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reincrimination · 3 months ago

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race against the clock

criminal minds | aaron hotchner x reader

content warnings: canon-typical violence, guns, death (unsub), panic attack, kidnapping, mild injury.

collection: whumptober 2024, day 1: race against the clock/search party/panic attack.

“Drop the weapon!” Morgan yelled. Hotch looked at Morgan, and then to where Morgan was looking. The rest of the police force did the same, and suddenly, twenty guns were all drawn on him- the man who had you. He had a gun, too, but he wasn’t aiming it. He held it in his left hand, which Hotch- and you- had known was his dominant one, by the characteristics of the stab wounds that he had left on his victims. Stab wounds that he might’ve- Hotch’s breath hitches- left on you. “Where is she?” Hotch yells. Another agent had been talking, maybe Morgan, but he didn’t give a shit right now. “What have you done with her?”

Aaron Hotchner knows how to keep his cool. Probably better than anyone on the team. In fact, he was the one to remind everyone to do just that before they breached the doors on this unsub’s decrepit cabin.

The woods were dark and eerie, as they always are on these types of days. It was some hour past midnight, Hotch couldn’t recall- all the numbers had started to blur together. The only time he had in his head was twelve hours, twelve hours since you’d gone missing. Taken right out of the parking lot of the precinct.

At least there hadn’t been much question about who had taken you. Finding the unsub’s cabin had been easy once Garcia had been given a name. Hotch only hoped recovering you would be that easy, and that you’d be unharmed.

“FBI! Open the door!” a man fully decked out in black SWAT gear and significantly more firepower than Hotch yelled, pounding on the front door.

The slats of the porch creaked under their feet, the paint flaking off the railings and the door-frame. The light shining through the smudged windows was the only clue this place was even inhabited.

There wasn’t even a car in the driveway.

The battering ram took the rotting door clear off of its hinges. The SWAT team fans out inside, searching room after room. Hotch hears them yelling “clear” as they proceed through the house. He waited with baited breath. If it were up to him he’d have been inside with them, but they knew this guy had lots of firepower at his disposal, so it was SWAT’s job to clear the house. Which, they had. Finding no one inside. Not even you.

Hotch felt the small balloon of hope inside him pop; the wind had been knocked out of him without so much as a physical punch. The SWAT team filed back out of the house. There was no unsub, and there was no sign of you.

A loud bang pierced the quiet night air.

The entire assembly of police and FBI agents all whirled around, guns drawn without a second thought. No one knew where to point them, though. The dark forest pressed in on all four sides of the cabin, the dirt road driveway even consumed by darkness after a few hundred feet.

“Drop the weapon!” Morgan yelled. Hotch looked at Morgan, and then to where Morgan was looking. The rest of the police force did the same, and suddenly, twenty guns were all drawn on him- the man who had you. He was half-hidden by the shadows cast by the tall pine trees, the moonlight unable to illuminate anything this far down from the forest canopy.

He had a gun, too, but he wasn’t aiming it. He held it in his left hand, which Hotch- and you- had known was his dominant one, by the characteristics of the stab wounds that he had left on his victims.

Stab wounds that he might’ve- Hotch’s breath hitches- left on you.

“Where is she?” Hotch yells. Another agent had been talking, maybe Morgan, but he didn’t give a shit right then. “What have you done with her?”

The unsub smirked, his grubby little brows furrowing, beady eyes narrowing, as he stared at Hotch.

“Answer me!” Hotch screamed. His voice broke on the last word.

“Take it easy, man,” Morgan said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let the others talk to him. Take a breath.”

Taking a breath seemed like an objectively good idea, but Hotch found, he could not. His chest felt tight, like a rope was being pulled taut around him. His vision had begun to swim, the only thing he was focused in on was that disgusting, abhorrent man who had- who had-.

“Hotch,” Morgan repeated. He holstered his gun and took Hotch’s from him. “Come here. Don’t let him see you like this. That’s what he wants.”

“I need…” Hotch gasped. His hands were tingling, his fingers cramping. He tried to make fists with his hands as he followed Morgan back and around the back of an SUV, hidden from the unsub’s line of sight, but his hands weren’t cooperating. “I need to get her back, Morgan.”

What was happening to him? He had never felt like this before. He wouldn’t even be able to fire a gun like this, not with his hands cramping. How was he supposed to do anything?

“Is- are they talking to him?” Hotch peeked around the side of the SUV. He saw Spencer, his hands out placatingly, trying to talk to the unsub. He trusted Spencer, he trusted all of his team, but he needed to be out there. What if the unsub said something that they all missed. That only Hotch could put together. What if he said that he had killed you? Stabbed you, like all the others, or worse? “I need to- Morgan, give me my gun.”

“Hotch, relax,” Morgan tapped his shoulders again, trying to draw his attention back. “Focus on me. Breathe, slowly. You’re hyperventilating. You’re panicking, man. You’re no help to her like this.”

“Morgan, she’s not just- fuck- she’s not just an agent, she’s- we’re-,” Hotch stammered.

“I know, Hotch. We all know. And we’re going to find her.”

Hotch felt his hands relaxing, his chest loosening, his composure returning, like clouds parting after a storm. Leaving a clear sky. He needed to focus on finding you, and he couldn’t do that if he was panicking. He held his breath and counted to seven and then exhaled and did it again, until his hands were steady and his vision was clear.

“I told you,” Hotch heard the unsub groan to Spencer, “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Hotch. To Aaron.”

Morgan handed him his gun back and they left the shelter of the SUV. The unsub was still talking with Spencer, but had clearly noticed Hotch’s absence. The unsub’s gaze had flicked to track Hotch as he strode to the front of the crescent of officers. He kept his gun at his side- enough officers had their guns trained on the unsub anyways- in an attempt to be non-threatening.

“I’m Aaron,” Hotch said. He stepped forward, closer to the unsub. Hotch scanned his clothes, hands, arms, boots, everything, for any trace of blood, or dirt, or any clue as to where you were hidden. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I think you know what I want to talk about,” the unsub huffed a laugh. “You were all she wanted to talk about.”

Wanted? In the past tense?

Hotch felt the panic rising again. He took a deep breath. He could do this, he could stay focused for you. He had to, if he ever wanted to see you- alive, or otherwise, again. He had to pretend this was no different than any other case, that you were just another victim. That was the only way for him to avoid panicking- something he had never known he needed to avoid doing, before. Before you. Before he cared about someone as much as he cared about you, before you were put in danger.

“What else did you talk about?” Hotch asked. He needed information, any small hint at where the man had hidden you.

“Plenty.” The unsub shifted his weight from foot to foot, his left hand flexed around the hilt of his handgun. “We talked about how I couldn’t wait to shoot you. How that would be more painful to her than any physical would I could inflict. She begged me not to. Have you ever heard her beg before?”

The unsub began to raise his left arm up, gun in hand, but before it passed his waistline, a hail of bullets rained down on him. His body hit the ground before Hotch could even blink.

“NO!” Hotch shouted. He holstered his own gun, and kicked the unsub’s gun away from his side. He sank to his knees, suit pants sinking into the damp mud and pine needles. Hotch knotted his fists in the man’s shirt, and shook him, hard. “Where is she?”

“Hotch,” Emily murmured, somehow kneeling beside him now.

“Hotch, he’s gone.”

“Tell me where she is, you bastard!” Hotch’s voice had begun to go raw from screaming. He shook him one more time. Then he noticed: the dark, round hole in the center of his forehead.

Hotch released his grip on the unsub’s body and stumbled to his feet.

His knees were wet from the mud, and maybe from the blood that had undoubtedly already pooled out around the body from the various gunshot wounds.

Now we have nothing, he thought, pushing past the crowd of officers. He glanced at the empty driveway. Not even a car.

Not even a car.

Hotch whipped around.

“Follow the tire tracks!” he ordered, breaking into a run. “He has to have used the car to move her. Wherever it is, she is.”

He pulled out his flashlight and shone it on the dirt driveway. The earth was wet and covered in pine needles, making it difficult to analyze what he found. Two divots on each side of the path denoted the place the tires must’ve usually rested when the car was parked. They extended down the path through the forest, down a few miles to the main road. There wasn’t much room between the trees for the car to have pulled off, but he must’ve found somewhere, because if he had taken you to the main road, the officers at the roadblocks there would have seen him.

Hotch broke into a run, shining his flashlight ahead of him, looking for the slightest disturbance in the forest floor. He heard footsteps and clamor behind him as the rest of the cops and his agents spread out into a search party. He knew they could get scent dogs out in a few hours, but your scent would be hard to track, if not impossible, especially if he was right and the unsub had moved you using a car. Searching on foot was Hotch’s only hope to find you soon.

He had said that they had talked about shooting him- how it would be more painful for you than anything he could possibly have done to her.

Implying that you had to have been alive when the unsub shot Hotch- or had tried to.

The relief and hope that flooded Hotch at that realization almost distracted him enough to miss what he had finally found- a tire track, veering off between two trees that the car had probably barely fit between. Hotch shone the beam of the flashlight on the trunks and noticed the bark had been scraped off, and chips of white paint were left in the gouges. You had to be somewhere close, if the unsub had walked on foot from where he had hidden you.

Hotch began yelling your name, and then, all the other officers started, too. They moved forward like in a grid search, looking behind every tree, kicking through the leaf cover for anything left behind. “I found the car!” Morgan yelled. Then, the words that Hotch had been waiting to hear for the last twelve- now more like thirteen- hours: “I got her! She’s alive!”

Hotch ran towards the sound. The officers had already clustered around a small wooden structure, a hunting blind. A few meters behind it was the unsub’s parked car. The area quickly became illuminated in bright white lights as all the cops present shone their flashlights on you.

Hotch watched as Morgan began to help you up. Your hands were zip-tied tightly behind your back; Hotch could see dried blood around your wrists where they had cut into your skin. A pair of zip ties hung off of your ankles- Morgan must have just cut them off. He used his pocket knife to slash the ones holding your wrists together, too. Your hair was disheveled and full of leaves and debris, like you had been dragged along the floor, and a huge gash and bump to your right temple, like you’d been pistol whipped, glowed in the bright light of the flashlights.

“Where is he?” you sobbed, clinging onto Morgan’s arms as he helped you out of the blind. “Is he dead?”

“He’s dead, sweetheart,” Morgan tried to soothe you and pull you in for a hug, but you pushed him away, more strongly than you should’ve been able to after being tied up for so long.

“No!” you wailed. “How could you let this happen?”

Confusion flashed on Morgan’s face, and through Hotch’s mind.

Then, he realized. The unsub had known that he would die when he faced the police, but he knew that his final act would be to psychologically torture you, leaving you to wonder if one of the gunshots you had heard had been him shooting Hotch, like he had promised you he’d do as his final act.

Morgan had misunderstood your question. He had just told you that Hotch was dead.

Hotch finally closed the distance between the two of you. He grabbed your shoulders and spun you around to face him. A broken sob wrenched its way out of your throat, tear tracks already cutting through the layer of dirt and dried blood on your face.

“Aaron,” you croaked. “Oh, thank God.”

“I’m here,” Aaron murmured beside your ear, so softly no one else could hear. It was just you and him now, in your own world. The secrecy of your relationship be damned, he would deal with the consequences later. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

You broke down sobbing into his arms, all the fight flooding out of you as soon as you realized that Hotch was alive. The dehydration, the hunger, the fear, and the pain in your head all rushed back in. Hotch’s arms tightened around you, the only thing holding you up anymore. His face was smushed into your dirty hair, the blood on your wrists was staining his shirt and tie, but neither of you noticed, nor would you have cared if you had.

“I knew you- I knew you’d find me,” you gasped, fisting his shirt in your trembling fingers. You stared up at him, into his beautiful glossy brown eyes, committing every inch of his face to memory. You had thought you’d never see him again, never hear his voice again, never feel his touch again. “When I heard the shots, I thought- oh, my God- I thought you were-.”

“Shh,” Aaron soothed. He wrapped a hand around the back of your head, near the base of your skull, and guided your face into the crook of his neck. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, a wet, raw sound. “I know.”

“I thought he…” you mumbled into his neck, the words dying on your parched lips, or before that, in your sore throat. “Aaron.”

“I’ve got you, honey,” he murmured back, cradling your head so softly in his big hands. “You’re safe now.”

#whumptober 2024 #no.1 #race against the clock #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #bau team #ssa aaron hotchner

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iriswritesforyou · 4 months ago

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His Mona Lisa

Warning - small violence, prejudice against mutants, and maybe some other things? IDK

Word count - 1,889

Description: Reader is a human art teacher at the school. You and Logan had both been giving each other eyes for a while now but things heat up during a field trip.

Charles Xaiver had asked you, a human, to teach at his school for mutants, as an art teacher. You were reluctant at first, not because you were scared of mutants but because you felt as if you had nothing to offer them. Your only gift rested in your ability to paint and draw, to bring the images in your mind to life, and to help the youth do the same.

It was rocky at first, the kids were hesitant to warm up to you and you were hesitant to discipline them but that all changed one day when you introduced them to what you liked to call ‘splat balloon painting’. You had set up a canvas for each kid with balloons filled with paint next to them outside, encouraging them to throw them at the canvases. The kids loved it so much and getting paint all over you was definitely worth watching them smile and laugh. The true solidarity came when one of the kids' powers acted up and you got freezing cold acrylic paint all over you. The kid expected you to be angry like most humans would but you werent, to their surprise you just laughed it off and assured the kid you were fine.

After that day your class was one of the favorites among the students, even the kids who had hated art in previous years found themselves enjoying your class.

And then there was Logan, the combat instructor teacher who plagued your thoughts and little did you know you plagued him as well. It all started when one of your kids came to class all battered up and looking worse for wear claiming it was from Logan’s combat class. You didn't know much about Logan and you didn't know much about his class but you did know that your students shouldnt be showing up to class looking like they just got beat up in an alleyway.

So you marched down into the lower levels of the school determined to scold Logan like a parent would a child.

He was quite surprised to see a young human woman dressed in paint covered overall hanging off one of her shoulders, paint brushes stuck in her hair, and mismatched jewelry stomping up to him.

He had heard about you of course, there was a stir when you joined the campus, people whispered about you with some saying you didn’t belong and others thinking your presence would be good for future relations between humans and mutants, he didn't particularly care. This was the first time he had seen you through and you certainly left your mark on him huffing and puffing about how the kids shouldnt be showing up to class battered and bruised.

If Logan was being honest, despite what most people thought his reaction would be, he wasn't annoyed or angry, in fact he found it a little endearing how you cared for the kids, but he pushed that down and explained to you how it wasn't his intentions but the kids have to learn somehow.

A couple months had passed since then and you and Logan were cordial to each other, you smiled at each other in passing but nothing more than that but the rest of the teachers and even students could see how both of your eyes always found each other in a room.

Things started to heat up when you scheduled a field trip for the students to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Logan was going with you to help you watch the kids.

Logan knew he should have been paying more attention to the kids but he couldn't help but keep his eyes on you, the way you smiled when you explained the exhibits or how you lit up when they would ask questions. And you couldn't help but notice his watchful gaze, mostly on you and it unnerved you. Why was he staring? Was there something wrong with the way you were dressed? Something on your face?

“Alright I want everybody to find a partner and split up, the sheet of paper I handed you all lays out the entire place and all of the attractions. Please, remember to meet up back here in an hour.” You told the kids as Logan came up beside you and you smiled at him gently “And you and I will be walking around keeping an eye on them.” he didn't say anything but nodded.

You both had wandered over to the Museum history panel and read the date 1870, was Logan born just after that?

“Can I ask you something personal?” He didn't even have to think about it before answering “Yes.”.

“It says this place was founded in 1870.” your voice dropped into a whisper “weren't you born around then?” He snapped his face towards you while you stayed looking away. He wondered how you knew that you and him hadn't had a conversation in months.

“How did you know that?” You now turned to face him completely, faces close and heart racing, he could hear it. Your eyes were locked onto each other and he couldn't help but study how the light danced in them and skin became flushed under the cool lighting, he thought he was making you scared and took a step back. He wouldn't admit it but he didn't want to take a step back. He wanted to take a step closer.

“I’ve been - asking around, about you. I'm sorry, I should have asked you but-.” Unspoken words held in the air.

It was your guilty pleasure to find out more about Logan, the more you knew the more you had answers and you couldn't ask him, he was, well, him.

“You could have just asked me.” He said. You thought he would be mad, furious even but instead he looked hurt. “You're right Logan, and I’m sorry. If I’m being honest you intimidate me a little.”

He raised one of his brows at you, he knew he had that effect on people but he didn't want it on you. “Well, you don't have to be. I don't want you to be.” His gruff voice made you stay locked onto him.

Time could have passed for a hundred years and you both could have stayed right there forever but time didn't care what you wanted as a blood curdling scream snapped you both back to reality.

Over in the Egyptian side of the room one of your kids and a human boy were having an all out brawl with your kid winning. Logan got there faster than you and pulled him off while the human boy quickly got up and spat at the ground by your feet, “mutant.”

That one word was all it took for your kid to start kicking in Logan's arm, trying to claw his way back over to the human boy while he just stood there glaring. You quickly walked over to the human boy and grabbed his forearm, “where are your parents?” and it was as if they heard you.

A lady in an expensive looking green suit and a man twice the size of you came over, the woman with tears in her eyes, hyperventilating and the man getting red in the face with anger.

“Let go of my son!” the man huffed getting up into your face, so close you could see the pimple about to burst on his nose. Letting go of his son you took a step back and he took one again closer to you. “Mutant bitch” It was two words now that snapped Logan into action, as he had been watching the exchange with the kid still fighting in his arms. Quickly, Logan let him go, not caring if he went back over to the human boy and started another fight. No, his only concern was you.

Stepping in between you and the man, blocking him from your sight, they stood toe to toe. Logan was clearly taller and stronger than the man but that did nothing to deter him “And you must be her mutant bastard”. You grabbed the back of Logan's clothes hoping he wouldn't start something “Logan” you gently whispered. Logan may be an angry man but it was never for himself, he wouldn't start anything.

It wasn't until you stepped around Logan hesitantly, still keeping your grip on him and started to try and mend the situation. “Please, ma’am, sir, we are truly, very sorry. And -”, a sickening slap echoed around the now quiet room, he had hit you and Logan wasn't going to let that slide.

In the blink of an eye Logan pulled you back and into the arms of your mutant students who had now gathered around the both of you and punched the guy right back.

Chaos exploded, the woman shrieked as Logan had the man jacked up against the wall as he cried, half of your kids went for the human boy who had bullied your kid and the other half stuck by you as you stood there in shock.

It took ten security members to pry off Logan and the aftermath was quite horrific. Blood was on the walls and floors, but only the man and his boy had seriously gotten injured with your mutant students only having minor bumps and bruises.

They would have hauled Logan off to jail if it wasn't for Charles showing up and sweet talking to them, promising not just financial compensation for the museum but for them personally as well, the human family too.

It wasn't until you got back to the school that you really felt the pain in your upper cheek bone and eye. As you were about to open your door Logan stood there with his fist raised about to knock.

“I’m so sorry Logan.” He didn't say anything back, his eyes not wavering from a particular spot on your face. He reached towards it and gently touched it making you hiss and jerk back “I should have hit him harder.”

You shook your head in disbelief “No, anything more and you would have gone to jail Logan.”

“You need to go down to the infirmary.” He took your hand in his. “That's actually where I was about to go.” but he still held your hand and led you to the infirmary.

“I’m sorry.” The gruff man apologized this time.

“Why?” he stopped and fully turned to you, feeling ashamed for running your first field trip.

“It was a shitty field trip, your first one.” you shrugged but still stayed looking at him “I'm more upset about not being able to tour the museum, I've always wanted to go.”

He felt guilty now, he knew art was your passion and he didn't even think about that part of the debacle.

“I'll make it up to you, I'll take you next time.” He couldn't even believe the words that had come out of his mouth but he wanted to take them back, not because he didn't want to but because he assumed you wouldn't want to go with him. But to his surprise a smile grew on your face “Like a date?”

There was a beat of silence as he gazed down at your beautiful face and gave a small smile down at you “Like a date sweetheart.”

#wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverine x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james logan howlett

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drabblesandimagines · 9 months ago

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Swipe Right

Leon Kennedy x female reader, commissioned piece Lots of dumb fluff ahead! Thanks so much to the lovely @porcelainseashore for commissioning me with the brief of Leon using a dating app! I've said it before and I'll say it again - please do go check out Porcelain's fics! x

“So,” Leon places his elbows on the counter behind, leans back and flashes a winning smile, “how about dinner later?”

The auburn-haired woman waits for her coffee to finish dispensing before she shakes her head, lips pursed. “No, thank you, Agent Kennedy.”

“Oh.” He was sure they’d had some sort of connection. Their eyes had met across the office on more than one occasion, flirtatiously so – had he read it wrong? “You have plans already tonight?”

“Mm, something like that.” She smiles, politely, picking up her DSO-branded mug and heading out of the break room without so much as a glance back.

Leon shrugs it off – he’s good at that – and places his own mug under the spout, about to make his coffee selection when a familiar voice chirps over his shoulder.

“Have you ever thought of internet dating?”

He spins round, surprised. “Claire?”

“Hi.” She waves with a smile. “So, internet dating?”

Leon’s brow furrowed, about to ask why she was here, but from the visitor lanyard around her neck it was clear it was down to some sort of TerraSafe business, but why is she going on about internet dating?

Oh.

“Wait, did you hear…?”

“The dinner invite? Oh, yes.” She nods, crossing her arms. “Does that ever work?”

“Yes.”

Claire quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay, not recently.” He retorts, turning back around and pressing the button for his black coffee to start dispensing.

“Uh-huh…” She steps forward, turns to lean against the counter to look at him. “I’m telling you, Leon - internet dating. I finally convinced Chris to give it a go about six months back, and he seems pretty happy. Been seeing a nice girl for three months now – a florist.”

Leon shakes his head, watching the coffee dispense with feigned interest. “Surprised Redfield went for it. How the hell do you introduce anyone to what we’ve seen?” At least with women from work, he didn’t have to skirt around what the hell he does all day.

“Heard of keeping work and homelife separate?”

“And Chris manages that?”

“I mean, she knows what he’s shared with her, but he took it slow. It’s not like the government can keep everything secret these days – not with everyone having a smart phone.” Claire grimaces, remembering the videos of the Alcatraz attack popping up on social media on a live stream. It was taken down pretty quick, but still popped up occasionally. They can’t hide it forever.

“Anyway, enough about Chris’ love life, I’m trying to help yours. Have you tried it? There’s websites and apps…”

Leon recalls a week of medical leave – battered, bruised and laid out on the couch on high doses of meds, flipping through the cable channels and losing hours to a show about people falling in love over the internet, only for the person to be using a fake photo of an entirely different identity and being crushed when they met in person.

“Isn’t that where the catfish are?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “We won’t set your radius that large.”

He looks down, a little confused. “My… radius?”

Leon’s not present on social media, but that’s hardly a surprise with his work. Maybe, if things had been different, he would’ve trawled through it at some point – joined a group for graduates from the Police Academy of ’98, checked in, gone to some sort of graduating class reunion where they would’ve swapped stories from precincts over a lukewarm beer or two in a hall dressed up with balloons and streamers.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t really remember the names of anyone in his graduating class, though he’s not sure if that’s down to a certain amount of knocks to the head throughout his career getting to him. He could look them up – they’ll be in some sort of database somewhere that Hunnigan could help him locate, but what would he say?

“Me? Well, I had one day on the job – hell of a first day, actually – and then I was ‘recruited’ into military training, so technically not a cop anymore either.”

“Phone, please.” Claire has moved to sit down at one of the small tables in the kitchen, now holding out her hand expectantly. He finds himself joining her, mug of coffee in one hand and the other pulling out his cell from his suit jacket pocket. He hands it over because it’s Claire and he’s known her long enough now to know she’s not going to drop the subject so easily.

“Have you got any selfies on here?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“To put on your profile. Anything I shouldn’t see in your gallery?”

He shakes his head.

“Seriously, Leon?” She must’ve opened the app by the way she’s scrolling down on the screen. “These are all sunsets and photos of your motorcycle.”

“What should I be picking pictures of?”

“Oh, wait… Here’s one.” She turns the phone around. It’s him, grinning, next to a corpse of a zombiefied lion. “I repeat – seriously, Leon?”

“Ha, yeah.” He smiles in acknowledgement. “I was trying to get Hunnigan interested in fieldwork with the spectacular sights.” Claire turns the phone back around and the sound of a camera shutter clicks out of the speaker.

“Ooh, that’s a good candid – and no-one needs to know what you were looking at.”

“Look, it’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t know about all this…” He rubs the back of his head.

“It’s 30 days free. Just try it and if you still don’t like it by the end of the trial, you can delete it off your phone and I won’t bring it up again.”

He stalls, taking a long sip of his coffee as he thinks. Claire means well, after all and if Chris has had luck with it, considering what Leon knows he’s seen and lived through, what does he have to lose, really?

“Fine. 30 days.”

“Great! Now, let’s set up your profile…”

Claire had given him a tutorial – swipe left if you’re not interested on a profile, right if you are. If the person swipes right in return, it’ll set you up as a match and you can start a conversation – signaled by a small speech bubble icon appearing on the bottom right.

It wasn’t until that evening that Leon tried it out properly, sat on his couch, killing time before bed and begins to swipe through. It feels a little odd – he usually likes to get to know a person somewhat before offering out his dinner invite, but this is mostly on looks alone, with a tiny snippet of profile information – age, location, what they’re looking for.

He swipes right on a blonde, her profile full of photos from beach vacations or something, says she’s not too far away from him and is ‘looking to connect with someone deeply.’ A chat box pops up immediately and after a moment or two, three dots show Beauty – he’s not sure that’s her real name - is typing.

Hey, big boy. What’s bigger – your forearms or… An eggplant emoji?

Oh.

He hesitates over writing back a response. He can flirt with the best of them, but how is anyone meant to make a genuine connection over this app? Maybe he’s too old for this shit.

He puts his cell down by his side and switches on the television instead.

“So…” Claire drawls over his shoulder over three weeks later, tracked him down to his desk.

“So…” He mocks back with a tease, swinging around in his office chair.

“Any good dates recently?”

He laughs. “How do you even get that far?”

“You’ve not gone on one?”

“Not for lack of trying.” It’s true. After Beauty, he had struck up conversation with a few more genuine girls that seemed to be going well until he’d broached the idea of a date and they’d drop off the radar. “A couple seemed interested but then stopped replying. I got one date – she didn’t show up.”

“Oh, come on.” Claire leans against his desk. “That can’t be everyone. Let me see.” There’s the expectant hand again. He sighs, picks up his phone and opens the app before handing it over to her.

She sets to scrolling through new arrivals for him, before she pauses. “Well, this one looks sweet.”

“Claire, I appreciate your concern but I just don’t think this app is for me. I gave it a go, I swear.”

“I know, but you’ve got a few days left on the free trial at least - you won’t lose anything. Just take a look?”

He takes the phone back and looks at the screen – a cropped picture of you, it looks like, your friends’ arms around your shoulders, a big, genuine smile on your face. Not a pout or a smolder in a night club mirror.

“Aw, you’re smiling.”

“Fine.” He swipes, but the message bubble doesn’t pop up. That’s the one thing he doesn’t like about this app – you never know if the other one will swipe back.

“No match.”

“Give her a moment,” Claire elbows him, playfully. “Not everyone is scrolling for dates at work.”

“Hey-”

“Speaking of, I’ve got a meeting. See you!”

You throw yourself down on the bed, a little bit tipsy after an evening of drinking with your friends, and hold your phone dangerously above your face – you’ve been so close to giving yourself a black eye from the drop so many times but never learn – and open up that stupid app. Your friend had encouraged you to sign up to it after declaring you’d been in a pity party for long enough now after your last break-up and it was time to get back out there.

You scroll through the latest arrivals, swiping left as you go. Everyone internet dates now, you don’t know why you only seem to attract utter creeps on it. You’d been on a few dates, but they’d all been entirely awkward outside the safety of the chat box.

You pause on one new arrival, Leon, 41, the first photo in the set clearly a candid. He’s dressed in a suit – no tie. Businessman, you wonder? Amazingly hot and maybe the most shiniest hair you’ve ever seen.

You roll over onto your stomach and swipe right, smiling when a chat bubble appears.

Leon had just settled into bed for the night when his phone vibrated angrily on the bedside table. He threw a hand out, blindly, and looked at the screen, half expecting it to be an email from work or a message from Hunnigan.

It’s neither – a notification from the app.

Hi, Leon. Thanks for swiping. Can I ask something?

He frowns – a unique opener, but it could still go the way of the others, he reckons. He’s not a prude, per say, but he’s seen a lot more than he was intending to these past few weeks. He backs up and has a quick scroll through your profile, vaguely recognizing your face from when he’d swiped right earlier that day – the girl Claire had deemed sweet.

Hi – ask away.

A bubble appears with three dots within.

How do you get your hair that shiny?

Leon barks out a laugh - definitely refreshing.

I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re at that stage of our relationship yet where I’m comfortable sharing my beauty secrets.

Please? Mine is so dull.

He clicks on your profile again and onto the photos but can’t see why you’re worried about your hair. Truthfully, all he registers when he looks at the picture is that sweet, genuine smile.

Looks pretty good from what I can see.

The camera adds all the shine. Are you using a filter?

Trust me when I say I wouldn’t know how.

Don’t know about filters but using a dating app? That doesn’t gel.

My friend suggested I give this online dating thing a go, so here I am.

Well, you’ll have to thank your friend for me.

Leon hesitates a moment, before shrugging it off.

I’ll be sure to, especially as it’s got me talking to you.

Your scalp tingles, but it seems nothing to do with the alcohol consumed earlier.

Too cheesy? I told you I’m new to this, right?

Nah, you’re gouda.

Leon grins.

The conversation continues to flow over the next few days. You talk about work – he keeps it vague, works in the government, can be called away on business trips last minute – and you are equally elusive in your response of office work. Internet safety, he reckons, smart girl that you are. Hearing his phone ping with a notification has quickly become his favourite sound.

Nice day? Definitely. Picked up my motorcycle – it’s been in the shop a while. Dare I ask what happened? He hesitates. Chasing a bioterrorist down a highway is perhaps a little too much…

Hit by a truck. I wasn’t on it - obviously.

Jeez. Insurance not just buy you a new one? I can’t think how that’s salvageable.

It’s my favourite, I couldn’t give up on her. You ever been on a motorcycle?

Uh-uh. Too scared.

What of?

Falling off, mainly.

No danger of that if you ride tandem - just need to be sure to hold on real tight.

You bite your lip, mulling over a response, but Leon fills the gap.

And I’d look after you, of course. Make a nice first date, don’t you think?

First date? That’s more, like, third or even fourth date material.

There’s your chance, Kennedy – don’t mess it up.

Well, then we better get the first date out of the way.

You bite your lip as you type back a response. Is that your way of asking?

If it is?

If it is, then I’m free Friday...

Perfect.

Friday morning arrives and Leon’s at his desk, typing up a report when his phone chimes. Checking over his shoulder, he pulls it out of his pocket and smiles when he sees it’s a text from you. You’d exchanged numbers the other night, deciding it time to take communication off app ahead of meeting up.

Morning. Question?

Morning. Still after my shampoo secrets?

Yes… But not that. How am I meant to recognize you?

I thought that’d be easy – by how shiny my hair is, apparently.

It’ll be dark out, though.

Is this you trying to be subtle about asking for another photo?

No comment.

Leon locks his computer, the screensaver switching to today’s date and time on a black background. He swings his desk chair around, looks around again to make sure no-one’s on their way past, and opens the camera app. He flips the viewfinder around and tries out a couple of smiles before snapping a selfie – if Claire could see him now…

He sends it through.

Included the time and date and all. Happy?

No comment.

Well, how will I recognize you?

Easy. I’ll be the one coming up to you and saying, “Hi, Leon.” See you tonight x

Until then x

The two of you had decided to meet at a bistro – varied menu for all tastes, not too intimate, excellent wine, spirits and craft beer menu.

Leon is nervous as he stands to the side of the entrance – an emotion he hasn’t truly entertained since 1998. There had been no time for it when bioweapons and death were staring him down the face. But, tonight… Well, he’s out of his element on this one. Leon had only ever approached women through work and, yes, it was to varying degrees of success but they’d already seen him properly in person, heard his voice, aware of what he does. There was a horrible niggle at the back of his mind that the date who had stood him up a few weeks ago had caught sight of him and turned heel on the spot.

He looks down at this watch to see it’s bang on 7.30. He’d arrived ten minutes too early, but didn’t want to chance being late and showing up in a fluster. When he looks up, slipping a hand back into his pocket, a figure with a familiar face is walking towards him, greets him with an anxious smile and an awkward half-wave.

God, you’re adorable.

“Hi, Leon.”

“Hi,” He smiles, one hand still in his pocket, the other hanging down by his side. He wonders if he should’ve gone in for the kiss on the cheek, but he’s missed his chance.

“Erm…” You wring your hands together. “You okay?”

“Great. You?”

Why does he feel as giddy as he did when he picked up his girlfriend for prom back at high school?

“I’m good. It’s nice to put a… voice to a face?” You laugh – light and airy - and Leon’s already desperate to hear it again.

“It really is. Er, shall we?” He gestures forward with his arm.

You nod. “Let’s.”

The conversation is stagnant at first, a sentence here or there as you peruse the drinks menu and move on to ordering starters and entrees. With a little liquid courage, though, the two of you soon slip into easy conversation.

It’s just after the appetizers are cleared when Leon realizes he’s completely and utterly smitten.

You don’t even know where the time has gone, but all of the sudden the two of you are the only diners left and it’s clear the wait staff are looking for you to leave so they can begin their nightly clean down.

He follows you out and onto the sidewalk, a few metres away from the bistro entrance, standing awkwardly opposite each other – mirroring the beginning of the evening.

“So, fancy a ride?”

You tilt your head at him curiously before you burst out into laughter and he grins, rubbing the back of his head, awkwardly, as he realizes the context.

“I mean, I brought my bike here. I can give you a ride home - on my bike.”

You smile. “Not on the first date, remember?”

“Of course.” He nods. “Sticking to your principles – I respect that. Well, can I call you a cab?”

“Oh, actually, I’m gonna walk. I live just in that building over there…” You point up to an apartment building about halfway up the next block.

“I could walk you across the street?” He cringes as he realizes maybe he’s coming on too heavy-handed. “I’m sorry, I promise I can take a hint-”

“No.” You cut across abruptly. “I mean, walking me home would be nice.”

You cross the road in silence, both wrapped up in your own thoughts. You wish you lived slightly further away so you’d have longer to work out what to say, how to end the night.

“So…” Leon begins the other side of the road, the entrance to your apartment block just ahead. He’s trying to keep calm and collected, but there’s just something about you that has made his heart race, his palms sweaty. Don’t fuck this up, Kennedy. “I had a really lovely evening.”

“Me too.” You smile back – and you mean it – but you can’t help but brace yourself. Is this the part where he says, yeah, he had a nice time, but he’d rather not do it again? It seems all too good to be true. He’s the same as he was on the phone, messages and photos.

“Great…” You take a deep breath at his pause, unconsciously clenching your fists, “..cos I was wondering how you felt about a second date?”

“You’re really desperate to get me on that motorcycle, huh?” You tease, instantly relaxing. “But, seriously, I’d like that, to see you again.”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“That depends what you have in mind.” You stop, suddenly – the apartment foyer to your left. “This is me.”

“Well, we’ve done dinner, shall we work backwards and have lunch next?”

You take a step closer. “And then breakfast?”

“Fourth could be a midnight feast?” He steps forward too, misjudging the distance and something hard brushes against your stomach. Leon’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, wait, I…” He dips his hand into his trouser pocket and pulls out a travel-sized bottle of shampoo with a sheepish smile. “I meant to give you this at the end of dinner – my beauty secret.”

You yank him forward by his jacket collar and kiss him before you can even think properly about what you’re doing. You step up onto your tip toes to deepen the kiss, a hand bracing yourself against his chest for a moment before you mean to step back, maybe even apologise for pouncing on the man, but Leon’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place, kissing you back incessantly before you both have to retreat for breath.

“Well, if I knew the shampoo would get that reaction I would’ve started the night off with it.” He murmurs, pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. “I gotta ask though - you’ll kiss on the first date, but not ride a motorcycle?”

You shrug, half-heartedly. “One’s more dangerous than the other.”

He kisses you once more, softly, ending with a teasing nibble on your lip.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, sweetheart.” -- Masterlist . 1,000 followers event

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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some-bunniii · 10 months ago

Text

My Charming Red Savior [4]

・❥ A friend revealed, and warm feelings.

x: pronouns are she/her. no use of y/n.

xx: decided to change the saving fem!reader to its AO3 title, so all parts of this fic have been updated for this change as well!

~6.8k words

warnings: depictions of blood/injury

“Did I miss anything?”

Those were the first words the King of Hell had spoken atop the large patio, as you stood in awe, battered, with dust and debris sticking to your body. You blinked, frozen in place as your eyes scanned over the pearlescent man’s figure, who grinned charmingly across from you.

He leaned lazily against the gold railing, now partially destroyed from the small explosions that had peppered the front of the hotel. The screams and snarls from below were all but silenced now, except for one or two stragglers who could be seen making a run for it in the distance. But, not before a large, swamp-green tentacle snaked around them, and began beating them into the ground. It wasn’t long before your gaze was back on Lucifer, a million thoughts racing through your head.

It wasn’t until Lucifer’s smile faltered slightly at your silent staring, did he clear his throat, nervously tapping against the apple-tipped cane in his grip. “You look a little shaken up, are you doing good over there?”

You were about to open your mouth to speak, until your eyes darted to another small, cylindrical object flying right towards Lucifer. You recoiled, throwing your hands in front of your face as it closed in on the fallen angel.

“Watch out!” You cried to him, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for the familiar boom of the grenade to shake the patio. Lucifer whipped his head around, eyebrows raised as the grenade soared towards him. Lifting his arm, he caught it in his hand before it could hit him in the face, before raising it to get a closer look.

You splayed your fingers, peeking through the small gap when you realized once more that your heart was still beating. Raising an eyebrow, your face contorted into surprise as your gaze rested on the object in Lucifer’s hand.

The bomb ticked quietly in his palm, slowly increasing in speed as the seconds went by. It vibrated in his grip, and Lucifer only inspected it casually, rolling it between his fingers with interest.

Was he just going to hold it until it exploded? You watched silently with wide eyes, unsure of what exactly was going to happen. If it went off, would the King of Hell even have a scratch on him? Maybe, that was why he seemed so confident holding a bomb in his hands. Watching Lucifer catch it casually in the air a few times only cemented that thought.

The perks of being immortal, you supposed.

“Hm, seems they got the timing off on this one,” Lucifer observed, just as the ticking seemed to increase to every millisecond. Right when you were sure it was about to go off in his palms, Lucifer’s fingers curled around it. It looked like he was squeezing the cylinder like a balloon, as the black, metal surface contorted, shifting from the pressure.

Instead of lighting into a ball of flame, the bomb exploded in a burst of multi-colored confetti. Which sprayed across the patio, a few stray pieces landing on your face as they settled onto the floor. You were silent, in awe at the magical display. Lucifer only grinned at you, a silent boast of his powers as he caught you gawking. He adjusted his collar, still leaning against the railing as he brushed some confetti from his shoulder pads.

Realizing he had noticed your staring, your cheeks began to heat in embarrassment. You lay your eyes for the first time on the most powerful man in Hell and all you can do is stand there and look dumb, get it together! Leaning forward, your head practically hits the cracked tile flooring as you bow.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for my rudeness!” You quickly pipe up, your eyes still locked to the floor as you keep your head down, “Thank you for saving my life, I don’t know if I’d be alive without your intervention.”

“It was no biggie.” Lucifer shrugged, waving his hand in the air in a sweeping motion, as he brushed off your compliment. He lifted himself from the railing, taking a few steps forward as he began to cross the patio. “Can’t have my daughter’s friends be attacked by a couple of low-life thugs.. again! What kind of a father would that make me?”

You straightened, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your brows furrowed as the words left his lips, mouth opening slightly as if you were about to question him on his statement.

‘Daughter’. Was he talking about Charlie? Of course, he must be, she looked like a carbon copy of him! But, that would mean… it wasn't an imp that had approached you yesterday morning during your shift. At least, not any normal imp. Does that mean you had been talking to…?

It was in the same instance that Lucifer leaned in closer to you, his eyes squinted in thought as he inspected your face. He placed a finger on his chin in thought, as he regarded you with a curious expression through those soft, yellow eyes of his.

“Wait a second… do I know you from somewhere?” He questioned finally, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. You smiled as you thought of a response, your hands rubbing together in a soothing motion. Lucifer’s eyes lit up in recognition before you could say anything, and he snapped his finger as connected the dots.

“That's right! You were that sweet worker at the formalwear store yesterday, weren’t you? The one that opened early for me!” He beamed, taking another step closer as your eyes widened at the proximity.

“Y-yes, that was me, Your Majesty.” You stammered out, cursing yourself so being so godamn nervous. “Except, I wasn’t really aware that you were... well, you?”

“Oh, heh, yeah, my impish disguise. Pretty good, eh?”

Yeah, it was. There wasn’t anything that would have made you guess that imp was actually Lucifer, at least before you had met the man. Except, for the height. That hadn’t seemed to change between the two appearances, as you still had to lower your head to meet his gaze even now.

You took a deep breath, calming your jittering nerves as you again realized who was standing right in front of you. Never once did you think a lowly citizen of Hell like you would be this close to the Lucifer Morningstar! Should you have kneeled instead when you greeted him? What was the proper etiquette for this kind of thing? Alastor would have surely known.

That thought made you lean over slightly to get a peek past the fallen angel’s brimmed hat. Your eyes followed the slender, shadowy forms of tentacles snaking around the last two criminals, who were trying to shoot the large masses.

“Aren’t you, um, going to go help..?” You pointed behind him, and Lucifer turned to follow your finger just as another thug was flung past the large fence that surrounded the hotel. Their squeal of fear faded as they disappeared from view. Static-laced laughter filled the air as the tentacles began to dissipate.

“Nah, I think your… friend down there has it covered.” Lucifer shrugged after a moment, turning back to face you.

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to calm your jittering nerves. Between last night and this, you were about ready to lay in your bed and hibernate for the next three months. Life was exhausting, it seemed.

“Well, that was fun!” Lucifer smiled, nodding along as he clasped his hands together. “Didn’t think I’d find drug dealers trying to knock down the walls, though. Looks like I really have to up the security around here.”

You nodded along half-heartedly, and watched as he strolled past you towards the door. He only made it a few steps before he halted, and you jumped slightly as he pivoted to face you. He waggled a finger at you, mock suspicion in his gaze as he leaned in. Now that you could get a better look at him,

“I also was not expecting to find you here, either. Only yesterday, it seemed like you had no idea the hotel even existed. Now, I find you in the raging path of a feral tea table. An odd turn of events, don't you think?”

You smiled, heat creeping onto your cheeks in embarrassment. You probably looked pretty pathetic when Lucifer was saving you, curled in a ball while you accepted your grim fate. You wished you had some kind of badass demon magic, so you didn’t have to be so helpless. Did Alastor ever feel helpless? No, probably not, he seemed so confident in every situation you saw him face.

The way he strolled down the stairs so casually when the thugs had first attacked, made it seem like he had done that kind of thing many times before. But, it seemed like that was true, since you patched up one scuffle on his coat, and were told of his encounter with Sir. Pentious–which you simply couldn't believe would attempt such a thing, now that you’ve met him–a few months prior.

You wondered what made him and Lucifer struggle to get along, had something happened in the past between them? Maybe, you could get Alastor to budge with that with a little prodding. For now, you were unsure of what to tell the King. How would he react if you said the only reason you were here was because of Alastor? You didn’t want to lose the friendliness you had with Lucifer, it probably wouldn't be fun to be on the King of Hell’s bad side.

Plus, it seemed like Lucifer liked you. Did that have something to do with the fact that he claimed you were a ‘rare gem’ when it came to being a nice person in Hell? He did give you all that money.. which you lost. Maybe, he’d give you some more if you played your cards right.

And, if it was as friends, you wouldn’t mind getting closer to the fallen angel. He was just so funny and charming, you couldn’t imagine the kind of gossip he had to share, and you wouldn't be bothered if he shared it with you.

“Oh, well, beeeecause I was interested in redemption! Ha-ha, yeah. When we talked earlier, your words just struck something in me! So, I took a tour and stayed the night.”

“Really? I inspired you to come to the hotel?” Lucifer asked incredulously, tilting his head thoughtfully at you. He raised an eyebrow, doubt written across his features.

“That’s right! I mean, you even gave me a bunch of money like it was no big deal. That was very kind of you!” You nodded enthusiastically. That wasn’t exactly a lie, since the conversation with Lucifer yesterday did lead to Alastor revealing more about the hotel, which in turn piqued your interest enough to even consider staying for an extended period.

Slowly, Lucifer's eyes lit at your response, a gleam of happiness that you hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to be standing a little straighter too, as if that was some kind of confidence boost for him. Did Lucifer not… genuinely help people often? Was it something he wished he could do more often?

Seems like ruling a realm full of demons that continually commit the worst atrocities known to mankind would break an angel’s will to want to make a change.

“I wanted to thank you again for your generosity,” you started, your tone genuine as the glint in Lucifer’s eyes only seemed to grow, “All that money you gave me would have really helped,

“Would? What happened?” Lucifer inquired, tilting his head curiously.

“Some guy mugged me,” you stated bluntly, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. It felt weird telling people about your most vulnerable moments. You found no enjoyment in retelling any of these scary events, and hopefully, your bad luck would end soon.

“And they stole everything from you?”

“Yeah…”

Lucifer huffed in annoyance, his teeth baring slightly as he exhaled a hot breath. He couldn’t exactly be surprised, it was Hell. Not to mention, the guy has been neglecting his kingly duties for a while now and has only just started going to meetings for crying out loud.

“Jeez, I’m sorry about that. Here, let me jus–”

“Where did that new girl go? What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” You could hear Vaggie’s voice from downstairs, as the gaping hole in the side of the hotel made it much easier to hear their conversations now.

You heard multiple inaudible responses to the question, before Vaggie’s rose above them with renewed anger.

“She’s still up there?! you’re telling me none of you numbskulls went to get her after that big explosion?”

“₩Ⱨ₳₮?!” You heard a snarl of static at Vaggie’s words.

Tensing, you kept your eyes trained on Lucifer as you strained your ears to eavesdrop on the voices below. It seemed like they were looking for you now, did they even know whether Charlie’s dad was here?

“Alastor, hold up!” You heard Angel Dust’s call from the bottom of the staircase, which made you pivot to face the closed doors not too far away. Lucifer, who was standing a few steps away from you, looked up curiously as the doors swung open.

Standing there, chest heaving slightly, ears twitching, was Alastor. His eyes instantly landed on you, before quickly scanning over your figure for injuries. Did he just leap up all those stairs? That wasn’t a very short distance by any means.

His arms were outstretched beside him, as he gripped both doors. Alastor’s claws slightly dug into its wood frame as he observed the smoking, half-burnt balcony with a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t until his eyes met Lucifer’s–you swore you saw a flicker of surprise cross his gaze–that something seemed to flip like a switch inside the demon, and Alastor straightened instantly, his ears returning to their normal placement as corrected his posture.

A large, toothy grin appeared on his face, but you didn’t miss the way his gaze darted between you and Lucifer only a few feet apart. His eyelid twitched as Lucifer sent him a deadly grin behind you, the tension in the air thickening to the point where you felt like you’d suffocate even in this open space.

You only smiled brightly in return, sending Alastor a finger wave as you sidled a step away from the fallen angel beside you. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to be having fun as he pivoted slightly to face you. A mischievous glint in his eye as he cocked his head at Alastor, a haughty look on his face.

“Can I help you?” He feigned irritation, an eyebrow quirked as he sent the demon a pointed glance. As if Alastor had just barged in on the two of you deep in discussion, souring the mood.

Alastor wasn’t able to get a word out when multiple footsteps echoed from behind him, noisily clopping up the long staircase as they bickered amongst themselves. A familiar pink spider popped his head over Alastor’s shoulder, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the pearlescent face beside you. More heads appeared around, their eyes scanning across the balcony as they observed the scene.

“Dad?” Charlie asked, squeezing through the clump of nosy demons, surprise written across her face as she passed Alastor.

“Honey!” Lucifer beamed, a smile gracing his features as he met his daughter halfway. Charlie extended her arms, ready to accept Lucifer’s large hug as he returned the gesture. He held her for a moment before he released her, backing up a step as the others pushed past Alastor’s figure to get a better place behind the princess.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at that art auction?” Charlie questioned, tilting her head at him.

“That ended last night.” Lucifer nodded, “Now it’s some kind of celebratory artist-only afterparty, which means even the King of Hell cannot attend, unfortunately. So, I thought I’d drop by. Good timing, it seemed, or else your friend here would not be standing here any longer.”

Lucifer turned to you, gesturing to the dust and debris hanging to your clothes, as you stood there silently with that same awkward smile.

“Oh, yeah. She’s interested in being a resident of our hotel, for redemption!” Charlie smiled excitedly, proud to be able to show her father that her dream was slowly expanding. You nodded along, your hands clasped together politely as they discussed you.

“Yes, I heard! We’ve been having a nice discussion these past few minutes, her and I. A real doll, this one is, just like when I met her previously.”

“You two... have met before?” Charlie finally asked, confusion laced in her voice as she looked between the two of you. The demons behind you shot curious glances in your direction, silently waiting for more juicy details.

“She was there when I bought your tuxedo! I was in disguise, though, so nobody saw me as.. well, me. She even opened up early for me, just out of the kindness of her soul!” Lucifer scooted beside you, nudging you in the arm playfully as he spoke. “Guess you could say I owed her a rescue after that considerate gesture.”

“Did you throw a party up here, too?” Vaggie piped up from the doorway, kicking away at a few stray pieces of the colorful confetti that was sprinkled across the floor. Charlie’s eyes were glinting as she processed her father’s words, before glancing down at the new red suit that she was wearing. She looked up at you with renewed interest, a blooming on her face.

“That was all His Majesty, actually,” you finally spoke, lifting a hand to your mouth as you giggled, “It was pretty impressive, to be honest, I’ve never seen a party trick like that before. I thought the confetti was kinda funny.”

You purposely avoided looking at Alastor as you spoke, so his reaction to your praise was a mystery. Lucifer only smiled proudly beside you, your words boosting his ego.

“Well, that’s not the only trick I’m good at,” Lucifer chuckled. Before he sent you a wink, then a playful smirk that he swept across the small crowd. Their eyes were locked on him, captivated with anticipation for the charming angel to display some of his magical talents.

Except, for Alastor, who only smiled widely, his eyes crinkled in annoyance at the theatrics. You didn’t pay him much mind, instead keeping your attention on Lucifer. During your time in Hell, you hadn’t come into contact with many figures that could harness demonic magic so effortlessly, apart from Alastor.

The King of Hell, however, was on a whole different level, he had pure angelic power. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you were not going to miss this for anything. However, it seemed your admiration was a little too evident, as you missed Alastor's squinted gaze analyzing your expression.

Lucifer finally rested his gaze on Alastor, who met his eyes, just as he tapped his cane against the ground, a flurry of golden sparks igniting from the touch. a vortex of golden eaves began to swirl around his cane, before flooding across the destroyed, cracked floor of the balcony. It was like a small ocean pooling at your feet, and it felt like the ground was shifting underneath you.

Sticking a finger gun towards the split table, Lucifer shot an explosion of magic against its surface, and it crackled with energy. Before you could blink, the two pieces slid together, attaching like Lego pieces back onto their legs. Fresh color adorned the wood, a lovely shade of peach with matching chairs. It settled onto the ground, with not even a scratch from the abuse it had just received.

He aimed a few more magical-loaded digits towards the broken railing, and the spilled flower pots, making pew pew sound effects with his mouth as he did so.

The balcony began to shift back into even better condition than it originally was, the broken scenery straightening itself back into form. Slowly, the golden waves against your ankles dispersed and were pulled back into Lucifer’s cane.

The large, white marble tile beneath your feet was perfectly sealed, not a single crack upon its surface as it sparkled with a newfound shine. You lifted your leg, surprised finding your figure to be completely dry.

The demons around you stood mesmerized by the display, their eyes glowing and lips puckered in a small o. Alastor only tapped his claws against his cane impatiently.

“How is that for a party trick?” Lucifer turned to you, sending you a charming grin.

You were about to open your mouth before Charlie appeared at your side with a happy squeak. Her blonde hair cascaded down your shoulder, the silky strands like feathers against your skin.

“Thank you for the help, Dad!” Charlie beamed, squeezing her cheeks as she stared lovingly at her father, “it’s so great to see you make new friends, too!”

“And, new clients!” Lucifer boasted, adjusting his bowtie with a grin “Last time we talked, I told her all about the hotel and what it offered. Seems like my salesmanship charm prevails once more.”

“How funny,” Alastor’s voice crackled with static as he strode up beside Charlie, planting himself into the small group’s discussion with a grin, “but it appears His Majesty is mistaken, for it was I who persuaded our darling belle here to take a chance at redemption.”

“Pfft! You? Please, you couldn’t even convince an angel to redeem themselves. At least, not with that haircut!” Lucifer laughed, and your mouth dropped open, your gaze flicking to Alastor, who seemed to hesitate for a moment in shock at the bold insult.

Your eyes darted to Charlie. She returned the look, before slapping a hand over her dad’s mouth.

“Okay, moving on!” She replied cheerfully, pinching her dad’s lips closed as she turned towards the staircase. Vaggie shot a glare toward the rest of the onlookers, who began to sadly shrink away.

“I’m afraid Your Majesty is uninformed!” Alastor ignored Charlie, as he walked closer to stand right beside you. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your heartbeat quickening at the realization you were directly in the middle of the two dueling forces.

“Of what?” Lucifer questioned.

“Why, of our association, of course,” Alastor said sweetly, grasping your arm gently as he gestured to your figure. Heat crept onto your cheeks, as you let him slide in closer to you.

“You two know each other?” Lucifer asked, doubt laced in his face as he shot you a questioning stare. You only averted your gaze, unsure of how to respond to all of the prying eyes.

“Indeed! I’m sure you’re familiar with a charm like this?” Alastor smiled innocently, before gingerly holding out your hand, gesturing to your ring finger. That golden ring glinted in the sunlight, and the small rose-gold engraving of the letter A was on full display.

Lucifer’s eyes widened after a moment, and his gaze shot to you, then to Alastor, before landing back on the ring. He seemed to reel back slightly as it finally dawned on him, before his face settled into a look that silently grumbled ‘You gotta be kidding me.’

Charlie gasped, clutching her cheeks as she leaned in closer for a better look. The ecstatic look on her face was a complete inverse to her father, who only averted his gaze at the sight.

You stood with an awkward smile, heat creeping onto your cheeks as you sidled slightly away from Alastor. You did not expect him to be sprinting it back onto these guys, in front of Lucifer no less.

The King only turned to you, disbelief in his features as he sent you a pointed stare.

“You’re telling me you work at a formalwear store, and you picked a guy with this bad of a wardrobe?” He gestured subtly to Alastor’s suit, a grimace on his face as he eyed the demon’s style with contempt.

Alastor only adjusted his bow tie, throwing his hair back as he straightened. He shot you a pointed look too, prodding you with a ‘Are you really going to agree with him?’ stare.

You said nothing, so Alastor only turned to face Lucifer, clasping his hands with a large smile, “I’d take your fashion advice to heart, Your Majesty, but it seems your taste lies at the bottom of a bargain bin, so I must respectfully disagree.”

“Bargain bin?!” Lucifer gasped, a hand shooting up to his chest as he recoiled. A growl rose from the fallen angel’s throat as he opened his mouth to retort, only for Charlie to grab him from behind and pull him away from Alastor.

“I’ll pay you triple the amount from yesterday if you just take that ring off!” Lucifer begged as Charlie dragged him down the steps. “Do you fancy goat horns? I know of someone in the Wrath Ring that is available!”

The father-daughter duo disappeared from view, their voices muffled as you watched the doors slam shut with a crackle of green energy. Turning to face Alastor, you find a smug grin dancing on his lips. You frowned, did this guy really just insult the King of Hell like the man couldn’t stomp him in a moment?

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” you chastise the demon, waggling your finger as you spoke, “speaking so comfortably with the King in such a condescending manner. He could smite you for that, you know.”

“Verbal sparring with the monarchy is a favorite pastime of mine, sweetheart! I’m sure our dear king enjoys it just as much as I.” Alastor shrugged, twisting the cane between his claws as he regarded you with playful eyes.

“You are such a pain in my—”

Your words died in your throat when the outline of a dark-red rose was thrust towards you, Alastor’s fingers gently curled around its stem as he held it up for view.

“For you.” He smiled, his lips curled in a soft grin.

“Me? But, where did you get this?”

“Some bumbling oaf down there was going to stomp on it, so I stomped him, instead,” Alastor shrugged, extending the rose closer to you as he spoke, “I thought it would be something you’d find interest in. It… reminded me of you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, gaze lowering towards the wine-colored flower. It was beautiful, even with its slightly jagged petals, and the much larger thorns that covered the black stem.

But, for Hell, it was such a relieving sight. To know that something that presented emotions could exist in such an apathetic, pessimistic environment like the realm around you. Honestly, it didn’t have that many similarities in comparison to Earth’s rose, but its mere resemblance made nostalgia pull at your heartstrings.

Old emotions began to boil inside you, and your throat tightened. Even after all the hardships, you still missed the trees and the smell of real, fresh air. The feeling of the sun against your skin, kissing you with a warmth that always stirred a smile onto your lips. Hearing the morning doves in the early spring morning, their gentle coos echoing through the thin veil of fog that settled onto the dew-filled grass.

Now, you were stuck here. A dark, dirty realm that gave you its fair share of grief too. A lot in the span of two days, even. But, the good in it, was seeing the genuine smile that greeted you every time Alastor drank in your presence. Like this morning, when you agreed to join him on the patio, and the way his ears seemed to stand even taller when you said yes.

It was also the fact that Alastor was so intent on presenting this lovely gift to you, that he killed someone just so the rose would survive the chaos, that made you feel so warm and giddy inside.

A smile bloomed across your face, and you gently wrapped your fingers around the stem, right above Alastor’s own. The top of your hand grazed against the softer texture of the rose’s petals, but its sharp thorns nicked at the skin on your fingertips, causing you to grimace slightly. You adjusted your grip slowly, the pain ebbing as you found a comfortable hold.

Your hand brushed Alastor’s as he released his grip, pulling his hand towards him, his gaze traveling to your arm lifting as you inspected the rose closer. All the memories of long, forgotten experiences made years prick at your eyes.

“I.. don’t know what to say. This is so sweet of you,” you replied softly, eyes still locked on the rose and you gently caressed its petals, “thank you, Alastor.”

Alastor watched the emotion flood across your face, and for the first time, he didn’t know what to say next. The look on your features made him feel.. strange.

As if, this was a reaction nobody in Hell has ever given him before, excluding Charlie. It was fear and anger that only ever greeted him. Which he preferred, it made him feel strong, made him feel powerful.

Your soft, sweet smile, however, was something Alastor could get used to. The way the dimples on your cheeks deepened slightly as your lips curled delicately. As if you too were a rose, your petals softly opening for the new day.

His gaze still rested on you as the tip of your nose inched closer to the petals, before you inhaled a deep breath.

It smelled surprisingly sweet, but also with a warm, earthy scent. A hint of smokiness underneath the layer of the sugared aroma. It reminded you of a wood-burning stove, or the smell of firewood that clung to your shirt after a night in the wilderness.

But, also… the faint metallic tang of blood.

Brows furrowing, you pull the flower away, your eyes traveling to the barely visible glistening substance coating part of the stem. It almost mirrored the color of the dark-red petals, and you lifted your gaze to Alastor.

When your eyes traveled up his figure, it was the small trails of red liquid that dripped from his fingertips that made you recoil, a hand to your mouth as you gasped.

“Alastor, you’re bleeding!” The worry in your voice was obvious as you stepped closer to him, trying to get a better look at the small gashes on his skin. He regarded it with indifference, as if it was just a simple bother. You frowned at his reaction, there was no way that didn’t hurt!

He was a sinner, just like you, and almost everyone in the hotel. Mortality was still present in his afterlife, including the sensation of pain. No matter how hard he tried to present himself as a powerful being like Lucifer, he was still just a man who felt the same things you did. If not, with a little different... perspective.

“It is nothing, do not fret about me, my doe,” Alastor brushed off your words, beginning to pull his hand away from your view. You saw a drop of blood leave the tip of his claw, falling onto the cracks below your feet, “they are just feeble scratches, nothing I, the Radio Demon can’t handl–”

Alastor’s words died in his throat, the last of his sentence coming out in pure static as his pupils dilated on your hand wrapping around his wrist. Your grip was firm, preventing him from shielding the wounds from you, as you tugged his hand closer.

This was the boldest move you had made since the two of you had first met. It was usually Alastor who made the first gesture, who took your hand and touched you softly. As if you were a fragile doll that could crack at the teeniest bit of pressure.

The man was so used to control, having complete say in who touched him—which was never, unless you count Angel Dust whenever he tried riling up the demon—and why. If you were some normal face in the crowd making such a move, he’d probably have torn them apart.

But oh, the warmth from your touch that greeted his cool skin had him yearning for more. That blissful feeling that seemed to bloom from inside his bones, that traveled like a river through his veins, filling him up with a strange, yet awfully familiar feeling.

Like, when his mother would sit him down at the table for dinner, a bowl of hot, steaming Jambalaya in her hands that she made just for him. Anytime she noticed he had a hard day, she’d cook his favorite meal.

As a child, he had eagerly scarfed it down, impatient to fill his stomach with such a treat. When he grew older, however, he learned to slow down and savor the explosion of flavors that tickled his taste buds in every bite.

He remembered the way the delicacy traveled down his throat, and how it felt like a fire was igniting in his belly. The warmth emanating from your skin reminded him so much of that.

And that smile that always graced your features at the sight of him? Alastor remembered that from somewhere too. His mother’s lips always curved into a soft, gentle grin that would make anyone butter up in their presence.

Your lips seemed to curve just the same, and the demon was sure if the two of you would have met before the afterlife. His mother would have loved to meet you.

Alastor remained deathly silent, his muscles tense as you splayed out his claws, turning his hand over to have his palm face up. There was dried blood across the smooth skin, which meant he had been bleeding for a while now.

How hard was Alastor holding the rose during the fight that he cut up his hand like this? If it wasn’t for the bickering between him and Lucifer, you surely would have noticed it earlier.

Your fingers gently brushed against the small cuts, blood still slowly seeping from beneath the demon’s skin. You nudged his wound softly, inspecting it with worry.

“Does that hurt?” You asked softly with furrowed brows.

“Does it matter?” Alastor scoffed, averting your expectant gaze.

“Yes! It does, actually!” You retorted, before your gaze moved to your outfit with a determined look. Quickly, you reached down, taking a fistful of fabric in your grasp before pulling it hard. With some friction, it began to tear away from the rest of your garment.

Now, you had a large piece of cloth in one hand, and Alastor’s wrist in the other. Reaching forward, you began to cover his cuts tightly against the fabric.

“Must you ruin such a pretty outfit for something so insignificant like my hand?” Alastor inquired, exasperation lacing his voice, “You’re treating it like some kind of battle wound, I am fine, my doe.”

He didn’t pull away from you, however, as you finished patching up his injury. Inspecting his hand closer, you eyed work for a moment, before you shook your head, dissatisfied.

“I forbid you from doing any activities for the rest of today until you address your wounds,” you declared, crossing your arms sternly.

“Forbid?” He inquired, quirking a brow in amusement.

“That’s right! If you don’t take care of your injury, or let me do it for you, then I’ll have no choice but to put my foot down.”

Alastor squinted at you for a moment, that grin masking his thoughts as he regarded you. Was he going to argue? Sweat beaded on your forehead as you anticipated his answer. It wasn’t like you could exactly stop the powerful demon from doing what he wanted, but you also couldn't just let him strain his wound further because of pride.

Alastor didn’t argue. Instead, he simply shrugged, a pleased smile gracing his features. He closed his eyes thoughtfully, before holding a limp hand towards you.

“Well, if you insist,” he hummed, cracking one eye open to watch you expectantly.

“Really..?” You asked in disbelief, regarding his hand with suspicion.

“If the lady wishes to fuss over my health, I suppose I could heed her demands,” Alastor responded casually, lifting his hand closer towards you, “and, how could I refuse such a generous offer?”

You smiled playfully before slowly wrapping your fingers around the makeshift gauze, trying to get a good grip around his cuts as you held his hand.

“Is there somewhere I could get medical aid inside? Baindaids, alcohol solution… ibuprofen?”

Did Ibuprofen even exist down here? There had to be something similar at least, the Pride Ring was full of mortals that could still feel pain. Was Alastor in a lot of pain? Even if he was, you probably wouldn't get a straight answer from him.

Now, you understood why Alastor and Lucifer didn’t like each other. They were just fighting for who was really the embodiment of pride.

“Hm..” Alastor tilted his head in thought, before his ears twitched, and a sly smile graced his lips, “I do believe I know just the place!”

Without a word, he returned your grip and pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched, your chest almost bumping against Alastor’s as he took your other hand. The two of you looked as if you were about to start a waltz, as the demon looked out towards the railing, his chest still facing yours as his smile grew.

“Hang on tight, my dear!” He stated chipperly, and you fastened your grip hastily. The air began to crackle with energy, goosebumps rippling across your skin as static seemed to tickle at your figure. Green smoke pooled at your feet, and that familiar tingling sensation overtook you, just like the first time you were teleported.

Alastor only pulled you closer right as the smoke blasted up, cold air hitting your face as you were pulled into darkness. The presence of the hand against yours was faint, but at least you weren't alone this time. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, your heart racing as you waited to feel the floor against your feet once more. Then, you felt a thumb brush softly against your knuckles, it circled soothingly across your skin, and you relaxed slightly.

What felt like minutes really only took a couple of seconds, as you felt soft lighting hit your eyelids, and Alastor stir beside you. His hand didn’t leave yours, as he waited for you to join reality.

“Not so bad, hm?” He prodded you slightly, beckoning you back into reality.

Letting your pupils adjust to the light, the familiar wallpaper from the hotel corridor met your vision. Did he really just materialize the two of you across the building? You didn't have any problem walking, but perhaps Alastor was trying to avoid the small crowd that would have met them at the bottom of the patio stairs.

“I feel kind of queasy,” you responded, shaking your head of the fog in the back of your mind.

“After a few times through, it won’t bother you anymore,” Alastor assured.

Trying to get a better estimate of your location, you turned your head to one side of the hall, taking in the sight of a dark, oak door. The familiar numbering made you quirk a brow, tilting your head towards the smiling demon. He met your gaze, a soft, lipped smile on his face.

“We’re going in my room?”

“Not quite..” he hummed, gripping your shoulders and pivoting you to the opposite side. Your eyes widened, gaze locked onto the matching door of Alastor’s room.

You stayed silent, feet frozen in place as you watched him take a few steps, his good hand wrapping around the spherical doorhandle. Slowly, he twisted the knob until it clicked softly. The hinges creaked with age, and the hallway lights began to spill into the darkened room as the crack in the doorway widened.

You couldn’t see anything through the slightly opened entryway, but your heart quickened as the second passed by. Your eyes flicked up to Alastor, who regarded you curiously, his gaze gentle as your nerves began to display on your face.

“Ladies first!” He beamed, his smile an assurance to your heated skin.

He obviously wanted you to go inside, and part of your brain was nudging you forward with excitement. Alastor was inviting you into his quarters, he was allowing you to take a step inside his world, to get to know him!

The other part whispered hesitation. What lay behind that door? Surely, more than just medical supplies.

It was as if you wrapped a sheet around the reluctance that was beginning to plague your mind, stuffing it underneath the floorboards of your brain. You weren't going to let your flustered mind get the better of you, and have you miss such an opportunity to get closer to the charming demon.

Exhaling a quiet breath, you banished your nerves into the air. Straightening your back, you sent Alastor a warm smile and took a step forward.

wingman!lucifer anybody? ✋

let me know what you think! ☺️ comments and reblogs are appreciated!

tags 🏷️

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites @lunaramune @enigmatic-blues @thytorturedpoet @vanhelsingsbigtoe @mixplara @blue122 @zardward @loser-bby @sirens-and-moonflowers @diaouranask @luzzbuzz @theredviolets @the-attention-whore @rayanicaraynbow @katiebwalczak03 @girl-nahh-two @moonmark98 @asianfrustration13 @thenocturnalreadingotaku @just-here-reading @taintedgenre @fairyv-ice @aisling1985 @missam @funkyexistence @summerofregret@beezgobuzzbuzz @valentique @dory-98 @mo-0-o @willow404 @karolinda007-blog @thehybridprincesshatedchild

#hazbin hotel #hellaverse #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader

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heartsofminds · 6 months ago

Text

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit.

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be.

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone.

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action.

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real.

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery.

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting.

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months.

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family.

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down.

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared.

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs.

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of.

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school.

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are.

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use).

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is.

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried.

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience.

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment.

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant.

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous.

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine.

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest.

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect.

Fuck. She is nervous.

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon!

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it.

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best.

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping.

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading.

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago.

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right?

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts.

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace?

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot.

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving.

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet?

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb.

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca.

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do.

Fucking finally.

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.

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thef1diary · 8 months ago

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A Spoiled Surprise | M. Verstappen

Summary: Max, your roommate, wanted to decorate the house to celebrate your birthday. Inconveniently, you walked in before he was fully prepared.

— part of the Birthday Bash fics

pairing: max x fem!roommate!reader

wc: 1.5k

main masterlist taglist form

As your birthday approached, the familiar pang of homesickness settled in your heart. Being away from home meant that you couldn't celebrate with your childhood friends or family, and the thought of spending the day alone in your apartment weighed heavily on your mind. But little did you know, your roommate Max had made plans to make your birthday still feel like a proper celebration.

Max had been sneaking around the apartment for days, trying to plan a surprise for you, but it was harder than it seemed.

His determination to make your birthday special fueled his every move as he threw himself into the preparations with gusto. While you were in your room, he rummaged through cabinets and drawers, attempting to gather supplies, but he barely found anything.

Max set to work, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He meticulously planned every detail, jotting down all the decorations he needed to buy. Nothing was left to chance — this had to be perfect.

He left the apartment a day before your birthday, wanting to buy all the supplies he needed to decorate and to make a homemade cake. With his arms laden with bags filled with streamers, balloons and whatnot, Max made his way back to the apartment. Fortunately, you weren't in the apartment at the time, allowing him to hide the items until he needed to decorate.

When you returned, he was inconspicuously relaxing on the couch, but it still made you raise your eyebrows. "Did you end up going to the store?"

"Yeah, why?" He asked, attempting to be nonchalant.

"You didn't restock anything…” you trailed off, having checked the pantry. "Oh, um, I forgot," he reasoned.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity at his response, but you decided to let it slide for the time being. "It's fine, I'll go tomorrow."

He nodded, a small smile growing on his face because it'll give him a chance to decorate once you're out of the house. However, he does feel bad that he's making you run errands on your birthday.

The next day, Max sat at the kitchen table, his gaze fixed on the calendar displayed on his phone screen. He couldn't help but notice the red circle marking today's date — your birthday. A mixture of excitement churned in his stomach as he could finally decorate.

As he heard your footsteps approaching, Max quickly minimized the calendar app and forced a casual smile. "Hey, are you going out now?," he asked, hoping that you would be out of the house soon.

You nodded, "yeah, just grabbing my keys," you gestured to the car keys sitting on the table.

"Alright, see ya," Max waved playfully, earning a confused expression from you.

Max watched you go, and once he heard the door to the apartment close, and the familiar sound of the key locking the door, he stood up.

He wasted no time in beginning to decorate the apartment. He started with making the cake first, mixing up the batter and putting it in the oven. While it was baking, he hung streamers from the ceiling and started inflating the balloons using the pump.

Despite his best efforts, time seemed to slip through Max's fingers like grains of sand. With each passing minute, the pressure mounted, and he found himself racing against the clock to finish decorating before you returned home.

He taped the 'Happy Birthday' banner to the wall and smiled since it was coming together. The ring from the timer startled him, indicating that the cake was finished baking, reminding him to pick up the pace.

He popped the cake out of the pan onto a cooling rack and let it sit on the counter while he went back to the balloons.

No matter how hard he worked, it seemed as if there were always more decorations to hang, more balloons to inflate, more details to attend to. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, threatening to overwhelm him.

And then, just when it seemed as if he would finish in time, Max heard the sound of keys jingling in the lock. His heart leaped into his throat as he realized that you were back earlier than expected.

With a sense of dread coursing through him, Max frantically tried to put the finishing touches on the decorations, attempting to pump air into the balloon he was holding, but it was too late.

You walked into the apartment, holding a couple bags full of groceries with a curious expression on your face as you took in the scene before you.

"What's all this?" you asked, your eyes widening in surprise as you surveyed the half-finished decorations.

Max's heart sank as he met your gaze, knowing that he had failed to finish decorating in time. "I, uh, well, I wanted to do something special for your birthday," he admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

You stood in the doorway, a mixture of surprise and confusion flickering across your features as you took in the scene before you. Streamers hung haphazardly from the ceiling, balloons littered the floor, and a plain cake sat on the counter, the aroma of freshly baked vanilla filling the air.

A small smile grew onto your face when you noticed the banner, and your eyes softened as you took in the chaotic scene before you, a warmth spreading through you at the sight of Max's efforts.

"Max, that's incredibly sweet of you," you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I had no idea you were planning all of this."

Max breathed a sigh of relief at your response, the tension melting away from his shoulders as he realized that you weren't upset with him. "I just wanted to make sure you had a great birthday, you know, being away from home and all," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity.

You quickly placed the bags on the countertop, and stepped forward to inspect the decorations. "Well, you definitely succeeded," you said, reaching out to give Max's arm a reassuring squeeze. "I love it, even if it's not finished."

Max couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude at your words, a sense of pride swelling within him at the knowledge that he had succeeded in making your birthday special. "Thanks," he replied, his voice tinged with emotion. "I'm glad you like it."

As you both surveyed the scene before you, disaster struck. The balloon Max had been holding slipped from his grasp, and suddenly it was soaring through the air, bouncing off the walls and ceiling like a mischievous spirit.

You both stood there stunned for a moment, watching in disbelief as the balloon's chaotic flight filled the room. And then, without warning, you burst into laughter, the sound filling the room like music to Max's ears.

He couldn't help but join in, his own laughter mingling with yours as he watched the balloon land on the couch, deflated. In that moment, all the tension and uncertainty that had been weighing on him melted away, leaving nothing but a sense of pure joy and exhilaration in its wake.

Once the laughter died down, Max nudged you. "I still have to decorate the cake," he stated, glancing at the cooling cake resting on the countertop.

"Let's do it together," you suggested.

As you and Max worked side by side, carefully icing the cake, the atmosphere in the kitchen was filled with laughter and chatter. "Is this why you 'forgot' the groceries?" You asked, dipping a spoon into the bowl of icing and carefully spreading it over the top of the cake.

Max had a sheepish smile on his face, "I was busy buying the decorations, so I actually forgot about why you sent me to the store in the first place."

You shook your head with a smile, and reached across to grab a napkin, but as you did, your hand accidentally brushed against Max's face, smearing a steak of icing across his cheek.

You gasped once you saw his face, then burst out into laughter again, your stomach already beginning to hurt with how much you laughed.

He instinctively reached up to touch his cheek, but instead of looking upset, a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh no you didn't," he muttered. Before you could react, Max dipped his finger into the bowl of icing and flicked a dollop of it onto your nose.

"I see how it is," you stated, a playful grin spreading across your face.

With a laugh, the two of you engaged in an impromptu icing fight, smearing frosting on each other's faces and giggling like children. By the time you were finished, both of you had icing all over your clothes, hair, and even on the kitchen floor, but you couldn't remember the last time you had laughed so hard.

As the laughter subsided and you caught your breath, you couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness wash over you. Despite being away from home, living with someone who was once a stranger, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You held your arms out, stepping closer and embracing Max. He made a disgusted face, "you're all sticky."

You chuckled, "so are you, now shut up and hug me back."

He obliged, wrapping his arms around you too. "Thank you, this means a lot to me," you mumbled against his shirt.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @xjval @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @helenemandl6 @charlesleclercsonlywife @dreamingonbed @regalbanshee @landoslutmeout @barcelonaloverf1life @megudaeggu @c-losur3

#thef1diary fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #fanfic #fluff

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hansel-blimp4 · 13 days ago

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Was so stuffed last night, large chips, large sausage in batter, large roll and all of it smothered in grease and sauce. My belly was packed full in agony but my greed got the better of me and within 5 minutes I’ve got half a Yule log, vine of grapes and cream making me into a Christmas balloon! X

#gaining fat #belly gainer #feeding kink #get me fatter #gaining weight on purpose #gainer boy #fat belly #feedee belly #fatboy #fatty

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thatnonameuser · 13 days ago

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Me have thoughts of feral darling, whose so chaotic no one would have thought they’re darling to begin with.

Like, when they found out yanderes can openly kill people, they’re weirded out but they’re okay. During Vargas camp, they hunted a boat and kill e a bear by ripping out they’re throat and no one batter an eye at it

Some people might call you crazy. The actual term is feral or unhinged, but you don’t think that’s the right word for you. You just think you have a lot of energy, energy that has to be let out or you feel suffocated, and your chosen method is with your fists……or your teeth………preferably with them going through skin and letting out blood.

Honestly, they just didn’t get you. But this place did. Coming here was great learning that you could kill people. In fact, your first thought was, “oh cool, I don’t have to hide the bodies anymore!”

The yandere/darling junk didn’t make any sense to you. In fact it was a little strange, but hey, you could stab someone in the eye without getting expelled here, so you’d just bear with it. Besides, it was great to be free from the boring world you’re from. At least this world understands the romanticness of a snake twisted in a heart shaped balloon animal. Your last crush didn’t.

Being normal is boring. And you’re not boring. You’re just a wee bit crazy, not too much though. And it’s super helpful here!

Like when Crowley’s food budget ran out, you went and hunted a deer, coming back bloody and with the creature gutted and portioned for your troubles with nothing but a rusty old fork or when some delinquents tried to pick on you, and you broke their ribs….. Out of their bodies…. And beat them with said ribs.

Sure you got a few funny looks from your new friends but they never hated you. At least you think, you didn’t know for sure. If you bite them, stab them, or break their limbs they still like you! You hope there’s no side effect

* * * *

You being so unhinged is a bit of a shock to some of them.

In the yandereverse, darlings are supposed to be optime of innocence and gentleness, so you being as violent and dangerous as a yandere is a bit strange for them. You probably weren’t diagnosed as a darling, because of how violent you are. But that’s not to say that a lot of them don’t really enjoy it.

They Enjoy it……Very much.

Despite having been told that darlings are the basically ‘Disney princesses’ their entire life, watching you drink the blood of the boar you just killed with your bare, clawless hands without getting a scratch on you is doing it for them. You want to be so feral that if you were an animal they would put you down for the sake of everyone else, they’d let you give them rabies with your affection bites and they won’t stop you on your rampage.

Cater Diamond - If you’re the idiot doing something stupid, he’s the idiot recording the stupid act to post it in Magicam. Cater doesn’t see any reason to stop you from going about and ripping the world a collective new one. Because if you end up doing something super illegal he has pics of it to blackmail you with. Plus, you look good in red.

Leona Kingscholar - Well, color him impressed, the herbivore is actually a carnivore unafraid of hiding her fangs and claws. You don’t even have animal instincts and you hunt and kill with the elegance and ferocity of a lioness stalking in the grass, and he loves it. But no matter how much you snarl and snap at him with your dull little fangs, he’s still at the top of the food chain. Even if you don't like it, even if you fight with all your might, you’ll never escape him. So get comfy next to him.

Ruggie Bucchi - Oh, You’ll fit right in back home. Watching you rip something to shreds with just your blunt nails and teeth excites him. Now he doesn’t have to worry about you getting culture shock when you abruptly and unwillingly join him in the slums. After all, he doubts you’d be used to watching them gutting animals while they’re still alive. Plus, now he won’t have to worry about you starving, seeing how well you can care for yourself.

Floyd Leech - We all saw this coming. To Floyd, you match his vibe perfectly. And he loves it. Floyd loves the idea of you being as feral as he is. You’ll both be spending the TWST-version of Valentine’s Day squeezing and drowning people and that’s perfect to him. The one thing Floyd doesn’t want from his darling is for her to become boring, i.e. to have her will broken, so you being feral and fighting him tooth, nail, and eventually fin, unafraid of drawing blood and killing him, excites him.

Rook Hunt - Once again, we all saw this coming. You are truly a creature worthy of eternal worship.You are the feral beast and he is the expert hunter destined to capture and tame your bloodthirst. He’s destined to cage and trap you, and your expertise in hunting and killing will make you a powerful beast to capture and claim. And he will adore your ferocity as he tries to capture you. Along with your scratches, bites and slashes. You could stab out his eye and he’d see your extraordinary beauty through all the blood and viscous humor.

Epel Felmier - A former misdiagnosed darling with feral behaviour and hatred for being considered ‘cute’, you couldn’t be any more perfect for him. His past problems with cuteness made him think darlings could in no way be as feral and violent as you are. Now that you’ve proven him wrong, he’ll happily join you on all your messy and bloody escapades. He’ll try sometimes to take over for you, wanting to beat your victim to death for you and earn the praise only you can give him.

Malleus Draconia - He can never stop loving you. You could stab in the chest with an iron dagger and he’ll never let the scar heal out of his obsessive love for you. He’ll take every stab wound, slash and cut with a smile on his face and treasure the scar that appears. As a dragon prepared to burn the world to the ground simply because you asked him to, he’ll love your ferality to his very core, and he won’t worry about you getting hurt because if someone does they’ll never find their remains.

They tolerate it. Sort of.

They don’t hate the idea of you being feral. They’re used to seeing you covered in blood and dirt from your…… ‘spirited’ escapades, and have seen the victims of your fun/wrath, and while they don’t care for your increasing bloodthirst, they’ll help you hid the bodies and give you a bath to clean off all the blood. And yes, you can bite them but after you get your shots.

Trey Clover - As the loving partner he is, he’ll dress your wounds, clean you up and cook whatever you hunted for dinner, even if he dislikes seeing you focus your attention on inflicting pain and bloodshed onto others instead of loving him. He’s not going to take away your fun, just yet. But, he’ll be sure to poison your hunting feasts with something to keep you lethargic if you tend to spend too much time away from him, plus your fighting skills will be tamed as well to keep you from trying to resist him or run away.

Jack Howl - Unlike the aforementioned beastmen, Jack sees the way you act as something he’ll tolerate out of his love of you rather than something he adores about you. Mostly because he worries about the danger you constantly throw yourself in. But he can tolerate it, because maybe you can make a date of him making sure you don’t die or commit any major crimes while you make whatever primordial being out there cry. Besides, learning your habits prevents you from running off.

Jamil Viper - As long as you don’t come home with bugs, in any and every way, he’ll let you do whatever. You want to wrestle a poisonous viper, well you do that with him every other day and he’ll get the anti-venom ready. He doesn’t mind your bloodthirst. Mostly because you’re not as brain dead as Kalim, so you’re not going to kill yourself trying to fight something. And besides, he’s dealt with Kalim’s shenanigans, yours are just more bloody and he actually cares about you, so he’ll just make sure to have soaps and oils ready to clean you up after you decided to have a fight with some vultures over some carrion.

Silver - He’s a little conflicted. As a very ‘princely yandere’, he’s trying to protect and love you like the princess you are, which is kind of hard when you’re the kind of princess that skins the dragon to make a pair of boots. He’s not upset about it, he could never be. He’s just concerned that you might get hurt. Or worse. But while he may be hesitant to your rampages, he’ll wield a blade to keep you from getting hurt while you terrify everything with legs. And while he’d like you not to harm the animals that surround him, as long as you don’t try to use your ‘skills’ to run away, he’ll be fine butchering your hunts for dinner.

They don’t like it. They really don’t like it.

It’s not that you are constantly killing things for the fun of it, or that you’re constantly throwing yourself in danger, or coming home covered in enough blood to make a veteran surgeon throw up. They’re just not a fan. Maybe it’s because they don’t want you killing people, or because they’re worried about you potentially pissing off the wrong person and getting injured, but they really don’t like it. That’s not to say that they will stop your affectionate nimbles, just stop trying to kill things.

Riddle Rosehearts - Riddle has researched and understood that you having hobbies is healthy for a darling’s mental health…. But that doesn’t stop him from hating it. You’re not supposed to be running off to scare the daylights out of whoever tickles your fancy, you’re supposed to be in his care, showering him with the same love and affection he shows you. Riddle thinks that darlings aren’t supposed to be hurting or killing things, because he’s under the belief that the ‘helplessness’ darlings have is what’s best for them. So he really doesn’t like your behavior. (Not to mention it reminds him too much of Floyd)

Azul Ashengrotto - Azul’s insecurity towards his ‘yandere’-ness makes him not like your ferality. You being so capable of protecting yourself without him, or even resisting him physically makes those painful thoughts creep back in. Additionally the idea that you could get yourself killed while he is basically helpless could drive him to overblot again. He knows how to handle it a little, growing up with Floyd would do that to you, but he’d rather bind you to a contract for all eternity to make sure you don’t behave like this again.

Vil Schoenheit - Vil has a reputation to maintain. And he can’t exactly do that when your hobbies include terrifying the local wildlife, scaring off the paparazzi (he would be fine with it, if you weren’t having your reputation slandered to), and making his assistants’ life a living hell. So he’s going to do what he did with Rook, and ‘tame’ you till your disturbing hobbies are at the ‘PR-team can handle this somewhat’ degree. While he does love all of you, get used to paralysis and chains and muzzles, for when you decide to be difficult.

Sebek Zigvolt - Unlike his fellow countryman, Sebek is a traditionalist. A traditionalist from the Briar Valley which views darlings as helpless as a sleeping princess lying in a thorny palace. So your feral nature hits him in the face like whiplash, because your behaviour on a darling is very not okay! Yes, he does deeply appreciate your love bites but your violent nature isn’t fine, it’s unnatural and he’s concerned that you might get yourself hurt, killed or worse, because of your violent nature.

Other.

Their feelings are separate from the others, unique in their own right.

Ace Trappola - Ace is observant enough to realise that if he tries to smother your chaotic ways, he’ll likely end up with a broken nose at best and something indescribably painful at worst. Plus given the fact that you tend to get involved with chaos regardless of whether you want to or not. So instead, he just embraces it. Either way, he’s still going to be completely obsessed with you.

Deuce Spade - He’s a little conflicted here. Because he’s trying to be an honor student, he doesn’t want to show off the side that you’d probably like throwing punches at anyone who looks at you funny. But because he knows that you might really like that side of him, he might show it off more. He can still be an honour student in between kicking the asses of whoever you'd like. He just wants to make you happy with him.

Jade Leech - Jade is conflicted about this. While he does see your desire to be free to hunt and kill at your leisure as an enticing method of controlling you, (i.e. restricting your hunting and killing as rewards for when you do what he wants), he sees it equally as a threat. While dealing with Floyd taught him how to deal with you, he can see your viciousness and mood swings as a threat to his end goal, knowing that you might fight very hard to resist him if he pushes too far.

Kalim Al-Asim - Kalim will always love you regardless of how much blood you spill and how many times you try to break his arms for chaining you down. He doesn’t particularly love your brutality specifically, he loves you and everything about you so that’s just a plus, but he isn’t happy, indifferent or upset about it. He just loves you regardless. He might enable it, (Kalim may start the purge for you because you want to hunt and kill things), but whether you’re feral or a shy pacifist he’ll always love you.

Idia Shroud - Idia’s kind of scared of you. He’s used to normies being weirdos, he’s not used to a darling rivalling Ares in brutality. He’s seen you beat one of the STYX droids to scrap metal, imagine what you’d do to him. But also, imagine what you’d do to him! Idia has two feelings towards this. A. you are terrifying and B. you are terrifying and he’s turned on for some reason. Please try to kill him, he’d be fine dying if you did it.

As for the platonic yanderes…….

Ortho Shroud - How Ortho feels about this depends on how Idia feels about it. He knows that while his brother is terrified, he’s equally ‘intrigued’ . So if that is what onii-chan wants then, he’s fine with you being as chaotic as you are. Ortho doesn’t mind your borderline murderous demeanor, even though you ripped one of his arms off to beat someone with. After all, you’re happy and it makes Onii-chan happy then he’s happy.

Lilia Vanrouge - As a chaotic person himself, how Lilia reacts is dependent on the reactions of Malleus and Silver. He personally doesn’t mind it BUT if Malleus or Silver show any signs of disliking it, then expect him to step in to snuff it out posthaste.

Divus Crewel - If his hair wasn’t already partially white, it would be turning grey from your shenanigans. A feral pup is a pup to be worried about, and he’s constantly afraid of you being put down by a larger dog. While he appreciates the dead animals you leave on his desk as ‘gifts’ and the chaos you bring being the perfect deterrent for the horny mutts trying to mate with you, he constantly has to keep you on a tight leash to prevent you from getting yourself killed.

Mozus Trein - Similarly to Crewel, he’s a disappointed and exasperated grandfather when it comes to your day-to-day chaos. Yes, he is glad that he doesn’t have to worry about you defending or looking after yourself (Lucius leaves him less dead birds than you do), but he’s very not comfortable with your constant, dangerous adventures. Though he’s glad his class bores you so much that he doesn’t have to worry about you raising hell when you’re snoring away because of his lecture.

Ashton Vargas - As the Cool and Best Uncle, his words not yours, Coach Vargas encourages your chaotic nature. You want to go and put the fear of god into every creature you see for the complete fun of it, he’ll make sure you’re the strongest little hellspawn out there. Vargas Camp wasn’t just to hunt down the students just for fun, but for you to get your kicks (and bites) in. What’s a better uncle-niece activity but hunting down the students that make you mad? Sam - Like dear Uncle Vargas, Sam is the enabler, providing you with whatever tools or curses you need to make someone else’s life more difficult. In a way, his nickname for you is actually accurate because of all your mischievous ways. Sam doesn’t worry about you going missing on all your escapades, his friends on the other side keep an eye on you when he can’t.

Hope you enjoyed this!

#ask #yandere twisted wonderland #yandereverse au #yandere

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deanswhiskey · 8 months ago

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𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 - 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; its sams birthday and his wish comes true

wc; 1,113

warnings; nothing but some kisses

authors note; AAAAHHHHH IM SO SORRY I HAVENT POSTED IN AGES BUT I WANTED TO PUT OUT SOMETHING FOR SAMS BIRTHDAY AND IK ITS LATE BUT OH WELL i promise ill start writing more when i'm done with this semester :))) also this is proofread bc i rushed to put this out apologies for any mistakes

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

the late, late night of may 1st was spent alone in the kitchen. you were so graciously baking your best friend sam a beautiful birthday cake.

since arriving to the bunker and having a ginormous kitchen all to yourselves, you thought it’d be a great idea to start baking and cooking again. being on the road, hunting monsters, you never got the chance to cook or bake. the only cooking you ever did was heating up some frozen dinners for everyone from the store.

not that you minded, sometimes they were good; but nothing, nothing, ever beats a home cooked meal. and to top it all off, homemade dessert.

that’s why when you all settled into the bunker, you went on a big grocery spree and bought almost everything in the store.

the very first meal you cooked was fettuccine alfredo with chicken. something your mother used to make all the time when you were younger and have loved ever since.

when sam and dean walked into the kitchen they couldn’t help but notice the divine aroma.

“‘m my god, what’s that smell,” dean asked searching around for what could be it.

you moved out of the way of the stove to show them a view of the food, “it’s fettuccine alfredo and chicken. it’s almost ready, fo you two wanna set the table?”

they both nodded with enthusiasm, getting plates and forks and knives and set them on the table nearby.

the noodles, sauce, and chicken were finally done and incorporated. you took the pan and a large spoon to scoop it with and headed over to the boys who looked like they were about to start eating from the pan. as soon as the food hit their plates they wasted no time digging in. you chuckled as you watched them almost eat it whole.

that night marked the start of some of the best food sam and dean had eaten.

so now you were baking and decorating the most extravagant looking cake for the man you were secretly in love with.

you don’t know when it happened but something changed and you no longer wanted to just be friends; you wanted more. more than just a quick side hug when celebrating, more than just high fives. you wanted whole, endearing hugs; you wanted to interlink hands and never let go.

the cake you were baking you surly knew sam would like. it’s his favorite cake flavor and a beautiful frosting color. you even added ruffled borders on the top and bottom and near perfect lettering on the top. this cake was made with love.

it was 11:49 pm when you finished and you had flour in your hair, frosting on your shirt, and excess batter on the counter. the cake was put in the fridge to chill over night and the kitchen was finally cleaned 10 minutes later. you quickly showered before hopping into bed with a small smile on your face knowing your best friend would be so happy with everything.

morning came and you and dean had to be the first ones up to set out everything. dean went out to buy balloons (that you and dean so tiresomely blew up) and banners to hand from the walls. he also set out the few presents the two of you bought, even after sam said he didn’t want anything (you both knew you were gonna buy him something anyways), and you set out the cake with the candles, lighting the fee of them up.

sam walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!” he jumped at the two of you screaming.

after his scare went away, his eyes lit up like a child at their very own birthday. he rushed over to you thanking the both of you for doing this. he glanced at the cake, “did you make this?”

“with love,” you nodded.

“make a wish, brother,” dean patted his back. sam closed his eyes thinking, he knew exactly what we was going to wish for. he bent down slightly and blew out the candles. you didn’t bother with making breakfast because you knew cake for breakfast would excite anyone.

sam was very giddy to open up his presents. he was ever so thankful for the few new flannels, nice watch, and a new belt you guys gave him.

the three of you sat in the movie room and watched a bunch of old movies. sam has grown very fond of old films. he likes western ones the most.

it was getting late and dean decided that he’d had enough of movies and was feeling sleepy.

now it was just you and sam, on the couch, in the movie room, alone.

the movie was at a slow part, just the main two characters talking in an old western barn.

“did you have a good day?” you turned to sam.

he looks over at you, he loves that smile on your face. “i had probably one of the best days ever. that cake? phenomenal, probably the best thing you’ve baked.”

you blushed and looked down. after a moment of silence you looked up again, sam still looking at you, “what’d you wish for?”

“i cant tell you that,” he chuckled.

“c’mon,” you dragged out.

“no, i can’t!”

“please, for me” queue the big puppy dog eyes.

how could he resist those eyes? “fine, but you can’t get upset.”

why would you get upset?

sams heart is racing. “i wished for you.”

“me?”

“mhm, you.”

“wh- i- why me?”

“because you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

you were speechless. “sam, i-”

“you don’t have to say anything, it’s okay.”

the saddened look on his face broke you’re heart. “listen to me sam,” you started to smile. “i feel the same way. i mean it when i said that cake was made with love.”

a smile grew on his face. “can i kiss you now?”

it felt like you couldn’t breathe, “yeah,” it came out as a whisper.

sam gently cupped one side of your face as he drew in closer. his lips brushed yours before he fully smashed his lips to yours.

you’ve dreamed on this moment for a while. it was more than you could’ve ever imagined. his lips were soft. he tasted slightly of whiskey that the three of you sipped on earlier and it was perfect.

“my birthday wish finally came true,” sam says just above a whisper.

“good, i’m glad.” you smiled.

the two of you fell asleep on the couch with the old western movie quietly playing in the background. both you and sam fell asleep with a smile on your face in each others arms.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #sam winchester x reader #supernatural imagine #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester

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eunseoksimp · 6 months ago

Text

Entangled; Jung Sungchan

made this on a whim after an excessive amount of listens to house of balloons by the weekend.

Pairings: Boxer!Jung Sungchan x Girlfriend!Reader

Genre: angst

Description: the relationship between you and sungchan is a tumultuous storm, a volatile mix of passion and pain, bound by an intense love that is as toxic as it is profound. sungchan, an underground fighter, using the ring as an outlet for his inner demons and you, clinging to him as you seek solace from your own unhealed wounds. two broken pieces clinging to each other in a toxic dance of dependency and desperation.

Warning: use of swear words, brief mention of substance abuse and alcoholism.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

sungchan shows up at your house, eyes bloodshot, knuckles bruised, and that signature smile of his, the one that always made your heart flutter despite the chaos it signified. but now it only brings a sigh to your lips. you sigh, not even wanting to know what kind of trouble he got into this time, simply opening the door wider, allowing him to lean into your side as you guide him into your dimly lit apartment. the weight of his body against yours feels both familiar and burdensome, like an old, tattered blanket that you can’t seem to discard.

you sway all the way into your bedroom, his weight heavy against you until you stumble into your bedroom. he looks at you for a second, as if trying to see if you would allow him to jump onto your bed the way he is. his gaze is a silent question, but he knows how much you hate outside clothes touching your covers. with a shake of your head and the best shot of a disapproving look, he clicks his tongue but nevertheless shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders, obeying your rules. his jacket lands on the floor with a soft thud, a harbinger of the troubles he brought with him.

you watch as he clicks the clasp off his watch, slipping it off his wrist in one swift move and placing it on your dressing table. there's a practiced grace in his movements, a dance you've witnessed countless times. he reaches one hand from behind him to grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, ruffling his hair before it’s discarded on the floor. you’ve seen him many times in this state, his top always coming off first because he knew you liked to peek at his muscles. his body, a canvas of old scars and fresh bruises that littered the expanse of his back, speaks of a history written in pain and conflict.

‘want me to give you a little strip show?’ he teases, fingers brushing against the buckle of his belt, his eyebrow quirking up before he relaxes it. his voice, tinged with a playful mockery, is an echo of better days when his teasing would have made you laugh. now, it only deepens the chasm of despair between you.

‘hurry up and get into bed. It’s cold,’ you reply, your voice betraying a weariness that matches the dim light of the room. the cold isn’t just physical; it’s an ever-present chill in the air, a manifestation of the emotional void that has grown between you.

he obeys, giving you a two-fingered salute and a boyish grin before unbuckling his belt and slipping out of his jeans, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. his body, though battered, still carries an allure that tugs at your heartstrings. you turn away, not wanting to let your gaze linger too long on the marks of his latest escapade, the reminders of a life he refuses to abandon.

sliding under the covers, he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate intensity. you nestle into his chest, inhaling the scent of sweat and faint cologne, a mixture that has become a bittersweet comfort. his heartbeat, steady but troubled, is a metronome to the silent symphony of your shared sorrow.

you both lie there, staring at the ceiling, the dim light casting shadows that dance around the room like ghosts of your past. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you closer. you can feel the tension in his body, the unspoken pain he's trying to hide.

‘rough night?’ you ask softly, your fingers tracing the contours of his bruised knuckles.

‘you could say that,’ he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion. ‘but it’s better now. i’m here with you.’

you close your eyes, wanting to believe his words, to find solace in the illusion that everything is normal. but the truth is inescapable: you are both prisoners of a toxic love, bound together by pain and passion. his presence, once a source of joy, has become a reminder of the endless cycle of hurt and reconciliation.

it was impossible, for two broken people to try and mend each other’s hearts, and yet here you both were. sungchan engaged with underground boxing to keep his demons at bay, to control the anger that burned deep inside him to the ring alone. and you continued to be with a man whose habits of danger and thrill-seeking often left you in sorrow, the possessiveness he felt over you seeming like love due to the poor examples of it you had as a model.

‘ i wish you’d stop doing this to yourself,’ you whisper, your voice breaking. ‘to us.’

he sighs, a sound heavy with resignation. he doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he tightens his grip on you, as if holding on to you can keep him from falling apart.

‘i can’t change who i am. and you... you can’t seem to let go of me, even though you know it’s killing you.’

the words hang in the air, a bitter truth that neither of you can deny. you cling to each other, seeking warmth in the cold emptiness of your relationship. you stay because you can’t let go, because the pain has become a part of you, a twisted proof of your connection.

his hands, rough and calloused, move gently over your back, a gesture that once brought comfort but now feels like a plea for forgiveness. you shift slightly, turning to face him. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask he wears slips away. you see the vulnerability, the hurt, and the longing. it’s a mirror of your own soul, reflecting back all the things you’ve tried to hide.

‘maybe we’re just broken,’ you say, your voice barely audible. ‘maybe this is all we deserve.’

sungchan tightens his grip on you, as if trying to hold together the fragile pieces of your shattered love.

‘maybe. but i’d rather be broken with you than whole without you,’ he closes his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face as his voice slightly cracks.

tears sting your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain you both carry. his words, though meant to be comforting, only deepen the wound. you lie there in the darkness, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the life you’ve built on a foundation of hurt.

he pulls you closer and there’s a desperate hunger in his kiss, a need to reassure both of you that this is real, that this is worth the pain. his lips are rough against yours, his hands clutching at you like a drowning man grasping for a lifeline. you respond with equal fervor, pouring all your confusion and heartache into the kiss, hoping to find some semblance of solace.

but the solace never comes. instead, you’re left with a hollow ache, a reminder of how broken you both are. you pull away, breathless, and bury your face in his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. it’s a rhythm you’ve come to rely on, a reminder that despite everything, you’re still here, still together.

in the quiet of the night, the apartment feels like a mausoleum, a resting place for the ghosts of your past. the dim light casts shadows on the walls, flickering images of the dreams you once shared, now distorted by the harsh reality of your love. the bed, once a sanctuary, has become a battleground where you both fight to hold on to something that is slipping away.

‘i love you,’ he whispers, pulling you out of your thoughts, his voice filled with a desperate sincerity. it’s a declaration that should bring joy, but instead, it feels like a dagger to your heart.

‘i love you too,’ you reply, the words tasting of ash. love, for you both, has become synonymous with pain, a beautiful lie that you can’t help but cling to.

sungchan’s voice, when he speaks again, was filled with a bittersweet mixture of resignation and affection. ‘we’re a mess, aren’t we?’ he said with a rueful chuckle, the sound tinged with a sadness that mirrored the shadows on the walls.

‘yeah,’ you agreed, a sad smile playing on your lips. but we’re our mess.’ your words hung in the air, a delicate thread of understanding that connected you both in your shared chaos.

he sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his internal battles, and pulled you closer. ‘i don’t know what I’d do without you,’he confessed, his voice cracking with vulnerability.

‘you’d survive,’ you said softly, your voice a gentle balm to his wounded soul. ‘you always do.’ you traced the lines of his face with your fingers, each touch a silent vow of your love and commitment.

‘but I don’t want to just survive,’ he replied, his voice filled with a longing that tugged at your heart. ‘i want to live, to really live, and I don’t know how to do that without you.’

You don’t know how to respond to that. Instead, you just hold him tighter, as if that could somehow make everything better. But deep down, you both know it won’t. You’re stuck in a cycle of love and pain, unable to break free but unwilling to let go.

as the night stretches on, you drift into a restless sleep, haunted by dreams of what could have been. in your dreams, you see a life where love doesn’t hurt, where his eyes aren’t bloodshot and his knuckles aren’t bruised. but when you wake, the reality is unyielding, a stark reminder that you are trapped in a cycle of your own making.

morning comes, casting a pale light over the room and you watch as the sun slowly rises, bringing with it a new day. but there’s no sense of renewal, no promise of a fresh start. it’s just another day in the endless cycle you’ve found yourselves trapped in.

he stirs beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. you watch as he sits up, his back to you, the weight of his actions evident in the slump of his shoulders.

‘i’m sorry,’ he says, finally breaking the silence, not turning to look at you. the words, though heartfelt, feel like a cruel joke. sorry isn’t enough to heal the wounds, to erase the nights of pain and the days of longing.

‘i know,” you reply, your voice devoid of emotion. it’s a conversation you’ve had countless times, each one a repetition of the same hollow promises.

he stands, reaching for his discarded clothes, the bed feeling colder and emptier without him, ironically mirroring the effect he seemed to have on your life. you watch in silence as he dresses, the familiar routine a painful reminder of the transient nature of your moments together. when he’s fully clothed, he turns to you, his eyes pleading for understanding.

‘will you be okay?’ he asks, the question heavy with unspoken fears.

‘i always am,’ you lie, forcing a smile. it's a lie you both choose to believe because the truth is too painful to face.

he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. ‘i’ll be back tonight.’

you nod, knowing that the cycle will continue, that tonight will bring the same mix of joy and despair. as he leaves, the apartment feels even colder, the silence a deafening reminder of your solitude.

you sit there for a long time, staring at the door he walked through, wondering if there will ever come a day when you can let go. the love you share is a beautiful poison, one that you can’t seem to quit, even though you know it’s slowly killing you both. the echoes of your conversations linger in the air, a haunting reminder of the love and pain you share.

you finally get up, moving through the motions of your morning routine. but everything feels hollow, your heart heavy with the weight of your relationship. you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, seeing the tired eyes and the lines of worry etched into your face.

you think about the love you have for him, the way it consumes you. it’s a love that’s both beautiful and destructive, a force that binds you together even as it tears you apart. you wonder if things will ever change, if you’ll ever find the strength to let go.

but for now, you’re stuck in this endless loop, holding on to each other because the alternative is too terrifying to consider. you find a twisted comfort in the pain, a sense of normalcy in the chaos. it’s not healthy, but it’s all you’ve ever known.

you go about your day, trying to push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind. but he’s always there, a constant presence in your heart and mind. you can’t escape him, can’t escape the love you have for him, no matter how much it hurts.

as the day turns to night, you find yourself back in your apartment, the loneliness weighing heavily on you. you lie in bed, staring at the empty space beside you, waiting for him to come back to you, just like he promised. you know he’ll be back, that you’ll repeat the same cycle again. and despite everything, you find a strange comfort in that.

the living room is bathed in the soft, flickering light of a lone lamp, casting elongated shadows that stretch and wane across the walls. the clock on the mantle ticks away, each second echoing through the silence, a metronome marking the passage of time. you sit on the edge of the couch, a book in hand, its pages unread as your eyes repeatedly drift to the front door. the weight of anticipation hangs heavy in the air, a tangible presence that presses down on your chest.

outside, the night is alive with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. it contrasts starkly with the oppressive quiet of the apartment, where the silence seems almost accusatory, reminding you of the countless nights spent in similar fashion. your phone lies beside you on the coffee table, screen dark and unbothered by any messages or calls. you don't bother picking it up to check; you already know.

the hours pass slowly, each one a reminder of your solitude, and yet he doesn’t return. it used to make your heart leap, bad thoughts circling your mind as you think about all the terrible situations he might have gotten in to. but you knew him too well now. you knew all too well that it just meant he was engaging in another night of his hedonistic pleasures, probably because he won his fight, surrounded by alcohol and loud music whilst consuming substances that he knew wasn’t good for him.

it wasn’t that you thought he would cheat, in fact that was the least of your worries. it was all just unhealthy, being wrapped up in a life of substance-fueled debauchery and distractions, a cry for help and it brings a bitter taste to your mouth. you’ve been here before, and the script always plays out the same.

you glance at the clock again—11:30 pm. each minute feels like an hour, and the realization slowly settles over you like a cold, damp blanket. he’s not coming home tonight. the knowledge seeps into your bones, a familiar ache that you've grown accustomed to. there's no anger left, no fiery resentment. just a dull, throbbing disappointment that pulses in rhythm with your heartbeat.

with a heavy sigh, you rise from the couch. the room feels larger in his absence, the silence more pronounced. you make your way to the bedroom, the soft thud of your footsteps the only sound accompanying you.

you slip under the covers, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the warmth you long for. the ceiling stares back at you, an expanse of darkness dotted with the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. memories of happier times flood your mind, unbidden and unwelcomed as you try to push them away, focusing instead on the present, on the reality of your situation.

the phone remains silent on the nightstand but you don’t reach for it. there’s no point. instead, you close your eyes, willing sleep to come and take you away from the disappointment, if only for a few hours.

you finally drift off to sleep, your dreams filled with images of him. in your dreams, things are different. there’s no pain, no conflict. just love, pure and simple.but dreams are just that – dreams. the reality is much harsher, much more complicated. you wake up to the same emptiness, the same ache in your heart and you know that nothing will change, that you’re trapped in this toxic dance with no end in sight.

the next night arrives, and with it, the familiar sound of a brisk knock on the door. you know who it is as you fiddle with your locks; sungchan, with bloodshot eyes and bruised knuckles, his signature smile plastered across his face and you feel the familiar pull in your chest. he’s your addiction, the one thing you can’t quit even though you know it’s destroying you. he steps into your embrace, and for a moment, you forget the pain, lose yourself in the illusion of love.

but deep down, you know that this isn’t sustainable, that one day the weight of your combined sorrows will crush you both. until then, you continue to cling to each other, finding fleeting moments of solace in the midst of your shared suffering.

the smell of alcohol wafts in with him, mingling with the night air, and you know immediately that he’s drunk. his steps are unsteady, yet his grin is wide, a mask that hides the weariness and turmoil beneath.

‘i’m sorry about last night,’ he slurs, leaning heavily against the doorframe and you’re pulled back into your reality.

‘got caught up in the moment. the partying, the fun... i didn’t want to disturb you, you hate when i drink, but i’m really trying.’

you stand there, feeling the weight of his words press down on you, each one a reminder of the empty hours you spent waiting. but anger is a luxury you can't afford anymore. instead, you focus on the task at hand, channeling your energy into taking care of him.

with gentle hands you guide him to your bathroom, peeling off the heavy leather jacket that clings to him, the one he cherishes so much. it smells of smoke and sweat, a testament to the night he’s had. next, you work on his jeans, the ones he wears like a second skin, stained and frayed from countless nights like these.

he tries to kiss you, his breath hot and sour against your cheek and his arms, though unsteady, reach for you, seeking solace in your embrace. but you turn your head, dodging his attempts at affection. each dodge feels like a small betrayal to your heart, which still beats for him despite everything. resentment tugs at your heartstrings, a discordant melody that drowns out the love you still feel. why couldn’t he be a normal boyfriend? someone who showed up when he promised, who took you out more, who came home more. someone who didn’t burden you with the weight of his absences and the chaos he brought with him.

‘let’s get you to bed,’ you murmur after helping him wash up and change into new clothes, hoping that sleep would sober him up as you take his hand and lead him to your room. he stumbles along, his laughter a hollow echo in the small space. you keep your touch gentle but firm, your heart a fortress against the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

once he’s settled under the covers, you sit on the edge of the bed, watching him. his eyes flutter closed, a sigh escaping his lips, the bruises on his knuckles standing out starkly against his pale skin, a silent testament to the battles he fights, both inside and out. you reach out, your fingers brushing against the bruises, feeling the rough texture of broken skin.

the words you long to say choke you, each one a thorn you bury deep within. you love him—god, how you love him—but you’re tired. tired of the waiting, of the disappointment, of the endless cycle of highs and lows. you swallow hard, pushing the bitterness down, burying it beneath layers of resignation and care.

he mumbles something incoherent, his hand reaching out to find yours. you let him take it, feeling the warmth of his grip, the way his fingers curl around yours. in this moment, despite everything, you still find a small piece of solace. because even though he’s broken, and even though he breaks you a little more each time, you still love him. and that love, for now, is enough to keep you here.

as the night wears on, you lie in bed together, his arms around you, your heart is heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled wishes, holding on to the fragile hope that somehow, love will be enough to save you. but in the silence, you both know the truth: love, in its purest form, is supposed to heal, not hurt. and yet, you choose to remain, bound by a toxic devotion that neither of you can escape.

in the end, the saddest part isn’t the pain or the bruises or the tears. it’s the realization that you’ve mistaken suffering for love, that you’ve built a life on a foundation of hurt. and as you drift into another restless sleep, you can’t help but wonder if there will ever come a day when you can truly let go.

you can’t help but wonder if there will ever come a time when he chooses you over the chaos.

morning light filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft, muted glow across the room. you wake up first, as always, lying in silent resignation as you watch sungchan sleep. his face is a picture of peace, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the previous night. you trace the contours of his face with your eyes, noting the faint lines of exhaustion and the bruises that mar his knuckles. there’s a fleeting moment of tenderness as you remember why you fell in love with him, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the weight of disappointment.

eventually, he stirs, eyes fluttering open, confusion swimming in his irises. his gaze darts around the room until recognition dawns, and you see the realization settle in. he doesn’t remember much, but he knows he messed up. T

the room is enveloped in a heavy silence, the kind that presses down on you, making it hard to breathe. you both look at each other, hearts too heavy to speak. he knows you’re tired of his apologies, and you’re tired of demanding them. the unspoken understanding hangs between you, thick and suffocating.

guilt gnaws at him, and you watch as he chews on his chapped bottom lip, a habit that betrays his inner turmoil. you furiously pick at the dead skin around your nails, needing a distraction, something to focus on other than the pain in your heart.

‘i’m—” he starts, his voice cracking.

‘don’t,’ you cut him off, your voice low but firm. ‘just don’t.’

he looks down, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his actions settles over him. ‘i’m sorry,’ he whispers, unable to stop himself.

your jaw tightens, and you shake your head, slipping out from under the covers, the floor cold against your bare feet as you make your way to the living room, the weight of his gaze following you. he scrambles after you, pathetically, desperately trying to make amends with gestures instead of words. he hugs you from behind, his arms wrapping around you with a familiar warmth, and places a kiss on the crown of your head. the tenderness of the moment is almost painful, a reminder of what you once had and what’s slowly slipping away.

‘please,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with regret. ‘i’ll do better. i promise.”

‘you always promise,’ you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you step out of his arms. ‘but nothing changes.’

he disappears into the bedroom with a sigh, leaving you standing there, a storm of emotions swirling within you. when he re-emerges, he’s wearing some of his old clothes he must have found in your cupboard. the sight of him in those familiar clothes stirs something in you, a bittersweet ache that tugs at your heart.

‘can we at least talk about it later?’ he asks, his eyes pleading, drawing close to you again, littering you with kisses down your neck.

you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. the words you want to say are lodged in your throat, too painful to voice. ‘fine,’ you manage to get out.

‘we’ll talk later, i promise we will,’ he says again, the words hanging in the air like a promise and a burden. then with one more kiss to your cheek, and a lingering look filled with pleading he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.

you stand in the middle of the living room, feeling the emptiness settle around you. the silence is deafening, filled with all the things you wish you could say but can’t. you sink into the couch, pulling a blanket around you as if it could shield you from the reality of your situation. the ache in your heart is a constant, a reminder of the struggle between your love for him and the pain he causes you. and as the morning light grows brighter, you can't help but wonder how many more mornings like this you can endure before you break.

the cycle continues, the pain and the love intertwined in a never-ending dance. and you hold on, because it’s all you know, because letting go is too terrifying to consider.

you find yourselves in each other’s arms, seeking comfort in the familiarity of your pain. you whisper words of love and apology, trying to mend the broken pieces of your hearts. but it’s never enough. the wounds run too deep, the scars too numerous.

as the days turn into weeks, then months, the pattern remains unchanged. you both cling to each other, desperate and afraid, but unable to break free. the world outside your apartment moves on, but inside, time stands still. each day blurs into the next, a monotonous loop of fleeting highs and devastating lows.

one particularly stormy evening, as you sit alone in your apartment, the rain beating against the windows like a relentless drum, the stormy night outside mirrors the turmoil inside your heart. you hear a knock at the door and your heart leaps in your chest, a mixture of dread and anticipation coursing through your veins. you already know who it is before you even open the door.

he stands there, soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead, and that familiar, weary smile on his lips. his eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s a fresh cut above his eyebrow. you don’t ask what happened; you stopped asking a long time ago. instead, you step aside, letting him in, the warmth of your apartment a stark contrast to the cold, wet world outside.

you lead him to the bedroom, your hands gently guiding him, and he follows without protest. the routine is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. he sheds his wet clothes, the fabric pooling on the floor like the remnants of a forgotten promise and you hand him a towel, watching as he dries off and slips into a pair of sweatpants.

his bare feet pad softly on the carpet as he approaches the bed, a vulnerable warrior seeking solace. you pull back the covers, and he slips beneath them, the warmth of his body mingling with yours. the familiar scent of him, a mix of cologne, sweat, and something uniquely his, envelops you. you lie side by side, the silence between you thick, a palpable presence that neither of you can ignore.

you reach out, your fingers tracing the bruises on his knuckles, each one a dark bloom of pain. he winces slightly but doesn’t pull away, letting you touch the evidence of his inner demons. you know his battles are as much with himself as they are with the world outside.

‘i wish things could be different,’ you say, your voice barely audible in the darkness.

‘so do i. i wish i was a better person, for you,’he replies, his breath warm against your neck.

but wishing is not enough, you both know that. the cycle will continue, a never-ending loop of love and pain, of passion and despair. you are both prisoners of your own making, trapped in a love that is as toxic as it is intoxicating.

‘you don’t have to do this,” you say after a while, your heart aching with a mixture of love and frustration. ‘you don’t have to fight. you don’t have to drown your problems with alcohol or burn all of your battles.’

he turns his head to look at you, his eyes dark and stormy. ‘and what about you? you think I don’t see the hurt in your eyes? we’re both fighting, in our own ways.’

you close your eyes, the truth of his words cutting deep. you’re both prisoners of this toxic dance, unwilling to let go even as it tears you apart. love, you’ve come to believe, is supposed to hurt. the illusion that everything is normal, that this is how it’s meant to be, is a comforting lie you both cling to.

‘i hate seeing you like this,’ you admit, your voice trembling.

he reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek. ‘i hate it too,’ he says softly, his thumb brushing away a tear. ‘but I can’t stop. and neither can you.’

the words hang in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of your shared fate. he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that is both tender and desperate, a silent plea for connection amidst the chaos. you respond, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. the kiss deepens, a fiery exchange that speaks of longing and regret, of passion and pain.

you break apart, breathless and trembling. ‘stay,’ you whisper, your voice a fragile thread.

‘ i will,’ he replies, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that borders on obsession. ‘i always do.’

the storm outside rages on, mirroring the tempest within your souls. you know this is a temporary reprieve, a fleeting moment of peace in a sea of turmoil. but for now, it is enough.

the wind howls through the cracks in the windows, a mournful song that underscores the fragility of your peace. you hold each other tighter, as if by sheer force of will you can keep the storm at bay. his breath is warm against your neck, a stark contrast to the cold dread that gnaws at your heart. you can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, a rhythmic reminder of the life you’ve built together, even as it threatens to crumble.

in the quiet moments, between the whispers and the kisses, you catch glimpses of the man you fell in love with—the man who makes you laugh, who holds you when you cry, who promises you the world even as he stumbles through his own battles. those glimpses are what keep you tethered, what make the pain bearable. they are the fleeting moments of sunlight breaking through the storm clouds, offering a ray of hope that things might one day be different.

but as dawn approaches, the reality of your situation settles back in. the night has given you a reprieve, but the problems remain, lurking in the corners of your mind, waiting for the light of day to bring them back into sharp focus. you know that the cycle will continue, that the highs will be followed by lows, that the love you share will be tested time and again.

the first light of morning seeps through the curtains and you know the illusion is about to shatter. he will leave again, drawn back to the battles he fights, and you will remain, your heart aching with the emptiness his absence leaves behind.

he turns to you, his expression unreadable. ‘take care,’ his words are a hollow echo of what you both wish could be.

‘you too,’ you reply, your voice thick with unshed tears.

he leaves, the door closing behind him with a soft click and you lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your reality pressing down on you. the silence is deafening, the emptiness a stark reminder of the void in your heart.

because in this twisted dance of love and pain, you have found a perverse sense of belonging. you have convinced yourself that this is what love is meant to be, that the hurt is a necessary part of the equation. and as long as he keeps coming back, you will continue to believe the lie.

for now, you cling to the moments of tenderness, the fleeting glimpses of happiness that punctuate the darkness. you tell yourself that it is enough, that this is all you deserve. when you lie alone in the dim light of your bedroom, you whisper a silent prayer to a god you no longer believe in, hoping for a miracle that will never come.

the pattern of your lives becomes a relentless cycle, a vicious circle you cannot break free from. each time he leaves, the void he leaves behind grows deeper, the ache in your heart more pronounced. and yet, when he returns, battered and broken, you welcome him with open arms, unable to resist the pull he has over you.

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ninibeingdelulu · 6 months ago

Text

I’m sorry

synopsis: he forgot your birthday, so he apologizes in his own way

a/n: i wish re2 leon was real :((

The apartment you share with Leon is utterly unrecognizable when you finally drag yourself through the doorway well past sundown.

What typically greets you is a spartan, almost militaristic level of bare minimalism thanks to your boyfriend's by-the-book personality and rigorous hours with the RPD.

But this evening? The entire open-concept living space has been transformed into what can only be described as a veritable birthday wonderland - complete with vibrant streamers zig-zagging across every available surface and those ridiculously oversized metallic balloons bobbing precariously from every corner.

You halt mid-stride, mouth literally agape as you drink in the burst of kaleidoscope colors and thoughtful homespun decor adorning the length of the kitchen countertops as well.

A deliciously decadent layered cake topped with your favorite indulgent frosting blend...an assortment of neatly wrapped packages in that signature sky-blue wrapping paper you always tease Leon for using at every gift-giving occasion...even a chilled bottle of your go-to celebratory bubbly chilling beside a fresh bouquet of your most beloved flora.

The sheer tenderness of this entire scene hits you like a sucker-punch straight to the solar plexus - eyes stinging with unshed tears even before finally trailing towards the center of the room.

There slouched on the sofa with elbows braced on splayed knees and face cradled in his upturned palms sits Leon himself in a pose of utter guilt-ridden dejection.

"Leon..." You haven't even stepped fully inside yet before his name slips past your lips - instantly shattering whatever uncomfortable reverie he'd been absorbed in brooding towards the floor.

Those endlessly soulful icicle-blue irises you've always adored finally lift to meet yours with the weight of a thousand apologies shining within their stormy depths.

"Hey, doll..."

God, he does sound like a lost puppy while using that feather-soft endearment you normally melt over.

"Look, I...I know I massively forgot your birthday yesterday and I—"

"Leon, you really didn't have to—"

"No, no. Please...just...lemme get this out while I'm on a roll here?"

He interjects quickly, palms lifting in a placating gesture before the briefest quirk of boyish insecurity tugs at the corner of his sensuous mouth.

"I'm not always the best at expressing myself the way I should, but that never means the important stuff gets overlooked or taken for granted...not with you."

The sincerity reverberating through every syllable sends your pulse into an erratic staccato against the hollow of your throat as Leon rises languidly to his full towering height and begins stalking towards where you linger.

There's an undeniably intent yet hopelessly tender hunger now darkening his eyes into bottomless pools of stormy silver. Paradoxically pinning you in place while simultaneously setting your insides ablaze...

"You're the most important person in my entire world, y/n...the reason I wake up fighting each morning and the thought I cling to whenever everything feels hopeless."

Leon murmurs - now near enough you can taste the subtle citrus zing of his aftershave mingling with the adrenaline roaring in your ears.

"Nothing and no one will ever make me lose sight of how goddamn priceless you are to me again...not when you're the sole force keeping this old cop's battered heart from completely shattering apart."

And with his final confession, those rough palms you've spent countless blissful hours mapping finally settle upon your waist while he leans in and just barely brushes the plush seal of his lips over yours in a tantalizing preview of what's to come once you've both recovered from this initial swell of unbridled emotion.

"So how's about we celebrate your birthday properly this time around, sweetheart?"

You can actually feel the rumbling timbre vibrating from Leon's chest straight to your molten core as he seals his vow with a bruising, breathtaking kiss destined to leave you utterly drunk and delirious for hours to come...

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 5 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday

pairing: javier pena x f! wife reader

summary: with all the birthday celebrations, javier shows her how much she truly means to their family.

PSA: in honor of today being my birthday, you just know i had to write a special story.

Javier Peña woke up early, quietly slipping out of bed to avoid waking his wife, Y/N. Their newborn son, Mateo, was already stirring in his crib, so Javier picked him up, whispering soft words to calm him. Down the hall, their three daughters Sophia, Maria, and Elena were already awake and bustling with excitement. It was Y/N’s birthday, and they had big plans.

“Shh, girls. We have to be quiet,” Javier reminded them with a smile.

The girls nodded eagerly, trying their best to stifle their giggles. Sophia, the oldest at ten, took charge of the kitchen, directing her sisters in making breakfast. Maria, eight, carefully measured out ingredients for pancakes, while Elena, five, watched the stove with intense concentration. Javier juggled Mateo on his hip, helping where he could and ensuring the chaos remained somewhat controlled.

“Sophia, remember to flip the pancakes when they start to bubble,” Javier instructed, his voice gentle but firm.

“Got it, Papá,” Sophia replied, her face scrunched up in concentration as she carefully poured batter onto the griddle.

Maria meticulously arranged the bacon on a baking sheet, making sure each strip was perfectly spaced. “Do you think mamá will like this?” she asked, her voice tinged with a bit of anxiety.

“She’ll love it, sweetheart. She’ll love everything,” Javier reassured her, kissing the top of her head.

Elena, standing on her tiptoes, tried to scramble the eggs with a big wooden spoon. “Papá, can you help me? My arms are too little,” she said with a pout.

“Of course, mi amor,” Javier said, chuckling as he set Mateo down in his bouncer. He stood behind Elena, guiding her hands as they stirred the eggs together. “You’re doing a great job.”

An hour later, with a tray laden with pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and freshly squeezed orange juice, they tiptoed back into the bedroom. Y/N stirred as they entered, her eyes fluttering open to see her entire family gathered around the bed, grinning widely.

“Happy birthday, mamá!” they chorused.

Y/N’s face lit up with joy as she sat up, taking Mateo from Javier’s arms. “Thank you, my loves. This is perfect.”

Sophia carefully placed the tray on her lap, beaming with pride. “We made it all ourselves, mamá! Well, Papá helped a little.”

Y/N laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. “It’s wonderful. You all did such a great job.”

They spent a leisurely morning together, enjoying the breakfast and each other’s company. The girls shared their plans for the day with bubbling excitement, their voices overlapping as they each tried to outdo the other in enthusiasm. Afterward, Y/N had a few errands to run, so Javier saw her off with a kiss and a promise that they’d make her day special.

As soon as she left, Javier rallied the kids. “Alright, team. We’ve got a lot to do!”

They sprang into action, decorating the house with streamers, balloons, and handmade birthday banners. Sophia and Maria took charge of the decorations, climbing onto chairs to hang up the colorful streamers and carefully placing balloons around the living room. Elena was in charge of handing out the decorations, her tiny hands busy as she delivered supplies to her older sisters.

“More balloons over here, Maria!” Sophia called out, pointing to a corner of the room.

“Got it!” Maria replied, rushing over with a handful of balloons.

Javier supervised the activity, making sure everything went smoothly. He glanced at Mateo, who was happily kicking his legs in his bouncer, cooing at the flurry of activity around him.

“You’re being such a good boy, Mateo,” Javier said, bending down to kiss his son’s forehead.

In the afternoon, Chucho arrived, bringing his warmth and laughter. He hugged each of his grandchildren, lifting Elena up into the air and making her squeal with delight. Y/N’s parents followed shortly after, their arms full of presents and their hearts full of love. Together, they set up the dining room, transforming it into a festive celebration space.

By the time Y/N returned, the house was a burst of color and joy. Her eyes widened in surprise as she stepped inside. “Oh my goodness, this is incredible!”

Javier greeted her with a warm embrace. “We wanted to make sure your day was as special as you are.”

Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears. “You all did this for me? It’s beautiful.”

Dinner was a labor of love, with Javier at the helm. He prepared her favorite dishes, the aromas of roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh vegetables filling the house. The family gathered around the table, sharing stories and laughter. The kids were bubbling with excitement, barely able to contain their secret.

“Papá, can we tell her now?” Sophia whispered, bouncing in her seat.

“Not yet, mija. After dinner,” Javier replied, a twinkle in his eye.

Finally, after the meal and a delicious slice of cake, it was time for gifts. Chucho and Y/N’s parents presented her with thoughtful presents, each one met with heartfelt thanks and hugs. Then, it was Javier and the kids’ turn.

Sophia, Maria, Elena, and Mateo all gathered around, holding a large, wrapped package. Javier guided it to Y/N, who looked at them with curiosity.

“Open it, mamá,” Sophia urged.

Y/N carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a stunning painting. It was a family portrait, beautifully detailed and capturing a moment of pure happiness. Javier had worked with a local artist for months to get it just right.

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she looked at the painting, then at her family. “This is… this is the most beautiful gift. Thank you all so much.”

Javier pulled her into a tight hug, his voice soft with emotion. “We wanted you to have something that shows how much we love you, and how grateful we are for everything you do.”

The kids joined the hug, wrapping their small arms around their parents. Y/N’s tears were ones of joy and overwhelming love, feeling blessed beyond measure.

That night, after tucking the kids into bed and saying goodnight to their guests, Javier and Y/N retreated to their bedroom. Javier locked the door behind them, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at his wife.

“You made today so special,” Y/N said softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

Javier’s hands slid down to her waist, pulling her close. “You deserve it, mi amor. And I want to make tonight special too.”

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Y/N responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. Javier’s hands roamed over her body, caressing her curves and making her shiver with anticipation.

With a gentle push, he guided her back against the bedroom door, his lips trailing down her neck. Y/N gasped as he nipped at her sensitive skin, her body arching into his touch.

“Javi,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

He dropped to his knees before her, his hands sliding up her thighs as he pushed up her dress. Y/N’s breath hitched as he kissed his way along her inner thighs, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.

“Javi, please,” she whispered, her fingers gripping the door behind her for support.

Javier looked up at her, his eyes filled with love and lust. “Anything for you, mi amor.”

He buried his face between her legs, his tongue finding her most sensitive spot through the thin fabric of her underwear. The sheer fabric clung to her wetness, enhancing every flick and caress of his tongue. Y/N’s legs trembled, her back pressing harder against the door as she tried to steady herself.

The sensation was exquisite, the friction of the fabric against her swollen clit driving her wild. Javier’s tongue moved with deliberate slowness, tracing circles and flicks that had Y/N’s breath coming in ragged gasps. He wrapped his hands around her thighs, holding her steady as he intensified his movements, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Javi, oh God,” Y/N moaned, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him close.

Her hips began to move, seeking more of the delicious pressure. Javier responded by pressing his tongue harder against her, his hands gripping her hips to guide her rhythm. The combination of his expert touch and the added sensation of the fabric was driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, Papi, don’t stop,” she begged, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Javier’s response was a deep, guttural groan that vibrated through her core. He could feel her getting closer, her body trembling with the building intensity. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more insistent, until he felt her body tense, the telltale signs of her impending climax.

With a final, expertly placed flick of his tongue, Y/N shattered. Her orgasm crashed over her in waves, her cries of pleasure echoing in the room. Javier held her through it, his tongue still teasing her through the fabric as she rode out the aftershocks.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found Javier standing before her, his eyes dark with desire. He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too, baby ,” she replied, her eyes shining with love.

He joined her on the bed, their bodies entwined as they made sweet, passionate love. Javier’s touch was tender, his hands exploring every inch of her skin as if memorizing her all over again. He kissed her deeply, their tongues dancing together, creating a symphony of desire and love.

Javier’s hands roamed down her body, slipping under the hem of her dress to slide it off her. She shivered at the sensation of his calloused fingers against her soft skin, her breath hitching in anticipation. He paused to admire her, his eyes drinking in her beauty.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Y/N blushed, her heart swelling with love. “I’m yours, Javi. Always.”

He kissed her again, more urgently this time, his desire for her palpable. She felt his hardness pressing against her thigh, and a surge of heat pooled in her core. She reached down, tugging at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against hers. Javier quickly obliged, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside.

Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin, the heat between them rising. Javier’s hands slid down to her hips, pulling her underwear down and discarding them. He moved to position himself over her, his erection pressing insistently against her entrance.

“Are you ready, mi amor?” he whispered, his voice strained with need.

“Yes, Javi. I need you,” she replied, her voice trembling with anticipation.

With a slow, steady push, Javier entered her, filling her completely. They both moaned at the sensation, the connection between them electric. Javier began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, savoring every moment.

“Javi,” Y/N moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He responded by increasing his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more urgent. Y/N’s breath came in short gasps, her body arching to meet his every movement. The pleasure was overwhelming, building with each thrust.

“Javi, please,” she begged, her voice breaking with need. “I need more.”

Javier’s eyes darkened with desire. He shifted his angle slightly, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder. Y/N cried out in pleasure, her nails digging into his back as she clung to him.

“Yes, Papi, just like that,” she gasped, her body trembling with the intensity of their lovemaking.

Javier leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he pounded into her with a relentless rhythm. She felt her climax building again, the pressure mounting with every thrust. Her moans grew louder, her body shaking with the intensity of her impending release.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Javier urged, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you cum around me.”

His words sent her over the edge. She cried out his name, her body convulsing as her orgasm ripped through her. Javier groaned, feeling her tighten around him, pushing him closer to his own release.

“Javi, please, give me another baby,” she begged, her voice raw with desire. “I want you to cum in me.”

Javier’s eyes widened with a mixture of shock and desire. Her words pushed him over the edge, and with a final, powerful thrust, he came, spilling himself deep inside her. His hand came up to cover her mouth as she screamed his name, his voice a low growl. “Quiet, mi amor. The kids are sleeping.”

She nodded, her eyes glazed with pleasure as she bit her lip, trying to stifle her cries. Javier kissed her deeply, their bodies still joined as they rode out the aftershocks of their intense lovemaking.

When they finally stilled, Javier rolled to the side, pulling her close. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Javier whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too, Javi,” she replied, her heart swelling with love and contentment.

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, savoring the quiet moments of intimacy. This truly was the best birthday ever.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena imagine #javier pena fluff #javier pena x you #javier pena one shot #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña

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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months ago

Note

i don't know if anyone else does this, but for summertime sweetness can i have a strawberry midsummer's night with taking a cold shower with eddie munson to cool down from the heat? those just hit different in th esummer

oh i absolutely do this, and so would eddie <3 sorry this got a bit long

cold showers

warnings: some brief mentions of st canon towards the end, but... eddie lives, obviously. this would be set around summer of '87. also, brief mention of steve harrington's parents being shitty (one line literally)

wc: 1.6k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

You and Eddie had had plenty of bad ideas together. 99% of the time, whenever the two of you had been within vicinity of each other, chaos would follow. Things that wouldn’t go to plan, ideas that had been wonderful on paper but terrible in execution – over the years, most of the time, you two had had your fair share of mistakes.

But this? This was not a mistake.

You’d almost thought it had been for a brief second when he’d first turned on the shower. Wisps of steam had momentarily snaked their way out of the drain as the first pelting of water had swirled down it, the mirror had begun to get a foggy image, and the warm moisture in the air had begun to mingle with the sweat on the back of your neck. You almost thought his previously genius idea had fallen through. You almost thought the entire cool-down solution had been a bust.

And then, the steam had vanished. The mirror cleared. All the humidity of your own creation lightened, and you realized your boyfriend was, in fact, a genius.

“Oh,” he practically moans as the two of you step into the tub, tilting his head back as it begins to soak his curls, “Oh, yeah. This was a great fucking idea.”

You roll your eyes as you give him a gentle shove, trying to make it where at least some of the water might hit you, “Yeah, yeah. Bask in all your glory without hogging all the water.”

The heatwave had been intense. It was always intense, though, every summer in Hawkins. An unforgiving sun, drowning heat that sent both of your hair into frizzy messes, overcrowded pools. It’s never like the movies – there are no lake days with friends without complaints, and beer will always run warm within minutes of pulling it from the ice chest.

One thing that had never changed, and had always served as a saving grace for the most miserable months of the year, was Eddie. Eddie, and all the unique ways the two of you would try to come up with just to survive till fall.

As kids, it was cheap sprinkler sets bought at the Melvald’s. Soaking the technical front yard of the Munson trailer with luke-warm water as the two of you got caked in mud. Neither of you had ever really cared, thirteen year olds returning to a youthful oblivion just to spray each other with a hose and make ridiculous games out of jumping over the sprinkler attachments. Water balloon fights that had carried on well into your teens, eventually becoming so intense that there had been a time where both you and Eddie ended up bruised and battered on the Munson couch, getting lectured sternly by an exhausted Wayne Munson. You’re too old not to know better, Wayne had said to Eddie as he’d taken a look at the knot on the back of your shoulder that year.

Eddie had felt bad enough before Wayne’s involvement, but he’d almost resembled a kicked puppy at that specifically scornful retort.

Things had slowly changed the last few summers, though. You had changed, Eddie had changed, the entire dynamic had changed. Suddenly, after one little dare to kiss one another, ice cream dates had become a solution. ‘Tanning’ had become an excuse to see Eddie stare at you for far too long than any friend should, and plenty of nights ended with lathering each other up in aloe as your hands wandered farther than any friendly touches would.

And then there had been Steve Harrington’s pool. God, you missed Harrington’s pool.

You almost mentally curse your newest friend for having taken a family vacation that was lasting half the summer, denying the entire group of what had been the staple solution last summer, but he was probably more miserable than all of you combined based on what you knew of his parents.

“You can’t even deny how smart this was, sweetheart,” your best-friend-turned-boyfriend laughs, formally turning and offering you a proper place beneath the stream of water. As the cool water beats down on your warmed summer skin, you can’t even find it within you to be annoyed anymore, “Go ahead, say it – Eddie’s a goddamn genius.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you decide to lean your face into the sweet reprieve, not caring how your eyes stung just a little, “I am not inflating your ego right now, Munson. Fuck off.”

“You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

The pipes had clearly been cleared of all stagnant and heated water, and for the first time in two months, you almost shivered from the cold.

When you finally stop letting the water splash across your cheeks, you open your eyes to find Eddie simply staring. Wide grin, sparkling eyes. It ignites all the nostalgia you should get from those summer nights the movies portray, a lifetime of good memories and better company right before you.

“Have we ever even showered together before?” you ask randomly, already reaching for the shampoo on the small shelf behind Eddie before he has the chance to answer.

You hadn’t. Neither of you owned a bathroom that seemed big enough, practically, to attempt this. But desperate times had called for desperate measures.

“Taken a cold shower together?” he scrunches his nose, hand flying out to cut through the water. Some splashes on your lips, and he goes wide-eyed, as if trying to appear innocent enough that you won’t react. It works. “Nah. Usually, it was me by my lonesome, and you sitting out there in the living room in the shortest shorts known to man-”

“Those pajamas were not that short.”

“They were!” you finally retaliate and splash some of the water at him, making both of you giggle, “They really fuckin’ were. Been over here killin’ me since summer of ‘78, baby.”

Twelve years old, new to town and petrified. You can still perfectly envision a younger version of you approaching a younger Eddie sporting a buzzcut, nerves choking you up as you stuttered through a question if he wanted to hang out. And you can still picture doe-eyes looking at you, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to become the latest punchline.

The shoe never dropped. Instead, a friendship bloomed. Instead, the start of something refreshing had started, for both of you.

Before you pop the top of the shampoo, you take a moment to look over Eddie’s nude torso. Recalling the first time you’d seen him shirtless as he’d answered the door unexpectedly for you after a movie night with girls you thought were your friends had fallen catastrophically through. The first time he’d been comfortable enough to take off his shirt around you during all your summer shenanigans, grabbing you by the waist and launching the two of you into the pool together. The first time he’d try to play you at your own game with the half-naked tanning plots, coming out in only swim trunks and with his own towel, gas station sunglasses perched on his nose to hide his lingering gaze as he’d situated himself beside you on your porch.

You’d both been playing a losing game that day. You may have embarrassed yourself by tracing over the deep Vs in his hips blatantly, but his glasses hadn’t hidden the way he’d been trying to memorize all your own curves and dips.

What holds your stare now are all the jagged lines that trace his sides. Pink and fleshy skin that has long since healed, following from his hip up his neck. A memory of a time that cuts you deeper than any summer. Scars of a time you wish you could erase from your history, just last spring.

Maybe summer wasn’t your least favorite season. Maybe it was spring, because you’d almost lost everything in the spring. You’d almost lost Eddie.

“Shut up and turn around,” you smile, shaking your head at all the memories, reminding yourself that you didn’t lose him. He was here, and he was taking a cold shower with you, and that was what mattered most. “Might as well wash your hair while we're here.”

Might as well. As if you wouldn’t thank the Universe for every time you had the privilege, as if you wouldn’t wash his hair a thousand times if he asked you for it. You’d do anything he asked of you. For the boy who had cheated death, and still found his way back home to you after it was all said and done.

A thousand cold showers. A thousand summers. A thousand moments. You’ll take whatever you can get now – you’ve learned your lesson about taking time with Eddie for granted.

“You’re gonna wash my hair?” he lights up a bit, shuffling his feet as he readies to face his back to you, “I suppose I’ll allow it. Who could say no to a little pampering?”

You grab him by his shoulders, keeping up a faux show of annoyance, “You, apparently. Turn around before I change my mind.”

There would never be any changing your mind.

He doesn’t call your bluff, though. He turns, just as you request, and lets you get to work. There’s no real rush, anyways. You may not take moments for granted anymore, but for now, the two of you had your own little infinity under the stream of a cold shower.

You both go quiet, and you almost quietly pray to whoever may be listening that the moment really can last forever. Just you, just your boy, and all the suds of the shampoo lathered into his curls and between your fingers. Small hums of approval and the occasional peck of your lips against his bare skin as the most silent of I love yous.

Yeah. The cold shower was an excellent idea.

#summertime sweetness #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #ghost's stories

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