#hes standing on a table and juggling plates

[w1ndigo0]

"What's a party without some entertainment?"

My first time doing an SSR card for one of my characters!!!(Or anything in general)

Camlo ditched a certain eel to attend so it better be worth his time! ;]

@sunnysidesevenup love the event as always 💞!!! I can't wait to see other people's entries and the full story!!! :DDD

[adore-laur]

CAKE

someone requested dadrry finding out the gender of baby #3 :) please reblog & give feedback!

——

Harry pulls into the parking lot of the bakery he used to work at irregularly, the faded burgundy bricks a familiar sight. It hasn't been revamped much from when he was in his mid-twenties and struggling to earn a livable wage by juggling pastry-making, bartending, and training to be a chef. While he's not necessarily fond of those stressful workplace memories, the one that stands out the most is when he saw your pretty face again in the bakery. It was fate at its finest, and the rest is cherished history. He'll always be grateful for this place.

Over five years later, he is back with exhilaration thrumming in his chest. He's older now, his life wildly different than before he met you—now, he has a steadfast romance that keeps getting better, two precious daughters, and another baby on the way, all in a house where the ocean breeze kisses his skin every morning. He never envisioned being lucky enough to live out his dream so profoundly.

Harry steps out of the car, enjoying the subdued sunshine. He spins his key ring around his pointer finger, a smile already lifting his lips as he shoulders the front door open. The scent of baked bread and hints of vanilla greets him, along with the bakery's owner, Doreen, who gives him a cordial wave. She's a short woman in her sixties who has been running the place since before Harry was born. The long grey braid tapering down her back swings back and forth as she wipes the storefront windows with a rag. An apron is tied around her waist, the well-worn fabric dusted with flour and smears of blue frosting. She hasn't changed one bit.

"Hello, dear," Doreen says, briefly pausing her cleaning to kiss his cheek. Even on her tiptoes, Harry has to bend down to close the gap. "I know something you don't!"

He inhales deeply, that warm thrum returning. "You sure do."

She grins mischievously. "It's in the fridge, top left shelf. Help yourself."

Harry walks toward the two-section glass fridge behind the counter. A week ago, you did a blood test that could detect the baby's gender earlier than an ultrasound. At your request to keep it a secret for now, the obstetrician wrote the results down and sealed it in an envelope, which Harry then brought to the bakery and ordered a two-tier vanilla cake with either pink or blue frosting inside. Only the baker would know until it was sliced into by you and him. You both wanted a different type of reveal this time around. Last pregnancy, it was kept a surprise until birth. You're both too excited to wait this time.

"Thank you again for doing this," Harry says, taking the white bakery box with a yellow sticky note that has Styles Family scribbled on it. "If you ever need extra help around here, don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Oh, don't worry about me." Doreen places her hands on her hips, winking at him. "I'm sure you have your hands full at home."

He laughs softly. "I do, but they're wonderful little helpers. I could always bring them in, even if it's just to taste test."

"How old are they now?"

"Four and one. Our oldest is in her first year of preschool."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Goodness, how time flies. Plus a bun in the oven?"

"She's eleven weeks," he replies, smiling proudly.

"How is she feeling?"

Harry thinks back to when he left this morning, leaving you lying in bed sandwiched by the kids still in their pajamas. "Pretty fatigued, but she knows what to expect by now. She's doing everything she can to stay motivated."

"Well, I was happy to hear the news and so honored to be one of the first ones to know such a special secret," Doreen says, pinching his earlobe affectionately. "I baked my best cake for you. Oh, that reminds me!" She scurries over to a nearby table to retrieve a wrapped plate with an assortment of desserts, no doubt baked by her. "These are for you and your girls."

Harry's heart swells, and he pecks her cheek with gratitude. "We appreciate it so much. And I'm serious: I'll put my old apron back on if you need me to. I still know how to make a mean batch of macarons."

She shoos him away with her cleaning rag. "Go on, you silly boy. Be with your family."

He beams on his way out of the bakery, wanting nothing more.

——

Harry arrives back home in the late morning, feeling grateful that it's the weekend. The house is quiet, and he'd bet money that his girls are in the same position he left them an hour ago. Arguably, that's what Sundays are for—cuddles under warm sheets and no obligation to be anywhere else.

The front door snicks shut, and he walks the short distance to the kitchen to set the cake box on the island. His fingers itch to open it and sink a knife into the layer of frosting, but he refrains. The time will come.

Instead, he heads to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light. Sure enough, you're curled up with two little girls tucked into the outline of your body. Harry commits the view to memory before sitting on the edge of the mattress. You stir awake from a light sleep, your eyes opening and finding him. The first-trimester fatigue is obvious, and it's as endearing as it was the first time.

"Morning, lazybones," he says softly.

You yawn, stretching your arms, and the fierce urge to hold you close and never leave this bed rushes through him. "Hi. Did you get the cake?"

"I did." He strokes the bridge of your nose with his knuckle, sensing your lethargy. "Feeling okay?"

"So-so. I was a little queasy earlier."

"Did you eat yet?" he asks, and you shake your head in response. "Want me to make something?"

"I don't have much of an appetite, but I'm sure the girls would love a big breakfast," you say. Harry smiles, taking a moment to admire their innocent faces still deep in sleep. He hopes they're having pleasant dreams.

"Okay. I'll be in the kitchen."

"Wait for me, please." You carefully sit up with a dazed and adorable look in your eyes.

Harry sighs fondly and says, "You need to listen to your body. Don't resist rest."

Pouting, you shed the blanket and swing your legs over the bed, ignoring his sensible advice. "But my body's telling me that it misses you."

"Sweetheart..." He cuts himself off, realizing he has no way to refute that. He knows wholeheartedly because he feels it too. Working full-time and coming home to parent with you leaves little room for quality time together. Consequently, there was never time to squeeze a babymoon in the past four years. He'll have to ponder that idea more in-depth, especially now that your pregnancy is swiftly heading to the halfway mark. Probably smart to plan a trip during that sweet spot, when you're not too physically uncomfortable. He wants to have fun with you, away from the kids. Explore an exotic place and luxuriate in romance with no one around.

"Harry?" you say, pulling him out of his titillating trance. He was just beginning to envisage you naked on a canopy bed in Fiji, the evening sun casting over your dips and curves. Lying there all majestically, waiting for him to feast on you. Paradise personified.

"Sorry, just musing." He clears his throat and thinks of innocent things, like buttermilk pancakes and hash browns.

"Uh-oh," you reply playfully before standing up and leaving him with a tempting view of your bare legs. As you freshen up in the bathroom, Harry leans over his daughters and kisses their heads. They both stir minimally, their disheveled curls rustling against the pillows. He wonders if his genes will ever have mercy in that department when the next baby arrives.

Eventually, you follow Harry into the kitchen, and there's a familiar thrill in having a brief window of alone time before the kids require attention. He smoothly pulls you into his embrace and asks, "How's our baby?"

You look down at your stomach and lift the silk camisole covering it. "Finally making an appearance, I think."

Pulling back slightly, Harry assesses the tiny protrusion—it's much tinier than the last two were around the same eleven-week mark. "Oh, hello there," he murmurs with a winsome smile. The proof of you carrying a child is nearly unnoticeable, at least in a physical sense, but the smallness keeps it a secret from any outsiders. Inside this home, it's his to savor.

You laugh, silently marveling over it with him, then glance at the cake over his shoulder. "We could have cake for breakfast."

Harry pulls you close again and waddles your conjoined bodies forward until your back meets the island. "That depends on if you want to find out now or later. It's up to you."

Looping your arms around his neck, you contemplate for a few seconds before saying, "Let's wait until later tonight—at least until I'm feeling better."

"Absolutely. Maybe we can head down to the beach at sunset with the girls. Have a mini celebration."

You nod. "I'd like that."

"Done deal." The thin strap of your silk camisole slips down your shoulder, and Harry groans when the curve of your breast peeks out. He cups it in his palm, and your body reacts by pressing into him even further. "So, what's your final prediction?" he asks, kissing the tender flesh there and readjusting the strap. Focus, he tells himself. The girls need breakfast.

You make a show of thinking long and hard. "Unforeseen quadruplets? I'd be a medical mystery."

Harry narrows his eyes, suppressing a grin. "Hysterical." He widens his stance until he's the same height as you. "C'mon, give it to me."

"Final prediction is... girl," you say assuredly. That word tugs at his heartstrings, the ones belonging to the instinctive protectiveness he has toward his daughters.

"I'm sticking with boy," he says for the sake of a friendly husband-wife competition.

You quirk your brow and slowly back out of his embrace. "I can't believe you're not trusting my womanly intuition."

"I've guessed correctly the last two times," he reminds you. "Don't underestimate my mojo."

"All right. Best of luck, baby."

——

Harry shivers in an overdramatic fashion while holding his youngest daughter, and she giggles, thoroughly entertained. He always enjoys the walk down to the private beach, where the expansive view never ceases to amaze him. At sunset, it's even more phenomenal. The wind carries a coolness to it, and the sky transpires into heavenly hues of lavender, teal, and marigold. No matter the weather, he makes an effort to watch it fade into the night alongside his family.

Tonight is extra special, and as he glances back at you trailing behind with the cake box and two empty champagne glasses in one hand and your eldest's small hand in the other, his excitement intensifies. He was patient all afternoon, even crawling back in bed with you and the girls to bask in a catnap under the warm sheets. Afterward, the laziness continued as you all watched a movie together on the couch and ate takeout. Now it's time for dessert.

Near the shoreline, Harry sets down his youngest and removes the quilted blanket from around his shoulders. He shakes it out and watches her toddle on the sand. She just started walking on her own last month, and he can never be too cautious with her curious nature. There's nothing more bloodcurdling than a child wandering off without a sound.

The girls go off to play with their dolls near the sandcastle they built near the hammock. It's far enough from the waves for them to be semi-unsupervised.

Harry lays the blanket down and sits. You join him, passing over the glasses. He brought a bottle of grape juice as a substitute for wine.

After pouring juice into each glass, Harry hands one over to you and lifts his in the air. "Cheers to growing our beautiful family. Cheers to being happy, healthy, and perpetually sleep-deprived. We make an amazing team, and... I just love you. Inexplicably so." He clinks his glass with yours and takes a hearty sip, never taking his eyes off you.

"Cheers," you say, letting the tart liquid travel down your throat.

Harry rubs his palms together and says, "Ready?"

You give him a smile only he knows the meaning of. "Let's have some cake."

He slides the box over and fingers open the seal. When he lifts the top, you shuffle forward and melt into his side, staying there as he stares at the coating. It's only plain white buttercream frosting with swirly pink and blue dollops caressing the circular edge, but the part that makes him teary-eyed is the cursive icing that reads Baby Styles. Although it's his third and most likely last child, the feeling never gets old. Every newborn experience challenges him in an entirely new way. It's unexpected, enlightening, and emotionally rewarding. And to do it by your side is the greatest accomplishment he'll ever know.

Wiping the corners of his eyes, Harry picks up the knife. You place your hand over his grip on the handle and kiss his bicep. "No peeking," you say, closing your eyes.

Harry does the same and rests his forehead against yours. Slowly, he maneuvers the knife to blindly cut a triangular slice. His heart pounds in anticipation. The bet he made with you doesn't matter anymore. Either outcome, he'll be ecstatic.

"You look first," he whispers, his lips brushing yours with each syllable.

"No, you do it," you whisper back.

"You know, we never discussed what the prize is for whoever guessed correctly," he says, shifting the knife so the slice breaks free.

"I know what I want."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, nudging his nose with yours. "Tell me.”

"I want to go on vacation somewhere far away, just me and you."

"Remember what happened last vacation?" His eyes are still closed, and vivid memories play behind his lids.

"Yes, I do,” you say. “You got me pregnant, but that was only because there was something in the Italian air."

He laughs and captures your lips in a quick kiss. "Is that the only reason? I seem to recall you—"

"Daddy, what flavor is the pink stuff?"

Harry's eyes shoot open, and for a split second, he sees that yours are still shut as his head whips toward his eldest daughter skipping over with her favorite doll in tow. His youngest follows her, picking up handfuls of sand along the way.

Brows furrowed, he looks at you again to find you staring at the cake with a dumbstruck expression. He honestly forgot it was there, too caught up in the intimate moment he was sharing with you, where the darkness enhanced the warm sensations of his skin touching yours, the grape scent of your breath, and the way your sensual words sent shivers down his spine.

All that floats away when he sees creamy pink frosting in the middle of the sponge cake. It's a delicate shade of pink similar to the newborn hospital hat they put on his firstborn daughter. Similar to the sunrise the day his second daughter decided to come into the world.

Pink. Another baby girl.

Making a spontaneous choice, Harry pulls his sweater off and sprints full speed toward the ocean, shouting with glee. He hears your shocked guffaw as he tumbles forward into the shallow water. The coldness is a shock to his system, but it doesn't compare to the fact that you're having a girl. He hoped for it deep in his heart. He dreamt it.

You walk over to him, eyes glassy and holding a large forkful of cake. "I was right!"

Harry heaves big breaths, adrenaline rushing through his blood vessels. His sweatpants are soaked, but it's the last thing on his mind. He clumsily reaches you and places his palms on your stomach, kissing it repeatedly. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he says, overwhelmed with emotion. He looks up, his next words intended for you. "You made our dreams come true, baby. And I don't know how to repay you, but I’ll try. I swear it.”

"You've already repaid me, Harry, by being the most devoted and dependable father to our girls."

He smiles, his cheeks hurting. "Three girls now. Holy shit.”

You collapse in his arms, crying and laughing with happiness. He catches you and gently brings you down to the sand. The wind whips around both your bodies, not able to penetrate the heat of this unforgettable moment.

Amidst bites of cake and promises of a couple's vacation to wherever your heart desires, a shout of "It's strawberry-flavored!" carries over, nestling deep in Harry’s heart.

Life couldn't be sweeter.

——

[lilasamaaa]

Who says "I love you" first? Part Two | F1 grid x Reader

Click here to read the first part!

Genre | Fluff

Featuring | Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Carlos Sainz, Yuki Tsunoda, Max Verstappen.

Word count | 1.8K

Warnings | None! Enjoy the ride!

Author's note | Coming up with original ideas for this was so painful lmao, I'm sorry it took so long!

Oscar Piastri

He says it first.

Today marks four months since you and Oscar have been together. The Australian texted you a few hours ago, telling you to wear a nice dress and meet him in front of your building at 8.

The two of you had met four months ago at a party hosted by a mutual friend. You had heard of love at first sight, but had never experienced it before him. Before your eyes met his. As you had moved to Australia a few weeks before meeting him, and with English not being your first language, it had taken a bit of time to get comfortable with each other and juggle between your respective languages, but today, you two were inseparable... To the point where you'd already canceled the plane ticket that was supposed to take you back home at the end of the year.

The restaurant where you're dining is splendid. The candles on your table cast a soft light on his face, the atmosphere is incredibly romantic, and the dishes are delicious. But above all, it's the looks Oscar has been giving you all evening that make your heart beat. A mixture of tenderness, passion, and admiration.

"I hope you don't mind, but I ordered dessert," your boyfriend announces, looking at you fondly.

As soon as the sentence is uttered, a waiter places a plate in front of you, and you let out a gasp of surprise as you discover the letters traced in chocolate. "I love you". In your native tongue. Your eyes start to water as you meet Oscar's gaze, visibly nervous. For a minute, you're speechless. Equally surprised by the kind attention than by the admission from the Australian.

"Please tell me they spelled it right," the driver says as you burst into laughter.

"They did," you reply, reaching for his hand. "And I don't have any dessert to prove it, but just so you know, I love you too."

Daniel Ricciardo

He says it first.

Daniel and you are lying on the couch in his living room, watching a replay of last weekend's race on TV. You love it when your boyfriend comments on every move, explains the strategies, and tells you about his feelings in the car. Even though you attended the race live in Singapore, it's definitely different to look back at the race with the insight of a real pilot. As Daniel explains to you the choice of his medium tires, the image from the replay suddenly changes from the track and zooms in on you, wearing a headset, in the garage.

"What?" you yelp, standing up on your elbows. "I didn't know they were filming me!"

Under your face, a small banner appears, and you feel your heart tighten. "Daniel Ricciardo's friend".

"Oh," you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away from the tv screen.

"Wow," Daniel says. "So they really have no idea that we're together."

The camera dives back onto the track, and Daniel starts commenting on every moment again, before realizing that you've been silent for a while.

"Hey," your boyfriend says, nudging your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just..." you start, feeling your throat tighten. "We've been dating for a few months now, and it's... It's weird to be called your friend. I don't know. It's making me feel insecure."

"Well, you shouldn't," the Australian says before capturing your lips in a soft kiss. "Because I love you. Way more than a friend."

George Russell

You say it first.

At work, George is methodical. Organized. At home, however, you've come to learn that your boyfriend is a real scatterbrain and forgets everything. All the time. To the point that since you started seeing each other more regularly and you began sleeping over at his place, you've gotten into the habit of leaving notes for him all over the apartment before going to work.

"Your brother is coming over tonight"

"DO NOT order food. There are leftovers in the fridge!"

"Your fave sweater is in the dryer"

Each note is always signed the same way. A double x (you two live in England, after all) and a smiley face. If you're the one writing the small notes, George is the one collecting them and throwing them away everyday. So tonight, as you close the door to his apartment behind you, you're surprised to find your boyfriend on the couch, holding one of the bright yellow squares in his hand.

"Hi babe," you say, coming closer to him. "What's this?"

"Your note," George replies, looking at you. "From this morning."

"What about it?" you ask, furrowing your brow as George hands it to you.

"Don't wait for me for dinner tonight, I'm going out with the girls. Love you."

Oh. You're still looking at the note with wide eyes when your boyfriend speaks again.

"Did you mean it?"

"I'm... kinda surprised I wrote it, but yes, of course, George. I mean it."

Your boyfriend gets up from the couch, coming towards you before planting his lips passionately on yours.

"Well, I love you too," George says, making your heart skip a beat. "And I'm keeping this one," your boyfriend laughs before pocketing the note.

Carlos Sainz

He says it first.

Carlos and you have made it a habit to call each other as much as possible when the driver is away. The distance is already hard enough to manage for the both of you as it is, so there's no need to torture yourselves even more with radio silence. Sitting in the hotel lobby, the only place where he managed to get enough network for a high-quality call, your boyfriend is telling you all about this morning's free practice session when the phone shakes, and you see his eyes hovering above the screen.

"Wait, hermosa, just a second."

The microphone cuts out, and you see your boyfriend's lips moving without sound. You furrow your brow, thinking that someone from the hotel staff might be scolding him for speaking aloud in a public area, when Charles appears in the corner of the screen, the sound coming back.

"Charles wants to say hi," Carlos says, playfully rolling his eyes. "Please find a girlfriend and stop annoying mine."

"How are you?" Charles asks, smiling at you, ignoring Carlos' whines.

"I'm doing great, thanks for asking!" you reply, smiling back at the driver.

"Now, move," Carlos says, "I'd rather talk to her than to you. You'll understand that when you're in love again."

A laughing Charles waves at you a final time before disappearing from your screen. Your attention shifts back to Carlos.

"So..." you say playfully. "You're in love?"

Realizing the slip-up, Carlos' eyes widen.

"I didn't mean to say it like that. Or over the phone. But yes, I am," your boyfriend says, smiling proudly.

"Good thing I am too, then," you reply winking.

Yuki Tsunoda

You say it first.

Yuki is naturally shy. You noticed it from your first meeting, and you've never been afraid to take the lead. You've been the initiator of all your firsts : first conversation, first date, first kiss. This dynamic works well for both of you. You suggest, and Yuki always happily follows.

However... there's something you've been afraid of initiating. It's been several months since you started seeing each other, and you're truly on cloud nine. Everything is going well between you, the chemistry is perfect, and the slightest glance from the Japanese makes you absolutely melt. You know the signs. You're in love. But how do you tell him without scaring him off?

The answer comes naturally as you watch your boyfriend exchange words with his Team Principal in the Racing Bulls garage, his helmet in his hands. As Yuki finishes zipping up his suit, his back to you, you kindly offer to hold his helmet and take the opportunity to pull out a marker from your pocket, discreetly scribbling on the plastic shell before handing the object to your boyfriend.

The race goes incredibly well, and Yuki finishes in the points, creating euphoria in the garage. When your boyfriend gets out of the car, his first instinct is to take off his helmet and steal a kiss from you as you laugh.

"What's making you laugh?" Yuki asks, looking at you fondly.

"I put a little encouragement on your helmet, and it looks like it worked," you whisper, pointing to the three hastily written words. I love you.

Yuki is naturally shy, yes. Yet, the kiss he gives you after your revelation is the only confirmation you needed.

Max Verstappen

He says it first.

It's been ten days since Max flew several hours away from you for his next race, suggesting you stay at his place until his return. The initial idea was for you to look after his cats, but the driver would never admit that what he wanted above all else was for you to put your intoxicating scent all over his sheets... Creating a sense of domesticity that he wasn't so sure you were ready for yet.

Keys turn in the lock, and Max appears at the end of the hallway, suitcase in hand. It's safe to say that he didn't expect to find you curled up on the couch, asleep, his two cats nestled in your arms.

The sight is enough to make him want to call your landlord and tell them you' won't be needing your apartment anymore. To give you the keys to his place, and never take them back. But for now, abandoning his suitcase in the hallway, Max sits on the couch gently, making sure not to wake you before softly stroking your hair. You whine softly in your sleep, opening an eye.

"You're back," you mumble weakly.

"I am, and it looks like nobody missed me that much," Max says, pretending to be hurt.

"What?" you say, sitting up. "I missed you! Every day!"

"And yet, you wasted no time replacing me," your boyfriend laughs, petting his sleepy cats.

"I had to adapt," you reply with a smirk. "They confessed before you. There was nothing I could do."

"Do you want me to confess?" Max says, bending over to press a soft kiss to your lips, making your heart flutter. "You have my love. All of it."

[gyorouis]

── ✦ wit it this christmas.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis⸝⸝ 'tis the season for some love-giving

꒰ genre⸝⸝ romcom, fluff, slight-suggestive pairing⸝⸝ party crasher!beomgyu wc⸝⸝ 1.6k warning⸝⸝ mutual pining, alcohol mentioned, reckless decision-making (breaking into places), they are both BIG flirt tune in⸝⸝ ariana grande —wit it this christmas ୨ৎ ꒱

“i’m telling you, this is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” beomgyu muttered, tugging at the lapels of his blazer as he stood outside the towering mansion.

“oh, come on, gyu,” soobin drawled, arms crossed, leaning casually against the hood of his car. “what’s christmas without a little chaos? you’re always saying you’re the life of the party. prove it.”

“yeah,” taehyun added, a smirk tugging at his lips. “or are you chicken?”

beomgyu scoffed, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “first of all, i’m not chicken. second, this party isn’t exactly my scene. who even throws black-tie christmas parties?”

“rich people,” kai piped up from the backseat, grinning.

beomgyu rolled his eyes, but his pride wouldn’t let him back out. “fine. but if i get kicked out, you’re all buying me dinner for a month.”

“deal,” they chorused, clearly entertained.

with a dramatic sigh, beomgyu straightened his blazer and made his way to the front door.

the party was... fancy. too fancy. twinkling lights adorned every corner, a towering christmas tree stood in the center of the room, and servers in crisp uniforms carried trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. beomgyu stuck out like a sore thumb—not because of his outfit (he cleaned up well), but because he couldn’t shake the urge to do something stupid.

he grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray and scanned the room. just as he was debating whether to “accidentally” knock over a decorative wreath, his eyes landed on you.

you weren’t like the others, either. while everyone else mingled politely, you stood near the dessert table, inspecting a plate of macarons like they held the secrets of the universe.

beomgyu smirked. target acquired.

he sauntered over, leaning casually against the table. “you know, if you stare at them long enough, they might tell you which one tastes best.”

you glanced up, clearly unimpressed. “and if you stare at me long enough, i might ask you to leave.”

his grin widened. “feisty. i like it.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. “let me guess. you’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

“what gave it away?”

“the way you’re standing like you’re trying to blend in, but you’re also dying to cause trouble.”

beomgyu laughed, genuinely impressed. “okay, you caught me. but in my defense, this party could use a little trouble.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and you think you’re the one to bring it?”

“oh, absolutely.”

“prove it.”

within ten minutes, you and beomgyu were sneaking down a hallway marked “private.”

“you’re terrible at this,” you whispered as he struggled to pick the lock on a door.

“excuse me, i’m an artist,” he hissed back, wincing as the bobby pin snapped.

you pushed him aside, pulling a paperclip from your pocket. “move over, rookie.”

“where did you even—”

“shh.”

the lock clicked, and you smirked, pushing the door open to reveal what looked like a library straight out of a movie.

“wow,” beomgyu breathed. “okay, this is actually kind of cool.”

you grinned, grabbing a random book off the shelf. “think anyone would notice if we ‘borrowed’ something?”

“you’re worse than me,” he said, but his tone was admiring.

the night spiraled from there. you dared him to climb the tree in the front yard (“for science,” you claimed), and he dared you to “accidentally” switch the labels on the hors d’oeuvres.

“you’re insane,” he said, watching as you swapped the name cards for smoked salmon and candied figs.

“says the guy who tried to juggle champagne flutes.”

“i was proving a point!”

“yeah, that you’re terrible at juggling.”

hours later, the two of you found yourselves sitting on the mansion’s roof, legs dangling over the edge, sharing a stolen bottle of champagne.

“so,” you said, glancing at him. “what’s your deal?”

“my deal?”

“yeah. crashing a party like this, making a scene... what’s the story?”

he hesitated, then shrugged. “my friends dared me. they think i’m too boring these days.”

“boring? you?”

“shocking, right?”

you laughed softly. “well, for what it’s worth, you’ve been the most fun i’ve had in a while.”

he looked at you, his usual cocky grin replaced with something softer. “yeah. same.”

silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t awkward. it was... nice.

“hey,” he said suddenly. “what’s your name?”

you smiled, leaning back on your hands. “maybe i’ll tell you at the next party you crash.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

“you started it.”

as the night wore on, the air between you grew heavier, the charged kind of silence that wasn’t meant to last.

“you know,” beomgyu said, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. “this might sound crazy, but i’m glad i came tonight.”

“even if you get kicked out?”

“even then.”

your eyes met his, and the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you.

“you’re staring,” you murmured, your voice teasing but soft.

“maybe i’m waiting for you to tell me to leave,” he replied, leaning in just slightly.

“maybe i don’t want you to.”

the space between you disappeared in an instant, his lips brushing against yours in a way that was both tentative and electric. the champagne bottle slipped from your grasp, forgotten as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

your heart pounded against your ribcage, each beat echoing in the silence that surrounded you. his lips were soft but urgent, like he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he cared to admit. the scent of pine and cold night air mixed with the faint trace of his cologne, making your head spin.

“you’re insane,” you whispered against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth even as you fought to catch your breath.

“you like it,” he shot back, his voice tinged with that familiar cocky edge, but his eyes betrayed something softer—something vulnerable that you hadn’t seen before.

“maybe,” you admitted, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, feeling the silky strands between your fingers.

his lips curved into a smirk against yours, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten, grounding you in the moment. the kiss deepened, growing more intense, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you. the chill of the night air was a distant memory now, replaced by the warmth radiating from where your bodies pressed together.

the muffled sounds of distant laughter and music from the party drifted up to the roof, but they felt like echoes from another life—a life that didn’t include stolen moments and impulsive kisses under a blanket of stars.

when he finally pulled back, his breath mingling with yours in the cold air, he didn’t let you go. his forehead rested against yours, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your sides.

“you’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

“you started it,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, breathless and lightheaded.

he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your chest where you were still pressed together. “i didn’t think tonight would end like this.”

“what did you think would happen?” you asked, arching an eyebrow, though your lips were still curved in a playful smile.

“i thought i’d crash a party, maybe get thrown out, and laugh about it with my friends,” he admitted, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. “i didn’t think i’d meet someone who could keep up with me.”

you scoffed, leaning back slightly, though his hands stayed on your waist. “keep up with you? please. i left you in the dust the moment i picked that lock.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “okay, fair point. but you’ve got to admit, i make a pretty good partner in crime.”

“debatable,” you teased, though your grin softened the words.

he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slower this time, more deliberate. his hands moved up your sides, sliding over your back as if memorizing every inch of you.

“what happens now?” you asked softly when you broke apart again, your voice barely audible over the sound of the wind.

“what do you want to happen?” he countered, his eyes locked on yours, his usual confidence tinged with genuine curiosity.

“you mean besides breaking into another room and seeing what else we can get away with?” you quipped, though your tone carried a hint of seriousness.

“i like the way you think,” he said with a grin, but then his expression shifted, becoming more serious. “but... if you’re asking me, i’d say we stay right here a little longer.”

“just a little?” you challenged, tilting your head.

“maybe a lot longer,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “depends on you.”

you didn’t answer, not with words. instead, you pulled him closer again, your lips meeting his with renewed intensity. the stars above seemed to burn brighter, as if they were cheering you on.

his hands slid under the hem of your sweater, the touch of his fingers on your bare skin sending a shiver down your spine. “cold?” he asked, pulling back just enough to study your face.

“no,” you replied, your voice firm. “not even a little.”

he smirked, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “good.”

the minutes stretched on, and the air around you seemed to hum with unspoken promises. his hands continued their slow exploration, every touch igniting a fire that you didn’t want to put out.

“beomgyu,” you said softly, your voice laced with something that sounded suspiciously like vulnerability.

“yeah?” he replied, his tone matching yours, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decode your thoughts.

“don’t let this be just a dare,” you said, barely able to meet his gaze.

he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “it’s not,” he promised, his voice steady and certain. “it never was.”

and with that, the line between chaos and connection blurred completely, leaving nothing but the two of you and the infinite possibilities of the night.

gyo's note: just cocky beomgyu??? good heavens, i’ve been wanting to write something suggestive with beomgyu for ages, but every time i try, i end up blushing so hard i can’t finish it lol (i mean, can you blame me? i have a HUGE crush on him. i’m just a girl, please understand). this is only half of what i could've done and i can't believe that this is what i wrote for his holiday tales uhuu. anyway if you made it this far, thank you! (,,>﹏<,,) you will be loved, xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[darlingsblackbook]

The princess and the fool

Jester!Gojo x Princess!Reader

Medieval Court AU

Summary : The halls of the castle are always cold. I have grown used to it, the chill, the silence, the feeling of existing yet never truly being seen. Then the jester arrives.

English is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. Feel free to point them out but be kind with it♡

°•♡•°

The great hall is alive tonight.

The long tables overflow with food, the scent of roasted meats and spiced honey thick in the air. The golden chandeliers shine a warm glow over the gathered nobles, their laughter filling the room. Musicians play a lively tune, filling the air with the sharp trill of flutes and the deep hum of stringed instruments.

I sit at my place near the high table, not beside my father, nor near my brothers. Those seats belong to those with purpose. I am here because it is expected, nothing more.

Then, a voice cuts through the revelry.

"Ah, my lady of eternal gloom!"

The hall hushes, if only slightly, as heads turn toward the source of the voice.

I lift my gaze.

He stands in the center of the hall, a stark contrast to the muted elegance of the court.

Silver hair glows under candlelight, strands falling messily over his forehead, though I sense the disarray is intentional. His clothing-a jester’s garb in rich crimson and gold-is striking, adorned with delicate embroidery that glimmers when he moves. The bells at his sleeves and boots barely chime, as if he is too graceful to let them.

But his eyes...

His eyes are the most dangerous of all.

A shade of blue so bright they seem otherworldly, sharp with amusement yet unreadable beneath the weight of something deeper.

His grin is reckless, the kind that belongs to a man who has never known restraint.

"If I dare say," he continues, spreading his arms wide, as if addressing the entire court, "I have met ghosts with more cheer than you, oh princess of goom"

A murmur ripples through the gathered lords and ladies. Some chuckle behind their goblets of wine, while others glance at me, waiting to see how I will respond.

I say nothing.

I just hold his gaze

Then, as if nothing has happened, I lower my eyes back to my plate.

The moment passes. The court resumes its chatter. The musicians play again. The jester- whoever he is- laughs and continues his performance, spinning through the hall with charm.

But I can feel it.

Even as he entertains the crowd, his presence filling every inch of the room, those piercing eyes keep finding their way back to me.

And I can't helpt but wonder, what is it that he sees?

°•♡•°

I see him before he speaks.

It has been this way ever since that first night.

Whenever we are in the same room, his gaze seems to find me. Even when he is performing for the nobles, spinning tales and juggling goblets of wine without spilling a a single drop, I feel the weight of his attention.

I do not know why.

Perhaps he has taken it as a challenge: to crack the stonefaced silent princess, to pry a laugh from lips that rarely part.

Perhaps he is simply a fool.

His laughter echoes through the great hall again and I can not seem to withhold myself from lifting my gaze in the direction of the sound. His eyes almost seemed to glimmer in the warm glow of the chandelier suspended above the table. Lips pulled in a wide grin, his teeth-fangs- almost seemed to glint as if sending off a warning to stay away.

His head shifted and tilted to the side, I moved my gaze up to realize he had caught me admiring him. The jester did not seemed to mind though, he only blinked one eye in a quick wink.

What a fool.

°•♡•°

A week later, the feast is the same as always. Lords and ladies drink, their voices growing louder after every emptied goblet. Musicians pulling their strings until their fingers ache, the servants moving between tables like shadows, unseen, unnoticed.

My eyes swept over the great hall once, then another time, and again. I scanned every and each indivudal, but what was I looking for, really?

White locks, shimmering blue eyes and the faint sound of bells ringing.

My grip on my fork tightened until I could almost feel the heavy metal bend under my hold. What am I thinking? I released a breath I had not realized I was holding as the realization dawned on me. I had unconsciously been looking for-

A heavy sigh, exaggerated and drawn out, cuts through my thoughts.

I know it is him before I even turn.

"Ah, woe is me!," he laments, dramatically collapsing onto the floor beside my chair. A few nobles turn to watch the spectacle, curious. He places a hand over his heart, as if pained beyond reason. "My suffering knows no end!"

I raise one eyebrow as I lift my goblet and take a slow sip of my wine.

"If only—" he gasps, lifting his head to meet my gaze. "If only the princess of eternal gloom would spare me a glance, perhaps my shattered heart might mend just a little."

I do not indulge him.

He groans and lets his head fall back against the floor, arms spread as though he has perished on the cold stone. "No?" he mutters, voice full of despair. "Not even a glance? Not even the tiniest flicker of pity?"

Someone kicks him.

"Get up, fool," one of the knights mutters.

The jester lifts his head, feigning deep betrayal. "Even the knights have turned against me! Tell me, is there no love left in this world?"

But I simply set my goblet down and say, "Not for you it seems."

A collective murmur ripples through the court, amusement laced with intrigue.

The fool freezes for a fraction of a second.

Then he grins.

His suffering deepens—his body crumpling as if my words have physically wounded him. "A cruel, heartless woman! How ever shall I survive this torment?" He turns his gaze to the ceiling. "Perhaps I shall wither away. Perhaps the weight of my unrequited love will drag me to an early grave—"

"You would not be so lucky," I interrupt.

He falters.

Then, laughter bursts from his lips, loud and unrestrained. His whole body shakes with it, delight sparking in his impossibly blue eyes. He presses a hand to his chest, shaking his head.

"You wound me," he gasps between chuckles. "And yet—I think I adore you even more for it."

Fool.

I should not entertain him.

I should not allow him to pull me into whatever ridiculous game he has started.

But the corners of my lips twitch.

Just slightly.

But his gaze sharpens, as if he has caught me in the act.

He does not let me go so easily.

°•♡•°

He seems to always find me.

It does not stop at feasts.

If anything, he is worse outside of them.

I do not know how he does it, how he appears in the most unexpected places at the most ridiculous times.

But somehow, he does.

The first time, I am in the library.

The towering shelves stretch high above me, filled with books older than the castle itself. I am searching for a particular volume, my fingers trailing over the worn spines-

When a deep sigh echoes through the chamber.

"Truly," The jester laments from somewhere behind me, "this heartbreak will be the end of me."

I do not turn. "If you are here for pity, you will not find it amongst books."

He appears beside me in an instant, leaning against the shelf with a lazy grin. "No? I thought perhaps I’d find some poetry on tragic love to soothe my pain." He glances at the books. "Or a guide on how to win the heart of a cold and distant princess."

I pull a book from the shelf and hand it to him. "How to disappear, completely."

The jester takes the book from my hands, glancing at the title.

Then he looks at me.

Then back at the book.

His grin widens.

"Ah," he muses, flipping it open dramatically. "A personal recommendation. How cruel you are, princess. Do you long for my absence so dearly?"

I return to scanning the shelves. "I long for silence."

"And yet, you keep speaking to me."

I do not offer that with a response.

He leans closer, dropping his voice as if sharing a secret. "You know, if you wish to disappear, you could always run away with me. I happen to be very good at sneaking out completely unnoticed."

I glance at him then, just briefly. "A jester and a runaway princess. How original."

"Mm, you’re right," he sighs, pretending to reconsider. "Perhaps we should fake our deaths first. Make it dramatic. You can even pick how we go."

"Poison."

The word leaves my lips so quickly, so flatly, that for a moment, he blinks at me.

And then he bursts into laughter.

It echoes through the grand library, far too loud for the sacred quiet of this place. I should tell him to lower his voice.

But I don’t.

Because despite myself, I feel something stir in my chest at the sound of his carefree laugh.

Something dangerously unfamiliar.

Gojo holds the book against his heart. "I shall cherish this gift of yours, my gloomy princess. A token of your deep and unspoken love."

"Then I shall expect you to vanish by morning."

He gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me! Again! Just how many times must I die for your love?"

"You have survived this long," I say, taking a different book from the shelf and turning away. "Clearly, your suffering is not terminal."

His laughter follows me as I walk away.

And when I am far enough that I should not hear him anymore, he still calls after me.

"I shall suffer on, then! Only for you!"

It is not just the library.

Nor is it just the feasts.

He seems to find me everywhere.

In the courtyard, where I sit by the fountain, enjoying a rare moment of quiet.

Only to hear a dramatic splash behind me as he throws himself into the shallow water, arms spread wide. "I am drowning in sorrow!" he declares. "A love unreturned is a fate worse than death!"

"You are drowning in two feet of water," I say without looking up.

"In my sorrow," he corrects, laying flat in the fountain like a man lost at sea.

I shake my head, returning to my book. A maid walks by and pauses, looking between us with concern.

"Leave him," I say before they can ask. "He is beyond saving."

The fool gasps, lifting his head. "How cold!"

The servant wisely leaves.

And him, the fool that he is, remains in the water for another five minutes, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

I do not.

But the next time I pass by the fountain, I see something new. Something that had not been there before.

A tiny paper boat, floating lazily in the water.

When I unfold it, I find a simple message written inside.

I would not mind drowning a thousand times, over and over, if it meant I could be by your side.

~ Your fool

I do not know why he seeks me out, why he insists on drawing laughter from someone who has long since forgotten how to give it.

I do not know why, despite everything, I let him

But I do know this.

The castle has always been cold.

The halls have always been empty.

And I have always been unseen.

But then came the jester.

And no matter how I try to disappear, he will not let me. He keeps finding me. He keeps seeing me.

°•♡•°

The castle is quiet at this hour.

Most are asleep, lost in dreams or the silence of the night.

Not me.

And, it seems, not him.

I hear the footsteps before I see him. Light, unhurried, belonging to a man who walks as though the world lays in the palm of his hand.

I do not turn, even when I feel his presence settle beside me on the stone ledge of the tower balcony. The wind is gentle tonight, cool against my skin as I look out over the sleeping kingdom.

"You never sleep," the jester muses. His voice is softer now, quiet, stripped of its usual mischief.

"Neither do you," I reply.

He leans forward, arms resting against his knees. "I sleep plenty."

"Liar."

A soft chuckle, but he does not argue.

For a while, both of us stay silent.

The air between us feels different tonight. Not tense, but something quieter, something softer. I do not know if it is the hour or the solitude, but for once, the Jester does not fill the silence with his usual laughter.

Instead, he tilts his head, looking at me with a strange kind of curiosity.

"You never call me by my name," he says suddenly.

I blink, caught off guard. "What?"

He smiles, but it’s not the grin he usually wears, it’s something smaller, something almost… shy. "You call me ‘fool,’ ‘jester,’ sometimes ‘idiot’ when you think I’m not listening."

"You are all of those things," I say, but my voice lacks its usual bite.

"And yet," he hums, "not once have you called me by my name."

I open my mouth, then close it.

Because he’s right.

I never realized that I do not call him by his name, it had not been intentional. Or maybe, subconsciously, I had never called him by his name to still keep a distance between us- so I would not let him too close to my heart.

The thought of saying it aloud feels… intimate.

More intimate than anything we have ever done.

He watches me expectantly, his usual playfulness dimmed into something more patient.

And maybe it is the night, or the way the world feels impossibly small on this tower ledge, but-

"...Satoru."

The name feels unfamiliar on my tongue.

Satoru's eyes widen slightly, and for the first time since I have met him, he looks startled.

But the surprise fades quickly, melting into something impossibly soft. "Again," he says.

I shake my head, looking away. "No."

"Please?"

I close my eyes. "Do not push your luck."

A breath of laughter, and then,

"Come with me."

I turn to him, confused. "...What?"

"Let’s leave," he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. "You and me. Run away. Disappear."

I snort. "You are ridiculous."

"I’m serious.", His voice holds no humor.

I look at him then, truly look at him, and I see it, the absence of laughter in his gaze. The rawness in his expression. The way his fingers twitch against the stone as if he is holding something back.

He is serious.

He is serious.

The weight of it settles in my chest, something heavy and unfamiliar. I do not know how to hold it.

"Why would I leave?" I ask quietly.

"For the same reason I would," he says, and I hate that he says it like I should already know.

Like the answer has always been there, unspoken between us. I search his face, trying to make sense of this, of him, of the impossible thing he is asking of me.

"Do you know why I became a jester?" he asks suddenly.

The question catches me off guard.

Gojo exhales, leaning back slightly, gaze drifting toward the stars. "Because I wanted to laugh," he says simply. "Because I wanted others to laugh. Because laughter makes the world feel lighter, even when it isn’t."

He looks at me again, and this time, I see something deeper in his eyes.

Something sad.

"But you… you never laugh."

I turn away. "Some people are not made for laughter."

"That’s not true," he says, his voice too soft, too kind. "I’ve seen it, you know. The way your lips twitch when you fight a smile. The way your eyes crinkle when you think no one is watching."

My chest feels tight.

"I could make you laugh," he continues, quieter now. "Every day. Every night. Until death do us part, and even then, I’d haunt you just to make you laugh."

A broken little huff escapes me. "You would be an insufferable ghost."

"Yes," he agrees easily. "But I’d be yours."

I close my eyes. It is too much.

Too much.

"Satoru…"

The way his name leaves my lips feels like a plea. For him to stop. For him to continue.

For something I do not have the words for.

But Gojo just smiles, tilting his head.

"See?" he murmurs. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

I shake my head, not knowing if I want to laugh or cry.

But he doesn’t push further.

He doesn’t ask again.

He just reaches out, slow enough for me to pull away-

But I don’t.

His fingers brush my wrist, warm and steady. And in the quiet of the night, with the whole world sleeping below us-

Two lost souls finally become whole.

[uniquedinosaurdreamland]

Lionesses x Reader

-Spiderman and Cinderella-

Cute little start to a maybe series xx

Lionesses x Reader, Lionesses x R!Children!

🌷

Your whole life was flipped upside down at sixteen. You were on your way to become an amazing football player, playing the the U17’s Lionesses as well as in the Liverpool Academy and were deemed one of the best upcoming players. But It all went down hill when one night at a party you got drunk, slept with a guy and before you knew it, you were standing in a bathroom with a positive pregnancy test staring right back at you.

Conversation after conversation followed with family, friends and staff about what to do next. You had managed to contact the boy from that night only to get ghosted and to find out he had left town the next week with his family.

You support system was made up of the best people in your life, being there with you through everything even when learning that it wasn’t just one baby but two. Nine months later your beautiful twins were born, Theo Luka Y/L/N coming out first followed by his sister Maisie Luna Y/LN. Your heart was full from the moment your babies were placed into your arms and you knew you would give them the world and more.

Nobody expected you to return back to football but just four months later your were back in the academy, juggling school, football and your twins but in the end you made it work. Now fast forward three years with your two bundles of joy now being three years old you were on your way to your first senior call up for the England National team.

You were the last to arrive at St George's Park due to having two bubbly, energy filled toddlers who refused to wear anything beside a Spiderman costume for Theo and a Cinderella dress for Maisie. Arriving just in time for dinner, you left your bags as you were notified someone would take up to your room that only held you and the twins.

There was no time to be nervous when entering the dining hall, having two of the most extroverted toddlers ever they didn’t waste anytime in rushing through the doors and towards the food. Taking no notice of the many eyes that snapped to the two toddlers, like always in their own little worlds.

“Slow down guys, I will get your food. Be patient please.” You ran in after them, smiling apologetically at the chef who didn’t know what to do with two kids babbling at him in a toddler language he couldn’t quite understand.

“You got some energetic kids there.” You turned around to the voice of Sarina, smiling as she pulled you into a hug before bending down to the twins levels. “Hi, my name is Sarina. What are your names?”

Maisie and Theo looked up at you simultaneously, making sure to give them a small nod to tell Sarina their names. “Spiderman” Sarina let out a laugh at Theo’s answer.

“Well nice to meet you Spiderman, and I am guessing you are a princess.” Sarina turned to Maisie after shaking Theo’s hand gently.

“I am Cinderella.” Maisie said poking out her chest in pride, you couldn’t help but smile as your new coach stood a curtsied to Maisie, the toddler letting out her tiny giggles that never failed to melt your heart.

Sarina stood with you as you grabbed plates and filled them with food you knew Theo and Maisie would like, lucky for you they were absolutely angles when it came to eating, when they were younger both of them even ate dog food for you childhood dog that was set out at your parents home.

“Two hands.” Placing the tray carefully into Maisie’s hand. Unbeknownst to you Leah and Lucy had stood from their respective tables and made their way towards the group of you.

“Need a little help there mister?” Leah bent down grabbing the tray from Theo’s hands to her own as he saw the young boy struggling. “You wanna come sit with me, I’m Leah.” Theo once again looked warily at the blonde stranger reaching behind him to tug you shirt, causing you to turn around.

“Hi.” You couldn’t help but be awestruck at the two world class defenders in front of you, managing only a small greeting.

“Hi, I’m Leah I can take this little guy to come sit with me.” The blonde greeted showing off her trademark smile.

“Oh god, you really don’t have to.” You said shaking your head knowing Theo was in his most energetic mood and he was eating his dinner which meant he was very messy.

“Mummy I want to go.” You looked down surprise at Theo.

“Okay then off you go, I want all the veggies gone when I come check.” Not another word was uttered from your three year old as he happily took Leah’s hand as she led him to her table that sat Keira, Georgia, Beth, Jordan and Katie. You didn’t even notice Maisie was already sat at a table with Lucy, Rachel, Millie, Mary and Alex.

“What just happened?” You said to no one in particular, Sarina laughing and patting your back.

“You got free babysitting, just go with it.” Sarina smiled before making her way back to the staff tables.

You didn’t have to worry about where to sit cause as soon as you turned around from grabbing your plate the loud voice of Ella Toone rang out calling you over to sit down at a table that held herself, Alessia, Lotte, Esme, Lauren and Chloe. Your nerves shattered away as you fell into a comfortable conversation with the group of girls, not taking any note to the conversations your twins were having with some of Englands best.

“Is your Mummy good at football?” Rachel asked Maisie who was stuffing her face with food, sat comfortably in her chair that had four cushions stacked to keep her in level with the table.

“My Mummy is the best, she gets all the balls in the net.” Maisie smiled at Rachel who she had now named Ra-Ra, the three year old having a nick for coming up with nicknames for people with names she deemed to hard or long to say.

“She sounds pretty good.” Millie smiled at the little girl across the table.

Back at the table Theo was sitting in he was telling a long story about how he was going to be the best football player ever. “What position?” Keira asked the boy, who thought about his answer for a sec.

“Keeper like Jordan Pickford and Mary Earps.” Theo replied with a big smile on his face.

“Yo, Mary you’ve got a future keeper here, says he wants to be like you and Pickford.” Georgia yelled to the table Mary was sitting at, she caught Theo’s eye giving him a big smile and thumbs up.

“Theo what happened to becoming a striker like your mum.” You said to Theo having caught wind of the conversation that was happening across the room.

“Keepers at the unseen hero’s of the game.” You jaw dropped as the three keepers around the room cheered at your son’s words.

“Who told you that? also your veggies better be done.” Your son’s face dropped from his sly smirk into a annoyed face as he looked down at the broccoli and carrots on his plate that you knew for a fact he did like but just didn’t eat it straight away to annoy you.

Having lost track of the time as everyone sat and talked you looked down at your phone to see it was the just about time to put the twins to bed, knowing they were bound to crash soon you knew it was time to get them to bed.

What you hadn’t expected to see when you stood up to grab the two toddlers were both of them fast asleep Theo in the arms of Beth and Maisie asleep in the lap of Millie, looking tiny in comparison to the brick wall.

“It will never seize to amaze me how they always fall asleep with everyone else but me.” You smiled at Beth who gently passed Theo into your arms.

“You’ll be back down right we are all just hanging out down in the team room.” Leah asked before you could step away from the table.

“As soon as these two are settled I will be back, by the looks of things I will be back very quickly.” You smiled at the table walked over to the other table where Maisie was cured into Millie’s chest.

“I can bring her up.” Millie immediately offered, making your heart melt at the kindness from all these women just on your first night.

Soon enough with Theo in your arms, Maisie in Millies as well as Rachel tagging along for the ride you made it up to your room without any toddlers waking up. “Was it hard to come back from giving birth?” The question came out of no where from Millie as you placed Theo into bed.

“I though about not doing football and just giving up all together, I was sixteen, still in school with twins it was almost impossible to do it. But football is everything to me and I really wanted to come back and I knew if I worked hard enough I could make it my career. It was hard, but even getting this call up makes it feel all worth it.” Millie and Rachel nodded along to your words as you placed both twins on one of the beds, making sure to set up a baby monitor in case they woke up.

“They’ll be fine in there?” Rachel asked.

“They’ve had a long day i’ll be very surprised if they wake up before I come back to the room, they somehow always wake up when they feel my presence come back.”

Coming back to one of the team common room everyone was sitting around in their different groups. You decided to join a group of the younger girls who were playing a game of uno.

“I’ll deal you in.” Alessia said smiling up and giving you seven cards to play the game.

You were able to play about two rounds with Niamh taking the win for one round while you took the win for the other. Most of the girls also had a big travel day so everyone headed to bed early including you, waving goodnight to Esme and Lauren who took the room beside you. You quickly entered the room quickly checking on the twins, getting ready for bed and falling straight asleep.

[dilatorywriting]

Hi hi! So this is a request for the 4k followers thing and if it sounds like word vomit I apologize cuz I have no idea how to word this. Could I ask for prompt 10 ("I think we should go to dinner first.") with mc x azul? The scenario here is like that one twitter post that was going around awhile ago about how a falls first but b falls harder, with a being azul and how once he realizes his feelings he resigns himself to forever pining from afar bc he's convinced himself that any relationship between them would be doomed to failure since mc is from another world and would have to go home someday. But while mc is a bit dense when it comes to their own romantic feelings they've always been an upfront person and as soon as they realize they like him they kinda just,,,, barge into his office and say so, and I feel like the sentence prompt would be said by azul after a pretty intense make out session (maybe nothing spicy spicy but yeah) where at the end oh yeah he remembers he's a gentleman

Also after a bit of searching I found the twitter post I was talking about

Gender Neutral Reader x Azul Ashengrotto Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 10: "I-I think we should go for dinner first."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

Azul had been avoiding you.

Which was so strange and wholly out of character that the first few days of it went by in a weird sort of fugue. You hadn’t even noticed an entire week had passed in blissful, mafioso-free silence until you were heading to your Friday night shift at the Lounge and realized you hadn’t seen your favorite octopus even once. Normally the House Warden was fluttering around you like a scam artist to an old folks’ home. Poking, and prodding, and ‘ah, Prefect, I know you weren’t a fan of the last contract, but perhaps this one would suffice, hmm?’

And when you arrived in the little, employee-only locker room—still fully unbothered and not offered even a single opportunity to sell your soul—you wondered if maybe he’d gotten sick.

You were in the middle of taking some Savanaclaw student’s order when you finally saw him at all. Just a quick glance out of the corner of your eye to catch his shining, silver head of hair popping into his office. You smiled brightly and offered a wave. But Azul only went stiff and closed the door with a bang.

Which was…

Huh.

“Is Azul feeling okay?” you asked Jade between running an armload of drinks to a table of Pomefiore students.

The eel hummed and gave you one of those smiles that never really looked like it was meant to be a smile. “Our fearless leader is clinically sound.”

You frowned. Because that felt like one of the Vice Warden’s non-answers that he’d throw your way sometimes like a taller, meaner older sibling holding your favorite toy just out of reach.

“So he’s alright?” you pressed, hesitant.

“Oh, I never said that,” he chirped pleasantly, before ducking off to go catch the stack of plates that Floyd was in the process of juggling through the kitchen.

The bubbling panic popping in your gut was the worst sort of tummy ache. The kind that spread its miserable pain until it’d left your chest hurting, and head spinning, and something deeply wrong throbbing at the heart of you. Because Azul, despite his inherent tendencies to treat you like a particularly stupid pack mule, was still your best friend. The person you cared about most in all the world! Sure, he enjoyed bamboozling you and your fellow students, but, like he hadn’t done anything genuinely malicious in ages now! Like a paid hitman retiring into selling seedy vacation timeshares.

The idea of him just—just not wanting you anymore struck something horrible in you. Of finally realizing that the silly little human from worlds unknown wasn’t worth the wobbly pair of legs you were standing on. And it left you feeling small, and afraid, and—and—

“Oh? Are you feeling unwell, Prefect?” Jade called from somewhere behind you.

“Does Azul hate me?” you blurted out before you could help yourself.

The eel blinked his bi-colored eyes at you—slow and unbothered. Perhaps a bit surprised, if you had to put a name to the expression. Jade’s face was like that sometimes. An enigma. Like someone had wired him up just slightly wrong when putting it all together. On any other living creature, that sap-slow nonchalance would have certainly bordered on outright boredom, but you knew him well enough to know there was at least something else going on there.

“Why would he hate you?” he asked, equally dripping and slug slow.

“Because—!” you squawked, and waved your hands around your head. “Because!”

“I see,” he nodded. And then latched a gloved hand onto your shoulder and steered you back towards his boss’s office. He didn’t even bother to knock before wrenching the door open and shoving you inside.

Azul looked up with a start, eyes gone wide behind his glasses and jaw slack.

“What’s going—”

“The Prefect is on the verge of psychotic break,” Jade chirped helpfully, with a closed-eyed smile. “Please be delicate with them, hmm?”

And then slammed the door shut all over again. Leaving you alone with the guy who might have only very recently started to hate your guts. Or—or maybe he always had! And maybe you’d just been really, really dumb about picking it up! You wanted to scream. Or hide away forever. Azul looked like the latter was an exceptionally tempting idea, and you could see his blue eyes flicker around the room like he was looking for an escape route.

But the idea of him running away from you, that you’d never see him again—that he didn’t want to ever see you again—had something horribly enlightening clicking into place in your brain.

“Are you okay!” you asked, so loud it nearly rattled the furniture. And Azul flinched in surprise. “Did I do something wrong!”

“What?” he blinked, startled. “Of… Of course not.” He cleared his throat and stood carefully, making his way towards you in the manner one may approach a rabid racoon hiding under their porch. “Perhaps you should take a seat—”

“I can’t!” you cried, frantic. “Not if you’re upset!”

Another of those owlish, outright consternated bouts of blinking. “You can’t sit?”

“No!” you wailed. That prickling, hot, tight feeling nearly overflowing out of you. “Not if it’s my fault!”

His expression twisted up into something mulish and embarrassed, and he reached up to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a soft huff.

“…it’s hardly your fault,” he said, sounding so stupidly sad that you just wanted to—to—

“How can I fix it?” you tried, panicked. Because he didn’t want to be around you anymore, and you couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t!

Azul sighed, gaze shifting away yet again. He offered you a tight, little smile that felt like all sorts of lies. “It’s alright, Prefect. Truly. It’s just something…” he trailed off, that forced smirk twitching off his lips like he couldn’t help it. “Something I’m learning to live with, hmm? Nothing terrible, I promise.”

“You shouldn’t have to live with something that’s bothering you,” you argued, firm. “You’re the king of fixing other people’s problems. You’re more than allowed to use all those connections and stuff to fix your own!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t really work like that,” he tried, awkward, and you steamrolled on.

“Why not?! You’re amazing! And fantastic! And I love you so much, and you should never have to be upset about anything. And if you’re not in my life for the rest of my life, I’d rather die!” you wailed, and gasped—clapping your hands together like the idea that had just blossomed in your skull was just beyond brilliant. “We should get married!” And then, to sweeten the deal, “Think of the tax benefits!”

“I—” Azul choked, going as red as a tomato. “Y-You—”

“—love you very much!” you finished helpfully.

He ducked his face into his hands, like he could scrub the blush right off his cheeks if he tried hard enough.

“Y-You can’t—” he spluttered into his gloves. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” you demanded. “It’s true!”

Azul’s shoulders hunched up like he was trying make himself very, very small. And then after a long moment of near hyperventilating into his palms, he finally looked back over at you from behind the shield of his fingers.

“You…” he swallowed. “You love me?”

You nodded, certain. Becauese what else could that warm, bright, all-consuming thing be in your chest be but that?

“You,” he said again. “Love me?”

“Yes,” you agreed, never more sure of anything than that. “And we should get married.”

Azul choked again and went back to hiding behind his fingers.

“Unless…” you started, trailing off as something horrible and unsure squirmed through your chest. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. It should be your choice too. Just because I love you, doesn’t mean you have to love me, y’know?”

“That’s not what I said!” he squawked, head snapping back up so fast he nearly knocked the glasses off his face. And then he went red all over again, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he was reaching up to pull the rim of his hat down over his eyes with a curse. “I just…” he began, muffled behind the fabric of his overcoat. “Maybe… dinner first?” he choked. “Before the proposal.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. “Of course. That makes sense.”

“That makes sense,” Azul echoed, sounding like you’d come up from behind him and walloped him with a baseball bat rather than just suggested a completely rational and beneficial mutual engagement. “I… I don’t know why I’m surprised at all.”

You quirked a brow. “Were you… expecting me to say that?” you asked confused.

This time he did look back up at you fully. Hands lowered, and the shield of his collar gone and all. The smile he sent you was small but so, heartachingly warm that it had butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“No,” he hummed, sounding impossibly pleased. “I really, really wasn’t.”

.

.

[alizha]

ｈｏｌｉｄａｙ ｅｎｎｕｉ

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

⁀➷ 𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 | 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝗎

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: SFW, no use of gendered pronouns, references to and depictions of anxiety and depression, kissing

Summary: You and Reiner have a meet cute at therapy, and you're both feeling afloat during the holidays.

❖ masterlist ❖ read on ao3

The waiting room outside Dr. Keller’s office still bears the cheerful remnants of Christmas, even though the holiday had already come and gone. You’re sitting in your usual chair near the corner, puffy coat hugged tightly around you. Truth be told, the festive decor meant to liven up the room only adds to your listlessness.

There’s nothing wrong with the place as it usually is. The corners and empty spaces of the waiting room burst with vibrant greenery, strategically placed, you suspect, by Dr. Keller herself to maximize patient contentment. You’ve been with her for two years now, so you have a sense for that sort of thing.

A tall fiddle-leaf fig tree stands proudly in the corner closest to you, its glossy leaves catching the soft light filtering in from frosted windows. Now, it’s adorned with twinkling multicolored lights that throw alternating cool and warm shadows on the sage-painted walls. They blink unwaveringly and silently, regularly changing patterns every minute or so, and you can’t help but feel sorry that they’re being wasted on someone who can’t appreciate them.

You’ve been in a bit of a rut since November, something of which Dr. Keller was well aware, of course. She assured you she’d be available through the end of the year, and you’d taken her up on that, keeping up with your weekly visits. At the beginning of the month, she asked you how your Thanksgiving went.

“It was fine,” you’d said. “Quiet. Just me and Elvira.”

“Ah,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Your cat. Still not expanding your social circle, I see.”

You’d resented that. After all, Dr. Keller had told you to to start with things that feel comfortable. And Elvira is very comfortable. Cats didn’t judge, didn’t require any special considerations. They aren’t a challenge—not like people are. People are hard.

“We’re aiming for connections that talk back and don’t require kibble,” Dr. Keller had said flatly.

A big ask, but technically, you managed that the week before Christmas. You’d seen your next door neighbor, Mrs. Leary, when she was taking out her trash. She’d said Merry Christmas, and you said it back. Given the criteria set out for you, you’d say that counts.

You glance at the two doors at the far end of the waiting area leading to the therapists’ individual offices. Dr. Keller shared a space with another doctor, Dr. Madsen, whose names glinted on the brass plates adorning each door. You can practically already hear what Dr. Keller is going to say when you tell her about Mrs. Leary.

“It’s a start, but why not challenge yourself? Go beyond polite exchanges. Did you ask her how her holiday was?”

Sighing, you flit your gaze from the miniature pine tree twinkling at the edge of the low, rectangular coffee table topped with neatly arranged magazines, all holiday editions. Fixating on the strands of tinsel catching the light, each glimmer feels oddly louder than it should in the empty waiting room as you attempt to formulate an answer.

Your desperate clawing through the recesses of your mind for something more substantial than, “It just felt like too much,” is interrupted by the soft chime of the door. You glance up just in time to see him—tall, broad-shouldered, and blond. The man you’ve seen here at the office in passing many times before. One of Dr. Madsen’s patients, you’ve gathered in the time since you started noticing him.

Today, he’s dressed more casually than you’re used to, in a red flannel sherpa over a cream cable-knit sweater. In his arms, he’s juggling a navy backpack and several—maybe four or five—mini rose-gold foil gift bags. He looks even warmer and more approachable than in his usual business professional fare. It makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, a combination of envy and a familiar pang of fear, as he approaches the front desk with apparent ease.

“Morning, Lily,” he says pleasantly.

The secretary flashes him a dazzling smile. “Reiner! So good to see you. Did you have a nice holiday?”

You fidget with the hem of your coat. She didn’t make it sound so hard to ask. Maybe, you could do it, too. Maybe.

“It was fine,” the man—Reiner, you think to yourself—says, absently pushing the small potted succulent on Lily’s desk a smidge further away from the edge. “Quiet, just the way I like it. You?”

“Not quiet at all,” Lily says with a bell-like laugh. “Family chaos. You know how it is.”

“Lucky you,” he says with a faint smile. He adjusts the bags in his arms, pulling one carefully out of the pile by dainty ribbon handles and setting it on the secretary’s desk. “Just had to run into the office for a bit, and my coworker was handing these out. Take one off my hands?”

“Gladly!” Lily exclaims, her face lighting up all over again.

You can’t help but stare at the cheerful, gold-speckled tissue paper peering over the top of tiny curling ribbons. Until you realize Reiner has been glancing around the room, and his gaze has landed on you. Immediately, you look down at your lap, twisting your fingers together awkwardly.

“Still got decorations up, huh?” you hear Reiner say. “Festive.”

“Yeah, I keep meaning to take them down, but they’re so cheerful. Why the rush?”

There’s a shuffling of feet and paper, and you catch a glimpse of red out of the corner of your eye a few moments later. You tilt your head slowly and meet the man’s gaze again. He’s sidled past the coffee table and standing a couple steps away from you—a cautious, non-threatening distance.

“Hey,” he says with a disarming smile. “You… uh, want one of these?”

Your hands instinctively clasp over your knees, breath hitching. Plenty of other patients have tried striking up conversations with you in Dr. Keller’s waiting room before, but no one’s ever tried offering you anything. And it’s not really that you mind it’s just—

You’re no good with people. People are hard.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. I don’t—,”

“They’re just leftover office gifts,” he says carefully, taking a small step closer and holding one out toward her, thumb and forefinger gingerly pinching the sheer pink handle. The gift bag looks dainty and small and oh so endearing in his hand. “One of my coworkers went a little overboard. They mean well, though. Chocolate, I think. Or maybe soap? I honestly didn’t look too closely.”

You shake your head quickly, shrinking slightly. “No, really, I couldn’t—,”

“Please,” he says, his voice softening. “You’d be doing me a favor. Everyone at the office shoved these on me because they said I looked ‘too gloomy’ this season. Guess they thought this would help, but I wouldn’t know what to do with all this.”

His eyes, warm honey hazel, look just genuine and pleading enough to make you hesitate.

“You seemed… gloomy?”

He laughs lightly, a soft rumble of self-awareness. “I guess so. Anyway, I don’t need all these. Someone would enjoy them. I’m Reiner, by the way. And you’re…?”

You murmur your name in reply, barely audible, but he repeats it warmly all the same.

“Well, maybe you could take just one bag? You don’t even have to keep it—you could re-gift it if you want,” Reiner says. “But if I go through the trouble of lugging them all the way home on the bus, they’ll just sit on my kitchen counter until I forget about them.”

His kindness (and perhaps, his admittedly attractive face) placates your nerves just enough for you to extend a tentative hand. He looks pleased, placing the handle of the back in your grip. Warm fingertips gaze across your palm, his touch light and fleeting before quickly disappearing entirely. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Thank you,” you mumble, your cheeks warming.

“No, thank you,” he says with a grin. “Saved me from carrying these around the rest of the day.”

He looks around for a moment before moving to settle into the plush taupe chair beside the fiddle-leaf fig. You try not to look at him again, staring instead at the rose gold bag in your lap, plus still racing as you wait. When Dr. Keller finally emerges from her door and calls your name, you duck into her office and burn under the inquisitive look she gives you and your glittery new acquisition.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

You’re relieved when you don’t immediately regret leaving your apartment on New Year’s Eve to walk down to the main strip. The street is in full holiday swing, bursting with life and swirling with laughter and music.

Walking at a leisurely pace, you take in the string lights crisscrossing above you, glowing in warm yellows and icy whites. The storefronts are still dressed in their seasonal finery, frosty-edged windows sparkling with fake snow and wreaths and glimmering ornaments. And up and down the walkways, food vendors lined the curb, their carts sending up fragrant plumes of spice and cocoa.

The crisp winter air bites at your cheeks, and you pull the sides of your knitted hat a bit further down over your ears as you reach the plaza at the end of the strip. A towering Christmas tree stands at its center, huge ornaments glinting under the twinkling of a thousand multicolored lights. Beneath the tree, a stage is set up for a local band playing upbeat, jazzy renditions of holiday classics.

You weave through the throng of people gathered around, your breath puffing in soft white clouds. Some of them are dancing, others simply swaying to the music or beaming as they hold hands or clutch steaming cups in their gloved grasps. Everyone seems to be in the companionship of others, though. Not like you.

You hadn’t meant to come out tonight—not really. The thought of spending New Year’s Eve surrounded by so many people had seemed suffocating in the lead up. Yet, staying home had felt equally unbearable. You’d spent hours pacing your tiny apartment, torn between the guilt of declining your family’s invitations and the overwhelming anxiety of going.

So, you’d landed here, out among strangers. Their chatter blurs into a comforting hum in your ears. For once, it doesn’t feel like you have a hundred pairs of eyes on you, watching, judging. Everyone is too busy counting down the hours until midnight to notice you. It’s unbelievably freeing.

You pause by the edge of the plaza and stuff your hands deep into your pockets. As the band starts up Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, your gaze wanders back toward the large center tree, and you squint at a tall figure with short blond hair. That’s when you realize you recognize him from the therapist’s office—Reiner.

He’s leaning against the metal railing around the tree, hands shoved into the pockets of his long camel overcoat. His stance seems relaxed, but his expression is distant, eyes staring blankly into the pavement a few feet away as groups and couples walk past.

Your heart thuds in your chest. Maybe he’s waiting for someone. He doesn’t seem like the type to spend New Year’s alone, so handsome and charming. But he looks almost miserable standing there alone, you wish you could extend some sort of comfort while he waits, at least. Keep him company until his friend (girlfriend?) gets back.

The thought of approaching him paralyzes you with fear. You consider slipping away, pretending you haven’t seen him. Then, Dr. Keller’s voice echoes in your mind.

“We’ve been working on this bit by bit,” she’d said at your last appointment. “Maybe instead of thinking about it as a huge change, we break this down into smaller, achievable goals. Maybe you set a goal to initiate one meaningful conversation—with someone at work or even a cashier at a grocery store. The important thing is that you try.”

You swallow dryly, jaw clenching. You’d promised you would try. Progress wasn’t about perfection, even if you really want it to be with Reiner. But you were being presented with the perfect chance here.

You should take it.

Your legs feel like lead, but somehow, you forced them to move. Each step toward him is like a tiny battle. By the time you reach the railing, your palms are damp despite the cold. You clear your throat, voice coming out small.

“Hi, Reiner.”

He turns, life returning to his eyes when he stutters your name. “Hey,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised.

“I, uhm…” you hesitate, the words catching in your throat, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you either,” he says with a low chuckle. He glances around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Are you… alone?”

“Oh. Yeah.” The admittance tears through your gut like shrapnel.

“Me, too.”

“Oh.”

It comes out sounding surprised, which you don’t mean for it to. You wince inwardly as Reiner awkwardly lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck, the short of his blond rustling.

“Listen,” he says, shifting his weight and hesitantly meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Back at Dr. Madsen’s office. Well, I guess you go there for Dr. Keller. I didn’t mean to… uh, well, I guess I had seen you around and thought maybe it would be fine.”

You blink up at him, startled. “No, no, you’re not—,” you hurry to say, but then, you stop, unsure of how to continue.

You can feel the old, familiar instinct to retreat freeing up on you, the urge to politely escape the conversation before it gets too hard. You forcefully swallow down that urge and take a deep breath.

Baby steps.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you say. “I meant it’s not easy for me to talk to people, but you’re not, uhm… scary. Not like a stranger on the street or something.”

Reiner tilts his head, his plush lips quirking into a soft smile. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “I’m not sure I could handle being called scary tonight.”

His tone is light, joking, but there’s a quiet hint of genuine relief there. You can’t help but let out a soft, nervous laugh. He really was afraid he had come off badly in front of you, and the thought that even someone like him could feel that way relaxes you in a way.

“It was a bath bomb, by the way. The office gift,” you clarify when he looks at you inquisitively. “Not chocolate or soap.”

“Right,” he says, amused. “Good thing you checked instead of taking my word for it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the silence between you surprisingly comfortable. You fidget with the zipper of your coat, searching for something to say. This is the part you normally dread—the moment when the conversation could slip away entirely because you can’t bring yourself to go beyond the pleasantries.

Inhaling deeply, you push out the words, letting them tumble out. “So, uhm… how’s your New Year’s Eve going?”

As soon as you ask, you regret it. Your stomach sinks when Reiner’s expression shifts. Just a slight flicker as his faint smile fades into something wistful before he plasters the cheerful mask back on.

“Well, it’s probably not going all that well if I’m wandering around alone,” he says, his dry tone all but revealing his self-deprecation. “Just came out for a walk, really, and ended up here. But then again, you did the same thing, right?”

You duck your head, cheeks heating. “Yeah,” you admit. “I was supposed to go to a big family thing. I just… I didn’t have it in me. Guess neither of us is really winning at the whole social thing tonight.”

Reiner makes a low, teasingly dismissive sound and shakes his head. “I’m not much of a party guy either. But hey, I wouldn’t count you out just yet.”

You cock your head at him questioningly, and his smile widens.

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

You’re shocked. Your jaw nearly drops. Friends? You and Reiner? “Does—does this make us friends?”

Sitting in the same therapists’ waiting room every week, seeing each other in passing once in a while there. You thought being friends required a bit more than that, but Reiner doesn’t seem to think so. Has it always been this easy, and you just stressed yourself out for no reason?

“Sure. Then, we can say we hung out with a friend for New Year’s Eve. I’d say that’s a win,” he says. “I would like to be friends. If that’s alright.”

You look up at him, a hopeful glimmer in your eye. The word—friends—bounces around in your head, thrilling and terrifying at the same time. But Dr. Keller’s been urging you to take steps toward real connection for months. This could be one of those steps.

“It’s better than alright,” you say, the corners of your mouth stretching into a smile. “Dr. Keller’s been insisting my cat doesn’t count as a friend for ages, so it’s amazing, actually.”

Reiner perks up, his brow lifting. “You have a cat?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Her name’s Elvira.”

“I like cats,” he says. He leans in just slightly, but you get a full whiff of his scent, clean soap and the masculine fragrance of some variety of men’s shampoo.

“Well,” you say, warmth spreading in your chest as you study him curiously, “we’re friends, so you should meet her.”

He looks at you with a mix of surprise and excitement when he says, “Now?”

Your lips part, pulse thrumming fast. You didn’t plan on now, but you also don’t see why not. Reiner was, in your own words, not scary. Maybe this was a good idea and not one of those ideas that landed women on primetime news for entirely the wrong reasons.

“Now,” you affirm with a nod.

Reiner practically beams. “Lead the way.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

About twenty minutes later, you’ve made your way back up the strip and into your neighborhood with Reiner in tow.

“Dr. Keller said what I’ve been feeling lately is actually pretty common,” you’re explaining as you fumble with your keys.

The faint tremor of nerves is making the metal jangle softly in the otherwise quiet hallway. You’re hoping Mrs. Leary is asleep and doesn’t hear you and Reiner briefly loitering in the hall.

“She called it holiday ennui. You know, that weird, in-between time after Christmas but before New Year’s where everything feels off.”

“I get that,” Reiner says as you get the door unlocked and swing it open. “It’s like you’re supposed to be celebrating, but it feels more like you’re waiting for something to end. Or start. I don’t know.”

“Exactly,” you say, stepping inside and flicking on the light to reveal your cluttered living room. “Sorry, it’s a little messy in here.”

The idea of bringing someone into your space—a near stranger, no less—is something you’d never imagined yourself doing. Not even a week ago. But here you are, walking into your apartment with Reiner. Even the sleek black cat perched on the armrest of your couch looks confused.

“Don’t worry,” Reiner says with a reassuring smile. “My apartment looks like a tornado hit it most of the time.”

You set down your back and start toeing off your boots. “That’s Elvira, by the way.”

Reiner carefully slips off his own boots and overcoat, considerately placing them next to yours on the shoe mat and hanger. Moving slowly, as if not to startle the cat, he pads across the living room and kneels to get a better look. “She’s gorgeous.”

Elvira doesn’t move, her green eyes fixed on him with an imperious stare. You bite your lip and smile.

“She can be a little standoffish, but I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.”

Reiner nods. “Sounds like most cats I’ve met. They make you earn it.”

You settle into the far end of the couch and busy yourself with folding the blanket haphazardly thrown over it, your nervous energy bubbling up. “You’re, uh, welcome to sit. I’m sure Elvira won’t mind.”

He smiles gratefully and lifts himself up just enough before sinking into the other side of the couch. Elvira watches warily as Reiner sinks into the seat cushion, shifting her small paws as if deciding whether to hop down off the couch.

“It’s rough,” Reiner sighs thoughtfully, and you gather he’s picking up where your previous conversation left off. “That limbo during the holiday season. It’s been hitting me hard this year. Well, more than usual. I’m glad Dr. Madsen’s been available through the holidays.”

You fold your limbs cross-legged on the couch. “More than usual?”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I was diagnosed with depression last year. Started seeing Dr. Madsen about it around the same time. He’s been helpful. I mean, it’s not like a magic fix or anything, but it’s something.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

Of course, you’d known he was showing up at the same therapists’ office as you for a while, so there must have been a reason. When you think about the times you felt envious of the ease with which he seemed to carry himself, your first instinct is to tell him you could hardly tell he was struggling with anything, but that isn’t always what people want to hear.

Obvious or not, Reiner was getting help. That’s what was important.

“You’re… really good at masking it,” you settle on saying.

“Yeah, well. Years of practice, I guess,” he says. “It’s not like I’m trying to hide it on purpose. Just… everyone deals with it differently, right?”

You nod slowly. “Right.”

Elvira takes that moment to leap down from her perch right onto the center couch cushion between you, landing with a soft thump. You watch with interest as she leans in to sniff at Reiner’s outstretched hand.

“Looks like she approves,” you murmur, a smile touching your lips.

Reiner chuckles, turning his palm face-up to scratch under Elvira’s chin. “Just gotta give ‘em their space, you know? Can’t force anything on them, let them come to their own conclusions.”

The cat settles herself regally on the cushion, neatly curling her tail around her paws, and glances up at you. Perhaps cats didn’t judge the same way people did, but they were still good judges of character. And if Elvira had taken to Reiner, you were inclined to believe inviting him over hadn’t been a mistake after all.

You glance at the time on your phone and realize midnight isn’t far off. “Should we maybe turn on the TV for the countdown or something?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Reiner says without pausing from petting Elvira. “Can’t miss the ball drop, right?”

Leaning forward, you pluck the remote from the coffee table and click on the TV, flipping through a few channels before landing on a lively New Year’s Eve broadcast.

A glittering stage fills the screen, performers decked out in sequins that throw the spotlights shining down on them in a brilliant cacophony. After turning the volume up a bit, you set down the remote and absently reach over to brush Elvira’s fur. Your fingers caress warm, unfamiliar skin instead, and you realize with a jolt that you’ve touched Reiner’s hand.

With a sharp inhale, you jerk your hand away and snap your gaze to him. Both of you stammer out your apologies at the same time.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean—,”

“No, no, I’m sorry. She’s your cat—,”

You snap your mouth shut and look down at your socks, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. His hand is so big and warm, your stomach flutters recalling the fleeting touch. Reiner clears his throat quietly, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Looks like we caught the last performance,” he says.

“Do you usually watch this kind of thing?” you ask, sneaking a glance at him.

“Not really,” he admits. “Usually, I don’t even bother staying up for midnight. But I’m glad I’m doing something different this year.”

He gives you a tentative smile that makes your heart skip a beat, testing the waters. Instead of resuming his petting of Elvira, he relaxes into the couch and stretches out his arm across the backrest, hand resting gently on the cushion.

You return the smile and let your hand drift toward Elvira to scratch behind her ears. The cat purrs softly, tilting her head.

“Me, too,” you say quietly.

As the countdown looms closer, the broadcast on the TV switches to shots of the massive crowd gathered in Times Square. You lean in a little closer, your stomach performing flips as you pretend to adjust your position to better reach Elvira. But really, it’s more about closing the gap between you and Reiner.

You sidle in bit by bit until you’re close enough for his forearm on the backrest to brush against the nape of your neck, and an unexpected shiver runs down your spine. This is a thrill that makes your heart race in a way wholly different from trying to ask for help at a store. This is the kind you’re somehow enjoying, the kind you want to chase.

Reiner seems to notice, his gaze flickering briefly to you before settling back on the screen. Unimpressed by the shrinking space on the couch, Elvira lifts herself up in a long stretch before leaping to the ground and padding away, leaving Reiner’s warmth, solid and steady beside you. He scoots an inch closer to you, tucking you into the crook of his arm, and your nerves ebb away.

You turn to look at him just as the crowd on TV begins changing, “Ten! Nine! Eight!” only to find he’s already looking back at you. The movement of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip draws your eyes down, and you guiltily drag them back up, throat suddenly dry. The scant air between you feels charged with something you can’t quite name.

As the countdown continues, Reiner leans in even closer. You can see the patterns in the gold of his irises as he searches your face for some sign that he’s pushed you past your comfort zone. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, your heartbeat wild against your ribcage.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Out of the corner of your eye, the screen erupts into a colorfully dazzling display of fireworks and lights, and a mix of cheers and music fill your small living room. But you barely notice as you close the last bit of distance between you and Reiner and press your lips firmly against his.

He kisses you slow and hazy, with lips that taste like cinnamon cider. The pleased sigh he lets out against your mouth is only a faint whisper, as delicate as the tickle of his stubble against your chin. He brings his hand up to your face, warm fingers now cool against your burning skin as he skims his knuckles down your chin.

Auld Lang Syne plays out from the TV, muffled in your ear beneath the rushing of your pulse as your every nerve alights. Reiner doesn’t rush the kiss, languidly plucking at your lips with his, as if he might scare you away otherwise. His thumb strokes along your jaw, the gesture so gentle that fondness stabs you through the chest.

You reach up to tangle your fingers into the soft of his hair—dragging him closer, slanting your head to deepen the kiss. Encouraging him to be bolder. Reiner groans.

He slides the hand on your jaw around the back of your neck, and heat ricochets through your veins. You add fuel to the fire, wrapping your arms around him, startled by your own brashness. His tongue rolls against the seam of your lips, hot and wet, and your breath hitches, opening yourself to allow him to tenderly explore your taste.

Just as you’re starting to notice the lightheadedness creeping up on you, a dizziness resulting from equal parts excitement and lack of air, Reiner parts from your lips and ducks his head to trail warm, open-mouthed kisses up the column of your neck. When he reaches your jaw, his tongue flickers out to lave at your ear.

A tiny whimper falls from your lips, and you nestle yourself into the juncture of his neck, panting into his flushed skin. The scent of his shampoo invades your senses again, leaves you fuzzy and yearning. Reiner’s fingers skate down the length of your spine to wrap his hand around your waist.

Somewhere in the far flung corner of your mind, you vaguely register that persistent, gnawing uncertainty that screams at you to flee. But the more present part of you drowns that instinct. It compels you to melt into the comfort of Reiner’s arms, hoping that he’ll let you stay pressed against him for a little while longer, even as your tongue twists into knots. You’ve been very good at asking for what you need.

“Been wanting to do that for ages,” he sighs, sounding breathless.

“Happy New Year, Reiner,” you say softly into his ear.

His lips curve into a smile against your hair. “Happy New Year.”

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Beneath the Surface

Warnings: Depression, Eating Disorder, Emotional Distress, Mental Health Struggles

Summary: Y/n, struggling with depression and an eating disorder, feels trapped in her own darkness, unable to confide in her husband, Toto Wolff, for fear of burdening him. Despite her attempts to hide her pain, Toto notices the changes in her and becomes increasingly concerned.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Word count: 869

If you need help please don´t shy away and confide in someone for help. your feelings are valid.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n stared blankly out of the window, her eyes tracing the familiar skyline of England. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the city, but she felt nothing. The world outside was vibrant, alive with color and energy, but inside, she was a hollow shell, trapped in a gray fog that refused to lift.

Toto had left early that morning, heading to the Mercedes factory for yet another meeting. His life was a whirlwind of decisions, deadlines, and constant pressure. Y/n had always admired his drive and ambition, the way he could juggle a million things at once and still come home to her with a smile. But lately, that smile felt like a spotlight, one she couldn't bear to stand under.

She sighed, her hand drifting to the untouched plate of food in front of her. The thought of eating made her stomach turn, a wave of guilt crashing over her for the third time that day. The food wasn’t the problem—she was. Her mind was a battlefield, a war she had been losing for months now. The depression had crept in slowly, like a shadow lengthening in the afternoon sun, until it swallowed her whole.

And the eating disorder? That was her secret weapon, the twisted coping mechanism she clung to in a desperate attempt to feel some semblance of control. But the control was an illusion, and she knew it. It was a spiral, one that tightened around her like a noose, leaving her breathless and panicked.

She couldn’t tell Toto. The very thought of burdening him with her darkness made her chest ache. He had enough on his plate, running a Formula 1 team and maintaining the image of a calm, collected leader. He didn’t need her problems on top of that.

But Toto noticed. He always did.

He had seen the way her clothes hung a little looser on her frame, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore. He noticed how she pushed food around on her plate, claiming she wasn’t hungry, or that she had eaten earlier. He watched as the light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a distant, haunted look that broke his heart.

Toto was no stranger to pressure and stress, but the sight of his wife slipping away from him was a different kind of pain, one he didn’t know how to fight. He had tried to bring it up gently, asking if she was okay, if there was anything she wanted to talk about. Each time, she brushed him off with a weak smile and a quick excuse.

But Toto wasn’t fooled. He knew something was terribly wrong, and the longer she kept him at arm’s length, the more desperate he became to help her.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual, hoping to catch her before she retreated into the solitude of their bedroom. He found her sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at a cup of tea that had long gone cold.

“Y/n,” he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She looked up, startled anyway, and quickly forced a smile. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. How was your day?”

Toto walked over, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. He took her hand in his, noting how thin and cold it felt. “It was fine,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “But I’m more worried about how your day was.”

Y/n’s smile faltered, and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Toto. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

He squeezed her hand, his heart aching at the way she tried to downplay her struggles. “Y/n, you’re not fine. I can see that something is wrong, and it’s killing me that you won’t let me in.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked them away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. You have enough to deal with already.”

Toto’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently cup her cheek, turning her face toward him. “You are never a burden to me, Y/n. You’re my wife, my partner in everything. If you’re hurting, then I’m hurting too. Please, let me help you.”

The dam broke then. The tears she had been holding back for so long spilled over, and she crumpled into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Toto held her tightly, his own eyes damp as he whispered soothing words, promising her that they would get through this together.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I feel so lost, so out of control, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” Toto murmured, stroking her hair. “We’ll find help, Y/n. We’ll get through this, one step at a time. But you have to trust me, and let me in. We’re a team, remember?”

She nodded against his chest, the weight of her secret finally lifting, if only a little. “I’m scared, Toto.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But we’ll face it together, every step of the way.”

[obexes]

CATALYSIS

PT. II

R.C x READER • R.G x READER

Warnings: Smut, Self-Sabatoging Reader, Manipulation, Small Amount Of Dub-Con (Fucking Rafe), Underaged Drinking, fingering

A/N: The next part will be longer, and this might end up being 10 parts bc the plot, oh I'm gonna let it cook. I tried to get this out ASAP, while juggling too much other shit. My mental health is sickly, so enjoy my degenerate fantasies. Feedback is so appreciated and encouraging y'all :)

Word Count: 7.5 K

Sundays were always your favourite thing about your parents being home. The smell of Italian sausage and carbonara had summoned you from your room to the living room, where your family sits spread out around the large room, with their dinner plates.

When you and Nicky were kids, your Mom would lose it if she caught you guys on the eggshell coloured living room carpet with anything darker than water. Ever since Henley and Patton were old enough to eat on their own, your dad has enforced mandatory family time, which was simply eating dinner while watching a movie together on Sundays.

To be fair, despite all the travelling, they tried really hard to be home every Sunday. You took your spot at the coffee table and picked up the only unoccupied plate.

“I’m feeling Marvel tonight.” Nicky commented, twirling his fork around in his pasta. “Or maybe Disney?”

“Turning Red!” “Inside out!” Your younger brothers both called out simultaneously. You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a chuckle as your mom warily eyes the excited kids, or more accurately, the food balanced on their laps. She’s hopeless, you think freely.

“I’m thinking we should watch Euphoria. Bring some real world problems into this oasis.” you comment, earning a look from your Mom as well. Your older brother's idiot laugh doesn't go unnoticed.

Your Dad raises his wine glass to his lips. “I don't feel like having a stroke at 39. Peter Pan and Wendy it is.” Despite the child-like film, you all cheer as he hits play. Finally you start to dig into the meal your Mom, with the help of little Patton, made.

After you all finish eating, your dad pauses the film. You and Nicky carry the dishes to the dishwasher, load and start it, before making your way back to the living room. Your parents are curled up together and you take the spot on the other side of your dad, while he wraps an arm around you, the boys pile up on the mountain of blankets covering the floor.

As he plays the movie, you find your mind wandering to last night. To what you did in the hot tub at Tanneyhill. To Rafe fucking Cameron. Part of you felt guilty about messing with Roman’ s cousin and lying to your Mom, but the other part of you was burning. Burning to feel his hands on you again, burning to feel that intense pleasure over and over, and burning to know more. And then there was an even smaller part that wanted to know what such an intimate thing would feel like with Roman.

Even though you were still pissed at him for a number of reasons. You never made it back to Rafe’s room last night.

⊱✿⊰

“You're sleeping in my room tonight, gorgeous girl.”

You giggle quietly as he opens the back door and carries you the few steps across the kitchen, to plop you down on the island. “Want some water or something?”

You swing your legs back and forth, feeling the effects of the alcohol you'd been consuming since you got here. “Yes, please.” You turn your head momentarily towards the doorway as you hear light footsteps upstairs. You brush it off, enjoying your inebriated break from everyone else in the world but the man who just made you cum on his lap.

Rafe grabs two waters and comes back to stand between your legs. He moved nervously, you noted. He looked at you, like really looked at you, as he handed you a water bottle. “You okay? How are you feeling after... well- after everything tonight?”

“I'm good, Rafe. I had.. fun.” You reassure him with a small smile, unsure how to phrase it but wanting to reassure him. Which is still more than Roman bothered to do for you.

He gives you his signature panty dropping, schoolboy smirk. His tone is still nervous, however. “So it was okay? I mean, that it was me?” He slides his hands up your thighs coming to rest them on your hips. You could feel a flush of heat creeping up from where he’d just touched your thighs making its way all the way to your cheeks.

“Yes, Rafe.” You manage to say. His touch is intoxicating, his eyes captivating. You find your arms wrapping around his neck, hands burying themselves in his soft, dark blonde hair. “It was better than okay.”

He leans in to plant a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before leaning back slightly and catching your eye. You tug him towards you and his lips meet yours devotedly. He pulls you closer to the edge, your bodies meeting again, chest to chest. He bites your swollen bottom lip and separates from you only to tilt his head and kiss you even deeper.

His hands move to grip the sides of your ass and you whine against his lips, causing him to grip you harder. Still chasing the feeling he gave you outside, you push your crotch against his as best as you can from your place on the counter.

“Y/N.” He keens,”I'm never gonna get enough of you.” Rafe buries his face in your neck, leaving warm and wet kisses, leaving his hands to grope your sides.

Lost in the lust washing over you, you both hear the telltale pad of multiple pairs of feet, too late.

“Oh shit” A giggle. “Dude!” Disgust.

“What the fuck?” Anger.

Your head whips over to see three shocked teens standing at the entrance of the kitchen with varying reactions. Rafe slowly lifts his head but doesnt look away from you. Your mouth opens and closes, floundering for words. You look between the three and Rafe as you push him away and jump off of the counter.

Nicky and Mia are slowly starting to snicker, but Roman is just staring at you with disbelieving eyes. The other girl is nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, now this. This makes more sense.” Nicky laughs, referring to this morning when your parents caught you and Roman in your bed, asleep.

“Looks like you have a date to midsummers now, Y/N.” Mia comments with a raised brow.

You remain frozen, aside from your bottom lip wobbling and you biting it in a second attempt to keep your tears at bay tonight. How many times can one girl be humiliated in a day? You don't even want to look back at Romans face.

Rafe eyes your wobbly lip and reaches for you, tugging your hand into his. “Hey, wanna go to sleep now?”

“What the fuck is this? What's happening right now?” You look up from your entwined hands, at Romans dubious tone.

“Roman-”

“Come outside, Y/N.” He walks past you both, through the doors you just entered from, ignoring Mia calling his name on the way out.

You inhale a deep shaky breath. Your brother casts Mia a clueless, questioning glance, which she ignores as she's focused on examining you and Rafe. “I should...” You trail off as Rafe squeezes your hand softly, meeting his eyes.

“Its okay. I'll talk to him later, yeah?” He places a quick peck to your head.

“Y/N, what's going on? I feel like I'm missing something.” Your brother comments quizzically.

Rafe moves to usher them out of the kitchen, “Later , man.” You hear him mutter quietly to Nicky, who meets your gaze one more time before turning back to the den area. Mia lingers a second as you squeeze and shake your hands out, nervously.

“He’s never gonna get it together. Not for you, princess. Listen to Rafe, maybe that way you can stop stepping on people's toes and you won't get hurt.” Mia says the words quietly, but her tone of voice makes it clear that it's a threat. She smiles at you and follows in the direction of two older boys, while you do your best to ignore her and choke down all of the unpleasant feelings building up and make your way to the patio doors.

When you open the door, you immediately see Roman sitting on the porch swing with his head back, looking up at the sky with his usual pout. He doesn't move, or say anything so you walk over to him and sit down. Anxiety wracks your body, as you prepare to inevitably have an uncomfortable encounter with the bipolar boy you called your best friend.

You risk a glance at him and are alarmed to see moisture pooling in his eyes, “Roman.” You whisper. “Hey, I-”

“What was that?” He sits up and turns to face you.”Just- what the hell was that?”

Your eyes widen a little at the intensity of his behaviour. He takes one of your hands in his and looks at you expectantly. “Was that just you guys being dumb, or was that -” He stutters for a second and then takes a deep breath. “Or was that something more?”

“I dont know.” The truth, you were too drunk to decipher your current feelings toward Rafe.

“What?” He scoffs. “I just caught you making out with my cousin,Y/N, and youre saying you don't know why?” He drops your hand, and faces forward, rubbing his eyes in frustration. Your eyes narrow at him. He was the one who'd failed to verbally recognize the fact that something definitely happened between you two. He's been avoiding it hardcore for the past month or so.

“No, Roman, I don't. Besides, you didn't catch me doing anything.” You snap. “The word ‘catch’ implies that i’m in trouble, and I can do whatever I fucking want, technically. Nobody else seems to give a damn about my feelings.” You run your hands through your messy hair. Maybe you shouldn't have thrown that in his face but at the moment, he was pissing drunk you off.

The lanky boy looks at you with ferocity lurking beneath his incredulous expression. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Use your fucking context clues.” You cuss back.

He just stares at you as you attempt to avoid looking him in the eyes. For a second it seems like he's going to finally acknowledge the kiss you shared, weeks ago. You see the recognition in his features for a fraction of a second before he’s up, pacing. “You're ridiculous. Seriously, if you think Rafe is gonna commit to you, or treat you well for that matter.”

Your mouth falls open in shock when you hear Rafes name come out of Romans mouth. He didn't just blatantly deflect the topic of conversation, did he? Bastard.

“Jesus, have you lost your mind? You know what kind of person he is, Y/N. I thought you were smarter than that.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as he spews his bullshit.

You take his dramatic, silent irritation as an invitation to add fuel to the fire, fed up with his week-long diversions from the underlying issue in your friendship. “Yeah, well, at least he didn't kiss me and then pretend it never happened.” You stand up and cross your arms defiantly.

Roman sighs a deep, shaky breath of air. “Y/N... Jesus. You really wanna do this, huh?” You look up, toeing the area of grass you'd just been staring at. His face, his eyes, his whole demeanour are pleading with you to stop. “It was my first kiss, Roman.”

He shuts his eyes for a second and you watch as his breathing becomes a little heavier. When he opens them, he starts toward your teary eyed figure but you step back and he stops in his tracks. “Y/N, i'm so sorry. I didn't know that.”

You nod, tears spilling over your waterline and cascading down your cheek into the ground. Where you wish you could disappear. You ignore the pain in your heart. You ignore the way this feels like a friendship ending argument. You ignore his own tears as they begin to meet yours in the soil.

“I know.” You sniffle, you didn't want to punish him. You don't even know what you want from this conversation. This isn't a good idea, you're drunk. You can't ignore the wave of anxiety that hits you, completely out of nowhere. “I just can't do this, Rome.”

You start to back up, but he follows you. “Do what?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and uncross your arms to instead wrap them around yourself. After a breath, you open them. Roman looks regretful. “Do what,Y/N?”

Be your friend, Is what you wanted to say.

“I can't see you right now.” Is what you say.

You turn around before he has time to see your face completely crumble. Panic, anxiety, and heart ache all fight for dominance over the sob working its way up your throat. You swallow it down and go find Nicky. You wouldn't be staying in Rafes room tonight.

⊱✿⊰

By the end of the movie, your two youngest siblings are asleep. With Olivia having every Sunday off, you and Nicky fold up the blankets quietly talking about the film. Meanwhile, your Parents had each carried a sibling to bed to be tucked in. You grab a stack of blankets and carry them into the hall to put away in the linen closet. When you come back to the living room, your Mom is refilling your parents wine glasses, preparing to watch another movie with your Dad.

Nicky makes eye contact with you and widens his eyes slightly, insinuating something up.

“Ah, the gangs all here. Good. Sit.” Your Dad walks into the den and clasps his hands quietly.

You and Nicky both sit down on a loveseat near the front door and exchange a look. Your parents only do these little meetings to drop big news.

“So, nothing major but Wednesday night you're both expected to be home early for dinner. We're having guests over and there's a surprise involved.”

Nicky groans,”Mom, please. If you're pregnant again, I'm getting emancipated.”

You scoff out a laugh at your brother's blatant statement, before covering it up as a cough when you get a look from your Mom.

“Dominique.” Your father deadpans. “If your mom is pregnant, I’ll take you all and run. It isn't that.”

Your mom downs her wine. “This is why they don't have respect, Joseph.”

Your Dad gives her a warm grin and wraps her up under his arm. “Like I said, just be home early for dinner. Understood?”

You and Nicky ultimately agree without too much prying for details. After bidding your Parents goodnight, you both make your way upstairs. Your brother stops at your door as you enter your room and leans against the doorframe. “So....” He trails off and you roll your eyes as you search through your dresser for a large Tshirt, settling on one that Roman left here.

“Yes, Nicky?”

“What happened last night? I saw you mackin’ on Rafe but why was Roman so mad?” He walks further into your room and plops on your bed.

“Nicky!” You whine, batting at him with the t-shirt in your hands. “Get the hell off my blankets, you went outside in that outfit!”

It's Nicky's turn to roll his eyes at your rules, as he dramatically rolls off of your bed onto a pile of laundry on the floor, stretching out like a starfish. “Whatever. So what happened? I noticed that you stayed at the house all day. And kinda have been for a while.” He adds.

You let out a dramatic sigh of despair and slide down your dresser so that you're sitting facing your bed. “I’m so dumb, Nicky. I think I fucked up.”

He sits up on his elbows, facing you. “Wait, what? What's the matter?”

You contemplate telling him everything for a moment. What's the worst that could happen? Then you think back to the last time you asked yourself that question, and any ideas of total honesty dissipate. “I don't know...” and then, you remember. “What did you mean when you said that me and Rafe made sense?”

He sits up all the way and musses his hair. “I don't know, I was drunk, Y/N. I guess I always just assumed you’d rebel against Mom and Dad. Rafe would make sense for that. More sense than your childhood best friend.”

"Me and Rafe are friends, too.” You point out, although you know it's not the same.

“Not like you and Roman.”

You contemplate this quietly. Nicky comes over to where you're sitting and plants himself beside you.

“Listen sis, I don't know what the hell is going on, but you can tell me if I need to kick someone's ass. I won't ask questions.”

You shake your head sadly. ”It's not like that. I just did a dumb thing and now I have to live with it.”

Your older brother stands up and ruffles your hair. “Well, that's nothing new, is it? Goodnight Y/N/N.”

“Goodnight, Nicky.”

He shuts your door and you change into your shirt before turning on your fan and hopping in bed.

After about 15 minutes of staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, you were over it. You were agonising over whether or not to check your phone for a text from Roman and beating yourself up over what happened with Rafe. You flip over and grab the TV remote. Deciding to listen to something scary, you settle on a rerun of the Paranormal Activity films and turn back over, letting the TV lull you to sleep.

Not 10 minutes later, when you're almost out like a light, does your phone begin ringing quietly on the nightstand. You register the noise and flail under the covers, frustratedly. You snatch your phone up and accept the call, barely registering the name on the screen.

“What?” You almost growl.

“Wow, hello to you too, beautiful.” Rafe’s deep voice rings through the speaker.

“Do not disturb means do not disturb, not call twice, Rafe.” You can't help your tone, your anxiety keeps you up most nights, and you were so close to ending the night on a good note, moments before.

“I'm sorry, I’d take any option that guaranteed your attention.” He laughs.” Did I wake you up?”

“Yes actually.” You sigh, readjusting your covers from the flail. “Did you need something?” “Can I come over?”

“Seriously, Rafe? Its-” You pull your phone away from your cheek and look at the time, faltering.

“Only 9 P.M.? Exactly.” You can hear his smug face over the phone. “So?”

You feel queasy at the thought of seeing Rafe, despite being so explicit with him the night before. It felt like a betrayal to Roman in a way because you two hadn’t spoken since the fight last night where he expressed his disapproval of Rafe and you together. Although a small part of you doesn't care about his opinion, after his blatant disregard for your feelings.

“I don't think that's a great idea, Rafe, my parents are awake downstairs.” You try.

He’s quiet for a second, and then there's an incoming facetime from him. You answer the call and you see Rafe sitting up, shirtless, against his headboard. He has to fight his smile, seeing you laying on your side, hair cascading around your shoulder like a waterfall of curls.

“Is it because of last night?”

You mentally smack yourself for answering a call where he can see your face. Rafe always knew when you were lying. When you guys were 12 and 13, you covered for him when he broke one of Wards Golf awards and he figured out that you had a tell. You couldn't make eye contact.

“W-what?”

“The real reason you don't want to see me.” He says in a bored tone. “Is it because of Roman?”

“No.” You roll your eyes.

“Dont lie to me, Y/N.” The dominant tone he's taking right now has you rethinking your previous statements.

“Fine, yeah. It Is, Rafe.” Pulling the covers up to your chin. “He’s one of my best friends, and you're his cousin. It feels weird that things are like this. I can't stop thinking about that stupid fight.”

You hear shuffling on Rafe’s end and then the sound of keys.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm comin over.” You start to protest but he cuts you off. “I'm gonna take your mind off of it.”

He ends the call and you're left staring at the screen dumbfounded. Now that he’s ended the call, you see a whole slew of texts and missed calls from John B and Kie, and even JJ asking you to join in on the boat day they had today. Nothing from Roman. He was usually always the first to cave after an argument, seeking you out almost every time. The lack of contact, admittedly worried you.

You sigh, sitting up in bed now. There are so many questions swirling around in your head. What was Roman thinking about? Was he still angry with you? What was Rafe thinking about? Was he going to try something? How were you supposed to hide yet another boy in your room without invoking your Mothers anger? More importantly though, how did you look right now?

You spring up and run to the ensuite bathroom. Your hair, once pinned up with a claw clip, now falls loosely around you with flyaway curlies everywhere and you wore only Roman’s T Shirt and a pair of boy short panties as makeshift PJs. You pull your clip out and stare at the excess tendrils of hair falling around you, trying to finger comb them down.

“Is it even worth it, for real?” You ask yourself as you eye the brush that would no doubt make your situation worse. Deciding that, no, it isn't worth it, you grab your mouthwash and gargle a mouthful before spitting it out, rinsing your mouth, and washing your face.

Back in your room, you realise how hot and stuffy it is. You unlock the balcony doors that face the ocean, so that Rafe can get inside. Then you pad across the floor and unlatch your bedroom window, going to open it for the breeze but nearly screaming out loud as it's pushed open, seconds later. “Ahh!”

Rafes hand shoots out to cover your mouth as he precariously balances himself between your windowsill and the branch he's perched on. He gives you an exasperated look. “Jesus, I literally live 5 minutes away. Move.”

You clutch your chest and take a step back just as he pushes off of the branch and pulls himself through the window. “Why didn't you just climb onto the balcony, you could've fallen.” You comment as he steadies himself.

Rafe examines your face, stepping closer. “Your Mom had all the trees near it cut down, remember?”

You’d forgotten about that. As soon as you turned 15 your Mom had to escape-proof your room because of an incident involving a party, a week prior. Which included cutting down the trees near your balcony and removing the garden trellis that crept up right beside it, leaving only an old oak tree beside the window that was across from your bedroom door. “Oh, right.”

You back up and sit on the edge of your bed, patting the spot next to you. Rafe pushes his hair off of his forehead as he takes a seat. The sound of the movie playing is all that can be heard as you both quietly observe each other. He looks really good in his simple blue tee and basketball shorts, and you can't help the natural, girly giddiness you feel.

“You look really pretty.” he starts.

Letting out a small laugh, “Shut up. I look like I was about to go to sleep. You look good though.” You go to smack his chest playfully, but he catches your hand.

“You're still the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart flutters a little at his words, but you quell it and withdraw your hand slowly. One thing Rafe and his cousin had in common was their notoriety as two of the island's biggest playboys. “Don't say things you don't mean, Rafe.”

Rafe smiles at you knowingly, yet you don't know why. “Remember when we were like...” He thinks about it. “I was 9 and you were 8. We were playing hide and seek with a bunch of other kids at Olivia’s garden party?” He questions.

You remember. You’d gotten locked into the old outdoor cellar, while trying to use it as a hiding spot. You'd been locked in for what felt like hours as you plotted a way out, the music and ongoing party drowning out your cries. As a kid you remember thinking you’d be down there forever, You nod, telling Rafe to go on.

“You had all the other kids going crazy, we all thought you’d gotten kidnapped but we were too scared to tell anyone.” He chuckles at the memory. “But then you walked around the side of the house covered in dirt and I remember being so happy to see you. Even though you were crying and looked like a mess, running for your parents. You were the prettiest girl to me then. You're still that same girl, now.”

You make a face, scrunching your nose. “Why is my near death experience such a significant memory for you? I could've died, digging that little tunnel under the door.”

“But you didn't.” He laughs, ruffling your hair. “Jesus, you suck at accepting compliments.”

“Yeah, well, you kinda suck at giving them.” You smack his hands away, smoothing your mussed hair. His eyes shoot to your bare legs as your T-shirt rides up. Then they flick up to scrutinise the shirt itself and you wonder if he’ll mention anything about its owner.

Instead he tugs at the hem of it with a sudden mischievous glint in his eyes. “Anything under here?”

You blush. “Rafe, shut up.” You weren't expecting Rafe to be here right now in the first place. In fact, you'd tried to avoid it. Just because you guys got drunk and fooled around didn't mean you suddenly were into Rafe. That's just what teenagers do, right? Yeah, he may look like a god and he always smells good but you didnt wanna risk your friendship with him or Roman further.

“Make me.”

His fingers slip past the hem, teasing their way up your thighs. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you swear you stop breathing. But when his fingers brush too close to your clothed pussy, you snatch at his wrist and he looks up at your face, fingers frozen over your core.

“Rafe, what do you want?”

“Honestly?” You nod, matching his heavy eye contact.

“I just wanna make you feel good, baby. ” He inches his face closer to yours, while you slowly start to forget why you stopped him. “Right now I really want to make you cum on my fingers.” He only breaks eye contact as he presses his lips against yours roughly. You loosen your grip on his wrist, your inhibitions melting at his actions.

He takes the opportunity to press his thumb against your clit, eliciting a soft whine into his mouth. Your breaths mingle together, hearts beginning to race in sync with the electric tension that's filling the air.

Rafe cradles your face gently in one hand, fingertips tracing the delicate lines of your jaw as your tongues swirl against each other. His warm touch causes a shiver to go down your spine and he smirks into the kiss. You feel his heartbeat against your chest as he lowers you onto the bed, his fingers stroking you over your panties.

“Rafe,” You coo against his soft lips. “Keep touching me there.”

“Yeah, Princess? Like this?” Rafe drags his thumb around your clit in circles, increasing the pressure. Your hips grind involuntarily towards his hand as you nod, a moan escaping your lips.

“Shhh, be quiet.” He presses another short kiss to your lips, letting go of your face to yank your shirt up to your belly and focus his gaze on his handiwork.

Rafe continues to tease you, your panties preventing you from feeling his skin. He looks up at you, watching your reaction as he ghosts his fingers over your entrance again. You were suddenly filled with a longing for something more - an indefinable desire that was rooted in your core, and it made you shiver with pleasure.

Rafe smiles smugly as he watches you, his gaze tender yet smouldering. He leans forward and kisses you, your mouths exploring each other with an intensity that takes your breath away. With each kiss, your concerns about Roman faded away, replaced by something new and exciting and unbearably sweet.

When he finally pulls away, Rafe drags his hand away from your pussy to brush lightly against your hips, tracing a gentle line along the curve of your waist. You shiver again, skin prickling with pleasure as he moves his hands lower.

To your surprise his fingers lace between yours, and he gently tugs you towards him. “Do you want me to keep touching you, baby?” You nod desperately, extremely flushed. “Can you keep quiet?”

You nod again and before you can protest his fingers are in your panties. He teases you slowly, and his breathing becomes heavier. You're lost in a world of sensation as his thumb finds your clit again, beginning to create blissful, swirling patterns.

His fingers slowly trail lower, to your entrance, and you can feel your body responding to his touch, almost dripping over his fingers. Your skin is alive with a pleasure you've never felt before.

Rafe groans while you throw your head back as he begins pushing his index and middle fingers inside of you, the stretching sensation too intense for you to take it. You grab at his forearm as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, the heat from his touch making you moan.

”W-ait.” You attempt to push his arm away but he holds you in place with his free arm, his pace becoming more insistent. The painful stretch begins to fade into something much more pleasurable.

“Let me make you feel good,Y/N.”

Rafe moves his fingers at a quick pace, repeatedly stroking against your G-spot until you're a whining, moaning mess. As you begin to feel yourself nearing an orgasm, you silently beg him to stop before you could release, as if that would make this any better. Rafe, however, seemed to be enjoying your reaction and continued his assault, his fingers sliding deeper and faster.

You felt your entire body ignite with a pleasure that was both overwhelming and exquisite. Your hands find his shirt and you ball it up in your fists, feeling yourself release, squirting on his hand and your covers. You’re screaming muffled profanities into Rafes palm as your orgasm finally engulfs you. Your body goes limp with relief, your breathing ragged as you lie there, trembling.

Rafe withdraws his fingers and sits up, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. You lay there for a few moments, trying to process what just happened. You felt embarrassed and ashamed, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the pleasure you had just experienced. As you slowly sit up, fixing your panties, Rafe's smirk widens.

"That was quite the experience, hmm?" he says in a smug voice.

You could feel your cheeks flush and you quickly look away, your heart pounding with a mix of emotions. Rafe leans closer and puts his hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. "Hey, It's okay," he says softly. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm just glad I made you feel that good. That was fun right?"

You nodded, your face still flushed with embarrassment. You look away again, not wanting to meet his gaze. ‘It's just that... I didn't expect it to feel that way. I'm kind of overwhelmed. Sorry if that sounds stupid.”

Rafe pulls you into his chest and wraps an arm around you. “It doesn't sound stupid. I get it, I've never seen a girl squirt before, either. I'm sorry if that was too much.”

You roll your eyes, as he can't see you, at his boyish thoughts. "It's fine, Rafe.” You pull away from Rafes hug and stare at your carpet awkwardly. Sensing your hesitance he looks away from you nonchalantly, “You tired?”

Seeing the question as an out, you meet his eyes and nod, feeling the atmosphere in the room change. His smile is small, disappointed. “I'll see you tomorrow then? Or Wednesday?” You furrow your eyebrows. “The dinner that your parents are hosting..?”

You remember your Dads statement earlier, the dinner and the surprise. “Oh, okay yeah. You're coming?”

“Yeah, So are Olivia and Roman.” Rafe replies as he stands up, wiping his cum covered hands on his shorts. You internally cringe at how awkward this interaction is turning out to be. It's your fault, you have to fucking ruin everything. You nod your head as if you aren't mentally cursing yourself out. “But hey, Y/N?”

You meet his expectant stare. “Yeah?”

He kisses your forehead before backing towards your window, smirking as he opens it once again. “I took your mind off of it, didn't I?” And with that he's gone.

⊱✿⊰

He did not, in fact, take your mind off of it.

Two hours later, you're still awake, staring at your ceiling fan trying to drown out the negative thoughts eating you alive. You had a tendency to overthink, and with that came anxiety. The best remedy for your anxiety was alcohol, which not only did you not have access too at the moment, but it also caused you to make dumb bitch decisions, occasionally. You couldn't help but crave it anyways.

You felt incredibly guilty and even ashamed that you let things go that far with Rafe, especially given the fact that he didn't seem to be concerned about your actual feelings about it.

As the minutes go by and sleep evades you, you give up rolling over to pick up your silenced phone. You have a slew of unanswered notifications but one name immediately catches your attention. Sitting up in bed you click on the notification, fast as shit.

45 Minutes Ago

Romeo: Jelli bbeen

Romeo: com to our beecfh

Rome: Plz im srory

Fuck, I'm a horrible person, you instantly hit the call button, knowing that he’s drunk off of his ass. When the call goes to voicemail straight away, you hop out of bed and throw on a pair of shorts and crocs, slipping quietly out of your room determined to go make sure he's okay.

You pause at the top of the stairs, listening for the sound of your parents, when you hear nothing you creep down the carpeted stairs slowly.

FInally reaching the back door, you slide it open as quietly as you can and creep outside. Shutting it behind you, you turn around to walk towards Romans house when you spot a figure, down on the beach, near your family's dock.

You curse under your breath and hurry towards the figure. As you near, you can clearly see Romans broad torso hunched over, one arm laying on his knee holding a bottle of Jack and the other stuck in his extremely messy hair.

“Rome.” You call softly so as not to startle him.

He raises his head slightly, back to you, but doesn't move otherwise. “Jellybean?”

“Yeah... it's me, what's going on Roman?” You put a hand on his shoulder, sitting down beside him. “What are you doing sitting out here? It's almost Midnight.”

Roman looks at you in a mixture of melancholy and clear intoxication. His lips twitch into a slight frown, as if he is going to cry, but only momentarily, before he takes a shot and hands you the bottle. You take it, gratefully. “I needed to see you, talk to you.” He’s slurring, dangerously. ”I really fucking hate what happened yesterday.”

Before you reply you take a shot too, and sigh. “Which part?”

“All of it. I really fucking hated it all, guppy.” He turns towards you, his demeanor slightly more defeated than a minute ago. He was naturally a manic person, but when he was drunk, he went from tough guy to busting out every pet name in the book in hopes of being babied. “Seeing Rafe touch you, seeing you like it.... us fighting.”

Your eyes widen, slightly. “What does that even mean, Roman?

Roman stares at you with his sad green eyes, dejectedly. “I want to fix it. I fucked up and I want to fix it.” He taps the bottle in your hand and you hold eye contact as you take another drink, passing it to him afterwards, him doing the same.

“It's not entirely your fault, Roman.” You let your eyes fall to the sand between you. You hated lying, but you didn't know what was going on in his head and telling him about Rafe being in your room, less than 3 hours ago, would possibly just serve to make him more upset. “I shouldn't have kissed Rafe.” You omit the part about you grinding and cumming on his dick, for Romans sake.

He grabs your hand in his and pulls you to scoot closer, you do. “Ya’guys only kissed cuz’ I never talked to you about us.” he says. “M’ sorry if I hurt you baby. I love you, Y/N. I really fucking love you.” He cups your face, dragging his thumbs across your cheeks.

You hold your breath, deja vu from a few weeks ago hits you square in the chest. This is exactly how he kissed you the first time. You've wanted to hear those words from him for weeks, hoping that he was secretly in love with you too, not while he was this heavily inebriated, however.

You gently grab his hands and squeeze them, lowering them so they are between you both. “Maybe we should talk about this in the morning, bubba?”

Roman's lip starts trembling, barely noticeable, at the nickname. “Y/N, no. You deserve an explanation, please let me explain.” He whines. “I do love you. It wasn't about you.” He looks at your joined hands for a moment before placing a kiss on your knuckles and peering hesitantly up into your eyes.

You couldn't help but want to hear him out. Your heart constricts as he begins speaking in a pained voice. “It's my Mom, Y/N. Shes fucking insane. Do you remember, 9th grade, I was with Allie Mcentyre?”

You nod, pensively. You'd been friends with Allie that year, because she was dating Roman, before she abruptly cut you off. Roman seemed not to care, so you didn't either. “Yeah before she ditched us.”

He grimaces. “She didn't ditch us, Y/N.” You furrow your eyebrows in question. “She was the first girl I ever brought around Mom, and the entire fucking time, she gaslit and- and lied an' manipulated both of us." Roman pauses as he hiccups, and gathers his words. "She would text her cryptic shit from my phone and then delete it so that it seemed like her angry texts were random, she’d tell her that she wasn't good enough for me and me the same. Allie told me she didnt want to see me anymore after my mom told her mom that I’d been having sex with multiple girls at a time.” He chuckles. “I was still a fucking virgin. She just wanted to ruin what I had. I realized she’s only going to let me be with someone that she chooses for me.”

“Roman...” Your mouth opens and shuts while you process your next words. “Im so fucking sorry, that I didnt know about that. That's literally insane.”

Roman chuckles drily, you pull him into a bone crushing hug. “It's okay, I didn't tell you.”

You squeeze him and pull away. "I shouldve been there for you, I'm sorry."

Roman shakes his head, placing a hand back on your cheek, thumb resuming its soft, delicate strokes. “No. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve the way I treated you. I love you, jellybean, please don't be mad at me.”

You gently press your palm against his hand but this time you don’t remove it. “I could never stay mad at you, Roman. I love you too.” How could you ever be angry with this side of him? Nobody ever gets to see this side but you. The whiskey stupor you were beginning to feel caused you to zero in on the tall boy beside you.

His lazy, responsive smile is so boyish and sweet, it makes you buzz with desire, and briefly you recall wondering what it would feel like to do what you did with Rafe, with Roman instead. They are different in more ways than they were similar. Roman is hard and broken, but his pure heart radiates through the cracks, whereas Rafe was a tried and true asshole, though you had to confess you didn't know him as well as you knew the boy in front of you.

“Y/N?” Roman bites his lip and a slight frown forms between his brows as he glances down at your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

In lieu of answering, you tangle your hands in his hair and pull him to you, desperately connecting your lips. You caught Roman off guard but he quickly grabs ahold of your waist in his free hand, managing to hastily pull you onto his lap.

As your mouths slowly move together, a warm electrifying feeling spreads through you, time seems to slow down, allowing you to focus solely on his lips and the emotions they were making you feel. His hands find yours, intertwining them with his, solidifying the bond you two were experiencing.

You couldn't help but think about the way Rafe kissed you earlier, only in that his kiss was much less intimate, yet more hungry and physically intense. WIth Roman, it was a slow dance of tongues and lips meshing that made you soaked for him in a completely different way. You purposely rolled your hips over his and he groans, squeezing your joined hands. You break the kiss and lean back slightly, admiring the boy who has your heart.

“Hmm, baby?” His lips look a delicious, puffy red and his eyes are half lidded, he looks so sexy right now. Before you could help it, you’re grinding your pussy against his member again, both of you letting out satisfied moans at the friction. “Y/N, shit. What are you doing to me?”

The whiskey in your system has your body acting on its own, out of sexual frustration from the months of built up tension between you two, desperate to explore it with him. You just let his cousin finger fuck you. Fuck, two shots wouldn't be enough.

You pick up the bottle of Jack Daniels, resigned to the choices you were about to make, and downed two or three shots. You force yourself to ignore the burn, and Romans drunk, questioning gaze as you tipped his chin and poured some into his mouth. He shakes his head with a grimace, swallowing down the shitty tasting alcohol.

Without wasting a beat, you begin peppering kisses along his neck, and he lets out a spur of dirty, drunken noises from the back of his throat.

“Does that feel good?” You can't help but tease your clit along his clothed erection again, body moving intoxicatedly of its own free will, chasing the friction his shorts provided, as he struggles to answer and resigns to nodding. You move your mouth up to his ear, sucking softly on it before whispering, “Roman, I want you so bad, want you to fuck me.”

“Wh-” Instantly his hands are on your hips, pushing you slightly back. “Jellybean, what?” He seems almost instantly sobered as he examines your features. "I thought you were a virgin?” You flush at your own obviousness, feeling it even over the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

“Well... I mean, I am. But, I want you to be the first.” You grip onto the bottom of his shirt, glancing down, doing your best not to appear as the tipsy, desperate slut you feel like.

Roman sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a second, squeezing your hips gently. “Y/N, I dont know about you, but Im really fucked up right now.” You nod, still not looking up but he lowers his head, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I want it to be good for you. I want it to be special, not like this, pretty girl.”

Your eyes begin to well up quickly, in humility at the perceived rejection and you look out at the ocean, wiping at your tears before they can fall. “I'm sorry, Rome, I'm so stupid. I'm sorry.”

“Love, you aren't stupid. Believe me when I say I want this as bad as you.” Roman shocks you when he removes your hand, that's clutching his shirt, to place it on his hard length. “This is what you fucking do to me, baby. And when the time is right, I won't just be the first, I'll be the last too.” He gives you a lopsided smirk and a delicate kiss on the lips.

You offer him a small smile in response, he was being such sweetheart and you felt horrible. At the forefront of your clouded brain, you were desperate to replace Rafe's touch with Roman's as if it would erase your prior actions, but you shove it to the back, focusing on his reassurance. "Is that a promise?"

“Of course, it is. I know I've been so wrapped up in my own head, trying to keep everything...normal, but I don't want to do that anymore.” He pulls you close again and rests his forehead against yours. “I want this, baby. I want you.”

No, no, no. Roman, dont. Not right now. The guilt is going to crush you. You look down. “Will you be my girlfriend?” His hopeful eyes await yours.

You're quiet for a beat too long before you slowly look back into his expectant face. “I can't, Roman... my Dad. You know how he is.” It's bullshit, but he doesn't know it. Yeah your dad would have an aneurysm but you didn't care in the slightest. You had to make sure that Rafe wouldn't say anything about what you guys did, and break things off with him first, before you made an even bigger mess. Roman was wasted, he might not even remember this in the morning.

Romans face falls a bit at your words. He just promised to endure his mothers psychopathy for you and you wouldn't even return the favour? You hate the look that flashes across his face and hurry to reassure him. “I'll talk to him, okay? After dinner on Wednesday.”

He nods somberly, “Yeah, okay. If you want to.”

You grab his face and plant a kiss on his pouty lips. “I do, Romeo, don't worry. And I promise, I will.”

He laughs at that, loving the nickname. You made many mistakes, but you wouldn't let this be one of them. The feelings that the boy under you made you feel, compared to absolutely nothing else. At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

[m-writesstuff]

undercover - aaron hotchner

chapter 1

lying.

i like lying.

especially when it involves waking up next to aaron fucking hotchner.

we were undercover, playing as the stork killers next victims, jane and aaron hunter, a couple in need of a miracle, preferably one that came in the shape of a human baby. the killer, doctor james hader, who specialized in fertility, had been stalking us for the past three weeks after we visited his clinic, so it wasn’t really a surprise when i saw his white van parked across the street from our bedroom window. doctor hader was a very obvious stalker, which made me wonder if the two couples he had murdered before had caught on to the white van parked across the street for their houses.

i sigh, and get up to go make breakfast, just as a loving wife would do. yuck. so glad my bachelors in forensic science had led to being reduced to a stereotype. 

the bed is warm and seems to be enticing me to lay back down as i pull the covers off my legs and stand. i turn to look down at aaron in the bed, he seems calm in his sleep, it makes me smile. he used to look like that awake. calm and kind, but years of stressful cases while juggling the politics that come with the bau had turned him into a very serious man. we started working together 5 years ago, when i became the first woman on the team and unlike the rest of my co-workers, he seemed to actually respect me for more than my looks. we quickly became close friends, but we never seemed to hangout outside of work. now here we were, stuck together in a two bedroom/two bathroom in the fucking suburbs. it wasn’t that this life didn’t appeal to me. i just didn’t love the idea of relying on a man to provide for me. it made me feel trapped, but this was only my life until the case closes, which seemed to never come.

i reached the kitchen and begin getting out eggs, bread and a tomato. while the bread toasts and the eggs cook i cut the tomato into slices and divide them into two plates. soon enough i have a beautiful breakfast plated and i set the plates down on the table. aaron walks in at that moment, in a white tee and plaid pyjama pants. 

“thanks.” he mutters as he sits down. he’s not much of a talker in the morning. 

“you’re welcome.” 

we eat in silence. once he finishes, he takes my empty plate and begins washing the dishes while i shower and get dressed.

“he was here.” i say when i return.

aaron looks up from the plate he’s drying. “hader?”

“who else aaron?” i respond, grabbing the pan and a dish towel.

he rolls his eyes. “i must have missed him, he was gone when i woke up.”

“hmm.”

“what?” he asks, looking at puzzled.

“its just… well, he always leaves after i wake up.” i start. “it’s like he’s only interested in me. maybe he’s after the women but kills the men to get them out of the way.

”“maybe.” he says. 

i look at him with a frustrated expression.

“what?” he asks while yawning.

i roll my eyes as i put the pan into the cupboard. “thanks for supporting my theory aaron.”

he chuckles. “oh cmon, janie,” that stupid nickname makes me blush slightly, “we don’t have proof he’s after just the women, he stalks them for weeks and kills them both.”

i sigh, “just a thought.”

he finishes the dishes. and turns his body to face me. “keep thinking, well figure it out.” he smiles at me.

“bring it up to the team?” i ask.

“jane…”

“oh cmon! think about it, he doesn’t follow you to work, he focuses on me when we go in for consultations, and he always leaves when i get up for the day.” he doesn’t seem convinced, we stare at each other for a moment, “please? do it for me, your lovely wife.” i tease.

he pauses staring at me intensely for a few seconds. “fine.”

i break into a smile, which he returns. “thank you aaron.”

he sighs and walks off to get ready for work. 

aaron was the lucky one, he got to return to work everyday as the town where we were stationed was only 30 minutes from headquarters. i, on the other hand, got to play house. cooking and cleaning were basically all i got up to during the day. it was dull. but, occasionally, aaron would bring back reports for me to fill out regarding our operation, but other than that i spend my day doing nothing important.

i watch from the kitchen table as aaron grabs his coat and gets ready to leave.

he opens the door, “hey,” i walk over to him, “don't forget we have another consultation at 3.”

he smiles at me, “i’ll be home at 2 then.” theres a pause before he begins talking again, “have a good day jane.” he closes the door.

my day goes by normally, i clean the house, which takes under an hour because i do it everyday. then, i spend the rest of my day on the couch watching the news, desperate to feel like i’m in the field. when i look up from the tv, the clock on the oven reads 1:45. shit, there goes my day.

i decide to make a quick snack for aaron when he gets back. by the time i’m done, i hear the doorknob turn, speak of the devil.

aaron walks calmly through the door and takes off his coat. “hungry?” i ask

he looks at me, sitting on the counter calmly, as he takes off his coat. “very.”

we sit at the table eating the cheese and crackers i had prepared, talking about our days. mine, just as interesting as his. since we were undercover, he was not allowed to be in the field. This meant he was stuck at a desk all day, doing paperwork. exciting.

sooner than i’d like, we hop into his car and begin the 20 minute drive to the clinic. 

doctor hader’s fertility clinic was in a small building on main street. aaron and i rode the elevator anxiously. every meeting with the doctor proved more and more useful but also nerve-racking. hader asked the awkward questions, the ones regarding aaron and i’s non existing sex life. i tended to freeze up once asked whereas aaron smoothly spoke of our fake life. it was odd how i feel when he speaks of those things. it’s like there’s a pit in my stomach… a hungry one.

we sit in the waiting room silently, waiting to be called on. i hear the door hinges creak and grab aaron’s hand, putting on the facade of a happy couple. doctor hader is a small, balding man. he avoids eye contact as he invites us in. his office is painted blue, with a couch that faces his large desk. overcompensating much. hader motions for us to sit down as he takes a seat at his desk.

“jane, aaron, wonderful to see you again.” he smiles, that creepy awful smile.

aaron and i smile back, “great to see you too, doctor hader.” aaron says.

“so, let's begin,” hader brings out our file, “you’ve been trying for some time now, yes?”

i blush, “yes, 6 months now.”

“interesting, you’re still trying now correct, with the meds i had prescribed, correct?” he asks.

aaron squeezes my hand to keep me focused, “yes.”

hader looks frustrated, “you’re certain?”

he knows were not having sex, he’s been watching us for weeks. 

aaron and i look at each other, “yes.” he says.

the consultation goes on for what feels like forever. when we finally get to leave, it’s not soon enough. i could feel hader’s eyes on me as we head out. i grip onto aaron’s arm.

we ride silently for about half the trip back until i finally speak up. “he knows.” 

“what?” aaron says, not looking up from the road.

“he knows were not… you know…” i say.

aaron doesn’t speak for a while.

“aaron.” 

he looks at me as we stop for a red light. “i think you know what this means, janie.”

“which is?”

“we have to put on a show for him.”

i freeze, the gears in my head turning slowly as i figure out what he means.

we have to have “sex”.

______________________________________________________________

notes: hello! if you made it this far, thank you!! i appreciate you so much. this is my first story here and i'm super excited to share it with you! it may not be that good but i'm still trying! anyway, have a wonderful day!

[dccomicsimagines]

Bruce’s Birthday - Batfamily Imagine

Requested by Anon - Can I get a birthday with Bruce and the batsibling!reader? Batkids mayhem please

***

Cass peered down at Bruce from her place in the rafters. Below was the Gotham Children’s Charity gala. People in fancy, flashy clothes, milling around. She heard the annoying murmurs of gossip and fake personas. 

Bruce’s shoulders held an unfamiliar tension. She tilted her head. His lips pressed together as he made small talk with a few businessmen. She swore she saw a sadness that felt unknown to her. 

“Cass, you promised you wouldn’t hide up here,” Tim said. He juggled a plate of food in one hand as he shuffled on the rafter to her side. Cass took the plate and helped herself to some baked brie.  

“Watching.” She looked back at Bruce who was now moving through the crowd toward Selina, who had just entered in a sparkly red dress. Cass smiled, noting Bruce seemed happier, but the sadness was still there. Hidden, but barely.

“Yeah, it’s quite a bore this year.” Tim swung his legs as he settled down beside her. He took a grape from the plate. “I wondered if we should have set up Two Face to rob the place or something?”

Cass looked at Tim, narrowing her eyes. “Bad joke.” She turned back to Bruce to find him whispering in Selina’s ear. “Bruce is sad.”

Tim followed her gaze. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“He’s sad. He hides it, but it’s stays.” Cass gave Tim the plate and wrapped her arms around herself. The simple black dress was comfortable, but she missed her pajamas. After discovering how comfortable they were, she would only change out of them after being bribed with the promise of more cozy pjs. She was on her twelfth set now.

“Well, his birthday is coming up. He always gets sad around this time. It’s probably because of (Y/N).” Tim took a bite of the baked brie, groaning at the taste. 

"(Y/N)?" Cass blinked. She remembered Alfred and Dick mentioning you in stories about Dick’s early Robin days. You were Bruce's oldest child. Apparently, you haven't been home in almost seven years.

"Yeah, they used to make a big deal out of it." Tim chuckled. "Dick told me about it. I wanted to try to do what they did, but...I think it will just make him sad that they won't come home."

"Why?" Cass studied Tim, noting how he wouldn't look her in the eye.

Tim pursed his lips. "I don't know why actually. Dick won't talk about it, neither will Alfred. Must have been a big deal though."

Cass looked back at Bruce. He was staring at the far wall, not really seeing anything. She tapped her chin as an idea slowly began to form in her head.

***

Dick was just settling down on his couch with a bowl of popcorn in hand and Barbara next to him when Cass suddenly climbed out from under the coffee table. He almost spilled the popcorn, but Barbara caught it.

"I knew she was there," Barbara laughed, reaching up to close Dick's jaw. She offered popcorn to Cass.

Cass' eyes brightened as she helped herself and sat cross-legged on the coffee table. "Thank you."

Dick's heart calmed. He chuckled to himself. "What brings you here, Cassie? You don't normally come to Bludhaven unannounced?"

Cass tilted her head, studying Dick with a carefulness that made his hair stand on end. "Bruce’s birthday."

"Yes, it’s next Sunday." Barbara sighed, muting the TV when a loud commercial started to play. "Do you need help finding something for Bruce?"

Cass nodded. She suddenly stood up and walked over to the wall. Dick leaned over, frowning slightly when she picked up the picture of you, him, and Bruce. It had been taken a year after Dick arrived in the manor. The three of you were in Alfred's garden, helping him tend it as punishment for breaking yet another vase.

"That's an old picture," Dick said after Cass held it out to him. "I think Bruce probably has that one."

Cass shook her head and pointed to you. You were so young, so bright eyed. Dick missed you so much that his heart shattered into pieces.

"That's (Y/N). You know about them, Cass," Barbara said after Dick couldn't get himself to speak.

"Bruce is sad. Misses (Y/N)." Cass pointed at you again. "We find (Y/N)."

"No, we can't do that. (Y/N) doesn't want to talk to Bruce." Dick swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Barbara eyed Dick curiously. "So you know where they are?"

Dick's eyes widened. He suddenly realized he might as well be in a viper's den. Cass leaned closer, narrowing her eyes.

"Fine, I do. (Y/N) didn't cut me out of their life. Jay probably knows too. I made sure to reintroduce him once he...got better." The blood ran out of Dick’s face as he found his phone was suddenly in Cass's hands.

"Cass, no." Barbara held her hand out for the phone. "I love you want to help Bruce, but what happened between (Y/N) and Bruce is between them."

Cass shook her head. "How long will they hurt each other?" She looked at Dick's phone before carefully handing it to Barbara.

Dick frowned. He wondered if maybe he should intervene? Seven years had been long enough. Eventually it would be too late for you and Bruce.

He tucked his phone back in his pocket. Now wasn’t the time to revisit the past. He wrapped his arm around Barbara’s shoulders.

“Cass, you aren’t staying?” Barbara asked. Dick blinked, finding Cass by the window.

“No, enjoy your night.” She opened it swiftly and leaped out into the night. Dick hummed, turning to share a look with Barbara.

“I should be worried, shouldn’t I?” Dick bit his lip when Barbara shrugged. 

“Everything will be fine. Now Hunk-Wonder, start the movie.” She leaned forward, kissing him. All thoughts of you and Cass left his mind.

***

You paced your office at the D.E.O. “I don’t care what you have to do. Kill the project. We don’t mess with Gotham,” you snapped into your phone. The agent on the other end stammered. “No, cut it off now or I’ll be down there and you don’t want me down there.”

The agent sighed. “Yes, chief.” You hung up the phone, slamming it on your desk. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm down. 

“Fuck me.” You collapsed in your office chair and spun around to look out your window. It was the Gotham skyline. You snorted. It was missing the smog. Mister Bones thought it was funny to give you a Gotham projection on your fake window. You might have to slip him another exploding cigar again.

Your heart panged, but you pushed it away and turned back to your desk. There were files to look through, memos to send, mission to approve. You rubbed your eyes, wishing you could go home to your apartment. Maybe call the number that person in the bar gave you last weekend? 

However, you shook your head and opened the first file. In the corner of your eye, you noticed the date. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed past it and focused on the task at hand.

***

The manor library was quiet. Cass’ eyes were on the door as it swung open and Tim walked in. He was consumed by his tablet.

“Tim,” Cass said as she dropped down from the top shelf of the bookshelf and landed silently behind him. 

Tim flinched, almost dropping his tablet. “Geez, Cass.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand against his chest. 

“Bruce’s birthday is in three days.” She held up three fingers. “We need to get (Y/N) here.”

“You’re still on that, huh?” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s not a matter we should meddle with. Have you talked to Dick?”

Cass nodded. “He will not help, but I got their number.” She tapped her temple. “We find (Y/N) and bring them here. For Bruce.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Like kidnap them? (Y/N) was pretty much a badass. Even if we get them here, then what?” He reached out and put a hand on Cass’ shoulder. “We can’t make them get along. Do you even know why they fought?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter.” Cass brushed Tim away. “Time is short, life is short. We make this happen because we are family.”

A big sigh escaped Tim. Cass smiled, knowing she won. “Okay, okay. I’ll help, but this was your idea. If this blows up, it’s all your fault,” Tim said, handing Cass his tablet. “Type in their number, let’s see what we can find.”

Cass wanted to dance. She knew this would a birthday Bruce would never forget.

***

You knew something was wrong from the moment you stepped into your apartment. Carefully setting down your keys and bag of takeout on the side table, you pulled out your collapsed baton and flipped it to it’s full length. 

A breeze blew through the window. You raised an eyebrow. “Dick? Jason?” You called, turning the corner to your kitchen quickly only to find no one there. Goosebumps rose on your skin as you heard a creak down in your bedroom. 

You moved silently down the hall. A sharp breath gasped behind you. You spun, aiming the baton to hit the person in the face. “Ouch, my nose,” a boy in a Robin suit said, stumbling back and holding his face.

“Why the fuck are you in my house?” You kicked his feet out from under him and held him down with a foot on his throat. He was young, dark hair. Standard Robin. Racking your brain, you tried to remember what his name was. Dick mentioned him once or twice. “Tim, right?”

“Yeah, nice to meet you.” He gripped your ankle. “Can you get off?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” A soft almost silent thump came from behind you. You raised your hand and caught a fist that shot out of the darkness next to you. “Batgirl?”

“Yes.” She stepped out into the light. You took in her in. She was little, but strong. Her face hidden by her mask completely. “We’re here because of Bruce.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You removed your foot from Tim’s neck and stepped back to eye the new Batgirl. What was her name? Jason mentioned she was the daughter of David Cain. Trained to be the ultimate living weapon, but she chose her own path. Cass? That was what he called her?

She helped Tim up. You threw him a box of tissues for his nose. “What does D...Bruce want?” Your gut twisted at the slip. You made yourself stop calling him Dad years ago. It made it less painful.

“Bruce is sick,” Cass said, tilting her head. The look that Tim gave her left you doubting it. 

“And that has to do with me because?” You turned your back on them and went to grab your food by the door. The two followed you to the kitchen as you got out a plate. After a moment, you grabbed two more. 

“He misses you,” Tim said. His nose made him sound stuffed up. You took out an ice pack from your freezer and handed it to him. He gave you a bloody smile, pressing it to his face. 

“Right.” You opened containers, splitting food among the three plates. Luckily, you always bought more than you could eat. Leftovers were must with the D.E.O demanding schedule.

“He does.” Cass took a seat, pulling off her mask. You paused, noting she looked very much like Lady Shiva. Now it all made sense. “You need to come to him.”

You set plates in front of them. “How did you even find out where I live? Or anything about me for that matter?”

Tim and Cass shared a look. 

“I’m going to kill Dick,” you muttered under your breath. “What do you want to drink?” You dug into your fridge. 

“Thanks,” Tim said as he happily took a can of soda. Cass stayed with water. You joined them with your own drink.

“Thank you for feeding us.” Cass’ voice was so soft. You smiled at her. 

“Well, you are family, I guess.” You watched as Tim happily dug into his plate. “Bruce is always picking up new kids.”

Cass frowned, ignoring the food. “You’re angry.”

You took a bite of your food. “At Bruce, I was. Now I’m just...over it.” You shrugged. “He’s going to be him. Nothing I can do about it.”

“He is stubborn. Runs in the family.” Tim took a sip of his soda, smirking when you glared at him. “Alfred said it, not me.”

Alfred’s name made your heart ache. You needed to call him more often. “Yeah, I see you’ve taken to the role of annoying kid siblings very nicely. Dick must be feeling the karma now.” You laughed. “He’s the worst. Always messing with me.”

“Dick didn’t tell us where you were, we found you on our own.” Cass poked at the food on the plate, wrinkling her nose slightly. “Bruce’s birthday is tomorrow.”

You sighed, pushing your plate away as your stomach soured. “I know.”

“Come.” Cass reached out to touch your hand. 

“It’s not that simple.” You flinched away from her. Tim glanced between the two of you, eyes wide. “Some things you can’t come back from.”

“Why?” Cass tilted her head.

You stood up suddenly, taking your plate to the counter. “He wished I’d never been born. Said I was a mistake. I told him he should have died in the alley with his parents.” You winced at the sharp intakes of breath behind you. “But it’s fine.”

“You’re tired.” Her chair scraped and suddenly she was beside you. “You hurt. Bruce hurts too. It’s time to forgive.”

Your temper flared, but you let out a slow breath to cool it. “Why does it matter so much to you?” 

Cass swallowed hard. “Bruce needs you. He isn’t...whole.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “I know people who have regrets because they let things fester. I don’t want that for our family. Jason has made amends, now you should.”

“Well, Jay always needed Bruce. Even when he was younger.” You pursed your lips. Jason craved Bruce’s attention more than anything. Still did. You remembered being jealous, but it gave you time to pursue your own interests without Bruce noticing. “I don’t care.”

“(Y/N), I know it’s not my place and I just met you today, but you’re basically like my sibling with how much Alfred and Dick talk about you,” Tim said. You turned to look at him. He played with his fork, not meeting your eye. “I lost my mom and dad. I wish every day that I could tell them I love them one last time. Bruce isn’t getting younger and things are getting more dangerous...well, I think you don’t want to regret not reaching out or at least trying, right?” 

You sighed. Cass nudged your arm. You glanced between the two of them. “Fine.” 

Cass smiled, eyes lightening up. “Really?” Tim dropped his fork in surprise.

“I’ll go, but don’t get your hopes up. Bruce is still a stubborn pig.” You rolled your eyes as Cass suddenly hugged you. You blinked at the touch before gently patting her back. Tim hesitated, but you opened your other arm and let him join too. “For what it’s worth, it was nice to meet you two at last either way.”

“Ditto.” Tim grinned. Cass just buried her face deeper into your shoulder.

***

Bruce rolled his eyes at the sound of clattering in the kitchen. “Alfred wouldn’t be happy to find you in here,” he said as he opened the door to find Dick, Tim, Barbara, and Stephanie in the middle of attempting to make breakfast.

Dick and Tim were covered in flour. Barbara was by the stove, frying what looked to be turkey bacon. Steph happily chopped fruit. 

Bruce noticed the swelling around Tim’s nose. He made a note to ask him about it later.

“Alfred asked us to help,” Dick said, pushing Tim away from him. Tim laughed, grabbing a towel to try to clean up. 

“He did?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“Alfred is having tea with a guest out in the garden. He wanted you to join him once you woke up,” Barbara said, rolling her eyes at Dick and Tim. 

“Don’t worry. It’s not Selina.” Steph smirked as she ate a piece of banana. Bruce narrowed his eyes at her, but she just laughed. 

Bruce hummed. “Alright. Barbara, don’t let the boys near the stove.” He walked out with the sound of Dick and Tim’s protests behind him. A rare smile tugged at his lips. 

For the one hundredth time today, he missed you. He imagined you would have been in the kitchen, keeping Dick and Tim out of trouble while baking your special birthday breakfast that only you could make. His heart ached. Why did he push you away when he should have been pulling you close?

Cass was waiting by the doors to the garden. She skipped up to him and kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, frowning at the glee hidden in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Alfred’s waiting.” She gave him a quick hug and ran off. 

Bruce stepped out into the garden. He walked the path toward the place Alfred always had tea. Laughter reached his ears as he approached. He stopped just before the final corner, listening.

“That cannot be true. You must be pulling my leg,” Alfred said, chuckling in a way Bruce hadn’t heard in a long time. “They can’t have created a Superman musical.”

“Yep, it’s all the hype in NYC right now. Apparently, it got nominated for a few Tonys.” Bruce’s heart stopped. That voice. Could it be? Bruce peeked around the corner. “I think one of the songs goes like ‘Superman, he flies as much as he sings. Superman, he does all the things.’ Honestly, it’s stuck in my head,” you laughed hard. You were older, more mature.  A lump formed in his throat. His little baby grew up.

Alfred shook his head. “Unbelievable what the theater has become.” 

“I’ll get you tickets next time you’re in town,” you said, picking up your tea cup. 

Alfred clicked his tongue, standing up. “I’m happy you are finally home, Mx. (Y/N).” He poured another cup of tea in the third cup on the table. “Now I believe it’s time for me to go in and check on the others.”

“I’ll come with...” You stood up, stopping when you turned to meet Bruce’s eye. Bruce almost ducked back around the corner, but stopped himself. 

Alfred patted your shoulder. “You both have much to discuss.” He walked toward Bruce, leaning over to whisper. “Don’t you dare blow this, Master Bruce. I doubt you’ll get another chance.”

Bruce pursed his lips, watching as Alfred left. He hummed, turning back to you when you took a breath. 

“So...” You shoved your hands in your pockets, rocking on your feet like you used to do when you were a child. Bruce felt a smile tug at his lips. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” He approached you slowly. To your credit, you didn’t move away. “(Y/N)...you’ve grown.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that happens after seven years.” 

“I heard you are pretending to work for Broadway,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. The Batman in him wanted to interrogate you. The father in him cursed the Batman in this moment. “But you are actually working for the D.E.O.” 

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you looked over his head at the manor. “Sure, I am. I should have known that would be the first thing you would say.” Bruce could feel you distancing yourself. 

“I...” Bruce sighed. He pressed a hand over his mouth. “I always mess up with you, don’t I?”

Your eyes widened in slight surprise. “Yeah, you do. I suppose you do it to all of us except maybe the new kids. Tim and Cass seem very nice. Maybe a little too intrusive?”

Bruce blinked. He remembered Cass and Tim went off comms last night. Tim’s bruised nose made more sense. You always aimed for noses. A habit he tried to break you of. “They brought you here, didn’t they?”

“Mostly Cass, but Tim was there too.” You shrugged. “They convinced me to come. Cass wanted me here for your birthday because she said you missed me.” 

He blinked. Of course Cass would have noticed that. “That’s true.” Bruce took a step toward you. “So much. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way you make fun of me at every turn.” His chest was heavy with rare emotion. “You’re my child. I loved you since you were first put in my arms.” A lump formed in his throat. “I was angry and I didn’t mean what I said to you all those years ago. I’ve regretted every day since.”

A cloud covered the sun. Your face disappeared in the shadow. A low hum came from you. Bruce wondered if this was how everyone else felt when he responded with only an indecipherable hum. 

The cloud passed. Bruce saw tears in your eyes as the light revealed your face. “I’m sorry too. What I said in return...unforgiveable.”

Bruce opened his arms. “(Y/N), I’m happy you are home.”

You stared at him for a moment and suddenly you were flying into his arms. Breath left Bruce’s lungs. You were bigger and stronger now. “I love you, Dad.” You whispered softly, hiding your face into his shoulder.

“I love you too, my little cookie monster.” Bruce smirked when you scoffed, pulling away to look him in the eye.

“Don’t ever call me that again, old man.” You narrowed your eyes as Bruce laughed, clapping a hand on your shoulder. 

“Sure.” Bruce led you over to the tea table. “Now I want to hear everything.” You tensed, but Bruce held up his hands. “Nothing you don’t want to tell me and I actually prefer if you don’t tell me about the D.E.O.” 

You snorted. “Wow, you have gotten softer. I thought Dick and Jay were lying.” You took a seat and added sugar to Bruce’s tea. Bruce smiled, realizing you remembered how he took his tea.

“We’ll spar later and then you can see how soft I’ve become.” Bruce studied you. When you were younger, Alfred always claimed you looked a lot like Bruce. Bruce never could see it. He always saw your mother, but now, you were definitely his child and he couldn’t be prouder.

***

Cass tittered, watching you and Bruce from a window on the second floor. The two of you were laughing. Her lips pulled up in a big grin.

“How are they doing?” Tim asked suddenly. Cass jumped a little, narrowing her eyes as he laughed. He stepped up beside her to look out the window too. “I’m getting better at sneaking.”

“Better, but not great.” Cass snorted as Tim gasped. She ignored his protests. Bruce’s shoulders relaxed. His jaw loose, smile lines appeared on his face. She sighed.

“What?” Tim asked once he realized Cass wasn’t listening to him. 

Cass looked at Tim, reaching up to touch his bruised nose. Tim winced. “Bruce is happy now.”

Tim looked out the window. He smirked. “Yeah, I think he is.” Cass wrapped her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. Both of them kept their eyes on Bruce and you. The family was finally reunited.

[syd-djarin]

Leftovers (joel miller x f!reader)

a @katiexpunk & @sydneyinacoma oneshot collab

Summary: You’ve waited for what feels like forever to hear Joel say he’ll give you what you want, and what better day to be grateful you’re both now on the same page than Thanksgiving. Joel shows you just how thankful he is for you by giving you loads of his cum. Yep, that’s the fic. 

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI 

Word count: ~2.6K

Warnings: BREEDING KINK GALORE (if this isn’t your cup of tea, kindly move along), come play, rough sex, established relationship, thanksgiving, gentle sex, rough sex, creampie, kitchen sex, finger fucking, pet names, use of DADDY, use of MAMA, feral!joel, somnophilia, inappropriate use of kitchen island, spanking 

Authors Note: what started as a brilliant idea from Katie, turned into a breeding extravaganza by these 2 slutty smutty sisters. Happy Thanksgiving ;)

~honored to get to collab w the amazing @katiexpunk again for some depraved fantasies. she is a true gift to this world & i'm proud to call her a friend. ily a milli bby. <33333

Joel finger fucking his cum back into you under the dinner table wasn’t quite what you had planned for the evening. 

But it’s Thanksgiving, and you’re grateful.

___

In the warm glow of the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, you stand in the kitchen, in total Thanksgiving mode. This is the first year that you and Joel are hosting at your house and you couldn’t be happier. 

The dining room table is set for twelve, a symphony of warmth and welcome. It’s decked out with gleaming plates, polished silverware, and a giant cornucopia centerpiece that Maria and Tommy had dropped by earlier in the morning. 

In the kitchen, the turkey is roasting, the pies are resting, and the whole place smells amazing. Your apron's on, tied snuggling around your waist, and you're juggling pots, pans, and veggies like it’s nothing. 

As you're meticulously arranging a platter of hors d'oeuvres, the floorboards creak as Joel approaches. You’re too deep into hostess mode to notice his presence. 

Joel leans casually against the kitchen doorframe, a silhouette of quiet appreciation as he watches you move with purpose around the kitchen. His broad shoulders rest against the wood with his arms crossed, while his gaze, softened by admiration, follows you. The longer he watches you, the hungrier he gets. 

He takes a step into the kitchen and your eyes lock with his. Your face erupts in a warm smile as you drink him in; fresh from the shower, his hair damp and combed neatly back. His scent invades your senses, over the plethora of smells circulating throughout the kitchen. It’s warm and earthy and brings a sense of comfort, of home, of Joel. 

He takes a few short steps forward through the kitchen to be closer to you. “Wow,” he breathes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I can’t believe all of this is in our kitchen. You’ve really outdone yourself, sweetheart.” 

You move to close the gap between your bodies, and stand to face him. You raise your hand to his chest, feeling the warmth he exudes and the fabric of his white t-shirt and flannel under your palm. Him in a flannel always makes you weak in the knees, but today it’s an all-consuming feeling. 

You glance up at him, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction etched on your face. “Well, you know how I am when it comes to Thanksgiving, I just want everything to be perf–” . Before you can finish your sentence, Joel’s lips are crashing into yours. It’s soft, and you relish in the taste of it.

Joel’s kisses become more needy, gluttonous even. Try as he might, he can never get enough of you. He’s fusing your body to his, one hand clutching your hip and the other cradling the nape of your neck. 

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. You’ve been workin’ so hard – why don’t you take a break, hmm?” he whispers in your ear, nipping at the soft flesh of your lobe. “Come take a break on my cock.”

“Joel, we can’t – everyone is going to be here in like 30 minutes, there’s still so much to do,” you try to reason, but your body isn’t listening, and neither is he. 

“Don’t care, make ‘em wait. Need you. Now,” growling in your ear. 

“Plus, if my calculations are correct, I know you’re ovulating, and I bet your body is craving my cum, isn’t it, baby?” he says, grabbing you by your hips and walking you back to the kitchen island until the cool marble hits your lower back and he has you pinned.

You and Joel have discussed kids, but briefly. You were ready now, but he wanted to wait.

“Let me breed your tight little pussy, baby. Wanna have my cum overflowing deep inside of you, wanna fuck it into you so deep it’ll stay there all night,” he says, reaching his hand up your dress.  

“Joel, now? I know we’ve discussed having kids, but you said you wanted to ah,” – your ability to form words gets broken as he slips his thick finger through the side of your underwear and cards it through your slick folds. “You said you wanted to wait,” you conclude, your breath a little ragged. 

“Waited long enough haven’t we? Wanna give you what you want, sweetheart,” ghosting a fingertip over your clit. “Plus I can’t wait to see your pretty little tits engorged and your belly full of my baby,” he says.  

His words stir heat low in your belly, they’re what you’ve been waiting for him to say for so long. You’re practically dripping at the thought of him as a father, how good he’ll be to both of you. 

His intent is to fuck you, to ravage you with no protection or pills, to intertwine your lives together forever. His cock all but tells you as much. You reach your hand out to cup the thick shape of him through his denim jeans, feeling his engorgement and so desperately wanting to have him inside of you. 

“Please, daddy,” begging him to fill you up, somehow already knowing that ‘daddy’ will spur him on.

“Already calling me daddy now, huh baby?” Joel says, “I’ll show you daddy,” he adds, assisting you in helping him unbuckle his belt and jeans, growing impatient, wanting to be buried deep inside of you. As he drags his jeans and underwear down, you’re also impatient, and shimmy your underwear down to your knees and hike your dress over your hips, giving Joel unrestricted access to your needy cunt. 

Joel grabs you by your waist and pulls you into him in a passionate kiss before flipping you around and pushing you down onto the kitchen island, chest first so that you’re eye-level with one of the Apple Pies you made earlier that morning. You’re grateful for the clothing covering you there as the countertop is cool, but your nipples still peak in response to the sensation. 

Normally he’d take this slow, work you up to it, make you come once or twice before even attempting to fuck you, but right now he doesn’t care, nor does he have the time. Joel Miller has one goal, and one goal only right now. Joel, normally a bit of tease, skips straight to the part where he’s fucking you. 

He lets out a moan at the sight of your ass bent over, pussy drooling, pressed up against his hips. Unable to resist, he swats your ass, enjoying the way your cheek bounces on impact. 

Your wet and aching hole is just begging to be filled with him. He grabs his heavy cock by the base and spits down onto it before bringing his hand to stroke the length of it a few times, lubricated by his own saliva and the pre-cum that collects as he thumbs over his weeping tip. 

He taps your ass with the mushroom head of his cock and grabs your buttcheek with his free hand, spreading you open to him. You’re growing impatient and whine out another plea, “please, daddy, please fuck me.” It’s pathetic and desperate but you don’t care. 

Instead of a verbal reply, he responds by slamming his cock into you, causing you to jolt forward. 

He only gives you a few moments to breathe before he’s driving into you at a dizzying pace. Should any of your guests arrive early, they’re in for a scene straight out of Skinemax.

“Fuck, baby. Who are you gonna let breed this tight little pussy, hmm?” Joel hisses through his thrusts. 

“Only you, Daddy. Only you. P-please, fill my pussy up,” you purr. 

“That’s right. Daddy’s gonna knock his girl’s tight little cunt up good, fill you full o’me. Gonna fuck you until you can’t see straight,” he says. 

“Gonna make you a mama,” he adds for good measure, his breath a little ragged from the relentless pace he’s setting, hammering in and out of you, “gonna be such a pretty mama, baby.” The sound of his balls clapping against you is drowned out by your moans. 

“Joel, shit – ah, I’m gonna come, feels so good,” you say, your cheek flat against the countertop. His cock is so big and perfect, you’re practically helpless. No more than a woman without a lifevest, drowning in the sea of your impending orgasm. 

“That’s good, sweetheart – it will open your cervix up to me, my seed,” he responds, his jaw goes tense and he’s also not far off from his own release. He begins to set a rough, relentless tempo and begins to thrust into you deeper and harder, causing your walls to clench around him tighter. 

Your legs begin to shake, and the buzz of arousal pulses through you. The tip of him hits the soft, spongy spot inside of you that drives you crazy, and with a few more drags of his veiny cock, you’re gone. 

“Fuck, daddy! Yes,yes,yesss—” You come with a hoarse shout, body writhing underneath him. 

His cock is covered in your sweet release, your milky juices covering his rod put Joel in a tantric, animalistic state as he nears his own orgasm. You’re still shaking under him, your legs begin to wobble and he holds both of your hips as he slams himself into you balls deep. You’re hanging onto his forearm behind you, needing solace from the intense onslaught. 

The strength of his grip leaves bruises on your hips as he gives you one final, intentional thrust, and pauses with the tip of him right up against your cervix and your walls milk him for all he’s worth as he curses your name under his breath. 

You can feel the subtle pulses of his cock as he stays stuffed inside of you to the hilt, holding his cum where he wants it to go the most. You both stay there, heaving and fucked out, as he lets the final drips of his seed paint every internal surface of your sweet pussy. He presses gentle kisses on your shoulder blade and behind your ear; a stark contrast from the previous roughness. 

“I’m gonna pull out now, sweetheart. But don’t go to the bathroom, want you to keep my cum inside of you for as long as you can,” he says, still pressing you against the countertop. You let out a small hum of agreement, and he retreats from your hole and you whine at the loss. You just want to be full of him always. You wrap your hand under you to cup your mound to keep the warm cum from flooding out of you. 

Just as Joel is pulling up his jeans, the familiar chime of the doorbell tells you that your first guests are here. 

“I’ll get it, baby,” Joel says with a wink and cards his fingers through his now dry salt-and-pepper curls in an attempt to look like he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life. 

You stay there on the countertop as long as you can, before you hear voices in the foyer. You let out a sigh, not wanting to get up yet, wanting to stay in your filled-up bliss for a moment longer. You stand up to pull your underwear back in place and straighten out your dress. 

++++

Of course Tommy and Maria would be the first ones to arrive. Not only were the Miller brothers both incredibly attractive, but they both had the same belief that if you aren’t at least five minutes early, you’re late. 

“Tommy, Maria – hi, so lovely to see you, Happy Thanksgiving!” you say, your voice just a little too high. You stand in place behind the kitchen island and clamp your legs shut together tight, trying to pay no mind to the sticky, syrupy release that’s beginning to slowly drip out of you down your thighs. 

Maria responds with a similar greeting, and then trails on “This island really ties the room together,” Maria surveys the kitchen, admiring the updates Joel’s been doing around the house. 

“Thanks,” Joel replies, “We’ve been breaking it in. You know, with all the cooking and stuff. I think it’s the perfect addition to our home,” he adds, giving you a look that says and it won’t be the only perfect addition in about nine months. You feel your chest heat at Joel’s unsaid words. 

“Can I get either of you a drink,” you ask, effectively making the transition back to hostess as you wait for the rest of your guests to arrive. 

++++

Nighttime encroaching, your exhaustion takes hold of you. From preparing food all day, tidying up the house – with Joel's help, of course –  and an explosive orgasm – also with Joel’s help – your body aches, overcome with the need to sleep for 15 hours or more. 

Joel observes your depleted energy, feeling proud that some of it is his doing. He also knows that you’ll need lots of rest in the coming days, and he’s more than happy to take care of you.

So he decides to give you a boost of energy the best way he knows how. 

You try to retain any form of composure as he reaches his hand under the table, and grabs your upper thigh. He pauses there for a moment, but eventually trails his hands up under your dress to the damp fabric of your underwear. 

He pushes the soiled fabric to the side and sinks his thick finger into your wet hole, collecting the remnants of his release still gathered between the lips of your cunt. You try to hide your pleasure and near-gasps at the intense sensation behind the thin glass of your wine. 

“Gotta make sure it sticks, sweetheart,” Joel rasps, only for you to hear. 

You mask a moan with a laugh, as if Joel said something funny, instead of the lewd remark he made. 

Joel finger fucking his cum back into you under the dinner table wasn’t quite what you had planned for the evening. 

But it’s Thanksgiving, and you’re grateful.

++++

After a successful dinner, you and Joel say goodbye to the last guests to leave. You shut the door behind them, and lock the deadbolt. You turn your back to face the door, and Joel’s eyes are trained on yours. You can see it from the look in his eyes, the want and the hunger that simmers behind his dilated pupils. 

Joel walks over to you and brings his fingers under your jaw, tilting you to look up at him. He plants a soft kiss on your lips, and you melt into him. 

“You did a lot of work today, baby. C’mere, let’s get you into bed,” he offers, tapping your outer thigh and you get the hint. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he picks you up and carries you up the stairs to your bedroom. 

Once in bed, Joel takes his time with you. He languidly eats you, savoring the taste of you like you’re better than the Apple Pie he had for dessert a mere hour ago. He would attest that you are, in fact, better than the dessert from earlier. 

He’s affectionate, tender, peppering kisses everywhere his lips can reach between the soft pecks, he tells you how much he loves you, and how he can’t wait to see you grow your first baby. He fucks you, slow and intentionally, and gives you another load of his cum. 

“I’m staying inside of you until you’re knocked up, sweetheart,” he says, his hard cock softening inside of you, plugging you up so his cum can’t escape. As he lays there playing with your hair, you hear his breath slow and he eventually lets out the soft twitches of early sleep.  

You place your hand on your belly over his, where he keeps a tight grip on you, pulling you close to his chest, even in his sleep. Even if you’re not pregnant yet, you know you’re sure as hell gonna have a fun time trying. 

“Night, baby,” you say to him, hoping this time next year he’s not the only one you’ll be calling that.

[gatitties]

Dear friend

─Dio x fem!reader (Platonic) [Phantom Blood]

─Summary: You find yourself tied to the infamous Dio Brando, creating a strange relationship despite being complete opposites.

─Warnings: occ and a little angst i think¿, Dio is soft in this one

I was a little delulu while watching jojo's and listening to sad music late at night led me to write this 😔🤌🏻

Dio Brando's life was not good in general, condemned to live in misery since he was born, with the only source of love and hope dying little by little, his mother was the only thing that kept him sane during his childhood, once his mother's life vanished in just a breath, he thought he would never feel what he used to call humanity again. His father could not be considered human, after all he had monstrous and condemnable actions, being only scum deserving of the most painful death.

He thought that he would be condemned in a spiral of darkness and filth, that his only goal in life would be to wait for his father's death and take over the fortune of the Joestar family once they adopted him, then another ray of light broke his dark shell, where his heart bled with pain, where the most sensitive part of the human being was hidden, even from him, who thought that nothing could give him back that lost humanity.

Dio was making some money as usual, betting a couple of coins to win more in that filthy bar, the carefree conversations and fights were a dull noise to him at this point, but the explosions, the burning smell and the screaming of someone in the kitchen wasn't something that happened often, that was the first time he saw you.

You ran out of the kitchen with teary eyes, coughing from the smoke you had inhaled, some parts of your clothes were burned, your cheeks were red from the heat and the embarrassment of being scolded by your boss while everyone watched, although you recovered soon when you were sent to do anything other than cook, it definitely wasn't your strong point.

Neither was waiting tables since you tripped over your own feet several times, your balance betrayed you at the worst moments and your hands seemed to be made of butter, but you remained firm with your optimistic attitude, that, and you needed the money, you were not going to leave this job nor would you allow such a quick dismissal.

Dio thought you were stupid to say the least, clumsy, distracted, inept… but for some reason he couldn't take his eyes off your figure when you were juggling to leave the beers on the table next to him, he couldn't figure out if you were purposely ignoring the lustful gazes of some depraved people or were you really that ignorant of your surroundings, he found it endearing in a way.

"Hey you, pay attention to the damn game!"

He grimaced, fed up with the man, he made his final move, winning and enraging the guy he was playing against, he threw the coins across the table, but before Dio could grab them his face was smashed into the plate of hot food making a thud that stopped the sound throughout the bar for a second.

It happened before he could react, he was planning to hit that old geezer to break his nose, but someone had gotten ahead of him, before he realized it, a burnt frying pan hit the bastard's face, causing blood to drip from his mouth, some teeth shooting out from its place.

"Don't waste food, you stuck-up idiot!"

Your expression changed to a frown, although everyone ignored your outburst, it wasn't the first time you hit someone for doing something that bothered you, but coming from a family with limited resources made you appreciate every little thing, you were a brave fool, you could mess with the most dangerous person on the entire face of the earth just for standing up for your values and ideals, and that, that's what caught Dio Brando's attention.

He didn't really look for interactions with you, you only caused him a slight curiosity, but there were many people just as stupid as you, living a miserable life, accepting their fate without aspiring to much more, but destiny seemed to want to intertwine your paths, that, or he just began to notice your presence more once he noticed you.

Of course, you also began to notice him more, it's not every day you find people with such striking appearance in the suburbs you used to frequent, especially people your age, and especially those who move through the darkness like you.

You accepted all kinds of assignments, even if they were dangerous, you always had luck on your side and a handful of sharp or blunt objects, aim was the only thing that probably stands out about your physical abilities along with stealth, you had learned to move like a rat, dark alleys, damp sewers… you knew every nook and cranny of this city by heart.

And that was how your first real interaction happened, you were both hired to do some smuggling for a good amount of money, you had worked in pairs before, but meeting the person you were strangely seeing everywhere lately was strange, you weren't going to turn down the job anyway, money is money.

What started with some ups and downs in your relationship was how curt Dio was, his harsh comments and lack of empathy made you frown, you scolded him occasionally for being so impolite and rude, not only to you but to other people who didn't deserved it. It was a tug of war between the two, complete opposites attracting each other.

When the relationship began to heat up, or rather when the remains of goodness that remained in a broken child made a little hole in his bleeding heart, it was when you took care of a drunken Dio, you found him raving, beating to death some poor devils who had decided to mess with him that night, you would have suffered the same fate if you hadn't been lucky enough that before he hit you he tripped on a rock, hitting his head. You took it from there and helped him without asking for anything in return, which caused him to distance himself for a few weeks after coming back looking different.

"What's wrong with you? Huh?"

You pointed accusingly at the blonde, who slapped your finger away from his face, letting out some complaints.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't try to play that with me, the time working with you was enough to be able to see through you, ah, I know, did you find a partner!?"

His eyebrow twitched at your new explosion of emotions, grabbing your head to keep your body still as you started to surround him asking a bunch of questions about his supposed partner.

"No."

"Aww" you deflated at his harsh response, recovering immediately "Anyway, seriously, there's something weird about you, I can see it in your eyes."

You moved a little closer to his face once he released you, looking directly into his captivating crimson eyes, although in truth you were just looking at your reflection on his gaze, sticking out your tongue as if you were posing for a photo, he looked in disbelief, you were too stupid and he didn't understand why, why after leaving those suburbs did he return? Why did he keep visiting you if he no longer needed you for anything? Why did he come back after moving to a better life? His mind couldn't understand it, but his heart won this battle and he let the only good feelings guide him towards your clumsy person.

"Whatever makes you sleep better."

He found himself enjoying your presence, your voice, your silly thoughts, your insignificant emotions more than usual, he found another source of light that illuminated the cracks in his shattered heart, minimally healing his inner child, and in turn, he repudiated every inch of your being, so kind and pure for someone like him, were you ignoring his evil nature or were you really that naive to not notice all the red flags around him? He didn't know it, but he would prefer that it stay like this for a while longer, all of his plans were moving forward and you weren't part of them.

You silently observe the sunset, the warm colors gradually disappearing as you lean against the half-broken cement wall, this building used to be your meeting point for the assignments you had together. You look back at Dio, who is unusually thoughtful, you also immerse yourself in your own thoughts, you were conscious, conscious of everything that Dio was and will be, you only needed some information that he let escape between the lines and his behavior of greatness to know that your friend was someone evil, someone who wouldn't think for a second about ending someone's life if they were a threat, you knew it and yet… Was it selfish to want to maintain this friendship? Even knowing that he wasn't someone to admire? Someone who repudiated half the world? That didn't agree with most of your values? Well, you were human, and selfishness is one of the facets that characterizes humanity, you never asked for much in your life, you wanted to grant yourself this whim despite everything.

"I don't know what will happen from now on, but thank you for all these years, I never thought I could have this kind of connection with someone."

Your neck almost broke from the speed at which you moved it to look at Dio, who was facing away from you, there was no way he had said that, expressing so many emotions and feelings like never before, were you dreaming? Was this some kind of alternate reality? Your eyes began to water because of his words, yes, you were a sentimental softie.

"That's so nice Dio, you should say that more often, instead of 'shut up bitch' or 'you suck'!"

You jumped on his back like a baby koala, sniffling on his shoulder while he froze for a second, trying to shake off your crying form, you seemed as fragile as a twig at that moment but you clung to him like a damn leech. He took you off of him after a couple of minutes, unexpectedly his arms surrounded your figure, seeing you buried in a mass of muscles for the first time, you were going to make a stupid comment, but for once you decided to shut your big mouth, passing your arms through his back.

No one dared to say anything, well, the look he gave you after he separated from you was a silent threat so that you wouldn't say anything about this moment of weakness he had, after all Dio has no weaknesses, he is superior to everyone.

Certainly, everything changed from that day, the relationship cooled because he disappeared from your life, you understood that the change in lifestyle was what caused it and if in a certain part it was true, you wanted to check that he was doing it right, it wasn't the case when you discovered that he was trying to kill Mr. Joestar, who welcomed him with open arms.

Your heart squeezed at the information, you knew that your friend was not a saint, you knew that he was a horrible person with others, but you remained selfish in your decision not to see him as human scum, to continue loving him like any other person. Your thoughts didn't last long though, at least not with the new version of him.

You were scared when you found him in your room one night, in the darkest corner, staring as if you were a prey, you could see his agitated breath coming out like smoke from a chimney, his eyes were still the same, but they scared you.

"Has the cat eaten your tongue? It's me, Dio! I don't think you've forgotten about me, I haven't, dear friend."

"You're not- you're not my friend…"

Your words came out shaky, the lump in your throat growing the closer the blonde got, this had to be a bad dream, you had heard that your friend had died after trying to kill Jonathan Joestar, although his body was not found among the rubble of the mansion, this couldn't be true.

"No? Maybe you're just confused, I'm still me, I've discovered a new way of living! I don't need that bullshit humanity, a longer lasting, stronger way of life! I am my best version."

You grabbed the lamp on your nightstand, making him smile at your fear, he knew you used to throw random things when you were angry or scared.

"You are not Dio! You are not the Dio that I know… your look is no longer the same, even when it was mischievous and evil before, it contained that shine of hope."

"Hope? That's pathetic, but you're lucky, I'm giving you the opportunity to live with dignity as a superior being! Just for being you, my only friend."

A hand covered your mouth, knowing that you would scream when he was next to you in the blink of an eye, he laughed at your reaction, resting his chin on the curve between your shoulder and neck, he grimaced as he felt you licking his hand, at least you were still stupidly brave to do that.

"Well? Will you agree to reign over all those filthy humans? You can live forever, without worries like money, no more shitty jobs."

You closed your eyes tightly in a last attempt to wake up if this was a dream, accepting that it wasn't, you moved away from his body, almost falling off the bed, you turned your body slightly to face him directly, oh that certain look of yours, it made him smile.

"I'm sorry, but the Dio I know is dead, and I refuse to accept a deal from a stranger."

He began to laugh lightly without taking his eyes off you, in another blink his imposing figure caught you, feeling again the mass of muscles imprisoning you between chest and biceps, your face pressed to his heart made you listen to the calm rhythm of it.

"I didn't expect anything less from someone as stupid and clumsy as you, I honestly knew that you were going to reject eternal youth, it's a real shame… but coming here was more of a whim."

His grip loosened a little, he rested his head on top of yours, closing his eyes for a few seconds, taking in as much of your scent as he could and it was gone as quickly as it came, you were barely able to react as the heat around you disappeared in a fraction of second, you looked with doubt at the open window, noticing how he was watching you from somewhere, you frowned, still with your lamp in your hand you threw it out the window, closed it as quickly as you could, you got under the sheets as if you were going to scare away the monsters of the night, closing your eyes although with a small smile when you heard the moan of Dio, who had been hit by your impeccable shot.

If you weren't his dear friend, you would have been three meters underground for a long time.

[iveseenstrangerthings]

must be love - a Steve Harrington imagine

summary: just a shorter imagine about a reader who works at a diner and Steve comes in with the rest of the friendship group (which you’re also part of). There’s a mutual pining between Steve and reader and eventually Steve decides to do something about it, just a lil fluffy imagine which got me going

warnings: brief descriptions of food and eating

word count: 2.5k

notes: shout out to one of my fave SNL skits of Debbie Downer thx for playing a small part in this imagine. if anyone has any ideas for an imagine plsss request i’d be happy to do some requests !! have a great day :) master list here

                                                   ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“Have a great night, guys!” You call as the most miserable family you’ve ever served in your entire time of being at the diner slumps out the door. A small laugh escapes your lips, almost in disbelief at what you’ve just put up with, as you start to clear their plates. Clinks of metal cutlery scraping fired ceramic plates fill your ears as you gather everything in an impressive stack. Guiltily, you take the gracious tip they’ve left you and you suddenly feel awful for whining to yourself about how unpleasant they’d been. 

Behind the till, you place their cash tip into the tip jar and then take the plates to the back to be washed. The heat of the kitchen still overwhelms you as you place the stack of dirty dishes into the hot sink full of water. “Busy out there, yet?” Deborah, the main pot washer calls out from the break room, her evening drawing out slowly in front of her at the slow stream of customers. 

“Not quite yet, still early though, Debs!” You call back cheerily, behind her back you all call her Debbie Downer, no matter what you say Deborah will reply with something depressing that ultimately kills the mood of the conversation.

Last month, when you told her you’d got a new cat, she had replied, “Feline AIDS is the biggest killer of domestic cats. Hope you got it checked!” 

Pushing back through the swing doors, you see a few more groups had been shown to tables and you were ready to go over to welcome them in. One group you see, is your friends. 

An unsettled feeling stews inside you, you love that they come here to see you, but you hate how it makes you feel pressured. Dustin loves the shakes, Mike and El the burgers, and Steve loves to come just to see you. Not that you know that. You’re partial to a spill of a drink, or a burger to the floor as it slips off the plates as you try to juggle too many, and you do not want Steve to see anything like that. You’ll just have to try not to show off your plate stacking skills this evening. 

Whipping your pad out from the front of your grease-stained apron, you walk to their table and paint a smile on your face, beaming from ear to ear. “Fancy seeing you here.” You approach the table and stand next to Steve, who looks up at you with a small smile painted across his rose-tinted lips. 

“Do you even need your little pad, surely you know my order by now.” Dustin is quick to comment on his food, he must be starving. He didn’t mean it in an asshole way, you’re close enough with each other that you rarely take offence to anything now.  

You guffaw at his request and scribble down his order. Peeking over the top of your pad to see Steve slightly shaking his head and raising his eyebrows at him. “Max?” Your attention goes to Max now, awaiting her order.

“Just a chocolate shake, please.” She offers, sheepishly pushing the menu back towards you. You don’t push her on an order for food, as you know any of the other waitresses would, you just nod and jot down the code for a shake. She’s still recovering from Vecna, and you understand her lack of appetite, which she is grateful for. 

After finally scribbling down the group’s order in your illegible scrawl, which is only decipherable by the chefs, you turn to Steve who’s perched on the end of the booth. “And for you, Steve?” Your pen is ready in between your fingers, and you give him a patient smile. 

He quickly skims the menu, even though he knew what he wanted the minute he walked in. He relays his order to you before gathering up all the menus, making your job easier and quicker. “Thanks.” You take them from his hands and his cheeks flush with colour. He’s aware of the intense rush of heat to his face, as is everyone else at the table. Your heart skips and beats intensely in your chest as you relish in the sight of his flushed cheeks. You know you caused his blush, and it gives you a slight spring in your step as you return to the host stand with their menus, knowing you have the power to make Steve Harrington tint with crimson. 

Whilst his ears are trained into the conversation happening around him, he lets his eyes divert to your whereabouts. He watches intently as you balance the plates with skill before setting them all down on a nearby table, talking to your customers with expressive hands and giving them an effervescent smile before turning and going to attend to another table. He sees how your tongue slips out of your mouth, ever so slightly, in concentration as you place glacier cherries onto the top of a sundae before carrying it to an over-excited child who claps with your arrival. Your smile at the young boy’s happiness and delightful manners stays on your face as you make your way back over to the serving hatch, the bell ringing out continuously with the Friday night rush of families, friends and couples. 

“Dude.” Dustin starts, leaning in closer to Steve as he breaks away from the rest of the conversation. Steve leans in too. “Why don’t you just ask her out already?” The prospect of doing such a thing is enough to bring sweat to the palms of his hands. Noticeably so that he has to rub his palms over his jeans to get the wetness off. His mouth feels dry, so he runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth and swallows what little saliva he has down his throat. “It’s so painfully obvious.” 

“What is?” He quickly retorts, turning his face too fast so it’s left lingering extremely close to Dustin’s. He pulls back slightly and let’s Dustin observe how you make him feel. The slight tinge of pink has returned to his cheeks, and he hasn’t stopped rubbing his palms over his jeans. Dustin just laughs slightly and gives his head a shake before giving Steve an insignificant nod, indicating your return with an armful of their food. 

“Alrighty.” You say as you settle their food down on the table, sliding the plates in the direction of whoever ordered what. The table digs into your stomach slightly as you stretch across to push El’s plate to her in the far corner of the booth, meaning you slightly lean across Steve. “‘Scuse me.” You gently breathe as you pull back, the smell of your perfume lingering after you push back from the table. He quickly inhales, wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb and then grabs the cutlery. “Max just let me grab your milkshake, I’ll be right back.” You dust your hands off on your apron as you make your way back to the hatch, collecting Max’s milkshake before ambling back over to their table. “There you go, sweetie.” You turn her shake towards her and her eyes light up, looking at Lucas with wide eyes in admiration at her humongous milkshake. You smile at the pair; glad Max has someone as sweet and caring as Lucas. “Okay, think that’s everything.” Your eyes skim everyone’s plates to ensure you haven’t missed anything. “Can I get you guys anything else? Anymore sauces?” 

Everyone replies with a cacophony of “No” and “Thank you” and you nod at them all, the boys already starting to shovel their food into their mouths as if they haven’t eaten for days. Max seems settled and Steve thanks you again before turning to his plate to eat. 

The next half an hour passes in a blur of sundaes, hamburgers, spilt milkshakes, and grumbles from Deborah as you take in another stack of greased up, ketchup smeared plates. As you stand at the host station placing clean cutlery neatly into white napkins, Steve wanders over to you as he opens his wallet in front of him. You place your hands down on the counter, keeping the napkin well wrapped up in your hands. “Hey!” You beam at him as he approaches. “Was everything okay with the meal?” You finally place the neatened cutlery and napkins into their box and return your full attention to Steve. 

“Was great. Five-star service, too.” The corner of his mouth hooks up into a smile and you reciprocate it broadly. “But I was wondering if I could pay now?”

You nod, taking their order from the small pile of tabs that you keep by the cash register. “Sure, you just wanna pay for yours?” You start keying in the price for Steve’s meal, but he cuts you off.

“No no, I’ll get everyone’s.” His offer is laced with the kindness he exudes, like warmth coming from a mug of coffee on a chilly day. 

Your head tilts to one side and your eyebrows lift slightly, “Steve, that’s awful kind of you but are you sure?” 

He nods, pulling out some cash he’s sure will cover it as he patiently lets you tot up the total for the meals on the register. “I’m totally sure.” He seems nervous, you notice from the corner of your eye his weight keeps shifting from one foot to the other. A small smirk forms on your lips, then quickly dissipates as you get ready to read the total out. 

He hands the cash over without question and tells you to keep the change for the tip jar. “Thank you so much.” You hold the cash in your hands gratefully as you look back at him. He’s still stood behind the host stand, his eyes travelling nervously around you. As you drop the cash into the jar, he leans onto the station with his elbows.

“I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie? After you finish up?” The words tumble out of him quickly, but his question is laced with reluctance, like he’s already prepared himself for you to say no.

You study his features, the soft-hearted nature of him shines through. Him paying for all the kids’ meals and still asking you out afterwards, you feel on top of the world that he’s asked you. You think of how sublime it would be, spending the evening with Steve after work, but you don’t finish up until close tonight and you fear that would be too late for him, making him waste the night waiting for you. Although it would feel anything but a waste to Steve. A feeling of defeat washes over you as you worry this could be the only time Steve asks you to do something, and you fear he will think that you’re making an excuse. “I’m here till close tonight.” The words fall regretfully from your mouth, and you see his features soften with disappointment.

He nods quickly, pursing his lips as he pushes back from the counter, giving it a tap as he readjusts his posture, standing tall. “Oh, yeah. Totally. No that’s fine.” 

“But I could come over, when I’m done? I know it would be late, but I could bring us something to eat, and we could just, I dunno, chill?” 

Inside his chest, his heart soars around like someone has ignited him and soon the sweaty palms return. He came over here expecting you to say no, but he figured it was worth a shot. He did not expect, however, for you to then suggest another idea. His worries and anxieties about asking you now seem so farcical when all along you had wanted the same. 

He’s almost taken aback and has to bring himself back to the reality of being here in the diner, with you. “No, no it wouldn’t be too late. That’d be great.” He taps the counter again, the pair of you just looking over at one another, waiting for someone to speak. The pair of you never run out of things to say, never find it awkward to make conversation, never shut up really. But now, you both stand enthralled at the idea of spending some time together, just the two of you. 

“I’ll pick you up?” He poses the question to you in a gesture of what seems like good will, but it’s really just a way to get to spend more time with you. 

A torrent of emotion as intense as a winding river of rapids course through your veins and rise the temperature of your body, causing your skin to prickle intensely like tiny bolts of electricity hitting your skin. The flow of your emotional river ebbs, the source of the river stemmed as an anxious thought enters your stream of consciousness. You want Steve to see you at your best, not sweaty and smelling of cooking after a five-hour shift. “I will stink of grease.” You admit to him awkwardly. The perfume bottle you keep in your bag is a God send and you hope it will help to mask at least some of the smell.

He puffs air out between his lips and a smile softens across his face. “I really couldn’t care less.” He pushes his hands back from the counter where they’d been resting lazily, his muscles contracting underneath the sleeves of his t-shirt and you eye it quickly. The way the shape contorts and flexes under his skin as he pushes himself up from the counter again makes your eyes widen and your stomach throb. “Pick you up around ten, is that when you finish?” 

“Yes! That sounds great, thank you!” You radiate, your words landing like a verbal high five. 

He turns away, wordlessly, and gathers the kids up to leave. You click a few buttons on the register before finalising the receipt. They all wave and shout goodbyes as they make their way out of the diner, leaving as you turn to see your favourite group of regulars sat waiting for you to go over and take their order.

Outside, the wind turns to a chill and the clouds blow clear, leaving the sky black and bright above them. “So...” Dustin starts, elbowing Steve as they make their way to the car. The rest of the kids making their way to their buses home. “Did it work?”

Steve lifts his chin and laughs, “Quit making it sound like I’ve been doing some sort of experiment.” 

Dustin just rolls his eyes and waits, expectantly. 

“Yeah, it did ‘work’.” His fingers go up into air quotations before twisting the key to start the car with a low growl. “I’m seeing her after work.”

“TONIGHT?!” Dustin jeers in a high-pitched voice that makes his voice box squeal in delight. “Dude, how many times have I told you. She feels the same.”

“You think?” Steve quizzes, passing the conversation back to Dustin. 

“Hell yeah.” Dustin smirks, showing Steve all his ‘pearls’ as Dustin likes to say. “Offering to see you after a shift at the diner?” He tilts his head and brings his eyes down playfully. “Must be love.” His voice exudes sickly sweet confidence and Steve backs out the car park, turning up his radio and rolling the windows down, despite the chill. He drives back happily and hasn’t once tried to deny Dustin’s final remark. 

[igglemouse]

authors note: ignore the day, it's wednesday!

It's me again! Yep, still very pregnant and like usual craving pancakes as if my life depends on the. They are a good way to start a Wednesday morning, I guess they are a good way to start any morning. Stacked fluffy syrupy goodness!

As for my past well, life is all about moving forward, right? So let's do that. Not talking about my past and no dragging up my history with former and now very dead drug lords. Whatever happened in Selva stays in Selva and that's where I'd like to leave it.

Oh, you want to know if I feel guilty about it? Of course not. It was either me or him and as far as I'm concerned I've saved so many lives by eliminating that man from humanity. The world is better for it. Still...the blood...

"Wow, you are...scowling?" I remark in a somewhat tentative tone. It's rare to see Pascal's face twisted like this. Furrowed brows, dark eyes fixed on the plate as if it had wronged him, and without a word he's stuffing my glorious pancakes into his mouth. Not even savoring how perfectly made they were. It feels like he's just here to eat and nothing else but I can't help but ask; "Everything okay?"

His jaw tightens on a mouthful of food and I can see his adams apple drop as he swallows it as if he's a snake, ready to strike. "Did you see what they were saying about me last night?"

I blink. Of course I did not. As you know I do not follow fútbol. So I give my head a little shake. "No?"

This man kicks a ball for a living and I still do not get it. The world cares so much on every pass, every kick, every tackle, every card, and for me it is just a game. One he's going to make a lot of simoleons playing yet still. At least it brings me to the present and away from my past.

"On social media they-" he starts, still pissed, but I aim to cut him off before he gets going.

"Mi querido, you really can't worry about what others are saying about you, random people. Most of those guys probably wish they were you. None of it is true-"

"If you saw my recent games maybe you'd know some of it is true," after that he goes quiet and clearly wants the conversation to end so it does.

Since moving in with Pascal I've learned that when he is in a bad mood the best thing I can do is give him space and let him be. He likes to stew or better yet, he likes to work out his anger. Which is exactly what he does after breakfast but this time he's juggling the ball instead of taking it out on the now overused treadmill.

I spend some time cleaning the place since it's getting a little dirty and dusty and I do refuse to live in a dirty place!

So you could say my day was off to a so-so start. Nothing terrible but nothing amazing either. I expected the rest of the day to move along as usual and basically just be a buffer before the big day comes. You know, delivery day.

Unfortunately, it was not going to be a great day because the moment I opened my mailbox there was a letter addressed to me and letting me know that since I do not have a permit to operate my food stand in the park that I could no longer do so.

That's odd. It was pretty visible and no one stopped me then but I think we all know what this is about and who is behind this. Not sure there is much I can do. I could get a permit and open it back up but I really don't need this right now so consider the matter tabled.

But the day continues on, like it always does, indifferent to how I'm feeling and I'm feeling very hungry of course. I'm happy to dive into more pancakes and another meal as my mind is restless. Thinking and planning and worrying. She's close, I can feel it, she's just as restless, likely planning her own escape and I hope and pray to the watcher that she's ready for the world.

Across the table there is Pascal. Firmly seated and glued to his computer and his fingers tip tapping quickly on the keyboard. It sounds like he's replying and likely to a troll. I hope not. Word of advice, trolls live under the bridge and their entire goal is to stop you from crossing it. They are stuck there, under the bridge, hoping that you stop long enough so they can pull you off your path.

I scoot over to him, grabbing his attention with just my presence but his eyes are still locked on the screen so I clear my throat to take all of his attention. Once I have it I tell him about the situation with my food stand, the bad news and the uncertainty of what I will do moving forward. I'm thankful I have him because if I were still living alone I'd be in deep trouble. His response to it all is a little concerning.

"You're going to be a mother right?" He says, as if that just explains it. As if the rest of my life is so obvious now. "I doubt you'd have time for that thing any ways."

I am blinking at him and sitting up a little straighter and doing my best to take in what he's just said to me. "Time? It's not just 'that thing' to me, it's my passion!" Oh, my voice wavers a little, so I have to stop to make sure this doesn't turn into an argument. "Y-yes, you're right, I'll be a mama first, always, but that doesn't mean I can't do other things too."

Now it is his turn to look surprised, as if he would never suggest such a thing although he literally just did. "Oh, Frida, I didn't mean it like that," and for a moment I believe him to be innocent.

"Yeah," I begin again. Softer now, forgiving what I hope to be a slip up. "It's just...I was really enjoying it! It was mines. It was a testament to my drive and..." I stop and think about it. I could bring it back. Maybe one day I will but perhaps this is a sign too? "I think I'll start a SimTube channel. Martin can't take that away from me and-"

Pascal raises a brow and I realize this might be the first time he's heard of this plan of mine. "Oh? Why is that? Wouldn't that also take a lot of your time?" His tone isn't harsh or anything but the words still worry me. What is trying to say here?

"Y-yes," I stammer, quietly wondering if the question is innocent or if it should concern me. "But again, I don't want to be just a mother, you know? I still want to advance my career, my culinary career, you know?" I ask hoping he understands, giving him another chance.

"I just don't get it," he says but there is a soft edge to his tone now. This is something I didn't expect. Maybe the trolls have him frustrated? "I'm going to sign a new and bigger contract soon so you really don't have to work at all."

I think my heart skips a beat. He did just say that, right? Younger me wouldn't have had an issue with it. Oh no, not at all. The idea of some professional athlete picking me up off the streets and providing everything for me sounds nice. Sounds perfect. Oh and by younger me I mean me a year ago. Now? Well, now I know I can survive by myself. I appreciate he's going to be rich some day but still I want to me more than just his sidekick.

"Oh?" so my reply starts off snappy. "And what will I do with all that time?"

"I dunno?" he mutters in such a nonchalant way that it kind of ticks me off. "I just hear being a mom is a full time job so why have two? Just a suggestion, that's all."

But no, that's not all. I don't like his attitude towards this and so instead of letting the conversation get dropped I pick it up. "So you just want me here taking care of your children and home or-"

"Well Frida," Pascal is not bothered by my annoyed tone at all. "I'm going to be a world class athlete. Seems like its a privilege I'm offering," I'm about to say something because that feels almost like an insult to me. "It's not like that, I promise. Just saying! I think your first priority should be to our child and then the culinary stuff comes after, right?"

"Yeah..." I say glaring at him because he's right. A mother's first priority should be to her child, that is true, but isn't it true for the father as well? "I'm going to start a Simtube channel," I say with some determination.

He shrugs and smiles as if it makes no difference to him.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. That red flag is so big that it could cover a field but...it's just words, in the end, and no one is perfect.

I'm going to have this baby soon, VERY soon, and I'm driven to give her something I've never had. A family.

Frida Varela Index ~ Episode 8.3