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shojizbae · 4 months

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Mothers Day

Spencer Reid x Reader

As the newest member of the team, everyone is shocked by your boldness.

Everyone knew not to trespass when Las Vegas or Mental illness was a factor in the case. Everyone but you, apparently. By chance, the team's last case to Vegas was two months before your hire. Now, you were making very dangerous strides around a very delicate subject. The Unsub was suspected to be a man on a psychotic break and had begun devolving before the team had even been called in. Ever the overtly ambitious profiler you wanted to follow Spencer Reid for his ultra-secret contact.

"He prefers to go alone." My eyes met the dark brown hand on my bicep

"We really shouldn't be going places alone. You know the FBI minted the buddy system?" I shook him off

"I know, baby girl, but this is delicate. You just gotta leave it alone."

"Derek, you, of all people, should be aware of my incessant control problems."

"I have to agree with Morgan. This is something you need to let be."

"But you know I can't. Doctor Reid!" I darted off after him. He was tense, like the way people get when they hear a tornado siren and have to put themselves in their basement or put a mattress over their bathtub. He was preparing for disaster. "I truly believe it would be beneficial if I were to go with you."

"Would it be benefitting the case or your psyche?" He prods

"Well, both and neither." I readjust my little rectangular glasses, "As you know, I'm extraneously protective, to a fault. Also, I am working on my doctorate in psychology and I'm writing a dissertation on noncommutative disorder clusters. And I'm comfortable around disorders. Actually, I find it strange that when we talk about OCD, we call it a 'disorder' when people just like things organized in a particular manner." I snort to punctuate my rambling, but he only grits his jaw. "Aw man, that joke usually kills in my schizoid heredity focus group." He sighs as he tugs his satchel on.

"You need to stay quiet and low profile." He orders, and I know my dorky smile splits my face. He leads me to a big black SUV, where I take the driver's seat. He gives me directions, leading me from the way through town street and down some scary back roads. Eventually, we pass a sign that reads Bennington Sanitarium. He tells me to turn left, and we park in the back of the parking lot. He tells me to leave my gun in the car, and I follow him with my head down.

"So, who's this ultra-secret contact you have?" His stress seemed to triple, "Some fancy professor from Caltech?" He's being intentionally nebulous, I'm aware but there's some fun in playing nosy-cop.

"No, it's not someone who worked at Caltech."

"Oh, but a professor? Where'd they work, Burkley? Or maybe some school in Vegas. Let's see, there are not that many high-profile universities in Vegas."

"No, she hasn't worked in years." His voice sharpens in frustration, so I back down, readjusting my glasses, and licking the corner of my lips. We enter and a receptionist recognizes Spencer immediately with a big smile.

"Dr. Reid how lovely to see you. Have you come to visit your mother? She'll be ecstatic. It's been far too long." Oh, like mother like son. She must be a psychiatrist. I smile softly at the notion. It will be so interesting to see who and where Spencer came from.

"Thank you, Sheryl, how has she been."

"Well, she has her day, but mostly, she just reads. You know the book club started a new series." Sherly playfully brushes his arm and giggles.

"That's good."

"She should have just gotten out of therapy." Sheryl smiles and rakes her eyes over the young doctor. Finally, she makes eye contact with me.

"Oh well, you're new," she cheers in a vaguely Midwestern accent. You'll need a visitor's pass, hon." She gets one from a drawer and hands it to me. "So, do you work at the FBI, too, or are you coming to meet the in-laws?"

"I'm an agent," I laugh. If I were lucky enough to snag him, that would be an HR nightmare." Playfully, I pat his chest. He guffaws dryly as I slide the plastic lanyard around my neck.

Spencer leads me through the building, mostly there are elderly people playing chess or using oil pastels as nurses and orderlies orbit them. He leads me through a large living room past an Asian woman knitting. We find a woman with blonde hair biting her nails on the couch as she ponders something.

"Hi, Mom," He warbles. There's an extra beat between his greeting and her response. It's like she snaps out of a trance when she sees her son.

"Spencer, honey, what are you doing here?"

"Me and my frie-"

"Oh my goodness, thank whatever deities you deny the existence of; you're finally giving me some grandchildren."

"No, Mom, this is my coworker Agent (L/n). She and I just have some questions for you regarding our case."

"Well, at least sit down." She pats the space next to her, and Spencer obeys, "You too, young lady."

"Yes, ma'am." I take the only spot right next to him, and Spencer begins rattling off questions while his mom sits there with her hand under her nose. She sits and observes Spencer like no one at the BAU does. When he finishes contextualizing the case with her she stews on every word like his voice is her favorite song.

"So our first question for you is, uh (Y/n), you might be better at asking." He makes the wringing motion of cracking his knuckles, but no sound comes out.

"Um, mostly, the bureau is interested in the capabilities of delusion to overlap reality. When you are having an episode, do you recognize the difference between your actions and your perceptions?" I retrieve a legal pad and a fountain pen and click it theatrically. Diana keeps her hand over her mouth and inhales longingly through her nose. She points at me but doesn't look at me.

"You're a very smart young woman," She locks her eyes on me, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"Of course, wagers are the drug of choice in Vegas, well that and alcohol and mostly any other drug you can think of." I correct myself

"God, you're so much like him." She looks to her son."Why aren't you dating my Spencer?"

"Uh," is all that dumbly spills from my mouth.

"You two seem perfectly suitable for each other. Is it because he's so skinny?"

"No,"

"Well, he's incredibly handsome and talented; even a pigeon could see he's intelligent beyond a lexicon." She rambles

"Mom, I think that's enough."

"Spencer, you haven't visited me in over a year, and how do you believe that's any way to speak to your mother." She reprimands me. Had the information not shocked me, I would have giggled.

"Spencer, over a year?!" I swat his arm, "You've had time off. Why wouldn't you come to visit?"

"Oh well, I've still gotten my daily letters," she pouts. But it's been too long, and I'm getting old." She begins to bat her eyelashes, and she holds onto his arm.

"I'm trying, Mom," he whined

"To visit or to get me some grandkids?" she sasses

"Mom," He groaned, and I couldn't help the giggle that escaped my lips.

"What about you, young lady? Do you have any kids??"

"No, ma'am."

"Why not?" I could see where Spencer gets his tunnel thinking.

"My career has made it difficult to go out on dates and fall in love," I admitted it was almost like Diana could extract the truth from me

"Well, then, date my Spencer."

"Mom!" he protested

"Shh! It's a win-win: I get grandbabies, you get dates, and neither of your careers gets in the way." I meant to retaliate, but her infallible logic knocked all the fire out of me.

"Let's finish up this interview and solve this case then we can circle back." I mitigated

Two days later, the case was solved, and we were riding the jet back to Virginia. Everyone had filed off the plane but Spencer and I.

"So, do you have any plans tonight?" It threw me further off guard than Diana.

"I was just gonna turn on Real Housewives reruns and cuddle cannoli." It was how I spent most nights.

"Would you object to a date?"

"Tonight?"

"We could watch the Real Housewives and hang out with your cat??"

"You want to do that?"

"It sounds much better than sweating in an overpriced Italian restaurant." He laughs and rings his knuckles

"it does, I think I have NBC, we could watch Star Trek after." I offer as we walk from the landing strip to the BAU. We made a sojourn at his home so he could shower and put on comfortable clothes. Two years later it would be cannoli to ring bear your wedding. Spencer would have to credit his mother who walked you both down the aisle simultaneously for your relationship and the whole team would have to agree.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fluff #coworkers to lovers #diana reid

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echantedtoon · 4 months

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YANDERE DEMONS AND BRIDES

Been thinking about this for a while now and I don't know if it counts as yandere but it is how the demons take a bride (or husband for the lady demons unless you also want to imagine that it's a lady.)Yeah. I know old trope but I really like this trope and I wanted to make headcannons for the Upper Moons. I think they'd all have a certain main element fueling that desire for their specific Bride(or Groom for the ladies).

When it comes to the lady demons like Nakime I'll leave Y/n's gender up in the air for anyone to interpret if the ladies also get a wife or if you prefer them to get a husband.

Warnings for yandere-ish (???) themes, kidnapping mentions, possibly death mentioned, mentioned wounds and scars, mentioned illness, mentioned bad vision, etc.

If any of these warnings upset you pls don't read. I will be including Daki/Ume in the line up as part of Gyutaro's part but she will be strictly PLATONIC yandere!! Absolutely NO romance between her and reader!! And her parts will be minor.

KOKUSHIBO:

HARBORMENT

-You have to be a very specific kind of person to attract this man's attention. I think it'd most likely be one of two things that guarantee his bold interest. 1. you are a reincarnation of his wife or 2. you remind him of someone he used to love long ago but never could have especially if you were close to/was with Yoriichi. But whatever the case he finds himself taken by your familiar being.

-He doesn't even know why he bothers with it. But he can't help but watch you from afar. The old feelings resurfacing. He tells himself that it doesn't matter anymore. Most likely you wouldn't remember him even if you were a past lover, and even if you did you'd most likely believe him dead by now or want nothing to do with him.

-He is perfectly content with just watching you live out your life. He's learnt so much about you through just secretly watching. He learns your favorite tea, you love long walks at morning, you work just around the corner at a tailor shop.

-He's content until it no longer becomes enough. He starts to wonder. Do you still smile the way you used to? Do you still wear the same sweet perfume you did back then? He walks into your work one day in disguise. You weren't there being so late, but he ends up buying a Jacket you personally tailored.

-Muzan definitely knows about you. He knew the exact moment Kokushibo saw you. He just doesn't care and sorta lets Kokushibo get away with it being his most loyal demon. He doesn't allow his obsession to interfere with his missions and in turn Muzan is idgaf.

-He is a very traditional man and believes in courting a woman before marriage. In his mind you both are still married/together, he just needs to make you aware of it again. So he starts leaving small gifts for you when you're not around.

-At first you're confused but you think it's just a harmlessly sweet gesture from a secret crush. A few flowers on your doorstep every other night, maybe a small gift of a necklace or hair pin, however your quickly get freaked out when the gifts get TOO personal.

-You came to work one day and was freaked out when your boss handed you a decorative vase an 'admirer' left you for you after he overheard you mentioning it. (You only ever mentioned it once to you boss in private with no one else around.) Your boss is also slightly confused since they also hadn't mentioned that to anyone.

-You freak out more than ever when you come home and find a pair of wedding rings and a shiromuku(wedding kimono) laid out perfectly on your bed.

-Kokushibo sees nothing wrong with his behavior. As in his mind you both are still together, you are still his woman, and he's going to reclaim what is his own. This is just letting you know what he expects. He can't comprehend you'd be against this.

-He's not allowing you to go, especially after he lost you last time to his brother's affections. Whether these affections were platonic friendship or romantic lovers is up to you, but his internalized inferiority, jealousy, obsession, and greed won't allow him to let you go.

-You shriek when you first see him reveal himself. He doesn't understand why you're reacting like this. Don't you recognize your husband? You can't get away. He's holding you to him in an embrace as you freak out.

"Death may have stolen you from me..but I will deny the reaper of his claim to you once again."

DOUMA:

EMOTIONS

-Again you have to be very specific for these men to even consider taking you as a bride. For Douma, it'd be because of the way you make him actually feel things.

-However this ends up happening or when it does is entirely a thing all of its own but for the sake of not making this a mountain of a post, we'll leave that part up to whatever you interpret for now.

-The problem is that he has legit NO idea of what he's even feeling. He's never felt adoration, anger, happiness, etc so how is he supposed to know what this fluttery strange feeling in his chest is?

-So for a long while even he's not aware of his growing obsession with you. He just knows these feelings are not bad. He knows these feelings are coming from you. So somehow he deduced that you are the problem for his new predicaments.

-For this reason he has you looked over by the cults resident healer in case you're using some kind of sickness or chemistry stuff on him. Gets more confused when you are perfectly fine. Nevermind that demons couldn't get sick.

-You become weirded out by how clingy and stalkerish he's suddenly become overnight. He's not even aware he's doing it and if he is he doesn't care really. He just knows you're the cause of the fuzzy warmth in his chest and he's starting to like it.

-The only chance for you to escape is now while he's still confused on what he's feeling. Afterwards it's too late.

-EVERYONE notices his behavior and there's a mixed reaction to it all. Some congratulate you which you're so confused on and some express their happiness to their founder. Douma is just even more confused at it all. Eventually someone notices his confusion and asks him about it, then proceeds to explain what's he's feeling because he's not so sure himself.

-This revolution is mind blowing to him. He's literally the shocked Pikachu meme.

-In his mind as he thinks about it, technically he's been already courting you for nearly a year now. Showering you in affection and gifts and treating you like the goddess you were. So the next logical step would be marriage and that thought actually has him giddy at the thought of you in a shiromuku.

-You've been giving him subtle hints that you're uncomfortable the entire time but he either flat out ignores it or it just flies over his head.

-He randomly wakes you up in the middle of the night and asks if you're not busy the next day.

You blink at the shadowy creepily happy smiling figure too tired to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "I think?"

"Alright." He's silent for a moment. "I made us an appointment with a local priest."

You mumble a nothing response, still on the brink of sleep.

"Just remember to take the day off," he presses. "Hello? Are you there?"

"Uh huh." Your eyes won't even stay open.

"It's settled then. We'll get married tomorrow." He claps happily as he makes his leave. "Go back to sleep now, Lotus blossom."

He leaves and you breathe a sigh of relief as you snuggle into your bed again-

You jolt up. Did he say married?

AKAZA:

FAMILIARITY

-Akaza has never, has not, and never will harm a woman. He himself is unsure of his past where this stems from but he feels a familiarity to something deep but distant when he first meets you.

-You either are dealing with a similar illness Koyuki experienced, or you're a demon slayer whom had to retire due to injuries. Let's go with the second option for this one.

-Akaza had randomly heard recently that a demon slayer had to retire and was currently in the area he was in. He's always looking for a good fight so it's not a no brainer he'd seek you out. What he doesn't know was that this particular retired slayer was a woman. He doesn't realize this even when he first sees you until you horrified and scared seeing a demon in your home confirms that you are indeed the person he's looking for.

-Akaza is shocked. Not at the fact that there's a lady slayer (he's seen plenty of strong lady slayers) but at how you look. He's never seen a woman covered in so many wounds and scars even amongst other slayers. He's so stunned he asks you about it. You're more confused on why he doesn't outright end you, but you answer his question to avoid provoking him. An entire gang of demons has ganged up on you and if it weren't for a Haishira you'd be dead. However your current state left you unable to continue.

-He's angry. About a lot of things. How dare those lowlifes! HE'S obviously not gonna be getting a fight here. There's no way to release this anger- You're stunned as the angry demon just leaves without another word, but he takes it out on some rocks some miles away.

-Akaza ends up swinging by much to your growing horror and worry. He never comes close or makes threatening actions towards you, but you've seen him multiple times staring into your window or you'd see him in the distance barely visible through the darkness. It always freaks you out.

-Akaza doesn't mean to scare you, he just can't help but be curious about you. He finds himself thinking about you and your poor condition a lot. For some reason it pangs his heart seeing you limp about knowing it's permanent to your walking pattern or get angry when he sees people stare at you funny. He even ended a man who insulted your beauty by calling your battle scars unattractive not that you had any idea. He just..feels an odd need to give you care. It feels so... familiar. Second nature.

-He's just so entranced by you. Your smile, your gently nature, your kindness- Despite your losses and bad treatment you still treat everyone so gently. It makes his heart race with something so familiar yet so foreign.

-Reality shatters for him when he hears of your arranged marriage. After returning you had to move back with family who were all horrified to your condition. Their logic was that you needed to get married like a sensible woman and you should be grateful someone was willing to put up with you as a wife.

-In Akaza's view no one would ever treat you like you deserved. He knew he could care for you like he did for-... Someone that makes his head fog. HE CAN'T LET HIM TAINT HER SMILE. If you needed a husband to provide for you then he's happy to step in. Don't be surprised when you wake up to him carrying you out the window.

"Anything that is gold is often buried beneath where everyone's minds skim over without a second thought. You won't have your gold tainted to rust by another."

GYUTARO(+PLATONIC UME/DAKI):

EQUALITY

-Let's be fair. Gyutaro (and Ume/Daki) were never treated as an equal. He was always treated like a piece of garbage (and Ume a pretty doll) so he's gotten used to the fact that he's just destined for that.

-So he's surprised when his sister just starts yapping about another girl in her workplace. It's not out of the ordinary for her to talk about other girls mostly complaining about them or demanding he do something about it. But he's surprised that she's not complaining but gushing about how she made a friend....What?

-Gyutaro.wav is confused af

-She proceeds to proudly gush to her brother about how this girl 'actually knows her place' and 'knows how beautiful Daki is without even needing to know her.'

-Gyutaro.exe is VERY confused af

-She notices his blank stare and scoffs in annoyance. "She's visually impaired you dolt! Honestly it wouldn't be much of a difference if she was actually blind." Oh. Well now he's less confused. Turns out you're new to the house Daki is currently working in and she had originally planned on eating you outta jealousy, however changed her mind when you complimented her voice.

-Daki.wav is now confused. She was used to being complimented on everything from her beauty to her hair to her walking even but her voice? It was then she learnt you weren't blind but you might as well be with how bad your vision actually was seeing everything in colorful blurs. This confuses her. Confused her enough to spare you that night and instead you both just sorta awkwardly talked casually. You politely asked her what it was like to be a famous oiran and if she had any tips for make up as you couldn't see well enough to tell if yours was good.

-You had spoken to her without fear, or condensending, or even any flat out adoration. It was just as if she was another person on the street and not a cannibalistic monster. Honestly it was ..nice. Hella confusing but actually nice for once being treated like another. She decides she will not eat you. After all it wouldn't harm anyone if you couldn't see the red flags in front of you, and you believe her anyways when she said she's beautiful.

-She decides you are her default friend and you now listen to all her problems and tantrums whenever she wants. You gently listen awkwardly sometimes with a frown after you hear she had punished another worker. However there's very little people here nice to you and her reputation alone has kept troublemakers away from you so you decide her friendship is worth more than the cons of not having it.

-She's very territorial over her one friendship. Almost toxically so. If you want something you had BETTER get it within the day or there's hell to pay! If there's a customer you don't particularly like he had BETTER find another girl. No is not an option. Even the house master is scared of her so all complies.

-Gyutaro has legit no idea of what to think of this but his logic is whatever his precious baby sister wants she gets so if you make her happy being her friend then he'll leave you alone and leave her too it. He hasn't met you yet tho. Most of the time he's either out hunting or asleep dormant in Daki's body. Sometimes he heard you two talking but tuned it out as it was mostly boring or his sister complaining to you again. You two completely meet by accident.

-One day he came back from hunting, the two had to split as it'd look suspicious if she suddenly disappeared, so as usual he went to go clean up the mess. The two were just talking when the door suddenly opens and they both freeze as you stand there smiling. Turns out you had just come to say good night to Daki and didn't even see the demon in front of you. However you are barely able to make out a second blurry figure in the darkness. It prompts you to apologize for interrupting her and her customer to which both relax from their tense posture remembering you couldn't actually tell there was a six foot something demon in front of you.

-Daki is prompted to scoff and explain that it wasn't a customer but her brother visiting. In turn Gyutaro is stunned as you genuinely smile his way and greet him like he was another friend. It quickly becomes awkward as he just stares. His brain can't compute a girl(a pretty girl at that) was smiling and talking to him normally. He answers in grunts and quickly leaves the awkward scene.

-Is later shocked weeks later when his sister informs him that you sometimes ask her how her brother is doing. He's not used to having anyone think of him so nicely even as a second thought. The way he reacts gives Daki the idea of making her brother come out to again meet you. (She forces him out and doesn't let him merge until he meets you again.) He's shocked at how you still genuinely are kind to him offering him tea and asking if he'd like to hear you play the shamisen.

-Man becomes fastly smitten by you. With so much touch starvation and affection denial he has it was inevitable. You suspect he might like you by the stutters of his floundering voice but out of respect to your friend you remain casual and never bring it up to either of them when they visit you.

-You've got two demons utterly obsessed with you for both two different reasons. Daki is unwilling to lose her only friend. In her mind NO ONE is allowed to be friends with you! She's the best! So she's your best and only friend! She's very possessive over things she sees as hers and you're no exception. She even was jealous of Gyutaro's affections for you at first but quickly realized it would be easier to share her big brother with you. They share practically everything else anyways. She still gets annoyed when he takes your attention for too long tho. You were her friend first!

-Gyutaro is obsessed with the way you treat him. The way you don't back away from him when he gets close. The way you smile at him. The way you don't treat him like the scum of the earth. He's a very possessive man, even more than his sister. Any visiting customers you have are never seen again. Any present or past he finds out about are quickly taken as his dinner for daring to touch what's his.

-If he doesn't get them then Daki will. She eliminates any threat within the house. Any servant who stares at you with disdain or someone who gets too friendly is swiftly delt with.

-You're hella confused when the house master says he is cursed with many runaway workers.

-Both absolutely FREAK when they return to the house and You're not there anymore. Daki realizes this first when she goes to see you and finds you GONE! All of your belongings are gone and your room is empty. Practically tears the house apart looking for you and calling your name. Her panic wakes up her brother concerned she's in danger but also freaks out when she informs him you're GONE! She goes to the house master after not finding you anywhere else and DEMANDS they tell her where you are with murder in her eyes.

-Turns out a man had bought your marriage contract after watching a show of yours playing the shamisen and singing. You were relieved to be leaving and had left with him after waiting for an hour to say goodbye but your friend never showed up.

-Both are HORRIFIED and ENRAGED!

-Daki ends the house master in a rage as her brother appears. It's not too hard to find you being lead by your soon-to-be husband leading you towards the train station. Had they been ten minutes late then you would've been completely out of the E-District.

-Instead you're quickly absorbed into Daki's belt as her brother violently rips the man apart in a blind rage. You aren't going to leave your best friend behind and he wasn't going to let another man have your hand.

"I'm your friend! Don't you get that?!"

"I'll cut down anyone who tries to hurt my precious sister or take you from me. You're mine."

KAIGAKU:

GREED

-This man and Kokushibo are similar. Both have inferiority issues against younger brothers(Ik technically Zenitsu n him aren't brothers but bare with me) being better than them in swordsmanship one way or another. With Yoriichi and Kokushibo it was more complicated. Between Kaigaku and Zenitsu it was that ONE Thunder Breathing technique he never conquered.

-His inferiority and greed has caused him to make so many bad decisions (if you've read the manga or read his wiki then you know what I mean). He's not one to want to be out done even if he has to resort to underhanded tactics.

-You both met when he was still human and training under Master Jigoro. You were a simple healer often just helping patch him and Zenitsu up after training. He's annoyed and often doesn't give you a second thought that is until Zenitsu starts running his mouth obviously. He asks you to marry him ten minutes after you both just met.

-Kaigaku has known you for a few years longer than Zenitsu because he's older and came to train here before Zenitsu but you both have never been close before. He's short with you when you talk otherwise he's usually quiet. You talk to him anyways even if he never answers back. You're used to it.

-He hates how you just patiently laugh off any and all attempts Zenitsu makes to you. Why are you tolerating that idiot?!(Nevermind you also tolerate him and his stupid attitude.) He gets jealous of your interactions and how Zenitsu is just finding over you before he meets Nezuko. He barely sees you after his final selection and becoming a slayer but his furious mind boils over at the thought of you spending more time ALONE with Zenitsu before he too goes to his Final selection.

-With both Zenitsu and Kaigaku gone, and Jigoro insisting he can take care of himself, you're reassigned to a different residence where multiple slayers pass through. Ironically it's where Kaigaku is. All good and bad feelings punch him at once seeing your smiling face again as you stitch up his most recent wound.

-He likes you so much and how you treat him, but he's internally enraged when you share that kindness with anyone outside of him. Hearing you speaking to him about Zenitsu and your other patients only enrages that boiling point. However it only reaches that point when you inform the ever silent man about your own slayer fiance you met through your patients.

-You're sad when one day Kaigaku stops showing up for a long while. News of his betrayal and Jigoro's death really hadn't reached a lot of people with all the Haishira and slayers training for the final fight in the Infinity Castle. Your slayer fiance included.

-You do however receive news of your fiance's mysterious gruesome death at the hands of a demon. You're more heartbroken when you also hear of Jigoro's death. Devastated and crying your heart out over your loss. However those sobs turn to screams when you're face to face with blackened eyes of death as a sinister smile.

"What are you crying for? It's his own fault."

NAKIME:

SHARED INTEREST

-(Ok. Bare with me. Ive never written for her before and even researching her backstory this is probably not going to be very long and ooc. Take as platonic or romantic.) Let me start by saying that she does not get out much. Like at all. So you two really don't meet face to face.

-She discovers you by accident when she opened a door in a busy street and happened to see you sitting on the side of the road also playing a biwa for money.

-She hasn't seen another fellow biwa player for a while and decided to keep the doorway open for a while to listen.

-You are not very good with the biwa. Your playing isn't bad it's just not the best. Nakime knows this but considering she's never met another person or heard another instrument for a long time she can't help but get interested. Learns quickly that you are a lot better playing the shamisen than the biwa and always opens a small window or doorway on nights she knows you're gonna be sitting on your corner playing.

-She starts to think about teaching you how to play the biwa and doing a duet as you play your shamisen next to her biwa. Starts to really like the idea of permanently having your company in the castle.

-She doesn't really abduct you until after a show a drunk patron steals your instrument and smashes it on the ground laughing at your crying face.

-A loud strum of a biwa is heard as both you AND the drunk man is teleported. You're shocked to suddenly find yourself on a platform with a woman sitting right across from you. The drunk man was also teleported. She teleported him to where she knew a gang of newly turned hungry demons were.

"Apologies for the sudden introductions however it seems you need a change of residence."

GYOKKO:

CREATIVITY

-(I don't like him too much but ik there's a lot of people who do and can't find content for him same as those who like Nakime so I'll include him too for all you Gyokko fans.) Mans is a baby. Very sensitive to his projects being insulted even if they deserve to be called that, most either are 'too dumb to notice his great skills' or always insult him. When in reality his art is so gruesome that people can't help but he horrified by it or insult him. The only one who seems to get him is Douma which is why he gifted him the pot but they aren't really friends.

-He meets you by complete accident. He was out too late and ended up deciding to hide in a pottery worker's shop. He likes to sneak around and spy on other artists anyways. His pot was sun proof and all he had to do was duck inside and wait until night again. However he wasn't counting on being bought.

-You had come in looking for a new vase to decorate your table after your old one accidentally broke. You happened to spot Gyokko's and completely fell in love with how pretty it was! The purest white you've ever seen with beautifully perfectly painted flowers and leafy vines. The pottery worker doesn't even remember making this piece but a paying customer was a paying customer so he sold you Gyokko's vase.

-Gyokko is absolutely offended by the pottery worker claiming his vase as his own and plans to end him later...But he also is very intrigued by the bold compliments you gave so he decides not to end you yet.

-When night comes he sneaks out to find quite a sight. Turns out you are also an artist sorta. You make custom jewelry and clothing for people, and baskets on the side. He's intrigued and extends his body around to look closely at all of the fabrics laid about, and written patterns, and little pieces of jewels ready to be put together for a simple but pretty piece to wear.

-He ends up going from the back of your shop to the front finding a lot of finished pieces of yours displayed and ready for sale. He's very intrigued by the kimonos. All of the patterns are individually sewn on. Cherry blossoms, storks, flowers- All are sewn on thread after thread by hand. It's like a canvas but made of fabric with thread as the paint. He's seen a LOT of kimonos but the attention to detail and precision to the likeness of the real thing was truly remarkable. For a woman.

-He decides since you really hadn't been a nuisance and complimented his work then he'll not end you for taking his pot. Instead of taking his pot with him, he leaves it and teleports to a different pot that way he can still sneak into your home without a problem.

-This goes on for two years. He'll pop in every so while when you sleep and look around for an hour or two before leaving. There was always different dresses displayed with different beautiful scenes sewed into them or he'd see one you were working on on your workshop bench. The needle paused in sewing the stripes of a tiger or the veins of a leaf.

-One day he comes back but hides in the pot because you're working late and tending to a customer who needed a dress for a ceremony. As you both talk the customer compliments 'your pot' and asks why you never put flowers in it. You answer- "I don't want to damage it by filling it with water or having rose thorns scratch it's inside. Besides it's beautiful enough by itself."

-As if this man didn't have enough of a big ego- This happens around the start of the second year and he ends up fond of this fellow artist. He gets the idea of gifting you another case to gage your reaction. This time you find a deep blue pot with waves painted onto it. You're unsure of where it came from but you might up moving it by the first vase mumbling to yourself about how pretty it was! Man's ego skyrockets.

-You are confused when you thank your friends for the pretty gifts only to be told they didn't make any of the ones you have. You get more confused when you start finding pots left on your doorstep two or three times a month. You never see who leaves them but you're so taken by how each one is so pretty that you never complain. Just assuming it was a secret admirer. Gyokko's ego boosts higher when he sees you had gotten two big shelves and placed them up to be displayed. He loves seeing you light up when you look at them excited for when the next one arrives.

-You're happiness seems to be improving your work too as Gyokko ends up find you making full on landscapes on your dresses. He notices you've suddenly become happier and giddier lately and blushing even but he doesn't think it's anything other than your adoration for his craft.

-Confused when one day he finds no new dresses being made except for an absolutely beautiful shiromuku in the process of being made. He assumes you've been paid to make a bride her ceremonial dress. He has absolutely no idea of the real reason behind this behavior until he comes back earlier one night and is shocked to find YOU wearing the dress to try it out as another friend of yours does your makeup testing out what colors would look best with you in the dress.

-Seeing you in your own homemade bridal piece and your face dolled up is like he's looking upon living artwork. He's in awe as you both giddily talk about your wedding-..Wait. Wot? You're telling your friend all about how the pottery maker you had originally bought your first vase from had fallen for you and came forward to be your secret admirer leaving all of the vases as gifts.

W H A T?!

-Gyokko is ENRAGED!! How dare that lowlife claim his precious skills as his own!? More so how dare he use it to trick this beloved artist into letting him marry you?! He was claiming all his hard work!! He's becomes more enraged when you mentioned that your fiance wanted you to retire from your craft and be a stay at home wife after you marry. A mantra of "Oh over his dead body" is repeated over in his head as he temporarily disappears to take care of a problem.

-Soon after your friend leaves you're smiling at yourself in a mirror only to freeze in horror and shriek out as something monstrous comes clawing out of the first ever face you've ever gotten. People are horrified and shocked when they find your fiance dead and you no where to be found.

"Art is a beauty in of itself. However there are few people who can truly appreciate you as such."

Hoo boy that was a lot. I'm gonna do a part 2 with Hantengu since that guy needs to be tackled along with clones on his own post and a part 3 with the lower moons. Hope you all enjoyed this.

654 notes · View notes

fandomfloozy · 5 days

Text

Oh, I'm pretty boy?

pairing: katsuki bakugo x sick!reader

c/w: fluff, early relationship, petnames (katsuki calls reader babe, reader evidently calls katsuki pretty lol), sprinkles of hispanic!reader/spanish-speaking!reader, gn!reader

wc: 1.3k

~°•*~

You've been sick the last few days.

You're on the tail-end of recovery now, thank god, but for most of the week you've been bed-ridden, and snotty, and sweaty, and hot, and cold. It's been miserable, if you're being honest. With the light at the end of the tunnel in view, you're glad the worst of it is over.

There has been one upside to being sickly, though--one aspect that makes you wish you could be sick just one more day: Ever since you fell ill, since the moment he'd heard you were taking leave off work to rest at home for a bit, you've been under the thorough care of your very own, self-appointed nurse, Katsuki.

There's this saying: "You'll never truly know someone well enough until you've seen them struggle financially, grieve a lost loved one, or witness them while they're sick."

Your relationship is new. Not early days, but still far too soon for him to be seeing you sick, for your liking.

But when he showed up at your door a couple days ago--masked up, worry-eyed, and holding all the essentials for treating a typical head cold--how could you refuse him?

And to be fair, he's been a rock. He's changed your compresses (water bowl kept at optimal temperature), given you medicine in intervals (timed and administered to the MINUTE), and even cooked you palatable meals (anything you could keep down, but namely the caldo recipe he got from your mom when he asked her what you ate when you're sick). He did everything short of rubbing Vick's vapo rub on you (not for lack of trying), all while keeping a level head and brushing aside your concerns over feeling like you're burdening him.

"You're my girlfriend," he'd say matter-of-factly. "This is my job, ain't it?"

A rhetorical question. He said it as if it was an irrefutable truth, as if he hadn't even considered an alternative, as if the very thought of leaving you to fend off this cold by yourself was an affront to your relationship, scowl on his face and all.

His bedside manner needed work, but when he said those words to you... let's just say the flush rising up your face probably had nothing to do with the cold.

So, yeah. While you're happy to be feeling better, you can't help being a little disappointed that the doting will soon come to an end.

Which is why you now sit with your head resting in your hands, elbows on the kitchen bar, making the most of admiring a now unmasked Katsuki as he cooks your dinner on what will be the last of your "sick days."

You're unashamed in your ogling. You feel bold. It might be the relaxed atmosphere. It might be the way Katsuki let you wear his hoodie tonight... It might just be the cold medicine. You feel dozy, comfy, and so dopily content as you watch your boyfriend chop vegetables.

He does it with ease--so practiced that it's like he's on autopilot. His defenses are down, completely in his element.

"'Ya sure you want all this cooked in with your rice?" Now that you're feeling better, he's less inclined to hold his tongue about his thoughts on your childhood dishes.

You yawn and nod. "Mhm, it's the way my mami always makes it."

"Just sayin', I could make ya rice without all this extra stuff."

"It's a good thing you're not making rice, Katsuki." You pout dramatically for emphasis. "You're making sopita."

"Sopita," he repeats, shaking his head with a sideways grin. "Alright, babe. I've got you covered. Sopita coming right up."

You switch to resting your cheek in one hand, continuing to observe your boyfriend as he works. He looks so serene this way. With his smug little half smile, even his expression screams "relaxed"--very unlike his usual frown and furrowed brow.

You're not used to seeing him like this. Sure, you've seen him in a good mood, upbeat, excited, even downright elated, like on the day you agreed to go out with him.

Katsuki has always been an... expressive person, even when it doesn't grant him the most flattering of expressions.

Right now, though, while he's contented and caring for you in the comfort of your own home, his features are on display in such a way that you wonder if the cough syrup really is getting to you.

He looks almost...

Pretty...

"You're starin'."

You know you are. "Sorry," you laugh. "I was just thinking how it's a shame you have such a cara de fuchi most of the time, Kats. You're so pretty."

His head snaps toward you. "Fucking WHAT." The furrow is back in his brow. If you were paying proper attention, you'd notice the flush rising up his neck and the back of his ears, but your eyelids are feeling a bit heavy at this point.

You wave your free hand dismissively. "You know, cara de fuchi," you explain. You're sure you've used this phrase in front of him before. "Like you're a sour puss, you pull faces--"

"I'm not fucking pretty," he interrupts.

You open your eyes slightly to squint at him. "Pfft," you laugh. "Has no one ever told you that?"

"Hell, no." He turns back to the task at hand. Grumbling under his breath.

With his signature grimace making its return, the allure is gone; but now that you've seen it, you can't unsee it. He's beautiful. His eyes are a nice shape, and the crimson color of his irises is striking against his light complexion. The way his hair falls just above is strong browbone makes you want to push it back and rub at the scrunch between his brows. And you know he has soft lips, but on top of that, they're such a nice shade of pink. His jawline. His cheekbones. His chin.

It's a fundamental truth. Katsuki Bakugo is pretty.

You fold your arms on the island and press your cheek into the crook of your elbow. "I'm sure people would tell you more often if all the pretty wasn't covered up by your perpetual stank face."

Cue said stank face. He bumbles over his words in frustration for a second. "You're sick and loopy, stop bein' weird."

You giggle. "And you have a nice face when you're not acting chronically disgusted by the world."

He looks at you properly and you smile to yourself in pure delight and fondness.

"You're pretty when you're happy, Katsuki."

He deliberates over it for a moment, stank face semi relaxing. He's about to say something else when you cut into the silence with another yawn.

His gaze softens into an amused smirk as he reaches for your cheek and pinches softly. "Alright, alright. Don't fall asleep on me just yet, you gotta eat properly before goin' to bed."

You swat his hand away and rise to attention while rubbing your eyes. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

He smiles and goes back to cooking your half-prepared meal. "Ponte las pilas, or whatever the hell your mom says when you start lazin' around."

You huff at that. "I regret teaching you Spanish, you always pick up the worst phrases."

Katsuki barks out a laugh and you can't help the snort that follows as you giggle right along with him.

You two settle into the monotony of the last evening of your first of many sick days together. You're sure your boyfriend has had more than enough of witnessing you sick to satisfy stipulations. Suffice to say that he felt he knew you and your "sleepy freak tendencies" a bit better now.

There's definitely an addendum you'd make to that old saying, though: You'll never know how pretty someone is until you've seen them care for you while you're sick.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via ara-kan (deactivated)

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illyrianbitch · 1 month

Text

One Summer — Part Six

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: drug usage/mentions as usual, alcohol, mor/feyre/reader being fashion icons, reader & az being 'just friends', drunk girl bonding, reader being a sentimentalist and loving her friends

Word Count: 5.4k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a cramp in your stomach from laughing so hard— a pain made worse by the fact that Mor’s roughly concocted mimosas fueled the hilarity of every comment. She and Feyre were in stitches beside you, their snickers echoing off the walls as you all made your way down the stairs. It had taken a while, but you were finally ready to head out for the last day of Summit. The boys had been waiting with increasing impatience.

As you rounded the corner into the kitchen, Cassian looked up with a start, his hand paused mid-air, spoon halfway to his mouth. He choked as he took in the sight before him, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“What the hell do those say?” Cassian coughed, pressing his hand over his mouth as he swallowed hard. He stood up from his seat, and you bit back a laugh.

You three had been adamant about making your last day truly memorable. Somehow that had turned into throwing out any pretenses of looking cute or trendy. Instead, you three wanted something more sophisticated, outfits that showed your maturity. You’d each chosen special shirts for one another.

Yours was a white tee with bold, unapologetic text: “I made your dad a bottom.” Mor’s shirt was a masterpiece of absurdity. She’d cut it into a sleeveless, oversized fit that hung off her frame with casual abandon. The front featured a stock photo of a muscular, awkwardly posed werewolf figure with the caption “Human by chance, alpha by choice” scrawled underneath in an ill-advised font. Feyre’s was also a true work of art. She'd played pretend offend for all of three seconds when she'd first seen it, giggling about how true it was. Her shirt boasted a crudely drawn frog holding a paintbrush, paired with the words “Dyslexic with tig bits.”

You exchanged grins with your best friends.

"Aren't you gonna tell us how good we look?" Mor asked, placing a hand on her hip. She gave him a look of impatience, as if the time running by without her compliment was getting on her nerves.

"I-" Cassian ran a hand across his mouth, tracing his mustache with extra care once he noticed her budding scowl. "Rhys! Az!"

The two boys emerged almost instantly, their mouths falling open in amusement as their eyes scanned the shirts. Rhys was the first to react, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he let out a low whistle.

“Pretty privilege lets you guys get away with way too many things,” he mused, his attention fixed entirely on Feyre as he approached her. He gently took her hand, guiding her into a dainty twirl to showcase her outfit.

Your gaze shifted to Az, who leaned casually against the wall, amusement dancing in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. Mimicking his pose, you crossed your arms defensively. He shook his head, pushing off the wall and strolling towards you.

“Well, don’t cover up the art like that,” he said, glancing at your crossed arms. “I was enjoying it.”

You blushed, letting out a snort as you dropped your arms, gesturing dramatically to the shirt. Az’s eyes glimmered as he reached forward, his fingers lightly brushing the edges of the fabric. “Why this one?”

“Mor chose it for me,” you replied, your breath catching slightly. Azriel nodded in approval.

“Fitting.”

Cassian, now fully recovered, let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I’m feeling left out. You all look—” he paused for dramatic effect, “—exceptionally unique.”

“Good answer,” Mor said with a satisfied nod. She wrapped an arm around you, pulling you along with her as she walked towards the kitchen. “And isn’t the idea of dommy Y/N so hot?”

You groaned, your face flushing red as she giggled beside you. For the tenth time that morning, you begged her to stop using such a strange title. Her laughter only grew louder.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The merch line was long, but you didn’t mind waiting; the day was cooler, the sun less blistering than it had been, and the thought of having a physical memento from the weekend was comforting. Az had volunteered to keep you company while the others leisurely watched a smaller set on the schedule. There was an ease to this moment, the kind that settled in when time stretched out.

Azriel turned his head to look at you. His eyes scanned your figure and a second later he was shaking his head, looking away as a laugh left his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. Az’s laugh was something you coveted, a sound you’d become addicted to over time.

You waited until his eyes reached yours again to raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"That fuckin' shirt," Az replied. "I just can't get over it."

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder as the line moved forward. "Don't judge. It's been a chick and dick magnet."

It was true. You'd gotten more compliments on your shirt than you'd ever received in your entire life— at least, drunk you seemed to think so. God, you needed to wear this outfit more often.

Azriel shook his head again, offering up his hands in surrender. "No judgment here," he said. He scanned you again, eyes glowing with a sense of contemplation. He pulled his cap off his head and placed it on yours. You tracked his movements with your eyes, watching as he took a step backwards and admired you as if he'd just created a masterpiece.

"Perfect."

It was an effort not to beam at the word alone, at how it seemed to anchor itself in your chest, resonating with a deeper meaning you were too embarrassed to fully acknowledge. You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth that rolled through your body, surely collecting on your reddening cheeks. You placed your hands on your hips.

"I look good?"

Azriel let out a small hiccup, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh yeah," he said, reclaiming his spot next to you in a few, easy strides. "You look like every dude in Rhys's frat."

Your smile fell. You attempted to give him a glare, to scowl, but Azriel's proud grin pulled a laugh from deep in your chest. "You said it looked good."

Az's smile curved, deepening into the crevasses of his cheeks. "And I meant it, you look great. Stunning."

There it was, that feeling again— that giddiness that left you fumbling for words. Something warm and silly spread throughout your chest. For a moment, you struggled to respond, fumbling through your mind to put together a coherent sentence. It was proving hard, so incredibly hard, when Az was looking at you the way he was.

"I didn't know frat boys were your type."

Azriel shrugged. "I didn't either. Guess we're both learning new things."

You playfully smacked him with your hand and reached up to remove his cap from your head. He shook his head, taking it back to adjust the band with nimble fingers. You watched him, noting the slight tremble as he refitted it to your head.

“You keep this,” Azriel said, securing it on you again. “It looks better on you anyway.”

You swallowed, fingertips brushing the brim. “Careful, Az. It might sound like you’re flirting with me or something.”

Azriel stared at you for a moment. His gaze was steady, searching. Do friends look at friends this way? Was it wrong to crave his gaze so deeply?

"What can I say," Az finally replied. The line moved forward. "I guess I just can't resist the pull of a frat guy."

Azriel brushed his palmalong the small of your back to guide you forward. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he removed his hand.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You weren't sure how much time had passed since Az left to go put all of the merch in the car. His instructions to you had been clear: stay in the same area so he could find you when he came back in. When he'd left, there was still around an hour until you'd meet back up with Mor, Feyre, Cass and Rhys.

But Azriel's instructions left your mind the minute he was out of view. You'd reached that perfect point of being slightly crossed—mostly drunk, but not dangerously so— and everything felt vibrant. Alive. It made no sense to stand still or sit in a patch of grass and wait for Az to return like a sad codependent dog and its owner. No, that wouldn't do.

So you wandered, finding yourself by the food trucks, a new fruity drink in your hand. Non-alcoholic and entirely too expensive for its small size, but money didn't seem real to you. There was a large smile on your face as you weaved through the small crowds. You'd made around six new friends, random people you began talking to in line, those equally as drunk who voiced their love for your outfit.

You barely registered when you bumped into a girl, the drink in your hand sloshing a bit.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A soft voice exclaimed. You brought your attention to her face, taking in her long brown hair as she wiped a drop from her shirt. You were about to apologize then too, but then her eyes met yours. Something sparked in them. They widened, the brown glowing almost, and she beamed.

“I know you!”

You stilled. “You do?” There was something familiar about her but you couldn’t quite place it. The smile especially. Something warm and friendly.

“Yes!” she nodded eagerly. She grabbed the arm of a person next to her, pulling them into the conversation. Deep blue eyes and sandy brown hair.

“Babe," the girl said, "This is the girl from yesterday!"

A look of realization formed on her partner's face. She turned to you again. "I was just telling them earlier about you. I took your picture yesterday."

They nodded, a small chuckle leaving their lips as they took a sip of their shared drink. "She was," they said, "The pretty girl with the boyfriend who had a sick wing tattoo.”

You blinked. Maybe you were feeling a bit slow today, a bit lethargic, or maybe you were a bit too gone to carry such a fast conversation. You let their words sink in, allowing your face to blossom into a smile. You recognized her face now, remembering the sweet approach she'd had to you and Az. The picture you now cherished so deeply. Your cheeks warmed.

“Oh, uh. He's not my boyfriend.”

The girl stilled. A sense of surprise flickered across her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “just friends.”

She exchanged a look with her partner, a silent conversation passing between them, and then turned back to you with an intrigued expression, eyes slightly narrowed, lips still curved at the edges.

"Really?" She repeated, as if her question would pull a different answer, one that may have satisfied her more.

You gave a sheepish smile, shrugging your shoulders. You suddenly felt entirely too vulnerable, embarrassed in a way you hadn't felt since you were a child in kindergarten. She exchanged another look with her partner.

“Does he know that?” They said.

You shifted awkwardly, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, it's kinda weird, though. I don't know...” You trailed off, feeling the words slipping away from you. It was hard to articulate when your mind was so pleasantly hazy. You hesitated, then added with a chuckle, “It’s a long story.”

They both nodded. The girl looked at her partner before turning back to you. She grinned and shrugged, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Well, if you have the time, so do we.”

You furrowed your brows. She leaned in closer, like a best friend about to share a secret, and whispered conspiratorially, “I love a good storytime.”

And so, you found yourself sitting on a patch of grass, with Victoria and Jamie, as you learned their names to be, a band playing distantly on the stage nearby. The entire history spilled from your lips like uncontrollable bile, as if you were drafting a biography and starting it from the moment you met Feyre—because that’s when it truly all started. Almost four years ago, you realized.

You talked about freshman year, about your introductory philosophy class, your friendship with Az that blossomed into this deep, heavy crush. You told them about that almost-kiss, the one that lingered in your memory like a bittersweet stain, and even about your relationship with Eris.

Victoria's drink was empty by the time you’d finished and the sun had dipped ever-so-slightly in the sky, now painting the festival in golden hues.

“Wow,” Victoria said, exchanging a meaningful look with Jamie before turning back to you.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I talked too much, didn't I?"

“Not at all! That was incredibly entertaining. Felt like the plot to some kind of romcom,” she said, laughing lightly. Jamie nodded in agreement. You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“So… what’s holding you back?” Victoria asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but she quickly interjected, “And do not say it’s because you’re not sure he feels the same. You’re wearing his hat.”

You offered a sheepish smile, bringing your fingers up to trace the brim of Azriel’s cap, still securely placed on your head. You’d almost forgotten he’d put it there. It made sense now, why your face didn’t feel as burnt as usual. It also felt silly to admit that it was a worry of yours--- that maybe Az didn't see anything romantic with you the way he once did, that maybe these small moments were doused in a platonic love, like that from Cass and Rhys, and you had deluded yourself into thinking too deeply about them.

You shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. “It’s more complicated than that,” you mumbled, but your words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Jamie leaned forward, their gaze sharp and inquisitive. You resisted the urge to draw back at the eye contact, at how their blue eyes seemed to be reading you. They casted a glance at Victoria.

“Is it because of your ex-boyfriend?"

"What?" You frowned, letting your shoulders sag as the words ran through you. "What do you mean?"

They shrugged, sharing another glance with Victoria.

"You mentioned him a lot. And you said they all had a past. Maybe it’s some kind of guilt?”

Your eyes widened as you considered the possibility, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. You hadn’t consciously connected the two, the strange anxiety and guilt that had bubbled throughout the week. But now that it had been mentioned, acknowledged by someone other than yourself, the thought lingered, a seed of doubt taking root.

Maybe they were right; maybe you’d been letting guilt hold you back from pursuing what you truly wanted. That extended to things far beyond the way you felt for Az. The truth was, you did feel guilty. You'd lost time with your friends when you and Eris dated. It was part of the reason why you felt even worse for not wanting to move with Mor— because you didn't want to disappoint her another time, to make her feel like you were choosing something else over her.

And there was Azriel. Azriel, Azriel, Azriel. Where was he anyways? You should go find him. Surely it's been too long. Were you spending too much time with him? Should you be at Mor's hip instead? Your thoughts started swirling faster, more compounded and harder to process.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” you admitted, your voice quiet. "Maybe that's it."

Why was it so easy to be more honest to complete strangers than to yourself? Such a strange thing, you thought, as Victoria watched you carefully. Her eyes softened with understanding. There was a moment of silence before Jamie smiled encouragingly, gently placing a hand on her thigh.

“I think Vi has something to show you.”

"Oh, right! I do." She beamed, eyes lighting up with excitement. She pulled out her phone and a few seconds later, she was holding it out to you, a photo on the screen. "This was why I was so glad to run into you."

The photo was taken the day before, during the set where Victoria had taken that picture of you and Azriel. This one was from behind, capturing Azriel’s arm resting naturally around your waist as you both watched the band. The sight stirred something deep within you. You felt a smile tug at your lips as you remembered how that moment had felt—comfortable, right, as if the world outside had fallen away, leaving just the two of you.

When you met her eyes again, Victoria grinned, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Watch the live,” she said, offering you her phone to hold in your own hands.

You listened, gently taking it and pressing down on the photo. It showed you looking away from Az, a soft smile on your face, and then, right after, Az looking down at you with an expression just as soft, one that you felt deeply in your chest. You let it replay a couple of times.

No wonder Victoria had assumed you and Az were together, had complimented you like a couple, told her partner about you both. If you were an outsider watching this moment, you’d think you were a couple too—so natural, so connected. What could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

Victoria’s voice pulled you back. “It was fate that I ran into you again. The picture was so cute I was tempted to post it somewhere in hopes it got to you.”

Her words made you smile and you glanced at Jamie. The way they looked at her, with such tenderness and affection, was like something out of a fairy tale. It made your heart ache, longing for something similar. Azriel's laugh echoed faintly in your head.

Jamie caught your gaze and nodded toward the phone in Victoria’s hand. “Friends don’t look at friends that way,” they said, their grin slightly teasing but gentle all the same. “Just so you know.”

Victoria sighed wistfully, leaning into Jamie as they wrapped an arm around her. "You know what I think?" You raised a brow, inviting her to continue. Her face softened as she met your gaze. "You should tell him how you feel."

You sighed, looking down at the ground. Admitting you felt something for Azriel could change the dynamic between you. And not only that, but the dynamic between you and everyone else. You liked where everything was at now. You didn’t want to ruin it.

“It’s just not that simple.”

“No one said it would be,” She said gently. She looked up at Jamie, her eyes shining a bit brighter than seconds before. “But sometimes, the best things aren’t.”

You had given Az similar advice the day before—urging him to chase his dreams and not confine himself to limitations. The irony of those very words being directed back at you now, especially about him, made you want to laugh. It felt oddly fitting and full-circle. Maybe you could write a paper about it.

Jamie tangled their fingers in Victoria’s hair. They nodded in agreement, giving you a look that said: Listen to her. She's right.

Victoria seemed to catch your hesitation and she called your attention with a gentle murmur of your name. "I'm serious," she said. "The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now."

You smiled to yourself, picking at the grass around you and feeling the blades between your fingers. You looked at them again, amused at how your day had led you to this insightful couple and some much-needed time to spill your guts.

"You guys are so wise," you said with a small chuckle. "Y'know that?"

"It's these fucking spiked lemonades," she replied, lifting up her empty can. "They give me a fifth sense."

Jamie chuckled next to her. They patted her head gently. "Sixth."

"Huh?" She said, turning her head to look at them.

"Sixth sense, babe," they said. "You already have five senses."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel had found you five minutes into your second conversation with Victoria and Jamie, his eyes wide and cheeks slightly red. He'd been looking for you for almost fifteen minutes, his countless calls having been sent to voicemail because your phone had been silenced. You'd apologized profusely, but Az had laughed it off, saying he was grateful that you had a shirt he could see from miles away and a hat he knew like the back of his hand. He greeted Jamie and Victoria, recognizing the latter almost immediately, and then jokingly thanked them for watching you while he was gone, making a joke that you were a wandering toddler with an affinity for shiny things.

Victoria shot you a knowing look as you both walked away.

You had a few more minutes before you were scheduled to meet the rest of the group, so you took the opportunity to enjoy the scene. You and Azriel wandered through the vibrant area of the festival where booths from local artists and craftspeople lined the grassy areas. The atmosphere was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of music from nearby stages. With everything around you vying for your attention, your mind stayed tethered to the conversation with Jamie and Victoria.

You stopped when you spotted a photobooth nestled between two tables, a vintage looking thing advertising two strips of 5 photos for 12 bucks. A steep price, but something in you was drawn to it nonetheless.

You looked at Azriel with a grin. “Does the photographer feel like being photographed?

Az raised an eyebrow. “I feel like no matter what I say, you'll somehow convince me to do it anyways.”

You smiled wider, biting your lip to keep it from spreading too much. “You know me so well.”

The space was intimate, practically needing you both to sit atop of one another. You gently took his hat off, placing it in your lap as Azriel’s arm slipped comfortably around your shoulders, drawing you even closer. The gesture was casual, something he'd done countless times before, but it sent your pulse racing all the same.

Azriel’s smile was warm as he looked into the camera and you found yourself acutely aware of his presence, noting the smallest of details despite the camera's low quality. The curls on his head, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled as he grinned. The smile on your face as the booth snapped its first picture was a result of staring at Az's reflection; your second smile came from the sound of his laugher, soft and genuine, filling the tiny space.

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek for one of the next poses, your fingers brushing against his skin. His expression softened. And then his fingers were grazing your hair, slowly tangling themselves by winding a strand around his finger.

As the fourth picture snapped, you noticed how he was looking at you—not at the camera, but at you. His gaze was steady and unwavering, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt in every fiber of your being. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes with soft breath.

Jamie’s voice echoed in your head, a distant but persistent echo. Friends don’t look at friends that way.

The space between you seemed to contract. You took a deep breath, feeling a familiar buzz of longing resurface. And suddenly, you were eighteen again, millimeters away from Az on that Halloween night. His eyes drifted to your lips.

Victoria’'s voice whispered next: The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now.

Azriel leaned in, his eyes drifting shut as he brought his hand up to cradle your hair. Your breath hitched and you moved to close the distance, a sudden need filling your body. Azriel, your mind seemed to whisper, repeatedly like a prayer, Azriel Azriel, Azriel—

A sudden, blinding FLASH snapped you to reality. You both pulled back slightly, eyes wide, as the booth’s camera whirred to capture the memory you’d just almost shared. Azriel blinked, clearing his throat, and you scrambled to pull back the curtain, stepping into the blinding sunshine.

You fumbled with your shirt, trying to smooth it down as though you'd been caught in some misstep. The words, I made your dad a bottom, mocked you boldly. Avoiding Azriel’s gaze, you stared at the ground as he handed you the strip of photos. Your hand brushed his briefly, lingering long enough to feel the warmth of his touch as you took the pictures.

You glanced at the photos, then looked up to find Azriel already staring at you. You opened your mouth to say something, but a familiar voice yelling your names cut you off. Mor and Cassian came sprinting towards you with wide smiles. You shoved the photo strip into your bag.

You smiled, making an effort to focus on the story Cass was animatedly telling as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side. But your eyes kept drifting back to Azriel, who seemed just as lost in thought as you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were a sentimentalist at your core.

For as long as you could remember, you collected memories. You stored them away like treasures, delicate and fragile, saving them for rainy days when you'd wrap yourself in nostalgia like a warm blanket. You wanted everything to have meaning, for things to make sense in a world that often didn’t. Perhaps that’s what led you to study philosophy—a major that let you think too deeply about everything, that encouraged you to seek understanding to a point where nothing made sense.

The Stoics believed that the practice of virtue was enough to achieve eudaimonia, a well-lived life. As you stood in the grassy expanse, watching the lights dance across the night sky and feeling the music pulse through your veins, you thought that maybe this was what they meant. Maybe this was a well-lived life—being surrounded by the simple joy of being alive.

The sun had long set and the sky above was a blanket of deep indigo. You'd all chosen to enjoy the headliner and final performance from a distance, preferring the open space behind the throng rather than being swallowed by the crush of bodies near the stage. From your vantage point you watched the massive crowd sway in unison, a sea of bobbing heads and glowing sticks. Every now and then flashing neon lights would meet your eyes, causing you to squint at their power.

You could see it all—the band on the huge screens, the ocean of people, and the world alive around you. Your arms were intertwined with Mor and Feyre's as you danced together, singing the songs at the top of your lungs. Mor pulled you both closer and you felt her laugh more than you heard it, a rumble through her body as she beamed into the endless night.

Feyre laughed, and you watched as her gaze fell elsewhere. She squeezed you both before bouncing towards Rhys, hair flying wild and free. He caught her easily, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony and you grinned at the way they fit so effortlessly together. You stored the image of their smiles away in your mind.

Mor pulled you towards her, bringing your cheeks between her palms. Her eyes were glowing with a mixture of happiness and the alcohol in her system as she grinned. "I'm so glad you're here!"

The words ran through you, warming every corner of your body as you smiled back to her. Distantly, you could feel the tickle of tears behind your eyes--- the urge to cry from a strange mixture of love, happiness, and guilt. You let your mind focus on that love as your smile grew wider.

"Me too," you responded loudly. "I love you."

Mor's eyes lit up even more as she squealed, pulling you into a quick hug as she repeated the words back to you, over and over. When you pulled away, you found Cassian next to you, his strong arms wrapping around both of you, drawing you into his orbit. He twirled you and you laughed, moving with him until your world was a dizzy blur of colors and lights. And when Cass moved to pull Mor, you paused for a moment, looking around the crowd. You weren't quite sure what you were searching for. But your heart seemed to be seeking it, some craving.

A few steps away were Rhys and Feyre, their faces lit up with excitement as they sang animatedly to Azriel. You turned your attention to him, observing his genuine smile and the way he moved to the music. Despite the proximity of your bodies on the same patch of grass, in this fleeting instant, he seemed distant, absorbed in his own enjoyment--- and you watched it with a sense of admiration. Your gaze lingered on his lips.

The craving you once had—whatever it was you had been searching for—faded as he laughed.

You gently pulled away from Mor and Cassian, stepping aside to watch your friends dance. The scene was too perfect to let slip away unrecorded, so you pulled out your phone and captured a bit of it. The quality would suck in the darkness, the figures mostly shadow with laser lights painting them in brief flashes of color, but you didn’t care.

A bittersweet ache ran through you. You'd never have this moment again. And if you parted ways after graduation, you'd miss out on many more moments like this. When you looked back up, Az was approaching you. There was a smile on his face that matched the warmth in you, a sense of peace that paired perfectly with that tingling excitement that Az often made you feel.

He extended his hand towards you. "It's time to take your own advice.”

You looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. He didn't need to explain his words further. You knew exactly what he was referring to. Almost instantly, your mind traveled to the countless times you had urged him to embrace the moment, attempted to pull him out of his head.

You let out a determined breath and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you pulled him back towards the group. Mor and Feyre had blended into a new group, singing along and laughing with their new friends. Meanwhile, Cassian and Rhys were dancing in a playful, almost mocking manner, with Cassian humorously mimicking the way Rhys and Feyre had been dancing closely.

You tugged Azriel into the midst of it all, letting him guide you into a light twirl. The music wrapped around you, the lights casting an ethereal glow over the jubilant crowd. The world narrowed into this experience--- to you and Az surrounded by your friends, to Mor singing the lyrics to a giggling Feyre.

The Stoics believed in many things. They believed in the value of virtue and the pursuit of wisdom, in accepting the things we cannot change, and most importantly, they believed in the power of the present moment. It is the only thing we have control over.

Your wandering thoughts from earlier were all true. You'd never be this young again. You'd never attend this same festival, never be this drunk, never dance like this in this exact constellation of friends and music. You'd miss out on many memories, many moments just as joyous.

You’d never have this exact moment again.

But right now, it was all yours.

And that was all that mattered.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

For your viewing pleasure, here is the view Victoria had of Reader and Az:

drawn by the best and most talented ever @micahssketchbook

authors note: i wonder who that sweet sexy drunk best friend was named after.... @daycourtofficial any ideas?

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

277 notes · View notes

jolapeno · 3 months

Text

17. tangerine dreams

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seventeen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.1k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. a little anxious rainy. an: i love them i love them.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You didn't mean to, but your finger presses the screen again.

It illuminates, unveiling the time and how another three minutes have ticked on by. A sigh quickly escapes, nostrils flaring from your exhale as you shake your head at how time passes slowly, as though shuffling its feet to become a bit later.

It shouldn’t bother you, should be able to quiet the irrational from spreading into faux reality.

Because things happen, days get away—

His work could be insane, Luca could be ill; he could have written the message out and not clicked send. All things which are plausible, possible. All good enough reasons to not have woken to a good morning text or have heard from him by lunch.

Yet, you stare at the unread message.

Unread messages.

It’s irrational. Baseless. Yet the worries mount like they’re pressing down on your bones and making your head swim in a sea of doubt as they remain unanswered, unread, unnoticed.

Your eyes blur around the way your messages are sitting there, unable to be retracted. All plural in nature. The words ‘sent’ sitting under them, as memories swirl from the conversation the two of you shared after you’d slipped into bed.

It had been warm, usual, no sign of anything changing—but he had been quiet. Less talkative. You had needed to prod him a few times by name for him to hum, and come back to you.

And now, you’ve woken and it's hard not to believe everything feels different. From your home feeling unfamiliar to the quietness you’ve been plunged in.

Maybe, it had been too much too soon. Maybe you'd overstayed your welcome and he was attempting to retract his three words and his promises and his—

Shaking your head, you rub your eyes with the base of your palms. A scream burning on your tongue. Because he isn't them, he's Frankie.

Good, kind.

And you wish he were here. A thing you can’t say. Not again. It had already slipped out last night, through the cracks of comfort; murmuring itself past your lips before he wished you goodnight. It had slipped out, escaping—

Home is you, Frankie.

You can’t remember his reply. Can’t remember if he thought it was cute or sweet, or if he was horrified and filled with dread.

A thing which tangles up inside of you, becomes matted, and clogged. Not able to be broken apart when you step under the water from your shower. Finding yourself shattering instead, breaking, soap lathering and washing away, repeating, as you conjure all the things you could have said that may have upset him. The jokes, the quietness last night; the flirting and the fact you spoke to his ex. It builds, morphing, twisting, doing so until your skin prunes and no more tears are blurring with droplets.

It forces an opening, one where unruly thoughts can break through, prizing itself open as your finger presses the screen again.

Because it’s always this way. Interested, until they’re not. In love, until they aren’t. Staring as the black screen goes dull again. Memories of past relationships where messages went unanswered for days, leading only to painful goodbyes, flashed through your mind.

Fingers pinching the backs of your forearm, almost bruising, doing so until your eyes stop springing fresh pain and the towel becomes another heavy thing constricting you.

Fool. You think it—digging it into flesh. Again. And again as you dress, as you hang your towel. Burying your nails so deep you could rationalise it as the reason tears drop down your cheek as you wander into your almost finished office, crouching in the centre, readying for a sob to escape, to leave—

“Rainy?”

The slam of your front door ripples through the house, hearing it a clatter of keys, wallet, hat—more thuds than placed—as your fingers brush away your sobs, wipe them as though they never existed, standing up from your crouched position to face him. To stand two strides from him.

Frankie's usually warm eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but you spot them softening as they meet yours, tinged with concern, love.

And he’s holding his phone up, a crack right down the screen—little lines running from it, fractured so similarly to how you must appear right on the inside.

“I broke my phone, well Luca broke my phone, but—”

You exhale—both in relief, in thankfulness, and also because it allows you to fill your lungs. To calm yourself. To banish the shadows away to find the strength for yourself to walk across to him.

Because a past version of you would have shrunk more in yourself. Taking the warning, the fear, and used it to build walls that would keep him out. But you're not that person, not now.

Not just because of him, but because of you. The choices, the decisions, the little things that led you down a path to not needing, but finding him all the same.

“—we was having a morning. Slept through my alarm, and then drop off, and then Harold—”

His words halt with an oof as your head presses itself into his chest, and you inhale. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, which lets your heart rate calm before his fingers tease the back of your neck. Rooting you, helping you unknot the last ropes of worry and panic.

“I love you,” you whisper, right against his heart, feeling his fingers slide around the side of your neck, hooking under your chin.

And you repeat it. Softer, swathed in a sigh—relief.

Feeling his face burying itself in the top of your head, a kiss given, one pressing to your forehead when you lift, to your nose, and then your lips.

Biting your lip, fingers sliding over his chin, his jaw—tentatively brushing the wiry hair and the soft dimple that begins to appear—as he asks, you okay?

Nodding, swallowing. Burning the panic that had been bubbling in you all morning.

“Just worried you’d had enough of me.”

He whispers your name—each letter, each syllable—before following it with never, I've missed you so much.

And you believe him. You believe him.

How’s my lover?

Still getting used to this new phone. But, outside of that, my son told me that I look old because my hair has grey bits in it, and then I got to work and gave myself a splinter.

I meant Harry, but that’s a lot baby, I’m sorry.

You’re awful to me.

Would me offering to suck your splinter out help?

You fancy using your key tonight?

Starting to think you hate being by yourself.

I appreciate you giving me time with Luca, but I miss you. A lot.

Is there pizza and uno?

I can promise you one of those things.

Tssst. Only one?

Was thinking Chinese and uno?

Sold.

Unlike days ago, alone, wishing for his voice, this morning you’re woken by fingers on your ankles, lips on your lower spine. All soft strokes, interchanging with drags.

“Need you to get up so I can show you something.”

Groaning, lashes fluttering on your cheek, turning your head on the pillow, you find his skin glossed in sweat, wearing the tell-tale signs that he’s been up for a while.

“Frankie…”

“Shh. Surprise time,” he whispers.

Body crawling up the bed as you turn in his sheets, both hands taking either side of his cheek, bringing his mouth to yours. It’s intimate, intense—right. You taste coffee on his tongue, hoping your own breath doesn’t taste half as bad as you can imagine the morning could be.

Whispering, urging you to come on, to get up, even as he lowers his body on top of yours. As he tries to move the duvet and slots your knee over his jean-covered hip.

“Making it really hard to get up.”

“You’re not making it hard for me to get up.”

Laughing, head tipping back as his grinning mouth trails kisses up your neck. Feeling his other palm slide up your stomach, right under the t-shirt you’d stolen from him.

“You know I’ve seen your cock before, if that’s the impressive thing you’re showing me.”

Snorting, he hovers his face over yours, finger tapping the tip of your nose.

Twenty minutes later, your fingers are knotting through his as he leads you through his house. The morning air is crisp, the sun filtering through the trees as he leads you out of the back door. Half-dragged, and still a little sleepy, Frankie’s hand is warm and steady around yours, leading you outside.

“C’mon, just a bit further,” he coaxes gently, voice a soothing balm against the early morning chill.

You squint against the light, noticing the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. Frankie finally stops, his hand releasing yours as he rubs the back of his neck, and you see it.

The table. The one from a yard sale a few weeks ago—as your eyes flick to his, fingers teasing through his curls, a habit you’ve come to adore.

“I um… tried to strip it back, see what shade it was first,” he began, his voice tinged with nerves. “But I know you love this colour, so I thought—”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight. The garden table, the one you’d both made an entire fake scenario around weeks ago, joked that you’d serve him lemonade and bake him cookies. And now, it’s here, a beautiful, vibrant shade of butterscotch, all freshly painted and gleaming in the morning light.

Emotion wells up, your chest tightening as you realise the effort and thought he’d put into it.

“I—I love it, Frankie,” you manage to say, voice choking up. “I… you went and got it?”

Glancing at the ground, arms folding across his chest as he nods. “Right after I dropped you to meet your friend.”

His hand scratches at his arm, pausing mid-scratch, eyes widening into a joyful smile as though all your words dawn on him. “You like it?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “You… god, I don’t deserve you.”

His grin widens, before he pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms, kissing your cheek, the gesture tender, reassuring.

“You did this.” Your fingers slide up his cheek, not forcing the tears back like you’d usually, kissing him. “You bought us furniture?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s nothing, finger-swiping your tear away as his breath warm against your skin. “Told you, it’s you and I”

You nod, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. “You and me, technically.”

He kisses a laugh to your lips.

Me and Benny have decided that yoga would kill you and Will.

You enjoy your class?

I did. I think Benny is still working out what he feels. At one point he asked me to put him out of his misery.

Did you?

Yes, I’ve committed murder.

Well, wouldn’t be the first time. You in that lace set the other week—still think I died there and you brought me back.

Mouth-to-mouth really is something special, isn't it? Oh, Benny’s decided that in your next training session, you’re doing yoga.

Baby, I’ve seen you, I don’t think I can do that.

Oh, you can't.

Did you tell him that?

Yeah. He's still laughing.

The music, which has been blasting from your phone for the last ten minutes in the background, suddenly dies on your phone. Glancing over, suds sliding down your arm, you see his face and name light up the screen, bringing an automatic smile to your face.

“Hey, handsome—” you greet, your voice filled with warmth.

“I’d like it on the record,” he says, the rumble of his engine coming through the call, accompanied by the click of a turn signal, “yoga isn’t for me.”

A grin spreads across your face as you drop the plate back into the water, splashing yourself in the process. “He made you do it, didn’t he?”

“He fucking made us do it,” he replies, the exasperation in his voice tinged with humour.

You dry your hands on your jeans and pick up your phone, sliding into one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I owe him ten dollars now,” you say, your tone playful.

“He said.”

Laughing softly, you bite the nail on your thumb, a habit he has begun teasing you about. You listen as he starts recounting the names he was subjected to in the yoga class, his deep voice filling the silence of the room. Names such as Goddess Squat, Cat and Cow, Table and others fall like a list, listening, occasionally helping when he struggles with the name.

“—Baby, I don’t know how you do it,” he says, a mix of admiration and incredulity in his voice.

You pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on it as you smile, the affection in your eyes carrying through your voice. “Practice.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’ll be doing it again,” he admits, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“I told him you’d struggle with it.”

“Struggle? Baby, struggle is a nice word for what Will and I looked like.” Sniggering, all attempts at burying it in your hand fail as you pretend to clear your throat. “I heard that.”

“Not sure what you mean, Butterscotch.” He grumbles something as your elbows come to rest on either side of your phone. “You want me to massage you, baby?”

“Fuck… don’t do this to me, Rainy. I’m driving.”

Smirking, biting the nail on your index. “I’d warm lotion in my hands, press my palms to your back—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

“I’d have to be naked, obviously.”

You press your thighs together when you hear him groan through the phone.

I need you to be free Saturday.

You need me?

Always. But I specifically need you to be free on Saturday.

Leave it with me. Can I know what I’m required for?

No.

Ominous.

It’s a surprise. A birthday surprise. Do you trust me?

I wondered when that would come back around.

I take that as a yes?

Of course. Just checked, I’m all yours.

Harry be okay?

He said he can ask his nephew to help out.

Is he doing okay?

He’s currently making puns about a new product, so I’m going to assume yes.

The car hums softly as you drive.

The late morning sun casts a golden glow across the dashboard. Frankie is sitting beside you, a puzzled smile playing on his lips as he glances periodically at you, trying to decipher your secret—whatever it is up your sleeve.

He interchanges between resting his hand on your thigh, fingers tapping a light rhythm that matches the song playing on the radio or re-picking a new station.

“Alright, Rainy,” he says, a heavy curiosity in his voice. “Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?”

You glance at him, heart fluttering at the sight of his easy grin and the way the sunlight highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and the little flecks of silver coming through in his curls.

“Not yet,” you reply, a playful lilt in your tone. “You'll just have to be patient a little longer.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “You know I'm not good at that.”

“Oh, I know. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

The landscape outside the car window begins to change, the city giving way to rolling hills and lush greenery. As the song changes, you steal another look at him, watching him mouthing the lyrics to the song playing before his expression shifts from curiosity to realisation as you near your destination.

Finally, you turned onto a narrow road that winds through a grove of trees, the sunlight dappling the ground in patterns of light and shadow.

And, Frankie’s eyes widen. A spark of recognition ignited in them.

“Is this—?”

You smirk, unable to contain your excitement—stomach doing flips as you slowly begin to nod. “I thought maybe it was about time you introduced me, even in passing, to your first love.”

He’s leaning forward, seatbelt tense against his chest, hand on your dusty dash as the sun streams in and highlights the way his fingers go white from the pressure.

Picking a spot in the gravel, you put it into a park, killing the engine, staring off at the open field—where two helicopters are parked. Nervousness rolls, balling up as you give him a moment, staring ahead, resisting the urge to glance over and see his reaction. See if you've gone too far. Remembering the way Benny's brows had lifted when you'd asked when you'd told him your plan.

Maybe it hadn't been surprise at the kindness, but surprise at the audacity, at the balls—

It's then you feel his hand on your leg, squeezing. Dragging your eyes to him to find his smile so far into his cheeks, making you wonder if you could get lost in his dimples. His eyes are nothing but softness, so full of affection and nostalgia, you think your chest inflates with love.

“Rainy...

It leaves his lips all thick with emotion, as you squeeze his hand on top of your thigh. “Come on, handsome.”

Exiting, walking to the front of the car, you extend your hand, able to breathe a little easier when he slides his fingers within yours.

“Meet Robert—Robbie,” you say quickly, watching Frankie shake his hand—brows knitted together in confusion he tries to hide over the rest of his face. “He’s a friend of Benny’s—and he has a helicopter.”

Frankie’s head turns to you, eyes still a little wide.

“Now, it’s up to you. It’s your birthday gift. But, if you want to go up in it, you can, Robbie can be your co-pilot—I showed him a photo of your old license and Benny helped fill in some things for you. But, if you want to stay on the ground, show me around the cockpit,” you smirk, leaning into him. “I’ve packed us a picnic. It’s in the back of my car.”

He whispers your name.

Not your nickname, your real name. It's all soft, flowy—so gentle as it passes his lips and kisses the air as he stares at the helicopter ready.

Moving closer, hand sliding along his lower back, you stare at his eyes as they move to yours, dropping your voice, “I know you haven’t flown since… then. I don’t think it’s a waste if you want to stay on the ground. But, if you do, I’ll suspend my belief that I’m not going to feel some kind of way about being so high up.”

“You scared of heights?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being in the air in a small metal contraption?”

Snorting, rolling his jaw, he frowns, before his face smooths out and he cups your face, his eyes searching yours. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Warmth spreads over your cheeks, feeling the heat of his gaze. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet—the kind of kiss which makes time stand still. Almost forgetting everything, the wind, the sound of it dancing through the leaves as your arm slides around his neck, hips moving closer to his when his hand finds a home there.

It’s only when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours, and you feel his breath mingling with yours, do you think about poor Robbie who has thankfully walked back to a hanger.

Frankie looks past you, something unreadable stretching out across his face. Assessing, almost calculating—a face you’re coming to know well. Spotting the slight narrowing of one eye, the way his teeth bite the inside of his lower lip and his nostrils flare.

“Can I show you around?”

Offering your hand, he takes it, sliding his fingers slowly between yours, knitting your palms together. With a playful grin, he guides you around the helicopter. At first quietly, before he points, clears his throat and begins explaining something.

From then on, it’s hard for him to be quiet. Each part is shown, the door opening and shifting you in front so you can clear, as his voice rings with the passion and precision of someone who has spent countless hours in a cockpit like this one. His fingers trace the curves of the fuselage, his eyes sparkling as he describes the functions of the rotor blades, the tail boom, and then back to the cockpit instruments.

You listen, captivated. Not only by his knowledge but by the joy that radiates from him as he speaks—even if you struggle to follow. Even if your nod feels hollow and you’re lost in watching him talk so enthusiastically about something that you’re so new to.

Then, your stomach grumbles. Eyes widen, his voice trailing off as he stares at you, before slowly grinning.

“Shit.”

“You hungry?”

Face scrunching, wearing a face nothing short of apologetic, you bury your head into his chest. “I was so nervous I didn’t want to eat before the drive.”

He kisses your head, burying an, “Oh, Rainy” against your hair before he moves an arm around you.

“You say you packed a picnic?” You nod. “Alright, well I could eat.”

“Are you just saying that? Because I feel like we’ve barely touched the cockpit.”

Smirking, kissing your forehead again. “Let’s eat.”

Taking charge of spreading out the blanket, choosing a spot right near the helicopter—Frankie quickly catches up with Robert. Doing a little half-run back to you as you set out the plates, the glasses.

“You tell on me that I touched his leaver?”

“Yeah. I said, my girlfriend—who you told not to touch anything—touched everything. Practically licked your leaver.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the word girlfriend. Even if you've been it for so long, it still makes joy bloom across your face, your skin and makes your ears warm as blood rushes to them. So much so, that you dip your chin, digging into the basket for the sandwiches from the place he likes, and the snacks you’d managed to make.

“You should be careful saying that sentence to anyone not on this airfield.”

There’s a pause, and then he laughs.

Joining you, sinking to his knees first before sitting more comfortably when you hand him a foil-wrapped sandwich.

It isn’t until you take a bite of your own, do you feel your muscles relax. Your body sag, falling into its natural place as the conversation, as it always does, flows easily. Your mind calming, relaxing from all the worries last night of possible annoyance, maybe even anger—hurt and all others.

Instead, it’s all punctuated by laughter, by smiles, and the occasional brush of his hand against yours.

“Happy birthday,” you say, pressing it to his lips.

His thick fingers, glide over your neck, around the side, remaining at the back as he swallows. Before there’s a thank you against your lips, against your cheek, before your fingers find a grape, and pop it against his mouth.

Chewing, he smirks, you slide to sit beside him as you grab another chip from the open bag.

It's quiet, but comfortable as the two of you eat the food, the sun cresting in the sky, as Frankie slowly leans back on his elbows, looking thoughtful.

“You know,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. “Would you like to see the sky?”

Your heart skips a beat, excitement and nerves mingling in your chest. “Really? You’d take me up?”

He sat up, his expression earnest. “If… If you trust me. I know it’s been a while so, can understand if you’d rather not.”

“Frankie,” you whisper, kneeling, sliding across the blanket to him as you clutch his face, “There’s no one I trust more than you—well, other than Luca. The kid really cannot lie.”

Grinning, feeling it against your hand, your palm. Finger stroking at the dimple that appears as you stare at him.

“I know it’s safe—I know I’m safe with you. But, I know this is a big deal. I know you had to walk away from things, so if you’re sure, then I am. I just don’t want to put you off.”

Frankie’s face lit up with a smile that made your heart soar higher than any helicopter ever could. “If anything, I think you being there is just what I need.”

You’re both quick to begin putting away the picnic, him taking it back to the car before you find yourself seated behind him. Headset on, belt done and checked by Robbie—watching Frankie sitting in the cockpit, finger switching controls and dials flicked.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice coming through your ear, your hands gripping your thighs as you smile.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’m ready, baby. You and me.”

His laugh, crackly through the microphone, ripples out. “You sure? Not you and I?”

And you roll your eyes, just as the blades go quicker overhead, and you brace a little more for leaving the ground.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

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mydearesthrry · 9 months

Text

right back home to you - h.s.

a/n: had a hard time deciding if i wanted to put this out since im not too happy with the outcome but i wanted to feed u guys. in the future ill probably go back in and edit it but for now i hope you all enjoy this little angsty girl xx im also working on part 2 of love in secret !!!!!!!!!! she should be out fairly soon <3

wc: 4.8k

warnings: none, angst, fluff, flight anxiety

“Hello? ‘M home,” Harry shouted into the cold house. Not that he would even notice, but the air was dull and the atmosphere was still, hues in the normally vibrant house now gray and lifeless. “Baby?”

“Oh, hi Harry,” A dulcet smile was on her face as she walked around the corner with sweatpants and a baggy hoodie on, a baseball cap on top of her head. She had her dirty and beat up air forces on her feet that Harry loved to make fun of, small dollops of paint on the soles of the shoe. She also had a pair of sunnies that lay stagnant on the dark blue visor, a tell tale sign for Harry that she was going out. “I didn’t hear you come home.”

Harry hummed, holding his arms out for her to walk into. She did, but only embraced him with half of her body, one arm curling around his waist loosely while the other stayed swaying by her side. In both of their opinions, it was way too short to even be considered a hug, not even close to being an embrace, but Y/N did it purposely. Harry frowned, feeling a twinge of hurt at her unusual lack of affection. “Um… Are y- are y’going out?”

She laughed falsely, shaking her head and turning her body to face the large windows in their apartment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Harry was still confused. “What d’you mean?”

It’s now or never, Y/N thought, and mustered her bravest smile as she pivot turned to face him again. “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m going up to New York to stay with Eliza. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll be sure to let you know in advance, is that okay?”

A few beats pass, Harry staring at her in disbelief. “What the fuck? No, no, s’not okay! Why- why are y’leaving? Y’didn’t even tell me? When were you planning on telling me y’were leaving?”

“I’ve been planning on leaving for a long time, Harry. I was actually meant to leave before you even got home, really, but you’re early.” She sighed, rubbing at her temple and knowing the fight that was about to ensue.

“Why are y’leaving?” Harry’s voice started to grow in volume, becoming harder and harsher as he tightened his hands into balled fists, trying to channel his feelings in another way rather than yelling at his girlfriend.

“I’m leaving because I can’t do this anymore, Harry. I cant keep arguing with you every day, it’s just not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you either, really, so I’m just… taking the stress off of the both of us and making the bold decision to leave.” She explains, moving to grab her suitcases from the hallway and roll them into the living room.

“That’s wha’ this is about? The fight we had last night?” He asks, eyes widening and mouth drying at the sight of her multiple suitcases.

“Um— not entirely, I guess. I’ve meant to go up to visit Eliza, if you remember, we were going to but you had um— a party, that you needed to attend. So I just decided to book a flight last night after you went to sleep.” She's as quiet as a mouse, her words not staggering but it was physically obvious that she was nervous.

“So what now? Is that it? You’re just… throwing away four years of my- of our fucking life?” Harry spat. She’d started to shrink into herself quite a bit, sweaty palms running over the now warm black handle of her small suitcase.

“I’m not throwing away anything, Harry. We had a fight, you and I both said some nasty things, and I’m just going up to my sister's house for a little bit to clear my head. Like I said, I was meaning to go up anyway. This isn’t really about you, Harry, as much as you think it might be. I’ve been miserable here all alone and all I want is to be with someone who I know can provide me with love and attention right now, which is what I need. You need it too.” She tried to hold her ground but the tremble in her soft voice made her feel weak.

She and Harry had gotten into a multitude of arguments within the past weeks that he had been off tour. It started from little things, like a sock being thrown over the laundry basket and not inside of it, or one of them leaving their dirty tea mugs on the counter when the sink was right there! But as small and insignificant as these things were, they also grew into arguments about bigger issues. One of the more nasty arguments had pushed her to pack her bags and book a plane ride up to her sister’s house in New York.

The argument on the table this time around was that whenever Harry was home after an elongated amount of time on the road, he would treat Y/N as if she was his friend and not girlfriend of three years. She’d had a problem with this seeing as all she ever wanted him to do was love her and take care of her, and for some reason she couldn’t help but feel he found that hard.

“Bullshit. I know y’leaving ‘cause your feelings got hurt or whatever, but you know y’don’t have to leave, pup. We can resolve this, don’t we always?” He grumbles, taking a few small steps forward to meet her where she stood by the door.

“It’s entirely different this time, Harry.” She sighed, bending down to sit on the floor since she knew they’d probably be there for a while.

“How?! How could this be any fuckin’ different? We’re jus’ arguin’ are we not?” Harry runs a stressed hand through his hair, trying to channel his energy away from his voice. Though he tried to refrain from allowing his anger to seep its way into his voice, his girlfriend could still pick up on the edge that lined his vocal chords.

“No, baby. We aren’t just arguing. This is me trying to tell you how I feel, and you keep pushing it aside. So this isn’t just us arguing anymore, I guess I’m surrendering. I’m tired of doing this with you whenever you’re home, Harry. I’m alone every day, 24/7, and then you come home and it’s like nothing has changed. Which I love, I love how we can just bounce back, but sometimes I need more love or attention when you come back, and I just…” She starts to gnaw on her lips, trying to word her next thought carefully. “I’m tired of being treated like your friend rather than your girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Mhm. Besides me being alone all the time, whenever I do have you— or people around, you only ever want to keep me at arms length. The whole world knows we’re together, Harry. You’ve posted on my birthday and it’s no secret to anyone anymore. I… I just can’t understand why you do that, really. It makes me feel like I’m just your friend and not your lover.” She pauses, inhaling a sharp breath of air and willing her tears away.

“What do you— what do you even mean? I’m always with you whenever I’m home, I bring y’everywhere w’me?” His anger just kept growing and growing, but this time he noticed that the weight of guilt that was sitting on his heart had gotten heavier with every breath he took, the weight of the pull almost being able to bring him to his knees.

She lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head before dropping it in defeat. “Harry… I hate to bring it up but— you’ve been home for what, three weeks now? We haven’t had sex, we barely have cuddled, you don’t put your arm around me in public or kiss my cheek. I— I feel like I’m losing you. It’s so hard to love you when you won’t let me. I’ve tried to be understanding and just trying to accept the fact that you’re readjusting to our normal life but… I miss you. The only time we talk for longer than a few minutes is when we fight, and that’s not okay. You know how much you mean to me, but I just can’t keep trying to love someone you aren’t anymore. It’s just too destructive to me and I just can’t. I’m sorry, Harry. I hope you can understand, and I’ll be back whenever we’re ready.”

Harry’s now shaking with sobs. Uncontrollable, messy, heartbreaking sobs. Her words were finally making sense to him. All of the arguments had finally made sense. She was arguing with him just so he would talk to her. He thought he could die with the amount of guilt squeezing his heart right now.

“I love you, isn’t that enough?” He whispered.

“I don’t think it is anymore, Harry.” Lifting herself up to her feet, she rolls her suitcase to stand behind her, taking a few small steps to be inches away from her Harry. “I’ll be back, H. I promise.”

Placing a kiss to his wet cheek, he watched her walk away with a damp smile, and against his will, engrained the image of her leaving to his mind.

This wasn’t how he imagined they would end.

He didn’t even entertain the thought of them ever ending; but now he feels like he just lost every single atom of his being in the quickest of moments.

—

It was hell.

Harry could say with full conviction that it was absolute hell to be in that house, that big house on the beach, alone.

Nothing felt right. From the second he woke up in the morning, to the minute he slid his legs under the covers at night, he almost felt nauseous because of how unusual he felt. How unusual everything felt.

And it was all his fault.

Picking up his phone, he goes to text his sweet girl again when he decides to scroll up to find the reprieve of gray amongst the sea of blue.

Harry: Please text me when you land.

Harry: I love you, please don’t forget that.

Harry: Take all the time you need, Angel. I’m here if you need me. I’m so sorry.

Harry: I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. Just say the word and I’ll get you a ticket.

Harry: Take your time though, please be safe. I love you.

Harry: Again

Y/N: just landed. kinda busy rn, talk to you later bug

Harry: That’s okay, be safe. ❤️

Y/N loved this message

Harry: I love you

Y/N: yeah love you too h

Allowing his head to drop onto the back of the sofa, his arm fell limp onto his thigh, his green eyes scanned the interior of the living room, twinges of pain and guilt panting in his chest whenever he’d land his gaze on something that was proprietarily hers.

Her growing orchids in a handmade pot that they’d painted together on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple.

The godawful mirror she thrifted from a random corner store back in her hometown that she begged Harry to put up.

A small canvas filled with tiny paintings of inside jokes and memorable dates that she gifted to him last Christmas. He allowed himself to trace over that painting for a little longer than the rest of the small things placed among their living room.

11/29/19. The first time they met.

1/16/21. When Harry asked her to be his girlfriend.

4/07/21. The first time they said I love you.

12/25/22. When Harry surprised Y/N on Christmas with a down payment on a house. The one he was now residing in, alone.

A red convertible figurine, the car they first kissed in.

A coffee cup and a teacup, symbolizing the first date they went on, where he learned she hates tea and preferred coffee, which led to an argument on whether coffee or tea was better.

A small tulip, representing the first bouquet of flowers he ever bought her.

And a small pearl ring, an exact replica of the promise ring Harry had given her on their 3 year anniversary.

He didn’t even notice the streaks of tears beginning to run down his face until he felt a teardrop fall onto his inner wrist, making him look down.

But as he canvassed the room once more, he perked up at the sight of a small snow globe that she brought him back from New York, and that was when he got an idea. He knew it was dramatic, and a bit of a stretch, but who said he wouldn’t go to extreme lengths to get his soulmate back?

Yeah, no one ever.

To: Eliza

Harry: Hey Liz, got a sec?

—

Harry hated flying alone.

Since he was a teenager and stepped foot on his first plane, he was anxious even being next to someone he barely knew even though his friends were two seats away. Though he would claim that he’s always been a bit anxious and just chalking it up to flight anxiety, he knew that the real reason why he hated flying alone was because he always feared that something bad would happen on the ground when he was in the air and vice versa, and that was always his greatest vice.

His hands began to tremble nervously as he looked out the window of the airplane, seeing nothing but fluffy white on the exterior and the soft red light of the aircraft’s wings blinking every so often. His headphones were placed over his head, smushing his curls down flat onto his head, a mask covering the bottom half of his face. His hood was pulled up as well, trying to conceal himself as much as possible. He hadn’t brought much, just a little carry on and a small tote to shove under the seat in front of him. It was wishful thinking that he wouldn’t be there for a long while, but he brought the keys to his apartment in New York anyway.

He kept his head hung in nausea, the speed of his shaking hands increasing tenfold. The pit in his stomach grew and he had to beg his own body to allow his eyes to not stray to the window next to him. Sure, he could close it, but he feared if it was too dark he would become more anxious than he was right now. The mask covering the bottom half of his face now felt constricting— as if he was being suffocated by the thin layer of fabric. The light douse of perfume that danced around the sunflower print of the mask couldn’t even distract him, and it only pained him more that his senses were fully encompassed by her. He bit down on his lip to distract himself by the whirling feeling of nausea that now swirled around in his throat, willing away the sick that begged to come out.

The rest of the flight was the same, his anxiety only decreasing when he allowed himself to take a small nap. However, when he woke up, his nerves had heightened when he flickered his gaze from the window to the screen in front of him, reading only 20 minutes until he was set to touch down. Grasping his phone from his hoodie pocket, he aligned it to his face then rolling his eyes when he remembered he had a mask on. Lowering his phone he typed in his password— Y/N’s birthday— and pulled up their messages again.

Harry: Good morning baby. I love you. I hope you have a good day today!!

Y/N: thanks h love you

He couldn’t lie and say that her being short with him didn’t hurt his feelings, because it did. He wasn’t going to avoid the fact, but that didn’t mean that he liked it regardless. He felt like a fool checking his phone so often, especially when he knew that she wouldn’t be making an effort to reach out first, but he could be hopeful, right?

At least that’s what he’s telling himself.

The plane landed safely, nerves rolling off of his back in waves and he was more than happy to leave his flight anxiety on the floor of the plane, relieved to not be miles high in the air. There was a lull that was obvious to Harry, and he felt himself switch to function in autopilot, waiting mindlessly to enter the aisle to retrieve his bag from the overhead compartment.

The nippy New York air was the first thing to snap Harry out of his trance. Looking down at his phone, he felt a soft buzz and soon after felt his heart beat almost fast enough to eject from his chest.

Y/N: saw this in a store earlier, thought of u

Y/N: Attachment: 1 Image

Eliza: waiting near terminal b for you, lmk when you get outside

Harry: I’m outside, can you see me?

Eliza: yep. be there in a sec

Swiping out of Y/N’s sisters messages, he went to click on Y/N’s before a black car stopped in front of him, averting his attention from his device to the car that just screeched to a halt. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he trudged forward and grabbed onto the door handle, prying it open and avoiding Eliza’s deathly stare. “Um- hiiii.”

She scoffed. “Hi, H.”

He throws his tote to his feet, awkwardly buckling himself in and turned in his seat, avoiding eye contact but making sure she knew that conversation was open if she’d wanted to make it. “How— um… How are you?”

Silence follows his words for a few seconds, making him heat up in embarrassment. “Good.”

“Oh- that’s good… I, um— haven't seen y’in quite a while, Lizzy,” He says softly, guilt evident in his voice. “I missed you.”

Eliza was basically Gemma’s best friend. They were attached at the hip the first time they met, bonding over being the eldest sisters, and shared secrets. Y/N and Harry’s family had always been interconnected, close with each other even if Y/N and Harry lacked that communication.

They were basically soul tied in every sense of the phrase.

“Yeah, I missed you too, H. But,” Eliza starts. “You’ve been a right dick to my sister.”

“I know,” He whispers.

“Do you? Fuck, H, my fucking baby sister came to me crying because of you. And you know how much I love you, truly, you know I do, but I love her more. So, I just have to ask,” She pauses, gnawing on her lip and clicking her blinker on to signal her turn. “What the hell happened?”

“I,” He sniffs, trying to contain his emotions already begging to come out. “I don’t know.”

Eliza snorts. “Bullshit.”

“I— I really don’t, Lizzy. I guess I was really in m’head about… well, everything. I lo- love her so much,” Harry’s voice cracks, his facade shattering into more microscopic pieces than the most delicate sheet of glass ever could.

“I know you do, H. That’s why this is so confusing to me. To Gems. And most importantly, to Y/N. What happened, Curly? How’d we lose you?” She begs, trying to get him to explain where he was mentally. She loved him as she would Y/N, which was the hardest part. It hurt her as much as it hurt him to confront him about the issue.

“I don’t want her to hate me! Okay?” Harry sobs, chin falling to his chest in weakness. “I don’t want her t’hate me for being away all the time, and I’m so fucking scared. ‘M scared because the press is doing nothing but talking bad about me and I don’t know if I can equally protect her as much as she does me when this happens. When it happens t’me I jus’ ignore it, but I know she can’t do that. I know it, Lizzy, and so d’you.”

“I know, H. I know.” She whispers.

“I jus’ wanted to keep her as far away as I could so that if she did decide she didn’t want me anymore, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” He murmurs so quietly, he himself even doubts if he said it out loud.

Silence followed the rest of the car ride, the only sound filling the space of the vehicle being the soft splatter of rain on the glass windows and windshield, paired with the crackly static of the stereo. The sun even seemed to be hiding away, the sky dark with clouds, little to no light making an appearance to greet Harry’s arrival.

Pulling up to her driveway, Eliza parked the car, keeping her ignition on so she could drive away after Harry got into the house. Turning to Harry, she chewed on her bottom lip as she traced his side profile with her eyes. “You need to tell her exactly what you told me. Word for word, Harry. You can’t keep her in the dark. She doesn’t even know I went to pick you up. So, just promise me that you’ll tell her exactly what you told me.”

“I promise.” Harry’s voice cracked in a broken whisper, vocal cords thrumming against each other as if they were rusted. “Love you, Lizzy. Thank you.”

Stepping out of the car, he knocked on the door thrice, and tapped softly on the doorbell for good measure. His hands had gone cold with anxiousness, but he wrote it off as the stark cold weather of New York.

“Harry? Oh my god, baby, get inside,” Y/N pulled him in immediately, pushing his thick puffer jacket off of him that was shiny with rainwater, hands coming up to pull his baby blue beanie from his hair, revealing his soft curls. They shared no words as she pulled him to the living room, where she sat the both of them down and covered the length of their torsos and legs with a big fluffy blanket. Y/N didn’t waste a second before she threw her legs over his thighs, grabbing his hands and rubbing over the cold and cracked red skin, trying to exude as much warmth from her own as much as she could.

She’s always been warm.

Her hands have always been graced with heat and more significantly, she always tended to carry around an aura as sweet as honey and as warm as a hug with her wherever she went. Bringing their hands up to his lips, he presses kisses all over the back of hers, kissing her knuckles and fingertips that moved erratically over his own. She could feel the dry chap of his lips on her hands and down to her wrists but she didn’t care. She didn’t mind one bit. She would rather commit the feeling of his lips on her hands to memory rather than not know what they felt like at all.

“What’re you doing here, baby?” She asks, concern etched in her face as she lifts her head to look at him, her movements on his hands not staggering or slowing.

“Came t’see you,” He whispers weakly. “Couldn’t bear it. I need t’see you, hold y’again… Fuck, do jus’ about anything to be near y’again.”

Her heart twisted with the most intense emotion that she could only describe as heartbreak. “You— you got on a plane by yourself just to come see me?”

“Would do jus’ about anything f’you, sweet girl. Of course I would go on a plane jus’ by myself if it meant I could hold you.” He admitted. He avoided eye contact with her, keeping his eyes trained on their conjoined hands that now lay stagnant on the soft fabric of the blanket.

“Harry,” She whispers. “Why are you here, my love?”

“I felt too guilty t’let you leave like that,” He says, gnawing on his bottom lip to will away the tears begging to escape. “I couldn’t let y’go without telling y’I loved you. And I didn’t…” He pauses, struggling for air as he over explained. “I didn’t even explain m’self. I didn’t tell you I loved you. I didn’t kiss y’back. I didn’t even tell y’to be safe.”

He’s fully sobbing now, Y/N tracing his side profile with his eyes, jittering with fear and anxiety. “It’s okay, hey, baby, listen,” Grabbing his chin with the tips of her fingers, she turns his head to hers, resting his forehead atop of hers. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I just needed time to think and I didn’t want to lash out on you because I didn’t have time to. We’re okay, baby. I promise.”

He shook his head while she spoke, tears falling on the fluff of the blanket with every movement. His eyes were clenched as if he was in pain, and uneven erratic breaths fell from his mouth. “Nonono. I should— should’ve listened to you. I did- didn’t mean t’treat y’like tha’,” Harry’s accent had gotten heavier with how much emotion he was feeling, stumbling over his words as if he was drunk.

“And I should’ve explained myself more. It’s not your fault, H. Please baby, breathe,” She begged, tightening her grip on his hands as she pleaded with her nose slotted next to his, every whispered beg pushing her lips forward to lightly brush against his raw-bitten ones. “There, that’s it.”

His breaths began to even out, just the slightest bit. His hands still shook dramatically, veins in his neck that once protruded from the force of his cries now retracting. “I’m sorry.”

“Harry, stop apolog-“

“No. I have t’say this before I leave because if I don’t, I don’t think I ever will. I— I didn’t mean t’push y’away. I was trying to protect m’self but I didn’t see that it was hurting y’too. It wasn’t my intention, and now I realize it wasn’t the right thing t’do.” He sniffles, pulling back from her face to hold eye contact for the utmost emphasis on his words.

“I tried to keep you far away because if you ended up resenting me for being away all the time it would hurt less if you decided to leave me. Paired with everything that’s being said in the media about m’right now, I tried t’keep y’as far away as I could so that if everything came crashing down on me, I would’ve had to cope with losing y’less than everything else. And I kept picking fights with y’so that if— or when y’got too fed up w’me, you’d leave me yourself instead of something else forcing y’to leave me. I think it was all subconscious, seeing how I freaked out on y’when y’told me you were leaving. I guess I didn’t really prepare myself for when it was really going t’happen. I’m really, really sorry, Angel. I really do hope y’can forgive me.”

She’s silent. It scares him, he can’t lie. He takes her silence as an answer and pulls his hands from her grasp and moves her legs softly off of his thighs, standing up and brushing off his pants in an attempt to stall. She’s still mute, and he takes it as his cue to go. There’s still tears streaming down his face, but they’re silent. Like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that they’re falling at all.

“I love you.” He whispers, before turning and walking to the door. Placing his hand on the knob, he turns it, and his heart follows the motion with a sharp twist that he thinks he feels in his entire body. He’s gnawing in his lip to avoid breaking down in front of her, even though she’s arguably seen him at his worst and most vulnerable times. Opening the door, he’s greeted with the harsh cold air, biting at his skin so aggressively he feels like his tears have now frozen to his face. Bearing the pain, he forced himself to take the step out the doorway and onto the porch, on autopilot as he let his feet decide his motions.

“Harry, wait,” Y/N pleaded, running out behind him, meeting him in the middle of the driveway in nothing but tiny shorts and a stolen crewneck of his that she'd haphazardly stuffed into her luggage. “I love you. I love you more than I could probably ever explain, and I— I just need you to know that. If you’re done with me or done with this, that’s okay, I just need you to know that I love you.”

“I love you. Always.” He whispers, lips trembling with sadness.

“You know I always will, right?” She asks, placing a warm hand onto his wet and cold cheek.

“I know, baby. I do.” He says.

“I’m here whenever you want me. I promise.” She pleads, coming up to reach his lips, placing a soft kiss to his cold ones.

“Come home, please.”

“Always, H. I’ll always come right back home to you.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles imagines

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readingcoco · 6 months

Text

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 5487

Ao3 Link

Summary: Arthur revisits Rhodes Parlour House, hoping to get information about the Braithwaite gold from working girl Ettie. He leaves with more questions than answers and a gift he wasn't expecting.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honour Arthur Morgan, angst, emotional smut.

Chapter Two - The Whore

[Chapter 1]

Arthur.

The air in Lemoyne is cloying. Sticky and thick like Molasses. He hates it here, hates waking up wet with sweat, bitten to an inch of his life by the mosquitos that swarm the lake behind his tent. He’s never been this far south and would gladly leave soon as convenient, except for Dutch’s insistence that gold lies somewhere between the warring Gray and Braithwaite families. He’s less convinced but far from him to try to question Dutch once his mind is set on something.

A high-pitched buzz by his left ear is met with the thwack of his open palm. Gotcha.

Something else is gnawing away at him, too, besides the mosquitos. A stirring in him, he thought, all but laid to rest after Mary, after— the kind that makes itself known only when he’s here, lying alone in his tent, staring up at the ceiling.

Want.

Fuck. He wants her so bad. Ettie, that working girl, up in Rhodes. With her daring eyes and smart mouth — her hands on him, days ago, in the parlour house. Bold as anything. God, if the very thought of her didn’t make a beeline straight down to his cock. He don't like it, don’t like it at all — what she does to him, how she makes him feel. Unarmed. Weak even. But also lighter.

He is appalled to admit he’s considered taking himself in hand more than once now to the thought of her breasts, her smile, the way she looked at him, full of doe-eyed devilment. He’s like some hapless kid. Should be ashamed.

He’s not been with a whore since his 20s. There was that one Dutch paid for when he turned 17, a string of them after Mary ended things the first time around. Abigail? Once. The last time he lay with a woman was when he and Mary briefly came back together before she married. What was that 94… 95? Would he even remember what to do? Would he be able to last? As a whore she ought not to care, especially if he’s paying for the privilege. But he wants to please her. Wants to fill her smart mouth with sounds of pleasure. Watch those daring, teasing eyes roll back in her head as she comes undone for him.

He’s stroking himself now. Her imagined sighs. His name on her lips—

Arthurrr—

“—ARTHUR!”

Dutch shouts him from outside his tent. Inescapable like the soupy Lemoyne air. Goddamnit, he hates it here.

“Best I can stoop to is twenty.”

Arthur nods, weighing the expensive-looking silver bracelet loosely in his palm before handing it over. Hosea was better at knowing the worth of fine things, but the fence was on his way back to camp, and it didn’t make sense to make two trips. Still, twenty dollars wasn’t bad for an afternoon playing errand boy to two star-crossed lovers. Not quite the gold Dutch was hoping for, but something at least.

“Deputy.” The man flashes him a knowing wink, touching the brim of his hat. He winces before stiffly nodding back—damn badge.

He won’t feel too bad about it; the Braithwaite girl, Penelope, had seemed more than content with just the letter, and neither family looked short on finary, as ill-gotten as it was. No, no harm done.

The sun is at its hottest, leaving him half-blind as it beams punishingly up from the road ahead. Sweat pours from his brow, and he can barely see where he’s going when he finds himself steering Branwen right up the hill towards Rhodes rather than carrying on straight in the direction of camp.

Only the stench of the butcher’s meat left out too long in the midday heat is enough to break him from his trance and acknowledge where he is. As though Branwen had been steering herself, with him merely passenger.

Too late to turn around now, he concedes. Might as well carry on heading where he’s heading.

He takes a long glug from his waterskin before dismounting. Hitching Branwen to the shadiest post of the parlour and making sure she has her fill from the water trough provided—a few extra sugar cubes for good measure.

“Won’t be long, girl.”

The heat was just as hard on the horses.

He assures himself he’s here for reconnaissance— nothing more. If anyone’s likely to have information on the Grays and Braithwaites, it’s her. Probably had enough of them to pick something up the gang could find useful, what with her knack for seeing the stuff folk didn’t want seen.

The twenty dollars burns a hole in his pocket.

Ettie had seemed willing the last time, hadn’t she? Not put off or disgusted by him that he could make out. Maybe the badge had its uses, after all.

Hell, maybe if he slept with her, got it out of his system, he could get on with the job at hand and stop all this silly early morning pining.

The parlour house is sleepy as he enters, too late for the lunchtime trade, too early for the field workers to have downed tools and made their way into town. His eyes skirt sheepishly across the bar.

He’d found himself coming here quite a bit since the gang moved south, not just to avoid Pearson’s cooking but because it was one of the few places that offered solace from the outside sun, the thick leafy green curtains keeping out the worst of the rays. I was nicer than most places he tended to frequent, the white-clothed tables suggesting a level of expected cleanliness from its clientele. And though he’d made sure to kick the mud from his boots before entering, he now chose to stand on the hardwood rather than risk marking the floral rugs that lined the rest of the room.

He can’t see her. Not even sure she's started working yet. And though a couple of girls at the bar make him double-take, none of them are Ettie.

He’s just about ready to skulk out, feeling old and feckless, when he hears her. Laughter carrying brightly from behind him, awakening the entire place from its slumber. He’d forgotten how alive she was. The rough sketch he’d drawn of her the night he’d got back to camp had barely captured her likeness, let alone her charm.

She is sat in one of the wooden booths, perched on the lap of a stout-looking man, happy and light, head thrown back, though he’s certain the man at her seat did little to merit such pleasant sounds.

He stalls for a moment, watching her work and is reminded of Hosea’s ability to tell a person exactly what they want to hear in order to rob them blind — except he isn’t sure who would be robbing who in the current circumstance.

The stout man’s hand paws lecherously at Ettie’s waist, bouncing her on his knee as he ogles up at her. Surely, no amount could be worth the touch of a man like that. Is that how he had looked, too? Leering and pathetic? Sucked in by talk of sketching and paints. She had read him like a book, and he’d allowed it — a fool to think her interest was in anything other than the dollars in his pocket.

Well, if money is all it will take to get her pretty face out of his waking thoughts, so be it.

“Miss White?”

Ettie shifts to face him mid-conversation and grins impishly as though expecting his arrival.

“Hello, stranger.”

But as he opens his mouth to respond, the words of solicitation stick in his throat, and he realises how unpracticed he is at this whole buisness. The man beneath her glares back, warning him off what’s his. Arthur swallows dryly, raising an arm to rest awkwardly on the booth’s divider, the other hooking into the buckle of his belt.

“I believe— Last time I was here you—”

Ettie raises an eyebrow, choosing to watch him flounder rather than step to his salvation.

So she’s toying with him. He sees how it is. Hadn’t acted quick enough the first time around and had her plucked from his side by the drunkard Leigh Gray. Now if he wants her, she’s expecting him to do the same to the dolt under her. He grits his jaw. The glint of his badge catches his eye, and he tries a different tack.

“I’ve heard word there’ve been dangerous men spotted in the area.”

Ettie scans the empty bar and looks back at him plainly.

“Everything seems fine from where I’m sittin’, Deputy.” She puts a playful hand on the stout man’s knee. “Wouldn’t you say so Ernest?” The man nods, wrapping his arm ever tighter around Ettie’s waist.

“Would you just—I’d like it if—” He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he avoids meeting her eye and instead looks over his shoulder towards the central staircase. He speaks low, “Last time I was in, you asked to show me your work— but we was interrupted.”

A twinkle of recognition from Ettie. “Oh? You still interested?”

“Yes.” He sniffs. It’s out there now. Can’t take it back.

She silently weighs up some mental calculation before placing a palm on Ernest’s chest. “I’m sorry, Darlin’. Would you mind terribly if you bought me a drink some other time? The Deputy and I have a prior arrangement.”

He almost sympathises as he watches the man’s face shift from confusion to disappointment, but before it has a chance to twist into anger, Ettie kisses Ernest squarely on the mouth. “Wait right here. I’ve got someone who’ll know how to make it up to you.” She leaves with a wink and no room for protest, springing up and scurrying across to the bar.

Arthur regards Ernest with an awkward salute, unsure what to say given the circumstances. At least when he robbed men at gunpoint, there was no pretence of polite conversation.

It’s Ernest who is first to break their silence, “She’s a wily one, Deputy. Not as perky as some of the younger girls, but makes up for it with experience.” He slaps Arthur’s arm in a fashion far too familiar. It makes his skin crawl. “Clean, too.”

“They’ll be cleanin' you off this floor if you speak about the Lady like that again. We understood?” He’d done his best not to raise his voice, Dutch’s instructions of keeping a low profile never far from his mind, but the man is still white as a sheet as Ettie arrives back at the booth. With her is a lofty-looking girl with ashy blonde hair, who regards Arthur with an amused up and down as she passes. She doesn’t bother to say hello, instead making a beeline straight to Ernest’s side.

“A birdy told me you were in need of company since yours is being so rudely snatched away,” she says pointedly.

Although Ettie rolls her eyes, it’s obvious she’s in on the bit.

“Ernest, Ida’s going to take good care of you while I take the Deputy upstairs. Don’t have too much fun without me now.”

The walk up to Ettie’s room is long enough for the dread to start to kick in. He can feel his heart pumping in his throat and remembers why he stopped all this nonsense years ago, but then the warmth of her touch meets the small of his back, and she smiles at him gently from under her lashes.

“I’ve been wantin' to get you away from prying eyes,” she says quietly, for his ears alone. “Here’s my room, first on the left.”

As the door closes behind them, he can finally allow his shoulders to relax as he is greeted by the smell of lavender and something sweet he can’t quite place—chamomile, maybe? Her room is small, with sunny yellow walls and surfaces laden with bric-à-brac, the type which collects only once a space has been lived in for some time. Things that would be prone to getting lost or damaged travelling from pillar to post as he did, things he wanted to pick over and admire.

A painting hung to his right catches his eye: a handsome-looking dark bay drinking from what looks like Flat Iron Lake. He moves towards it to inspect it up close.

“You wanna leave your gun by the door, Deputy?” Ettie says softly.

He looks down. Of course. And undoes his gun belt, wrapping it around itself before setting it on the side, along with his hat. He stands before her, disarmed, not quite sure what to make of the curious way she watches him or where to rest his twitching fingers without the cool metal of his buckle to anchor to. He folds his arms.

“That’s Burdock, my baby. I take him out ridin’ whenever I can.” Ettie says, gesturing to the painting that caught his attention.

“You painted this?”

She grins, sticking up her nose with pride. “I did!” Her lack of reticence surprising.

“S’good.”

He’d never been much of a smooth talker when it came to women. Even when first courting Mary it had taken months to build up to asking her for a kiss. But this wasn’t courting, and he’d do best to remember that.

“As flattered as I am, I know you didn’t come up here just to look at my art.”

“Can a man not appreciate a paintin’?”

“They can,” she says, slinking up to him and running a trail of fire across his chest. Pressing herself flush against him. Her hair smells like rose water — not mud, or sweat, or blood. And it disturbs him to think that the last time he felt the heat from another’s body so close, his hands were wrapped around their neck. The tip of her nose aligns with his collarbone, and he could rest his chin on her crown if he felt bold. “But it would be an awful expensive trip just to look at a picture.”

She steps back slowly to look at him, her absence leaving him cold. For a moment he fears she’s sensed the danger he’s sure he radiates — realising a beat too late, the expected next step of their dance.

“How much do I owe you?” he says, flusteredly reaching into his satchel.

“Five dollars. Anything ‘French’ is an additional two — Though considering I’m due payment from our little sweepstakes, I’d be happy to waive the fee for that on this occasion.”

He’d almost forgotten about the bet placed on his head and wondered how often the women discussed what went on behind closed doors, how he would fair in comparison. He cringes at the thought and tries to push it to the back of his mind.

“I ain’t expectin’ special treatment, don’t worry.”

He hands over five dollars, and with the money on the dresser, Ettie retakes her position. The plainness of the transaction and the affection it now entitled him to feeling implausible.

“Relax a little,” her voice comes out like a breath, encouraging him to breathe deeply in time with her. “It’s okay. We’re gonna have fun.” She guides him over to the bed before stepping back to remove her shirtwaist and skirt, each button revealing new skin he now had permission to touch.

As he stands there watching, something about the ungraceful practicality of her undressing fascinates him, how in contrast it felt to the choreographed movements of the rest of her performance. He wonders if this is her more natural state, all furrowed brows and uncoordinated limbs, and if so, what it took for her to keep up appearances.

When down to her corset and underthings, Ettie faces the mirror to unpin the hair fixed neatly atop her head. He is silent as it falls like water, spilling over the ridge of her shoulders and pooling loosely at the base of her spine.

“Your turn now.” She says, and he hardly has time to react before her nimble fingers are working open the buttons of his shirt.

From this angle, he can see how the sun has caught the high points of her face, leaving behind a sprinkle of freckles lightly masked by powder. The slope of her neck is decorated by loose curls and a small silver locket that bobs up and down above her— He dares not gaze lower. Only as she begins to work at his fly does his sluggish brain arrive at the moment in hand.

“You ain’t taking this off?” His voice comes out hoarser than he expects, and for the first time, Ettie looks a little startled, stepping back to look at him hesitantly. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

“I wasn’t planning on. My draws are split, and this unties. Look—” She pulls the ribbon at her shoulder. And he hates that it’s Ernest’s words that colour his view as the loosened cotton strap of her chemise falls away to expose a pretty breast, pushed up by the boning of her corset. Was the man blind? “It’s a little cumbersome to get on and off.” He aches to see her fully, to touch the skin still hidden from view, but he won’t push.

Her hand dips back into his open fly, sliding between a gap in his union suit. He lets out a wince to feel the pads of her fingers making contact with the base of his dick. “That feel good?” she goads. His whole body gone rigid. Barely able to summon words. Nodding sharply in response, as she begins to ease him out.

The pace in which she palms him feels foreign compared to his hand's efficient strokes, but she is responsive to each breath, learning him with every shudder and tense of his jaw. His eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in the sensation of her experienced hands. Rare he is permitted such selfish pleasure. Rare anyone did anything for him without expectation of its return tenfold. And yet— The lopsidedness of the arrangement suddenly feels too much to bear. He needs to touch her, needs to make her feel as good as she’s making him.

As her speed quickens, he moves a cautious hand to her breast, cradling her delicately before lightly skimming his thumb across her nipple. Testing. Her rhythm falters slightly, and he is rewarded with a small whimper that escapes half-bitten through her lips. That’s it. He circles the pebbled skin, harder this time, and delights to feel her swell under his touch. Confidence growing, he dips his head lower to taste her. She moans again, but this time unrestrained, head lolling back as he sucks.

“Arthurrr—”

Her strokes hasten, and he needs to hear her keen for him again. Needs to touch her. He reaches down between them, between her legs, trying to find the source of her heat amongst rumpled cotton, but then she is pulling away. Stepping back. Straightening up.

“Hey, this is about you. Don’t worry about me, okay.” She says.

“But—”

“Shhhh, trust me,” Ettie whispers calmly and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. He worries that he has done something wrong, hurt her in some way he didn’t intend, too forceful, too coarse. But like she can read his mind—

“Stay put, I ain’t goin' nowhere.”

She’s good at that, he thinks, toeing the line between gentle and firm. Never going as far to bruise a man’s ego but not coming across as a pushover either. Had she always been that way, or had she learnt how to soothe a man, just as he’d learnt how to intimidate them? Through necessity. What was her natural temperament? What was his?

Ettie walks over to the dresser and grabs a small glass jar, scooping out a little of the contents before returning to the bed.

“You wanna get a little more comfortable?” She says, eyeing his half-open union suit and the jeans around his ankles with amusement. What a sight he must look. But if she was going to remain in her underthings, shouldn’t he? It didn’t seem proper to be exposed when she was not. He kicks off his jeans but leaves his Union suit open, but on.

“What’s that?” He nods to the creamy concoction cupped in her hand.

“Just a little somethin’ for my comfort.” That playful look again. “You are quite… sizable. I wanna make sure I’m ready for you.”

His cheeks darken, her lack of arousal confirming his worst fears.

“Maybe if you let me touch you, you might enjoy it more.”

Her sigh is affectionate. “Who said I wasn’t enjoying myself? Anyone ever told you you worry too much?”

They face each other at the precipice of the bed. His toes curling whilst she slicks up his length with the salve in what feels like one continuous gliding motion, till he is rock hard and panting before her. She shifts herself to bend over the bed, guiding him behind her with a hand on his hip. She arches her back to rest with her forearms on the mattress.

“You ready to show me what you can do, Deputy?”

“Arthur. Please.” He manages to huff out, unable to look away from the way she is presented so brazenly for him.

Ettie gives him a wry grin over her shoulder. “Arthur, I want you to show me what you’ve been dreamin’ on since we first met.” And he wants to show her, too.

Swallowing thickly, he carves a hand between the slit of her draws, spreading them open to finally expose the supple flesh of her backside. The sight alone has his dick twitching in anticipation, helpless to prevent the full handful of her ass he takes in his grasp.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He croaks.

“Might have heard it mentioned.”

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, steadying his breath, before aligning himself with her entrance. He is mindful not to push into her too quickly, and though the salve helps some, he hears her breath hitch in her chest as she takes him, inch by inch.

“Too much?” He asks, trying to mask his trepidation, but he is answered by an enthusiastic grind of her hips, which sheaths him fully inside. He stops breathing for a moment, caught by the clutch of her cunt. Senses all but lost to the sensation of her heat. His lids grow heavy, but the sight of his cock buried to the hilt has him straining to keep them open. Hypnotised by the way she encases him.

He gently rocks himself backwards and then forward, shallow at first and then deeper, slowly increasing his pace with each slap of their hips.

“Ettie-”

“That feel good, Arthur?” So good. So good. And he wishes he could look into those teasing eyes as she spears herself back onto him. At first, matching his tempo and then provoking him to speed up, take her faster, harder.

He won’t last much longer at this rate. And tries to bat away the sinking feeling that that might be something she wants. For this to be over quickly. She’s making all the right noises, but then again, he walked into this room with a badge on his chest, so honesty was hardly something he felt entitled to.

He wants her closer, craving the reassurance only her face could bring. He arches down over her, carefully hooking an arm around her chest, drawing her up into him, until she kneels upright on the bed with him holding her weight from behind, bodies remaining locked.

“This ok?” He huffs.

“Mhmmm” She nods back hazily.

From this position, he can see her better, the rise and fall of her chest, the growing flush that has spread from her cheeks down her neck, the way her eyes shutter when he reaches for her breast, his other seeking out her heat from below. She hums a little then, a sound so pure it answers all suspicions about the authenticity of those proceeding it. God how he wants to watch her come around him, if only he can last long enough to get her there.

His fingers slip between her folds, spreading her open as he continues to fuck up into her, the slick of her cunt undeniably her own making now. Ettie’s back arches wildly as he begins to rub a tight ring around her clit, and she lets out a noise halfway between a shriek and a moan like she is surprised by the pleasure. But when he tries to continue, she is grasping his wrist, pulling it away from her core and bringing it up to her mouth to suck hard on his fingers. The debauched way she looks at him then almost sends him over the edge.

“Come for me, Arthur.”

God, his name sounds like honey on her lips.

“Just like that—”

Surely she’s not inferring what he thinks she is? But he is near losing himself in the thought alone.

“So close—” She coos, “Just let go, fill me—”

Fuck. Fuck—

He drags his erupting cock out of her just in time as he spills violently onto her ass and then the floor, staggering backwards, trying to catch his breath.

“Jesus! Jesus. I nearly— I’m sorry.” He babbles, feeling boorish and out of control.

“Hey there. I know. I said you could.” She says, turning around to run her fingers through his ruffled hair. He looks back at her, confused, still out of breath.

“Ain’t you worried about—” he stops, trying to find the correct phrasing but becoming aware of the fond, almost patronising look on Ettie’s face.

“I ain’t worried, no.” She smiles gently, “Wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t take precautions.”

He nods sheepishly, though still not entirely at ease, before sitting back down at the edge of the bed, sighing deeply, struggling to enjoy the last twitches of his high.

When his breath returns to normal, he grabs his jeans from the foot of the bed, trying not to cringe at the mess he’s made of her and her floor.

“Don’t feel like you have to rush on account of me,” Ettie says, making her way to a small porcelain jug and basin in the corner of the room. She dampens a washcloth and wipes away all trace of his spend still marking her skin.

“Want me to clean you up?” She approaches him cautiously.

“I’m alright.” He says.

She raises a silent eyebrow.

“I mean, I can manage for myself.”

She nods and hands him over the rag. He’s not sure how to feel as he tidies himself up, but he's aware of her eyes on him, watching, trying to figure him out. Knowing he’s been read before she even opens her mouth.

“When did you last lay with a woman, Deputy?”

He pauses. That bluntness that throws his head through a loop. Dangerous. And he doesn’t know how to answer—what she’s wanting to hear— that it was likely five years since he’d been touched like that? That he’d touched someone else? Was she looking for an explanation for his rustiness or an apology?

“Was it obvious?” he asks, unable to fully meet her gaze.

“Well, you ain’t got a ring and—” She hesitates momentarily. “I shouldn’t say it,” The apples of her cheeks start to ripen uncontrollably until she breaks into laughter. “You fuck like you’ve somethin’ to prove.”

He might be inclined to take such a comment to heart if it wasn’t for the pleasure he took in seeing her so genuinely amused, and before he knows it, he’s chuckling too.

“I just didn’t want it to be awful for you.”

Ettie nudges him with her heel. “You paid me to make you feel good. So as long as you had fun, I did too.”

She lights a cigarette and offers him one from her case: silver, engraved with the initials A.B. in an ornate filigree. He accepts and allows her to light the smoke from the tip of her own. He still doesn’t quite know how to make conversation but is relieved to have something to occupy his hands.

“Still wanna see my paints?” She asks after a few moments quiet.

“That’s why I’m up here, ain’t it?” He says wryly. She scoffs before darting across the room, opening draws, rooting through cupboards, pulling things out left and right—a tornado, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake.

When she returns, her arms are laden with supplies, and she settles down next to him cross-legged on the bed, spreading out her wares between them. She opens a battered-looking sketchbook and smooths out the page.

“See,” she says, stroking the paper and encouraging him to do the same. “Just like the paper in your journal—Oh, wait a second.”

She stands abruptly before dashing off again, this time to the water jug. Her back turned, Arthur flicks through the pages and is rapt by a flurry of faces looking back at him. A few he recognises as girls from the parlour, but there are others too: an elderly woman in a bright feathered hat, a rakish-looking man in spectacles, a little girl with pigtails holding a ragdoll, each of them living and breathing on the page like she had rendered their very souls.

“You snoopin’?” Ettie tuts in mock disapproval, though she doesn’t seem bothered by the intrusion. “And after all the grief you gave me for looking at your art.”

Art.

Arthur had never thought about his sketches in that way before. Sure, he sometimes felt pride if he managed to capture something or someone’s likeness in a way that felt true, but he’d never had any training to consider what he did art. Not like the pretty pictures spread out in front of him now. These felt so full of life he swore he wouldn’t be surprised to see one of them moving.

“These are good,” he says as she settles beside him, her thigh resting lightly against his.

She rolls her eyes, then nudges his arm. “Get your journal out— Don’t worry, I don’t wanna look at any of the drawings— Well, I do, but I’m not going to force you. Just want to show you something.”

He relents and gets his journal from his satchel, handing it over suspiciously, realising only after it’s in her hands how reckless he’s being, and for what? He hadn’t asked her about the blood feud between Grays and Braithwaits, nothing about the gold. The only information gleaned was that his dick still worked, and even that had only served him.

Keeping to her word, Ettie opens the book to an untouched page and submerges her paintbrush into the jug, tapping off the excess water and swirling the tip into a square of dried paint. Her hand hovers over the blank page before gliding the brush across the paper in a flourish of crimson, blooming as it settled, like petals opening at dawn.

“Here, you try.”

She dips the brush back into the jug to clean it off before holding it out towards Arthur. Following her direction, he scrubs the brush into a dark green pan and brings his hand to the paper. His line comes out fainter than hers and less fluid, the brush strokes looking scratchy as he reaches the edge of the page.

“Not enough paint. Got to get it saturated.” She smiles. “But look,” she flicks over the page, “it hasn’t gone through.” She starts to explain about wetting the paper before applying the paint, working in layers, letting stuff dry, getting more and more animated, that he starts to laugh.

“You have to start adding colour to your work. I could—” She stops. “You planin’ on seein’ me again?” The question is abrupt, as though she realises she is getting ahead of herself and needs to square off the basics first.

He hadn’t considered that this would be more than a one-time occurrence but he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge the sense of relief that had spread throughout his body and mind in the past half hour. More settled than he’d been in months, maybe even years. Perhaps next time he could get some information out of her. Perhaps next time he could prove himself a less selfish lover.

“I’d like to if you’ll have me.”

“Marvellous! Here—” She thrusts a small wooden box into his hands.

“What’s—?”

***

“A watercolour set for travelling. Not amazing quality but perfect for a beginner or someone on the move.” She gives him a wry smile “You can borrow it and show me how you get on next time you see me.”

She’s a whirlwind, and even as he’s riding Branwen back into camp he still feels bowled over. Not sure how he’s agreed to as much as he has, or if he’s being played, or if he cares to stop it.

Tag list: @redwritr, @twola, @ultraporcelainpig, @cassietrn & @milesology

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#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x oc #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #painted red

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vhagarlovebot · 2 years

Text

STAND BY YOU.

♡. ── gif credit. ; ( aemond targaryen masterlist. )

pairing: prince aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: you've been betrothed since you were a child to prince aemond targaryen and this is the first time you're meeting him. however, you've always had his back.

content warnings: forced marriage, reader's house is not specified.

note: if there are any grammar errors i apologize, english is not my first language! hope you enjoy.

read part two.

YOU’VE BEEN BETROTHED TO prince aemond targaryen since you were a child. however, you have never meet him. but you know exactly who he is: prince aemond targaryen. the one-eyed prince.

and although you have never meet the prince, you feel the need to defend him every time someone dares to speak ill about him. after all you yourself wouldn’t like people talking behind your back.

aemond targaryen is going to be your husband and, duty or not, you're going to have his back.

for the first time in your life, you're on king's landing. and ever since they announced to you that you were leaving home, you've been a nervous wreck.

you've heard stories and rumors about the targaryen siblings but you chose not to believe anything. you know how mean and awful people can be, not even their rulers are safe.

you straighten your clothes when the carriage stops, your eyes widens and your heart starts beating incredibly fast.

"all will be well, my lady." your lady-in-waiting and close friend, the only friend you have, helps you fix your hair.

you feel the urge to vomit the minute the carriage door opens and you are meet with three silver heads and the queen's serious face.

sighing, you count to seven while you descend, being very careful with your movements and where you're stepping, the last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of them.

"your grace," you smile, bowing before her and her children but not daring to look to her right where you know your future husband is standing.

she smiles and, forgetting all about protocol, her hands find your trembling ones.

"i am delighted that you could make it." one of her hand goes to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and ends up resting on your cheek. it makes you feel strange, no one has ever treat you with such fondness, much less someone you've only seen a couple of times. your own mother died giving birth when you were only four years old, and you have no memory of her. "may i introduce you to my children?"

your throat tightens as you turn to them, goosebumps all over your body. you bow to prince aegon, who only nods in acknowledgment, and to princess helaena who gently smiles and moves so you can fully see the reason why you're there.

the first thing you notice is his long silver hair and the leather eyepatch in the place where his missing eye should be, then your eyes travel along his sharp jawline and his great high cheekbones, lips pressed into a thin line. his stance exudes power and confidence, and you can see his muscular body hiding under his coat.

and you know you are staring too much when he clears his throat, your cheeks instantly turning red in embarrassment. the second your eyes make contact with his big violet one, you stop breathing.

he's beautiful.

and he's waiting for you to bow, so you do it, feeling too ashamed and barely bearing the idea of him thinking badly of you for your boldness.

after that everything is a blurry.

you are too exhausted after the long journey, just wanting to sleep in your new chambers and forget all about the embarrassing moment in front of prince aemond. and the queen has been thoughtful enough to send dinner up to you, hoping for you to have a good rest mostly because you have to start with all the wedding preparations.

at the mere thought of your wedding, your stomach hurts. you don't have a say in the matter, never had and never will. and it's not that you want to. you would do anything for your house and the realm, and if marrying the king's second son would help strengthen the bonds between the two families, then so be it. you wouldn't even hesitate to go into battle, if given the case. duty comes first, that's how you were raised, and you are very proud of that. even if sometimes you wish to experience a life without so many complications and responsibilities.

night passes quickly and soon you find yourself in front of the queen's chambers with sweaty hands and unsteady legs.

when the doors open you're meet with a maiden smiling shyly at you. "my lady, the queen apologizes but she will not be able to join you today," you frown, ready to turn around and leave to your chambers, but the girl stops you. "but she insists you stay and have a cup of tea." then she moves to show you a small round table, just in front of her balcony that has the most wonderful sea view.

you can't refuse and, honestly, you really don't have anywhere else to be. so you silently thank the maiden and walk to take a seat, pouring yourself some of the warm liquid, ready to enjoy a few minutes alone. and you will enjoy any minute you have alone, knowing perfectly well that there will be only a few once you get married.

"my lady, prince aemond is here." you immediately stand up, almost dropping the tea all over you.

the prince stands in front of you, his signature stance making you feel small.

"my prince," you greet him and he nods, his face showing no emotion. "i am sorry but your mother is not here."

"i know." he answers, walking around you and sitting at the small round table. "you are going to be my wife and, sadly, i know nothing about you."

you smile, taking a seat. "i could say the same thing about you, my prince."

"aemond. just aemond."

you don't dare to address him by name, you don't have that kind of relationship.

“we will have a lifetime to get to know one another,” you say, pouring some tea for him.

“forced.” he mutters, looking out the window. you wait for him to elaborate and, when he doesn’t, you understand what he is saying.

“yes, my prince. we are forced to spend a lifetime together, we are forced to a marriage we do not truly want,” there is no hurt or anger in your voice, you feel what he’s feeling too. “i am sure we would be doing a different thing if we could, but we both care about our families. and family means duty.”

you leave the cup of tea in front of him, hoping he doesn’t find you disrespectful. but when you look at him, he’s just staring back, lips parted slightly.

“i did not mean to sound rude,” he explains, his lips curling upwards. “but i am glad to know my wife knows the meaning of duty and what is expected of us.”

you blush at hearing the word ‘my wife’ coming out of his lips, hiding the nervous smile behind the cup.

“duty or not, i want us to be–” he stops, like looking for the right words, and you listen intently. “friends? i want you to know that you can count on me.” he reaches for your hand, gently placing it on top of yours, violet eye looking directly into yours. “just as i know i can count on you to defend me from those people that dare to say hurtful things.”

your eyes widen in surprise, you really didn’t think the prince would know about it. but it seems rumors fly really fast, even when you are far away from king’s landing.

“i must say,” you witness how his cheeks turn into a pretty shade of pink, a smirk that makes you feel like you could pass out just by looking at him on his face. “i felt really proud hearing all those lords and ladies talk about how my wife-to-be defended me with such courage and determination.”

“nobody should say those things about you.” your voice is soft but you have a hard expression on your face. “about anyone, really.”

“i appreciate it.” he smiles, withdrawing his hand that was still on top of yours. “there are a lot of things i want to talk with you, i… i really want to know you.” you know your face will hurt later, because of all the smiling.

you have never felt this way before, much less with someone you’ve just met. prince aemond may look scary and serious on the outside but you are sure in the inside hides someone kind and caring, the way he is speaking with you a clear proof of that.

“but i think we will have a lifetime to do that, don’t you think, my lady?” you laugh, nodding. “well, then, maybe we can start right now.” he stands up, startling you, and holds his hand out for you to take it. “do you trust me?”

do you trust him?

#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen fluff #prince aemond x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine

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deobienthusiast · 4 months

Text

drunk on woo | ksw.

• pairing: kim sunwoo x gn!reader

• word count: 1k words

• genre: non idol!sunwoo, suggestive, there isn’t really fluff, but there also isn’t really angst. it’s just, suggestive

you meet the perfect stranger on accident in a club, and now you keep coming back for more as he leaves you feeling more intoxicated than alcohol ever could

warnings: mature themes, no actual description of a sex scene, but there is call backs to sex, im hesitant to say 16+, probably would say 18+ just to be safe. i wouldn’t consider this something a minor should probably interact with so mdni (pls), mentions of alcohol

notes: i welcome you to the most spicy thing ive written. not sure if ill get more spicy or if ill fizzle out but this has been on my mind for a while and i needed to put it into words. so enjoy. this wasn’t proofread btw i just sent it to sana (@sanaxo-o) so she could be surprised😏😉

the barstool you occupied pulsated from the loud music pumping through the speakers. the drink you were holding shook slightly, leaking onto the sides of the cup from the bartender overfilling it. you weren’t worried about that, though. you already had a few drinks, a form of liquid courage if you will. this wasn’t a regular scene for you. you weren’t the party and drinking type, however you were drawn here for one reason and one reason only. kim sunwoo.

you knew he frequented this club, and he came here on fridays. after meeting on accident due to your friends dragging you here out of pity, you two met. he was enamored with your quiet and shy demeanor. he thought you were breathtaking. and honestly, you thought the same thing about him. his hair was jet black, shiny, and curly. it fell in front of his dark, boba-like eyes and had a bounce to it every time he moved. what really drew you in were his lips. full and pink, constantly being pulled between his teeth and licked by his tongue. you two danced together the whole night before he inevitably dragged you away from your friends, taking you back to his place.

he showered you in lust-filled kisses and filthy words hidden inside the sweetness of his voice. his lips, the same ones that drew you in, brought you over the edge repeatedly. whether it was through his words, or the skilled way he buried himself between your legs. you were a goner before he was even inside of you. the night went by quickly. when he dropped you off at your friend’s place the next morning, you were left wanting more. you never got a phone number, and you were desperate. you slept with other men after him, but it wasn’t the same. it didn’t feel the same. you craved him in ways that other men or your own toys couldn’t satisfy.

hence how you ended up back in the club, this time accompanied by no one. you needed another night (or more) with sunwoo. you told yourself it would be just to get him out of your head. deep down, you knew that wasn’t the truth, but you would cross that bridge when you got there. the lights were low, black lights decorating the walls, casting a purple haze across the crowd of sweaty bodies lumped together on the dance floor.

despite the amount of people in the building, it wasn’t hard for you to find sunwoo. the way he moved through the crowd, the way he danced, the way he moved his hips, was all subjective to him. he stood out, in a good way that is. his hair still black and shiny, but the black light was picking up a light color, turning the strands a bright purple color.

he put in highlights.

you remembered the silky smoothness of his hair between your fingertips. the way his hair bunched up between your fingers as you pulled on it. he loved it. he told you to pull harder.

you grabbed the drink on the counter and downed it, pushing yourself off the barstool. the liquid courage had you feeling bold, but who knew how long it would last, especially around him. you made your way through the crowd, bumping into people who didn’t bother to say anything, because they were too busy dancing offbeat to the club music. he had his back to you, keeping his distance as he danced with a girl and her friends. when you were just a foot away from him, you tapped his shoulder. the tap was enough to alert sunwoo as he turned.

his eyes widened as a smirk made its way to his face. his full lips pulled up slightly revealing his pearly white teeth that glowed under the black lights. with how close you were now, you could see hints of blonde in his hair, the light color attracting the black light. sunwoo wasted no time in grabbing your waist with his large hands, the same way he did in his bed, holding your waist in place as he spoke above your high pitched whines. if you keep moving, i’ll punish you.

the words echoed in your head, making you shudder as he pulled you into him, turning you around just before you make contact so your back is pressed against him. he moved your hips in time with his, feeling him move one hand to completely circle your waist, while the other moved up to tilt your head to the side. the music made everything he did more intense, before you felt his plush lips plant themselves on the exposed skin of your neck. you gasped.

i missed you.

his words muffled against your neck, just barely being loud enough for you to hear. you swallowed hard, feeling your throat go dry. he continued peppering kisses on your neck before he found a particular spot he was fond of, sinking his teeth lightly into your skin. you whimpered at the feeling of his tongue gliding back and forth on the mark he just left on you.

i missed those pretty sounds. couldn’t stop thinking about how good you were, how sweet you tasted.

you felt yourself heat up at the thought of living rent free in the kim sunwoo’s mind. his thoughts poured out of him, letting you know he hadn’t taken anyone else since your night together, getting himself off to the thought of you and your pretty sounds as he put it. he was slowly driving you crazy, making you dizzy at the touch. he knew the effect he had on you. spinning in his arms, he lifted his head quickly before you pulled him into a deep, yet messy kiss. teeth clashing, tongues colliding, and groans being shared. all of it being laid out in the vicinity of the club without a care in the world other than getting lost in each other.

when he pulled away, you whimpered, feeling yourself rub your thighs together at how worked up you were. sunwoo chuckled as he laced his fingers with yours, pulling you through the crowded dance floor to the exit.

don’t worry baby. gonna take good care of you.

#deoboyznet #k-vanity #k-labels #wkcnet #the boyz #the boyz smut #kim sunwoo #kim sunwoo imagines #kim sunwoo smut #tbz sunwoo #tbz #tbz imagines #tbz smut #the boyz sunwoo #sunwoo x reader #the boyz x reader #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios

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thebramblewood · 10 months

Text

That moment you find out the girl you’ve been seeing is famous - for being a 130-year-old missing persons case with an entire "theories and speculation" section on Wikipedia.

Previous / Next

Yes, I made Lilith a Wikipedia page because I'm just that extra. If you want to read it (I threw in some new information), you can find the whole thing following the transcript below the cut.

Real-time footage of Helena researching:

[Snippets of Caleb's letter echo in Helena's mind] I will put it to you bluntly: Lilith and I have been vampires for some 100 years. Faced with your otherwise certain demise, I chose to make you one too. You may not believe me. It will feel like a bad flu for a day or two; then it will feel like the heat of 1000 fires blazing inside. I very well knew it would turn you into a monster against your will.

Helena, thinking: It's just a hangover, Helena. It's just a hangover. Yeah, that crazy bitch bit you, and her crazy brother wrote a dumb letter to scare the shit out of you. But vampires aren't real.

Thank god Ulrike left all these fucking tarps. This sunlight is murder on my eyes.

Several internet rabbitholes later... [Helena scanning Wikipedia page on computer screen] Last seen alive March 16, 1918... disappeared under mysterious circumstances... seemed to fall ill... Tangled Vines... immortal vampires... This can't actually be her. It's impossible...

Lilith Violetta Vatore (December 2, 1891 – last seen alive March 16, 1918) was an heiress and socialite who disappeared under mysterious circumstances at the age of 26 along with her brother, Caleb Vatore, 24. Before vanishing, the siblings were poised to jointly inherit the Vatore fortune, home, and 100-year-old vineyard and winery. This was considered unusual for the period, as family property, wealth, and business interests were often only passed to women in the complete absence of a male inheritor.

Despite societal expectations, Vatore reportedly had little interest in courting or eventually marrying. She was said to have rebuffed dozens of engagement offers, much to her parents' dismay. However, she rarely turned down an invitation to a ball, and her baldly flirtatious escapades were frequently reported on in society columns. One such columnist wrote that she "bandied about in a bold and bawdy manner most unbecoming of a respectable lady, laughing uproariously, drinking excessively, and making coy conversation with every handsome man in sight." Some historians suggest based on a series of candid letters from Vatore to fellow socialite and confidante Prudence Crumplebottom, donated to the University of Britechester by Crumplebottom's daughters, that she may have preferred the company of women in private.

The Vatore siblings were said to be so close that one was rarely seen without the other. The society columns were not kind to Caleb Vatore, calling him a "poor chap" who seemed "nothing more than a playmate, servant, or lapdop, his role at any given moment wholly dependent upon his dear sister's whims." Little is known about his personal life.

In the days preceding the siblings' disappearance, Vatore seemed to fall ill. She sequestered herself to her bedroom, allowing no one but her brother to enter. On the morning of March 16, a maid found Caleb's chambers undisturbed, and Vatore's locked bedroom door was forced open, whereupon she was discovered to have absconded in the night, along with her brother and her finest jewels.

Various court battles ensued over the fate of the Vatore estate, and interest in the siblings' disappearance was briefly renewed when their alleged children materialized in the mid-1950s. However, the entire ordeal all but disappeared from public consciousness until the recent publication of Tangled Vines: A Complete Investigation of the Vatore Disappearances by journalist Salim Benali. Benali posits that the Vatores are immortal vampires who still live today, and though some scholars find elements of his research intriguing, others dismiss his argument as an elaborate, attention-seeking hoax.

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 story #simblr #helena zhao #story: hzid #as unbelievable as it may be i love the idea of the vatores being minor historical figures who should be long dead hiding in plain sight #helena probably should've done this before the party and saved herself the trouble #but to be fair i don't think she knew lilith's last name

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shurislover · 1 year

Text

A Look into Letitia’s Spam

- i honestly think Letitias spam would consist of things revolving around you honestly. i wanted to add more but i couldnt. let me know if i should do a part 2 or do a “ a look into y/n spam “

- in here tish spam is public but she still has her comments limited !! and also not everyone knows it exists. but i hope you enjoy

tishspams

liked by therealyn and 367 others

tishspams surprised her after being gone for nearly a month

therealyn better not leave me for that long again

tishspams i promise i won’t

issarae here they go y’all 😒

tishspams you love us

dominiquethorne i’m surprised you lasted that long without y/n

tishspams you and me both

view all 28 comments

tishspams

liked by issarae and 289 others

tishspams posting just because

kosarali__ you only posted cause y/n told you

therealyn exactly ! idk why she out here playing lol

tishspams not you both trying to gang up on me

therealyn don’t let her fool y’all, i told her to post this

tishspams 😒😒 bye

view all 12 comments

tishspams

liked by tishsgf and 689 others

tishspams for her ears only

jojovandalkidd i bet she in her ear whispering a wack ass pick up line

officialsheiks nah it’s definitely something about grillz

therealyn y’all are so off it’s funny 😭

view all 23 comments

tishspams

liked by therealyn and 523 others

tishspams y/n on here ! don’t my wifey look good? anyways on a date kinda nervous ☺️

shionat simp at its finest

therealyn atleast you know

winstoncduke when y’all gonna start posting the cringy pictures that’s what i’m here for

therealyn i’ll dedicate the next one to you

tishspams

liked by dominiquethorne and 235 others

tishspams and she say she not clingy ???

therealyn y’all i was hacked

issarae get a room 😒

winstoncduke this why i like y/n she bold !

jojovandalkidd now where you get this meme 😂😂

view all 20 comments

tishspams

liked by therealyn and 634 others

tishspams she spoils me 🥺

therealyn you deserve princess treatment everyday baby i love you

ryandestiny i second this

danaigurira i’m so happy you found y/n she truly loves you

therealyn i love you mama

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tishspams

liked by ayrastarr and 367 others

tishspams RING THIEF !!

jojovandalkidd so this where my yellow ring went ?

tishspams so she steals yours too ?

therealyn ILL DO IT AGAIN

winstoncduke ain’t that your shirt too ??

therealyn so you snitching on me ? you supposed to be my best friend ? YOURE BLOCKED !

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tishspams

liked by jojovandalkidd and 421 others

tishspams i told her i got my new grillz

therealyn it’s been 3 days and i have yet to see them

tishspams baby you’ll see them when everyone else does 😭

therealyn don’t hit my line until i get a picture of them or see them in person 😒

tishspams SHE BLOCKED ME ! let me go show her my grillz

jojovandalkidd that’s what you get

tishspams 😒😒😒

view all 10 comments

———————————-

i just might do a part 2 lmao this is fun

#letitia wright #letitia x reader

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lolahauri · 7 months

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when you touch me i die just a little inside

My brain is completely flooded with jumbled scenarios of Ian, so let me just ramble and get this out here before I explode 😩 no proof reading and no warnings btw, someday soon ill rewrite this better, but for now this is what yall get 🥴(MDNI)

Just imagine him being your mathematics professor. he's in his early forties, you're in your early-mid twenties. you've always had a thing for older men, and them being an authority figure only made the fantasies more exciting.

you noticed after some months of being in his class, he seemed to start eyeing you more. lingering gazes cast in your direction were becoming increasingly noticeable. he always asked your thoughts on the subject being taught first. he praised your papers and projects much more than the other students.

you wondered if you were being delusional, or if maybe you actually had a chance...

you wanted to test him and see if your suspicions were correct, but without being too obvious, of course. so to start, you began wearing short skirts more often, maybe with a sweater on top so it didn't seem so clear you were trying to show some skin. you took note of how he looked directly at your legs every time you strolled into class with a miniskirt. you couldn't see after you turned your back, but man he couldn't take his eyes off of them until you got to your seat.

after a couple weeks, you moved your spot to the front row, closer to his main desk. occasionally, when he was up at the board, looking out to the class, you'd switch your crossed legs to the other side. spreading them just enough that he could catch a glimpse of your lace panties. you knew you caught him in the act when he began to clear his throat profusely afterwards, refusing to look you in the eyes for the rest of the day.

you continued to amp up your little game until you were sure you could make a move. but before you could, he did.

class was out for the day, you were the last student to get your things packed and ready to leave. before you could head out the door though, Dr. Malcolm called out to you.

"Uh, Ms. [L/N]?" you turned to look at him, his face was serious. your stomach dropped, shit, what if the teasing wasn't affecting him the way you thought it was?

"Oh- um. yes, professor?" you were trying to play it cool, maybe he'd buy the 'i had no idea' act if you pitched it well enough.

"would you, uh, mind seeing me in my office for a sec?"

"of course! yes..." you walked with him to a door near the corner of his room, hands beginning to tremble a bit. as you entered, he walked in behind you and... locked the door?

before you could ask what this was about, he roughly grabbed your cheeks in one hand, tilting your head up to force eye contact with you.

"do you have something you wanna tell me, Ms. [L/N]" heat pooled in your stomach immediately as his deep brown eyes pierced into yours "you wanna explain this - this little game you've playing? huh?" he squeezed your soft face a little harder, lips slowly inching towards you.

"Sir, i-"

"what? you- you think I didn't notice what you were doing? wearing these little, uh, short skirts, spreadin' your legs right in front me everyday." his voice raised a bit, but oddly enough, he didn't exactly sound angry. it must be the sexual frustration coming out.

and maybe this wasn't the time to be bold, but you couldn't hold back anymore, you needed him now.

"maybe I wanted you to notice, professor."

he smirked down at you, wrapping a strong arm around your back "oh, really? well, uh, you got my attention now sweetheart."

oh, it's game on.

both of you leaned forward to quickly close the gap between your mouths. your lips fit together like puzzle pieces, your head was spinning as you reached up to snake your arms around his neck. he's so tall...

a surprised noise came out of you as he leaned down to pick you up, one arm under your ass, the other still on your back, pressing you into his body firmly. the kiss quickly deepened, he slid his tongue past your lips, swirling it around your own as you moaned into his mouth.

ian stumbles forward a bit, carefully finding the table in the room and lying you down on it, pulling away from the kiss briefly.

"you, uh, wanna take this further sweetheart?" he grinned down at you, his arms caging your head in.

"god, yes" you breathed out, wrapping your legs around his hips and bringing him into another kiss.

he chuckled against your lips, not wasting any time to run a large hand up both your top and skirt. one hand was grabbing your breast as the other worked to pull your panties down. usually he'd prep a woman more before fucking her, but you've worked him up so much he can't wait any longer.

ian pulled back once again, hastily undoing his belt. you watched in awe as he pulled his pants down, just far enough to let his long cock spring out. he let out a breathy laugh, "like what you see?"

under normal circumstances you'd be embarrassed, but you were so turned on and dazed all you could do was nod, slowly lifting your gaze back to his eyes.

he stepped forward and bent down slightly to align his hips with yours, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist. you were breathing heavily as his tip grazed your hole, dripping wet and ready to be fucked.

"are you, um, are you sure you wanna do this? i can stop-"

"just fuck me already, please" you interrupted, you weren't trying to be rude, but you're getting seriously desperate right now.

"shit..." he mutters under his breathe, quickly following your orders and slipping himself in. he was big, but there was no resistance at all from your slick pussy.

ian set a quick, but gentle pace, not wanting to be too rough too fast. you were both filling the small space with moans and groans, getting dangerously loud considering the building you're in. but neither of you could honestly care right now, this felt way too good to hold back.

you gripped onto his biceps tightly, trying to keep yourself stable and grounded. with every thrust he was hitting that spot inside you that made your knees weak, you let out a couple broken whines after he hit your sweet spot particularly hard.

he groaned at the feeling your nails digging into his arms, he loved seeing the affect he had on you. ian picked up the intensity, brutally shoving his hips forward and pounding into you at an almost painful degree.

you were practically screaming his name now, steadily building up to your climax. you could tell he was getting close too, his breathing was heavy and ragged, droplets of sweat running down his forehead.

"Ian, -fuck- please cum in me, please." you sobbed out the sentence, moaning after every thrust. your pussy clenched around him as your orgasm began to erupt. the feeling spread over your entire body, sending jolts of electricity through your nervous system, thighs quivering around his torso as your juices coated his cock.

"oh shit-" ian threw his head back at the sensation, following right behind you as his thrusts became sloppy and irregular, filling you to the brim with his cum as he groaned loudly. he fucked into you a few more times, riding out your orgasms until you were both on the verge of overstimulation.

he stayed inside you for a moment, catching his breath and letting you calm down from the high. soon though, you both sighed as he pulled out, letting his fresh load pour out of you and onto the table, making a complete mess. the sight was truly obscene, but in the best way possible.

you two might need to make a habit of this...

#this was supposed to be a quick drabble but it turned into a full one shot #smut #and my man thank you to my man #!!!!!!!!!1 #i need him biblically #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #ian malcolm smut #ian malcolm x reader #jurassic park smut

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sideblog-hazbin-hotel-fics · 7 months

Text

The Announcement of Hell's Spare

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Ship: Lucifer/Alastor Warning: Mpreg prompt, someone wanted Charlie to have a baby sibling via Luce getting knocked up Alastor.

****

"You've been away, Your Majesty," Alastor greeted in an accusatory manner when he finally saw Lucifer enter the hotel. Though no one dared to ask him, Alastor has obsessively kept track of how long it's been since the last time Lucifer's been at the hotel.

"I haven't been feeling well..."

"...you're an angel. King of Hell. You can't be ill."

"Not normally, no."

"Were you hurt? Has Heaven been bothering you?" Alastor demanded. Even if he wasn't proud of how his battle went, didn't mean he wasn't invested in the fight still. Now more than ever since his thing with Lucifer has become what it has. Thinking about Lucifer getting into some sort of trouble on his own away from everyone made his blood boil. Lucifer wasn't as permanent of a fixture at the hotel as the rest of them now were. Lucifer had responsibilities and a palace that was deeply rooted in enchanted power that was drool-worthy. For as many Sinners who would fall to Lucifer's feet, there were also those stupid or bold or angry enough to try and harm him at a chance of bettering their situation.

"No, not like that. If anything, if I'm ill it's your fault!"

"My fault? However is that it my fault?"

"Because when I said I'm ill, I meant I'm pregnant!" Lucifer hissed.

"...what now?"

Lucifer sighed, far too exhausted to deal with Alastor's shock. He wasn't sure how the demon would react to it, but he was prepared to be a single father. He's had enough practice of it already with Charlie after his and Lilith's split. So he told Alastor the facts, "I felt strange. It's been a good two hundred years since it happened, so it's been a while, but then it became familiar. I did a few tests and...it's positive. I'm expecting."

"A child?"

"Yes."

"Our child?"

Lucifer sort of expected a form of this question. Though he expected Alastor to call it just his, or ask if Lucifer was sure it was Alastor's at all. Yet, the deer demon was calling it their child. "Yes."

"...are there royal protocols in place? Will it be a royal? Or will it just be known as a bastard?"

"My child will not be a bastard!"

"...did you just ask me to marry you?"

"..." Lucifer felt his face heat up at that. Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat and said, "I meant to say...this child will have the same title and perks as Charlie did. They will be a Morningstar. Prince or Princess of Hell."

"And me?"

"...I won't force you to do anything you don't want. I'm damned for giving Free Will and will maintain it as a vital part of who I am. You're free to do as you wish."

"Then expect me to move into the palace."

"What?"

"Unless you're planning on moving more permanently into the hotel. We can work things around and have our rooms connected. Expand to make room for the child. At first, they won't need much, but they will need their space."

"You're...not freaking out?"

"I'm surprised. But you're not a liar, my dear. If this was just another attempt at bantering with me, this is not a topic you'd play with. There's no reason for you to say you are with child unless it's true. I'm also very aware of how and when this might have happened."

"Right. So. I'm pregnant. It's yours. And we're keeping it."

"And raising it. Together."

"Right."

"...do you want me to be the one to tell darling Charlie she's going to be an older sister?"

"Please."

****

"Holy fuck, don't do that!" Lucifer cried out when he woke up and found Alastor hovering over him.

"You didn't notice me come in. Nor feel I've been here for the last fifteen minutes."

"You were watching me sleep like some voyeuristic creep?" Lucifer deadpanned as he sat up properly and stretched a bit.

Alastor took the chance to sit next to him. He was gripping his staff firmly if only to help resist the urge to reach out and either wrap his arm around Lucifer or maybe even place his hand over the belly. Their relationship was a lot more about heated moments and fun arguments escalating to situations neither of them really expected.

"You're the king of Hell and are now with child. You should have more protection."

"I'm in my daughter's hotel. The only people in here are the people she trusts. And you," Lucifer stifled a yawn but also gave him a soft teasing smile.

Alastor frowned," I'm serious. I could have killed you."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, dearheart."

"Lucifer."

It was part of their game to call each other names. Insults that have become almost terms of endearment. Actual names...showed seriousness.

Lucifer sighed and turned to face Alastor properly, "A royal baby that's part angel, part...begrudgingly powerful overlord...takes a lot of energy. I get tired more easily. It's why I'm here. And not at the palace. When we rebuilt the hotel, I added extra layers of protection. It's not as safe as my palace, but it's safe enough for Charlie. And it's safe enough for this little one too."

"That still leaves you being...not to your usual strength," Alastor said quietly. There was a long pause before he dared to finally reach out and hold Lucifer's hand in his. "How dangerous is this for you?"

"I...don't know. Hellborns aren't exactly rare. But this isn't the typical case. But let's not forget who I am, okay? I'll be fine."

"Of course you will. Because let's not forget who I am. I'm going to take care of you. And you're going to let me."

"Hey! I am still king! You can't tell me what to do!"

"No, but I can tell Charlie you're not taking care of yourself and her puppy eyes will have you yielding in seconds."

"Cheater."

"Hmm," Alastor only smiled. If that was cheating, it wasn't beneath him if it guaranteed making this easier for Lucifer.

****

"I need your help, if you have a moment."

Charlie literally dropped all the papers she had in her hands and rushed up to her dad, "Of course! What do you need? Is everything okay? Is it the baby?"

Alastor telling her about the pregnancy had been...a thing. She went through a whole roller coaster of emotions that ranged from disbelief to panic to excitement to...plenty more. Once she processed that her father and Alastor had been more involved than she could ever imagine, she did go into a weird mourning stage in realizing that her old family she dreamed would one day magically heal and be what she dreamed was probably not going to happen, she began to accept the new reality.

The responsibility she took upon herself in the attempt to help her people helped her have more insight. The people in her hotel were more than just a project. They were her friends, if not already family in her eyes and heart.

And now she was going to be a big sister!

It was still a secret, though Vaggie learned about it because she just needed someone to talk to! She understood why it wasn't something to talk openly about that went beyond how annoying gossip could be.

Alastor also warned her about her dad being weakened by providing a lot of his strength to the baby. She saw it more since she was looking for it, but she wasn't the only one. Some were concerned something deadlier was going on that Lucifer was dealing with that they weren't privy to.

"Whoa, there. Breathe, sweetie. Everything's fine. I'm fine, baby's fine, you're fine! We're all fine."

"We're all fine!" Charlie repeated.

"Right. Now, look. We can't keep this a secret forever. I'm dreading the initial reactions but I'm preparing for it as best as I can. If anything, I can just go back to the palace until the birth."

"Alastor's already kind of preparing for that anyway."

"He is?"

"We've been talking," She informed him.

"Huh. Okay. We'll talk more about that later. Before we go off on any more tangents, let me get to the point. This is Hell. Wedlock bullshit doesn't matter with us because why would it? Your sibling will be a prince or princess as much as you are. Title, perks, respect. All of it."

Charlie smiled, "Good."

"We are the royal family. When these things happen there are usually announcements and such. I don't know yet if Alastor will want all of Hell to know just yet his involvement, but you're my daughter, my heir, and their older sister. There may be an announcement I'll make once I start showing if I don't plan to keep inside, but once the baby is born, I want you to stand next to me as I present Hell to its second in line. Will you?"

"Of course!"

"Good. And sweetheart?"

"Yes?"

"You can go ahead and tell anyone else in the hotel if you really want to."

"Oh thank you! Thank you, thank you, I have been trying so hard!"

"I know. And I appreciate it. But I can also see how hard it's been for you, so if it comes up...you can."

Charlie hugged him in response.

The next time he walked through the lobby, which was about an hour later, he felt everyone's eyes on him.

He stared at all of them with an unimpressed expression, "Alastor will take the questions, not me." Then he turned around and made it back to his suite.

****

"You want me to go back to the palace don't you?" Lucifer asked while he rested in Alastor's arms as they lay in his bed.

"It's safer for you there."

"I hate being away from Charlie..."

"It won't be like last time. She'll visit more. We'll visit too when possible."

"We?"

"You're not getting rid of me."

Lucifer chuckled and smiled. Lifting his finger to one of his sharp teeth, he bit down hard enough to draw blood and then offered it to Alastor. The deer demon held Lucifer's hand before gently, and rather sensually, licking the dripping blood that ran down the digit before taking the tip of his finger into his mouth and suckling until the wound healed. Alastor pressed a kiss to the tip of the finger, and then the inner palm, and then kissed Lucifer's knuckles. "I'll miss how delicious you taste, darling..."

"Why would you miss it? Aren't you basically latching on and becoming my shadow?"

"I'm not taking the literal life essence from you or our child," Alastor deadpanned.

"Pft. Boo."

"You want me to bite into you?"

"...yeah. I like it. You do it well."

Alastor cupped Lucifer's cheek and they stared into each other's eyes. The heat that's usually there was present, but also something new. Maybe something that has been there for a while but they're now willing to see. Alastor leaned in and kissed Lucifer. Gently at first, but it slowly turned into a make-out session that slowly became more hungry and passionate.

When they pulled apart, they continued to steal kisses between shared pants of breath.

"My, my your Majesty, we might be recreating our child's conception all over again."

"Oh, there's no might about it dearheart."

****

"You asked about royal protocols. We usually present the latest heir together as a family. Charlie said she'd be with me...will you be there too? Or will you remain in the shadows?" He liked to bask in the post-glow bliss, but this was something that had been on his mind for a while. So though he felt fully sated and more than content, he turned his full focus and attention to Alastor.

Alastor simply pulled Lucifer closer still until Lucifer was on top of him again. His possessiveness over the King of Hell has only grown and it was becoming harder to remain subtle about it. "No nightmare of Hell nor army of Heaven could keep me away, darling."

#long post #mpreg fic #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #radio apple #lucifer/alastor #don't like don't read

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jolapeno · 1 year

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xi. hold her, and tell her everything's gonna be fine

javier peña x f!reader | chapter eleven of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: sad!reader, talks of jobloss, comforting!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love ✨ wordcount: 3.3k. an: i know, when will jo stop changing the banner, but I love this so much and feel it encompasses everything for these two.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

I have one last thing to research and then I’m all yours.

have you eaten

There is a piece of fruit in my hand, as I research.

you said you were gonna order

In my defence, I’m not super hungry.

if I was there id hide your notebook and make you eat tamales my mama taught me to make

Make me, ay?

oh baby normally i would be so down to talk dirty with you and make you blush but only when youve eaten

I really want this job, baby.

i know but i really want you to not be ill

Because you really really really like me?

i heard that in your voice and yes because I really like you

In the last few days, the two of you have managed to complete three crosswords. Something he’s impressed with and you’re disappointed in.

“So, another one—I’m still unsure what this even means.”

Laughing, he hears you crunch another piece of fruit—thankful to hear you eating. “What’s the clue, baby?”

He’ll never tire of it, hearing you call him that. A sweet sound, all wrapped in kindness—floating down the phone line all the way to his ear.

“‘Not a company man’, six letters,” he says, fingers rolling the bridge of his nose.

“Hermit,” you say, calm, casual. “Or, you know, me if I don’t get the job.”

“Baby,” he warns, pen scratching the paper as you try to laugh.

Then you asked to change the conversation. Something he was more than happy to oblige, capping the pen, shoving the book away, leaning on the counter as you tell him about a new recipe you like. Talking fast, busy—almost far too energetic, but he knows why.

It’s all because of today.

The interview—the things he’s heard you jump through hoops for—arriving sooner than he could have relaxed you for.

You’d practised elements of your presentation and called him more than you usually would. Something he liked, enjoyed. The feeling of being needed. That his opinion mattered. It all weaving within him, stitching the parts of him that had weakened since the goodbye, since the drive home—alone and without you.

After a quick text in the morning, Javi had known not to expect to hear from you for a while. Likely not even immediately post your interview, probably needing a coffee—a breather.

If he lived there, where you were, you’d likely need him. Meet him outside, coffee in hand to give to you, a comforting hug, your breath on his neck as you let the tension out.

But he wasn’t there.

And he had thought he might have heard from you an hour later.

let me know how it’s gone baby

Javi tries not to be needy.

A battle he finds easy to lose when it comes to you. Digging his phone out the back pocket of his jeans periodically, ignoring the animals nuzzling their noses at him for food as he checks his battery, texts, calls…

Then the hour bled into two. Your interview was two-hundred and thirty-nine minutes ago, to be precise.

By now, he’s expected to have heard something, anything.

you still want me to call tonight

He tries not to worry. Even as his tasks dwindled, the sun beating down, his stomach growling and sweat building in parts of him that he should shower off.

But a part of him thinks if he goes inside, it’ll layer on top of him: the loneliness. The thing he feels, but pretends isn’t there.

Because normally, he’d have heard from you at lunch—if not more frequently throughout your day. The silence expected, very out of character. Which turns some cogs in him that twist and tighten, forcing his throat to burn and his stomach to flutter with a nervousness he can’t explain, except that:

Javi wants you.

Not just in the sense that he wants to run his fingers up and down your side, to crush his lips over yours, to bury himself inside of you as he feels himself falling, freely, and happily. But more that he wants to wake next to you, see you smile and laugh amongst the field, show you the water’s edge—feel some contentment there rather than boiling anger at the boats.

You could wear your jacket as the weather cools, and spread your warmth from the photo strip to the rest of the ranch.

youre doing that thing where you make me worry, baby

Eventually, after much internal fighting, he heads in and showers.

Hands washing the day as he hopes the water will take away his worries too. Pressing his palm flat to the tiles, he allows the water to beat down on him—eyes occasionally glancing to the phone on the windowsill, willing it to light up.

He suspects it’s why he stays in a bit longer.

Allows the soap suds to have long since vanished down the plug hole, letting the water begin to go cold as he uses all of the water up.

It’s only when he’s dried off, thrown some comfier clothes on—sunk into his usual chair, does he rotate the phone in his hand. His fingers slid along the underside of his chin, eyes fixated on a photo of him and his parents—their faces beaming, smiling, his hands in theirs.

even got me using punctuation and everything

Please, he whispers.

To no one. Not his Pop in the next room, some show bleeding into the air. Just to himself, as he works the spot on his forehead.

You don’t text him back, but you do call bang on time.

He’s spent the last half an hour pretending he wasn’t loitering, while his pop pretended he wasn’t coming in to make drinks to check on him. Giving him that look, the one Javi had seen so often when he’d first come back from Cali.

All concern, all deep lines embedded with worries as he ticks, tick, ticked.

This was different. Something in his gut telling him that you weren’t okay, a need inside of him to get to you—pack a bag, head to the airport and hope there was a flight or something.

He only hadn’t because a part of him, small—but loud—hummed that it could be him. He could be the reason, the cause. It all too good to be true. His fingers pressing keys to read back his texts, see if he can find the cause—the moment it all began to spoil and undo.

The last hour of investigation led him to nothing. Irritation threading into his muscles until he heard the phone ring—loud, punching holes with its noise into his unravelling.

Smirking, he wipes his hands on his jeans, cocking his head around the doorway—checking for the flickering television and no lurking pop, before he unhooks the ringing phone from its place.

“Took you long enough, was about to ring you and ruin—”

“J—Javi?”

Sniffle. A sob. The beginnings of you splitting in two.

That’s what he hears—clear as anything. It cuts straight through his attempt at teasing and slices through him as though the sound was laced with the edge of a knife.

It’s instant, barely explainable, the way his stomach falls to his feet. His smile vanishes, stolen and robbed, as another sob expands in the space of your two’s silence, making his throat dry, and the phone crunches a little under his grip.

“Baby. Talk to me, what’s happened?”

You swallow, all thick, as though it's a struggle. “I… I—I didn’t g-get the job-b.”

Slowly, his eyes close. Hearing you cry again, louder, less restrained and more freely, them rolling and rolling from you like a wave. The depth of it travels freely down the phone, in the same way, he usually craves when it’s your voice, noise, or presence.

“I’m… cariño, I’m so—”

“—I’m s-sorry, Javi. I’m so sorry…”

Frowning, he slides the fingers down his nose as you continue to apologise—them merging with your hiccups and tears.

“Cariño, wait. Stop.”

And you do. Your sniffles all of a sudden ceasing, more restrained—practically swallowing another one back. Trying to keep it on your tongue, rather than let it escape.

“Why are you apologising to me?”

You’re quiet for a moment, a second. Then you seem to let out a strange noise, before clearing your throat. “The job… I… we’d have been seeing each other more, and I’ve ruined it—I ruined-d it all.”

Frowning, he opens his mouth. Confusion there, all evident and brimming. Because he hasn’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about. His brain runs, dashing through the notes it’s been making, the snippets here and there you’d spill about your day and your work.

“It was-s in Houston. I’d have been able t-to move. We’d have been c-closer.”

And then it lands.

The realisation. What it would have meant.

It appears in front of him before it slams straight into him. Forced his head to drop, sight lowering to a mark on the wall as his chest tightens. His eyes fixated, unable to tear his eye from the stain on the off-yellow wall—one likely made from him sitting on a stool or chair, maybe even his knee when he’s stretched, when minutes have quickly tumbled into an hour.

Even if he’s reeling, your ramblings have continued. They’re all in various pitches, spluttered and painted in painful cries and strangled sniffs.

“—I—I didn’t want to tell you at first, in case we didn’t, you know, get on.” You continue, some words slamming into the next as you try to level out your cries. “Then I didn’t want to tell you in case you got excited, and I fucked it up—and I did, didn’t I? I fucked it up. And now we won’t live closer, and—“

“Baby—“

But you’re tumbling, rolling right off the emotional cliff you’d been on the edge of. Thick, horrid sobs that shake his foundation and dart cracks through all of him continue to travel from you.

And it hurts. Makes him feel both horrid and weak—helpless. Unsure what he can say, do.

So he offers, “They’ll be other jobs.”

And as soon as it unfurls from his tongue, he wants to drag it back. Swallow each syllable, and letter, and never let you hear them again.

Because he’s sure you cry harder, louder. Even if it appears like you pull the phone away so he can’t hear how deep they go.

And you keep trying to spill out his name, a sentence here and there, trying to form as he pushes the phone against his ear, palm flattening against the wall—balling his fingers up—

“There won’t be…”

Sighing, he lets you take a breath. “Baby, of course, there will be. You’re good, I can tell, alright? And you’re brilliant and just cause those fuckin’ idiots can’t see—“

“I quit, Javi.”

The words he’d been about to say, fizz out on his tongue, die, fade. And it seems to only make you cry harder. His mind trying to catch up, to follow on with what is happening as you explain, in broken sobs, how your entire life seems to crumble apart all around you.

“I… I couldn’t take it. The reason, the explanation. How they gave it to the new guy, the one who doesn’t even know how Houston operates—and I just saw red, Javi. And I quit. Me? I… I just packed my desk up, left….”

He bites the inside of his cheek, listening as you take a breath—it sounds so much like defeat has replaced your sorrow.

“Then I just wandered. A box under my arm… and… I wanted to reply, but I didn’t know where to start. Like, ‘I miss you so much, but by the way, I didn’t get that promotion, and I snapped because they treat me like shit, so I quit. That my best friend is so excited because they’re paying for her to move this month for her new job, and my lease on my apartment is coming up’ and…”

“And what?”

It’s your turn to sigh, it more shaky and still embezzled with sniffles—fluttering down to his ear. “And…” you pause, his pulse suddenly quickening, waiting, mouth opening and then closing. “And, the person who would make me feel better isn’t even in the same State as me—because, I know this sounds crazy, but as soon as I heard why I didn’t get that job, all I wanted… well, all I wanted was you.”

Me?

His lips curl, sliding up into his cheek. His eyes look up, dancing around the marks on the wall as he straightens his spine, and swallows back whatever lump had been forming.

“I just…” you continue, “wanted to be back in that hotel room. Curled up in your arms.”

“You….” Clearing his throat, he tries again. “You know how we could solve that? You could come here—clear your head… just for a minute. Get all the hugs you want.”

You let out a noise, low, shifting it from it to a breath in record time. “Well, I wouldn’t be much fun. I’d just spend it in your bed.”

“That doesn’t sound all that bad, baby.”

“Sleeping and crying, do it for you, charmer?”

He grins, before rolling his lips. “Not if it’s not from how good I make you feel, no. But. I just—want you to have options.”

You go silent, far too quiet for his liking, until he hears the sound of movement, shuffling. His ears honing in, trying to work out what it is you’re doing, could be doing.

“What am I actually gonna do, Javi?”

Fuck. It suddenly dawning on him how unequipped he is for this. For comfort—for being there for another person. He barely looked after himself before, never mind since he came home. He hasn’t got a fucking clue what to say to even begin to make someone feel better, never mind someone who means as much to him as you.

“I… I quit my job. Without even finding another one—that’s… that’s crazy, insane—I don’t do these things and-and—“

Rolling his head on his neck, he ran a hand over his face. Trying to buy a second or two, digging deep for an answer—something comforting that would help.

“You, baby, are gonna get some sleep, and tomorrow we’re gonna sort it.”

He hears you swallow. Loud, followed shortly after by a sigh.

“We?”

You say it quietly, full of disbelief.

Because only you still wouldn’t realise how deep he is in with you. If he could, if he could risk hijacking the moment to explain, he’d tell you how worried he’s been, how he’s been obsessively checking and clicking, to the point he’s pretty sure he’s taken some life of his phone battery for it.

Swallowing, he bites his lip, nodding to himself. “It’s you and me, ain’t it, cariño? You’re not… you don’t have to figure this out alone, is all I mean.”

It’s soft—the way you reply, okay. Delicate. He’s hopeful it’s accompanied by a smile, one with a nose scrunch.

“Javi?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”

Pulling a stool over, he sits himself down on it. The ache in his chest widened, a lump in his throat forming. “Sure, baby. You want me to talk about anything in particular?”

“Not sure…”

“What would you do if I was there?”

He swears he hears you smirk.

“I would cook you almond saffron chicken.”

Shifting on the stool, he adjusts the phone in his hand. “Yeah? How come?”

“It’s the first dish Aish taught me to make, and I think you’d like it. And, I’m quite hungry, I… I didn’t really feel up to food before. But maybe, y’know, if I came to see you, had the chance to cook, maybe over a long weekend?”

Smirking, he lets out a content breath. “I like the sound of it already…”

“Because of me cooking in your kitchen?”

Laughing, he rolls his lips. “No, because it would mean you were here, cariño.

Morning baby, hope the cows aren’t trying to eat your shirt.

morning hermosa why are you up so early

Well, I thought of having a lie in but decided to grab a coffee, print off some CVs and not look as desperate as I feel.

if it makes you feel better im pretty sure my pop would hire you in a heartbeat

Bet I’d look real good in dungarees.

fuck baby

Could even wear your shirt, tie it so it’s a crop.

youre killing me

I’ll leave you with that, I have a list of places to beg to give me a chance.

wouldnt need to beg me

Stop, baby. Save it for later.

He’d barely dried himself off before your text came through.

Javi had found that the one upside to you being unemployed was the amount of time you had to reply or call—something he wasn’t complaining about in the slightest.

In a way (a small, acceptable way), it felt like a taste of what it would be like if the two of you lived closer. If there weren’t towns, cities and states between the two of you. If you lived close by, or better yet, on the ranch with him.

Across the last few days, while you’d seemed upbeat through text—just as you were when the two of you were in Houston—he quickly realised how much of a mask that was when he had you on the phone.

If not for the fact that when you ended the call, you seemed more yourself than when it started, Javi would have already begged someone from a ranch or two over to help, and book a flight out to surprise you.

“Hello, charmer.”

Grinning, he runs his hand over his chin. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Well, I have good news.”

“What’s that then?”

“Remember when I said I had to meet with someone in Houston, from imports? Well, apparently, they’ve been trying to get hold of me at work—one of the few nice people there let me know, even passed my details on.”

It begins—right in his stomach. A nervousness, a bubble—it rising and rising, sliding into his heart as it makes it beat just that much quicker.

“He wants to meet with me… apparently, I impressed him?”

“That’s—fuck, that’s amazing, baby.”

Javi can almost hear your grin as you laugh—can even picture you hiding your face in your hand at his happiness.

“Yeah,” you say, more in a sigh than anything else. “It’s obviously just an interview—maybe even a chat, but it’s something.”

Tracing the back of the phone with his finger, he runs his fingers up his neck, up his chin—

Pulse thumping in his neck. “I could… Could always drive up, see you after?”

“Oh… um?”

Oh? He thinks. The noise suddenly on repeat. It’s all he can hear—that little surprised noise rips from your throat and punctures his ear. His own fingers scratching at his cheek.

And then you clear your throat, and he grits his jaw. “Well, if you wanted, once I’ve had my meeting with him, I was going to ask if I could come to Laredo, see the ranch… and you?”

Just as quickly as it came, the earlier shame from your ‘oh’ vanishes. It bursts, erupts into a thousand pieces of nothing as the edges of his lips begin to curl up.

“For a second, didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

You don’t laugh, don’t ridicule his confession, and if you were here, he’d imagine you’d have tilted your head in that way you do.

“Javi, of course, I want to see you. I…” you take a long pause as though battling with yourself. “Baby, I’ve been trying to find my way back to you since the moment I left you. There’s nothing I want more than to see you. I promise.”

His shoulders descend from his ears, a smile spreading across his face so large—he’s not sure anything could take it. Something inside of him shifted, sliding back together.

“So, do you mind if I come to see you on your ranch? Bother your animals, let me admire your fence work?”

If he hadn’t been sure before, he’s sure now he would have kissed you. Grip you by your cheeks and crash his mouth to yours, stealing that question mark from the air and using his lips to remind you that with him, you never need it.

But, since he can’t, he finds words. One’s that are more eloquent than ‘fuck, yes’, but are close in family to it.

Because, of course, he wants to see you. He never wanted to let you go in the first place.

an: we have next weeks and then an epilogue, and LNT 'main story' will be done. honestly, thank you for all the love as we've gone on this journey. i never expected this for one second, and i'm so emotional right now at how well loved/supported this story has been. i'm gonna miss it, so much.

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

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