#I know you don’t need a profession I just think that it helps you fit into the plot more smoothly with one

[moldypoff]

Minced Meat Man and his Trash Husband

Wait wait wait- let me explain-

It’s you! (And you with the rest of the crew!)

No I am not missing anybody-

Haha, yeah, sorry, this is just the full image

(Someone please teach me how to not use one canvas for all of my drawings, this took like 27 layers 😭)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Playing Favorites

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim trains you differently, uncaring that he's accused of playing favorites. When he realizes that the scars your trauma left go deeper than your approach to police work, he accidentally falls in love with you, and you're beside him for it all.

Warnings: touch starved reader, brief angst, depiction/discussion of past traumas, allusion to past domestic violence, canon-typical injuries and violence, fluff, comfort, obligatory makeout sesh

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

A/N: I used this fantastic idea by @nevereclipse!! As someone who is touch starved, I loved every single aspect of this dynamic and hope I did it some justice🤍🫶🏼

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Less than a minute after your TO slams on the brakes, declares he’s been shot, and demands you tell him exactly where you are, the radio crackles. Officer Bradford has been quiet since you answered him with the nearest cross streets and the direction the shop was facing, and his silence is something you assume you’ll have to grow used to. It’s better than the yelling, you think.

“7-Adam-19,” the dispatcher radios. “Domestic disturbance in your area.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “What’s standard procedure for domestic calls, boot?”

You stiffen, straightening your back against the seat as you answer robotically, reciting your list of dos and don’ts for this type of call. Tim listens, glancing at you every few seconds. He has a reputation for judging his rookies quickly – and usually, he’s right in his judgements. Yet, he held off on deciding whether or not you would succeed. Though it’s your first day, Tim has, until now, been unsure what to think of you. You know your stuff; there’s no question of that.

“Good,” he murmurs when you finish. “Follow my lead.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim slams the door to the shop, but when he walks past you to approach the front door of the dilapidated house, he realizes something. You’ve endured hard things, experiences you’ve probably kept to yourself and dealt with all alone. Despite that hurt and the devastation Tim knows comes with it, you decided to become a police officer. Whether to be the person you needed during the bad days and dark nights or to stop someone from going down the wrong path is irrelevant to Tim. All he knows now is that your potential outweighs your response to your memories, your dedication is stronger than your past. Tim will have to change his ways because you have what it takes to be a success story.

For the first time in his TO career, Tim adapts his training method to fit his rookie rather than molding his rookie to fit his style. For you, he can be different: gentler, kinder, quieter. You need to learn and grow, and Tim will do everything he can to help you...

Right after he kicks the front door in and starts yelling at the couple fighting on the kitchen floor.

“337.6,” Tim says.

Pinching your brows, you answer, “Unlawful use of a California Horse Racing license? Do you really think that will come up?”

“It’s not about whether or not you’ll need it,” Tim explains, “but whether or not you know it.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you know that one?”

“Why do you?” you challenge, smiling.

Tim shakes his head as he turns on to Pico. “628.5.”

You think for a moment, then remember, “Information attained during prosecution for criminal activity in relation to massage therapy is made available to the California Massage Therapy Council.”

Tim scoffs, though he's impressed by your knowledge of Penal Codes.

“I don’t remember the Business and Professions Code section, though,” you add softly.

“That’s fine,” Tim replies.

You stare out of the windshield, pulling your shoulders toward each other as you curl in on yourself.

“Boot,” Tim says. “You don’t have to know the whole code, just the premise.”

“What if it comes up?” you question.

“You’ve got a phone with internet and the entire LAPD dispatch at your disposal. Asking for help to fill in the blanks isn’t frowned upon, it’s good policing. You may ride alone someday but you are not expected to do this job by yourself.”

“10-50 multiple vehicles, at northeast intersection of Pico and Hauser,” dispatch alerts. “Service technician ETA seven minutes.”

Tim pulls the radio from the dashboard and attaches himself and you to the call. You flex your hands as he turns around and drives toward the accident scene.

“What would you like me to do, Officer Bradford?” you ask as Tim parks behind the wrecked cars.

“Get these people out of this lane,” he answers, opening his door. “We’ve got a few cones in the war bags, make them work.”

“Yes, sir.”

You open the trunk as Tim joins the other officers on the scene. While he checks for injuries and ensures statements will be taken, you direct a driver to go into the other lane.

“But I need to turn right!” he calls through his rolled-down window. “I’m late to a meeting!”

You walk to his car to assist him after checking that no one is trying to get through. “Go straight through when it’s clear, turn right on Carmona, and it’ll take you up to San Vincente,” you direct.

“But I’m going to Olympic,” he rambles quickly, gesturing to his GPS.

“You’re from out of town?”

“That obvious?”

You smile and point straight. “Go through this light. Right on Carmona, which merges into Masselin after you cross San Vincente. That’ll get you straight to Olympic.”

“Okay. Right, right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, officer.”

He pulls up to the white line at the intersection just as the light changes to red. Tim says your name, then gestures to the traffic backed up in the Northbound lane.

“Sorry,” you say.

As you turn to jog across the street and direct traffic, Tim calls your name again.

“One thing at a time,” he reminds you. “Good work.”

You nod, then look both ways. You’re out of earshot and are directing drivers to merge before crossing the intersection when Officers Lucy Chen and John Nolan look at your TO with wide eyes.

“What?” Tim questions.

“You just said good work,” Lucy says. “To a rookie.”

“You’re being… nice,” Nolan adds.

“I had to remind myself not to cry on numerous occasions as your rookie, but you tell her good job? I didn’t know you played favorites, Tim.”

“I’m not playing favorites,” Tim defends. He looks over his shoulder to check on you, then sighs. “Are we going to move these cars out of the way or talk about my teaching style?”

“EMTs are here to check the drivers, so we could do both,” Nolan suggests.

“Go put the sedan in neutral, Chen,” Tim instructs. “Nolan, you’re pushing.”

The service technicians arrive as Tim, Lucy, and Nolan get the first car out of the lane. As they take over, and another thanks you for your help and begins directing traffic, Tim leans against the shop and watches you return.

“Are you okay, Officer Bradford?” you inquire.

“How many times did you get flipped off?” he asks rather than answering.

“Four,” you answer. “Sir.”

“Should’ve written them tickets.”

Your brows raise, and you press your hands against your legs to stop yourself from wringing your fingers together. “Really?”

Tim shrugs as he says, “Up to the officer. In a backup like that, no, but if any of them had gotten hostile, absolutely.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I know you will,” Tim replies, pushing off the shop. “Let’s go.”

As you buckle your seatbelt, a robbery in progress call comes through, and you gladly accept Tim’s offer to take the lead when you arrive at the nearby drugstore, smiling at his faith in you.

 “Did you know Tim has a favorite officer?” Lucy asks.

“Yeah,” Angela replies. “It’s me.”

Nyla barks a sarcastic laugh, then smiles when Angela glares at her.

“Who is it this week?” Nyla inquires.

Lucy looks around, then leans forward to whisper, “His boot.”

“Tim?” Nyla asks, still sarcastic. “Falling for a boot? Who would’a thought it.”

“What we had was not this,” Lucy argues. “We were a fling, and now we’re friends. He’s- he’s nice to her, talks to her without yelling, corrects her without getting mad. It’s weird.”

“Lucy,” Angela begins. “As a TO, you have to do what is best for the rookie, not for you. Maybe that’s what she needs. For some people, the yelling and obnoxious reprimands are too much.”

“Tim Bradford does not care about being too much,” Lucy points out.

“Got a point there,” Nyla agrees, leaning back in her chair. “He breaks boots’ spirits, regardless of what they need. There must be something else going on.”

Angela juts her chin toward the door, and Lucy and Nyla turn in time to see Tim leading you into the station. You’re walking side-by-side, and he’s nodding along as you speak. Tim watches your face, then glances at your small hand motions. When one side of his lips quirks up, and he shakes his head, Angela and Nyla look at each other.

“See?!” Lucy exclaims when you turn out of sight.

“Oh, we see,” Nyla replies.

“So, what does it mean?”

“Ever heard of kindred souls?” Angela asks.

Lucy hesitates as Angela and Nyla stand to leave, then decides, “Tim is not kindred anything.”

“Maybe not to you,” Nyla says over her shoulder.

“Is she okay?” you ask.

Tim scrubs an antiseptic wipe across his knuckles as he returns from the ambulance. You were expecting the worst when you got a call for a possible 187, but walking into a home with two screaming teenagers and a bleeding child was far worse.

“Paramedics aren’t sure,” Tim answers. “They’re rushing her to UCLA Children's.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you murmur.

“No,” Tim agrees. “The detectives will figure out what happened, but unfortunately, we rarely get to play a part in deciphering the puzzle.”

You nod, tapping the toe of your right boot against the asphalt. If you’d gotten here faster, if you’d urged Tim to go inside the back door, or radioed for an ambulance as soon as the call came in, maybe the young girl fighting for her life would have a better chance.

“Hey,” Tim says. You don’t look up, so he lays his hand on your upper back and says, “It’s not our fault.”

You stiffen beneath his hand. Unable to remember the last time you were touched like this, you fight the urge to push him away as pain like pins and needles erupts under the warmth he gives. Then, suddenly, it passes, and the only thing you can feel is the comfort he provides.

Your muscles relax, and your shoulders drop as you unconsciously lean against his hand. Tim spreads his fingers when you seem to melt beneath him. At first, he thinks you’re going to fall. But, as quickly as you went from tense to wholly relaxed, a voice in his mind says, Oh.

There was no question that you’ve had hard times and seen and experienced difficult things that shaped who you are today, but Tim missed your touch starvation before now. With his hand on your back, Tim watches you take a deep breath before you look at him.

“There’s,” he begins, trailing off.

“I know it’s not our fault,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

Tim swallows as he nods, wondering why his hand fits so well. A car pulls over on the other side of the street, and Tim withdraws his hand when Nyla and Angela exit the front seats.

He nods to you before you begin speaking with the detectives, and the admiration you had for your TO and his knowledge begins shifting into something more.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

You raise your hand to your shoulder, press it lightly, and nod. Your frown tells Tim differently, and he gently hooks his finger beneath the collar of your uniform. He doesn’t have to pull the fabric far to see the redness of your skin.

“Get in the shop,” he says. “We have to get that checked.”

“It’ll be fine,” you reply. “Just sore.”

“Wasn’t a question.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you answer with a salute.

Tim shakes his head and shifts the car into drive. It’s been nearly two weeks since Tim laid his hand on your back, and he’s lost count of how many easy touches he’s given you since then. But it works for both of you. You’re an even better cop than Tim expected. If he’d ask, you’d tell him it’s because of him.

The shop is filled with a tense silence as you drive back to the station. Tim is sitting like a statue in the passenger seat, and the man behind you stares at the back of your head as if he’s trying to make it explode.

You’ve known since the very first call of your training – a domestic disturbance – that Tim’s past affects him. Maybe you can see his trauma because you have your own, or it's evident because you cared enough to look. Either way, you know that calls like this affect him.

Finding a little boy hiding in the closet with a bruise on his cheek and drywall dust in his matted hair broke your heart, but it made Tim angry. You had to pull him off the man sitting behind you, and it’s only because of your demands and warnings that they’re both sitting in silence.

When you pull up to the station, an officer is waiting to take your arrest into custody, and you thank him before you return to the streets of Los Angeles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask after several minutes alone.

“No,” Tim replies.

“Yeah, me neither,” you agree. “Wanna talk about the Braves?”

Tim jerks toward the door, his eyes wide in shock.

“Welcome back,” you mutter.

“It...” Tim begins.

“It’s hard,” you finish for him. “Especially when it reminds you of something or someone you recognize. I get it.”

“I know you do,” Tim murmurs.

“That’s why you’re so nice to me.”

“I’m just teaching you.”

You smile as you slow, parking outside a small strip mall. Turning toward Tim, you explain, “I’ve heard the stories, Officer Bradford. I know you don’t treat all of your rookies like this. But I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Tim nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not today.”

“Wanna talk about the Dodgers?”

“You’d like that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Your smile matches Tim’s, and everything feels lighter when Angela interrupts to ask for assistance with a new case.

“Big day tomorrow,” Tim reminds you as you walk out of the station together. “Get some sleep, don’t overstudy, and know you’re going to do great.”

“That’s it?” you ask. “No warning? Now if you make less than a 93, it’s a failure?”

“Lucy?” Tim questions.

You shrug, but Tim raises his hand, wrapping his fingers around the crook of your elbow to stop you.

“You are not Officer Chen. You are not a copied version of me. You are your own officer, your own person, and you do what you are capable of doing.”

“What if I’m not capable of doing this?”

“You are.”

“Only because of you,” you whisper.

“You did the work. I just offered an assist.”

You glance at Tim’s hand on your arm and don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck. Hugging him tightly, you smile against his shoulder as he returns the hug. His light touches changed your life, but initiating physical affection and taking what you want is different.

“Thank you,” you say. “For everything.”

“You did the heavy lifting,” Tim replies.

As you step back, Tim’s hands pause on your waist. He looks at you, almost like he wants to say or do more. But then he steps back and wishes you a good night.

Alone in your apartment after graduating to short sleeves, you raise a glass and congratulate yourself. Your favorite movie is queued, you picked up dinner from the best restaurant in Los Angeles, and a congratulations card from Detective Lopez is now displayed on your bookcase. Yet, it feels like something is missing. While the movie plays, your thoughts wander to Tim.

A loud knock on your door distracts you from your daydreaming and the quiet night in. Pausing your movie, you walk to the door and look through the peephole. You smile as you open the door and invite your surprise visitor inside.

“Tim- Officer Bradford,” you greet. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re off the clock,” he reminds you. He sees your table and asks, “Celebrating?”

“Yeah.” Shrugging, you explain, “I figured, I made it this far.”

“It’s a big accomplishment. Have room for an extra guest?”

“Depends on the guest.”

Tim smiles and offers you a card. You thank him and set it on the counter as you offer to get him a drink or something to eat.

“I’m good, thank you.”

You nod, leaning against the counter as you look at him. He meets your eyes, and the silence around you is anything but awkward as you stare at one another.

“I came to congratulate you,” he says after a moment.

“Thank you.”

“You were right. I trained you differently.”

“Why?”

“Because I could tell that you were different. Whatever it was in your past that led you here, it made you special. It affected you, so I wanted to use that, let it help you rather than hurt you.”

“You never asked,” you muse.

“People who want to talk about it tend to start that conversation themselves.”

“Which you never do.”

“Not often, no.”

“Whatever happened to you, Tim, whether it made you the man you are or if you are here today in spite of it, you’re a good man.”

“Same to you.”

“You think I’m a good man?” you joke, smiling after the serious moment.

“It’s not obvious?” he replies.

You raise your hands to playfully push Tim away from you, but he catches your wrists and holds your palms against his chest. Standing together, you continue looking into his eyes. You’ve seen more in each other during your training than anyone else has ever cared enough to look for.

Falling in love with Tim was not intentional, and it wasn’t like free falling. After he touched you, he brought you back to life, and every day after, you fell a little more for him.

“Why’d you let me hug you?” you whisper.

“Because I wanted it, too,” he replies.

Tim brushes his thumb over the pulse point on your wrist. He releases your hand and cups your neck, tracing your jawline. You lean toward him while he pulls you closer.

Tim’s kiss feels like entering a new world, like coming home and finding paradise simultaneously. Sliding your hands up his chest, you shiver against Tim when his arm wraps around your waist. Tim bends slightly, lowering his hand to your hips before he lifts you. You don’t break the kiss as he sets you on the counter, and as his fingers tangle in your hair, you hold his jaw and lose yourself.

Through each breath, each movement, you give a piece of yourself to Tim and accept the pieces he offers you. Remembering that you stiffened and considered pushing him away the first time he touched you, you chuckle against Tim’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” he questions, pulling away and straightening your hair.

“I was touch starved a few months ago,” you reply. “And now you let me take whatever affection I want.”

“You’re welcome.”

You push your hand against Tim’s abs, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“Some people think you were playing favorites with me,” you muse, looking up at him.

“I was,” he answers. “Still am.”

“Lucky me,” you murmur before kissing his jaw and tugging his shirt to bring him close again.

[moeitsu]

Every time someone in this fandom romanticizes Abigail's prostitution, an angel looses its wings.

I can’t believe this still needs to be said, but let’s clear something up: Abigail Roberts was not “saved” by the Van der Linde gang out of the goodness of their hearts. She was a 17-year-old working girl. Yes, a prostitute—brought into the gang by Uncle because of her profession, not because they wanted to “help an orphan girl.” Pretending otherwise is not just wrong, it’s an insult to her character and completely misrepresents the darker themes of the game.

“They wouldn’t take advantage of a 17-year-old girl!” Really? These are men who rob, kill, and lie without hesitation. They absolutely would and did take advantage of her. Dutch was not some saintly father figure; he was an opportunist who saw value in people only as long as they served his needs. The gang didn’t “rescue” Abigail, they exploited her vulnerabilities and used her just like they used everyone else.

Even within the game, there’s a camp interaction where Susan Grimshaw tells Abigail she should return to prostitution to bring in more money for the gang. If that doesn’t make it clear how the gang viewed her role, I don’t know what will.

Abigail’s story isn’t some fairy tale about a group of noble outlaws saving an orphan. It’s about survival in a brutal, unforgiving world. She didn’t have a choice in staying with the gang. This idea that the gang was Robin Hood-like and only “stole from the rich to give to the poor” doesn’t erase the fact that they were still criminals who exploited people whenever they could, including Abigail.

The game wants you to sit with the uncomfortable truths of these characters. It shows you the dark realities of their actions and the systemic issues of the time. Romanticizing Abigail’s situation or painting the gang as her saviors completely undermines that. It’s not just naïve...it’s flat-out wrong.

This kind of take isn’t just ignorant; it’s borderline insulting to anyone who’s been in a similar situation. Abigail’s story is powerful because it’s not pretty. She was used, exploited, and forced to live a life she didn’t choose—but she fought tooth and nail to survive and make a better life for Jack. That’s what makes her compelling, not some sugar-coated fantasy about her being “rescued.”

Take off the rose-colored glasses and actually think critically about what the game is showing you. Abigail’s resilience is what makes her an incredible character—not some fake narrative about Dutch and the gang being her saviors. They weren’t.

It’s fine to love the characters, but stop twisting their stories to fit some idealized version of the gang. They’re criminals. Abigail was exploited by them. That’s the truth, and nothing about it is going to be pretty.

Abigail deserves way more respect than this.

[lewisvinga]

the designer vs. the model | charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary; fans begged and begged fashion icon and designer y/n to help charles out, luckily for him, she gave him the girlfriend effect

fc; jennie kim

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs

note; requested !

masterlist !

liked by yourbestfriend, and others

yourusername: cannes film festival; the design, before & after 🎀

username: AN ICON

username: i knew she’d eat this gala up😩

yourbestfriend: my beautiful talented best friendddd😻

yourusername: hehe love u xx

username: her talent needs to be studied

username: pls style charles_leclerc he needs help

username: studying fashion to be just like y/n!

username: y/n we need your talent on the f1 grid specifically in the ferrari garage specifically charles_leclerc

username: heyyy girl, u gonna need to share your styling talents w a certain monegasque 😁

username: oh i just know she’d give charles the girlfriend effect

username: STYLE CHARLES_LECLERC

yourusername: whaaaa ö

liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and others !

charles_leclerc: new profession: photographer

username: omg y/n liked!

username: we bullied him into only wearing sweatshirts and jeans omg 😭😭

username: thats what he gets for his horrendous style…

pierregasly: imagine you as a photographer 😂

charles_leclerc: hey! i’m not too bad!

username: yourusername pls help this poor man , he has very poor fashion taste🙏

username: ok this fit isn’t too bad, plain! but not that bad!

username: yourusername mother pls help father out

yourusername: i think the people want me to style you , haha !

charles_leclerc: my style can’t be that bad, no?

yourusername: it could use some improvement…

charles_leclerc: well, i’m open for suggestions!

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; don’t worry ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna make sure he has a good wardrobe 😇!] [caption 2; designing n making some new pieces for his closet 😵‍💫]

charles_leclerc uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; the forced smile after i showed her some outfit ideas…] [caption 2; her real smile after i got her a latte for being patient w my poor fashion skills😁

liked by yourusername, carlossainz5, and others !

charles_leclerc: photo dump , but do you notice any new fashion improvements ? 😁

yourusername: much better than those horrendous blue and white pants …

charles_leclerc: they weren’t that bad

yourusername: cha…… they were horrid

username: wait…. he fr looks good

yourusername: he’s got a pretty face but thats just enhanced by the better fashion sense!😁

charles_leclerc: u think i’m pretty?😊

yourusername: ur my prettiest model

username: OH HELLO

username: hes 100% dating y/n bc thats an improvement from that horrid blue outfit 😭

username: muy buenos días y que vivan los hombres 😍 [very good morning and long live men]

username: his style is improving, everyone cheered!

username: the sigh of relief i just let out

carlossainz55: mate, you have everyone relieved from your new fashion improvements 🤣

charles_leclerc: and i can see why after i looked at my old outfits…

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, and others !

yourusername: the designer vs. the model 🌸

tagged; charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: where would my closet be w/o you, chérie…

yourusername: unfortunately, seen in the public

charles_leclerc: my favorite and the most prettiest designer ❤️

yourusername: you’re my favorite and the most prettiest model 💞

username: oh my goodness gracious me

username: STOPP THEYRE SO CUTE😖😖

username: she got him a good pair of glasses thank u queen y/n

username: them at the basketball game together 🥹🥹🥹🥹

username: we’re abt to get the best charles outfits thank u y/n😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

yourbestfriend: watch your back sharl she was mine first

charles_leclerc: womp womp she’s mine now

yourusername: ladies, ladies, there’s enough of me to go around ( btw yourbestfriend come over asap i need to do another fitting on u )

[cultven]

can i get a Deadpool x reader x wolverine where reader is making them watch asmr with them at bedtime :3

🍒

ASMR Cuddles

Deadpool X Reader X Wolverine

Content: Some cursing, Wade being a yapper as always, Grumpy Logan, Fluff, Cuddles, Slime!!, Small Blind Al content

Word Count: 827

Warnings: None

a/n: This request was just too funny not to write, just thinking about these two men and their different reactions. Wrote this super fast on a whim so hopefully it's ok! Short and sweet :)

“Hurry!” You whined, getting all cozy. This has become a daily routine with the three of you, you get comfy in bed while the other two men stall sleeping. Little did other people know, Wade and Logan were huge insomniacs. Perhaps it came with the profession of being a superhero, you didn’t know, but you were determined to help soothe their minds into sleep. The first tactic that came to your mind? Asmr. 

You had the perfect setup. Bunches of pillows to support your heads and backs into a half-sitting position, mountains of blankets to keep you all warm and comfortable, and finally your laptop at full charge ready to go. Now all you needed was your eccentric and grumpy boys. “Wade hurry up!” You groaned as Logan stepped into the room, finally in his sleeping clothes. 

“Hold on baby girl, I’m doing my skincare routine!” Wade yelled from the other side of the apartment. 

“Why? It’s obviously not doing anything for you.” Logan retorted with a smile as you playfully hit his arm. He just grinned wider at your scolding as you heard one more knock on the walls. 

“Keep it down, fuckers! Some people in this place like to sleep!” Blind Al shouted from her room, which was only a few thin walls away. 

“Sorry, Al!” You apologized, sending Logan a look to shut it. He only rolled his eyes as he crawled into bed next to you, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders. As he got himself comfortable, Wade burst through the door with a smile, two shirts in hand. 

“Ok, be honest. Which shirt is more ASMR-y? Pink with rainbows,” He held up a hot pink t-shirt to his chest. “Or, yellow with the X-men logo?” Wade’s arm lifted the other shirt, which was just some old X-men merch he stole from Colossus not too long ago. 

“Asshole it doesn’t matter, let's go.” Logan groaned, blankly looking at the two options. 

“I like the pink Wade.” You said with a smile, watching him put the shirt on and patting the seat next to you. Finally, the three of you get comfortable, Wade on your left and Logan on the right. With the way you three were situated, it almost felt like a puzzle. 

“So, what do you want us to watch exactly?” Logan questions, eyeing the videos you’re scrolling past. 

“It’s videos that make funny noises! They’re supposed to relax you and help you sleep. It even makes some people tingle.” You respond, smiling a bit at the man before resuming your search for the perfect video. 

“What kind of tingles exactly?” Wade smirked at your side. Before he could wait for an answer he hastily pointed at a video on your laptop. “Oh! Let’s do that one! Slime.” Sure enough, that was the video you put on. Within the first two minutes, Wade was completely enthralled, commenting on every little thing. 

“What kind of slime is that?”

“Fluffy, dear.”

“How does it sound so delicious?”

“Beads!”

“Where can I find the things to buy this?”

While Wade was now distracted on Amazon buying the various ingredients for slime, Logan was not so impressed. You could tell the only reason he was currently staying in bed was for the free cuddles. The slime clearly was not of his taste. 

“Logan, do you want to try a different video?” You offered, determined to make the man sleepy through ASMR at any cost. Slime probably wasn’t the best fit for sleep time, not only because of Logan’s disinterest but it only seemed to rile up Wade more as he was currently talking your ear off about all the things he bought for his upcoming slime creations. 

“Eh, no offense bub, but I don’t think any of these videos are gonna do it for me.” You felt bad, you needed to find something that would soothe Logan, and you knew just the genre. 

“How about some general tapping ASMR?” You hastily typed the words into YouTube, much to Wade’s dismay. You found the perfect video, turning up the volume ever so slightly and allowing the ASMR to do its thing. Five minutes into the video you felt sleepy yourself, before realizing that the last few minutes have been in complete silence, which was strange when you lived with Wade Wilson. Turning to both your sides you see Wade completely asleep and Logan fighting for his consciousness. 

“This one good, bub’?” You whisper to Logan, teasing him slightly. 

With your words knocking him out of his trance, all Logan could think to say was, “Shut up.” Before returning to the video, his arm still wrapped around you. Within ten minutes the three of you were out cold, a mess of limbs all sewn together with soft tapping in the background. For the first time in years, Wade and Logan were able to get a good night's sleep and all it required was some cuddles and ASMR. 

[alana-reid-2005]

spencer reid x reader ౨ৎ you’ve been reassigned indefinitely to the bau’s nyc office; spencer helps you pack for the move

p.s. did i write this to cope with the fact that i’m moving 30 minutes away from home for college? you know me too well.

Five hours isn’t that long of a drive. If you could somehow convince Erin Strauss to let you borrow the BAU’s plane, the journey would be cut to a mere hour and a half. You don’t know if this move will be permanent, but you try to forget about that for now and focus on packing. You stuff your winter coat into your already full suitcase. You’re about ready to sit on top of your suitcase to attempt to close it. October’s just around the corner, and New York gets chilly with a capital “C,” even more so than Quantico.

It’ll be your first Halloween away from Spencer in seven years, you think morosely. Spencer knows how to celebrate the spooky season. Halloween is his Christmas as evidenced by the multiple excursions to the local pumpkin patch and trips to various haunted houses he takes you on each year. And that’s not to mention how he invites you over on the thirty-first to witness him spooking the kids in his apartment building with his various monster or ghoul costumes before treating them to king size candy bars.

You’re gonna miss that more than you’d like to admit.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as Spencer stumbles in, carrying a box full of knick knacks he’s making you choose from after reasoning with you that, “Seasonal depression is very real, and making your house a home is one small way to remedy the feelings of loneliness.”

He bumps his hip hard into your closet doorknob on his way over to you but barely seems to register it.

“Careful hon-“

“Hey, did you know that the subway system is actually way better than people make it out to be?” He sets down the box with a little huff before continuing, his hands immediately going up to make gestures as he speaks. “According to a New York Times analysis I saw this morning, there’s only about one violent crime per one million rides. And that rate is only going down as ridership increases, so I think it’s your safest bet for getting around the city, all things considered.”

You smile up at him. Here’s another thing you’re gonna miss. You’d drop all your life’s responsibilities if it meant you could hear him explain the world to you all day long.

He kneels beside you where you’re bent over your suitcase. “Anyway, I brought you some holiday decor! Pick as many as you can fit in your luggage. I’ll mail you the rest.”

He’s not quite smiling, but you can sense the joy radiating from him like steam from a thermal geyser.

“It’s barely September, Spence.” You try not to let your voice break. You just can’t muster his level of enthusiasm when you know you’ll be leaving him soon. Too soon.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He must’ve noticed you were off earlier today. Mercifully, he hadn’t mentioned it sooner, or you would’ve been bawling like a baby at eight in the morning. More than often, you feel this is the curse of your chosen profession: to always know how you and those around you feel but never how to help them or yourself.

“Please don’t cry, angel.” His arms are around you in an instant, easing your chin to his shoulder. He slides his hands down to rub your back, applying just the right amount of pressure to coax your body to melt into his.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” He tilts back, arms tightening around your mid back until you’re almost in his lap. Physical touch is by far not on the top of his list of love languages, but he needs you to know how much he’s gonna miss you.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “I’m driving up to see you every weekend. And you’re flying in for Thanksgiving. I think Garcia said she’d host this year.”

“Aw, Penelope always does the best job,” you sniffle, unable to help the grin that breaks over your face.

Spencer pulls back, beaming just as bright. Once your expression softens, he pulls you in for a kiss, painfully saccharine in its tenderness.

You’re gonna miss his coffee breath most of all.

[atomicami]

the perfect fit

model!abby anderson x fashion designer!reader

- summary: it’s the start of your new job working for armani as a fashion designer, and your first assignment is to design and create a suit for an upcoming runway event. despite the fact that you can’t stand your chosen model, you also can’t help but find her very attractive too.

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, nyc living, reader has a degree in fashion design, reader is a bit of a perfectionist, model!abby, abby’s a little cocky, work sex, fingering & strap usage (r!receiving), abby refers to her strap as her cock, size kink, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything

- author’s note: so i was highly inspired by this abby x model!reader fic that i decided to try to write out a fic of my own with this new pairing!! i hope y’all like it :)

also dedicating this one to my girl @whore4abby ily darling 🤍

New York City was always known to be the place where one’s dreams were meant to fly as high as the skyscrapers that rose in its urban atmosphere. It was known to be the perfect capital city for all professions, including fashion.

Living in New York had always been the dream for you, and although you were now residing there for school, you weren’t exactly fulfilling your dreams just yet. So when you had called your parents one day to break the bad news to them, you knew that they weren’t going to be on board with your sudden change of plans.

“You’re switching majors? But why?” your dad asked through the phone. “I thought you wanted to study law.”

No, you didn’t. Your parents had been telling everyone they knew in your small town that you were going to major in law after high school and become the best lawyer to walk the streets of New York, and as a result, you couldn’t help but select that major just to please them.

“I don’t, Dad…If you had listened to me in the first place, you would know that I never wanted to do that,” you tell him.

“Well, that’s alright, law school isn’t for everyone now.” your dad told you before continuing. “What are you going to study instead? Medicine? Psychology? Business?”

You took a deep breath before continuing. “Fashion design…” you mutter back to him.

You can already imagine the outburst he was going to have. It was almost as if you could feel the anger bubbling within him through the phone.

“Fashion?! Are you seriously out of your mind?!” your dad exclaimed back at you. His reaction was so uncalled for that you had to take him off of speakerphone.

And after a long lecture from him later, he simply told you that he wasn’t going to pay for your tuition anymore before hanging up the phone.

Even though you were expecting that kind of reaction from your parents, your father more specifically, you still couldn’t help but feel so…discouraged. You’ve been wanting to be a fashion designer ever since you were little, and your parents’ lack of support did nothing but steal your happiness in fulfilling your dreams.

But at the same time…you felt determined to prove them wrong. You wanted to show them that you weren’t making this change just take the easy way out, you were doing it because you’ve been wanting to pursue this career your whole life. You wanted to show them that you were meant to be working in a fashion studio, not a courtroom.

Fast forward to now, and you’ve graduated from Parsons at the top of your class with a fashion degree, only to soon land a job working as a fashion designer at one of Giorgio Armani’s establishments right here in New York City.

Once the first day of your new job came around, you needed to give the best impression there, making sure to arrive before your boss did. After all, if it weren’t for Tess selecting you as one of the potential candidates as a fashion designer for that establishment, you’d probably still be job hunting by now.

You sat at your desk, eyeing the surroundings of the large studio you were in at this moment. All of the fabrics, mannequins, tools, and machines just waiting to be used. It still felt like a fever dream to you.

The sound of the opening doors of the warehouse startles you, causing you to and some of the designers in the studio to turn around, while the others are still chattering.

Tess walks into the studio and stands in the middle of the room before bringing everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone,” she shouts with a loud clap of her hands, causing the rest of the room to quiet down. “I have decided to put you all in charge of creating the looks for Armani’s upcoming winter fashion show. Each of you will be given a model to work on, and you are welcome to create whatever you’d like, as long as it meets the requirements for the show.”

“But, isn’t the winter fashion show only a month from now?” one of the designers asked.

“Yes, Yes it is, actually,” Tess replies with a nod. “So I expect to see the best work done by you all within the time being. I’d like to see how well my designers can work under pressure.”

You let out a sigh in frustration and held your face in your hands. How the hell were you going to have a look ready in just a month?

Tess checks the time on her watch before looking up at the clock for reassurance. “The models should be arriving any minute now, once they get here I’ll be assigning them out to everyone, and we’ll start today off by taking their measurements and sketching out designs. When you are finished, I—“ Her words are cut off by the sound of the warehouse doors opening again.

You look over again with the rest of the designers to see another staff member enter the room with a variety of models trailing behind her in a single file line. She then approaches Tess to talk to her for a brief moment before soon exiting the warehouse by herself. “Alright everyone,” Tess shouts out again, looking down at the clipboard that was in her hands. “When I call out your name to your assigned model, I would like you to stand up from your desk so they know who you are.”

As Tess begins to assign the models, the sound of a chair swiveling over to your left makes you turn your head, and you see that it was Dina scooching closer to you. “See anyone you might like?” she whispers over to you, her eyes still fixed on the line of models in the room.

“I honestly could care less about who Tess puts me with,” you whisper back to her, leaning back against your chair and crossing one of your legs over the other. “As long as they don’t give me a hard time, I should be good.”

Dina nods in response, she opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by the sound of Tess calling out your name. As a result, you rise from your seat and stand behind your desk.

“You’ll be working with Anderson as your model,” she tells you, and you watch as Tess looks over to your model and points at you, indicating her to walk over to where you were.

Intimidation strikes through you as she approaches your desk. You can’t really put your finger on it, but from the first impression, you’re quite convinced it's because of her broad figure that stood out from everyone else. You look over to Dina, to which she looks back at you and simply mouths a ‘good luck’ on your end.

Tess soon does a quick check around the room, making sure each designer has a model to work with. “Alright, now that everyone has an assigned model, you can all get started. Remember now, the winter show is a month from today, so I hope you can all make the best use of your time.” and with that, she exits the studio, leaving you and the rest of the designers to be.

Abby has her side resting against your desk, watching you draw out some looks on your sketchbook. “Just so you know…” she starts, leaning in closer to your right side. “I’m like, the biggest model here, so don’t be surprised when you run out of fabric for that pretty outfit you’ve planned out for me.”

You look over to Abby and roll your eyes before setting your pencil down and opening the side drawer of your desk. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” you tell her as you take out the soft tape measure from your drawer and stand up from your seat. “Come on, let me take your measurements now.”

Based on that first interaction alone, you knew that Abby was going to be a distraction for your project, and boy you were right.

This past month has felt like hell for you, and Abby’s cocky, conceited persona wasn’t making it any better for you.

Things were fine at first, at least enough for you to manage. But it wasn’t until the second fitting that she’s been starting to really get on your nerves.

The fitting room in the Armani establishment was spacious, each designer/model pair had their spot to do the fittings and make any adjustments if needed.

Abby walks over to your side of the fitting room fully dressed in her runway outfit. You had beautifully created a navy blue suit that complimented her freckled skin and blue eyes perfectly, and the entire outfit had Swarovski crystals sewn all over the place. It was a timeless and classic look for the show.

It’s a shame that your model has to be so arrogant for the time being.

You look over to her and snap your fingers. “Stand over there,” you tell her, pointing over to the small, round altar that was next to you. Abby simply obliges and stands up on the altar to face you, both of her hands crossed at her front.

You notice this and walk over to her, grabbing at her hands. “I need your hands at your sides, you’re a model, not a security guard.” you tell her sternly, separating her hands so each one is at her side. You then sit down on the stool behind you, bringing yourself down to face her lower half so you can check the fitting of her suit pants.

Starting at the bottom of her pants and making your way up, the pants seem to fit well on her so far. Given Abby’s large build, the fit is as snug as can be, but not too tight to where it would make her uncomfortable when walking. If you had made it any tighter, you’re convinced that the fabric might rip.

However, it wasn’t until you look at the waistline of the pants. For some reason, that area looked unusually tighter than it was compared to the last fitting. The zipper on her pants looked like it was going to burst. It’s almost as if she was hiding something underneath…

You tap the side of her thigh to get her attention, causing her to tilt her head down. ”What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the slight bulge that was sticking out of her pants.

She simply smirks back at you and shakes her head. “Wouldn’t you like to know…” she mumbles out, looking back up.

Your eyes were still fixed on her face, and you grabbed at her crotch, causing her to slightly jerk back. You knew damn well what it was that she had in those pants.

“Jesus,” she says, looking back down at you. “Chill out, will you?”

“Take it off,” you tell her sternly, standing back up from the stool. “I’m not going to have my look completely ruined as a result from one of your little games.”

You were close to having an outburst in the middle of the fitting room since you were starting to get some looks from some of the other designers and models in the room, including Dina. It was a good thing that Tess wasn’t there to see it though.

Abby simply rolls her eyes at you and clears her throat before stepping off of the altar and exiting the fitting room to go change. The two of you were being quite immature about this, but you were seriously in need of your look to be perfect for the show, and Abby was keeping you from doing so.

A couple more weeks pass by and before you know it, the day of the show is just right around the corner from now.

Your shift at the studio had just ended, and people were starting to gather their things to leave, while you still sat by your large mannequin, making adjustments and adding touches to your look.

Dina walks up behind you and taps your shoulder, causing you to pull out one of your headphones from your ear and turn around.

“Hey,” she says. “Some of us are going to head out to Dalton’s for drinks. Wanna come with?”

You shake your head in response. “I can’t, I really have to finish this look in time for the show, I have to make sure everything’s perfect.”

You hear her let out a sigh and nod. “Alright well, just don’t stress yourself out, okay?” she asks, gently squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” she says, and you nod back at her as you watch her put her bag over her shoulder and exit the studio.

Once she leaves, you notice Tess at walking towards you at the corner of your eye. “Hey kid,” she says leaning against your desk with her arms crossed, keys jingling in one of her hands. “You plan on leaving soon?”

You let out a sigh and turned your head to face her. “Just let me stay a little longer, Tess…I promise I’ll be out of here soon.”

She sighs back and hesitates for a moment while rubbing the back of her neck. “Alright, I’ll give you an hour, but that’s it. I don’t want you spending the night here.” She then gets off your desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow, the doors will lock automatically once you leave.”

You nod in response and thank her before watching her walk away from the dim lighting that shined on your side of the studio. You were instantly relieved to be able to have some time for yourself to work on the suit.

However, that doesn’t last long when another set of footsteps enter the studio and begin to approach you from behind once again.

A large hand grabs at your shoulder, this time causing you to jump up and turn around in fear for a moment before realizing who it is. “Jesus, Anderson…you scared the hell out of me,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “What are you even doing here? Your final fitting isn’t until Friday.”

Abby lets out a chuckle at your frightened reaction and shakes her head. “I just came here to get my car keys,” she says, grabbing them off the shelf where she had left them. “I left them last time I was here.”

You rolled your eyes and stood back up to face your desk and away from her. “Well, now that you have your keys, can you go now? I need to keep working.”

As you were about to put your headphones back on, Abby began to speak once again. “What’s your deal?” she asks you.

You let out a huff and set your phone down before looking back at her. “My deal is that I’ve had to deal with your arrogance this past month and it’s been driving me insane. All I want right now is to have this time to myself so I can finish this suit in time for the show.”

The smirk that was growing on Abby’s face right now was so big you could practically see it from your peripheral vision. She then begins to walk around until she’s behind you on your desk. “It seems like you could loosen up a bit, you know…” she tells you as she slightly leans in closer to your ear, trapping you between your desk and her chest. You could already feel a familiar bulge poking at your lower back. It was that same bulge that you were just grabbing at in the fitting room not too long ago.

You roll your eyes at her in response. “Is that so?” you whisper back to her, just enough so she can hear you. “And what might that be, exactly?”

Her hands make their way down to your waist, grabbing you and turning you around so you are now face-to-face with her. “How about I show you, yeah?” she whispers to you, to which you nod desperately.

Despite how much you couldn’t stand her, you really couldn’t help but be into her at the same time, and not only has she also been aware of it, but she felt the same way with you too.

You feel her hands move from your waist down to the buttons of your pants, and you look down at your lap as a result. “Let’s see what we have here now…” she murmurs, slowly undoing your pants and sliding them off your legs and to the ground. Once your pants were fully removed, she helped give you a boost so you could sit up on your desk.

Abby instantly opens your legs the second your ass hits your desk, immediately eyeing the visible wet patch that was seeping through your black underwear. “Well well well, what do we have here…” she mutters out, hooking a finger underneath your underwear and shifting it to the side, causing your wet pussy to be exposed to her and the cold air of the studio. “This all for me?” she asks, looking back up at you.

All you can simply do is bite your lip and nod as you try to resist the cold air hitting against your pussy. “Fuck, yes, Abs…it’s all for you…” you whine out to her.

“That’s what I thought,” she mutters back. Two of her fingers make their way into your cunt without warning, causing you to jerk back and involuntarily close your thighs shut. However, her other hand makes her way into the middle just in time before you do so. “Nuh-uh, don’t get shy on me now, princess,” she says, forcing your legs back open to stand in the middle. “You’ve been so bold with me this past month, so you’re not backing out of this now.”

Her fingers successfully go into your pussy the second time around, causing a moan to escape from your mouth as a result. Abby’s fingers were huge, to say the least, but they managed to stretch your pussy out so well. There’s no way that your pussy can’t take anything bigger than this.

But what Abby was about to pull out next was going to prove you wrong.

As Abby’s fingers continue to pump inside you, she begins to undo her jeans with her free hand, effortlessly getting them open and slightly pushing them down to her thighs. She then digs that same hand into her boxers and pulls out her black strap-on, causing your eyes to widen at the immense size. She was fucking huge.

“A-Abby…” you stammer out to her, quickly shaking your head. “That—That’s not gonna fit…It’s too—“

“Yes it will,” she says, cutting off your words. “My cock’s gonna fit. You’ll see.”

Her fingers quickly slide out of your cunt, leading you to whimper at the loss. With both of her hands now, she rubs her cock against your folds, collecting some of your wetness before sliding it into your tight hole. The stretch of the strap was a bit uncomfortable at first, but after a moment, you were shocked to see how well your pussy was easily taking it from the tip down to the base. It really was the perfect fit.

Abby smirks as she looks down at the piece of silicone that connected your bodies. “See? I told you it’ll fit,” she mutters out, bottoming out completely inside you. “This fucking pussy was made to take my cock.”

You were already starting to feel dizzy over Abby’s cock nestling inside your pussy. You were desperate for some movement.

“A-Abby…” you whine out to her, squeezing her bicep. “N-Need you t-to move…”

“What’s that, princess? You want me to move my cock?” she asks, to which you nod in response. “Need me to thrust my big cock in that desperate little pussy of yours? Don’t worry, baby, I’ll do just that for you.”

And with that, she begins to slowly thrust inside you. You could practically feel it all within her movements, the girth, the veins, hell, even the tip would kiss at your cervix every time she bottomed out into you.

Abby grabs at both of your thighs, slowly starting to speed up her pace. “I think I can go a little faster now, don’t you think? Your pretty pussy’s already doing so well for me, angel…”

“Fuck, y-yes, Abby…f-faster…” you slur out as you throw your head back in pleasure, gripping both of your hands onto your desk while she continues to thrust inside of you.

One of her hands leaves your thigh and grabs at your jaw, tilting it down to face her. “Look at that now, my girl’s getting so cockdrunk for me…I bet it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Abby’s gaze soon brings down to your chest, smirking once she notices your hard nipples poking through your shirt. She then lets go of your jaw and pulls your shirt up to your tits, watching in awe at the mere sight of them. “No bra?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you to be such a slut like that…It’s almost as if you were waiting for this to happen.”

At this point, your brain was losing focus, and you couldn’t figure out what Abby was saying to you right now. Once she sped up her pace again, all you could think about now was getting to your release.

Abby now has her gaze focused on the sight of your pussy, watching as it squeezes and contracts around the strap with every thrust. “Looks like you’re getting close, princess. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock?”

“Y-yes, f-fuck! I-I’m getting close…” you whine back to her, leading her to thrust even faster inside of you, your moans soon getting loud enough for them to practically echo inside the whole studio.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak. Your cunt pulsed a few more times around Abby’s strap before cumming completely with a loud moan of her name, causing a white ring to form around it.

As you began to catch your breath, Abby slowly pulled herself out of you, groaning as she saw a thick white string of your cum connecting between your pussy and the tip of her strap before soon breaking. She then ran her fingers through her length, collecting all of your release before soon sticking them inside of your mouth while it was still agape.

After sucking her fingers clean, she pulls them out of your mouth and tucks her strap back into her boxers before putting her jeans back on. You watch as she briefly gets down onto her knees and brings her face into your fucked out pussy, gently licking and sucking it clean, savoring each bit of it as she did so.

Once you were all clean, Abby rose back to her feet, helping you with your underwear and with the rest of your clothes as well. Her hands then moved from the button of your pants back down to your hips, guiding you off of your desk and back on your feet. You stumble a little bit into her at the sudden movement.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks softly, catching you in her arms.

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m okay…just a little worn out.” you pant out to her as you gain back your composure to turn around towards your desk and gather up your things to leave.

“Well, at least let me give you a ride back to your place,” she insists, grabbing her keys off your desk. “It’s already late outside, and I don’t think it’s quite safe for you to be walking around out there at this time.”

You hesitate for a moment at first. You’d honestly hate to inconvenience Abby to give you a ride home, but given that she was the one offering, you didn’t seem to mind too much about it. In all fairness, it was already late hours in the city, and given the damage she’d done to your legs, there was no way you were going to last walking for five minutes down the street. So you end up accepting her offer.

“Yeah, sure…I’m not stopping you, honestly…” you tell her with a chuckle as you put your bag over your shoulder, ready to head out.

You then follow along beside Abby as the two of you exit the establishment and make your way to wherever her car is situated. Abby opens the passenger door to let you in first before letting herself in on the other side. She then starts up her car before merging into the city’s busy roads.

The ten-minute drive flew by surprisingly fast, and before you knew it, she was now parked in front of your apartment complex. She leans in to give you a quick kiss before soon pulling away. “So, I’ll see you on Friday, then?” she asks.

You can’t help but smirk back at her, even though you were biting your lip to hide it. “I’ll see you on Friday, Anderson.” you tell her with a nod before opening the door to let yourself out.

But Abby doesn’t leave just yet. Instead, she makes sure that you get into your apartment safe and sound. Once your lights were on, that was her cue to go.

You watch from your apartment window as she drives back into the busy roads, soon disappearing from your view.

And for the first time this month, you have to admit that you’re now actually looking forward to seeing her again.

a/n: i hope you guys liked this fic!! i might make another part if this goes well?? but aside from that my next fic will be bfm!abby for those who are waiting, i promise 🤞🏼 lmk if you’d like to be tagged for when i post it!!

(also ty for 700, i love you guys 🫶🏻)

2023 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

[theartofcollapse]

Hey, it's me again with another Captain Benson request!

First I want to say that I love your fics 😍 could write you writean Olivia x Reader where the reader is super feminine and into the world of makeup (lolita, gyaru...) and Olivia feels forced to maintain a heteronormative act where she adapts to the "masculine" role until the reader realizes and starts to help her with this, that no matter what clothes she wears, or what profession she has, the two are in a sapphic relationship and there is nothing more "feminine" than being a woman?

I'm listening to Woman by Doja Cat hehehehe gave me this inspiration.

a/n: thank you for requesting this, I hope it's somewhat what you had in mind summary: read it above pairing: Olivia Benson x female reader warnings: none word count: 733

masterlist

Femininity - Olivia Benson

The room smelled of vanilla and jasmine, the faint scent of your favorite candle burning on the windowsill. You stood in front of the mirror, carefully applying the last touches of blush to your cheeks. Your pink, ruffled dress fluttered lightly as you moved, the lace at the hem brushing against your legs. Olivia sat across the room on your couch, still in her SVU blazer and slacks. She watched you with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” she said, voice soft but distant.

“Thank you,” you replied, setting down the brush and turning to her. You could feel her gaze lingering on your rhinestone-encrusted nails, the pastel palette of your clothes, and the oversized bow perched atop your perfectly styled hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to dress up too? You’d look gorgeous in something like this.”

Olivia chuckled, low and almost hesitant. “This isn’t really my thing, you know? I don’t think I could pull it off like you do.”

You frowned slightly but didn’t push. It wasn’t the first time she’d deflected when you suggested she try something different from her usual wardrobe of power suits and muted tones.

Olivia’s role as a detective, as the strong, stoic protector, had always been a defining part of who she was, but lately, you’d noticed something was off. She seemed to be trying harder to fit into the “masculine” role in your relationship - opening every door, insisting on paying for every meal, even avoiding soft touches in public. At first, you thought it was sweet, her way of taking care of you, but now it felt forced.

“Liv,” you said, stepping closer and sitting beside her. “You know you don’t have to act a certain way around me, right?”

Her brow furrowed, confusion clouding her features. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “You’ve been putting yourself in this box, like you need to be the ‘man’ in the relationship. But we’re both women. I love you for who you are, not because you’re trying to play some role.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. I’m used to being strong, being the one people rely on. And with you…” She glanced at your soft, glittery appearance, her voice dropping. “I don’t want people to think I’m not enough for you. That I’m not feminine enough for you.”

Your heart broke at her words. You reached out, taking her hand in yours, the contrast between your delicate, manicured fingers and her calloused ones a poignant reminder of your different worlds.

“Olivia,” you said gently, “there’s nothing more feminine than being a woman. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a suit or a dress, if you’re wearing makeup or not. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to me.”

She met your gaze, vulnerability shining in her dark eyes. “It’s just… you’re so beautiful, Y/N. So soft, so confident in who you are. Sometimes I feel like I don’t measure up.”

You squeezed her hand. “You’re beautiful too, Liv. In your own way. And you don’t have to change a thing about yourself for me to love you. But if you ever do want to explore a different side of yourself, I’m here for that too. We can try things together, figure it out. No judgment.”

For the first time that evening, her smile was genuine. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you said, standing and tugging her to her feet. “Now, let’s start small. How about we paint your nails? Just something subtle to start with.”

Olivia chuckled, the sound lighter now. “You’re not going to rest until you get me into pink, are you?”

You grinned. “I’m very persuasive.”

She followed you to the vanity, letting you guide her into the chair. As you painted her nails a soft, neutral shade with a touch of shimmer, the tension in her shoulders melted away.

By the end of the night, Olivia wasn’t just wearing nail polish, she was smiling, laughing, and letting herself be vulnerable with you. And as you curled up together on the couch, her arms around you and your head on her shoulder, you knew that together, you were breaking down the walls of expectation and redefining what it meant to be feminine, strong, and in love.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Like One Of Your

Laurent LeClaire x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 7: Thigh Riding

Summary: Laurent wants to paint, but he gets distracted so easily.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

I'm just gonna gesture vaguely at this.

Warnings: kissing, thigh riding, Laurent being a little shit, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1202

 “A little to the left.” The smile in his voice is undeniable. 

“Laurent.” You turn your head back to face him, scowling, and he just chuckles.

“To the left.” He says, sweet as can be as he lightly touches your jaw and tilts your head back and to the side in the angle he requires. 

“This is ridiculous.” You repeat.

His laugh shakes you slightly from your position. 

“I need the light,” he repeats his pitiful excuse, “this spot is perfect.”

“And why do I have to be sitting on your lap while you paint?” 

“It’s not my lap, my love, it’s just one leg.” He tenses the muscle for emphasis.

“Laurent…”

He grins, leaning close and pressing his face to your neck and breathing deeply. “You only ever use my name when you’re annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” You huff. 

“Hmm,” his voice rumbles in his chest pleasantly. “I like it, the tone it gives you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Of course you do.” 

When he sits back, he’s beaming wickedly, “I need to be close so that I don’t strain my poor eyes.” He gestures to himself with the end of his dry paintbrush. He hasn’t even put his canvas on his easel yet. 

“You expect me to believe that?” 

“The truth?” He bats his large brown eyes at you, the image of innocence. 

You tut. “When have you ever told the truth?” 

“All the time?” He mock gasps, one hand to his chest. “You think when I profess my love to you I’m lying?”

“I think-”

“That when I tell you I would gouge out my own eyes if I couldn’t look upon your face ever again?” 

You can't help but laugh. “I think you’re dramatic. And,” he opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak. “And that you have a silver tongue,” You tap the tip of his nose lightly, “that you use to get your own way.”

He smirks. “Silver tongue is it?” 

You watch him as his smile grows, trying to work out what wickedness he has in store.

“How about I show you and you can see?” He pokes out his tongue quickly and dives for you, wrapping one arm around your waist so that you can’t completely escape.

You burst into a fit of giggles, pressing one hand against his chest, the other to his forehead to stop him from licking you. “Laurent!” 

“Alright, alright,” His grin doesn’t fade, but he moves back, settling into his seat. “I’ll behave, here look,” he picks up his canvas from the floor, still keeping one arm wrapped around you, and puts it on his easel. “I’m painting.” 

You slowly lower your hands. “Of course you are.” 

He smiles as he prepares his paints, making a bit of a show of it. After a few seconds you relax a little and move back into the position he’d asked of you, with your face turned towards the window. 

The quiet grows comfortable as he begins to paint, the minutes ticking by. Every so often he lets you know with a soft word that you can move and you stretch and wiggle, taking a sip of water from the glass next to you before you get back into position. 

You readjust yourself, rolling your shoulders ever so slightly as you sit, and Laurent lets out the smallest breath. 

The sound is a little above nothing, and perhaps you would have ignored it if his fingers on your hip hadn’t tightened, if he hadn’t pushed then pulled you closer a fraction. 

“Laurent-”

“Being this close to you is painful, you know that?” He mutters, his breath thick as he stares at the canvas. He’s pretending to paint, his brush not touching the surface. 

“Why?” You ask softly, recognising the slight flush of his cheeks, the thickness to his voice. 

“Because it is.” He bites his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to…”

You stay quiet, giving him space to voice his desires. 

“I want to…” he swallows as he puts his paintbrush down and fully takes hold of your waist with both hands. He tilts your hips gently, making you arch toward him before he pushes you back an inch on his leg. 

You gasp, biting back a moan as the thick material of his trousers and warmth of his thigh run along your core. 

Laurent groans, watching your face in awe. “That’s it, that’s what I want.” 

He pulls you closer, angling you even more so that your clit fully rubs along him. 

You whimper, grabbing hold of his shoulders, “Laurent,” your voice comes out so weak and desperate. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he pushes you again, swallowing hard. “Move with me, my love, move with me, please.” 

You do as he asks, your body following his wishes on autopilot as you rock and rub against the strong muscle of his thigh. 

Pleasure sparks up your spine as your wetness seeps into your underwear making the drag against him all the more vivid.

You press your lips together, shuddering as he urges you to rock particularly slowly and firmly. 

He tuts, taking his hand away from you so that he can press his thumb against your mouth. “Ah, none of that,” he breathes hard, sounding almost as wanton as you. “Let me hear you.”

He leans close, practically breathing in your air, rolling his hips in time with you as he gets caught up in your pleasure. 

“You’re meant to be painting.” You pant.

“You’re meant to be coming.” He moans against your lips. “Want to see you, want to paint you in the throws of ecstasy.” 

You want to bite back at him with a sharp comment, but your mind has turned to mush. All your possible thoughts are consumed with how his body feels against yours.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, screwing up the fabric as you grind.

Your breathing comes out in short gasps, your legs shaking as your stomach muscles clench the closer you're pushed to the edge.

“Please,” falls from your lips in a whimper and Laurent groans desperately. 

“Please what, my love? Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give you everything your heart desires.” 

You gasp, close to sobbing as he helps you to move faster, bliss so close that it colours the edge of your vision. 

“Oh, god,” Laurent groans, his voice deep and strained, “I could, could come like this, watching you, feeling how warm you are against my skin.” 

You whine, your back arching as his words push you over the edge. Pleasure runs through you as you ride out the wave.

You gasp out his name, collapsing into his waiting embrace, breathing heavily. 

He kisses your temple, holding you close as you recover from the strength of your orgasm. 

You can feel his erection straining against his trousers.

As you sit up, mouth open about to speak, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your mouth and groaning when you reciprocate.

When you break away for air he grins, “I think we should see what other things this silver tongue of mine can do?”

Thank you for reading!

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[prettieinpink]

Detachment

Detachment is the feeling that you have of not being personally involved in something or of having no emotional interest in it. I don’t really like this definition of detachment, but its the one which explains it the best. Though this post is basically about how to not let your emotions affect every aspect of your life. And it can improve life/mindset by soo muchh. Heres some little tips for detaching !!

Don’t involve yourself, start observing. You do not have to get involved with everything on the internet, whether it's a debate, discussion, latest trends, political opinions or arguments on social media. Learn how to observe situations, and know when to turn your phone off if something is affecting your emotions negatively. 

Actually start thinking before you speak. It’s a common phrase yet no one truly does it. But, thinking before you say anything risky, whether it's a joke or your professing your love to someone, really think about it. Long term or short term thinking, its up to you. Thinking before you speak will literally help you stop acting impulsively on your emotions and avoid any future conflicts. 

Start embracing change. I know it is hard, but change is unpredictable so we need to start to accept it. It allows yourself to be more open minded to different opportunities which is so important for personal growth + how i did it was by observing my environment much more thoroughly and how i’ll fit in it( i usually journal about this ) and speaking with people/reading about people who’ve been in the same situations i’m in. 

Not just being aware, but understanding that not everyone is going to be kind to you and not everything in life is going to be good or fair. A lot of people are aware of this, but when it actually occurs, they’re upset. Is it reasonable to be upset? Yes. Is it reasonable to be entitled to that everyone should treat you good and everything in life is going to be easy? No. In fact if this is the case, you’re doing something wrong. Being your true authentic self is going to bring haters and challengers, do not let them live in your mind. 

Btw, negative emotions are totally normal and i support them. Be sad, angry, furious, insecure, whatever. Though, learn how to process these emotions in your mind, and grow from them, instead of dwelling and letting it affect other aspects of your life.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hiii! Do you think Harry stopped growing at 17? If he was as tall as James in DH I would imagine he was taller than his father. I have three brothers and my family is full of male cousins and they all had growth spurts after 17. I could see him growing another couple of inches after the war. His mind and body is finally at peace after 16 years. I always hc him to be 6’0-6’2 at the age of 21.

As far as Harry being scrawny… aren’t most teenage boys? My brothers were into sports and didn’t get into the gym until they were done with high school. With the profession he’s in I would assume fitness would be a requirement for the role. Yeah, you have a wand but what if it breaks or you lose it? He has a huge target on his back having defeated the darkest wizard of all time, and I can’t imagine him not learning how to physically defend himself and his loved ones. I don’t see him a huge buff gym junky, but I do see him as someone who has a lean athletic figure and someone who concentrates more on leg day than arm day. I think going to the gym would be an escape for him and help him decompress. I know the hp world prefer a shorter skinny hero (probably because of Daniel Radcliffe) who looks like an underdog, however every underdog grows up and barely anyone has the same physique as their teenage self.

Honestly, all this differs a lot with genetics. Harry's growth spurts in the books reminds me of my younger brother. Like, my brother was like 5'2 at 15, then, in like, one month near his 16th birthday, he grew to 5'10 and when he was around 19 he grew again by two inches. So, Harry could definitely still grow taller, but we don't really have a way to know.

Like, men can still grow in height until their late 20s, and it's possible James didn't even finish his growth since he died at 21, so he might've grown even taller if he survived to 25. Like, that's possible. I just don't really have evidence for or against besides saying, yes, it's possible, but I wouldn't call it likely since it's highly individual and based on genes. Like, I know guys who stopped growing at 16 and have been stuck at the same height since then. I also know guys who are 25 and still grow taller. It's the magic of genetics.

Muscle mass, physique, and the ability to gain weight are also heavily dependent on genetics and age. Men in their teens and early 20s usually have a much higher metabolic rate, which keeps them lean regardless of how much they eat (again, genetics play a big role here and this isn't true for everyone). Physical activity like Quidditch, would make the already fast metabolism faster. This naturally fast metabolism, combined with certain genetic makeup, can leave you looking lean regardless of how much you go to the gym as well. Some men need to reach their mid-20s before they can actually start gaining the weight necessary to appear buff.

I think Harry would look less lean as he got older. Like, I can hardly imagine a Harry in his mid to late 30s being as lean as 16-year-old Harry. I think his physique will change as he grows, as happens to most people. But I agree with you I don't see him as a super buff gym dude at any point in his life. He's always on the leaner side in my head, but this is all in headcanon territory since it isn't covered by the books.

I would like to add that all the super short and scrawny descriptions of Harry come from the first 4 books when these descriptions are correct. In book 6 Harry is thin, but no one describes him as a scrawny boy with knobbly knees past book 4. Not even he himself. So I definitely see Harry of the final 3 books as more lean than scrawny.

And yeah, you're right about Radcliffe messing up everyone's mental image of Harry, both in looks and personality. It's one of the things that bother me most about the movies. And, everyone can headcanon whatever they want, but I personally don't like short Harry (when he's older, when he's 14, make him short). It's not his canon character and when writers write him short, it's sometimes accompanied by him being written as too passive and meek for my liking because Harry James Potter is not passive or meek. (Radcliffe Harry in the movies is much more passive, hence the skewed mental image I mentioned, but I digress).

Besides, while malnourishment and food intake could affect one's growth, people tend to overlook the 6 years of Hogwarts and Molly's food which would be a huge boost during his puberty years in which he's having most of his growth. Additionally, some people's food intake matters less to their physical development than others — again, I can't stress enough how specific genetic makeup is super important in all this discussion.

TL;DR

Harry might grow taller to be 6' or 6'2. We don't have any evidence for or against really, so it's up to your preference on what you want to headcanon. But it's definitely super possible. If Lily was taller than the average it would even be likley (but I couldn't find any notes on Lily's or Petunia's height). In the books, he is very lean, and it's a combination of a lot of different factors working together: his lifestyle, genetic makeup, and yes, being a teenage boy with the fast metabolism that comes with it. As Harry grows up, he'd probably want to stay fit, but to what degree is also in personal headcanon territory (I personally don't like him becoming an Auror, but that's my preferred headcanon. I still see him staying pretty fit out of paranoia, sort of. I mean, he spent all his teenage years with a Damocles sword over his head. He literally died. I think he's allowed to be a little hypervigilant after that. I mean, he already is, but you get the point).

[tiny-pretty-sana]

chaeyoung's halloween party | be as one (pt. 2)

← previous part﹒• part 2 of be as one pairings: nayeon x jeongyeon, momo x mina, sana x jihyo genre: halloween fluff warnings/tags: au, unnie line as mothers, school meal club as kids, twice reunion, stablished relationships, chosen family, domestic fluff, halloween w/c: 7.7k a/n: i love this big family and wanted to write more about them so writing a halloween chapter seemed to fit back in october. this is inspired by that one viral kindergarten kid that dressed up as no face from spirited away and obviously by some twice halloween costumes 🎃🧡

“Are we celebrating Halloween now?” Nayeon grumbles while she goes through her emails. 

She is sitting on the sofa with Ryujin in her arms and her right hand busy with her laptop’s keyboard as she reads the mail from Chaeyoung’s school informing parents about the upcoming Halloween party they will celebrate in a few weeks. Next to her, Jeongyeon is breastfeeding Yuna and giving her wife a confused look. 

“I could use some context right now, honey” she teases. 

“A Halloween party, they are doing a Halloween party and Chaeyoung has to dress up. What are we now? Americans? Chuseok was like last week”. She starts ranting. 

“Well, didn’t you want her to attend an international school? Now you’re getting the experience for free” she chuckles. 

“Jeongie! I need you on my side” she whines. 

“Come on, we know you're pushing 40, but don't be boring” she continues to tease her. 

She tries not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Yuna while she eats and keeps her voice low so Chaeyoung doesn't wake up. Still, her laugh makes the baby open her eyes wide. She has these huge eyes that remind her of Chaeyoung, she knows it's impossible since they don’t resemble each other in shape or color, but their eyes are as expressive as her older sister’s. The look of curiosity is followed by a toothless smile that mirrors Nayeon's, the resemblance between them is uncanny and is becoming more evident every day. Jeongyeon knows it's impossible, but wonders if she will have teeth like her mother's, giving her that bunny like appearance that characterizes her wife and that is starting to show in the little girl in her arms. 

This thought distracts her for a few seconds until she sees her wife's frown again and tries to convince her that it will be something fun.

“I think she'll love Halloween, you know our Chaeyoungie is a little weird.” 

Nayeon rolls her eyes “Don't say that about our daughter!” she immediately scolds her, but sighs because she knows she is right. 

Chaeyoung loves spooky things, draws things like kids do in horror movies but then describes them as 'cute', is fascinated with Tim Burton movies and laughs at The Adams Family jokes even though she doesn't understand them. She ends up laughing because she knows that perhaps she herself and her decision not to fill his head with movies and stories about princesses are partly to blame.

She just can't help it, it's something that comes with the profession and she has to admit that since she has been watching movies with Chae, her articles have a fresh approach that attracts new readers every day to the different magazines and newspapers she writes for.

“You know you can't deny it” she laughs ”she's going to love dressing up as a vampire or something.” 

The next day the only topic of conversation in the house is the school Halloween party and what costume the eldest daughter of the Im-Yoo family will wear. As expected by her mothers, her choice is unconventional and undeniably original, and of course, influenced by her film buff mother. These past few weeks because of the latest article Nayeon is working on, they have been watching several Studio Ghibli movies and the little girl has loved them so much that she wants to dress up as No-Face from 'Spirited Away'. 

When she announces the decision to her mothers, her eyes sparkle with excitement making the grimace on Jeongyeon's face last no more than a few seconds. Those big eyes and her smile would melt anyone and much to her dismay, after seven years they are still not immune to their little girl's charms. Nayeon, however, loves the idea from the first moment and can't help but look at her daughter with pride seeing that she is raising a little film geek just like her. 

“Jennie can probably get me the contact of someone in costume who can make her a good costume. She'll wear the best costume”.

As she says this, her wife can see that fire in his eyes that comes out every time someone mentions a board game or when Jihyo challenges her to something, so she decides to stop it before it's too late. Knowing Nayeon, she's going to put a lot of effort into this and the last thing she needs is more responsibility on top of everything she's already doing. 

Since Jeong broke the news of her pregnancy almost a year ago, Nayeon has been working non-stop in and out of the house, even returning to work earlier than planned as her savings to face the arrival of a new member were not initially intended for the twins. She has been back at work for almost a month now and in addition to having to catch up, she has been accepting new offers. All this with barely a few hours of rest because the girls keep waking up in the middle of the night from time to time. Jeongyeon, on the other hand, has yet to return to work and although she mainly takes care of the household chores, Nayeon still insists on splitting the duties equally as if she has the time to do so. 

“Honey, she's only going to wear that costume for one day and it won't even fit her in a few months. Let me take care of everything, you're already doing more than enough”’ she says with a warm smile. 

Nayeon is grateful for the gesture, but not very convinced. Among the qualities she admires in her wife, and which make them complement each other, is that she is very practical and decisive, yet when it comes to creative matters she has neither the hand nor the eye for it. Unlike their daughter, neither of them are gifted artistically. 

The costume is not very complicated, just black clothes, a black cloth and some face paint. The two of them look at pictures on the internet and as they continue scrolling, the task seems easier, so finally it is Jeongyeon who is left in charge of dressing Chaeyoung for the school costume party.

“Besides the costume, think about what you want to do for your birthday”.

───────── ⋆ ─────────

“Tzu, honey, have you thought of any costumes for your school party?” Sana asks her daughter as they eat.

She nods as she chews and pauses to swallow before unveiling her decision. Next to her, her other mother eats with the same enthusiasm as her child, both with the same focused look on their faces as they enjoy their dinner. Moments like this never fail to warm Sana's heart, who every day sees in Tzuyu more mannerisms, expressions and even some quirks from both of them since they officially became a family a year ago. 

“I want to be a dog” she says, looking at her mothers seeking approval from both of them. 

Exactly what they expected, it won't be scary, and besides looking adorable they know she will be the happiest little girl in the world once she has her dog costume. Both mothers look at each other with a smile knowing that they will end up seeing Tzuyu running around the house in her costume on any other day with no reason to dress up. Just as they know that they will soon end up adopting a dog to fulfill their daughter's dream. 

“Perfect, we can go this afternoon to buy it, okay?” replies Jihyo to her. 

“Yes, Mama!” she says quite excited compared to her usual calm tone. 

It's nearly a month away, but Jihyo likes to prepare things in advance and Sana is sure that as soon as they received the email from the school, her wife started looking for the nearest stores and by now she is probably able to sort them out according to distance and price-quality balance. 

Sana was not wrong, after picking up Tzuyu at school and Jihyo at work, the latter takes them to a huge store with hundreds of costumes and all kinds of decorations for Halloween, birthdays, Christmas and any kind of celebration you can imagine. There are costumes of many fictional characters, professions or animals for all ages, they even see some for babies that Jihyo takes pictures of to send to Jeongyeon. She and Sana agree that the twins would look adorable in most of these. 

It doesn't take them long to find the children's costumes, some of which are dog costumes. The little girl ends up deciding on a onesie with floppy ears, although she hesitates for a few seconds when she sees a shiba inu one. 

Tzuyu doesn't have a favorite dog breed, thanks to constant visits to the animal shelter, but she has a soft spot for the shiba inu because she says they look like her mommy. Sana still gets emotional remembering the time when her daughter assigned them each an animal even before she called them mama and mommy, she is a shiba inu while Jihyo is a black cat, maybe someday they should all dress up as animals. But that will have to wait because Sana has spotted a costume that would suit her wife much better. 

While her daughter makes up her mind, Jihyo takes her usual pose hugging her wife from behind with one arm around her waist and her chin resting on her shoulder, luckily today she has replaced the heels with comfortable, low sneakers.

“You would look so hot in that costume” she whispers so only she can hear her as she glances over to the superhero costume section. 

That's all she needs to say for Jihyo to end up trying on the costume and leaving the store with a dog costume for her daughter and a Spiderman costume for herself. They don't have any Halloween or costume parties to go to, but she's sure she'll find the perfect occasion to wear it and give in to her wife's wishes. 

Sana has either great powers of persuasion or Jihyo is simply weak when it comes to her. 

That becomes the topic of discussion and laughs when the three of them go for dinner after shopping at Momo's restaurant, which since her friends got married also belongs to Mina and where the couple has now been working together for some time. 

The conversation soon gets forgotten as Mina is excited about Jihyo's costume. She is usually quiet, especially if you compare her to Jihyo and Sana, but when it comes to anything involving superheroes she could talk for hours. Mina's excitement for Jihyo's costume is shared by Sana as well, although her motives are completely different. 

“Besides Ji, the only one who would look good in that costume is Momoring, don't you think?” she asks her with curiosity, but to anyone who knows her long enough it is obvious the playful tone that awaits the question. 

Momo, hearing this, smiles proudly and flexes her muscles achieved in equal parts from hard work in the gym and the restaurant, plus enviable genetics. She doesn't know what she's just done, but the blush that spreads across Mina's it doesn’t go unnoticed by her friends. Luckily, she’s quickly saved by Tzuyu. 

“ Does Dahyun already have her costume?” she asks. 

In response, she gets two snorts from her friend's mothers. 

───────── ⋆ ─────────

People say that it is not good to mix business with personal life, but they manage to do it successfully every day. Momo now works exclusively in the kitchen while Mina takes orders from customers, and they have hired two young girls, Sakura and Kazhua, in order to be both present for Dahyun. 

This is something that has always worried Mina, but now it has finally become a reality. When Dahyun was born and her biological father decided to disappear from their lives, Mina has always tried her best to spend as much time as possible with her daughter with impossible work schedules to give her a good life. Luckily, Sana has always been there to support her even when runways and photo shoots took her thousands of miles away. With Sana came Jihyo, Jeongyeon and Nayeon. And then there was Momo. 

She has always had a soft spot for her Dubu and also for her mother. Before they were even friends, she sometimes would offer to pick her up from daycare and entertain her at the restaurant with some coloring books and games until Mina got off work. As the relationship with Mina progressed each time her role in Dahyun's life was more important, but always without overstepping and letting Mina be the one to make the decisions and have the authority. However, since Dahyun started calling her mom something changed and Momo has stopped being always one step behind her now wife to become equals in terms of raising, taking care and educating the girl. It has been a long time since for Momo she is no longer 'Dahyun, Mina's daughter' but 'Dahyun, our daughter'. 

Now at 8 years old, Dahyun is already capable of telling her moms about school field trips, the dates when she will receive her grades and other communications between the school and parents before they have time to check the mail. Usually, Mina and Momo ask her after she tells them about her day on the way home from school or to her piano lessons. This time it's not necessary because the girl excitedly shouts out that they will have a costume party for Halloween even before she even greets them.

Anyone would think it's the excitement of just receiving the news, but it's not. During the month that passes between the announcement of the party and the actual party she talks about it at least once every day as eagerly as she did when she left school shouting “HALLOWEEN PARTY”. And the thing is that she has changed the costume she would like to wear during each of those days. 

Every day she picks a new costume, each one weirder than the last. From children's movie characters to tofu, to various professions like cook or rock star and all kinds of animals like a dog and even a snake. Some more terrifying, some funnier and some she would look adorable in. Momo is not a big fan of the scary ones and Mina is not a fan of the adorable ones because her daughter already is and because for her Halloween is a serious matter and should be scary, though not so scary as to give Momo nightmares. That said, the only one discarded by their mothers was a processed doll from some horror movie. 

As the last week before the party approaches, Dahyun hasn't made a decision and her mothers don't want to pressure her, but they know she has to decide soon or it will be hard to find a costume in time. The couple comes up with the perfect way to get her to make a decision. 

“Dubu, you have until Monday to decide because Dobby and Boo already know what they want to dress up as, but they are waiting so they can go matching with you” Momo lets her know. 

“They celebrate Halloween too?” Dahyun asks with excitement. 

“Of course, since they found out that you were going to celebrate it at school with Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, they want to celebrate it with you too”  Mina replies with a completely serious expression. 

Convinced by her mothers words, Dahyun gets up from the couch and goes to her room to get a notebook and some colors and sits down making a list where words, drawings and misspelled names are put together on several pages decorated with what it’s supposed to be pumpkins and spider webs. Despite Momo's efforts to help teach her to draw, it seems best for now to focus on the piano. 

The next two days she spends them walking her notebook around the house. She takes notes in the kitchen, in the bathroom, while playing and while watching a superhero movie with her mothers until the movie gets her full attention. 

When the movie is over he picks up the notebook again and starts writing and doodling colorful scribbles that resemble the main characters in the movie and watches them for a while, goes back to the previous pages and her expression is the same as the one she wears when she does her homework. After a while, she squeezes in between her mothers and shows them her notebook with a drawing that takes up the whole page. 

“Mommies, I know what I want to dress up as” she tells them with determination.

───────── ⋆ ─────────

The day is finally here and, like every morning, mothers and daughters meet at the school gate before the hour. This is the usual routine since Dahyun and Chaeyoung go to the same school, but for a while now, with the arrival of Tzuyu, Sana and Jihyo have joined the group of mothers. With everyone's work schedules, this is one of the few times when they all usually get together and have time to catch up, arrange playdates and if they have the chance, gossip about the other parents. 

The first ones to arrive are Tzuyu and her mothers. She is dressed as a dog and her excitement is evident, since she got dressed at home and during the whole way, she hasn't stopped playing with the ears and tail of the costume while barking and moving her hands as a dog would do with its paws. Used to the little one's contained emotions, it is amusing to see how now there is no trace of her usual calmness. Tzuyu is very happy in her costume and it shows in the huge smile that makes her eyes barely visible, probably for her this is better than the party itself. 

The rest of the families do not take long to show up. 

Chaeyoung arrives holding onto her sisters' stroller along with their mothers. She is dressed in black from head to toe with a dark black cloth wrapped around her and her face painted white with No-Face's characteristic violet lines vertically across her eyes. The obscure attire contrasts with the bright smile the little girl has plastered on her face, just like Tzuyu, she is delighted with her disguise. She looks scary, especially when she tries to replicate the character's expressionless look, but as soon as she opens her mouth or smiles the only way to describe her is adorable. 

The two girls start showing off their costumes, complimenting each other and getting into their respective characters. Meanwhile Sana and Jihyo melt when they see that the twins are also dressed up in baby sized skeleton onesies under their warm clothes and soon they take them in their arms. As usual, Yuna, who seems to have a favorite aunt, starts smiling and stretching her little arms as soon as she sees Sana's face. After a few minutes they end up exchanging them because, according to the couple, they don't want their 3-month-old nieces to think they have favorites. And as always, Jeongyeon doesn't miss the opportunity to tease Jihyo by reminding her that she doesn't have to worry about it because the babies are the ones who do have favorites, Yuna loves Sana and Ryujin loves Mina. 

Before Nayeon can join the three-way bickering, Mina's car pulls up next to them. 

“Minari, Momoring just in time” Sana says as she greets them. 

However, what stops Jihyo and Jeongyeon from continuing to tease each other is not the arrival of the other family but what they see next. Momo opens the back door of the car covering her daughter and then steps aside revealing Dahyun painted green, in a full body costume with muscles and a short wig. Everyone, even the girls freeze with unreadable expressions, a moment that Dahyun doesn't hesitate to take advantage of. 

“I'm the Incrdible Hulk!” she introduces herself, showing her teeth and clenching her fists.

They all burst into collective laughter interrupted by an excited shout from Chaeyoung. 

“BROOO, YOU’RE SO COOL!”. 

Only then does the laughter get louder as Mina covers her face in anticipation of what is coming next. 

“Please, Momo confirm to me that you guys were late because you had to paint Dahyun” Nayeon requests. 

“Dubu insisted... she was supposed to wear a mask” Momo admits defeated. 

The laughs get louder once more as the two explain how they both put on the make up with the tiny sponges that came with the face paint they still have traces of on their hands. Sana and Momo soon join forces to argue that it's Mina's fault for watching so many superhero movies and other nerdy things.

“That's the same thing I told Nayeon, look at Chaeyoung, she's gonna turn into a movie nerd like her” Jeongyeon doesn't miss the chance and her wife replies by punching her arm. 

“Don't be like that Jeong, she looks adorable and you did a good job” Sana replies with a bright smile.

“Sana is right. I have to admit I'm surprised” Jihyo agrees. 

“And what is that supposed to mean” Jeongyeon complains, offended. 

“Jeongyeon” Jihyo looks at her seriously. “You were the only person to fail Art in your whole course, you were the first student that Miss Son failed” she reminds her friend. 

“Well that was like decades ago” she tries to defend herself. 

“Honey, you did great on the costume, but Jihyo is right. Our daughter has been drawing better than you since she was 5 years old” her wife adds. 

Nayeon and Jihyo high-five while Jeongyeon accepts her fate of being teased by her wife and best friend, which has always been the case since they met Nayeon in college. In the same way Momo and Sana join forces to tease Mina, only their way of teasing Mina is by babying her instead of teasing her. 

They share with each other how each of them handled the whole costume thing at home, making Sana and Jihyo silently celebrate that they didn't have to do it themselves and that any face paint wasn't necessary. The youngest one even dares to brag about having the most normal daughter, but as soon as she says it, they hear her barking at Chaeyoung before biting her finger. 

“Nevermind...” Jihyo rolls her eyes and turns to her daughter “Tuzyu, don't bite!”. 

When Jihyo scolds her, Jeongyeon goes to support her friend in the only way she knows how. It is not easy to take on the motherhood of a 6-year-old girl with no previous experience, so her friends never hesitate to give them a helping hand, always with respect and caution. It is rare that her friends have to intervene, but Jeongyeon and Tzuyu have formed a very special bond through their love for dogs and sometimes she is the only one with whom she is assertive. After Jihyo scolds her and after her daughter excuses herself saying that she is a dog it has to be Jeongyeon who puts the topic to rest in the best way she knows. And that is by explaining to her that good, polite dogs only bite if they are in danger or if they are attacked, so she should behave like Butter, her favorite dog at the shelter.  The same dog she hopes her friend and her family will soon adopt. 

They both know that Tzuyu doesn't need more than a little gentle warning since she just wanted to act like a dog and not hurt Chaeyoung. After the gentlest scolding ever, she just nods and apologizes first to her mama and aunt and then turns to her friend. To her apology she adds a caress to Chae's finger and a kiss on the spot marked with her teeth. The other girl doesn't seem to think much of it and immediately hugs her before stroking her head as she would do with her dog. 

They both girls go back to playing together like nothing happened while their mothers shower the twins with love and cuddles and the Momo and Nayeon take a couple of pictures of the three before they all walk into school together hand in hand. Like every morning, Dahyun grabs Tuzyu and Chaeyoung hands and walks them to their class and then goes to hers. 

Outside the school, their mothers continue talking a little more until it is time to leave for their respective jobs. Momo and Mina are the first to leave, as it is Friday, the day to receive suppliers for the weekend. Jihyo leaves alone in the car to the company and Sana stays with Nayeon and Jeongyeon to have coffee together since Sana is free and Nayeon has her own schedule. 

They go to a coffee shop that has recently opened, on Sana's own recommendation. They go to a coffee shop that has recently opened, on Sana's own recommendation. It doesn't matter that she's no longer a top model, her new job keeps her connected to the latest trends, and that includes the hottest spots in town.  It seems that the attraction of the site is not only its overpriced coffee, but also its teas and pastries. Sana tells them that in the evenings and on weekends the queue goes all the way to the outside of the store, but at this time the people there are mostly students, elderly people and some curious tourists. 

The place is large with big windows and light colored walls making the space really bright. The furniture and decoration lean to a more minimalist style. The touch of color is given by the plants that decorate the whole place, which along with the scent of coffee, vanilla and cinnamon make the place more welcoming. It's nice, but all this gets overshadowed as soon as you see the counter., where there is a wide selection of pastries, cakes and breads. 

As is usual now, the bulky baby stroller helps them get a table before and. Just as they are all seated, Sana takes one of the babies and Jeongyeon is about to get up when she is stopped by her wife who puts the other baby in her arms to go herself to order two iced coffees and tea for her wife. 

Seeing Nayeon going to order for everyone is an image that keeps catching the attention of Sana and the rest of her friends, to see this side of her. This past year they have seen an even bigger change in her than when they had Chae. Don't get her wrong, her friend has always been a wonderful wife and mother, but Nayeon is the kind of person who demands attention with her mere presence and her playful side that could even be considered childlike makes them forget that she is actually the oldest of them all. Jeongyeon, on the other hand, has always had that gentle charm and is the kind of person who opens the door for you, offers you her jacket or makes sure the food she serves you isn't too hot. 

It's endering to see how their roles have reversed. 

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Nothing, it's just funny to see how Nayeon keeps giving you the pregnant treatment.” 

“I'm not going to lie, there are still times when it feels weird to me” she says jokingly but she can't help but let out a sincere smile. 

“Well you also deserve to be taken care of like this from time to time, even if you feel more comfortable giving, it's also good to learn how to receive, to be taken care of” she replies giving a smile back at her. 

The look on her face is one he has seen many times during those private conversations they occasionally share in the kitchen when Sana keeps her company or when Jeongyeon needs to catch her breath and Sana comes behind. Her gaze, like her words, is subtle and she doesn't need to say much more to know she's not looking for an answer from her either. Fortunately for Sana, reading others is like breathing, so they just change the subject. 

“Jihyo told me she's gotten quite a bit better at cooking.” 

“Oh yeah, almost all her food is edible now,” she says in a joking tone, but they both know she's totally serious. 

The conversation between the two doesn't go much longer when Nayeon arrives and takes the little girl in Sana's arms before sitting down next to his wife. 

“What were you two talking about?” she asks curiously. 

“We were talking about you.”

She doesn't even respond and just rolls her eyes, used to her wife's antics. However what comes next does surprise her. Jeongyeon places a hand on her cheek and kisses her. 

After the kiss, Sana notices both of them blushing and wonders if she and Jihyo will be the same after that many years together. Making her blush is difficult, but she wonders if after spending more than a decade together they will still surprise each other with small gestures and if they will be able to make each other's heart skip a beat with a kiss. 

───────── ⋆ ─────────

They have barely had half of their drinks when Nayeon's phone starts ringing. It's from the school so the three's motherly instincts immediately put them on alert. 

“Hello. Yes it's Im Nayeon, Yoo Chaeyoung's mother.”     

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I understand” 

“Okay, we'll be right there.”

Nayeon hangs up the call and turns her eyes to her wife. She looks at her expectantly and worried.

“They say Chaeyoung's costume is making the other children cry and they are asking us to bring her something else or pick her up” she sighs annoyed. 

They all pick up their bags and coffee in hand to go back to the school. 

In the secretary's office they find Chaeyoung with her teacher, both are drawing, it is obvious that Chaeyoung has cried, as her eye makeup is smeared all over her face. As soon as she notices someone's arrival and recognizes her family she runs into her mothers arms. Jeongyeon lifts her up in weight while Nayeon gives her caresses that make her laugh out loud. Her aunt, Sana and her teacher, Sunmi watch the scene with a sad smile as they see Chaeyoung's little pout as she explains what happened. 

“I didn't do anything mommies but the kids were crying” she says worried about getting a scolding. 

That reprimand never comes, in fact, both Jeongyeon and Nayeon are trying not to cry knowing that their daughter felt bad for making her classmates cry. 

Sunmi looks at them and proceeds to bow apologetically. 

“I'm really sorry, I was told to call you because nearly all of the children except for Tzuyu have started crying. I have to admit that's the most creative costume I've seen today, Chaeyoung certainly knows how to pick a Halloween costume” she says, giving a small caress on the cheek to the girl who can't help but smile at the attention she's getting. 

The teacher asks them if they are taking her, noticing that they don't seem to have brought a different costume, and apologizes again. When they both go to the classroom to get Chaeyoung's backpack, they see the results of the chaos caused by their daughter's costume. Some children are still crying and others are blowing their noses with the help of another teacher after calming down. 

None of the mothers present have any complaints with the teacher who has always been understanding of both families and their circumstances, nor can they blame the poor children who seem terrified of the little creature wrapped in a black cloth with a painted face that has invaded the classroom on Halloween. However, they can't help but be disappointed with the situation when they see Chaeyoung's face, so different from the one they saw this morning when she was happily showing her costume to Dahyun and Tzuyu. 

“Let's have our Halloween party!” Nayeon says out of nowhere as they walk out of the school.

The response she receives is a sigh from Jeongyeon and a shout of excitement shared between Sana and Chaeyoung, while the twins sleep oblivious to what's going on around them. They all know that Jeongyeon's reaction is just a facade, she is unable to deny anything to her wife and daughter, and certainly not to Sana, who she has a soft spot for. 

That is how Jeongyeon is left in charge of cleaning the house and taking care of the twins. For anyone else it would have been the worst part of organizing a party, but for her it is a moment of peace and quiet with herself. Cleaning always brings her calm and a nice sense of control, and right now it's a good distraction after what happened with her daughter at school.

Nayeon along with Sana and Chaeyoung are in charge of buying decorations. It's not the smartest decision to put a little girl with a special interest in Halloween together with two adults who are not very responsible when it comes to shopping, but there are no other options. The three of them go through several stores adding anything that catches their eye to the cart. And Sana does what a rich aunt does and that is to spoil her niece after a bad day at school by buying everything Chaeyoung looks at. 

After hearing what happened, Jihyo offers to pick up Dahyun and Tzuyu from school, while Momo and Mina close the restaurant and set to work preparing Halloween-themed snacks.  

And lastly, the six mothers have something more important to do, find a costume. 

The afternoon arrives, school is over and the Halloween party begins. 

The Im-Yoo family's living room has been invaded by orange, black, white and purple decorations in the shape of pumpkins, skeletons, bats, ghosts and spider webs. All of them with googly eyes and funny faces, giving it a childish and fun touch that makes it kid-friendly, but especially Momo-friendly. 

The cups have cranberry, strawberry and other red fruit juices. The snacks also have cartoonish eyes, pointy teeth and legs made of different ingredients. The treats are shaped like spiders and worms. And they look as delicious as they taste. 

The costumes are a bit more diverse and not as scary. The youngest in the house are back in their little skeleton onesies and the older ones are still in the costumes they wore to school. Dahyun is still painted in green, but at some point she lost the short hair wig, Chaeyoung has her facial makeup fixed and Tzuyu is now in the company of her stuffed dog she got in Chritsmas.  

As for the adults, the theme is diverse. Nayeon has opted for something daring and sexy with a Catwoman costume, wearing a tight and daring full bodysuit - she swears it's a costume they used for a spy series - to which she has added a tail and ears at the last minute. Jihyo hasn't missed the chance to try out her Spiderman costume, just as tight although not as suggestive as Nayeon's. Momo, Sana and Mina with the little time they have had have coincidentally rescued the Sailor Jupiter, Sailor Moon and Sailor Mars costumes from the closet. Momo is wearing Jihyo's, as they bought together a few years ago when the color of their hair was the same as their characters.

Jeongyeon is the last to appear in her costume. She waits for everyone to arrive before going to the bedroom and for more than thirty minutes she barricades herself on the other side of the corridor that separates the living room from the rest of the rooms. They hear how she opens and closes cabinet doors and then does the same in the bathroom, awakening the curiosity of both the little ones and the older ones, even Yuna and Ryujin turn their attention to the source of the noises.

After creating so much expectation among everyone in the room, they see her pop up down the hallway revealing a copy of Chae's costume. 

“Moma!” exclaims her daughter before running into her arms.

To her surprise, no laughter is heard after that, not even from Nayeon or Jihyo. When he looks up, with Chaeyoung still in his arms, he glances at his wife who looks back at her with sparkling eyes and a big smile that is interrupted by a mouthed “I love you.” There is not a hint of teasing or playfulness in her gesture, just pure love. 

The rest simply smile with an expression somewhere between amusement and tenderness, in Jihyo's case closer to amusement, but she doesn't actually laugh. Jeongyeon will later remind her that motherhood has softened her because a while ago she wouldn't have heard the end of it if she had seen her like this. 

“Let me get the camera, honey. You two look adorable together,” Nayeon says before giving her a peck careful not to smudge.

She disappears down the hallway and returns with one of her cameras to capture the first of many moments tonight. Maybe celebrating Halloween wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

───────── ⋆ ─────────

The atmosphere is festive and homely. 

They all eat the delicious and terrifying snacks made by Momo, who blushes at the compliments, and Mina, who can't hide her proud smirk. The girls talk to their mothers and aunts, Dahyun is the one who keeps bringing up different topics until Sana is the only one who really pays attention to her adorable rambling. Sometimes it's hard to believe that the girl is as introverted as her mommy. All the while Ryujin and Yuna sleep, wake up, go back to sleep and join in the games and fuss by shaking their toys. As usual, whenever their aunts are around, their mothers can take a well-deserved break.

The time to relax doesn't last long, as it wouldn't be a family reunion without a round of games that push Nayeon and Jihyo to the limit until they get a warning, but not intimidating, look from Jeongyeon to let the kids win in one of the rounds. 

When the time comes, it is Jihyo and Sana who are in charge of giving the twins a bath. It's been years since either has done this, but as soon as they take off their adorable skeleton costumes it comes naturally to both of them. Sana did this same thing a thousand times with Dahyun and Jihyo, though she didn't have to do it as much, she did have enough practice when Chae was a baby. They move in sync as if they have done it together a thousand times and make bathing two three-month-old babies look easy. 

There's something about seeing Sana taking care of her baby nieces that warms her heart. She imagines her wife when she was 27 years old helping Mina with Dahyun's care in between catwalks and photo shoots. She tries to recreate in her mind what it would have been like to take care of Tzuyu as a baby and can't help but smile at the thought of that picture of their daughter as a baby they were given. She pictures her wife a few years younger with dark hair holding a baby with wide eyes and a very serious expression. Jihyo's smile is nothing compared to Sana's, who keeps smiling and laughing making her nieces smile. 

After the bath, it is time for dinner and it is time for them to go to sleep. Mina and Momo get them ready for bed, with Chaeyoung, Dahyun and Tzuyu guarding them, who decide to tell them a bedtime story that takes longer than expected, as Dahyun is the only one of the girls able to read fluently. 

Then the mood becomes quieter. Now that the twins are asleep, the girls watch a movie and the adults talk in whispers around the table. 

Sana and Mina recreate some of the old photos they took when they wore these same costumes a few years ago. And after the second glass of wine, they both start recreating the poses of the Sailor Moon characters. 

“Mina is really living her dreams” Jihyo laughs. 

It's not a mockery, she just loves to see the nerdy and unnhibited side of her friend, she would never admit it out loud but she finds it adorable. They all love to see this side of Mina and some share some common hobbies like Jeongyeon with LEGO or Sana with some anime, but the one who always listens when she talks about her hobbies, some character she likes or the new video game that ruins her sleep schedule, that's Jihyo. Most of the time she's not even quite sure if she's understanding her friend, but she always listens with enthusiasm and fascination, appreciating the wonder that is listening to Mina talking non-stop and unfiltered. 

“Come on, Momo. Join in,” Jeongyeon encourages her. 

“Ji, I have to admit that it was such a good move to give your costume to Momo, are you sure you didn't want to fulfill some fantasy?” asks Nayeon and her wife bursts into laughter. 

“That’s true, the last time you saw Sana and Mina in those costumes, you ended up flirting with Mina too after a few drinks” Jeongyeon recalls with laughter.

Jihyo squeals and rolls her eyes in annoyance. Unlike her friends, who love to bring this conversation up every chance they get, she doesn't like remembering the week she spent afterwards apologizing to Sana and buying flowers every day. From the look Sana gives the three of them, neither does she. 

In an attempt to divert the conversation, Jihyo does what she does best, and that's tease her unnies, starting with Jeongyeon. 

“I think we can safely say that the only one here who isn't fulfilling a fantasy is Nayeon” Jihyo finally jokes about her friend's disguise. 

Jeong just sighs in annoyance and doesn't answer her, but Nayeon does it for her. 

“So you don't deny that you gave Momo the costume to fulfill some twisted fantasy of yours involving anime women” she says while giving her a faux judgmental look, knowing what's coming next. 

Jihyo reacts just as expected. She begins to deny it and argue, with the passion of a lawyer defending someone in a trial, that she doesn't even watch anime and that what happened that night was a misunderstanding. She explains how the lights of the place added to the alcohol made her confuse the costumes of both while Sana looks at her attentively, Mina does her best to hide her blushing cheeks and Momo asks herself a lot of questions. 

Fortunately for some of those present, the conversation ends up getting sidetracked when they begin to discuss what color would represent each of them if they themselves were anime characters or superheroes. At the same time as the end of the movie the girls are watching comes on, they soon join in the conversation to choose their favorite colors, and their mothers can only hope that they haven't heard any of the previous discussion.

At some point of their exchange, they start to organize Jeongyeon and Momo's birthday, after explaining to Tzuyu and Chaeyoung why birthdays happen to be on the same day they were born. Despite the explanations, for Jihyo and Sana the confusion on Tuzyu's face doesn't go unnoticed and the two know very well that this expression means a conversation when they get home, or most likely next morning during breakfast. 

A few months ago, these kinds of sensitive topics or the child's sudden questions about any issue related to the family or adoption was like a switch that triggered the mothers' fear of not knowing how to respond in the most appropriate way. Now it has become a part of their lives that they deal with quite naturally, it is a constant learning experience for both of them and not only for Tzuyu. In Jihyo's case it has also been somewhat therapeutic to have to question what it means to be a family, to be a mother and to understand that the chosen family, the found family can have as much or more importance than the biological family. Love is what unites, not blood. 

It is not a distant concept for any of them since they were very certain from the beginning that it was no different for them to have an adopted child, but even today Jihyo sometimes has trouble accepting that same premise when it comes to her own parents and the family that once pushed her away. 

For her, as for her wife and her friends, family is this. Getting together to laugh, eat, talk, joke, tease, tease each other and take care of each other. It's throwing a party because Chaeyoung had a bad day at school, it's giving the twins a bath to give their mothers a break, and it's organizing Jeongyeon and Momo's birthday all together. 

───────── ⋆ ─────────

The party goes on until night falls and the first yawns come from the little ones followed by snoozes and eyes that can barely stay open. This is the sign to start packing up and end the party, despite Chaeyoung and Dahyun's soft complaints as they try to prove they are not sleepy when they are suddenly interrupted by Tzuyu's soft snoring on the couch. 

With Jeongyeon in charge, it barely takes time for them to clean up the living room as it was, except for some decorations left behind at Chae's request. The first to leave are Sana, who carries the big stuffed dog and Jihyo, who carries her sleeping daughter in her arms. Shortly after, Mina, Momo and Dahyun leave, the latter leaving with her face washed, but still with some green paint. 

Silence fills the apartment and the three of them sit for a while on the couch. Their daughter lies down on top of the two of them, looking even more affectionate than usual. 

“Thank you mommies” she says as her eyes close from sleep ‘I had a great time Mom and you're so cool, Moma’.

It's those words that make it all worth it. Such simple words, but they fill the hearts of Nayeon and Jeongyeon, who do their best every day to give their daughters a good life. 

← previous part﹒part 2 of be as one

[maybege]

Drunken Words Are Sober Thoughts - FBI 11

Summary: The birthday celebration continues but the morning after does not look as fun.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, hopeless yearning, Josh is annoying af and so are “your” parents

I am not dead and neither is my Hotch obsession, so I am slowly (very slowly!!!) trying to get back into this fic. Let me know what you think, your comments these past months were always an absolute joy to read 🥺

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

You did not know how many cocktails you already had thrown back, each one more colourful than the last.

What had started with a Kiwi Splash had turned into a Sex On The Beach and something else that Emily had pushed into your hand with a grin and a wink. It was hot pink and tasted like sour candy on your tongue. Delicious.

The night went on, the music got louder and you did not know a lot of people in this karaoke bar that the group had chosen but with Penelope and JJ on the dancefloor, you were certainly in good company.

Someone was blaring an offkey rendition of Britney Spears’ Toxic but you could not care less. Your dress was twirling around you, you screamed along with your friends and the rest of the bar for a moment you finally felt like you had found your people. Like you had settled in this strange city away from home with a group of colleagues with whom you had always wanted to fit in.

And how could you not feel welcomed when Penelope threw her arms around your neck and professed her undying love to your dangly earrings?

“Let the birthday girl breathe, Pep,” JJ joked, rocking her hips to the beginning tunes of Get Busy.

“I just think you are beautiful, darling!” Penelope shouted over the music, “Inside and out and you are so lovely and nice and you deserve the best things and I hate to think that you think you don’t deserve the good things this life has to offer you.”

Trying to hide how close her words hit home, you swallowed back the heavy feeling in your chest.

“All right, Garcia,” Emily interjected, taking your blonde friend into her arms, “I think that is enough drinks for tonight. How about we go looking for your hunk somewhere, huh?”

You grinned, pressing a wet kiss to Penelope’s cheek before making your way back to the table the rest of the group was occupying. While drinking all night may be a fun distraction from your usually so boring life, you knew yourself enough to know you needed to drink lots of water if you wanted to function tomorrow.

Though “function” might be too big a word.

The glass of cool tap water – condensation pearling off at the sides – was calling your name and you fought your way through the crowd. It had not seemed this packed with people when you were dancing with your friends but the moment you tried to get to a specific place, your way was blocked by dozens of people just as (if not more) drunk than you.

You were about to squeeze your way between two people (the last hurdle to your table) when they suddenly stepped away from each other. You almost toppled over, squeaking in surprise when your heel got caught in a gap in the creaky floorboards.

It would have made for a nasty fall if it had not been for two strong arms catching you around your waist, gently helping you into your chair.

“There,” Aaron Hotchner's amused smirk greeted you as you looked up, “Drank a little too much, did we?”

“Me?” you asked, finding yourself in the mood to joke, “Never!”

A real, genuine laugh escaped the man before you and you were sure you had never seen anything more beautiful than him laughing. His entire face lit up and the crinkles next to his eyes deepened. You grabbed the fabric of your dress, keeping yourself from tracing the lines of his face with your finger.

Not appropriate, you reminded yourself, So not appropriate.

“Pretty sure you are, though,” he teased back, pushing the glass of water towards you. You smiled in thanks, quickly gulping down a few sips. “You are laughing more than usual, entertaining Reid’s monologues on aviation in the early twentieth century and I am pretty sure,” he looked down between you, “Just like I thought. You are wearing the heels I only ever saw you wear when we celebrated Emily’s birthday at that high-end sushi place.”

“Are – are you drunk profiling me, Agent Hotchner?” you gasped in shock, unable to hide your smile.  

“What happened to Sir?”

Hoping he did not notice the heat spreading through your face, you fiddled with the neckline of your dress, trying to get some air on your body. “Don’t tease me!”

He looked … relaxed. Open. A slow smile spread on his lips as he turned the half-empty glass of scotch in his hand. He was the epitome of confidence and relaxation with how he was leaning back in his chair. You tried to remember the last time you had seen him so … not on edge. No moment came to mind.

You crossed your legs, trying to satiate the pulsing need that had formed in your core. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you tried to remind yourself to not give him anything to read you by. Which seemed impossible considering the man could read you like an open book.

You just hoped you could hide at least a few essential chapters.

The dark-haired man leaned forward then, resulting in his head hovering right next to yours. The proximity was dizzying and intimate and you could not help but breathe him in. He smelled of the scotch and something so masculine it made you daydream about burying your head in the crook of his neck.

 “You sure?” he mumbled, his lips dangerously close to your ear and you audibly gasped for breath, the back of your neck feeling warm as you stared up at him, “Because I have the feeling you rather like me teasing you.” He was so close, looking down at you as his nose almost touched yours and shit you wanted nothing more than to –

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Pen!” you gasped in shock, plastering a big grin on your face in the hopes that she would not see the sheer need written all over your face.

Luckily, your friend seemed to focus on your lack of dancing to notice anything else. She did not even spare a glance at Hotch when he slowly pulled away from you. “Oh, don’t tell me you are getting tired,” she whined, grabbing your hand and dragging you up, “C’mon, let's go back to dancing! Swing those hips, sweetie, we have all night!”

You followed her with a laugh, happy to have the distraction, but not without looking back at Hotch.

And seeing that he still looked at you with a smile.

*

Waking up with a headache was not normally a cause for joy but the morning after your birthday, you still woke up with a smile on your face.

Never in your wildest dreams had you expected the night to turn out the way it did.

The team had shown up with you, not once but twice and even then, continued to make you feel celebrated the entire evening. Hell, Rossi had insisted on covering your tab on the condition that you brought your self-made banana bread to work again. Emily and Derek (and a very drunk Penelope) had sung you the loudest rendition of Happy Birthday you ever heard with Reid and JJ acting as backup dancers/singers.

And Hotch had been the one to see you to your cab when the night had come to an end, making sure you were before nodding at you with a small smile.

A smile that was now on your face as you made your way to the kitchen. You caught a glimpse of the chaos in the living room. Chaos that had not existed when you had left last night. Empty bottles and glasses stacked on top of plates that were not quite as empty and the remnants of the pizzas Josh seemed to have ordered yesterday.

The smell of stale leftovers hung in the air and you hoped that a few slices were left over so you did not have to meal prep for the week.

The kitchen greeted you with much of the same sight and you took a deep breath when you saw your roommate already sitting at the table, a few slices of pizza before him. It wasn’t that you were unhappy to see him, really. You had just hoped to have a few more moments to yourself before being confronted with the events of last night.

“Morning,” he greeted you, chipper as ever.

“Hey,” you greeted back, browsing through the tea drawer. Peppermint? Berries? Earl Grey? You settled on a ginger and lemon brew, hoping that it would help you to wake up.

“That was one hell of a night, huh?”

“It was,” you agreed, “The bar we went to had like three birthday parties at the same time, it was a lot of fun.”

A moment of silence followed and you did not need to look at him to know he did not know what you were talking about. “Oh good,” was what he finally settled on and you closed your eyes, trying to hide your annoyance.

How could it be that the person you had long considered to be your best friend suddenly just … wasn’t the person you knew?

Remembering Derek’s comment from the night before, you decided to take another deep breath and do something you had avoided for a long time: Confront your best friend.

“Josh,” you started carefully, turning around and leaning your hip against the counter, “Can we talk about last night?”

“Sure,” he took another bite of his toast, “What about it?”

“The comment you made in front of my colleagues … That was not okay.”

“What comment?”

For a moment you could feel the doubt creeping up. Was this the right path to go down? Was this worth a conflict with not only your best friend but also your roommate? Was it really as bad as you thought it was? What if he had meant well?

My experience is that the people we need to clarify that about usually don’t care if they mean well or not.

Derek's words echoed in your head and you knew you were right.

“The comment where you implied that I was bad at my job. In front of your friends, my colleagues and my boss,” you recalled, feeling, “That was humiliating and hurtful, Josh.”

A frown formed between his brows. “Why are you so angry? Yeah, so I made a misplaced comment, I am sorry, but didn’t we talk about this already? Besides, it was at a party I organized for you, I think I am allowed to have some leeway here.”

You could feel your eyes bulge out of your head. Was he for real?

“I really appreciate what you were trying to do,” you said calmly, wrapping your hands around the mug and focusing on how the ceramic was warming against your skin, “Really, I do. But did it not occur to you that the only people you invited were your friends?”

“You know them too.”

“I do and they are very nice, I'm sure. But you could have asked if I would have liked someone to join. I left before midnight to celebrate somewhere else with people that I invited.”

He scoffed. “Look, I'm sorry you feel that way,” he threw his hands up, “I was just trying to do something nice and apparently that backfired.”

It did not escape you that the language he used was manipulative as fuck and you bit your tongue from throwing words in his face you would not be able to take back.

“I don’t think this is very productive,” you finally said, “I am going to take a shower and I would really appreciate it if we could talk about this sometime when we are both more clear-headed.”

Though as you made your way to the bathroom, the steaming mug still in your hands, you had the sinking feeling that any following conversation would not bring the closure you hoped it would.

*

As if your day could not get any better, your phone rang just as you stepped out of the shower and into your bedroom.

Recognizing the picture on the screen, you accepted the video call, wrapping your bathrobe a little tighter.

“Hi.”

“Happy birthday, honey!” your mom appeared on the small screen. The living room wall behind her looked just like it had done your entire childhood and you spotted the variety of family pictures she took great care of dusting every week.

“Thank you.”

“Did you have fun?” she asked, “Did you get to go out with Josh and your friends?”

“Yeah, uh,” you hesitated for a moment, “Josh organized a little party here but I ended up going out with the team later. We went for karaoke and it was awesome.”

“You certainly look like you had an awesome night,” she teased and you bit your lip to keep from grinning.

“So … how are you feeling?” she asked and you immediately grew suspicious. You knew that tone and you knew when she was worried.

“Good,” you replied carefully, “Like I said, I had a fun night.”

She hummed and avoided looking at you for a moment and you knew what was about to happen when you saw your father sitting down next to her. Even hundreds of miles apart, you still felt like a child when your parents sat together on the sofa like that one time when you accidentally put a dent in the family car.

“Remember our conversation from a few weeks ago?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I am feeling a lot better now.”

“And I am so glad to hear it,” she smiled and you could tell the genuine worry from where the crease never quite left her forehead, “I talked with your father and we – we think it might be best if you come visit us for a while. Come back home, check

“Just because you don’t think I can't make it as an agent –“

“Hey,” your dad interrupted you gently, “No one is prouder of you than we are, sweetheart, and we know you make for one hell of an agent. But the fact remains that you were miserable for the last couple of months and it might not be a bad idea to try and get to the root of things.”

And by the root of things they meant that you re-discover your passion to become an English teacher at your local middle school.

“I am an adult woman,” you tried again, “I love you and I love that you worry about me. But we need to keep in mind that I made a big move for a job that I was not wholly prepared for. The adjustment period was … longer than I wanted, for sure. But I finally feel like things are moving for the better and this makes me feel like you do not believe in me.”

“We do love you, honey,” your mum assured you, “And I apologize for making you feel like we don’t trust your decisions. I know you are incredibly proud of the work you do and you should be! But I am worried and I would feel better if you took some time off and came to visit us. Allow yourself the grace to breathe, you have been working non-stop since you moved away. There is no way that is healthy.”

You ran your hand over your face, trying to get yourself some time to think over your answer. The horrible thing was you knew your mother was right. Even if you did not want to admit it, you knew that you had been overworking yourself, that ever since Dr Johnson had voiced her doubts, your brain had been on edge and that a break might not be the worst idea.

Especially considering you had not taken any time off since you started your position.

“I hear you,” you started, feeling your eyes sting with tears. But you refused to cry in front of your parents lest they thought they were right and insisted that you come home as soon as possible. The last thing you wanted was to worry them.

“Can you just give me some time to think it over?” you asked, “Taking time off is not as easy as it sounds and I want to make sure that I don’t miss anything important at work.”

“Of course, darling,” your mother agreed, “Let us know anytime.”

But you knew that her anytime meant that your time was running out.

[r0ttenhearts]

I AM ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH YOUR ANGST FICS

IVE READ THAT ONE HEIZOU ONE OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND IM CURRENTLY CRYING ABT IT RIGHT NOW

( i really need more heizou angst, pretty please… with a cherry on top )

ANYWAYS I LOVE UR WORKS

🫶🫶🫶🫶

you’re just like them

heizou x reader x slight scaramouche

sypnosis: heizou’s promise to make a new life together after your breakup with scaramouche crumbles

warnings: angst, no comfort, infidelity

“i hate seeing you like this (y/n).” heizou’s soft whisper shook your core as you dropped the shard of glass into the sink. in a fit of rage you had struck your mirror, clutching a shard in your hand at an attempt to clean it up. but you couldn’t let it go. not until the glass sliced through your skin and heizou found you. his concerned voice cut through the still air. none of it felt real, even now.

“i hate feeling like this.” you could only whisper back. your hair now framing your face as silent tears slipped down your cheek. heizou took a step closer to your form that was over the bathroom sink. hesitant arms wrapping around you as you silently wept.

heizou knew you had seen it. the way scaramouche had flaunted a new girl only a few days after dumping you. the new girl in his life had claimed it was their one month anniversary, heizou knew you’d heard it by the way your eyes widened and hands shook.

what he didn’t expect was the rage that came out of you. he expected some tears, but not the angry scream that left your usually sweet lips. the silence that followed the glass shattering was what scared him the most. he’d never seen you in such a state.

but with a gentle tug, heizou had you seated on your couch. a first aid kit next to him on the cushion. he pressed an alcohol pad against your palm where the cut was. you sucked in your teeth at the sting, but didn’t say a word.

with the first wrap of gauze he broke the silence. “i want you to be happy, (y/n). i want you to lean on me in your times of need.. not do things like this. i know i’m scaramouche’s friend but, you come first. i don’t think i can even look at the guy after he’s done this to you.”

your blank stare embarrassed him as he cleared his throat, finishing the wrapping on your hand. “i just care about you, (y/n). i want you to know that. i don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. i’ll make you happy, i promise. i want you to have a happier, better life. one without him.”

“okay.” you whispered. “okay, what?”

“i think.. after everything, you’re the only one who’s shown real care for me. everyone else sided with him. i guess you really are all i have.” you almost mumbled, speaking low as heizou shifted closer to you to hear. he nodded gently before pulling you to him, hugging your shaking form. you hadn’t noticed you were shaking, or the tears that didn’t seem to stop.

after that night things seemed to look up for you. every morning you’d wake up to heizou’s knock at your door. his usual playfully flirty smile on his lips as he’d help you get ready for the day, or follow you around when you had errands. he made it a point to be at your place at least once a day.

the gradual closeness had you weary at first. he was scara’s friend first, after all. you had met heizou at kazuha’s bong party only a year prior. you both had sat in a corner for most of the party after everyone had taken a hit. scara had a tendency to get angry, and you fully intended on staying away from that. but heizou had unexpectedly joined you.

you figured he only made you that promise to get dirt to tell scaramouche. after two months of the same routine with heizou you let your guard down. with that he was almost always with you. he’d find himself at your place more than his own after five months.

five months turned into a new years promise. his hands clutching one of yours as he professed his hidden feelings for you, which you timidly accepted. no one had made you feel the way you felt for him. not as safe or valued.

your third month anniversary didn’t go as planned, though. heizou was late to the reservation you had made for the special day. your brows furrowed as you typed another text to him, asking him where he was.

you didn’t receive a response. so you left, 30 minutes after the time you had gotten to the restaurant.

you blinked back angry tears as you walked to your car. how could he do this to you? he was always with you, so where was he now?

your car door hastily opened and closed, throwing your bag into the passenger seat as you stared at the open chat with heizou. it was filled with nothing but messages and messages from you. his texts were now but a few words long, always short. while your side had multiple lines. had it always been like this?

you had noticed how he shifted away from you during the movie the other night, but you figured he was just getting more comfortable. not getting away from you.

“let me get the door for you, my dear.” a familiar muffled voice made your head shoot up as you saw him. his familiar mop of burgundy hair with that flirty smirk as he held the door open for a woman with blonde hair. you could see the pink tinting her cheeks from behind your windshield. she giggled as he winked, going inside with her, his hand holding onto her hip as the door closed behind them. behind the door for the same restaurant you had made a reservation for.

oh. oh.

taglist: @samarill @whorerificstuff @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @jaderose18 @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @reblog-crazily @gh0sts0up

[romanarose]

If You Wanna Be Wild: Chapter 6

Co-written with @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction my beloved Fen, who I could not do this without. Thank you for being my emotional sounding board, my dear friend, my wonderful cowriter and helpful beta reader. I adore you.

Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia

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Summary: Santi takes Candy out, and Javier gets jealous, but still he defends them both. Drama erupts, and Santi finds something out about himself.

Content and warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter unless something is added: Sex work, drug trade, some drug use/pressured used, sex workers and the mistreatment/stigma surrounding them specifically in the 70’s (my blog is sex worker positive) but ima put potential dub con depending how you look at it as a sex worker who works with dangerous men, some action surrounding reader and the guys and the drug trade, SMUT HEAVY, corruption kink (were corrupting santi here, he’s young, 25), no loss of virginity tho, threesomes, some slight m/m smut but that’s not the focus here, but as you know this blog is an lgbt blog so I’m always open to gay shit. Talk of war and some PTSD but I won't be going a whole lot into it. Covert/emotional incest in the past, Santi's mommy issues, m/m dynamics, internalized bi/homophobia

For the record, this is a fic that takes place in the drug trade and deals with the darker side of humanity, so anything from Narco's and Triple Frontier is liable to be discussed or mentioned here. This is your warning. This is not a dark fic nor is it centered around dark themes like Leather and Lace or Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside, but they are open to be talked about.

Reader has a nick name: Candy. Not her real name just what she goes by on her profession. Much of the inspo for this and for the title came from the Bruce Springsteen song “Candy’s room” so check it out for the vibes.

Reader speaks Spanish and has hair. I've decided Candy is just latina bc she's a sex worker in Colombia so this is what I'm doing. Reader also has curly hair and dark skin.

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS!: Santi's panicy trauma response. Santi's mommy issues in full swing. Javier is jealous, lots of arguments. Cumming untouched, titty sucking. We're in for it boys!

THE SMUT WAS 100% WRITTEN BY THE AMAZING @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction i knew i needed mommy kink and he was the one to go to. If you like subby men, Fen, my dearest cowritter, writes great fics esp with Steven Grant <3 What Fen said when they wrote it "Yoooooo, what am I writing Romana? Madness? I think so."

6.7 words (I'm so fucking sorry okay A LOT WAS HAPPENING)

A/N Since I am apparently an incomprehensible writer, please know that the smut scene in the last chapter was not a threesome, it's Javi fingering Candy and Candy flashing back to her giving Santi a reach around handjob. I wanted to compare and contrast the way the two pairs care for and pleasure each other. but it came across as a threesome :(

Support writers! Reblog and comment!

***************

Santiago didn’t know why he was so nervous.

“What we need is to get out into the actual field!” Javier exclaimed, setting his mug down loud enough to make Santi jump. “Sorry, Garcia.” He muttered, wiping a bit of spilled coffee with his sleeve.

Santiago rolled his shoulders, reaching back to rub his spine over the scar. The surgery saved his life, but damn did it hurt. “S’alright. Listen, I had an idea, but I don’t know if it’s going to be anything. It does get us out of the office next week.”

“I’ll take it, what do you have, Pope.”

Santi smiled. ��Well, the nickname is fitting. It’s a rally for the beatification of Laura Montoya.”

A smile quirked up on Javier’s grumpy face. Unbuckling his belt after a second round of stress donuts, Javi kicked his legs up on his desk. “Of course you would know that.”

“My tia invited me.” He shoved Javi’s boots off, then wiped his hands on his pants. “We know what his family looks like now, maybe they will be there? It’s something.”

Javier agreed, it was something. Tracking Lorea had not gone as well as Escabar had. Not that that was a flawless mission itself, but at least it had traction. Martin Lorea was far less public.

The pair settled into an easy rhythm of planning the event. Santiago would have to avoid his tia’s, he thought. That may be hard, considering he had 4 and several cousins who will likely be attending the event. Colombia doesn’t have a canonized saint yet, and she was recognized as venerable so her potential beautification was a big deal for Colombia. Still, he couldn’t be recognized at the rally, his family would want to talk and talk and talk and ask why he didn’t have girlfriend and talk and ask who Javier was, and Tia Lupe would ask him if he had a ‘modern arrangement’ with Javier which would make Santi sick to his stomach with anxiety and- fuck he felt like the donut he stole from Javi was coming back up.

“Gotta go, be right back.”

“I’ll be timing you.” Javier kicked his legs back up on his desk and closed his eyes.

Over the toilet, Santi dry heaved, unsure if he was really going to puke or just felt like it. What the hell was it with Javier these days that made him so anxious? Things had been going well, their friendship repaired in the months since Javier caught him and Candy together. Other than Frankie, who would always be his number one, Javi was his best friend. He’d die for him the way he’d have died for Will, Frank or Ben… but there was something more. Since the day they met, Santiago wanted nothing more than Javier’s approval, he strived for it… maybe it was that he saw Javi as a father figure, almost 15 years older than him… that wasn’t right either. He couldn’t place it until earlier this week.

The DEA ball was coming up, Javier had asked Santi if he wanted to carpool since they both didn’t have dates and lived near-by… to which Santi said he actually had a date. She was a surprise. So was the fact Javier wanted to go.

The “Oh” that had fallen out of his mouth though Santiago off. It sounded disappointed. Santi couldn’t stand Javier disappointed in him. That’s when the thought happened. ‘I wish we could just go together’ Not arrive together. Go together. As a couple. His first thought was no, that’s illegal. His second thought was no, he’d go to hell. His third was him mami, god rest her soul, would roll over in her grave.

He shook the thoughts away, but ever since then he began noticing the way he stared at Javi, the way his body buzzed with any incidental touch… He had to shove it down.

Certainly, Javier was open-minded, but he would to spend as much time as he did with him if he was gay, right? He wouldn’t incite Santi over for futball games on the tv, he wouldn’t take him with him to get lunch… he wouldn’t even want to work with him. It would all be over.

That’s what made Santi sick.

That, and the anxiety over who his secret date was.

*

You didn’t know why you were so goddamn nervous.

You had to admit, you were very surprised when Santiago showed up for his regularly scheduled appointment, flowers in hand, asking you to join him at the ball.

“Santi… sweetie… I don’t know…”

His large eyes looked nervous. “It’s a job! I’ll pay you, I’m not expecting anything free! And I I know what you’re gonna say, I don’t care about Javi freaking out. Imean, if you care I don’t wanna pressure you of course! I’m not trying to come between you guys, but I doubt he’ll even show. He hates these things.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about…” You take the flowers, thanking him genuinely, and walking to your kitchen. Santiago anxiously paced your walls, trailing his hands over your posters. “Sweetheart, I know we have a good time, but I am a prostitute, you know this.”

“I swear, I don’t have any notions about us being in love… I just want you there.”

Placing the flowers in the vase, you turn to look at him. “I just… well…” You hesitate, unsure how to not freak the poor kid out. “oh my god, there's no polite way to say this, but, Javier is far from the only DEA agent I’ve slept with. Hell, I slept with the janitor once.”

“Mario’s a cool guy, I don’t blame you.”

“What I’m saying is,” She sighed out her words. “You’re a sweet young man, and I know you’re a lot younger than most of the guys there. I don’t want to cause you any trouble-”

“Candy-”

“And I know I’ll cause you trouble if I’m there. They are going to make fun of you for bringing a hooker to a ball.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. There’s no one else I want there with me but you, and I don’t care what Javier says, or any of them for that matter.”

You smile softly at the young man. He was earnest, but although you believed he didn’t care about the other guys at the precinct, you didn’t believe him for one second about Javi. Santiago worshiped the ground Javier walked on, it was clear by the way he talked about his partner.

“If you really don’t care, then yes, I’d love to go.”

His youthful face lit up. “Really?!”

“Yes” You giggle. “It sounds like a great night.”

Santiago ran to you, making you squeal as he threw you over his shoulder. “I’m gonna make you cum so many fucking times on my face, Candy, you don’t even know.”

You had to admit you were a little nervous. A lot nervous. He said he didn't think Javier would be there, but you weren’t sure, and hadn’t had a chance to try and prod him for information. You’d asked around, and Javi had been spending several nights with Gabby. This was not unusual, he was known to bounce around women, but he always came back to you. Today, though, it made you jealous as all hell. Santiago made you nervous too.

You wanted to at least make a good impression for him, so you went out and bought a brand new evening gown for the occasion, something classy, showing the curves but not your tits. Your big Farrah Faucet curls that usually accompanied a night with Lorea and his men were dialed down more to a simple look, your make-up more natural that a night on the town with high rollers would see. Still you were beautiful and you knew it. Just less like a hooker.

*

Javier didn’t know why he was so fucking nervous. He never went to these stupid things, much preferring to spend a night undressed with his cock buried between a pretty woman’s legs than stuff himself into a suit that had only gotten tighter in recent years. But, Pope was gonna be there, he was gonna be dressed up in some overdone suite, Javi just knew it. And his stupid curls would be slicked back and inevitably a few would pop out and he’d spend the night trying to keep them back but they would want to be wild and he’d eventually mess with his hair too much and it’d be all every-which-way and, and, and…

So maybe he was late. So maybe he was a little tipsy. Maybe he had been taking pulls of a flask in the back of a taxi but there was coke baggie and a cum stain on the seat so was it really the worst the car had seen? He pulled up to the dance in his too-tight suit, stumbling out a bit, and attempted to find his way inside. He didn’t really want to see Santi dancing with a girl, but if he didn’t show, Santi would worry, and Javi didn’t like Santi worrying.

Javier hoped she was nice. A nice girl because he was a nice young man. Someone to take care of him in some ways, to let him care for her in others… Javi knew he could take care of Sant. He had when he was sick, hadn’t he? Therein lied the reason Javi was drunk. The burn of the liquor was to press down the feeling he couldn’t ignore sober. He wanted Santiago.

“Buenas noche, amigos. ¿Has visto Santiago?”

Javi asked as he stumbled on a few men from the DEA chattering in a corner

One of the men, Freddy, chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Oh, you haven't seen him yet?”

This caused all the men to laugh, but Javier didn’t get the joke. He got the feeling whatever it was, they were laughing at Santi. Javier knew Santi hadn’t really clicked with the men. He was too straight laced, too honest… too good.

“The fuck does that mean?” Javier asked with an obvious bit of bite. Santiago was his to protect.

“Young Garcia came here with a whore on his arm.” Another man, Josue, with a patchy mustache he should just call it quits on attempting to grow replies. “Wonder if he knows what she is, or if he’s going to wake up to a nasty bill in the morning.”

The group laughs, and Javier feels panic rising inside him. No. No way. Santiago couldn’t possibly be that stupid, could he? He was the smartest man Javier knew. He’d never risk her like this… 

Freddy continued when he saw Javi’s confused look. “Yeah, Pena, thats what I thought too!” He said with a laugh that Javier knew was not the good natured ribbing he gave Santi. “You know Candy?”

“Uh, yeah, sounds familiar.” The room was spinning, lights and smoke and colors starting to blur.

“The whore on 7th that lets you play rough? Yeah, her.”

Javier snapped to attention again. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either!” He turns to another man Javier doesn’t have it in him to focus on. “I bet Virgin Maria thinks he’s in love.”

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Javier turned Freddy to him. “What the fuck did you say about Garcia?”

“Relaje, Pena. You call him Pope, different name, same meaning.”

But it wasn’t. Santi was Javi’s friend, Javier cared about him. Javier called him Pope to his face and if he thought it upset him, Javi wouldn’t do it. Freddy and the guys were calling him Virgin Maria behind his back, intending on being assholes. It was meant to hurt, it wasn’t true (Santi wasn’t a virgin even before Candy), it was meant to make a mockery of his good nature, his religion, and his morals. The effeminate name was meant to mock his slight build and stature as well as his passive nature. None of them knew the Santiago that Javier knew. They didn’t know the intelligent, compassionate, incredibly capable young former special opes agent who had saved his life multiple times and had given more break throughs on Lorea than he could could.

“Tell me again what you said about Candy.”

*

Despite the fact everyone was staring at them, you had never seen Santi so happy, so relaxed. He had a few drinks and for his small body it probably left him feeling warm and content. You had opted to stay mostly sober, only drinking one glass of white wine from the open bar; Santiago’s generous and soft smile to the bartender only endeared him to you more. 

He was so much fun like this. You loved the time you spent with him in bed, that was fun too, but you’d also come to genuinely enjoy the moments where he wasn’t making you orgasm on his lips again and again. You genuinely cared when you asked him about his day, and had made a mental note of all the names he mentioned at the precinct that were causing him problems that you recognized. You weren’t sure how without outting him, but you’d figure out some way to fuck with them. One who was a massive dick to him, Freddy, was also a massive dick to you too.

Santi was indulging in a cupcake, telling a story of his friend Benny hitting on a woman only to realize her husband was standing next to her.

“It took me, his brother Will, Fish and Redfly to break the fight up. He still won’t go in that neighborhood anymore!” Santi giggles, taking a bite of the vanilla.

You laugh along; he’s an entertaining story teller. “Did he learn his lesson?”

“No! No! That’s the best part!” Santi said as he waved his hands excitedly. “He immediately, and I mean as soon as we cleaned the blood off his face, went and hit on another girl! And you wanna know the worst part?”

“It worked?”

“It work- how did you know that?”

“Women are easy, Santi.” Swaying to the music, you set his cupcake down. He has frosting on his upper lip, just under where his mustache sat.. “We love our men bloodied.” You pull him in close, eyeing his upper lip for the frosting, but he looks like he’s going for a kiss, and who are you to deny such a handsome man?

“Even when they lose?” He speaks, voice soft and sultry. Santi’s eye flick to your lips, his own push pillows parting to receive you.

“Especially when they lose.” You close the gap, taking his lips in yours and licking your tongue over his sugar-covered upper lip, brushing over his mustache. Sweet, just like him. Your sweet man. 

For a moment, you are lost in him, the sounds of the Jim Croce floating in the air.

'Cause every time I tried to tell you

The words just came out wrong

So I'll have to say I love you in a song’

*

CRASH!

Immediately, at the sound of excitement, Santiago is in front of you, guarding your body with his. He doesn’t move, thinking clearly and assessing the situation; looking for where the danger is at and where the best exit points may be. Keep Candy safe. Keep Candy safe. His only goal was her, keep her away from any narcos, terrorists, freedom fighters or drunken men that might be causing a stir. When the center of the commotion was coming from the north, Santiago took Candy’s hand and began to take her to one of the south exits, a lesser used one with less potential for a second assailant, when he felt her tug away.

“JAVI!” She shouts, running towards the danger in high heels, rust colored skirt fluttering just as her flowy sleeves did.

“CANDY!” Running after her, he catches up with ease without the hindrance of heels. Santi tries to stop her, not wanting her near the drunken brawl, but she is on a single minded mission. Javier was under Freddy, who Santiago did not like, and getting the shit beat out of him. If he had a second more, if his focus wasn’t so on Candy, he would have beat her too it… but Candy was quicker

Santiago watches in surprise as she lifts her skirt, pulling a knife out of her garter, getting behind Freddy and gripping his hair hard, knife to his throat.

Everything was a deadly calm, everyone saying so, so still to not disturb the crazy woman with a knife. When Santi looked to Javier to check if he was okay, he saw Javi looking up at her with his big brown eyes, clearly fucking enamored.

“Freddy, get off of him before I tell everyone the weird shit you’re into.”

The next few minuets were a blur. As soon as Freddy was off Javier and Candy’s knife was off him, he was a big man again and the group began arguing. Santiago couldn’t quite pick up what it was about except “KEEP HIS NAME OUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” From Javi.

They were all three escorted out by security; weapons weren’t allowed at the ball.

Outside the doors, a second argument erupted.

Candy tried to approach Javier. “Javi, baby, are you-” But as her hands reached for his swollen face, the older agent stepped back and turned his attention to his mentee. “Are you fucking stupid, Garcia?!”

Santi and Candy both are taken aback by this, but it’s Candy that speaks first. “Don’t talk to him like that!” 

Javier’s anger is turned back to her. “And you! You should know better than this! Than coming here!”

She rolls her eyes. “Javi. It’s literally a part of my job, I’m an escort.”

“FOR DRUG DEALERS!” Javier shouts, throwing his hands in the air and stumbling back. “Not for YOU!”

“So what, he’s too good for me to take out? Dirty whore like me belongs in dirty nightclubs and dirty crackhouses?”

“Oh for fucks sake THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

Instinctively, Santi places himself slightly in front of Candy. “Tone it down, Pena.”

His icy glare turns condescending as a short, drunk, sardonic laugh escapes him. “HA! Do you think you’re in love, Santiago? Do you think you’ll be the magical man that can ‘save her’? That’s not how this works! You aren’t supposed to be bringing prostitutes to government functions, you absolute IDIOT! And you’re especially not supposed to bring HER!”

“ENOUGH!” Candy shouts at him, eyes flashing in anger. “You don’t get to tell him what he can and can’t do, Javi! And you certainly do not have possession over me! I am not yours! Just because we fuck does not mean you own me, and you don’t get to decide who I sleep with. Like you said, I am a prostitute, one of SEVERAL you frequent, so I wouldn’t be getting too high and mighty about being careful when everyone knows Helena nearly died working for you! I am not yours!”

Javier scoffs. “Oh, and he is? You think he’s your little lover boy, someone to play pretend that you are having a normal relationship with? He’s a scared child, he’s terrified of intimacy and thinks a finger in the ass will send him to hell!”

“Javier, fucking stop it right now.”

“He can’t protect you! He can’t take care of you!”

“Oh, and you can?”

“YES!”

Javier’s shouted words hung in the air, dripping with anger and venom. Santi simply watches, watches them like a scared child watching his parents fight, wishing it would just fucking stop, but it won’t. Not between them. Javier doesn’t back down and Candy isn’t scared of him.

Then, Candy starts to laugh. It’s short little laughs at first but grows louder. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME JAVI!” She laughs once more before shaking her head, tugging a bit at her hair as she walks a short circle. Candy shook her head, suddenly calm. “Thunder only happens when it’s raining, players only love you when they’re playing.”

Javi blinked, his voice now noticeably slurred. “What the actual fuck was that.”

Santi stepped up, sliding an arm around Candy’s waist. If she said what she wanted to say, he wanted to guide her away from Javier before he could be more hurtful to her. “It’s from Fleetwood Mac, Javi. You’d know that if you cared enough about her to look into her interests.”

Candy turned to him then, surprised, her soft eyes looking towards him; the hint of a smile on her face.

Javier, however, looked bewildered. “Her interests?You. Are not. DATING HER!”

“I still care about her!” Santiago defended himself. “Just because I’m not a sad slut who can’t emotionally attach to anyone anymore doesn’t mean I treat her like she’s not a person!”

Javier looked like he was about to speak, then shook his head. “This is fucking insane. This is not a Hollywood movie, there is no happy ending here, FUCK YOU GUYS and FUCK THE GODDAMN PRESINCT”

With that, Javier stormed off, angrily mumbling about one thing or another and his broad form shrunk down the street.

It was then Santi felt her begin to shake. Thinking quick, he took off his sports coat and wrapped it around her. “Hey, hey bebita,¿Estás bien?”

“Si” She shook her head a bit, then turned to him with an irritated look “He just really pisses me off sometimes, you know?”

Santi chuckled. “I know. He’s an asshole, let’s not worry about him, okay?” He wrapped his arms around her, and Candy allowed herself to sink into him. Santiago felt her relax, laying her head on him. He was angry, so fucking angry at Javier for the things he said to Candy, the way he spoke to her, it was hurting with jaw with how much he was clenching it… but it was clear Candy was upset too. His feelings didn’t matter, her’s did. He needed to be her man, be her strength, so he pushed his feelings aside.

Through the doors of the ballroom they could still here the live music playing, and he felt Candy gasp as The Eagle’s hit song, Peaceful Easy Feeling, began.

“I love this song…” She whispered, beginning to sway to the music. The stars were out, shining on her. It felt like they shined for her alone.

‘I like the way your sparkling earrings lay

Against your skin, it's so brown’

“I know.” Santi whispered against her skin. “I asked them to play it.” He sang the next line into her skin.

‘Y quiero dormir contigo en el desierto esta noche

Con mil millones de estrellas alrededor’

Candy took her head off him to look into his eyes. Fuck, she was pretty. So so pretty. He wanted her with him all the time, even though he knew it wasn’t possible. He wasn’t in love. Santi wasn’t sure he was capable of romantic love, honestly. He wasn’t sure he was capable of a love that was safe. But whatever he had with Candy right now it was good.

“You requested this song for me?”

‘'Cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

“Of course I did… wanted to make sure there was music you liked.” Santiago stroked her hair, careful to not mess it up, just enough to feel her. He began to dance with her in earnest.

“You’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“And I found out a long time ago

What a woman can do to your soul

Ah, but she can't take you anyway

You don't already know how to go”

Santiago twirled her, making Candy giggle. 

“You listen to Fleetwood Mac?” She asked him through her laughs.

‘And I gotta peaceful easy feeling

And I know you won't let me down

'Cause I'm already standing

On the ground’

He shrugged. “I didn’t until I saw you had three albums, a Fleetwood Mac poster AND a Stevie Nicks poster.”

“So you… just decided to listen?”

“They're clearly important to you.”

He sings to her once again in Spanish

‘Tengo este presentimiento de que te conozco

Como amante y como amiga’

Candy whispers in his ear. “I enjoy our time together. I hope you know that. I do consider you a lover and a friend, Santiago.”

‘But this voice keeps whispering

In my other ear, tells me

I may never see you again’

Santiago believed her, but the ever-presant anxiety inside him told him this was temperary. Don’t feel safe, don’t feel comfortable. You are expendable. You are only loved as long as you are useful. You are only loved as long as you are perfect and good and right all the time. You can never mess up. If you do, WHEN you do, she’ll walk away just like Javi did. Still, he shakes these thoughts off and tries to focus on her. Focus on Candy. 

‘Porque tengo un sentimiento tranquilo y pacifico

Y se que decepcionarás

Porque ya estoy parado

En el suelo’

As the song ended, Santi dipped a giggling Candy down low, admiring the way the dress flowed over her beautiful body.

“Hey Candy, they aren’t gonna let us back in there, wanna hop some shitty bars?”

“I’d like nothing more, Santiago.”

*

Back at his apartment, Candy and Santi giggled their way into his bedroom. A slightly tipsy Santi flopped down on his bed, sighing out a declaration that this was the best night of his life. When he opens his eyes again, he sees you smiling at him. He thinks that he wants to see you in his home more often.

“You look really pretty in that dress, you know that?” Santi says with a love-sick smile plastered all over his face. 

You can’t help but smile back, unable to hamper the little laugh that lightens your chest. He was a bit more tipsy than you’d thought. 

He pouts a little, being overly dramatic on purpose as he leans up on his elbows, his left leg half hanging off the bed as you stand watching him. 

“Don’t laugh.” He pulls a face that has the opposite effect. 

You don’t give him the chance to retort again and poke his foot with your index finger, while you school your face into a mock disapproving scowl. “Shoes on in bed?” You tut, expecting another pout and tease back from him, a shrug and a chorus of ‘Well it’s my bed, I can do whatever I want.’ 

But instead, his eyes widened a little, a small dusting of light pink blossoming over his brown cheeks and nose and highlighting his faint freckles. “S-sorry.” He mumbles quickly, scrabbling up into a sitting position to undo his laces. He’s pulled off one shoe and dropped it carefully to the floor before you even have a chance to register what he’s doing. 

“Hey, hey,” you sit down next to him, your thigh touching his, and stroke your left hand through his curls. They’re a little stiffer than usual from the product he used for the occasion; it hasn’t stopped more than a few rough strands from breaking free though. 

Santi leans into your touch instantly, instinctively closing his eyes and sighing, a weight lifting from his ribs. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring. 

“You okay?” You whisper, continuing to run your fingers softly through his hair. 

He nods and hums an affirmative. 

You’re about to ask again, unable to stop yourself from double-checking his well-being. That seed of affection for Santi that first settled in your heart weeks ago has now grown and rooted into your chest, its vines and leaves twisted around your rib cage, seeking out your love like sunlight. 

Just as the words form on your tongue you notice the not-so-subtle bulge in his trousers and bite back a smile. 

Ah.

Not distress. Not panic. Nothing like that at all. Not right now, anyway.

Santi can’t see your expression with his eyes closed. He’s shifted closer, his temple gently against your shoulder as you stroke his hair. He sighs happily, almost dreamily. 

It’s nice to see him like this, relaxed into your touch. He too often seems anxious, worried, worrying about his military friends, worried about Javi, worried about his family although those details remain vague. He’s mentioned his sisters lives in the US, Atlanta she thought, his tia’s he saw so often here, and every now and then a brief mention of his mom but only in passing. You place a soft kiss on his forehead, leaving a faint lipstick stain on his skin and he presses closer to you, nuzzling into the nape of your neck. 

Languidly you run your free hand up his thigh, just tracing your fingers over his crotch before you squeeze. 

The sharp, low moan that escapes his lips is more than worth it, though the gasped word that tumbles out is a bit of a surprise.��

“Mommy,” 

He freezes instantly, his eyes going wide and teeth audibly snapping shut. In less than a second he’s racking his brain, trying to work out how, why, where did that word come from? What deep, dark recess of his mind forced that word to the surface? Something was wrong with him. Something fundamentally wrong with him, deep down in the recesses of his brain. He was fucked up. He was going to hell.

Maybe you hadn’t heard it. Maybe you wouldn’t notice it. But already Santi knew those hopes were a lost cause. The way your hand had tightened momentarily in his hair the second it slipped past his tongue. He’d had a drink, a few drinks- although they’d mostly worn off throughout the night- that was a good enough excuse right? Oh god. What must you think? What would you-

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” Your voice was low and sweet, a caress to his very soul and he shivered in spite of himself, moaning again and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroked his painfully hard cock. 

He nodded his head rapidly, not wanting to disappoint you. He’d be good, he’d be so fucking good for you. His breath hot on your neck as he pressed closer, angling his body completely towards you with a soft whimper. 

You continued stroking him for a moment longer, pressing the heel of your palm firmly against his thick base before you unzipped his fly and flicked open his trouser buttons. You always loved this, loved how needy he got, how desperate for you.

Santi groaned loudly, his lips against your neck, half muffling his words against your skin as he squirmed into your touch. 

“Hmm?” You halted your actions teasingly, waiting for him to repeat himself. 

The small sob and bob of his throat nearly broke your resolve, but he pulled his face away from you a fraction to speak. 

“Mommy, please,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t help yourself, it wasn’t like it was the first man to call you ‘mommy’ in bed, but there was something about sweet, innocent Santi who had blushed his way through your first encounter not that long ago speaking that world that set your blood ablaze. 

“Please what?” You teased. 

He squirmed again, bucking helplessly against your hand. “Please?”

“You’re gonna have to use a few more words than that pretty boy, or I won’t be able to help you.”

Santi let out an anguished sigh, pressing his face into your neck once more.

Quickly, you moved your hand away from his weeping cock and firmly pinched his chin between your fingers, pulling him back ever so slightly so that you could look into his dark brown eyes as you title his face up. 

“If you don’t speak, Mommy won’t be able to help you.” 

Santi audibly moaned, his eyes rolling back for a split second before he shut them tight. His dick twitched uncontrollably. 

“Yes, please, sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy.” His words were all rushed together and there was a hazy look to his gaze when he opened his eyes again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

You petted his hair gently. “I know you will be, Mommy’s got you, sweetheart.”

He whimpered, rubbing his thighs together with every word. 

“Now, tell me what you want.” 

“Can I,” he swallowed again, placing his hand on the zip of your dress, “can I undo this?” 

That wasn’t what you expected him to say, and you raised an eyebrow at him lazily as you smiled and nodded. 

Santi let out a little nervous breath before hastily undoing the dress and carefully slipping it off your shoulders and down to your waist. You weren’t wearing a bra.

He held his breath as he gazed at your chest, his left hand hovering just above your skin as he stared with reverence. As if he hadn’t seen you semi-naked many, many times before. 

You stroked his hair again. “You’re such a good buy, aren’t you? Asking for what you need?” You say softly, just to gently break him out of his trance. You did enjoy teasing him, but never for very long. He always listened, always did as he was told, and you were happy to reward him

He nods quickly, never taking his eyes off your breasts. The tip of his tongue pokes out and wets his bottom lip. 

Ever so slowly he leans forward, placing a light, sweet kiss to your lips, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, before trailing down to your neck and collarbone. His kisses get messier, wetter, more urgent the further down he goes and you don’t expect him to pause, panting against your skin. 

He looks up at you with large eyes that send a shudder of heat through your core. “Can I kiss your breasts… mommy?” He adds the name shyly, looking down momentarily so that his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. 

You keep stroking his hair as you nod, hooking your fingers around the nape of his neck and guiding him towards your chest. He takes the small movement and runs with it instantly, surging forward and covering your breasts in desperate, wet kisses. Switching back and forth between them constantly as if he simply had to lavish each with the exact same amount of attention. He moans as he lightly bites and sucks, his hands digging into your skin as he holds onto you for dear life. 

You press him closer, urging him on by digging your fingers into his curls and scratching your nails along his scalp. He rewards you with another muffled groan, the vibrations reverberating along your skin and sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

Santi pushes closer, the force nearly knocking you onto your back as he latches onto your left nipple. You brace your right hand on the bed behind you so that you can keep your balance. 

“Such a good boy Santi.” You whisper and he whines, looking up at you once with lazy, lust-blown eyes as he keeps his mouth against you. He sucks demandingly, the sensation almost bordering on too much, but still somehow not enough, and swirls his tongue around your nipple before lapping at it and starting the process all over again. His hips are bucking desperately, but he doesn’t dare ask for attention. He knows you’ll take care of him. You always will.

He sighs, shifting, simultaneously trying to get something and not knowing what he wants at the same time. 

You know what he needs though. 

You coo at him, soothing and sweet as you pull in closer into your arms, cradling his head as you gently ease him into your lap. He moans so loudly, the sound quickly becoming a whine in his throat as you embrace him.

For a few seconds, he seems to relax into you, all the stress of the day and previous weeks and months draining from his soul and bones as he gently sucks. But then he starts to squirm, his thighs shaking and stomach muscles tensing. He pulls his mouth off of you with a pop and low, desperate groan. His eyes shut tight and eyebrows knitted together as he whines and presses his forehead against your skin.

“Gonna cum.” At the very back of his mind he has a sense that he should be embarrassed, embarrassed that he’s this far gone and going to cum practically untouched. But he can’t fight the pleasure as it bubbles up his spine, doesn’t want to. 

“You can cum Santi,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re such a good boy, cum for Mommy.” 

He shakes his head, unsure why, tears at the very corners of his eyes, “please.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, holding him tight and kissing his temple. “I’m here.” 

He moans loudly, latching back onto your breast and sucking for all he’s worth.

“Mommy’s here.” 

He groans again, pulling away a fraction to get his words out. His voice is breath and high. “Want Mommy to cum.” 

The pleading in his voice spikes at the throbbing arousal in your core. “Santi, it’s okay-”

His whine is muffled against your chest as he reaches down, sliding his hands between your legs to caress your body the way he knows you like. You’d taught him exactly how you want to be touched, exactly how you touch yourself. He was an eager learner.

“Santi,” you manage to breathe out through his messy desperate kisses. 

“Mommy needs to cum now please,” he murmurs, his speech slurred against your tongue, 

Your breath catches, thighs squirming as he strokes you, the movements soft but sure. It only takes an embarrassingly short time before you’re moaning into his mouth and tensing as your release overtakes you in a rush. 

When it’s clear you’ve cum, he tenses, his orgasm following through him and bursting behind his eyes. His cock throbs as he empties himself into his pants. You smile softly at his face as his forehead pinches in bliss, your hand still stroking his hair. 

There’s a pause, a small moment of quiet just before he sighs deeply, feeling weak and boneless. And then he looks up at you with his dark, dark eyes. The softness, the relief, the adoration… the sleepiness. 

“So good, Santiago… you’re so good. My perfect boy…”

Santi sighs against your skin, relishing in the tender moment as you play with his hair. “Was that weird?” He mumbles into your skin.

“Noooo, no not at all. It’s very common, actually.”

He looks up at you through heavy lids and suspicious eyes. “Really?”

“Oooooh yeah.” You chuckle. “More often than you think. I’m not here to judge anyone.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but he seems to relax. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

You opt to not talk about it anymore, at least for the time being. He’s so tired right now, coming hard and untouched, and you decide it’s time to put him to bed. By the time you lay him from your lap to his pillow, he’s half asleep, so you opt with minimal dress. Gentle, you unbutton his shirt and slowly, carefully slide his shirt off. When you take off his trousers and underwear fully, you replace them with sweats. You think he’s asleep, breathing slowly and eyes closed. He looks positively angelic. When your getting ready to zip up your dress again, and make your exit, you hear his voice once more.

“Stay the night?”

You sigh. “Santi, I dunno if that’s a good idea…”

His eyes open slightly, just enough so you can see him. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want, I just don’t want tonight to end…”

He looks so vulnerable in this moment… and you don’t want this night to end either. Rules be damned. Santi was different. Santi was better. Santi was good. And you?  You deserved some damn good.

“Don’t pay me, I’ll stay.”

Santiago sits up ever so slightly. “No, no Candy this is your job. I don’t expect free-”

“It’s not free, honey.” You begin to strip down, Santi’s sleepy eyes drifting down your naked body, staring at the knife at your garter. “We’re going to sleep, just like I would at home. And tomorrow, you’ll make me breakfast. Sound like a fair trade?” The truth was, sleeping with Santi, actually sleeping with Santi, sounded wonderful. You didn’t want it to feel like a transaction. 

So, you slip into his clothes. You wear a tee shirt and sweats and climb into his bed where you think he’s actually asleep this time. He snores lightly. He sleeps on his stomach, so you rub his back. He feels nice. 

You want better for him. You want him to have a stable life, a loving wife who wasn’t a whore, kids if he wanted them, his family and friends surrounding him. He should have to live in danger, work a dangerous job. He should be allowed to be happy. It wasn’t a life you could give him, you knew… but you could imagine.

You kiss the scar on his spine.

******************

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reading!!!!

If you're still hear, please drop a lil HI! It's 12 pm here, inching towards 1 but i promised to put this out so i will!!!

Everyone PLEASE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLOUSE FOR FEN FOR THE SMUT IN THE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS SO I CAN MAKE SURE THEY SEE ALL THE LOVE

I hope everyone is saying as safe as they can be in these temps, my heart goes out to all those struggling but especially those in war zones, poverty, homelessness, or in areas that were previously never this cold and thus unprepared for a harsh winter. I know us northerners joke about how cold we get, but I know its different when your infrastructure isnt equipped to take this on.

So tell me friends

Did Javier have a reason to be mad at Santi?

Or was he overreacting?

TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE ARGUEMENT AND YOUR THOTS ON OUR DEAR SANTI

@runa-falls @lunar-ghoulie @campingwiththecharmings @whatthefishh @persephone-girl @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @beelzebeth87 @pimosworld @millerscoffee @heareball @thatwonderouswoman @poolb @meveispunk @lovable-liar @millllenniawrites @read-and-wip @missdictatorme @the-fox-den @milkymoon2483 @k-ra @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rosellacwrites @legendary-pink-dot @dreamingofbucky @englandsgray @starsthatwatch @fairlyang @alwaysmicado @theywhowriteandknowthings @casa-boiardi @lostfleurs @ninebluehearts @puglover12 @sub-aro @laiisleiite @itspdameronthings @heareball @comfortlessjoy @csarab615 @calaveramangonda @bit-dodgy-innit @stevngrant @kirsteng42 @mrsjavierp @nanfafnan @lovable-liar @axshadows @cookielovesbook-akie @reallyrallyauthor @solar-fics @criticalarchitecture

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A Cottage in Nice: Captain Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele  @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @kmc1989 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @dragon85faby @angelnyx @caffeinatedwoman @missyhoneybee

Jean’s fall from grace is inevitable. You see it coming the moment he turns down the position of First Minister.  It becomes the talk of France because no man in his right mind would defy the king’s wishes and your husband does just that.

It moves quickly from there, the king shows his displeasure by stripping him of his rank before he dismisses him from the service entirely. His career is shattered within a matter of weeks.

He steers clear of you in the aftermath, he doesn’t want the taint of his misfortune to muddy you. Your marriage has always been his most closely guarded secret, he will take it to the grave if he has to.

He ignores your letters, vacates his premises in the garrison and disappears in the night.

There is one other man who knows your true identity as Madam Treville and you meet with him under a rain drenched canopy a few streets away from the garrison.

“We’ve tried to locate him.” Athos tells you as you watch the droplets form puddles in the mud. “It is as if your husband has disappeared from the face of the earth.”

“He is ashamed.” You say quietly as you remove your riding gloves from pocket of the men’s jacket you are wearing. Your hair is tied away from your face with the red ribbon that secured the bouquet on your wedding day and your clad in fitted men’s breeches. It’s easier to move around Paris in this guise. Women tend to be hassled if they are alone during this late hour. “If he isn’t in his cups, there’s another place he would have gone in order to lick his wounds.”

“The cottage in Nice?” Athos questions.

It’s been years since he’s thought of that place, of the town where he witnessed your marriage. It hadn’t occurred to him that their Captain may return there, that he maintained that level of sentimentality.

“We bought it several years ago along with a small patch of land.” You reveal as you tug the kidskin riding gloves up to your wrists. “A place for an old soldier and his spy to retire in their golden years.”

It’s a joke between the two of you because you both know there will be no golden years, not with your choice in careers. The cottage serves as a safehouse these days, a place to go amidst the chaos of the world.

“I’ll escort you.” He says, removing his own gloves from his belt. “The roads at this time of night will be treacherous…”

“Athos.” You say fondly because his loyalty to you and your husband is admirable. “The Musketeers need a leader in my husband’s absence and Jean has always intended to name you as his replacement.”

“Take Aramis or better yet Porthos, even D’artagnan.” He argues as he helps you up onto your mare and you shake your head as you grip the reins in your hands.

“This is something I need to do as a wife.” You say softly. “The presence of others will only serve to silence him.”

You see the resignation in his features as he looks up at you. It’s hard for him to concede to your wishes, it’s the gentleman in him you think.

“Stick to the main roads.” He recommends as his palm smooths over the nose of your horse. “The back ones will be filled with vagabonds.”

He’s not telling you anything you don’t already know but it’s the warning of an old friend, one that doesn’t want to see you dead. You feel his eyes on you as you disappear into the night, watching you for as long as he can. He can’t stand the thought of his Captain losing anything else, especially not his wife.

*******************************************************************

It’s a long ride to Nice and you spend that time considering the state you’ll find your husband in. There have been ups and downs over the years, the rise and falls of your professions, your personal follies but there has never been anything like this. The king has thrown his whole identity into flux and you’ve seen what that can do to a man, how it can twist them into bitterness.

When you arrive at the cottage nothing is as you expected. The windows are wide open, airing it, the garden is neatly trimmed, the flowerbeds recently tilled. The vegetable patch has been replanted and there’s a small harvest sorted into several different baskets. Each one has a name tied to them written on parchment in Jean’s hand.

Local families you realise as you study each one of them. You know that some of them have suffered hardships recently and Jean can’t stand to see someone struggle, not if he can help.

You employ a house keeper and a groundsman from the village to maintain the cottage while you are away. You use money you earn from your spywork and the jewels your first husband left you to fund it. His lands, along with your own had been seized when he’d been tried for treason but the jewels, you kept as payment for what you had endured underneath that tyrant. It had been a pleasure to watch him hang, knowing that you had orchestrated his demise.

You find Jean around the back, bare chested, chopping wood. His scars stand out starkly against his firm muscles as he swings the axe down over and over  and over again. There’s a catharsis in being productive, especially for him. You watch as he tosses the logs onto the wood pile before clearing your throat and stepping into his line of vision.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He says wearily as he sets the axe down, diverting his attention to the wash bucket and rag he’s set alongside the well.

“Here or with you?” You ask him as he cleans himself with the cool water.

He doesn’t answer you, he won’t even look at you and you can tell he feels ashamed. He has lost his stature, his position. His name may be on the title to this house but it is you that it belongs to. He has nothing besides the clothes on his back, his pistol and the sword that’s been with him for almost as long as you have.

“I have no prospects as a husband.” He says finally as he wrings out the rag. “You’d be wise to ignore the affiliation you have with me, it will not put you in good stead if our relationship is ever revealed.”

You take the rag from his hand and toss it back into the bucket and he sighs because you would never let him off that easy, despite it being in your best interests.

“My love.” You say softly as you lean against the well. “Will you look at me?”

The line of his jaw clenches as he shakes his head, his palms coming to rest upon the stone rim as he looks down into the clear water below.

“I know that it feels that you have lost everything.” You say quietly, studying the profile of his features. “But you have not lost me, you will never lose me.”

“Terese…” He says, his voice rough as he finally tilts his head to meet your gaze. “I have nothing to give you…”

“Our marriage has never been about trinkets or reputation.” You say, your forehead coming to rest on his as your fingertips chase along his grizzled cheek. “It’s about love, it always has been.”

“Terese…” He begins again but you press your lips to his and all thoughts of arguing fall out of his head because there’s just you, here in this moment, anchoring him, holding him steady.

His world is full of turmoil but you’ve always been a safe space, a guiding light in the dark. With you he knows who he is, who he’s always been, who he always will be.

Jean Treville, your lover, your husband and most importantly the man you call home.

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