#and my manager who is supposed to share my shifts so I have help just left at 2

[foldingfittedsheets]

I am too small to survive the world today. I ended up helping three guests simultaneously with no one to help me with processes I don’t know yet like picking up a bed in another state while I try to juggle three people and the phones all at once.

[janitorhutcherson]

Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up. 

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?" 

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows. 

"Use your words," he demanded. 

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes. 

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

[bwabys-scenarios]

NSFW

He was your loyal, attentive knight. You had been childhood friends, ever since you saved him after sneaking out of the palace walls. Since then, he had been training so one day, he could take care of you.

At first, he saw you as what you were, the princess he was meant to serve. You were intelligent, beautiful, and most importantly you were kind. Your people loved you, and you loved them.

And you loved him too, a fact you would share daily throughout your childhoods. When he started training to be a knight at the young age of 10, you were always there to bandage him up and let him lay his head in your lap after a tough day. You were both children, but he clung to you like a child would his mother. He was often scolded by the maids and senior knights for his clingy behavior. You were the princess and he was getting too old to be staying so close.

He would be a teenager soon, which meant the days of childhood innocence and days of fun spent with his princess would be over. Once she turned 13, she wouldn’t be able to interact with any males besides her personal knight.

He worked his way up the chain, seeing you in secret when he could manage. You missed him, and as the years passed by his innocent, platonic love was starting to shift into something more… lustful. He caught himself staring when you bent over to pick up your fallen books, his eyes following your plump hips as you walked away.

No, he couldn’t see you that way. It was against his code of conduct, his knightly duty was to protect you and your innocence so that you could find a suitable husband one day and bear an heir to the throne.

But at knight, when he laid along in his chambers, he would stroke his hardened cock to the thought of filling you with his seed, claiming you both body and soul. It was a nasty, sinful thought he had to keep to himself, he knew that.

It was hard though, when you were just so tempting.

It took him 6 years to become your own personal knight. You were 19 years old now, marrying age. He held you to his chest as you sobbed at night with the knowledge that you would have to marry someone you didn’t love.

He tried his best to comfort you and push away his feelings of love and lust, but god did it get difficult when you begged him to help you escape. He should have refused and reported your urge to flee to the king… but he didn’t.

“I’ll help you escape, but… I need to ask you a question first.”

You nodded, clinging to him desperately as his hands ran over your hair. “My princess, you… cry as if you are already in love. Could I know the person who has won your heart?”

It hurt him to ask this, making his own heart wrench painfully. You nodded, sniffling slightly as you look up him through tear filled eyes, your cheeks warm. “Yes… it’s you. I love you, I have for years… being apart from you has been so hard… please, I don’t want to marry anyone else but y-“

Before you could finish your sentence, he had already pinned you down, his lips pressing into yours. That was all he needed to hear, he would be claiming you for his own now, and as soon as he was done he’d be stealing you away.

“Mine… my princess, my everything…”

He spent the night worshipping your body, making sure you knew just how much he truly loved you. He fucked into you, his finger rubbing soft, attentive circles into your needy clit. It didn’t take long for him to fill your womb with his seed, making you his and his alone for all eternity.

He had deflowered his princess, taking her virginity and her innocence, the exact opposite of what a knight was supposed to do, but he didn’t care anymore. You were his princess, yes, but you were also his first and only love.

And he would never let you go.

————————

||GOJO ||GETO || NANAMI ||CHOSO ||KURAPIKA ||LEORIO ||CHROLLO ||ARMIN ||EREN ||JEAN ||REINER ||RENGOKU ||GIYUU ||OBANAI ||SANEMI ||YOUR FAV ||

[incognit0slut]

COWBOY SPENCE! COWBOY SPENCE! WE WANT COWBOY SPENCE!

Fluff. Kind of a continuation to this but not really. 1.3k. Also thank you anon for bringing back my cowboy spence agenda.

Spencer gives you a ride on his horse to watch the sunset.

-

"You're not supposed to be here," he said the moment he saw you enter the stable. And he was right, visiting his ranch on a random Tuesday evening was the last thing you should be doing.

Emily had sent you to interview someone tied to the case, and you managed to gather more information about the Unsub, which you shared with her over the phone. But on your way back to the police station, you realized Spencer's ranch was just a half-hour drive away from town. So you turned the steering wheel, hoping your boss wouldn't notice your impulsive detour.

"Well, you're supposed to reply to my text," you shot back, the sound of your boots echoing on the ground.

He offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that, I got caught up today, haven’t had the chance to check my phone."​

"I guess some things never change," you remarked as you approached him standing inside the horse arena, hopping up onto the fence. "Give me a kiss."

Spencer chuckled softly, gently patting Mildred's mane as he stepped around her, the beautiful white horse who seemed to acknowledge your presence with a subtle bow of her head. As he reached your side, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, his touch sending a rush of warmth through you.

This was exactly why you had wanted to see him. The absence of his presence had left a void you hadn't realized until now and you groaned when he gently pulled away. His touch lingered as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his concern evident in his voice.

"Aren't you going to get into trouble?"

"Maybe," you admitted with a playful shrug. "But some things are worth the risk, don't you think?"

"Emily wouldn't be too happy about that," he pointed out.

"She can do just fine without me for an hour or two," you countered before your attention shifted towards Mildred. "Hey, Millie!"

He laughed. "Millie? You've only met her once and you already have a nickname for her?"

You flashed him a grin. "Well, she just looks like a Millie to me," you said, reaching out to stroke Mildred's soft mane. The horse nuzzled against your hand affectionately, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"I think she likes her new name," he remarked. "Wanna take her out on a ride?"

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "And break my back? I don't even know how to ride a horse."

"Come on, I'll ride with you," he insisted, leading Mildred towards the arena gate. With a quick hop, you jumped off the fence and caught up with him just as he stepped out of the gate, his horse following behind.

You hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you looked up at him from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. "I don't think this is a good idea."

He met your gaze with a reassuring smile, his arm outstretched towards you. "You'll be fine, you trust me, right?"

His confidence was infectious, and despite your doubt, you found yourself nodding.

"Alright, let's do this," you said, placing your hand in his as he helped you onto Mildred's back. "Don't let go of me!"

"I won't," he said with a chuckle, and your foot stepped onto the stirrup as he steadied Mildred. With a deep breath, you swung your other leg over, settling onto the saddle.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice filled with excitement. But before you could answer, he smoothly mounted himself up and settled behind you, his presence comforting as Mildred began to move beneath you both.

"Holy shit," you couldn't help but mutter, feeling extremely conscious of sitting so high up on a horse. "This feels weird."

He moved his arms securely around you as he held onto the reins. "You're doing great," he said soothingly, his voice close to your ear. "Just take it easy, you'll get used to it in no time."

His words filled you with warmth, and you couldn't help but lean back against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch. His arms around you gave a sense of security as Mildred carried you forward, and that was when you saw it, the vast expanse of his ranch unfolding before you.

The rolling hills, the sprawling fields, and the distant mountains dotted with trees and bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun painted a picturesque scene that took your breath away.

"Spencer Reid," you mused, your eyes tracing the landscape, watching a group of cattle running around at the side of the field. "You're rich rich."

He chuckled softly, his chest vibrating against your back. "I prefer to think of it as being fortunate."

"No wonder you don't want to work with us anymore."

"Honestly, there’s a part of me that doesn't want to leave all this behind," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But it's not just about the ranch. Being here reminds me of the simpler things in life, the BAU can be... overwhelming at times."

You understood his sentiment, "I get that," you said softly. “I'm just glad you seem happier now."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Spencer's lips as one of his arms circled your waist. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'm actually happier with you here."

Your giggle danced through the air and his smile widened at the sound. With a gentle squeeze around your waist, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Look at the view."

You followed his gaze, looking out in front of you just as he urged Mildred to stop. As the horse came to a halt, you found yourself gazing out at the breathtaking scenery spread out before you.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The rolling hills and sprawling fields seemed to stretch on endlessly, while in the distance, the mountains stood tall against the horizon.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, the awe evident in your voice as you took in the stunning view.

Spencer's arm tightened around your waist as he leaned in. "Very beautiful.”

Your smile widened as you fished your phone out of your pocket to capture the moment, but as you faced the camera towards the scenery, the screen showed the front camera instead. You both burst out laughing, but then you took the opportunity to lean back against him and angle the camera right in front of you.

Spencer smiled as you cupped his cheek with your free hand, his stubble rough against your palm, before you snapped the moment. You then examined the result, admiring the way he was leaning close to you, his bright hazel eyes sparkling with warmth, with the soft lines of his smile at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m changing this into my wallpaper now.”

His grin widened as you showed him the picture.

"I like the sound of that," he said, his eyes lingering on the image with fondness. Just then, there was a sudden notification on your screen and you exchanged a quick glance with him before opening the message.

Boss Woman: You better not be visiting Reid

Boss Woman: Oh who am I kidding? Of course you are. Say hi to him for me

Boss Woman: But get your ass back to the station right now

His laughter echoed behind you. "It’s like she has a sixth sense."

"I haven’t even told her about us yet," you replied, shaking your head in amusement. "Let's head back before she sends out a search party."

With a nudge from him, he turned Mildred around and guided her on the way back to the ranch. And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the landscape in a warm golden light, you knew that this was worth the trouble. You felt the gentle sway of the horse and you couldn't help but smile, placing a hand on the arm circling your waist.

You were definitely going to visit him again.

[bratzkoo]

positions | wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: wonwoo x nurse! reader Genre: fluff, more fluff Rating: PG-13 Word count: 1.3k Warnings/note: first wonwoo fic and it's inspired by ariana's song positions and my Anna, my best friend and the best nurse in the world. Written in Third person and Wonwoo's POV.

summary: it’s a matter of time before you tell your boyfriend that as long as he’s down for you, you’re down too.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): -​

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The scent of sautéing garlic and ginger wafted through Wonwoo's apartment as he carefully stirred the contents of a sizzling pan. His brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting between the stove and his phone propped up on the counter, displaying a cooking tutorial video. The sound of keys jingling outside the door made him look up, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N breezed in, her presence immediately filling the space with a vibrant energy that Wonwoo had grown to love over the past seven months. "Hey, you," she called out, kicking off her shoes and padding towards the kitchen. "Something smells amazing in here."

Wonwoo's smile widened as he turned to face her. "Welcome back. How was your shift at the hospital?"

Y/N groaned dramatically, draping herself over the kitchen island. "Exhausting. But rewarding. We had a patient recover from a difficult surgery today." She perked up, sniffing the air curiously. "What are you making? It doesn't smell like your usual kimchi jjigae."

"Ah, well," Wonwoo rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice. "I thought I'd try something new. It's supposed to be mapo tofu, but..." He gestured vaguely at the pan, where the sauce was a shade darker than the video suggested it should be.

Y/N's eyes softened as she rounded the island to peer into the pan. "Wonwoo, that's so sweet. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"It's no trouble," he murmured, his ears turning slightly pink. "I know you've been working hard lately. I wanted to do something nice for you."

Y/N reached up, cupping his cheek gently. "You're always doing nice things for me," she said softly, before a mischievous glint entered her eyes. "Even if some of them are potential fire hazards."

Wonwoo huffed out a laugh, gently bumping her with his hip. "Very funny. Why don't you set the table while I finish up here? I promise not to burn the place down in the next five minutes."

As they settled into dinner, Wonwoo couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this all felt. Seven months ago, he never would have imagined himself here, sharing a meal he cooked (albeit imperfectly) with a woman who had somehow managed to slip past all his carefully constructed walls.

"So," Y/N said around a mouthful of tofu, "tell me about your day. How was practice?"

Wonwoo launched into a recap of SEVENTEEN's latest choreography session, complete with dramatic reenactments of Seungkwan's latest aegyo attempts and Mingyu's clumsy mishaps. Y/N listened attentively, laughing at all the right moments and asking questions that showed she genuinely cared about his work and his members.

As their laughter subsided, a comfortable silence fell over them. Wonwoo found himself staring at Y/N, taking in the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the little dimple that appeared on her left cheek. A warmth bloomed in his chest, a feeling he'd been experiencing more and more lately but hadn't quite put a name to yet.

"Oh!" Y/N exclaimed suddenly, breaking Wonwoo out of his reverie. "I almost forgot to tell you. You know my friend Alexys? She called me today, all excited because her boyfriend finally said 'I love you' to her."

Wonwoo felt his heart skip a beat. "Oh?" he managed, trying to keep his voice neutral. "That's... nice."

Y/N nodded, seemingly oblivious to Wonwoo's sudden tension. "Yeah, they've been together for about as long as we have. Can you believe it's been almost seven months already?"

"Time flies," Wonwoo murmured, his mind racing. Were they at that point? Should he have said it already? Did Y/N expect him to say it? The thought of those three little words suddenly felt monumental, and he found himself at a loss.

If Y/N noticed his internal struggle, she didn't show it. Instead, she stood up, gathering their empty plates. "Come on, let's clean up. I'll wash, you dry?"

Grateful for the distraction, Wonwoo nodded, following her to the sink. They fell into an easy rhythm, Y/N washing and rinsing while Wonwoo dried and put away. It struck him how well they moved together, anticipating each other's movements without a word.

As Y/N handed him the last plate, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through Wonwoo. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged with unspoken words.

The moment was broken by the sudden blare of music from Wonwoo's phone. He had forgotten he'd set it to play his evening playlist. The opening notes of Ariana Grande's "Positions" filled the apartment.

Y/N's face lit up. "Oh, I love this song!" Without warning, she grabbed Wonwoo's hand, pulling him into the living room. "Dance with me!"

Wonwoo stumbled after her, laughing despite his initial reluctance. "Y/N, you know I'm not much of a dancer outside of work."

"Nonsense," she retorted, already swaying to the beat. "I've seen your performances. Now come on, show me those moves, Mr. Pop star."

As they danced, Wonwoo found himself relaxing, letting the music guide his movements. He spun Y/N around, delighting in her laughter. When she pressed close to him during the chorus, singing along softly, Wonwoo felt that warmth in his chest expand, threatening to overwhelm him.

In that moment, watching Y/N move with abandon, her eyes sparkling with joy, Wonwoo realized something. This feeling, this warmth that had been growing for months – it was love. He was in love with Y/N.

The realization should have terrified him. Wonwoo had always been cautious with his heart, keeping people at arm's length. But as Y/N looked up at him, her smile radiant, he found that he wasn't scared at all. This felt right. It felt like coming home.

As the song slowed for the bridge, Y/N's movements became more languid. She draped her arms around Wonwoo's neck, swaying gently. "You know," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his, "as long as you're down for me, I'm down too."

Wonwoo's breath caught in his throat. He recognized the weight behind her words, the echo of the song's lyrics carrying a deeper meaning. This was Y/N, brave and beautiful Y/N, putting her heart on the line.

Time seemed to stand still as Wonwoo gazed into Y/N's eyes. He saw hope there, and vulnerability, and something else – something that mirrored the feeling in his own chest.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I love you."

Y/N's eyes widened, a small gasp escaping her lips. For a heart-stopping moment, Wonwoo feared he had misread the situation. But then Y/N's face broke into the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

"I love you too, Wonwoo," she breathed, her voice thick with unshed tears of joy.

Wonwoo pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. They stayed like that, swaying gently as the song played on, both marveling at the newfound depth of their connection.

As the final chorus swelled, Wonwoo, feeling bold, attempted to dip Y/N. He miscalculated slightly, nearly dropping her, but managed to catch her at the last second. They froze for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Maybe stick to the choreography your team gives you," Y/N giggled as Wonwoo pulled her upright.

"Noted," Wonwoo chuckled, cupping her face gently. "But I think I'll keep improvising with you."

As their laughter faded, Wonwoo leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in a soft, sweet kiss. The song came to an end, but they barely noticed, lost in their own world of newfound love and endless possibilities.

In that moment, as they held each other close in the middle of Wonwoo's living room, both knew that whatever positions life might put them in, they'd face them together, always down for each other, always in love.

[esouliie]

– TEARS ON THE GRAND PIANO

– pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader (MINI SERIES)

– synopsis: moving on from the only person you’ve ever loved is proving to be hard… so hard that hiring an escort seems to be the only way forward.

– warnings: poor dialogue lmao but my excuse is that it was written a while ago, offensive language, word count: 3K

– Prologue | Chapter 1

13TH NOVEMBER 2022

You were pretty sure your face was melting off with the way your cheeks burned against your hands. Your jaw ached tremendously from clenching, each muscle protesting against the pressure of the emotions welling up inside you.

The room felt like a pressure cooker, and the silence was the ever-tightening lid that threatened to explode at any moment.

The weight of awaiting unspoken words hung in the air, creating a palpable discomfort that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. Seconds stretched into minutes, each passing moment intensifying the unease.

Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this standoff… of sorts.

Joining the Avengers four years ago wasn't anything you would’ve expected for yourself. Raised as a normal teenage girl in a quiet suburban household, with a normal life planned ahead of you, you never imagined that your destiny would lead you to the extraordinary world of superheroes.

Tony Stark, the genius behind the Iron Man suit, approached you with an offer that would change your life forever. He explained that the world needed new heroes, and your unique abilities were the missing piece they had been searching for. After some hesitation and contemplation, you decided to accept the invitation to join the team.

And here you are - now a grown woman - sitting across from the same Tony Stark. His jaw was slack, eyes wide to an almost inhuman degree. For a man who had faced gods, aliens, and powerful foes, the revelation seemed to have caught even the Iron Man off guard.

To put it shortly, he was stunned. Such an uncharacteristic reaction from the philanthropist.

“What did you just say?” He finally managed to answer.

This was supposed to be easy; simple enough to not stress you even more, but you should've known that nothing comes easy with this man.

“I think you heard me, Tony.”

“Yeah, but I never thought I’d hear that… come out of your mouth.” He slaps his hand against the chair excitedly. He was both amused and bewildered by the unexpected turn of events.

“I mean, everyone thought you were a virgin, with the lack of relationships over the years, but I guess not, huh?”

His laughter irritated you no doubt.

Despite being twenty-three years old, your teammates, in their misguided assumptions, were certain you were a virgin. It was a label that stuck, fuelled by your shyness about your personal life. No one ever dared to inquire about your relationship status, but subtle concerns were shared between them, creating an unspoken curiosity.

In reality, your heart harboured a secret love for someone you couldn't have – a person who existed in the realms of impossibility. It was a love that had silently grown over the years, nurtured in the shadows of silent words and unfulfilled desires.

“So, you want me to set you up with an escort?” He asks, humour still evident in his voice.

You nod, a mix of embarrassment and anticipation washing over you. Your eyes briefly met his before retreating to your fidgeting hands, the room still echoing with his laughter.

“That’s fine. But first, I need you to answer some questions.” Tony continues, his tone shifting to a more serious note.

Confusion creeps across your face as you tilt your head, thrown off course by his unexpected shift in seriousness.

“First of all, why?” He inquires, leaning back in his chair and studying your reaction.

You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much you should reveal. "It's complicated. There was someone… but the feelings weren’t mutual, and it’s time to move on. I thought this might be a way to help me do that."

Tony raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Feelings, huh? Well, I'm all ears. Spill the beans. Who's the lucky guy?"

You sigh again, knowing that this part might complicate things. “It’s not something … I just don’t think-,” You don’t want to tell him, it feels all too frightening, “I can’t say.”

He hums lowly, observing your obviously nervous state.

“Okay. What’s your preference?”

Your confusion grows.

He sighs, “Male or female?”

He asks so simply whereas you’re caught off guard.

Your ears burn in embarrassment as the implication dawns on you. You knew this would have to be spoken about at some point, you just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

“Uh, I t-think, female.”

Tony can't help but wear a sly grin. “So not a virgin and not into dudes. No wonder you shot Sam down.”

The mention of Sam makes you cringe, recalling your first encounter with the man who couldn’t take a hint that you were definitely not interested.

You attempt to regain your composure before warning Tony to be serious, but he interrupts your process, seemingly already moved on from your revelation.

“Anyways, what else?”

Again, you’re stumbling over how to answer but he saves you this time, deciding to lighten up on the teasing.

“I’m talking physically. What would you want her to look like? Tall, short, blonde, brunette, redhead?” His hands move drastically as if sculpting an imaginary figure in the air.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was serious. "Does it matter?"

“Well, yeah, escorts are usually pricey, especially the ones I use to hire so… you might as well fuck someone you’re actually attracted to.”

He was right. It would cost a fortune for a high-end escort. Given your public image and the constant scrutiny you faced, you realise that anyone you brought into your private space would need to be discreet and accustomed to the world of celebrities. There would be NDAs to sign, and security measures to consider, and the whole process seemed more complex than you had initially thought.

“Assuming you want an escort for that?”

His words interrupt your thinking. He had a knack for understanding things without needing them explicitly stated. It was both a blessing and a curse. The fact that he guessed your intention to hire an escort without you saying it out loud was both impressive and mildly embarrassing.

Your blush deepens.

“I’d prefer her to be taller than me, brunette, green eyes.”

His grin slips slightly, realisation sinking in. Your preference seemed to match the appearance of a certain witch.

“Simple enough.”

“And also, old- actually, she can be my age, but I’d prefer an older woman.” You add, unknowingly unravelling another layer of mystery to your request.

Tony hums.

“Preferably not American, maybe like European, or…”

It couldn’t get any better for the man. The quick panic in your eyes, let alone the twitch in your lip, helped finalise his theory.

But ever the optimistic, there’s no way he’d caught that slip.

There are a lot of tall, brunette Europeans in America.

Surely.

He rests his head in his hand, feigning false nonchalance, “Sounds familiar.”

Oh.

Wanda Maximoff arrived in America with a heavy heart and a troubled past. The scars of Sokovia and the loss of her brother, Pietro, weighed on her soul, but she was determined to forge a new life. She was haunted by the memories of experimentation and the pain that had been inflicted upon her throughout her life. The scars, both physical and emotional, served as a constant reminder of the darkness she had endured. Yet, as she stepped onto American soil, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Hope for a new life.

Almost every day, she participated in training sessions to harness and control her formidable powers. Vision, an android and fellow Avenger, became her mentor and confidant. Together, they worked tirelessly to channel her abilities, turning the chaos into controlled strength.

Her dark eyeliner that used to coat her waterline thinned with each passing day. Her green eyes, now a striking contrast against her porcelain skin, began to reflect not only her pain but also the resilience that lay within. Her long, brunette locks remained a constant, gracefully cascading down her back.

The Sokovian Accords had torn her away from your life, but Steve Rogers, the man with an unyielding sense of justice, had set her free. She had been detained, left to rot in chains and a power-disabling device. But now, she lived in the shadows, on the run from those who sought to control her immense power.

The next time you saw her was on the battlefield in Wakanda. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the Wakandan landscape, and you found yourself standing amidst the chaos of the battlefield. The air was charged with tension, tangible electricity that mirrored the clash between the forces before you. Amid the chaos, you caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, moving with purpose and grace.

Wanda. The woman you once knew as a fiery teenager, full of anger and confusion, had transformed into someone entirely new. Her crimson hair, cut to a length that framed her face, caught the fading sunlight as she weaved through the battlefield.

The old Wanda you knew was gone and yet she was still as beautiful. Still the same Wanda you were in love with.

Even so, she was your best friend.

The age difference never seemed to matter; you clicked in a way that transcended space and time. To you, her friendship was everything. And yet, as life unfolded, so did the unexpected twist of emotions that left you utterly devoted to her.

But your love was unrequited. She fell for Vision. The robot born from the mind stone, the same stone that granted Wanda her powers. They clicked instantly.

Unrequited love can be a heavy burden, and you carried it silently, painfully. From a distance, you observed the deep connection between Wanda and Vision strum stronger. Your heart ached, knowing that you never stood a chance against the android who had become the love of her life.

Her space and time.

And then came Westview. It hit you like a tidal wave of sorrow. Wanda, now known as The Scarlet Witch, had created an alternate reality in an attempt to find solace, to build a life where she could have everything she ever wanted. It was a bittersweet revelation - she had her family, but it was a fragile illusion. Life had decided to take everything good from this woman and that included her husband and twin boys.

Learning about their fates left you shattered. It had been a while since you cried over Wanda. You felt so much for the witch. To you, she deserved the universe but for all the time you knew her, she had only experienced pain.

It was a heartbreaking paradox - the one who could rewrite reality couldn't escape her own suffering.

Tony moves closer to you, breaking you out of your trance.

“You could always look for her.” His hand hovers over yours, unsure.

“No, I couldn’t,” You whisper gently, afraid your voice will betray you, “I don’t want to.”

He doesn’t say anything as he moves back to his original position, battling with himself whether to accept your defeat or encourage you to fight for love.

“Okay. I'll look into it.” He answers shortly.

“Thank you, Tony.”

You really do appreciate his help. He has always been there for you, a fun yet steady presence in your life. He had guided you through tough times in your career and offered a shoulder to cry on when needed. In many ways, he was more than just a friend – he was like an older brother.

“It won’t take long for me to find your woman. So make sure you’re ready for the best night of your life.” He concludes by flicking his tongue grossly between his pointer and middle finger.

But he’ll always be a pig.

--

15TH DECEMBER 2022

A few weeks later, you found yourself in the penthouse suite of one of Tony’s infamous drunk hotel purchases- The Ritz. He had managed to find an escort that fit your preferences within the same night, but due to conflicting schedules and multiple anxiety attacks, you pushed the date back as much as you could.

Tony helped you understand all the unspoken rules of high-end escort services. For high-risk clients, such as yourself, it’s imperative that a fake name is given.

Monica Dunn.

Tony said you didn’t look like a Monica but you didn’t care. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t an escort’s job to care what name their clients use.

Afterwards, NDAs are usually signed, despite the use of a false identity, just in case the escort discovered who the clients were, and sold the information to the press.

This has happened before. You giggle, remembering the scandalous article about Tony and his rendezvous with an escort that gladly divulged a particular fetish of his.

Five minutes before the agreed meeting time, the front desk rings, informing you that your guest had checked in and was on her way up.

You pace around the front door, nursing on the almost empty glass of wine. Soft music playing through the TV just outside the large conversation pit, a sunken enclave surrounded by plush, velvety sofas and cushions in hues of deep royal blue and silver. The pit was nestled in the centre of the room, creating a cosy and intimate atmosphere.

Perfect for tonight.

The suite’s architecture was utterly beautiful. The walls were adorned with gilded frames housing masterpieces of renowned artists, and the floors were covered in an expanse of soft, ivory carpet that allowed you to sink your feet into its embrace. A grand chandelier, dripping with crystal prisms, hung majestically above the conversation pit, casting a warm and gentle glow over the entire space.

Residing in front of the large glass windows, a grand piano stood proudly, its polished surface reflecting the glimmering chandelier above. Your eyes were drawn to it, a majestic instrument that seemed to beckon you with its silent invitation. Unable to resist its allure, you gracefully make your way towards it. The rich scent of aged wood and varnish envelopes you. Fingers delicately glide over the smooth keys, feeling the cool touch beneath.

You sit upon the plush bench, posture adjusting with the grace of a seasoned pianist. You begin to play, letting your fingers dance effortlessly across the keys. The room fills with an enchanting melody, each note resonating through the space. Lost in the music, you start to hum along, your voice blending seamlessly with the piano's tune.

The same tune you wrote for Wanda all those years ago. It's been a while since you’ve played this song. You’re not even sure why you’re playing it now.

The keys dip. A sombre note rings true. The music swirls into a reflection of your emotions, a silent expression of the feelings you had kept hidden for so long and how they remained unbound.

“That’s beautiful.” A voice broke through the harmony, pulling you out of your musical reverie.

Startled, you turn to find her standing there, in all her glory.

And time ceases to exist.

She stands tall. The red hair that once defined her is now a rich, deep brown, still its usual thickness and tied into a high ponytail that exudes a casual confidence. Bangs frame her sculpted face as a gloss stains her lips. She looks different. You can't help but marvel at the maturity that now graces her features. There's a certain grace to the lines that weren't there before, a subtle testimony to the experiences that have shaped her.

The room becomes a backdrop to the flood of memories rushing through your mind. The air is thick with festering emotions as you look up at her, trying to process the unexpected reunion. It's been years since you last saw her, and the wounds of her departure still linger.

You don’t say anything but she does. She steps closer, eyes flickering over your stilled hands on the instrument.

She laughs, and familiarity strikes as she recalls the tune you were playing. "Is that the song you were writing that night?"

The question hangs in the air, summoning memories of the last time you shared your dreams and melodies, the things that mean most to you. She was your muse and you had bared your soul to her in your music. And now you’re trapped between the resonating notes of the piano and the echoes of your past.

For a moment, you struggle to maintain composure. Indifference projected as a firm shield, a sort of defence against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"It's just a tune." You reply nonchalantly, trying to downplay the significance of the moment.

With that, her gaze intensifies, a shadow of uncertainty rushes across her features.

You can't help but feel a sense of curiosity mixed with a tinge of unease.

All this time that has passed and now she decides to come find you.

You don’t understand why she’s here.

She goes to speak but you interrupt her. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

She’s lost for words, not even fully sure herself.

“I came to see you.”

Wanda sees the strain on your face. She didn’t have to read your mind to know you were in turmoil. Without much thought, she gently cradles your face in her hands, thumbs tracing delicately over your lips, and you lean into the touch, momentarily forgetting everything that’s occurred over the last few years.

This doesn’t last long. The warmth of her touch turns cold, and you stand up abruptly, the piano bench skirting backwards loudly. Anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Don’t touch me.”

You don’t expect it to hurt as you see the pain your words cause her.  

“Seriously, Wanda. Why are you here?” You continue, voice thick with led.

Wanda sighs, unwilling to lie to you anymore. “Tony sent me.”

[s-4pphics]

click!: in frame. 1 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, ANGST!!, loss and unhealthy grieving, papa issues, verbally abusive parent(PLEASE TREAD LIGHTLY), depictions of therapy and counseling, light discussion of anger management, brief mention of alcohol, bullying, a lil fluff, SMUT!! YIPPEE MDNI, bondage, squirting, bathroom sex, eating out no taqueria, ellie getting sloppy from a hot milf that’s it 

You look like your mom. 

Your father’s admiring whisper yanks you out of the hazy turbulence in your mind. You shovel a handful of caramel popcorn in your mouth. You don’t dare look at him. 

Daughter things, I guess. Your dad simply hums. Silence simmers between the two of you. It’s not comforting. Not like it should be. A bomb is coming. 

Honey, I… I love you. Your father sounds like he's crying and it pauses your aggressive chewing. You finally turn to face him and your fingers twitch when you see his globby tears. They’re heavy as he releases his regrets in silence, just like he always does during this time of year. 

Me, too, dad. 

You’re not sure if you’re lying or not. Some things are impossible to forget, you suppose. 

You eat more popcorn with a permanently damaged heart. 

FOUR YEARS LATER

FIRST DAY WITH DOCTOR BROWN. 

“Some people believe that any form of assistance is… insulting. Whether it be to them as people or… specific traits that they hold that others may find unfamiliar or unsettling. I’m not here to judge or anything of that nature. Just here to help you figure out why specific aspects of your life affect you the way they do.” 

Your arms cross over your chest. Dr. Brown realizes you’re not taking the bait, so she attempts to get you more comfortable. “I think icebreakers could help ease some of the tension. So… What’s your favorit— “

“My dad died last year.” 

Your statement makes her freeze, her smile melting off her face, eyes shifting across her face. She adjusts some papers on her clipboard and clicks her pen. “Alright, hun,” Her gentle tone makes your stomach twist. “Let’s talk about it. What was the relationship with your dad like?” You simply shrug. 

Dr. Brown nods and tries again. “Were you and him close? Your notes say you and your mother were inseparable, just like me and mine.” 

Your nails sink into your cuticles and tears burn in your eyes, “I… I wanted to be. Close.” You whisper. “He wasn’t around like that, though.” 

She scribbles and solemnly nods, “Did he work often?” Your head bobs and droplets stream down your cheeks. 

“I didn’t think I’d care that he died… He was never around growing up, so… like, whatever.” You grumble lamely.

“What did losing him feel like?” 

The end of your mouth curls downward, the familiar searing you’ve grown to loathe, “Like… the world was burnin’.” 

“Elaborate.” She pries softly. 

Another bounce from your shoulders. You readjust in your seat. “I wasn’t even sad. Just…” You trail off, fingers twitching under your arm. 

“Angry. I was angry all the time.” You rush out quietly, face burning with shame. “Just like he was.” You pause when your breath shakes, “I wish I got some of my mom’s traits. My dad’n I are just alike.” You fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater. 

“… You’re not like him— “

“I am— “

“You’re not. You’re trying to put in effort to be better for the future. Could he have said the same?” She’s stern when she speaks.

You’re stumped. You wipe your tears harshly. For the first time, you're at a loss for words. 

WEEK TWO WITH DOCTOR BROWN. 

“Think about the first time you saw your dad lash out. You can elaborate on how you felt, how you reacted, how your environment changed… Anything you feel comfortable sharing.” Your eyes stay glued to your therapist’s couch as you recall the day. Every detail and foul verbiage he directed towards your mother resurfaces and falls at your sock-covered feet. 

It was the morning of your first day of second grade. Your mother spent the entire morning hot-combing your hair, bumping your ends, littering your locks that were bound to recoil in seconds in bobbles and clips. She could tell by your expression that you didn’t like it, but she completed your bright pink outfit with it’s not for you, it’s for me! Sit still!  She never failed to live vicariously through you; Every childhood moment she couldn’t live out was now yours. 

Your father wasn’t around much. He was a truck-driver, on a constant voyage to wherever he was instructed to go, hundreds to thousands of miles away from solace for months — sometimes years at a time. He missed birthdays, holidays, family reunions; There was always a missing space for him somewhere in your childhood home, whether it be his customized keychain that he forgot, shoes he didn’t pack, a hug he didn’t give. Proof of him was always scattered around somewhere, but he was a shadow. A blank memory. 

So, why were your cartoons interrupted by his booming voice in the kitchen? 

You remember turning the television down, only by a couple digits, your ears honing in on every word he screamed at your mother. You were so confused. Half of those words you’d never heard before. Why was he so mad this early in the morning? 

You knew it was serious when your mother retaliated just as loudly, the cracks and shrieks from her belts sounding alarms in your brain. Your mom’s in trouble! Help her! But how could you? You were defenseless against him. It felt like the day flew by as their aggression intensified, curses nearly shattering the glass of your backyard door before everything went quiet. 

But still, your feet carried you to peek behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Your attempts at being discreet were pointless, though. When you saw your mother pinned up against the counter by your father, tears streaming down her face as he spat with every whisper onto her cheek, you gasped. Your memory is washy after that, but you remember your mother wiping her tears and slapping that comforting grin on her face. You wish you didn’t remember how broken she sounded when she said alright, baby! Ready for school? Don’t wanna be late! 

You suffered through social studies, language arts, and math. Your mind wasn’t where it should’ve been; You couldn’t shake the fact that your mother could be hurt and she had no one to tell. You just prayed to yourself as your teacher spoke, hoping that your mom would be on time to pick you up at the end of the day. 

Your eyes travel over the teal incisions of thread on your therapist’s seat. You’re still not used to the sound of your own voice. “It’s… it’s a funny story…” You sound so weak. You retell what you can, all while following the tip of your therapist’s scribbling pen. 

Why did it have to be green? Why are the clicks deafening? 

“Ellie, holy fucking — shit, these look fucking incredible!” Yuki whispers, expression impressed as she snoops over the auburn-haired girl’s shoulder, inspecting the aerial shots she’d taken a few hours ago. Editing is a bitch. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re…” 

“A genius, I know,” Ellie says dryly, a soft grin hidden behind the hand that holds her head up. It’s almost eleven. “M’almost done— “

“Nope! Not happening!” Another voice exclaims from the black lounge chair on the opposite side of the room. “You’re not the one that has to lock up every goddamn night! I ain’t stayin’ here ‘til two again! You got two seconds to finish up before I drag you up outta here.” 

Yuki giggles at Saliyah’s scolding, and Ellie sighs. The pictures look almost perfect. Almost. They’re not there yet! All she needs is an hour… or three—

“What did I say! —“

“Alright, alright, fuck.” Ellie shakes her head before closing all her tabs, pulling her flash drive out of the PC before shutting it down. She stands from her rolling chair and snags her blazer from over the back of it, throwing it over her shoulders and grabbing her work bag, camera already securely inside. She shoves the drive in a random pocket before stretching. 

The two girls already have all of their belongings in hand, more than ready to clock the fuck out. Yuki eyes her slyly, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “Oh, wooow, she’s actually taking orders, now? Listening to instructions for the first time? —“

“Can you stop.” Ellie mutters as she follows the girls descending the stairs. “No!” They both say in unison. Ellie smiles. Does she really stay out that often? There’s no way she’s that stubborn. 

All three girls crack jokes as they vacant the building, ensuring all the lights and equipment are shut off and prepped for tomorrow. It’s an early day. 

“Alright, bitches!” Yuki screams into the darkness, bag swinging as her heels click-clack on the pavement. “I want you bright and bushy-tailed tomorrow! Busy day! No time to fuck arou— “ 

Saliyah yawns, eyes droopy, “Girl… fuck you.” Ellie cackles and rubs her tired eyes. She can’t wait to get these six hours in. And see her baby. Saliyah wraps her arms around Ellie’s neck, muttering see you tomorrow, stinker into her neck. Ellie hums and holds her before watching her get into her vehicle. 

Ellie does the same after both girls leave the parking lot, her head falling back onto the headrest, eyes shutting in exhaustion. Today was insane… Fuck, it was incredible. She's always accepted opportunities to take photos in nature. Landscapes are her prestige, but when she got the offer to take aerial shots of the ocean, she couldn’t say no. Just when she thought she’d never get on an aircraft out of fear…  

The shots were mystical, the monsoon winds carrying the waves in all directions as the foams ripple, a scene straight out of her dreams. The second she got off the helicopter, she got to editing. Staying in late to perfect her captures has become a terrible habit, but what can she say? She loves her job. Thank God her coworkers are as sweet as cherry pie and support her bad habit. Besides tonight, apparently. 

Days like this keep Ellie humbled… Most times. She deserves to boast every once in a while. She often thinks back on her college days, how out of touch chances like these seemed. The number of times she was brushed off by respected professionals because she lacked “necessary resources” was astronomical. But look at her now. She had everything she could ever want: a career she’s passionate about, healthy friendships, and the means to take care of her father. 

Well… she has most things. 

She sighs and starts her vehicle, the diamonds in her Rolex sparkling under the street lights beaming in from the window. The streets are calm. Not normally bustling like they would on a regular day. The clouds are coming in; Rain is due. She’s so excited. 

It’s a calm drive back to her small home. She pulls into the driveway and exits with all her supplies, unlocking and entering her place of peace. 

Meow! Meow! 

Ellie clicks her tongue at Pickle, “Hiii, mama. I’m home.” She drops her bag on the small couch near the front door, bending down to pick her up. “You’re heavy, fuck.” The baby purrs and nuzzles into her neck as they enter the kitchen. She sets her down on the counter and opens the fridge for water. There’s soft scuffling from behind her as she sips. 

Ellie turns to see Pickle playing with a pen, rolling it across granite. She swallows her last gulp before sighing, picking up the utensil, the one memory she kept of you. Your colorful fucking custom ballpoint pen. Pickle nibbles her fingers, trying to snatch it back to play with, but Ellie clicks it over and over. 

“Miss her? Yeah?” She whispers. Pickle licks her index. Ellie will never admit it, but she thinks about you whenever she sees her baby. Yours, too.

She hopes you’re alright.

“You said that going to his funeral was different from your mom’s. Do you mind elaborating?” 

You shrug and scoff. “Shouldn’t everybody feel sad when they parents die?” Dr. Brown mimics you, “Not at all. Every reaction to loss is different and not all reactions are symmetrical.” 

“I was angry.” Your statement is blunt and abrasive. 

“Expound.” 

“I wanted to dig him up and spit on him my damn self.” You say, sharp as razor blades. Brown hums, unfazed by your sudden aggression; What the hell do therapists write on those clipboards? “I just… Seein’ all these fuckers I didn’t know talk about how fuckin’… great he was and how missed he’ll be was fuckin’ infuriating. They don’t know shit about that man or the shit he’s done.” 

Sympathy washes over Dr. Brown’s pupils. “See, your temper is the reason you’re here. You’re not obligated to forgive anybody that wronged you, but…” She’s simultaneously stern and empathic, “You do not get to use those emotions to inflict negativity onto the people around you. You’re perpetuating the same harm you wanted to avoid in the first place.”  

You instantly know what she’s referring to and guilt radiates all the way down to your toes. Amaya… Oh, you miss her. Another good person caught in your violent crossfire. Your last conversation was vile, and you hate yourself every day for the things you said to the only person who unconditionally cared about your wellbeing. Tears brew in your ducts, but you blink them away. 

“I didn’t… know what to do…” You didn’t, so you screamed and shouted and told her to never call your fucking phone again. The last thing you berated was the final nail in the coffin for your relationship. You left me, you’d said over and over until the line went dead. You left me alone! I fucking needed you! 

“No one has the answers for these types of situations. Why we react the way that we do to traumatic events will always be a mystery.” She adjusts in her chair, leg crossing over the other. “What I do know is that… you’re fighting grief. You’re choosing not to experience it, and it’s making you lash out on people who don’t deserve it.” 

But how does one grieve the person that made their life… unlivable? Through rage. Rage in its purest form: unfiltered, erratic, sizzling. It’s unrelenting and unforgiving and holds no bounds, prepared to be released at any moment, no matter who’s present. Your father’s home has seen it all at this point: glass shattering on walls, screaming into the closet where all his clothes hang, punching the pillow he slept on every night. 

Everything was exactly where your father left it, and instead of crying, you relinquished hell on the home he left in your name. You’re still surprised it wasn’t engulfed in flames after his funeral. 

“I just…” Harsh sniffles from you, desperately wiping your tears with damp hoodie sleeves, “I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels… real anymore.” 

“You’re real, baby.” This is the most delicate Dr. Brown has ever sounded, tone hushed. “Your feelings are real, your pain is real, but so is everyone else’s. You have to remember that.” 

You’re listening so intently, “What I'd suggest…” You already know what she’s going to say, and you’re petrified. You sag into your seat. 

You owe those two girls an apology.

Flashes of green race across your memory. The meadows are back, and they’re haunting. 

“Three.” You whisper. 

“Hm?” 

“I owe…” A heavy exhale. “Three girls an apology.” 

OCTOBER, 2013 

Ellie’s officially fifteen. She’d give anything to be home right now. 

She was so happy before she left that morning. Her dad woke her up with a heaping stack of iced chocolate chip pancakes that were the size of her head and happy birthday candles. Laughter echoed through their household, following as they cascaded down the stairs to blast music. Neighbors be damned. Everything was perfect. Up until she was dressed and ready and in the car. 

Ellie’s dad held her hand the entire drive. He didn’t comment on her white knuckles as she gripped his digits when he kissed the back of her hand. It took her a second to exit the car when they arrived, so he said the usual. You got this, kiddo. The extra encouragement provided a boost, for sure. She was able to get to class on time. 

Every time a wad of paper or a sharpened pencil hits the back of her head, she regrets not begging her dad to let her stay home. She’s grown used to the snickers, the shoulder chucks in the hallway, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

English concludes and she’s silently packing when her bag gets yanked out of her hand. 

Missed you, stalker, A kid who Ellie doesn’t fucking remember snarks with a dark grin. Where’s that book you always have—

Tyler! The teacher’s voice booms, the class filling with oooh’s, That's enough. Give her stuff back now. 

C’mooon, I can’t talk to my girlfriend? The remaining students burst into laughter and Ellie’s face burns, swallowing the lump that’s forming in her throat. 

How about I call home? Tyler sucks his teeth at the threat while his friends laugh, dropping Ellie’s things on her desk with little care. She wastes no time to flee, shoving her earpods in and synching each trembling breath with the heavy percussion. 

Her dad comes to pick her up an hour later. 

-

-

A light tap on your shoulder tears your attention away from the lengthy equations on the board. Numbers and letters? Your fucking ass; Absolutely not!

You turn to Amaya, who’s smiling wide, shoving a folded note in your hand, rushing you to open it. Your brows crease as you face forward, unraveling the nest crevices and met with… hearts? Glitter? Pretty penmanship? No man wrote this, thank God. 

Hi. You’re really pretty and nice. Would you like to sit with me during lunch? 

Ceniyah 

… Ceniyah? … Thee Cece? The person you’ve been obsessed with since middle school? What the fuck is going on! 

You turn back to Amaya who’s giggling into her palm, catching glimpses of a shy Ceniyah, who keeps her head down, her beaded braids shielding her face. Your face burns and you jerk back forward. It’s not a fucking prank, what the fuck, what the fuck—

Class drags like a bitch, but the bell finally rings, and everyone hustles, shoving books in their bags, running to the cafeteria. You refuse to move, though. Your iron is low and the person you’re in love with asked you to crunch on celery sticks with her. Alone. You're bound to pass out the second you breathe wrong. 

Hi.

You nearly fly out of your seat at her soft tone. She sounds like an angel. You’re going to die. You jump out of your chair and… take in the beauty that she is. She smells like heaven and her skin is perfect, not a blemish in sight. You hope she can’t see your acne scars… and she’s shorter than you. Are minors allowed to get married? 

H-Hey, You hold up the pink piece of construction paper, I, uh, got your note… It’s beautiful. Her smile shines brighter than the sun. She shakes her head and the chains locked on her clips tinker like fairies. 

Are you kiddin’ me! That mural you helped create was crazy. That was beautiful. 

I love you. 

Your eyes go wide. Did you say that? You don’t think you said that… Her smile turns confused and you realize you said that. You almost stab yourself with your pencil. I mean, like, I love how you appreciate art! Like, not m-many people… do that, and stuff…

She smirks and your heart squeezes with delight, And stuff? She inquires with an arched brow. 

I’d appreciate it if you ladies headed to lunch so I can enjoy mine. Your teacher interrupts, And the next note that gets passed earns a detention. 

A soft, floral-scented hand closes around your wrist, over your beaded bracelets and charms. You grab your bag with your last remaining strength and follow her like a puppy, her flowy skirt brushing against the bottoms of your jean-clad legs. 

Best… day… ever. 

PRESENT 

Ellie needs to start doing finger stretches. Her hands are starting to hurt every time she clocks out. 

She’s sitting at her desk, re-editing the infant photos she took earlier today. The twin girls from earlier were absolute angels, smiling and cooing up at the camera behind their matching pink pacifiers. She's never thought about having children… ever, but it might not be so bad—

Meow! Meow, meow! MeowMEOW—

… Nevermind. Kids are not for her. She can barely get this one to act right. The pictures are cute, though. 

“What’s the matter, mama?” She coos down at a doe-eyed kit-kat. “Hungies?” Pickle jumps up and into her lap, staring at the bright screen that displays Ellie’s editing software. Ellie smirks down at her, “What, you wanna try?” 

Pickle blinks up at her. No thoughts, just kibble. 

She decides to save her progress on the photos and give her munchkin some love. The few minutes of head pats and runs are cut short when she gets a pop-up from her email. She pays it no mind at first, but she zeroes in on the subject with furrowed brows. It simply reads hi… an overdue apology. Ellie blinks a couple times before suspecting spam… But who the fuck names a spam email something that cryptic? What the fuck? 

Ellie opens it… and her body goes numb as her eyes follow each word. 

hi, ellie. i’m not sure how to start this off, but i hope it’s decent enough to sit through. i apologize in advance. 

you probably don’t remember me, but we had statistics and used to live together in college. it was only for two months (i think, kind of a blur) but… yeah. i hope it semi-kinda rings a bell. hi again.

this is a very random time to reach out, and i understand any confusion, but i just wanted to apologize for everything. i was terrible to you. i'd never thought i'd become a judgmental person, but i did. i mocked you, i spoke behind your back, and probably ruined your last year of school, and i carry that regret with me everywhere i go. i’m not sure if i'll ever be able to express my remorse properly. 

i’m trying to do better. i want to do better, but i can’t unless i express it. 

you never have to talk to me again, and i understand if you don’t, but if you ever want to have a conversation with me, i’d be more than willing to come wherever you are to do so. or we can exchange numbers if it’s less of a hassle. i see how busy you are. 

thank you if you took out any time to read this jumbled mess of thoughts. i’m very nervous. i hope you continue to live beautifully. 

sincerely, someone trying to start fresh. 

(p.s. i swear i'm not a stalker. you’re really popping on instagram. congratulations on everything.) 

Ellie wastes no time and unplugs her entire PC, the screen going black. Her heart is racing and water surfaces above her pupils. Pickle purrs in her arms as she backs her rolling chair from under the desk and scurries into her bedroom. She sets the kitty down on her bed and clutches her chest. She forgets to count, forgets to breathe as detailed images of you scatter in her head. 

You… what the fuck.

Ellie feels her hands start to shake, so she squeezes them in a fist as she paces. Her gasps are choked and she’s spiraling into panic; She can’t unsee your teary, brown eyes, how you tried to mask your sadness when she stated she was leaving. She was able to convince herself that she’d never see you again, and it took her so long to be okay with that. She’s grown to be okay without your presence.

The burnt trail she left behind has reignited again. She's sinking, drowning, just like she did years ago. 

WEEK FIVE WITH DR. BROWN

“How do you feel now? Be honest.” 

“… Still shitty… but alright, I guess.” You’re hoarse when you speak. 

“Elaborate. What does alright mean for you?” 

You pick at your fingers, “I’m not… I don’t wanna, like, kill myself… if that’s what you’re asking. The ball’s in their court now, I guess. I’m… I’m just alright.” Your shoulders bounce in a shrug. 

“Has anyone answered?” Your head shakes in denial. “Don’t let that jeopardize your progress. However they react to you contacting them is not on you anymore. They either accept it or they don’t, and they’re valid in both options.” 

Dr. Brown pauses and eyes you skeptically, “What?” You ask. 

She shrugs, “One person isn’t on your making amends list.” 

Your reply is immediate, “Probably for a reason.” 

“Do you remember what you told me during our first meeting?” 

Irritation boils under your skin. “I see where you’re taking this conversation and I’m not messin’ wit’ it… Respectfully. Next topic, please.” 

Her hands raise in surrender, “Ay’, I’m not here to make you do diddly-squat. Merely providing perspective.” 

“Right.” 

“You did beat that girl to a pulp, though. I will say— “

“It’s what she deserved.” You say flatly. “She… humiliated me, and when her bitch left, she tried to come back to me. Get me pregnant— “

“Chile, I’m not tryna hear all that— “

You scoff and fall back in your seat, cushions and pillows molding with the curve of your spine. Dina bringing her happy ass to your father’s home after his death was one of the most infuriating experiences of your entire goddamn life. The second you opened the door, you were met with wildfire and permanently scarred. The least you could do is give her a fucking black eye. 

What you did after that… you’ll never regret. Ever. She can blast you on Twitter all she wants; She’s dead to you. 

Dr. Brown sips on her black tea with a pointed stare, “Yes, ma’am?” You say sarcastically. 

“Watch that tone,” That look in her eye… she meant that. You’ll be quiet. “She was wrong for what she did, but you ain’t innocent.” 

“I’m sorry, but I disagree. That one… she can choke. I don’t care.” Dr. Brown is disappointed by your answer, but frankly, you don’t care. That ship sailed and sank like the goddamn Titanic. 

She seems disappointed in your answer, but she lets it go. “… Alright, then.” 

On the brink of a heart attack perfectly explains how Ellie’s been feeling for the past week. The number of times she’s reread your fucking email is genuinely embarrassing, but she’s weighing her options: she either blocks you or accepts your offer. She's never been so conflicted in her life. She desperately needs a fucking break. 

She never takes Saliyah and Yuki up on their offers to turn up on Friday nights, but her rampant emotions backed her into a corner… and now she’s tipsy on the dancefloor of some rinky-dink club. One night of release wouldn’t hurt. 

Ellie really wishes she had a grilled cheese. They’re quite delicious… Probably not the thoughts she should be having with a hot older woman pushing back on her to fucking T-Pain, but she’s hungry! Liquor gives her the appetite of a fucking rhinosaurous, what can she say! 

Saliyah and Yuki are handling business for her, though, giving the lady’s ass very encouraging slaps every time their hips connect. Ellie probably looks like a fucking dumbass as she pumps her fist in the air like an old man, but she can’t remember the last time she partied. Sue her! 

It’s not until the woman stands upright, her sweaty, nearly bare back pressed against Ellie’s button-up, an arm coming up to loop around her neck, slightly shifting her bow tie that Ellie freezes, her fists clenching even tighter in the air. Her core gives a sharp squeeze when she feels sticky, glossed lips imprint on her throat. Her eyes bulge as she frantically searches for guidance from her friends, but they’re no fucking help, as usual! What the hell is miming sex and eating pussy going to do for her? She can barely breathe. 

Her friends shoot her finger guns in encouragement before heading back to the bar. A tongue darts out to lap up her anxiety-induced sweat, and her body tremors, her hands untwisting to land on the girl’s jean covered hips for leverage. She feels teeth beam on her neck and her entire body flushes. 

“You’re adorable!” Ellie hears her scream over the blasting music. Her tongue jumbles as she searches for a reply, but nothing leaves. She just drops her head onto the woman’s shoulder… and nearly flat lines when she eyes the cleavage sitting taut in her halter top. Her heart’s pulses synch with the ones from her clit when the woman giggles. Ellie’s ninety-five-point six percent sure that her nipples are poking through her shirt. 

Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek when the woman spins to face her, chest to chest, noses almost touching. The woman’s gaze drops to her neck, cunning as a fox as she undoes the first button of her shirt before unraveling the loop of her bow tie. She leans in, wafts of cinnamon flooding Ellie’s nostrils. 

“Come to the bathroom with me?” Ellie’s nodding before the lady can conclude the purr in her ear. Her hand gets snagged and she’s being dragged through the hot crowd, all the way to the back of the club and shoved into the giant restroom. She finally takes in the goddess in front of her: dark hair, plump lips, pretty lashes. The wrinkles by her eyes and laugh lines are sending dopamine alarms in her brain. 

Ellie receives one gentle kiss that makes her hips

grind forward before she hears, “You ever been tied up?” The raven-haired woman mumbles against her mouth. She whines, cheeks burning, “N-No,” she whispers. 

Her perfect teeth shine, “You wanna be?” 

Does she? “I — yeah, I guess?” 

“Put your wrists together,” she hums and Ellie does. Her own bow tie gets looped and twisted around her nimble hands. The woman drops to her knees in front of the trembling girl, massaging her thighs over her jeans, planting kisses all over them, “You gotta name, honey?” 

“Ellie… M’Ellie…” The woman’s hands creep up to unbutton her jeans, the soft hiss of the zipper, “What’s yours?” She only receives a shrug. “Whatever you want it to be.” Her jeans are yanked down seconds later, her… fucking Cartoon Network boxers drenched all the way through. The woman giggles and calls Ellie a cutie pie and her clit jumps. 

Her manicured nails hook under the band of Ellie’s boxers, slowly inching them down until her soft, sticky hairs are on display and her boxers are around her knees, “Gonna let me eat this pussy out, angel?” 

Ellie’s vision whites out. Only for a second, “Y-Yes, ma’am…”

Ellie’s sopping lips and pulled apart, her red, throbbing clit on display for the fucking witch in front of her. “You’re so fuckin’ cute. Anybody ever play with this pretty cunt?” Reality crashes down on her like a boulder as images of you touching her, kissing her flash before her eyes. Her jaw slacks as her words flurry. 

“Just — fuck, just one time.” 

“Yeah?” She coos, massaging gentle circles on her clit, “I'm your lucky second?” Ellie nods frantically. Her knees buckle when a sharp slap lands on her pussy, “Ffuck—“ The strokes on her clit are punishing, fast and non-stopping, the woman’s teeth gritted when she asks, “Steppin’ out on your girl, huh?” 

Ellie moans around her denial while her cheeks glow, “N— agh, s-shit, wasn’t m’girl—“

“Yeah? She touch you like me?” The woman snickers, and Ellie burns red. She’s already so close and she can’t fucking think, “Think m’cummin’—“ Ellie slurs, her tongue thick in her mouth as her walls squeeze down, desperately trying to pull something, anything in as deep as possible. 

“Can feel it. Tell me when.” But Ellie couldn’t. Her orgasm crashes into her like a fucking truck and her body falls forward, legs trembling as it wracks through her in harsh waves. The thighs that try to close are forced open, sharp stings radiating off her skin from the nails that pierce them. Strong suctions attack Ellie’s clit and she sobs, practically riding the woman’s face. Vibrations from satisfied hums stimulate her further, and she swears she’s going to pass out. 

The pleasure builds all over again and her eyes squeeze shut, her hips thrusting forward and into the woman’s mouth. Her optics cycle into her skull when the space right below her clit gets stimulated just right and she rides that edge all over again, but this time, it’s stronger. The woman’s groaning in her pussy like she’s starving, and Ellie can barely garble her warning of another orgasm. 

She squeaks when a gentle finger slides between her walls and she wishes it felt like yours did. Ellie’s bound hands entangle in the soft locks and pull, pushing her head any which way to guide her where she needs. She doesn’t register that she’s whining your name until the woman asks, “Tha’s your girl?” Right on her pussy, and Ellie tips.

She’s so loud when she explodes all over this stranger’s face, wetness coating her inner thighs, dripping all the way down to the bottoms locked around her ankles. You take refuge in the nasty side of her brain as she envisions you between her legs, you making her feel this good. Something about the way you touch her… She thinks it's impossible to replicate till this day. 

When Ellie comes down, she falls against the door, relishing in the steady kitten licks on her twitching bud. One last gentle kiss, and the woman separates from the mess between Ellie’s thighs, chest wet with her juices. 

“Good, honey?” 

Ellie blinks like she’s risen from the dead, short hair clinging to her forehead. She shoots the woman two thumbs up and she chuckles, untying Ellie’s hands and helping her back onto her feet. The woman helps her redress after she cleans herself up, and Ellie’s nose twitches when her own stickiness latches onto her clothes. Her arms fall back to her sides when her belt gets secured. 

She’s winded when she finally speaks, “Um… thanks…” How the fuck does Ellie say goodbye to someone who sucked her soul out?

“No problem…” The woman’s warm hands are soft as they push away damp strands from Ellie’s forehead. The freckled girl nearly purrs. Call her Pickle at this point. 

Ellie steps away from the door so that the fucking seductress can exit. The woman backs away and unlocks the door with a gentle smile. “You should text her.” 

Ellie’s stomach churns. “… What.” 

“The girl that’s not your girl.” That’s the last thing she says before stepping out. Ellie’s heart plummets when her eyes lock with Saliyah’s, then Yuki’s. Her friends gawk at her disheveled appearance, lipstick stains littered all over her button up. Ellie’s not nearly as embarrassed as she should be; All she can think about is you. 

“I think I’m in trouble.” Ellie states mindlessly.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Yuki snickers and pulls Ellie out of the bathroom. She hides her face when she’s met with the long line of people desperately needing to piss. 

WEEK SEVEN WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“You look bright.” 

You feel brighter. Just a little bit. You’ve finally gotten your locs retwisted. 

“Amaya texted me back.” Dr. Brown seems impressed at your statement, happy for you. A small smile makes its way onto your face. 

“Yeah? What’d Ms. Producer say?” 

“She, um… She wants to have dinner.” 

“Oh? And what’d you say?” 

“I said of course and then sobbed until I got here.” Dr. Brown chuckles, “When’s the big meal?” 

“In two days. I got a hotel near where she’s at, so… Yeah. Probably won’t see me for a little.” 

“Good for you, honey.” She says proudly, “Heard from any others?” Your head shakes. It’s not surprising that Abby and Ellie haven’t reached out to you. They don’t owe you any closure, even though it took you a while to accept your karma. 

“Progress is progress, nonetheless.” Her tone reverts back to stern, “Remember… when you see that girl, don’t expect anything to come from it. She’s going out of her way to speak with you, not the other way around.” 

Your head bows shamefully. You're incredibly nervous to see your best friend… if you deserve to call her that anymore. Anxiety isn’t foreign to you, but you’re anticipating the worst for your meeting. You’d give anything to mend your relationship with Amaya, but how’re you going to be able to overcome the guilt of abandoning her?

You can’t remember the last time you went to the campus coffee shop. 

When Amaya sent you her new address in the middle of your old college city, you sobbed for half an hour. You’re not sure why considering the entirety of your graduating class is gone (hopefully in hell); It’s a mix of emotions coming back here. The baristas that used to work here have been replaced with new bushy-tailed freshmen with under eye bags. The coffee isn’t the best, but it’s oddly nostalgic. You feel fucking old just looking at their bright customer service smiles.

Your attention gets snagged away from your steaming cup when a sharp gasp echoes from behind you, nearly spilling your drink all over your flannel when someone calls your name. Anxiety spikes in your gut when you see… 

Who is that? 

“Oh my goodness! Sweetheart!” An older woman with gray hair and a cardigan places her hand on your shoulder and your eyes bulge out of your skull. “It’s so good to see you!”

What the fuck is going on? “You... You, too, uh… ma’am!” You put on the most believable smile you can. Is your memory really this fucking bad?

“Students don’t usually stick around after this long! Our major was pretty small, you know how it is.” Major… Students… Graphic design… Professor! Your memory clicks but her name doesn’t. What the fuck is this woman’s name! You feel like a cunt all over again! 

“I’d love to catch up if you’re sticking around!” 

“Um… yeah, of course.” Her smile is bright when she enters the line. Relief floods through you when she gets to the service counter and one of the baristas says good morning, Professor Meyers! 

You silently thank the Lord. 

-

-

“What brings you back to town, honey!” Professor Meyers asks excitedly. 

“Um… just missin’ school, I guess.” You lie. Fuck this school. 

She swallows her sip of tea before pausing, “Wow. First time I heard that. I didn’t see you at graduation!” 

Your chest concaves and your face burns, “I, uh. I didn’t graduate. I dropped out.” Professor Meyers' expression drops, pity written all over her face. 

“Wh— Why?” 

You shut down her interrogation, “I just… stuff happened. I couldn’t handle everything all at once.” Her eyes sadden and she places a comforting hand on top of yours. 

“I’m so sorry, honey. Whatever it was… I hope it’s okay, now.” 

“Getting through it.” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. The air is suddenly suffocating. 

“Y’know… if you’re interested…” Professor Meyers’ tone is suggesting. Your brow quirks at the woman plotting in front of you. 

“Some of the art profs are always looking for some extra help for the introductory courses. Your rough drafts were always pretty spectacular.” 

Your body burns. “Thank you.” 

She smiles and reaches into her bag in the other chair, pulling out a small card and handing it to you. “This is my contact information. I can set you an interview with Professor Ronson if you’d wanna join the little alumni support team.” 

You accept her card, “But I’m not… I didn’t graduate— “

“Oh, hush now! If you go to college, you’re an alumni! These exclusive rules are outdated!” Professor Meyers stands with her bag and tea. “I gotta run, but please consider it! It could be a great marketing opportunity for you!” 

You're left to simmer in your thoughts as she rushes out of the cafe. You didn’t even have the chance to tell her that you haven’t touched a canvas since your father’s funeral. 

You waltz into the upscale restaurant with tied lungs. Prepping an outfit for tonight was a hassle; You were forced to rummage through your father’s closet for suitable attire. You can’t remember the last time you made a purchase for yourself. 

You feel out of place standing here with the… upper class. They’re dressed to the nines and it’s incredibly intimidating. Your eyes cast downward to your wrinkly shirt and blazer; Why didn’t you bring a fucking iron? 

“How can I help you, miss?”

Your eyes bulge when they lock with the host’s and gut churns with discomfort. Your legs wobble closer to the counter, “I— there’s… reservation…”

The host stares at you with utter confusion, “Oh, sure! What’s the name?” 

“Um… Amaya— “

“Ms. Robinson?” The host’s eyes fill with glitter, “Oh my gosh, when I saw her walk in earlier, I was like, no way she’s actually here. This is crazy! But it was really her! I couldn’t believe— “

Another host interjects, “My apologies, ma’am! She’s a bit, uh, excited. Your table is right this way.” The host begins walking, and your feet move on autopilot, “Would you like a menu?” 

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You won’t be able to keep anything down anyway. 

You move through bustling walkways, ears filled with bouts of obnoxious laughter and corny jokes with each table you pass. 

Your heart stutters in your chest when you see the isolated leather and rosewood booth where Amaya sits, her back to you. There’s two glasses and a bottle of… something on the table. 

“Ms. Robinson! Your guest is here!” 

Amaya, filled glass in hand, cranes her neck and meets your flitting gaze. Her eyes are stagnant, unmoving, and your nerves wrack. She looks fucking immaculate with the slit in her black dress, smokey makeup, heeled

shoes. She’s dressed down for a fucking funeral. Yours. 

You’re actually not ready to see her. You’re not ready at all. 

-

-

“You want a glass?” 

Amaya’s tone is cold. Colder than the dripping neck of the bottle right in front of you. “N-No thank you.” 

She scoffs laughter around the rim, “Shocking.” You scramble for a reply, anything to say to the woman oozing impatience in front of you. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. She sets her glass down with an unsteady clink. 

“You said that already.” She states, brown eyes sharp. “Why are you?” 

You scratch at your ear, trying to mask the tremors in your fingertips, “Because… I — I wasn’t…” 

“I don’t hear from you for months,” She spits, “And then I get a phone call from my drunk best friend screamin’ at me, tellin’ me that I fucking left her to grieve by herself… because I’m selfish and money hungry… Right?”

Angry tears sizzle in Amaya’s eyes as she continues, “And I still come and visit you… only to get a door slammed in my fuckin’ face.” 

You’re completely frozen; You can barely look her in the eye. Your hands are clenched together under the table, nausea creeping up your throat. “I… there’s no excuse for what I did— “

Amaya’s eyes are void, “Why did you do it.” 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you rush out, desperate. You’re losing her, “He — I was just — I couldn’t control myself and I screamed and yelled and blamed everyone for what happened. I was just so mad and I couldn’t stop— “

“Abby called me two days ago.” 

You gasp, “S-She did—?” 

“She told me she hated you.” Amaya says plainly. The remaining shards of your heart dissipate like dust, leaving your mouth when you whimper, “O-Okay.” Tears stream down your cheeks and neck, harsh sniffles filling the small corner of the restaurant. “She hasn’t, um… never mind.” That’s why she hasn’t reached out, you suppose. Well deserved. 

“I don't… hate you, you know that, right?” 

You sob, palms in your eyes, “S’okay if you do. I deserve it.” 

She shrugs, “I don’t. I’m just very disappointed in you.” You nod in agreement, in understanding. You accept that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see someone you considered a sister. 

“I’m so sorry, May— “

“M’gonna head out. I’m,” She wipes a tear and grabs her bag, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I… I don’t hate you.” You cry as you watch Amaya gather herself, stand, and leave without another word. You heave and attempt to dry your face with the fresh napkin but they won’t stop flowing. 

It’s difficult, accepting that you’re undeserving. That you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you can’t escape. It’s dark and cold and you’re desperate for comfort but it never comes because you chased it all away. You eye the tall bottle that sweats; Very tempting, but you leave it where it stands. The blame for your downfall is yours to take; The only reward you can receive now is from your upkeep. To dig yourself out from beneath the maggot-infested dirt. To resurface and recover what you can. 

You’re unsure how long you sit here crying. Devastation sets hard in your tummy when you stand to leave the restaurant, ignoring the judgmental stares from the annoying, old fuckers that wouldn’t stop glaring at you. 

The air outside is fresh and soothing as you walk, right past your parked car. Past the young people mingling and taking pictures. Past the girl doing graffiti on the old building across the street. Something beats in your chest when you eye her spray paint cans, brushes in her hand, the bright colors all over her bare arms. Her passion is evident, even from a distance, and you miss that. That feeling that takes over when you create something that no one else can replicate. Her style is unique to her just like yours is to you. 

Color sparks in your soul for the first time in a year, and you know what you have to do tomorrow morning. 

taggiesss yasss n slayyyy @dyk3ang3l @ellieloml @inf3ct3dd @fromminaa @womenofarcane @sawaagyapong @mina-281 @aouiaa @bbglmfao @i00rii @sakiigami @starologist @southelroys @diddiqueen @trackinglessons @ellieswhorcrux @villainousbear @p4ison1vy @tohoko @yuckyfucky @dollyfleurs @elsbunny222 @sevsbimbo @amiorca @alittlextrahoney @gato-chino @topiatwin @r3wbeef @elliesatchel @muthafuckingstargirl

[monzabee]

the lusty month of may – cs55 (+18)

masterlist

Summary: The one where it’s that darling month when everyone throws self-control away, and you and Carlos decide to do a wretched thing – or two. 

Pairing: carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (cover your willy, don’t be silly), pre-established relationship, cursing, google translate spanish bc i forgot all the spanish i learned in school (lo siento mucho, señora xenia), talks about pregnancy, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! okay so this was not supposed to take me this long to write, but i kind of procrastinated because of studying and my exams, but here it is, finally done! i fully blame carlos for my brain rot, so i hope you guys enjoy this one, and feedback is always appreciated! (p.s. the title comes from a song from the broadway musical ‘camelot’ for those of you who are interested!) good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

His hand is closed over your mouth in a feasible attempt to cover up any pleas or sounds coming from your lips. You tried telling him no when he started pulling you towards the greenhouse behind the villa his family rented out for the weekend. It was supposed to help Carlos destress before leaving for Miami for the rest of the triple header, a long weekend, “A quick little getaway,” his mother called it. Carlos lets out some built-up steam, alright, by fucking you every chance he gets over the course of the 4-day vacation. 

“You know what it does to me when you wear this dress, amorita,” Carlos’ breath hits your sweaty skin as he runs his nose down the length of your throat, “maybe I should rip it when I’m done with you, hm? De esa manera no puedes tentarme más.” That way you can't tease me anymore. You try shaking your head as a response which elicits a mocking chuckle from him, the way he bucks his hip driving him further deep inside you. The strangled moan that rips from the back of your throat has you throwing your head back, which causes Carlos to quickly, but gently, tug on your chin to make you look back up at him. “Eyes on me, cariño.” 

His hips continue their rushed movements as he keeps his eyes locked to yours, your lips opening in an attempt to make him see reason. “Carlos, they’ll hear us.” You think he’ll ignore you once again, like he did when he was frantically pulling you away from the pathway which leads to the courtyard both of you were supposed to be making your way over for dinner with his parents. 

With one last thrust of his lips, which pulls yet another moan from your lips. “I won’t let anyone see you like this; you know that don’t you?” His tone is sweet despite the way he’s breathing deeply in an attempt to organise his breathing, the way he uses the tip of his pointer finger to caress down your blushed cheek, sending shivers down your spine. Although you manage to nod your head, there is a small smile on his lips as he reminds you, “Words, amorita.”

“I- I know that,” you breathe out a ragged breath, hand gripping Carlos’ shirt tighter in the process, “you’re far too jealous to let anyone see.” 

“Always such wits, amor,” he drags the tip of his finger towards your lips, “maybe I’ll just have to fuck you harder to remind you how much you love my possessive side.” 

“You are insane,” you pant, letting out another moan when he shifts his hips to continue his movements even deeper, “is that why you pulled me here? To fuck me into the wall because you were jealous?” 

His voice is hoarse against your skin as he drags his hand down your face to your neck towards your chest to grope your breast. “I made you a promise, remember?” 

And you do. You remember the hushes whispers and promises shared before the New Year’s, and the sweet kiss you’ve shared afterwards. Your eyes soften as realisation sinks in, his determined gaze on yours suddenly making more sense. His hand is rough as he kneads the skin of your breast, his fingers quickly find your pebbled nipple, which has you whining. “I do- I do remember.” You manage to get out as you do your best to focus on his command from earlier. 

“Good, so be a good girl for me and hang on tight, hm?” He gives you enough time for you to organise yourself; your hands grab the flower arranging table underneath you firmly and it makes you receive a pleased hum from him as he keeps up the movement of his hips whilst also making you wrap your legs around him, a hand firmly placed on your upper thigh. “Eyes on me, cariño.” He reminds you.

You comply, of course, and his thrusts keep getting deeper and deeper every time his hips finds yours because of the new position. There is nothing innocent about the way the sounds of your skin slapping off of each other echo in the stuffy greenhouse, mixed with your moans calling out his name over and over again. He knows you well enough to know your tells when you’re getting closer, and he knows your body well enough to know that you won’t be able to hang on for too long. 

The way you scream out Carlos’ name when you feel his fingers drawing circles on your clit is nothing short of animalistic, the way he whispers praises to your lips is lost to you as you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Carlos,” his name leaves your mouth in a desperate moan, followed by a softer and more pleading, “Carlos, please.” 

“Ask me nicely, amor.” His smile is almost devilish as he mumbles the words to your lips, his fingers slowing down their movements until you give him what he wants. His free hand tighten around your upper thigh in warning as he adds, “No continuaré si no lo pides amablemente.” I won't continue if you don't ask nicely.

You bite back a snarky comment, hyperaware of the fact that he is a man of his word and will leave you unsatisfied on the table by yourself if you don’t give him what he wants. “Por favor déjame correrme.” Please let me cum. The next moan that comes out of your lips come off more as a broken sob as he resumes his fingers’ movement on your bundle of nerves and his hips speeding up their movements to get you there, and you can’t help but chant “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The continuous moans that keep coming out of your mouth, in which you are begging him to make you cum causes his hips to continue their movement rather sharply. Your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure as your visions gets blurry, but you make a point to maintain eye contact with Carlos while he guides you through your orgasm. He only lets himself come undone once you’re done, but unintentionally clench around him due to still feeling sensitive. Hearing your name come through his lips in a guttural moan causes you attempt to bring him closer by tightening your legs around him. 

After a few moments of calmness, you whine at the loss of contact as Carlos pulls out slowly, careful enough to not hurt you. Just as he begins tucking himself back to his pants you attempt to fix your own clothing, but he’s quick to stop you as he says, “Stay on the table, cariño.” 

You choose to nod, not trusting your voice. He’s gentle with you as he pulls up your underwear up your legs and fixes the top and the skirt of your dress. You watch him with sleepy eyes as you ask, “Do you think it took this time?”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” he smiles softly at you while getting some of your tangled hair out of your face, “do you think it did?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, suddenly shy in front of him for no reason – but he is quick to divert the situation by cutting your feet off the ground by carrying you bridal style, which has you squealing as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Carlos!”

 He lets out a laugh a laugh as he walks out of the greenhouse and the colder air outside has you snuggling closer to his body for heat. His voice is light as he mumbles, “Well, this brings back memories.” 

“You say as if our wedding was a decade ago.” You complain, scrunching up your nose in disagreement. You let a confused hum when he starts walking back to the villa. “We’re supposed to–”

“I’ll tell my parents you were feeling ill,” he raises an eyebrow, “unless you want to sit with them for the rest of the night with my cum still–”

“Carlos!” You exclaim, making him quickly drop the rest of the sentence as he stars laughing. “This is not funny, you know.” 

“Oh it is plenty funny, cariño.” Carlos objects, “We can always tell my parents we were trying for a baby.” He is quick to add, “Not, the literal way, loca,” after receiving a bewildered look from you. 

You sigh as you shrug, “I mean, we could.” 

He agrees with a hum, “We’ll talk about it later, now go to sleep, I know you will before I make it back to the room anyway.”

“Mhm, you know me too well.” You mumble as you bury your face into his neck. 

“That I do, cariño.” He mumbles as he presses a gentle kiss to your hair “That I do.”

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Sunshine [Joel Miller]

this is my entry to Summer Loving Challenge by @pedgito. Thank you so much for creating it and letting me be part of it. You're a star! Or shall I say, sunshine??

pairing: no outbreak joel miller x f!reader

wordcount: 1.7K

warnings: reader is she/her, sexual content/mild sexual themes (implied only), mild language, mentions of violence, overall safe to read.

prompt: ROADTRIP #2

She smiles too much, he thinks. 

And Joel ain’t too fond of folks who smile all the damn time. Reckons they must be hiding something behind those shiny white teeth. 

Thing is, he ain't even sure how Tommy managed to rope him into this foolishness. He’d stopped by his brother’s place for a cold one and somehow left having agreed to ferry his obnoxiously cheerful sidekick across the state to some new job she landed in Joel’s neck of the woods. Must have been the quiet begging in Tommy’s eyes that did it, he supposes. Joel may be a surly son of a bitch, but he ain’t heartless.

So here he is, with the sun barely up and her sitting pretty beside him. Sneakers-clad feet up on the dash like she owns the place, skirt of that yellow sundress riding up her tights.

Tommy’s friend. The motormouth. The endless goddamn ray of sunshine that Joel just knows is gonna make his jaw ache from clenching before they even cross county lines.

“Mind if I turn this thing on?” she breaks the silence, stretching a little to fiddle with the radio dials. 

He fucking does. He’d rather drive in silence. But just shrugs instead.

Figures out it’s not worth the argument.

And as expected, her taste in music is as saccharine as the rest of her, all twangy guitars and lyrics about truck beds and tan lines. When she starts humming along off-key, he has to work very hard not to grind his teeth to dust. 

It's going to be a long drive.

Joel sighs and glances over at her. Shifts a bit in his seat and admits, albeit grudgingly, that she's easy on the eyes. Has been ever since he's known her.

But the problem is, she’s just so… much. Never still for a minute, fingers tapping, foot bouncing, mouth running a mile a minute. He can practically feel all that restless energy buzzing under her skin, setting his own nerves alight. Makes him wonder if she even knows she's doing it, all them little twitches and squirms. If she's got any idea how it gets him all riled up without even trying. Joel ain't sure quite what to do with her.

And sweet Jesus can she talk. About this, about that. Everything and not a damn thing. About the weather and politics. The heat and some harvest festivals she’s helping throw. A whole slew of crappy dates, some dog she’s thinking of adopting. The gossip about people Joel barely knows and could care less about. So, he tunes most of it out, just grunts now and then so she thinks he's listening.

But at some point, whether because he’s getting bored or because of the heat, Joel catches himself actually paying attention. Learns she's a teacher, spending her days trying to cram knowledge into the heads of a pack of rowdy kids. 

"It's thankless work," she laughs, "but I guess somebody's gotta do it."

Joel thinks it's pretty admirable, choosing a job like that. Lord knows he's had his share of crap gigs. Brings to mind those long, hot days pouring concrete under that merciless Texas sun. The way heat would shimmer up off the fresh pavement and make him feel like he's in some kind of fever dream.

“Look, I didn’t expect you’d want to give me a ride,” she pipes up after a bit. “I appreciate it.”

"Mm," he grunts, committing to nothing.

“I mean it, Miller. I was really close to sticking out my thumb and hitching.”

Joel's hands tighten on the wheel at the thought. "That's a good way to get yourself murdered."

She cuts her eyes over at him. "How do I know you're not some kind of murderer?"

He snorts. "Do I look like a murderer to you?"

"I don't know. What's a murderer look like?"

"Not like me."

"Hm. That's exactly what a murderer would say, I reckon."

He shakes his head, more than a little annoyed now.

This damn woman.

When they pull over for gas and to stretch their legs, Joel finds himself watching her as she arches her back like a cat in the sun, that sundress pulling taut across her chest; the skirt riding up even higher. Makes him look away real quick.

“I’m going inside to pay,” she chirps. “Want anything? Coke maybe? A three-day old sandwich?”

Joel peers at her. Mutters, “Nah, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, Grumpy.”

Grumpy. 

It's hardly the worst thing he's been called, but it chafes at him for some reason. For a second, he wonders what it would be like to be someone different. Someone who said yes to Cokes and gas-station sandwiches. To yellow dresses and sunshine smiles.

"You ever think about how weird it is that we can just go anywhere these days?" She starts in again before he even gets back on the road.

He squints over at her. "How do you mean?"

"I don't know. Cars and planes and those talking maps on phones. World's gotten real small. Used to be folks who didn't stray more than a few miles from where they were born. And now here we are, two random people rolling down the road in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. Just 'cause we felt like it."

Joel's not sure he'd say he felt like it, exactly. But he gets her point. "I guess," he allows. "Makes you wonder what it musta been like. Back then."

"Doesn't it? No AC, no snacks, no radio to bicker over." She grins at him, teasing. "Though I suppose you would've done just fine without that last one, huh?"

He huffs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “They wouldn’t need a radio with you doing all the talking. Probably would've driven the whole wagon train up the wall with your yammering."

“You mean, I would’ve livened things up?”

"Livened," he repeats, dry as dust, and she laughs. It's a good one, Joel thinks. Bright and uninhibited in a way he hasn't heard often in this life.

Suddenly gets the strangest urge to reach out and touch her. Trail his knuckles down the line of her throat, feel the vibration of it under his fingers.

Wraps his hands around the wheel instead, wondering where the hell that came from. If she notices his odd moment, she doesn't let on. Just keeps rambling on about dysentery and fording rivers and how she definitely would've been the first to die of cholera. Joel lets those honeyed tones wash over him and tries not to dwell on the tight, hot feeling in his chest.

By the time they pull up at the little house Tommy helped her get settled in, it's pitch black out. He can just make out her face in the glow of the dome light, those big eyes soft and serious for once as she gathers up her bags.

"Thanks again for the lift," she says, real quiet. "I know I'm not exactly your favourite person to be stuck with."

"Wasn't so bad," he admits, and it's almost not a lie. "Glad I could help."

She hesitates with her hand on the door handle, worrying that plump bottom lip with her teeth. "I'd invite you in for a beer but I know you probably want to get home."

He does. He should. But maybe it's that little waver in her voice, the uncertain set of her shoulders. Maybe it's knowing that the second she steps out of this truck, the strange little bubble they've been floating in is going to pop. Things will snap back to how they've always been, her grating on his last nerve from a nice safe distance and him avoiding her as best he can.

And maybe he's just not quite ready for that.

"Well..." he drawls, "I reckon I could come in for a cold one."

The smile she gives him could put the sun to shame, all dimples and crinkly eyes. Makes that tugging feeling in his chest pull so sharp it steals his breath. 

He follows her up the porch steps and into the cosy hallway, his chest tight and his palms clammy like some nervous teenager. As she putters in the kitchen, fetching beers and clinking glasses, he stands in her living room and looks around at the organised clutter, the artfully arranged photographs, the bunches of wildflowers stuck in mason jars.

The whole place is so absolutely, utterly her it makes something behind his ribs ache fiercely.

When she comes back with two frosty beers, pressing one into his hand, they just stand there for a minute. Look at each other with the heavy weight of something hanging in the air between them. She takes a pull off her bottle, throat working as she swallows and it's more than he can take. The urge to put his mouth right there, to lick the sharp tang of hops right off her skin.

“So…,” she murmurs softly as she places her beer on the counter behind her and looks back at him. Her eyelashes flutter, and her gaze latches on his mouth. It’s a split of a second but Joel decides that he’s had enough. 

He sets his own bottle down carefully. Cradles her face in his rough hands and leans in slow, so slow, until he can taste her shaky breath. She meets him halfway, arms winding around his neck as she opens up for him, soft and sweet as summer rain. He tips his head to kiss her deeper and she mewls into his mouth, hands flexing against his shoulders, and Joel is lost. 

It doesn’t take long before they are stumbling back to her bedroom, all tangled up in each other. When he rids himself of his shirt and hovers above her, she is smiling, her fingers moving slowly to graze the warm skin of his back, and it’s so good Joel feels drunk on it. 

Later, after, with her curled up asleep on his chest, Joel stares up at the lazy spin of the ceiling fan. Marvels at the strange turns a life can take. How somebody can get under your skin until one day you wake up and realise you forgot how to breathe without them.

He runs his fingers through the wild tangle of her hair, feels her sigh contentedly against him. Lets himself imagine, just for a minute, that this could be his life. That he could have something this soft, this sweet, and keep it.

Joel blows out a long breath.

Drops a kiss to the top of her head and lets his eyes slip closed.

Maybe there's something to be said for all that sunshine after all.

[hqbaby]

twenty-two — right and wrong

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 3k content. profanity, alcohol consumption

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Everyone has just finished unloading their bags. More than a few of your friends are already zooming through the place you’ve rented for the next three days, soaking in its beauty. It’s a pretty house, a cozy spot with three bedrooms and a nice open living room with a fireplace and a bunch of soft chairs and couches. There’s a kitchen that you doubt you’ll use, Kento already unpacking the cases of beer you bought for the trip and Maki stocking the fridge with enough food to feed an army.

You’re standing in the foyer with Sukuna at your side. When he speaks, he has his head bent in shame, his eyes shifting away from yours. What could he have to say?

You frown. “What is it?”

He looks at you, his expression supplicating. “You promise you won’t leave me?”

“You’re scaring me,” you say, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Sukuna, what is it?”

He takes your hands in his and shakes his head. “This is serious,” he tells you. “You gotta promise.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding with uncertainty. “Tell me. What is it?”

He leans in close, looking around to see if anyone else is listening. Then, he whispers, “I’ve never skied before.”

You snort, erupting into laughter as your boyfriend pouts at your response. He turns to walk away, but you grab his arm, trying your best to calm down. “I’m sorry,” you say, between hiccups. “I just—that was not what I was expecting.”

He shakes his head, putting you in a headlock and mussing your hair as you continue to giggle. “You’re so mean,” he says, laughing now as well. Your laughter is infectious, and Sukuna’s never been immune to it. “You’re gonna have to teach me because I’m gonna look like an idiot in front of your friends.”

“What’s so funny?” Maki asks as she approaches you, already smiling at just how loud your laughter is. Mahito follows after her, slinging his arm around her shoulder which she quickly escapes. “Holy shit, get off of me.”

The boy sticks his tongue out at her. “You’re no fun.”

“And you have no concept of personal space,” Maki tells him. When Sukuna lets you go, she stands behind you like a little kid hiding from her bully. “Don’t let him get near me.”

You shoot her a glance, then a devilish grin overcomes your features and you’re bolting away. “Sorry, Maki! Every man for himself!”

Soon, you and Maki are running for your lives as Mahito attempts to catch the two of you, all three of you panting through your laughter. Sukuna watches as you and your friend decide to team up and turn on the boy, tackling him to the ground and demanding that he surrender. He can’t help but stare at you, your grin bright against the backdrop of snow, dazzling and picturesque.

He remembers when you first met, when he found you on the rooftop of the building. It was like you were waiting for something to happen, that you were hoping that things would change. He doesn’t know what propelled him to approach you, but he knows that it was something he needed to do. It was as if he had no other choice.

Meeting you that afternoon was always the way it was supposed to be. It was fate—if Sukuna let himself believe in such a thing.

Mahito eventually manages to drag himself away from you and Maki, running behind Sukuna to use him as a human shield. “That girlfriend of yours,” he lets out a low whistle, “she’s absolutely feral.”

You throw one of your gloves at the boy and make a face. “I’m feral?” you ask as you and Maki approach the two boys. “Says the guy who ate all the food in the club office fridge with my name on them.”

“All food in the fridge is for sharing!” he tried to reason, dodging your attempts at pulling his hair by placing Sukuna in front of him. “I’m gonna tell Kento you’re trying to attack me.”

You gasp. “You would not.”

Mahito grins now, baring his teeth as he sprints away and into the house. “Try and stop me!”

You try to chase after him, but Sukuna wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him. You glance over at your boyfriend, pretending to make a look of protest as you sink into his touch.

“I can’t believe you’re helping Mahito,” you whine, turning to face him. You cup his cheeks and pout. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Maki says, turning to follow after Mahito. As she walks away, she calls out to you, “Don’t fuck in the snow!”

Sukuna presses his nose to yours. “I wonder what constitutes as fucking.”

You chuckle, closing your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck. The two of you stay there for a moment, holding each other close, swaying to the beat of a song only the two of you can hear. You’re both in your own little world right now, a snow-covered utopia that belongs to no one else but you and Sukuna.

You open your eyes and you find his still closed as he shifts his weight from leg to leg, gently moving you along with the breeze. Your eyes trace the curve of his nose, the bow of his lip, the sliver of a scar on his forehead from that one time the two of you jumped into a lake and things didn’t turn out as you had planned. His face is a face you’ve seen countless times before, a face you’ve known before you even truly knew yourself.

This is Sukuna, you tell yourself. Sukuna in all his mess, in all his boyish charm. Sukuna, the boy you’ve known for years now. Sukuna, your best friend.

“‘Kuna,” you whisper, letting one hand run over the side of his head.

His eyes open and he stares at you, a look you’ve now come to recognize as his unwavering love for you. “Yeah, tiger?”

You take a deep breath, letting the words fill you before you allow them to slip out. “I love you,” you tell him, the words dripping into the small span of air between the two of you.

He looks surprised for a moment before his features soften into recognition. “You mean it this time.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve never meant it before,” he tells you softly. He squeezes your hips and smiles. “Don’t lie to me. I know you didn’t mean it.”

You swallow, nodding hesitantly. “I wasn’t sure,” you say quietly. “But I am now. I think I am.”

He raises one hand to your face and brushes your cheek with his fingers. “Thank you,” he tells you. Then he bursts into a grin. “I love you too. In case you didn’t know already.”

You giggle, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re so stupid.”

“Whatcha looking at?” Nobara asks, popping up behind Kento to startle him. She laughs when he jumps a little, turning to frown at her. She peers over his shoulder at the view from the window. Her eyes widen in realization. “Oh shit. Sorry.”

Kento frowns. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?”

She rolls her eyes, unconvinced by whatever act he thinks he’s pulling off. “Everyone knows, Kento,” she tells him. “You’re not very good at hiding it.”

The man walks away, pretending like he doesn’t hear Nobara calling after him, and disappears into one of the rooms in the house. Nobara sighs, turning to look back out the window at you and Sukuna, your boyfriend now hoisting you onto his shoulders as you shriek in protest, the two of you laughing as he carries you into the house.

She has to admit it’s been a while since she’s seen you this happy. While you and Satoru were good for each other for the longest time, the last bit of your relationship had you stuck in a state of both guilt and despair. She hasn’t seen you smile this much in a long time.

“They look happy, don’t they?”

Nobara turns to find Naoya looking over her shoulder. She scowls at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asks innocently. “We all want what’s best for her, don’t we?”

She hums, crossing her arms over her chest. “And what would you say is best for her?”

“Oh, we already know that,” he tells her, a glint in his eye. He and Nobara turn to the front door as you and Sukuna stumble inside. “And she knows it too. She just refuses to accept it.”

Nobara grabs his arm, leading him away from you and your boyfriend. She shoots him a warning look. “Leave her alone, Naoya,” she tells him, voice low. “You already messed with her once.”

He shakes his head. “Let’s not forget,” he whispers, eyes flitting over to the foyer where you and Sukuna are changing out of your boots, “I didn’t do it all on my own. She did it too.”

You’re in the kitchen with Utahime and Maki, waiting for a giant pot of instant ramen to cook. It turns out that, even far away from campus, there is no way to truly escape it—instant ramen follows you everywhere.

The three of you are happily buzzed, the first bottles of beers having been passed around a few minutes ago. Maki is standing behind you, holding your back to her chest, resting her chin on your shoulder, a lazy grin on her face as the two of you listen to Utahime rant about some girl she was talking to who ended up ghosting her for a week.

“What department is she from?” you ask, waving your bottle around more than you probably would if you weren’t tipsy. “I’ll hunt her down.”

Utahime sighs, dropping her head. “She’s a music major.”

Maki clicks her tongue. “She doesn’t deserve you then.”

“Here, here!” you say, raising your bottle. The two girls clink theirs against it. “We should set you up with someone. Do you want a guy this time?”

“What about one of the guys on this trip,” Maki suggests.

Utahime shakes her head. “Nuh-uh,” she says. She looks at you. “They’re either your ex, in love with you, or obsessed with you. No way I’m jumping into that mess.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “What?” you wheeze. “That’s not true at all!”

“She’s right,” Maki chimes in, digging her chin deeper into your shoulder. She laughs as you attempt to push her head away. “Aoi has no interest in her whatsoever. Mahito too.”

“And Kento, and Naoya, and Suguru, and absolutely everyone else,” you say, reaching behind you to pinch Maki’s side.

She jumps back, pulling her arms away from you. “So defensive,” she says, pouting as she rubs the spot you pinched.

Utahime laughs and turns to the stove to stir the pot. “This is almost done.”

“Yay! Food!” you cheer, walking over to the cupboard to pull out some bowls. “What are the chances that the boys won’t just eat the ramen directly from the pot?”

“Depends on how hungry they are,” Maki says, hopping onto the counter beside you.

As you count out enough bowls for everyone—Maki unhelpfully messing with your count by calling out random numbers—the kitchen door opens. Kimi stands at the door, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Sorry, it’s just… they took out the Twister and I really didn’t want to play,” she says. “Is it okay if I just sit here for a bit?”

You smile and nod at the kitchen table. “Of course,” you tell her. “Go make yourself comfortable. We were just talking.”

“Thanks,” Kimi says. Her eyes flick over to your wrist then back at you. “I love your bracelet.”

You glance down. “Oh, thank you,” you say, a soft laugh escaping you. “This is actually Nobara’s. I don’t think she’s noticed that it’s missing just yet.”

Kimi grins. “I won’t tell.”

You turn back to counting the bowls and Maki joins Kimi at the table. “You’re on the cheer team, right?” she asks her. “I’ve seen you guys perform a few times. You’re really good.”

Kimi hums, visibly relaxing at the welcome she’s received from your group. If she’s being honest, she was worried you’d just throw her out, ask her to leave as soon as she stepped inside. Her eyes glance over at you, quietly picking the utensils out of the drawer, and she wonders why she was worried in the first place. You may be her boyfriend’s ex, but you’ve never been a mean person. There’s no reason for you to start treating her badly now.

The four of you chat about everything and nothing, asking about what classes you plan on taking for the next term, which professors to avoid, which ones to take. You get to know more about Kimi and she becomes less and less of the fractured image of “Satoru’s current girlfriend” that you had in your head and more of an actual person.

It isn’t long before you’re sitting at the table with her, all of you talking about your plans after graduation, the uncertainty of the future. Your hopes. Your dreams. Your doubts.

“I’m never getting married,” Utahime says, turning the stove off. “I just don’t see it happening.”

You nod, cracking open a beer and handing it to Maki. “I understand that.”

Kimi tilts her head, looking at you. “You don’t think you’ll get married?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I didn’t exactly have the perfect model for marriage growing up. My parents are… well, my parents. Their relationship was always a mess. I don’t know if I see myself going through that.”

“Not to mention your shitty commitment issues,” Maki says. The alcohol has loosened her tongue a little, and she knows that on any other occasion, she wouldn’t have said that, but here she is.

You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder. You don’t blame her though, she has a point.

“What shitty commitment issues?” Utahime asks, frowning as if not knowing about the inner workings of your psyche has somehow left her out of the loop.

You shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you say. “Just a general tendency to run away from difficult things.”

“Now, that I understand,” Kimi says. She’s also clearly a little tipsy now too. “My sister’s like that. Left a guy at the altar because she realized she couldn’t stand seeing his hair in the drain.”

You all laugh. “That’s a bit extreme, but she’s got the spirit,” you say.

Utahime picks up the pot of ramen and nods at the door to the dining room. “Time to feed the kids,” she says, following after Maki who opens the door for her.

You and Kimi get caught behind for a minute as Utahime takes care not to spill the food. You look over at Kimi and offer her a smile, more familiar now, not just the usual polite kind that you always give her.

“I’m glad we got to talk,” you tell her.

She gapes, surprised by your sudden statement. “Yeah,” she says after she’s gotten over the initial shock. “I’m really glad too.”

You push the door open for her. “I’m happy Satoru found you,” you tell her. “You’re exactly what he deserves.”

Before she can say anything back, Sukuna is showing up at your side, dragging you away to talk about how he crushed everyone else at Twister.

“Hey.” Satoru. “You good?”

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and squeezes her to his side. He blinks at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

She clears her throat and nods, leaning into his touch. “Yeah,” she says, the corners of her lips lifting into a smile. “I’m good.”

Her eyes catch on you in the corner, curled up in your boyfriend’s lap as the two of you laugh about something or other. She looks over at Satoru, holding her tight, talking to Suguru about whether or not they forgot to turn off the light in their living room before they left, and she thinks, Maybe this is right. Maybe this is exactly how this is all supposed to be.

After dinner, you all gather in the living room, scattered in different seats. A few of you are nursing beers, a few have tapped out for the night, a few have started on some bottles of hard alcohol that you begged Kento to buy for the trip.

You’re on the couch in front of the fireplace with Maki and Nobara, Sukuna seated on the floor in front of you as you weave tiny braids in his hair. “We should do something fun,” you suggest to everyone, drawing their attention.

“What’s a fun game?” Aoi wonders aloud.

“Spin the bottle!” Mahito suggests.

You make a face. “That’s so high school.”

“Seven minutes in heaven!”

“That’s so much worse,” Maki says, tossing a throw pillow at Mahito. “You’re banned from suggesting anything else.”

“Oh! I know!” Nobara jumps up from her seat. “Hide-and-seek!”

Utahime raises her hand. “I vote for that.”

You follow. “Me too!” you say, nudging your boyfriend. “You have to agree, babe.”

Sukuna springs into action. “Oh, yeah, I wanna play hide-and-seek!”

“You won’t play my games, but you’ll play hide-and-seek?” Mahito says, sulking as everyone starts to agree as well. He lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Fine, I’ll play hide-and-seek too.”

“Great!” you say, clapping your hands together. “So who’s gonna seek?”

notes. i’m just gonna… leave this here… and run away 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

[vxperorchist]

Can I request, s/o ask for Intimidation act/ tips, (Cyno, Xiao, Tartaglia) they want to learn how to make a stone cold face/or a glare to scare of mens that won't leave them alone, but s/o failed miserably end up looking cute instead of intimidating.

Intimidation Act! (Cyno, Xiao, Tartaglia X Gn! Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of being harassed?

I love this request so much bro it's so cute

I saw it and I was like "oh absolutely"

AND I am so sorry this took forever to upload. I was kind of in a slump BUT I'm back!

Cyno

Cyno was quite literally known for his expression, he seemed so intimidating to those who didn't know him. Luckily for you, you knew him better than anyone, and you knew how easy it was to get past his stone cold expression.

"Hey Cyno, you're always told how intimidating you look. How do I look intimidating as well?" You asked, hovering around him in your shared house.

You slung your arms over his shoulders from behind, wrapping them around his chest.

He turned his head to you, he had never thought of how he actually managed to look intimidating, as it wasn't his intention. His eyes were blank with thought.

"I'm not sure, it comes naturally for me I suppose."

He admitted blandly, no help to you whatsoever. "My demeanor probably isn't desirable; people have deemed me unapproachable." He frowned, recalling his multiple instances of people being scared of him.

"Well General Mahamatra, I think people just need to get past that demeanor of yours to see how sweet you truly are, however, I want that intimidating demeanor."

He scoffed at the name you called him and your stubbornness for something so dumb, like being intimidating. "Just frown more." He suggested, but just doing that wouldn't make you scary, just mean looking.

"Oh! I'll lock eye contact too, it makes people nervous." You added, trying the method onto your boyfriend. You ended up keeping a straight face and staring at him in the eyes. It ended up making you more nervous then anything.

"Your eyes are too pretty to be scary." He commented, smiling at you as he was maintaining eye contact with you so easily, almost as if he was reading your every thought.

He stood there with his arms crosses, shoulders pulled back and head angled. You had made many observations on him, but it was hard to copy him without looking stupid.

He seemed so effortlessly good at it as the two of you stood there for a solid few seconds, staring each other down. You came out the loser in the silent intimidation battle, your cheeks warming as he watched your every move.

"Is there a reason as to why you're trying to copy me?" He asked genuinely, readjusting his posture to be much less intimidating.

"I don't know, the merchants around Caravan Ribat make me uncomfortable sometimes, I wish they were scared of me so they wouldn't talk to me." You looked up at him, knowing most people in the desert would avoid his gaze and presence.

"Do you have names? I can make sure they're taken care of and never look at you again." His demeanor shifted to that of your gentle boyfriend, to that of his duty as Mahamatra.

"I'll be okay." You laughed at his protectiveness. Dehya already had everything covered, and always had a protective eye over you.

"I'll make sure I go with you next time, if you can't scare them off, I most certainly will." He placed a light kiss to your forehead, ending off your night.

Xiao

Xiao in many ways, was utterly terrifying. Even you were admittedly scared of him when the two of you had first met. He knew how he acted, and he paid no mind to how people perceived him. The only opinion that really mattered to him was yours.

He noticed you had been acting different as of recently. He knew your every mannerism, he was amazingly observant, and could tell when something was off.

"You're underestimating Adepti if you think I can't tell when something is different about you. What is it?"

He was onto you. You weren't acting entirely different, but a slight shift into anything revolving around you would go noticed by your adeptus.

"Your interactions are changing. Why is that?" He asked blandly. You knew how he acted and how he felt were two different things. You could understand his concern, but he would never show it.

You were scared to mention what was actually troubling you as of recently. He waited patiently for a response as you hesitated to tell him what was going on.

"I've just been bothered by a few locals. They keep harassing me in a way and I tried to take after you, I asked myself what would you do, but you don't even get harassed! People are scared of you, so I tried to copy your mannerisms."

He wanted to smile at your confession, but he couldn't put aside the part you mentioned being harassed. He was naturally protective over you, and this had really sent him over the edge.

"Where are they?" He asked, keeping everything straight to the point. He didn't need to know anything more, and even if you didn't tell him, he would find out himself.

"Xiao, it's really fine." You tried arguing with him, but it was no use. You brushed his hand lightly, it didn't go unnoticed, but he had a goal.

The next morning, he returned to you, with acts of service being his love language, he came back with a new set of flowers set on your desk.

You were upset he disappeared last night, but he was a free spirit you couldn't control.

"What happened last night?" You asked him, scared of the answer you would receive.

"I dealt with the worthless individuals." He replied blunt as ever, standing in your doorframe.

"If you ever run into trouble like that, you're supposed to call my name." You sighed, you knew you should have, but didn't want to trouble him with something like that.

"Can you teach me how to be less approachable?"

"I'm not a teacher."

You had your answer, and he was stubborn.

If he wouldn't be your teacher, you would teach yourself. You kept copying his mannerisms, and he'd roll his eyes every time he caught you doing it.

He thought it was cute, but would never admit that to you, a mortal.

At the end of the day when the two of you came back to each other and you could let your guard down, he loved seeing your smile more than anything. It brought him light to the dark life he lived.

Childe

Tartaglia was both one of the least intimidating people you knew, and most. He had his moments he could turn up the heat, making his subordinates weak in the knees, but you also knew him as the sweet, gentle, boy he could also be.

He tried his best to hide his harbinger side from you, as that wasn't your burden to deal with, but it was a part of him you couldn't ignore.

You couldn't ignore the way some of his subordinates looked at you when you were around him while he was working. Their stares made you uncomfortable, and you could hear them whispering disturbing things under their breath.

They should have known much better then to talk about a harbingers partner, as they had worked out for absolutely no one.

Tartaglia was observant, but a little oblivious to the situation, and you had tried your best to ignore it as well. You tried the tactic of an RBF, which only worked a little bit.

"It's like you're taking after me, I see the way you look at my subordinates, I've never seen you look so intimidating!" He was just a little dense.

"They make me uncomfortable." You admitted finally, and he stopped dead in his tracks as the two of you were talking while sparring.

"What do you mean? Have they done something?" He put his bow away quickly and walked over to you, caught off guard by the new information.

"Its's nothing I can't handle; they've just been staring and what not."

"Who?" He asked, almost sounding like a demand. He caught himself before he got snappy, taking a deep inhale.

You giggled at his reaction, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, nothing I couldn't handle."

"They're still alive, so they weren't handled." He removed your hand from his hair, kissing it as he released it.

"Point them out to me, and I'll keep them after training next time."

You knew he wouldn't hesitate to harm, or even kill someone for you, but would he do it to his own subordinate?

Long story short, the group that had made you uncomfortable were never seen again under Tartaglia's supervision.

A few weeks later, he had started subtly advising you on ways to intimidate someone. Between eye contact, posture, and manipulation, intimidation was one of the many things he had been trained on as a harbinger.

He'd watch as you had started to copy him, standing by his side standing as tall as you could, (even if you weren't very tall.)

He was proud of himself for teaching you so well, and proud of you for learning. You weren't very scary, but he knew he was, so regardless, people would be scared if they saw him by your side.

You'd exclaim to him excitedly when his subordinates would avoid your eye contact, but in reality, he had threatened them. He loved the way you'd light up, and if all he had to do was threatened his snotty subordinates, he'd do it a million times over.

[goldsbitch]

Just don't talk--------

-you might say something that hurts.

p10 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. The PR teams strike again.

Y/N was unusually giddy while doing interviews on the grid that day. It was hard to be nervous when in the corner of her eye she saw Lando, in his usual glorious unbothered style, seemingly more confident than he'd been the past few weeks.

Smiles shared in secret, both of them being lifted up by enormous amount of butterflies. Yet they both tried their best to keep busy in order to push off their inevitable "what are we" talk.

She was more than sure what she wanted to be to him. But the thought of him not being willing to make the lead was a scary one - so let's just ignore it and keep thinking about his tongue on her neck. And Lando? He was doing exactly the same. Both of them blissfully unaware that their crush has started to become impossible to hide.

//

"Y/N, what do you think about the car on this track? Will you be competetive enough for a podium?" was a simple and boring question that Y/N tried to answer in a creative way, but nothing was coming to her mind. With a great smile, she replied: "Yeah, I have a pretty good feeling that things are turning out for good."

Lando was "not so accidentally" passing by at that exact moment, deliberately taking the rout where he would have to walk past her, because his body just wanted to be near her at any point possible. His school boy instinct kicked in and in the same way as a five-year old boy would pull his crushes hair, he snatched Y/N team cap of her head gracefully in order to tease her.

"Hey!" she screamed in the middle of listening to another question from the interviewer and turned around, knowing well who that was, as she watched him approaching before. A small amused smile escaped her, it was impossible to stop it. Same for Lando.

"Oh, hello, Lando," the interviewer acknowledged him, hoping for some good viral content.

"Hey," was his speedy response, probably not ever trying to hide his own amusement.

Y/N tried to keep it cool and look at his lips. "Give it back, Lando." Nope, she failed at keeping her smile in.

"You know where to pick it up, honey," he said simply, winked and said goodbye to the interviewer as he walked away. Y/N's stomach dropped at how obvious he was with his flirting in public and how impossible she found it to keep herself together. She took a moment before resuming, internally fuming. She was happy and mortified at the same time.

"Well," Y/N said as she turned back to her interview. "Where were we?" And there it was - a fatal smile that would cost her in the future.

The interviewer was full on a mission to not let that go. "I see the mood has shifted between you two, has the previous feud passed now?"

"I guess you could say that, yes," she replied, slowly pulling herself back, heart still beating like after running a marathon.

"Do you guys spend time together off the track? Has that maybe helped?" How the fuck was she supposed to answer that?

Not so confidently, she pulled out a cliché line in order to save her. "We do our talking on the track." It was technically not a lie - what they did in their spare time was definitely not limited to talking.

"I see," the interviewer said, not satisfied with her answer.

"I'd love to chat, but my team is calling," he pointed somewhere off camera, somewhere where there definitely was not someone from her team pointing at her. She excused herself and strolled away, in the other way that Lando went, as quickly as possible.

Yes, she did. Oh god, it was becoming unbearable. How was he so infuriating? How can one manage to be so....ugh!!

The day passed by in a blur of meetings, interviews and fan meet and greets. Since their "joint" interview was live though, it took only few hours for the first edits to appear on social media, hashtags getting created and the two of them going viral once again. It was all a bit overwhelming, Y/N sat there and secretly watched every single edit she came by. There is one thing to fantasize secretly about your crush, another thing is when the whole seems to get on the same boat and romanticize the fuck out it. Was it making the whole thing more awkward? Probably, but Lando's and Y/N minds were too busy thinking about each other in order to take in the point of view of others. The whole grid became aware of the pair quickly becoming a meme.

Oscar limited himself to eye rolling only, as he was more than aware of what was going on.

Y/N was shocked to find Lando already sitting in with his and her team in one of the FIA's meeting rooms. The fact that this was happening outside of their team premise should have been a clear sign - they are being called into the same meeting. Nowhere to hide now.

Lando was sitting there, casually cramped up in a chair in an anatomically impossible position, legs twisted all around. "Can't he not sit like a normal person for once?" was Y/N first thought. The reason he sat like that was to prevent himself from foot tapping the whole building down. Acting cool and innocent, that was his strategy. He was sure they'll tell him to tone it down, not to bother Y/N publicly, he'll just nod at everything they say and then go finally cum all over her chest once again, just to prove to her that she is his. Not a hard task. He glanced at her innocently as she stepped in, doing a real bad job at hiding her shock. He rolled his eyes and smirked. This girl was so innocently cute. His own comms team shot him a warning look, so he just proceeded to stare into the ground. Y/n had very little time to get her strategy ready, cursing herself for not discussing this with Lando prior to this.

"Thank you both for coming on such a short notice," was how Lando's team opened the conversation with. You could cut the tension in the room with a butter knife.

"As you're both aware, we have tried several strategies in the past in order to get your image out in the best light as possible."

Y/N let out a laugh which she could not contain in, to which Lando shot her a surprised, horrified and slightly amused look. Unbelievable.

"Continue, please. I am listening," he said, just to spite her.

"Thank you. Please guys, let's keep this civil and adult," this time her team stepped in to put her down. Lando could not remember having this much fun.

"To continue what my colleague started to say, lots of several approaches which did not bring the ideal results. And with today's development, we feel like this is another time for us to step in. You're both faces of prestigious brands and the teams rely on you being likable characters. Am I right?"

Lando nodded, as if he was lying about understanding a new topic in a math lesson - maybe little too much. Y/N just bit her lip and remained silent.

This whole thing was so bizarre, like being caught for stealing a candy bar while having a stolen gold necklace in your pocket.

"What would you suggest?" Lando asked and Y/N doubted anyone in the room was fooled by his act and must have seen though him. He was obviously having the time of his life. At this rate she would have a hole in her lower lip if she would keep biting it down this was.

"I'm glad you're asking, Lando, and hope you'll be able to cooperate."

"You can count on my sincere involvement in your strategy," he stated seriously and stared at Y/N comms team. His own team knew what was up with his attitude but decided not to call him out just yet.

Y/N glanced at the papers resembling a contact on the table. This is it, she thought, the no contact and no involvement agreement. They're going to stop them from talking to each other in public? Is that even allowed?

His's comms manager took a deep breath. "The numbers on all our socials have spiked up greatly since your interaction became of a positive nature. What we've seen today - that will make our sponsors more than happy."

Lando was quicker than Y/N to connect the dots. His mood changed drastically within seconds and he finally sat up straight.

"No. Not a chance," he burned his team with his hard stare.

"Lando, please, let us finish."

He was not having that. "I know what you're going to say and no, you can't just order us to do that."

"Nobody is ordering you to do anything. We're simply...Putting this on the table.

"Forget that, no way in hell am I ever going to agree with this," he said, pointing at the contracts lying on the table. The room went silent for few seconds.

"I'm sorry, what are we talking about here?" asked Y/N, not really having the dots connected just yet. Lando briefly forgot that she was in the room, suddenly regretting his quick dismissal. But he was not the one to be forced into anything like this. Better him having it break to her then them, right?

This time he was the one to take a deep breath and while speaking to Y/N, he still stared at the comms teams. "They want us to start fake dating for PR." He was hoping he got it wrong. But the silence on the other side of the table just proved him right.

This came as a shock to her. Was this their masterplan? Did they really have to meddle all the fucking time? "I...I didn't think these things actually happened in real world," she stated, honestly.

Why couldn't these two just get a minute to talk among themselves? Y/N's mind was once again stuck in a rut because of Lando Norris existing at the same time as she did. Million questions on her mind, but the biggest one - why was it such a hard and obvious no from him? He did not even consider it. This could have been an easy escape for them.

"What would that look like exactly?" she asked, wrapping her head around it.

She received smiles from the team, them being happy that she was seemingly somewhat on board. "Well, we would set a clear timeline with a deadline and a scheduled break up, set up a social media strategy, you'd accompany each other on social event and the PDA would be very clearly stated upon the mutual agreement between you and your lawyers. Involvement of other people around you would always be discussed prior and clear communication is key. We do not want to make anyone feel uncomfortable. Of course, an NDA is part of this agreement."

It was impossible to look at him just yet. Her head was spinning. She was on the verge of crying and had to somehow hold herself together in front of all those people. She had to get out fast, like fast fast. She had her answer. He did not like her in the same way she liked him.

"Excuse me for a moment, I feel sick," she said and swiftly got up, nearly tripping over her own feet as she sprinted out.

part 11

_________________________________________

@scopeiguess @leclercsluv @sulliamour @starmanv @riverxsq @eviethetheatrefreak @chonkybonky @bicchaan @saachiep81 @chezmardybum

[ratcash-wasgud]

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝙼𝚘𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗!𝙼𝚒𝚣𝚞

Hey heyyyy. I know I'm not doing the shit I'm supposed to, but this has been on my mind for so long, and I CANNOT get it out.

Mizu hated her job. Working in a busy restaurant as a waitress is honestly exhausting, especially when someone is kind of masculine presenting. Sometimes she thinks that college isn't worth enough to suffer through this. Rude comments from middle aged customers about how she's not feminine enough, no tips from men since they usually think she's one of them until she speaks up, and little kids asking "are you a boy or a girl" are part of her daily rutine. But still, there is one good thing about her job. You.

She usually shares a shift with you, and you happen to be her polar opposite. You're cheery, optimistic and seem to be always shining. You're always there when she drops a plate, apologize in her place, and help her clean it up. You seem to be young too, almost her age. During some of the shared breaks, you told her you're four years older than her, and never managed to finish college. Why? You got pregnant.

You briefly told her about it once. You did really well on an exam, and went out to celebrate. You got really, reaaaaly drunk. Since there was this guy, who was paying for your drinks, you went all out. The next thing though was that you woke up in an unfamiliar apartment, naked. You did a test the moment you got home, and found out you were pregnant. You dropped out to get a full time job, to afford this baby, because you weren't able to get rid of it, and when your snob parents found out, they cut contact with you. Now you're still raising your two year old daughter, Charlie.

You're stronger than anyone Mizu ever met. When she learned that you're a mother, she suddenly understood why are you so motherly. Why are you so warm. You have practice in treating children, and even if Mizu doesn't know it, she is still one on the inside. And an angry one at that.

And with the though that you are a mother, she fell in love with you. Your gentleness, your kind nature, the way you unintentionally coo at her when she's grumpy...it all just made her crave your presence. You never gave her more than a hug though aside from those rare pets on her head her when she does something really well.

She knows she shouldn't think about stuff like this, and it's not even her place to even have the though, but...you were with a man once. You never talked about anything else that could give her a hint about any of your previous or ongoing romantic interests, and that frustrates her. Akemi always tells her when she meets a guy, or Taigen when he manages to hook up with a girl...even Ringo told her about this pretty girl at the local bakery he really likes visiting. So why not you? Do you not have anyone? Ever? You probably don't like raising your kid alone, so why don't you try dating? Or dating her, to be specific. But, to cut this short, as far as she knows, you're straight.

"Oh God, we're sorry." You give a customer an apologetic smile as you kneel down on the ground to pick up pieces of a cup Mizu had just dropped. "The next drink is on the house. Again, we're sorry."

Mizu crouches down beside you, and she starts collecting shards too in silence. When the both of retreat to the kitchen, Mizu stops your hand when you're about to add a drink to your own tab. "What are you doing?"

"I told them the next drink is on the house." You say, raising an eyebrow. Mizu feels your pulse as she holds your wrist.

"Yeah, so why are you writing it to your name? I dropped the cup." She says, her tone harsh and unfriendly as ever.

"Because you already had to pay for that rude man's stew the other night. I can't let your paycheck get reduced to a single penny." You give her a slight smile and a small chuckle. You're too good to her. She keeps messing up, and you're the one cleanig up her mess.

Still, Mizu takes the pen from you and writes the drink under her name. "Buy Charlie something on your way home instead. Tell her it's from the weird woman from work." She sighs.

It's worth it. Completely. The smile on your face after she does that is just too much for Mizu to handle. "Why don't you give her the treat yourself? The daycare is close to the bus top you usually wait at, so you could come with me to pick her up."

So, that's how she ended up here, holding Charlie's small little right hand as you hold the left while the little girl literally toddles, on your way to your apartment.

Mizu was never good with children. She found them annoying and useless. But she had to admit...Charlie was adorable. The little girl was really your kid. She had the same mannerisms, even if she was barely able to speak.

"Then, the bug...got on my face. And then, I was screaming. Mean bug." Charlie mumbles endlessly as they walk. You, on the other hand, seemed to be really invested in the story, as you smile oh so sweetly at Charlie, and nod along to the story.

After that, Mizu ended up at your place somehow. She didn't want the moment to stop, so she just...kept walking with the two of you. It was so comforting, she couldn't let it go.

She watched you coo at your child as you fed her, waited obedientlyin the living room when you gave her a bath, helped you pick up her toys, and even did the day's dishes.

But it has gotten late. She should go home now...home. She feels like she found home tho. She doesn't want to leave.

"Hey..." Mizu starts as she picks up her bag. "Thanks for...you know, introducing me to Charlie." She murmurs.

You chuckle at her. "She really likes you. She was even more chatty from usual."

...

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

"Do you like me?"

She slowly takes your hand. She can't stand this endless longing anymore. She wants to be by your side, to help you raise Charlie, to make your life just a little easier. She wants that more than anything.

"It's okay if you don't like me yet...I should earn your love." Mizu says, looking down at the ground.

"Mizu..." Your gaze softens, your fingers wrapping around hers.

"But I will earn it." She says, now determination filling her eyes. "I will show you how good I'd be for you. And for Charlie. So wait for me, until I can prove myself. But be ready for me."

And with that, she's out the door. Her steps are light and fast as she enjoy's the night breeze hit her face. She can't help but smile. She feels free.

She now, has something in her life...something to look forward to. She can't wait to be part of that family.

You look at the now closed door that she just walked through, and smile softly to yourself.

"What a child..." You whisper to yourself with a small chuckle.

[jolapeno]

v. you make me feel wild

javier peña x f!reader | chapter five 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: fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. an: it's happening. everyone stay calm. also, we have a new header ;) wordcount: 2.2k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Woke up this morning and remembered that we’re going to meet

I may have also woke up smiling

On a scale of Javi smiles was it bigger than the one when we destressed one another?

bigger you flirt

I’ve learnt from you. Never used to be like this. I was innocent before talking to you.

somehow baby I doubt that

We can argue about it later if you want? When I kick your ass at the crossword.

cant wait. try not to let those assholes get you down

I’m on my best behaviour this week. Need them to not revoke going to Houston.

oh any special reason

Not really.

ouch baby

Ask silly questions, win silly prizes.

im going to houston too

Oh are you? Any special reason?

gonna meet this beautiful woman who is an outrageous flirt

Great now I'm blushing.

you make it so easy

I have to go, the meeting is beginning, I'm sorry. Speak later, baby xx

Pop doesn’t bring it up, even if he knows. He waits—like dads do.

Forcing Javi to bring it up, all awkward—sweat pebbling around his neck, lower spine and brow. Not helped by the sun beating down on them, having to shout parts over the occasional animal grunt heard over their discussion as they repair the barn door.

Lately, his Pop leaves him to do bits like this alone. But he’s been hovering. More since the phone calls began and a level above that since he walked in on him the other night.

He stews in it. Allows it to thicken before he really brings it up—unsure whether to come out with it or skate around it. The two of them have gotten out of practice when it comes to sharing.

Javi is more used to lying to save face than being honest.

A hazard of his old job, he supposed. A mask he applied so his old man didn’t worry. Now, with those same occupational worries gone, Javi still finds it hard to let people in. Truly in. Not wanting to discuss Colombia, discuss Cali or Escobar.

It all adds to a pile of things the two Peñas don't talk about.

This wasn’t even bad news. It was good. Precisely what everyone wanted—including him—yet the words still seem to ball up in his throat. Rounding off, becoming a lump that sits.

Making it hard to breathe as he lifts a piece of wood; making it hard to twist when he moves to grab the hammer.

So much so, the words eventually just burst out of him. More like a confession than anything else.

“—that must have been real embarrassing for you.”

He can hear you stifling a laugh. His verbal reenactment of the conversation in the field with his Pop having tickled you.

“You’re an awful person,” he says, twisting the cord around his finger, smirking.

“If you feel that way, baby. We can always not meet.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. We’re meeting,” he says, coating his words in playfulness, even if there's a serious undertone remaining.

Turning on the spot, he leans against the wall. Finger looping more of the cord—hearing you lightly laugh.

“What... what is the plan, anyway?”

You hum, and he hears you shifting. Likely getting comfortable or reaching for something.

He’s learnt that often when he calls, you’re on your sofa—a blanket, sometimes over your lap. You like to be cosy, even if it's a warm day.

Other times you’re in your room, sitting on the bed—or under the sheets. It depends entirely on how warm you are, and how you’re feeling.

“Well, work will pay for my hotel for my two-night stay, and then if we, y'know, wanted to stay, I’ll just need to sort a room out for after.”

“How long have you managed to book off?”

It comes out shaky, more than he means it to.

Some of the finer details of your two’s meet left simmering in the centre of your usual conversations.

Both of you are evidently too afraid to ask.

“I’ll have managed to book off the week. Two days, including the day I land, for work and then the rest—if you're not a weirdo—can be with you.”

Grinning, he leans his head back, resting it against the wall. “Bit late now for you to be worrying about me being a weirdo, baby. I know the sounds you make when I make you—“

“Javi!”

Smirking, he bites the inside of his cheek. “It sounds good. Tell me the hotel, and I can book a room there.”

He hears it, the relief. The way you let out a breath, it blowing down the phone—making him smile.

“Y-you don’t mind?” 

“You expected me to?” 

Pausing, he hears you shuffle again. Sounding more like you’re on your bed than your sofa. “I mean, no. I guess I wasn’t sure what you’d assume. Cause, while there’s a good chance when I see you, I’ll want to spend every waking moment with you, there’s, y’know…”

Grinning, he curls the phone line around his palm, fingers sliding between parts. “The chance it could be a lot?”

“I just don’t want to fuck this up.” 

He doubts you could.

From what he knows of you, he’s sure of it.

But, he also isn’t quite ready to confess he’s already pretty head over heels for you. That he is without seeing your face, knowing how tall you are—whether you have dimples or not, whether you smile with your lips or your entire face. 

“How’re you gonna fuck this up, baby?” 

You go silent, wondering if that’s the point you’ve shrugged to no one but your apartment. 

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” you say quietly. 

Something snaps in him, a fracture running through him. “That’s alright. Steve told me I’m an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole—“

“And I promise you’re not a lot. If anything, you could actually talk more to me.”

“Shut up, I talk loads.” 

He smiles, biting the inside of his cheek as he sighs. “I'm excited to see you.” 

“Me too.” 

Moving closer to the wall, he swallows, looking at the chipped tile in his kitchen. “You’re not gonna fuck this up, baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise. Let me book the room for the same amount of days as you, and then we can take it from there,” he says.

Struggling to hide his smile as you excitedly tell him you'll go grab your hotel details. More so when he's sure he heard you trip over something.

Are we going to do this when we meet?

you want to still do the crossword together

Yeah! We can find a place to pick up the paper if you want?

id like that

Good! Now, hit me with the next one so I can get some sleep so I can see you quicker.

got me blushing baby

7th word is d from ciders and clue is replacing, nine

Insteadof. This one is easy.

yeah im beginning to see that

Maybe we’re getting good at it?

let’s put it to the test, self-confidence six

Okay that one did take me a second but it’s aplomb.

you amaze me

Thank you. I think I should try and get some sleep, don’t want to look half-dead when I see you.

I doubt you ever could

I can’t believe I’m going to see the face that matches that suave voice.

suave ay. cant wait to see how pretty your smile is

You’re making me blush again.

tomorrow ill get to see it in person

You will. Goodnight, baby.

If I wasn’t meeting you it would be criminal being up this early.

Actually, it isn't even early. It is still night.

morning to you to baby I’m about to get on the road

Ok, I'm going to make myself the largest coffee.

Also if you’re not there after half an hour I’ll just head to the hotel.

hermosa I’m picking you up 

I know but just in case, least you know I won’t be standing around. 

you won’t be because I’ll be there 

Javi, this way you have options to take one look at me and drive the other way. 

I won’t do that 

I’m just giving options and in case there is traffic 

hermosa, im not going to stand you up

Okay, can’t blame a girl for wanting to help.

you can help me by getting your ass to the airport

Getting bossy, are we? I like it.

fuck baby you cant say things like that to me when i need to leave

Just something to think about on your long drive. Please drive safe, baby. See you soon.

see you in several hours

Javi is surprised at how smooth the drive is.

He watches the sun rise up as the miles tick on, sliding his aviators from his shirt to up on his nose. He finds a surprising road stop that serves not-bad coffee.

The kind that doesn’t leave that cheap tinge on his tongue or bitterly sitting in the back of his throat.

He doesn’t feel nervous, either.

And on top of that, he finds a parking spot at the airport with ease.

In a way, he worries it’s too good to be true. That such smoothness now means a rocky hill later.

That’s when the nerves kick in. It sitting, fluttering in his stomach—at first, all little wings and then all of a sudden something larger.

Shifting the parking brake into place, he turns the key to silence the car. His pulse creates a beat—steady, almost orchestral—as he glances up at the sea of people stepping out of the airport. 

This is it.

He’s been trying not to picture you—attempting not to turn shapes into something solid. Javi wants the experience when his eyes land on you, as though his world is in black and white, and then he’ll see colour.

It’s what he hopes.

A part, small but insistent, keeps chipping away at him, reminding him to plan for the worst. To have a backup plan—a way out.

Picking up his phone, he stares at the blank screen. Somewhat reassured that you hadn’t either texted that you’d arrived earlier—or worse, you’d changed your mind.

Lifting his chin, sliding his palm over his jeans, he takes a breath—deep, heavy, the kind that expands his chest until it can’t anymore.

You should have landed by now.

His eyes glance at the time on his watch as he takes another breath. Checking down at his shirt, making sure for the hundredth time he hadn’t spilt coffee—ensuring dark brown hadn’t stained pink.

It’s what you had asked for.

How will I know it’s you? youll know Because you’re oh so handsome? yes that and ill wear bright pink For me? You spoil me.

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he brushes his palm over his face.

It’s only then that he allows his eyes to flick from face to face, worry creeping in. It trying to merge with the happiness he’s been stifling on the drive. Scanning and scanning, glancing and glancing—

Then, in a worn denim jacket, legs out, dragging a battered suitcase behind, he sees you.

Or who he hopes is you.

If it is, you look nervous. It makes you stand out from the crowd of bustling people around you, as they struggle to get past you, and you struggle to force it behind a smile or banish it from your cheeks.

Even from here, it pulsates. You finding it more difficult as shaky hands pull out something from your pocket, unfolding it, before he sees the most ridiculous hand-drawn sign in between your fingers.

It’s definitely you. 

You who has scratched Javi P onto a piece of paper, all accompanied by a worried expression on your face as you shift from leg to leg. 

Javi isn’t sure why you made the sign. You didn’t need it.

Somehow, against all logic and odds, he knew it was you. His arm shoving the car door wide as he exits, not looking back to check it slams into place as he crosses to you, watching, waiting with his heart in his throat for your eyes to land on him. 

And when they do. 

It’s an eclipse. 

It hits your eyes first, making them gleam like a beacon guiding him home. Then it reaches your cheeks, lips sliding up, teeth showing as you lower the sign, staring at him as he moves closer, forgetting all the others around the two of you.

As though a single soul has never even existed outside the two of you.

It’s just him and you.

Coming to a stop in front of you, he lets himself stare you up and down—voice and texts stitching themselves to the face he now sees. 

Flexing his fingers at his side, Javi watches you slowly lick your lips as his heart slides back into its rightful place. The nerves slowly stop fluttering, and his mind begins to catch back up with him.

And the only thought that remains is: You're beautiful.

More than his mind could ever conjure or create.

“Hi,” you say.

And it falls like glitter from your lips to his ears. 

His lips are unable to relax from their grin, spreading wider, cheeks aching as he fights running his knuckles against your cheek. “Hi.”

an: if this was a sitcom, this would be my season finale... but alas it isn’t, so you only have to wait a week for them to be hanging out *wink, wink*

✨ also, check out this really cool moodboard a beautiful soul made for LNT for the birthday bash

next chapter ->

[cloudrumble23]

Puppet girl wanted her to get to know the other ghosts in the pizzeria. To help her "adjust." To prevent corruption from taking over her soul.

Well fine. Cassidy could do that, even feeling the rage boiling under her skin as she considered the thought of anything other than plotting her revenge on their killer. Did the puppet even care? Probably not.

Still, Cassidy could handle it. She could make friends with that quiet kid who never left the suit. Puppet girl hadn't even had a chance to have a conversation with him yet since she was too busy babysitting everybody else to prevent them from corrupting.

The golden suit was crammed far back in the corner anyway. Nobody really seemed to acknowledge it, and Cassidy knew that the puppet girl only knew about it because she'd put Cassidy's soul there. Unintentional companionship, Cassidy thought to herself, squatting down in front of the suit to examine the eyes.

Sometimes there was a faint pinprick of light when she did this. Other times, there wasn't hardly anything to spot. Today was a bad day. She squinted intently, trying to make out the spot of light that she knew was there constantly, but there was no sign.

Resigning herself to actually talking to this kid was maybe not a good idea. He was hard enough to communicate with on a good day, and today was definitely not one of those. Still, Cassidy dove straight into the suit, knowing she'd have to go deep to find the quiet kid who shared the suit with her.

"Are you down here?" Cassidy called, looking around the eerily red space. "Hello?"

She heard a faint sob in response and hurried over to it, seeing him curled up in a ball on the weirdly colored grass.

"Okay," Cassidy sighed, pulling him upright. "What's the deal?"

The boy had his face buried in his hands still, something that continually frustrated Cassidy. They'd encountered each other briefly before, and he never tended to speak. She knew there was the lingering mark of death on his face, a flag of red spilling down an otherwise monochrome appearance.

In life, Cassidy might've even said he was cute, but she didn't have time for such things anymore.

Her fingers looped around his wrists as she adjusted herself to sit in front of him. "Look, I'm not typically the pushy type, but you're the person I know best out of anybody here, and I'm supposed to be making friends so that I don't get corrupted or whatever. Which means you gotta deal with me."

He didn't respond, even as she managed to peel his hands away from his face, revealing thick, oily tears that spilled all the way down his face and coated his hands. Corruption, Cassidy thought suddenly, a chill running through her.

"Okay..." Cassidy exhaled slowly as he peered at her through his eyelashes, briefly distracted from his emotional turmoil.

She swiped at the substance, hoping it was easy to remove, but she ended up smearing it across his face more. "Umm, oops?"

He only blinked at her, seemingly unbothered by the mess.

"Look, I gotta be honest here. This is way out of my range of knowing what I'm doing. And uh... puppet girl says corruption is bad." Cassidy gestured at their hands, coated in corrupted something or other. "And this stuff looks like corruption."

"Oh," the boy answered softly. He glanced at his hands and then at hers. "I'm sorry."

"What? No, you don't need to apologize. We just need to-" Cassidy took a deep breath, something she wished was still helpful. "Okay, why were you crying?"

The boy's mouth thinned, trembling slightly.

"Never mind," Cassidy said quickly. "Could you tell me your name?"

"I... I guess..." he replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm... Evan..."

"Okay, Evan." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "I'm Cassidy. I possess Golden Freddy."

"That's not his name," Evan said immediately, his mouth turning down in a frown. Something flickered in his eyes, a memory of some kind. "His name is Fredbear."

"Uh huh." Cassidy didn't know what to make of that. She really did need to talk to the others, didn't she? Clearly, there were many things she didn't know. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I just kinda gave him a nickname, I guess."

"It's alright." Evan clasped his hands together in his lap. "That's a lot of blood."

"Oh, yeah..." Cassidy looked down at her torso, still unimpressed with the fact that the bloodstains had carried through with her death. "It's a symptom of death, I guess."

"Do I... Do I have one of those?" Evan asked, his mouth creasing in worry. "Is it on my face?" His voice seemed to get higher with every realization.

"I-" Cassidy didn't know how to respond as he crumbled into tears again. "Yes? I mean, we all have those. It's okay, don't cry."

Her reassurance didn't seem to get through to him.

"Hey," Cassidy pulled him into an awkward hug, making him tumble half into her lap. "It's not a big deal. Even puppet girl has some bloody marks on her face too. And her neck."

Evan hiccuped. "Really?"

"Yeah, it's something we all deal with. I mean, it still sucks because that's so invasive to just know how other people died, but-"

"At least we're all in it together?" Evan asked, the tears spilling from his eyes no longer dark and inky.

"Yeah." Cassidy tried to smile at him. "We've still all got some stuff we can keep private though, like what we were like when we were alive, but as far as dying and our killer go, we got stuff in common."

"Our killer?" Evan seemed horrified. "He killed other people? Besides me?"

"Yeah? He killed all of us," Cassidy's mouth twitched. "Did you not assume that?"

"I thought it was an accident. He said he was sorry and that it was an accident," Evan started muttering to himself, hyperventilating.

"Okay, I think you need to calm down a little bit-"

"Calm down? We're dead because of him!" Evan's eyes flashed, and the hysteria in his voice increasing as he spoke. "He lied to me!"

The black inky substance was leaking from his eyes again.

"Evan, we all had that feeling of hopelessness that you're feeling right now, and I know it hurts, but please. You'll be corrupted if you don't calm down!" Cassidy felt pressure rising behind her own eyes as she spoke. The threat seemed much more likely now that she was witnessing it happen.

Evan shuddered in her arms as she tried yet again to wipe away the tears. "I'm so bad at this," she said to herself as she continued to make it worse.

"Join the club," Evan whispered, gripping his elbows with what would've been bruising force in life. "I can't ever seem to get anything right, either."

"It looks like I made a finger painting on your face," Cassidy admitted, wrinkling her nose.

Evan huffed out a small laugh. "Probably an improvement to how I looked before."

"Nah, I think you're cute, but I made it worse." Cassidy scoffed.

Evan froze. "You... what?"

"I made it worse?" Cassidy answered with a questioning tone. "Like, I made you cry a bunch, and then I smeared it all over."

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense." Evan shook himself out of something.

"Did you always used to cry this much?" Cassidy asked, suddenly curious. She'd never heard him talk so much, and he was going to probably never do this again.

"Always," Evan said regretfully. "My family hated it. Mikey and Lizzie said I was the crybaby of the family, and they were right. It was so stupid. Mikey told me to 'man up' all the time and be a better older brother to Lizzie, but I just..."

"Your brother sounds like a jerk," Cassidy said.

"He's worse than a jerk, since he killed all of us," Evan huffed, peering up at Cassidy's face.

"Wait, what?" Cassidy frowned, suddenly confused. "Jeez, how long ago did you die?"

"Like... four years ago?" Evan answered, sitting up.

"But..." Cassidy was even more confused. "You seem too young to have died so recently. Like, your brother is a full-grown adult."

"No he isn't." Evan's face wrinkled up. "He was only fourteen when I died, so he wouldn't be older than eighteen right now."

"That makes no sense." Cassidy replied, shaking her head. "I died two years ago, and he killed me while wearing that stupid yellow bunny suit."

"Rabbit suit?" Evan echoed. "No, that wouldn't be Mikey. Mikey hated Spring Bonnie. Father kept trying to convince him to have more interest in the animatronics, but Mikey only cared about Foxy."

"Then..." Cassidy's throat tightened. "We weren't killed by the same person. We couldn't have been, not if you were killed by your brother."

"You were killed by my father," Evan told her, his face twisted in a different kind of sorrow.

He's trying to tell me without making me cry, Cassidy realized. How could anyone end his life like that? Evan was too sweet for his own good, and clearly some people hadn't appreciated him the way they should have.

"How do you know that?"

"He never let anyone else wear that suit, Cassidy. Not unless something changed after I died."

"Oh..." Cassidy didn't know how to feel about that. "So, your brother killed you, huh?"

"It was an accident." Evan stood up. "I don't..."

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Cassidy said quickly. "I was just curious."

Cassidy stood up and glanced around a bit. "Do you ever wonder why everything down here is red?"

"Sometimes," Evan shrugged. "I don't see anything in any other color anyway."

"You... don't?"

"No."

"Have you ever left the suit?" Cassidy asked. "I only ever see you down here."

"I didn't know I could leave." Evan blinked at her.

"Come with me." Cassidy said suddenly. "You have actually been living under a rock, for real. Come see where we are."

"Oh. Okay..." Evan reluctantly followed Cassidy as she made her way out of the suit and back into the real world.

"So, this is Parts and Service." Cassidy gestured at the grungy room filled with broken animatronics.

"Who is this?" Evan asked softly, having walked away from Fredbear to trace a line down Foxy's snout.

"That's Foxy," Cassidy answered, coming to stand by his side. "Fritz doesn't tend to hang out around the suit much, not during the day anyway."

"Wow," Evan said, his voice wavering. "They actually made them all into animatronics?"

"Yeah, there's Freddy, and Foxy, and Bonnie, and Chica. They're a bit rusted out, and now they're just used for parts, but..." Cassidy shrugged. "I mean, the kids go around and have fun during the day, pretending to still be alive."

"You say that like you don't," Evan turned to her, clear tears running down his face. Does he ever stop crying? Cassidy wondered.

"I don't tend to join in. I'm a bit too aggressive for the things they like to do."

"What do you like to do, then?" Evan asked, his hand still resting gently on Foxy's head.

"I don't know. I just don't feel like playing anymore. I don't feel like pretending to be alive when I know we were all murdered, you know?"

"I guess..." Evan blinked. "What if you could help kids who were still alive?"

"Help how?"

"I don't know. Cheer them up when they're down or something, I guess. Like you did with me."

"I wouldn't say I cheered you up," Cassidy scoffed. "You're still crying."

"These are good tears," Evan replied.

"Well, I don't think that would work, in any case. Nobody can see or hear us."

"They can't?" Evan sounded disappointed. "Well, that's..."

"They can see the suits moving, at least," Cassidy offered. "It's just that you can't really communicate, and I've only ever used the suits to scare the security guards."

Evan stroked the fake fur on Foxy's head, not seeming to really be listening anymore. His shoulders drooped and the tears were darkening again.

"Hey, what's up?" Cassidy asked, finding herself reaching for Evan's face yet again to clear up the corrupted tears.

"It's nothing."

"Clearly that's not true," Cassidy pointed out, holding her inky hand in front of Evan's face. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to see my family again. I guess I was just hoping that I could tell my brother that I forgive him and miss him and-" Evan cut himself off with another sob. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Cassidy replied stubbornly. "I bet we can find a way."

"What if he doesn't even come here, Cassidy? What if he-"

"Foxy's his favorite, you said, right? Well, if that's true, we need to find a way to get him back in commission so your brother comes back. And then we can try to find a way to get communication between you two again."

"Why are you helping me?" Evan asked. He looked so silly with his face all squished like this, but Cassidy couldn't help it.

"Because I'd like to do something good for once," Cassidy whispered. "And I think it'd be nice to see you smile."

"Oh," Evan answered as Cassidy stretched his cheeks up to force his mouth into a makeshift smile. "Hey, stop it!"

Cassidy laughed. "Make me."

Evan swatted at her hand, a short huff of laughter escaping his mouth. "I can't!"

"Then you're stuck! Oh no, how terrible it is to smile again!" Cassidy grinned in his face, finally relenting in time to see him naturally smiling.

He giggled. "You're ridiculous, Cassidy."

And you're adorable, Cassidy thought fondly, surprised by the sudden protective urge that washed over her. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I dunno. Depends on if you're ticklish or not," Evan replied, the silver of his eyes gleaming menacingly as he dug his fingers into his sides.

Cassidy gasped, surprised that the same jolt of nerves she'd always felt when she was alive was still possible as a ghost. "Hey!" She laughed, even as she crumpled forward, tucked into Evan's shirt as she continued to struggle.

"You want to know the best part about this?" Evan asked, grinning down at her. "I don't even have to stop."

He was right, Cassidy realized. She was laughing so hard she couldn't draw breath, but since they were dead, it didn't make a difference. It's crazy how much joy there still is, even after dying, she thought, still struggling to squirm free.

Maybe the puppet girl had been right after all. Cassidy just needed to make some friends.

Or a friend, she thought looking up at the laughing boy who shared the suit with her.

There was still joy after death.

Especially with Evan around.

Thank you to @pixlokita for this adorable piece of fanart for this, by the way!

[mcntsee]

There was this boy…

Summary: Y/N shares a tale of her first love with the Crows.

Warnings: Not much other than ooc Kaz and alcohol consumption.

Note: I’m more of a angsty writing typa gal, so here’s some fluff for now. Let me know what you guys think.

In the dimly lit confines of the Crow Club, the Crows gathered around a secluded table, basking in the afterglow of a successful heist. Glasses clinked, and raucous laughter filled the air as the alcohol flowed freely. Kaz, Y/N, and Matthias sat with relative sobriety amidst the drunken revelry, observing their inebriated comrades.

Jesper, his cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming, leaned toward Y/N with a mischievous grin. "So, Y/N, have you ever been in love?" he slurred, barely able to contain his curiosity.

Y/N's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Of course, Jesper," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of mystery. The Crows leaned in, their drunken curiosity piqued.

"There was this boy," Y/N began, her eyes sparkling with memories. "I met him near the harbor when I was just a wide-eyed nine-year-old. He had this mischievous smile and eyes that seemed to hold a million secrets. A captivating presence that drew me in. He was the first person I ever truly loved."

Confusion clouded the faces of the Crows. They exchanged glances, unable to decipher who Y/N was referring to. Only Kaz, ever perceptive, held a hidden smile, understanding the truth behind Y/N's words.

“We were inseparable. We would spend our days exploring the harbor, sneaking into places we weren’t supposed to be. We had a sweet tooth that knew no bounds, and we’d devour candy like it was our secret treasure.” Y/n paused for a second to compose herself from the small chuckle that managed to escape her lips, “Whenever times got tough, we’d help each other steal food, laughing as we escaped the clutches of hunger.”

The Crows listened with rapt attention, their faces reflecting a mix of curiosity and sentimentality. The image of two children forging a bond over stolen treats warmed their hearts.

Y/N’s voice grew softer, her eyes distant. “We shared our hopes and dreams, our fears and vulnerabilities. It was as if we created our own little world, shielded from the hardships that surrounded us. He was my confidant, my partner in mischief, and my first taste of love.”

Nina, her words slightly slurred, leaned closer. "What happened to him, Y/N?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

A tender smile played on Y/N's lips as she replied. "He changed. Life took him down a different path, one far from the innocence we once shared." she replied, her voice steady, "but my love for him didn't."

Y/N’s gaze drifted across the table, locking eyes with Kaz, the only one who knew the true identity of the boy from her story.

The Crows, their senses dulled by alcohol, cooed at the sweetness of Y/N's confession, their questions dissipating into laughter and sighs. Meanwhile, Matthias, ever vigilant, noticed the lingering glances between Y/N and Kaz throughout the evening. An inkling of suspicion gnawed at him, planting seeds of curiosity that would bloom in the days to come.

As the night wore on and drinks were consumed in abundance, the Crows bid each other goodnight and stumbled off to their respective rooms.

What they didn't know was that Y/N's steps veered away from her designated room, drawing her toward Kaz's quarters instead. The door closed behind them, and the atmosphere shifted from the revelry downstairs to a more intimate setting.

In the hushed whispers of their shared secret, Y/N and Kaz laughed and marveled at the obliviousness of their companions. They reveled in the fact that the Crows had no inkling that Y/N's tale of first love was a covert homage to their own hidden bond.

As silence settle, Kaz moved from his previous position near y/n. His gaze met Y/N’s, and a mischievous smile played on his lips.

“Care to join me for a moment?” Kaz asked, his voice holding a hint of intrigue.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N nodded, joining him near the record player. The room was enveloped in a nostalgic melody, its soulful notes casting a spell of tranquility.

As the music filled the room, Y/N couldn’t help but remark, “What a lovely choice. I didn’t know you were a fan of this genre.”

Kaz’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “There’s more to me than meets the eye, y/n,” he replied, his voice infused with a touch of playfulness.

They stood there, amidst the gentle hum of music, engaging in lighthearted banter and sharing whispered stories of their day. Their laughter mingled with the nostalgic tunes, creating an intimate symphony that resonated within their hearts.

A comfortable silence settled between them, a testament to the depth of their connection. In that moment, Kaz extended his hand with a gallant gesture, “Care to join me for a dance, Mrs. Brekker?”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with delight as she placed her hand in his. “I’d be honored, Mr. Brekker,” she replied, her voice filled with a warm affection.

They swayed to the timeless melody, their steps graceful and in perfect sync. The world outside seemed to fade away as they reveled in the simple joy of being together, their laughter intertwining with the music.

In the embrace of their dance, Y/N and Kaz spoke volumes through their movements. Each twirl and sway conveyed a love that transcended words—a love that was hidden, yet tangible.

As the music played on, they allowed themselves to get lost in the moment, cherishing the intimacy they shared. Their smiles spoke of a shared secret, a commitment that only they held dear.

And as the final notes of the song faded away, they remained locked in a tender gaze, their hearts speaking a language known only to them. In that stolen moment, they were reminded of the strength and beauty of their hidden love.

Their laughter resonated in the quiet room, an acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they cherished. They knew that their story would forever remain known only to them, a treasure woven into the tapestry of their lives, while the Crows slumbered, oblivious to the truth that danced in the shadows of their own revelry.