#i don’t wanna speak anything into the universe but … i think this might be his last winter

[sadlazzle]

aw dear .. my cat’s got a big lump on the side of his face, poor little lamb. he’s in the wars at the moment he is

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian and his girlfriend disturb the peace. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, rough, unprotected p in v, mild pain play, cum. 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll fix it! 🖤 Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend, @terrortwinunicorn. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By: @danithepenguin05-blog. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST

“You know, I’ve been watching you all night …” She jumps at the voice coming from behind her, smiling when she can feel his warm breath ghost across her neck and bare shoulder. “And I think I’m gonna fuck you in that dress.”

Her grin widens, brow arching. “You might wanna be careful,” she advises, “my boyfriend is a big dude, and he gets really jealous.” She turns around, eyes climbing to meet the pair gazing down at her.

“Is he bigger than me?” Damian growls, puffing his chest out as much as he can in the confines of a button-down shirt, vest, and suit jacket, somehow making himself seem even taller than his normal six-five. 

“Oh, damn,” she purrs, closing the space between them. “You’re way bigger. Let’s get out of here.”

“And fuck you in that dress?” Damian repeats, eyes sliding down the garment in question—a deep purple ruched midi-dress with one sleeve and an asymmetrical hem that hugs every one of her curves, even ones she didn’t know she had but was excited to find just the same. His hands claim her hips, sliding back to her ass, possessive in his Priestly way, and she beams up at him. Her hands glide up his chest, straightening the tie she’d had to tie for him before clutching at the lapels. She inhales his cologne and body wash and the scent that is simply Damian, and her heart flutters, pussy dampening at the same time. The control he has over her should be studied by science.

“And fuck me in this dress,” she whispers, pulling him into a kiss that starts as a peck, but when she tries to pull away, his long arms wrap themselves around her. She giggles against his lips, her own arms snaking round his neck only when he bends his knees and comes closer to her height.

“We better get going,” Damian mumbles. He leans sideways and glances down at her silver heels—the ones that have diamond-encrusted bows on the toes, the excess of which provocatively climb her calves. “Because I think I wanna fuck you in those heels, too, and I know you’re not gonna last much longer before you whip out the chanclas.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “Well in that case … Priest, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever.” She’s given universal consent with a quote from their favorite movie to watch together, and the change in her boyfriend’s demeanor is palpable.

Damian releases her only to drop his arm around her shoulders, and she reaches up to interlace their fingers. She’s smiling up at him, adoring, as she usually does, when she notices the Three Stooges headed their way, all of them leaning on each other, none of them able to walk in a straight line. They stumble over JD, who is passed out with his head on a plate of salad. Damian glances down at her, shaking his head, and she takes the hint, averting her gaze in the opposite direction. Together, they pick up their pace.

“Guys, wait!” Dom hollers behind them.

“Nope,” Damian grumbles so only she can hear, and they continue on.

“Don’t leave us hangin’!” Finn slurs.

The couple continues on, waving goodbyes to friends in passing, blissfully, though not really, ignorant to the whining that seems to be following them.

“Besties,” Rhea cajoles, then exclaims, “oh, shit!” just before a stomp, a thud, and three dummies giggling. Damian and his girlfriend slow to a stop and look at each other.

“There’s like a 70 percent chance they’ll die if we leave them here,” she says.

Damian rolls his eyes, nods, and turns to their friends, waving his arm for them to hurry up. And once they arrive at the rental SUV, Damian stuffs all three of his inebriated friends into the backseat, slamming the door in Dom’s face when he asks if they can stop for chicken tenders on the way to the hotel. Rolling his neck, he straightens his suit before turning to his girlfriend, who’s patiently waiting near the front passenger door. He opens it for her, taking her hand and helping her inside before closing the door and making his way around to the driver’s side.

“No, but seriously,” Dom says, poking his face between the front seats. She glances at him, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol, and then she looks at Damian, catching him taking yet another deep, calming breath through his nose. “I was lookin’ on my phone earlier and there’s this place that’s open late that has tendies …” He begins searching the pockets of his suit. “Hey, hey, who has my phone?”

“Whoops,” Rhea giggles from behind her, and Dom reaches over Finn.

“Give it back!” Dom exclaims.

“Get your arm outta my face!” Finn says, shoving Dom’s arm away.

“Tell her to give me my phone back!”

“Give him his bloody phone back!”

“I know his passcode,” Rhea taunts.

Suddenly Dom’s own shiny black shoes bounce between the front seats as Finn launches him into the trunk area of the SUV.

“Well, open it already! What are you waitin’ for?” Finn shouts, holding Dom back as he both fights to climb over the seat and grab his phone from Rhea at the same time.

“If this is what having kids is like, you can forget it,” Damian remarks, making a left turn out of the parking lot. His girlfriend watches the street- and headlights bounce off his handsome features, smiling when he places his hand on her thigh, lifting her dress just a little.

“I’m not really concerned with that right now,” she quietly replies. The three in the back are still arguing and paying no attention to what’s going on in the front. Damian looks at her, and she lifts her hips, tugging the bottom of the dress up her legs until the very tops of her thighs are visible. His eyes return to the road to be sure he’s still in his lane, snapping back to her as she places her hand atop his, beginning to slowly drag it up her satiny skin.

Damian’s rough fingers make first contact with her bare slit, and he casts another glance in her direction. Her grin is wicked as she licks her lips, rolling her hips against his touch wantonly. His left hand grips the steering wheel, he adjusts the positioning of his own hips, and his middle finger slips within her folds. He massages the tiny nub in slow circles, torturing, before gliding his touch up and down, easily causing her pussy to surge. She sighs, head falling back against the seat, and she bites her lip.

“Shit,” she whispers. She squeezes his solid forearm with both hands as she rides his gifted fingers. Slithering inside her, first with one finger, then two, he hooks them expertly, and her back bows. The raucous from the backseat, the very fact that she and Damian are not alone in such a tiny space, sends her into a shivering, inaudible orgasm quicker than is typical when he uses his fingers on her. She releases his arm, gaping as he brings those cum-coated digits to his perfect lips where he sucks them greedily into his mouth. His cheeks hollow with the suction, sculpting those bones exquisitely, her thighs instantly twitching. He pulls them from his mouth with a lewd pop, winking at the same time, and she knows exactly which direction things are headed once that hotel room door clicks closed behind them.

He opens her door after backing into a parking spot. He rearranges the bulge in his pants as he holds his other hand out for her. She makes a show of raising her hips so she can pull her dress back down to its original length before placing her manicured hand into his, carefully climbing out of the vehicle. Damian closes the door, leaning down to press his lips to her ear.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he says.

“Promise?” she murmurs, brows raising.

“You guys suck,” Dom complains, tumbling out of the back of the SUV. Finn and Rhea lean on one another, uncontrollable laughter passing back and forth between them. “Now everybody’s gonna think I’m weird.”

“You are weird,” Finn and Rhea snicker in unison.

Damian’s arm rests on her shoulders once more, their fingers again tangled, as the party of five boards the hotel elevator. Dom continues to whine about whatever Rhea and Finn did to him, which evidently has something to do with an embarrassing Twitter post. But their bickering slowly begins to fade into mere background noise, the three of them standing in front of her and she in front of Damian, and she snakes her hands behind her. Her nails clack against her boyfriend’s belt buckle, a sinister grin splitting her lips as they continue southward. She follows the zipper, the mechanism threatening to burst trying to hold back the monster hardening within, which she tenderly cups in both hands. Damian brings an arm around her shoulders and across her chest, the other enveloping her waist, and she rests her head against his pec, massaging his still-growing cock through his pants. His perfect mouth latches onto her ear, biting, kissing, sucking, moving onto her neck, making sure to touch all of her spots. She’s so distracted she doesn’t notice his hand sweeping back across her chest so he can fondle her breast, which further occupies her attention and keeps her from realizing he’s pulling the sleeveless side of her dress down until that bare breast falls out. He takes it into his hand again, groping obscenely, all the while feasting on her neck.

The ding of the elevator breaks the couple’s building tension, and Damian lifts her dress back into position before the doors slide open. They resume their customary holding of one another as they follow their three friends into the hallway, Damian having to redirect them from turning right to turning left. The lump in his slacks is incredibly conspicuous, but he doesn’t try to hide it, and she doesn’t blame him—he has a lot to be proud of. She waits by their room door as he snatches the key card out of Finn’s hand, knowing none of the inebriated three will be able to operate the machine. He herds them inside, not even bothering to take Rhea to her room, and closes the door before they can make any more requests.

She backs slowly into their room as Damian stalks her. He regards her with a tilt of his head, stealthily reaching back to turn the lock on the door after it clicks closed. He casually starts toward her, opening his suit jacket and allowing it to slide down his arms. He catches it in one hand and lays it on a nearby dresser. Her breathing accelerates and she chews on the inside of her cheek as he unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves halfway up his forearms like he’s about to take on a task that’s going to last for hours.

“I love that dress,” he tells her, closing the space between them.

She smiles. “Well thank you.” She runs her hands up his chest, over the vest this time, applying a small amount of pressure just so she can feel how hard his muscles are. “I thought you might like … the easy access.” Her hands come down his abdomen and she takes hold of the buckle on his belt. “And I—” She starts to unbuckle it. “—might like—” She unbuttons and unzips his pants. “—this big cock in my mouth.” 

Ahead of her descending to her knees, he grabs hold of her with his hands under her arms and he tosses her back onto the bed. A giggle nearly erupts, but Damian is leering at her in a way he’s never done before as his fists come down on the mattress, then his knees, and she backs up on her elbows. When she comes to the pillows, she bends a knee, lifts her leg, and Damian pauses his advance. He glances at the heel perched delicately on his against his shoulder, the diamond bows, the diamond ribbons ascending her calf, and when he returns his attention to her, his eyes are devoid of any color except sable and he’s wetting his lips.

“Lick me, Papí,” she says.

Damian chuckles softly, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of her ankle. “¿Qué dices?”

“Please, Papí, will you lick me?”

He seizes her thighs, spreading them, pushing them back toward her until her hips nearly come off the bed and her elbows collapse. She feels the cold from the air conditioner rush over her bare, wet pussy, sending a shudder throughout her body. She lifts her head only to have it fall back into the pillows again after watching Damian lick a hot stripe from her aching hole to the top of her slit. She groans and her back arches as she grabs at his ponytail of tiny braids, to which he responds by closing his lips around her clit and sucking, slurping, effortlessly holding her legs in place as she fights to close them around his head.

“Fuck,” she yelps, releasing his hair to reach back and grip the headboard. Damian releases one leg so he can pull her dress down until her breast spills out, and that heel lands on his back, digging in as much as she dares as she tries desperately to ride his tongue. Damian grunts, coming away from her pussy, and she looks down at him, worried the heel in his back is too painful. He glances behind him in the direction of the heel, and when he looks back, she’s not sure he’s the same person. This man must certainly be the devil—the onyx flames in his eyes and the impish slope to his grin supporting her hypothesis. He surrenders her other leg, and she instantly brings the heel down onto his back, because that’s where a devil would want it. His eyes close briefly, opening just before he attacks her pussy, assaulting every nerve-ending with every trick he knows. She cries out, heels burrowing even further as her body undulates, and gushes cum all over Damian’s gifted tongue.

Without warning, Damian pulls away, standing on the floor now at the foot of the bed, the bottom half of his face glistening with her juices, and he repossesses her legs. Before she has time to pout, he yanks her down the bed, a leg on either side of him. He reaches down and wraps his hand around her throat, pulling her into a sitting position, her hands immediately rummaging through his pants and briefs, reemerging with Damian’s cock and balls. She makes a show of spitting into the palm of her hand before sliding it down his rigid shaft. He leans down to kiss her, pulling back just as she attempts to accept the kiss. She glares, trying again to kiss him, only to be met with the same results.

“Papí,” she sulks.

“I want you to choke on this dick first,” he tells her, hand still clutching her throat, lifting to the point she’s nearly coming off the bed. She sighs, glowing, hand decelerating on his cock. “You know I like kissing you when your mouth’s a mess.”

She nods, waiting obediently for him to release her neck, and as soon as he does, she has his cock buried almost to the root in her throat before she gags, coughs, and has to come up for air.

“Fuck!” Damian shouts, one hand on the back of her head, the other on the side near her neck, as he thrusts into her mouth. She grasps the ends of his belt, simply using them for stability as Damian rides her face. After several pumps, he pulls out, strings of saliva and precum bridging her lips and his cock. Now he allows her to kiss him, groaning as their tongues twist and curl, and she knows he can taste his cock all over her mouth, just like he likes it.

He picks her up under the arms again and launches her just a few feet back on the bed. Snickering as she bounces, she watches as Damian sheds all of his clothes from the waist up before crawling on his knees to get between her legs. He takes one of her heels and arranges it on his chest. Rubbing the velvety head of his cock along her throbbing clit, she feels him press into the heel, so she adds resistance with her leg so it might go deeper.

“Goddamn,” he roars. He starts to push himself inside her, and she revels in the sensation of being split open as she gives a moan of her own.

“Mmm, Papí likes a little pain,” she coos. She gives him a shove with the heel, and he snarls, glaring down at her with a tilt of his head, and maybe she went too far, but they’re past the point of no return. “That’s hot.”

Damian’s hips surge forward, impaling her completely on his rock hard member, nearly bouncing her head off the headboard if not for the pillows. She cries out, gripping the wood that is fastened to the wall, making it safe from rattling. However, the mattress has a squeak, which sounds in time with Damian’s rapid thrusts. He wraps his fingers around her ankle, anchoring it to his chest, other hand groping her bare breast, and he has a steady, albeit aggressive, rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants with each and every pump, unknowingly increasing the force in her leg. “Fuck me, Papí!” she cries out, finishing with a whisper, “please … please …”

Damian cries out his own set of curses, and with one final surge forward, he releases inside her. His pace slows, but doesn’t stop for several moments. A smile grows on her bruised lips, and even though she’s positive her makeup and hair are both incredible messes right now, she doesn’t feel shame or embarrassment. Her boyfriend doesn’t need to see her painted and polished to perfection every moment of their lives. And anyway, he’d warned her of his intentions to wreck her. Eventually he pulls out, lying next to her, and moments later, the couple is snoring together—she still in her dress and heels, he still in his pants and shoes.

The next morning, following a refreshing joint shower, they collect their belongings—Damian handling the heavier items, always leaving with her as little as possible to carry—and as she’s holding the door for him, Dom, Finn, and Rhea exit their room, Rhea having retrieved her things from her room earlier. The threesome are already wearing sunglasses and share a similar pale complexion, but when they spot her and Damian, they collapse into giggles.

Brows furrowing, she asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Finn replies.

She glances at Damian, who shrugs and rolls his eyes. They all head to the elevator, the three amigos murmuring amongst one another, and she has no idea what’s going on, but she knows it has something to do with her and Damian. Everyone stuffs themselves and their luggage into the tiny box, Rhea punches the button for the lobby, and the doors close. This is the moment the three of them launch into a litany of moaning and groaning and one of them even imitates the sound of a squeaking bed.

“Fuck me, Papí,” Dom’s voice is many octaves higher than normal.

“Papí likes a little pain,” Rhea joins in.

Finn repeats almost verbatim Damian’s list of curses after he came, and for some reason, she doesn’t understand what they’re talking about until this point. She feels her cheeks erupt as if coated in lava, and she’s shell shocked a moment before turning to Damian, who already has his hoodie unzipped and one side of it opened. Mortified, she buries her burning face against his chest and he covers her with the jacket. The rest of the elevator ride is filled with snickers and imitations.

Once outside, she pushes ahead of the group, hurrying toward the rental when she hears the distinct sound of hands clapping. Turning, she catches Damian grinning like he just won the fucking lottery, sharing handshakes with the boys and a high-five with Rhea.

“Really?!”

🎀 Chanclas - Flip flops 🎀 Papí - Daddy 🎀 Qué dices - What do you say?

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

"i wanna Be Cool, but only if you want me to."

"want to impress you"

synopsis// everyone knows that basketball is the way to someone's heart.

pairing// satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count// 3.8k

contents// college au, basketball au, mutual unknown pining?, friends to lovers?, gojo is a loser, obligatory this is for you and misses

notes// lu wanted a basketball au so lu gets a basketball au. also obviously inspired by the basketball scene in jjk s2 anywho this is just kinda short n goofy :p also inspired by the song i wanna be cool by super whatevr. also i have no idea how basketball works and only ever played for fun so ermmm if anything is wrong bring that up with the universe !

Shoko unwillingly finds herself sitting on a random bench in the boys locker room, her arms crossed as she glares at the two boys in front of her.

“Why did you guys drag me in here?”

Geto speaks up first: “In my defense, this is all on Satoru, and I have no part in this.”

“You still dragged me in here, did you not?”

“…Yes.” 

“Then you took part in it.”

Gojo smiles as he smacks Geto on the back. “Exactly! You’re my accomplice.”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “Again, why did you guys drag me in here?”

“A presentation!”

“A presentation I have nothing to do with,” Geto chimes in as he takes a seat beside Shoko.

She briefly raises her eyebrow at Geto before directing it toward Gojo. “A presentation?” 

“Yes!” 

“I don’t see a projector or anything worth presenting here,” she says, looking around the room unamused.

“A presentation minus the actual presenting part...”

“So you dragged me in here just to talk to me?”

Geto leans in and whispers, “He actually wants to ask you something.”

Gojo stomps his foot like he’s about to throw a tantrum. “Geto shut up!”

“Can you just hurry up, Gojo?" She asks impatiently. “It reeks of axe body spray in here; I think it might actually kill me.”

He ignores her dramatics because, honestly, she’s not wrong. “You're coming to our game tonight, right?”

“I mean, yeah? Who isn't? It's the biggest game of the season.”

Geto adds, “That's what I said!”

“Do you know if Y/N is going?”

“Is that what you seriously dragged me in here for? Why didn't you just ask Y/N themself? You guys are friends, are you not?”

“Well yeah!” Gojo mumbles sheepishly, “But when I asked, they said maybe...”

“That means no,” Geto says quickly through a cough, as if trying to cover it up.

Gojo hears anyway and outstretches his arms toward Geto as if trying to draw attention toward him. “Exactly!” He then brings his hands in front of his face in a praying motion and begs, “Shoko, please!”

“Oh my fucking god, I don't know why you don't just ask them out already.”

“That's what I'm trying to do! But in order to do that, I kinda need them to go to tonight's game.”

Shoko glares at Gojo for what feels like forever, and Gojo glares back like they’ve suddenly entered a staring contest, and it’s Shoko who breaks eye contact first.

She sighs and pushes the hair out of her face as she mumbles, “God, you're lucky I'm tired of both of you pining after each other.”

“Thank you, Shoko!” he beams. “Also here.”

Shoko takes whatever Gojo is handing her and holds it up, her eyes slightly wide as she inspects it. “…Is this your jersey?”

He nods, fully confident within himself now that Shoko has agreed to drag you to the game, but tilts his head at her because he has no idea why she’s confused. “Yeah, I want them to wear it?” 

“You make me sick to my stomach, fine.”

“Shoko, do you wanna wear my jersey?” Geto suddenly asks.

She stares at him blankly, as if to ask if he really asked her that, knowing damn well she does not like him like that and she has a girlfriend, though after a few moments he finally gets the hint.

“Oh my god, not like that; I just want someone supporting me too.”

She sighs in relief, “Oh, thank god, don’t scare me like that, but yeah, fine, I’ll wear it.”

“Wait, what the hell?” Gojo exclaims, drawing Shoko’s and Geto’s attention back to him. “Shoko, would you have worn mine if I asked?”

“No.”

“What?! Why the hell not?”

“I like Geto more than I like you.”

He glares at her and quickly points out, “You're lying; if that was true, you wouldn't be helping me!”

Shoko simply shrugs and mumbles a small “bye” before getting up and leaving.

Geto stands up and takes his place next to Gojo, softly patting his back as he whispers, “Dare I say this ends our lifelong debate on who's superior?”

Gojo shrugs his hand off of him and speaks harshly through clenched teeth, “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

☆��*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

“Why would I want to go watch a bunch of sweaty men fight over balls?” You mumble offhandedly, focusing your attention on netflix playing on your phone rather than on her.

“Ok, Y/N, first of all, there's only one ball, and second of all, did you forget Gojo is on the basketball team?”

You quickly turn off your phone and sit up, clasping your hands together in your lap. “….Have I ever mentioned that basketball is actually my favorite sport?”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, pinching her nose bridge. “You're so obvious; why haven't you told him yet?”

“Are you insane? Gojo is hot, and on the basketball team, do you know how many people he already has crushing on him? I'm literally just another name on that list.”

“Sure,” she nods, “But the difference is that you're his friend too; you have more of a chance than anyone else.”

You sigh and frown at her. “Doubt.”

Shoko shakes her head, knowing that you two could spend all day here in your dorm debating whether you have a chance or not, but that’s not what she’s here for, so she’ll let you believe what you want, knowing that (hopefully) Gojo pulling whatever it is he wants to pull will prove you wrong.

“Whatever, put this on,” she says, throwing the jersey at you.

You catch it, your mouth slightly agape as you stare at it curiously. “…Isn't this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Shoko.”

“Can you just trust me?”

“I'm literally just gonna look like another one of his groupies," you say, disdain and disappointment lacing your words as your eyes dart back and forth between her and the jersey.

She smiles, and it’s off-putting because it’s not her normal smile; no, you know, this is the smile she only wears when she’s about to drop a bomb on you. “Difference is that that's his actual jersey.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“I’ll save you a seat. Bye,” she says as she walks out of your dorm.

The slam of your door restarts your heart, and suddenly it and your mind are racing at 100 miles per hour, and the only thing you can do is word vomit despite the fact that Shoko is gone.

“What do you mean by that?! What do you mean this is his actual jersey?!” You run and fling open your door to yell out into the hallway, “Get back here!?” 

Shoko is a good bit away at this point, but she still hears you call out for her and acknowledges that with a wave, yet she still keeps walking away, and you're stuck in your doorway with your chest heaving. You look back down at the jersey in your hands.

Holy shit.

Not only is this a jersey with Gojo’s number on it, but it’s his jersey. How did Shoko even get this? Did she just take it without him knowing? Too many thoughts are in your head, but there’s only one that keeps overlapping the others, there’s only one that’s consistent, only one that electrifies every neuron in your body:

Holy shit, this is Gojo’s jersey.

Fuck the questions and fuck the answers you know you won’t get; the only thing that matters to you right now is that you have and are about to wear Gojo’s jersey. You have to be dreaming; really, that’s the only logical answer, but holy fuck, if you’re dreaming, you do not plan on waking up anytime soon—or ever.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

The two teams quickly start filling up the court and taking up their respective spaces as they warm up, but Gojo, being Gojo, isn't doing that. Instead, he’s standing on the sidelines, looking in at the crowd of people starting to take their seats for the game, and his heart is racing as he searches the crowd for you, and it drops when he inevitably doesn’t find you, but he’s not discouraged, not yet at least, because the game hasn’t officially even started yet, so there’s still time for you to show up.

There’s still time.

He has to keep reminding himself that the whole time he’s warming up—now that he’s actually being forced to, though it’s a half-assed warm-up—he and his coach don’t even know whether what he’s doing could be considered a warm-up in the first place. The game is about to start any second now when Geto approaches Gojo.

“Nothing?” 

Gojo’s head drops as he reluctantly shakes it.

Geto hums and searches the stands for you, but when he doesn't find you either, he tries to find the next best person, Shoko, and it's quite easy to find her considering she’s wearing Geto's jersey.

“Shoko!”

She looks down from the bleachers and sees Geto staring at her as he gestures toward Gojo, and she knows he's trying to ask where you are, but in all honesty, she has no idea either. She shrugs, and even from as high up as she is, she can hear Geto groan before grabbing Gojo by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him.

“I'm sure they’ll come, dude.”

Gojo blankly stares at Geto, an eyebrow raised skeptically, as if to say, really? but before he can verbally reply, their coach comes over and removes Geto’s hand from Gojo’s shoulder to place his own hand there.

“I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, fix it.”

Geto and Gojo tense up at his tone, full of nothing but pure determination. This isn't him asking; this is him demanding that Gojo get his shit together.

“This is the biggest game yet, and I'm not gonna let you and some petty college drama get in the way of that. You're our best player. Act like it.”

Gojo can only nod. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and it's like his throat is closing, but he tries to will the feeling away. Though his reaction is enough for his coach, who starts walking off.

Geto stares up at Gojo with his eyebrows knit, concern lacing his voice, “Gojo...”

Gojo shakes his head and takes a deep breath before flashing Geto his signature smile. “I'm fine, Geto; cmon, we got a basketball game to win.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

To be totally honest, the reason you were running so late to the game was because you were mentally shitting your pants the entire time you were getting ready. For a good chunk of time, you just sat on your bed with the jersey laid out in front of you, staring at it. Just staring at it, that's all. Because yes, even though you said fuck the questions and fuck the answers, you very much could not do that, not when too many questions and unknown answers were flooding your brain like a dam had cracked. You think you probably would've stayed like that all day and night, missing the game entirely, if not for Shoko spam calling your phone.

“What?”

“Don't 'what' me, where the fuck are you?” She snaps through the phone.

“Uh, getting ready?”

“Y/N, the game started twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh shit,” you say, hopping off your bed and quickly grabbing the jersey.

“Yeah, oh shit! Get your ass down here!”

You don't bother saying goodbye; instead, you quickly hang up, throw the jersey on as fast as you can, and bolt out the door. The halls are empty as you race through them, and you're not surprised; everyone is already at the game—everyone but you—and you speed up your pace just a smidge more. God, you're an idiot, missing the best game of the season—okay, you don't actually care about that. God, you're an idiot, missing seeing Gojo and maybe getting answers on how Shoko obtained his jersey—that's better.

You get to the gym in record time, slightly surprised at how quickly you got there, but you ignore that as you try to catch your breath before walking in and try to prepare yourself for the amount of noise that will assault your ears when you do. You can already hear how loud it is; the walls not doing very much at all to muffle the yells of people. You walk in and wince slightly at the noise as you look around for Shoko. She immediately finds you and waves her hand in the air for you to find, as does Utahime, who's sitting next to her. You smile and quickly make your way toward them, apologizing to the people you pushed through to get to them in the first place. You take your seat next to Shoko with a sigh.

“What did I miss?” you ask, leaning forward slightly just so you can look at both Utahime and Shoko.

Utahime has a small grimace on her face, and Shoko merely motions toward the scoreboard, and the minute you look, your jaw drops. Gojo’s team was losing. No. Losing isn't even the right word here; they were getting absolutely destroyed. They had zero points—none at all. You look back toward the two girls in disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

“Gojo is literally sucking so much ass that it's throwing everyone else off,” Utahime says with a shrug before glancing down at your clothes. “Are you wearing his jersey?”

You clear your throat awkwardly and look away, ignoring the smirk on Shoko's face.

“So, uh, do we know why Gojo’s sucking ass?” You ask after a brief moment of silence.

“Nope,” Utahime responds with a shake of her head.

“I do,” Shoko says nonchalantly.

Your head snaps back toward her. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, you didn't tell me either!”

Shoko rolls her eyes and ignores both of you as she loudly calls out to Gojo, who, by some grace of god, hears her over the hundreds of other people yelling for him. Gojo’s eyes immediately find hers, and he watches how she subtly jerks her head to the side, and like some angel descended from the heavens, like a god showing itself in a moment of dire, he looks and finds you sitting there in his jersey, and he can't help the smile on his face, can't help how just your presence lit a fire underneath him, can't help how just seeing you gave him his pep back in his step.

Gojo finds Geto’s eyes on the court and nods determinedly. They are winning this game, whether it's the last thing Gojo does. He's not going to look like a fool in front of you. So that's exactly what Gojo does. Once the second period starts, Gojo steals back the ball with a new sudden ease, and by halftime, he’s gotten the team caught up to the other one, starting the third period with a tie.

“How the hell did he do that? I thought you guys said he sucked!”

“Aw man, I was rooting for the other team,” Utahime says, frowning, and you have to resist the urge to chew her out in defense of Gojo.

Shoko shrugs. “He was till you know…”

You stare at her blankly. “No, I don't know, actually. Care to enlighten me?”

“No, I do not,” she says before turning to Utahime. “And don't worry, they're only tied; there's still a chance the other team will win.”

Utahime cheerfully hums as she rests her head on Shoko’s shoulder. “You’re right!”

“Don't encourage her to root for the other team?!” 

Utahime sticks her tongue out at you, and before any of you can say anything else, a loud buzzer rings across the gym, indicating a point was made, and to your delight, it was for Gojo’s team. For the rest of the third period, it was just buzzer after buzzer as Gojo’s team took back their rightful place on the scoreboard, completely smashing the other team into the ground, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. Watching Gojo in his element was doing detrimental things to your crush on him, only making it worse, but you can't even seem to care. Shoko looks over to you and laughs.

“I can practically see the hearts in your eyes.”

You scoff. “Shut up!”

Down on the court, they had just started their last two-minute break between third and fourth period, with the coaches gathering their respective teams into a huddle.

“Alright guys,” Gojo’s coach began, “Keep your heads in the game; we’re taking this victory home, got it?”

All the boys nod hurriedly, and the coach leaves them to do what they need to before the last period starts, but Gojo doesn’t let them get far.

“Whatever fucking happens, I'm getting that last score, got it?”

Everyone on the team exchanges uneasy glances, and Geto rolls his eyes and sighs before apologizing for Gojo.

“He just has a plan and wants to do something, guys.”

The boys nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

“If you guys mess this up for me, I swear to god, I will make you wish you were never born,” Gojo says with his usual smile, but in this case, all his smile does is make him seem feral.

Geto slaps Gojo across the back of his head and huffs, “He doesn’t mean that, don't worry.”

“Oh, I fucking mean it.”

“Gojo, shut the fuck up.”

Before anyone else can say anything, the timer goes off, and into the last minutes of the game they go. As the game goes on, everyone is on the edge of their seat, even if deep down they know who will win. You and Utahime are no exception to this, but apparently Shoko is.

“Why the fuck are you guys on the edge of your seats? It's obvious we’re gonna win.”

You go to glare at her but can’t even hold your stare long enough because you're so enthralled by the game. “Still, it's so nervewracking!”

Utahime laughs. “I'm only on the edge of my seat because I want the other team to win.”

“Why are you such a hater, dude?” you ask defensively.

Utahime doesn’t mind; she knows all too well about your little crush on Gojo, so she doesn’t take offense to your tone. “When it comes to Gojo, I'm always a hater.”

You finally find it in you to glare at her. “I hope Shoko breaks up with you.”

She rolls her eyes and glares back. “Oh, haha, you're so mature.”

You say nothing but stick your tongue out at her childishly, and she does the same, to which Shoko groans and rolls her eyes before grabbing both of your heads and turning them to face the game.

“You can fight after the game; there's only a few seconds left.”

Gojo glances at the time and realizes it’s now or never. He finds that Geto has the ball and calls out for him. Geto, on the other hand, hesitates to pass him the ball, with a look on his face asking if he really wants to do this, and Gojo can only nod. How could he not want to do this? This is the only thing he can do; it's not like he knows how to ask someone out the normal way, so this will do; it has to. Gojo tries to control his breathing as he makes his way to the hoop, the ball dribbling in tune with his heartbeat, and nothing matters to him in that moment except you and scoring—his surroundings completely drowning out. Everyone holds their breath waiting for him to shoot, and right before he does, his eyes lock onto yours.

“This is for you, Y/N!” He yells out as he shoots, and…

And he misses.

Horribly.

And there's no chance for him to redeem himself because the minute the ball hits the ground, the buzzer goes off, indicating the end of the game, and everyone seemingly ignores whatever the fuck he just did and erupts into an uproar at the fact that they won regardless of Gojo’s miss.

“What-“

Shoko slaps a hand over her mouth, attempting and failing to hold in her laughter. “Did he just fucking miss?”

Utahime is hunched over, her head between her knees, laughing. “Oh my fucking god, he's an idiot!”

You blink, not moving, not saying anything, but with how hard Shoko is laughing and Utahime leaning against her as she laughs as well, Shoko ends up bumping into you, and she instantly grows quiet, her head snapping toward you.

“Oh, why are you still here?”

“Huh?” 

"Why aren’t you down there?” she asks, pointing down to the court.

“Am… Am I supposed to be?”

“Uh duh!” Utahime speaks up, peeking out from behind Shoko. “He made that shot for you! Well, he missed that shot for you.”

“Oh,” you say blankly. “Oh. Oh shit.”

You stood up abruptly, and with how fast you went down the bleachers, you almost tripped once you made it onto the ground. You quickly catch yourself, and the moment you look up to find Gojo, he’s already standing right in front of you.

“You're-you're wearing my jersey,” he says breathlessly, but not in a I-can’t-breathe way, more in a holy-shit-my-crush-is-actually-wearing-my-jersey way.

You swallow thickly and nod. Your gaze flickers down to the jersey before going back to his face. “I am.” 

“You are.” 

“What was that Gojo?”

He seems to grimace at your question. “Ah, well, you see, I was actually gonna say if I make this, you owe me a date, but that’s a really long sentence to shout, and what if I didn’t make it? That would’ve been so embarrassing.”

You laugh under your breath. “Gojo, you didn’t make it regardless.”

He frowns. “Don’t remind me.”

You smile and push a strand of hair stuck to his forehead out of the way, watching how he blushes furiously at your touch, and it makes your heart swoon. Who knew the confident number-one basketball player could crumble so readily under your touch?

“You know, I’m still more than happy to owe you a date.”

He smirks as he pulls you closer toward him by your waist and coos, “Yeah?"

“Yeah… But get the hell off of me, Gojo; you’re sweaty and you stink,” you grumble as you push against his chest, trying to free yourself.

Gojo ignores you and pulls you in closer (if even possible), his body engulfing yours as he rubs his face against yours, making sure his sweat rubs off on you too.

You struggle against his hold. “Gojo gross!” 

“Sorry, I can't hear you over the people. What are you saying? Hug you closer?”

“Gojo, don’t you dare.”

You hear him chuckle before rubbing up against you again, and you groan but stop resisting, which he hums happily at before starting to pull away. You watch how his face abruptly twists into feigned disgust.

"Ew, Y/N, get the hell off of me; you’re sweaty and you stink,” he mocks as he pushes you out of his hold.

“I hate you.”

“If you hated me, you wouldn’t be going on a date with me,” he singsongily says.

“Yeah, not anymore,” you mumble with a wry smile as you start walking away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N, come back!”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

-

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Wherever you wanna go

Written for day 14 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Together and Fluff

Rated: T

Tags: Omegaverse; Alpha!Steve; Omega!Eddie; Steddie dads; mpreg (referenced); Domestic fluff

Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be

“Okay, we’ve been over this,” Eddie says. “I know you value your independence, and I appreciate your commitment, but there's no shame in accepting a little help, yeah?” 

“No,” Lizzie replies, swatting him off with tiny hands. “Lone.” 

“But-” Eddie says, but she doesn’t listen, just continues her way up the slide with a determined frown. She looks ridiculously like Steve - from the way her chestnut hair falls into her face, all the way to the stubbornly set jaw and pouty bottom lip. Speaking of Steve …

“Stop laughing,” Eddie grouses, admitting defeat and stomping back to their park bench. “You won’t think it’s funny when she falls.” 

“You worry too much,” Steve chuckles, kissing his cheek. “She's gonna be fine.” 

Eddie groans. “The stubborn streak on this kid is unbelievable.” 

“Yeah?” Steve shoots him a side-glance and goes back to his parenting magazine. “Sounds like someone I know.” 

“Well, that’s one thing she gets from me, at least,” Eddie huffs. “I grow her in my own body, go through the absolute hell that is labor, and she pops out looking like your little clone? That's just unfair.”

Steve turns a page. “I’ve read that it’s fairly normal for them to look more like the alpha parent for the first year or two. Keeps us emotionally attached, apparently. And for the record, she gets a lot of things from you.” 

“Huh,” Eddie mutters, slotting closer into his space. It’s getting chilly, but Steve always runs warm, and his sweater is fluffy and soft. “Hope she didn’t get the goldfish brain and the smart mouth. I’d like her to have an easy life.” 

“Hey now. I like your mouth,” Steve smirks. Eddie slaps his arm. “And just so you know, I was talking about your determination and your passion, and your love for music, among other things. The way she goes off when you play that guitar?” 

Eddie grins, even as something in his chest tugs. 

“She is the best audience I’ve ever had,” he concedes. “And my metal version of Wheels on the Bus slaps, I think we can all agree there.”

They lapse into silence for a few seconds.

“Speaking of music,” Steve finally says, setting aside his magazine so that he can take Eddie’s hand. “That new bar on Lincoln’s is looking for live acts. Maybe you should-” 

Eddie shakes his head. The treacherous thing in his chest twists. “Nah, Stevie, I don’t think so.” 

Steve frowns. “Why not? It might be a good way for you to get back into things. You always wanted-” 

“Yes,” Eddie says. “But when these places say they’re looking for music acts, they don’t mean scrawny omegas with a toddler at home.”

He stands, meaning to walk back to Lizzie, but Steve doesn’t let go of his hand. “You can’t know that unless you try. They might say yes. And I’ve no problem staying home with Liz, you know that.”

Something bittersweet and warm blooms behind Eddie’s collarbone. He sighs, sinking back onto the bench. “I know, big boy. You're brilliant with her. That's not what I'm worried about.” 

Steve flushes at the praise, but his eyes hold the same determination as on the day when he first proposed courtship to Eddie. Like he’s ready to tear apart anyone who’ll try and hurt him. 

“You shouldn’t worry at all,” he says. “Whatever you wanna do, wherever you wanna go, we’ll find a way together, yeah? Just … promise me you’ll think about it?” 

Eddie is nodding before he even knows it. How could he do anything else in the face of those earnest puppy-dog eyes? 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning in for a brief kiss. “I guess I can-” 

A loud clang and a shrill cry interrupt him. When they whip around, Lizzie is scrambling upright at the end of the slide and holding her head, big tears running down her cheeks.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, jumping up to get to her, but Steve beats him to it and scoops her up in his arms. 

“That’ll leave a bump,” he says. “Come on, lemme kiss it better.”

Lizzie, whose wails have already quietened, giggles as he leaves a trail of loud, wet smooches all over the side of her face. The warm, fuzzy thing in Eddie’s chest flutters as he joins them. Lizzie burrows her face into his neck, seeking his scent, but refuses to leave Steve’s arms when he attempts to hand her over. Eddie goes for wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist instead, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Oh, isn’t this adorable?”

When they look up, an old lady is standing next to the slide, grocery bags in both hands. 

“Never mind me, dears,” she giggles. “I just think it’s beautiful, seeing young families together like this. You don’t see many alphas being that involved. Don’t let that one go, he’s a keeper.”

“Thank y-” Eddie starts to say, but then it dawns on him that she isn’t looking at him. She’s looking at Steve. Steve, with his fuzzy, pastel-colored sweater, who’s cradling their little daughter with the softest, most gooey smile on his face. “Erm, actually-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Steve interrupts him, laying his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m not planning to. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie hisses as the woman trundles on and Steve shouts a cheery goodbye after her. “What was that all about?” 

Steve disentangles himself from his embrace, kissing his cheek once more before he carries Lizzie over to her stroller. 

“What?” he calls over his shoulder. “Let people assume what they want, we don’t owe them an explanation.” 

He’s right, Eddie thinks as they start making their way home. They don’t owe anyone shit. As long as the three of them are together and happy, that’s all that matters. 

He’s planning on keeping it this way. 

More holiday drabbles

More steddie bingo

[16bruises]

Descent

word count : 1.5k

important information for writers who use google docs

A conversation between Miles and Peter B after the events of Across the Spider-Verse

”Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy”

-Warren Wiersbe

“Hey-hey Miles, buddy listen-“ Peter B took a moment to catch his breath and check on Mayday before continuing, “when Miguel gets pushback he tends to.. uhm overreact.”

Miles stared deadpan at Peter before mumbling, “I feel like I, of all spider-people, would know that.”

“Well- Yeah- Well, you know- Miguel just- He” Peter fumbled with his words for a good minute before combing his fingers gently through Mayday’s bright red hair and started over slowly.

“I know you have some idea of what happened with Miguel’s daughter, he just… has a really really really hard time listening to alternatives when it comes to this kinda stuff Miles. And hey, don’t get me wrong, you were makin’ more sense to me than he usually does.” Peter chuckled lightly.

“I thought he was going to kill me” Miles fully turned to face Peter, “I thought he was going to kill me for not being bit by a spider that got into MY universe or for not being my universe’s Peter Parker and then I thought he’d go after my Dad.” Miles’ voice grew hoarse towards the end of his words, his eyes starting to water as he remembered the pure fear and adrenaline that had pumped through his veins while being chased down by Miguel O’Hara.

Peter, careful to not upset the young boy further, tugged Miles close and wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry Miles, if.. If I’d known I swear to god I would’ve done something- gotten you home so fast, kid. I would’ve done something I swear.” He spoke softly, mindful of his sleeping baby.

Miles glanced down at Mayday before leaning into Peter’s shoulder, accepting his safe hold. “I believe you, I trust you, ok? I know it might not be your place but could you just explain Miguel’s situation? At least a little bit more to me, if you’re alright with that.”

Miles’ eyes darted down to the ground awkwardly as he waited for Peter to respond.

Peter patted Miles’ shoulder and sighed, “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Most of the spider society knows about it anyways”

Miles faced back towards Peter, “I just wanna understand his situation a little better so maybe I could see where he’s coming from… you get me?”

Peter smiled sadly and patted Miles’ shoulder again, “Yeah Miles, I get you.”

-

“As you know- Miguel took the place of another man. He stole that man’s life and he paid the price for doing so.” Peter’s eyes stare out into the cityscape as he speaks,

“Miguel had a daughter, Gabriella. She was pretty young when… everything fell apart.

He had a wife there too, a really lovely lady.”

“Anyways, when that universe fell apart Miguel wasn’t able to save Gabriella, she disappeared straight out of his arms.” Peter leans down to press a quick kiss onto Mayday’s little forehead, “I think that’s always been a hard thing for him to grasp, that he genuinely couldn’t DO anything to save her at that moment.”

“But his wife, (y/n), he got her out. He got her to his actual universe. I don’t think you met her, I only met her once or twice. She lives in 2099 now.”

“How did he get (y/n) out?”

“I think he panicked at the first sign of the end and told her some stuff but who really knows? The only facts we do know is that she’s the only survivor from her universe and she had a dimensional travel watch thingy on when her universe kicked the bucket.”

“Do you think Miguel told her to wear the watch?” Miles stared down at his hands as he whispered.

“…yeah, he probably did. He probably did the same with Gabriella too. But, what little girl is gonna happily wear a hunk of metal while she plays soccer? Y’know?”

Miles hummed in response and glanced at Peter, catching him with his shoulders slumped and his face sad.

“Anyways.. back to what I was saying— Miguel’s wife, (y/n), survives the destruction of her universe. He’s heartbroken over Gabriella but he’s trying to focus on his wife. He goes to console her about the literal death of everything and everyone she’s ever known…

and she doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. In fact, she doesn’t know where they are, why he seemed so upset, where Gabriella was.”

Miles squinted, “I’m confused”

“She didn’t remember anything. She didn’t remember Miguel, the one we both know. Her memory.. her memory only went up to a certain point. Come to find out she can’t remember anything past Miguel -her Miguel’s death.” Peter huffed,

“Miguel was already losing it because his baby girl was gone and now the love of his life didn’t remember him.”

“But that wasn’t HIS daughter or wife”

Peter turned to face Miles, “He still loves them, a lot. A ton.” Peter responded sternly.

Miles looked back down at his hands, “You said (y/n) lives in 2099 still but she still doesn’t remember what happened to her kid?”

“Yeah, it’s… rough.” Peter tilted his head upwards, looking at the sky

“And you said you’ve met her”

“I have.” Peter could see the curious tilt of Miles’ head in the corner of his eye.

“The first time I met her was a little before MJ told me she was pregnant so it didn’t hit as close. Thinking back on it though, I-I couldn’t imagine.” Peter sounded distraught,

“I was gonna ask Miguel something, I honestly can’t remember what, it’s not important. And she, (y/n), was just… there. Miguel was showing her these videos of their daughter and (y/n) kept asking when Gabriella’s soccer practice would be over because she couldn’t remember what time they ended.” Peter looked downwards at Mayday before carding his fingers through his hair and deeply sighing.

“If (y/n)’s been away from her kid for so long wouldn’t she catch on? At least notice that something was up?”

“You’d think so but I think having your universe of origin wiped from existence probably messes with your brain. She glitches out even though she’s basically shackled, nobody’s ever seen her without the dimensional watch on.”

“Do you think she’s gonna.. not.. be around as long?”

“I’ve heard she’s been glitching more frequently so, she probably won’t be around for as long as she should’ve been.”

“What was the second time you met her like?” Miles fidgeted with his fingers nervously. He could tell Peter was sad about and for Miguel and (y/n).

“Hm… Miguel wasn’t there that time, it was just her. And it was after Mayday had been born. I wanna say it was like the 3rd or 4th time I’d brought her with me. Mayday gets loved on LOTS by spider-people but (y/n) just melted. She adored Mayday. Mayday liked her too, it was really cute. I got a ton of pictures by the way… if you wanna see later.” Peter grinned

“I’ve seen more pictures of your baby than I’ve seen spider-people!” Miles groaned playfully.

“HA! Well, anyways not to kick a dead horse- but that whole.. all of that is kinda why Miguel is so hellbent on keeping this canon stuff. We’re all pretty sure (y/n) doesn’t have very long left and that’s not your fault Miles but he’s been getting worse as she gets more and more… uh glitchy? I guess.” Peter patted Miles in the shoulder before pulling his arm away to wrap both around Mayday.

“Do you think she knows about the canon stuff at all?” Miles cracked his knuckles, glanced between his hands and Peter.

Peter kissed Mayday’s hair, “Doubt it” Peter frowned. “Miguel… he’s a hypocrite Miles.”

Miles turned to fully face Peter once again, this time he didn’t know what to say.

“He loves her, I know it. It’s sad. Heartbreaking what he’s gone through.” Peter tucked a loose strand of hair carefully behind Mayday’s ear, “But he’s spiraling, his wife is.. his wife’s dying and he’s not handling it well. Who would? That doesn’t mean he should ever have done what he didn’t to you Miles.” Peter reached a firm hand out to Miles shoulder.

Peter looked up, cleared his throat, “Not to ramble, but my point is: he would and has broken canon for his wife. She, and again I think she’s lovely, should not exist anymore. But he went against everything he claims he stands for to keep her. So.. we’ll get you home Miles, and we’ll make sure you and your dad are safe. If Miguel tries anything.. I don’t think I’d enjoy it but if it comes down to it I will get (y/n) involved if I had to.”

part 2 - Remembrance

[trashisstillhere]

Guess whose parents I have just designed? (And didn’t feel like cleaning up, do better line art and colouring along with shading for yet?)

Yeah that’s right, it’s New Ninja’s!!! Meet their big workaholics yet loving mother and father!!

I still am trynna work on some stuff, I’m even planning on redesign Randy’s parents in my headcanon as we speak, also gonna do my own version of First Ninja’s family too, like I think of them alot in my head but barely drawn anything out so I wanna do that too really much hehe- yeah I got a lot to do.

Aaanywaysss. Let me tell y’all a bit about these two!

-NN’s parents are often really busy at their jobs so they can barely get to hang out with their child because of it, the only times they kinda get to interact more often are in the weekends but other then that, NN is often left home alone.

-just like everyone else, they don’t know that NN’s the ninja. And they don’t know about their relationship with Randy as their mentor and good friend either.

-just like their kid, they don’t have any names neither yet lol. Coming up with names one of the hardest parts of making ocs. For now, let’s just call them NM (new mom) and ND (new dad). Yeah I know it’s a little bit weird but until I finally can think of something for them, these will have to do.

-NM is a Japanese woman with sectoral heterochromia who works as a therapist! If you’re wondering what kind of therapy she does, it’s mostly behavioural. She’s almost very soft spoken, genuine and really wants to do her best to help people with their issues, including her own kid. However, she barely knows much about the shit her poor child goes through right now with their current life, she doesn’t know about NN being the ninja after all.

Most of the time, the people she work with in therapy sessions are usually normal but there are times that she has met some who seemed to struggle after being STANKED. Yes you heard right, some of her patients are stanked victims! A few past ones during Randy’s time as the ninja and now a lot more in the current time with NN now being the current one, those kinds of patients are kinda a whole other story.

-ND is an American man who works as a doctor! He is pretty skilled in a lot of things at his job, surgery is one of them. He’s more calm, serious and strict. His voice is kinda like monotone and very deep, a lot of people who sees him at first glance and hear his voice might think he’s quite cold but that’s far from the truth. He’s just a man who takes his job seriously, he also has a soft spot, mostly for his wife and child.

Like NM, he also has no clue about the struggles NN has right now. However, he did have his suspicions. He couldn’t talk much about it due to being so busy in job tho but whenever he has time, he’ll always make sure to tell the kid that if they ever need someone to talk to, they can talk to him.

-now back in their high school days together before NN was even born, they didn’t really know that much people other then themselves. They were high school sweethearts.. however, ND did actually know one guy the whole year. They weren’t like bffs but they did know each other very well so they were close and even now as adults in the present, they still interact sometimes, maybe even get some tea or coffee if they have time and aren’t busy. They went to different universities back then but that did nothing to their pretty nice bond.

You’re probably wondering who this ‘guy’ is and if he’s even important or just a random oc I made up…well he’s actually a canon character from Rc9gn. Yes, he is actually in the show. So who is it??…

……Willem Viceroy III.

HeheheheheHEHEHEHE- no I am not explaining this, ya gotta figure out yourself! What I will say tho is that yes, this will have an effect in NN’s story. 😏

——

And that’s about it!

[nhl-stories]

Rue – Clayton Keller

Summary: Ines has a bit of a dilemma, marry her ex-boyfriend or get deported

Author’s Note: I don't even go here but an anon suggested Clayton and I ran with it and loved every moment. This is obviously a dramatized version of immigration in America, while I tried to keep aspects as authentic as possible, I also took creative liberties to fit the story.

Also his mom's name is Kelley Keller and that is just so insane to me

Word Count: 9.2k

Album Series Masterlist

Don't wanna make it worse I'm gonna make it work

“What if you married Clayton?”

“You think marrying my ex-boyfriend for a green card is the answer?”

Ines doesn’t mean to raise her voice; Kat is just trying to help. But it’s been a long 24 hours and she can’t really control her emotions anymore.

“I think there should be reformed paths to citizenship. But that’s not going to happen in the immediate future, so I’m spit balling here.”

Ines flops face down on couch cushion and screams.

“I don’t hear you coming up with any better solutions,” Kat adds.

She lifts her head in shock, “You’re being serious?”

“Kat’s serious about what?” Nick comes back with drinks, his solution for comforting Ines.

“Nez should marry Kells for a green card,” Kat keeps saying it like it’s realistic.

Nick ponders the idea for a moment and shrugs, “It’s not the worst idea.”

“I’m just in a hellish nightmare, I’ll wake up and everything will be normal and everyone will be sane,” Ines rubs her temples.

Kat rubs her shoulder and nudges the drink closer to her.

Ines downs the drink and Schmaltzy passes his own drink before retreating for refills.

“I know it just happened, but have you thought at all what you’re going to do?”

“I mean, I’ve spent my whole life thinking about what I would need to do, it’s just never been so real.”

Ines feels a fresh batch of tears coming, she takes another drink to push them back. Nick comes back with a pitcher of drinks this time, clearly sensing where this night is headed.

“Didn’t one of your sisters have immigration problems?” Nick asks as he pours her a refill.

“Sort of, but it only came up because she was getting married and applying for a green card.”

Kat opens her mouth and Ines shoot hers a glare, “to the man she loves who happened to be an American citizen.”

 “Yeah, well, you kind of still love Clayton,” Kat mumbles, “I mean you guys still have pretty regular sex right, Nick?”

Ines turns her boiling anger towards Schmaltzy, “Oh my god, he told you we were having sex?!”

“No, you told her,” he points towards Kat, “and she told me, Kells hasn’t said anything.”

“We don’t do it that often.”

She huffs defensively before squeezing her eyes shut, hoping to return from whatever alternative universe she stumbled into.

“I know the idea sounds insane but think about it, you have all these pictures of you two together, you never made some big breakup announcement or anything, and you still live with him.”

“I mean it would be pretty hard to prove that you aren’t together,” Nick adds.

“From what you’ve told me about this babe, marrying someone is the easiest way for you to get on the right track for citizenship without having to go back to Mexico, where you might not be allowed back.”

She knows Kat is right, that she’s making an excellent case, but that doesn’t make the idea any easier to swallow.

“There’s not enough alcohol in the world.”

Ines spends the next couple hours putting that theory to the test; she doesn’t process much, too busy preserving her brain in alcohol. She loses track of time, of what she should be feeling.

The alcohol makes her feel warm and giddy, but her brain is screaming at her to feels anxious and alert. The mix of the emotion just leaves her a sobbing mess, curled up in Kat’s arms.

Then she hears a shuffle at the door followed by Clayton’s voice.

“You told him?! Oh my god,” she buries herself further into Kat.

“We called him to take you home, we thought you’d prefer to wake up in your own bed.”

Nick is speaking to him in hushed tones and Ines is immediately suspicious.

“I don’t need you to marry me, arcilla, I’ll be fine in Mexico,” her filter is non-existent at this point but somehow, she can still talk this much through her tears and inebriation.

“What is she talking about?” Schmaltzy clearly didn’t spill the beans.

Kat sits up, cradling Ines off to the side, like she’s a child who’s not supposed to hear an adult conversation. Even one this pertinent to her.

“Someone found out she doesn’t have legal citizenship and he’s probably going to report her.”

“What the fuck,” Clayton feels every muscle in his body tense.

“And these two idiots think you should marry me so I can get a green card.”

“Oh.”

Clayton’s never been great with big emotions, and Ines’ tears mixed with her words has his brain frazzled. He came thinking he was just being the DD for Ines, not DD for Ines in distress.

“Nez, babe, why don’t we table this for tonight. Let Kells take you back to your own bed and sleep it off. We’ll start fresh tomorrow,” Kat gently moves some hair behind Ines’ hear.

Ines doesn’t respond, just stands up and follows Clayton to his car on wobbly legs.

The drive isn’t far, but Clayton still feels like he has to say something, anything. He can’t find the words; they aren’t his strong suit. So instead, he wordlessly reaches across the console and grabs Ines’ hand.

⁄⁄⁄

The sun pours through her curtains with a vengeance; telling her it’s pretty late in the morning without even needing to open her eyes. Normally, she would hate wasting most of her day away in bed, but sleeping is a nice escape; not just from reality but from the pounding headache she feels behind her eyes.

Ines flips onto her back and throws an arm over her eyes, debating whether getting up and eating something is better than sleeping more.

Clayton makes the decision for her with a knock on the door, he sheepishly pokes his head in before coming to sit at the end of the bed. Offering up a bag of food, which Ines greedily takes knowing it contains her favorite breakfast sandwich.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she moans after taking a bite, digging into the bag to grab the extra hot sauce she knows Clayton didn’t forget.

She looks up and chokes on her sandwich.

Clayton is holding open a ring box with a diamond ring.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I talked to Schmaltzy and Kat this morning and you know, I think they’re right. Getting married to me is gonna be the easiest way for you stay in the country.”

“And ruin your life.”

“How will being married to you be that much different than it is now?”

He makes a good point. They broke up before the last off-season and he had offered to let her stay in his house since he would be traveling for a big chunk of the summer. Not worry about finding a new place while she got back on her feet. That was months ago and she’s still here, cooking him meals, cleaning up around the house, having sex with him.

The only real difference is she has her own room now.

“I don’t know, legal paperwork, maybe me being detained by ICE, you being shackled to me for god knows how long, probably two years at least. What if you meet someone?”

“I’m a professional athlete, I don’t think people would be to shocked if I cheated on you.”

Ines isn’t impressed by his attempt at a joke.

“This isn’t fair to you.”

“And it’s fair that you have to move back to a country you barely remember living in?”

He has a single-mindedness that no amount argument will sway. Especially while Ines is in this hungover state.

“Okay, Mr. Machismo, where’d you get the ring?”

“I– um– got it this morning, Kat helped pick it out. You know, need some proof this is real. And before you freak, I bought it with cash so there’s no paper trail or whatever.”

“Christ, you really thought this through?”

“You always told me it could be a possibility, so you know, I thought about what I’d do, especially when we were actually together.”

The look on his face makes her want to cry. He’s so sure; certain that she’s worth the effort, was worth having an escape plan for her.

“I know it’s crazy, but I’d hate to just sit by and watch you get torn away from your life when I could do something.”

“Okay,” Ines’ voice cracks, wet through the tears she can’t hold in anymore, “If you’re sure.”

Clayton nods, plucks the ring out of the box and holds it out on his palm for her; it seems too intimate or too sacrilegious for him to slip it on for her.

“I’ll call my immigration lawyer,” she twists the ring on her finger.

⁄⁄⁄

“Hola Ines!” Sierra, her immigration lawyer squeezes her tightly.

“And this must be the famous tonelada de arcilla,” Sierra grins at Clayton and shakes his hand.

“I can’t believe she told you that,” Ines grumbles as she takes a seat.

“Soledad couldn’t keep her big mouth shut if she tried,” Sierra moves to the other side of her desk, “besides I love your mom’s inability to understand American names, like Ashton.”

“Oh yeah, tonelada de ceniza,” Ines giggles.

“You’re saying I’m not special?” Clayton smirks.

“You’re very special mi arcilla,” she bumps his knee with her own.

“So, we’re here to talk about a marriage green card?” Sierra gets to business.

“We got engaged right before this, but now some asshole is threatening to report Nez’ status to immigration. So it sounds fishy, but we just want to start the process before anything happens.”

Ines nods with a tight smile. She was expecting Clayton to be here for moral support, not for him to take the lead.

“Okay, so we don’t know if he’s reported anything or if ICE will even investigate you. But since you work for a political organization that isn’t exactly beloved in Arizona, we’ll prepare for the worst.”

Instinctively, Clayton reaches out to hold Ines’ hand, stop her from fidgeting before she even starts.

Sierra looks at her watch, “we probably don’t have time to get you married today, but definitely can get your license today. It’s probably for the best, since this is kind of rush job you’ll probably want to dress up, have some friends as witnesses, make it clear this is above the board.”

Ines squeezes Clayton’s hand. Sierra is too busy shuffling through papers to notice any nerves, or maybe she’s just used to it.

“How’s that sound? Married by tomorrow, try to finish the paperwork in the next couple weeks?”

“Um- what about signing a pre-nup?” Clayton snaps his head towards Ines, “I mean I know it’s best if we have like joint accounts to show it’s legit or that I won’t end up on welfare immediately, but most people aren’t marrying millionaires.”

“You don’t need to sign a pre-nup,” Clayton sounds almost hurt at her suggestion.

Ines slips her hand out of his, “Don’t be stupid, we’re only moving this fast because of me, I don’t want you to be at any legal risk just because I need a green card.”

“I haven’t worked with a case quite like this, but a pre-nup might help your case that this is for the right reasons and not just for a green card.”

Ines starts chewing on her thumbnail, Clayton grabs her hand to stop her.

“I’m not your agent, but we can probably draft a quick contract of sorts that will say she will sign a post-nuptial and you can sort that out after with your people.”

Sierra then goes on a spiel about what to expect, what documents they’ll need, forms they need to fill out, the medical exam Ines will need. Clayton is trying to pay attention, but his eyes are glazing over. She hooks her foot around his ankle and tries to give him her most grateful smile, she hopes it doesn’t look too much like a grimace.

They find themselves at the courthouse the next day. Kat had insists they don’t see each other before the wedding, so they go in separate cars. It makes no sense since the foursome all knows this isn’t real, it’s all an act.

Kat stops her on the steps of the courthouse,

“You have your something old with the dress,” she gestures to the huipil her abuela had made for her mother, it was the only mostly white thing she owned, though it was mostly covered in bright colored flowers.

“And your something new with that rock on your finger, so here’s your something borrowed and blue,” she digs through her purse for a box with a pair of simple sapphire earring.

“You know it’s not–“

“This may not be your dream wedding, but let’s no fuck around with good luck.”

Kat looks like she wants to say more, but that’s not something Ines wants to dissect at the moment. She pulls her into a tight embrace instead.

Clayton and Nick are already waiting inside. Ines makes a silly scrunched up face that Clayton returns.

“Don’t be gross,” Kat nudges her, it’s when Ines realizes she’s filming.

“I honestly thought you were gonna wear a Gucci t-shirt,” Ines grins when they stop in front of the guys.

“I made him put on something with a collar,” Nick gives Clayton a playful shove.

“Aww he could have been your something blue,” Kat coos as Ines fixes the collar of Clayton’s steel blue shirt.

“But I still would have needed something borrowed,” she laughs until she remembers she’s borrowing Clayton, she drops her hands to her sides like they caught on fire.

Thankfully, the clerk calls their names, saving them from dwelling too long on that truth.

The ceremony takes all of 15 minutes. Ines all too aware of her hands sweating in Clayton’s as they hold hands in front of the judge. Picture perfect.

“By the power vested in my by the state of Arizona, I know pronounce you married!”

When neither react right away the judge speaks up again and winks, “now would be a lovely time to kiss.”

An awkward giggle bubbles out of Ines, but then Clayton is cupping her face and kissing her. She kisses back, and what should probably be a more chaste kiss gets a little heated. Ines likes kissing Clayton, sue her.

They’re broken a part by the obnoxious cheers from Kat and Schmaltzy. Both are flushed when they pull away, neither quite sure if it’s from lust or embarrassment.

“Now that’s how you start off a marriage, congratulations,” the judge smiles.

⁄⁄⁄

Ines is fidgeting with everything. She’s moved a vase of flower about twenty times, though it’s only moved about 1 inch away from its original place.

Clayton grabs her arms and pins them to her sides, “relax, it’s just your family.”

“Oh yeah, my totally calm, quiet, chill family. Nothing to worry about.”

“Your family loves me, we’ll be fine,” he lets her arms go and she immediately moves the vase again.

“Where’s your ring?”

She reaches into the pocket of her dress, “My mom will notice it immediately, I’ll put it on after we tell them,” she starts to turn before wheeling back around, “that we’re engaged they don’t need to know we’re actually married, I don’t want them worrying about immigration.”

Clayton nods.

“And where’s your ring?” she instinctively grabs his hand to look.

“You just said they shouldn’t know we got married,” he laughs at her pinballing thoughts.

Ines opens her mouth to say something but he cuts her off by pulling out one of his chains, the silver ring hanging off of it.

“Okay,” she lets out a sigh, “keep it in your shirt, arcilla.”

Ines moves over to straighten an already pristine tablecloth; all the deception is making her ill. She doesn’t want to tell anyone, but she knows the news will get out somehow, and her mother will never forgive her. She might not forgive her if she learned she’s already married.

“When are we gonna tell your family? We can’t just be ‘engaged’ for two years or so without them knowing.

“We can call them after probably,” he shrugs, his confidence over this decision clearly wavering a bit. Ines feels secretly happy about that, they’re on a level playing field.

The doorbell rings, the commotion of her immediate family barely muffled through the door.

“Showtime,” Ines plasters on a big smile.

The family stumbles in, a cacophony of Spanish follows as they all speak over each other to greet Ines and pass off food.

“Clayton, mi amor,” Ines’ mom cups his face and kisses him all over before pulling him into a tight embrace, “I knew you two would figure it out.”

“Yeah, I’m glad we did.”

He takes some food and follows Ines to the kitchen as she gives directions to her family in Spanish. They’ve been together long enough he recognizes some of it, but he feels bad for never trying to learn Spanish in earnest.

One of her sisters, Teresa, is pouring shots of tequila. Ines smirks at him and is about to comment when a small body rams into him.

“Clayton! Look I lost a tooth at hockey,” Ines’ niece, Marisol smiles to show off the gap.

“She didn’t lose it during a game, she lost it shooting in our driveway,” her twin brother Mateo sneers.

“You’re just mad you have all your teeth still,” she sticks her tongue out.

“You know when you get adult teeth you want to keep them all, even as a hockey player,” Ines butts in.

“Whatever tia,” the little girl rolls her eyes and gets a scoff back from her aunt.

“The new season just started, how’s the new gear?” Clayton changes the subject.

“I don’t have to wear three pairs of socks in my skates anymore, and the sticks are so nice.” Mateo’s eyes gleam with excitement.

“Maybe later we can shoot around a bit,” Clayton smiles back.

The twins cheer at the idea before running off to tell their mom.

“You bought them gear for their new season?” Ines furrows her brows.

“Yeah, I have my connections,” he tries to play it off.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, but last season they had all that hand-me-down gear, it was literally the least I could do for getting them into the sport in the first place.

Ines nods.

“Lovebirds, we’re taking shots in your honor,” Teresa calls them over to the rest of the adults and hands them cups.

“¡Arriba, abajo, al centro y pa’dentro!”

The tequila goes down smooth, relaxing her enough to rip off the band aid.

“Well, we have something else for you to cheers,” Ines leans into Clayton’s side before reaching into her pocket and putting on the ring, “we’re engaged.”

There are screams, hugs, kisses, and even some tears. Ines feels the alcohol going to her head far faster than it should. Another glass being thrust into hand and another toast.

“Felicidades mija,” Ines’ dad brings her in close.

He’s a man of few words, partially because he never really learned the language of his new country. Those two simple words and the joy in his eyes makes Ines want to weep. He turns to Clayton, placing a strong hand on his shoulder and holding his other hand out.

“Bienvenido a nuestro familia.”

“Uh, gracias Hector, soy muy um–“ he leans over to Ines “how do I say I’m very excited?”

“Está muy emocionado, papi.”

“¡Más tequila!” He shouts and the family cheers.

“He’s happy for us, right? Not trying to kill me?” Clayton ribs Ines.

“I think this might be a test, if you die you wouldn’t have fit in anyway,” she smiles back.

“So, when are you going to get pregnant, mija?”

“Jesucristo mamí,” Ines furiously blushes, “couldn’t you have at least asked that in Spanish?”

“It takes both of you, I thought he should understand too.”

Her family is a little less embarrassing the rest of the party, they genuinely seem excited for Clayton to join the family. Her niece and nephew ask if Clayton is finally their real tio while she watches them pass around a ball on the sport court in the backyard.

Her heart aches with the truth.

It’s keeping her up in her bed. Usually, after that much tequila she’d be asleep within minutes, but there’s too much going on in her brain.

Her door creaks open and Clayton creeps into the room.

“How drunk are you still?” Ines tries to suppress the smile in her voice as Clayton clumsily crawls into the bed.

He merely grunts in response and moves around to get comfy.

“And you’re in here why?”

“I think the air conditioner isn’t getting into my room,” he mumbles and drapes an arm over Ines, burrowing his head into neck.

He can’t see her epic eye roll; she knows the air conditioner is probably fine and there are two other guest rooms he could use.

“You don’t have to lie, I know you like to cuddle when you’re drunk, babe.”

She winces at her casual use of a pet name, feels Clayton freeze for a second too.

She runs a hand through his hair until he relaxes again, “since my family tried to poison you, I’ll make you a hangover-approved breakfast before practice tomorrow.”

He hums in response, breath evening out until he’s asleep.

Ines is quick to follow, the weight of his arm a grounding comfort.

⁄⁄⁄

A month into the regular season and Ines still hasn’t been to a game. Kat warned her some of the significant others were starting to talk. Rumors of her breaking up with Clayton before the off-season had been swirling around. Sure, those rumors were true, but there was no concrete reason to believe them until her recent absence.

From what Ines heard about other teams, this group wasn’t particularly cliquey or gossipy. But sometimes that meant when there was something to talk about, they were hyper-focused. And that seems to be the situation now.

So being the girlfriend/fiancée/wife/whatever the hell she is to a member of team leadership, she invited the group over for dinner and drinks to watch an away game.

In actuality, it comes at the perfect time. Ines likes planning and organizing and it’s the perfect way to keep her mind off everything else. The most pressing being that Clayton is in St. Louis and made her promise to Facetime with him and his parents after the game. Keeping up appearances when she didn’t travel for the first game with her future in-laws.

Coming in at a close second is the fact the Blues are playing in town the day before Thanksgiving, so his mom thought it was a great time to visit for the holiday. Especially since Ines couldn’t make it out to Missouri this trip.

She’s already nauseous at the thought of moving her stuff back into the master bedroom, hiding all evidence of the truth. For now, the door is locked, so no nosy and/or drunk women pop in tonight.

“Pour yourself a drink and sit the fuck down Nez, the game is about to start,” Kat warns from her spot on the couch.

Ines stops organizing the growing pile of mail and rolls her shoulders back. She grabs a new bottle wine, knowing this group has already emptied the ones on the table before the anthem is even finished. She settles in the middle of the couch and cuddles into Kat’s side.

It’s nice to be back with a group of friends. Ines always gets lonely in the summer when most of them go back home and she’s stuck here, but this summer had been especially brutal.

“Ines, what the hell is that?” Claire shouts moments after puck drop.

Ines’ eyes dart around the room, looking for a scorpion or something that made it into the house.

“The ring on your finger!” Claire is grabbing her hand; the game is quickly forgotten in favor of this.

“Clayton proposed,” she feels her mouth attempt to smile, but it feels all wrong.

“Finally!” Someone cheers from behind her and the rest of the group seems to concur.

She didn’t mean to leave the ring on, it still feels so bulky and foreign. But she’s trying to at least wear it to work, so it doesn’t seem like some secret green card relationship. Though maybe keeping it from the WAGs makes it seem like a dirty secret.

In her mind it’s easier to cut and run from work acquaintances if this all blows up in her face. Clayton is stuck with most of these people, and Ines can’t imagine hurting him when he’s being so kind.

“Look how red she’s turning, no wonder she was staying away from us, Nez hates the spotlight,” Claire laughs.

“How did it happen?”

Ines wants to melt into the couch.

“Nothing special, he just brought me my favorite hangover breakfast and proposed while I was still in bed,” she shrugs, not wanting to lie more than necessary.

“Makes it convenient if you’re already in bed,” Kat waggles her eyebrows and Ines punches her arm.

“He knows I wouldn’t have accepted anything that wasn’t lowkey.”

“Yeah, except that gorgeous diamond, good work Kells,” Claire adds, giving the ring one last look before the action onscreen grabs back their attention.

Ines is a little wine drunk by the time the ladies clear out. Her face feels flushed and warm as she tries to clean up wine glasses and plates.

 There’s one bottle with a little wine left and she pours herself another glass while she waits for Clayton to call.  She starts to go through the mail she tossed aside before the game. A reminder for a dentist appointment, a credit card statement, a letter asking to go paperless for billing.

Her phone starts to buzz against the kitchen island, she answers the Facetime wishing it were a phone call instead.

“Hi arcilla, you played well tonight,” she’s actually not positive he played well, she mostly drank and caught up with her friends.

She looks down to the mail again, an official looking envelope addressed to her stares back at her.

“You, okay?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m a little tipsy,” she holds up her glass of wine for him to see.

“You had fun then?”

His dimple is on full display when he smiles and it reminds her of when they used to do this all the time; a call before either went to bed just to say hello or see each other’s faces. Ines knows what every hotel wall and headboard looks like in the NHL.

She plays with the corners of the envelope, “This is great and all, but I thought this was so I could say hi to your parents.”

Clayton starts to move, “they wanted to give us some privacy first.”

“Did they think we were gonna have quick phone se-ehh,” Ines peters off when his parents appear on screen.

Clayton is trying to hold back a laugh while Ines feels her flush grow brighter, “Hi Kelley, hi Bryan.”

“Hi honey, when are we gonna get you out here?” His mom asks.

“Sorry ,work never seems to be in my favor.”

She lies, it’s easier than saying she hasn’t been on a plane in 20 years because she’s afraid she’ll get deported. She’s never seen Clayton’s family outside of Arizona or somewhere within driving distance. They haven’t seemed too bothered, but she’s always worried they’re just good at hiding their true thoughts.

“One day,” she smiles, “we’re excited to see you in a couple weeks, is there anything you want us to make special for Thanksgiving?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re coming to our house.”

“Let me be a mom and take care of it” she scoffs, “you are my first daughter.”

Ines just nods because her voice might crack if she speaks.

“We’re getting a late dinner, so we’ll let you go. But can’t wait to see you, Ines,” Bryan says and gives a wave.

“Yeah, should be fun, enjoy dinner,” she waves back.

“Bye babe, love you,” Clayton waves, his eyes go wide before the call ends.

She’d give the moment more thought if she wasn’t itching to rip open the envelope in her hands.

Notice to Appear.

December 11th.

Suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in.

⁄⁄⁄

When Clayton gets home from the road trip Ines is in the hot tub. Her muscles having felt wound tight for the last week.

“Saw you’re all moved in,” he says as he dangles his legs into the tub.

Ines doesn’t open her eyes to look at him, just nods.

“And you have your immigration hearing in December.”

She nods again, she left the letter out by the table where they put their keys. She didn’t want to talk about it, but she had to tell him.

“I’ll be in Buffalo that day, but I­–“

Ines opens her eyes, gives him an exasperated look, “You’ll play a hockey game and I’ll be fine on my own.”

“It’s not–“

She moves closer, almost to the space between his legs, “you’re doing so much for me, please don’t fight me on this. Just go play hockey.”

“Okay,” he nearly whispers.

Ines thinks about how easy it would be to give him a blow job right now, let her mind go blank for a bit. Shut up Clayton for a bit.

Before she can actually act on those thoughts, he places a hand on her cheek, running his thumb across her cheek bone.

“And you’re doing, okay?”

She honestly doesn’t know, but she does know she doesn’t want to talk about it.

So, she grabs Clayton’s wrist and pulls him in closer. She doesn’t wait for him to catch up, smashing their lips together and pushing her tongue into his mouth before he even starts kissing back.

He’s quick to catch up to her. Pulling her flush against him, filling the space between his legs. It’s the first time they’ve done this since they got married, it feels like all the building tension is finally exploding. Ines feels molten.

Clayton unties the back her bikini top and tosses it somewhere behind him with a wet splat. His hands cover her chest and she can’t help but shiver, maybe from the cold air but probably not.

She grabs his hair and pulls him away from her, “we should take this inside.”

Without second thought he pulls her out of the hot tub and towards the house, the strings of her bottoms undone and left outside as well. Ines paws at his shirt, trying to get her own fill of skin.

He pulls it over his head in one fluid motion as he maneuvers Ines towards the bedroom. Her back hits the mattress before she realizes they’re in the master bedroom.

They haven’t done this here since the break up six months ago, like it’s too intimate, too full of the past.

Clayton is hovering over her, the chain with the wedding ring dangling. The room is filled with her belongings again and she feels like she’s in some alternate universe. A world where they never broke up, where marriage was a logical step in the future.

She tries to clear her mind again, pulling Clayton down for a kiss because she wants this.

⁄⁄⁄

An alarm starts to blare and she feels the other side of the bed move.

“Sorry, that’s mine,” Ines apologizes and turns it off.

She lays back and stares at the ceiling for a bit. It feels too familiar to wake up in here, naked in the softest sheets she’s ever felt. But nothing has actually shifted, she’ll get out of bed and everything will be as it was.

She rubs the sleep from her eyes and gets out of bed to take a shower. Clayton is getting ready for practice when she gets out of the bathroom.

“I forgot how nice that shower is, you should redo the one guest bathroom, it could have better water pressure,” she jokes, though it doesn’t really land.

She wanders into the walk-in closet where she’s haphazardly put away some of her clothes, she feels Clayton follow her in, even though he’s mostly dressed.

“My parents get in today; do you want to go to the game with them tonight?” He sounds like he’s asking out a girl for the first time.

“The twins have a music recital or play or something I said I’d go to, but they can take my car to the arena so you don’t have to worry about that.”

She drops the towel on the floor and starts getting dressed for work, stopping before she zips up her dress, reading between the lines of Clayton’s question.

“But I’ll be at the game with them on Wednesday, I mean if you can get me a ticket,” she turns to flash a smile at Clayton to find that’s he’s only a step away.

“I think I can manage that,” he turns Ines around, moving her hair out of the way and zipping up the dress for her, fingers lingering at her neck for a second too long.

Ines stops herself from shivering and turns around, “I have to leave, but see you after the game.”

She gives him a quick peck against her better judgement, “good luck.”

The casual touches don’t disappear in the following days. Ines can’t tell if they’re putting a show on for his parents or not. The touches seem too instinctive to just be a spectacle, but maybe that’s because they’re sharing a bed again and can’t seem to keep their hands off each other behind closed doors.

Though that seems to be seeping outside of the bedroom, too.

The morning after his parents arrive, Kelley is in the kitchen making coffee and gives them a knowing look when they come out of the bedroom, as if to tell them they were too loud even from the other side of the house. Ines decides to pick up breakfast on her way to work rather than sit through breakfast at home.

That night Ines is laid out on the couch not paying attention to the football game playing on TV. Clayton lifts her head up and then places her back down on his lap when he sits.

She groans as she tries to get more comfortable, “You make a terrible pillow, you’re too bony.”

“I think it’s the titanium rod in my leg,” he says back, squirming underneath her to make her more frustrated.

“You were bony before then too,” she rolls her eyes and pretends to focus on the game and ignore Clayton’s fingers brushing under her shirt.

Wednesday is a half day for Ines, she gets home to a surprisingly empty house and enjoys drinking a beer and mindlessly watching Tiktoks in peace.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting you home,” Ines jumps when Clayton comes up behind her.

“Wasn’t expecting to find an empty house,” she shrugs.

“My parents are picking up Jake from the airport,” he wraps his arms around Ines’ waist, “I was about to take my pre-game nap, but I wouldn’t say no to some company.”

He presses a couple kisses into her neck, “an afternoon nap sounds nice.”

She barely finishes the sentence before he’s walking her to the bedroom. Clayton is a little handsy as Ines crawls into the bed.

“I’m serious about an actual nap, I won’t be held responsible if you have a bad game.”

Clayton rolls away, hands up in surrender.

Ines rolls towards him wrapping an arm around his middle, “For all your suffering, I’ll give you a blow job if you win tonight.”

“A victory blow job? You didn’t even do that when we were dating,” he chuckles, the sound amplified with her ear on his chest.

“What can I say, I’m in a giving mood,” she kisses his pec and closes her eyes.

Clayton’s alarm goes off and Ines groans.

“You can sleep longer,” he runs a hand through her hair before slipping out from under her.

“Nah, I’ll just be more tired later,” she rolls over but doesn’t get out of the bed, watches Clayton go into the closet.

“You should wear the green suit from the awards, it’s a special request from Marisol.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She thinks I have a say over what you wear and she told me it’s her favorite,” she watches Clayton start to get undressed, “you did look hot in it,” she smirks when he fumbles with a hanger in response.

When he comes out dressed, he still has bedhead. Ines gets up to fix it, he jokingly bats her hands away as they leave the room.

“Just let me fix this one piece arcilla, you look like we just fucked,” she stops in her tracks at the sight of Clayton’s family, “Hi Jake, good to see you.”

Jake nods in her direction, not particularly friendly, but she can pretend it’s because of the awkward conversation they just heard.

Ines knows Clayton told his brother everything, or more than Ines would like. She’s not sure exactly what he told his parents about the break up, but they seem to have forgiven anything pretty quickly. She knows Jake is a little weary of her now, and maybe her motives.

Clayton is either oblivious or just trying to play it off and gives him a bro-hug before he heads off to the game

The awkward air between Jake and Ines remains, not that they were ever specifically close, but this feels extra icy. She tries to avoid sitting next to him, but the two get caught between the parents. And she’s not even in her usual seats near Kat to have a buffer.

The game is a bit messy, passes aren’t connecting, the power play might as well be missing, but the crowd is into it. Mullett is small enough to feel like you’re always in the game, which helps Ines because before Clayton she knew next to nothing about hockey. Being this up close means she’s 99% sure she understands the rules, except goalie interference.

The second period ends with the Blues up by one, which isn’t too bad considering how the game is looking.

“Have you two talked about any wedding plans?” Kelley turns to Ines,

On her other side she hears Jake snort on his drink, she makes a mental note to double check how much Clayton has told his brother.

“Not really, I had a quinceañera so I already had my big party and fancy-dress moment,” it’s the truth, her 15th birthday fulfilled a lot of princess dreams she may have had.

“You’re both still young, you can have long engagement to figure it out if you want.”

Ines feels the anxiety seep out of her bones.

“You two could even get married at a courthouse if that’s that you wanted.”

The tension comes back so quickly it almost gives her whiplash.

Jake shoots up and mumbles something about food. Ines would follow him, but she’s not sure a public confrontation is the best idea.

Thankfully there’s some more hockey to distract her, the Coyotes end up clawing back but lose in OT on a poorly timed line change.

There’s not a great place to wait for the boys at Mullett, so they sit in their seats for a while before meandering down.

Kat jumps on Ines the moment she sees her.

“Look who’s gracing us with her presence,” Kat kisses her cheek and slides off her back before she can accidentally knock them to the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, bad WAG alert,” Ines swats her away.

She hears Jake mumble something, but can’t quite make it out. That’s when Kat actually seems to comprehend that Clayton’s family is here.

“The two lovebirds have been busy being cooped up, we haven’t seen them both in the flesh for a while,” she gives a cheeky smile and winks at the Kellers.

“We’re in the same house and they’re having a hard time keeping it in the bedroom, so consider yourself lucky,” Bryan laughs with Kat while Ines cheeks burn.

“Oooh la la Nez, loving this pre-honeymoon phase for you,” she gives Ines a meaningful pinch on the side, a warning they will be talking about this later.

“Speak of the devil,” Kelley laughs and pulls her son into hug.

“Kells show me some of this PDA everyone is talking about,” Kat is clearly not above egging this on despite the sharp look Ines gives.

Clayton pulls her in tight, ducking his head so he can whisper to her.

“Sorry, I didn’t live up to our end of the bargain. No prize for me,” he fake pouts.

“Cause I’m still in a giving mood, here’s a consolation prize for a one-point night,” Ines pulls Clayton in for a kiss, ignoring the catcall from Kat.

“That’s it?” Clayton her pulls her in tightly to his side.

“Don’t push it,” she elbows him in the side, ignores the knowing look Kat is directing her way.

Ines manages to convince everyone the brothers should ride home together, since they don’t see each other enough. Partially, to prove to Kat that there’s nothing going on; partially hoping that Clayton and Jake will talk through whatever weirdness is going on.

⁄⁄⁄

“Do you have to go golfing and leave me alone with your mom?” Ines complains before stuffing her face in the pillow

“You like my mom,” Clayton rolls back onto the bed and rubs her back.

“Yeah, but preparing Thanksgiving is like serious mother-daughter shit, I’d love some backup.”

“You could come golfing.”

“Cause I’d love to get made fun of instead.”

“Those are kind of your two options,” he kisses her shoulder.

“Fine, staying home it is,” she flips over onto her back, “can you at least make sure Jake won’t be weird when you guys come back.”

“He’s just looking out for me, doesn’t want you taking advantage of me,” Clayton absentmindedly traces up and down her arm.

“Did you tell him this was your suggestion? And that I signed a pre-nup? I won’t take advantage and steal your money if that’s what he’s worried about.”

His hand stills for a moment, “I’ll talk to him again, don’t worry about it.”

He stands up again, “have fun cooking.”

“I hope you lose!” Ines calls back.

Ines wanders into the kitchen an hour later, Kelley already deep in prep.

“Sorry, I went back to sleep. Though I’ve never cooked Thanksgiving so I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“You’re a great cook, I think you’ll be fine,” Kelley laughs before instructing her on how to finish prepping the stuffing.

Ines takes off the engagement ring and places it in the middle of the island, out of reach. She rubs the naked finger and notices there’s already a faint tan line. She flexes the fingers, like that will give her some answers. Like why taking it off doesn’t feel like unhooking an anchor that’s pulling her under anymore.

She looks up to see she’s been caught by Kelley. If she has some thoughts, she doesn’t share them with Ines.

They work mostly in quiet, the Thanksgiving Parade playing on the TV in the other room. Kelley stopping every once in a while, to watch or tell Ines about watching the parade growing up. How Clayton used to worry the balloons were going to eat the people holding them when he was a toddler.

“This is your first turkey?” Kelley says as Ines puts the bird in the oven

“Yeah, I spent most of my Thanksgivings helping my mom with housekeeping, so can’t do this but ask me to make a bed, I got you,” Ines laughs.

“This calls for a toast then,” Kelley finds some Bailey’s and pours it into their coffees, “To sharing my secrets with my new daughter.”

She clinks her mug against Ines, the sound scrambles something in Ines’ heart, “You know Clay and I broke up right?”

Kelley takes a long sip of her coffee and hums.

“He told us you needed some time apart. Because of all the uncertainty around the team and some things he didn’t really get into,” Kelley trails off.

“It’s understandable you’re both so young and had to go through some really intense things together. I think it was really mature what you two decided, but I’m really glad you worked it out, you make Clayton so happy. I think happier than hockey, if that’s possible.”

Ines lip starts to wobble, she tries to stop the tears. But how can she when even Clayton’s mom believes their lie? How can she break her heart down the line?

“Oh darling,” Kelley pulls her into a tight embrace that only a mom can give, “love is never easy, and if down the road it’s not right anymore, that will be okay too. It’s privilege to find love at all.”

That sends Ines into another wave of sobs. She buries her face into Kelley’s shoulder as she gently rubs Ines’ back and sways them side to side.

Once her cries seem to calmed down to sniffles, Kelley moves away enough to see Ines’ face. She wipes away the few stray tears, “I see the way you two look at each other when you think no one’s watching, I think you’ll happy together for a very long time.”

Kelley smiles, her eyes a little glossy like she might cry too. And with a shaky breath Ines tries to give her a smile back.

They hear the door open and the boys start to come into the house.

“Who won?” Kelley calls out as they come around the corner.

Ines tries to busy herself by rolling out the pie crust they had forgotten.

“Jake squeaked one out,” Bryan comes around the island and kisses Kelley, “smells great ladies, you need any help?”

“Not right now, we were gonna take a break soon,” Kelley winks at Ines.

Clayton comes and leans into Ines from behind, his hands boxing Ines in. He kisses her cheek before he notices her eyes rimmed red.

“You, okay?” He whispers, kissing below her ear.

“Yeah, whatever onions we bought were like tear gas,” she cracks a smile and leans back into him.

“We had to evacuate for a while, I think we just got it under control before you guys came home,” Kelley smiles and pulls Bryan out of the kitchen, following the sounds of a football game Jake put on.

Ines turns around, still boxed in by Clayton. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and hangs her weight on him, feeling a bit tired. He moves his hands to her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Was it rough morning alone with my mom?”

“No, it was really nice, actually.”

She pulls back to give him a genuine smile, plays with the ends of his hair, “And did you talk to Jake?”

“Yeah, and I let him win so I think he’ll be in a good mood.”

“Wow, you did that for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” he smirks before dipping down to kiss her.

“Why can’t you let me win?” Ines pouts when the pull a part.

“I can’t act that well,” he’s biting back a mischievous grin, “but if you ask nicely, I can help you improve your back swing.”

He’s gently moving her hips side to side when Ines gives him a playful shove, “Keep it in your pants Keller, your family is in the other room.”

“Hasn’t stopped you much this week,” he pulls her flush against his chest, his hands wandering to her ass.

“Oh my god, there’s not gonna be that kind of giving today.”

Clayton’s about to respond, “Is it safe to come into the kitchen or are you two fondling each other?”

Ines moves Clayton’s hands off her butt and to his sides, “All clear Jake, your brother was just leaving to take a shower, a cold one,” she whispers the last part.

Jake makes a gagging sound, “you two are gross.”

“One day you’ll have someone to fondle other than yourself,” Clayton punches his brother in the arm on the way out of the kitchen.

⁄⁄⁄

Ines and Kat are sitting on the steps of the courthouse, finishing their coffees. The coffee was probably a mistake, it’s sitting acidic and heavy in her stomach.

At least the universe wasn’t cruel enough to have her hearing at the same courthouse as she got married. She doesn’t think her heart could take the irony.

Kat is jittery, her knee bouncing erratically. Caffeine doesn’t have that kind of effect on her, so Ines knows it must be something else.

“I think I’m supposed to be the nervous one.”

“I still don’t understand why you broke up with Clayton in the first place.”

Ines whips her head around like there’s someone waiting around the corner to record this kind of damning evidence.

“You said you’d explain, but you never did. And it’s clear you still have feelings for him.”

Ines scoffs.

“Fine, you don’t love him, then tell me why you broke up and why you never moved out? You had plenty of time to find a new place, Nick and I would have let you move in.”

“I was tired of holding him back.”

Ines gulps down the cold remnants of her drink.

“It was so exhausting telling him no. No, I can’t go home with you to meet your parents. No, I can’t go to the All-Star Game in Florida cause it’s not in driving distance. I can’t be your date to a wedding because I can’t get on a plane. I can’t have bye week with all our friends in the fucking country I was born in because I may not get to come home!”

She tries to take even-keeled breaths; she doesn’t want to start crying before her hearing even starts.

“And he couldn’t tell people because what if someone slipped up and I got deported, or worse they found my parents or Soledad. She has kids!”

Kat puts a gentle hand on her knee.

“And he shouldn’t have to deal with that, he could find someone less complicated and someone who could actually be there for him.”

“Did he ever tell you those things were a problem?”

“No, but I could see how frustrating all those little things were becoming; how upset he’d get with every new thing I couldn’t do.”

“Yeah, he’s upset because you couldn’t live a full life without worry. Because he loves you, Ines! He’s still in love with you.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s just nice. He would have said something by now, not just married me and suffered in silence.”

“Oh, he should have said something? Like you’re saying something because you clearly still love him, too?”

Ines just blinks at Kat, like her brain can’t possibly comprehend what her friend is saying. She doesn’t even get the chance to argue because her alarm goes off.

“You have a court hearing, but don’t think justice will stop us from talking about this later,” Kat says sternly.

In the court room, Ines sits between her lawyer and Kat. Her brain feels too fried to keep up with the basics the judge opens up with.

“Now it says the couple was wed on September 14th of this year. Just a few days before the official report was filed about Ms. Ruiz’ status. You’ll understand why this seems a little convenient.”

“Yes, your honor,” Sierra stands up holding a file, “but the couple was engaged before any officially filings were made. And you can see in the documents we have a receipt from when Mr. Keller bought the engagement ring back in March of this year. If you need to see Ms. Ruiz’ ring for confirmation she can approach the bench.”

“That won’t be necessary. Seeing as all the applications are going through the appropriate channels, I see no reason to hold Ms. Ruiz in custody while she waits for her green card interview.”

The gavel bang echoes in Ines’ head, but the judge is already moving on to the next case. Sierra and Kat help lead her out of the courtroom. They’re excitedly chattering, and Ines knows she should join in, knows this is good news, but she hasn’t quite caught up.

She sends Clayton a text: Hearing went well, won’t be going to prison, then promptly turns off her phone.

⁄⁄⁄

Ines gets two days to stew before Clayton comes home.

He picks her up and spins her around in excitement the instant he sees her. His smile falters when he sets her down and sees the borderline grim look on Ines’ face.

“You bought the ring in March?”

Clayton doesn’t know what to say, shocked by the realization.

“They brought up the receipt during the hearing, to help prove that it wasn’t just a last-minute wedding.”

Ines bites at her thumb nail, the ring catching the light. Clayton feels some relief that she hasn’t taken it off.

“You wanted to marry me before we broke up?”

“You breaking up with me kind of ruined my plans,” Clayton shrugs, not sure the direction this conversation is taking.

Ines laughs in spite herself.

“There were all those weddings you couldn’t come to and I thought you needed a chance to think without any pressure from my life, I didn’t expect it to be permanent.”

Ines audibly swallows, they’re walking around the heart of the issue, both too scared to be the first to show all their cards.

“I still got to marry you, not in the way I wanted. But I don’t regret that, no matter what you think.”

Ines moves to take off the ring, Clayton holds his breath while his heart clenches painfully.

“Ask me again.”

“What?”

Ines hands him the ring, her voice wavers a bit, “ask me again.”

He fumbles with the ring for a second before dropping down to one knee.

“I- uh don’t have anything romantic to say. But I love you Ines and I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me. So will you marry me?”

Ines lets out a small sob before covering her face, “Oh my god I can’t believe I’m a girl who cries when she gets proposed to.”

“Is that a yes? Cause otherwise this is really fucking mean.”

“Shit, sorry, yes. That’s a yes,“ she clambers to get Clayton standing again and kisses him desperately.

“I love you arcilla, I’m sorry it took me a while to realize I never stopped,” she says between kisses, not wanting to stop now.

Clayton laughs and pulls away enough to put the ring back on, “it was worth the wait.”

This time Clayton pulls her into a kiss, savoring the moment he imagined for months and months.

[bloggingboutburgers]

I need some help.

So, I have this friend who’s Aro/Ace, and we have a very close group of us and like 2 other people. He recently came out to this group, and we’re all super supportive. He actually came out to me before the others, and I helped encourage him to tell them.

I am demisexual, and was planning on telling these same people around that time, but he got there first, and I didn’t want to be a jerk so I waited like a day to tell them, but I’m not sure if I waited long enough. He‘s also being weird about me being demi, and kind of treating me like I’m not really part of the same community, like, just little comments, not malicious or anything, but lots of little things.

I was the one to introduce him to all the fun ace memes, like, garlic bread, and such, and I’m the one who explained the difference between romantic and sexual attraction to him, and I introduced him to qprs, but he still treats me like I’m not the same.

I don’t know if I’m overreacting, but I’m already insecure about being aspec, but not fully ace, so it’s just kinda freaking me out. Should I talk to him about it? Just deal with it? I don’t know. I don’t want to „me too“ his identity, but I don’t want to be erased.

Thanks.

Is that like... Ace gatekeeping of sorts...? Man I'm sorry you're going through this, that sounds awkward.

Sorry I'm replying so late, I hope I'm not too late, but... Yeah, personally I would recommend talking to him about it, to find out why he's doing this. I have no idea what's going on here, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he might have felt your coming out might have undermined his in ways, even though that wasn't your intention at all and now HE's undermining yours...

Coming out is a very personal experience that should be up to a person's choice on when and how it's best to do it, so it's important for him to be able to respect yours like you did your best to respect his.

Being queer, and being on the asexual spectrum, is also very personal and CAN lead one to being defensive after having been othered for so long, not sure why, maybe 'cus we're afraid we might be damaged in the process or reduced to an image we don't wanna be reduced to. I mean... I don't know if it's a universal experience, but for instance, while I'm always happy to meet other aros and aces, I have trouble engaging in aroace-dedicated communities (welp... mostly 'cus I'm afraid of groups) but also and mostly, every time I get recommended a work with aro or ace characters in it, it hardly ever fails to give me a massive nervous stomachache and make me want to put off checking out said work forever, 'cus... I think I'm scared of finding out the many ways my identity can get undermined in the process, ironically.

I'm not sure what causes this. Maybe growing up in a reality that's so hostile to being on the aro and ace spectrums fucked me up. And maybe there's something like that going on for him too, though I don't wanna project at all. I can only ever speak about my own experience.

Either way... Both of you are valid in both of your ways, he shouldn't be gatekeeping anything, indirectly or not, especially when you've been so open to sharing your experience, and yeah, you're not the same, but you're on the same spectrum, and there are part of your struggles that you share, and he should respect that. Just because your experience doesn't 100% align with his doesn't undermine either of you. You're in this together and you should be able to have each others' backs. I sincerely hope you can talk it out and I hope he doesn't get too defensive about it... But yeah, I hope you can get your feelings across to him as well, 'cus you don't deserve this. I sincerely wish you both the best.

[babiebom]

Hiiii. I hope ur ok with my just constantly being like *ahem* spencer reid 👉🏻👈🏻🥹🥹. I loved how you wrote him in the last request! I feel like a lot of the time, people write him very ooc - just bc he can be hard to get written the right way, but like that's my boy, look at him spitting random facts for HOURS ��🥰?? Like yes, pls info dump on me while I stare at u lovingly, Spence 💞.

I recently came to terms with being ftm, but it's almost impossible to find any male! reader x Spencer Reid content. Which can be very dysphoric 😵‍💫. Which sucks! Bc holy hell, there are some fuckinnn amazing writers out there writing fanfics.

So now, I have come to you, an amazing writer out here writing fanfics, to beg ask if ud be down to write any kind of oneshot with Spencer Reid dating a male reader! It honestly doesn't have to be anything specific - romantic, angsty, enemies to lovers, slow burn, whatever peaks ur interest atm!

I would just love, love to have that content with Spence & a male reader if you're down for the task! Thank you so so muchh 💓. Hope ur having a wonderful morning / afternoon / evening !

A/N:im sorry this took so long!! I’ve been busy working (blegh) and I wanted to write something sweet for you!! I’m happy you’ve come to terms with being ftm!! As a cis identifying person myself I can’t say that I know how it feels, but I am VERY happy that you’re more comfortable with your identity!! Also never worry about being too “crazy” over Spencer I’ve been obsessed with him since I was about 5 or 6 (yes it’s been a long time)!! I’ll try more to write in a more gender neutral way when writing anything reader insert related that way you can enjoy my writing without feeling left out or anything!! Always let me know if there are things I can do better <3

Tw: maybe some cursing but overall should be wholesome

Wc: 0.54k

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Spencer Reid often came home dejected after a case gone wrong, it was often that he came home tired but happy after a successful case. It wasn’t often, however, that he came home excited for a break; but then again he hadn’t had a boyfriend to come home to on previous breaks. Now, as you watch him walk through the front door of your shared apartment, you can’t help but grin at the absolutely goofy look on his face.

“Emily gave us all 4 weeks off to rest after our latest case, so that means I get four WHOLE weeks of you to myself! Isn’t that great?” He lets out a giggle after he finishes speaking, putting his bag down on the kitchen counter. You didn’t even have to ask him why he was so giddy, he answered unprompted.

“It is great!” You try to match his energy, only seeing him this excited for the first time since you’ve met. He brings you into his embrace, hugging you so tightly that you think you might die if he squeezed you any tighter. “So what are your plans now that you’re a free man for four whole weeks?”

“Well we could go to the park and play chess, or stay here and play chess but I think the sunlight would be good for both of us. Or we could go to the movies, or take a class together, or…”

“Your plans are to just have dates with me every single day?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow.

He nods as if the answer is the most obvious, concrete fact in the universe. He looks at you, not as if you’re dumb, but as if to say ‘duh what else would I be planning to do?’.

The two of you move to sit on the couch, enveloped in each other as he talks about the many, many dates you’re going to go on now that he’s free from his time constricting job. “What if I don’t wanna do those things?” You ask playfully. He shrugs.

“It doesn’t matter what we do, as long as I get to do it with you”.

“Oh?” You look at him as if he said something scandalous, “I didn’t know you had that big of a crush on me.”

He shoves you gently, rolling his eyes at your attempt to joke off his sweet words.

“You’re joking but studies have found that couples who have regular date nights more often result in higher relationship satisfaction, better communication, and a stronger emotional connection. Us going on dates during these four weeks will be better for us in the long run.”

You don’t reply, or interrupt. It’s always amusing to listen to him ramble on and on about facts that he finds interesting or applicable to the conversation. And all it does is make you fall more in love with him, seeing how serious he is about your relationship working out in the future. He says that he loves you often, but it’s things like this; seeing and listening to how much he genuinely cares about your relationship.

Being the boyfriend of a pretty boy genius has its perks, and how much he cares about you compared to others is definitely one of them.

[rjzimmerman]

This is fucking sick. This man cannot be put into any position by any US governmental agency to do anything at all. I would suggest he be first on the list to be deported, back to South Africa, but only after the US government traps all his money, just as we trap the money of some of the Russian oligarchs. Wanna bet this post alone will get me in trouble after January 21 or whatever the date of the "inauguration" is.

Excerpt from this story from CNN:

When President-elect Donald Trump said Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy would recommend major cuts to the federal government in his administration, many public employees knew that their jobs could be on the line.

Now they have a new fear: becoming the personal targets of the world’s richest man – and his legions of followers.

Last week, in the midst of the flurry of his daily missives, Musk reposted two X posts that revealed the names and titles of people holding four relatively obscure climate-related government positions. [BTW, the positions each held deals with climate change.] Each post has been viewed tens of millions of times, and the individuals named have been subjected to a barrage of negative attention. At least one of the four women named has deleted her social media accounts.

Although the information he posted on those government positions is available through public online databases, these posts target otherwise unknown government employees in roles that do not deal directly with the public.

Several current federal employees told CNN they’re afraid their lives will be forever changed – including physically threatened – as Musk makes behind-the-scenes bureaucrats into personal targets. Others told CNN that the threat of being in Musk’s crosshairs might even drive them from their jobs entirely – achieving Musk’s smaller government goals without so much as a proper review.

“These tactics are aimed at sowing terror and fear at federal employees,” said Everett Kelley, president of the American Federation of Government Employees, which represents more than 800,000 of the 2.3 million civilian federal employees. “It’s intended to make them fearful that they will become afraid to speak up.”

This isn’t new behavior for Musk, who has often singled out individuals who he claims have made mistakes or stand in his way. One former federal employee, previously targeted by Musk, said she experienced something very similar.

“It’s his way of intimidating people to either quit or also send a signal to all the other agencies that ‘you’re next’,” said Mary “Missy” Cummings, an engineering and computer science professor at George Mason University, who drew Musk’s ire because of her criticisms of Tesla when she was at the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.

Last week Musk reposted an account with the handle Fentasyl and the name “Datahazard,” which describes itself as “Unincorporated Think Tank ~~ Focus: Govt Efficiency, Civil Rights, Victim Advocacy.”

One of the posts reads: “I don’t think the US taxpayers should pay for the employment of a ’Director of Climate Diversification (she/her)’ at the US International Development Finance Corporation,” with a partial screengrab of an employee and her location.

Musk, who called himself “super pro climate” in an X post last year, reposted and commented: “So many fake jobs.” The post has received more than 33 million views and a storm of negative comments. Some called the role a “fraud job” and others demanded Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency cut jobs like it. One user commented: “Gravy train is over.”

[lostheretics]

PLOT TWIST (5)

▸ chapter 5: the rise of the new boss

pt. 1 || pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5

✵ cast : jung wooyoung x fem!reader, kim hongjoong, lee juyeon, kim younghoon, ateez, mentioned oc and many kpop artists name or group

✵ genre : romance, marriage life, eventual angst, smut, mafia!au, non idol!au

✵ summary : there was a saying that learning is a lifelong process. what will you learn about the underworld, the first time you stepped into it? you might have what they call a beginner’s luck, but will that be enough for the things you’ll be facing soon?

✵ notes : stopped counting on how many words but i try to make it lengthy as possible. thanks for waiting, to those whoever awaits i guess. i was thinking of making a taglist for this fic. taglist will be used for updates; ANY updates regarding PT. just drop ur @ in my askbox. also, PLS REBLOG.

WARNINGS BELOW CUT

☒ warnings: none for now but do remind me if there’s one. a lil bit of discrimination from wooyoung but not in a bad way (kinda, but not that bad)

☒ i do not condone mafia acts nor any acts that goes against the law at all. everything mentioned are just purely fiction, made to entertain myself and fellow readers in this particular platforms.

☒ do not repost this on any other platform without my permission!

✓ reblogging, liking, and commenting this post in tumblr (through comment or askbox) are very much appreciated.

you believe in destiny, fate, universe, whatever they’re called. you put your whole faith in it. you trusted them and their work, putting one and one together to make to or even ten. after all, it's also the one reason you and wooyoung beat all odds and be together.

but not to this extent. you refused to believe it.

to believe the pair of arms that caught you just days before became the arms that lead you in a dance session. to believe the same pair of brown eyes to look at you once more. to believe that the stranger who helped you when you almost faint, in work, embarrassingly, is to be the one you work with. your new goal.

cue the famous line from that one song, what kind of fuckery is this?

“you seemed so quiet for someone who’s looking for an ally.”

uhm, because i’m fucking flabbergasted? too stunned to speak?

“i hope you don’t plan on running away, again.” he added, “i just wanna get to know you.”

you laughed nervously, “of course not, sir- uh, mr. kim,” you stuttered, “i don’t know how to properly address you.”

he twirled you before catching you in his arms again. “mr. kim would suffice for now. though i hope we’ll get close enough in the future to be on first name basis.” younghoon said. “and how should i address you? miss y/n? mrs. jung?”

“anything’s fine mr. kim.”

the dance continued.

it was a moment where you could finally savor, or, to put it less romantically and more professionally, it was a moment where you could finally take a good look on the man.

kim younghoon's name has been there for some time, but little was known about his private life. typical of the seoul kims. his business life, however, is the talk of the town.

he never failed in pursuing his business endeavors, alongside his brother. not a single dirt on his name was found despite him still being young in the field. the kim brothers; kim younghoon himself and his younger brother kim seokhun were every parents dream on a child, especially one with a family business.

his soft brown eyes were ones you'll never forget. they were so soft, unlike the ones you saw all your life; dull, full of hatred, and all that bad stuff. and the way his eyes smiled along when he smiled... you thought, a man this soft and pure-looking shouldn't be working in this part of the world.

"juyeon sent you to work with me, but i know he wanted more than just that." younghoon muttered. his hard gaze was evident despite him not looking at you, opting to scan the room.

"he wanted something regarding my family."

"mr. lee sent me to work with you, yes. we're grateful that he even mentioned our name and recommending us to you. however, he did so because he believed my group's main business is in the same field as yours, and that it'll make more sense." you said, ever so carefully while studying his face. you took a bold move, putting your body closer to his while strengthening your hold on his shoulder.

"but, regardless of that, i would truly like to work with you, mr. kim. my group wishes to. i'd like to try it with you, and i hope you can make good use of ateez in the future, as well as lending a hand for us to step further, higher, and better in the business." you declared. "i'm not blind. i know what's happening between your family and the lees, and i don't have a say in it at all. but i would like for you to consider work between ateez and the kims, unrelated to any of the lees." you reassured.

and lastly, for the cherry on top, you stared straight on his eyes, pleading.

"give us the chance to prove ourself, mr. kim."

younghoon just stared at you, while his brain processed everything you just said. you were right, the kims main business in the medicine field were compatible with kang industries that yeosang ran with his sister. that alone could be a reason for the both of you to actually talk business with each other.

he was a businessman after all, any chance is worth something if you pursue it first.

the music stopped, meaning the dance session ended. clapping sounds were heard all over the hall. you took your hands off of younghoon's, bowing at the said man.

you thought it just ended like that, but it took you by surprise when younghoon took your hand in his, raising your knuckles to his lips before landing a gentlemanly kiss ok the back of your hand. his eyes never left you when he sent you a soft smile.

"i'll have my secretary invite ateez for a business talk. as soon as the gala ends" he stated, before continuing, "it was a nice dance, mrs. jung."

"party's done. everyone retreating in ten."

wooyoung chugged down his champagne while scanning around the room, giving nods to every member in his sight as a sign. he greeted the rest of his acquaintance, before leaving the scene.

just as he was about to exit the hall, a hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in his track. a once scowl on his face turned into a friendly smile when he turned around and was greeted by seo changbin.

"my man, binnie!" he gave the buff man a hug, not to mention a tap on his back. "what's up?"

"not much. are you guys leaving already?" he asked while looking around, noting some ateez members already heading out of the hall. he clicked his tongue in an unapproved manner. "it's still early, though. how am i gonna catch up with my best friend?" he lightly pouted.

"the only thing you'll catch is these hands if you ever do that thing again." wooyoung jested, and changbin only laughed.

once the laugh died down, he took a step closer to wooyoung, lowering his voice as he watched around.

"got some words from chan. mind sparing me some time?"

wooyoung lifted his wrist to watch the time. he still got eight minutes left. he nodded at changbin before leading the man away from the crowd, opting for a quieter side of the hall just by its door.

"what's up? business doing okay?" he asked.

changbin only shrugged, "it's fine. work here and there, cusses, blood, what's new?" then he raised his hand to rest on wooyoung's shoulder. "congrats to ateez, by the way." he complimented.

he then stated, "it's the talk of the town right now, you know? the fact that ateez, a gang took down a royal family, by a new member no less. i'm talking about your wife, mrs. jung y/n." changbin chuckled lightly when he saw a change in wooyoung's expression, a cocky smirk along with a subtle red tint on his cheeks. a sense of pride rose within wooyoung.

"a good catch they say."

wooyoung almost giggled. "damn right. thanks for the words though,"

done with the chitchat, changbin cleared his throat as he turned to wooyoung.

"chan said he met your wife at some casual networking party just a couple months ago, hongjoong did the introduction. safe to say he was intrigued." wooyoung turned his head to changbin upon his choice of words.

lifting a brow, he chuckled. "same thing happened to me before i married her."

changbin clicked his tongue, "not in that way, of course." he objected, slightly cringing over the thoughts of his boss creating a drama worthy act like that. "you know chan, you've heard about it, right? that he rarely missed when it comes to judging someone, especially the businessmen or women."

"i've heard some of it. and what about it?"

"the other day he sort of said something about y/n and talents, that she could be a big thing soon. and surprise, surprise, not long after that the news came like a fucking thunder, a shock to everyone and especially chan. ateez was about to lose but she just casually lifted you up and took down the whole family."

checking at his watch, he quickly pointed out. "so, what does he want exactly?"

"chan's got an info. an inside job. new weapon supplies and exchanges, i'm talking new types and big money. the job's too big to take for us alone and he already thought of making a collaboration between our team since ateez got a good capo, and you got mingi and yunho on weaponries. your reputations preceded you," he exhaled, before continuing. "but ever since he met y/n and heard of the news, he wanted to go even further. chan wants y/n in the job. with your captain's permission, of course, but he wants her to directly sit on the table where he and hongjoong will be. chan wanted me to tell you that, and he hopes to hear good answers from hongjoong."

by the time changbin was done with his explanations, wooyoung was already stunned. he was taken aback at the fact that you rose so quick to be able to catch other's attention. he was slightly agape, eyes widened. to be able to stand beside hongjoong, to sit right next to him is to be next to the captain by rank. though unofficial, the conversation itself could be a proof that you're an equal to seonghwa and yeosang.

you had him floored, truly.

"could you please try to put some words to hongjoong? chan really wants this." changbin's plead broke wooyoung's train of thoughts.

he nodded lightly. "i'll see what i can do," he promised the man.

he lifted his wrist once more. seeing the time had passed, he took a step back. "i have to go now. i'll let you know of the outcome soon."

"wait!" changbin almost yelled, stopping wooyoung on his track.

"what?" he asked. changbin hurriedly walk to wooyoung as his hands dug around his suit pocket. upon finding the item, he quickly put the piece of paper in wooyoung's pocket.

"i almost forgot." changbin moved closer towards wooyoung and whispered, "come to the show. capos business. yeonjun found a new spot, some rough diamonds ready to be trained if you're recruiting new members."

he stepped back, tapping on wooyoung's pocket before retreating.

"thank me later."

“they’re leaving the premises, sir.”


the minion retreated, leaving juyeon and his champagne on the balcony. his eyes watched as a couple of cars left his mansion, particularly the last car that carried you and your husband.

it was something that he used to love to do with his father; watching people come and go. the only difference were his father is no longer around, and that it has become his job.

upon watching the way you sway in the dress he gave, hand in hand with your husband as you got in the car, he gripped on his glass harder as he tried to breathe, not even realizing he was holding his breath the entire time. there was this uneasiness, a storm brewing in the pit of his stomach. he didn’t believe in anything unworldly or superstitious, but he believed in himself. of what he sees, what he feels, what he understands.

it didn’t take long for him to saw power in ateez.

one that could endanger his, though he didn’t know the source nor the reason for it. for that, he’ll have to dig deeper.

“something’s coming.” he murmured, enough to be heard by another party standing behind him. he whispered again, “i can feel it in my bones.”

park jipsa, the one who stood behind him sighed, “are you afraid?”

“never.”

“then you’ll know what to do.”

if there ever was something brighter than the sun, it must’ve been hongjoong’s grin, pulled all the way back showing his pearly smiles you thought his skin would soon tear apart.

the man was practically beaming.

and you silently took pride in being one of the reason so.

“business looking good.”

“damn right it is.”

it was just you, hongjoong, seonghwa, and yeosang in the room. breakfast was done and group meeting ended, yet the ambitious man kept you around to discuss everything further. there were papers scattered, calls made, and coffees on the table.

“i’ve checked around,” yeosang chipped in, while rearranging the documents discussed for the meeting, “if we’re actually working with the kims, emphasize on if, if everything works, we’ll have easier access to some of our stuff, both importing and exporting. the drug development is looking good right now, and we’ll have much exposure with their help. we’re gonna make more money soon.”

“that sounds good, yeosang. great, actually.” hongjoong beamed, smiling at yeosang. the man stood near his desk, phone still in his hand, just finishing a deal went well.

seonghwa chuckled, “you feel good?”

“fuck yeah, hwa. yeah i feel good.” he almost screamed. “of course i feel good, everything’s looking good like this. and if it actually works i might do a somersault myself.”

“you look like you’re gonna do that now.”

you laughed along with the guys.

after pacing back and forth, energetically, and with happy thoughts one would assume the mafia leader might be a child trapped in a man’s body, hongjoong finally sat down. he tapped his fingers on the table, before finally making up his mind, pointing at each party around him.

“okay, here’s what. we have so much in our hands right now, but i’d like for everything to work out and i put my trust in you guys,” hongjoong stared at each of you, “i’m all in for you.”

he pointed at seonghwa. “i’m sending seonghwa to japan to settle down. you’ll be our representation there hwa, until i finish things in here. the most important thing is to make a powerful link to that family.” he said, moving to yeosang as soon as seonghwa nodded his head.

“yeosang, as usual with kang industries, but i want you to bring y/n around as a representative too. she’s gonna be the link between us to the kims and drug business, so it’s good for the both of you.”

you and yeosang couldn’t help but to stole glances, surprised by the mission but acknowledging each other still.

hongjoong raised his phone, tapping it several times before speaking again, “wooyoung got words from chan last night, and chan just made a call this morning. he wants a collaboration between our group for a job. there are new weapons coming in, big job. chan’s got his hand on it but figured it’d be too big to handle alone, but dangerous if handled by too many. so we’re in, and i’m also taking y/n in this, per chan’s request.”

he turned to you. “you’re gonna have so much in your hands this time, you know this right?”

you nodded.

“but with stray kids, you’ll just be a spectator on the table. i’ll handle the big game with chan. i want you to focus more on the kims and kang industries. your main job right now is the kims. do you understand?”

“yes.”

“good.”

birds fly fast.

but the rumors flew faster in this house.

it didn’t take long for everyone in this house to find out about you. and your new… job. or perhaps rank. a housewife turned… consigliere? underboss? hongjoong hasn’t give you an official rank within the group yet. however it didn’t take a genius to see how high up your position were.

you’re working straight with yeosang, second in command in ateez next to seonghwa, ateez’s face and representative in the outside world. your job was as important as seonghwa’s, hongjoong’s righthand man, the underboss of ateez. each of every job you’ve done you’d report back straight to hongjoong, and hongjoong took you almost everywhere he goes.

on top of that, you’ve been giving counsels to hongjoong even before you had your debut in the underworld.

you’re as good as a consigliere, just not officially, yet.

there was contentment, of course, yet it also comes with burdens. one that you fear you wouldn’t be able to bear. but you will do your best, for your family. for wooyoung. to make him proud.

and he couldn’t be more proud of you.

wherever ateez goes, wherever he goes, he wouldn’t stop gushing about you every time someone brought your name up. lowkey, of course. just to make sure everyone knows you’re his wife. that you’re great, yes, but you’re definitely off limits.

exactly like tonight.

he eyed the piece of paper in his hand, before eyeing the traditional restaurant in front of him. it was a small, dimly-lit building. an old woman walked around, delivering orders though not much, as they didn’t have much customers for the night.

he fished out his phone out from his pocket, typing a name before pressing the call button.

“hello?” changbin’s voice rang through his speaker.

“i’m outside. are you sure this is the place?” wooyoung asked, throwing glances with yunho, jongho, and san behind him.

“it’s a small restaurant, right? did you see the old lady?”

“yeah? and?”

changbin chuckled, “just get in. take a seat, and when she asked for your order, just ask her if mr. kim’s soju is on the menu today. come fast, the match’s about to start.” and with that, changbin hanged up.

putting his phone back on his pocket, he whisked his head, signaling the boys to enter the place with him. they took a table, and before long, the old lady came to their table, asking for their orders. wooyoung looked around, making sure no one’s hearing them, before getting closer to the lady.

“is mr. kim’s soju on the menu today?”

the old lady just smiled and nodded. “it’s stored just right there. come along and pick for yourself, young man.”

that’s how they got into the hidden basement deep under the ground, by an elevator just behind the fridge in the kitchen.

when the elevator stopped, changbin was standing in the hallway. he greeted them with a smile, shaking wooyoung’s hand firmly.

“cool place, right?” he quipped, then shook hands with jongho, yunho, and san.

changbin led them further into the basement. even from the hallway, rough noises were already heard, and it got louder as they got closer.

illegal fights weren’t a secret anymore. but as they got deeper, more secluded, the more blood got spilled, the more animalistic the fighters get, the bigger the prize. this is where the mafias recruit new members, new associates.

the rings were surrounded by rough looking men, some older, some younger. the fighter on the ring looked all bloody and bruised, but still standing on their feet fighting for their life. hollers here and there, nothing new.

they all took a table not far from the ring. yeonjun and beomgyu were seen, along with jisung and jeongin. they greeted each other.

“the consigliere’s husband!” yeonjun quipped with a playful tap on wooyoung’s back. wooyoung chuckled. with pride, of course.

“so what’s the hype?” wooyoung asked, half yelling to catch yeonjun’s attention. the lad pointed his finger to each rings, getting himself close to wooyoung and the others.

“gems. lots of them,” he yelled, pointing at one of the ring, “see that guy over there?” he asked, pointing at a tall man, not buff, but muscular and calculative enough to look not so affected while his opponent looked like he’s about to faint.

yeonjun spoke again, “he’s an ex NIS agent. i think he got ousted, betrayed, whatever. and that’s just one of the few. there are other fighters, former gang members, ex police, ex NIS, ex professionals— whatever we’re looking for. so take a pick!” he said, before continuing.

“but be careful, they also might be onto something if they go this deep. either all in or all out.”

the pungent smell of blood was nothing new, combined with the smell of sweat of all people, burnt cigarettes, liquors of all kinds. in fact, none of them seemed to be distracted by any of the smell, the sound, or even the people who were drunk off their minds falling around them.

their eyes, especially wooyoung’s were focused on each ring or around the room, scanning all within the room trying to find new recruits or maybe new connections.

a bell was heard, a ring near them just announced a winner before quickly moving on. a pair of new fighters stepped onto the ring, one of them a rough looking men, presumably already fought a fight before this one, and his opponent…

…a woman?

her hair was tied up, cuts and bruises here and there but not enough to disguise her beauty. physically she’s far smaller than the man, less muscular, yet she hold no fear in her eyes.

“what’s a pretty girl doing in this hellhole?” wooyoung murmured,

right before the girl ducked down and punched his opponent right on his chest, hard enough to make him cut his breath. then landed a punch to his right cheek, followed by his left cheek. and a final kick to his head, quickly sending the man to his sleep, hopefully not an eternal one.

and that’s how she won the game.

not to mention leaving wooyoung speechless. that was a quick game. and she looked like a gem. a fighter like that would make jobs easier, faster, and more efficient.

he was deep in his thoughts, until san nudged him, “are you seeing what i’m seeing?”

wooyoung looked back at san, observing his line of sight, only to bring his eyes back to the said woman.

a gem in sight indeed.

“her?”

“yes, her. we need her. i want her. we gotta take her.” he mouthed. he then pulled wooyoung by the shoulder, and proceeded to stare into wooyoung’s eyes with the most serious look he could muster. “seriously wooyoung, i can’t handle this charmer—grifter shit alone anymore. we need a charmer. and i mean it.”

“san, we’re on budget and we’re here to look for a bodyguard—“ he was about to state but san had cut him off.

“did you not see the way she threw that punches? she can be a bodyguard. she is muscle.”

“yes, but—“ wooyoung hesitated, “i don’t know man, a lady bodyguard?”

san gasped. “that’s discrimination, what the fuck?”

“not in that way!” wooyoung bit back, “i don’t know man, i’m just not sure. she’s all great, it’s just—”

“but what?” san pressed.

san wasn’t wrong, they do need a charmer. san was the only charmer ateez had— they do have others, just not as good as san, hence the lad had to do most jobs by himself. the last time they had a good charmer other than san, but they got killed in action.

being a grifter, a charmer, he did get to know most thing and even on the deeper part of the underworld. any place he want, anyone, he could get through anything, most of the times. but ultimately, he was fed up. doing what he did best alone might finally took a toll on him.

so with the hard look, now turned puppy eyes, there was no way wooyoung could say no to san, the charmer himself.

he sighed. “you know what? fuck that. go and get her if you want.”

there were probably fireworks bursting behind san’s eyes, that’s the only logical reason (though far from logic itself) for the sparkle in his eyes. choi san quickly bolted away from the table, adamant on getting and recruiting the woman.

wooyoung, with yunho and jongho on the other hand sticked to the main plan; find new muscles to recruit. yeonjun, changbin and their own gang were soon scattered around the basement with their own mission to accomplish. jongho was still looking around, and yunho was still seen talking to the possible recruits.

wooyoung was just talking to one of the possible recruit, giving them his business card when san pulled him away to a corner. he kept guiding on wooyoung with this grin on his face, pushing him around until wooyoung finally faced the lady they’ve been talking about.

“so this is wooyoung,” san made the intro, “he’s our trainer, supervisor, and not to mention my best friend. and we—” he stepped back behind wooyoung, “—are interested in taking you in with us.”

taking a good look in the closer distance, she looked even better. her skin looked soft, save some scratches and scars here and there, but they were mostly healed leaving just a white mark. her eyes were brown, and like when she was on the ring, had this striking look.

this one’s definitely a charmer. she just needs to be guided, and they got a perfect teacher for her. stretching his hand out, wooyoung offered her a formal handshake.

“wooyoung.”

she watched his stretched hand for a while. the unsure glint in her eyes started to flicker along the time, and she finally took wooyoung’s hand.

“son jiwoo.”

the tall, black door seemed so big and scary.

despite it being just a plain door to a restaurant.

you might think it’s the door, but a part of you knew more than that. that wasn’t just a door you had to pass, a restaurant you must enter.

kim younghoon was waiting somewhere in that restaurant for you. this was going to be your first meeting with younghoon, and you gotta make sure it’s going well. this is your first big mission, as a member of ateez.

you straighten your floral dress, fixing any possible crease before stepping inside. a waiter came to your aid, giving their best smile, “may i help you?”

you smiled back. “i have a reservation, with mr. kim younghoon. is he here?”

the waiter smiled even wider, “ah, madam! yes, mr. kim has been waiting for you. let me take your jacket.” they spoke, as they pulled your jacket off of you. “if you please follow me, madam.”

the waiter guided you to a table near the glass window, where you found younghoon sitting in a formal, yet casual look. the white fitted top and light brown pants. upon the announcement of your arrival, kim younghoon turned his head, offering you a smile so bright. the gentlemen even stood up, pulling your seat for you instead of letting the waiter do that for you.

“you look nice.” he complimented.

“and you more. i thought the suits were your best look, but these? gorgeous.”

he chuckled, “trying to charm me straight away, i see.”

“yes, but some truth can’t be hidden for too long. i also have to charm my future colleague for a chance, right?” you quipped back, earning a soft laugh from younghoon.

“you’re straightforward. i like it, it’s also the way that i am and used to.” he said. he laid back to his chair, looking at you before asking, “a straightforward man gotta speak his mind, am i right?”

“yes they do, i suppose.”

he took your answer in silence. he looked out through the window, watching the bright afternoon sky and people on the street,, seemingly deep in thoughts. gone were the light atmosphere when you got there.

then younghoon spoke one sentence and a question. the easiest way to phrase and conclude your whole mission.

“i know juyeon sent you to fix things between our families. correct?”

upon the sudden intrusion, your body froze for a second. your lips almost quivered, letting out broken words, having nothing to come up with. kim younghoon fired a bullet and it hit right on the bullseye. and he didn’t even mention anything about anything work related, despite that being one of your most important reason to pursue him.

younghoon’s eyes were back on you, and you had no choice but to spit the truth out.

“yes, you’re right, mr. kim,” you sighed, but not yet defeated. “and i’m aware of… the gap between your families, that it’s not in a good condition.”

“how much did you know?”

“that your family was a supporter to lee jiyoung back when the war was happening.” you stated.

he clicked his tongue, “i wish it was as easy as that, mrs. jung.” he sighed as he leaned back onto his chair.

“i wish to help in many ways, mr. kim. in this way, because juyeon sent me for this reason. but other than that, a work with your family is what my family aim for. a personal gain. both, or one of them is enough for me and i’m willing to do the job.” you told him, straightforwardly. “is there something i can do to fix this?”

“to fix the gap between the lees and kims? i don’t know, mrs. jung. i’m not sure if there’s a way at all,” he shrugged.

but he quickly added in, “but, regarding ateez and my family, i think we both have a chance for that. i’ve spoken with my father, and maybe, just maybe, if this works, we’ll consider juyeon’s purpose of… mending the two families. now the question remain; would you take the job, and could you do it well?”

“i’m willing to try and do my best for anything.”

“anything?”

“anything.”

the man smiled, grinning almost. “then it starts now.” he said. younghoon raised his hand, catching the sight of a waiter.

entrees were served, followed by main dishes. younghoon and you talked about each other, and he talked a lot about himself.

how he and his brother were raised in england, before moving at the age of 15 back to korea. he went to university, took classes in law school before graduating, not only from a prestigious uni but also with honors. since that, he’s been helping his father around along with his brother regarding their family business, as they’re the ones who’s going to take their father’s place place someday.

kim younghoon was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

yet he seemed far from those whiny nepo babies who fed themselves off of their father’s pocket, but act like they rule the whole world. his family’s money might back him up, but he ruled his own brain, branding himself as the smart and hardworking guy from a wealthy family who could lead even without his father’s hand in the matter.

in short, he’s a man that everyone dreams to become.

the conversation went smooth up until dessert was served. you couldn’t help yourself but to blurt out, “so, what’s the job? when am i gonna do it?”

“oh, we’re actually doing it right now,” he quipped, putting another slice of cake into his mouth.

“what?”

younghoon didn’t say anything, only flicking his hand to call for the waiter. the waiter soon came with a bright smile as they put a velvet box right in front of you. not forgetting to say what a lucky woman to have a partner like that.

a partner?

you were still not functioning perfectly, still deep in your thoughts and confused even when younghoon pushed the velvet box towards you. “open it.” he said.

“mr. kim, i— i’m, i’m not sure i—“ you had stuttered, but he silenced you up.

“just open the box.”

per his command, your hands moved to open the box. upon the first touch, you could feel the soft velvet under your fingers, quickly understanding the high quality of the box, and perhaps, the item within it. curiosity might kill the cat, but not you, you believed as you opened the box and found a piece of necklace within it. a pearl necklace stared back at you from that box.

wordlessly, younghoon stood up. he took the necklace out of its box before bringing it near your neck. his hands softly moved your hair to the side, and you quickly responded by bunching your hair in your fist, giving him access to your bare neck. as he put on the necklace, he lowered his lips next to your ear.

“you’ll find a woman to your right, dressed in all green. she’s mrs. han, a socialite in gangnam and wife to mr. han, one of the most important people in the ministry of health,” he whispered to you, “she knows me, and might’ve been watching us since the beginning. she has a daughter around our age and she had been wanting to… arrange a marriage between our families.”

“and my job is…?”

finishing on putting the necklace on, younghoon simply smiled to you. “…to be my partner. fiancee, girlfriend, whatever. to put on a show. i don’t want to be engaged in that way, but i have a brother and he’s willing to do that in my stead,”

“there’s an upcoming socialite party, and a little birdie told me you’re quite… persuasive,” he started to explain, “if you can get us an invitation, put some good words and convince her to make an arrangement between her daughter and my brother, you’ll have your way with my family. you see, we need this connection. a connection with her husband makes it easier for our drug business, even in exporting and importing. mr. han is one of the man ruling the country. prove yourself, and my father promises to invite you for a dinner, to talk about future business with ateez. even with the lees. and the offer’s still up even though you only succeeded in securing an invitation for us to the party.”

he straightened his back, offering his hand to you, “there’s still a chance to back out.”

you weren’t sure, but you shook your head and took his hand, “i won’t.”

younghoon smiled, almost so brightly, a quick change from his previous hard demeanor. he landed a long lasting kiss on the back of your hand, another added shock to you. you almost stuttered and about to pull your hand when he spoke,

“the necklace looks dashing on you, sweetheart.” he almost purred, shocking you.

“kim younghoon?”

the latter’s voice stopped you from pulling away. younghoon simply turned to the lady who called his name, giving her a smile.

“mrs. han,” he greeted back, bowing slightly, “good to see you again.”

mrs. han only chuckled, “then you should’ve visit me more often. i haven’t seen you around in any of my gatherings.” she looked behind younghoon, at you. “and i certainly have never seen this lovely lady with her lovely necklace around.” she quipped.

younghoon gave his hand for you to take, and you did, standing up from your seat next to him. “let me introduce you to my fiancee, y/n. she’s the reason i’m not around much, mrs. han. you can blame her for it.” he once again kissed your hand in a cheeky manner, and you giggled following his act. “i can’t seem to get her out of my life.” he continued.

you bowed slightly to the lady, offering her a sweet smile. “my name is y/n, pleasure to meet you mrs. han. younghoon told me many things about you.” you introduced yourself.

“all the good things, i hope.”

“don’t worry ma’am, he made me think you’re a great woman. and it shows now.”

she laughed, feeling content with your answer.

“and he didn’t forget to tell me how much of a good host you are for your party.” you smirked, starting your mission.

by the time you came home, it was almost midnight. you knew wooyoung would’ve fallen asleep by then, so you tiptoed your way into your room, with your heels in your hands.

your heart almost jumped out of your chest when the light suddenly turned on.

“where have you been?”

“shit, woo!” you cussed while holding your chest, almost panting. “baby? why aren’t you sleeping?”

wooyoung sat on the edge of your bed with his arms folded as he stared at you. “obviously, i was waiting for you.” he deadpanned, “you know i couldn’t sleep without you. so where have you been?”

you exhaled, feeling guilty that you left the man waiting for until midnight, completely forgetting the existence of modern phones and to tell him of your whereabouts. “oh, baby,” you walked up to him, cradling his face in your palms.

“i’m so sorry i made you wait,” you kissed his forehead, “i had lunch with kim younghoon, and he gave me a task. i spent the whole day planning and then reporting to hongjoong, and we had a last minute meeting with stray kids. i should’ve told you, that’s my mistake,” you explained. wooyoung sighed defeatedly, finally accepting your apologies. he circled his hands on your waist.

“it’s okay.” he muttered.

you told him to get ready for bed, while you freshen up in the bathroom, finally ready to end the night. your body felt warm, being in your comfiest pajamas, and your heart follows when you saw wooyoung on bed tucked nicely under the blanket, with his arm stretched out welcoming you in his embrace.

“how was today’s scouting?” you asked with a small voice.

“it was okay,” he answered, listing the things he had done. “got some new muscles that i gotta train. met yeonjun and changbin. and… oh!” he gasped, making you look up to him.

“what is it?”

“you know, me and san found this girl while scouting, she was badass,” he said and you could practically see the sparks in his eyes, “she fought this buff man in like, 5 seconds, though i think the man was more of muscle than skills, but isn’t that cool? san wanted her so bad he ran straight to her after the fight.”

“anyways i didn’t want to scout her at first but san would probably held me on a gunpoint if i refuse him—“ you both laughed, “—yeah right? so long story short we probably got ourselves a new charmer. i think san’s gonna teach her more, but i’ll still have to take part in physical training.”

you hummed, “san fell in love at the first sight, huh?”

wooyoung nodded, “i think i did too.”

you playfully hit his chest, making him wince dramatically as he held his chest.

“jung wooyoung! don’t you dare fall in love with her!” you threatened him. the bastard husband of yours grinned.

“are you jealous?”

“hm, i don’t know. what would you think if i hooked up with kim younghoon?”

“hey!” he whined, clearly not liking the idea of you and another man side by side. not even one bit. and that was something everyone know, and some even witnessed it with their own eyes, referring to your previous encounter with lee juyeon.

you laughed to his blatant jealousy, and maybe, seeing the smile in your face and the sound of your melodic laugh to his ears were the reason for him laughing along with you.

wooyoung pulled you close to his body, putting his chin on top of your head. the smell of your shampoo invaded his nose, and somewhat it relaxed him all the time. maybe it’s your shampoo, or maybe, it’s the fact that you’re close to him.

he breathes slowly, but you could hear his heart beating fast behind his chest. some things change, but you realize one thing stays the same; his heartbeat. whenever you put your head to his chest you always hear the same fast beat from his heart.

and you know yours beats the way his did.

“i can never love anyone else but you.”

his voice pierced through the silence as he murmured the words into your hair.

maybe it was his voice. maybe it was the sentence, the words. maybe it’s both things combined, the reason why you feel such warmth in your heart and the pleasant butterflies flying in your stomach. the combination of two simple things, yet magical enough for you to take it as a sign of love.

love.

you buried your face into his chest, trying to hide your smile. all you could say was, “i love you, woo.”

simple sentence that also warmed his heart.

to both lovers like you, those moment felt like it’s just you both against the world. in your vows; both in happiness or sadness.

“will i see you again?”

wooyoung suddenly asked. the nature of the question making you pull away from him, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“what kind of question is that?” you asked back, looking up to his face.

he seemed doubtful, that was clearly painted all over his face, visible from his eyes, the way it glinted.

wooyoung sighed. “i don’t know. you have a job, so many things to do now that hongjoong trusts you. and i’m happy for you, baby, i truly do, it’s just—“ he hesitated for a while before continuing.

“it’s— what if you get busier? what if we get so busy that… that we can’t even share a proper meal together like we used to? what if we can’t see each other as much as we used to back when we have less things to do? what if i can’t even hug you in my sleep at night? what if—“

“—what if we changed so much and turn in a direction we don’t want?”

late night thoughts do bring the most genuine question. and his was a valid one.

it’s no secret that marriage, no matter how sweet, how hot or cold, can suddenly turn lukewarm, tasteless, or even turn sour over the time.

that would be a nightmare. one that can turn very real, in any time, near or far.

to imagine a tasteless marriage life with your passionate husband made you crawl closer to him, burying your face in his chest to seek more warmth. the more seconds went the more you appreciate his prescence. taking in everything you could.

just in case it’d be your last.

“i promise we won’t turn that way, my love. i’ll do anything to keep us together. keep us, keep you safe.” you murmured into his chest.

“you just have to promise to love me still. like this. even when times go rough, when it eats us inside out, body and soul. even with the last sparks of love you have for me, love me. until i’m not here beside you.” you continued. you felt suffocated, unconsciously the littlest sniffle got out of you with the tears. “you’re all i have, wooyoung.”

desperation in it’s truest form.

but it’s true, you have no one but your husband. no family, no nothing. not even a life, if it was not for the past, or the present, given by your husband and his kin. and now that you’ve associated yourself with them, you, who used to have nothing, now have something. and it fears you to imagine losing them.

to go back to the solitude you were in before.

hearing your cries crushed him. he tightened his hands around you, securing you in his grasp, giving you the most comfort one could give. he might regret the way he voiced out his concerns today, yet it was an important question within your relationship.

and a silent way to say that he fears of losing you, too.

“i’m here, baby. i love you,” he said, giving a peck on your hair,

“and i promise to keep that love for as long as i live.”

NOT EVEN HALFWAY BUT I STILL WANNA FINISH THE WHOLE THING. enjoy. both in reading and waiting uwu

also we’re getting closer to… the start of the angst.

[bloodyquillink-blog]

David “Hesh” Walker x mermaid!Reader Imagine

A/N🪶: I have work I need to do for my intro to graphic design class but David Walker is taking over my mind so I’m just gonna write a bunch of shit I’ve been thinking about. Use this for fics or art or whatever if you wanna! Let me know if you’d like to see more of this.

Okay, first and foremost, David x mermaid!Reader. There, I said it. You know this man would be so curious and gentle and sweet, wanting to learn more about the underwater life and maybe teach you some (good) things about his life on land like fruits and other foods. If you like salty fish, he’d probably try to bring a can of sardines or something. If you aren’t into fish—which is okay because this is reader and reader needs options— he’d try bringing fermented veggies like pickles with the brine and everything.

I think Hesh would want to see you try sweets and candies, but he’d also want to keep you away from unhealthy foods that might hurt your stomach. Plus, if anything happens to him and he can’t deliver you sweets, how will you get them? You need your snacks!

He’d try to practice holding his breath for long periods of time so he doesn’t have to worry about wasting oxygen tanks— and possibly risk exposing your existence. If you’re a “Little Mermaid” type mer-person or have gills (I say they’re in your neck), maybe you’d kiss him before he breaches the surface so he knows he can keep swimming with you.

Speaking of swimming, this man keeps flippers on him. Hesh wants to try to swim faster and keep up with you, of course, but even he needs a little help sometimes. If he ever forgets the flippers, you just take him by the hand, or better yet, you put your chest to his back and wrap your arms around him as you swim. More comfortable for both of you… plus you can definitely feel how fast his heart is beating being this close to you.

The first other human he introduces you to would def be Logan. I think both brothers are great swimmers and depending on the AU, Logan may need help being comfortable swimming again after almost drowning and getting crushed and hit with sonar with Keegan. Logan would also occasionally bring snacks and may even start fishing. I think he’d want to learn about the kinds of places you stay around and would want to try to help clean up some of the garbage and parts from destroyed ships and planes from the war definitely not because he thinks the parts would look cool as decoration.

Eventually, one of the other Ghosts would get curious and follow David to see where he’s going on all of his breaks. My guess would be Keegan or Kick as Merrick is too busy or doesn’t care as long as Hesh doesn’t get killed or kidnapped. Maybe both of them follow Hesh and see him sitting near the water on the docks. Right when they’re about to approach, you hoist yourself up. The two men can’t believe what they’re seeing. A fucking mermaid. What the hell kinda parallel universe did they stumble into (It’s an alternate universe, boys, get it right)?!

What’s even crazier is when they see Hesh hold your face in his hands and gently kiss your nose. Your smile, with a bunch of sharper-than-a-normal human teeth, shows. You both turn to look at them staring wide-eyed.

“This is what happens when you don’t mind your business.” Hesh says.

He introduces you and you simply wave at them. Later, when they try to explain what happened to Merrick, suddenly they have to get a psych evaluation and drug test. When they try to get Logan to help them explain, Logan just shrugs at Merrick. Hesh simply laughs to himself watching this happen. Though, his clothes are partially soaked. The “what if?” part of Merrick’s mind takes over more than he’d like to admit. It’s not until Hesh shows a photo of the two of you that Merrick decides to see you for himself.

Lo and behold, there you are. Colorful and cheery. No wonder Hesh has been so happy the past couple weeks. While you initially find Merrick to be scary, you warm up to him quickly.

And now Merrick has to apologize to Keegan and Kick for not believing them. All the while, you and Hesh watch the stars as you lay on the beach. Hesh uses every story of the constellations Logan and Elias have ever talked about, only having to discreetly search his phone once or twice.

The End.

I hope you enjoyed my daydreams.

[everydayfrimmel]

July 16, 2024

"The L Word (Love and/or Leaking Roofs and/or Late-Night Cable Television)" 2200 words, roommate AU, part 12/?

Frieren’s been ordering things on Yukon again. 

She tends to get that way when she’s bored. Usually, her packages are heavy and rectangular and almost certainly books. Another time, she had ordered madeleine pans, made and eaten six batches of chocolate madeleines in them in two weeks, and then become so tired of them that she never touched it again. (Himmel, never one to waste anything, now makes comically oversized ice cubes in it.)  He wonders what’s in the packages every time he sees one on the front porch. And lately, there have been a lot of them. 

“Snacks,” she tells him. Which—she seems to be eating a different strange candy shipped from overseas every day now—looks to be accurate. 

“You can’t go to the grocery store?” 

Frieren glares at him. “They don’t sell the good stuff at the grocery store.” 

And even when they do, she doesn’t add, she’s much too lazy to go get it.

Frieren goes to the grocery store only under the greatest possible duress. If she didn’t order so much takeout, she might actually be able to afford to live alone. Thus, shipping in chips from Germany or gummies from Taiwan doesn’t really seem like much of a stretch for her. 

“Can I try?” he asks, gesturing to a brightly-colored sleeve of cookies with a label written in Spanish. 

Frieren clutches the sleeve to her chest and gives him a dirty look. 

“So mean,” he says lightly. “You’d think I would deserve something for giving you all this eye candy.” 

“I didn’t ask for any eye candy,” she says. “So I don’t see why I would need to thank you for being good-looking in my presence by giving you food that cost me a fortune.” 

If she’d given him that cookie, he would’ve choked on it. “You think I’m good-looking?” 

“What? You just said yourself that you were.” 

“But you never say that.” 

“Objectively speaking,” Frieren says, then turns back to her cookies and her book and leaves Himmel’s head spinning. 

“Sooooo…what I’m hearing is that you love me.” 

“Nothing I just said could be reasonably interpreted to mean anything of the kind.”  

“Aww, Frieren, you should’ve said so!” 

She glares at him again. “I know you don’t really think that.” 

Then, of course, comes the inevitable crash, the part when he realizes he’s admitted too many of the things he wants to be true and wishes he could disappear but can’t yet because he still has to cover his tracks. 

“Just messin’ with ya,” he says, then swipes a cookie off the top of the sleeve and smiles sweetly. “I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“…you better.” 

He does, that night. A whole case of them, actually, because he’s feeling stupid and repentant and unable to understand why he’s such an unbearable idiot when it comes to Frieren sometimes. Why would he even have said that? 

He is contemplating this, head in his hands, when Frieren knocks on his bedroom door.

“You wanna go see glow-in-the-dark algae?” 

He is on his feet to open the door before he even has time to call himself an idiot for it. 

“Glow-in-the-dark algae, you say?” 

“Bioluminescence.” She’s reading off her phone and turns it around to show him an article. “A kind of algae that lets off a blue glow when it’s disturbed is blooming off the coast.”

His heart leaps, even though it shouldn’t, even though there’s always a catch when it comes to Frieren. “Yeah. I’d love to.” 

“Good,” she says. “’Cause I don’t wanna drive.” 

…there it is, huh. 

“You little freeloader,” he tells her with a lopsided smile, and reaches out to ruffle her hair. “’Course I’ll drive.” 

She brings things to bundle up in: coats, blankets, probably more than she needs. She’s only wearing leggings and a university crew-neck, but she’s brought half her wardrobe to pile on over it if she’s cold, and—he smiles—his coat from the hook by the door. He had been wondering where it was.

“Thanks,” he says, embarrassed to feel as moved as he does. “For getting my coat.” 

“It was hanging by the door, so it wasn’t any extra effort.” 

“Still. Thanks.” 

It amuses him, after another moment, to realize that Frieren has hot chocolate, and that she’s dipping her (he remembers from the order he placed) Colombian cookies in it. She must have been in the mood for an outing, and more prepared than she let on. 

This could be a date.

This could be the kind of thing where she sets her hand on his thigh across the center console, and they take blurry flash photos together where the bioluminescent tide isn’t even visible, and he wraps a scarf around her wind-bitten cheeks and kisses her nose because he notices it’s gotten cold, and he carries her in from the car to a bedroom that is both of theirs. 

Himmel tries not to think too hard about that. 

“Have you ever seen this glowing algae stuff before?” he asks, mostly to distract himself. 

“Once.” 

“With Flamme?” 

“With an oceanography class I took in uni.” 

“Oh, you like the ocean?” 

She shrugs. “It was the least boring biology gen ed they had.” 

“I see.” 

“It was neat.”

“Must’ve made a big impression if even you remembered it,” he comments. 

“Yes, I suppose it did.” 

“Thanks for asking me to come with.” 

“It’s not personal, I just wanted a driver.” 

He says nothing for a moment, but, for once, he’s decided to be bold, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a stupid choice to make. 

“You ever thought it might hurt a little when you tell me things like that?” 

“Hurt?” Frieren asks. “No, why?”

“We’re friends, Frieren,” he says. “Sometimes I wanna believe you want to do things with me just because you, you know…like doing things with me.” 

“It goes without saying that I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t enjoy your company.” 

He sighs. Leave it to Frieren to make even a compliment sound cold. “It’d be nice if you said that sometimes.” 

“Oh. All right.” 

“I know you don’t mean any harm,” he says. “It’s just…hard for me.” 

“Because you’re insecure?” Frieren asks. “You definitely shouldn’t be. Everyone in town-“

“No, Frieren, because I really like you.”

He can say he means that platonically and not be lying, but it feels like a confession nonetheless.

“Why?” 

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you like me enough to feel insecure?” Frieren asks. “I’m not a very appealing person.” 

“Frieren…” 

“What? I’m not.”

How strange it is that he hates hearing her say that more than he hates admitting anything even a little bit personal and offering it to a woman who doesn’t handle anything with care. 

“You make me laugh,” he says softly. “You’re so smart I almost can’t believe it.” 

“Why would my intelligence make you-“ 

“You know so many random things,” he goes on, resolutely ignoring her. “I never know what you’re gonna tell me next, and I love that.”

“You…do?” 

“You’re a puzzle,” he tells her. “You make people look for it, but if they’re patient enough, soon they start seeing little hints that you really do care. And that’s…I don’t know, Frieren.” He swallows hard. “I just like you so much.” 

She’s quiet, he embarrassed, and neither looks at the other for a moment.

“Himmel.”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you mean that romantically or platonically?” 

“You had to go for the jugular, didn’t ya?”

“It’s a relevant question. Flamme says you’re in love with me.” She looks at him questioningly. “And you keep making suspicious jokes.” 

She knew enough to be suspicious? 

“Of course I like you as a friend,” he says feebly, then hates himself for a moment for the cowardice of refusing to say what she so clearly already knows. 

“But…but…yeah.” He swallows hard. “It’s both.”

“Hm,” Frieren says, then nothing more. 

It is a long, quiet ride to the beach, and Himmel has never more acutely wished he could teleport himself to the destination and be done with it. Even when they do arrive, Frieren gets out before he can so much as apologize, pulls on a coat and hat, and trots off towards the water. 

So often he feels like he’s chasing something determined not to be caught. It’s the same now, jogging after her with his arms full of blankets. She doesn’t turn when he catches up to her. 

“It’s dimmer than I remembered,” she says, watching the faintly-glowing blue waves roll in with pursed lips. “Maybe this is a smaller bloom.” 

Himmel watches for a moment, feels pathetically grateful that Frieren is speaking to him at all, and says, “I still think it’s pretty neat.” 

Once more, they’re quiet. He notices Frieren digging her hands into her pockets, curling in on herself as if she’s cold, and, though it may be too much, he drapes a blanket around her shoulders and leaves his hands there for a moment to make sure it stays there.

“Thanks, Himmel.”

“’Course.” 

After a moment of quiet, she says, “Himmel?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you mean when you say you love me?” 

His stomach turns. “I didn’t say that.” 

“Or whatever it is you said?” 

“Well, I already told you my reasons.” He tries to sound gentle, but his voice wants to crack. “I’m really sorry, Frieren. I wasn’t gonna say anything.” 

“I’m…I’m not upset, Himmel.” She adds, quietly, “and that would’ve been dumb.” 

“Huh?” 

“Not saying anything. Where is the logic in that?” she asks. “How was I supposed to know how you felt if you didn’t tell me?” 

“You weren’t,” he says. “Supposed to know.” 

“But why? Isn’t it pretty dishonest to hide that from someone you’re living with?” 

“I…I just didn’t want to make you feel pressured.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Frieren says. “It would be helpful to be aware of those things.”

“…oh.” 

“And I’m not the kind of person who would actively think about being in a relationship, so I have to be prompted.” She looks at him searchingly. “I don’t understand why you would just not prompt me.” 

“But you don’t…you wouldn’t…” 

“I don’t know if I would.” 

“You don’t?” 

“I would need to understand what kinds of things you want,” she says. “And to have a frame of reference for what you mean when you say you have feelings for me. To decide if I like the idea.”

He smiles in spite of himself. “You’ve thought about this?” 

“Well, yes, Flamme is very pushy.” 

“You’ve…you’ve considered it?” Himmel could be sick with joy. “Being with me?” 

“Gathering data.” 

“Damn, you’re cold.” 

“I’m not cold.” 

“Kinda stings to be seen as a walking spreadsheet.” 

“You don’t understand what data really is,” she says, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “It isn’t just numbers. Or spreadsheets.” 

“Then what is it?”

“Patterns,” she says. “A way of making things recognizable to us. Data’s how we know what to think about the world.” 

It’s such a Frieren explanation, and yet such a gentle one, so quietly human, that his throat tightens. There really is no coldness at all in this woman. She just doesn’t realize that people don’t see the beautiful things in her head past the curt explanations of them that she gives out loud. 

She probably doesn’t realize that any of the things he loves about her are beautiful at all. 

“What does that make me, then?” Himmel asks. 

“Something I need more data on.” She looks up at him to see if he’s getting it. “I need to see you act on your feelings and make inferences.” 

“And then-“ 

“I’ve never even wanted to date somebody,” she says. “I have no frame of reference.” 

“So?” 

“I would need to build one from the ground up.” 

He smiles, and he thinks he finally gets it. “Can I help?” 

She almost smiles at him. 

“Start by saying what you actually mean.” 

It’ll be days before Himmel begins to unpack what all of this means, but on the drive home, the glow of the headlights seems happier than it ever has. It is less exasperating than endearing when Frieren falls asleep in the passenger’s seat. And when he arrives home, he feels feather-light, ready to do just about anything.

She doesn’t wake even when he parks, even when the automatic porch lights come on, and she doesn’t wake when he opens the passenger door and slips his arms beneath her to lift her out of the car, either. 

If she wants him to be honest—if that is really what Frieren wants—then he’ll be as honest as he can stand to be. Data is easy to provide if all it takes is acting the part of the person he hopes she’ll allow him to be. 

Midway to her upstairs bedroom, Frieren stirs. 

“We’re almost there,” he says. “You can go back to sleep.” 

She curls her hand into the fabric of his sweatshirt instead. 

“Oh,” he murmurs. “All right.” 

“Himmel.”

He could die, hearing her say his name that way. 

“Yeah?” 

“You smell nice.” 

And even when he sets her down, he doesn’t stop smiling for hours into the night. 

Data, huh? 

[demonslayerdoodles]

God this took forever 😂 But here it is!! Gambler AU!! 🎰🎲♥️

This post will be quite long with explanations sooooooooooo but I’ll bold more important things if you just wanna scan through 😂

(WARNING!! THIS IS NOT A CHILD FRIENDLY AU!!! SO MOST POSTS WILL BE “KEEP READING” ONES!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DONT CONTINUE IF YOU DONT LIKE THESE TOPICS)

All of this info will be quite chaotic and unorganized so stick with me please 😅

Basically the whole ideas of the AU are all the characters are in a drinking/gambling world and the hashira are an illegal gambling group

So they all have nicknames for each other, I don’t have all of them rn, and if you have ideas LET ME KNOW PLEASSSSE

So far we have Gyomei as Big Blind, Giyuu will be Poker Face, Obanai is Snake Eyes, Mitsuri is Queen of Hearts, and Tengen is King of Queens

RELATIONSHIPS/SHIPS:

Tengen and Kaori used to be fiancé and fiancée, but Kaori found out Tengen was cheating on her (I’m thinking on their wedding day, they have it in a beach and Kaori throws her ring in the water after confronting Tengen)

Kaori and Kyojuro are flirty in front of everyone (yes they are a thing I’m this au like the normal KNY universe)

Obanai and Mitsuri are a ship here, except both Obanai and Mitsuri are playful and flirty

I might make Shinobu and Giyuu a thing here too??

Other than that, I’ll leave the other hashira up for grabs for your oc’s ;3

And yes, Muichiro is in the gang, even though he is underage

There are also a lot of outside bets aside from the games they play, bets about their personal life and stuff

Most of them do have jobs, but some also don’t

PERSONALITIES:

Shinobu: She’s pretty much the same as the anime, but not in a nice smiling way, she is very cold to everyone, but has a playful side with the gang, especially with Giyuu

Muichiro: He is very quiet still, pretty much same as anime, but is extremely good at card and dice games, he’s usually the pot most of the time though

Mitsuri: She’s a player and likes to fool around with guys, but she’s only Obanai’s and he knows that, so he’s fine with it, she loves to play card games

Obanai: He barely speaks, like in the anime, and is VERY protective over Mitsuri and even threatens people, the only person he really talks to is Mitsuri, Sanemi, and Giyuu, only the gang when they are playing a game and it is necessary, Kaburamaru watches over the games and tells Obanai is someone has cheated or anything

Giyuu: He isn’t really depressed in this au, but no one knows how he feels since he never shows any sort of emotion, but he doe get along with the gang

Kaori: She’s not a sweetheart at all, she’s very serious about her games and will not let anything pass, she’s quite aggressive sometimes and gets irritated easily (especially with Tengen), she always looks like she’s ready to kill someone

Kyōjurō: He, along with Gyomei and Tengen, make sure to keep the games fun and make sure no one kills anyone, he will be the one to hold people back physically, but he’s usually always got a smug look on his face

Sanemi: He’s still aggressive, he is also very serious about his games (Kaori and him are usually the ones to get into physical fights), he always carries a knife on him at all times, he maybe is running from the police for murder, but how would I know…? ( *) - ( *) (idk about this part yet, just an idea)

Tengen: He makes sure no one kills anyone else in the gang, but likes to bring up Kaori and his relationship, his wives, and mess with Kaori’s emotions or flirt with her because he knows it pisses her off, he enjoys to see her angry and the look that she wants to kill him in her eyes, also she tries to hurt him

Gyomei: He is blind in this au too, so he always brings his own Braille dice and stuff, but he’s still able to play just fine, he also makes sure people down fight, he is really imitating and his voice is very strict too, he has his prayer beads still as a necklace and chain, also his prayers that are on his haori are a tattoo on his arm

Phew 😮‍💨 I think that’s it for now!!

Let me know if you guys have any questions :D PLEASE

ALL OCS (AS MANY AS YOU WANT) ARE WELCOME!! PLEASE JUST POST ME AND USE MY TAG FOR THIS AU 🙏

Love you guys and hope to see some OCs 😘

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

hii! saw your matchmaker-thingy js now and instantly KNEW I had to try it out lmao. I’m kinda scared

I’m abt 156cm tall (5’1” I think), have brown eyes n brown hair and am mixed (Vietnamese-Swiss-English), I got like a short wolf cut. I have some scars on my hands and legs, some sh scars on my forearms and stretch marks on my thighs.

Uhh idk I can talk abt literally anything (deeptalk>>>) & am an animal lover. my first language is German, I also speak Swiss German and English (obvi) but also a bit Vietnamese and Norwegian. I grew up with mostly Asian culture, together with European culture and really love rice, duck, seafood and summer rolls. My social battery goes low rlly fast but I love being around the ppl I trust, my love language is physical touch. If not lazy, I can do absolutely crazy shit but I don’t like illegal stuff or shit o could get in serious trouble for.

I’m bisexual n female (she/they) but rather lean towards men, I love to draw and sketch and paint and all that stuff, also like crystals and taxidermy (only non-animal abuse (idk the word) stuff yk) and books. My hobbies r drawing, reading, writing, and I wanna start with boxing or some other martial art soon. I used to play hockey, and also play the guitar (acoustic)

Also I self-diagnosed w autism n probably(?) social anxiety since my parents would never let me get tested 👍. If u take me on walks, I WILL take any cool shit that I find and take it home. No, this old cassette is not trash, it is a treasure.

My music taste is absolutely everything but the stuff that I don’t like, but my fav artists r the Neighborhood, The Weeknd, Lil Peep, TJ Beastboy, the Crane Wives, Alex G, TV Girl, Flawed Mangoes, McCafferty and the Front Bottoms

My fav colors r black, green and blue, also I think with the ppl I’m comfortable around I WILL constantly be touching em in some way like hand on shoulder or elbows/knees touching yk. Sometimes energetic, but when my social battery has run out you can drag me through a hangout.

DC, sbg, tadc, spider-man and CoD fan, also if you’re racist, sexist, ableist, homophobic or transphobic, please go fuck yourself 🫶🏼, I support/accept furries and therians and cosplayers, Satanists and pagans/wiccans as much as Muslims and Christians, Jews as well as Hindu or Buddhist ppl

I LOVE js going outside to hangout n do dumb shit, play fighting>>>, n maybe pick flowers

Soo that was it lmao idk if this is informative or just bs

Also ty<333 if u actually make a match for me

(Also because you write so much you get an analysis)

Your DC Universe Ship: Jason Todd

Explanation: starting off with your appearance, I think that he would find you very attractive and I think as kind of a head canon of myself I think that he finds shorter people attractive because I don’t know. I feel like he just likes to kind of feel like he has that power maybe or I don’t know. I just think he makes it think it makes you look adorable even if you can very well kill someone I just I don’t know. I think he really likes having a shorter partner, additionally I don’t think he would mind Scars because he has plenty of his own. I think he would definitely find stretch marks that might be an unpopular opinion, but I think that Jason Todd would definitely stretch marks attractive. He thinks it’s insanely cool that you can speak multiple languages and would probably want to try and learn some of them that he doesn’t know himself. I also think that he can maybe speak a little bit of German aside from English and I don’t know I just think he seems like the type of guy that would learn like a little bit of language like German or Russian. You can talk about anything and you talking about things with him out the opposite he doesn’t really talk as much about that kind of stuff and I don’t think that you guys would be really compatible in that way because you could get him to talk about anything which is something that not a lot of people can do so congrats. He loves it whenever you make food for him or whenever you can recommend different restaurants or things because I think he’s definitely a foodie and would appreciate having different culture food. I think that he’s has a pretty high spice tolerance. He gets the social battery thing but he’s slightly hypocritical, because whenever he wants alone time, he gets it. But if you want it…. He may just follow you around and hope you don’t notice.  but in terms of your social battery running out for other people he would completely understand and most likely you would have trouble dragging him to Social events. I think that he would find your hobbies fascinating, and I think that he would love watching you do taxidermy and the whole process of it. He would ask a lot of questions about or is Benny as he’s interested in asking and I feel like he would also love the fact that you’re an artist because he’s never really been much of an artist himself. I feel like he’s more if he would be anywhere in art I feel like he would be more musician and, he loves the fact that you can play the guitar and thinks that it’s really cool. If you ever expressed interest in martial arts several and is the equivalent of a belt and most of them because he was shoved so much martial art training whenever he was trying to become Robin so I’m sure that he would be happy to teach you, but he would totally make fun of you if you messed up like in a teasing, friendly, loving way, but still. He would think he was as if you could somehow win against him in a fight. He probably let you win, but I don’t know. I think he’d find that hot. He also really likes reading and writing. I think he likes reading way more than writing but I think he’s probably written poetry before that he’s never really shown anyone and he’s like embarrassed of it but you know I think he really does love reading and would totally like read the same book with you if he was interested in it and talk about it with you. I think he thinks it’s pretty cute and also pretty cool that you find just random stuff off the street and it’s like treasure to you. I just think that he really values that in a person, especially because he grew up on the street and knows more than anything that materialism isn’t always where you find your treasure. I think he wouldn’t mind your music taste, and like some of it, but he definitely is more leaning into like Dad rock type of things and I think that he could still enjoy some classic TV girl though I don’t think he’d be like super big about music, but I definitely feel like if you were playing a song that he didn’t like as much he would instantly turn on like the rock station or something.

He’s definitely a “ I’m driving so I can control the radio” type of guy. I think it would take him a while to grow comfortable with touching in a relationship, but you’re usually the one exception to someone who will he allows to touch him and you’re the one person who quickly gained his trust to which is an unusual trade for him, but I feel like you would be kind of the one exception as to a person he would feel comfortable with being physical because he knows how much you enjoy physical contact, and that it’s your love language. I don’t see him as a generally like physical person, but I feel like you could change that like with you it’s different. He also thinks that the fact that you pick flowers is very very, very, very cute and would probably be reluctant and say that he doesn’t like it, but he very secretly likes it whenever you make him like a flower crown or something or put a flower in his hair. He also arguing over shit and I feel like you guys definitely have a lot of arguments turning into make out sessions type of relationship and play fighting with. Also turn into make out sessions. I mean, y’all are just like all over each other all the time and the rest of the family has to stand there like 😑 but you guys don’t like flirt with each other you guys like tease each other and that’s how you flirt so that’s that’s just the vibe I get from your relationship anyway I ship it

and I’m so sorry for taking this long to complete this. I’ve been really really really really really busy and yeah, I had to shut down my ship asks for a bit because of the fact that I was getting so overwhelmed and getting so many so I really hope this did it justice!!! Much love Pookie bear ♥️♥️♥️♥️