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seikkoi · 2 days ago

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ᴡɪᴛʜᴇʀ | j.barnes x f!reader

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Your words hang in the air like laundry on a rainy day–pointless and unchanging in purpose. The empty space dares him to say something back, but the more time passes, the less sure he seems. His mouth opens and closes, jaw tense and fighting against something inside.

“I can’t be what you need.”

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. post-snap au, secondary character death, implied/referenced abortion, survivor's guilt, grief, ptsd, etc., explicit mentions of alcohol, angst, hurt with absolutely no comfort, no y/n usage word count: 5.1k

“James–” you try to call out, and the syllables die in your throat.

He pauses at the threshold, shoulders slump.

“I can’t,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.

The walls thunder when the door slams behind him, leaving a silence empty enough to hear your own pulse. It’s quick, adrenaline still rushing and heat still dancing on your tongue. Even though you feel defeated in your own right. You thought you would have so much more to say, so much more anger to let out. Insults and frustrations you’ve buried over months. But your admission had sliced deep enough, and Bucky was clearly uninterested in staying for round two.

It wasn’t meant to end like this, you weren’t supposed to tell him like this. You had anxiously prepared for this conversation, waiting for a night he was sober enough to remember you existed. He’d call over and over from midnight to two in the morning, breaking your will with every ring until you answered and save him from whatever hole he was drowning in. Or, he’d show up and plead for you through the door. You obliged him every time, saying it was for your neighbors peace and not your own. But that was a lie, it was for you–each time.

You couldn’t stand leaving him alone and broken, and he needed that. He needed someone to care. Something solid, safe. You were a journalist–not risking your life everyday and grounded enough to understand why he still did.

Yeah, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, but that wasn’t stopping him. He wanted to pay the world back. Do anything to make all the terror worth it. It didn’t matter that the toll could never be paid in full, that the universe never asked for retribution. He didn’t think he deserved to have anything else.

In the beginning, after HYDRA fell, it gave him purpose. He started to feel normal. Steve pulled him back into the world a year ago when all he wanted to do was hide away. He thought he could, thought he was ready. It felt good to save people instead of harm. To have children reach for him in safety. He listened to Sam and attended the veteran’s meetings. He didn’t need to share for everyone to know who he was–the sight of the brooding, gloved man in the corner with dark eyes told enough on its own. He soaked in the stories of others, taking solace in knowing no one experience was unique.

He started going out, living. Steve and Sam drag him to the gym a few times a week, which inevitably spirals into the gym and lunch afterwards. On Sam’s birthday, he guilts Bucky and Steve into ‘just one shot’, which, of course, inevitably spirals into several shots and a few beers.

Bucky won’t say it then, but it’s the most normal he’s felt since 1945. He watches Steve make a passionate argument for English beers (to Sam’s dismay), and swears he watched him make the same argument 50 years ago in a bar two boroughs over.

He had gained the courage to venture the city on his lonesome. It was overwhelming and exhilarating. Streets he thought he knew like the back of his hand had completely transformed, and totems he thought would be long forgotten stood the test of time.

He winds up back in Brooklyn, strolling the outskirts of his old neighborhood. He didn’t dare pass the frontier, not yet. Still, it felt good to be this close. The streets were different now—sleeker, polished, bustling with a new generation of dreamers—but their roots carried the scent of home. The barbershop he used to frequent is now home to an upscale coffee shop. The old brick facade is now limestone white, and he honestly might prefer it that way.

He had another few blocks of reminiscing to do, but the door swings open as a young couple emerges in high spirits, carrying a very enticing croissant and a mouth watering smell to match.

He doesn’t catch you on the other side of the glass–looking away from your laptop to catch some leather-bound brood get seduced by a pastry. You chuckle as the choice seems to take him very little time to make, stopping just long enough to watch the couple walk by and catch the door behind them.

He seems innocent enough despite the heavy coat and deep scowl. You can’t help turning slightly in your barstool to watch him, sticking out from the new age pop music and neon lights. You have to hide in your book when he heads for the empty seat next to you.

“Did no one ever tell you staring was impolite?”

You stammered an apology as he laughed and asked what you were reading. After you ramble for a minute too long, he pledges to give it a try and let you know what he thinks.

“Same time next week?” he smiles, knocking against the counter and leaving as quickly as he entered, treat in hand.

You didn’t want to take what he said seriously. Obviously, it was polite sarcasm. He didn’t mean it. You weren’t getting dressed and heading back to the cafe the following week because you expected him to be there or anything. No, no. You had an article to finish and that was your spot anyway. If he’s there again, it’s not because of you, it’s because of the croissant, obviously.

But he is there. Not only is he there, he’s got the book you recommended in hand. He waves the spine enthusiastically across the room when you take your place at the counter, and you try not to smile too hard.

You didn’t think it’d spiral into anything. You hadn’t meant to ask him for his number the next week, it just sort of stumbled out–under the guise of talking about the book, of course.

Instead, you two talk about anything but that. At first, Bucky’s shy to admit he didn’t quite get some of the references, and you happily spend a half an hour explaining Blade Runner. He begs you not to call him James out of embarrassment, and you do it anyway (eventually, it turns into a well-liked habit). You tell him about the time you tripped crossing the graduation stage, and he laughs as if he was seeing it live.

For weeks you find yourself glued to your phone well into the early morning hours, swapping high school stories and food criticisms with such ease that you forget your giggling with one of the world’s deadliest assassins. You avoid bringing it up–you were a journalist, you read the papers. You didn’t need him to relive that to you. Especially when you were both too busy falling hard, and fast. Phone calls turn into dinners that turn into him spending the night in your bed.

Before you know it, you’re spending your Sundays watching him completely fail a pancake flip in your kitchen. There’s warmth in the air, in your ribs. Settled and comforting in a way you never knew you needed. And then he presents his blob shaped creation like a true work of art and you realize you don't want that feeling to go anywhere.

He brought that into your life, swelling and warm with every terrible pancake flip, soft smile, or kiss to your cheek.

And Bucky was better for it. To know he could love, to be loved in return. It grounded him more than any ghost walks through the old neighborhood ever would. This, what he had with you, it was here now.

Maybe the fight could truly be over. Maybe he was finally safe.

And then, Thanos happens.

It is the worst month of your life. You go from slow dancing in the living room, leaning against him and taking in the calm of his heartbeat, to watching the news in horror as Thanos’ army came to Earth. Scotland, New York, Wakanda. Footage of smoke rising in great plumes, painting the skyline with streaks of ash and chaos. Alien ships hover like vultures, dropping black-armored creatures into the streets below. And somewhere in that chaos was Bucky.

Or so you had hoped. Girlfriends weren’t high on the SHIELD update chain, and his location was confidential regardless. So, for 28 days, all you could do was watch the chaos unfold from the other side of the screen. On day twenty-nine, you woke up to find that half the world had vanished without a trace. You call Sam over and over, praying that he was okay, that Bucky was okay.

No one answers, and for another three days you sit alone in your apartment swallowed whole by grief. Friends, family, the blonde barista at the coffee shop, and the man you barely got to love.

A knock at the door pulls you from your stupor, eyes raw and cheeks red. And when the door swings open, your world tilts again.

“Hey, doll.”

He says it so casually, like he’d just step out for an afternoon, not over a month. There’s a cascade of bruises on his face, a pristine bandage wrapped around his arm, but he’s there. Alive. Flesh and Bone.

You don’t think, you leap. Your arms tangle around his shoulders, squeezing until you’re shaking. He grunts softly in surprise, but his arms wrap around you tightly, steadying you like he always does.

You sob before you can even speak, your cries muffled against his chest. His metal hand runs gently along your back.

You hoped–assumed all would return to normal now. The life you were starting didn’t need to be on hold a second longer. The world would take time to heal, sure, but for now you could go back to late night slow dances and burnt Sunday pancakes.

But then, you hear about Sam.

He didn’t make it.

Neither did countless others Bucky had dared to call family the last few years. You listen in stunned silence as Bucky tells you, the weight of the losses hanging heavy in the air between you. His voice cracks when he mentions Steve, though he doesn’t say much else. You don’t press—what more could you possibly ask?

For a while, both of you stay shadows of yourselves, and you imagined a great deal of others followed suit. Work didn’t go anywhere–being exponentially difficult if anything. Constant reporting of the aftermath, the testimonies. You don’t admit it and you don’t quit, but you start to hate it. You run out of words to describe what happened and no one can make up their minds for quite a while. The editor-in-chief gives you sympathetic nods for every late article, but you know you’re hanging on by a thread.

At night, Bucky holds you a little too tight, and you let him.

You catch him staring out the window in the early morning. Sharp lines draw on his face and you wonder if what you write is nearly half as bad as what he’s seen. It’s the only time you wonder what he’s done, what any of this has truly been like for him.

Truthfully, it’s hell.

For weeks now he’d pulled countless mangled bodies from rubble, killed heartless scavengers who wouldn’t put the damn gun down, and watched the world he started to love again fall apart. And the rebuilding effort was estimated to take years. He didn’t have years of this in him.

And who's to say Thanos was done? He had the stone, all the power in the universe to squander them at a moment's notice. Two of the strongest people he knew, gone with a single snap.

“Why wasn’t it me?” he thinks, staring down an empty glass.

The compound was eerily empty, with Stark still M.I.A and everyone else busy putting out fires at all corners of the globe. Pepper couldn’t stand the silence and left for her parents’ house in Boston. Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. He should be out there like everyone else–helping more, looking Tony, or supporting you. But it’s 2 am and he’s stuck, unable to face anyone and unable to cry.

The fight would never be over. And he would never be able to keep anyone safe.

So he pulls away. Like night and day you go from two ghostly shadows, dancing in charred grief to nuclear reactions, ready to set the other off at a moment's notice. He can't cope and you can hardly move on, but you are moving. You push Bucky to do the same and it never ends well. It’s easier for you, and you know that. You’re constantly reminded of the devastation behind the thin veil of pictures and text. There is no separation for Bucky. Every cry, every hint of death and absence, floods his senses until it’s all his brain can compute.

The world is gone.

In a flash of anger, he throws the bottle against the refrigerator and takes pride in the shatter. F.R.I.D.A.Y is smart enough not to offer assistance.

Peace was at his fingertips. He felt it. He missed it. Watching Steve and Sam argue about the most trivial topics. Listening to you ramble at 3 am about bad romance novels. Seeing actual joy in strangers on the street. Being in the world when it felt whole again.

Now, he can’t look at you without thinking of loss. The folly of love. Pain would always lurk on the horizon. He could try over and over to rebuild. It didn’t matter and it never would. The universe was a cruel bitch–and nowhere knew through him by the looks of it. Every night he goes to sleep with a heavy ache in his heart. A miasma that sits on his chest and stares at him through his dreams. In the morning, it follows him from place to place. Watching, waiting to swallow him whole.

When Bucky comes to you later that evening reeking of sorrow, you have a look that he can’t place. He thinks you can see it, the dread stalking him. The emptiness. He can’t take it and leaves as soon as he arrives. With each passing day, he pulls away more, and more and more. It’s better to lose you this way.

It doesn’t stop you from calling and sometimes he answers. Some days he shows up and holds you like nothing ever happened. He loses his grief in the soft corners of your body, and you let him. It helps you too. You find yourself all the same, soaking in his weight against the mattress. It’s hopeful, the way he touches you. Delicate, precise–not in pleasure but in preservation. He breaks you apart until you’re left to just the finest parts. Thinking of nothing but him, wanting nothing but him. Hungry teeth mark the soft flesh at your pulse, the skin on your inner thigh. All to catalogue the noises you make, to feel your nails dig into his shoulders. He does this for his own memory, savouring as much of you as you can before you’re gone for good. He knows it’s inevitable.

It’s always been inevitable.

In the morning, it’s lost all over again when he disappears, leaving the scent of mulberry and whiskey behind.

Carol finds Nebula and Tony in cold space. Battered, starving, and a moment away from slow death. Bucky had a dust of hope left that the genius had one more trick up his sleeve. A month passes while he recovers, then weeks. After a year Pepper and Tony find a quaint cabin up north to forget. Or maybe to start over? Bucky can’t tell and he gets too mad at his absence to care. Tony Stark got to stop being Iron Man and all James wishes for is to stop being Bucky.

The time between his late-night visits as the miasma greedily feeds. The loneliness and old memories stops either of you from saying what needs to be said. It’s harder and harder for him to face you. Each time Bucky leaves you craving what you had before, while still giving you hope it might come back.

He stops coming to the cafe altogether. Stopped calling. The man who once lit up your entire world now burned through whiskey like it was water, each sip drowning him a little further

The day you find out, it’s bittersweet, and you dared to hope again. You picture, even if just for a second, a bright future. Burnt pancakes with an extra plate, soft laughter from the dinner table as you and Bucky waltz around the kitchen–you picture it all in such a sharp flash. A reason for both of you to hope again. It’s vivid and near disorienting. You sit against the bathroom wall staring at the pink double lines.

Out of instinct and burning joy, you called Bucky, heart racing and a smile creeping onto your face.

It rings once. Twice. Three Times. And then voicemail.

And then you remember who Bucky is, or rather who he’s becoming.

And your heart sinks.

For two days you cry and wait. That he’d call back, that this time he had a reason. That the universe wasn’t giving you an enormous final sign.

Each day blurs into the next and you’re forced to face the music. The future you pictured, it would never be reality. In reality, things continued to deteriorate. Just as Bucky realized anything could take you away from him, you realized he was already gone. Sure, he survived the snap, but he wasn’t living. He perished just the same. You were left with a man hollow from far more than just grief. And a man who could never be a father. That peaceful future could never exist because this world would never give you peace.

Children weren’t a part of your life plan. You couldn’t do it on your own and you knew that. You weren’t sure you could do it under any circumstances. But you certainly couldn’t in this world. Not now.

So you made a choice, alone. You called Bucky again before making the appointment, to no answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell a friend, sunken by anger and sadness you can’t. You go alone, drive home alone, and cry alone for two weeks.

You start to think this time he’s never coming back. Your decision feels justified, righteous, and forty times worse. The bed sheets maintain a perfect shape for you to hide in. Not from Bucky. No, you wish he’d seek you out. At your absolute worst and wanting him the most. Even though you knew you should hate him, cast him aside in your mind.

But you just can’t. Call it loneliness or stupidity–it didn’t matter. You keep a sliver of hope that he waltzes right back into your life, this time as himself, whole. Unbroken and ready to belt Frank Sinatra down the empty streets as he walks you home. You could loop his arms in his again and lean steady on his weight once more.

Maybe you got desperate for it. While the weeks stretched into another month, and you had to keep living. People seemed to fill the gaps others left behind. Deadlines came back, along with birthdays, sports tournaments, and holidays. There was always an air of despair to everything, though. Tributes and memorials were constant, and the topic never truly left public discussion. It simply changed from a thing that was happening, to a thing that had happened.

You met new people, a lot, in fact. A few even ask you out. Each time you turn them down, lying about you weren’t ready for dating yet or that work was too hectic. Truthfully, the thought of being with anyone else felt like an act of betrayal. Logically, after twenty seven days (because yes, you were counting) of missed calls and ignored texts, one might assume any romantic relationship did, or should come to end. But not you, not with Bucky.

You didn’t want anyone else. But he wasn’t here.

On day thirty four, a heavy knock wakes you around midnight. You’re half-asleep, shivering in your night-gown and wishing you wore something warmer to bed when you answer.

Bucky slouches against the door frame, clothes wrinkled and eyes glinting. He looks at you for a second, just long enough for you to see the anguish stalking him, before he crosses into your apartment–taking your face between his palms and kissing you.

You don’t think, only react. You never do on these nights, the nights he bothers to remember you and you’re desperate enough to let him in. You react to the liquor-stained tongue dancing in your mouth, his hands finding your hips and pushing yours against the wall. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and when his hands paw at the silk of your nightgown, you untie it for him.

You don’t think as tears flood the back of your eyes, just as desperate as you are for release. It’s love, anger, need, and grief in their most convoluted form–working together and fogging your mind.

You don’t think when he lifts you around his waist, tongue still searching for peace behind your lips. It’s been long, too long for both of you. Too many nights and days spent praying he’d come back to you. He lays you down on your bed, trailing down your body and leaving you breathless. You can hardly see him in the dark room. A shadow, lighting your nerves on fire without a single word.

Some shifts. Perhaps it comes from the way he pauses at your hip. Fleeting and haunting. Recoiling as if the bone will break skin to seek him out. Livid that he would dare to take more than he deserves.

You don't think, and misread his hesitation as a chance to take control. Flip the script. Leave him a wanting mess. You don’t want to give yourself any time in reality. You want to pretend this is one of your first times. Before the world bowed under its own weight. Before you Bucky became your curse. And thinking is antithetical to whatever currently happens between you two in these four walls.

Your hands graze the lines of his jaw in the dark, finding full hairs where your mind remembers itchy stubble. Too much time has passed. You don’t think, pulling him back towards you and capturing his lips, trying to mimic the hungry passion he showed you at the door.

He doesn’t show you any return and you would think to stop, but you aren’t there yet. You try harder, until his arms braces your forearm. The cold metal grounds you and forces you to find his eyes in the shadows.

“This is wrong, I shouldn’t be here.” he whispers, almost like he’s speaking to himself. You hold his gaze briefly before it darts to the floor.

Your heart sinks like a stone. Your ribcage wants to tighten around it.

You tighten your nightgown instead.

“Don’t,” you plead, but Bucky was already pulling away, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“I mean it.” he took another step back, and the stone reaches your stomach. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Can’t?” you shot up, more sharp and cutting than you thought. “What the hell does that mean, James? You can’t? After everything–”

He knows you're using his birth name out of anger, but even then he relishes in the way it sounds on your tongue.

He still doesn’t bear to look at you, shoulders slumping. “I shouldn’t have come here, I should’ve known better.”

The laugh that breaks out of you isn’t a laugh at all. It was something jagged and bitter. You leave your bed to face him, refusing to let him ignore the hurt he’s causing.

“You should’ve known better? Now what, you disappear again and call it noble this time?”

“I’m trying to do what’s best for you! I’m trying to protect you!” he snapped, loud enough to echo.

“Protect me from what? From you?” you repeat, incredulous. The words taste sour.

“Yes!” he burst out, voice high and raw. “You don’t need this–you don’t need me.”

Breaths can barely leave your throat. You think this is what people always meant when they said they were ‘seeing red’. You want to ask if he thinks you needed him after losing half of everyone you cared about, too. After eight hours a day writing about tragedies that somehow felt two feet in front of you despite happening thousands of miles away.

“I can’t believe I thought you could ever be a father–that we might have a family.” It’s an admission you mean to keep in your head, but it spills out in a tangled mess with your tears before you can realize what you’re saying.

Bucky snaps his head up. His jaw clenches, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to argue. But the weight of your words seems to register. He doesn’t say anything, and the silence is suffocating. You feel the space between you both stretching, threatening to snap. He finally meets your eyes, and the vulnerability there almost breaks you again.

“What are you talking about?” He knows the answer to his own question. But he wants to be wrong. He prays to be wrong.

“I was pregnant and you couldn’t even pick up the phone.” you grit, trying not to yell, cry, or some combination of both. You fail, and your sparse tears turn into full streams. “I didn’t know what to do–I was alone.”

“When were you going to tell me?” His tone is low, in a confused attempt to process, but all you hear is blame.

“I tried! For weeks! I couldn’t just wait on the sidelines for you to love me again, I couldn’t do this without you and you weren’t here!”

“You don’t understand,” he mutters, his voice cracking under your anger.

“Then help me understand!” you plead, stepping closer, your heart pounding against your ribs. “Help me understand why I had to make that choice alone.”

“I’ve lost everything,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything I’ve ever cared about. And I can’t—I won’t—put you in that same category.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening with both frustration and heartache. “So, what, you just decide to give up? Walk away and lose me anyway?”

“That’s not what this is–I’m not giving up,” he insists, though there's a lack of conviction in his voice.

“Bullshit, you’re just a coward–you’re giving up because it’s easy and staying here and making things work is harder.”

Bucky froze, his jaw tightening as your words settled between them like a storm cloud. His voice was low, measured, but laced with contempt.

“Don’t give me that crap, There’s nothing easy about letting you go.”

“You don’t get to talk to me about giving up, Bucky. Not when you’re the one walking away. Not again.”

“You think I’m just cutting myself off from everything, throwing my entire life away, throwing you away, leaving every last thing I know and care about behind, because I want the easy life?” He stepped closer, his eyes blazing.

“It was never that easy for me to do this—with you, with anyone! It was so much easier for me to go on thinking there was something I could do to make a real difference, but I know now—” His voice cracked slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“I know now there’s nothing I can do. The only path everything leads to is everything being ripped away from me.”

You shook your head, voice sharp. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

“If I could do something to be at peace,” he continued, his voice still rising, “then I’d do it. I swear to you that I would. But it’s all just... waiting to slip through my fingers, leaving nothing behind.”

“That’s not true!” you snapped, your fists clenching. “You’re the one letting it all slip away, Bucky. Not fate, not some unstoppable force—you.”

“Bullshit!” His words were a snarl now, his hands clenched at his sides as though he didn’t know where else to put the anger. “What do you know? What the hell do you actually know about me, huh?”

Her lips parted, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Nothing! I’ll tell you what kind of man I really am.” His voice softened, the anger bleeding into something more resigned. “I had nothing when I started, and I’ll have nothing when this nightmare finally ends. And I’m not wasting your life too.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me!” you shouted, stepping forward. “You don’t get to play martyr and act like I’m just collateral damage in whatever war you’re fighting with yourself. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

“You know I’m right,” he bit out, his voice suddenly colder, quieter. “You knew it when you decided to end it–and I don’t blame you.”

There isn’t any air left in the room.

“I’m an empty shell. There’s nothing inside me at all. I know there isn’t. Guess that’s obvious. Anybody could see that. Before Steve got me, before I met you...” Bucky laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to fix this. You want to start over.

“Do you have any idea what I did with my life? I hurt people, I terrorized people, that’s what. I’ve never done a single honorable thing.” He looked at you with glossy eyes.

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to decide that nothing good has ever come from you, just so you can justify giving up. You don’t get to rewrite everything, Bucky.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with frustration and hurt.

Your words hang in the air like laundry on a rainy day–pointless and unchanging in any purpose. The empty space dares him to say something back, but the more time passes, the less sure he seems. His mouth opens and closes, jaw tense and fighting against something inside.

“I can’t be what you need.”

It’s soft and final.

Before you can even process it, he turns sharply, heading out your bedroom and to the front door. Each thud of boots feels heavier, more deliberate.

“James–” you try to call out, and the syllables die in your throat.

He pauses at the threshold, shoulders slump.

“I can’t,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you.

And then, without another word, the door slams behind him with a force that rattles your bones.

You stand there in the dark, the silence swallowing you whole. The words you want to say, the things you wish you could take back, settle into the pit of your stomach like stones.

But he's gone, turning into a ghost once more. And for the first time in a long while, you know he won’t be coming back to haunt you.

[ comments & reblogs appreciated ♡ thx for reading ]

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #mcu fanfic #marvel fanfiction #seikkoiwrites

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fumifooms · 9 hours ago

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Marcille and Chilchuck are that fucking bicorn chapter sandwich where it has sweet syrup mixed into it and Chilchuck starts out like "ewww -mocks it-" but then at the end of the chapter he tries it and he’s surprised that he likes the taste. He just had to try!! He’s been so closed off and passing up on so many friendships because of it out of fear!!! But then he triessss and he opens up and it’s gooood sobbingggg optimism and pessimism are like a surprisingly good sweet and sour sandwich marchil is like a surprisingly complementary sweet and sour sandwich I’m fine…………….

I think the timeline not being mentioned through the story makes it easy to miss that he and his wife haven’t spoken in 4 years since she left and see that’s one itsy bitsy detail Marcille didn’t get while she theorized, it went that far. Imagine your wife leaving you and you start out not reaching out to her because you have a petty cold shoulder resentment, but then you start being actually worried and by then you’re scared to reach out, but she’s still dear to you, and just like that waiting and waiting and waiting four years pass. Without a single word. Get him the clown shoes The universe gave him an idealist persistent coworker obsessed with his life for the express purpose of getting him to consider reaching out to her and open up his heart to hope again it’s great

Quoting a buddy, sometimes it feels like there’s no point in trying to do things because the results may be unfavorable, but you miss out on a lot if you keep to yourself so much. There’s a real social anxiety mindset there too… Shit’s hard and life’s tough and it sucks sometimes but you gotta keep trying, there’s also good you just have to keep an open eye and an open mind. This is why I say sometimes that marchil is the meaning to life to me likeeeee. Ok but it kinda is though…… to me…………..

For as many people think Chilchuck’s demeanor with his family might have been lacking, someone will not let you forget that Chilchuck is a VIRTUOUS HUSBAND!! < Marcille says with the power of bicorn and Daltian Clan on her side. Defend his virtue like he’s a blorbo from your shows marcille go And he is so sure he is an opaque wall he sees her as silly and clumsy, but he’s transparent lmao. She really is so curious about him. And bicorn’s sorta like at her top game on that front— She doesn’t know Chil’s wife so she gets ahead of herself on some things but Chilchuck wise? She gets his pov down so well that it leaves him shaking in fear of her accuracy gdbdg. Ohh the fear of being known, "if we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known" is marchil but we been knew that.

Right from the beginning we see Marcille’s more observant with him than she seems, for example telling Senshi that Chil’s "the most mature of the party", but she does idealize him as a young little angel, similarly to Falin even when she knows logically they’re not kids, but still acts like it and oversteps boundaries, and then of course shit happens and the changelings puts the nail in that coffin- but before she can get to the bicorn convo at the top of her Chilchuck accuracy, she also first has to believe that Chilchuck committed adultery. His fall from grace from little angel to dirty old man status. She has to acknowledge he’s very much capable of fucking shit up and not soften it at all, he’s an adult and has to take responsibility for his mistakes, and give him the cold shoulder so Chil sees his life flashing in front of his eyes and goes fuck not again. "Maybe telling people I care about that I did awful things to get them off my back is a terrible strategy actually", and then when she finds out he hasn’t they’re back to being besties, but now Marcille fully sees him as an adult who’s capable of having faults. She can’t idealize him or strip him of depth anymore, him having these two hard to reconcile halves to him is key in teaching her not to judge and categorize people so much anymore.

But then… And this is the key, she saw him as a little guy to always forgive and excuse who can do no true wrong, to glaring at him and being unfriendly when it’s revealed he did something she can’t forgive easily— but when it’s cleared up, she doesn’t lean hard either way anymore, she doesn’t go right back to black and white putting him in a box, there’s balance now. When she gives her wife roleplay speech, she can recognize the faults in him that would have made her feel sad and unloved while still assuring him she’d love him and would want him back, she describes a blatantly unglamorous daily life and presents it as the greatest thing since sliced bread. She goes from idealizing impossible standards like novel princes to romanticizing a mediocre flawed everyday man 😌

And to be clear, romanticizing, not romancing. Focusing on the beauty of it and turning it into a nice aesthetic little thing like how she would a novel archetype, like how Ghibli movies romanticize slow daily life and chores. She doesn’t present it as something it’s not, she just sees the silver lining in all of it, frames it as pleasant and desirable. And isn’t that lowkey so much better like doesn’t that make life so beautiful without dangerously veiling your eyes to reality though…. Sighh marchil is the meaning of life

Giggling kicking my feet 💕 Marcille sees a rain cloud locked door locked heart locked book man and takes it as a challenge, says not on my watch I’ll befriend him, ends up reading him like an open book.

NOBODY DOES IT LIKE THEM!! THERE WILL NEVER BE ANOTHER MARCHIL AGAIN!!! Sobbing into my hands. What if our relationship and our arc examplified the theme of fantasy vs reality in relationships in Dunmeshi what then

You will fuck up and that’s ok… Shit will get tough but it’s worth it… There are still people to love and who will love you even if every relationship ends with loss, wether rejection or death. THE! MEANING! OF! LIFE!

Bad things and good things can coexist and balance each other out the way Chilchuck and Marcille do I need to walk into the ocean. Okay okay okay okay

Dunmeshi prones the importance of balance for both a healthy body and a healthy mind, and optimism vs pessimism is one such case <3

If you were too glass half-full and I was too glass half-empty, maybe together we could make a full glass

#Fumi rambles #Marchil #A fraction of the power the marchil blast living in my brain has #Marchil is sooooo marchil is aghhhhhhhh aaaaaaahoug.#Letting myself go and marchilposting casually for once nowadays. Feels really good. Let the marchil wash over u #Lotsa stuff here i wanna cover in the marchil arc analysis but well. Whatever it’s been a year. Another peek another way to phrase it #When I talk about how I regularly ramble and give my marchil speech to anyone in the vicinity on discord this p much is the one i mean #Keeping marchil in my heart so i remember words of wisdom and keep my chakras aligned and live happily w an immortal soul #… I binged midnight mass for christmas it shows a bit #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Dungeon meshi #marcille donato #chilchuck tims #This is a good new year themed post i feel actually. Too bad it’s for christmas now i guess

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apricatt-art · 6 months ago

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them!!!

#witch hat atelier is so incredibly special to me!! my favorite manga and one of the few I collect! the art and writing are so beautiful!!#witch hat atelier #qifrey #coco #wha #Δ帽子 #tongari boushi no atelier #can’t wait for this story to reach even more people!!#my art

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criminalamnesia · 8 months ago

Note

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)

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gladiatorcunt · 8 months ago

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🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!

cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited

this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader

Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.

Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.

“He… he didn’t show up!”

Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.

You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”

Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.

He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.

divider

Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.

You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”

You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.

You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.

His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”

You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”

He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.

Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”

“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”

It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?

“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”

You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.

divider

You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.

“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.

It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.

It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.

Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.

You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”

Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.

You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.

You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”

You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.

Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.

Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.

“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”

divider

You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.

You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.

“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”

You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.

Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.

“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”

You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.

Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.

“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.

You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.

“You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.

As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.

Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.

“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.

“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”

That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.

“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”

You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.

His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.

(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)

It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.

“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”

There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.

You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.

It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.

“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.

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sundew199 · 2 months ago

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The comfort of you

Tags: zoro x f!reader, fluff

Zoro loves watching you sleep, loves watching the way your guard falls easily when you’re alone with him, like the only source of comfort is his presence. He considers it an honor to know you feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep, even more so when he finds out you force yourself to stay awake around others. He smiles to himself when he traces your soft cheek with his finger, how your brows twitch at the touch, pulling a soft laugh from him.

You sleep so deeply on his chest, a trail of drool beginning at the corner of your mouth, never quite reaching his own skin. Zoro refuses to sleep when you do, his mind racing with thoughts as he looks at you. How pretty you are, how kind and accepting, how you fell for him of all people. That part is still a mystery, remembering how closed off and brash he was to you at first, honed in on his goal. But his heart kept pulling you to him, like a magnet in the vicinity of the opposite pole, stretching to connect.

Zoro often wonders of the life he can give you outside of piracy, when his life long goals have been met, when he succeeds in aiding his captain in his. Will you still want to be with him? Would you consider a slow normal life where he could teach the art of the sword to young minds? Would your love inflame or dwindle now that thrill of life on the sea was over?

He likes to think it won’t, but he’s never been sure, he can’t place all his eggs into one basket, even if he yearns to. All he wants is to grow old together, tell stories to the students that’ll learn from him or maybe even the children he’ll give you. He’d like that actually, a couple of copies of you and him, something he was once so adamantly against, but you had such an odd way of softening his hard nos.

His mind races with possibilities when he watches you sleep, the good and the bad. There are things he wants to tell you that dance in his mind but fear of jinxing it if he says it out loud. Like how he wants to seal his love for you in a ceremony, make you his wife and let the world know that the famed pirate hunter now vice captain of the straw hat pirates has a heart softened by only you. Or how he wants to end his night with you in a home over tea and sake, let you lean back into his chest and you watch the sun set over the sea and the wind rustle the cherry blossoms.

Zoro allows himself to feel when you sleep on or next to him, feel how your beating heart synchs with his and how real you are against him. His life is filled with uncertainty that is almost certain, but he never questions you or the lengths he would go to ensure you’re in his life till the end. Zoro can’t imagine you not rolling over in bed to greet him with a kiss, whether on the sunny or the home he brings you too after this adventure has closed.

Anticipation for a future with you is so sweet, so sought after by him that he has to remind himself to cherish each day, because he knows he’ll miss the lapping waves outside of his cabin on the sunny as you curl into his chest, resting up for whatever the crew gets into on the next island they’ll land at. He’ll miss the way you’ll drag him away from a party thrown by their captain for a private kiss or two, pressing you to the wall with a bottle of sake in his hand or yours, drunkenly giggling as your lips find each others. He’ll miss the way you smile at him when he joins you in Nami’s orchard, forcing you to nap under the sun with him. But he also can’t wait for the quiet slow life of just you and him and a possible family.

Watching you sleep and envisioning the future has become so dear to him, he just can’t bring himself to close his eye and join you, making up for the lack of sleep during the day. He sees everything he wants with you in the content expression on your face, tracing your features with a calloused finger and dotting your moonlit skin in feather light kisses.

“I love you.”

Is what he says into your ear as he settles in finally beside you, his body no longer able to stay awake like he wants. Carefully adjusting you so you’re heart will beat on top of his, lulling him into a dream that he can’t wait to have, knowing it’ll be filled with your bright smile and warm eyes, pulling him along to wherever the future with you holds, hoping to experience it outside of his mind one day soon.

#roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #one piece zoro #op zoro #zoro fluff

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 months ago

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Sunshine [6] - Middle of the Night

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Drunk calls can lead to sweet moments.

Word Count: 3500

CW: Violence, explicit language, mentions of sex, drinking, getting drunk, throwing up

Series Masterlist

To be completely honest, getting drunk was not in the plans tonight.

You were supposed to have one drink and go home but in your defense your best friend had tricked you with that two for one deal and now you were on your fifth cocktail, giggling at the story of her latest date.

“Listen, if you like him, I can totally normalize him living with his ex for you,” you told her and she made a face.

“How?”

“The rental market is in shambles.”

She let out a laugh, then shook her head.

“Nope.”

“Capitalism is fucking all of us—”

“We’re not doing that,” she said. “I mean how would you feel if Logan was living with his ex?”

“Logan hasn’t asked me out,” you pointed out. “Which is more reason to believe he doesn’t like me like that.”

“The guy maimed three people for you!”

“It could’ve been a friendly gesture!”

She threw her head back. “You’re not serious.”

You shrugged your shoulders, then downed your drink and motioned for another one.

“Listen,” you said, your mind all fuzzy. “Do I want Logan? Yes. Do I dream about us living happily ever after? Yes. Do I have very detailed fantasies about him breaking my bed? Also yes. But we don’t—”

“I’d just like to remind you that while you don’t have enough money to buy a new bed,” she interfered. “I will buy you a new one if you break it while the hot lumberjack is fucking your brains out.”

“Thank you, you’re a true friend,” you said solemnly as the waitress brought you your cocktail and you thanked her, then turned to Julie. “Jamie wants him to be terrible in bed so that I’ll snap out of this.”

“Doubt it,” she said. “The guy has been around since the mid-1800s, I’d assume he has some experience.”

You tilted your head, then gasped.

“Oh my God!” you said, reaching out to grab her arm over the table, almost knocking over her glass but she caught it before her drink could spill on the table. “What if Jamie is right?”

“I literally just said—”

“No, he was alive in mid-1800s!” you said, making her frown.

“Yeah?”

“What if he is like Edward Cullen and waiting for marriage?”

“That man is a whore!” Julie snapped, flailing her hands. “I’ve heard the way he speaks to you, he’s a slut—there’s no fucking way. He’ll break your bed any day now.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “To repeat, he hasn’t made a move.”

“To repeat, I think maiming three guys for you counts as making a move.”

You sucked on the straw of your cocktail, the happy warmth of alcohol buzzing in your head.

“So you think he likes me back?”

“I’m pretty sure he likes you back.”

You grabbed some popcorn from the bowl on the table.

“Yeah well,” you said. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Why don’t you ask him out?”

You pulled your brows together. “I can’t do that Julie!”

“Why not?” she asked. “Is it the 1800s? Will people call you a harlot in the town square?”

“No!” you said. “No it’s just…”

“When was the last time you got laid?”

“That has nothing to with the situation,” you said and took a huge sip of your cocktail, making her grin.

“Remind me, when was it?”

“It’s been some time.”

“So why aren’t you climbing Logan like a tree?”

“I’m trying!” you whined and she motioned at you.

“Drink your cocktail. The whole thing.”

You nodded and downed your drink, your insides getting even warmer as you put your glass on the table. Julie grinned, and pushed your phone in your direction.

“Now call him.”

“Julie!”

“Just ask him out!” she said. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“He could hang up on me.”

“He’s not gonna hang up on you,” she said. “Listen, that guy has been picking you up from work, calling you princess, saving you from creeps and sniffing your hair...”

“We’re not so sure about the last part.”

“Yes we are,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “Call him. You’ll be too much of a chicken to ask him out when you’re sober, so do it when you’re drunk.”

You let out a whine, then took the phone into your hands, heaving a sigh.

“What if I’m not his type?”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Somebody really needs to fuck you in front of a mirror.”

You scrunched up your face. “Oh I could never do that.”

“You should, it’s fun,” she said and nodded at the phone in your hand. “Call him.”

“But—”

“Do you want to fuck him, yes or no?”

“I want us to live happily ever after!” you said and paused for a second. “And yeah I want to fuck him. A lot. Day and night, multiple positions.”

“Call him.”

You took a deep breath, then nodded to yourself.

“I’ll be back,” you said and stood up from the chair, stumbling as the room spun around you but you grabbed the back of the chair and sat down again. “Shit, I’m too drunk.”

“It’s not that loud here,” she said. “You don’t have to go outside.”

“Okay,” you said and found Logan’s name, then touched it and took the phone to your ear, your heart pacing in your chest. You drummed your fingernails on the table, frowning to yourself, then lowered the phone.

“He’s not answering,” you said and ended the call, then turned to Julie. “Maybe he’s busy or something?”

“Yeah, didn’t you say they went on missions?”

“That’s what I heard,” you said and heaved a sigh. “Oh well. It was worth a shot.”

Julie shrugged her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she said and thought for a moment. “We should get shots.”

You gasped, and clapped your hands together.

“Yeah!” you said. “Yeah let’s get shots!”

Since Julie’s place was closer, you had split the taxi fee and dropped her off first before the taxi took you to your place. As it turned out, the shots were a bad idea because you had to rush to the bathroom to throw up as soon as you stepped foot into your apartment, but after you brushed your teeth and washed your face, you were still not sleepy.

On the contrary, you were pretty energetic.

…And hungry.

Starving, actually.

You hummed to yourself as you opened the fridge, then tilted your head. Nothing in your fridge looked good enough, so you grabbed your phone to order, but then scoffed when you saw the delivery fee.

“Absolutely not,” you murmured and grabbed your jacket to put it on, then grabbed your keys before walking out of the apartment. The buzz of the alcohol was still in your system despite you throwing up, so you hopped down the stairs and stepped out of the apartment.

Walking did help the nausea and your head spinning, and you were just passing by a shop when the fish tank caught your eye, making you stop in your steps.

Fish.

Interesting.

You stared at the shop window, nearly hypnotized by the lively colors and the fish swimming in the huge fish tank behind the glass but snapped out of it when your phone started vibrating in your pocket.

Logan.

“Oh fuck,” you muttered to yourself as you stared at the name flashing on the screen, your breath hitching. “Oh fuck, oh fuck…”

You took a deep breath, and touched the screen, then took the phone to your ears, your heart pacing in your chest.

“Hey!” you said, your voice going a pitch higher. “Um, what’s up?”

“Hi princess,” he said, his deep voice making you bite at your lip. “Didn’t hear you call, sorry about that.”

“No problem,” you said with a giggle. “Jesus, fish are pretty. Did you know they were pretty? I didn’t really pay attention to them but—oh my God. I’m so buying Theo fish.”

“What?”

“No seriously, he wanted it, and these things are tiny and it’s not that hard to take care of fish, is it? I mean it can’t be harder than taking care of orchids, Nik bought some for me and those things are goddamn suicidal, I tell you.”

“…Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy,” you corrected him as you fished your gloss out of your purse to apply it, staring at the window. “Tipsy-ish? This store is open right? Yeah, I see someone inside—”

“Hold on, you’re drunk and outside?” he asked. “Alone?”

“Yeah but it’s fine,” you said. “I stepped outside for some fresh air and I’m gonna get food but I got distracted by this aquarium—I’ll buy two fish and then put one of those fake trees and stuff into the tank—”

“Stay put, I’ll be there.”

“You don’t even know where I am though?” you said, looking around the street. “I’m close to my apartment but like I said, I need to eat something and Theo needs fish—”

“I’ll follow your scent, stay put,” he said and hung up, making you hum, and then put the phone into your pocket and entered the shop to smile at the owner.

“Good evening sir,” you said. “I need one orange and one white fish please. My son will name them Cheeto and Popcorn.”

Logan found you as you were leaving the fast food place, holding the paper bag full of French fries tight with the small fish tank tucked in your other arm. You put the paper bag on the lid on the tank as the roar of the motorcycle made you lift your head and you looked over your shoulder.

Jesus Christ, he was too hot.

You could swear there were flying hearts circling your head as he got off the motorcycle and made his way to you, his herculean figure making you sigh before you looked up at his handsome face, your heartbeat getting faster.

“Hi sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him, still hugging the tank to your chest. “Hi. You’re very handsome.”

That made the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile before he tilted his head.

“How much did you drink, again?”

“Um…” you bit inside your cheek, looking up at the dark sky to calculate in your head. “Six cocktails and a couple of shots. The shots were Julie’s idea though.”

“Right.”

“Hold this,” you said, pushing the tank into his arms before grabbing the paper bag to open it. “Ugh, I’m starving! Are you hungry?”

“Nope,” he said, still smiling. “Go ahead.”

You hummed a song to yourself as you dug into the fries, and cleared your throat, trying to focus.

“You didn’t have to drive all the way here,” you said. “My place isn’t far.”

“Mm hm, and you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” you corrected him as you chewed on the fries with him walking beside you. “I swear to God, potatoes are the best vegetable to grace this earth—what were you doing when I called? Am I keeping you from something?”

“Nope,” he said. “I was walking around the halls to make sure everything was alright, I didn’t take my phone with me. How about you? Fun night?”

“So much fun!” you said as you popped a couple of fries into your mouth. “Julie is seeing this guy—well, they slept together, and apparently he’s still living with his ex and it’s like a huge red flag for her, but seriously the rents are insane nowadays so I don’t—Logan, what are your thoughts on premarital sex?”

That made his head whip around and he stared at you while you calmly chewed on the fries, waiting for his answer.

“…Huge fan of it?” he said after a beat and you nodded your head.

“Same here,” you said as you started walking again. “Did you—um, so do you count as Victorian or Georgian? I always mix those two up for some reason.”

He pulled his brows together. “What?”

“I watch a lot of period movies, I think yearning is the most romantic thing in the entire world, that hand scene in Pride and Prejudice changed me as a person,” you said as you reached into the paper bag to pull out more fries. “Um, I have a lot of questions for you and I know you’re this cool and mysterious guy so you can just say yes or no.”

He stifled a laugh. “Sure thing, hit me.”

“Did anyone give you their handkerchief?”

“No.”

You gasped. “No one gave you their handkerchief? What a bunch of assholes!”

“I had other priorities in mind during those times, sweetheart.”

“Yearning is a priority, Logan,” you said wistfully. “Next question, were you ever accidentally engaged?”

“How does one get accidentally engaged?”

“People see you talking to each other without a chaperone.”

“What?” he asked with a grimace. “I don’t—no.”

“No wonder why you like modern times better, now that I think about it,” you murmured as you looked into the bag, then heaved a sigh when you saw only a couple of fries in it. You grabbed them and threw them into your mouth, then scrunched up the paper bag to throw it into the nearest trash can. “Do you like Cheeto and Popcorn?”

Logan pulled his brows together. “Come again?”

“The fish!” you pointed at the small fish tank he was holding in one hand and he looked down at it, then chuckled.

“Right,” he said. “They look nice, sweetheart.”

“Right? Theo will be very happy, and—is there any rules against pets at the school? Because he will want to take them there.”

“We can bend the rules a little for him, it’s fine,” he said, making you smile at him brightly.

“Aw thank you!” you said as you licked your lips, then looked around before turning to Logan. “Logan?”

His eyes held a soft light in them. “Hm?”

“Can I see your claws?”

He frowned slightly but unsheathed his claws. “Why? I don’t see any threats, do you—”

He was cut off when you held onto his arm to lift his hand a little to see the blur reflection of your face on the metal, then dabbed at your lip gloss that had smudged a little with the tip of your finger. You could feel Logan staring at you so you lifted your gaze for a moment.

“What?”

“…You—you know I’ve hurt a lot of people with them, right?”

“And now you’re helping me fix my makeup with them,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Things can be of multiuse.”

He didn’t comment on it as you rubbed your lips together, then dropped his hand to beam at him. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” he managed to say with a small chuckle. “You are something else, you know that?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” you said happily but before you could thank him again, you noticed two guys staring at him, no doubt because of the claws. You could feel the sudden rush of anger sparking to life as you narrowed your eyes at them.

“What?” you snapped, making them snap out of the haze, exchanging glances. Logan raised his brows, his lips twitching as if he was amused. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” one of them said. “Just claws—”

“Yeah, so?” you asked him as you took a step towards him but Logan put his hand over the back of your neck, gently pulling you back, looking like he was trying his hardest to keep a straight face and not burst into laughter as the guy stepped back. “What, do you wanna fight or something?”

“…No?”

“Then fucking act like it, how about that?”

“Your girl is aggressive, bro.”

“That she is,” Logan said, rubbing his thumb over the back of your neck. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“It’s rude to stare, okay?” you told them over your shoulder as you started walking beside Logan. “No seriously like, didn’t your mom teach you anything? Call her, let’s see what she’ll say about you staring at strangers!”

Logan pursed his lips together to control the chuckle vibrating in his chest before he cleared his throat.

“Unbelievable,” you grumbled. “No seriously, even Theo knows not to stare at people and he still believes in Santa! That’s no excuse, what the fuck was that? You should’ve let me kick his ass!”

“I think you scared them off enough.”

“Good!”

“Do you always look for fights when you’re drunk?”

“I’m tipsy and I have zero tolerance for disrespect, Logan,” you pointed out. “I mean honestly, who raised these boys?”

Logan bit back a smile, then nodded in the direction of your building.

“Come on,” he said and you pulled out your keys, but then dropped them with a gasp. Logan picked them up, then opened the building’s door for you.

“It’s kind of like a handkerchief situation when you think about it,” you said happily as you climbed the stairs. If you weren’t so drunk, you would’ve noticed earlier that he was in fact in your building but it only dawned on you when you stopped in front of your apartment, then held your breath.

“Logan?” you asked, your heart beating faster at the possibility. “Would you like to come in?”

“I’ll just make sure you actually go to bed and not wander off to the street completely drunk,” he told you and you pouted your lips as he opened your door for you.

Stepping into your apartment, you yawned and looked over your shoulder as he closed the door behind him, then held up the fish tank.

“Where do you want to put it?”

“The kitchen is fine,” you said, pointing at the kitchen and he made his way to the kitchen while you swayed on your steps, making your way to your bedroom to fling yourself on the bed, kicking off your shoes. You heard the sound of water running before the footsteps came closer and you sat up in the bed, tucking your legs under you. Logan entered your bedroom, his hazel gaze focusing on you for a moment before he shook his head slightly and handed you the huge glass of water.

“Drink it.”

“Oh I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink it,” he repeated and you heaved a sigh, then took a sip of it before lowering the glass to your lap.

“I’m pretty sure those cocktails will knock you out but off the chance that you wake up still drunk, I need you to promise me—” Logan started but a tiny lint on the skirt of your dress caught your attention, making you distracted. You pulled at it with a frown but felt Logan tilt your chin up so that you could look up at him.

“Eyes on me princess, look at me.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through you as your eyes met his, pleasant goosebumps rising on your arms as you blinked up at him in adoration.

“Your voice is very deep,” you murmured and he smiled slightly.

“Did you hear a word I said?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.

“Don’t wander off to the street if you wake up in the middle of the night,” he said. “I need to get back to the institute but—”

“Or you could stay?” you asked, your voice soft in the quiet, dimly lit room and a shadow moved behind his hazel gaze, making your heart skip a beat. You knew he knew what you meant, and hope filled your system, making you feel nearly lightheaded at the possibility of him feeling half of the fire running through your veins.

You could swear there was some sort of invisible lighting crackling between you, making your breath catch in your throat as he traced your bottom lip with his thumb, making your eyes flutter close for a second before you looked up at him again.

“Logan…”

“That is not happening when you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and you pulled your brows together.

“It could.”

“It won’t.”

You bit inside your cheek, blinking up at him and he frowned as if trying to pull himself together. His knuckles brushed over your cheekbone softly before he withdrew his hand, then leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head, making you heave a sigh.

“Call me when you wake up tomorrow,” he said before he pulled back, then walked out of the room.

You heard the front door open, then close and you let out a whine, then let yourself fall back on the bed, pressing your fingertips on your lips. A giggle you couldn’t stop climbed up your throat and you lowered your hand, then took off your dress to throw it to somewhere in the room before grabbing the covers to pull them over your head, a huge smile curling your lips as you closed your eyes, sleep pulling you into its warmth.

7 - Heat Wave

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan wolverine #logan x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan x you #james logan howlett

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wheneclipsefalls · 2 months ago

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Tawtute Sickness (A Precious Drabble)

Pairing: Adult Ao'nung x Hyperfeminine Human Reader

This one shot is from the Precious series. It can be read alone but reading the Precious origin story gives a better experience and context.

Summary: There is still so much that Ao'nung does not understand about Sky People so with your cycle running off track, he is in for quite a surprise.

Warnings: MDNI, explicit talk of menstruation, talk of blood, hormones, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, dominant Ao'nung, interspecies relationship, aged up Ao'nung, crying, self doubt, insecurity, protective Ao'nung, swearing, PMS, sexual themes, etc.

A/N: This is just a random little fun something I thought of when I was on my period. Nothing like a silly fantasy to help one cope:)

Adult Ao'nung pic by @cinetrix

Another cramp rolls through you mercilessly. With a groan you stuff a handful of stolen popcorn into your mouth. Surrounded by a small parade of stuffed animals atop your bed and drowning in the charm that is Mr. Darcy, there is no better place to take refuge. Your period has sprung into action earlier than expected but you’re proud of how things have been handled.

It had taken copious amounts of bribery to convince Norm to deliver an excuse to Ao’nung as to why you can’t see him for a bit. Although double his age and even in possession of an Avatar body, Norm has always crumpled slightly under Ao’nung’s presence. Even as his visits have become more frequent at the outpost. The sight makes you giggle, no matter how hypocritical that is considering you too were anxious in his company for the first few weeks here.

Despite the time that has passed since feelings were shared between the two of you, there is still a level of intimidation and intensity that comes with Ao’nung’s visits. He is never shy when it comes to sharing his opinions. Half the time it is hard to tell what will come out of the Metkayina male’s mouth next. Although, there are ways to identify the mischief that dances in his ocean blue eyes before.

And neither is he bashful when it comes to sharing his particularly ravenous intentions with you. You would not be able to count on both hands the amount of times you’ve tried to swat his hands away while the two of you are in public. Not that it deters him. With a potential mating on the way it’s clear that the Metkayina prince views you as his own. Even in the extreme heights of embarrassment you can’t resist the wonders that he bestows upon your body. Always leaving your heart pounding at your rib cage and red face tucking under his chin afterwards.

So in a way, you can’t blame Norm for never growing accustomed to Ao’nung’s company.

Regardless, the alibi has been sent and you’ve foraged for the proper snacks and feminine supplies to get your through. Now all that’s left to do is tuck into your room like a locked away princess in a tower and survive the next five days. Everything is going according to plan despite the sudden arrival of ‘Aunt Flow’. And in a few days you will be back snuggled in the impressively bulky arms of a certain Metkayina male.

With a sigh you snuggle deeper into the plush surface. Despite the risk of stains you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of wearing one of your favorite pajama sets. It’s a dusted pink shade of silk that reminds you of the vintage film Sleeping Beauty. With the soft trim of purple lace along the sleeve and shorts hem, you feel like a delicate princess waiting to be rescued. Perhaps a foolish and even childish way to cope but it’s easier to get through the pain when you blur the harsh lines of reality into that of day dreams.

However, it seems reality will not be kept out for long.

Or at least, Ao’nung won’t be.

You hear his pounding footsteps before he even reaches your hallway, the faint echo of Norm’s protests doing nothing to stop that determined rhythm. Norm scatters away once Ao’nung has pushed your door open, with a little too much force that makes you cringe. It’s an under evaluation of his strength luckily and not rooted in any real malice. Not when his eyes now narrow at you with a playful reprimand as his tail swings.

“What have I said about avoiding me, precious?” He clicks his tongue, hands atop his hips as you scramble further under the pillows and stuffies.

You feel foolish for thinking this plan would work but now that Ao’nung is here you are ready to do whatever it takes to conceal your embarrassing condition.

“Not to.” You cake the tone over with sweet innocence and an even more tooth rotting smile. As always it’s done with a certain level of hesitancy, your nerves getting the better of you when his bulking frame is taking over your doorway. Still, you’ve learned there are special ways to soften Ao’nung’s composure.

He takes a few strides into your room, effectively prompting you to scoot back further towards the headboard.

“Hm, so then why is my precious sevin tucking away from me? I’m starting to think you crave some discipline, paskalin.” That sharp curve of a devilish smirk looks stunning along his turquoise lips. And like the true traitor she is, your pussy flutters at the sight.

It’s not fair for him to waltz in here with bedroom eyes and chest still adorned with a hunting harness and weapons. Not fair when your body is literally punishing you for not being pregnant and Ao’nung offers himself up on a silver platter for your nature’s carnal desires. And especially not fair when pieces of those curling strands have fallen from his bun and lay across his collarbones to leave drops of salt water.

You are in no state to be making plans. And definitely not finding ways to coerce the stubborn prince away from something he wants.

“I’m just not feeling well, Ao’nung. Didn’t want to make you sick.”

Ao’nung scoffs at the idea, borderline offended that you would even consider that a possibility. With your delicate state it seems laughable to him that you would be capable of passing on any sort of sickness to him.

“Such a fragile thing.” He steps forward with the roll of his eyes. “Do not worry, I will-”

His sentence cuts off as sharp as the jagged rocks on the westside. Now at the foot of your bed, his nostrils flare visibly. Your stomach tangles in despair, already anticipating where this is going.

“You’re bleeding.” He states, dark tone barely giving you a chance to register his words before he is rushing to your side. Ao’nung crawls onto the bed without a passing concern for the screeching of the bed frame under his weight. Within seconds his large frame is towering over your own smaller body until you are wedged into the corner.

“No it’s nothing really. Well I mean I am bleeding but not in the way you think…or well it’s…” The rambling doesn’t reach his ears, ocean eyes searching over every inch of you to find the injury. Trepidation settles at the looming embarrassment that threatens to follow as you desperately squeeze your thighs together.

Fighting against Ao’nung massive hands that clutch your shoulder and hips to turn you is useless but you can’t resist trying. And then his eyes snap downwards and with it your last shred of hope signed away. A look of utter horror contorts over his face as he stares down at the thin shorts just barely covering your panties.

A beat of silence ensues.

Face now the shade and temperature of a raging bonfire you struggle to think of a response through the fog of humiliation.

“How…” The sound is barely choked out from his lungs. It’s a rare sight to see Ao’nung speechless, every ounce of playful banter wiped clean. And if the circumstances were any different, as in not having that dread painted across his face at the reveal of your bleeding vagina, then you would be tempted to enjoy seeing the mighty male so caught off guard.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your plush hips. It’s clear that his head is struggling to come back online and process what devastating news he has uncovered.

“Well you see-” Your voice unfortunately seems to snap him out of whatever daze he has been in, his body moving into action before you can even finish your sentence.

“I will take you to my mother.” Perhaps the most terrifying sentence Ao’nung could say as he starts trying to pull you into his arms. Embarrassment bleeds into panic. A sense of anxiety bounces between the two of you as he rushes to scoop you up and bring you to the healer’s tent and you grasp at anything to keep from being met with the most intimidating woman on the planet in this condition.

“No wait! Ao’nung it’s fine. I’m fine.” It’s not much use when he already has your wiggling figure dragged to the end of the bed with just one hand around your ankle. It traps you underneath his body in one swoop.

“You are bleeding.” Ao’nung reiterates, sharp canines coming to show with a slight hiss. “Mawey tawtute, she will know what to do.” He nods firmly, but there's a crack of hesitance in his voice. As if the reassurance is really there for himself than anyone else. You’ve never seen Ao’nung so serious before, nor this panicked.

Your pleas for release mean nothing as he quickly gathers you into his arms. Panic and humiliation work in tandem to wrestle you into a state of utter panic. And working more on instinct than real thinking you do the one thing that will grant you freedom.

You grab a fistful of curly hair and yank. Hard.

Dropped back onto your plushy bed as Ao’nung lets out a pained hiss you scramble for the one place you might be able to hide. It’s painfully obvious and stereotypical but your closet is the first and only place you can think to escape the handsome male. The door bangs shut, encasing you in the darkness surrounded by frilly dresses and tickling lace.

You grasp the handle with all the determination your exhausted body can muster. Ronal is a wonderful healer and exquisite leader but quite literally the last person on the planet you would want to witness your embarrassing, very stupidly human, condition. It’s likely that similar to her son she too would not know about human menstruation.

It’s gross. You feel gross. Your entire body aches and as Ao’nung starts to yank on the other handle tears are already welling up in your eyes. From what emotion exactly you haven’t the faintest clue but the weak reaction brings a pit of annoyance into the mix too. Because of course all it takes is your concerned boyfriend who is just trying to help, to put you into another crying fest. This would be the third one this morning.

It seems that whatever god created humans was far less kind than Eywa who at least had the decency to keep women from suffering monthly in the name of procreation. And with that thought in mind, anger comes to intertwine as well.

“Ao’nung stop! I’m not injured!” A rough shout that is anger more directed at your current situation than hands that now swing the door open.

The Metkayina male however is more than peeved now too. He isn’t about to take no for an answer as he hooks a thick arm around your midsection to pull you out.

“Stop struggling.” He growls.

You're halfway to the doorway of the bedroom and Ao’nung is anything but deterred by your babbling about how it is normal, just a tawtute thing. So your mouth makes a decision before your brain can approve it.

“It’s because I’m not pregnant!” A shout loud enough to echo down the outside hallway and freeze the Metkayina prince in place.

What a stupid thing to say. A terrible terrible mistake, you decide as you wiggle out of his grasp to glance up at his face. Now having rendered the male speechless twice in five minutes you feel slightly guilty. And humiliated. Along with disgusting, angry, tired. In fact you may as well feel every emotion under the sun with the way your chest squeezes painfully.

“I’m not hurt. I’m not in need of healing. It’s called menstruation. Yet another wonderful thing about being a human woman. Where my stupid vagina decides to bleed every month because there is no fucking baby in me!” Your screeches make Ao’nung’s ears pin back, your chest heaving with the effort as tears rocket down your cheeks. You can’t find it within yourself to care that this is the harshest language Ao’nung has ever heard from you. Not when sobs are already crawling up your throat and tears blurr the view of the towering male before you.

The same male that is beautiful beyond belief. The same that has somehow found some interest in you. And now the same that has yet another gross reason to rethink being with a human.

“So no I’m not hurt but I am…am…” Trembling lips crumble into a pout. Ao’nung’s tail curves. “I am miserable. Cramping. Tired. So fucking sad because this is the seventh time I’ve watched Pride and Prejudice because I can’t find the other earlier remake of it. And angry because I’ve already ruined a pair of pink panties. The ones with the clouds…that…that took me hours to make and…and I’m so disgusting!” Ao’nung’s eyes are blown wide enough to push his hairless brows into his hairline. “There’s blood everywhere! And I fucking hate it! And…and..my sleeve got caught on the doorknob earlier-”

Strong arms gently pull you until your cheek meets the warm skin of his abs. That simple action is enough to break the dam barricading your emotions. Now in a full meltdown, you paint his swirled skin with your tears and the racketing sobs fill the room sporadically. It feels nice to have something to hold onto, small fingers squeezing his hips as you break down.

Minutes. Hours. Years. There is no recalling how long the two of you spend in that position as you unleash every torturing feeling from your chest. What you do know is that those large hands drawing up and down your back eventually soothe those sobs into small hiccups and then finally into short sniffles.

“You’re not hurt.” Ao’nung checks again, calmly breaking the silence.

“M’not hurt.” You mumble against his skin, soon thereafter mourning the loss of contact when Ao’nung carefully shifts you backwards. Disappointment does not linger for long, however, when a set of turquoise thumbs brush away the tears falling over your cheeks.

Although his expression appears to be nothing related to anger, it’s difficult to decipher what exactly the Metkayina prince is thinking. A part of you wishes to not even venture to guess but that train of thought has already left the station. Another wave of embarrassment floods as you imagine just how ridiculous you must look at this moment. Eyes blotching and red as you cry over a simple natural process that is nothing in comparison to that of which the Na’vi go through to maintain everyday village life. Hiding away from your boyfriend in a sea of stuffed animals and stuffing yourself with popcorn as your way of throwing a pity party all while Ao’nung is still dressed in his hunting gear.

No doubt he has been up since dawn. Fulfilling both physically and socially draining duties to keep the clan running smoothly, in preparation for his time of reign. Ao’nung is everything you are not. You knew it within the first few minutes of meeting him. Perhaps he is not always the most patient or humble, but he is brave. And tough. Oh so mighty and resilient in taking on whatever Eywa throws his way.

How much worse do you appear when coming from that perspective? Still dripping in salt water and spear leaning against the doorframe, what compels him to want to spend time with a whiny thing like you?

“Stop crying.” Large hands bracket the sides of your head as he works to keep up with the dropping tears.

And you wish you could.

You wish you could be more like the mighty warrior in front of you. Years have proven you to be nothing more than a small child that can not let go of her toys. Drowning in day dreams as your silly way to cope.

That truth spins despair back into full swing. You feel even more guilty when Ao’nung pulls you back into his embrace, because who are you to warrant such affection? It’s clear that he deserves someone so much more and yet you selfishly accept the feel of his strong arms encircling you because it makes you feel safe. Because it allows air to properly enter your lungs again at a normal speed.

When Ao’nung takes a knee to match your eye level, you twist to veer away from those crystal-like eyes. The Na’vi doesn’t give you much of a chance as he manhandles you back into place,his tongue clicking in disapproval, so he can look you over properly.

“My poor tawtute.” He coos at you, as if addressing a lost juvenile creature without its mother. “Mawey, oeyӓ paskalin.” [Calm, my dear] And before your brain can register the sweet nectar of his words, larger lips are pressing against your own. The light flutter of your heart is recurrent as he patiently works to deepen the kiss. It’s different from those that fill your passionate nights of lovemaking. Ao’nung patiently pulls you into that bliss until you are melting against him.

Heavy eyes stall in opening once Ao’nung has pulled away.

“Bring your mask.” Ao’nung intstructs abruptly.

“What?”

He has already risen to full height, a large hand resting along your spine to urge you towards the door. Unbothered by your confusion, he takes a well needed sip of air from his own dangling mask. When he does catch a glimpse of your expression he pauses before a smirk tugs at his lips and his tail bats playfully.

“And your bunny of course.” He eyes the discarded toy with lips pulling back just enough to reveal sharp canines. “You will feel better once you are home.”

And suddenly you are no longer confused. It should have been obvious, this most recent topic of argument between the two of you. No matter how fascinated Ao’nung is by your well decorated room he stops at nothing to coerce you to abide in his marui. He has been caught more than a few times even openly smuggling things from your room in the scheme of planting it in his home like bait for his prey.

“Ao’nung no. I can’t come over tonight. Not like this.”

Those hairless brows knit together as he sweeps over your frame once more. It’s clear he finds no flaw in your condition that would prevent you from letting him steal you away to his home.

“And besides I have everything I need right here.” You scramble back over to your bed and begin explaining the little nest you have created for yourself. “Pillows for the perfect position, stuffed animals, snacks, and in another twenty minutes Mr. Darcy is going to confess his undying love for Elizabeth.” It’s clear that the last indication is lost on him as he follows your point towards the small tv.

It’s not his first time observing the thin rectangle that plays moving pictures but it still manages to catch his confused attention each time. His lips curl back and faces squints with an utter look of disgust. The fact that the characters speak in Sky People language never helps to spark an interest for him.

“I’m fine right here, Nung. I promise.” Your soft smile when you perch to sit atop the covers is only met with a scowl. The difficulty in explaining this to Ao’nung is yet another reason you had originally planned to hide away alone until this nightmare had blown over. “Go back to your duties. I’ll be happy here.”

And that is the tipping point for Ao’nung. What is meant to come off as reassurance instead has his hairless brows pinching together and large hands settling over his curved hips.

“You’re staying here for mester darsee.” It’s difficult to take his misplaced anger seriously when he struggles to pronounce the few English words.

“No, Ao’nung that is not-”

“Fine. I will stay.” His massive body is already climbing onto your poor bed before you have another chance to protest. He continues to mutter under his breath. It’s a messy sprawl of annoyed curses and something about you not needing a Mr. Darcy. The giant Na’vi pouts even as he pulls you close to curl his body around yours.

It’s wrong to keep the future Olo’eyktan to yourself like this but watching him sulk like a giant cat is too amusing to pass up. And then there is the comfort that comes with having Ao’nung wrapped around you like a dragon protecting his hoard, so you decide to be selfish.

His curls tickle the back of your neck and a large hand spans over your abdomen. As he rubs soothing circles into your lower stomach you swear the heat and motion alone is better than the battery powered heating pack. The cramps don’t evaporate away but they settle into something more bearable, especially when your favorite scene finally comes onto the screen and you snuggle closer to your ridiculous lover.

Slowly throughout the movie Ao’nung’s hand come to explore south into territory that would have Mrs. Bennett passing into an early grave. That confident exploration is a stark contrast to the simple touches exchanged between your favorite characters, but it holds the same passion. The same tension that has your thighs clamping together in defense against his devious fingers.

You can feel the way his lips curve into a smirk against your ear. Period hormones are your sworn enemy as you are caught between fighting him off in sheer embarrassment and finally letting his hand slip underneath the band of your pretty shorts.

“Don’t worry, oeyӓ tawtute. Next month I will do better.”

The sudden comments has you taken aback. .

“Do better at what?”

“Giving you my baby.” He casually states, unbothered by the way you freeze and struggle to take in oxygen. “This Sky Demon sickness won’t come for you when you are filled with my seed.”

And like a silent promise, his thumb swipes over your lower stomach just as his fingers breach the band of your panties.

I hope you enjoyed this little musing. I can't wait to carry out some of the other plans I have for these two. If you enjoyed it too please please let me know. I can't tell you enough how much hearing your feedback and comments means to me (anonymous or not).

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sushiyuzu · 2 months ago

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干爹

- second acc: @blushpawss

sugardaddy!sylus takes you to a high-end boutique in the city. the staff greet him by name, treating him like a regular customer. he insists that you pick out whatever you like, and when you hesitate, he gently nudges you forward with a reassuring smile. you try on several outfits, and each time you come out of the fitting room, his eyes light up. he makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful person in the world. after you choose something, he pays without a second thought, holding your hand as you leave the store with shopping bags in tow.

sugardaddy!sylus surprises you with a reservation at one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants. the atmosphere is elegant, with soft lighting and expensive decor. he pulls out your chair before you can sit, treating you with such care. the menu has no prices listed, but he doesn’t even glance at it before ordering the best dishes for both of you. throughout dinner, he listens attentively, smiling at your stories while reaching across the table to hold your hand. the night feels magical, and you realize just how much he enjoys spoiling you.

sugardaddy!sylus invites you to spend the weekend at his private villa by the beach. the house is enormous, with high ceilings, a pool overlooking the ocean, and every room decorated with style and comfort in mind. you explore the villa together, and he leads you to the balcony where there’s a perfect view of the sunset. you sit together, wrapped in a warm blanket as the breeze brushes by, and he tells you about his favorite memories of the place, promising that he’ll make many more with you here.

sugardaddy!sylus surprises you with a beautifully wrapped box. inside is a piece of jewelry—something elegant and understated, yet incredibly precious. he explains that it’s not just expensive, but it has a deep meaning to him, maybe something that belonged to a rare item he found on his travels. he gently fastens the necklace or bracelet around your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. you can see the emotion in his eyes, and you know it’s not just about the money; it’s about what you mean to him.

sugardaddy!sylus wakes you up early one morning with a mischievous smile and tells you to pack a bag, hinting at a surprise. before you know it, you’re on his private jet, sipping a glass of juice while the plane soars above the clouds. he doesn’t reveal the destination until you’re almost there, teasing you the whole way. when you land, it’s a beautiful, remote island or a charming city you’ve always wanted to visit. he’s planned everything down to the smallest detail, and you can’t help but feel amazed by his thoughtfulness.

sugardaddy!sylus invites you to be his date at a high-society gala, where everyone is dressed in their finest. he sends a designer to your home with several elegant gowns, letting you choose the one you like the most. the night of the event, he picks you up in a sleek car, looking handsome in his tailored suit. as you arrive, all eyes are on you both, and he keeps you close, introducing you to important people. despite the grand setting, he makes sure you’re comfortable, always keeping you by his side, his arm around your waist.

sugardaddy!sylus arranges a private evening on his yacht, the boat anchored just off the coast. the deck is set up with soft cushions, fairy lights, and a candlelit dinner waiting for you. he steers the yacht himself, guiding it through calm waters under a sky full of stars. after dinner, he turns on soft music, and you dance together under the night sky, the gentle rocking of the boat adding to the moment. he pulls you close, his voice soft and gentle as he tells you how much he treasures nights like this with you.

sugardaddy!sylus wakes up in a soft, oversized bed in a beautiful hotel suite. the sunlight streams in through sheer curtains, and sylus is there, already awake, bringing you a tray of breakfast with fresh fruit, pastries, and your favorite drink. he’s wearing a robe, his hair slightly messy, looking relaxed and happy. you both enjoy breakfast in bed, laughing and talking without a care in the world. it’s a morning filled with gentle touches and quiet moments, the kind that you wish could last forever.

sugardaddy!sylus decides to treat you to a day at a high-end spa. the atmosphere is calm, with soft music and gentle scents in the air. you both enjoy a couple’s massage, side by side, feeling the stress melt away under the hands of expert masseuses. after that, there’s a private hot tub just for the two of you, with rose petals scattered on the surface. you lean back against him, the warm water soothing your body, and he whispers how happy he is to see you so relaxed.

sugardaddy!sylus takes you to a private cabin in the mountains for a winter getaway. the cabin is luxurious yet cozy, with a roaring fireplace and a view of snow-covered trees. one evening, a snowstorm hits, and you’re both stuck inside. sylus wraps you in a thick blanket, sitting by the fireplace with hot cocoa. you play a board game, talk, and watch the snow fall, feeling like the rest of the world is miles away.

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too-deviant · 10 months ago

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The incessant ringing of loneliness (or three weeks part two).

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke is back, officially. But you can’t find it in yourself to be happy about it.

Content: angst, loser!luke makes an appearance, a lil fluff, this one is probably happier than part one

Word Count: 4k

Notes: i can’t thank you guys enough for the love on three weeks :( it really means the world, and i hope you enjoy this one too! i don’t think there’s gonna be a part 3 just because i want the rest of luke and r’s story to be up to your own interpretation - especially since his path to healing is such an important factor and it could go in any way. hope that’s ok with you guys :)

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

You weren’t very popular at camp.

Despite the fact that you’d been there for longer than most of its occupants, and that you’d bandaged up some of their gnarlier injuries, you just didn’t have what it took to have people know your name upon first glance.

Clarisse had her unbridled aggression — she scared people into knowing who she was. Charles Beckendorf was the guy you went to when you broke a sword and didn’t want Chiron finding out about it, plus he was six foot six and kinda hard to miss. The Stoll Twins were behind pretty much every crazy scheme that ended up in Hermes losing desert privileges. Luke was…well, he was Luke. Need I say more?

Point is, while everyone knew everyone, not everyone really knew you. They knew your face, your parentage, and your overall skill set. But they didn’t know your name, or what made you tick.

Which was fine, really. You liked the alone time you got in the infirmary when your sister would run out to gossip with her friends in Aphrodite whenever she saw them walk by. You didn’t mind that, when your cabin got their hour of free time each day, your siblings would rush off to their friends and you would simply settle down with a good book.

It’s not as if you were entirely lonely — you had your fellow Apollo kids. You, Alina and Lee bonded especially, being the older kids of the group. So you had them — the only difference was that they had other people, too.

Which, again, was fine.

Except when you started to take care of Luke, you finally felt like you had a person. You looked forward to seeing him after meals each day, and you found excuses to linger in his room whenever possible. Call it odd, but you grew to enjoy the fact that nobody else knew he was back. Because that way, you had him, he had you, and that was that.

But then Luke got better.

You didn’t even have time to worry about it — one minute you were scarfing down your breakfast, eager to bring that second plate up to the Big House, and ignoring the strange looks your siblings sent you. Then in a split moment, everyone was cheering, people were standing and suddenly you didn’t feel so crowded anymore.

You heard murmurs of excitement, but people were practically standing on the table around you — unhygienic, much? People are eating here — and you couldn’t see what they were looking at. You tugged on your brother’s leg and he glanced down at your raised brow, then he said, “Luke’s back!”

It was like you were sucked back in time. No — it was like you were sitting in a waiting room, shivering from the cold breeze that whisked in through the automatic doors. And then the doors closed, and you could release the tension in your body because the warmth was already reaching your fingers — only for someone to walk past and make the doors open again, sending the sharp sting of the cold right back to where it was before.

Yes. That’s what it was — the warmth Luke’s eyes on you had provided was suddenly ripped completely from you the second your brother's words reached your ears. Replaced with the blistering cold of nobody ever knowing your name.

So it was back to normal for you. The normal you had grown accustomed to — the normal you liked. The normal you thought you liked, anyway.

You didn’t even catch a glimpse of Luke’s face as you stood and left the Pavilion, focusing on the floor beneath your feet rather than the crowd forming around him. Oh, but you couldn’t forget that he was back, it was all anybody could talk about. Once they’d done the math and realised he was the patient you’d been taking care of for three weeks, you locked yourself in your cabin to avoid all the questions, and didn’t see him until the very next day.

The chatter of Luke’s return had died down when you woke up the next morning — a little later than you usually did, Lee having to shake you so you wouldn’t miss breakfast. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pulled a clean camp shirt over your head, stumbling a little due to the fact that you hadn’t fully woken up yet.

When you were ready, Lee was waiting by the door. A few of your siblings were still getting themselves into a line after his loud Fall in! had woken them up, so you had time to stretch your arms and let out a sigh once you had taken your place beside him. You and Alina always walked with him to mealtimes, even though neither of you were counsellors, and you greeted her with a smile.

The air was stuffy again — so much so that even Lee let out a wince when the shining glow of the front door hit his eyes. Then he stepped out of the cabin — his usual routine of checking the garden and cabin for pranks before letting them out coming into play. But he stopped.

“What?”

He swung his head back at you, brows raised and smile growing, “Luke’s back.”

Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes, “Pretty sure we all know that, already.”

“Yeah, but —“ He turned fully then, hands on the doorframe and grin shining, “He’s back, which means the Hermes kids are finally under control again, which means we don’t have to worry about being pranked first thing in the morning!”

“Holy crap.” Alina was grinning now, both of your siblings looking at you and each-other with this excited expression that made you sort of angry – why are they perceiving Luke? They’re not allowed.

You huffed a sigh as Lee started to lead the line outside, “He got back yesterday, there’s no way he’s already –”

But he was. As you stepped into the sun, the skin on your thighs already forming an uncomfortable layer of sweat, you looked to where the Hermes cabin was filing out of their door, led by the one and only Luke Castellan. You paused.

He’d been back a day. Sure, his scar had healed nicely, but it was only three days ago that he was struggling to hold his own in a sword fight – if he was back to his counsellor duties, was he going back to teaching sword fighting? You were unsure he should even be in charge of all those Hermes and unclaimed kids so soon, but going back to teaching only days after coming back to camp? There was no way he was ready for that.

Should you say something? Or would he dismiss you, now that he was done with you?

You watched as he walked with Chris, chatting idly as if nothing was wrong. But you saw Chris glance occasionally at the jagged line through his brother’s eye, and you saw Luke attempt to ignore it.

Should you say something?

You tripped. You were so busy staring creepily at Luke that you tripped over your own feet and tumbled into Lee’s back. He stumbled slightly but righted himself with a huff and a chuckle, turning and asking if you were alright.

But you had looked straight back in Luke’s direction – he was still talking to Chris. He wasn’t looking at you.

He wasn’t your person anymore.

Luke was unsure.

Which didn’t happen often — as one of the oldest campers, and the one everyone else looked to in times of peril, it was sort of essential for him to be sure. He needed to know what to do, to have a solution for every situation, and to be completely calm about it. Otherwise, camp would go to shit.

That much was obvious — he didn’t know why you hadn’t told him this in the three weeks you spent together, but camp had turned itself upside down in his absence. Apparently nobody was prepared for him to be gone for so long, and they kind of all lost their shit.

He was happy to be back, don’t get him wrong. He lit up when he saw his brother’s faces again, when he felt their arms wrap around him. He laughed when Travis joked about thinking he was dead, and when Connor quipped that the camp was seconds away from starting a revolution. He nodded at Chiron, smiled amusedly when Mr D rolled his eyes, he scooped Annabeth into his arms, whispered to her that yes, he was alive, and he let himself be whisked to his table, the crowd following like moths to a flame.

It was slightly overwhelming, but he was well-equipped to deal with it. He liked the feeling — if he ignored the throbbing on the side of his face, it could be like he’d never even left. The quest never happened, the dragon never happened, and people are just happy to see him because he’s their counsellor. Of course they would be. Everything was fine.

Everything was fine — so he ignored the urge to scan his eyes across the crowd in search of a familiar head of hair. He stopped himself from glancing at the Apollo table, from looking in Lee’s direction, just in case he wasn’t standing alone.

Because he didn’t need you anymore. Not that he didn’t appreciate all you did for him, but the healing was done. He was better, he was back at camp — he was Luke Castellan again. If he looked for you, if he met those eyes and returned that smile, it would be admitting defeat. Admitting that he wasn’t better, that he still needed his doctor.

But he didn’t. Because he was back, baby! And he didn’t need to think about that stupid quest, his stupid dad, or his stupid scar ever again.

He had a short chat with Chiron, who looked a little uneasy when he expressed his readiness to get back to camp duties. He told him that it was fine if he needed time to settle in, but Luke was firm. He didn’t need to settle, he didn’t need to wait. So Chiron sighed, and told him to escort his cabin to the climbing walls for their morning session.

And that’s how the rest of the day went — climbing wall, arts and crafts cabin, strawberry fields, archery practice. Luke did it all, just like he used to before he left. If people would just stop looking at his damn scar, maybe he could pretend he never left at all. If they stopped murmuring about him being the secret camper, hidden from them this whole time, he could avoid thinking about you and the sweet touch of your fingers on his face.

The fact that he hadn’t seen you at all since his return helped him on that front — you weren’t around at breakfast, lunch or dinner. You weren’t in the infirmary whenever he peeked through the windows. You weren’t with the rest of your cabin when they were paired with Hermes for hand-to-hand defence practice.

Not that he was looking for you, or anything.

“Hey, man.” Chris clapped him on the shoulder as they walked up to breakfast. It had officially been twenty-four hours since Luke’s return, and the chatter had died down significantly. That was good for him, helped him ignore the fact that he was ever not there.

All he had to do was keep his eyes off you — who had magically reappeared in camp — as you also walked up to breakfast, the Apollo kids trailing behind you, Lee and Alina.

“Listen, you did great yesterday.” His brother was saying, and he zoned in on it. “It was like you never left.”

Cool, that was the plan.

“But it’s sword fighting today.”

Luke raised a brow, “So?”

“So…” Chris sang, awkwardly waving a hand, “You don’t have to jump right back into training us, is what I’m saying.”

He scoffed, running a hand through us curls, “Nah, bro, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Because —“

“Y’know, Chris,” Luke sent his brother a cheeky look as they took their seats around the Hermes table, “if you’re scared to get back to my gruelling training sessions, just say that.”

Chris’ face fell, appalled, and he put a hand on his chest, “Scared? Dude, you’re the one who should be scared. I’ve gotten good since you’ve been gone.”

And there it was — a reminder that it wasn’t the same. That he couldn’t pretend he had never left, because nobody else was. Whatever, it’d be fine. A couple of weeks and this would all blow over and he would never have to think about it again.

The Amphitheatre, unlike the rest of the camp amenities, was familiar to him. He didn’t need to stand and take it all in like he did with everywhere else, because he’d been here not even a week ago with —

No. Stop. You aren’t in his life anymore. He never went on his quest. Everything is how it should be.

The kids gathered around him were letting off a range of emotions as Luke stood before them, sword in hand. The younger ones were giddy, eager to get back to training with their favourite teacher. Some of the older ones, however, were only slightly confused that he’d bounced back so quickly. If he had to spend three weeks in the Big House before even going outside, was he ready to jump right back into sword training? Maybe he’d go easier on them today, take it slow.

“Alright — if there’s anything I've learnt over the years, it’s that sword fighting is all about reflexes. So, today, we will be working on y’all’s dodging skills. Oliver, get up here!”

Luke was back on Mount Tamalpais. The fiery breath Ladon was shooting at him seared his skin and burnt holes into his shirt. He was ducking out of the way, but there was no room to breathe when another one of his hundred heads came at him with a fierce snarl. His sword felt useless in his hands, every swing being deflected and every jab proving useless compared to the dragon's swift movements.

He blinked, and he was back at camp. Sparring with an unclaimed kid who’s name was lost on him. Sweat dripped down his brows but he wiped it away with shaky fingers. He gave an off-handed comment on the kids form before calling a water break.

“Yo— woah, man!”

Chris looked wide-eyed at Luke. He had tapped him gently on the shoulder and he had responded with an aggressive swing towards him. He stepped out of the arc just in time, but Luke still dropped the sword like it had burnt him. He stepped back, hands shaking, and stared at the ground.

It was odd — being at Archery in the mornings. You’d spent three weeks skipping the hour in favour of taking food to Luke and ensuring his dressings were changed. Which for most cabins, was what? Three classes a week?

Not for the Apollo kids — who have always and will always have their first hour spent on the Archery fields. Mainly because it’s when the sun is rising, shining on them in the early mornings and giving them their power to hit the bullseye. You included, even if healing was more your purview.

So you’d missed probably around twenty classes, give or take a few. Your form was, well, subpar at best. Lee had to spend the entire hour making sure you didn’t accidentally hit one of your siblings — and that was after he had to re-teach you the basics.

You probably would’ve been better had you not been so distracted — your mind whirring with thoughts of Luke. You wished your brain would just leave it alone, but apparently you weren’t done mulling over the situation. You wanted to slap yourself across the face and say hey, idiot. The three weeks is up, he’s healed. It’s over. But your siblings would probably look at you weird, so you decided against it.

Instead, you threw yourself into your duties. Archery was a bump in the road, but now you were smooth sailing. You didn’t focus on anything else but what you had to do that day — not taking a moment to breathe because if you did that, you’d start thinking about Castellan again. You didn’t want that, you really didn’t want that.

It was going really well, too. But then Chiron just had to interrupt your canoeing session, asking you to clear out any medical supplies you left over in the spare room of the Big House since nobody was staying there anymore.

Oh, great. You were thinking about him again.

And then all the thoughts you’d been suppressing since ten in the morning were overflowing your head, and you thought you might have had to ask Mr D if you were going mad because when you cracked open the door and peeked your head in, Luke was sitting on the edge of the bed like usual and you had to blink to make the hallucination go away.

Except it didn’t go away. Instead it looked at you and smiled, “Hi.”

Your lips parted, and you stepped in. Your eyebrows curved in on themselves, “Uh, hey. What are you…”

You were still about seventy percent sure that he wasn’t real, but nobody was there to listen to you talk to air, so you replied anyway. Luke clicked his tongue, let out a chuckle, then sighed, “I don’t think I can do it.”

Okay, fifty percent sure.

“Do what?”

“Go back out there.” He gestured a hand to the window that pointed outside, although it was still covered with the curtain. “I thought…I dunno, I guess I got too excited yesterday. Thought I was ready to jump back into it.”

You stepped fully through the threshold, and he followed you with his eyes as you walked over to the desk. Nothing but a few spare bandages that you scooped into your arms before looking back at him. You tilted your head, “Healing isn’t linear. It’s perfectly normal to feel like you’re on top of the world one day and then like it’s crumbling around you the next.”

He stood, walked over to you. Thirty percent.

“I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“You won't.” You shook your head, “You made a big step, coming back to camp. That's it for now, you don’t need to take any more big steps for a while.”

He nodded, “No more big steps.”

“Not until you’re ready.”

Luke’s hands reached out, taking the bandages from where you cradled them to your chest. He put them back onto the desk behind you. Ten percent.

His eyes bore into yours, “I don’t think I’m done healing.”

You shook your head surely, “I don’t think you are, either. And that’s okay.”

He nodded, lips clicking when he parted them, “Which means you’re not allowed to leave me yet. You have to stay with me until I’m fully better.”

You shook your head then, stammering, “It’s — that’s not how it works. What you went through, it — you might not ever be fully better.”

But Luke just nodded like he knew that already, taking a step closer, “I think I’m okay with that.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. What the hell do you say to that? “Okay.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, “So you’re not gonna leave me.”

Five percent.

A shake of your head, “Not until you ask me to.”

“Good.”

He wrapped his arms around you, and you froze. Okay, he was real. He was really there. You were sure. You hugged him back — he buried his face into your neck and whispered something about you never leaving him again and you whispered something in return about how you wouldn’t dream of it.

So, apparently, you severely underestimated what it was like to be friends with Luke.

You’d thought about it — of course you had. You would imagine what perfect golden boy Luke Castellan was like when he didn’t have to be a perfect golden boy. When he could just be a boy, hanging out with his friends like a normal person would. What jokes did he tell? Did he still keep up that Luke Castellan Grin or did he relax into an easy smirk? Did he make his friends follow the rules even when they were alone? Did he follow the rules when he was alone?

You wondered, although you never thought you’d actually find out. But he’d made it clear you were never leaving his side so long as he still needed you — and he was sticking to that. Firmly.

The summer sun was hot on your back — only this time your dad seemed to be going easy on you, as you weren’t completely uncomfortable under the warm cotton of your camp shirt. You still wafted it every now and then, proving some cool air to your chest, but overall you were feeling good.

You walked into the Amphitheatre with the rest of your siblings — who were less than amused that, despite Luke’s return to camp, Tyler P from the Hephaestus cabin was still running sword fighting practice. They heaved themselves onto the tiered seats with dramatic groans, but he simply grinned at them.

You paused from where you were about to sit down next to Alina when a waving hand caught your peripheral. It was Luke, tucked into the very top corner of the steps, smiling at you from the shadows.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked when you reached him, raising your brow in amusement. He patted the spot next to him and you sat down, just as Tyler began to talk. Luke leaned in.

“I’m watching.” He muttered into your ear, then he smirked at you, “You can’t stop me from doing that.”

“I wasn’t going to.” You murmured, leaning back on your elbows and watching as your siblings paired up reluctantly. “Thanks for pulling me away, though. Gives me an excuse not to take part.”

Luke huffed a laugh, “He can’t be that bad, right?”

“Just you wait.” You smirked.

Turns out, Tyler was that bad. Every ‘new skill’ he tried to teach them either (a) they already knew, something Luke liked to whisper at you with a shake of his head, or (b) he couldn’t even do it himself, let alone teach others how to. Another thing Luke commented on from where he sat beside you, hands aching to get in there and show him what was what.

“Just one tip, and then I’ll go.” He begged under his breath as Tyler dropped his sword for the umpteenth time. “Please.”

“No.” You didn’t even look at him, “Because one tip turns into a demonstration. And a —“

“— a demonstration turns into a class, yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes, but you just grinned at him. He smiled, “You’re mean.”

“I know.” You said in a faux-sympathetic tone. You pouted at him, “I’m just so cruel, aren’t I?”

His eyes narrowed, and his mouth stretched into a disbelieving grin, “Damn, doc. What happened to you?”

You scoffed amusedly, “You did.”

His mouth dropped open and you smiled, looking away. He poked your side and you shuffled away with a giggle, attempting to ignore his riled up smile. He didn’t relent, for every inch you moved away from him, he scooted right back towards you. You looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “I miss when you were too miserable to talk to me.”

“No you don’t.” He shook his head. He was right, you didn’t.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, and you felt it on your face. That was when you realised how close your faces were — mere centimetres apart. You swallowed thickly, but you didn’t move away. Luke’s smile stretched, and his hand began to inch up your arm.

You squinted, “What are you doing?”

It was his turn to feign confusion, pulling his lips into the same pout you did only moments earlier, “What are you talking about?”

His hand was at your elbow now, sliding higher. You shook your head, a minute movement, “Doctor Patient Fraternising isn’t allowed.”

He gasped, pulling his hand back in favour of placing it dramatically against his chest, “It’s not?”

“Nope.” You grinned amusedly, “Sorry.”

“Damn.” He leaned back, glancing at you for a second before looking back towards Tyler’s shitshow of a sword lesson, “Guess I’ll have to get another doctor.”

You snorted, “You’re a loser.”

You stood up and went to rejoin your siblings, and Luke shouted after you, “I’m your loser!”

“What was that?” Lee asked when you stopped beside him.

“What? Oh,” You glanced back at where Luke was sat, and he averted his gaze from where he had been looking at you. You looked up at your brother, “He’s just happy to be back, is all.”

He chuckled, “Sure.”

Whatever. He was your person again and Lee could suck your dick if he had anything to say about it.

🏷️ @aceofswordsandarrows @cowsandcomics @number-onekidqueen @kestisvrse @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons @how2besalty @iinlovewithfictionalppl @lilacspider @l0ve-dov3 @coffi-cake @ironmanbaldes @onecojg @hiraethavis @freaking0utficrecs @delphifarms @wildlyfreemoon @candylandy8173 @sinnercry @featherofthecrow @babellucci @telliette @totallynotnic

#i hate this #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan is a loser and i love him #percy jackson #luke castellan x you #pjo

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bunny-1111 · 3 months ago

Note

I LOVE UR STORIES

could you write hufflepuff reader meeting theos friends for the first time?

Of course, I can! Thank you for the request. This is my first time writing for anything Hufflepuff, I tried my best. My inbox is always open for suggestions so I can improve and write as specifically as you like!

THEO NOTT X HUFFLEPUFF!READER

2.6k words, fluff.

...

Not edited or reread, likes, reblogs and comments appreciated my loves <3

....

You stood not too far from the entrance of the Slytherin common room, fingers nervously twisting the hem of your jumper as the low hum of conversation reached your ears.

You were here in Theo’s world, at its opening.

When Theodore had asked you to meet his friends, you knew it was important to him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t quite belong. You tugged at the sleeve of your jumper, eyes darting to Theo for reassurance.

You couldn’t stop pacing.

Back and forth across the stretch of the corridor, your fingers twisted in the hem of your jumper, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t seem to stop or even quiet down.

“They’re going to hate me.”

Theo, leaning against the cold stone wall, watched you with a patient expression. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he wore that familiar look of quiet amusement like he was waiting for you to finish running through every possible worst-case scenario before telling you that none would happen.

“Have you finished your marathon of the corridor yet? You’re making me dizzy, baby, you have no reason to freak like this” he teases gently

“I’m not freaking!” You insisted as you spun around to face him, your eyes wide and slightly panicked. “What if they think I’m boring? Or I can’t keep up with conversation o-or too different, too Hufflepuff? What if they look at me and wonder what you’re doing with someone like me?”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Too Hufflepuff?”

“Yes! Too-” you took a breath before continuing, “nice. Or quiet. Or something.” You groaned, running a hand through your hair.

“I mean, have you seen them? Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson? They’re—well, they’re intimidating. They’re the kind of people who could look at you and make you feel two inches tall without even saying a word.”

“They’re not that bad,” Theo said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “And they’re not going to make you feel two inches tall.”

“They might!” you protested

“I am intimidating, darling? I’m one of them, too, remember?” he teased

“You can be, actually, Theodore. It’s different alright” you huff

The nerves bubbled up again as you resumed pacing. “What if they think I’m some—some soft little Hufflepuff who can’t hold her own? What if they think I’m not good enough for you?”

Theo’s expression softened at that, and before you could spiral further, he grabbed your wrist gently to stop you from wearing a hole in the floor. “Hey,” he said softly, pulling you close until you stood between his legs, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“First of all, you are good enough. More than good enough. They’re going to like you because I like you.” His voice was calm and reassuring, like the steadying weight of a blanket when you couldn’t stop overthinking. He balanced you.

You bit your lip, glancing down at your feet. “I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

Theo tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “You couldn’t embarrass me if you tried.”

You managed a small smile, though your stomach still twisted with nerves. “I just… they’re your friends. I want them to like me.”

Theo’s gaze softened further, his eyes filled with quiet affection as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “They’re going to love you,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beat of your heart. Theo had a way of doing that, making everything feel just a little less terrifying when you were with him.

They were the opposite of everything you were used to. You were soft-spoken, more comfortable with a book in your lap and a cup of tea than bantering or exchanging sharp remarks in a dimly lit common room. You wished in that moment that you had more wit, more anything really.

“Alright,” Theo said, straightening up and giving your hand a final squeeze before leading you down the dim corridor. “Ready?”

“They’re all—” You hesitated, your voice soft. “They’re all so—” Slytherin. You left the word unspoken, but Theo understood. He always did.

“They’re protective of me,” Theo said, and you could hear the affection in his voice. “But that just means they’ll be protective of you, too.” He smiled, the corners of his lips quirking upward in that way that always made your heart flutter. “Besides, I think they’ve been dying to meet the girl who’s turned me into a sap.”

You flushed, the warmth of his teasing easing some of your nerves. “I haven’t turned you into a sap.”

His lips twitched, eyes glinting with amusement. “Whatever you say, Hufflepuff.”

Before you could protest, he led you forward, keeping your hand tightly in his.

“I want you to meet them, too, y-know,” he had said, his voice low and soft, the way it always was when he was coaxing you into something you weren’t sure about. His hand had brushed against yours in the hallway, a quiet reminder of his presence, as if you could ever forget.

And so, here you were, standing just a step behind him, your Hufflepuff yellow standing out in a sea of emerald and silver.

The low-lit room starkly contrasted to the bright, open spaces of the Hufflepuff common room. Here, the walls seemed to lean in a little closer, the air thick with an intimacy you weren’t sure you belonged in.

As soon as you walked in, the room felt even smaller than it had in your imagination. The firelight flickered against the dark green and silver tones, casting long shadows over the walls. A few students lounged on the couches and chairs, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Mattheo leaning against the mantle, Draco perched on one of the armrests beside him. Blaise was already sprawled on the couch with Pansy tucked under his arm, her sharp gaze immediately landing on you.

They all stopped what they were doing when they noticed Theo, and then their eyes flicked to you.

Your nerves spiked an all time high.

“They’re staring at me,” you muttered under your breath to Theo, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure they could hear it.

“They’re just curious,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And they’re waiting for me to introduce you.”

You swallowed hard and tried to keep your smile from trembling as Theo’s hand gave yours a gentle squeeze. “Well we’re here now so you lot can finally stop nagging me about this introduction, and yes I’m looking at you, Zabini” Theo beamed pointing towards Blaise

Blaise was the first to speak, lounging lazily across the couch. “Well, well. Look who finally decided to show off his girl,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as his dark eyes flicked over you. “I was beginning to think you didn’t actually exist, Y/N.”

“Finally!” Enzo grinned, sitting up slightly as he looked you over. “now a face to the name.”

Draco’s cool gaze swept over you, but there was no malice in it, just curiosity. “So, you're the secret he's hidden from us,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. “About time, Nott.”

Theo sat down on one of the empty chairs, and after a moment’s hesitation, you followed suit, sitting beside him. He rested his hand on your knee, a subtle gesture of comfort, and you relaxed slightly under his touch.

Your eyes widened slightly at how they were all so focused on you. You could feel the words bubbling up, all your anxiety about this moment suddenly spilling out before you could stop it.

Enzo, sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinned up at you, his easygoing nature a sharp contrast to the more serious expressions of the others. “You look terrified,” he said with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’re not that bad, promise.”

You stopped yourself, taking a shaky breath. “I’m just a little intimidated.” you almost laughed

There was a beat of silence, and you wanted to melt into the floor, but then Mattheo, who had been watching you with a serious expression, chuckled softly. “You don’t need to be intimidated,” he said, his voice a little rough but not unkind. “We don’t bite.”

“Most of the time,” Blaise added with a teasing grin, earning an elbow from Pansy.

You blinked, surprised by how their teasing wasn’t as sharp or biting as you’d feared. They weren’t making fun of you but trying to make you feel comfortable.

Draco leaned forward slightly, his gaze softening. “You’re with Theo,” he said simply. “That means you’re with us now. No need to be nervous.”

Your breath fluttered at the unexpected warmth in his tone, and something inside you relaxed. Theo’s hand was still in yours, and you could feel him watching you, his quiet presence steadying you.

And just like that, you found yourself smiling, the knot in your stomach loosening as you spoke again, this time with a little more confidence. “I just didn’t know what to expect,” you admitted softly. “But, um, I’m delighted to be here.” you smile

You’ll get used to us,” Blaise said with a shrug, his casual tone almost reassuring. “We’re not all bad.”

Mattheo grinned, his usual dark demeanor lightening as he caught your eye. “Yeah, once you survive a few Quidditch matches with us, you’re practically family.”

Mattheo nodded, his gaze still fixed on you. “So what do you do, Hufflepuff?” he asked, though there was no challenge in his voice. It was a genuine question, his curiosity piqued.

“Oh, well, I love reading,” you said, your voice softening as you began to talk about something familiar. “Mostly novels—fantasy, mysteries, things like that. But I also love writing in my free time, you know, just stories about anything that pops into my head. Theo gets annoyed when I spend too much time on it, I get lost in it sometimes. Minutes become hours, that sort of thing”

As you spoke, the nerves you’d been feeling faded, replaced by the warmth that always filled you when you talked about the things you loved. “Big fan of herbology too; Professor Sprout and I get up to some fascinating stuff.”

You hadn’t noticed that the others had gone quiet, listening intently as your voice grew more animated. Even Draco, usually stoic and guarded, seemed genuinely interested.

Theo’s eyes hadn’t left you the entire time. He watched as you opened up, his expression softening into something so tender it made your heart skip. There was a quiet pride in his gaze, the kind that made you feel safe, like no matter what, he was always going to be there, silently rooting for you.

Mattheo nodded approvingly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah I like herbology too, not your kind, but our first commonish ground” he said, with a grin pulling the ends of his lips

Pansy smirked, leaning forward with her sharp eyes twinkling. “I like to read too, we can go to the library together sometime soon”

You smiled, “Sure.”

Theo’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your hand, and you glanced at him, finding him watching you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with something so deep and warm it made your heart swell.

The conversation picked up again after that, the group falling back into their usual rhythm, though you could feel their occasional glances in your direction. It wasn’t as bad as you had feared, though. Theo’s friends weren’t as intimidating as they seemed at first. Well, maybe Pansy was, but even she had softened after her initial teasing.

Blaise asked you a few questions, mostly harmless ones about classes and Quidditch, and though you were still a little shy, you answered as best as you could. He seemed amused by your nervousness, but not in a cruel way.

Before you knew it, it had reached just before curfew. Theo stood up, his hand still gently wrapped around yours.

"Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though he didn't want to disrupt the calm that had finally settled over you. The soft flicker of firelight caught the warmth in his eyes, and you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

You said your goodbyes, much more confident now than when you’d arrived. Pansy waved with a smile, and Blaise offered you a wink, his playful teasing from earlier now feeling like a distant memory. Even Draco, in his own subtle way, had seemed to warm to you.

"Don't be a stranger, Hufflepuff," Mattheo called out with a crooked grin as you and Theo approached the door. You gave him a slight nod in return, still a little shy but much more at ease than you'd been at the start of the evening.

Once outside the cool dungeon corridor, Theo’s hand found yours again, pulling you close to his side.

“See?” he said quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “I told you they’d like you.”

You smiled, leaning into him as you walked. “Yeah,” you admitted softly, your heart feeling light for the first time all evening. "I’m not sure 'like' is the word I’d use just yet," you teased lightly. "But they were welcoming. I had a good time tonight."

Theo chuckled, his hand still holding yours as you walked through the dimly lit corridors. "They do like you," he repeated, a little more firmly this time. "But I like you most, and I’m happy you all got along, still wanna keep you for myself, though," he said before he placed what felt like a thousand kisses around your face.

You giggle against his kisses. It wasn’t just what he said, but the quiet confidence in his tone, the way he made you feel so effortlessly secure. "You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?" you said softly, leaning into him a little more.

"Comes with the territory," he quipped, flashing you a brief smile, but there was a sincerity behind his eyes that told you he wasn’t just being flippant. He meant it, every word.

As you reached the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, you turned to face him, not quite ready to say goodbye just yet. Theo leaned against the stone wall, watching you with that familiar, soft gaze, his hands slipping into his pockets as he waited.

"Thank you for tonight" you said quietly, the words feeling like they didn’t quite capture everything you felt.

Theo’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression turning serious for a moment. "You don’t have to thank me," he said, his voice gentle. "I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant making you feel more at home."

You smiled a soft, genuine smile that reached your eyes. "You do, you know. Make me feel at home."

Theo’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, he looked like he was about to say something more, something deeper, but he stopped himself, simply nodding instead. "Good."

"I’m gonna miss you once you get to your dorm you know that?" Theo smiled, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was light, almost invisible, but it sent a warmth spreading through you all the same.

"I miss you already, and you haven’t even left me yet, Teddy," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper, before he crashed his lips to yours

With one last lingering kiss, you turned and gave the password to the barrel that led into your common room. As the door creaked open, you stepped inside but couldn’t resist glancing back at Theo one last time.

He was still there, his eyes glued to you, following you with affection. And as the door swung shut between you, you were both right. You did already miss him, and surprising yourself, you were excited to spend some more time with his friends.

#slytherin #hogwarts #theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin boys #harry potter #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theo nott fluff #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theo nott imagine #theo nott fanfic #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x Hufflepuff!reader #theo nott x hufflepuff #theodore nott x fem!reader #theodore nott x y/n

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steddielations · 1 year ago

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Upstaged | Part 2 | Part 1

It all makes sense.

When Eddie comes back from taking photos with the fans, he looks a little sheepish for the first time. Steve has about a million things to ask, mostly he just wants to laugh about the fucking odds, but he remembers the grace Eddie extended to him about the press ordeal.

Instead, he settles back with his lime soda and a simple question, “So, what kind of music are you into?”

A grateful smile breaks out across Eddie’s face, ecstatic to dive into that with Steve. Their lunch extends into dinner. Steve doesn’t have anywhere to be these days and Eddie practically jumps up and down when the meeting he was in the area for gets canceled. They stay there for a couple more hours, just talking.

Their music taste overlaps at certain points, Eddie talks about how getting his first guitar from the pawn shop pretty much saved him, Steve recounts a little league story that makes Eddie laugh so hard he chokes on his soda.

It’s the most monumentally casual time Steve’s ever had with a new friend in public and he’s not ready for it to end. Even after exchanging numbers and promising to meet up again, they still linger together outside.

“So uh, I remember where I know you from now."

Eddie leans against the side of the building. It’s getting dark, they’re tucked away from any eyes so Steve freely scoots closer to Eddie, waiting for him to explain. He does after a moment, seeming nervous and fiddling with his rings.

“I hate to ask, but my Uncle is huge into baseball, especially you and your general all-around-awesome thing. There weren’t players like you to look up to when he was young, all that. I’ve seen you on his tv so many times, you’re basically part of the family— ah shit, that’s weird, sorry,” he cringes a little, scrunching his nose in a way that makes Steve’s chest clench with affection, “But he’s getting old and like I said earlier, he’s my rock, he raised me and I won’t forgive myself if I don’t at least ask you to come see him sometime.”

The way he rambles is pretty endearing, looking at Steve with a wide-eyed hopeful expression, as if there was even a chance Steve would say no.

He reaches out, gently takes Eddie’s hand to stop his restless fidgeting, “You want me to meet your folks already, hm?”

Eddie lets out an amused scoff, looking down at their hands and back at Steve like he can’t believe it. “You’re not as funny as you think you are, Steve.”

Steve knits his brows, “Why’s that?”

“C’mon man. Y’know how hard it is to find someone who can handle this lifestyle, let alone all the shit that comes with me,” shaking his head a little, Eddie smiles but there’s something aching in it, “Then the nicest looking guy I’ve ever seen comes outta nowhere and saves my life, agrees to go to lunch, happens too know as well as me that life in the limelight ain’t always pretty and turns out to be one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

His fingers thread through Steve’s, holding tight like he’s not sure it’s real. “Even if I never see you again, I’m gonna write songs about you. I’d take you home and keep you right now if I could, but that’s not happening.”

There’s a part of Steve he’s kept shut down for years that comes pumping through his veins then, hot and alive. He realizes that he’s been trying so hard to keep his life as normal as possible that he’s been missing out on actually living it. Now he has this wonderful, crazy, wonderful man spontaneously in front of him and he’s not letting him slip away.

Steve moves in, slowly crowding Eddie against the wall. Eddie’s eyes go a little wide with surprise then darken with desire. Steve watches his face shift through so many emotions, his mouth parting with a soft gasp, wanting this just as badly as Steve.

“Wanna bet?” Steve asks before he crashes into Eddie again.

This time it’s a hot press of lips instead of a full-body collision, but it’s just as breathtaking.

Steve deepens the kiss, thrill prickling all across his skin when Eddie opens up for him right away. Steve licks passed the bright hint of lime on their tongues to get to Eddie. The heady taste of him makes Steve’s world spin, all the desperate noises between them going straight to his head.

“Want you so bad, Eddie, wanna keep you too,” he threads his fingers into all that hair, reveling in the shiver it elicits from Eddie, “God, just wanna have you.”

Eddie chases his lips, “You can, Steve, you can have me— please do.”

Steve loves the sound of that, going in for a longer, more indulgent kiss before pulling back.

“You can’t take me home tonight,” he professes hotly against Eddie’s lips, “My place is closer, you’re coming with me.”

#and at some point eddie admits that he's jerked off to steve's magazine covers before #might keep this going we'll see #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #rockstar eddie munson #famous eddie munson #famous steve harrington #rueswriting

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dawnbreakerluna · 6 months ago

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NOT WHEN IT COMES TO YOU (W. SYLUS QIN) wc. 1050. hurt/comfort. reader is the mc and experiences a panic attack. canon compliant to the l&ds story, no spoilers. character study-ish on the mental state of the mc. sylus is perceptive person and sees through the reader. non-established relationship. not proofread. side note: my writing program crashed after i pasted it to the tumblr draft. lol!

‘Does any of it matter anymore?’

You write those words in a pocket-sized journal every night. The very same one that’s tucked away in your drawer where an assortment of lingerie overfills and molds within one another. You have to do something, anything, to keep your body aware of its movement, its functionality and life.

Does any of it matter anymore?

You almost want to reach out to Zayne about it. To talk. To explain this stream of endless thoughts and the endless void of questioning your worth. Things haven’t been easy, to the point where you wonder if taking the Hunter Exam, valuing your worth on whether or not you passed, was worth it in the end. Not after everything you’ve found out. Not after everything you’ve witnessed and lost.

Now, you had bargained your life. A bold, risky step that required more trust than you could ever ask for. (You got it, regardless. You had nothing to fear in that aspect.)

“Does any of it matter anymore…?”

You ask yourself again, your voice a low whisper. You needed to make sure you were here, still. Some way, somehow. You were now shrouded by a blaring red sky and even darker red moon. Your gaze, holding faux grit, stares into a crimson gaze that looks over your sunken, kneeling form.

He wears a light curl of a smirk, lowering himself to you: “You should speak up, little Hunter. I can’t quite hear you.”

You push down that growing dread in an empty chest. But if it were empty, your heart wouldn’t be housed there, beating ferociously as you were face to face with the one who had answers you needed. If not all, at least some. The ones to point you in the right direction.

You call it going away in your own head—it’s what you do when you feel more than just your heart on the verge of giving out. It’s what you do when your fingers begin to twitch and tremble, your words struggling to come out. You don’t consider it freezing up completely, but a different sensation.

It’s just something you always dealt with on your own, always aware of.

The gentle flick of your fingers at your side gauges your knowledge of it happening again. Surrounded by desperate brokers and merchants; people with vile intentions and greed that isn’t a homely territory back in Linkon City.

You’re reminded why Onichynus thrives. Why Sylus wears the success and pride he does.

Despite his teachings intending to help you hold that same pride, you can’t. You realize too late in this room full of people who could eat you alive, you bit off more than you could chew. You remain by Sylus’ side as he indulges in the meaningless chatter of those who throw themselves at him with wretched desperation—but the room is beginning to feel hazy.

You know you should’ve arranged something. Some kind of signal to let him know you needed a breather.

This was more than a breather you needed. This was an emergency where you’re a glass sculpture, waiting and begging to be knocked over. You hated being made of glass, regrettably—hated being ogled at in that way. You feel it in the worst form now, being the guest of the most powerful man in the N109 Zone.

Your arm, securely wrapped around his bigger one, shifts back just slightly to tug at his sleeve. It’s not an obvious action, not even to the keen eye like yourself. But it’s enough that you feel the slight jerk, that startles him. To Sylus, this would be a disturbance as little of a fly on someone’s shoulder.

Yet, the air between you two shifts.

Sylus holds a hand up to the two men standing before you both, “Ah—you’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. I just recalled that I am to assist the security detail with an issue. Please, do enjoy the rest of the evening.”

He leads you away without another word, brushing off the guests.

Vultures. Vultures. Vultures. Every single one of them.

You hold your breath in a subtle manner, your throat constricted. Sylus’ movement is swift and urgent at once, heading towards the back of the ballroom. He opens one of the double doors, ushering you out first before following closely.

It’s just you two now, in this empty, grandeur hall.

You felt sick. You wanted to die. You wanted every fiber of anguish to leave you be and never come back. You never wanted to feel anything again. You wanted to rip your heart out and burn it, to bleed out to death by its side—

—Does any of it matter anymore?

“Little Hunter,” Sylus’ smooth voice cuts through your clogged mind. His hand comes forward, knuckles gently brushing against your cheek, catching stray tears that roll down, “Just focus on me. You’re alright now.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen, your faint breath an overwhelming echo in your head as you come back to yourself. Never before had you seen his eyes so… fond. Gentle. Comforting. It makes you feel sick. You feel the need to lurch and throw up everything you’ve eaten.

Instead, your tears thicken. You blink a few times before lowering your head, pressing the back of your hand against your mouth as you pant heavily. Clawing through your throat is a string of sobs, your body tensing along with it.

Sylus reacts with instinct, his voice lowered as he gently shushed you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pressing you into his strong torso. To hide you away from the world, to delicately hold your sorrows.

“You’re alright, Little Hunter.” He whispers into the top of your head, lips brushing softly against your hair, “I feel your shame, there’s no need to carry such a thing. I’m not upset.”

You hiccup, pulling away just enough to tilt your head back—looking up at him: “You’re… not?”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. His fingers gently tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, offering you the most warmth he possibly can in this moment. Unfamiliar, but not unappreciated. You’re more grateful than anything, in spite of everything you two had rough edges about.

“Never,” he assures you with a smile. “Not when it comes to you.”

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sweetimpurity · 5 months ago

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I Think I'll Keep You 4

a/n: Thank you for your patience! More to come for this story, it's only the beginning! Finally got my new computer which will make writing much easier and more fun!! Love ya!

w.c.: 8.3k NSFW MINORS DNI rated p for plot

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

His eyes widen and he has to fight back more tears right then and there. You’re taking him to the hospital after all he’s done? After all he said? “Oh…” He mumbles, standing there ready to follow your lead. He’d follow you anywhere at this point. “I couldn’t sleep so… and I assume you couldn’t either.” You comment softly. The exhaustion written on both your faces. With midterms and classes, bad sleep and the emotional tug of war this week, you’re both due for a nap. But his hand needs to be taken care of first. He can’t keep walking around in pain like that.

“Does it hurt?” You ask as the two of you start walking down the hall. “No… it’s not that bad.” He mumbles, pulling his hoodie on and clenching his hand painfully in the pocket. “Don’t lie.” You say. Something you feel like you keep saying. Why is it so hard for him to just be honest? Even with himself. “It… it does hurt. A lot.” He finally says in a sigh, both getting to the elevator and going down in silence to get to the lobby. He’s looking down at the floor. Exhaustion etched on his face like yours. But you keep an eye on him. Observing his body language. All the things he’s not saying with words. He seems sorry. He seems heartbroken like you. But it’s hard to trust him after everything.

The two of you get to the lobby, hearing the rain pouring on the windows. The white noise of the rain would be soothing if it didn’t mean you had to walk out in that storm. “My car’s on the street.” You pull up your hood, keys jingling in your pocket. He just looks up at your face, nodding softly. He just wants to hear that you forgive him. That you don’t hate him.

You both head out, quickly marching down the walkway to your car. Each shielding yourself from the assault of pouring rain as you rush to the car already running. Finding warmth and safety inside away from the rain. As soon as you can see through the splatters on the windshield, you’re driving off, through the city streets to get to the emergency room. There’s no one on the roads this time of night. And you’re hoping there won’t be tons of people in the emergency room once you get there.

“Hey so um…” He starts, after a bit of silence, driving through the city streets. “I… I’m-”

“Let’s just get there, okay? Let’s just go and get there and…” You sigh, the words falling off. Not wanting to cut him off but also not wanting right now to be when you both have this conversation. He swallows thickly, nodding and falling back into the quiet of the warm car. Clenching his fingers in his pocket and bouncing his knee gently in anxiety. You notice it out of the corner of your eye. You seem to notice everything about him.

…

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there. “Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen. “Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak- “Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away.

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information.

“Birthday?” You ask, ready to fill it in. “You don’t have to do that…” He mumbles softly, reaching his left hand over to you. “You can write with that hand?” You ask him skeptically, raising your brow. It’s his right hand that’s out of commission. “We need this to be legible, I’ll just do it.” You wave him off and he sighs in sleepy defeat. Although he’s too tired to even care at this point. He’s more grateful that you’re even here right now, that he’s even here right now. That you’re helping him like this, let alone talking to him.

“October 13, 2001.” He sighs, watching your neat handwriting fill in the little lines. “That just passed…” You mutter in realization, writing the date down. “Why didn’t you tell me when it was your birthday?” You sigh, looking up and gazing straight ahead at the empty chairs across the room. “That was like… two thursdays ago…” You grumble. “Sorry…” He sighs, not knowing what else to say for it. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t think it mattered. His mind is a mess. You look over at him, seeing the look on his face. That he really is defeated. Not his usual self. “It’s fine just…” Your words trail off. The silence heavy between you two.

“You can tell me stuff like that.” You suddenly say much more confidently. Looking over at him, making him meet your eye. And he swallows hard, not knowing really what to say. “You were leaving the next day and I didn’t want to distract you…” He admits softly.

“Your birthday is not a distraction… it’s special.”

Special?

He nods, averting your gaze. Thinking to himself. There’s nothing special about him.

“Place of birth.” You ask. “Uh… New York…” He replies softly, shaking those thoughts away, adjusting the ice on his knuckles. Bearing through the ache that comes with the cold on the hot swelling. You write down the information, continuing on. He’s quiet beside you, only answering when you ask him for information. Because his mind is occupied mapping out things he needs to talk about. He wants to apologize again, for real this time and explain himself. That’s the least he can do. Even though he feels like he’s 10 years old again for some reason. Feeling like you’ll be upset with him no matter what he says. No matter what he does. And he deserves all of it.

“Emergency contact?” You ask. Distracting him from his thoughts. “Uh…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like your mom or dad or something…” You encourage, ready to write down whatever he chooses. “I… don’t want them to call my dad…” He admits softly, staring at the sheet on the clipboard. “So your mom then?” You assume, readying yourself for the contact info. “No…” He mutters, shaking his head, leaning back in his seat. Looking up from the form, you look at his face. Not quite knowing how to read it right now. You know he doesn’t like to talk about his parents at all. You’ve only heard about his brother and that’s it. But you didn’t think I’d be so bad that he doesn’t even want to call them in case of an emergency.

“Okay… that’s okay we can figure out something else.” You offer softly. For some reason, instinctively, wanting to protect him right now from whatever it is he’s feeling. When it comes to his parents at least. “Yeah…” He mumbles, staring down at the ice on his hand and folding the corner of the plastic, fidgeting.

You sigh. Not really wanting to get into everything right now. Just wanting to get back to your dorm and sleep. He needs sleep too. This week has been hell. So many weighted moments pass between the two of you. Silently sitting and listening to the bubbles in the fish tank constantly going. The bubbles disturbing the still waters surface and yet infusing the water with all the oxygen the life within needs. Disturbance pumping life into the already living. The living need disturbance to know they’re alive.

He hears the sound of the pen scribbling on the clipboard. Tired eyes looking over to your lap. The emergency contact. A lump in his throat watching you fill in your name, your address, your phone number. All for him. All of this for him? How could he even begin to deserve it? He feels a huge rush of relief and watches the pen tip move across the paper. Until it gets to “Relationship:”

“The doctor can see you now.” The receptionist suddenly says, bringing you both out of silence. Grabbing the clipboard, your keys, phone, standing up and ready to get this done and get out of here. Although there’s a part of Miguel that feels this is a last goodbye. Like things will never be the same after tonight. Maybe that’s a good thing.

…

“Alright, so the fractures are here… here… and then a smaller one there. And we’re going to go ahead with the plaster cast so we can make sure everything lines up nicely.” The doctor says, pointing and gesturing to the x-ray on the wall. It’s been about half an hour now of x-rays and examinations. He has two broken fingers and part of his wrist is compromised too.

“We’ll see how you do with the cast and have you come back in a couple weeks. There should be no reason for surgery if all goes well.” She says. Nodding to the two of you and grabbing some paperwork from the drawers in the room.

“Will he have any sort of pain relief while this is going on?” You ask, concern on your face. Miguel can see it. It makes his chest hurt. You’re such an angel and he’s such a dick.

“Yes, I’ll put in the prescription for painkillers and some antibiotics and you can pick it up tonight… I can send it to the 24 hour pharmacy pretty close to your campus if that works?… I recommend starting it as soon as you can and it will really help with the swelling.” She nods and writes down a slip for his prescription. “Thank you.” You smile and take the slip, Miguel soon following with his own quiet ‘thank you’.

“I’ll be right back and then we can get this cast on, okay?” The doctor clicks her pen, taking her computer and leaving the room to go get the supplies to make up Miguel’s cast.

If it were darker in this room, you’d be falling asleep. But the fluorescent lights blind you. Sitting in the chair next to the exam table, unable to resist resting your head on the table Miguel’s sitting on. Looking down at the almost finished document on the clipboard. Deciding what to write. It’s stupid, it shouldn't matter that much. It doesn’t matter so much if it’s just for his emergency contact; just that the information is in there. Girlfriend? No. Partner? Probably not. Where do you stand? More importantly… Where do you want to stand with him? It’s not just his decision at the end of the day and you’re trying to stop letting him call most of the shots. What do you want to be? Do you want to be his girlfriend? Do you actually want that? Or has his behavior over the past month and a half shown you that he can’t be a good partner even if he wanted to? It’s late; you’re tired; why must you make this decision right now when everything is still so fucked up? Closing your eyes, laying your head on the edge of the table, you’re playing a dangerous game. Will you be able to open them again once you pass the threshold?

“I’m sorry.” He says. Coaxing your eyes back open, looking over at him.

“Miguel-”

“Please… I need to say something…” He insists softly. Not looking at you, staring at the floor, trying to keep that list in his head. “... a lot of things…”

He sighs, rubbing his good hand down the fabric of his sweatpants, nervously. Like all the sentences he’s thinking are the most idiotic combinations of words strung together. You watch him a bit wide eyed, just waiting for the words to come out.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted. What I said. It was the wrong way to go about this… everything.” He sighs. Trying his best to be honest and hoping you won’t throw it back in his face. Why is that always his first thought?

“I was a jerk. And then when I tried to… apologize I just… was an even bigger jerk.”

He admits. Glancing over at you to see your reaction. Feeling an odd sense of ease at the soft expression on your face. You’re really listening.

“I was not drunk on Sunday. I promise you. I went to a stupid party and… had a few beers but nothing… major.” He explains. Checking off the boxes in his head. All the things that went wrong, all the things he needs to apologize for. You look down and back at him. Feeling both satisfaction from his explanation and regret over this entire situation.

“And Dana… she’s… always hanging around me and… but I didn’t do anything with her on Sunday. I tell her no and she's still just all over me and... I’m not sleeping with her, I’m not sleeping with anyone. It was just you.” He says, looking in your eyes. And you believe it’s true. That’s the thing you regret. Jumping to conclusions the moment you smelled Dana’s perfume on him. That probably wasn’t right to do and there was no reason for it. But his response to it all was still uncalled for.

“I don’t want you to hate me. Please… I don’t think I can take it. But I know I deserve it.” He whispers. Looking away, staring at the linoleum floor.

“Can I tell you something… personal?” He suddenly asks. His eyes locked on the checkered pattern on the floor.

“Of course…” You hum, giving him your full attention. This is a big deal. Getting him to share this much. Connecting with him like this after feeling so far away. He swallows hard. Thinking hard. Why must this all be so hard for him?

“I’ve never really been in a relationship before.” He admits softly. You’re shocked to say the least. He’s always been the player type and had girls all around him. But never a relationship? Not even in high school? Seems impossible for someone like him. “Hm…” You hum. Mostly to let him know you’re actively listening. And not judging.

“My parents um…” He starts, fidgeting anxiously. “Ever since I was little… like since I was born… my parents always… cheated on each other?” He admits. You’re stunned into silence and he keeps going…

“It wasn’t like… an open marriage or anything…” Your face softens in sadness hearing his admission. Your heart snapping in two. “Now that I’m older I know the language but… as a kid I never understood.” He explains. A thoughtful look on his face like he’s thought all of these things a million times but never uttered a single word about it out loud.

The correlation between the two admissions is becoming more clear. Never having a relationship because the one relationship he’s supposed to look up to, his parents, is filled with betrayal and distrust. “I’m not saying… that that’s an excuse I’m just… I-I don’t know…” He sighs, shaking his head.

You just listen and watch him in silence. Feeling three things. Honored that he would share this with you. Responsibility to keep this information guarded. And heartbreak, thinking about that kind of pain, and that he feels the need to explain all of this.

“You ever think about like… getting too comfortable and then… when everything goes to shit… that’s your own fault right?” He asks more directly now, looking over at you. Maybe he does want an answer. “Like when you tell yourself that someone really cares about you… and then turns out they don’t. Not as much as you think?”

“No. I don’t think that’s your fault.” You finally speak now that he wants an answer. Genuinely. He looks in your eyes. You want to hear more. It’s the most he’s ever opened up to let you in his head.

“I can’t let myself feel that way.” He sighs. Looking up at the ceiling and letting out a deep breath. You know this is really hard for him.

“You think I make you… feel like you can’t be comfortable?” You ask softly, trying to clarify, trying to understand him.

“No you… make me feel… very… comfortable.” He admits in a sigh. Like the words keep getting stopped but he pushes through, forcing them out. The words would be impossible if not for his efforts.

You pause, thinking about what he said. Remembering when he said you made him feel steady. That moment meaning so much more now. You make him feel comfortable but he can’t allow himself to feel comfortable?

“And when you started… trying to tell me how you were feeling…” He sighs. “I just panicked and…” His words trail off, you take a deep breath. Remembering Sunday night, asking him about Dana, about the beer, on the cusp of telling him you were falling for him. That confusion and anger. Remembering what he said about messy feelings, about not ruining what you two had. When he said you weren’t supposed to happen. It all makes a lot more sense now. "I don't know what I'm feeling... I don't think I ever really know."

“I think that’s why I usually only… spend one night with someone and then… it’s over. I’m an asshole, I know… I wasn’t thinking of you that first night. At least not at the start.” He admits. Which makes sense. He feels guilty knowing he’s never been fair to his partners or himself. Plowing through any sort of feeling that might arise. But when you came along, that all became much harder. Not harder; impossible. His feelings for you were impossible to ignore. “But you’ve never left my mind since then.”

“You’re the longest I’ve ever… stuck with someone I guess. Or that you’ve stuck with me.” He says softly. Stealing glances at you, fearing your reaction just a bit. You’re shocked to say the least. A month and a half? He’s really never gotten closer to anyone else before?

Being his. That’s what you’ve thought of all this time. Because that’s how it always was. He would ask you to be his, tell you to admit it and you always said yes, you always complied. Because you wanted it to be true.

“Are you afraid that if you and I were together… that I’d cheat?” You ask, being careful around his feelings. Thinking he must be afraid to go back to those feelings brought by his parents. When they cheated on each other, they cheated him too. You want to treat his feelings with sensitivity unlike everyone else it seems.

He’s silent for a few moments. Thoughtful. “Maybe. Probably.” He admits. Which is reasonable if he’s been dealing with those kinds of trust issues since he was a little boy. “But I think I was… just scared to lose you. Like losing you is scarier than not having you at all.”

“But I couldn’t not have you. I couldn’t.” He sighs. “I was selfish and I’m sorry.”

He stares at the floor, all regret and heartbreak. So many things laid out in the open. You almost don’t know what to say. Almost.

“Miguel…” You address him, standing up and stepping around the small room for a moment. Then focusing back on him.

“I forgive you.”

He instantly looks up at you. He could cry. Relief in the purest form shot right into his soul.

“I can’t relate to your feelings with your parents and… everything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t understand. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand.” You say softly. He nods in understanding. His heart feeling a lightness he hasn’t felt since… ever.

“Being with you made me… feel confident and… wanted? I guess… no one’s ever made me feel that way before.” You admit. Sharing your own confessions. His eyes follow you every step around the room as you pace and speak. He’s surprised to have caused you anything but pain.

“I really liked you… even before all this started… even though I didn’t even really know you,” You sigh and chuckle softly at the thought. Knowing you fell in love with him when it felt like he wanted no one but you. And that might have been true but you were in love with the idea of him. The idea that someone like him would be in love with you.

“But I realized that the image of you that I have in my head is nowhere near who you really are. And I think you did the same for me.” You explain. He nods, knowing that’s exactly right. His first chapter with you is an unreliable memory.

“So I forgive you.” You nod. And he just looks up at you in awe. Like his heart will explode. He’s never felt this way before. Ever in his life. Is this what it feels like to be in love? To fall in love? Has he been falling all this time and now he’s completely fallen?

There’s a knock at the door. An interruption to this discussion but your words echo in his mind. And he never wants to forget them. “Okay, ready to get started? We’ll do this nice and quick and you guys can be on your way…” The doctor smiles, wheeling in a tray of materials and supplies. “Thank you” You smile and nod, moving over to make room for the doctor’s supplies; standing next to where Miguel is sitting to watch the process; mainly out of curiosity. You keep an eye on Miguel’s face. Seeing he’s still deep in thought. It’ll take more time to understand him, but tonight is a good first step.

You watch the doctor start the process, absorbing the information she’s explaining, the instructions for care and the longer term things. Follow up appointments and such. You make sure to listen because Miguel doesn’t seem like he can listen very well right now.

You watch his uninjured fingers still fidgeting with the hem of his pants. And for the second time you want to protect him. You want to make him feel… comfortable. You realize. That’s what he needs.

You reach across, taking his left hand in yours. Causing him to look up, squeezing gently as his fingers eagerly lace with yours. And it’s like all of a sudden he can feel the table under him, he can hear the doctor’s voice, he can feel the sleeve going on his arm, he can feel the pain in his hand. To get out of his head and come back into the real world around him. That’s what you’ve always done. You’re like an escape and you didn’t even know you were doing it. He didn’t even realize. Imagine how things could be if he just opened up. If he wasn’t afraid of how you’d react. If you’d put him down, chastise him for his feelings. Like he alway has been all his life.

“Miguel?” You hum, to get his attention after the doctor's attempts. The noise of his thoughts muting at the sound of your voice. “Hm?”

“What color do you want?” You ask softly, gesturing to the doctor holding out samples of the cast wrappings. Your thumb rubbing gently over the back of his knuckles. He can feel that too. “Oh uh… I don’t know.” He shakes his head slightly, feeling so overwhelmed in both good and bad ways. Overwhelmed with his feelings of love and fear. “You could get blue for the team colors…” You suggest with a soft smile, thinking of his soccer uniform, looking over the options that the doctor has laid out. Treating him with tender care, wanting to do it, no matter the things that have happened. It’s all in the past now. He smiles softly at your cute suggestion. “Yeah sure, blue is good…” He nods a slight smile at the doctor's kindness and patience. She nods and gets to work. Wrapping his cast up and letting it all set and harden. The blue material going from his fingers nearly up to his elbow.

“Alright, your 4 week appointment is all set, and you have the slip for the prescription. Come back if anything happens, or if you have any questions just call the non-emergency line.” The receptionist says. A kind smile on her face, looking up at the both of you, two kids tired out of their minds, hanging onto life and each other by a thread at this point. “Thank you very much.” Miguel nods with a smile. His injury now supported, already feeling less like it’s just hanging off his body.

You hand over the clipboard. Realizing you never decided on it. The relationship. Because it’s complicated. And you figured a blank line is better than a scribble of eraser marks.

“Have a good rest of the night… or morning I suppose.” She nods. Because yes, it is 4 a.m. at this point.

Leaving through the automatic sliding glass doors, stepping out into the very early morning. A soft glow of the imminent rising sun lighting up the sky. But it’s still very dark out. The birds haven’t even started to wake up and beckon the morning. He walks up beside you as you both head into the parking lot to get to your car. It’s still sprinkling slightly, some far away thunder rolling.

“How does it feel?” You ask, looking over and seeing the blue material on his arm peeking out from his sleeve. “Feels better than before… still hurts.” He sighs, taking a few longer strides and reaching the driver door first. Opening it for you. “Do you want me to drive?” He offers softly. “No, you only have one hand.” You quickly refuse.

“I can drive with one hand… and you’re tired.” He insists gently. “You’re tired too. And you have broken fingers.” You smirk, winning this, getting into the driver's seat. He huffs out a breath of laughter and relents, closing the door after you and walking to the passenger side.

“Take this…” You flail the prescription slip in front of him. His eyes blinking tiredly and he traps the piece of paper between his good fingers. Brow furrowing in focus and reading the information. It’s a bit blurry since he doesn’t have his contacts in. “Let’s go get that acetaprofin…” You sigh, turning the car on.

“Wait, what did I say?” You look at him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Acetaprofin?” He asks with a smile. “You mean acetaminophen? Or ibuprofen. I think it says acetaminophen on the sheet.” He can’t help the giggles that erupt in his chest. Beyond exhausted, the both of you. “No! I said that! I said acetaminophen.” you giggle, looking over at him, watching him starting to lose it with laughter.

“Nooo you didn’t…” He teases, wiping his eyes from laughing. “You said acetaprofin which is like… some acetaminophen and ibuprofen hybrid.”

“No I didn’t. Gimme that!” You snatch the paper out of his hand and point to the drug name on the sheet. “A-ce-ta-min-o-phen.” You sound it out as he’s giggling, not even looking at the paper, he’s looking at you. “I know what it says. That’s not what you said.”

Your eyes light up watching him smile and laugh. “Maybe not.” You admit, smiling. You can’t help but laugh yourself. It’s not even that funny, you both know that. But you’re both so tired, everything is funny. “Well science boy, maybe you should do your thesis on acetaprofin…” You joke.

“Yeah, I’m sure Alchemax would love that. A thesis on combining two drugs that do pretty much the same thing…” He sighs, the both of you coming down from a laughing fit. Sitting in your running car, in the corner of the emergency room parking lot, in the middle of the city, at four in the morning.

“Hah…” He sighs. That laughter was much needed. For both of you. “Y’know… we don’t have to go get it now. We can just go back to school. I can get it myself another day.” He says. Knowing you’re both exhausted and feeling bad for keeping you awake for so long. Although he does enjoy spending time with you again. Feeling like he doesn’t have to put his shield up. It’s harder to do when you’re not having sex. When he’s just being purely himself. It’s a new feeling.

He feels a little strange. Not just because he’s running on fumes but because of what he told you. But you don’t seem to be treating him any differently. If anything, it’s just making him feel a little closer to you. He’s never felt something like that before. Like you could be… someone he confides in. The first person on his mind. That’s what’s happened for the last month and a half anyway.

“No way… we’re getting your damn acetaprofin if it’s the last damn thing I damn do.” You protest, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot. On a mission. A mission of pain relief.

“Picking up for O’Hara?” You say at the pharmacy desk, the old woman behind the register typing into the old computer to bring up the prescription. “Date of birth?” She asks, looking at the two of you over the edge of her glasses. Miguel steps forward to answer.

“08/13/2001.” You state before he can. A satisfied smile on your face for knowing his birthday now. Even if he didn’t tell you the day it was happening.

“It’s just been sent in… I’ll make it up for you.” The old woman says, her New York accent quite thick. And she moves around slowly to go make up his prescription acetaminophen and antibiotics. “Okay thank you.” Miguel smiles. The two of you having to wait some more this morning.

…

“Strawberry or Cherry?” You sigh, holding out two packs of twizzlers in front of him. The two of you migrating to the candy aisle and looking through the endless sweets. “Strawberry obviously.” He nods, pointing at the pack, keeping his cast wrapped arm close to his chest, a sign to you that the pain is in fact bothering him. “Obviously.” You nod. Totally agreeing.

“Ha. I had to give my brother the heimlich once with one of these.” You cringe and hold up a box of Lemonheads. “Oh no, really?” His eyes widen, meeting your eyes. What if that had been Gabriel?

“Yeah, and then my mom banned them from all the kids…” You giggle, putting it back on the shelf and looking at another candy item. He grins at the thought, imagining what your family must be like. After all the little things you’ve told him. Your parents and siblings. It’s like a different world he’s never stepped into before.

“This is Gabriel’s favorite…” He nods and points to a box of warhead hard candies on the shelf. “We used to have competitions” He smiles, looking at you. “Oh the ‘see who can hold it in their mouth the longest without spitting it out’ competition? I know it well…”

“Mhm.” He nods, enjoying feeling like he can be similar to you in some way. He does love Gabriel a lot and hearing the way you’ve always talked about your own family makes him feel good. Even if his own family doesn’t feel like much of a family at all.

…

“These lights are so bright.” You huff, crouching down and looking in the makeup aisle. Miguel leaning against one of the shelves and trying not to fall asleep standing up. “Which one… on my skin?” You sigh, grabbing two blush shades, standing up with whatever energy you have left. Holding them up to him. He blinks tiredly and takes the two small things from your hands, walking right up to you and holding them up to your cheeks. “What am I looking for?” He asks, holding each one on the sides of your cheeks. Your eyes closed.

“Just for… which one matches best for my undertooooones…” You drawl with eyes still closed, feeling the backs of his fingers on your cheeks. “Undertooooones…” He echos softly and teases. “Hmm…” He hums, looking back and forth and then just looking at your face. Your lashes, your lips. Feeling like he could just kiss you right now. It would be so easy to just peck your lips.

“So?” Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Uh I think this one… I don’t know. That one is pretty.” He sighs, ignoring the urge to kiss your lips. Knowing he probably shouldn’t. But he wants to. Your eyes flutter open, causing his heart to flutter at the sight. Your hands coming to grasp his wrists. The two products in his fingers. Looking down at the one he chose. “Yeah, I like that one.” You nod and he adds it to the small pile of candy and miscellaneous things you’ve both picked out around the store.

…

“Mm this one is good…” Miguel holds a bottle of shampoo over to you. Letting you smell it. “Coconut Milk and turmeric…” You mumble, reading the scent on the bottle before clasping your hands over his hands around the bottle and smelling. The rim of the bottle touches your nose, getting some soap on there. “Ah- yeah it smells good” You giggle, shampoo above your lip. “Oh no sorry…” He laughs, the two of you deliriously tired. His other hand comes up to wipe the soap off, rubbing over the ridge of your lip and getting it off. All while you’re both quietly giggling among the shampoo selections.

“Are we being too loud?” You giggle, whispering and looking up at him. There’s no one else in here it’s so late but still you’re both giggling endlessly in the aisles. “Probably…” He whispers, putting the shampoo back on the shelf. The two of you standing close, huddled next to the shelves and aimlessly looking around waiting for his prescription to be ready.

…

“I didn’t know they sell vibrators at the drug store…” You comment. Wandered into the aisle of sexual health and products. Staring up at the row of vibrators on the top shelf, kept in those plastic cages. Needing the employees' help to unlock it. “I guess… maybe people need it… for medical… things.” He sighs behind you. Like zombies, the two of you.

“What kind of medical things?” You raise a brow at him, turning around to face him. He takes a closer look at the boxes, lifting one toy and reading the back of it.

“Mm… neglected clit disease?” He jokes, looking up in your eyes. A smug look on his face and a smile spreading over yours. His eyes gleaming watching you laugh. “Stupid boyfriend syndrome?” He adds. “Yeah possibly…” You nod.

“Boyfriend with broken fingers disorder.” He smiles a goofy grin, holding up his cast and shrugging. His poor broken fingers. Boyfriend.

“Yeah you’re right… it’s on the rise…” You laugh softly and nod. He nods, reading the back of the box and turning to look at the other models on the shelf.

Your eyes scan over the side of his face as he turns. Wanting to reach out and run your hands through his hair like you’ve done so many times before. But it’s never been like this before. Just the two of you like this. Like friends. But there’s something extra obviously because you’ve seen each other naked more times than you can remember. But being away from him was like rehab from an addiction. An addiction to him, the feeling of him, the way he can make you feel.

You roll your eyes and smile. Turning to leave the aisle. He smiles that same grin. Watching you start walking, he looks down at the box in his hand. Piling the vibrator on the stack of items in his arm with a smirk on his face. Among the candy, makeup, shampoo and miscellaneous things you’ve both picked out, the sex toy like a cherry on top.

…

He smiles watching you huff and sit down on the floor. Right in the middle a different aisle. Paper and stationary on one side and birthday cards on the other. Tilting his head and looking down at you on the floor. Sharing your exhaustion. “How does it feel?” You ask and he walks over, sitting down in front of you, criss crossed and facing you. Setting the items down on the floor too.

“It hurts…” He admits, not feeling the need to lie about it. Not anymore. You nod and yawn. Looking over and seeing a pack of black sharpies. Leaning over to grab it.

“Can I write on it?” You smile and brighten up at the thought. “My cast?” He grins and watches you. Your excitement.

“Yeah a little message or a doodle” You pull open the pack of markers. Planning to just pay for them on the way out. “Fine, just no dicks, okay?” He teases and you feign disappointment at his request. He scoots closer to you as you hold out the sharpie for the blue material on his arm. “Hmm…” You think of what to write or draw for your masterpiece. Since he’ll have it on there for a few weeks you want to make it count.

He’s just smiling, watching your pretty face as you think of what to write, his arm draped over your lap and your fingers dancing over his upper arm to hold it in place, pen in hand.

You start shaking your head and he can tell you’ve thought of something. “What?” He grins. “No… nothing.” You smile, shaking your head. “Come on… do it. Whatever you thought of, just write it.”

“No I can’t.” You smile nervously, looking up in his eyes. “Yes you can.” He replies in the same tone. Gesturing to his cast. “Write it.”

“Close your eyes.” You demand and he does so. His eyes fluttering closed. A smile on his lips. You debate it for a second. The thing you thought of was originally sort of supposed to be a joke but it could also not be a joke at the same time. You don’t want to make things awkward or more complicated. Shaking your head, you decide to just do it. Maybe he’ll laugh. The felt tip scratches on the hardened blue material. He waits patiently with eyes closed until finally…

“Done.” You sigh, already feeling embarrassed. But it’s on there and it’s permanent. His eyes flutter open, searching the cast on his arm. Eyes scanning over the black cursive letters. Just one small word.

Mine.

His eyes lock on the word. Reading it over. Over and over then looking up at you. After all that’s happened, all he said, all that went on. You know and he does too, that you’re being very generous with your heart. As you’ve always been.

“I like it…” He hums softly, nodding and looking back down at the writing. After seeing that slight blush of embarrassment on your cheeks.

Is this all he’s ever wanted? To be yours. And for you to be the one to make it so? All the times he made you his, all the times he claimed you, took you, those times don’t compare to this one. This little word, written by your hand, from your mind, your heart. He won’t take it for granted.

“I should’ve just drawn a dick…” You shake your head and smile. The tension dissolving then. Meeting his eyes for a moment. Unable to hide the bit of embarrassment. You don’t want to repeat patterns of the past. But you also want to be honest about your feelings. “Fine, you can draw a dick.”

”Really??!”

“No!!” He laughs. “I was just kidding!”

“No, you said it so I can do it!”

“No no no, I take it back!” He refuses with a smile, shaking his head and laughing, his eyes locked on your smile. Again, he just wants to kiss you. To kiss you again after feeling like it’s been forever since he’s had the chance. “Come onnnnn…” You smile and he shakes his head, wanting to take your face into his hands and kiss your lips. It almost makes his heart sore, knowing that he really shouldn’t do it. And he’s trying to be careful. Holding so tightly onto this olive branch.

“Let’s go see if it’s ready now, yeah?” He suggests, needing to change the subject for his own sake. “Fine…” You whine, watching him rise, accepting his hand when he stretches it out to you to get up from the floor.

…

You both watch the old woman scan the items and the prescriptions. Rolling your eyes at Miguel’s smirk when she scans the vibrator, taking off the protected cage around the box. The woman having absolutely no reaction to the item. She just doesn’t care, not at this hour and probably not at any other hour either.

You look for some money to pay for the makeup and the things you picked out but before you can he puts his card in the machine, reaching his arm around your waist to press the numbers. His chest pressing to your back slightly. You watch the thick black card go into the machine. The numbers going in and the ding when it accepts easily. “Thank you, have a nice night.” The woman says, her voice low and gravelly but she’s been kind overall.

“Thank you.” Miguel nods and grabs the bag off the counter after taking his card back. “Thanks!” You smile and start walking, with him right beside you. “Where’s the receipt? I can give you some cash for my things…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He assures. Shaking his head and holding the bag of items in his good hand.

“If you say so…” You sigh, walking beside him as you both leave the drug store. “Thank you…”

The sun is just starting to light up the early morning sky now that it’s about 5 am. Birds starting to chirp. “I need to sleep.” You sigh, getting in the driver's seat. And Miguel in the passenger seat with the bag of things on his lap. “I can drive if you want…” He offers again with a yawn, stretching his back slightly, his head against the headrest. “No it’s fine, it’s only a few minutes…” You assure him, buckling up and starting the car to get back to the dorms.

You start driving, pulling out of the parking lot and turning through the city streets. There are a few cars out but nothing compared to the morning rush to start in a few hours. The city slowly starts to light up with the sun. It’s not even over the horizon yet, just lighting the sky with anticipatory sunshine. He’s stealing small glances at you as you drive. Feeling funny inside. He doesn’t know quite how to place this feeling. It doesn’t feel bad, he knows that much.

“So it says… take two of these… and one of these morning and night.” You read the prescription bottles for acetaminophen and antibiotics. Standing at the door of his dorm room, in the doorway and giving him the slip from the doctor to have. “Thank you.” He nods softly, genuinely. Although that one thank you doesn’t even cut it. He doesn’t think so.

“I can’t believe we literally stayed up all night doing that.” He sighs, walking into his dorm. Glancing back at you and trying to be subtle, wanting to see if you’ll follow him inside. Only wanting you to do it if you want to. You follow him in, replying in similar disbelief, not noticing his glancing and watchful eye. “I know, well we had to wait so long for everything.” You huff, sitting on the edge of his bed and grabbing the bag of things when he drops it next to you.

You grab the pack of twizzlers and watch him take the prescription bottles to swallow his pills. Eyes widening in realization when he takes a pair of round framed glasses out of a case on his desk. He puts them on, reading the small print on the bottle. And you try to suppress the biggest smile. He wears glasses? How did you not figure this out? Regardless, he’s adorable.

“Do you need any help?” You ask softly. Watching him trying to maneuver the lock top with one hand, eventually trying to hold it between his knees and undo it with his good hand. “No thanks, I got it.” He looks over at you, instantly doing a double take seeing the way you’re smiling at him. Or the way you’re obviously trying not to smile. What’s got you smiling all pretty like that?

“I like your frames…” You smile and comment, his cheeks instantly reddening when he realizes that’s why you’re smiling. Looking over at you like a deer caught in headlights and the top of the bottle finally pops off, he flinches trying to keep the pills from spilling all over the floor. “Oh, thanks.” He smiles bashfully, feeling a bit embarrassed but he can’t help stealing glances at your face when you're smiling like that.

You smile softly, feeling a bit sympathetic to him having to learn a whole new way of doing things. Only a little bit though since he is the one that punched his own locker in.

“Sorry if your sleep is fucked for the rest of the week…” He clears his throat, getting some water to swallow his pills. Turning for a second and trying to stop the hot blush on his cheeks. You’re the only person who’s ever made him blush like that. Just by looking at him. You watch him from the bed, biting and pulling the strawberry licorice candy, the only thing you’ve eaten all night. “It’s fine… it needed to be done.” You nod. Not feeling resentful or upset with him. It was your choice to show up after all.

“Well thank you” he smiles over at you, situating a few things before walking over to the bed, sitting next to you on the edge and grabbing a piece of candy for himself, biting a piece off and sighing, flopping back to lay down on top of the blankets. You do the same, mirroring his action, laying down on your back and biting your candy as well. The two of you just lying in silence and exhaustion.

“So… we can be friends right?” He suddenly asks, you look over to see he’s on his side facing you. You take a moment to think. Friends is better than what’s been going on for months. You roll over too to face him, biting your licorice and thinking. “Yeah… I think so.”

He smiles softly, nodding with relief.

“Just don’t lie to me again.” You say and his expression turns serious, understanding. “Just be honest with me and I’ll do the same. Tell me how you’re feeling. I’m not the kind of person to… judge you for your feelings, y’know?” You say like it’s some casual thing. Not seeing how it’s affecting him. But he could cry if he let himself. He feels like he’s dreaming.

I should tell you how I’m feeling. I should tell you that I’m in love with you. I love you. I love the way you speak to me. The way you make me feel. I love the way you care for me. The way you think of me even when I can’t think for myself. The sound of your voice, the feeling of your hair between my fingers. The memory of your heartbeat against my chest, your fingers on my back, your breath on my neck. The look in your eyes when you’re laughing; your smile. The tone of your voice when you sigh my name. I thought I wanted you to be mine. And that might have been true. But I wanted to be yours all the more.

But he doesn’t say any of that. He just nods and smiles softly, grabbing another piece of candy and stealing small glances your way. Laying beside one another as the early morning goes by, the exhaustion overtaking the both of you in time. Soon you’re both asleep. 5 am. 6 am. 7 am and into the morning. Catching up on the lost hours. But not regretting a single moment of this night. 8 am. 9 am. 10 am. 11 am. Noon. Morning classes are long passed and forgotten. Sleeping beside one another on top of his soft blankets. Not even the daylight through the window could wake you from this slumber.

To be continued...

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!!

Taglist (hopefully I got everyone let me know if you want to be dropped/added):

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

@curious-randomlr @safixiovi @daddyfroglegs @theplaid-wearingmoose @reader-1290

@yeanika @elysiumsangel @rinnako @mangoslushcrush @twwcs

@izakopanyi2 @migueloharasoulmate @slut4oscarissac23

@miss-loomis @genny101

@aphinthestars @webshooterrr9 @m4dyy

@jdbxws @roserfz27 @ohara-whore @oharaslove @daisy-artfield

@mooreaey6yem @peachey-pie @migueloharacumslut @pxtched

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @julia4today

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