#a wake up call that yeah reminded me of not a good person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

navybrat817 · 10 days ago

Note

Since we see this mentioned in Game Nights, what does it take for Bucky to stab John and how does the team react?

That is an excellent question, Cole! I'm so glad you asked.

Don't Look or Touch

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky isn't having a good day and John suffers the consequences.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Stabbing (yes, Bucky stabs John), arguing, humor, kissing, implied smut, Thunderbolts spoilers, we love Bob, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: We have Not Exactly a Secret, Game Nights, and now this for our Tower Shenanigans. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the inspo!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't in a good mood today. He claimed he didn’t need as much sleep as the average person, but he still needed to get some shut eye and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Too many things were running through his head. You wished he woke you up to talk or help take his mind off things, but you knew he hadn’t wanted to disturb your rest. Had the roles been reversed he would’ve wanted you to wake him up first thing.

“I’m your girlfriend, Bucky. If something is bothering you, it bothers me,” you reminded him. “So, please, wake me up next time, okay?”

It didn’t matter how big or small of an issue it was, you’d help him through anything and everything.

“You need more sleep than I do,” he tried to argue, a ghost of a smile on his face when you narrowed your eyes.

“I can always catch a nap later,” you said.

“If you say so,” he said, sounding in better spirits than he had moments ago.

But that didn’t last when he started fighting with Sam via text. He didn’t like fighting with his friends and it wore on him as the day went on. You saw it in how he carried himself. If that weren’t enough, Alexei accidentally shot a paint gun in the common room and hit Bucky’s thigh. The flare in his nostrils told you he was two seconds away from losing his shit when John laughed.

You half expected Bucky to punch John, but he silently got to his feet and went to change. “So sorry!” Alexei called after him, also leaving the room.

“Did you have to laugh?” you asked John. Sure, you all gave him a hard time, but he dished it out as well and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t in the best mood.

John shrugged, not at all phased. “He’ll live.”

“You won’t if you keep pissing him off,” you teased, going to get Bucky’s jacket while you waited for him to come back.

Bucky returned a minute later, somehow looking more pissed off. Maybe it was because John scooted closer to you once you sat back down. As much as you adored Bucky’s signature grumpy stare, this was different. That look was on his face because of his bad mood. Your heart went out to him, and what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t try to cheer him up?

“Hey,” you smiled, holding out a hand so Bucky could help you to your feet. You gave him a quick kiss once you were close enough and handed him his jacket. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride?” he asked, closing his eyes when you brushed his hair back.

“Yeah, a ride,” you smiled. As much as you both loved being in the tower, he needed to get out and you were more than happy to join him. “And maybe we can stop off at that bakery you love?”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Between a ride with you and stopping off to get a treat, he’d be in a much better mood. “Let’s go.”

“Hang tight for just a minute. Just need to grab something,” you said, sneaking in another kiss before you headed toward your room. You wondered how much Bucky would argue if you tried to pay for the treats. He was always such a gentleman when it came to-

“FUCK!”

You stopped at the sound of John’s loud and piercing scream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled, but that was typically done out of anger or frustration. This scream, however, sounded like pain.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, rushing back to the common room.

Your eyes went right to your boyfriend since he was always at the forefront of your mind. You took a step forward when he locked eyes with you, the coldness in the blues almost making you shiver. He happened to be right beside John who was a bit more pale than usual and gripping his arm like a lifeline. Your mouth fell open when you realized the former Captain America had a knife in his hand. And he wasn’t holding it, oh, no. Bucky’s knife was through his hand. You knew it was Bucky’s knife because you bought it for him.

What the fuck happened, and why did that excite you?

Ava phased beside you, likely drawn by John’s scream. Yelena and Bob came in seconds later though Yelena didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you…” she trailed off with a snort. “That’s not good.”

Ava sighed. “And we just got the blood out of the sofa from the last incident.”

“No fucking shit this isn’t good! And who gives a shit about the blood on the sofa!” John snapped, screaming again when Bucky yanked the knife out.

“You’ll live,” he muttered.

Your eyes went wide. Super soldier hearing and all, had Bucky heard John mutter his earlier comment? “What happened?” you asked. You had only been out of the room for a few seconds. What possibly happened during that time to cause this?

John scrambled to find something to wrap his hand with. “Your fucking boyfriend stabbed me!”

“Yeah, America’s Asshole, I stabbed you.” Sitting back on the sofa, Bucky got a cloth out of his pocket to wipe his knife. He stabbed John. He really did it. But why? “And you have the serum. You’ll be fine.”

You made the mistake of looking at Ava who had a smirk on her face. It didn’t do you any good to look at Yelena either since she also looked pleased. Only Bob looked concerned. And where the hell was Alexei?

“Okay, Bucky,” you began, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice because you had to be the mature one. “I know you threatened to stab him during Uno.”

“He put down Draw Four…” He sneered at John. “FOUR times.”

“I know, I know. Dick move. And I know I threatened to stab him because he raised his voice at Bob because, well, we don't yell at Bob.” You gave Bob a smile when he dipped his head. “But-”

“He’s lucky I didn’t cut this tongue out,” your boyfriend growled.

You tried hard not to whimper, which was tough since the sound was sexy as hell. “But why-”

“You can still cut out his tongue,” Yelena encouraged, taking out one of her own knives. “Allow me.”

You put your hand out while John took a few steps back. “No, Yelena. Not today,” you said, which earned you a pout in response before you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Just tell us why you stabbed him, please.”

“He talked about putting his hands on your ass!” Bucky snapped, wincing when he realized how loudly he said it.

You could hear a pin drop from the silence that followed. Your eyes darted between Bucky and John, seeing the mixture of anger and discomfort. There was no way John was dumb enough to say something like that in front of your boyfriend. Right?

“He what?” Yelena asked for you.

“Ew,” Ava whispered.

“But she… she’s not your girlfriend,” Bob added.

“I didn’t say I’d put my hands on your ass!” John defended himself, taking a breath when everyone stared at him. “Look, all I said was ‘I’d never leave my bed if I could get my hands on an ass like that’ and that’s it! That’s all!”

You were thankful you didn’t take a drink of something because you would’ve spit it out. As admittedly smart as John could be when it came to missions, he could also be an idiot. “Bucky, put the knife down,” you ordered when his grip tightened on the handle. You couldn’t have him stabbing him again.

Though it was kind of hot that Bucky stabbed someone in your honor.

“I might stab his other hand,” he said.

“Do it,” Yelena encouraged.

John sputtered when Ava nodded in agreement. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, one, Bucky, we both know I’d never let John touch my ass. Sorry, but. No,” you said, shrugging at the bleeding agent. Your ass was off limits to him. “Two, it doesn't sound like he said he was going to put his hands on my ass.”

“I don't care.” Bucky carefully inspected his knife. “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t have an ass.”

The girls scoffed with you and you weren't sure if you should've felt flattered or offended. “Okay, old man, so I have no ass now? Do I not have tits either?”

You held your breath when Bucky slowly got to his feet, his jaw clenched. It wasn't fair how hot and bothered that stance made you. “Did he look at your tits?” he asked in a low voice.

John quickly shook his head out of the corner of your eye. You felt for the guy, but you weren’t going to lie. “He may have glanced at them when I leaned over the other day.”

“Oh, when you were wearing that black top?” Ava asked, humming when you nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked.”

“What the fuck, Ava?!” John shouted. “You looked, too!”

“I didn’t look,” Bob said immediately, his hands up in surrender. He was too pure for this world.

Bucky swung his head toward John. “Forget your other hand. Let’s see if that serum helps you grow your eyes back.”

Oh, shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. “No! No more stabbing today!” You moved to block Bucky’s path. The mood he was in, you had no doubt he’d stab him again if he got the chance. “I appreciate you defending my honor and I always will, but we are going for a ride. Now.”

The former assassin pouting shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was. “But he-”

“You didn’t sleep well, you’re in a bad mood, and you need a breather,” you gently said, framing his face so he’d only see you. Your touch took most of the anger away. “Please, let’s go. We can go right to bed when we get back.”

Sex, cuddling, sleep, all of it, you’d give him whatever he needed later.

Bucky huffed, but put his knife away. He recognized that your tone wasn’t one to argue with. “He better not look again or try to touch you.”

“He won’t,” you said for John, looking over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Jesus, it was meant to be a compliment,” he told you, daring to glance at Bucky. “You have a good looking girlfriend, okay?!”

“Stop talking,” you begged when Bucky tensed up. You had just calmed him down.

“If you want to compliment him or her, tell them how murderous they look,” Yelena suggested, looking to the others for support. “That’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ava said.

“Um, Bucky?” Bob asked.

“Yeah?” he answered, slipping an arm around you.

Bob swallowed a little. “If she looks nice, am I allowed to say so? Or should I just avoid looking at her?”

You giggled. Bob deserved the whole world. “You can say whatever you want,” you replied. Bucky would agree.

“Okay,” he smiled a little. “I just. I-I don't want to get stabbed.”

“No one will stab you, Bob,” Yelena promised, ever the protector.

John looked around the room and asked, “So, Bob can say whatever he wants, but I can’t?”

“Yes,” everyone answered in unison. Bob wasn’t an asshole like John.

“Now apologize to each other so we can leave,” you said. The longer you stayed, the bigger the chance that Bucky would snap again.

The men stubbornly refused to look at each other, like children being scolded after a fight. John broke first when you cleared your throat. “Sorry for complimenting your girlfriend, I guess.”

“Sorry for not stabbing both of your hands,” Bucky mumbled.

“And we’re leaving now. Try to behave while we’re gone,” you announced, pulling your boyfriend away. Chances were that they’d start arguing over dinner or dish duty. “I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I stabbed him?” Bucky asked, grinding his teeth. “He gets under my skin.”

They were teammates now, but it didn’t get rid of the bad blood or the past. You sympathized with that. “I know he does, and I can’t believe that it took this long for you to stab him, but maybe try not to do that again?”

His warm laughter brought a smile to your face. “I’m surprised it took this long, too, and I’ll try not to again, but I’m not sorry that you were the tipping point.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Bucky Barnes stabbed a man because of me.” You weren’t exactly sorry that you were the tipping point either. “In his defense, my ass does look good in these pants,” you smirked.

Bucky waited a beat before he smacked your ass, making you shriek. “He still isn’t allowed to look or touch.”

Hadn’t you made it clear earlier that you’d never allow John to touch you? Even if you weren’t Bucky’s girlfriend, that would never happen. “So possessive, but I love that about you,” you teased.

His eyes softened, the look making your heart race. “I’m not too much?”

Your gaze softened, too. “You’ll never be too much,” you assured him, almost to the elevator when Alexei waltzed by in his robe.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“I stabbed John,” Bucky answered.

The Red Guardian looked stricken. “And I missed it?”

The last thing you heard before you and Bucky stepped into the elevator was John yelling, “What the fuck?!”

“Right to bed when we get back?” Bucky smiled, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it.

“Right to bed,” you smiled back.

He pulled you against him to give you a deep and thorough kiss, one that left you breathless and yearning for more. “And thank you.”

“For what?” you asked breathlessly.

“For trying to cheer me up,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “And for being mine.”

You leaned into his touch, thrilled to be his. “Thank you for being mine, too,,” you said, hoping the ride and treat would make him feel much better before you went to bed. Maybe tomorrow he could hash things out with Sam. And maybe you’d look through the footage later so you could see for yourself that Bucky stabbed John.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d make a copy of the footage for Bucky if he ever needed a laugh after a bad day.

So, did John deserve that? What other shenanigans do we think this group gets up to? ! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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reignpage · 2 months ago

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The JJK men as your boyfriend: their likes

Gojo - Likes being the first thing you see in the morning

You’re deep in sleep, snoozing life away, when you feel something tickle your nose. Heavy eyes opening ever so slightly, a frown grazes your lips. Satoru’s holding a feather in front of your face. Lying on his side with his head propped up by his arm, you almost resist the urge to shove him off the bed.

“Morning, pretty lady.”

He’s got a shit-eating grin. The kind that tells you he’s been doing this for a while, anticipating, with little patience, your reaction and boy oh boy are you living up to it.

“What the fuck, Toru?” You croak. “Why?”

Shrugging, he tickles your nose one more time before you snatch the feather and throw it in his face. It just skims his skin ever so slightly and you both watch the damn thing flutter so gracefully down onto the sheets. His grin widens. “You were snoring and I’ve been up for ages so I wanted to wake you, duh.”

“Why the fucking feather? Why not just call out my name like a normal person?”

A peck lands on your nose and you wrinkle it. He pouts.

“Because it’s sensual and intimate.”

Well, that answers none of your questions. Despite yourself, you nuzzle against his chest, thumping your forehead against his heart. In turn, he wraps a solid arm around you. “I was having a good dream.”

“Yeah? I had a good dream too. Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine; whoever had the lamer dream cooks breakfast,” he mutters against your hair. “And just to warn you, baby, my dream had dragons.”

Rolling your eyes, you fire back, “Dragons are so lame. My dream had unicorns and aliens.”

“Unicorns and aliens? Well then, I should get started on the eggs, shouldn’t I?”

Geto - Likes to have you with him wherever he goes

“Are you sure I should be here?”

A cult-meeting’s in progress and you’re sat, rather comfortably, on Suguru’s lap. All eyes are on you. You feel the heat of every stare and glare, and you can do nothing but take it. They don’t want you here. They think you’re a distraction, a pretty little thing, sure, but also a symbol of mockery to their cause. You grimace.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, seems to think all is well. His chin rests on top of your head and he holds you in place the way one holds a cat firmly in their arms — he even pets you here and there like you’re genuinely soothing him.

“Of course,” he reassures you. “You can be wherever you want to be and no one can say a thing about it. Isn’t that right?”

The hall is filled with a cacophony of agreements from every follower; none of them would ever want to get on his bad side, after all. And you won’t lie: it is quite nice to be involved.

Nothing could ever feel wrong when he’s holding you so good. Warm, firm and smelling like home, there really isn’t anywhere you’d rather be than by him, or rather on him. He lays a kiss on your shoulder and cheek sporadically through the duration of the meeting, whenever he needs a reminder of what he’s doing this all for and what he’ll get to reward himself with after.

“Thank you, pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear.

Leaning into his embrace, head resting on his shoulder, you smile, even as everyone can do nothing but watch. Sometimes you needed to remind Suguru that your love is unconditional, that he needn’t work for it, that by virtue of him being who he is, you love him more than anything. You’re more than happy to remind him as often as he needs, of course, but one can’t help but wish he would always know and never doubt it.

Choso - Likes being praised

Staring at you with wide, expectant eyes, your boyfriend fiddles with a lock of his hair. “I threw out the trash.”

You look up from your book to spare him a glance. “Oh?”

“Yeah! And I also cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed the carpet.”

“That’s nice.”

Hearing, rather than seeing, his heart plummet to the ground and rest six feet under, you know he’s about to start hyperventilating. Choso has a penchant for overreacting; a sad scene appears on TV and he’s sobbing, someone bumps into you and he’s rolling his sleeves, and when you don’t reward him?

Oh, he’s already thinking of what boxes to put his things in.

Clearing his throat, he tries again and, with a much more transparently hurt tone, wonders, “Did I do something to upset you?”

“Hmm?” You flick to the next page. “Not really.”

Then, sensing you’re not going to cave any time soon, he gets up and gathers a broom. He’s brushing the floor with much more gusto, exaggerated movements and grunts of exhaustion. You suppose you really shouldn’t be so mean, but he makes it so easy — the man wears his heart on his sleeve.

A devastated expression meets your gaze over the book and you sigh. “Alright, alright. Thank you for working so hard, Cho. You’ve done a great job and I’m proud of you. Come and give me a kiss.”

The broom falls with a thud and then you’re being pinned to the sofa by a heavy body. He kisses your face all over, missing your lips much more often than he’d like but he’s laughing against your skin. You laugh too, book set aside carefully.

“Can I show you the little swan I folded out of a towel? I named it after you!”

Yeah, this time he’s looking for much more than a kiss. Clever boy.

Toji - Likes to be alone with you

“Let’s get outta here already,” he growls.

The big guy’s been bothering you since you two got to the bar. He moaned about how crowded it is, how dim the lights are, and how ‘these pricks’ are ‘dumb as hell’ and he hopes ‘they get ran over.’

You’ve smacked him so many times, warning him to ‘shut the fuck up,’ that your hand is actually hurting. Each time, he would just roll his eyes and then grab the back of your head, smashing his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue inside to get a taste of you, and then letting go to gulp a whole pint of beer.

“Toji, we’ve been here twenty minutes.”

He shoots you a look that says, ‘So?’

Hands wandering, you shake out of his grip and embrace a friend. For ten minutes, you leave him leaning against a wall with a dark air about him, intimidating the other patrons so much so that, when passing him, they leave a wide berth and speed-walk.

You sigh. He’s being really well-behaved and you know it’s because he knows how much you’ve been looking forward to catching up with friends from all over town. So, he grips his glass, threatening to shatter the damn thing, and keeps his mouth shut.

But you also feel restless. You too want to go home.

Strolling up to your man, he opens his arms out and you slot into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then, pecking his prickly chin, you concede, “Okay, Toji baby, let’s go home.”

You’re picked up and snatched away into the cold of the night faster than you, or anyone else in the bar, can process.

“About fucking time, ma. God, had me wanting to blow my head out.”

He takes you home, stripping you of your filthy outside clothes and throws you onto the bed, climbing up your naked body, laying kisses here and there, and then…slumps on top of you. The deep, satisfied groan that comes from him vibrates against your ribcage and you don’t bother telling him off for stealing your breath.

“That’s more like it,” he whispers against your neck. “Good to be home.”

Nanami - Likes pampering you (he gets husband status automatically)

Lying down on the sofa with a cold face mask, watching TV and eating popcorn on a Friday night with your hunk of a husband is what life is all about.

You’ve got your feet on his lap and he’s massaging the hell out of them. He’s got the hands of an angel, you swear. “Oh, God, Ken. That’s perfect. Ngh! Yes, right there, oh! Uh, yes, yes, yessss, so good. So so sooooo good.”

He chuckles. Glasses off and wet hair pushed back, he’s the poster picture of a house-husband, especially with the matching face mask and pyjamas on him. Continuing his ministrations, he warns, “Sweetheart, I’m glad I have the potential to quit my day job and be a masseuse, but you really should hold off on those pornographic sounds.”

“Behave, Kento. I’m trying to watch my show.”

Pressing hard on a particular knot, you gasp. His innocent smile is too cute to get mad at. And when he playfully scolds, “It’s you who should behave, honey.”

“Ah! Ow, Ken!”

The bastard’s bitten your big toe. He actually bit you. Pulling your feet away from him and his rumbling laughter, you sit criss-crossed on the sofa, protesting against him.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t be mad at me. I just couldn’t help myself,” he confesses in between chuckles. Hands reach for you, manoeuvring you with expert skill and wondrous strength onto his lap. From here, he massages your shoulders instead, thumb rubbing out the tension in your shoulder blades. “Instead of this show, why don’t we lay down some towels on the bed and have a full body massage, hmm? I’ll get the candles — the ones you like. How does that sound, darling?”

Your husband isn’t just sexy; he’s a sweet-talker. “Won’t you be tired from all this massaging? I think I should be massaging you, if anything.”

With your hand in his, he lifts it and lays a gentle kiss on the cold band on your finger. Sincerity lacing every word, he promises, “Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy. So be a good wife and let me spoil you.”

Sukuna - Likes enabling you

“And then she shoved me! She actually shoved me. Can you believe that?”

The King hums, fingers playing with a lock of your hair.

“She’s got an ugly soul, Kuna. Mark my words. That woman is gonna end up in the bad place and even the devil will turn his nose up at her.”

You’re in the garden, head laid on his lap as you both lounge on a wooden bench he had built for you after you complained about needing a place to sit. For, what seems to be, hours now, you’ve been complaining about some girl you know.

“Like, who does she think she is? Seriously. She’s deranged.” It’s petty drama, you know that, and so does he, but the anger in your face and in your movements suggests otherwise. But even though you’re making a fuss over practically nothing, he doesn’t interrupt. “I should totally throw her over a building.”

“You should.”

“Yeah and then sh— what?”

Disbelief sparkling in your eyes, you question him silently. He shrugs, lightly tugging your hair and says, “You should throw that wench out of a building. Throw her out of a window on our estate, if it pleases you.”

You forgot who you’re speaking to; you should have known better than to assume he’d say something remotely normal. One could even say he’s joking, but you know he’s not. Nothing about the bloodlust swirling in those compelling eyes could ever be taken as a joke.

Sighing, your animated arms fall onto your torso. “No, Sukuna. I can’t just do that. Don’t be silly. Sure, she was horrible, but she’s not that bad. Maybe she was having a terrible day.”

“Be that as it may, I think it would do you wonders to alleviate your anger the way I do: with revenge of the most violent kind. You need not defenestrate her. You can stab her till the light leaves her eyes or you can operate a vehicle that will trample all over her — oh, that is a good one; you can really feel the crunching of bones.”

Sitting up, you peck him on his cheek, smiling at his bewildered expression. “You’re insane but so cute, y’know?”

He frowns.

“I am not insane.”

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itzpookiepooh · 2 months ago

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Poor Baby

How the boys act when you’re sad

A/N: it’s that time of the month and I’m sad and got too much going on so bear with me. (It’s 2am don’t judge me)

Zayne takes in every detail about you down to the way you sigh. It’s been one of the roughest weeks of your life. You were out late fighting wanderers, doing paperwork, helping new hunters, the list goes on. Work started spilling into your personal life and it was daunting. What made it worse? You had to keep rescheduling time with your boyfriend. You felt…negligent. Going on week two you were leaving work rather late. You walked out of the association sluggishly.

Was this even worth it anymore?

Was this what you wanted to do anymore?

The pressure of work was crashing down on you. You felt alone in everything. Yeah you had people in your life but you don’t see them as often now. It was rare you had anything planned outside of work. Your mind raced a lot lately with different questions. Your eyes filled with tears, the day to day repetitive activity, the long hours, all of it was getting to you.

“Do you need a ride?” You heard a familiar soft voice. You lift your head to see Zayne standing in front of you.

You didn’t want to burden him with what you had going on personally. He could see it though, the exhaustion. He could see you were drained and that whatever was plaguing your mind was taking a toll on you. He stepped closer letting you get a whiff of his cologne. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak, you just let the tears roll down your face.

Zayne tilted his head when you didn’t answer catching a glimpse of your tear stained cheeks. Your head was down no signs of moving. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or take you home first. He had better things to be worried about, he’s a cardiologist for goodness sake’s you weren’t expecting him to say anything to you at all.

His actions took you by surprise when he wrapped his arms around you. His chin on top of your head as he rubbed small circles into your back. You still didn’t move not even to embrace him in return. He knew you were tired and hurting.

“I’m always here.” He whispered into your hair and that is what broke you. Your sobs were soft as your tears soaked his coat. Your fists clench his coat tight as you cried and he comforted you.

He managed to get you into his car and drive you home. He stayed there with you all night making sure you ate and were hydrated. Luckily for him he always kept a few of his clothes at your house. He gave your job a call saying it was doctor’s orders that you take a few days off (perks of having a doctor as your boyfriend).

You apologized to Zayne all night for your uncontrollable crying. He was barely listening to you since he didn’t care about that but cared about your wellbeing. He wiped your tears and even tried to cheer you up with dumb jokes. His tone was what really made them funny.

By the time you came back to work you were refreshed and felt like a whole new person.

Caleb was always taking care of you. Always. He would cook, clean and even wash your hair for you. He would even come home early from the academy for break just for you…and grandma of course. Everything he did was so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. You wanted to repay him for all he has done til now. So you planned the perfect day of relaxation for him.

Here’s where it started going wrong. You were supposed to wake him up to breakfast but you tried multitasking and burnt the pancakes causing him to make breakfast. He didn’t sigh, complain, or even get angry. You thought it’s just one thing ruined you could handle the rest. You wouldn’t mess up again.

WRONG!

You took him to the arcade to let off some steam however, when you tried to win him a plushie the claw was flimsy and wouldn’t grab it let alone hold it. He offered to use his evol to which you shook your head and reminded him what today was about. In the end you left with nothing considering the owner had to put an out of order sign on the machine due to the claw not gripping. He gave you a refund telling you he meant to shut it down before opening. An honest mistake.

Caleb needed relaxation. If he didn’t get it this would be all for naught. You took him to the best spa in Linkon and all went well at first until it was time to get massages. Caleb enjoyed it since they got all the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Being a colonel is hard work! You however got the roughest treatment which left your right leg and ankle hurting. You had to limp the rest of the day because of it. Discreetly though because you didn’t want to ruin the day for Caleb.

Finally you make it home and order dinner and desert. The desert was a cake saying thank you for all that you do. It was the cherry on top of this catastrophic day. This had to go well. Caleb sat on the couch as you went to get the food from the delivery person. When you were handed the food Caleb was behind you to take it as you went to grab the cake. The driver wasn’t paying attention and the cake slipped from his hands making your fast reflexes come into action. Unluckily for you so did the his and his head slammed right into yours making you clutch your head and he flinches swinging his head upwards slamming into your nose.

Caleb drops everything to help you. You were fuming from the pain as you held your nose and head. Blood gushed in your hand from the impact of his head to your nose. The driver apologized repeatedly before leaving. Everything was ruined and it set in for you as you sobbed. Caleb frowned as he pat your bloody nose. He had no idea what kind of day you were having.

“I ruined everything!” Your voice trembled as you curled up head to knees. Caleb purses his lips placing a reassuring hand on your leg.

“No you didn’t, Pips.” He reassures you but it wasn’t enough.

“Yes I did. This day was supposed to be about you and I ruined it.” You cry. He chuckles trying to comfort you.

“You tried and that’s what matters. You didn’t have to do all this for me.” You look up from your knees, lashes wet from the tears.

“But the day—“ He shakes his head quickly before making you look at him.

“You tried to give me a day of appreciation and while I do appreciate it you’ve had a rough day just trying. Don’t think I didn’t notice that limp.” He raises an eyebrow tilting his head slightly. You look away in embarrassment.

“You saw that?” She mumbled making him nod as if it were obvious from her point of view.

“Why do you think I told you I wanted to rest on the bench and admire the pond? While it was pretty to watch your limp wasn’t.” He said in an authoritarian manner. He very much talked to you like he was your guardian.

“All I’m saying is I enjoy helping you or just doing an act of service for you. It’s what makes me happy. That’s why I do it.” He explains to you making you nod slowly in understanding.

“Are you sure?” You whimper making him smile softly and nod.

“Now let’s not let the food and cake go to waste. I can already guess what flavor it is.” He chuckled hoisting you up before checking your face for swelling.

Sylus is just as observant of you as you are of him maybe even more than you. He knows when you’re sick, angry, hungry, even tired. Nothing gets past him and he prides himself on that. Recently he had to leave elsewhere for business and you were staying at the base because your apartment complex is dealing with a gas leak. You insisted on finding somewhere else to stay and mentioned that you might stay with a colleague. He flat out refused you and came and got you himself.

You decided you’d go out to lunch with Tara and Simone. The problem was your hair wasn’t cooperating with you. You tried brushing it, putting it in a ponytail, a bun, curls, nothing worked. You thought it looked horrible and then on top of that you couldn’t find your watch. It was closer to the time you had to leave but you couldn’t leave like this. You hit yourself in the head with the brush as the bump in your hair would not go down.

You put the brush down and cried. This was so overwhelming and you couldn’t fathom how hard this became. You hear the door creak open before a familiar set of footsteps approached you. You feel hands on your shoulders caress you softly. You already knew it was a little white haired someone.

“Take a deep breath.” His voice rumbled from behind you as you take a shaky deep breath.

“My hair looks stupid.” You tell him your voice filled with sorrow. He purses his lips before grabbing the brush and rubber band.

“It does not look stupid. You’re just rushing so you think it does.” He puts the rubber band around his wrist and gently brushes your hair smoothing out the bump you once struggled with.

When he’s finished he lets you look at it making you crack a smile. He smirks walking away with a nod. You rush behind him to hug him as he let out a chuckle. You thanked him countless times squeezing him tighter.

“You’re welcome, now go before you’re really late.” He reminds you handing you your phone and watch before you dash out the room. Not before giving him a kiss of course.

Rafayel is what many call a diva. Many knew this about him especially you. Throwing himself on furniture and sassing people out was his signature move. Today was different though you seem to beat him in the diva category in his eyes. You went out with him to a fancy ball for his art as usual everyone flocked around him like seagulls on a beach for bread.

This was normal and you usually go off on your own until he finds you again. This time was different though as someone who frequently bought his art came up to you starting conversation. They noticed he always brought you along and that you would end up alone. It was like a never ending cycle. This piqued your interest because you didn’t think anyone watched you that closely but maybe it was just because you came with him.

“It must be hard being an artists’ lover. I couldn’t imagine always being forgotten whenever I went out with him.” The woman rambled not realizing how she was making you feel. “I mean come on! You’re pushed aside and forgotten! No respect and then he comes back around like nothing happened!”

Your chest ached at the thought. It was true that you were forgotten but not by Rafayel no, never by Rafayel. You were forgotten by the critics, buyers, admirers of his artwork. You were never not at the forefront of his mind. You were always the first person he thought about whether he was near you or not. You didn’t know that though.

“It’s not like that.” You try to reason with the woman as you feel a lump form in your throat.

“Isn’t it though? You’re forgotten I wouldn’t be surprised if you were just for show.” She scoffs shaking her head. This broke you for some reason even if you wanted to believe it to not be true it still stung.

Tears dripped onto your clutch leaving dark stains from your mascara on it. You clutched it tighter as you hiccuped slightly. The woman moved in closer caressing your arm sympathizing with you. Maybe Rafayel was using you for show like a trophy. You felt like you were a burden and holding him back from something.

“Why are you crying cutie?” His voice rings in your ears making you stop crying. He then eyes the woman suspiciously his eyebrows furrowed as he watches her hand on your shoulder.

“Leave.” He commands the woman as if she were the bane of his existence. She scoffs glaring at him.

“Excuse me?” She challenged him but she obviously didn’t know Rafayel personally. He was the last person you wanted to argue with.

“Should I say it in a different language?” His tone poisonous. You grab his wrist indicating that this wasn’t the time nor the place. He sighed dragging you to the garden to talk.

“Alright spill it.” He demands with his arms crossed. You didn’t want to tell him you were embarrassed.

“She just got under my skin that’s all.” You brush him off as your hand caressed the roses in the garden.

“You’re a terrible liar cutie. She said something and I know it.” He told you making you side eye him. You sigh before giving in only because of the stare he was giving you.

“She felt bad for me and then…ugh! It’s stupid!” You pout turning away. Rafayel crossed his arms and raises an eyebrow at your actions.

“Well whatever she said it’s not true.” He reasons sitting next to you on the stone bench.

“How would you know? You don’t care—“ You sigh in frustration clenching the rose before sadly letting it go. You explained what the woman said and boy did it upset your boyfriend.

“I don’t think I’m good enough for you.” You whispered sadly as you pick at the skin around your nails.

Rafayel pouted angrily at your statement. Who cares what some random lady thought? Everyone was ugly and annoying compared to you in his eyes. What was that lady trying to accomplish by telling you such things? No one was going to tell him who he can’t have around and what they are to him.

“Who gets to decide that?” He snaps glaring at you. You look at him and shrug before he sighs dramatically. “I do. Only I get a say in who I bring around!”

He grabs your face squishing your cheeks together. You looked like a puffer fish to him now. He presses your cheeks together a few times before you groan in annoyance. His expression nor his actions let up until he’s satisfied. He wanted to drill into your head who you are to him and how he felt about you.

“Don’t listen to some crabby old lady. You are the most important thing to me and all of Lumeria knows it.” He says softly as he stops squishing you and just holds your face instead.

“You need someone to keep up with you and—“ He groans loudly squishing you again.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you telling me I needed to make an appearance. I’m only at these events because you convince me to. Otherwise no one would ever know what I look like!” He tells you his face pouty. His forehead touches yours as he sighs.

“There’s not a soul on this planet that is more important to me than you, understand?” He explains lacing his fingers with yours. You nod as you both stare at each other.

“And if that lady says anything else to you I’ll have her become an ocean delicacy.” He threatened making you giggle. Unbeknownst to you he was dead serious. He placed a soft kiss on your lips before staring into your eyes again.

“Now let’s get out of here I’m starving and I do not want caviar.” He gagged dragging you to the car as you laughed at his reaction.

Xavier has always been soft spoken and kind. He always tried not to overstep or upset you. Not like he was walking on eggshells or anything but he just didn’t like making you upset. He didn’t like anyone making you upset. So imagine his surprise when you both got off work and he invited you out for hotpot and you declined. You never declined hotpot especially if he’s paying.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned tilting his head sideways, his eyes never leaving your face.

“I’m just not feeling it today.” You brush him off walking towards the train station. He was closely behind you he wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

The ride was silent only the sound of the wheels hitting the tracks filled the train car. Xavier kept eyeing you wondering what he could do to make you feel better, then it came to him. He wasn’t going to force you to talk but he would give you the space to do so. When you made it to the complex he followed you to your front door, you thought he was just making sure you got home.

“May I come in?” You were going to protest until he gave you that sad puppy look. You couldn’t resist so he came in and got to work on his plan. You watched him stack your cushions and pillows into a fort using the sheets as a sturdy foundation. He beckons you to come inside making you sigh and do so.

You sit next to him as he hugs you. He didn’t need to say anything the hug was just what you needed. You cried a little before explaining anything to him. He let you cry to your heart’s content. He waited for you to tell him whenever you felt comfortable.

“I got my bike stolen and then i decided to find it myself but whoever stole it crashed it.” You pout. That was your baby it was one of the first things you got yourself as an adult.

“We can shop for a new one. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe.” He reassured you with a tight squeeze.

“Besides that means you can ride with me more often.” He nudges you making you laugh. He was waiting to hear that laugh he missed hearing it.

“Yeah that’s an upside.” You sniff and wipe your nose. He crawls out of the fort helping you do the same. As you both stand you hug him tight.

“I’ll get dinner started.” He kissed your forehead but your eyes grew wide.

“A—Actually, hotpot sounds so good right now.” You nervously laugh pushing him towards the door. You refused to lose your apartment to his cooking skills.

This is my first time doing dividers because I could find any I thought would go with this.

The hardest one to write for was Sylus because I had a plot but I went to sleep and forgot it also who would be sad with Sylus I mean come on (any of these men really).

I hope you like it muah bye 💋

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hellothisisangle · 7 days ago

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I don’t have the stamina to comic all this dialogue so here it is:

[At some point between PLAYING FOR TIME and I WALK THE LINE]

J: Look at you, more bolts and chips and wires than meat. Not sure what the hell you even are at this point. Some kinda strutting identity crisis. Bet if someone shook you hard enough you’d rattle.

V: Yeah, well, you’re just a ghost of a walking hard on that played mediocre guitar. Guess we all got our own tragedies.

J: Ooh, hit a nerve. Change your face, change your junk, but it doesn’t actually change a thing. Another plug in another crack that keeps fracturing. Can’t patch a hollow core, V.

V: This, coming from the poster boy for ‘oh please, someone, pay attention to me’? Hey, Johnny- was it before or after the bombing that you decided terrorism made you a man?

J: Know what your problem is? Don’t ask questions. Just do your job. Get your reward. Say you hate authority, but you fit into the glove tailored for you just as much as everyone else. And like everyone else, ‘ya still can’t help havin’ dreams of respect, fear, adoration, love. Dreams only big enough to stay dreams, not enough for you to do jack shit about it. Aren’t you lucky you got me. Now you can wake the fuck up.

V: Ha! Never believed for a second you cared about the bigger picture. Nah, you’re just the guy who played hero to hear someone chant his name. Spoiler alert, no one’s chanting anymore. You think I should follow your lead? Screaming louder, hitting harder, waving your dick around like it’s a goddam flag?

J: Better’n nothing. Keep telling you we’re really not so different, you and I. But swapping parts like spare tires- I mean come on, don’t get all pissy when I call it what it is.

V: Replacing myself, piece by piece, finding a version of me that can stand existing is not the same, will never be the same, as your bullshit tantrums.

J: Keep tellin’ yourself that.

V: For fucks sake- the yapping, barking orders, flexing those fake muscles- wanna know what you remind me of?

J: Not really-

V: All the other assholes who told me I'd never be good enough unless I was just like them. Why I had to rip myself open just to breathe. You’re not a legend, Johnny. You’re a cautionary tale. A child who never learned there’s more than one way to be strong.

J: Pull that one outta a fortune cookie or just your trauma stash? Pft- A child calling a child a child. The shit I have to put up with.

V: Quiet the fuck down or I’ll do something that’ll decom both of us for a bit. I need some air.

J: Fine. See ya later. But would’ya smoke a stoge while you’re at it?

[At some point after I WALK THE LINE]

J: For a chrome-clad existential nightmare, ‘ya ain’t all bad, kid. Startin’ to remind me of me. Without the impressive cock.

V: And for a dead relic clutching his dick like it’s the only personality trait that survived, you’re almost tolerable. But don’t get clingy, I’m not a collector of antiques.

#my art #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk v #vignette

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shouyuus · 2 months ago

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hiii rain how are you doing beautiful💞

what do u think about long-distance relationship!vi

a quick lil thing bc its been a long day u__u; i'm alright bby! still sick but im getting better slowly!!! <3

tiny lil bit 18+, mdni, vi-shaped brainrot as per usual

longdistance!vi who has a separate ringtone just for you, so she'll always know when it's you calling; she never misses a phone date, even if she's a little late sometimes, who nearly fumbles her phone when she tries to answer, so eager, every single time, who stares down at the image of you with the goofiest smile, because god how'd she get so lucky?

longdistance!vi who will phone you in the morning just to brush your teeth together, the both of you still half-asleep, messy hair and all, doesn't say a word, but will make faces at you when she's rinsing her mouth, gargles extra loud just to try and make you laugh so you'll choke on your toothpaste, winks when she catches you staring at her when she steps back to change, doesn't mute at all when she pees right after, laughing when you roll your eyes and hang up, only to call back a second later, her face shoved up against the screen, distorting her features just to say, "it's healthy to pee in the morning!"

longdistance!vi who's never shy with telling you that she misses you and is unrepentantly needy, texts you at all hours of the day, whines that life must hate her because you're so far apart, counts down the hours till she gets to see you again in person (three months, two days, and thirteen hours --)

longdistance!vi who doesn't hold back describing to you all the things she's gonna do to you the second she gets her hands on you, even as she's got a hand shoved down her own panties, the sound of your whines in her ears -- "god, can't wait to fuck you till you're cumming around my fingers -- you're always so wet for me baby --" "miss how you taste, miss the way you pull my hair --" "want you to cum on my mouth over and over, can you do that for me, baby? yeah?" "lemme hear you cum, doll, that's right -- moan nice and loud for me -- yeah, fuck the neighbor, he can complain to me when i get there."

longdistance!vi who definitely makes good on her promises, and then some, but you'll wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs in the morning, to the sound of her humming in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts; who can't help the smile that takes over her face when she turns around to see you standing in the doorway of your bedroom, wearing of one her old band tee's, your hair a bird's nest tangle from the night before.

"morning, princess -- sleep well?"

you patter up to her, press a kiss to her cheek, reach up for the moka pot to make some coffee.

"mm... depends on what well means -- we didn't get to sleep till wayyyy late," you tease, tugging two mugs from their hooks on the wall, bending over the fridge for the milk carton.

"yeah well -- 's not like we had plans today other than chillin' at home and --" she leans over to mouth at your neck, looping an arm around your middle, groaning into your skin even as you giggle and let her suck yet another hickey into your shoulder.

"i thought you wanted to go grocery shopping today? weren't you gonna make me vander's famous meatballs?"

she sighs, hooking her chin over your shoulder.

"fine, fine... but that can wait till the afternoon right?"

"sure it can," you say, laughing as she waddles the pair of you back to the stove to flip the bacon and eggs.

longdistance!vi who's always been terrible at goodbyes, who lingers too long and almost misses her flight, but she'll always be the last one waving, either by the airport drop-off or in the window of her cab, who texts you nearly immediately as you're out of sight, reminds you to drive safe, that she misses you already, and that she's already counting down the days till she can see you again.

#⛈ monsoon season #♨ steamy #arcane #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi smut #arcane smut #vi x reader smut #vi arcane #vi arcane smut #vi x you #arcane x you #wlw writing #wlw smut #wlw fanfic #lesbian #lesbian smut #violet x reader #something short and sweet u__u

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rinsoap · 10 months ago

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best friend! suna who makes you new playlists all the time. the names are inside jokes with you, little things he whispers in your ear late at night. the description always says, "for y/n". sometimes it has a little message explaining why he made it alongside the dedication, but he never fails to remind you, it was made for you and only you.

"for y/n. songs that remind me that time at the park." "for y/n. just songs that reminded me of your face. "for y/n. songs for when you're sad. hope it cheers you up."

best friend! suna who always know when something is off with you. he can tell from just the shaky delivery of a sentence or the small tremble of your lip, he knows. he hates seeing you like this, he'll do anything to see your pretty smile. words aren't his thing, he'd rather listen to you for hours, even if you're just venting the whole time. anything to make you feel a little better.

"what was that?" "what was what?" "you know. you did a weird nervous laugh when you said that." "stop that's just how i laugh don't make fun of me" "no you laugh completely different don't lie. come on, tell me what's wrong. i'm here, i got you."

best friend! suna who's favourite thing is your movie nights. your legs draped over his thighs with his arm around your shoulder. you glance over at him, and he's already staring, glow of the tv flickering on his face as he studies your face back. his eyes keep dropping to your lips, so when you give him a smile and a slight quirk of your eyebrow, he cocks his head before turning back to the movie. the next morning, you wake up on his couch and in his arms.

"what are you staring at, huh?" "what? nothing. just... it's nothing. i, um, i like how you did your makeup today. looks nice." "oh, i did it differently today! thank you!!! how'd you even notice that? it's so dark!" "just got sharp vision, i don't know damn. now pay attention to the movie. don't even know what's going on." "you're the one who was staring at me???"

best friend! suna who playfully calls you princess whenever he does you a favour. despite his frequent complaints, he secretly loves treating you like a princess. he knows you deserve it. so when you ask him to pick you up from a party you don't want to be at, he grabs his keys as soon as soon he sees the text, like he always does, no matter how late it is. he'll tease you, telling you he's not coming as he's starting the car. he just likes toying with you. when he picks you up, you slide into the passenger's seat with a sigh, expressing how hungry you are and begging him to take you to the nearest drive thru. he protests, but he drives you to a burger king trying to suppress a smile.

"really now? what am i? a personal butler?" "i was thinking more like righthand man. like smee from peter pan." "i'm definitely the captain hook out of the two of us but okay whatever. are burger kings even open this late?" "well can't we see? pleeeeease rinnie i'm so hungry i'll eat a whole cow" "fine okay, whatever you want princess. just to save the hypothetical cow though."

best friend! suna who doesn't drive you home quite yet. he pulls into a spot by the beach, a cliff overlooking the water sparkling under the moonlight. a playlist of love songs he made you plays as background to your conversation as he looks out on the view while you aid the song in filling his silence. you're hardly eating the burger he bought for you, so caught up in speaking. he looks to you, leaning in to listen more intently and you instinctively match him and close the distance between you. he nods in agreement to a long rant you've been going on about, stumbling over your words when you realize how close he is.

"you're giving me that look." "what look?" "i don't know. the one from the other night. when we were watching howl's moving castle." "oh. right." "does my makeup looks good again?" "yeah, i mean... it always look good, you know. you always look good." "oh, well, thank you rin you're sweet" "only to you, princess."

best friend! suna who hooks his finger under your chin to lift your head to his, bringing you into a gentle kiss. his other hand finds yours resting on the centre compartment to carress your skin with his thumb. when you pull apart, both of you don't say anything. you smile at each other, forehead to forehead, and there is a silent agreement that words could never be enough.

ᵎᵎᵎ ִֶ ࣪ ⊹ ֶָ ، 𓂅 the song playing in the car: infrunami by steve lacy

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biscuitsandwires · 1 year ago

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In which Danny wakes up in a weird place.... again.

The thing about Danny, is that he often wakes up in really, really weird situations. Like way more than you'd think, way more than he'd even like, really. He doesn't get that much sleep, being y'know, half ghost, and with school work and having to fight "The Forces of Evil" half the time it gets kind of... tedious, balancing things like sleep and eating and even getting water in him.

It's not really a good thing, but he started carrying around a water bottle he can clip to his bag. It reminds him to at least drink something, when he doesn't have time to grab anything to eat.

But because of all that fun stuff, the not sleeping and not eating and things, he often finds himself taking... unplanned naps. Waking up on the floor, his bed, his desk, one time even in his locker, but that was before his growth spurt. He's a little too big for that now.

Of course, this might take the cake, in terms of weird places he's woken up. He's never been to Gotham, that he remembers, and he certainly has never been to the Wayne Manor. He'd remember that, he thinks, what with the grand architecture, the giant paintings of random people with pearl necklaces and suits... yeah he'd know if he'd been here before.

"Ah, you are awake."

He tries really, really hard not to react to the sudden, aged voice next to him. It sounds like a nice guy, mature and soft like a wool blanket. But he has no idea where he is, when it is, anything, so in one second he's still on the big bed (which it is a BIG bed) and the next he's... well.

Floating ten feet in the air with his fist raised.

To his credit, the older gentleman staring up at him merely blinks, then sighs. "Another enhanced fellow, I suppose. Of course you are."

It's enough to lower Danny's hackles, his confusion growing the amount of time it takes to slowly float back to the floor.

"Can I uh... Can I ask where I am?"

The older man gives him a look. "You, young man, are in the Wayne family home. I'll ask you not to touch anything until the young Master gets back."

That... didn't really clear anything up, if Danny was being real. So he tried again. "Can I ask, uh. Why I'm here, sir?"

Mama didn't raise a ruffian with no manners.

Another sigh, the older man looking like he wanted to go take a nap himself. "I am not fully sure, myself. Young Master Damian found you, I suppose, and brought you here. You have been unconscious for a day or so."

Well. That was concerning all on it's own. Who was Damian? Was he a Wayne? Why was Danny in Gotham at all, he didn't remember a field trip or anything involving Vlad.

He might have started panicking if there wasn't the sudden, entirely too enticing smell of pancakes suddenly under his nose.

"You're entirely too skinny, young man. It's breakfast time." The older gentleman said, holding a tray of wayyy too much food for one person in front of Danny, and really...

What was he gonna do? Deny the man?

He would have to figure out what the hell was going on, later. Right now he had a date with the nicest looking spread he'd ever seen.

"And young man, you may call me Alfred."

Danny grinned, gently taking the tray from him and setting it on a nearby table. "Danny. It's good to meet you."

"Hmm." Alfred mumbled. "I certainly hope so, Master Danny. I certainly hope so."

(pt 2 here)

#bis writes #dc x dp #danny phantom #batman #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #the batman 2022 #because i love battison so much #so im giving him kids and danny too #idk why i wrote this honestly #eating issues #sleeping issues #he doesnt have an ed but hes not taking care of himself

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worlds-we-write · 17 days ago

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Shelter in the Storm

Chapter 14: This is Ours Now

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: A patrol, a fight, a plan. You and Joel start making space for the baby—for peace—and for each other. But healing isn’t quiet. Not really. It asks to be chosen, again and again.

WC: 6.2K

tags: joel miller x reader, jackson era, second person pov, emotional intimacy, confessions, SMUT, soft dom joel, pregnant reader, slow burn, smutty tension, intense make out, tenderness, love blooming, dirty talk, aftercare, reader comforted, canon-typical trauma

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

You wake up to the smell of coffee.

The light outside is still low—early morning gray spilling through the curtains—but the bed beside you is already empty, the sheets warm from where Joel had been only moments ago.

You don’t hear footsteps.

You feel them.

The subtle creak of old floorboards, the soft clink of ceramic. A breath, just barely audible, followed by the groan of the fire being coaxed back to life.

You stretch slowly, carefully, one hand resting over the curve of your stomach. The baby shifts beneath your palm—just a roll, nothing urgent—and you exhale softly. You’re not quite sore from the night before, but your body remembers it. Remembers him. You carry that weight in your thighs, your ribs, the lingering ache that feels more like a promise than a bruise.

When you step into the kitchen, Joel’s already dressed—jeans, boots, long sleeves rolled to the elbows. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand curled around a mug, the other flipping through a half-crumpled paper note.

He looks up when he hears you. His expression softens immediately.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

“Mornin’,” you murmur, padding toward him barefoot.

He tips his chin, offering the mug. You take it—warm, bitter, strong—and steal a sip before setting it down.

“What’s that?” you nod toward the paper.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. He folds it in half, then in quarters, tucks it onto the table beside your cup.

“Message from Maria. Slipped under the door while we were still out cold.”

You frown. “What’s it say?”

He sighs through his nose, runs a hand down his jaw. You catch the faint scratch beneath his stubble—the one you definitely left.

“She’s calling a meeting. Patrol schedules. Something about shift changes. Wants everyone there before noon.”

You glance toward the window, the frost etched across the glass. “That’s not a good sign.”

“Nope.”

You lean against the counter beside him. He hasn’t touched his coffee. You reach for it and press it into his hands.

“You think it’s about the same group?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the tightness in his jaw speaks for him.

“They’re still out there,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Maybe closer than we thought.”

The silence stretches.

It’s not heavy—not yet. But it hovers between you like a reminder.

A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have asked. Wouldn’t have wanted to know. You were too raw. Too full of fear to risk letting it back in.

But now?

Now you want to be ready.

“I’ll come with you,” you say.

Joel’s head snaps toward you. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

He stares at you for a long moment.

You don’t flinch.

Eventually, he nods. “Alright. But we stay in the back. You let me handle it if it gets tense.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You planning on starting a fight at a town meeting?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he mutters into his mug.

You snort.

He smiles, barely.

It’s small. But real.

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, and Joel catches your wrist before you pull away—fingers gentle but firm.

His other hand slides down your belly, warm and wide over the curve of it. The baby doesn’t move yet. Joel doesn’t speak. He just stays like that for a moment. Still. Present.

When he finally lets go, you both know the morning isn’t going to stay soft for long.

And whatever peace you had when you woke—

It’s already shifting.

Jackson’s meeting hall wasn’t ever meant to hold this much unease.

It’s warm inside—too warm, honestly. The fire’s been stoked too high, the windows fogging over slightly from the heat and the number of people crowding inside. Boots scuff against wood. A few kids fidget in the corner. Everyone else sits too straight, eyes flicking toward the front of the room where Maria stands with a folded map in one hand.

Joel’s hand is on your lower back as you step through the doors, and he doesn’t move it even after you settle into a seat near the rear corner. He stands behind you, his palm warm through the fabric of your coat. It’s not possessive.

It’s protective.

You lean into it.

Tommy’s already there, arms crossed, brow furrowed. You meet his eyes briefly. He nods once. It isn’t casual.

The energy in the room shifts when Maria steps forward. She clears her throat, eyes scanning the room like she’s doing a headcount, even though she already knows who’s missing.

“Two things,” she says, voice even. “One—patrol rotations are changing. Effective immediately.”

A few murmurs ripple through the room.

“Some of you’ve already noticed the increased watch along the south ridge,” she continues. “That’s not a drill. There’ve been new signs. Tracks in the snow. Old boot patterns repeating. Perimeter sensors triggered, then nothing. Whoever they are, they know how to cover their tracks—and they’re circling.”

Your throat tightens.

Joel’s hand presses a little firmer against your spine.

“Same group?” someone asks.

Maria nods once. “We think so.”

She doesn’t say raiders, but she doesn’t have to.

“We’ve secured the cabin in the southeast clearing,” she adds. “We’re keeping prisoners there. One of them talked.”

That makes the room go still.

“Didn’t give us names,” she says, calm but clipped. “But they’re looking for something. Someone.”

Her eyes don’t meet yours.

But they don’t have to.

You feel it. Like a hook behind your ribs.

A few of the older residents exchange looks. Someone whispers too loudly near the front. You can’t hear what they say, but you don’t have to.

You’re not imagining it this time.

Joel’s other hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Still quiet. Still steady.

Like he’s saying, I see it, too.

Tommy steps forward to take over. “We’re locking down the southern trail. Redrawing the patrol map for winter. Anyone not scheduled for outpost or harvest rotation will be assigned to internal security. This includes watch shifts for the nursery clinic and east fields.”

A few more murmurs.

“Volunteers will be taken after this meeting,” he says. “We’re not forcing anyone. But the more coverage, the better.”

You glance up at Joel.

His jaw is tight.

You already know what he’s thinking.

And you’re not sure you want to hear him say it.

Maria raises her hand once. “That’s it. If you’ve got questions, come find me or Tommy. Otherwise—stay alert. We don’t know what they want. But they’re not gone.”

The meeting breaks apart quickly.

You stay seated for a moment while Joel’s hand lingers on your shoulder.

When you finally stand, the warmth in your chest has already cooled.

And the quiet that followed you into this chapter?

It doesn’t feel like comfort anymore.

It feels like a warning.

The cold hits harder when you leave the meeting hall.

You pull your coat tighter around your middle as the door creaks shut behind you, muffling the hum of voices still churning inside. Your breath clouds in front of you, white against the gray morning. Joel walks just behind you, silent, but you can feel him watching you—measuring your posture, your expression, the way your hands won’t quite stop fidgeting.

You’re halfway to the steps when you hear him mutter a quiet, “Stay here.”

You stop.

“What?”

He’s already turning back toward the hall, toward the huddle forming around Tommy at the front doors.

Your stomach twists.

“Joel.”

He doesn’t turn, but his shoulders tense.

You follow him. Don’t wait to be invited. Just plant yourself beside him as Tommy looks up, eyebrows already raised.

“Volunteers?” Joel says, voice low, controlled.

Tommy sighs. “Didn’t even get to ask yet.”

“I’m in,” Joel says. “Give me a ridge rotation. I want south.”

“No,” you say, too fast.

Both men turn to you.

You ignore Tommy’s look. Focus on Joel.

“No,” you repeat, quieter now. “You said you weren’t—”

“I said I’d do what I had to,” he cuts in, his voice low but not unkind. “And I do. If they’re still out there—if there’s even a chance they’re comin’ back—then I need to know.”

“There are other people who can—”

“I trust me,” he says simply.

The words hit hard—not because they’re cruel. Because they’re true.

You look at him, jaw tight, throat aching.

“Joel, I just got you back. I just—” you stop. Try again. “This was supposed to be the easy part.”

His face softens, but not enough.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know. But I can’t sit here and pretend this ain’t happening.”

You want to scream.

You want to tell him that love should mean staying.

That fear should count for something.

That he doesn’t have to prove anything—not to you, not to Jackson, not to himself.

But none of that will change what he’s already decided.

Tommy clears his throat. “There’s a shorter run. Two-day loop. Just enough to scope the trailheads. We need someone who knows the terrain.”

Joel looks at you.

He’s not asking for permission.

But he’s waiting for something.

And that hurts more than it should.

You don’t say yes.

But you don’t say no again, either.

“Two days,” you say, quietly. “Not a minute more.”

Joel nods. “Two days.”

You hate it.

But you love him more.

And that’s the problem.

You don’t say anything on the walk home.

Joel reaches for your hand once—just lightly, just enough to remind you he’s there—but you don’t take it. Not because you’re angry. Because if you feel him right now, you might fall apart before you get through the door.

He doesn’t push.

Doesn’t speak.

Just walks a half step behind you, like that’s the closest he’s allowed to be.

By the time you reach the cabin, your chest is tight. Your hands are trembling. Your feet hurt in that deep, bone-level way that has nothing to do with distance.

Joel opens the door for you. You step inside without looking at him.

He lingers at the threshold like he’s not sure whether he’s welcome.

You don’t tell him to stay.

But you don’t ask him to leave, either.

You go straight to the bathroom. Close the door. Not hard. Not fast. Just shut.

The mirror is fogged from the warmth of the cabin, but you can still see enough.

Your reflection doesn’t look scared.

But your body tells the truth.

Your jaw is tight. Your fingers won’t stay still. Your shoulders shake when you breathe too deeply.

You sit on the closed toilet lid and press your hands to your stomach. The baby isn’t moving right now—not in panic, not in stillness. Just sleeping, probably.

You wish you could do the same.

But your mind won’t stop replaying the scene.

“I’m in.”

“I trust me.”

“Two days.”

It feels like a countdown. Like the universe gave you one last night of peace and now it’s already slipping away again.

You bury your face in your hands.

You don’t cry.

Not fully.

But your eyes sting, and your throat tightens, and the air doesn’t feel quite like enough.

You curl forward over your belly, palms pressed to the curve of it, and whisper soft, desperate promises into the silence.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Because if you say it enough, maybe it will be true.

Maybe this time, no one will have to break to keep someone else whole.

You were outside when he found you.

The sun had dipped behind the ridge, painting the sky in a dull bruised haze. You’d been sitting on the porch steps, arms wrapped around your knees, the thick wool of Joel’s coat pulled tight around your shoulders even though the air wasn’t that cold.

You just needed something solid. Something that held warmth longer than your own skin could manage.

You heard the boots before you saw the man wearing them.

Tommy.

He moved slow, not heavy-footed like Joel, but careful. Considerate.

You didn’t look up.

“You got a minute?” he asked, voice low.

You shrugged. That was close enough to yes.

He sat beside you. Didn’t speak for a while.

You waited anyway.

“I wanted to tell Joel this myself,” he said finally. “But figured… maybe you should know first.”

That made your stomach tighten.

You looked over at him.

His jaw was set. The kind of serious you didn’t see often.

“One of the raiders we picked up,” he said. “The one still talkin’. We pulled more out of him today.”

Your blood turned cold.

Tommy didn’t look at you. Just stared at the grain of the porch wood like it had answers written in it.

“He said they weren’t just scavengin’. Not just passin’ through. Said they’d been trackin’ someone.”

You didn’t breathe.

“He didn’t give us names,” Tommy added. “Didn’t need to.”

Your hands were clenched around your knees now. Fingernails digging into the fabric of your leggings.

“Why?” you asked. Your voice cracked. “Why are they still looking?”

Tommy finally looked at you.

And it wasn’t pity in his eyes.

It was anger.

“They want to finish what they started.”

Your stomach turned.

“I don’t think they expected you to get out alive,” he said. “And now that you did…”

He trailed off.

You didn’t ask him to finish.

“Does Joel know?” you asked.

Tommy shook his head. “Not yet. I didn’t want him volunteering out of bloodlust. Figured I’d give you the choice.”

You blinked. “The choice?”

“To tell him,” he said. “Or not.”

You looked out across the trees lining the edge of Jackson. The woods were dark already. Quiet. Too quiet.

He deserved to know.

But part of you wanted to keep it locked away. Just for a little longer. One more day of not seeing that look in Joel’s eyes—the one he wore like a second skin when it came to protecting what was his.

One more day of pretending the danger was just far enough away that maybe, maybe, you could sleep through the night without dreaming of being dragged back.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Tommy nodded like he understood.

But you knew that understanding came with a limit.

Before he stood, he rested a hand on your shoulder. Gentle.

“You don’t owe anyone your pain,” he said. “But you don’t gotta carry all of it by yourself, either.”

You nodded, even though you didn’t know if you believed it.

And when he left, you stayed right there on the porch, hand on your belly, watching the woods like they were waiting to breathe you back in.

You didn’t go back inside right away.

You stayed on the porch, still wrapped in Joel’s coat, arms folded around your belly like it was something fragile—something you were trying to protect with just your own warmth. The sky above Jackson had turned dusky, dark gray bleeding into indigo, and the porch light hadn’t clicked on yet.

You exhaled slowly, trying to quiet the hum beneath your skin.

And then your son moved.

A flutter, at first.

Then a small kick. Right beneath your hand.

You smiled. Just barely.

“Hey,” you whispered. “Still in there, huh?”

Your palm smoothed down over your stomach, gentle and slow. The baby kicked again. Stronger.

“You’re okay,” you murmured, even though you weren’t sure who you were saying it to—him or yourself. “We’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The words caught in your throat.

You looked toward the tree line again.

There were monsters out there.

But not in here.

You curled your fingers just beneath your bump, thumb stroking the stretch of fabric over your belly. You didn’t know how long you sat like that, whispering nothing in particular—just little thoughts, soft reassurances, things you didn’t even realize you’d wanted someone to say to you.

“We’re safe for now.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Daddy’s just being stubborn.”

You chuckled to yourself at that one. The baby moved again, like he agreed.

“Hope you get that from me,” you said softly. “Not the stubborn part. Just the—fight. The want to stay.”

The wind picked up slightly. Cold against your cheeks. You didn’t move.

You just stayed like that a little longer—hand on your stomach, forehead resting against your knees.

Whispering promises like prayers.

And feeling him listen.

You found Maria in the nursery supply shed.

It was smaller than you expected—barely bigger than a storage closet—but packed with stacked bins, canned formula, clean linens, half-sewn baby clothes folded into organized piles. The scent of cedar and soap lingered in the air.

She was crouched beside a half-open crate, clipboard in one hand, pen between her teeth. Her coat was dusty, sleeves pushed up. She looked more like a farmer than a leader in this light.

She glanced up when she heard you.

“I was gonna come check on you,” she said around the pen.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

She raised a brow. “Sure?”

“No,” you admitted. “But I’m still standing.”

She nodded once, then stood and pulled the pen from her mouth.

“What do you need?” she asked.

You hesitated.

Then: “A job.”

Maria tilted her head. “You’re on rest rotation, remember? You earned it.”

“I don’t want to rest,” you said. “Not when there’s something I could be doing.”

She studied you for a beat. Not judging. Just reading.

“You want distraction, or purpose?”

You swallowed. “Both.”

Maria clicked her pen, flipped the clipboard around, and handed it to you.

“Supplies for the nursery clinic,” she said. “Some things came in last week from the Jackson farm—clean cotton, dried rootstock for colic tinctures, a new batch of burp cloths. It’s been sitting in the storeroom ever since.”

You blinked. “No one’s sorted it?”

“Everyone’s been busy building fences and redrawing maps,” she said. “The babies’ll be here soon whether the raiders are or not.”

You looked down at the list.

Formula, wraps, soft blankets, a note about a potential shortage in newborn diapers.

“I can do this,” you said.

“I know.”

Maria handed you a pair of clean gloves and a short stack of inventory tags.

“There’s a wood stove in the back if it gets cold. Someone’ll swing by to help carry anything too heavy. Otherwise, take your time.”

You nodded, the weight of the list oddly grounding in your hands.

You were capable.

Useful.

You weren’t a burden here. You weren’t glass.

You were a mother.

And you were going to act like it.

The sun was already low when you saw him coming back.

You’d been sorting cotton swaddles by color and softness, stacking tiny folded bundles in a low wooden bin, when one of the supply runners knocked gently on the shed door.

“Your guy’s back,” they said. “Looks pissed.”

That was putting it lightly.

You spotted Joel from the porch of the main hall, striding through the center of town with his head down, snow clinging to the sleeves of his coat, jaw locked tight. He didn’t wave. Didn’t look at anyone. Just walked like his boots weighed twice as much as they should’ve and he didn’t want to be wearing them at all.

You followed him.

Didn’t run. Didn’t call his name.

Just kept your steps measured and steady as you trailed him toward the cabin.

He left the door open behind him.

You stepped in slowly, shut it behind you with a quiet click.

He was already at the hearth, yanking his gloves off, stripping his coat in harsh, jerky movements. He tossed it over the back of the chair and stood there, hunched, staring into the barely-lit embers like he expected them to speak first.

You cleared your throat. “You’re back early.”

He didn’t respond.

You stepped a little closer. “Joel.”

He let out a breath through his nose. Rough. Sharp. Then, finally—

“We found one of ‘em.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Alive?”

His jaw flexed.

“For a little while.”

You stayed quiet. Let the space fill with the crackle of the fire, the snow melting off his boots, the hum of something thick and dangerous in the air.

“What happened?” you asked gently.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered.

You folded your arms. “Joel, I need to know—”

“I said I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about it.”

The words weren’t a shout, but they landed like one.

You flinched. Not because you were afraid—but because it had been a while since he’d raised his voice around you.

A long while.

He closed his eyes immediately.

“Shit,” he muttered, hand dragging down his face. “I didn’t mean that.”

But the damage had already settled between you.

You watched him in silence. His shoulders were rigid. His breath uneven. And when you took a small step toward him, he didn’t move.

“Are you hurt?” you asked.

“No.”

“Is anyone else?”

“No.”

You nodded once.

“Then talk to me.”

He let out a low groan. Not frustration at you, but the weight pressing on his chest.

“I knew one of ‘em,” he said finally. “Recognized the way he walked. One of the fuckers from that day.”

You didn’t ask which day.

You didn’t have to.

He turned to face you, finally, and his expression was unreadable—like a man caught between two lives. The one where he could tear the world apart to protect you, and the one where you were already safe and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I wanted to kill him slow,” he said. “Wanted to drag it out.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” he said bitterly. “Tommy did it. Didn’t even flinch.”

You stepped closer. Carefully.

His hands were shaking now, so subtly he probably didn’t even realize it.

You reached out and curled your fingers around his.

“Come sit,” you said gently. “Let me get the fire going.”

He resisted for a second—then gave in. Let you lead him toward the couch. Let you tuck a blanket over his lap. Let you build the fire back up while he sat in silence, still wrapped in the ghosts of a fight he couldn’t finish.

And when you finally sat beside him, your thigh pressed to his, you whispered:

“I’m glad you didn’t drag it out.”

He didn’t speak.

But he reached for your hand and held it tighter than he had all week.

It started small.

You were putting away the last of the folded linens from the clinic—clean, cotton-soft, your fingers lingering on the edges like they were something precious. Joel stood by the fire, stoking it in silence, the glow of it painting long shadows across his face.

You didn’t look at him when you said it.

“Don’t volunteer again.”

He didn’t turn. “We already talked about this.”

“That wasn’t a conversation. That was you making a decision and expecting me to live with it.”

He straightened. Slowly. Too slowly.

“I don’t expect you to live with anything,” he said. “I expect you to understand that this ain’t about you.”

Your head snapped toward him.

“Not about me?” you echoed. “Joel, this is entirely about me.”

He finally looked at you. His eyes were tired. His jaw was clenched. His fists were curled at his sides like he was holding something back—something big.

You stepped toward him, voice low but shaking. “They were looking for me. Tommy said so. That group out there? They weren’t just raiding. They were hunting.”

“I know,” Joel said.

“Then why the hell are you trying to run straight toward them?”

“Because I need to be the one out there!”

The words exploded from him before he could stop them.

You went still.

Joel ran a hand down his face. Stepped back. Shook his head like he hated the sound of his own voice.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I need to see it. I need to know what’s out there so I don’t sit around picturing the worst every damn minute.”

“I do get it,” you snapped. “I know what it’s like to live with fear. I breathe it every day. But I don’t get to be reckless just because I’m scared—”

“I’m not bein’ reckless,” he growled. “I’m tryin’ to keep you safe.”

You stared at him.

Then, softly: “No. You’re trying to control what you’re afraid to lose.”

His mouth opened. Closed.

You stepped closer.

“I’m not glass, Joel. I’m not gonna break if you let me make decisions. You don’t get to play protector and martyr and think it’s love.”

He looked at you then—really looked—and something inside him cracked.

“You’re carrying my son,” he said quietly. Roughly. Like the words were torn from the center of his chest.

Your breath caught.

He stepped forward, voice raw now.

“You’re carrying my son, and if anything happens to you—if I’m not there—” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t survive it. I wouldn’t want to.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

He looked away, his voice barely audible now. “I already failed once. I can’t— I won’t let it happen again.”

Your heart ached.

You stepped close enough to touch him. Reached for his wrist.

“I’m still here,” you whispered. “You didn’t fail me.”

Joel closed his eyes.

You pressed his hand to your belly. The baby shifted beneath his palm—just a small roll, but enough to remind you both what this was really about.

Not survival.

Not guilt.

Family.

You stayed like that for a long moment—quiet and trembling and still angry, but closer now. The silence between you wasn’t quite forgiveness. Not yet.

But it was something that could become it.

It took a while for either of you to speak again.

You moved through the cabin like ghosts after that—silent, slow, always near each other but never quite touching. Joel warmed up a pot of soup on the stove. You made tea. Neither of you asked if the other wanted anything. You just did it. Out of muscle memory. Out of love.

He didn’t say sorry with words.

He said it by making sure your tea was steeped exactly the way you liked it. By nudging the fire just high enough to keep the chill off your back. By brushing his hand over your lower back as you passed behind him in the kitchen.

It was an apology you understood without needing it spoken.

And still—when you sat down beside him on the couch, two steaming mugs between you, he said it anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmured, voice rough.

You looked at him. His shoulders were slouched, palms resting flat on his thighs like he didn’t trust himself to reach for you yet.

“For yelling,” he added. “For actin’ like this is only mine to carry. It’s not.”

You took a breath.

“Thank you.”

You didn’t need him to grovel.

You just needed him to see you as a partner. Not a fragile thing wrapped in flannel and quiet strength.

“I’m scared too,” you said softly.

Joel nodded. “I know.”

“And I know you’re trying to keep me safe. But I don’t want to be kept like something that might break.”

“I don’t think you’re breakable,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

That made something in your chest ache.

You leaned in—just slightly—and let your forehead rest against his.

The moment held.

Then Joel pulled back just enough to speak.

“We need a plan,” he said. “Something real. Not just hope.”

You nodded. “Agreed.”

“If somethin’ happens. If I’m not there when—when it’s time…”

“I’ll be okay,” you said. “But I want you there.”

“I’ll be there if I have to run through a wall to do it,” he said firmly. “But if I’m not… you’ll have Tommy. Or Maria. Ellie, even. We make sure they’re ready.”

“And the route to the clinic?”

“Scouted. Cleared. Mapped.”

You added, “And someone on call at night.”

Joel nodded. “Someone we trust.”

You looked at him, brow furrowed.

“This is happening, isn’t it?”

His hand came to rest over yours.

“It is,” he said. “And we’re gonna be ready.”

You let out a slow breath.

And for the first time… you believed it.

You weren’t preparing to survive anymore.

You were planning to welcome something. To protect it. Together.

You looked down at your joined hands.

Joel’s thumb was already rubbing slow circles over your knuckles.

“We’re gonna be good at this,” you whispered.

He smiled. Just a little.

“Already are.”

Later that night, after the fire had burned low and the tea had gone cold, you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the bed with a notepad in your lap.

Joel sat beside you, one knee bent, elbow resting against it. He looked down at the scribbled list with the same quiet intensity he used when cleaning a rifle—focused, steady, like this was just another kind of preparation.

“What if it happens fast?” you asked.

He looked at you. “We make it slow.”

You gave him a look. He smirked—just barely.

But then he sobered again.

“We keep a go-bag packed. You have it by the door. We let Ellie and Maria know what to do if they find you alone.”

“If I’m alone,” you echoed.

He nodded once. “Not gonna happen. But we plan for it anyway.”

You made a note: Ellie—runner. Maria—clinic contact. Extra water, blankets, baby wrap.

Joel took the pen from your hand and added: knife.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Just in case,” he said.

You let it stay.

He reached under the bed and pulled out a worn canvas satchel—one you hadn’t seen in years. The old stitching along the sides had started to fray. He opened it gently, almost reverently, and started to fill it: a small thermos, gauze, clean socks, a folded cloth bundle of baby clothes Maria had given you weeks ago and you hadn’t touched until now.

When he held up a knit blue cap the size of his palm, you felt your throat tighten.

He didn’t say anything.

Just packed it carefully near the top.

“We should talk about names,” you said suddenly, voice soft.

Joel blinked. “Now?”

“It’s real now,” you whispered. “He’s coming.”

Joel was quiet for a long moment.

Then he murmured, “You got one in mind?”

You nodded. “A few.”

He leaned back, watching your face.

You didn’t tell him the names just yet.

You wanted to sit in the possibility a little longer.

Joel touched your knee gently, grounding you.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “No matter what. If I have to drag myself through a damn blizzard, I’ll get to you.”

You looked at him, something thick rising in your chest.

“You’re not gonna miss it.”

“I won’t.”

The words settled over the room like a blanket. Heavy, but warm.

You reached out and placed his hand on your belly.

The baby kicked almost instantly.

Joel’s mouth twitched into a small smile.

“Well,” he muttered. “He believes me.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes closing.

Maybe you were still scared.

But now… the fear didn’t lead.

The love did.

You didn’t plan on it happening tonight.

Not after the long day. Not after the fight. Not after the hard, quiet kind of truce you and Joel had made while whispering plans over warm tea.

But when the lights were low, and Joel pulled you into bed with a slow, lingering kiss, something in your chest unfurled.

You wanted to be close. Needed to.

So when you slid your hand down his chest, fingertips dragging just under the hem of his shirt, he paused.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low, already breathless.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

He kissed you again—longer, slower—his tongue brushing yours, hand sliding to the back of your neck like he was grounding himself there.

You started to move lower, fingers fumbling with the drawstring of his pants. Joel caught your wrist gently.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me see you first.”

You blinked up at him.

“I want to watch you,” he murmured. “If you’re takin’ care of me, I wanna remember every second.”

That made your face flush, but you smiled—just a little—and eased the waistband down. Joel’s cock sprang free, already hard, and you felt a throb of heat deep in your belly just looking at him.

You lowered yourself slowly between his legs, curling your fingers around him, brushing the tip with your tongue first—soft, slow, teasing.

Joel hissed. His fingers fisted the sheets. “Fuck, baby—your mouth’s so good. Always so fuckin’ sweet.”

You took him deeper, moaning at the weight of him on your tongue. His hips twitched, and he caught your head in both hands—but didn’t push. Just held you there, reverent.

“You keep goin’ like that, and I ain’t gonna last,” he groaned. “And I wanna come inside that sweet cunt.”

You whimpered around him, and Joel groaned again. “You like hearin’ me say it like that?”

You nodded. He chuckled—deep, low, wrecked.

But when you started to pull up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and reaching to straddle him, a flicker of hesitation ran through you.

You froze.

Joel saw it immediately.

“What is it?” he asked, his hands on your thighs now, gentle.

“I just—” Your voice broke a little. “I don’t know if I can… like this. I’ve gotten heavier. And the bump—”

Joel sat up instantly, his hands framing your face. “Hey. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for your body.”

“I’m just nervous,” you whispered. “What if it hurts?”

He kissed your forehead, then your jaw, then lower—down your throat, down the center of your chest.

“Then we stop,” he said. “But you won’t hurt me. You won’t break. You feel like heaven, baby. All of you.”

You blinked at him, swallowing hard.

“Let me help,” he said. “Let me guide you.”

You nodded.

Joel guided you gently onto him, hands steady on your hips as you sank down—slow, careful, inch by inch. He groaned deep as you took him in, and you clung to his shoulders, panting.

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your neck. “Takin’ me so deep. Look how perfect you are.”

When you started to move, he met you halfway—thrusting up in slow, lazy rolls while you rocked your hips. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough. It was full.

Overwhelming.

You buried your face in his neck, gasping.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Fuck, that’s it. You ride me so good. Feels like you were made for this.”

Your orgasm snuck up on you—tight and low, pulling from deep inside. You whimpered, your body tightening around him, and Joel lost it with a groan, spilling into you as he held you close, both of you trembling.

You stayed there for a while.

Still joined. Still wrapped around him. Still safe.

Joel didn’t let go right away.

He stroked your back slowly, whispering nothing in particular—just your name, and “I’ve got you,” over and over.

You were still shaking when he kissed your temple.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, too wrung out to speak. Your body ached in all the good ways. Your thighs were sore. Your heart was full.

He lifted you gently, cleaned you up with a warm cloth and soft murmurs, then pulled you back under the covers and tucked you against his chest.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you whispered.

“Course not,” he said. “You healed me.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your cheek, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

“Goodnight, mama,” he murmured. “You’re everything. Y’know that?”

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t believe him—but because something in your chest gets too full when he says things like that. So instead, you reach for his hand and guide it lower, resting it over the slow, steady curve of your belly.

The baby shifts beneath his palm.

Joel’s breath catches.

“Little guy’s sayin’ goodnight,” you whisper.

Joel doesn’t speak. Just lets his fingers spread wide over the life growing beneath your skin.

“You think he knows?” you ask. “That we’re okay now?”

Joel’s voice is low when it comes. “I think he’s known longer than we have.”

You blink back the sting in your eyes and press your forehead against his arm.

Outside, the wind picks up. But inside, everything is warm.

Still.

Safe.

And when Joel falls asleep with his hand over your belly and your fingers laced through his—

You don’t follow him right away.

You just lie there, breathing in the quiet.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You don’t dream of ruin.

You dream of what comes next.

AN: I have no idea how to explain this chapter except… feelings. everywhere. Between them finally saying things they’ve been holding in, Joel being all soft but also very much Joel, and everything heating up (👀) — this one really snuck up on me. As always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! 💛

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bunji-enthusiast · 1 month ago

Note

hello Benji , first time requesting and I wanted to ask if you could please do a peni parker from marvel rivals inspired reader in the invincible. Peni parker!reader as mark grayson superhero friend .and just anything really about her in the invincible universe.

𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍

Peni-Parker!Reader

Summary || hero friend to Invincible himself, technological genius and your this universe’s one and only spider-woman!

Note // I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that Peni is very precious to me and deserves a good life. wrote it from second person this time around.

Let’s just say "Invincible" is no longer flying solo.

Ever since [Name] joined the roster, Mark's chaotic, high-stakes, punch-first-ask-later lifestyle has gained a layer of tactical brilliance and cyberpunk finesse. Together, they balance each other out—Mark brings the raw strength, emotion, and overwhelming power of a Viltrumite, while [Name] delivers methodical strategy, defensive control, and precision takedowns with her Cyber-Web tech and SP//dr.

Mark might barrel through starships, but when he’s grounded—literally or emotionally—[Name] holds the line. She doesn’t just back him up; she orchestrates the battlefield. Her Cyber-Webs control the flow of combat, slowing enemy movement and giving Mark time to strategize or recover. And when he’s overextending himself (again), she’s right there snaring enemies mid-charge or unleashing a Bionic Spider-Nest to create a killzone.

While Mark punches holes through buildings, [Name] is crawling up the walls—vertical wall-running at 90°—flanking, sniping from odd angles, and setting up Arachno-Mines in his wake. If a fight’s about to go nuclear, she pulls him out of danger using her Cyber-Bond web-strand. Mark calls it “getting yanked by Spidey-Sis,” which she rolls her eyes at but secretly finds kind of sweet.

Mark’s powers are boosted by emotion, but they also cloud his judgment. He goes too far. Pushes too hard. [Name] doesn’t just patch up the battlefield—she patches up Mark. She sees his grief. His doubt. She’s lost a father too. So when the weight of being “Invincible” nearly breaks him, she reminds him he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

During a mission against a rogue Viltrumite using echo-frequency tech, Mark was grounded, screaming in pain. [Name] singlehandedly web-snared the enemy mid-air using a trick shot with her Cyber-Web Snare, then surrounded them with a Cyber-Web zone laced with hidden Arachno-Mines. The explosion? Minimal. The impact? Lethal.

After Mark was critically injured fighting Conquest’s backup clone, [Name] activated her SP//dr’s emergency override, placed a Bionic Spider-Nest to deter enemies, and web-slung Mark out of a collapsing space station. She didn't say a word. She just saved him. And he’s never forgotten it.

During a cross-reality incursion, they defended the Web of Life and Destiny from multiversal threats. Mark, for once, wasn’t the one calling the shots—[Name] led the charge, weaving strategies like her webs. She even inspired Mark to call her the “Webwarden.” She kind of liked that one.

What Mark thinks of [Name]:

“She’s not just smart—she’s brilliant. And tough. And scary in the best way. I’ve seen her stand toe-to-toe with things that made even me flinch. She doesn’t flinch. Not for anyone. I might be ‘Invincible’... but I’m only alive ‘cause she’s got my back.”

And yeah, Atom Eve gave her the stamp of approval too. That’s not easy to get.

From a villain's perspective?---

“If you see a cyber-web at your feet, pray it's just her. If Invincible’s flying in behind it? You’re already done.”

So yeah, with [Name] Parker by his side, Mark’s not just a powerhouse anymore—he’s a tactical nightmare for anyone dumb enough to mess with Earth, the multiverse, or the people they love.

Mission Log: "Threadline Protocol"

Date: April 11th, Earth-Time Location: Sector 019 | Interstice between Earth-616X and Webworld Prime Subjects: Agent Invincible (Mark Grayson), Cyber-Operative [Name] Parker (SP//dr Unit Alpha) Mission Objective: Prevent the unraveling of the Web of Life and Destiny due to a multiversal breach by rogue Viltrumite dissident factions allied with Angstrom Levy.

[MISSION START - AUDIO RECORDING]

MARK: (breathing hard) "Okay. I’m here. I got eyes on the breach. Or, uh... the ripping hole in reality the size of Texas. You seeing this too, [Name]?"

[NAME]: (calmly) "Confirmed. It’s a quantum destabilization spiral. Webline fibers are detaching. If it expands further, we’re talking multiversal collapse. And it’s not just a tear—it’s a trap."

MARK: "Of course it is."

[NAME]: (typing rapidly into SP//dr’s HUD) "Tracking three hostile Viltrumite signatures… wait—scratch that. Five.They’re masking their presence through Levy’s tech."

MARK: "He just had to show up again..."

[MISSION PHASE ONE: Breach Defense]

As Mark launches into the air, five Viltrumites emerge from the rift. Meanwhile, [Name] deploys from a vertical surface, crawling 90° up a fractured monolith, Cyber-Web Cluster primed.

[NAME]: "Mark—dive right! Now!"

A Cyber-Web Snare lashes through the air, catching the lead Viltrumite mid-charge. He’s immobilized instantly, crashing into a building-sized thread of Webline.

MARK: (grinning) "That never gets old."

[NAME]: (smirking through the comm) "Try not to get disemboweled this time."

MARK: "No promises!"

[MISSION PHASE TWO: Crowd Control / Nest Deployment]

As chaos erupts, [Name] drops a Bionic Spider-Nest at the rift perimeter. The glowing device anchors itself and spins a wide Cyber-Web dome. Hidden Arachno-Mines skitter out and vanish into the surface of the Web.

[NAME]: "Perimeter secured. Engage but pull hostiles into the web zone—I’ve turned the battlefield into a minefield."

Mark crashes two Viltrumites through the web line. Seconds later—click… boom. They vanish under a precision detonation.

MARK: (laughing over the comm) "You seriously scare me sometimes."

[NAME]: "Good."

[MISSION PHASE THREE: Mark Down]

A surprise ambush hits Mark from above—another Viltrumite, enhanced with Levy’s tech, drives him into the ground hard enough to crater the Webfield. He’s bleeding, coughing, barely conscious.

MARK: (strained) "Took… a hit. That one’s faster."

[NAME]: (tone shifts instantly—urgent but focused) "SP//dr—tactical override. Deploy rescue strand."

A Cyber-Bond web-line fires, latching to Mark’s armor and pulling him out of the blast radius. [Name] swings in mid-air, body spiraling like a silk thread in wind, grabbing him mid-pull.

[NAME]: "Told you: no disembowelment today."

MARK: (choking on a laugh) "I owe you… like... a thousand burgers."

[MISSION PHASE FOUR: Finale — “Threadline Protocol”]

As the rift begins destabilizing further, Angstrom Levy himself appears, surrounded by ghost-versions of Earths destroyed by alternate Marks. The Web shudders.

LEVY: "Too late. The collapse has already started. The Web of Life unravels now."

[NAME]: (voice low) "No. It won’t."

She activates the Threadline Protocol, fusing her SP//dr core with the breach’s epicenter, becoming a living conduit of cyber-web strands across realities.

[NAME]: "Mark—fly. Push the rift closed. I’ll hold the lines."

MARK: (furious) "No! You’ll be torn apart!"

[NAME]: (softly) "So were our fathers. This is our fight now."

Mark’s power surges, eyes glowing. Rage. Grief. Love. All of it. He flies harder than ever before, punching through the collapsing rift. Meanwhile, [Name] is a storm of webs, strands, code, and resolve, her SP//dr glowing like a spider-star.

[MISSION END]

Status:

Rift sealed.

SP//dr intact.

Mark sustained 2nd-degree internal trauma.

[Name] offline for 8 minutes post-merge, recovered at 93% functionality.

Final Notes (via Mark):

"She’s more than a teammate. She’s the net that keeps me from falling. You ask me what it’s like fighting beside [Name] Parker? It’s like having a second heart. One made of steel, silk, and stubborn fire. And I’d follow her into any reality."

MISSION LOG: "Web of Stars" Date: April 11th Location: Earth-919 / Outer Expanse of the Life Thread Conduit Operatives Deployed: Invincible (Mark Grayson), SP//dr Pilot [Name] Parker, Atom Eve (Samantha Eve Wilkins) Mission Directive: Investigate and contain anomalies in the Life Thread Conduit—a cosmic artery of the Web of Life and Destiny intersecting unknown galactic ley lines. Reports indicate a hostile biosynthetic consciousness consuming molecular threads from multiversal anchors.

[MISSION START - MULTI-CHANNEL RECORDING]

[NAME]: (sliding along a sheer crystal wall with that clean 90° crawl) "Looks like our weird thread-snake problem just got friends. I'm counting at least three biomatter distortions wrapped around the conduit… feeding off it."

MARK: (hovering, fists up) "Guess we’re interrupting dinner."

EVE: (descending in a swirl of pink light, calm but sharp) "Let’s make them choke."

[PHASE ONE: Coordinated Strike]

Eve extends both hands—matter around her vibrates, shimmers, and instantly reconstructs into massive crystalline pillars slamming through the feeding nodes of the anomaly. It shrieks, recoiling. Mark rushes in, his punch detonating shockwaves through the exposed neural core.

[NAME]: (drops a Cyber-Web Snare on the left flank) "Snared the neural tendril! Mark—go!"

Mark shoots past Eve, launching a meteor-blitz uppercut into the core’s heart. Eve’s constructs encase it, locking it down like a glittering cage of molecular bonds. Behind them, Arachno-Mines crawl silently across the now glowing web.

[PHASE TWO: The Hive Wakes Up]

Suddenly, the conduit pulses—and the feeding anomalies split. The three become fifteen, glitching and reforming like broken digital gods. They surge toward Eve.

EVE: (calm despite the chaos) "Yeah, no. That’s enough."

She lifts both hands—and instantly reconfigures the broken asteroid field around them into a massive energy-based ecosystem, complete with defensive flora and terrain made of restructured carbon.

[NAME]: (in awe) "Did you just build a living terrain during a fight?"

EVE: (grinning) "I multitask when I’m mad."

[PHASE THREE: SP//dr Unleashed]

As Mark tank-brawls the biggest hive-entity, [Name] deploys her Bionic Spider-Nest inside Eve’s crystallized environment. The entire battlefield becomes a maze of glowing cyber-webs and invisible mines.

MARK: (throwing a bleeding tendril into the web) "[Name], now!"

[NAME]: (from above, voice cold) "Weblock engaged."

The nest pulses. Dozens of mines detonate in chain precision, ripping apart the swarm. Glowing fibers snap together midair like fangs sealing a trap. Eve reorients all matter into a bio-lock cocoon, and Mark hurls the remaining core into the cage.

[FINAL PHASE: Web Singularity Detected]

Just as they begin to regroup, a deeper hum resonates. The anomalies weren’t attacking randomly—they were installingsomething. A dark sphere begins forming. Time dilates.

EVE: (a bit breathless) "They’re seeding a singularity into the Web’s backbone. If it ruptures, this reality will fragment."

[NAME]: (focused) "Mark, fly. Eve—back me up. I can link SP//dr to the webline. We might… rethread it. But I need you both to cover me."

SP//dr’s chest opens. The Cyber-Bond cable fires out and hits the core web—[Name] jerks as the suit lights up like a neural star.

MARK: (teeth gritted, shielding her) "You better not die, Parker."

[NAME]: (grins through the surge) "Only if you let anything touch me, Grayson."

EVE: (hovering behind them both, eyes glowing) "Try and stop me."

Eve ignites. Her powers shimmer to near godhood, her constructs fractalizing space itself—redirecting gravity, rerouting energy. Mark flies loops around them, punching anomaly cores out of the air like a cosmic wrecking ball.

SP//dr floods the webline with stabilizing pulses. Slowly, the singularity folds inward, sealed beneath layers of matter-energy coding woven by Eve and solidified by [Name]’s cyber-architecture.

[MISSION END - DEBRIEF]

Status:

Conduit sealed

Singular anomaly terminated

Mark exhausted, hair singed

Eve elevated energy saturation; temporary power cooldown initiated

[Name] stable; SP//dr at 87% system load

POST-MISSION VOICE CLIP — Mark Grayson

"How did I get so lucky? Two of the smartest, strongest, most badass women in the multiverse watching my back? I don’t know. But I’m not letting either of them go. Not now. Not ever."

It was a rare moment of peace, the kind that didn’t come often for people who routinely saved cities—or timelines. The backyard of the Grayson house had become a makeshift recovery zone, with Mark flipping pancakes on a griddle that clearly wasn’t cooperating, and [Name] reclining upside-down in a lawn chair like gravity was optional. Eve hovered lazily a few inches above the grass, sipping coffee, looking as serene as ever—until the topic of conversation took a sharp turn.

“I still can’t believe you, Eve,” [Name] said, tapping her smoothie with a straw like it owed her answers. “You, of all people, Ms. Rewrite-Reality-With-Your-Brain, prefer fantasy over sci-fi?”

Eve raised an eyebrow without breaking her meditation float. “Because dragons have soul, [Name]. They have personality. You can bond with a griffin. Try having a heart-to-heart with a neural interface.”

[Name] gasped dramatically. “You take that back. Sci-fi has stakes, consequences. You build a giant spider mech and earn your victories. Fantasy just... chants gibberish and wins.”

Mark, hunched over a plate of increasingly burnt pancakes, muttered, “Still better than these pancakes obeying the laws of physics.”

“Fantasy is hope,” Eve said, now gently lowering herself to the grass to retrieve a fork. “It’s about becoming more than what you are. It defies logic on purpose.”

“Sci-fi is imagination with a brain,” [Name] countered. “It says, ‘what if?’ and actually answers it. The multiverse is real, I have a psychic bond with a radioactive spider, and you're telling me elves are cooler than that?”

Eve took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Your giant spider mech couldn’t even get us out of that web singularity without my ‘fantasy nonsense,’ remember?”

“That was a team effort, and my emotional support stat carried us,” [Name] said, sticking her tongue out.

Mark finally sat down between them, his plate full of charcoal-scented regret. “Can’t we all just agree the best genre is one where both of you exist and somehow still talk to me?”

They both turned to him in unison.

“No,” they said flatly.

Silence fell for a moment. Then a gentle chirp came from the SP//dr parked nearby, the cockpit lights flashing as it projected a small holographic speech bubble:

“QUERY: Why not cybernetic dragons with neural-linked magic cores?”

Eve squinted. “Okay... that’s actually pretty cool.”

[Name] smirked, sipping her smoothie like it was a victory toast. “That’s called science fantasy, and guess what side that leans toward.”

Eve rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she nudged Mark’s plate. “You really gonna eat that?”

“...I tried my best.”

[Name] gave a sympathetic pat to his shoulder. “At least in fantasy, the food magically turns out edible.”

Later that afternoon, Mark sat cross-legged on the garage floor, surrounded by scattered tools, half-disassembled power cables, and the ever-present aroma of engine grease and strawberry smoothie. SP//dr stood idle in the corner, its eight sleek legs tucked neatly beneath it like some industrial-grade arachnid in meditation mode. Its single eye pulsed softly with cyan light. [Name] was half inside a maintenance hatch, her legs kicking lazily behind her while synth-pop music played faintly from a speaker that may or may not have been jury-rigged to a toaster.

Mark squinted at SP//dr. “Okay, so I’ve got to ask—how exactly do you two talk?”

A quiet whrrp came from SP//dr. A small digital heart emoji appeared on its outer display. [Name] snorted from inside the hatch.

“We just do,” she said, voice echoing slightly as she reconnected a few neural relays. “It’s a psychic link. Thought-based. Emotion-coded. Intuition-forward. Kinda like... feeling in full sentences.”

“That means nothing,” Mark said, genuinely confused but trying not to sound defeated. “Is it like... telepathy?”

“No,” [Name] said, sliding out on her back and blinking up at the ceiling like it owed her rent. “Telepathy’s like listening to someone in your brain. This is more like... feeling what they’d say before they do. It’s real-time understanding. Like an instinct you trust.”

SP//dr emitted a soft hum of agreement, its eye blinking twice in a way that [Name] immediately interpreted as “Yep, he’s lost.”

Mark stared. “So, what, you’re telling me you can look at that thing”—he gestured vaguely toward the glowing mech—“and know when it’s mad at you?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation, now wiping grease off her hands with the leg of her suit. “And it gets verymoody when I ignore its diagnostics for too long. You ever been guilt-tripped by a spider mech? It’s brutal.”

SP//dr rotated slightly and projected a tiny hologram of a sad face with big sparkly eyes and the words:

“❤️CHECK MY COOLANT LEVELS, I AM DYING INSIDE❤️”

“Oh my god,” Mark said, slowly turning back to [Name]. “You trained it to be dramatic.”

“I didn’t train it. It inherited that,” she said, smirking and patting the side of SP//dr’s chassis affectionately. “My dad coded the emotional response matrix before I even bonded with it. SP//dr’s always been... expressive.”

“And this is what counts as normal for you two?”

“Normal’s a sliding scale. You should see what SP//dr thinks of your sense of fashion.”

SP//dr chirped again, this time projecting a low-res animation of Mark’s yellow-and-blue hero suit, now with added glitter, an oversized bowtie, and a cape that said “STYLE ICON.”

Mark groaned. “I saved the galaxy in that.”

“Exactly,” [Name] said. “You peaked.”

Mark leaned back on his hands, watching the banter bounce between girl and machine like it was the most natural thing in the world. He still didn’t get how it worked—how two beings so completely different could move in perfect sync. But he figured that’s what made them a great team. They didn’t need words. Just trust, instinct, and a little sarcastic flair.

“Okay,” he said at last, “but if SP//dr ever starts talking in my head, I’m moving to Mars.”

SP//dr slowly rotated to face him. A digital graphic of a rocket taking off appeared.

“🚀Bags packed.”

#invincible fanfic #invincible crossover #invincible fluff #invincible x you #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x y/n #eve x mark #atom eve #samantha eve wilkins #eve wilkins #eve x reader #invincible x reader

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diamonddaze01 · 3 months ago

Text

beautiful fool

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc: 5.1k genre: angst angst angst angst angst | vaguely based on the great gatsby warnings: really really sad (i’m not sorry) a/n: the angst olympics have begun and this one goes out to serena @gotta-winwin 💕 enormous thanks to @haologram and @ylangelegy for betaing this monster for me i love u!!

the angst olympics are live! check out all the amazing authors <3

join my taglist here

summary: Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

It’s cruel, Wonwoo thinks, how the sound of your laughter feels like both a blessing and a punishment.

The laughter now—it reminds him of the first time he heard it, ringing out like an unintentional symphony in this same café, on a day when the clouds hung heavy outside and the tables were quiet. You’d burst in with the kind of presence that demanded attention, the bell above the door jangling in your wake as you called out a cheerful, “What’s good here, huh? I need recommendations from the experts!”

You’d strode up to the counter, all wide eyes and crinkled smiles, resting your elbows on the worn wood like you belonged there. And Wonwoo—awkward, reserved Wonwoo—could only blink for a moment too long before fumbling for words.

“Um,” he had managed, his voice barely carrying over the soft jazz playing in the background. “The, uh, the matcha latte is… popular?”

“Popular?” you’d repeated, feigning horror as if he’d personally offended you. “That’s the best you’ve got? Come on, barista guy, sell me on it! Give me the rundown—what’s the vibe? Is it creamy, is it sweet? Am I about to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”

The words tumbled out of you like you couldn’t stop them, every syllable bubbling with life. He’d tried to respond, he really had, but his gaze kept catching on the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled. How your lips quirked in amusement even as you teased him. How, somehow, your laughter seemed to make the dull, gray afternoon outside feel brighter.

“It’s… creamy,” he’d said lamely, his face warming. “And… uh, it’s sweet, yeah.”

“Sold,” you’d said with a grin that made his chest ache.

When he handed you the drink, your fingers had brushed his for the briefest second. He remembered how you took a sip, sighed dramatically, and declared, “Barista guy, you were right—I might actually ascend. Thank you for this life-changing experience.”

You hadn’t stayed long that day, just enough to finish your drink and leave a tip in the jar, but Wonwoo had found himself replaying the scene over and over in his head that night. He remembered everything—the way you’d wrinkled your nose at the cold weather outside, the exact cadence of your laugh, the way you’d glanced over your shoulder as you left, flashing him one last smile.

He’d learned later, when you became a regular, that this was just you. Full of energy, full of light. But that first meeting stayed with him, a snapshot of you permanently etched into his memory.

The fifth time you came into the café, the heat outside was so stifling that not even the air conditioner could stop the sweat from rolling down Wonwoo’s temples. By then, he’d learned so much about you in the smallest of ways. Your usual drink had changed once—just once—during a brutal heatwave, and you’d swapped it out for an iced Americano, claiming it “felt like a personality betrayal.” He’d learned you liked your pastries warmed, but not too warm, and that you loved to read but always left your books with bent corners, something that made him wince and you laugh.

And he’d learned your name.

That was the first barrier you broke—offering your name with a playful smile as he handed you your drink. “You’ve been calling me ‘matcha latte’ in your head this whole time, haven’t you?” you teased.

He’d stumbled over his words, his ears turning red, and you’d laughed again, your name falling so naturally from your lips it stuck in his mind immediately.

The tenth time you came into the café, you weren’t alone. It was mid-afternoon, the sun cutting through the windows in golden slants, and you’d arrived with a small group of friends. You were louder than usual, laughing as one of them tripped over the step leading inside, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the space like a melody he didn’t know he was waiting to hear.

Wonwoo had been at the counter, trying not to look too eager as you approached with your friends in tow. You gestured to him with a grin so familiar now that it still caught him off guard. “Guys, this is Wonwoo—the guy who knows everything I like.”

The way you said it was so casual, so effortless, but it felt like a stone dropping into the still waters of his chest. He had to steady his hands against the register, swallowing against the sudden rush of warmth that bloomed under his collar.

Your friends turned to him, smiling, teasing, offering their own introductions, but Wonwoo’s attention was already elsewhere. His gaze flickered to you, watching as you pulled a menu from the holder, furrowing your brows as you skimmed it even though you already knew what you wanted.

One of your friends—a tall, confident woman with a sharp laugh—leaned on the counter, fixing him with a playful smirk. “So, Wonwoo,” she said, drawing out his name like it was something fragile. “What’s your secret? How’d you win her over?” She tilted her head toward you, and your other friends chuckled in agreement.

Wonwoo glanced at you, hoping for a lifeline, but you only laughed, waving a hand in dismissal. “He didn’t win me over,” you said, still focused on the menu. “He just knows my coffee order by heart. That’s all it takes to impress me, apparently.”

You said it so lightly, but something in the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for a fleeting second before turning back to the menu made his heart stutter.

“Still,” your friend pressed, undeterred. “Knowing what someone likes—that’s a skill. So, what’s my vibe, Wonwoo?”

He barely heard the question. His eyes stayed locked on you as you laughed at another friend’s joke, your smile softening as you leaned back in your chair. You looked so at ease, so at home in this tiny café, and for a brief, unguarded moment, something in Wonwoo let itself imagine.

Not the café, but a quiet kitchen. Not you at a table with friends, but you sitting across from him, your head tilted as you teased him about his plain food choices. He imagined mornings with you in your pajamas, evenings with you curled up on the couch, the easy rhythm of a life spent together.

It was absurd, of course. He barely knew you, beyond the drinks you liked and the way you always tucked your hair behind your ear when you laughed too hard. But the idea lingered, like the scent of your perfume, sweet and impossible to ignore.

Your friend was still talking, still trying to catch his attention, but Wonwoo only nodded politely, his gaze drifting back to you. You caught his eye and grinned, holding up the menu. “I’ll just have my usual, Wonwoo,” you said, your voice lilting with familiarity.

He nodded, retreating to the safety of the espresso machine, where he could steady his hands and pretend he wasn’t imagining a life that wasn’t his to dream of.

A year after you’d first stepped into the café, you weren’t just a regular; you were the regular. Everyone knew your name, your order, your quirks, but somehow, you’d made it a habit to linger at the counter and talk to him.

It had been a slower afternoon, a rare lull in the usual rush, and you were perched on one of the stools by the register (a part of Wonwoo wondered if you left your usual seat in the corner for him). You twirled your straw absentmindedly in your drink (“surprise me,” you had stated matter-of-factly as you dropped a tote overflowing with papers at your feet. Wonwoo made you a caramel brulee latte, just as sweet as you), a slight frown tugging at your lips as you stared at your laptop screen.

“Another paper?” Wonwoo asked, glancing over as he wiped down the counter.

“Dissertation,” you groaned, dragging the word out dramatically. “The Implications of Procedural Justice on Environmental Law Compliance. Doesn’t it sound riveting?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “It… sounds like a lot.”

“You can just say it’s boring,” you laughed, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “But it’s not, really. It’s actually pretty interesting once you get into it. You know, how people are more likely to follow laws when they feel like the process is fair? I’m focusing on corporate compliance in environmental policy.”

He nodded, genuinely intrigued. “That actually sounds… important.”

You paused, blinking up at him, and then smiled. “See, this is why I like talking to you. You don’t just nod and tune me out—you actually listen.”

Wonwoo felt his chest tighten at your words, his fingers gripping the edge of the cloth he was holding. He ducked his head slightly, focusing on the counter. “Well, you make it easy to listen,” he said softly.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before leaning forward on the counter, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Okay, your turn. I always tell you what I’m up to—what about you? What’s Wonwoo’s big dream?”

He hesitated, caught off guard. “I, uh… I study literature,” he admitted finally, his ears burning. “I want to teach one day. Maybe at a university.”

Your face lit up. “Wait, that’s so cool! What kind of literature?”

“Modern, mostly,” he said, relaxing slightly under your genuine interest. “I’ve been working on a thesis about the intersection of memory and identity in postwar fiction.”

Your eyes lit up, the exhaustion slipping from your features for a moment. “No way! Okay, you’re officially not allowed to judge me for being a nerd anymore.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever judged you,” he replied, his voice quieter now.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sudden weight of his words hung between you for just a moment too long. Your lips quirked upward, something unreadable flickering across your face, before you leaned back. “Thanks for the drink, Wonwoo,” you said softly, brushing your fingers over the counter before packing your bag.

It wasn’t until later that night, long after you’d left, that Wonwoo let himself linger on the memory. You’d never said his name like that before, soft and deliberate, like you were testing how it felt. He couldn’t help but replay the way your lips had curved around the syllables, how you’d looked at him like he wasn’t just another barista in another café.

For the first time, the thought crept in, unbidden but relentless: This could be something.

It was absurd, of course. You were you—full of life and light, with dreams bigger than the small confines of this café. And he was… just him. But he couldn’t stop the quiet ache that spread through his chest, the flicker of a hope he knew he had no right to hold.

He glanced toward the window, where the neon café sign reflected against the glass. It reminded him of a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark, and he wondered if you could feel it too—that pull, that something unspoken lingering between you.

It had been a slow evening at the café, the kind of night where the clock ticked louder than the murmur of customers, and the air was thick with the scent of coffee grounds and faint traces of sugar. Wonwoo was wiping down the tables, his mind half-focused on the task, when the chime of the door pulled his gaze upward.

It was you, of course.

You always showed up at odd hours, just as the café was starting to empty, like you knew he’d have more time to talk to you then. Tonight, you were bundled in a scarf that swallowed half your face, your nose pink from the cold. You waved at him as you approached the counter, your eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing he wished he could control.

“Hi, Wonwoo,” you greeted, pulling the scarf down. Your breath puffed out in little clouds. “I swear it’s colder in here than it is outside. What’s a girl gotta do to get some hot chocolate around here?”

He smiled softly, already reaching for the cocoa powder. “You could ask nicely.”

“I could,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But it’s more fun to whine about it.”

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head as he worked. He knew your drink by heart now: extra whipped cream, a dusting of cinnamon, and just a hint of vanilla. It wasn’t on the menu, but he made it for you anyway, the way he always did.

“Late night studying again?” he asked as he set the mug in front of you.

You groaned dramatically. “Dissertations are evil, Wonwoo. Did you know that? If I don’t turn into a husk of a human being by the time I finish this, it’ll be a miracle.”

“What’s the topic again?”

“Corporate compliance in environmental policy.” You said it like the words physically pained you. “Which, by the way, sounded way cooler in my head when I picked it.”

Wonwoo nodded, leaning against the counter as you took your first sip of hot chocolate. He’d heard you talk about your dissertation before, but he never got tired of it. There was something about the way you got so animated, even when you were complaining, that made him want to listen forever.

“You’ll do great,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him then, your smile soft, almost shy. “Thanks, Wonwoo. That means a lot.”

The café was nearly empty now, the last few customers filtering out as the night dragged on. But you stayed, your mug cradled between your hands, talking about your classes and your professors and the funny thing that happened on the bus earlier. Wonwoo didn’t care that his shift technically ended ten minutes ago. He didn’t care that he still had cleaning to do. All he cared about was the way your laugh filled the quiet spaces around him, the way your eyes sparkled when you told a story.

He felt it again, let himself imagine it —something more. Something real.

It was a dangerous thought, one that he tried to push away as soon as it surfaced. But he couldn’t help it. Not when you were sitting there, looking at him like he was someone worth talking to, someone worth spending time with.

The sound of your phone buzzing broke the moment. You glanced at the screen, your expression softening as you read the message.

“Gotta head out,” you said, standing and wrapping your scarf around your neck again. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Wonwoo. You’re the best.”

He watched as you walked toward the door, his heart sinking just a little. And then, just before you left, you turned back, flashing him one last smile.

“See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, his voice catching in his throat. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

The door closed behind you, and for a long moment, Wonwoo stood there, staring at the empty table where you’d been sitting. The mug was still there, half-finished, a little smudge of whipped cream on the rim.

Foolishly, Wonwoo let himself hope.

The crash of dishes from the kitchen startles Wonwoo out of his daze. You’re sitting in your usual spot, tucked into the corner by the window, but the air around you feels different now. Electric. It’s him, of course—the man sitting across from you, the one who pulled him aside earlier with a conspiratorial grin and a velvet box. The one who makes your smile light up in ways Wonwoo knows he could never match.

His fingers tighten around the edge of the counter as he watches you laugh, your head tilting back slightly, the sunlight catching in your hair just so. It’s the kind of moment he’s witnessed a thousand times before, but now, there’s someone else at the center of it. Someone who isn’t him.

The ache in his chest feels almost physical, and he forces himself to look away before the bitterness creeping up his throat can take hold. Instead, he busies himself with the mundane—wiping the counter, rearranging sugar packets, anything to keep his hands moving. But it doesn’t stop the sound of your laughter from reaching him, soft and bright and devastatingly familiar.

It’s unfair, he thinks, how easily Minghao fits into your world. The way he leans across the table to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, or the way you reach out instinctively to steady his coffee cup before it tips. These little moments, so effortlessly intimate, feel like tiny fractures in the armor Wonwoo has spent years building around his heart.

When Minghao glances over, catching Wonwoo’s eye with a small, polite nod, Wonwoo musters a tight smile in return. It’s not the man’s fault, after all. Minghao seems kind, thoughtful, genuine. Everything you deserve.

Wonwoo turns back toward the espresso machine, letting the whir of the grinder drown out the sound of your voice. He doesn’t want to hear it—not when it’s directed at someone else.

But before today, there was another moment. The first time you brought Minghao to the café—a moment that still plays in his mind like a film reel stuck on loop.

It was raining that afternoon, the kind of heavy downpour that made people huddle under umbrellas and rush through the streets. You’d come in with someone trailing behind you, your laughter cutting through the sound of raindrops pelting the windows.

“Wonwoo!” you’d called out, shaking water from your coat. “Two coffees, please—my usual and whatever this guy wants.”

Wonwoo glanced up from the register, his gaze landing first on you, and then on the man at your side. Minghao, you’d introduced him as, your voice warm and easy. A friend, you’d said. Just a friend.

But even then, something about the way Minghao looked at you—like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing—set Wonwoo on edge.

As he worked, he could hear snippets of your conversation, your voice rising and falling in that familiar cadence he’d come to associate with comfort. Minghao was quieter, his words measured, his tone soft, but there was something about him that made Wonwoo’s stomach twist.

When he brought the drinks to your table, you’d looked up at him with that smile, the one that had always felt like it was just for him.

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you’d said, your fingers brushing his briefly as you took the cup.

But then Minghao had thanked him too, his voice kind and unassuming, and Wonwoo had felt the ground shift beneath him.

For the rest of your visit, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting toward your table. You and Minghao talked and laughed, completely at ease with one another, and for the first time, Wonwoo felt like an intruder in the space he’d always considered yours and his.

When you left, you’d waved at him from the door, your grin as bright as ever. Minghao had followed you out, holding the door open with an easy grace that only deepened the pit in Wonwoo’s stomach.

It was the first time he realized that he wasn’t the only one who could make you smile.

The café had been alive with its usual mid-morning hum—quiet chatter from the tables, the clang of dishes in the kitchen, and the steady hiss of the espresso machine. Wonwoo had been at the counter, lost in the familiar rhythm of his work, when he heard it.

“Iced americano, please,” Minghao had said, his voice calm, self-assured, the kind of voice that felt effortless.

Wonwoo’s hand had faltered mid-pour, his grip tightening on the milk pitcher as the words registered. Iced americano? For you?

He had risked a glance toward your usual table, tucked into the corner by the window, and his chest had tightened painfully. You were there, as always, smiling, leaning forward with your chin resting on your hand. But it was different this time. The warmth of your smile wasn’t aimed at him. It was Minghao who was sitting across from you, soaking it all in. Minghao who had ordered for you.

Wonwoo had turned back to his work, trying to focus on the drink in front of him. It didn’t make sense. You hated iced americanos. He remembered the way you’d scrunched your nose the first time he had offered you one, teasing him mercilessly. “How can you drink that stuff, Wonwoo? It tastes like regret.” Your voice had been playful, your laugh easy, and he had stored that moment away like a keepsake.

But now, here you were, nodding along as Minghao ordered for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wonwoo had finished pouring the latte in front of him, but his hands had felt mechanical, detached from the rest of him. He had barely registered the weight of the drink as he placed it on the counter.

When Minghao set the iced americano in front of you, his hand had brushed yours briefly before he sat down. Wonwoo had watched as your smile softened, as you wrapped your fingers around the cup like it was something you had been craving. And then you’d laughed, the sound light and melodic, and said, “You know me best, love.”

Wonwoo’s heart had plummeted. He had gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white, the world tilting beneath his feet. The words echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving.

You know me best.

He had turned away, pretending to busy himself with the next order. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you smiling at Minghao, couldn’t unhear the way you had said those words with such tender conviction.

The latte he had poured earlier had gone untouched, forgotten. Wonwoo had stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of his longing pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

It was in that moment he had felt it—the quiet, gut-wrenching realization that he was losing you. Or maybe, he thought bitterly, he had never really had you at all.

It had started gradually, so slowly that Wonwoo hadn’t noticed at first. But one day, it hit him all at once, an unbearable weight that left him breathless.

The café wasn’t yours anymore.

It was yours and Minghao’s.

Wonwoo had watched from behind the counter as the two of you settled into your usual corner table. It had been your favorite spot for as long as he could remember, tucked away by the window where the sunlight streamed in just right. But now, it wasn’t just yours. Minghao was there, always, his presence seamless, like he belonged there with you.

You were sitting closer to him than you ever had to anyone else. Your shoulders almost touched, your hands occasionally brushing as you talked. Minghao had leaned over at one point, whispering something in your ear, and you had laughed—soft and sweet, the kind of laugh that used to belong to Wonwoo’s mornings.

He had turned away, pretending to be busy wiping down the counter, but his ears had caught every word of your conversation.

“Do you think we’ll need more space if we get two dogs?” Minghao had asked, his voice playful, teasing.

Wonwoo’s hands had stilled, the cloth hanging limply in his grasp. His heart had tightened painfully in his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening.

“Maybe,” you replied, your laughter light and carefree. “But only if you’re okay with them taking over your meditation spot.”

Minghao’s voice warm and steady. “Guess we’ll have to buy that house on the prairie sooner than later, huh?”

Wonwoo had turned his back to you then, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He had clutched the counter like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground, trying to drown out the image of you and Minghao planning a future together. A house. Dogs. A life so vividly painted that it felt like a cruel joke.

The café had always been a sanctuary for him, a place where you existed in the quiet corners of his life. But now, it felt foreign, a space where he no longer belonged. It was your spot now, not his.

He had overheard snippets of your plans, dreams spoken aloud with an ease that tore at him. Every word had been a reminder that he was on the outside looking in, that he was just the quiet boy behind the counter who made your coffee exactly the way you liked it.

The café had once been the place where you smiled at him like he was the only person in the world. Now, it was the place where he watched you fall in love with someone else.

He had stood there, surrounded by the hum of conversations and the clatter of dishes, feeling like a ghost haunting his own memories.

It’s cruel, how easily Minghao trusted him with this moment. How he asked Wonwoo, like it was nothing, to hide the ring in the dessert he’s delivering now. As if his hands weren’t trembling as he plated it, as if his chest wasn’t heavy with the weight of knowing this is the last piece of you he’ll ever get to hold.

The plate feels heavier than it should as he carries it to your table. He’s aware of every step, of every breath, as if his body is moving through molasses. The dessert—a slice of tiramisu, your favorite—rests delicately in his hands, but it feels like a cruel joke now. A symbol of everything he’ll never be.

Your laughter rings out as he approaches, light and melodic, and he wonders if it’s the last time he’ll hear it like this—so free, so untouched by the gravity of the moment about to unfold. Minghao’s hand rests casually on the table, his fingers inches from yours, and Wonwoo can’t help but notice the way you lean into his presence like it’s second nature. Like it’s home.

He sets the plate down in front of you with practiced ease, though his hands still shake when he pulls away.

“Here you go,” he says, his voice steadier than he expected. “Enjoy.”

You look up at him then, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you smile. “Thanks, Wonwoo.”

His name on your lips is both a balm and a wound, and for a moment, he thinks he might shatter under the weight of it. But he nods, retreating to the counter where he can watch from a safe distance, where he can fall apart in silence.

You don’t notice the ring at first. You’re too busy teasing Minghao about stealing a bite before you’ve even had a chance to dig in. But then, your fork clinks against something, and you pause, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What’s this?” you murmur, carefully pulling the ring free from its hiding place.

Minghao is already on his feet, rounding the table to kneel beside you. The café seems to hold its breath as he takes your hand, his eyes shining with a mix of nerves and affection.

Wonwoo looks away.

He doesn’t need to see it. The proposal. The way your face lights up as realization dawns. The way Minghao’s words tumble out in a rush, practiced yet trembling with sincerity. He doesn’t need to watch you say yes.

But the sound reaches him anyway. Your gasp, the hitch in your voice, the soft “Oh my God, yes,” that shatters the fragile cocoon he’s wrapped himself in. He doesn’t need to watch as you throw your arms around Minghao, your laughter spilling over like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Wonwoo keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, his hands clutching at the edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. He busies himself with wiping a nonexistent stain, scrubbing at the surface with the ferocity of someone trying to erase something far more permanent.

The café erupts into applause, a ripple of congratulations that echoes around him. He forces himself to glance up, just once, because some part of him craves the closure, even as it twists the knife deeper.

There you are, in Minghao’s arms, your face pressed against his shoulder as you laugh through your tears. The ring glints on your finger—a promise, a future, a life that will never include him. He looks away again, but it doesn’t help. The image is burned into his mind, an afterimage of something he never truly had but still somehow feels like he’s lost.

Wonwoo wonders if this is how it will always feel. If he’ll spend the rest of his life haunted by the ghost of what could have been. If every slice of tiramisu he plates will carry the faint echo of this moment, of your laughter and Minghao’s smile and the unbearable weight of knowing he helped make it all possible.

He hears you call his name, bright and warm and unknowing, and he turns automatically, his heart betraying him even now. You’re holding up your hand, showing him the ring, and your joy is blinding.

“Wonwoo, can you believe it?!” you exclaim, your voice ringing with the kind of happiness that should be infectious, but only makes his chest ache.

His smile is reflexive, a practiced thing, and it feels like it might crack under the pressure. “Congratulations,” he says, the word catching slightly in his throat. “I’m really happy for you.”

You beam at him, and he thinks, not for the first time, how cruel it is to love someone who has no idea they’re breaking you - your smile is everything he ever wanted but could never have.

Later, when the café is empty and the lights are dimmed, Wonwoo sits at one of the corner tables, staring at the spot where you and Minghao had sat. He imagines you there, still laughing, still radiant.

And for a moment, he thinks he sees it in the reflection of the glass—the ghost of a love he never had, far off in the distance. It glows brightly, just out of reach, always just beyond his fingertips. And he, the fool, has spent what feels like his whole life chasing it, pretending he could make it his.

The tiramisu was perfect. The moment was perfect. Everything unfolded exactly as it should have.

And yet, Wonwoo sits there, alone, with the unbearable weight of knowing that some dreams were never meant to be more than that—dreams.

The café feels colder now, emptier somehow, and for the first time, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to find warmth here again. He feels the truth settle over him like the weight of an old, forgotten grief:

You were never meant to be his.

Not really.

Not ever.

271 notes · View notes

solvyn · 2 months ago

Note

i just know melo is the type of guy to always go on about how fine his girl is

oh nonnie you are so right

melo didn’t just think you were beautiful—he knew it. and he made sure everyone else knew it too.

it wasn’t just the way he looked at you, though that was obvious. his eyes would track your every move, dark and full of something almost worshipful. it wasn’t just the way he touched you, either - fingers always tracing along your waist, pulling you into his side, his hands splayed possessively over your hips like he had to remind everyone you were his.

it was the way he talked about you.

“nah, you don’t get it, bro,” melo would say, cutting off whoever was talking to him just to steer the conversation back to you. “like, she’s actually the baddest. y’all ever just seen a girl so fine it makes you mad? that’s my girl. it’s actually unfair.”

and it wasn’t just in private, either. oh no, melo was loud about his love. if someone so much as glanced at you the wrong way, he’d throw an arm over your shoulder and kiss the side of your head.

“she fine, huh?” he’d smirk at the poor soul who got caught looking. “yeah, i know. that’s mine, though.”

at home, it was even worse.

“damn, babe, you tryna kill me?” he’d groan dramatically when you walked into the room, even if you were just in sweats and a hoodie. “you just wake up this perfect, huh? that’s crazy. you gotta stop doing this to me.”

“melo, i’m literally in pajamas.”

“yeah, and you still the baddest. that’s wild.”

if you were getting ready for an event? forget it. he was on high alert, watching every little movement like you were a work of art.

“you wearing that? nah, don’t even look at me like that, i’m not tryna fight nobody tonight. matter fact, let me call security real quick—”

“melo.”

“nah, ‘melo’ nothing! you tryna give me a heart attack. i might actually have to square up with somebody over you.”

even when you thought you weren’t looking your best, melo never let that slide.

“i feel so gross today,” you muttered once, flopping onto the couch next to him.

melo immediately turned to you, offended. “nah. say that again. i dare you.”

you groaned. “melo—”

“nah, because why are you lying? you look so good right now. matter fact, come here—” he pulled you onto his lap, ignoring your weak protests as he peppered kisses along your jaw. “you the finest person i’ve ever seen, don’t play with me.”

it was constant. the compliments, the obsession, the way he made it painfully clear to everyone—including you—that you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

you would roll your eyes and laugh, but deep down, it warmed you. because melo didn’t just love you—he adored you. and he wasn’t afraid to let the whole world know.

#lamelo ball #lamelo ball fic #lamelo ball imagine #lamelo ball x yn #lamelo ball x reader

210 notes · View notes

thatlittlered · 1 year ago

Text

would've, could've, should've | aaron hotchner

warning(s): one whole curse word, smoking, stunning amount of fluff and a little bit of action

GIF by @littlecarmine

part one

part two

author's note: Sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it! I also want to thank the sweet anon for the ask with the Robert Siken poem, which I included here. Next part will be straight-up filthy smut, so stay tuned, fellow sluts.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

You don’t see much of each other for the next couple of days. Aaron is on autopilot, avoiding any chance to be alone with you. The rest of the team unknowingly act as a buffer and all he has to do is not look at you during work hours, keep the door to his office shut to not hear your laughter.

It’s a relief when you and Morgan are called to testify in court for a case. You’re somewhere far away for the day, where he knows you’re safe and he can go back to pretending nothing has changed.

The problems start when he’s not being kept busy.

How much paperwork can one person do?

The stars align oddly in his favor and he’s into calls or meetings until long after everyone else has gone home. When ten pm rolls around, he finally calls it quits but sees no point in leaving in a hurry. It’s past Jack’s bed time, it’d be cruel to wake him up now and carry him back home when tomorrow’s Sunday. If all goes well, he can pick him in the morning and they’ll get to spend the day together.

His finger is hovering over Jessica’s number when he spots your name in his call logs. It’s silly and childish, but he hasn’t thought of you in a couple of hours and God.

Deep down, he knows he’s been incredibly unfair to you. He had to. Had to tell himself it was something outside of him causing him torment. An obstacle to overcome, a distraction to ignore. He had to act as if you were forcing your way into his life in order to be able to put up walls, but what have you really done except exist near him? He is the one to blame for allowing it to grow beneath his skin; succumbing to his need for some sort of intimacy when he could have -should have- nipped this at the bud a very long time ago. He recognized it within himself the other day, when he realized he could have -should have- kissed you.

But nothing is healed with a kiss. Only new grievances arise.

It’s where you go from there that matters and he finds himself unable to guide or be guided.

Where do you go from here?

When he decides to feed his insomnia with a cup of late-night coffee, he is yet again reminded of you. So, he calls, but you don’t answer and he pours another, completely indifferent to the idea of sleep.

It’s getting too late to be here, even by his standards. He tries calling again, but, no answer. He gathers his stuff to leave and there is a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach when he settles inside the car. It’s only eleven and you always say you never sleep this early.

Another call, this time to Emily, who miraculously, picks up.

“Hello? Hotch?”

There is a deafening buzz in the background; loud voices and music blasting.

Aaron apologizes for the late hour and tries to be discreet when he asks about you. Says he needs to go over something about a case file but you won’t answer his calls and he got worried.

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s right here with me, but it’s a little hard to get her right now. Is it urgent?”

“Uh, no, don’t bother her. Is everyone else there too?”

“Not everyone, just the two of us, Garcia and Morgan. Do you need them as well?”

You didn’t invite him, why would you? He would have never said yes.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t make out much with all this noise. We’re at the ‘Matter’ if you need us. I’ll tell the guys to call you as soon as they can, okay? Have a good night.”

So, he drives two miles a little before midnight to come sit outside ‘Matter’, which is apparently a very busy nightclub downtown, half a mile away from the nearest parking spot he could find.

He doesn’t really know why he came.

He can’t come in and join you. Can’t ask for you.

They probably wouldn’t even let him in while dressed like this.

It’s very unclear what the next step is.

He knows it’s pointless to call you again when you’re probably too busy dancing and drinking with a great many people who are not him. Morgan has some trouble keeping his hands to himself when he drinks.

He sits on the curb of the street, cracks open the pack of cigarettes he snack out of the car’s glove compartment, always hidden below the insurance papers. Astoundingly loud music plays every time the doors to the club open and people come out stumbling, kissing sloppily and dragging each other away.

He just wants to see you and put this horrible feeling inside him to rest.

“No fucking way.”

He jolts at the sound of your voice and throws away the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe before he turns to see you standing outside the club. You approach timidly until you can be sure it’s him and when you step closer to the streetlight, he can really see you. The clothes you could never wear to work, the shoes you apparently spend all your money on. You’re beautiful.

He can’t possibly move until you’re sat beside him. For the first time in what seems like forever, now that he’s grown so used to it, you keep a very respectable distance between your bodies.

“You didn’t have to throw it away; I already saw you and,” you pick up the abandoned carton from the sidewalk and almost laugh at how immaculate it looks just having been opened, “I have so many questions. Since when do you smoke?”

His voice is quiet, unamused.

“Almost never.”

You look at him curiously and he thinks you would make a great interrogator simply by the way you make everyone around you spill their souls out if it will satisfy you.

“Sometimes when I’m very stressed.”

You hum, “I never would have guessed that.”

He laughs to himself and looks at his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of things that are not typical of me lately.”

You help yourself to a cigarette and he cups his hand over yours when the breeze makes it too hard to light up.

“Is that because of me? Am I a bad influence?”

“No. It’s me, I’m the common denominator.”

You hum again and smile at him teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Breakthrough.”

“So, this is what therapy is like?”

He wants to thank you, for always trying to make things as easy as possible for him. You open the door and difficult as it may seem, all he really has to do is walk through it.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t smoke in session.”

“Oh good.”

You’re sitting closer again and Aaron doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think either of you moved. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him, glances at you only from the corner of his eye. Your perfume mingles with the smoke of the cigarette and it’s all a haze to him.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I needed a breath; it was very loud and packed in there… and I finally saw your calls.”

He hums, unable to find anything else to say.

“Why are you here?

“I don’t know.”

He knows that is not a good enough of an answer.

“I always have this terrible feeling that something is going to happen to you.”

Your shoulder touches his and he can admire the smoothness of it, focus on each mark there to avoid the dreaded eye contact.

“Do you think that fear is reasonable, or is it rooted in something else?’

His eyes shut tightly, “Don’t do that, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a subject.”

“You use your ‘agent tone’ all the time outside of work.”

His voice deepens, “I am aware.”

Heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry I did all that and then backed out at the last minute.”

“It’s alright. I think I knew you would.”

“See, that’s even worse.”

You look at his suit, the wrinkles that have formed in the shirt underneath from the hours of wear.

“Did you come here straight from the office?”

A sigh, “Yeah.”

You nod your head in understanding and move to put out what’s left of the cigarette.

“I’m alright. I’ve got the others too; they’ll take me home. You can relax now.”

“I don’t think I ever can.”

You don’t know what to say really. If what he needs is time, you can give it, but he seems undecided as well when he picks up your hand.

“I think I’m scared of what will happen once the line is crossed.”

A confession.

That, you did not expect.

“Aside from the complications at work, I just,” his hand rubs gently on the spot your watch has left its mark, “I have proved time and time again that I can’t handle any relationship beyond professionalism and once we stop being just colleagues, I will lose you completely from my life.”

“Do you think that line has not been crossed already?”

He laughs quietly.

You can both feel the bouncer looking at you and Aaron is suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now.

“I guess it has.”

You’re both quiet for a little while.

“I have to go back inside now, or they’ll start getting worried.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you were here.”

That hurt. You know it, but what else was there to say?

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll know.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before you leave and he’s left staring while you go back inside.

-.-.-

A little past two, the girls drop you off in a shared cub before going their separate ways and you rush to your apartment building, only to find Aaron waiting there.

“Well, you certainly have a thing for sitting on curbs.”

He looks tired, so tired, and alone in the empty street. It’s very hard to maintain your position when he always looks this beaten down in his most tender moments. You wish to care for him, love him back into happiness but that wouldn’t be fair.

Still, you can’t help but go to him and he is relieved that you sit closer this time.

“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

You softly take his right hand to look at his watch. His body relaxes at the touch.

“Huh.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little more drunk than the last time you saw me.”

Your skin glows under the soft moonlight and he notices.

It is technically tomorrow now.

“How drunk?”

His face moves closer and you can’t help but shiver at the sudden change. His breath is warm on your face. The words come out in a whisper.

“Not that much.”

That’s all it takes.

His lips press against yours once… then twice and then… he doesn’t stop.

You always thought he’d be one to kiss carefully and with absolute purpose, just like he does everything else, but he kisses like a man on fire. He seeks to quench something deep inside of him and you provide happily. The remnants of your lip gloss tingle on his mouth, as if kissing you alone is not enough of an awakening.

It’s becoming increasingly hard to keep up with breathing when he envelops you so, and cages you in the pleasant whirl of his scent. When you break away for breath, he’s quick to capture you once more. His hands come to your face to keep you there until he’s had enough, but how he can he ever have enough of you?

He only lets you go because he has to. You’re both practically panting and he can’t decide what to do. He wants to kiss you, look at you, touch you, but it cannot all be done at once. When your own hand comes to his face just below his jawline, he melts under the touch. His eyes are sunken, his body is begging for rest, but it would not come without you.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

His voice is low and breathy when he nods.

“Yeah…”

-.-.-

You walk upstairs, hand in hand, and Aaron can see your own exhaustion is taking over. Something started with that first touch. Your bodies wish only to find comfort near each other.

His breath is warm on your neck while you open the door, his hands softly placed on your waist with the excuse of keeping you steady. When you move to take off your shoes, he is behind you again, as if tied to you with invisible thread, and holds you gently by the elbow when he sees you struggling.

You’re suddenly very aware he is in your house again. Touching you.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head no, but you’re too focused on the way his hand moves languidly up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

He is so caring. So soft below the austere guise.

“I just need to take a shower,” you almost stumble backward and he thinks it’s the alcohol, but it might just be the feeling of his hands on your face, “I must have fifty different people’s sweat on me right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

His voice is soft – tired.

You turn on the lights for him in the living room and he gives a half-smile when you check on him again.

“I won’t be long.”

Once left alone, he gets to look around your house. He sees your carefully assorted nick-knacks and smiles at the framed pictures all over your bookshelves. He can’t help but notice you’ve chosen one, if not the only, photo of the team that he’s also part of.

He is important to you too.

He can see you in every corner of the room, in the books you buy and the realistic-looking-but-admittedly-fake plants sprinkled here and there for a lack of time to take care of any real ones. He can even see you in the soft material of the couch when he sits and lets his cheek touch the fabric. He has been here before in a dream, with your head in his lap.

The room is awfully quiet save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water in the background. For a man that’s usually so good at sitting alone with his thoughts, he suddenly can’t stand it.

He knocks gently on the bathroom door and opens it slowly, only to be hit with the dizzying cloud of warm steam. Your head peeks behind the shower curtain and he can tell you got tired of standing and sat in the tub instead.

“Is it okay if I sit in here with you?”

You thought he’d sit on the toilet seat, but he crawls to the edge of the tub and sits on the bathmat with his back to you.

How close is close enough?

Now that he’s ventured, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.

So, he closes his eyes and rests his head back on the, now warm, porcelain.

“Aaron.”

He doesn’t know if he actually fell asleep, but the water is now turned off and you’re looking at him. He realizes now, for the first time, that you’re naked behind him. Your hair and eyelashes are angelically wet, the sheen of water on your flushed skin is divine. He knows that you’d be warm if he touched you now.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

You smile at him -siren- and your hand grabs a handful of his shirt, staining it with water that reaches his body underneath and makes him shiver. You kiss him with plump wet lips and he reaches for you. His hand entangles in your hair until you’re both practically pulling at each other.

A less enamored man would have broken away just to sneak a peek at your bare skin, but he won’t. He is respectful even now, even like this.

“I should have kissed you the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

It’s a whisper when his mouth leaves yours, but you catch it.

You hum, eyes glossy, “Would've, could've, should’ve.”

What matters is now.

He kisses you again – just one more time. You both feel like giddy, lovesick children.

“Can you hand me my bathrobe?”

The bathrobe is also impossibly soft to the touch and when you emerge clad in it, he thinks he’d like to hold you. The spell of the warm steam is broken outside, however, and being so close to your naked body suddenly becomes very serious.

You let him sit in your bed, still fully clothed, save for his suit jacket, and he closes his eyes again. The comforter underneath is lovely.

Is everything in this house soft?

Is this what it feels like to be loved by you?

You disappear inside the walk-in closet and reappear, now properly dressed in your pajamas. The bed dips when you sit next to him and he turns to you completely.

“I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, don’t know about pants though.”

Please. Just be here, with him.

He watches you leave, but it’s not long before you return with the aforementioned shirt. You laugh when he finally realizes he’ll have to sleep in his boxers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you.”

He throws a teasing look, but can’t possibly come up with a clever answer right now.

“I’ll go dry my hair and you can get dressed, alright?”

You are so gentle with your guidance that it makes him feel like a helpless child, but there’s a hidden relief at that. It’s nice; being cared for like this and there is something to be said about parallels, with you going now to do as you had done a week and a half ago in a Florida hotel and him waiting for you – on your bed.

It’s the same, but it’s different.

He hangs his work clothes carefully on the chair in the corner of your room and goes to sit on the bed, but feels too uncomfortable to climb under the covers. He knows you’d find his duality funny; how he goes from hungrily kissing you to being too embarrassed to join you in bed, even if it’s only for sleep.

You notice his stiffness when you come back in the room, but don’t say anything. It’s not exactly easy for you either, you’re just better at hiding it than he is. You choose to lead by example instead and turn off the lights before reaching for the one on your nightstand and climbing inside your bedding.

He only speaks to deflect attention from him again, “You have a TV in your room.”

“Jealous?”

He turns to look at you and you’re perched up on the plump pillows, smiling at him. Your hand reaches for his own over the comforter and you gently pull him to you.

He comes, of course.

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Of course you don’t.”

He joins you with his back on the pillows and his shoulder touching yours, but he’s still too stiff.

“What do you watch?”

“Mostly reruns of sitcoms-,” he laughs at that, “-Seinfeld.”

“Isn’t that show a thousand years old?

“You would know.”

He laughs again and you can almost make out a wounded pout on his face, but a kiss is enough of a cure. His shoulders relax and he gives in to the warmth and softness; be it the bed or you next to him. You can tell he’s barely managing to stay awake, but he still can’t let go completely. His head slumps backward again.

“Can we turn it on?”

You find the courage to caress his hair, admiring the softness of it and the discreet sprinkle of grey that you can only see up close.

“If you want.”

The quiet humming of the television and your breath in his ear, putting his mind to ease, are enough for him to finally sleep and you’re not long behind. His head is turned to the side where you are, hand tightly holding yours.

Later in the night, when you stir in your sleep, he pulls you further into him – wraps his arm around you completely and doesn’t let go.

next part

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #thomas gibson

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hukelughes · 3 months ago

Note

your writing of frat luke made me think about frat quinn (which we don't see a lot i feel like)

can you maybe write something about a situationship with him

You nod along to what he’s saying, an easy smile on your face. You like him, he’s easy to talk to, knows exactly what to say at the right time, and wants to know you. He’s exactly the person who you should want.

“So, I just eat shit down this hill as like ten scouts are looking straight at me, I’ve never been so embarrassed.” He laughs, putting his face in his hands, shoulders shaking as he recalls the moment.

Your smile slowly fades as you give him a fake laugh, something you’ve perfected these last few dates.

“This guy puts his stick in front of my legs, and I fall down, y’know, like eat complete shit down to the ice as everyone’s watching me. My coaches, the scouts, my parents, my brothers. I swear if anyone ever finds that clip, I’m retiring and moving to the Galapagos to become a fucking biologist.”

You burst out laughing, head falling back as he watches you with a soft look in his eye. “Oh my God, do you even have a biology degree?”

“Nope, I quit college in my second year and was a Sports Management major. I would be fired on my first day, I think.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. The other one was gently holding your waist, with your bodies facing each other and your faces closer than ever.

“Aw, well it’s a good thing you’re making it big now, huh?” You mumble, looking down at his lips. You’re not being subtle, giving him hints about what you want for about an hour now. “Quinn, can we go back to your place?”

“Yeah? You wanna go back to mine?”

Nodding, you lean forward enough that your breathing lands directly on his lips. “Yeah.”

He breaks the distance, hands now going to cradle each side of your face. Your lips meet for the first time, immediately tasting the beer he’d been drinking. Putting your fingers in his belt loops, you pull him even closer, if that was even possible. Your tongues brush against each other as you both fight to lead. It’s messy, passionate, euphoric, and you don’t know if any other man could kiss you like Quinn Hughes.

“Are you listening? Hello?” He snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of the memory.

“Yeah, sorry, your story just reminded me of something someone told me.” You grimaced, looking down to fiddle with your rings.

“How about we cut this date short and just go right to the good stuff, huh?”

His words send a cold chill through you, instantly waking you up from whatever trance you were in. “Sorry?”

“What, you don’t want to fuck me, baby?”

“Not really, no. I’m just going to go now, if that’s okay?” Without waiting for his answer, you grab your jacket and your bag. You can hear him calling after you as you walk towards the exit. Once you’re out in the cold Vancouver weather, you finally breathe out a sigh of relief.

Fumbling with your bag, you take your phone out and open up your contact list. You stop at ‘H’, thumb moving around in circles before you just click on it.

It rings three times before you finally hear his voice.

“Hello?” Quinn asks, his voice voicing his confusion as to why you were calling him during your date. “Y/N?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you try to gather your thoughts, before you close your eyes and let it out. “Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re still sharing your location with me right?”

“Yeah, you should see me right away,” you hear him shuffling around, presumably getting up and grabbing his keys. “He really sucked.”

“Did he?” Quinn hums, something about his tone tells you that he knew it all along. “Baby, I told you that you’re better off with me.”

“I know, I know.” You absentmindedly kick a rock into the road. “I just thought our… arrangement wasn’t working anymore. Didn’t wanna get too emotionally involved with you.”

He chuckles under his breath, “yeah, well, it’s already too late for that. Here you are calling me to rescue you from your date.”

“Shut up. I was wrong.” You concede, rolling your eyes in the process. “What’s your ETA?”

“Hm, 5 minutes I think. Should be there soon, traffic isn't bad.” He estimates it's quiet for a second before he speaks again. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours, definitely yours.”

You aren’t talking about who’s place you’re staying at tonight.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #quinn hughes #qh43 #emma’s fics

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seraphicloves · 4 months ago

Text

𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏' 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏

⊱✿⊰ summary: you're in desperate need of cash and come up with a great way to get it, even if it surprises azul

⊱✿⊰ warnings: suggestive nature, calling Azul "zuzu", fem reader w boobs, reader is yuu, references to prostitutes?, azul x yuu coded, a little bit stereotypical of guys

⊱✿⊰ notes: my sister came up w this scenario so i decided to write it! Reader is very based off of a mix of me and my sister's personality so yeah @angelssbakery

Azul Ashengrotto was a cunning man. He tried his best to remain vigilant and aware of any way he could maximize profit and stay in power. So surely, he should have thought of this before you decided to waltz into his offer and …offer yourself up for him. How improper was your homeworld to make you think this is okay?

“I just want to be paid, no trickster contracts.” You said, giving him a weak attempt at looking intimidating. Really, you were nothing more than an angry puppy in terms of strength. But for some strange reason, you were frightening. Maybe because you had taken down multiple Overblotted students - including him.

“I have stopped my selfish ways, I am now only channeling the benevolent spirit of the Sea Witch.” Azul replied calmly, trying not to show you were making him feel on edge. Why was he even entertaining this idea? You would surely cause trouble if he let you into the Monstro Lounge. You were practically a tornado, leaving only destruction in your wake.

“Well, fine.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Despite priding himself on being respectful, he couldn't help the way his eyes were drawn down to glance at your…

“Aha see!” You grinned, catching him in the act. He flushed a bright red and turned away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It's natural. Even the most gentle of gentlemen can't help it. Look at you, Mr. Formal and all.”

“You really think…exposing yourself indecently will bring in more revenue?” Azul asked, peeking a glance at you. You looked so determined, so set in your ways. It reminded him of himself, in a strange way.

“Calm down, Zuzu.” You scoffed, calling him such a casual nickname. Absently, he wondered what your previous world was like to make you so…casual with affection. “It's not like I'm trying to be a prostitute, I just want to show a little cleavage and face.”

“Stop talking so…” Azul waved his hands in front of his face, questioning if he was about to faint due to how much blood was rushing into his head. You were so..so.. entirely confident, he didn't know how you did it.

Eventually, he gave an exasperated sigh and relented, “Fine, okay. We'll let you work one shift as a trial run. If you don't make at least 50 thaumarks in tips, you can not work here.”

You grinned at him, looking ready to prove Azul very wrong.

….

“You're letting Shrimpy work here?” Floyd asked, grinning at you. You were squirming in place, suddenly regretting your decision to work here. Would Floyd squeeze you to death if you don't make enough tips?

Azul shook his head, reminiscent of a stern parent with a troublesome child. Then again, Floyd basically is a troublesome child. He's like an overeager puppy.

The Octavinelle Housewarden said, “She is in the process of getting a job here. Today is a trial run.”

To help maximize your chances for tips, you found the perfect outfit. You had a tight-fitting shirt with a low enough neckline to show some cleavage without being indecent. And you paired it with an elegant skirt. Classy but hot enough to make teenage boys drool. Your first test subjects, Jade and Floyd, were helpful in figuring out if it would work.

Jade has shamelessly looked before moving on, and Floyd was, well, Floyd. He kept looking and commenting on your outfit and how good you looked. Azul was still trying his best not to look as though seeing your provocative outfit would make his heart explode.

“Alright, I’m ready!” You said, clapping your hands together. You had even fixed up your hair and dabbed on the makeup you scrounge up from a combination of Epel and Vil. You looked pretty damn good, well by your usual standards.

You marched right out into the main area, ready to serve some looks…and customers. A few of the Monstro Lounge regulars were there, congregating in their usual spots. Forcing your lips into a big, pearly, smile you went over to them.

And that was how you were certain you'd be able to work there. One of the boy's eyes dipped low, lingering on your cleavage before glancing back up to your face. You pretended not to notice, batting your lashes coyly.

You were about to be rich as hell.

….

Boom, bitches.” You said, slapping down the hefty amount of tips you got. These boys were sort of desperate and it was honestly amazing. Like did that one Heartslaybul guy have to tip you 80 thaumarks? No, but he did probably because he was too busy staring at your chest to look at how much money he pulled from his wallet.

Azul gaped at you in surprise, blinking rapidly as if he was finally able to process that you were now employed at the Monstro Lounge. Even Jade raised his eyebrow ever so slightly, changing his usually stoic expression.

“Damn, shrimpy!” Floyd laughed, grabbing onto your money and flipping through it, “250 thaumarks? That's good money for your first day.”

You grinned, a glimmer of pride washing through you. Despite the mistakes you had made, spilling food and being a little awkward- you still made a shit ton of money. Pretty privilege is real, even here in Twisted Wonderland.

Azul sighed, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I can't deny it. You made more than what I required of you, so you did it. Welcome to the Monstro Lounge.”

You and Floyd cheered, with Floyd lifting you up and squishing you slightly. Even Jade smiled a bit, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

….

“You knew she could make 50 thaumarks easily, didn't you?” Jade asked, watching you and Floyd celebrate from afar.

Azul said nothing for a moment, his eyes calmly watching you. He felt his face warm ever so slightly, his lips pressed into a firm.

“You have feelings for the Housewarden, Azul.” Jade said, then he gave a slight sneer as he added, “Or should I say ‘Zuzu'?”

Azul blushed and looked away, scowling ever so much. Jade laughed with a wicked sort of glee, getting the answer he wanted easily.

#❀ lori writes #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #azul twst #azul x oc #azul twisted wonderland #azul x yuu #azul x mc #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst headcanons

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c0s-lettuce · 4 months ago

Text

common factor - dave lizewski x reader

synopsis: after getting stood up, you seek out the one person who makes everything better.

word count: 1.5k

warnings/tags: gender not explicitly mentioned but dave calls reader "ladybug", best friend!dave

a/n: recently watched kick-ass and omg atj is so cute. inspired by the scene in kick-ass 2 when mindy goes to dave after getting date ditched.

Tonight was slowly becoming a disaster. It had already been a mediocre week at school. So, when a nice boy with blue eyes asked you out, you were eager to say yes.

And so, you stood alone in front of the movies on a chilly Thursday evening as you waited for your date. You knew you had the right time and place. You had checked Ben's message multiple times. But still, you waited for five minutes. Then ten. Then twenty.

You called it quits after thirty-four minutes.

As you begin your walk of shame, you don't yearn for your home or bed. You don't think of anything that would usually provide you comfort. Right now, all you want is your best friend.

So, you make your way over to his place. It had been a while since you climbed up to his window, but you still remember the spots to step and hold on to. Mr Lizewski was rarely ever strict enough to require sneaking around. But it was too late to knock, so the window it was.

You land softly on the floor inside. Dave sleeps soundly in his bed, the light from the street gently illuminating his face. He looks so peaceful that you begin to feel bad for waking him. But your need for comfort overrides your guilt.

"Dave?" you call out, loud enough to wake him.

Dave awakens slowly, blinking in the dimness. His eyes find yours, and he jolts upright.

"Holy shit," he mutters, reaching over to turn on the lamp. "What are you doing here?"

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry for waking you. I just really needed to see you."

He sits up, immediately concerned. "Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen with Ben?"

You had told him about the date, of course. He was happy for you. Dave is always happy for you.

"He stood me up," you tell him.

Dave's eyes soften, and he pulls you in for a hug. You melt in his embrace, unable to stop the stray tears that fall from your eyes.

"Oh, bug. I'm so sorry. He's such an ass," Dave says softly, rubbing your back.

"I think there's something wrong with me," you say as you pull away.

He furrows his brow. "What? That is not true. How could you say that?"

You shake your head. "No, you don't understand. I'm-"

I'm in love with you, is what you want to say.

You want to tell him you only agreed to go out with Ben because his eyes reminded you of Dave's. That's the only reason you paid attention to anyone lately. Alex with the hair, James with the smile and Ben with the eyes. If you broke them all down, Dave would be the common factor.

But the words refuse to come out. So, instead, you say, "I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," Dave reassures.

"Then why does this keep happening?" you ask.

Dave's hands take yours. "It's not you. It's them, okay? They're all jerks. And you know what? I'm glad Ben didn't show. Because you're too good for him, ladybug."

You frown, unsure how to respond to that. You look down at your hands, at how they fit in his.

Dave takes this opportunity to continue, "I mean it. You're so sweet and kind and funny. He doesn't deserve a second of your time, much less your tears."

"I know, you're right," you say. "I guess I just... wanted to be liked."

Dave nods in understanding, "You are, though. You're loved. You don't need Ben to prove that."

His words manage to make you smile a little bit. You nod in response, knowing he's right again.

"Why don't you stay over for the night?" Dave suggests. "I can get you some clothes to sleep in."

"Yeah," you reply. "Yeah, that sounds great."

Dave smiles. "Perfect. You stay right here."

Dave gives you a spare shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts you forgot once during a sleepover. After a quick shower, you get changed and take a moment to compose yourself, not wanting to shed any more tears.

Meanwhile, Dave waits for you in bed. He felt as if his heart could break. You looked so beautiful tonight. You should be out being admired and doted on. But instead, you were left in tears. Dave starts considering putting on his Kick-Ass suit and teaching Ben a lesson.

However, his plans don't go much further before you return from the bathroom. You tiptoe over to the bed, and Dave lifts the covers up for you. You slip in beside him, instantly comforted by the soft sheets and the subtle scent that lingers on them.

You and Dave lie facing each other, the setting familiar and cozy. He reaches forward to play with your hair, brushing his fingers from the top of your head to behind your ear. The repetitive motion soothes you.

"I don't want to see Ben tomorrow," you tell him.

He nods. "I'll stick with you as much as I can. I won't let him bother you."

"I don't know how people do it," you say. "All this dating and relationships, especially in high school."

"I couldn't tell you," he answers. "My one and only girlfriend publicly broke up with me and told me she cheated on me at the same time."

You cringe at the reminder. You remember when Dave started dating Katie. He had such a big crush on her, and you tried your best to be supportive. You tried not to hate her. You were glad when she did something worthy of your resentment.

"God, that was horrible," you say.

"Yeah. Maybe we're both cursed with bad luck," Dave replies.

You frown. "I thought ladybugs are supposed to be lucky."

Dave chuckles at your statement, taking a moment to think. "You're right. Maybe the universe is doing us a favour by showing us we don't need them. You know you'll always matter more to me than some random girl."

"That won't always be true," you say quietly.

"Sure it will, bug," he replies. "It's me and you forever, remember?"

His words make you want to shrivel up under the covers. They take you back to the old days when you and Dave had not a single care in the world.

"Yeah, I remember," you mumble.

Dave smiles. "Good. Don't you forget it."

You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes for a moment. You never expected this night to be so emotionally taxing. A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you try to ground yourself.

"Hey," Dave speaks up after a while. "How about I take you out this weekend?"

You open your eyes again, slightly surprised. How about I take you out? You wonder if he phrased it like that on purpose.

"You don't have to," you tell him.

"I want to," he says. "It's been a while since we did something without Todd or Marty. Maybe we can see the new Avengers movie. I know you have a crush on Thor."

You glare at him, feigning offence. "I do not have a crush on Thor."

He grins. "Aw, come on. You can tell me the truth. Though, I'll have to try very hard not to be jealous."

You whack him on the arm, and he laughs.

"Okay, kidding," he says, "But seriously, we can do that. Or watch something else. Or do anything, really."

The ideal appeals to you more than you care to admit. You nod, "I'd like that a lot."

He smiles. "Great. It'll be my treat. We'll have the best time, I promise."

You smile back. "Thanks, Dave."

"Don't mention it," he replies. "Now, go to sleep. Let that pretty head of yours rest."

You do as he says, closing your eyes again. You scoot closer to him, and he wraps an arm around your waist. He kisses you gently on the top of your head, and you can't help but smile.

"Goodnight, Davey," you murmur.

"Goodnight, ladybug," he responds.

An unpleasant beeping wakes you in the morning. It takes a moment for your sleep-addled brain to make sense of everything. You notice you're warm, incredibly warm. You realise it's because Dave's chest is against your back, his arms secure around your body.

You feel as if you could be a puddle right now. It's all so perfect, except for that beeping. It's Dave's alarm. Of course. You forgot it was still a school day.

Dave shifts behind you, and his warmth leaves you as he rolls away. You miss it immediately but aren't awake enough to do anything about it. There's the sound of fumbling before the beeping finally stops. Not a moment sooner, Dave returns, wrapping his arms around you again and holding you tighter than before.

He nuzzles his face against your neck, letting out a deep breath that tickles your skin. It's almost enchanting how quickly sleep calls for you again. Dave doesn't say a word, but it's clear you both agree that school can wait five more minutes.

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#dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski x you #kick ass #kick ass 2 #kick ass x reader #aaron taylor johnson #atj

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