you called me for? You called me 17 times.”

“I’m not going to be there today.” He said with some palpable tension creeping into his voice.

…

“Just do what we spelled out- …Please just do what we spelled out.”

“I said please you masochistic fuck.”

Vox was scrubbing at his closed eyes with his palms, just standing there. The distress in his voice might not have been obvious to most except definitely Valentino and maybe Alastor. It was subtle. But the words he was saying not so much.

“No- I did hear you. I did listen. I don’t care. Valentino.” Vox’s voice snarled abruptly, hands still on his face.

“I’m texting Velvet.”

That must have gotten a reaction from the other party because Vox rolled his eyes and threw his head back, his arms throwing out wide.

“Too late. Bye.”

Vox ended the call and pulled a cigar out of the box near his dresser. The lit end immediately glowing bright orange as he pulled air from it, and started pacing again. Not nearly as panicked as earlier but not relaxed.

“Did you pick?” Vox said to Alastor finally.

#radioiaci #[ crimson nights like these 🎙️𝄡 ]

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anniebeemine · 2 days ago

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lil thanksgiving day blurb<3

When Spencer agreed to join you for Thanksgiving, you were thrilled. It seemed like a great idea—two friends spending the holiday together, enjoying each other’s company. You’d always enjoyed Spencer’s company, his sharp wit and endless stream of fascinating facts. But it wasn’t until the morning of Thanksgiving that the full weight of what you were doing really hit you. This wasn’t just a casual get-together; it was Thanksgiving. A holiday. And suddenly, the whole thing felt a lot more intimate than you had anticipated.

The rest of the BAU had all scattered to spend the day with their families. Hotch had taken Jack to see his grandparents, JJ and Will were attending a big family dinner in Louisiana, and Rossi had some elaborate plans involving an old friend and an even older bottle of wine. Even Garcia, who you might have expected to be at a loose end, had a trip planned to some tropical destination.

That left you and Spencer, the only two without concrete plans. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal when you’d casually asked Spencer what he was doing for the holiday. You had fully expected him to say he was going to Las Vegas to visit his mom, Diana. But when he mentioned that his mom was on a cruise this year, your heart sank a little. You hadn’t considered the possibility that he might be alone.

Trying to keep your tone light, you asked, “So, what are you going to do?”

Spencer had shrugged, his usual nonchalant way of downplaying things that might be bothering him. “I don’t really have any plans,” he said. “I figured I’d just catch up on some reading or maybe organize my bookshelves. Nothing special.”

Your heart clenched at the thought of him spending Thanksgiving alone with a book. You knew how much he loved reading, but the holiday was supposed to be about warmth, connection, and being with people you cared about. Without thinking too much, you blurted out, “Why don’t you join me for Thanksgiving? I mean, it’s nothing fancy, but it’d be nice to have some company.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the offer. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Of course I’m sure,” you replied, smiling to reassure him. “I’d love to have you.”

Panic set in as you realized you hadn’t really prepared for this. The idea of throwing together a simple meal now seemed woefully inadequate. You scrambled to put something together, rushing to the grocery store only to find it completely void of turkeys, which is ridiculous for the morning of the most turkey-centric holiday. It seemed the universe had conspired against your last-minute efforts. So, you grabbed a chicken instead, reasoning that it would have to do.

Back at home, you spent the rest of the morning in a flurry, trying to make everything perfect. You set the table, trying to strike a balance between casual and special, but as you laid out the dishes, the realization dawned on you: you were doing too much. The table looked like you were hosting a formal dinner, not just a simple meal with a friend. You started to feel self-conscious, like maybe you had jumped the gun, turning this into something more than what it was meant to be.

Just as you were second-guessing every decision you’d made, Spencer walked in. You turned to greet him, but the look on his face as he took in the table made your heart sink. You felt like you’d overdone it, pushed things too far too quickly. He looked surprised, maybe even a little overwhelmed, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat. Sweat trickled down the back of your neck, and you could feel your damp hair sticking to your forehead, a testament to the warm kitchen and your frantic efforts. One hand was still encased in an oven mitt, the other clutching your apron, which had absorbed some flour and grease from your earlier cooking. Before he could say anything, you blurted out an apology.

“Sorry, I think I might’ve gone a little overboard,” you said, fidgeting with the napkin in your hand. “I guess I got a bit carried away…”

You could feel your heart racing, and the heat of embarrassment mixed with the warmth of the kitchen made you feel even more flustered. You were worried he’d think you were trying too hard or that you were making a bigger deal out of this than it was supposed to be. The casual vibe you had envisioned seemed to have evaporated into something more formal, and now you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d overstepped.

Spencer blinked, then looked down at the flowers he was holding. He gave you a small, awkward smile. “I was actually worried these might be too much,” he admitted, handing them to you.

You both stood there for a moment, each uncertain of how the other would react, but then you both laughed—soft and relieved. The tension eased, and suddenly, it all felt okay. It wasn’t about overdoing it or trying too hard. It was about the two of you, together, making the best of what could have been a lonely holiday.

“You didn’t overdo it,” he reassured you, his voice warm and sincere. “It’s perfect.”

With a smile, you took the flowers from him, your earlier worries fading away. They were a beautiful mix of colors—deep reds, bright yellows, and a few delicate whites—and they instantly brightened the room. You placed them on the table, feeling a sense of satisfaction as they added a lovely touch to the already charming setting. Maybe it wasn’t the most traditional Thanksgiving, but it was yours, and in that moment, it felt just right.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reidx reader

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cobaltperun · 3 days ago

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Eternal Flame (7) - Natural

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

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Word Count: 10.9k

-Natural, a beating heart of stone, you gotta be so cold, to make it in this world-

Nights were always the most difficult part of the day for you. The all-consuming darkness surrounding you, the way to silence engulfed the world, the way it felt like the time just came to a halt, the way that illusion played with your senses and reminded you of that night. It kept your mind running a hundred miles per hour, spread thin in every direction all at the same time and with your thoughts scattered all over the place.

The vicious circle seemed like it would never end.

And worse than anything, all of this fighting just allowed those feelings to further consume you. The guilt, the remorse, the knowledge that you were hurting everyone who still loved you and that you would hurt them again because you just found it impossible to stop. You couldn’t stop, you didn’t know how to when every time you were reminded of your parents in any way you had that urge to just go and fight.

The survivor’s guilt, your therapist said before you stormed out of her office at seventeen, never to go back there again. Now you could admit she was right, but back then you were a mess. Now you could recognize that you sought out this pain for more than one reason, but that one of those reasons was as simple as you surviving without a single scratch. They were in so much pain and you couldn’t do anything, so some broken part of you figured out this would even things out a bit.

No one proved you wrong.

No one could prove you wrong when no one knew what thoughts ran through your mind at times like these.

The car rides to the fights were always silent, and they gave you a moment to think, something you despised doing before them, and each time these same thoughts plagued your mind. That you failed them, that you let them die, that you should have been with them, that you should have done more.

Davis was silent, as he usually was, his job was simple. Help organize these fights, help bring in people that would pay to watch and bet on the fighters, and most importantly he recruited a good number of the fighters mostly from his gyms. He had no intention of providing you with anything. Not with the reassurance that you weren't doing the wrong thing or the words that might push you away from the fighting.

He didn't care.

You were another one of the fighters bringing in the money, and that’s all he cared about.

The bag on the backseat called out to you but you just leaned your head back and looked outside. You just looked, not really focusing on anything, vacantly staring at the passing buildings, at the people walking by as Davis stopped at the traffic light. Deep down you wondered how you would have felt if your positions were switched. If Hugh or Barbara were the ones fighting or doing something self-destructive, and you knew how you would have felt. You would have done everything in your power to stop them but knowing that didn't stop you from doing this.

You found it funny how often knowing how you would react if someone did something to you didn’t stop you from doing that same thing. And it wasn’t just you, many people were like that. Like your dad who cheated but was then furious when your mom did the same thing to him. Maybe if their marriage ended right then and there they would still be alive. So many what ifs…

Finally, you reached back and grabbed the bag on the backseat. The sound of the zipper being pulled open sounded more like an explosion going off right next to you in your mind, but you ignored it, and pulled out a mask. It was a usual boxing helmet only equipped with a cover for the face to keep your identity hidden and each and every fighter received one. Yours was light grey and you could almost see to hint of your reflection on the material of the face mask glaring back at you and you glanced down at the sharp painted teeth where the mouth was supposed to be.

The mask was the shield. A way to make sure once the fight was over it would stay in the ring. Fighters didn’t know each other by names, only by codenames, Orca, Lone Wolf, Mad Dog, Mammoth. It assured that even if you came across someone you fought against you wouldn’t know it was them. It ensured that, if any fighter wanted to quit, all they had to do was never put the mask on. As the miles passed by you just stopped thinking and when Davis arrived at the building the fights would be held in you put the mask on, everything else was already ready. A binding would hide your breasts, and the baggy clothes would further hide your body. Not a single person would be able to figure out that you weren't a man, and with how you fought you figured they wouldn't even question it.

“Your fight is the second one, get ready,” Davis told you as you unbuckled the seat belt and opened the doors. “And just so you know, Orca is going to retire tonight, if you want to stay and watch.”

You nodded, not replying in any way as you went to the locker room to put the gloves and the boots on.

You would stay back to watch. Though that wasn’t really a habit you had. Still, Orca was fighting his last fight, and you’d stay for that. Orca was the only current fighter that was part of these fights before you joined, and from what he’s told you, he’s been fighting here for thirteen years now. It was telling how quickly people gave up on fighting here, finding this to be too painful to be worth the money. Right now, Orca was the oldest member at thirteen years, followed by you with four years, and then Mammoth with a bit over a year, other fighters barely lasted half a year.

Why did he keep fighting for so long? You never asked, you never would. That’s how this all worked.

~X~

There were days when work was nothing but hell, and whoever figured out a night shift was a necessary part of the economy, was the enemy to all of humankind and especially an enemy to her. Barbara just got back from working in a pet store her parents owned. Seriously? Her own parents had her working a night shift. To build character, she supposed, or so they told her, frankly her character was already built, there was no changing it.

Oh well, at least the animals were adorable.

Was she whining when she had a fairly chill life? Yeah, she was.

Somewhere along the line she figured whining about little things helped her release the stress she had. If someone seriously asked her, then no, she wouldn’t be complaining, but she was complaining either to you or when she was just by herself, and in her mind, there was no harm in that.

At least she could reach your apartment fairly quick from her workplace and then she could bother you and annoy you and get you to make her a very late dinner that she would eat so eagerly it would look like she was having her last meal. That thought brought a smile to her face.

And like usual she just barged into your apartment. No knocking, no announcing herself, well, at least she didn’t slam them open, she just opened the doors and close them behind her, because her name was Barbara not barbaric. “Babe, I'm home!” she announced only to be met with an empty apartment, and the sinking feeling that something was seriously wrong found its home in her heart.

“Y/N!” She called out your name, but there was no answer. She dared to believe you would come back any moment now, that you left to go for a walk or a late night run or went to get some last minute shopping done. She pulled out her phone to call you but just as she was about to do it she saw your phone on the table and she knew.

“God, please, not again,” she crumbled onto the sofa and covered her eyes as tears began falling down her cheeks. The only time you ever left your place without your phone was when you were going to the fights.

Perhaps for the very first time she felt what you were probably feeling. She’s been on her own in your apartment before, but each and every time there was an explanation for it. You were filming, you were out buying groceries, you were working at the gym. You would come back safe and sound and that was all she needed to know. All those times your apartment felt warm and welcoming, because she knew everything was fine. Yet, here she was, for the first time feeling just how cold and lifeless it really was. Barren, just functional, lacking pretty much any personal detail, there weren't even the photos of you and your family hanging on the walls. There was nothing. It was freezing cold, and you must have felt that cold deep within you, all the way down to your bones, in every single moment you were all alone, knowing no one would come any time soon.

Barbara never knew that feeling, she lived with her parents, and if she was tired of living there she could come here and be with you, and if you weren’t available she could go and visit one of her siblings. She was never on her own.

You were.

All those moments when there was no one with you in any way, no one to text or talk to, or be with, all of that loneliness and isolation, despite everything she was doing as your friend, you must have felt like you are slowly going insane. That must have been how you felt because this place all of a sudden just felt suffocating, because deep down she knew that right now, right in this very moment, you were in a fight. Barbara didn't know why you kept fighting, though her mind went in hundreds of different directions, each one worse than the previous, and the fact that she didn't know why you were still fighting haunted her. It haunted her because as much as you loved her and as much as she loved you, you didn't feel free enough to just tell her why you couldn't stop.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she apologized though no one could hear her.

~X~

The release.

That's what this was.

The release and pure madness.

You let the fist slam into your side, knocking the air from your lungs and you knew you’d be feeling that punch for days. And yet behind the mask you smirked, countering with a punch just as ferocious, aimed right at the opponents liver and he coughed, gasping for air as he took a few steps back and hunched forward. The fight has been going on for over ten minutes now, and he was reaching his limits, his legs were shaking as you went forward and hit him with a simple one-two combo, your punches landing on his chest as he tried to put his guard up. Just as he raised his hands you went and landed an uppercut on his guts, making him drop to his knees.

The crowd around you cheered and you knew the practice in this ring. You weren’t supposed to stop, you were supposed to keep hitting him while he was down, to do as much damage and end the fight, giving all these people the violence they came to see. In the worst case scenario you should have just gotten him in a hold and made him give up, but you did neither of those things. You backed away, keeping the fight going, giving him the chance to either give up on his own or keep fighting. Any smart fighter would have ended it right there, you didn’t though.

You wouldn’t attack while someone was down, and it wasn’t just some honor keeping you from doing that. You wanted the fight to last, you wanted to get as exhausted as you possibly could, and if that meant more pain and potentially being defeated, then that was fine by you as well.

This was a sickness, a disease infiltrating every part of your life and you almost relished in it. He got up, and you couldn’t see his eyes, you couldn’t gauge his will to keep fighting. The same went for him, but you guessed an image of a fighter just standing there, guard down, after knocking you down to the ground must have been intimidating, as he took a step back.

As sick as it was this was what you needed. The guilt before the fight and the guilt you would feel after the fight didn’t matter right now. In this moment you felt none of that guilt. The pain you felt was no longer something abstract, it had the source you could point at, it had the cause, it was physical and no longer driven and caused by emotions. You were in control, you knew exactly how much you could take, and you could stop it at any moment.

You were in control.

You knew exactly what you were doing. Every time the pain became too much to handle, when the weight of loss and all the emotions surrounding that tragedy became too much, the only thing you could do to temporarily fix it was to trade that pain for this one. All you could hope for was that this pain would numb every other pain.

And it worked. Damn it all, it worked every single time, without fail.

So, why stop when it works?

You dodged a flurry of punches, almost dancing around your opponent, your hits never losing power and landing at precise spots. He wouldn’t last much longer.

It was working this time as well. The pain was numbed, and that heavy feeling was pushed to the back of your mind, at least for a bit. Once more you traded blows with the masked man in front of you. You would feel guilty over this the moment the fight ended. You would feel the immense guilt over their deaths, you would feel like the worst piece of shit you could possibly ever be. You would feel like you are betraying everything, all the memories of your parents you still had, all the people who loved you and yourself. You will feel all of that and yet, sooner rather than later, you will still come back to do all of this all over again.

The next blow you evaded and instead just slammed your fist into your opponent’s guts or sink him down on his knees and then he said it, the one word that would end the battle.

“Stop,” he gasped, invoking one of the two ways the battle could end in these events. One was what he just did, saying stop. The other was losing consciousness. You turned around, away from him, and raised your fist toward the cheering crowd, once more you have given them a fairly good show.

“Mad Dog wins again!” the referee yelled the moment the fight was over, the cheers and booing of the crowd faded away, much like you expected it would, and guilt took you over.

~X~

The pain made your every step difficult as you dragged your body up the stairs. The fight took its toll on you, and you knew you'd be in pain for several days at the very least. At least it was late, already two in the morning, so you didn't have to worry about your neighbors hearing you.

You pulled your key out of your pocket and pushed it into the keyhole, only to realize the doors were unlocked. "Barbara," you whispered, cursing your luck. This was the last thing she needed, seeing you like this. You've always done your best to keep her away for the first couple of days, and this time you failed. You failed miserably.

You came in as quietly as you possibly could and luckily saw her sleeping on the sofa. Curled up, clearly too tired of waiting, and even in the dim light you could see her cheeks were still wet.

Crying.

You made your best friend cry.

'Fucking asshole,' you cursed yourself. This was your fault. This was the effect of your actions. You pulled a blanket over her, thankful that she didn't wake up, and then you went to turn the heat up, Barbara always hated cold.

You looked at her, silently apologizing. You wished you could tell her this wouldn't happen again, but you had no idea how to stop. You tried, fuck you tried so hard, several times, both for her and Hugh, but you never skipped more than one fight unless you weren’t in Denver in the first place.

You went to the bathroom to tend to the bruises, but the physical pain seemed dull compared to how you felt right now. The water washed away the sweat and blood off your body, and yet you still felt dirty, you still felt unworthy of Barbara's tears. How many people did you lose over these fights?

As you leaned back against the wall and the water washed your body your mind was struck by memories. The sound of tires screeching, horn blaring and the glass shattering. And the screams, the shouting, the painful cries still haunting you. The sight of it all, the truck that drove through a restaurant, glass and wood everywhere, and blood on the bumper. You closed your eyes, but the image remained, only to be replaced by the one haunting you even more, your parents comatose, with no hopes of surviving, of waking up and yet you tried. You tried and tried, yet all the money in the world wouldn't help you, but you kept trying and it didn't matter, you still had to pull the plug. You had to let them go.

You lost them and still stuck in the past you were now losing everyone else.

You bit back a groan of pain as you applied a cooling balm to your bruises and then put clean clothes on. You just stood there in the bathroom slightly hunched over in front of the mirror and you saw your reflection. You face was clean from any injury, yet your body was exhausted and despite the clothes you could point exactly where the bruises were forming. The doors opened and you glanced to your left to see Barbara standing there, you thought she would just criticize you, give you a well-deserved scolding, yet she just flung her arms around you and pulled you in for a hug.

“You're such an asshole,” she was crying once more and you couldn't agree more, you really were an asshole.

“I know, I'm sorry,” you whispered hugging her back, because despite the hug, despite everything you still felt cold. You still felt something was missing.

~X~

Rain drizzled from the sky, giving the neighborhood a beautiful, yet somber, look as Barbara walked through the streets. While she liked rain, she always hated cold. She grew up in a big family as the youngest child pampered by everyone, after all she was ten years younger than her older brother, the second youngest child in the family. When Barbara thought of her childhood, she thought of the protection her older siblings gave her, or the love of her parents, or how she always got all the attention she wanted. For her that was the normal childhood experience. Having a loving family and friends she could always play with. Having a warm home to come to every single day.

So, Barbara despised cold, she hated feeling lonely, she didn't want to ever be alone, and she had enough of letting you feel that way. Clearly you weren't going to stop on your own, so she stood there, her umbrella hanging from her hand, closed as the rain fell on her, dampening her blonde hair. “Come on, you can do this,” she whispered to herself, hyping herself up as she walked through the front door of the gym.

“We’re closed, come back later,” the man that said that was easy to recognize, this was the guy that pulled you into all of this mess, he was the one responsible for your fighting. This was Davis.

“I need to talk to you,” she still approached him, a bit unsteady on her feet, but doing her best to appear calm and confident.

He looked up from his table and seemed to study her for a moment before taking his glasses off. “Listen lady, we are closed. Come back when we open.”

His tone was intimidating, and Barbara could tell that he was strong, and it scared her nearly enough to back away and come back later, but she couldn't do it. “I know you organize underground fights,” that absolutely got his attention, and he stood up, walking around the table as Barbara stood there, swallowing hard because she wasn't sure what would happen next.

“Do you, now?” he seemed intrigued for a moment as he tossed the glasses onto the table without care if they would break or not. “And what do you want? What's it to you?”

He was seeing through her, she knew that, he could tell she was frightened. “Let my friend quit,” because surely, he had something keeping you coming back. You kept coming back again and again even after you no longer needed that money, four thousand for a win wasn’t worth the pain, and she honestly feared that there was some kind of blackmail going on.

“Let your friend quit? I don't know what you think lady, but I'm not forcing anyone into anything and I don't know which friend you're talking about,” he stopped right in front of her and looked down into her eyes she wasn't sure how she didn't step back from him.

“Y/N,” Barbara looked up, glaring at him as she spoke your name, and his eyes widened. Good, so he knew just from your first name who she was talking about. “How do you keep her coming back? If she owes you anything give me some time and I'll pay it back, just stop making her fight,” she demanded, ready to do anything as long as it would help you stop fighting.

Yet Davis just laughed, making her step back in surprise. This was the last reaction she expected. “This is rich!” he clutched his stomach, hunching over because of how hard he was laughing. “No one is making her come to those fights she does it herself.”

“That's not true,” Barbara shook her head. That couldn't be true, that wasn't what you were doing. Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you intentionally go and do something that would only end up with you being hurt and you hurting other people if there wasn't some debt or blackmail involved?

He looked more amused than anything as he went and sat back down on his table at his table, and he pointed toward the chair in front of it. “Go ahead and sit,” he offered and reluctantly Barbara did sit down. “I can tell you don't really trust me so I won't offer any drinks,” it was that obvious, wasn't it? He must have noticed her panic and fear right from the start. Sometime she forgot how bad she was at hiding those.

“I can't trust you,” she shook her head, still in denial. “You must be lying, Y/N wouldn't-“ she tried to reason with herself more than anything.

“Well, she does. Look I don't ask questions, I just recruit fighters. You need to ask your friend why she keeps coming back. I have never borrowed her money, I don't hold a debt over her head, I have nothing to blackmail her with,” he sounded like he was just stating facts, like it was nothing to him that the people he recruited to fight all went back home bruised and hurting. “Hell, if anyone could blackmail anyone, it would be her because I am the one letting a woman fight all of those guys. And damn, she does it amazingly well!” he laughed. He actually laughed, as if he found it funny. “She keeps kicking their asses! Either way, the truth is she keeps coming back on her own.”

It didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. Why would you do this? That question kept repeating itself in her mind.

“Can you forbid her from coming? Do something? She keeps coming back home all bruised up and I can't watch it anymore? Please, if it’s money you want I’ll pay as much as you want,” she pleaded hoping to bring out some sympathy in him make him reconsider what all of this meant. How it affected you and everyone around you. And if sympathy wouldn’t work, money surely would, right?

Davis studied her and for a moment Barbara thought that she could reach some agreement with him. “Look,” but that one word change, the impression entirely, because no one started the sentence with ‘look’ and ended it the way she wanted it to end. “I could be the asshole and ask for your money, promise to try and actually forbid her from coming to fights I organize,” maybe this time things would be different, maybe the sentence would end in her favor. “It wouldn’t accomplish anything, she knows how this works. If she tried, she could find this kind of club anywhere in the world. I can tell her not to come back here and she'll just find another place,” all of her hopes vanished in an instant. “I can tell you this much, she isn't doing this for the money. She's fighting for the sake of fighting and why she does that I don't know, I don’t care, but if you're looking for a villain in this story it's whatever made her fight in the first place. Not me, and not her, your friend,” he paused and looked her dead in the eyes. “Something broke inside of her and she keeps coming back like she deserves all of the pain she gets in that ring.”

His words echoed in Barbara’s mind as he stood up and began picking up his things. “You can sit there for a few minutes and then you should leave. I'm closing this place soon.”

And he left her like that, not even giving her a moment to collect her thoughts on everything he said and respond.

What was there to say? He didn't know the story, but she did, he just gave her the exact words she needed. Something broke inside of you and she knew exactly what and exactly when. She just couldn't repair it, and she doubted that anyone could.

~X~

You lay on your bed with all the lights off, with no sounds or light anywhere around you, your windows closed, the door locked. It was like you just isolated the entire apartment from the rest of the world, not even the sound of rain penetrated through the thick walls. You just lay there, unconscious of the time passing as your body ached.

All you could think of were Barbara’s tears as she pleaded for you to stop fighting. How long would it be until she gives up on you as well. Until her family talks her into cutting contact. The moment they found out you fought they turned away from you, fearing you would drag Barbara into something much worse, that you would get violent with their daughter around. You would never let something like that happen, you fought, sure, but you would never resort to violence outside of an arranged fight unless you had to in order to keep someone safe. Yet, you didn’t blame them, Barbara was their daughter, it was natural for them to worry.

Your phone rang and you reluctantly pulled it out of your pocket and despite everything a smile reached your face when you saw it was Jenna.

“Lottery ticket validation, how may I help you?” you joked as you answered the phone and immediately you were rewarded by a soft sound of Jenna laughing.

“Oh my God, I finally reached you! You see, I had this ticket from like a month ago and I was wondering if you could check if it was still valid?” and she played right into the joke without skipping a beat.

“A month you say? Well, ma'am it really isn't our policy to validate tickets that are that out of date, but you sound like a beautiful woman, so sure. Give me your numbers and I'll see what I can do,” you were talking nonsense, but it felt so good to hear her voice.

“I sound like a beautiful woman? I sound like a kid!” she did sound a bit younger than she was, but whatever.

“Because you are a kid,” you chuckled. “Who else would play along with this joke?” your could tell she missed this too, even though you talked nearly every day. Still you haven't talked in three days so maybe she did have time to start missing this.

“Right,” you just knew she was rolling her eyes. “You're coming tomorrow, right?” she got to the point, and you could hear the excitement in her tone, but your smile fell from your lips. You wanted so desperately to see her, to hug her and spend time with her but the bruises from last night were still painful and you doubted it would get better by tomorrow.

But you would push through the pain because seeing her was more important than pretty much anything right now. Besides, you had the promise to keep, and you would be damned if you broke it. “Of course, Jen. I'll be there at around ten in the morning,” you told her, and you could imagine the grin on her face

“Great! I'll let you sleep now, rest well because I have plenty of things planned for tomorrow!” Jenna told you and you were tempted to ask her how well she slept. She was right though, you had to rest, so you would have to leave that for tomorrow.

“Sleep well, Jen,” you told her. “I'll see you tomorrow,” and with the simple ‘bye’ she hung up and you managed to pull yourself out of the stupor you were in just enough to turn the lights on and start getting ready for bed.

~X~

Jenna put her phone down on the night stand next to her bed, the smile on her face capable of illuminating the entire room.

“Someone looks happy,” Aliyah's teasing voice came from the bed above her, and Jenna rolled her eyes. “That was your crush wasn't it? That girl you worked with on Scream?” Jenna hated how right Aliyah was, but she wouldn't admit it. This satisfied tone of Aliyah’s voice was already a torture on its own and her younger sister did not need a confidence boost in that way.

“It was Y/N, but she is not my crush,” She wasn’t in denial, she really, well technically, wasn't lying. You really weren't her crush, you were more than a crush, she was pretty much in love and occasionally daydreaming about reuniting with you. She missed you, she missed eating breakfast with you, missed having you around at all times, missed snuggling up to you during the night as the two of you shared her bed. Her family was never going to find that part out, no matter what happened between the two of you.

“Really?” Aliyah leaned over her bed and smirked down at Jenna. “So how come you invited her over? You didn't do it with Maddie or with your other co-stars, I don't think you ever brought anyone from work here,” she pointed out that's one little annoying fact.

It really was true, she never brought anyone from work home, aside from her agent and Enrique, and some other people when they spent a while on her team, but her co-stars were never invited directly to her home. Sure her parents and some of her siblings would sometimes meet the people she filmed with, especially in her Disney days, but other than that this was definitely a first. She could still feel the blood rushing to her face making her blush so damn hard when she finally plucked up the courage to tell her parents you were coming over. In fact, the first one she told that was Enrique, and he teased the hell out of her, much like Aliyah was doing right now.

“She's just, I don't know, I feel deeper connection with her,” she tried to justify it, to explain why you were different without actually saying the words and admitting that she did in fact like you as more than a friend.

Aliyah studied her for a brief moment and for that brief period of time Jenna foolishly believed she would be left alone, that she could just turn around and try to fall asleep even though she was still very much struggling with her insomnia. It's gotten a lot worse since the two of you parted ways and she knew she would lay there awake for at least a few more hours. “You know you are going to confuse the hell out of that girl, don't you?” Aliyah suddenly said and Jenna nearly missed it.

“I'm sorry, what?” she didn't get what her sister was implying with that. She really wasn't aware of how she could possibly confuse you.

“Your book, dumbass,” and then it clicked, every single time she spoke of being in love with someone she didn't even leave it ambiguous, she wrote it as being in love with a guy, being with a guy. Back then that was actually more or less true, while she was writing her book she was still figuring everything out.

Granted, a lot of the final figuring shit out came with acknowledging how you made her feel, how much she wanted to be close to you and kiss you and feel your touch.

“Shit,” Jenna cursed under her breath. Aliyah laughed and only then did Jenna realize what she just implied.

“See? You like her!” there was nothing she could do to convince Aliyah she didn't. Deep down she thought that maybe she shouldn't, because it suddenly felt wrong to deny just how strong her feelings for you were.

“Fine, but you're wrong,” Jenna felt the blush engulfing her entire face as Aliyah raised an eyebrow, confused by the admission and what was in her mind probably a denial at the same time. “I don't have a crush on her, I actually think I’m in love,” she admitted and the grin on Aliyah’s face told her the confession was worth it. Her younger sister was completely fine with this.

Aliyah remained silent for a couple of minutes and Jenna thought she fell asleep, and then she went and said it. “Tell me if you need the room for yourself, okay?”

“Aliyah!” Jenna threw her pillow at the bottom of Aliyah’s bed, only for her sister to laugh and if she wasn’t already warm and comfortable Jenna would have seriously considered climbing up to Aliyah’s bed and smacking her. She did not need those thoughts making it even harder to fall asleep.

~X~

Several states away you actually dropped your phone on the floor. The pain in your body being almost too much to bear as you scrambled to open the bottle of painkillers. You downed two pills at once and swallowed them without even a drop of water before dropping the barely closed battle of pills next to you on the bed. You had to see Jenna tomorrow and yet you were still in so much pain, still so bruised and exhausted.

Jenna couldn't know. She couldn't notice anything, you wouldn't let her. If there was one thing you would absolutely make sure happened, it would be Jenna being spared from all of this. From your trauma, from your unhealthy habits, the fights and everything that came along with them, including the bruises and the pain. She was too gentle for all of this.

And you did not deserve it, yet you craved that gentleness and love radiating from her, and every time the guilt almost wrecked you for that need you just told yourself that you would stay far enough. That you would keep that distance and wouldn't cross the line and get involved with her more than you already were.

Come hell or high water Jenna would never know two things, that you were involved in the fights and how you felt about her.

~X~

It was relatively early when you came to Coachella Valley. You still felt some pain from the fight but you could hide it fairly well. No one could tell you were in pain by looking at how you walked or moved, as long as you didn’t do any physically demanding things, you would be fine. Jenna was perceptive though, so you wouldn't put it past her to figure out something was wrong. Luckily she was also about as far from pushy as one could get so while she might get suspicious she wouldn't push you into telling her what actually happened.

You managed to find a coffee shop Jenna told you about. And quite easily actually, you just walked up to a local and asked for directions and here you were. If everything was right, and you followed the directions correctly, you would just turn the corner and see the coffee shop. And you just stopped right there on the street. You would see Jenna very soon, maybe immediately after turning the corner.

There was a nasty voice inside of your head saying this wasn't fair to her, that if she knew what you did, she wouldn't want to have anything to do with you. That you were letting her put time and effort into a friendship that could very easily fall apart and turn into dust the moment the truth came out.

Yet you selfishly wished to see her, you wished to hold her and if it would be the very last time then so be it. You desperately clung to her, to this new bond you created with her, and you desperately hoped it wouldn't fade away. While simultaneously promising to yourself that if she at any point decided, for any reason, to cut contact with you that you would not blame her for one single second. With that in mind you turned the corner ready to face her.

The plan for today was simple, you and Jenna would meet up, hang out, maybe go for a walk so she could show you the place she grew up in, and then you’d go with her to her parents’ house for lunch. And depending on how things went and how much time you had left you would watch Logan with her.

You saw her waiting near the entrance, wearing a nice blue sweater and jeans, her hair was a bit wavy and of course she had her headphones around her neck. “Jen!” you called out to her and her face immediately lit up when she saw you. That same voice that was telling you you did not deserve this kind of reaction from her was getting more quiet by the second, silenced by how good it felt to see her once more. She met you in the middle of the street and immediately jumped into your arms, hugging you tightly and it felt so good to hold her again, even if your muscles protested when you lifted her up for a moment. You lowered her back to the ground and felt her tightening her hold on you as she got on her toes and kissed your cheek and that voice was silenced completely, at least for now.

You made wrong life choices, but you still deserved something good, right? Surely you haven't fallen that far down that you didn't deserve to be happy for one day without feeling guilty.

“It’s so good to see you, again,” she muttered, neither of you in a rush to end the hug just yet.

“You can say that again,” your voice came out in a shaky whisper, betraying your anxiety, but it could be written off as you just being overcome with happiness at seeing her again. Eventually though you had to let her go, you did have to keep in mind that someone might recognize Jenna if you stayed on the street for too long and so the two of you separated.

“Come on,” she still took your hand as you walked into the coffee shop and ordered your drinks.

Jenna picked out a secluded corner of the coffee shop so the two of you could talk in peace. You pulled a chair out for Jenna and bowed a bit, motioning toward it with a goofy grin on your face. Jenna rolled her eyes, used to some of your antics. She still sat down and let you push her chair closer to the table before sitting down. “How do you like Coachella so far?” she asked as she leaned forward a bit, her focus was solely on you, and you felt the intensity of her gaze.

“Verdict to be decided, but so far so good,” you told her as you damn near mirrored her posture, you definitely leaned closer to her.

“I’ll have to show you all the good places,” she made it clear that this wouldn’t be the only time she expected to have you visit her. And you were willing to bet she wanted you to spend more than half a day with her as well. Maybe book a hotel room and stay a few days, that would probably work.

Maybe you could actually do that. “I’ll be counting on you. So, any new projects?” you knew she couldn’t talk much about them, just clarify if she would be busy.

For some reason she was blushing and maybe it was due to the project she would do in the near future. “Yes, actually. I have a movie in New Zealand next year, probably around February, and some voice acting as well,” she didn’t say much, she couldn’t, but she did give you a bit of a timeline. Enough to know where she would be. “You?”

“Well, there is that psychological thriller in Italy. That's confirmed and if everything goes as planned that should be in January,” Jenna hummed when you said that, clearly supportive of the idea. You were much more relaxed about things you talked about. You certainly knew when to shut up, but this was Jenna, and you trusted her. Well, regardless of that, there really wasn’t anything about the plot revealed in what you said.

“I can’t wait to see you in that role,” she told you, genuinely happy for you. “It’s based on a book, right? Who is the author?”

“Donato Carrisi, wrote a bunch of books, including The House of Voices that the movie will be based on, though very loosely,” you told her and abruptly stopped talking as you noticed the girl working in the coffee shop bringing you your drinks.

You and Jenna thanked the girl, and you quickly paid before Jenna could even get the chance.

“Come on,” she rolled her eyes as she put away her wallet. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Some other time,” you winked at her and chuckled when she immediately looked down, she was so fun and easy to tease at times like these.

She cleared her throat. “Is there anything else you are looking into?”

You hesitated for a moment, but then figured, what the hell. “Hugh wants to do a movie together, and this script is kind of hitting close to home. I think that's intentional on his part, I auditioned for it, but we’ll see how it goes,” you might have said too much, not about the movie or the role, but about how close to home it hit

And, of course, Jenna picked up on it. “Close to home how?” she asked, she could see the slight hesitation and it probably worried her.

“Just,” you paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Mirrors my own relationship with Hugh quite a bit,” yeah, that will do. It wasn't a lie, it really did mirror that particular bond you had. “It's kind of complicated,” and then your eyes widened because it didn't sound right, in fact it sounded really wrong. “It's not like that!” you quickly sat up straight and raised your hand before Jenna could overthink things.

She looked startled by your sudden reaction, but she just tilted her head to the side, silently urging you to explain yourself.

Fuck, you should have paid more attention to what you were saying. “Look, whatever you're thinking, it's not a bad thing. It's just personal,” she relaxed at that and you could feel yourself calming down as well. “Hugh was there for me during a tough period of my life, and he's still a huge support for me, and the movie kind of has that kind of similar relationship between our characters. It just feels personal,” you tried to explain to the best of your ability without actually talking about what happened.

You just weren’t ready for that conversation, and this wasn’t the place for it either.

You could see a relief washing over Jenna when you said that and she sank back into her seat, as if all of the tension within her just fading away with those words. “OK, I was getting worried there for a second,” Jenna chuckled a bit, but you could tell it was still an uneasy chuckle, so you stood up and went to hug her from behind.

She immediately relaxed into the hug, and you found yourself cursing the chair for putting a barrier between you. “I'm OK, Jen, I'm fine,” you assured her, resting your chin on her shoulder and she turned slightly to look you in the eyes.

“Yeah?” she whispered, and you nodded not trusting your voice to say the words she wanted to hear.

Jenna hugged you back one of her hands reaching up around your neck while the other she placed on top of your hand. Neither of you noticed a phone pointed towards the two of you before you separated, and you went back to your seat.

“So, tell me about this place?” you suggested, and it got Jenna talking. Before you knew it, you were walking all around the place, seeing all the best spots as Jenna led you anywhere she thought you’d like. Which of course eventually led you to a park similar to the one you ended up hanging out in when you first met up to get to know each other better.

“Now this is kinda nostalgic,” you laughed as the two of you sat on a bench, and just looked at the sky. Well this time it wasn't the night sky and you couldn't see the stars, but the cloudy sky above you was fairly nice to look at as well. It looked a bit depressing, but at least it wasn’t raining.

“Yeah, I remember how much my mom panicked when I spent so much time with you the first time around,” Jenna blurted out and blushed as she remembered that night.

You just hummed and leaned your head back. “That actually sounds nice, embarrassing, but nice,” you said earning the light elbow to your side which nearly made you hunch over because she hit the bruise right in the center. You somehow managed to hide your pain by making the wince sound like fake. You were an actress, after all.

“Yeah sure, that hurt so much! Do you see any muscles on my arms?” Jenna teased and actually went and flexed her biceps, and well, she wasn’t joking.

The two of you laughed and then Jenna just leaned her head on your shoulder. “I really-“ she began but your phone suddenly rang and she paused waiting for you to pick it up.

You didn’t really feel like picking up, you were content like this. “It's fine, what were you about to say?” you encouraged her to keep talking, but she just pointed at your pocket silently telling you to pick up your phone. “Fine, fine,” you pulled your phone out and saw it was Barbara calling you.

You didn’t notice Jenna frowning a bit when she saw Barbara’s name on the screen.

“Yes? What is it?” you faked being annoyed though the smile on your face gave you away.

“Asshole says what?” oh, she was playing that game. You guessed you could humor her this once. You actually deserved it for everything.

“What?” you rolled your eyes.

Barbara’s laugh sounded hollow, and you made a mental note to talk to her and see what was wrong. “Ah, just forget about that. Where are you?” she asked and for a moment that guilt came back. Since the fight Barbara's been extra worried about you, even more so than usual, and you knew she probably just forgot that you were meeting up with Jenna today.

“I'm with Jenna in Coachella,” you told her and moved your phone away from your ear before pointing at the speaker and raising an eyebrow. Jenna nodded, giving you the permission to put Barbara on the speaker.

“She's with me, I'm Jenna, by the way,” Jenna confirmed, and you both heard a sigh of relief from the other side. And then you heard Barbara snickering. She was worried about you, which didn’t mean she could not tease you.

“Well now, that's-“ you knew where this was going and you had to stop it. You would not survive Barbara’s teasing right now.

“I am busy! Talk to you later! Bye! Do not call me again, I'll call you back!” you hastily hung up before she could reply, and Jenna just stared at you in utter disbelief. “Remember what Enrique did to you when we last met?” she nodded, blushing at the memory of all the times you and Enrique made her blush. “Barbara is much, much worse, trust me this was for the best,” the amount of teasing Barbara could dish out when she wanted was horrifying.

Jenna looked a bit disappointed. “I actually wanted to see that, it would be fun to see you flustered,” yeah, you figured that would be fair after all the teasing she endured. She’d likely get to see it, eventually, but not today. “Barbara is your best friend, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, she is actually kind of like a sister to me. Barbara's family is a bit smaller than yours, but all of her siblings are a decade or more older than her, so she spent most of her time playing with me and not them,” you explained, thinking back to your childhood. It was almost a perfect match, you being an only child and Barbara’s siblings being that much older.

“And she's the one that was in your apartment when you came back from filming Scream?” Jenna asked a bit cautiously and you weren't sure why. The audio message was fairly clear. At least you believed it was.

“Yeah, she is that menace. The trespasser,” you replied, snickering as you remembered just how many times Barbara barged into your place. “I swear they were meant to name her barbaric, but someone mixed up the letters,” you noticed Jenna mood dropping and turned to see a frown on her face. You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “What's wrong?” you asked gently.

“It's nothing, forget about it,” she dismissed it and even took it a step further and forced a smile. It didn’t suit her. In your mind Jenna should never have to force a smile.

“Please, let me fix what I did,” you leaned in closer and placed your hand on hers. “I said or did something to upset you.”

Jenna looked down and just pulled out her phone and the messages with you, and she scrolled up for a while which only made you more worried, until she reached the familiar photo you sent her and the audio message. Surprisingly she hit play.

“And this is the nuisance I found at home. Can you believe my luck? I wouldn't be surprised if she actually spent the two months at my apartment because that's just the way she is,” you cringed at the sound of your voice but then you looked at the message and saw it still had a long way to go until the end and your jaw dropped.

“Lies! All lies! Y/N loves having me around,” Barbara's voice came next, and that wasn’t how things were supposed to be! You could have sword you sent the message right after you finished talking. But there was no denying it, the message continued.

“You do know having someone around also means being there with them, and not in another state while you crash as their apartment, right?” and that wasn't the end yet and you cursed yourself for not paying attention back when you sent it. Still nothing either of you said was something worth getting worried about, especially for Jenna

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say babe,” oh… There it was.

“Fuck my life. God, that actually- this is the worst,” you buried your face in your hands and groaned out of frustration. “That's just a stupid inside joke. It doesn't mean anything, I swear it's just a stupid habit we picked up because I hated being called like that, and Barbara was being an annoying shit, and then it turned into an inside joke,” you tried to explain, fumbling slightly and overexplaining yourself, while at the same time missing Jenna smiling even brighter with every word of explanation you were giving her. And then it hit you.

Why were you explain yourself like Jenna was your girlfriend?

“You know we are just friends, right? You don't need to explain yourself to me,” Jenna pointed out and you desperately wanted the ground to open up underneath you and swallow you because that was right. You and Jenna were just friends!

And that meant…

You sat up straight an looked at her in disbelief, and she just burst out laughing. She got you good, the actress. “Unbelievable,” you shook your head, now more amused than anything that you fell for Jenna’s trick.

“Still, your best friend is beautiful, maybe I should get you to give me her number or something,” she did not just ask that of you.

And you did not suddenly feel jealous. Not in the slightest.

“Tough luck Ortega, Barbara is so straight you could use her as a spirit level,” you spoke dryly sending Jenna into another burst of laughter. “In fact, she is so straight she is like a black hole of straightness. She sucks straightness out of other people and becomes even straighter. It's a known fact and her constant struggle in love life stems from that. One day, when you meet her, she will confirm this story, there were so many examples of this,” it was funny the first several times, now it was just sad.

“Oh my God, you are such a goofball,” Jenna slapped your knee, and she looked at you, gasping for air as tears filled her eye from how hard she’s been laughing. “I really missed you,” she said and you pulled her in for an one-armed hug.

“I missed you too, more than you can imagine,” you told her.

~X~

One of the most nerve-wracking things about being a parent of a celebrity was just how many different people that child would meet and interact with. Sure, some of them were great and amazing, lovable people, but Natalie also got to know plenty of people who were the exact opposite. She was well-aware of just how many people weren’t actually on Jenna’s side, or even neutral. And she knew there was no way she knew everything, she knew Jenna was hiding things. From something as difficult to hide as her struggles with insomnia, to who knows what. Natalie didn’t dare to imagine. Jenna had grown to be very careful about who she let in, and this has never happened before. She has never invited a co-star to her home to meet all of them.

And now it was even raining. It wasn't that bad, but she knew Jenna didn't bring an umbrella along, so she just hoped the two of you stopped by somewhere and decided to wait it out.

So, understandably, she was nervous, fidgeting with the sleeves of her blouse. She met you briefly back when you and Jenna had the chemistry test and you seemed like a good kid, and from what Jenna told her, you were incredibly supportive throughout the filming of Scream.

“Jenna will be fine mom, you should have seen her this morning. She was panicking and going through her closet like crazy,” Aliyah, assured her but those words only brought even more worry to Natalie’s mind.

It was clear by now that Jenna didn't see you as a friend. That what her daughter felt were romantic feelings, and that scared her even more. Her baby had just turned eighteen mere months ago. And she knew how some people still were, she was worried that relationship with a woman would cause problems for Jenna.

And then a sound she didn't expect to hear echoed through the house. Jenna and someone else, clearly you, laughing. The laughter was unrestrained and free from the usual forced sounds Jenna made. Natalie got up, exchanging surprised glance with her husband just as Jenna and you walked into the living room with Jenna holding your hand as both of you still laughed. You were only wearing T-shirt, which wasn’t appropriate for this time of the year. A simple, plain dark green T-shirt that was now wet from the rain wouldn’t be enough to shield you from the cold, but one glance at Jenna explained everything. Jenna had a black and red jacket on, and it definitely wasn't her jacket. It was too big for Jenna, easily engulfing her smaller frame, so it was clearly your jacket.

“OK, that was unexpected,” you laughed and then as if being out of the rain bursts some bubble the two of you were in, you completely froze and looked around like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh, hi,” you greeted them kind of awkwardly and Jenna lightly elbowed you on the side. “Right, sorry that was awkward,” you apologized, smiling at them. “It's nice meeting you all, I'm Y/N L/N,” you greeted them properly this time and it finally made her family get over the initial surprise and the first impression of you.

“I'm just going to drag her to my room and let her borrow one of dad's shirt,” Jenna grinned and took your hand, pulling you up the stairs before any of them could react properly.

“Jenna likes her,” Markus commented, and Aliyah snorted at that.

“You guys have no idea,” her youngest daughter said and the worst part about it was that Natalie believed her. After all, she was the one sharing bedroom with Jenna when Jenna came home, so if anyone would know, it would be Aliyah.

~X~

Jenna pulled you along to her bedroom, well her childhood bedroom to be precise, not realizing the disaster that was about to happen. All the excitement and emotions she was feeling right now made her forget the mess she left behind when she left this morning, so she opened the doors and froze, causing you to bump slightly into her. The room was a mess, it looked like a tornado went through it, her bed was covered by different articles of clothing different shirts and tops and skirts and jeans and everything else and her chair wasn't doing any better. The pile on top of it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Her entire closet was messily arranged all over every surface she could have used.

You could not be allowed to see this, but then she realized you were right behind her and curse you, you were much taller than her. So, there was no going back right now, she hung her head in shame and pulled you in. “It's not like this all the time, I swear. I was just nervous this morning,” she tried to save face and she was telling the truth! Just last night the room was perfectly clean, but this amount of mess really wasn’t making her look good. “Fuck, what are you going to think about me now?” she buried her face in her hands in frustration and shame and then felt your hands around her waist pulling her back into you.

“You're good, it's kind of endearing actually,” you whispered in her ear. “Just breathe,” she barely even recognized the early signs of a panic attack though this definitely would have caused one. Yet you caught on to them immediately and she felt herself calming down bit by bit. “I'm flattered,” you admitted as she leaned her head back on your shoulder. She’s been missing this ever since you both went home. This feeling when you were close to her, holding her, she took a deep breath, calming down.

“I swear, you are too calm sometimes,” she put her hands over your hands and leaned back, looking up so she could look you in the eyes. There it was, that gentle, loving look, and she could almost see herself getting up to her toes and kissing you. She restrained that urge and reluctantly pulled away from you to take off the jacket you gave her, you really were a lifesaver, as this sweater would be a pain in the ass to dry. She cleared out some space on her chair and hung the jacket over it. You insisted on giving her your jacket even though it probably would have been more fair if she was the one who had to change clothes now. As it was, she was perfectly dry since your jacket had the hood on it and you were wet from the rain. “You need anything else aside from shirt?” Jenna asked and you looked yourself over.

“No, it's all good just a shirt and then I'll go and dry my hair if you don't mind,” your hair wasn't all that wet it was mostly just damp from the rain so there was some luck. At least you wouldn’t get sick and she wouldn’t have to kick herself for not paying more attention to the weather forecast last night.

“Right, I could have just taken you to the bathroom right away, but no you had to see this mess,” she lamented and went to her parents room to grab her dad's shirt and a towel for you.

“Hush you, I just made the worst first impression in the history of first impressions,” she could tell you believed that, but you actually did the opposite. Their first impression of you was her laughing, their first impression of you was you in a T-shirt with Jenna wearing your jacket. That wasn't a bad first impression, that was anything but that in one simple moment you proved to her family that Jenna could be comfortable with you, and that you put her needs above your own. So what if you went and greeted them a bit awkwardly?

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. They are going to love you,” she told you as she handed you the shirt and the towel and pointed at the bathroom “Now I’ll go and clean up my room a bit and you can bring the shirt to my room,” she had a mischievous smile on her face as she poked you. “And I'm keeping it, just so you know. Both the shirt and the jacket, so you have an excuse to come over again,” she winked at you, and you just shook your head.

“Like I need an excuse to come and visit you,” the smile on your face told her everything and before her emotions could get the better of her and she acted on certain urges she occasionally had throughout the day, she pushed you into the bathroom and rushed back to her room to start folding all of the clothes she left lying around.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part

A/N: Guess who did some brief research and found out that underground street fight clubs aren’t always illegal? 🤣🤣 That’s right! Me! Anyway, to be perfectly honest, I planned on posting two chapters at once tonight, but then I figured that was ridiculous, so here, a slightly longer chapter for you all. (Chapter 8 was supposed to be Jenna and Reader hanging out, so original chapter 7 would have felt a lot angstier without that half)

#jenna ortega x female reader #jenna ortega x reader #x reader #x female reader

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