#and I just don’t feel comfortable being so vulnerable in front of my family. not for fear of a bad reaction but really just idk.

[vanibear]

…

[pucksandpower]

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Vox Relationship Headcanons

Time to strike the iron while the hyperfixation is HOT!

(I mean come ON . Look at this fucking evil dork. I love him).

SFW

It goes without saying that Vox is HUGE on appearances. He does not make his relationships public lightly. His brand as one of the V’s after all is perfection, and he’s not going to go out arm and arm with a person unless they know that.

That being said, especially given his on again off again relationship with Valentino, I could absolutely see him as being the type to fall for a hot mess. 

A very different person with his partner in front of and behind the scenes. When the cameras are off, he’s warm, affectionate, and vulnerable. He’ll share his every insecurity with you, strip himself bare to the bone for you to love and comfort truly and honestly. And he’s an excellent listener too, always available to hold and talk through any problem you have. Your problems are his problems — you’ll work through them together.

When in the public eye however, he can be a downright prick — putting everything, and I do mean everything between you two on the backburner to keep up appearances. He will not hesitate to make jokes at your expense if it means his ratings will go up.

Fights with him are explosive. No, he’s not the type to lay a hand on you, but we’d be lying if we didn’t admit that he can scream at you within an inch of your life.

Words of Affirmation and Gift Giving are his primary love languages. Specifically, he needs words of affirmation and he loves to give gifts. And holy shit does he give the most uncomfortably lavish gifts. Diamonds, rolexes, new cars — no price is too high for his darling.

Surprisingly, he prefers home dates. Watching a movie on the couch or having a little game night with a bottle of wine. He does genuinely enjoy the authentic time you spend together and he wishes he could have more of it, so the more he can get of that private, intimate time together, the better.

And while he is a man of the future, so theoretically should like video games, I do think he has a certain soft spot for a good old-fashioned board game.

When it comes to video games though, he does tend to gravitate to phone games. 

Vox is from the 1950’s so I do think he prefers a more nuclear family and relationship dynamic. He wants to bring home the bacon and have his partner ready to fry it up in a pan with a dirty martini ready and waiting for him. That being said, he is a man that always looks to the future as well, so he’s by no means above doing chores of his own. At the end of the day, this desire for more traditional relationship roles really comes from a place of needing to be doted on rather than any views he actually has about gender.

The man’s a sucker for a good massage from his partner. This wired up workaholic has knots that you can’t even imagine, so please, offer him a nice bankrupt at the end of the day. He’ll be sure to return the favor tenfold.

A very lovey-dovey drunk. Oh my GOD, he’s so touchy-feely and weepy and just all the y’s. You want a guaranteed cuddle-wuddle session? Load him up with a couple glasses of scotch — you’ll have those chords coiling around you.

And yes, his alcohol of choice is scotch. Scotch, dirty martinis, or a nice oaky chardonnay.

This man wants to get married. Yes, even if he is in hell, the idea of not having to worry about who his next lay or source of connection will come from, having someone that will stand by his side through thick and thin, a partner? Now that’d be the (after)life.

NSFW

BIG fucking praise kink. This man NEEDS you to stroke more than just his bod and his cock, he needs you to stroke his ego too.

“God you’re so good”, “FUCK, you’re so big”, “Nobody can make me feel this way but you, Vox”.

Don’t worry, it’s not just for his own ego. He loves to give praise as much as he receives it. This man is a TALKER in the sack.

“Fuck, fuck yeah. Just like that, baby. You’re so fucking good, just like thaaaaat.”

He’s also got a little bit of a degradation kink — but in general, it still feeds into stroking his own ego. Loves to tease and taunt his partner once in a while about what a horny little slut they are, how he loves to see them so desperate and pathetic. Asking his partner, “you’d have anyone right now, wouldn’t you?” just for them to assure him that no, nobody but him will do.

On that note, the man can dish out degrading dirty talk, but he can NOT fucking take it.

Very much a switch. Sure, he loves to fuck, but he’ll just as happily let his partner bend him over his own desk and fuck the shit out of him. A good orgasm is a good orgasm, his ego may be big, but not big enough to get in the way of that.

Big fan of bondage, both on his partner and himself. There are few sights better to him than seeing his partner bound and shibari’d in his own cord and wires, holy shit. But he’ll also never say no when his partner breaks out their own pair of fuzzy handcuffs for him.

He absolutely short-circuits when he cums, so watch out. Sometimes, if he cums hard enough, he may just zap you a bit so watch out.

Favorite position is seated cowgirl. He loves the way he can hold his partner close while ramming as deep into them as possible. Not to mention the fact that either one of them can take over control at any moment. He can thrust up, they can grind down — it’s just the best of all worlds. Not to mention you can do it from his desk chair.

On that note, he’s a big BIG fan of cockwarming. 

LOTS of precum. This HD motherfucker is just a weepy mess.

I can’t explain why, but Vox just seems like an ass man to me.

He’s not necessarily a cuddler after, but he is something of a “savor the moment” kind of guy. He likes to lay in bed (or chair lol) with his partner for a good while afterwards, smoking a cigarette, reveling in some post-nut clarity conversation, just really taking in the moment. His life is so busy at all other times honestly, always looing and speeding to the future. Sex and post-sex are the times where he really does just like to stop and live in the moment.

[tender-rosiey]

“ETERNITY IS IN YOUR EYES LIKE YOU’RE IN MY HEART”

— the moment when gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji knew they wanted to spend their entire life with you

a/n: I will upload a bsd version of this soon! <3

GOJO SATORU: when you held him after suguru’s death while pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. vulnerability was something gojo despised, but the way it was so easy, so comforting to show it in front of you held his heart in a special type of way. you always know how he feels and you somehow always say the right thing. even if you don’t say something, your presence alone grounds him.

he feels exposed around you and it doesn’t scare him. instead, he finds himself getting lost in your embrace, his safe place, time after time. he yearns for it and he knows and accepts that his heart belonged to you from the start and till the end of time. so when he does get released out of the realm, he doesn’t notice nor question that he teleported right between your arms.

GETO SUGURU: when he found you cuddling mimiko and nanako. the three of you were fast asleep, but there is no mistaking the protective hold you have on the girls, even when you’re asleep. no wonder they look so content and safe like nothing can touch them in your arms. he still remembers how you didn’t hesitate in welcoming them to the family and as time went by, you were their joy and someone they adored, not more than he does though.

he can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face as he chuckles helplessly. he walks towards you and covers you and the girls with the blanket, but not without pressing a loving kiss to your forehead with a gentle whisper of an “I love you” and caressing your ring finger. he has to know the size after all.

NANAMI KENTO: when he came back home and found you trying to bake something for him as a surprise. you’re moving around the kitchen with such determination and concentration that you don’t notice him. so he is left to admire how you work, your delicate hands, your small smile as you think of how it will turn out, and your endearing reactions to certain things like the batter getting on your nose.

he also finds himself admiring every single part of you—till this day he doesn’t know how he got so lucky. it also brings into light just how much you work and that fact that you do it with love does it for him. it doesn’t feel forced; it’s genuine and full of tenderness. so he decides with a smile that your finger has been bare for far too long.

RYOMEN SUKUNA: when you stood up for him against the people who cursed him out even when they had every right to. he is no good man nor does he need someone—anyone—to defend him. but he didn’t feel as irritated as he thought he would. instead, he felt prideful but confused. why? he asks you later and you tell him that it just happened; you didn’t think twice before responding to them. 'it just happened' he repeats in his head.

he is a terrible guy, rough and cruel. he is someone who lives solely for his own desires and self so he is surprised when he finds his head on your lap that day and his hand is holding onto your own, not to keep you from running but to ground himself. it’s pathetic, he thinks, when he realizes that he can’t live without you anymore.

FUSHIGURO TOJI: when he was going to get a glass of water, but your sleepy form held onto him with a soft plea of ‘don’t leave’. even though the action is so simple, it tugged at his heart strings and he realized just how much of a hold you have on him. almost instantly, he got back to bed and pulled you close into his chest.

he murmured, “never leaving you, doll; that’s the last thing you gotta worry ‘bout.” he always denied having a soft spot for you, but the fact that you want him and need him as much as he does for you affected him more than any other. he thinks that being wrapped around your pretty little finger isn’t something bad like he initially thought so he is okay paying quite the sum on the ring so he can see your smile.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or i will send my cat after you

[chaoticrockmusic]

Secret Hideout, Secret Kiss

Synopsis: You discover a hidden spot in the mansion where Quicksilver goes to think. He shows it to you, and as you share secrets, the tension builds, leading to a soft, stolen kiss.

Warnings: Maybe some cursing, besides that, just fluff! ☁️🩷

You wandered through the surprisingly quiet halls of the X-Mansion, trying to find something to do on this slow day. You were about to walk past a small hallway but stopped, seeing a light under a door. Peter's door. It's not unusual for him to be up at this time, but something was off. You pressed your ear to the door, hearing some light curses and shuffling.

"Peter?" You knocked on the door, it creaking open. You saw Peter half-way out of his window with the all-too familiar silver jacket basically glowing in the moonlight. "Hey, baby- What do you need?" Peter cocked a smile on his face, now sitting on his windowsill. "What are you doing? Are you trying to kill yourself or something?" You walked in and shut the door, crossing your arms. "Just uh- looking at the moon. Mhm. Yep." Peter didn't even believe his own lie. How could he lie when you were standing right in front of him in your cute pajamas and the sleepy look on your face. "Mhm. Tell me the truth, Peter." He sighed and stood up, taking your hand. "Why use words when I can show you?" You were about to respond before he held the back of your head and speed through the house.

Before you knew it, you were outside.

"Peter, what are you-" He sped you into a small clubhouse. It was a cozy room filled with music players and dirty clothes. "I'd hope no one would find this place, but since I'm showing it to you, you're not finding it." Peter laid down into the beanbag chair, you sitting in the small chair in front of him. "Why keep this place hidden? Too small for anyone else?" You smiled, leaning back a bit. "That and I come here to be alone sometimes. I like having a big-mutant family and all but... It's a bit much with everyone. Sometimes a guy just needs-"

"A place too think."

"Mm... Yeah. You get it?" Peter cocked his neck to the side, his silver hair moving and settling into place. Damn, why did it take you this long to realize he was cute? Well- You've had thoughts before. But never so... vivid. "Yeah, sometimes it's a bit much. The talking, the fighting, the crowed hallways. Why do you think my headphones are basically attached to me?"

You chuckled, the tension easing as you exchanged glances, both of you sharing that unspoken understanding. Peter’s presence was oddly comforting in this hidden sanctuary, a stark contrast to the chaos of the mansion.

“Right?” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s nice to have a little escape now and then. Like our own little secret.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And now you’re in on it.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “I guess that makes me special, huh?”

“Special indeed,” he said, his tone shifting to something softer. The playful air around him faded, replaced by a sincerity that made your heart race. “I don’t show this place to just anyone.”

The moment hung between you like a delicate thread, pulling you closer together. You watched as he shifted in the beanbag, looking slightly vulnerable but still that charming, cocky guy you knew. “So, what else do you do in your secret hideout?” you asked, trying to keep the mood light, even as the tension crackled in the air.

“Sometimes I think about life, or I just play music and pretend I’m a rockstar,” he said with a chuckle, but his eyes were serious. “But mostly, I just think about… stuff.”

“Stuff?” You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward, intrigued. “What kind of stuff?”

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “You know, like… what it all means. Being a mutant, having powers, all that. But lately, I’ve been thinking about people too.” His gaze locked onto yours, and you felt your breath hitch slightly.

“People?” you echoed, heart pounding. “Like…?”

“I dunno. Maybe people like... you.” The words hung in the air, heavy and electric. His expression was earnest, searching yours for a reaction.

You felt a rush of warmth spread across your cheeks. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “You’ve always been there for me. And I’ve been wanting to tell you… well, I think you’re incredible.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your pulse quicken. It was that moment—the one that seemed to stretch and expand, where everything else faded away. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. “Peter, I—”

Before you could finish, he closed the distance between you, his hand brushing against your cheek. “Can I show you? How incredible I think you are.” he asked softly, and you nodded, breathless as your throat felt dry.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, tentative at first but quickly growing more confident, as if he were testing the waters of this uncharted territory. You melted into the kiss, feeling the warmth radiate between you, a rush of electricity that made everything else fade away. You reached up and felt his silver strands go through your fingers. This felt like a dream. He was kissing you, and not out of pity or a dare- Because he liked you. He really liked you...

When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other. “Wow,” he whispered, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “So, do you think I could ever be a rockstar?”

You laughed, the moment lightening but the intensity still there. “You definitely have the charm for it,” you replied, heart still racing. “But let’s focus on this secret hideout first.” He chuckled, that easy, familiar laugh you loved. “Deal.” The night stretched out before you, filled with possibilities, the quiet of the clubhouse now brimming with newfound connection.

Do not copy or translate plz! -CallMe_Bunni

[laviefantasie]

[ Just Keep Swimming ]

Pairings: CEO! Gojo Satoru x Florist! Reader ; Lawyer! Naoya Zenin x Florist! Reader

Summary: The worst and best thing that could ever happen to you is falling in love. You were living proof of it. (based on “It Ends With Us”)

| Masterlist |

[ WARING TAGS: Modern!AU, no curse magic,, hurt/comfort, angst, domestic violence, violence, assault, sexual content, manipulation, gaslighting, blood, swearing ]

⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊

You were six the first time you saw it happen. You were ten when you first understood what it meant. You were fifteen when you first begged your mom with tears to leave him. You were eighteen when you decided to leave them.

And now here you were at twenty-five staring at your childhood bedroom , trying your best to not look at any of the family portraits that adorned the walls.

This was no happy home. You wouldn’t even call it a home to begin with. Not when the halls had echoed your mother’s terrified screeches as the walls tainted red. Not as your father’s fist painted your mother’s porcelain skin yellow, purple, red and green. How you hated those colors and despised this place.

You couldn’t wait to leave once again.

“It’s nice to have you back, honey”

You sighed. Your mother’s voice was as always soft and sweet; you hated how soft it sounded, as if she expected to get hit if she were to be louder.

Your eyes glanced around before stopping on an old music box, one a certain crystal blue-eyed boy had given you once upon a time. A small smile faintly appears on your face as you gaze at it, before being wiped off by the rest of your memories.

Clearing your throat, you turn towards your mother with a steady gaze. She smiled at you softly.

And you hated it. You hated that you remember how she had chosen him over you, again and again. You hated how you had begged, even gotten on your knees, for her to leave with you.

You hated that no matter how many times she chose him, he never stopped the cracks from deepening.

“Have you decided on what to say?” She asks slowly, “You could just recall a memory… maybe just state three things that he ever did to make you smile or��”

“Mom” you interrupted her, hating how as she spoke images of her being brutally hurt appeared in her mind, “I’ll figure it out”

She doesn’t seem convinced, but she still nods.

Sighing, you turn to look out your window straight at the three-story mansion in front of your own. Memories of joyous laughter and snow white hair.

Closing your eyes, you turn around. You had a funeral to get ready for and an eulogy to lie in.

The flowers on the roof of your building had always been your home away from home. Especially when you didn’t actually have somewhere that felt as home yet. You had lost that a long time ago.

You keep on cutting off the dead limbs, lost in your thoughts, when the door snaps open loudly and a crash startle you.

Turning around you are met with the sight of a blond man in a suit panting over a broken empty flower pot. You would’ve already screamed at him about the mess if it wasn’t for the tears streaming down his face.

He turns, eyes meeting yours. E/C meeting brown. His pants slow down and what appears to be shame shines through his face.

“I-I’ll pay for it”

“Seems like it was asking for it so no worries” you joke trying to make him feel at ease.

Why? You’re not sure. There was just something about seeing someone so powerful looking being vulnerable that made you sympathize.

He lets out a giant laugh full of relief and you find yourself smiling at it.

“You did all this?” He points at the many flowers al over the roof.

You nod, “Yeah, it’s my hobby… although maybe you could consider it my job too?”

“Huh? Really?”

“Hopefully, yeah” you nod, continuing your job, “You?”

“I’m, uh, a layer”

“A lawyer?” You ask ironically. He didn’t seem that confident to be one.

“I don’t look the part?”

“Not really”

He laughs again, louder this time, and you find yourself smiling. Again.

When was the last time you had smiled?

“You don’t look like a florist either”

“Makes sense, I didn’t actually study to become one” you smirk, “I just decided to become it”

“What did you study then?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles, “Actually, I would. Along with your name”

“Sorry, I’m married”

His face pales, “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any—”

Your laughter interrupts him. A loud and melodic one. One you hadn’t heard yourself let out in a long time.

It felt… warm.

“You… you’re messing with me”

“I am” your laugh faints, but the smile remains, “Was that too much?”

“When it caused that laugh? Not at all”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Y/N” you say softly, “That’s my name”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” he smiles, “I’m Naoya”

You nod at him before turning your attention to your flowers once more, trying to ignore the way your heart had started to increase the rhythm of its beat. You weren’t gonna acknowledge it.

“Why flowers?” He clears his throat, “I mean… you said you chose it so, why?”

“Why not? There’s q certain beauty in them, a familiarity, don’t you think so?”

“Familiarity?”

They’re just like us. When loved, they bloom. When hurt, they rot.

I wanted to say that, yet couldn’t. I had only ever said that to one person before and it felt like a betrayal to say it to somebody else, as insignificant as it seemed.

“Think about it, okay?” You settle for, smiling, “Promise you’ll figure it out”

He laughs faintly, “I take it, because it means we’ll meet again, right?”

“I don’t know about that…”

“You live here, am I wrong? I live here too! It’s meant to be”

You frown with a smile, “Is that your best way to flirt?”

“Only if it’s working”

You shake your head, laughing, “With those looks I thought you were a womanizer but now…”

“Hey! With this looks, what else would I need?”

Both of you share a laugh, a happy one, and for a minute you forget he came here banging doors and breaking pots; you forget you had been cutting dead limbs from flowers hoping it’d cut the ones inside you too.

But reality always sets in and your smile disappears.

He had been violent. Whatever his reason might be, even if it was one that could be understood, sirens loudly came to life inside your head making you move around, you were uncomfortable.

“Anyways… I know I said it probably was asking for it but what exactly did the flower pot do?”

You hate how your voice soften at the start, so you toughen it up by the end. The last thing you ever wanted was to be like your mom.

You’d never be like her.

“Honestly… it wasn’t the pot’s fault. Sadly, it was just collateral damage” he sighs, “I… uh… something happened. It’s kinda personal”

“Oh. Sorry. I-uh… too invasive. I apologize”

“No, no, it’s okay. Understandable. I…” he sighs, “I had this case, kinda can’t talk about it you know, but… it was a tough one. My client was a kid… and I lost”

“Oh”

“Yeah, oh” he laughs bitterly, “My client is a kid that I promised I’d help, that I’d save, and I didn’t. I failed them”

“I’m so sorry” you sigh, “That’s… a good enough reason for the pot’s short lifespan”

He smiles faintly.

You sigh, averting your eyes and playing with your fingers nervously.

“My dad died this past weekend” you blurt out, “Seems like it’s been a shitty last few days”

“Seems like it”

“Kind of a pretty deep conversation for two strangers to have on a roof, don’t you agree?”

“You’re not a stranger” his eyes soften, “You are Y/N, flower enthusiast, trickster, owner of the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You remind yourself to breathe as you let out an embarrassed laugh, averting your gaze from his soft one. Could your heart calm down? This was not the moment for a crush.

“Since we’re already spilling our dirty little secrets… how about a night of naked truths?”

“Naked truths?”

You hum, nodding, “I wouldn’t mind some company as I finish tending to my flowers and you seem like the last thing you need right now is being alone”

“Probably true. How’d you know I’m alone though?”

“Because we all tend to run to the person that makes us feel accompanied when we’re struggling… yet you’re on the roof, alone. Hitting doors and breaking pots”

“You’re also on the roof in a moment of struggle” he reminds you softly, his eyes filling with understanding.

“Again: I wouldn’t mind some company”

He nods, silently sitting down beside you on the floor and watching you as you tend your plants with care.

“Naked truths?” He reminds you softly.

You nod, “The odds of us ever seeing each other again are low, so it doesn’t matter”

“Kind of like a therapy session?”

“Zero judgement, all humor” you give him a small smile, “Wanna go first?”

“Today’s case… I watched a little boy’s life crumbled before his eyes when I failed him, making him go back to the hell he has lived with his father” he sighs, averting his gaze that had darken, “He’ll never be the same again and now he won’t even find a reason in asking for help”

“I’m sorry about that” you let out a deep breath, “Maybe he’ll figure out a way”

“Maybe… he shouldn’t have to though”

He was right. No kid should ever find a way to survive the hell they’ve been given. A kid should only ever be a kid.

“Your turn”

“I…”

He had been honest. He had been vulnerable. He deserved the same treatment.

“I’m a liar” you blurt out, “I’ve had to be since my father was a politician. But I shouldn’t have had to be it to the degree he made me be it. He… my mother and him fought a lot. And he would get so… so angry whenever they did that some-sometimes he would h-hit her. He’d apologize after. Taking us out, buying her expensive gifts. He knew I hated it when they fought so he’d buy me toys, to make up for it I guess. I didn’t really understand what him hitting her actually was, I was a kid. So… so-sometime-”

Your voice fails you, making you clear your throat as you find yourself admitting this out loud for the first time in years. Your saliva tasted like acid inside your mouth as you tried to find your voice once again.

Naoya waits patiently. Not making a sound and letting you collect yourself calmly.

“Sometimes I… I would find myself hoping they’d fight. Because I knew that if he h-hit her, the next two weeks would be… amazing” had I ever actually ever admitted this out loud?, “I wish he had never touched her. When I understood pain, I wished he’d stop but it was too late. It had become part of their marriage, like a silent norm in our house. So I let them be… I now know that letting it happen, never saying anything, makes me as guilty as him. As a daughter I have love for him, but as a person? I hate him. I have spent most of my life despising him for being such a bad person, but… I’m just as bad. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, am I right?”

“No”

The answer is immediate, making you freeze.

His hand stops your fumbling one, warming it on his own as if giving it a home. His gaze is determined, soft.

You couldn’t breathe.

“You’re not a bad person. I don’t think there’s really a thing as bad people” he squeezes my hand, “We’re just… people who sometimes do bad things. We’re humans, it’s inevitable”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Was I gonna agree with him just to stop the conversation? Was I gonna try to convince him that I’m bad? What exactly was I gonna say?

People who sometimes do bad things.

You felt yourself lighter after his words, as if the weight pulling you down and making it hard for you to breathe had slightly lifted.

No one is exclusively bad, he was right. Some people just have it harder to be good.

And that’s okay. You just gotta keep trying.

“Your turn”

He looks ready to disagree, but relents anyway.

“I don’t remember my mom” he confesses, “Dad and her divorced when I was four I think. He never let me see her once he won custody… and she didn’t try to either”

“You wish she had tried?”

“When I was a kid” he shrugs, “Not anymore. She made her choice, and now I choose not to wait for someone who didn’t want me”

“What if she wanted but just… couldn’t?”

He scoffs, “Your turn”

The bitterness in his voice stings, but you know it’s not directed at you.

You squeeze his hand trying to give him at least a little of the comfort he gave you moments ago. He smiles faintly.

“I have only ever fallen in love once” you admit, “His name was Satoru, he lived in the house in front of me. I lost my virginity with him until my dad found us and kick him out. Never saw him again after”

“Satoru?” He frowns, “Not a common name”

“Yeah, it isn’t”

“Kinda jealous right now” you frown, “He must have been a hell of a guy if you haven’t dated since”

You remember the blood and its metallic smell. How your throat hurt as you screamed for him to stop. How tears fell down your cheeks as you try to break them up, only to be pushed back. You feared he’d kill him.

“He was” you state softly, “It just couldn’t… we just had to stop seeing each other”

“Had to?”

“Yeah. Had to”

The confession tastes like the metallic smell imprinted in your mind, making it hard to swallow.

He stays silent for a moment.

“Now I really am jealous” he smiles, making you laugh, “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and you’re telling me you’ve only had one boyfriend? And he’s the one that got away?”

“Are you quoting a Katy Perry song?”

“Unimportant”

You laugh out loud. The screams that had muted the surrounding traffic sound quiet down, and the metallic taste disappears.

The one that got a way, you repeat to yourself. Yeah. Satoru definitely was that.

“What are you doing?”

You had been watching quietly so far but you just couldn’t anymore. Why did the heir of Gojo Enterprises look as if he was running away?

“Mind your own business”

“I actually am. You just stomped on my flowers before falling on your face as you ran without looking ahead” you scoff, “Now spill”

He sighs, looking towards his house before scoffing.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Satoru Gojo…? Only heir of the Gojo family, one of the top ten families in the whole country” you recite without a care, “Why does that even matter?”

“You forgot ‘illegitimate son’, princess” he rolls his eyes, “My mom was a maid who Mr. Gojo fucked because he pleased. So I’m leaving”

“Wh-wait! Leaving? Where?” You stop him, “You can’t leave”

“I can and I will”

“Where will you go? Do you even know what leaving on the streets will be like?” You scoff and cross your arms, “You won’t survive, not after living in that place”

“Until I was six, I lived in that place’s basement and was treated as a rat. I think the streets will be fine”

“But you can’t—”

“We’ve been neighbors all our lives and you’ve never once looked at me” he scoffs, “Don’t look at me now”

He turns around as he rolls his eyes, looking ready to ignore whatever else you tried to convince him to not leave home. But you’d never understand what a hell that house was and had always been, not when you had the picture perfect family.

“STAY HERE” you yelled in panic, freezing him on the spot, “We have a small house in our backyard, originally for the house’s help. It’s unoccupied, so you can stay there. Free of charge”

“Why?”

“Cause you look seem like someone who has had many doors closed in his face” you shrugs, averting your gaze shyly, “I want to show you there are others who’ll open it for you”

“Hey” you snap out of your memory from when you where fifteen, “You good? Lost you for a second”

“I’m fine” your voice is softer now, a hint of melancholy in it.

Why had you remembered that right now? Hadn’t that wound already healed?

“It’s gotten late. I-I should go”

You stand up, your head a mess, but his hand in yours stops you. His gaze is curious and slightly desperate.

“Will I see you again?”

“No”

“That stings”

“I’m just honest” you sigh, “That’s how it works”

“I don’t believe it is” he smiles, “So, see you next time, Y/N”

You had indeed seen him again, as if by destiny. He was apparently family of your new part-time worker, Maki. And apparently he knew your best friend, Utahime, whom had help you open your flower shop, Camellia Carnation.

It had taken you back to see him with Utahime, but you had acted indifferent. Then, he had been your first client ever and had buy the bouquet for you. Maki warned him you were off limits.

So you agreed to be friends.

Yet he was always there, and your heart kept on taking his side. One misstep and you found yourself falling.

You hadn’t meant to fall, not after Satoru. But at some point he smiled and you knew it was game over. Suddenly, he had sunk beneath your bones and nurtured this deep familiarity into a love so fierce that you believed this was it, that he was it. After all the pain, and the healing, and the heartbreak, Naoya was it.

Maki said he didn’t date, that he just played around. Naoya himself admitted it to.

Yet he begged you to try with him.

And holy crap were you glad you said yes. When was the last time you had been this happy? Dancing around the kitchen with only the refrigerator light? Playing board games in your bed? Laughing until the sun rose?

You gave him your all and he reciprocated it.

It only made sense that he met your mother when she came to visit you, even when you were a little hesitant about it. He was excited, you wouldn’t stop it.

You hadn’t expected to be frozen in your seat, barely registering what your mom was saying as you both waited for Naoya to come back from the restroom. How could you focus when you had just met your favorite set of crystal blue eyes?

You thought you had it wrong. You had to.

But nothing could compare to those eyes. White hair? People dyed it all the time. Pale skin? No beaches around. But his eyes? No one could even imagine coming close to their unique blue.

It has been years since you saw him, but you’ll never forget what he looked like. It had to be him. You know it was and you believe he recognized you, too, because the second your eyes met… it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

You felt breathless.

It was as if in this moment your soul was whispering to your heart excitedly about him. It was like a gravitational pull, like as if all the universes and all the galaxies were conspiring in his favor.

Snap out of it, you screamed in your head.

Why were you looking at him like that? You couldn’t. You didn’t know him, not anymore at least.

And yet…

You found yourself in the restroom’s, hoping he had recognized you and maybe decided to follow you.

What were you doing? He had left you behind, months before graduating, without a goodbye. He had probably gone to the marines to escape his father… but he had been so well dressed he probably had ended up doing as he was told.

You needed to compose yourself.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the door opening behind you. The Baby Breath flower tattoo in your collarbone burning as you meet his gaze, both of you breathless.

He looked healthy. There were so many emotions going through you at the moment but that was what stuck. You were happy he was healthy.

So why did it sting that he never came back for you? That he never looked for you?

“Y/N”

He’s standing at the end of the hallway like a ghost straight out of the past. He’s real, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Toru”

He smiled and you swore your heart stopped.

“I’m going to make a promise to you. I’ll get out of my father’s cage and make a life of my own. When my life is good enough to deserve you in it, I’ll come find you. But don’t wait for me, okay? It may not happen”

He blows out a quick breath of relief and then takes three huge steps forward. You find yourself doing the same. Meeting in the middle and throwing your arms around each other.

“Holy shit” he breathes, tightening his embrace.

You nod, “Yeah. Holy shit”

He puts his hands on your shoulders and takes a step back to look at you.

“You haven’t change a thing”

Covering your mouth with your hand, still in shock, you give him a once-over. His face looks the same, but he’s no longer the scrawny teenager you remember.

“I can’t say the same for you”

He laughed, “Six years in the military will do that, definitely”

You’re in shock, and so is he, so nothing is said after that. You’re both too busy taking each other in to figure out what to say next. Laughing with disbelief.

Finally, he releases your shoulders and folds his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t remember. You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relieved.

“I live here,” you say, forcing your answer to sound as casual as his question, “I own a flower shop over on Park Plaza”

He smiles knowingly, like it doesn’t at all surprise him.

You glance toward the door, knowing you should get back out there. He notices and then takes another step back. He holds your gaze for a moment, it gets really quiet. Way too quiet.

There’s so much you both have to say but where to start? The smile leaves his eyes for a moment and then he motions toward the door.

“You should probably get back to your company”, he says, “I’ll look you up sometime. You said Park Plaza, right?”

I nod. He nods.

And then you both parted ways.

The rest of your dinner was uneventful. Your gaze sometimes strayed to where Satoru sat surrounded by men in business attire, but came back to Naoya whenever he made your mom laugh.

Naoya is the perfect gentleman. Making your mom laugh, listening to her stories, paying for dinner, insisting on walking her to her car.

So why did you kept glancing at Satoru throughout the night?

“I ordered an Uber so we have approximately…” he checks his phone, “two minutes to make out”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. Smiling softly as you feel him kiss your neck lovingly, followed by your cheek.

“Ugh, how I wish I could invite myself over to your apartment, but my client wouldn’t be too happy with me if I did”

You giggle before kissing him back. Relief and disappointment coursing through you at his words.

Why was there relief?

“Grand opening soon, so I need to rest too” you remind him, “When’s your next day off?”

“Never. When’s yours?”

“Never”

You both laugh again, making out a little more before his Uber arrives and he has to leave. You watch until it pulls out of the parking lot.

Why did everything feel so right with him?

You smiled and turned around towards your car, but gasped as soon as your gaze met his covered one.

What the hell was Satoru doing standing at the rear of your car?

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you”

His voice is low, as if tired. You force yourself to not dwell on the motive.

“Well, you did” you lean against the car, three feet away from him.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

Your eyes widen as you turn to him, but his gaze is set on the road. You clear your throat.

“He’s…” your voice falters. This is weird. Your chest is still constricted and your stomach is flipping, “His name is Naoya. We met about a year ago.”

You force yourself not to wince at the truth once it came out. Maybe you shouldn’t have said you met that long ago. It sounded as if you were in an official long term relationship while you were just… courting each other?

“What about you? Girlfriend? Wife?”

Why were you asking that? Were you genuinely curious or…?

“Girlfriend. Her name is Mei Mei. We’ve been together almost a year now”

Heartburn. You believe you were having a heartburn. You place your hand in your chest.

A year?

“That’s good. You seem happy”

Did he seem happy? You had no clue. You just had to say something. Anything.

“Yeah. Well… I’m really glad I got to see you, Y/N” he turns around to walk away, but then spins and faces you again, his hands shoved in his back pockets, “I will say… I kind of wish this could have happened a year ago”

You wince at his words, trying not to let them get to you. Watching him as he turns and walks back to the restaurant.

Fumbling with your keys, you hit the button to unlock your car and slide in, shutting the door behind you loudly. You grip the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. You feel a sting on your lower lip as you bite it.

For whatever reason, a tear falls down your cheek. You feel pathetic as you carelessly wipe it before starting your car.

Why were you feeling this much hurt after seeing him?

But it’s good. This happened for a reason. Your heart needed closure so that you could give it to Naoya. Maybe you couldn’t have done that until this happened.

This was good…

Yet you kept on crying.

But it’ll feel better. It’ll be better. This was just human nature, healing an old wound to prepare for a fresh new layer.

Nothing else.

“Knock, knock” you smile, opening the door with a tray in your hands full of food.

Satoru is sleeping on the couch in the help’s house living room and your gaze softens as you see the usual frown you’ve become used to missing.

He is different than you thought.

At school he was all smiles and laughter. But that was just a mask. This was the real him, the human him. One that had a lot of baggage and was slowly trying to get rid of it.

Sighing, you put the tray in the table and move closer to him, kneeling in front of the couch where he is laying.

“Psst… Satoru… wake up”

He frowns and moves slightly, which makes you giggle softly. Was he pouting?

“Come on. Mom and dad left so I brought you breakfast” his eyes open slightly, “I made sure to bring also a piece of strawberry cheesecake”

That makes him sit up quickly. You giggle and shake your head in amusement. You had learned in the last few weeks of him living with you of his sweet tooth, it was adorable.

Except something look out of place.

His usual pale skin was red. And the house had AC so he shouldn’t be sweating that much. Also, why were his eyes bloodshot?

Worried you make your palm touch his forehead, frowning as you feel how hot it feels against your skin. You wanted to call my mother, but how would you explain the situation? What could you do?

He must’ve seen how worried you were, cause he smiled softly at me.

“I’m okay, Y/N”

Your frowned deepened. Without a word you stood up, crossing your backyard to go inside your house and look for some medicine in the cabinet. There was some flu medicine, you weren’t sure if it’d work but you needed to try. Then, you went to the kitchen and made him some ginger tea, which should help if he’s got a sour throat.

When you came back he was curled up in a ball, shivering slightly.

“Seriously, I’m fine”

“Shut up” you scoff, handing him the mug, “Drink the tea, I’ll look for a blanket”

You did as you said and he did as told. After the tea you made him drink the medicine you brought him, and then you help him eat the breakfast you prepared for him.

Throughout it all he watched you with an intense gaze that you didn’t understand, but didn’t mind either.

“Y/N… I think I wanna throw up”

You stop wetting the towels you were preparing for him, jumping to grab the trash can and kneeling down in front of him.

As soon as you set it down, Satoru hunched over it and started throwing up.

You felt your chest tighten. You didn’t want to pity him, but you kinda did. Whatever his home situation had been like, he preferred having no home to call his own and no parents to take care of him than keep on living there. Even when he was this sick.

He only had you now. And you had no clue on how to help him.

After he finished throwing up, you help him drink some water and help him brush his teeth before putting him to bed. He pouted and whined like a child, but you weren’t having any of that.

He was shaking so bad and sweating like crazy from the heat his body expelled, the thought of leaving him alone scared you.

So you didn’t.

You laid down next to him, not minding the possibility of getting sick, and every hour for the next ten hours that he continued to get sick you stayed by his side. You kept on emptying the trash can, wiping his sweat, changing his sheets, wetting his towels, making him soup and helping him eat. You didn’t even think about how gross it was.

He needed you, and you were not fucking failing him.

By the time he regained a little bit of his strength, you were exhausted. You sent him to take a shower and closed your eyes for a little bit.

Why were you so worried about him?

You sighed, too tired to think of an answer. What you did know is that you did care about him, and there was no changing that now.

When he finished showering, you made him seat next to you and covered him up with the blanket, leaning into him slightly as you felt yourself becoming sleepy.

“You should rest” he whispers, “You’ve been taking care of me all day”

“I’m not tired”

“Don’t be stubborn” he coughs, “Just sleep for ten minutes. Please?”

He never said please. You doubted the word was even in his vocabulary, yet he just said it so you would consider resting.

Silently, you close your eyes.

A few minutes later, you felt him lean over a little and press his lips against your collarbone, right between your shoulder and your neck. You stop yourself from shivering as you become breathless. It was a quick kiss. Not even one you could consider as romantic in any way, more like a thank-you kiss.

But it made you feel all kinds of things.

Even when it had already been a few hours since you left him, as you lay awake on your bed, you kept touching that spot with your fingers because you could still feel it.

It was probably one of the worst day of his life. But it had been one of your best.

The next couple of weeks things started changing between you and Satoru. Something had shifted in your dynamic.

Now you held hands. Now you slept some nights in the same bed. Now you both seek the warmth that came from the other. It made you wonder if he still saw you as a naive fifteen year old. He was just two years older, it shouldn’t make that much of a difference right?

You were currently both watching Finding Nemo in the main house’s living room. The part came up where Nemo’s father, Merlin, was looking for Nemo but feeling really defeated and Dory said: ‘When life gets you down do you wanna know what you gotta do? Just keep swimming’.

“Just keep swimming” you whisper to yourself, turning to face him with a soft smile as you grab and squeeze his hand, “Just keep swimming”

You wanted to be the one that helped him swim until he finally got to surface, until he finally could breathe again.

You both were now facing each other and he had a strange look in his eyes.

“When do you turn sixteen?”

“That’s a random question” you softly laughed, “In two more months… when do you turn eighteen?”

“Not until December” he said.

You nodded, wondering if he still saw you as a kid… and if he could ever see you as more.

Maybe when two people are fifteen and seventeen, it might seem a little too far apart. But once you turned sixteen, who would see the difference?

“I need to tell you something”, he said.

You lost your breath. Heart beating fast. Were you maybe too hopeful right now?

“I got in touch with my uncle today. My mom used to live with him in Boston. He told me once he gets back from his work trip I can stay with him”

Oh.

This was good news. This should make you happy. He’d have a home, a family. He’d be okay. So why weren’t you? Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?

“Are you going?” you asked, begging the universe your voice didn’t shake.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

He was so close to you on the couch, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. He smelled like mint.

You started fiddling with your hands, hoping to shake off the negative feelings surfacing.

“I don’t know what to say” you clear your throat, “I’m happy you have a safe place to stay, but what about school?”

A stupid excuse, but it was something.

“I could finish down there”, he said.

Oh.

He had already made up his mind, hadn’t he? You knew because he had this certain light in his eyes, a light you thought had extinguished.

Who were you to try to stop it from shining?

“When are you leaving?”

The words fled like acid in your throat.

You wondered how far away Boston is. It’s probably a few hours, but that’s a whole world away when you don’t own a car.

“I don’t know for sure that I am.”

“What’s stopping you? Your uncle is offering you a place to stay. That’s good, right?”

He tightened his lips together and nodded. Then he stop your fiddling hands, grabbing them on his own and playing with your fingers. He leaned back and then he did something you weren’t expecting. He moved his fingers to your lips and he touched them.

You felt like dying. How was it possible to feel so much at once? You had to be dying.

He kept his fingers there for a few seconds, and he said, “Thank you, Lily. For everything”

He moved his fingers up and through your hair, and then he leaned forward and planted a kiss on your forehead. Were you even breathing at this point? He looked down at me and you watched as his eyes went right to your mouth.

“Have you ever been kissed, Y/N?”

You shook your head no and tilted your face up to his because you needed him to change that right then and there or you weren’t gonna be able to breathe.

Then, too slow for your liking, he lowered his mouth to yours and just rested it there. You didn’t know what to do next, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care if you just stayed like that all night and never even moved your mouths, it was everything.

His lips closed over yours and you could kind of feel his hand shaking. You did what he was doing and started to move your lips like he was, although a little weird at first. You felt the tip of his tongue brush across your lips once and you thought your eyes were about to roll back in your head. He did it again, and then a third time, so you finally did it, too. When your tongues touched for the first time, you kind of smiled a little, because you had thought about your first kiss a lot. Where it would be, who it would be with. Never in a million years did you imagine it would feel like this.

He pushed you on your back and pressed his hand against your cheek and kept kissing you. It just got better and better as you grew more comfortable. Your favorite moment was when he pulled back for a second and looked down at you, then came back even harder.

You don’t know how long you kissed. A long time. So long, your mouth started to hurt and your eyes couldn’t stay open. By the time you both were too tired to open your eyes, you could still feels his lips ghosting over yours.

“You’re my favorite person”, you whisper, sleep overcoming you slowly.

“Out of how many people?”

His voice sounded alive for some reason. You didn’t dwell on it, too tired to try to open your eyes and see the look on his face.

“All of them”

His arms around you tighten, a small kiss being delivered to the side of your lip.

“You’re my favorite person too, Y/N. By a long shot”

You had to stop remembering the past. Especially now that you had a beautiful present paired with a future to look forward to. Naoya was perfect. He was everything you had wanted when you were a child.

Your chapter with Satoru was over. He was happy now.

You were happy now.

Time can definitely heal all wounds. Or at least most of them.

Life kept going and you buried any thought of Satoru that had come to mind. Things with Naoya became official and you felt on cloud nine every second you spent in his presence.

Especially after having sex. It was a hell of a ride.

You excitedly walked around your flower shop, humming a song under your breath and ignoring the weird looks Utahime and Maki are giving you.

Naoya had just called to say he was taking the day off for you. You had every right to feel giddy.

“Please tell me you’re being safe”

Your roll your eyes at Utahime as Maki fakes puking.

“Please, don’t”, Maki groans, “Still underage here”

“Both of you shush it” you laugh, “Utahime make sure to close. Maki get home safe. I got a dinner to make”

By the time you hear the door open you’re almost finished preparing the casserole mixture. You pour it into the glass pan and don’t turn around when you hear him walk into the kitchen.

You squeal when you feel the sting on your right butt cheek.

“Did you just slap my ass?”

“Don’t blame me, who wouldn’t want to smack that ass?”

You laugh. He raised the wine bottles in his hands with a grin, “It’s vintage”

Vintage,” I say with mock impression. “What’s the special occasion?”

He hands you a glass and says, “I have a smoking hot girlfriend and I have one of the most important trials of my life in a few days”

“What kind of trial?”

You both finish your glasses of wine and he pours you more.

“One that’s gonna be televised around the whole country. Career changing” he says, “A doctor that abused most of his female patients while anesthetized. Gotta put the bastard in jail”

Was it wrong to be turned on by your boyfriend putting trash men in jail?

“How long do you think it’ll take?”, you ask.

“Well, he had more than a hundred victims so… make three days trial if we keep it short”

You hated that people like that existed, but it made you like him more how hard he fought to get rid of them.

He chugs his wine then, “I’m gonna take a shower. Be right back”

He kissed your cheek swiftly before getting out of the kitchen.

You drink more of your wine.

He was on top of her.

They were on the couch and he had his hand around her throat, but his other hand was pulling up her dress. She was trying to fight him off and you just stood there, frozen. She kept begging him to get off her and then he hit her right across the face and told her to shut up.

You’ll never forget his words when he said, “You want attention? I’ll give you some fucking attention”

And that’s when she got real still and stopped fighting him. You heard her crying.

“Please be quiet. Y/N is here”, she sobbed, “Please be quiet”

Please be quiet while you rape me.

Was it possible for a person to feel this much hate? You walked straight to the kitchen and opened the drawer. It was like you weren’t in your own body. You grabbed the biggest knife you could find.

You weren’t planning to used it. You just wanted something that could scare him. But before you could make it out of the kitchen, two arms went around your waist and picked you up from behind. You dropped the know, but your father didn’t heart it. Your mother did.

You locked eyes with her as Satoru carried you back to your bedroom.

When you were back inside my room, you just started hitting him in the chest, trying to get back out there to her. You were crying (when had you started crying?) and doing everything you could to get him out of your way, but he wouldn’t move.

He just wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“Y/N, calm down”, he kept saying over and over.

He held you there for a long time until you accepted that he wasn’t gonna let you go back out there. He wasn’t gonna let you have that knife.

He walked over to the bed and grabbed his jacket and started putting on his shoes.

“We’ll go to the help’s house. We’ll call the police”

The police.

Your mother had warned you not to call the police in the past. She said it could jeopardize your father’s career. But in all honesty, you didn’t care at that point. The only thing you cared about was helping your mother, so you pulled on your jacket and went to the closet for a pair of shoes. When you stepped out of your closet, Satoru was staring at your bedroom door.

It was opening.

Your mother stepped inside and quickly shut it, locking it behind her. You’ll never forget what she looked like. She had blood coming down from her lip. Her eye was already starting to swell, and she had a clump of hair just resting on her shoulder. She looked at Satoru and then at you.

You didn’t even take a moment to feel scared that she had caught you in your room with a boy. You didn’t care about that. You were just worried about her.

You walked over to her and grabbed her hands and walked her to your bed. You brushed the hair off her shoulder and then from her forehead.

“He’s gonna go call the police, mom. Okay?”

Her eyes grew real wide and she started shaking her head.

“No” she said, “You can’t. No”

Satoru was already at your window about to leave, but he stopped and looked at you.

“He’s drunk, Y/N” she said, “He heard your door shut, so he went to our bedroom. He stopped. If you call the police, it’ll just make it worse, believe me. Just let him sleep it off, it’ll be better tomorrow”

But it wouldn’t. It hadn’t been in all these years. This had to be the final straw.

You shook your head and could feel the tears stinging your eyes, “Mom, he was trying to rape you!”

She ducked her head and winced when you said that.

“It’s not like that” she shook her head, “We’re married. And sometimes marriages is… you’re too young to understand”

It got really quiet for a minute.

“I hope to hell I never understand”

That’s when she started to cry. She just held her head in her hands and she started to sob and all you could do was wrap your arms around her and cry with her. You had never seen her this upset. Or this hurt. Or this scared. It broke your heart.

It broke you.

You chug the wine in your hand and pour yourself some more. Tonight was a happy day, a good one. Why were you thinking about that?

You’re on your fourth or fifth glass of wine when Naoya comes back.

“We have dinner reservations tomorrow with Utahime and Maki to celebrate your flower shop” he pours himself another glass, “We’re going to the restaurant we went with your mom. Dory was it called?”

Your heart sinks down your chest.

It’d be impossible to meet Satoru there again, right? It had been a coincidence. Boston was too big to find each other again… right?

“I don’t want to go back there. I didn’t like it. Let’s try something new”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, “Maki is excited to eat there, I told her all about it and for once she didn’t roll her eyes at me”

What are the odds of meeting again at that same place? Maybe you should just let it be.

“Speaking of food, I’m starving”

The casserole!

“Oh shit!” You say, laughing. You were definitely tipsy.

Naoya rushes to the kitchen and you stand up and follow him in there. You walk in just as he pulls the oven door open and waves away the smoke. Ruined.

You got dizzy all of a sudden from standing up too fast after having that many glasses of wine. So you grabbed the counter beside him to steady yourself, just as he reached in to pull the burnt casserole out.

“Wait, Naoya! You need a…”

“Shit!” he yells.

“Pot holder”

The casserole falls from his hand and lands on the floor, shattering everywhere. You lift up your feet to avoid broken glass and mushroom chicken splatter. You start laughing as soon as you realize he didn’t even think to use a pot holder.

Must be the wine. It was a seriously strong wine.

He slams the oven shut and moves to the faucet, shoving his hand under the cold water, muttering curse words. You’re trying to suppress your laughter, but the wine and the ridiculousness of the last few seconds are making it hard. You look at the floor, at the mess you’re both about to have to clean up, and the laughter bursts from you. You’re still laughing as you lean over to get a look at Naoya’s hand.

You hope he didn’t hurt it too bad.

Suddenly you’re not laughing anymore. You’re on the floor, your hand pressed against the corner of your eye.

In a matter of one second, Naoya’s arm came out of nowhere and slammed against you, knocking you backwards. There was enough force behind it to know you off balance. When you lost your footing, you hit your face on one of the cabinet door handles as you came down.

Pain shoots through the corner of your eye, right near your temple.

And then you feel the weight.

Heaviness follows and it presses down on every part of you. So much gravity, pushing down on your emotions. Everything shatters.

Your tears, your heart, your laughter, your happiness, your soul. Shattered like broken glass raining down around you.

You wrap your arms over your head and try to wish away the last ten seconds.

Was that all it took for everything to shatter? Only ten seconds?

“Shit, Y/N” you hear him groan, “It’s not funny. It fucking hurts”

You don’t look up.

His voice doesn’t penetrate your body this time. It feels like it’s stabbing you now; that sharpness of his words coming at you like swords.

And then his hands are on your back, rubbing it.

“Y/N. Oh, shit, Y/N” he tries to pull your arms away from your head, but you refuse.

You shake your head. Begging for the last seconds to go away. Ten seconds. That’s all it took for a person to completely change everything about themselves.

Ten seconds that you’ll never get back.

He pulled you against him and started kissing the top of your head.

“I’m so sorry. I just… I burned my hand. I panicked. You were laughing and… I’m so sorry, it all happened so fast. I didn’t mean to push you, Y/N. I’m sorry”

But you couldn’t hear Naoya, you only heard your father.

“I’m sorry, Y/M/N. It was an accident. I’m so sorry”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It was an accident. I’m so sorry”

You wanted him away from you.

Using every ounce of strength still in you, you pushed him away from you. He falls backward, onto his hands. His eyes are full of genuine sorrow, but then they’re full of something else.

Worry? Panic?

He slowly pulls up his right hand and it’s covered in blood. Blood is trickling out of his palm, down his wrist. You look at the floor, at the shattered pieces of glass from the casserole dish. His hand. You just pushed him onto glass.

He turns around and pulls himself up. He sticks his hand under the stream of water and starts rinsing away the blood. You stand up, shaking, just as he pulls a sliver of glass out of his palm and tosses it on the counter.

You’re full of so much anger, but somehow, concern for his hand still finds its way out. You grab a towel and shove it into his fist. There’s so much blood.

You try to help stop the bleeding, but you’re shaking too bad, “Naoya, your hand.”

He pulls the hand away and, with his good hand, he lifts my chin.

“Fuck the hand, Y/N. I don’t care about my hand. Are you okay?”

He’s looking back and forth between your eyes frantically as he assesses the cut on your face.

Your shoulders begin to shake and huge, hurt-filled tears spill down your cheeks.

“No” you’re sure he can hear your heart breaking with just that one word, because you can feel it in every part of you, “Oh my God. You pushed me, Naoya. You…”

The realization of what has just happened hurts worse than the actual action.

Naoya wraps his arm around your neck and desperately holds you against him, “I’m so sorry, Lily. God, I’m so sorry”, he buries his face against your hair, squeezing you with every emotion inside of him, “Please don’t hate me. Please”

His voice slowly starts to become his own voice again, and you feel it in your stomach, in your toes. He’s not even worried about his hand, which is still bleeding. That means something right?

There’s too much happening. The smoke, the wine, the broken glass, the food splattered everywhere, the blood, the anger, the apologies, it’s too much.

“I’m so sorry” he says again

You pull back and his eyes are red and you’ve never seen him look so sad.

“I panicked. I didn’t mean to push you away, I just panicked. All I could think about was my hand and… I’m so sorry”

He presses his mouth to your and breathes you in.

He’s not like your father. He can’t be. He’s nothing like that uncaring bastard.

You’re both upset and kissing and confused and sad. You’ve never felt anything like this moment, so ugly and painful. But somehow the only thing that eases the hurt just caused by this man is this man. Your tears are soothed by his sorrow, your emotions soothed with his mouth against yours, his hand gripping yours like he never wants to let go.

Naoya isn’t like your father. He’s nothing like him.

He can’t be.

part two [coming soon]

[chaithetics]

hey I had an idea for a stewy fic! Maybe it’s Roy!reader who gets scared on their wedding day (bc they’re a Roy and are not used to love) and stewy comforts them beforehand? I don’t know if that makes sense haha

Roy-ful Wedding Jitters

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Roy Reader

Word count: 2.1K

Author's note: Ah! I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry for how long this was in my inbox. I owe you big time and I'm getting around to the older requests, I really hope you love this and it was worth the note! Not proofread so do enjoy y'all! I think this is ending the biggest gap between fics I've had so I'm sorry, love you all! Also, wear sunscreen!

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, anxiety, not the best self-esteem, Roy childhood dynamics, mild cursing.

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

It was a peaceful morning, or it should’ve been, it was a peaceful-looking morning at least. Well peaceful as long as you didn’t look in a mirror and see the fear in your eyes or the growing shake in your hands. The weather was perfect, it was sunny and beautiful but it wasn’t too hot and even though you shouldn’t say it, if somebody forgot to wear sunscreen for a couple of hours, they’d get off burn-free. 

This day had been perfectly chosen, the location, venue, color scheme and of course, the weather to ensure it was the perfect location at the perfect time. Just as everything was when the Roy name was attached and you had a casual perfectionist like Stewy Hosseini as your groom. Your wedding day had been carefully curated as if it were an exhibition at the most pretentious and lauded of museums and galleries. The receipts, emails, and photos could be packaged like Sofia Coppola’s Archive and sold as another overpriced coffee table book that wouldn’t get touched beyond the hands of the wealthy at a ridiculous launch event. 

Despite the sheer perfection of this intimate Italian wedding, you were shaking slightly and there had been a ball of dread growing in your stomach the moment that woke you up. The kind of almost nausea you had that was pre-flying anxiety whenever you had a flight, the one that means you don’t eat the morning of and then feel even more nauseated later because of that. 

You rub your eyes and look at him, sleeping blissfully, completely ignorant of the shitstorm swirling inside of his bride. You’re still feeling anxious. Anxious to be this vulnerable in front of another human being, to be so vulnerable on an intimate level. Love is a weakness, a desire, and you’re declaring in front of everyone and legally that this person, this man holding you right now is your weakness. It’s terrifying. 

You get out of bed and start to pace as you think about how you’re just as cursed as everyone else in your family and all their doomed relationships that were infertile for love and how nobody in the Roy family ever got the memo of what a healthy relationship is. You start to anxiously scratch your neck as you come to the conclusion that just like everything else in your life, this day is doomed. It’s cursed in fact! You can’t help but think. 

Unsure of whether to scream, run away or cry you look around the room. You even think about climbing out of the window of the suite… Why are you thinking this when there’s a door. A goddamn door you could just climb out of! You facepalm yourself and mutter under your breath how stupid you are. These feelings are very real and it’s definitely not a trauma response or form of self-sabotage you think to yourself. 

Stewy wakes up and you hear him whisper that it’s because of your pacing as he looks at you with sleep still in his eyes and his hair handsomely but messily tousled from sleep. It’s only then that you realize that you had been pacing. 

“I need something to drink… juice… fruit juice.” You said as you paced around the room. 

“Fruit juice…?” Stewy asked curiously, he’d only just woken up and he was trying to keep track with the frantic rambling while also calming your nerves. 

“Yeah, fruit juice!” You said it almost defensively and then tried to take a deep breath but the oxygen wouldn’t go all the way down to the pit of your stomach like it should. “Your body absorbs glucose quicker through liquids than solids. ” You added on in a less defensive tone. 

“Um…okay?” Stewy was feeling more confused as he watched you. “Are you going to explain the difference between veins and arteries to me next?” He asked in a curious and gentle tone with a slight inflection of amusement. 

“Maybe my blood sugar’s low.” 

“Low? Your blood sugar? Are you okay?” Stewy’s voice was more concerned now and his face reflected that as his eyes widened and he tilted his head. Stewy quickly poured a drink and handed it to you, you drank it immediately while pacing with your back to him. 

“Maybe today is cursed?” “It’s not cursed, hon-” “But,” you cut him off. “Look at us, we’re sleeping in the same suite, same bed. I woke up as the little spoon Stew. It’s breaking tradition, bad luck, curse-” “That’s like not even a superstition, you’re not wedding superstitious.” He says as he runs a hand through his dark curls. 

“Maybe I should’ve been? This is-” “Honey, it’s a tradition. An outdated one that just doesn’t reflect modern relationships anymore. We live together. Kinda defeats that whole thing, that was when couples didn’t live together, it was arranged marriages and you met at the altar.” “I know.” You whisper, and you do. 

“Fortunately for us, that’s not our situation at all.” He smiles at you and you sigh as you look around, this hasn’t done anything for your anxiety yet though. 

“Did you ever think that-that… that well, anxiety is like a parasite-” You start to say before he cuts you off. 

You’re just taking turns doing it now, he cuts you off to reassure you and then you cut yourself off to catastrophize more. What a morning of the wedding day dynamic you’ll think about in 5 years. “No, I haven’t but-” Stewy sounds mildly flabbergasted but he’s still trying. “And I had this parasite left in me, that they didn’t even know to take out when I was born. An awful little parasite of the parasitic qualities of my parents and it just ate away… fed and grew during every fucking developmental stage Stewy.” “You don’t have a parasite.” He’s being soft and genuine with you as he speaks through all of the worst fears your spitting out at him right now. 

“No, I’ve become the parasite, the poison drips through and it trickled right into feeding and I’m… I’m just like him. I don’t want to be Stew, but I am.” There’s a desperation in your voice but also a resolution. “You’re nothing like your father. Right now, you share his last name and that is it. You are not him and you are not doomed to repeat the cycle.” Stewy says as he looks into your eyes. 

“I’m a parasite and I’m just consumed… I’m going to latch onto you and just ruin you and this is just going to become miserable Stewy. I’m a Roy, it’s just…it’s just how it works. Look at my parents. My dad and his marriages. My dad and every relationship he’s had.” You say as you frantically run your fingers through your hair. 

“Again, you’re not your dad. And you’re not your mother. We’re not your parents or any other weird item they’ve been a part of.” He says as he steps closer to you and tries to gently caress your arms. 

“You get rid of parasites through antiparasitics and antibiotics, not marriage! That’s li-like… that’s like signing away your life for the parasite to chew on!” You spit out nervously. 

“Good thing you’re not a parasite and you can’t marry them. And also for medicine existing.” Stewy says, he puts on a warm smile and his eyes glow as he tries to reassure you. “You’re okay babe, you’re okay. Just talk to me, just some jitters? What’s going on?” 

His voice is so gentle as always and perfect. The way he speaks is just warm and inviting, like a cosy bath you just want to sink into and forget about everything in. His stupidly perfect voice just always had a way of making you melt, whether that was when he was trying to reassure you at your breaking point (right now), flirting with you and even when he was talking Wall St finance bro jargon and rubbish. 

You took a deep breath and looked at him, your eyes were watery. 

“Fuck…Now my eyes are watery and I’m going to get scolded for being puffy when they do make up, Stew.” You wiped your eyes and Stew quickly pulled you into his arms again and you rested your head against his chest as you tried to breathe. 

“Some deep breaths honey, I love you and you love me.” He rubs your back gently in a comforting pattern and you take some deep breaths as you keep your face pressed against his comforting warmth. 

“I do love you.” You whisper against his chest, you’re feeling a bit calmer now and enjoying the circular motions of how he’s gently caressing your back. Your words bring a smile to his face which you don’t see. 

“Uh-huh, that’s why we’re getting married. We love each other lots, and always will. I haven’t seen the dress but I know you’re going to look smoking.” He says sweetly but the playful tone is evident and it makes you smile a little.

There’s still a feeling of terror dwelling inside of you but it’s easing up a bit, you look at him Stewy and you can’t help but be that scary thing, the thing your siblings run from and your father scolds, but vulnerable. 

“What if I fuck it all up? That’s all… That’s all that Roys seems to be able to do.” You say sadly as you look up at him, you love him and it’s all you want to do. 

Stewy gently caresses your face, his soft fingertips dancing across your cheek and he smiles adoringly. 

“Well, it’s a good thing that in a few hours you’ll be a Hosseini.” You both let out a small chuckle at that and your eyes get a little teary at how he knows just how to disarm you perfectly with his big brown eyes, and his sweet and silly humour. “But even if you weren’t,” he adds on tenderly. “It doesn’t mean you’re the people before you, or your siblings. This isn’t bad, this doesn’t make you weak. It’d be such a lonely life if you never let anyone in, honey. Nobody deserves to feel the kind of loneliness you think you deserve because you grew up with that man and never experienced the love you deserved. That wasn’t normal or your fault. You’re worth love, you let me in and I love you. I loved you before you did and I love you even more now, and I’m just going to keep loving you.” His words are earnest and you can’t help but become even more tearier. It’s not from self-doubt or self-hate like it was before. Instead it’s from being so seen and loved by Stewy. Having someone reassure your worries and reactions, confrontations to being loved. Something that’s just so, so, so, so foreign to the Roys. 

You look up at his big beautiful brown eyes and you see that he means every word he’s just said. He’s still hugging you but he caresses your cheek with one hand and you let out a content sigh at that. 

“I’m sorry for… for this… I’m just… I don’t know, scared and-and you know how it gets sometimes. I love you more than anything though Stewy.” You admit as you lift your hand up to sit on his cheek and feel his always perfectly trimmed beard tickle against your palm and fingertips. 

“I know, I know, and I love you.” He says back softly. 

You lean and tilt your head and you two kiss, it starts off soft and you can’t help but deepen it as you once again admit to yourself, the all-consuming love you have for him and the need you have for him. The desire and need that is sparked by his simple existence, his cologne, his beard and how it feels against your face and hands, his voice of warm honey on a cold day. 

His hand is firmly on your waist and he kisses you back, your hand snakes up to caress and run through his hair and you gasp for air against his lips but you don’t dare to pull away. You love him and you’re happy to have him, so happy. You kiss passionately as you know this is the start of the next milestone, the milestone happening today. He genuinely cares about you and you’re loved and you love, you love him. You’re capable of receiving and giving love and as you kiss your groom in your room before the intimate but big-deal ceremony, you know this is right. This is what’s right and you deserve this.

[wardenparker]

Detective Tim Rockford with “I thought you liked forehead kisses” 😌 because I love forehead kisses

Tim Rockford. 2,836 words. "I thought you liked forehead kisses." Co-written with @absurdthirst Warnings: Grief, trauma from family death, discussions of death, angst, discussion of divorce, reconciliation Sequel to: “Wait! Please don’t leave!”

The days are shorter right now. He excuses himself by saying that he’s just checking in with you, but that’s easy considering you are still staying in his house. Weeks have come and gone, the crime scene tape has been cleared from the yard and the front door of the house you shared with your sister, but you haven’t been able to go back there, not even to pick up clothes. Opening the door to the house he is once more sharing with you, he calls out your name, turning and closing the door with a decisive click and turning the deadbolt to give you that extra sense of security you need. “Sweetheart? Where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen.” Such a Donna Reed thing to say, but it’s true. And the semblance of a normal routine is helping to ground you, if you’re honest. The office is letting you work from home while you sort out your family tragedy and try to cope, but the fact is that being back in the house that you and Tim picked out together gives you a sense of safety and security.

He drops his keys on the entryway table and shucks his jacket, his shoulder harness still in place over his button down shirt as he walks into the kitchen. “Hey.” He sends you a soft smile, still trying to ignore how right it seems to have you here. He had been sharing his bed with you, not fucking you, but you had curled into his arms that first night and he hadn’t been able to turn you away when you needed comfort. “How are you doing today?”

“About the same.” No one expected this to be easy for you, but having Tim to lean on for support has helping more than you could possibly know. “But I, um…I made chicken parm for dinner…” It’s the smallest thing you could possibly do to thank him for taking you in, and it turns out that after all these years cooking is fairly soothing for you. The machinations of the kitchen are a comforting routine. So making his favourite dinner was not a very hard leap to take.

“You didn’t have to do that.” His protest is perfunctory, already drooling at the thought of your chicken parm. He’s never found one close to it. “But thank you.” Moving over to give you a hug, he presses his lips to your forehead gently.

It’s such a small gesture, but it warms you through to the point of making you ache. Practically making you melt against him. “What was that for?” You ask, almost like you’re afraid of what he might be getting ready to tell you. It’s been three weeks and you’re still here — maybe he wants you to leave or has finally realized this whole thing is inappropriate. Or worse — he’s realized that you still have feelings for him.

Tim pulls back, worried that he had possibly overstepped. He’s tried so hard, but it’s almost impossible when he’s still in love with you. Never stopped loving you if he’s honestly with himself. He shoots you a sheepish look. “I thought you liked forehead kisses.” He murmurs softly.

“I do.” And your cheeks are burning at the seemingly innocent show of affection. “I just…I’m surprised you remember, that’s all.” It seems like such a tiny thing to you. That fact that he remembers speaks volumes.

“I remember.” Tim answers quietly, his eyes sliding away from your face before he admits he remembers everything about what you like.

“I do, too.” You remember everything. The good and the bad. Including how you pulled the plug on your marriage too quickly. There should have been counseling and compromises. But you had reacted impulsively and he hadn’t fought you. So you had just…thought he agreed. That your marriage wasn’t worth saving after all.

Holding you close for another moment, Tim pulls away. Refusing to take advantage of your emotional vulnerability. “I picked up some clothes for you today.” He murmurs softly.

“You didn’t have to do that.” The day after the attack you had managed to get yourself to Target with the help of an emergency appointment with your therapist, and have been working off those supplies for weeks now.

“I know, but I thought it would be nice for you to have some of your things.” He’s not going to mention that he had the crime scene clean up crew in. It would be okay for you to go home but he doesn’t want you to.

“Thank you.” It’s almost painful to have him move away, but you can’t tell how much of it is grief, how much of it is missing him, and how much of it is gratitude. “Dinner’s almost ready…I had it all set up so you could work late if you need to…I just need to cook off the spaghetti and melt some cheese over the chicken.”

“Thank you.” You’ve been so understanding if he had to work late, probably because he’s working on your sister’s case, but he has news for you. “Sit down for a minute please, I want to talk to you.”

“Is everything okay?” It can’t be. Not if he has that serious tone. But you swallow hard and try not to catastrophize what it could be — that won’t help a single bit. All you can do is sink into a chair with wobbly knees and try not to fear the worst. That the man who killed your sister has gotten away. Or even killed again.

Tim kneels down in front of you again, taking your hands in his. “This afternoon, I arrested the man who murdered your sister.” He tells you softly. “He confessed. There’s no way he’s getting away with it.”

“He—he confessed?” The way you had been prepared for a fight. To have to look the man in the eyes in a court of law and make him admit it or worse. If he actually went free? The absolute terror in your heart that has been clutching into your soul with a merciless grip just slips, and with it comes the outpouring of tears that you’ve been holding back for weeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby.” You rock forward in a sob and he catches you in his arms, holding you close while you cry in rage, grief and absolute sorrow for the sister that has been taken from you and the life you have lost. “We have him, baby. It doesn’t bring her back, but he’s going to rot in jail for what he’s done.”

Without any concept of how long you cry for, all you know is that Tim stays there — crouched with his bad knees and his worse back — in front of you and holds you the whole time. He’s been the calm against the storm for this entire tragedy. He’s been a rock in the stormiest sea you’ve ever encountered, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the way he’s handled everything. By the time you finish crying, you’re shaking in his arms and really almost collapsed into him. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t the only other person in the world who means this much to you.

You are exhausted by the time you’ve stopped crying. Your eyes are puffy and your nose stuffed up but you are still the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen. You sit back in your chair and he pats your knee. “Let me make you some tea, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m okay,” you promise him, despite that clearly not being the truth. You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck even and though you tried so hard to make him a nice dinner — you’re just exhausted.

“I know you are.” Tim murmurs softly, moving over to the kettle and bringing it to the sink to fill with water. It was one you had left, unused until you came back since he lived off coffee and cigarettes, the occasional take away Chinese. “You are a strong woman. But I know what you are going through. I see it everyday, sweetheart.”

“I was so unfair to you.” The regret in your voice is palpable. The sadness and the resignation. Knowing that if you had bent just a little instead of thinking you had to be strong as stone and simply end things, you might have been able to break through and realize that this is what Tim deals with on a daily basis.

“I kept all of this from you.” Tim reminds you. He had bottled up all his emotions towards the job, never letting you see the toll it takes on him. Never letting you understand why he was so driven to solve the case. He had witnessed too many people crying for their loved ones. Had too many mothers and wives, sisters and lovers collapse into his arms sobbing. He moves over to the stove and sets the kettle to boil, turning on the water in the pot beside it for the spaghetti. “I didn’t want it to touch you.”

“I’m so sorry, Tim.” From your place hunched over at the dining room table where you shared so many meals together, your head drops to hang between your shoulder blades.

“Hey…hey…” he moves back over, his hands on your shoulders instantly, squeezing gently. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He promises you. “Nothing. It was me.”

“We should have tried counseling. Or just talking more.” When he comes up in back of your chair you lean back instantly to be closer to him. “I’ve always hated myself for just leaving.”

“You weren’t happy.” Tim reminds you. “I didn’t make it easy for you when we were married, so when you said you wanted a divorce…I just�� I gave you what you wanted.” He admits quietly. “I didn’t have the right to beg you for another chance, for anything really.” He had to talk to a therapist after he had killed a man right after the divorce, it was standard police protocol to be released back on the force, but he had worked through a lot of his issues. “I- compartmentalized when we were together, but I had a hard time decompressing. Putting work aside. You deserved so much more, but I just couldn’t give it to you then. I was trying to get those poor victims families some peace. To let the victims rest.”

“And I should have realized how much good you do for those families. For—” A shaky, shallow breath cracks out of you. “For the victims.” For people just like your sister. “And then the second it suits me I come back in and take advantage of the thing that I said I hated?” Shaking your head, you honestly can’t understand why he even bothers with you. He should have just told you to get a hotel room, and instead he’s been sharing his bed with you and fetching your clothes from your house. “I—I’m just so fucking sorry, honey.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He repeats softly, his fingers brushing your neck, feeling your pulse jump and he knows that it’s not the time or the place, but he can’t help himself. “I would do anything for you, sweetheart.” He admits. “I love you.”

Even though the pronounced frown on your face is from the situation and your tears and not from him, it feels like it deepens when your eyes widen and you turn around to face him again. “You mean you used to.” You correct carefully, trying to understand.

His heart aches at the displeasure in your face, aware that you wouldn’t want him to love you anymore. Still, he shakes his head. “No, I mean I still love you.” He confesses. “Never stopped, not even when you left.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. But babe, I’m here for you because I love you, and you needed someone who cares about you.”

"You don't have to convince me of anything." The corners of your mouth turn up like a confession of your own, although you're still not entirely sure that you can even wrap your mind around what he's laying out in front of you. "What's the quote? If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours."

“I knew your address.” He’s not done laying everything out. Rolling his eyes at himself and tilting his head. “Slight misuse of resources. But when that call came over the radio, I think I stopped breathing. I know my heart stopped.” He shakes his head. “All I could think was that I had lost you, and you weren’t even mine anymore. But as long as you were safe and happy out in the world, I was okay.” His voice cracks slightly. “Thinking the worst….” He shakes his head again. “I feel so fucking guilty because of how happy I was that it wasn’t you.”

"That...would explain why your young Detective Fallon was curious about our relationship." The question while you gave your statement -- a perfunctory measure since you didn't really see anything but it was a crime in your home with your sister as the victim so you needed to be eliminated as a suspect -- had surprised you but you had answered it honestly and moved on. "He thinks the world of you, by the way." Swallowing thickly, you push yourself to your feet to actually look Tim in the eyes. "And so do I."

“You feel appreciative of me helping you.” Tim doesn’t want to hope, and the look in your eyes gave him doing exactly that. “I don’t want to ever take advantage of you, sweetheart.”

"Baby..." As free as Tim has been with terms of endearment, you have been more guarded. Making sure that what you've been feeling wasn't powered by grief or the fear of being alone. But...it's Tim. This man is still your husband in your heart, even if not on paper. "I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. I never stopped loving you."

He stares at you for a moment, weighing your words and he closes his eyes in acceptance. His hands drift down to his hips and he swallows. “What do you want to do, sweetheart?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know.” You admit quietly, wanting to take another step closer but afraid to move a muscle. “But I know I don’t want to walk away from you again.”

“I had the clean up crew come through your place.” He murmurs softly. “You can rent it, sell it, burn it to the ground.” He huffs, “but don’t tell me about that one. I’d have to arrest you.”

“I’ve already decided to sell it.” Even thinking that Tim was only being nice because of what happened a few weeks ago, you hadn’t known that part of your hesitancy to leave this house was going back there. Even if he wanted you gone, you were finding someplace new.

“I think that’s a good idea.” He knows you will have to wait if you bought it with your sister. Her estate would have to be settled, but you can always stay here. Even if you don’t want to live here permanently again. “We can arrange for packers to come? So you don’t have to be there?”

“It shouldn’t be hard for me to find a place.” Even though you don’t want to. Even though you just want to stay here with Tim in the house you should have been living in for years. “I’m sure you don’t want me taking up your space. Even if you—if we—”

“Stay.” Tim interrupts you immediately. “Please. I want you to stay.” He gives you a small smile. “This is your house too. Always has been. Just- the joy left it when you moved out and I want it back.”

“I want to stay.” And admitting that out loud feels like you could collapse again but this time with sheer relief.

Tim steps closer to you, his arms coming around you again and he kisses your forehead once more. “Then stay, baby.” He whispers lovingly. “You never have to leave.”

However much you might have grown in the time you were apart, or what you might have discovered about yourselves, you’re still standing here in the kitchen of the house you picked out together. With your arms around each other. And with the gratitude that life is still allowed to have bright spots in the inky black darkness. “I missed you, love.”

“I missed you too.” A case had brought you back into his life, a horrible one, but it had allowed you both to compromise. To yield just enough to be able to come back together again. Detective Tim Rockford wouldn’t make the mistake of overlooking important clue to your feelings this time.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[thebookbutterfly]

°•. Din Djarin .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Din Djarin works in one place. Disclaimer: I am aware that most people refer to Mando as ‘Din’ but as it is canonically his last name I prefer to call him Djarin. Also with maybe the exception of one or two fics none of the works recommended here depict Djarin breaking his creed ( I just don’t like it). Anyway, please enjoy! ☺️

⭐️ = One of my favourites

ONESHOTS:

🦋 Beautiful [Fluff] Translating for a Tusken raider leaves Mando no other option than to be vulnerable. You tell him just how much he means to you. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

🦋 Injured [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] After Mando is injured you refuse to leave his side. He is a little loopy on bacta shots and confesses things to you like the sweetie he is. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Breathe [Fluff, Angst] You think Djarin wants another woman, he thinks you want the safety that comes from being away from him. Both of you are wrong. Very fluffy ending. << Female Reader, Brief Miscommunication >>

🦋 His [Fluff] Djarin has just come home from a long hunt. Exhausted, he finds the heater broken and you in his bed. << Female Reader, Allusions to Sex >>

🦋His World [Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff] When the Crest explodes, seemingly with you in it, Djarin’s universe falls apart. AKA Din Djarin thinks that you died, you’re delighted to inform him you didn’t. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Conceal [Hurt/Comfort] Din Djarin was a master at hiding his injuries, that’s why he’d always discover yours. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 skin [Fluff] You love it when Din Djarin touches you, but after working outside in the snow all day his hands are freezing. Domestic fluff with pregnant reader. << Female Reader, Pregnancy >>

🦋 My Riduur [Fluff] Of course Mando feels a little jealous when someone is flirting with his riduur. As a Mandalorian he can’t kiss you but he has other ways to stake his claim. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Snowflakes In Your Hair [Fluff] You have never seen snow before, so Mando takes you to Ando Prime to experience it for the first time. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 That’s Not My Name [Fluff] You find out that you have actually been calling ‘Din’ by his surname all along. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Asleep Together [Fluff] Djarin can’t find Grogu, until he finds you asleep with him. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 touching Din [Fluff, Slight Angst] Din Djarin loves being touched and you love touching him. Touch starved Djarin getting the love he needs. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Haircut [Fluff] Mando hadn’t cut his hair in a while. When your fingers brushed through the pieces that stuck out from the edge of his helmet, he found that he didn’t mind. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Meeting the Family [Fluff] Mando takes you to meet the covert for the first time and introduces you as his riduur. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Language Barrier [Fluff] You hadn’t found the right moment to tell Mando that you were fluent in Mando’a, and now it was too late to mention casually. You finally tell him when he confesses to you under his breath. << Female Reader, Allusions to Sex >>

🦋 Significant [Fluff] Djarin has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means and get more than you bargained for. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Offer [Fluff] Din Djarin is absolutely sure that you know that he is courting you. He wants to make the offer formally anyway. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Warm Sand, Soft Hands [Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] After Djarin’s stunt with the Great Krayt Dragon, you were furious and scared. Right up until you realised why he did it. << Gender Neutral Reader, Injury >>

🦋 Common Mistake [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] You had accidentally stabbed yourself with a knife. Embarrassment aside you didn’t want to be a burden and hid the injury. Mando takes care of you. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Distracting [Fluff] Mando removes his beskar in front of you for the first time. Safe to say that it is terribly distracting. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Kiss [Fluff] Curious, you ask Djarin if he has ever kissed anyone before, secretly hoping to be his first. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Good [Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst] Din Djarin was the only person you ever told about your weakness, and yet he wasn’t “good enough” to shield you from it. << Female Reader, Drowning >>

🦋 Blood Loss [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Mando comes back from collecting his bounty injured. You take care of him. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Jealousy [Fluff] Vanth keeps you company while Mando is out running errands. He gets flirty and Djarin decides to reveal that you are his riduur. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Rumble [Fluff] Djarin comforts you during a thunderstorm. << Female Reader >>

SERIES:

🦋 Orbit: Part 1 (Body Warmth), Part 2 (Battle Scars), Part 3 (Bruised Skin) [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] You and Din Djarin had been orbiting one another for a long time. Sharing a space, sharing warmth and sharing skin. Mega Fluff with a healthy dose of “Who did this to you?” << Gender Neutral Reader, Injury >>

🦋 Not Like This, Not You [Angst, Hurt Comfort, Fluff] After being captured by Moff Gideon, Djarin is forced to break his creed and show his face to you. You are devastated but both of you are determined to escape. << Female Reader, Violence >> ⭐️

🦋 In Sickness and In Health: Part 1 (In Sickness), Part 2 (In Health) [Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff] The time when the kid got sick and the time you caught the same illness from him. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

DRABBLES:

🦋 Bacta Patch [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Mando stops by your store to discover that you’re hurt. He decides to fix that. With a healthy dose of ‘Who did this to you?’ << Gender Neutral Reader >>

[turtlecleric]

I'm in Hell

SPOILERS FOR SYMPHONY CHAPTER 22 - THIS POST IS LONG YOU'VE BEEN WARNED

I'm so Unwell. I have never had any misunderstandings like the thing with Donnie, but I have been betrayed by someone who was my best friend for years, so this chapter... it's hitting me really, really hard.

---

When Leo first met Vi, he was studying her a lot. Remember the near-physical weight his scrutiny had felt like? You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. ... like a pinned rabbit ... you see an obsidian edge beneath his smile that feels a little sharp as you lean into it.

And then later in her apartment:

[Leo talking] “…You know what really got me interested in talking to you?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“Donnie came back from talking with April and he was talking about you."

This is literally Vi and Leo's first time meeting - I don't think Leo started to really hate her until after she started coming to the Lair and he saw how Donnie reacted to her presence, but he mentions that Donnie talked about her already. It's framed within Vi's mind as him being careful with his family. He's the leader, he's careful around new people, he wants to make sure she isn't a threat, etc. But even though this is before the touch thing started, there could've been the seed of hatred already there depending on how Donnie spoke about Vi to Leo.

---

He [Leo] peers at you like he can read your life story where it’s written on your soul. ... “…You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?” he asks, his voice soft and yet cutting you all the same.

and this:

[Vi talking] “I had a lot of fun tonight. I’d… like to have more nights like this one. To. To have a family. If I can.” “You can,” he [Leo] says

He knew from the first fucking time he met her that she was lonely. That she wanted friends, wanted a family, wanted to belong. He knew that better than anyone else in the family, not only because of her saying this to him but also because of how well he reads people and how much time he spent with her. He's the only one who has seen her in her apartment, too, caught her in those few vulnerable moments in her home. I'm so fucking angry.

There are so many times in the fic that... I can't even articulate... here's some quotes early on -> "you hate how much you like this guy [Leo]" and "you smile when you see [the text notification is from] Leo" and when Vi is sick in the store she says "I miss Leo" and on and on. And that whole fucking time! He was!! UGH!!!

---

When Vi agrees to make Leo some bread so that maybe he can get some of Donnie's apology cookies he texts her "ttyl i gotta go rub this in donnie’s face" and yeah that's him being a little shit as always, but it's ALSO proof of him using EVEN THEIR PRIVATE TEXT CONVERSATIONS as ammunition rile up Donnie.

---

Hey look! Bits that hit different/hint at more going on/might be Leo's mask slipping!

“How long do we hafta wait before she ain’t a guest anymore?” Raph asks, causing you to snort a laugh. 

“That’s up to Donnie,” Leo says, voice heavy with an undercurrent of meaning you’re not picking up on, causing you to look at him with a raised eyebrow. He smirks, reaching over to poke your cheek with his finger. “Y’know. He’s the one who met you first, and all that.” 

…Something tells you it’s more than that, but he’s good enough at hiding it that you don’t feel comfortable calling him on it in front of the others.

...

you have no idea how you fit in [to the family], and Leo had all but told you that the space is here, ready and emblazoned with your name on it. You don’t quite see it yet, even if he apparently does.

...

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. It’s complicated,” Leo says easily, and it’s only just, but you pick out the thread of iron bars in his tone, ready to come crashing down if you push even a little too hard. So, you don’t.

“Okay,” you say easily, causing him to get that piercing look he gets sometimes, the one when he feels more like a ninja than a funny turtle man who tries to see how many cookies he can shove into his mouth at once and sends you pizza rat memes at four in the morning. “…Dude, we’ve been friends for like, a week. It’s cool that you aren’t ready to spill your guts yet, you know that, right?” 

His eyes go sharp, but then he hums and smiles. You feel like you did the night you first met him, like there’s a test here and it’s in a language you don’t understand. It’s a bit uncomfortable, prompting you to grab your own drink and swallow a healthy bit of it just to have something to do.

...

[Vi talking] “…He [Donnie] seems lonely.”

Leo hums under his breath, cutting a portal that feels a little like home. “Well, lucky he has you, then.”

...

“Uh, I met her first,” Donnie says, scowling, while Leo just gives him a smug look. 

...

You do, however, lean in while the others are occupied, whispering to Donnie, “So, ten dollars, which one of them tops?” and laughing when he chokes. You catch Leo’s eyes and give him a devious grin, spying him look to Donnie with a curiously blank look before shifting to a catty smile of his own when he looks back to you

...

“One portal home for a lovely lady,” Leo says as he steps through, his face going a little flat when he looks over your shoulder to Donnie behind you.

...

Leo is… astonishingly quiet for a moment, his face blank of anything for you to read as he stares at the piece hard. Then he looks up at you, and you see an unusually capable person that doesn’t feel like your best friend, even as much as it feels like the real Leonardo, here for the first time for you to see.

...

[Vi talking] “I don’t… I don’t like keeping secrets. Or lying. Not from people I care about.” 

The weight of Leo’s eyes is almost physical. It makes you remember that he’s asked you to keep secrets, and your eyes snap to his, wondering if that’s the reason why he’s gone still like this. “I—I haven’t told anyone. About the ninja thing, or the Krang thing. I’d never—”

“I know,” Leo interrupts, threading his hand through your hair so he can cup your nape and press your forehead to his own. “I trust you.” You release a sigh of relief, nodding. “I’m just… thinking it might be time for us to repay that back.” 

You blink, gaze darting between his eyes. “I don’t… what do you mean?”

“We’re a pretty close-knit family. There’s a lot of… baggage. A lot of history. A lot of stuff we haven’t told you. And it’s… it’s starting to feel a little disrespectful,” he says, looking a bit displeased. “You’re one of us. It’s only fair.”

---

We all know about the constant comments Leo makes about being Vi's "favorite turtle" and "best friend" in front of the others/in the group chat. He talks in Chapter 22 about purposefully draping himself across her and pulling her close, hugging her, scenting her, touching her in front of Donnie to piss Donnie off. But there's all these other little things that seemed so innocent at the time and now I'm losing my mind wondering about each of them, wondering - is that something he did with malicious intent? How many nice things were ONLY done to piss off Donnie? There are so many times that he compliments her - for example:

“What? I can’t compliment my bestie and her fine legs?” Leo coos, reaching over and flicking your nose gently.

“Leonardo,” Donnie warns, folding his arms.

And I remember, during my second read through after I finished Chapter 20, being so happy and grateful that Leo was pretty consistently giving her compliments, because she deserves to be complimented and taken care of and loved, because she deserves good friends who hype her up, and this WHOLE TIME-

(Side note - that time that Leo complains she smells like Donnie's lab, he shoves her away and she falls to the floor. First read, it's just Leo being playful. Second read, I wonder... is that a little bit of his frustration getting out of him in a physical way? He shoved her to the fucking floor, and then, once Donnie shows up, Leo pats the cushion next to him for Vi to sit by him. Then he wraps his arm around her and pulls her in close to smell her. But that's only after Donnie shows up.)

When Mikey takes Vi's So-Shell profile picture -> “Wha—?” you start, only to feel Leo leaning in to smoosh his cheek against yours, the distinct feeling of bunny ears brushing the back of your skull. Once again, this is in front of Donnie. Plus it's for her profile picture, so that means every time Donnie sees her So-Shell profile he'll see Leo in the picture, too. Leo was also famously the first like on her first So-Shell post and gets her to always leave nice comments/emojis on his thirst traps.

When she comes to the Lair to practice with her viola, Leo offers up HIS room first, and only once she declines does he -> “Ugh, fine, you are so boring,” he says, and removing his arm, he shoves at your shoulders hard and pushes you through the portal. (Pushing her onto the floor, pushing her through the portal... he's kind of rough with her in the beginning, and I figured it was just because he's haha silly funny turtle man, physical comedy, joking around whatever but... again I wonder. Is he letting himself be a little rough as a way to express his true feelings?)

God, all these little things that... might have an ulterior motive and might not.

It's around the time Vi gets bruised up by that guy at the coffee shop that Leo seems to start actually acting like a real friend, in my opinion. “…You don’t even get how incredible you are, do you?” he asks, causing you to roll your eyes. “You seriously don’t see it.” 

The very next chapter he gets a glimpse of her being anxious over not being able to play, while she notices that he looks tired, invites him to listen to music and lets him sleep on her back, and in that chapter it says: you sit, quiet, letting him use you. My second read through, this line hit me hard because I KEPT noticing that she really does nothing but GIVE and I feel like she's constantly doing things to be useful to others. And now, as I'm skimming through a third time, it turns out that... yeah. Yeah. He was fucking using her. In Chapter 22, Leo says "then you reach out and touch me in a way no one has. You’ve helped me, even though I was just using you" and I'm thinking this is the moment that that really started. When she first let him sleep on her. And that's also the first time he churrs with her. After that, he gets her really nice sushi, and she thinks he's guilty for drooling all over for her, but I think maybe he was guilty because he's starting to realize how nice she is and how shitty it is that he's using her like that, even though he does continue those manipulative behaviors.

---

He sighs, his face going openly affectionate. “…You’re so…” 

What he thinks you are, you don’t know, as he chooses instead to pull you into a hug. You go easily, seeking the comfort of his embrace, hoping he can feel in your arms that you truly do mean what you said. 

“You know, instead of sorry, you should say—” Leo says, though as his face gets close to your throat, his mouth snaps shut and he goes still in a manner that reminds you a little of Donnie. 

“…Leo?” you ask, going to pull back from the hug to look into his face only to feel his hands go tight on your back, holding you close while he dips his beak to your skin and inhales. When he does pull back, he’s got a look of shock on his face that he quickly schools into something more neutral, but barely. 

This is where he smells Donnie on you for the first time, and the guilt he was starting to feel, the actual genuine affection he was developing for her, may have then been interrupted/overshadowed by his anger.

Vi was right to say she isn't gonna go back and examine every detail, because it's so fucking MUDDY! There are glimpses of true softness from him sprinkled throughout with him ALSO still hanging over her and doing shit that pisses Donnie off on purpose. And then of course the scene with Leo in the kitchen when he scares her, where we get the first big glimpse into his true anger about the whole situation, where we see him being sharp and cutting and dismissive and- I'm not going to paste in that whole scene, but he's so, so, SO angry. When she has that visceral, terrified reaction, he feels so bad (I do think he was genuinely, truly horrified that he scared her), but then he finds out that Vi and Donnie are (as far as Vi is aware) dating, followed by her telling him that Donnie misses touching his brothers, misses hugs, followed by Leo deciding to tell Vi about all the family secrets... so he's wrestling with this rage and jealousy, but he's also starting to really accept her as family (I think, since he shared the info about the Krang, about Lou Jitsu, about Casey, since he asked for her help)...

It kills me that, after that, he saw her trying so hard to help, like when she went to the library and got books on PTSD and fell asleep taking notes and she wakes up with a blanket covering her and a little blue heart on a note - he saw her doing that, on top of everything else she CONSTANTLY does for other people, for his family, and HE STILL, EVEN AFTER THAT, DOES SHIT THAT'S MANIPULATIVE. THE 4TH OF JULY PARTY, FOR EXAMPLE. “What she said,” Leo purrs, his fingers fluttering on your stomach as his eyes cut off to the side. He has a sharp look to his features that you’re a bit too drunk to dissect, so you just ignore it. He HAS to be looking at Donnie, here.

(Side note - we still don't know what Leo was doing when Vi was in the shower getting ready for the party... if anything. Maybe he really was eating cookies.)

It's at the end of the party that he smells sex on Vi, I think, for the first time. And the following chapter is when he starts avoiding Vi, and she goes to confront him and he says he's "Thinking about things. About what I want.” And THAT'S when he finally stops his bullshit. Ch 22 - "I stopped. Completely. After we talked in my room.”

---

I'm still working on fully re-reading Chapters 17+ until I make it back up to 22 and putting more thoughts into that post, but. Dear God. Sam is a genius and I'm so angry at myself. I had been so confused and angry with Donnie, when in reality he truly DID NOT KNOW about the misunderstanding between him and Vi. Meanwhile, as I'm fawning over Leo and so happy Vi has him and so grateful he's been such a good friend to her... he was the one using her, this whole time. I cannot believe it. I'm SICK with rage. I can't imagine how Vi could possibly... I can't... FUCK dude

[burification]

Fever In Bedtime Covers

Wilbur Soot x Reader

Ao3

Warnings: almost smut. but not. cheating,, toxic relationship, i think that’s it ???

no smut but minors dni pls pls pls plssssss

It’s cold. It’s late. You’re tired. You’re too upset to care. You’re livid. Despite your anger, a rational part of you admits that you should’ve gone to bed, or at least drove instead of storming out of your apartment. You don’t know where you’re going but you don’t stop. It’s not the most dangerous area, but you are still young and alone at almost one in the morning and that adds a layer of uneasiness to the air nipping at your skin.

You give up on storming off before you get lost and you seek solace on a bench at a park nearby, usually lively with families and laughter but is now so quiet. You take a moment to collect yourself, let your breath steady, attempting to find some semblance of peace. You breathe. You want to go home, you want everything to be how it was before. You don’t want to be alone in this park.

The eeriness and uncertainty of the dark decides for you that you should get back home.

You feel stupid. You feel immature. You plan how you will make it up to him, for making accusations and then storming out. You think until you’re in your building and climbing the stairs before you collide into another body. A familiar face- you recognize him as someone from your building. He’s distracted by something on his phone and you don’t know if you should make anything out of this interaction before your thoughts are interrupted by a “Sorry, ‘m just trying to get up to my apartment.”

You knew you recognized him but had never spoken to him. You’ve heard someone with an accent playfully yelling from time to time, you just wouldn’t have guessed to associate those joking vulgarities with the seemingly reserved and warm looking boy in front of you. “I’m Wil, I’ve seen you around but I don’t think we’ve met properly.” You introduce yourself to him, in hopes that a nice chat will ease your anxieties of going back home.

Before you can start any meaningful conversation, he excuses himself to take a phone call and you’re left with a mix of curiosity and relief from the brief interaction.

You go back to the flight of stairs up to your apartment until you’re in front of your door. You’re back in your thoughts again, thinking of how you could possibly make this up to your partner. Again, your thoughts are interrupted but this time by the sound of keys being shoved into a lock to your left. It’s Wil again.

“We just keep running into each other,” you joke. He laughs half heartedly.

“What’re you doing out this late anyway?”

You’re not sure how to respond. You settle on a vague response, not wanting to burden him with your personal troubles. You don’t mention your insecurity and self doubt, unsure if you overreacted or if there’s a genuine cause for concern in your relationship. Despite the turmoil, you simply say, “I just needed some air.”

“Very well. Goodnight then.” And he disappears into his apartment. You feel a yearning to talk to him more. There is something about him that exudes warmth and comfort and in this moment of vulnerability, you want to confide in him.

You retreat into your own apartment, trying to ignore the emotional turbulence and focus on your partner. It’s dark, no sign of anyone. You wonder if he had the same idea as you after the fight- perhaps he decided to clear his head as well, hopefully he was smart enough to take the car. A glimmer of hope wonders if he felt bad and went to go look for you. You feel around the wall to find the light switch while you grab your phone to call and let him know you’re home safe. As light fills the room, your gaze shifts down at your phone, you notice a pair of shoes by the door that you don’t quite recognize. They’re definitely not your partner’s and they’re a bit too expensive to be yours. The pit of anxiety in your stomach weighs heavy like a rock and molds into disappointment.

The hallway seems to go on forever, your heart races with trepidation as you quietly make your way to the bedroom. Hoping against hope that your fears are unfounded, you pray that you’re worrying over nothing. You would rather be insecure and crazy for the rest of your life than any of the other thoughts running through your head be true. The doorknob is cold, the door is cracked already and all that’s left for you to do is push. You do. It’s dark, it’s silent.

There’s a blue hue filling the room and with that small illumination, you make out a small figure in the arms of your lover. There’s no clothes strewn across the room, there’s no sick smell of sweat. It resembles the room you left behind, with the sole difference being the presence of the woman entwined with your partner.

You can’t bring yourself to cry out. You can’t bring yourself to be angry. It’s late. You’re tired. The hallway shrinks in size as you make your way to the front door again. You can’t storm off. You’re not livid, you’re just defeated. You’re standing in the hallway of your apartment complex, unaware of where to go or who to call. It’s too late to burden your family and you left all your friends to focus on the man lying in your bed with another woman.

Your knuckles against wood catches your brain up to your body. “We just keep running into each other don’t we?” Wil says in a playful tone. You wonder how he has so much energy this late at night. “I’m tired,” is all you manage to get out. “Are you locked out?” He asks, because he didn’t see you walk in and he didn’t see you walk out with half of your heart still in that apartment.

He takes your lack of an answer as acceptance, he extends an invitation and welcomes you in. His apartment is warm, not only physically but it’s also comforting, much like his presence. There’s a sense of home that you didn’t know could exist in this building, it’s a nice contrast from the cold and dark of your apartment.

The lights are on and there’s light music coming from another room. Nothing too loud, nothing you could hear from your apartment, it’s gentle.

He breaks the silence, “Is everything alright? It’s pretty late and you seem upset. Did something happen to you?” And he’s right. It is late. And you don’t know this man, who was stumbling up the steps when you met him. And you’re alone in his apartment. You wonder if he lives by himself or if anyone else is here.

“Do you afford this place on your own?” you try to get some information out of him. It’s not the nicest place but you could barely afford your apartment with your partner's income together.

“I do, yes.”

You wonder how he’s able to. It’s decorated nicely, guitar stands in the corner of the living area next to the gaming consoles across from the nice looking sectional couch. It’s nothing too extravagant but it’s comfortable.

He motions you to sit down and make yourself comfortable while he offers you a glass of water. He behaves as if he’s ready to start his morning.

“What’re you doing up this late?” It's your turn to ask questions now.

“Could you just confirm that everything is okay? Do I need to call anyone?” He seems genuinely worried. You think about how you’d react if a stranger just knocked on your door at three in the morning without saying much.

“I’m okay.” You assure. Wil visibly relaxes.

“I’m just up so I can work.” You assume he’s trying to get stuff done before a deadline, “Where’re you working?” “I do online stuff. Some of the people I make things with live across the country. I try to work with their time. I don’t mind it too much though, I prefer being up in the later hours.” You’re too tired to care to pry so you just accept his answer.

“May I ask why you knocked on my door?”

You don’t want to relive it, your heart still aches for the pieces of it that you left by the door. You tell him. You try not to look at him while you do because every word that comes out of your mouth, his eyes soften. Every word of consolation he says is dripping with a care and hospitality that you’ve grown so unfamiliar to. You want to cry because this stranger is being so kind to you and you want more, you feel pathetic. You want to tell him all your troubles so he can lick your wounds. And he does. In a way a stranger can without overstepping, he does. He listens.

You feel bad for burdening him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He listens like he is truly interested in you and your stories. It’s almost three in the morning now and you wonder if this guy sleeps at all. You’re not tired anymore. Your body is, but your brain is wide awake. Maybe you’re trying to stay awake to be alert or to take in this moment. Your glass is empty. You know you should leave but you don’t know if you could bring yourself to go home. Almost as if he could read your mind, he grabs your glass and takes it over to the kitchen. You prepare to leave and to be alone again. You think of ways to thank him but instead, he’s sat back down with a full cup of water. Almost as a way to say ‘Stay.’ You accept and hope he can see the gratitude in your eyes.

You two talk like old friends catching up with each other. You exchange stories and Wil’s soft and sympathetic eyes have turned to squinty ones accompanied with laugh lines. His personality is just as warm as his eyes are and you wonder if the room is being lit up by the lights or if it’s just that smile he bares. You can’t help but feel a bit guilty taking in his appearance when he listened to you so intently. Your glass is empty again and you can barely keep your head up. You want to stay, you want to be safe here and let him put you back together. You want him to make you whole again. “Here,” he gets up to grab you a blanket and a remote to turn on the tv, “Would you like to watch anything?” You feel like you’ve surely overstayed your welcome, “I should go.” “You don’t have to go back. Stay,” he says it out loud this time and like a well trained dog, you listen.

“Is this okay?” He sits close. “Mhm,” you mumble. He throws the blanket across both your laps. “What do you wanna watch?” He nudges the remote towards you but you just bury your face in his shoulder. “You choose,” you don’t care, you just want to be close, “please hold me.” He obeys. He rests an arm around your shoulder, he’s careful about it but you move yourself closer to him. You crave him, his warmth and his touch. You want to be whole again. He pulls you closer and you hold him harder, you hold him like he will disappear if you let go.

“Thank you for being so kind to me Wil,” you say it just above a whisper, “thank you.” He holds your head against his shoulder. He doesn’t say or do anything other than that small action but you take it and savor it. “Why are you being so kind to me, Wil?” He’s quiet for a second, “I don’t know,” you look at him but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking forward to the tv show he put on before, “you seem like you need someone right now. I want to be here for you.” He’s looking down at you now, you try not to let your eyes water but his expression is honest and it sends you over the edge.

He pulls you onto his lap until your legs are caging him and then his hands are on the back of your head. He pulls you close until the top of your head is met by his lips. He holds you close, he holds you like you are made of porcelain, as if you will shatter into a million pieces if he lets you go.

You know you shouldn’t, god knows how much of a hypocrite you’d be if you did, but you do it anyway. You need this, even if it’s just for tonight. You bring yourself up from your place on his chest to cup his face, you kiss him. You don’t expect him to, but he kisses you back. It’s fluid, it’s natural. Your hands are laced in his hair and his hands have gone from rubbing your back to holding your hips. You’re filled with another spurt of energy, a carnal desire. You’re so drunk on his lips that you cast aside any need for oxygen. His hand goes from your hip to your cheek and he pulls away. “Are you sure about this?” He’s searching your face for any trace of doubt. “Please, Wil,” you need this. You would get down on your knees to prove to him if you needed to.

You kiss him again, it’s short this time as you make your way down to his jaw, his neck, and to the small bit of collarbone exposed from his collared shirt. You move with the rise and fall of his chest as you undo his buttons. The kisses get hungrier with desperation with every button undone until you’re at his jeans. You leave small kisses at his hips before you look up at him one more time for an okay to go ahead. He looks at you at with the same sympathetic look he gave you before.

“I don’t think this is what you need right now, my darling.” You know he’s right, every part of your being wants to fight against it and just have this but you know he’s right.

“I’m sorry,” you take back your place next to him on the couch, “you’ve been nothing but kind to me tonight I don’t mean to use you. I’m so sorry.” Any lingering feeling of confidence and bliss has gone and replaced itself with regret. You want to crawl away and sulk in your deplorable sorrows like a bad dog.

A hand on your knee breaks you from your trance. You don’t move, you hope that maybe if you’re still enough you’ll disappear from this situation.

“Look at me please.”

To no avail you’re still here. Your head feels like boulders upon your shoulders as you bring yourself to look at him. You don’t expect what you see. There’s no trace of pity or discomfort anywhere on his face. Instead, you see the eyes filled with warmth and comfort you were met with before any of this happened which makes it feel all the more heart wrenching.

“I want this,” he keeps his hand on your knee and offers a reassuring squeeze, “just under different circumstances.” You can’t bring yourself to say anything so you just nod.

“Let me take you out tomorrow? Maybe we can try this again.”

“I could settle for that.” You wonder how a person’s company could be so serene.

“You can stay here tonight, okay? I’ll take the couch.”

“Can we both stay here please?”

He hums a yes and excuses himself to his room to wash up and grab some pillows and blankets.

When he comes back his face looks fresh and his hands are full with two pillows, a thick blanket and stuffed whale.

“Whalebur.” Is all he says, in full seriousness. “You can sleep with him tonight.”

He makes the couch into a makeshift bed and turns off the lights, the only thing granting you guys vision is the tv screen that he leaves on. He pulls you into his side in a half sit half laying down position, you lean your head against his shoulder with one arm around his and one arm holding onto his stuffed whale. There’s some album review youtube video playing on the screen that he watches intently and if you’re being honest, you don’t know if it’s his fingers tracing circles on your skin or the video that’s causing you to doze off.

At some point in the video, you fall asleep. You’re awoken shortly after to a light snore above you, where Wil decided to rest his head against yours. His arm is around your waist now and you’re closer to him than you were before. It’s cozy. You want to stay here, in this moment. You want to get used to this warmth, this comfort. You want to get used to the closeness and the tenderness he offers.

You hold the plush, blue whale to yourself tighter and drink in every second of the setting. You want to get used to this. Your head is filled with thoughts of waking up and falling asleep next to someone so unconditionally sweet. You let these ideas saturate your brain and hope they bleed into your dreams before you drift off into sleep for a final time.

[bbyseok]

his shadow

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: pro hero au, bakugou n reader are both pro heroes, gender neutral reader, mention of death, self-depreciation, angst- so much angst, but there’s comfort too !!

analysis: you mess up on the job, and you mess up badly. and even though bakugou tries to help you find solace, you’ll never be as good as him—always in his shadow.

an: i almost wrapped this up with a sad ending so you’re lucky i changed my mind.. i got too emotional and decided to end it with comfort,, enjoy everyone !!

———

anyone who knew bakugou knew that he’d make a name for himself. and he has—he’s one of the top pro heroes in japan who prides himself on his work he does. the center of the stage, with the spotlight on him. it’s like he was destined for greatness.

and somehow, you had gotten swept along.

loving katsuki isn’t the easiest thing to do. he’s a little rough around the edges and emotionally constipated. that, paired with the dangerous work you both do.

yes, you’re also a pro hero. not as well known as bakugou, a little low on the charts, but you’re satisfied with the job—saving people is the most important thing above all.

despite all these trials, you made it work. loving him isn’t easy, but it’s enough. you smooth out his roughness and teach him the tender things of life. he shows you a side that makes your heart flutter.

you have katsuki all to yourself at times. his vulnerability, his love, his everything—the way he holds you with gentle hands that he uses everyday to defeat villains and criminals.

and yet, the oh so great explosion murder god dynamight is someone who people marvel and fawn over for sure, no matter what. that’s out of the question. and with his spotlight, he also casts an unbearable shadow.

a shadow you drown in.

the brightness of your laptop is glaring at you. a stupid news article is displayed on your screen; its bold headliner words are simple but taunting, mocking.

DYNAMIGHT’S PRO HERO SPOUSE FAILS TO SAVE THREE LIVES DURING CONSTRUCTION ACCIDENT.

fuck.

it had been a slip, a mistake. you hadn’t judged the falling of the debris as fast as you should’ve, you hadn’t heard the last desperate cry of the workers at least once. the article is right, so right that it’s unbearable. you had failed.

those people counted on you to save them and you had failed them and their families. it’s all your fault, undoubtedly, and all eyes are on you because of it.

the awful, creeping feeling of guilt is making your head spin. but the words of the headline make it even worse. dynamight’s spouse. this isn’t the first time news reports use that title instead of your actual hero name, or your name in general. it’s always dynamight’s this, dynamight’s that. dynamight’s side piece. dynamight’s.

you don’t mind being bakugou’s. you’re his and he’s yours.

but his shadow swallows you whole until there’s nothing left. absolutely nothing left, and until you’re nothing without him. you’re nothing without bakugou katsuki, without dynamight in the hero world.

his shadow arches over your accomplishments and feeds your failures—you’d never be as great as him, wouldn’t be worthy enough for him just like this article title says. you’d never meet his standard, his greatness that comes with even a mention of his name. you had failed for god’s sake.

the sound of the front door opening abruptly yanks you out of your.. thoughts. they don’t go away though, whispering and hissing at the back of your mind. you quickly close and shut down your laptop as you hear footsteps approaching.

katsuki’s voice breaks the air. “babe? where are you?” you’ve been with him long enough to read his tone. he knows what happened. he knows and you know he’s going to talk about it. bakugou never avoids things, especially things like this.

you don’t answer him, leaving him to find you seated at the dining table. his footsteps falter as you meet his gaze, and for some reason, he looks relieved to see you there. you can tell he changed at his agency in a hurry, casual clothes all rumpled and wrinkled.

he reaches you, one of his hands cradling your cheek carefully. “i heard what happened.” yep, straight to the point. “are you okay?” you don’t know if he means physically or mentally. his eyes roam over you for any injuries in a brief manner.

it takes a while for you to answer, struggling to simply look at him in the eye. “..no.” you decide to be truthful. besides, it’d be a blatant lie if you had said yes. “i’m not okay,” you admit delicately.

bakugou, in his time of courting and falling in love with you, has learned how to comfort you in his own way. his thumb brushes over the skin of your cheek before he has both of his hands holding yours. “talk to me.”

you let out a soft, shaky exhale. “i.. i don’t know what to say, katsuki. what can i say?” shit, it hurts. the guilt is eating up at your insides, digging its way into your heart, and your voice cracks. “i failed, katsuki.”

bakugou doesn’t hesitate to drag one of the dining table chairs closer to yours and sits close to you, knees pressed against yours as he holds your hands more firmly. “hey, hey. listen to me.”

it’s then you realize that your hands are trembling. fuck. you try to steady them, studying the way his warm palms fit against yours, how his fingers are calloused but gentle.

“look at me,” he says softly, and you meet his eyes of red, unprepared. what was he gonna say to you? now, bakugou is hardly the jerk he was in his middle and high school days, and you’ve been with him for many years, but for once, you fear what he’d say. would he scold you, demean you? he has the right to anyway; failure grants that.

“mistakes..” you can tell that by the reluctance in bakugou’s voice that he’s choosing his words very carefully, “mistakes happen.”

“i-” your voice cracks again. “we can’t afford to make mistakes, katsuki! especially in this line of work- you know that! those- they were people!” your face feels warm with sudden tears. “and i just-! and i just let them die!”

you feel his hands tighten their grip and his mouth opens to say something.. and yet nothing comes out. in all of his years of being a pro hero, of all the challenges he’s faced in his life, for once—it looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

you inhale sharply, yanking away from his hold. when you stand, the chair scrapes uncomfortably against the floor. you know he’s trying, but fuck, it’s suffocating to breathe.. especially with him so close.

“i’m sorry, katsuki. i’m so sorry.” you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for right now. for not saving those people? for being a pathetic excuse for a hero? for not being a good enough person to stand by bakugou’s side? maybe all of the above. “i can’t- i just-”

and he’s standing right there with you, familiar furrow in his brow as he holds out his hands again. you can tell he wants to touch you, hug you, but you take a step back warily.

“you knew what you were getting into when you decided to become a pro hero,” he tells you. an attempt of being understanding, but it doesn’t help at all. “we can’t save everyone.”

but he can, a voice mocks, dynamight can. dynamight always wins.

“but you can!” you let your thoughts slip out with a wail. you wipe at your eyes with frustration, wishing you weren’t crying right now. you’ve had your vulnerable moments with katsuki before, but right now, you feel so weak. and you don’t want to look weak in front of him. “dynamight can! but me?”

judging by how his eyes widen, you see he’s a bit bewildered by the sudden change of the conversation being focused on him. the insecurity is as clear as day in your voice and you wish it weren’t.

his shadow is overwhelming.

“i’m- i’m nothing compared to you, katsuki! japan knows it!” a sob escapes your throat after that. “hell, even the world knows it! dynamight’s pro hero spouse-” you can’t finish it. you can’t finish it because another sob rings through the air and your heart hurts.

suddenly, you’re warm, and you’re blinking your tears into the fabric of katsuki's shirt, his broad arms wrapped around you tightly in an embrace so that you can’t move even if you tried.

“shut up.”

it’s whispered so brokenly into your ear, and it sounds almost as if katsuki’s on the verge of crying too. “please, shut up,” he murmurs, clinging onto you like you’d disappear right before his eyes. “don’t- don’t say that about yourself. don’t.”

if there’s one thing that can make you even guiltier than you already are, it’s making katsuki cry. even with the softer interior of bakugou you’ve come to see in the past years, he doesn’t cry often, and certainly not because of you. the sniffles he hides into your shoulder are the last thing that crumbles your heart.

“katsuki, i…”

he pulls back to lock your gazes, tears blurring. his red eyes are so pretty, always has been, even if they are crying right now. they blaze with a sudden fierceness, a sudden desperation that makes you listen.

“i married you because i love you. because you’re enough for me, do you hear that? no one, nothing, is going to change that—no articles, no accidents, nothing. so do not go telling me, do not go telling yourself, that you’re not worthy enough for me. that you’re not worthy enough of being a pro. you’re enough.”

katsuki’s words stun you into silence; they knock the breath out of your lungs and has your sobbing cease with a gasp. his eyes are burning into you and you hear him. you hear him and his heart.

you’re still crying. the tears are warm on your face and you don’t flinch when he moves his hands to cup your cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe them away. “you’re enough, baby. all of you.”

with those words, he also wipes the insecurities and doubts away. not all of them, but they crawl and scurry out of your mind, chased out by katsuki’s love and his warmth.

you sniffle then, burying your head into his neck and letting yourself realize that you’re enough for pro hero dynamight, for bakugou katsuki. that you’re enough for the world, mistakes and all.

and that maybe.. maybe you can learn how to stand outside of his shadow.

[thelaughtercafe]

A Short Sulk

Tea Type: Subtly Sweet Tea (Fluff with some Hurt/Comfort)

Potential Triggers: Insecurity over being short, very quick referenced bullying

Pairing: Oikawa/F!Reader

Length: 785

Summary: You mention your insecurities to your adoring boyfriend and he offers you comfort in the best way he knows how.

“Being short is the worst. You’re so lucky being tall, Oikawa.”

You pouted as said boy looked down at you in surprise at the formality, having been reading the newest volleyball magazine.

“What brought this on all of a sudden babe? I thought you loved it when I teased you about your height!”

His words were sincere and sweet and instantly made you go bright red at said true statement and caused your pout to deepen as you fidgeted, looking at your hands.

“It’s just…I overheard some girls today talking about us. They…they said I look like a kid. That I may as well be your sister or something and that you’ll get bored of cute and want someone sexy or beautiful once you know what a real woman is.”

He frowned at that, immediately putting the magazine aside and moving to join you on the floor from his bed.

“I thought we talked about this. Those girls are jealous because I never look at them twice.”

He kept his anger down with difficulty, focusing on comforting you instead. He sat in front of you, mimicking your criss-cross-applesauce way of sitting as he reached out and gently raised your face to his with a palm on your cheek.

“You are plenty sexy, and feminine. Beautiful and adorable all in one. Sure, you’re tiny. But in my opinion that just riles me up more. Trust me babe-”

He snickered, eyes darkening in lust a moment as he scanned you.

“You’re a woman and I sure as Hell ain’t attracted to you in a familial way. I have urges I’d never have with family. I’m just going slow since I know this is your first relationship and I respect your boundaries and want to go at your pace, that’s all.”

He leaned in and you eagerly met his lips before pulling back, crawling into his lap and sighing as you snuggled into him.

“I’m so lucky. Thanks Tooru.”

He hummed into your hair, pecking the top of your head.

“Of course, starlight. It’s just the truth. And…y'know… there is one thing that being short lets me do much easier~”

You heard the teasy tone now in his voice and tensed, already blushing and hiding your face in his neck to whine.

“Tooru c'mon-”

He moved his neck away so you couldn’t hide your blushing face snickering and cooing down at you as one arm kept you against him and the other got ready to attack.

“You’re the perfect size for me to tickle senseless whenever you feel down. Let’s see where to get first~?”

He hummed in feigned thought as the long fingers holding you to his chest already began wiggling against your side and tummy, making you burst into giggles and push on his chest to try and escape as you squirmed.

“Hehehehey!! No fhahahair!!”

“I think it’s plenty fair!! I gotta make my stunning girlfriend feel better or what kind of boyfriend would I be?”

His other hand began squeezing at your other side before fluttering up to scribble at your ribs making you squeal.

“A n-nice one!!”

He smirked mischievously at that, gently guiding you to the floor to pin your wrists above your head and get more access to your other tickle spots.

“Nice? But you love when I’m mean and teasy when I tickle you, don’t you? You’re lucky I didn’t make you beg for it like usual because I’m feeling charitable tonight. But I still have to punish you somehow…hmm… ”

You bucked as he attacked your underarms with both hands, leaving you to try and catch his hands fruitlessly.

“Get on with it!”

You whined as he again pretended to think, tickling you senseless as his hands jumped every which way. He sighed dramatically.

“If you insist then…such an impatient brat I have~”

You squealed at the feeling of him lifting up your shirt already laughing and pushing at his head desperately.

“Tooru nohohoho!!”

He laughed just above your vulnerable tummy, opting to gently pin your hands down on either side of you so he could have his fun.

“Tooru yes! Don’t worry baby, think of this as the grand finale!”

You threw your head back and bucked, laughing as he began kissing, nibbling and raspberrying your stomach. He didn’t let up until you began snorting and had tears in your eyes and a giddy grin on your lips. He pulled back, satisfied with his handy work and dragged you to his bed, letting you cuddle into him and giggling himself as you nuzzled his neck in revenge. He squeezed your side in warning to make you flinch and you both dozed off giggly and content, with smiles on your faces.

[rosakuma]

Okay as the CEO of Joraiteru, I must spread my crossover ship propaganda by sharing HCs of these dorks.

*Note: This pairing would be in an alternative universe where Drdt and DR F SH are the same universe. Also all of these HCs are taking place in a non killing game AU and viewing the two in a romantic sense.

Starting off how they met, lets say they met at Hope Peak(Shattered Hope cast went to their in this AU) being in different classes. Both were well known for being the ultimate effects artists of their own class even if they differ in the career(J being sfx and Moraiteru being vfx). They kinda formed a rivalry of sorts due to a small argument whether visual effects are cooler than special effects. This rivalry was more initiated by Moraiteru.

Eventually during a boring school event that cause their class to be around each other(lets say a school festival maybe). The two ended up working together with preparations and despite Moraiteru’s boredom about the event with J having to do most of the work, they ended up chatting and bonding a bit. Realizing they have some things in common.

Afterwards, they became chill and started hanging out. Their hang outs would consist of heading to the mall to check out the music store(usually picking out alternative rock) or stores to pick out cool and rad clothing. Moraiteru influence J to like more punk or dark outfits. Sometimes Moraiteru would drag J to go on walks with her, especially when it's raining despite J’s initial refusal. J despite still not liking getting soak ends up enjoying spending time with Mor as she always seems to make J feel comfortable and let loose without any worries about others having a problem with what she does or anyone finding out she’s Mariabella’s daughter.

Hanging out with each other had the two be introduce to the other’s friend groups. J sometimes end up hanging out with Corza, Enigma, and Pocket, while Moraiteru might hang around or play/tease with Teruko(was gonna include Arei, but Moraiteru wouldn’t be able to handle her the teasing master+ she kinda intimidates her).

For who fell first, it was J but she kept it to herself due to a mixture of worrying she might make things weird between her and Moraiteru, realizing she’s into girls(J had a feeling before, but was unsure it was just girls), and being vulnerable enough to express her feelings. Moraiteru however fell harder. Moraiteru already knew she was bisexual, so J being a girl wasn’t a problem. What was the problem is Moraiteru being vulnerable enough to confess and sounding all cheesy and senmential to where J might think she's dumb and silly for it.

It took the calculated planning of Eden and Arei working with Rissi, Rox, and Yaxi whom both parties knew about the two’s feelings for each other. After setting up a totally not a date between the girls, eventually tensions got so high that Moraiteru broke and confessed her feelings for J. J being after regaining her composure from being flustered to hell and back, reciprocated back to Mor.

The couple aren’t too big on PDA. Though in private, they definitely hand hold and snuggle.

Since both can relate to having strict parents and deciding to not gaf about what they say, J and Mor will rebel against their folks in either kissing in front or hyping up their girlfriend when either visit each other’s houses. Ryan gets along well with Moraiteru whenever she comes to see J, Mariabella however thinks that she’s a bad influence on J and the reason why her daughter is rebelling against her(J gets on her ass for this). Moraiteru’s folks don’t care that she’s dating a girl and actually likes J, but only because of J’s status being the daughter of Mariabella Rosales. Moraiteru bothered by this as she doesn't like the idea that her parents only think she’s on par with her brother now being a star of the family because she’s dating a celebrity’s daughter. It both makes her feel like they don't see her for her and makes her worry J will think she’s only dating her to get her parents to pay attention to her. J of course doesn't buy that BS and reassures Mor that she doesn't think that.

At times, J does have to keep her gf in check since Moraiteru can be a little gremlin at times. Thankfully its a balance

(Trans Male or Masc J be upon the!) If J ever came out to trans, Moraiteru would be very supportive and help pick out cool punk masc outfits for her bf.

J like to tease a bit at times of her gf’s height ( J’s 5’7 and Moraiteru is 5’1. Even if the Dev changed J to 5’4 like they wanted to, J would still tease Mor about their height difference).

[defectivevillain]

vintage misery

pairing: obey me! brothers & reader [can be platonic or romantic]

reader’s pronouns: unspecified but masc-intended

note: my initial idea for this fic was basically just the obey me! demons not being familiar with depression and trying to help the reader in any way they can, whilst also being a lil startled/worried. sooo that’s how it goes, essentially. hurt/comfort, with mostly comfort. :0

cw: depression, mentions of suicidal ideation [can be avoided by skipping to the bolded sentence that starts with: “Lucifer nods.”]

word count: 1.8k [ao3 version here]

“How did you get up here?”

You bite your lip and pull your knees closer to your chest. You’re sitting on the roof of the mansion. The night air chills your skin, but you hardly notice over the tumultuous nature of your own thoughts. It takes you a few seconds to remember that someone has just joined you. “What?” You say, not bothering to turn around to see who’s standing behind you. They move closer and crouch to sit down beside you. 

“Why are you up here?” You recognize Lucifer’s voice. Out of all brothers, you’re surprised that Lucifer is the one standing on the rooftop next to you. Then again, he’s the leader of the household and he’s sort of responsible for you. You bite your lip. 

Your throat feels tight, so you just shrug in response to his question. Lucifer’s gaze is intent and it almost seems as if he’s waiting for something. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s implying. “What, did you think I was going to jump?” Silence. “No, ha.” The laugh sounds awkward and weak, even to your own ears. You’re painfully aware of Lucifer’s presence at your side. You can’t help but feel embarrassed at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of him. 

“Are you homesick?” Lucifer asks, unknowing of your internal dilemma. You frown and think back to your life, your friends, your family. You miss them, of course, but that’s not the cause of your mood dampening. 

“Not really,” you decide to answer honestly. Lucifer arches an eyebrow, but you don’t explain any further. An explanation about your lack of homesickness would quickly bring your doubts and self-defeating tendencies to light. You don’t quite want a therapy session with the Avatar of Pride. 

“My brothers are worried about you,” Lucifer says, evidently catching onto the fact that you don’t want to explain your situation anymore. He’s staring at you expectantly. 

“Hm,” is the only word that falls from your lips. It feels strenuous to speak. You pull your legs closer to your chest.  

“I find myself... a bit concerned, also,” Lucifer says. You’re surprised at the admission- so much so that you turn to look at him for answers. This time, it’s Lucifer who is silent. He places a hand under his chin and looks out to the night sky. Even so, you can feel his attention on you. “Is this normal for humans?”

“What, depression?” You laugh awkwardly. Never in a million years did you think you’d be having this conversation with Lucifer of all people. You take a deep breath and try to ignore your heart hammering in your chest. “Not for all humans, but for some.” 

Lucifer nods quietly. For the next few minutes—or hours, time in the Devildom is hard for you—he sits with you in silence. At some point, your back starts to hurt and you push yourself up to your feet. You stumble a little bit but Lucifer sets you right with a hand on your forearm. Together, the two of you return back to the mansion. The Avatar of Pride walks you back to your room. You’re too distracted to notice the thoughtful expression on his face when he leaves. 

The next morning, you notice that something is off. You’re immediately roused awake by Mammon, who seems to be unusually restless as he pulls you along to breakfast. You’re then greeted by the other six brothers—another strange occurrence. Typically, the brothers wake up at vastly different times. They hardly ever meet down here all at once. You push the thought to the back of your mind and begin picking at your food. 

From there, things only get weirder. All the brothers seem keen to talk to you, strangely enough. Hell, even Levi taps you on the shoulder and starts talking to you about Ruri-chan. You glance about the table in confusion, wondering if today is a holiday or something. Eventually, you catch Lucifer’s eye—only to find that he's already looking at you. There almost appears to be a gleam of concern in his eyes, but it quickly fades into obscurity and you’re left wondering if you imagined it. 

After breakfast, Leviathan forces you to watch The Tale of the Seven Lords with him- albeit with a few murmured insults about you being a normie [you have given up on arguing with him about that]. At one point, he abandons the series and begins to play video games instead. You watch over his shoulder and occasionally offer tidbits of information about the games you had back home. He seemed particularly interested in MarioKart when you described it, ironically enough. This is far from the first time when you’ve watched him play games over his shoulder. Sometimes, when he gets into the zone and you begin to get tired, you’ll fall asleep on his shoulder. Levi is kind enough not to mention it when you wake up. 

You’re walking down the hallway and back to your room when Asmodeus practically drags you to his room and throws you in front of his unnecessarily large makeup mirror. He then proceeds to test out different products on your face, before eventually settling for applying eyeliner and a small amount of mascara. You let him do so without much complaint, despite how awkward it feels to have someone else apply it for you. Your patience pays off, however, because Asmodeus finishes a moment later and takes a step back to take in your reflection. You follow his gaze, surprised to find that the look is both modest yet flattering. The demon puts a hand on his chest and marvels about your “endless beauty,” to which you respond with an eye roll and a fond pat on the shoulder. 

As time passes, you begin to realize what’s happening. Lucifer’s remark from the previous night comes to mind once more. My brothers are worried about you, he had said. I find myself a bit concerned, also. Well, that explains the sudden insistence of the brothers. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you realize that they’re trying to cheer you up in the ways they know how. 

You round the corner and nearly crash into Beelzebub, who smiles apologetically at you. There’s a rather pleasant smell wafting off of him. You squint at him in confusion and he explains that he’s baking something in the kitchen. Surprised, you decide to follow him into the kitchen, only to find flour strewn everywhere. You resist the urge to facepalm. The saddened expression on Beel’s face is too much for you, so you reluctantly offer to help him bake.

The process is rather slow, as Beel keeps eating all of the ingredients. It must be extremely hard for him to prepare food, you think to yourself. Even so, he manages to reel in his hunger and form the cookie dough you prepared into balls. The next time you glance at the baking sheets, you’re unsurprised to find some of the dough balls missing. You sigh fondly.

Against all odds, the cookies last long enough to be baked in the oven. Beelzebub and you spend your time cleaning up the kitchen and once you’re done, the cookies finish. Beel doesn’t even bother to wait until they cool down, instead shoving a few into his mouth automatically. It seems he doesn’t have to worry about his mouth being burnt. Must be nice, you think to yourself. He offers you one, but you shake your head and explain that you have to wait. Beel frowns and grabs a few, placing them off to the side for you. He then devours the rest of them, and you decide to give him a round of applause for the impressive disappearing act. He sends you off to your room with a plate of cookies before you can argue. 

Just as you walk to your room and open your bedroom door, there’s a hand on your shoulder. You turn around, only to find Lucifer staring at you with a rather complex expression on his face. His gaze flits about your room and a frown rises on his face. You grimace internally, knowing your room is far from perfectly clean. You take a moment to set the plate of cookies off to the side, before turning to face the demon behind you. 

“You need more furniture,” Lucifer announces, crossing his arms over his chest.  You raise an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting the remark. The Avatar of Pride pauses for a moment, before a look of resolve appears on his face. “Let’s go.” You don't even get to ask where it is you’re going, before the two of you are walking through the mansion and out onto the grounds. 

You find yourself being taken to what appears to be the demon version of Ikea. You say as much to Lucifer, who appears to stifle a laugh behind his hand at the thought. He leads you to a rather extravagant showroom and you spend most of the time denying any of the suggestions he makes. At one point, Lucifer sighs heavily and picks something out for you, to your mild chagrin. 

Mammon appears out of seemingly nowhere and decides to tag along. He spends most of the time complaining. You tell him that he can simply leave if he doesn’t want to accompany you, but he turns an interesting shade of red and mumbles something under his breath at that. You pretend not to notice the knowing look Lucifer sends you. 

Mammon and Lucifer seem to be more invested in your furniture than you are. Mammon flits about the showroom with interest, occasionally poking or kicking at things. He finds an armchair and, in the blink of an eye, swipes Lucifer’s wallet and purchases it for your room. When you ask him about it, he gruffly murmurs something along the lines of “every king needs a throne.” You roll your eyes. You also resist the urge to ask Mammon why the chair needs to be in your room instead of his. Finally, the two of them seem to be satisfied and you can return to the House of Lamentation. 

Satan hangs out with you in your bedroom once you return from the impromptu shopping trip. He helps you rearrange the furniture into a suitable arrangement, and he laughs at the armchair that Mammon picked out. You let him choose a drama to watch, which he does without question. The two of you lounge around and watch television for a while, until Belphegor joins you. You’ve been tired most of the day, but being around Belphegor only makes your exhaustion worse. You suspect that he’s purposefully manipulating your energy to get you to be more tired, but you don’t really care. 

Unsurprisingly, you fall asleep within a few minutes. Thankfully, the three of you are all huddled up on your bed, so it’s far from uncomfortable. You fidget a little before eventually giving in and falling into the mattress, turning to the side and closing your eyes again. Just before you drift off, you hear rustling and feel a blanket being thrown over you. You smile and let your exhaustion pull you into slumber. 

endnotes below! ;0

thanks for readingggg :)

Levi is so autistic and I love that for him. [and also me, because I am autistic. hence the headcanon, lol.]

I love the idea of Mammon stealing Lucifer’s wallet and Lucifer not saying anything. Let’s be real—Lucifer is definitely used to Mammon’s behavior. The moment Mammon turned up, he pretty much expected his wallet to be stolen. Even though Mammon has a healthy fear of Lucifer, I like to think that his greed overrides that. Hehe. [and yes, I have a weakness for Lucifer, as you can probably tell.]

ironically, i played obey me! about a year ago and quit after like 20 minutes, ‘cause i got frustrated w the battles (I sucked at them.) hopefully, my inexperience doesn’t show through too much in this fic. I like to think that I researched enough about the characters [in addition to drawing from the limited gameplay I can remember] to portray them accurately. 

once again, ty for reading <3

[ohitslen]

🌸Trigun fics recommendations🌸

Links are attached!🌈✨

Dropping the fics I’ve read so far in my free time with summary and all that :) [in no specific order] oh and these are almost all Vashwood so brace yourself for that. I did put a warning in my description

‼️Be aware that most of these take place in Trimax so spoilers are a given‼️ it’s up to you to read the tags to have a better idea of its contents im just here to provide the list 🫡

1. “Falling stars” by Dozycerberus

“When a set of twins are found wandering the desert without any family in sight, Hopeland Orphanage is the only logical place they would end up.”

One of my personal favorites! If not my favorite. All I have for this one is praises.

2. “Love and it’s decisive pain (sunlight)” by FlowerCitti

“He hears a rumbling laugh, like the wisps of cigarette smoke and the crack of the first shot in a gunfight, like the pleasant sting of whiskey in his throat— “I take it that he was looking for you, huh?” A voice rasps from behind him, and everything in Vash feels like it comes to a halt. He knows that voice.”

Reincarnation fic (you will see a lot of these) that I willingly let destroy me. You will also see lots of Flower’s works here, they are great at hurt/comfort trust me.

3. “Donuts are one way to the heart, the other one is with a knife” by Dezace

Another favorite author of mine that you will see more works of on this list.

Vashwood antics, them being sweet and a angst sprinkled here and there.

This is actually a collection of works that I definitely could list individually but this list is way too long for that— so, feel free to check it out! How vague I know OAJSKW

4. “Tell me why your hands are cold (show me how)” by desertblooms

“Wolfwood eases him back down into the bed. Runs a hand through his own hair, digging his nails in just to feel the burn because he’s seriously starting to think he’s bitten off more than he can chew. “You idiot,” he breathes into the open air, “I’m goin’ to kill you when you wake up.” If the sickness doesn’t get to him first. But that thought goes unspoken.”

Sick fic you know how it is. “I need you” absolutely life changing.

5. “Forgive me father for I have sinned-Wolfwood (P.S. He isn’t sorry at all)” by Dezace

““I want to fuck a priest.”

“A good one?”

"Yes."

“I understand.”

“Good, good.” (Or: Vash and Wolfwood are fucking thirsty for each other and everyone suffers(Except Meryl, she has popcorn ready))”

Crack fic! Because it’s needed after you’re drenched in angst. I know what you read. You’ll appreciate a cackle or two.

6. “Bendición ” by varilien

“Having been dating for as long as they have, Wolfwood's known that it was only a matter of time before Vash popped the "do you want to meet my mom?" question, although admittedly he was hoping he could put it off a little longer.”

Modern setting in where Wolfwood meets Rem (she’s alive so that’s always a plus), and it’s so sweet and it’s pure fluff. That’s all.

7. “Bag of bones” by chaiku

“Not only was he fucked up physically, but he fucked up in front of Vash of all people. He was the last person in the world that Wolfwood wanted to see him like that: broken and helpless. And now he would also need to explain it all…His head hurt just from thinking about it.”

Wolfwood being vulnerable. That’s all I’m gonna say to hook you in.

8. “Who’s to say I don’t hold everything in my hands?” by Dezace

“Wolfwood likes to try and figure out Vash the Stampede whenever he had the chance. Traveling with him gives some insight into the man behind the bounty. He doesn't mind what he finds.”

Vash being the smarty pants he is! I love to see it. It’s so lovely I adore it.

9. “To the white of your eye” by Dezace

“Vash doesn't only have scars across his body. Wolfwood finds out and nothing changes.”

Face scar Vash is on.the.table. You’ll notice a trend in Dezace’s work of how WW is down bad for Vash no matter what and honestly I can relate to that heavily, we all love Vash.

10. “Hold my body down” by The_IPRE

“You're dead.” Vash's eyes are shiny behind the glasses, unshed tears barely held back. “We waited! We tried to bring you back! I kept them from burying you for as long as I could but you were dead!” Wolfwood lets himself follow the pull on his shirt, leans into Vash’s space to rest their foreheads together. “Guess I’m pretty hard to get rid of, huh?”

So basically, WW is all casual about coming back from being “dead” and Vash isn’t. Hurt/comfort mhm.