#i think that’s why i found him annoying lmao!!

[fridakahloblvd]

i don’t like Sakura he’s too relatable, fuck you mean “is this what it feels like to be held by another human”???

blushing and getting flustered when someone compliments me???

i mean, i can’t fight. but we’d be besties. just like…sat at different tables, grimacing and mean mugging the other when they say something nice and genuine

[rotisseries]

i have GOT to stop going and checking out the notes on... that one post.... but it's CRAZY to me that people keep reblogging it very seriously being like "HOW CAN PEOPLE LIKE HENRY HE MURDERED 20 CHILDREN"

you mean the fictional child murder?? you mean the fake fictional child murder?? you mean the fake fictional telekinetic sci fi child murder by fake fictional telekinetic sci fi murder man on fake fictional telekinetic sci fi horror netflix show stranger things??? YOU MEAN THAT FAKE MURDER???

no you're so right there's never once been a history of fandoms liking a guy even if he did a bit of fake fictional murder what an insane concept

[angelsheartts]

୭ JEALOUSY ˚. ᵎᵎ ~

#pairing : lucifer, adam, alastor, angel dust, husk, valentino, vox, x gn reader.

#cw: jealousy?, +18 in valentino's/vox's part, suggestive content ig, cuss words lmao.

#notes: u guys don’t know how much i wanna know why lilith made a deal with adam, and how could she even fumbled lucifer.

⋆.ೃ- LUCIFER .

i don't think lucifer gets jealous easily, at least, but if he is jealous, he will surely become reallyyyy clingy and will try to show off. i mean, he's the sin of pride, after all.

being the partner of the king of hell really meant that there would always be people staring at you, even ones who had no shame at all and would flirt with you, sometimes even in front of lucifer.

"would you mind if I bought you a drink, sweetheart?" a powerful overlord asked you, making lucifer raise an eyebrow and look at the overlord with one of his annoyed characteristics expressions, and before you could even reply anything, lucifer had already bought you both the whole menu of drinks while clinging onto you. "do you think this is enough for you, (name)?" he asked, making the overlord stop bothering you both and making you gasp a soft sigh, knowing he did all of this with such an innocent face, as if he wasn’t getting annoyed just a second ago.

⋆.ೃ- ADAM .

his ego is too big for him to even consider the idea of being jealous, but boy, does he want to get rid of the fucking asshole who is talking to you.

even though you were adam's third wife/adam's first husband, you were nice to being around. not like your husband, who always made snarky comments about everything and everyone.

sometimes, though, people would flirt with you without you noticing, making your husband really irritated and dragging you away while flipping off the angel who initially flirted with you and making some snarky remarks about them. "(name), that bitch was literally fucking you with his eyes! you should have called me before, next time make sure to be around me, got it?" adam called out, making you giggle since his insults were sometimes so unexpected.

⋆.ೃ- ALASTOR .

alastor is the kind of guy who wouldn’t get jealous; maybe once an extermination you would see him acting a little possessive over you, but really, this guy knows your soul belongs to him, so why would there be a need to feel jealous?

actually, only your friends at the hazbin hotel where the only ones who knew about your relationship with alastor; it made sense, since he knew you could get in danger if someone else found out.

that didn’t meant that angel dust wouldn’t take the opportunity to flirt with you as a joke while trying to get a reaction from you. "(name), i think you would get pretty popular if you started to appear on my films" he said jokingly to you, while alastor just looked at him with his usual smile "i don’t think that (name) would want to get involved in that kind of stuff, angel dust, isn’t that right, dear?" alastor answered, kissing your cheek, and leaving you speechless since he mostly kept his affection for when the both of you where alone.

⋆.ೃ- ANGEL DUST .

for me, he may get jealous depending on who's hitting on you; if it’s some random imp, it won’t really bother him; he will just tell them to fuck off themselves and leave you alone, but if it’s someone like valentino, oh boy, he acts VERY different.

angel dust didn’t really like you being in the porn studios were he works, because he knows that valentino is waiting to say anything to you, and because he simply thinks you don’t belong in a place like that. he thinks you’re much better working at the hazbin hotel or wandering around the pride ring.

"(name), aren’t you a supportive one? you know that if you want, i could make you a star lik-" "val, we're on set soon" angel dust spoke, looking angrily at valentino. "well, looks like your little boyfriend doesn’t want me to talk to you; i’m sure we’ll have plenty of time the next time," valentino whispered, making you stand there awkwardly.

as you both were finally at the hazbin hotel, anthony asked you not to come next time, since he really didn’t want valentino talking to you ever again. "(name), you know i really don’t want to get you in trouble, and you know that outside of the studio we can do whatever the fuck we want, but still, thanks for the snack you brought." he said, smirking, and letting you cuddle into his arms like you always do after an exhausting day.

⋆.ೃ- HUSK .

husk would only get jealous or, well, mostly, frustrated if someone interrupted you both, like if you both are just having a wholesome moment and someone just steals your attention from him, he’s a cat after all AND will be grumpy afterward.

you were having a nice chat with husk while having a drink at his bar, but as he was explaining you something, alastor came along and asked you something between the lines of 'if you had seen charlie or vaggie' since he had to talk to them about some business about the hazbin hotel.

after alastor left, you turned to look at your partner, noticing how he had been growling this entire time. it wasn’t really loud, though. "tsk, that radio demon really needed to ruin the atmosphere," he said, making you give him a look "what? you know, i dislike the idea of him thinking that he can just do whatever he pleases with my stuff." hearing your partner's words, you knew you had to reassure him that even though alastor had interrupted you both, your attention was still set on him and no one else.

⋆.ೃ- VALENTINO .

he’s valentino, he surely and kind of obviously gets jealous whenever you’re talking to someone that isn’t him.

the workers in the studio know that since you worked there, you've only filmed with valentino; nobody questions why, and nobody really cares whatever reason their boss has to not let you fuck with others.

today, though, a worker intended to jokingly flirt with you. "(name), i think that if we make a video together, even the most pure souls would want to watch it" oh, well, that wasn’t even a little funny to valentino.

"such a slut for me, mmh? you really thought my sweet (name) would even think about fucking with you?" valentino smirked, while thrusting into you. he had his eyes set on the demon who flirted with you, not even caring about the fact that he was on set.

⋆.ೃ- VOX .

this man has the same jealousy problems, or even worse, than valentino. he's actually such an attention whore, so he obviously would despise everyone who tries to flirt with you.

actually everyone who works for the vees knows how jealous vox is, and that’s because this is a situation that often happens: if someone is even looking at you a little longer than usual, he will become insecure and try ANYTHING he can so he can have your attention on him. like i mentioned, he’s an attention whore.

today, the outfit that velvette chose for you might have made some people stare back at you. i mean he can’t judge them; you looked so fucking good in it, but hell does he want to have you all by himself, so what does he does? take you to his office so he can have you all by himself.

"(name)," he mutters while keeping his hands all over your body. "you knew what you were doing, huh? making everyone stare at your body, but i’m such a good partner for not making a fuss about it, right?" he asked, waiting for you to atleast praise him, 'cause like a already mentioned he’s an attention wh- lmao.

[thebibliosphere]

With hindsight, I probably should have realized I was polyamorous/ambiamorous sooner than I did. (And to be clear, I realized it pretty young. I just didn't have the terminology for it.)

Ignoring the fact that five-year-old me used to watch Signing In The Rain! on a loop and was already making up stories about Don, Cosmo, and Kathy all living together in Don's big house and *gasp* holding hands (maybe kissing), I was never any good at shipwars.

Like someone would ask me, "What's your OTP?" and I'd be like, "Well, I guess I like X/Y, but also Y/Z is good too..."

And they'd be like, "No. I mean your one TRUE pairing," and I'd just blink at them like, I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.

I'm sure they thought I was trying to stir shit or being deliberately annoying, but I just... couldn't wrap my head around it. Why did I need to pick one thing? There were multiple options with different things that made them appealing. That's like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and just drinking water. Which is fine! If water is all you want, great. But you don't get to go to an all-you-can-eat buffet and judge people for eating different foods...

And when I eventually found out multi-shipping was a thing, I was like, "oh neat, that's what I do!" and while there was a definite feeling of having found my people, it was weird having the moral judgment from other people who seemed to think multi-shipping was a symptom of a greater moral character flaw. Like my inability to settle on just one thing meant I was more likely to cheat irl.

This wasn't helped by the fact that I... kinda already didn't care about monogamy? Not the way my friends did. I didn't mind that my then-boyfriend liked Sarah, too. What I minded was that he went behind my back and kissed her when he'd told me I couldn't kiss anyone else.

It was the betrayal of the agreement that hurt. Because we'd agreed. He'd asked me to be exclusive with him, and I did. And then he... didn't. And my friends couldn't grasp that.

It was all, "How could he kiss someone else?!" and my chief complaint was, "Why didn't he tell me first?!"

Anyway, if I could go back in time, I'd tell teenage me, you're not weird and amoral, you're just queer, polyamorous, and have ADHD, lmao.

[winterzsurprise]

Take a seat || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: Never in your wildest dream did you imagine having your husband ask you to sit on his face.

Tags: Face sitting, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, smut, NOT BETA READ.

Words: 1.2k

saw someone plead for this one lmao. They asked so nicely so I delivered, idk if this is how it usually goes tbh. This shit's so rushed but I guess I have to squeeze everything out before school starts again tomorrow aaaaaaaaaa

other than that, enjoy! Thank you all for your love on my fics aaaaaaaaaa im running out of header pics da;flkhwah

mi vida - my life || dios mio - my god || mi bella esposa - my beautiful wife || cariño - honey

“You want me to do what now?”

Miguel sighed exasperatedly as he facepalmed, embarrassed. “Don’t make me repeat mys—”

“No no no, I heard you loud and clear.” Which doesn’t mean you understand why all of a sudden. “But why?”

“Should I have any reason why I want you to sit on my face?”

In a gazillion universe, you’d never thought you’d hear those words come out of his lips. Sitting on his lap, you stared at the man incredulously to which he scowled at.

Usually, oral between you both are usually done with you underneath him as he pinned your thighs open and wide for him since he likes the control. To hear him ask you to sit on his face mid-foreplay shocked you.

You pinched your thigh, unconvinced by his sudden change of mind and Miguel sighed once more.

“Is it that hard to believe? Dios mio, if you don’t want to do it, just say it—”

“No no no, lay back down, I’m just processing.”

Excitement thrummed madly in your veins as you pushed the man back into the mattress. Excitement got you removing your underwear in a second before sitting back on his chest. It’s not fast enough apparently, when his strong arms hook under your legs and pull you directly on top of his lips.

Your breath got stuck into your throat. The mere feeling of his hot breath on your skin caused ripples of heat from your abdomen to your fingertips. You’ve always had orals before, it was something he’d never forget, yet there was something about sitting on top of his face that got you aroused more than ever.

“Go any slower and I would’ve thought you’d want to back out.”

“Not my fault. You’re so impatient.”

“A pretty girl sat on top of me, naked and wet, begging to be devoured. Do you think I’d ignore you, mi bella esposa?”

His dark voice, along with his fogged red eyes staring at you through his eyelash sent shivers down your spine, cheeks flushing beet red. You almost slapped the growing smirk off of his face at your flustered state.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you smell absolutely delicious.”

His arms locked around your thighs and you immediately knew you were done.

His tongue felt like silk gliding through your folds before rolling your clit in figures of eight. You sighed, throwing your head back as pleasure slithered down your spine at his every exhale fanning your skin. 

There was something about the stings his stubbles brings as it scratches your skin along with the stimulation of his tongue that drive you crazy. 

You swear you’re not a masochist by any means, yet when it comes to Miguel, every joy, sadness, pain and pleasure felt like a reward from the high heavens that you couldn’t help but accept with gratitude.

Your hand found stability in his dark locks, pulling and tugging his head closer to your heat, causing him to groan, the vibration seeping into your bones.

His hands roamed your body as if desperate to find a treasure in the unknown, nails dragging the skin from your back and down to the globes of your ass. The sting they left in their wake stirs your nerves awake, the pain mixing in with pleasure. You sighed, falling to lean on the piles of pillows as you dragged your clit with the point of his tongue.

Miguel wandered lower, tongue rolling around the rim of your entrance, sending electric jolts down your legs. You shivered as the sensation of his fangs rubbing against your folds, always so close yet so far away.

You gasped when the appendage plunged into your entrance, his large nose pushing into your clit as he pulled you closer to his face.

“Fuck…!”

“You taste divine.” He groaned. “Give me more.”

Bringing his hand down hard onto your ass, you whined. The stinging pain it left had your body singing for more and you knew Miguel was aware of the effect it has on you with how hard you clench on his silky appendage.

“Move.”

“Huh?”

Another sharp slap echoed in the living room, harder than the one earlier and you cried, hips stuttering forward on his flattened tongue.

“Ride me, cariño. Like you’ve always wanted.”

And you swear you’ve never heard anything more romantic than that.

With a smidge of hesitance, fearing you’d suffocate him, you rolled yourself on his tongue, eyes locked onto his darkened ones that dripped with desire. Still unsatisfied, his hand lands another hit on your skin and you move more desperately against him.

You cry as he starts to pick up the pace of his tongue, putting pressure onto your bead and shaking his head aggressively underneath you. He swats you once more when your hips stutter from the stimulation before clawing your flesh and grounding you further into his mouth.

“Harder.”

“I’m trying—Ah!”

Sneaking a hand below, he immediately inserts two digits inside of you. He spared no time hastening the speed of his thrusts while licking enthusiastically onto your clit making your eyes roll back.

Chasing the pleasure his fingers and mouth offered you, your hips rolled uncontrollably against his face. The obscene squelch echoing in the room would have embarrassed you, yet you couldn’t find it in you to flush.

The tight knot in your abdomen tightens as heat explodes from your chest and reaches down the tips of your limbs. You couldn’t do anything but cry as you tether closer to nirvana.

“I-I’m close.”

“Come for me, mi vida. Give it to me. I want it all.”

With his grounding arm reaching up to rake through your back along with his fingers and tongue, the knot unfurls and you come with a cry. 

Suddenly, he had both arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from fluttering away from his ministrations. You gasped and pushed at his head but he paid no heed to them, rolling and shaking his tongue onto your clit as if trying to coax another climax from you.

“Miguel…!”

His nails digging into your flesh was the only answer you received and maybe the tug on his lips at your trembling thighs as well. It didn’t take long before pain started to blur with pleasure and your hips rocked against his tongue despite the protest of your heat with one hand tugging on his hair and the other holding on for dear life onto the headboard.

You didn’t have the mind to worry about his nose being blocked by your mon pubis, focused solely on your orgasm. With how he ground your hips onto his lips, you knew he didn’t mind.

And with a weak shout, you unravel, flesh and bones, on top of him. There’s a sound of something breaking in the haze, but paid no heed to it as you fall bonelessly onto the mattress. Miguel pulls away, gasping for air just as you turn to face the ceiling.

Your arousal drenching his face evoked something feral within you, the simmering desire in your stomach stirring awake once more. His eyes turned to the headboard and chuckled, reaching over to run his fingers over the dent with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I guess a Spider-Man will always be a Spider-Man.”

“Oh shut up.” You groaned, chucking a pillow on his face.

[byexbyez]

love me more | leon kennedy x f!reader

pairing: re4r!leon kennedy x f!reader

summary:

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

word count: 19k

warnings: 18+ towards the end, angst, yearning, marriage of convenience but there isn't a tangible convenience, strangers to spouses dynamic, grief/mourning, depictions of depression and low self-esteem, also trauma and anxiety, family issues, kinda touch-starved leon if you squint, domestic fluff if you try hard enough, non-linear and vague timeline, mentions of canon typical violence, alcohol and cigarette consumption, p in v smut, brief alternation of POVs, ada wong mention, suicidal thoughts, minor original character, minor character death, spoilers to the hunchback of notre dame, no use of y/n

notes: meant to post this on tumblr after i was done with it but that never happened so here, have it. took me 16 months to post it here lmao. english is not my first language. you have been warned. also beware of a whole lot of mitski and hozier references. enjoy!

-> read on ao3

>> read PART II.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

Me and my husband We're doing better

—Me and My Husband, Mitski

It’s quiet. It has always been that way from the start. Your husband is late, which is not unusual. You sit in the somber light coming from your living room TV. You don’t like the overhead lights, which explains the abundance of lamps around the living room and bedroom in your home. Your husband found it strange that you never turned on the actual lights but it didn’t take him long to realize that you were right. Any kind of overhead light was annoying to him now. He blamed you for his headaches at work.

No matter how many times you told him that he could turn on the overhead lights he insisted that he did not like them anymore. “I like it like this,” he had said. “You’re right, it’s cozier this way.” His head was on your knee, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. You wanted to brush his hair away from his face and maybe scratch a bit as if he was a cat. But you didn’t, you had no idea what he would react like to such an intimate gesture. You turned your gaze away from his peaceful sleeping face to the TV you had been watching on low volume before he stepped through your home’s front door.

It was a fucking joke, really. Thinking twice, three times about touching the man that you call your husband.

You hear his keys jumble from the door. He didn’t tell you what time he would be home, so you didn’t prepare anything for dinner. It’s late anyways. You consider closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch but it hasn’t been long since he told you he could tell when you were not sleeping. You thought about the number of times you pretended and he could tell. Embarrassing. Now that your secret was out, you had to greet him awkwardly.

He calls your name. “Are you asleep?” His voice very faint.

“No,” you answer while untucking your legs from under your butt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He places the keys on the keyholder. “No lights?”

You reach to your side and turn on one lamp. “I didn’t realize the sun had set.”

“It’s past eleven.” Now that the lamp was on you could see his worried eyes. His five o’clock shadow prominent. “Did you eat anything?” he asks. You can’t tell if he hopes you did or not.

The moment you see the plastic bag in his hand, you shake your head no. Honestly, you were hungry because it had been hours since you ate a bowl of cereal as dinner.

He steps over your legs instead of pushing the coffee table away to make room for himself and plops next to you on the couch. “Brought Chinese,” he says and places the food bag on your lap instead of the coffee table. “You like their fried dumplings.”

You aren’t surprised that he remembers it. He was nice like that, maybe he thinks this is the least he can do. Soon after the wedding, he realized you did not enjoy cooking. It has never been a problem, he knew his way around the kitchen and knew of really good takeout places.  

“Thank you,” you say softly while leaning on the table to place the noodles and the dumplings. “Leon, did you drink?” you ask when you catch a whiff of him.

“Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.”

That explains his lax attitude. He has his arm around you across the back of the couch, he’s sitting close to you. It’s because he wants to eat, you say to yourself. And he’s a little tipsy.

“Did you have fun?” you ask when you separate your chopsticks.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he says, watching you separate his chopsticks for him. “I had a drink by myself.”

“Only one?” you chuckle.

“One or two,” He cocks his head to your direction and grabs the chopsticks from your fingers. His fingertips are warm.

Unlike you, his body always runs hot. You remember the comment he made when he held your hand and cupped one cheek, kissing you after you two had said “I do”. His breath was hot on the lower part of your face. You somehow felt him everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s really hot, why are your hands cold?” he had whispered. It was unusually hot on the day you eloped. Leon had to dab his sweat away so often.

“I’m just nervous,” you had whispered back. The hand that he was not holding was trembling, surely, he could tell.

“No need to be.” That was what he said right before your first kiss. It was more of a short peck because he was a gentleman who didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

It was easier for him to say, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about. He looked really beautiful that day and it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You felt like you were committing a crime while signing your documents that sealed the fact that you were now married to Leon Kennedy. You wonder if he felt the same, knowing this marriage was not a real one.

You didn’t lie to anyone really, so why did it feel like you did? You never told anyone you were in love. You never told anyone this was legit. You just told your sister you were married and that Leon was a good man. She had shrieked over the phone, demanded that you quit joking. The moment she was convinced that you were not, she expected pictures of him. The only picture you had of him was from the day you eloped. He had taken your cold hand and placed it on his arm. His other hand on his stomach so he didn’t look awkward. You had raised your small bouquet of baby’s breath to your torso as well. You did not look as nervous as you thought when the photo came in the mail but Leon looked more handsome than you remembered. You emailed it to your sister.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. How the hell did you bag that man??? Do you have blackmail material against him?

We met at work, you replied shortly.

I thought you worked with dudes that are old as fuck.

We don’t work together. Met through a coworker.

Maybe I should change careers. I mean how hard can it be to train as a government agent???

You looked at the multiple question marks she sent after that. I’m telling your husband.

I showed him the picture and he agrees that he’s hot lol. He also would like to have you guys over.

So you both can ask him what he sees in me?

Hey, I’m only joking. We would really like you guys to come over. I want to meet my brother-in-law.

I’ll tell him but he’s very busy.

Sooo what does he do?

Like I said, he’s an agent. Mostly confidential work.

So you can’t tell me?

I really can’t.

You know what? It’s annoying that you can’t tell me what he does but I can understand. What I can’t understand is you getting married. Out of the blue. Without telling me.

That email left a bitter taste in your mouth. She could tell that it was not real. She knew that you were not easy to love. She knew it was impossible for you to get married. That’s why you stalled her invitation for nearly two years. You hadn’t even asked Leon because you did not know how he would react. He knew you had a sister across the country and that she was older than you but never asked about her for a while. You weren’t offended at his uninterest in your life. He didn’t have any reason to be interested in you.

He did say he was an orphan, that one time.

It all made sense after that, he didn’t like to talk about families. Maybe because he wasn’t used to belong. To belong to a family. Belong to someone. Think about them because he belongs to them and they belong to him.

All things considered, you thought Leon turned out more than okay. Closed off but very kind, gentle, understanding.

He leans forward and helps you split one dumpling into two with his chopsticks. His shoulder bumps yours and stays there because he refuses to let go of the back of the couch behind you. When you pull your sleeve over your fingers, he quickly eats one whole dumpling, leaving you with the smaller one that he helped you split and covers your hand with his.

“You cold?” He looks silly when he stuffs his face full of food.

“No.”

“Your hands are cold.” He doesn’t’ say like always but it’s there in his voice.

He doesn’t mind touching you when he’s in a good mood, mostly when he’s a little intoxicated like this. Usually, he’s not a touchy person. You’re glad he’s not, it reminds you that you definitely like him more than he likes you. He needs the little nudge of alcohol to let go of his inhibitions. He didn’t touch you until you gave him the green light on your birthday. He didn’t know what to get you as a gift so he got you yellow roses and the blandest birthday card known to man.

Happy Birthday, from Leon.

“It isn’t anything special, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

But it was special, it was from him; with his emotionally constipated, probably unintended curt message. You knew deep down he had a big heart. He cared enough to stop on his way to get you these. You didn’t think much, because there were times when you didn’t need to think about this, you just reached and hugged him around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. “They smell really nice. We need to get a vase for them.”

He finally put his arms around you and you felt the stiffness of his shoulders on top of yours. It was six months into your married life.

Yellow roses. He saw you as a friend. You were okay with it, as long as it meant he was not pushing you away. You were not terrible by any means. Boring and awkward, definitely. But you made it clear to him that he could talk to you about what he wanted when he wanted. He was adamant that it went both ways. However, you genuinely don’t think anything going in your life is worth talking about. Hence, he’s the one who ends up talking most of the time.

He rubs your fingers to bring them warmth. The air of the living room feels awfully similar to that one time he surprised you and laid his head on your lap. That one time you wanted to play with his hair but didn’t. It was just like this. Quiet despite the TV’s low volume, comfortable as the light coming from the lamps was soft on the eyes, smelling of alcohol as he was a little drunk. Unsure as your hands were cold and was this what being friends meant?

Sometimes he craved the quiet. He worked and worked and worked. Voices everywhere. Danger constant. His only quiet was home, you suppose.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

“I ate cereal,” you answer him.

“Has no nutritional value whatsoever,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s just me being lazy.”

“I don’t think we have anything in the fridge, I don’t blame you.”

You both finish your food in silence, you pretend to watch the screen in front of you the whole time. You hug your knees to your chest when you’re done and he looks like he can fall asleep any minute.

“How was your day?” you ask to keep him awake. You don’t want him to sleep here and have his back and neck all sore tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his shoulder and gives you a funny look through his long lashes. “Same as always.”

You admit to yourself that you love him like this. He seems free, happy even.

You decide to be bold and tap your shoulder for him to lay his head on.  

He doesn’t seem to be thinking twice as he takes your offer and nuzzles his head on your shoulder. He’s taller and bigger than you, you suppose the position he’s in right now is not comfortable for him. He reaches back around the couch and the other hand crosses his abdomen, gripping your ankle that he is closest to. His thumb draws circles there and your brain short circuits. “How was yours?”

“My day? Nothing exciting. All paperwork.”

He hums as he squeezes your ankle, his hair tickling your nose and lips.

“You really need a shower, Leon.” You make up the courage to smooth down his blonde hair that is sticking up in every direction.

He hums again. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes, mister.”

“I’m tired,” he groans but doesn’t seem tired enough as he pushes his head and messes up your balance on the couch. You have to hold on to the arm rest as he keeps nudging you with his head.

“You’ll feel gross in the morning if you don’t have a shower.”

“You have a point,” he says but does nothing to get up. Maybe it was a bad idea to offer him your shoulder and unknowingly, your ankle. He’s never acted like a kid like this before.

You get up and turn off the TV before you offer him both of your hands. “You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk. Now get up and wash yourself please.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. You headbutted me.”

He takes your hands and finally gets up. “I think I ran out of shampoo.”

“You can use mine. Brush your teeth while I go get it.” You pat his back.

There’s two bedrooms in the house, one is for guests but you’ve never had guests over since you’ve both moved into this apartment. Leon uses the “guest” room downstairs. He insisted that you take the bigger room. He’s more like a roommate than a spouse.

He’s shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth like you told him to when you knock on his bathroom door and hand him your shampoo. He reads the fragrance and opens its cap to smell it.

“Well, you smell nice so I can’t complain,” he says, toothbrush still in his mouth, dribbling toothpaste everywhere.

You love him in moments like these. This is the moment the wife reaches and kisses the husband. Well, maybe after he’s done dribbling everywhere but you know how this moment should go about. He won’t be like this in the morning. You know very well that he is going to be sober and back to normal Leon. He won’t say anything about his drunk self because he knows you won’t as well.

“Don’t fall in the shower!” you shout as you go upstairs to your room.

“I’m not that drunk!”

The next morning, he sees you making coffee in the kitchen. It hasn’t been long since your schedule got aligned with his. He wonders how the hell you managed to adjust your sleeping hours to the point now you could wake up before him. He used to wake up before you because you often had late shifts.

“Morning,” he says as he smells the delicious coffee that you’re pouring into two mugs. He yawns, scratching an itch on his arm. He did not use to have a coffee machine back when he was living alone. You had brought it with you to this house and saved him from Starbucks’ morning rush hour.

You slide one of the mugs in front of him and give him a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He blows on the coffee before he takes a sip. “Much better now.” He clears his throat, his morning voice gruff. “I was thinking… We should commute together.”

“To work?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Where else?” he snorts. “What’s surprising? Why pay more for gas when we start work at the same time?”

“Wouldn’t that be…”

“It wouldn’t interfere with anything if you think about it. It’s stupid to take both cars to the same place.”

“I might work overtime,” you say and hug yourself.

He nods into his mug and seems like he wants to say more. “Then you can take your car. You’ve just started normal hours. Why are you eager to tire yourself out so quickly?”

So that we don’t have to be awkward around each other.

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

It is what you repeat to yourself over and over again. It was convenient to have slept with him. It didn’t have to be a big deal. You were lonely. You reckon he had to be, too. Because why else would he want to have sex with you? He did not love you or anything. You could only think of one thing when his face was buried in your neck. You still had his yellow roses. You had preserved them between your book pages.

As he was panting above you, hands grasping your hips with vigor, your thighs caging him in and burning, you felt like a rose stuck between thousands of words never read aloud. Yellow all over, sticking out like a sore thumb between words printed in the smallest font size possible, suffocating. Once belonged with other flowers but now settled down in a place where people thought you’d look pretty.

You hate the color yellow as much as you hate the word convenient. If not, more.

He sees you wince. He cannot guess the reason behind it is his choice of words. “What do you say?”

He is offering, you think. He still likes you enough to ask.

“Okay.”

“Good, we need to get groceries on the way back.”   

People don’t whisper much now that it’s been nearly two years since you two announced to your close work circle that you were married. There were a lot of surprised faces at first, thinking maybe Leon was joking or something. People didn’t know you very well. You were only close with Cathy.

“Perhaps we should wear rings,” said Leon once over dinner. “People don’t believe we’re married.”

“Is that a problem? What others think, I mean?”

He stared at your face while chewing, you couldn’t make out what he was thinking thanks to the dim light emanating from one of the lamps. “They think it’s a joke. Is it so bad that I want to be taken seriously for once? You wanted a wedding dress, I want a ring.”

“When do you want to get them?”

That led to you choosing matching rings with Leon. Simple gold bands. You make sure to wear them to work every day because if you don’t, you worry people will start to whisper again.

First it was, Leon’s not the type to get married, he’s taking the piss out of us, is it April fools today?

Then it turned into: Oh God, he’s serious, he says he got married last weekend.

Eloped? To whom?

He said her name but I don’t remember it, said she’s in archives now.

He’s married to an archivist? How on earth did they meet?

Probably in Donovan’s funeral, saw Hunnigan introducing them.

That wasn’t long ago!

I know, right?

You know some of them thought you had a one-night stand and got pregnant from him. The rumors subsided when that didn’t turn out to be true.

However, people were curious about why Ingrid Hunnigan would introduce an archivist to an agent. It didn’t take long for your name to become known because you had recently switched departments. You had been a systems analyst like Hunnigan, working with late Cathy Donovan. You’d switched to archives after her funeral.

People greeted you when they saw you. Leon’s wife, right?

Yes, but not really.

The first time Leon ever saw you was during agent Donovan’s funeral. He’d gotten back from Spain just a week ago. He did not know agent Donovan well but her name echoed in every corner. She was good at her job. Most of the time, nobody had an idea what she was up to.

“Leon, I want you to meet Cathy’s partner,” said Hunnigan, holding the shoulder of the woman standing next to her.

You stuck your hand out for him to shake and told him your name. It sounded disconsolate coming from your mouth, your own name. Your eyes were dazed, you kept your mouth in a thin line. You didn’t even look at him properly as if this was the hundredth occurrence today, Hunnigan introducing you to someone.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about agent Donovan.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Right, she was great,” you said, your eyes straying elsewhere. It looked like Hunnigan’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you from crumbling down. You looked so small with your shoulders hunched forward. He cringed when he saw you rip out the flesh of the side of your thumb.

Hunnigan went on about Cathy Donovan’s accomplishments to him. You continued to pick at your thumb, him watching your side profile as you kept averting your gaze from people around you. You seemed to be dissociating hard.

“These two were inseparable. I tried asking Cathy to work with me on a small mission once and she praised her so much in turn, I had to suck it up and meet this woman myself as soon as possible,” said Hunnigan heatedly. “I’m such a big fan of Cathy’s, you see, I couldn’t be upset. I love seeing her work with the best.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you managed to say, a beat too late. “I need to use the restroom, be right back.”

Leon knew too well that losing someone was difficult, yet he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He furrowed his brows the moment his hand made contact with your upper arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t want to seem like he took pity on you.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You made the effort to look him in the eye when it was obvious as day that you were having a hard time keeping your head up.

Your voice barely came out, “Thank you.”

Of course, you did not recognize him the second time he saw you. It was his late celebratory dinner for his mission in Spain. His coworkers had planned a small one, saying he deserved it. Once he was done with his food, he excused himself saying he wanted to get fresh air.

Not too far from the restaurant, you were sitting on a bench alone.

“Those things will kill you, y’know,” he said, eyes pointing to the cigarette you were smoking.

His unexpected voice caused you to jump in your seat. You quickly put the cigarette out by stomping it with your shoe. “I don’t usually… smoke.”

He dragged his feet while walking to sit down on the opposite end of the bench. “You didn’t have to put it out.” Though he thought you were very considerate by doing so.

“Congratulations, for the mission.”

“Thank you— name’s Leon, by the way.”

You stuck your chin out to the direction of the restaurant, “Or so I heard in there.”

“We actually met before. At the funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember half the people I met there.”  

“No need to be sorry. You seemed out of it.”

“Yeah, we worked together for a long time, Cathy and I.”

“Look, I know it’s hard and anything I say probably won’t make any difference—”

“You don’t need to—” Your voice quite literally got stuck on your throat, you composed yourself by bringing the side of your fist to your mouth and coughed into it. “I’m trying to get better. I’m here today, which is a miracle in of itself. I know people think it’s probably good to talk about her but I’m just not in the mood, okay? Thank you for your understanding but I don’t need to be reminded, it happened not so long ago.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, I know you mean well.” You started to sway your feet on the gravel. It was completely understandable for you to lash out but you seemed uneasy as soon as it was out of you. “Sorry, this is your happy day. I shouldn’t—”

“You realize how many times we said sorry to each other in this past minute?” he laughed. “Also, I lost a partner in Spain. I’m not that happy today.”

Your voice turning faint, seemingly regretting your flash of anger a moment ago, “You probably feel like you shouldn’t be happy.”

He nodded. “He helped me a lot but didn’t make it.” He saw your mouth open and stopped you there. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It loses its meaning when you say it too much.”

“Even if I mean it with my whole heart every time?”

“That means you’re sorry for a lot of things. It’s not healthy to carry that much weight on your shoulders.”

“Right, I’ll be like Quasimodo.” You hunched your shoulders even more forward. “Like the hunchback.”

“From the Disney movie?”

You giggled at his childishness. “Yeah, I heard there’s also a book about it.”

He looked at your squinted eyes and thought you deserved to be happy more.

As you two carried on your now meaningless conversation, he did not know that you were certain on resigning from your job and never turning back to it. You’d started to work on the archives that week, partly because your boss had foreseen you contemplating quitting all together and did not want to lose a highly valuable member such as yourself and partly because you had requested it.

At that point, you were absolutely aware of the fact that they feared you’d never turn back to your former position. And because Cathy didn’t have any plans of ever becoming alive, you also didn’t have any plans on returning. But you knew the reason behind them doing anything you asked was them giving you time to grieve. After that, the pressure would build even more and hopefully make you take your old place.

“It was Hunnigan’s idea,” you said to Leon after he asked you very kindly why you were here tonight. “Basically dragged me here. She thinks I should be around people more.”

“She’s right. I’m glad you came.”

Leon was cute, alright. That didn’t do him justice, actually. It was evident under the street light where the bench was that he worked out regularly. Biceps giving a hard time to his sleeves every time he moved, veins protruding on his forearms, his thighs looking like they’d help him carry ten people on his large back. And oh, his broader-than-the-horizon shoulders. An absolute unit of a man with cheekbones and jawline honed like a Greek statue. With his dark blonde hair falling on his face in that charming way and his oh so kind blue eyes, you knew he was out of your league.

His gentle aura making him seem like a Prince Charming or a white knight or whatever the fuck those Disney movies had.

You planned on never seeing anyone from work again, you had nothing to lose. And Cathy so would say to shoot your shot.

“I’m thinkin’ of getting a few drinks in me, want to tag along?”

“What do you have in mind?” He seemed interested, a good sign.

“You got any suggestions? And don’t say beer because I plan on getting wasted beyond recognition in like an hour.”

“Yeah, be careful. And don’t drink and drive.” The way he took a U-turn on his interest irritated you. You really thought he wouldn’t say no, you were getting along well, flirting even. “Did you come here with your car?”

“Yeah.” You tried to not sound upset. “I’m not a teenager. I’ll take a cab. Drinks will be on me.”

“Ah, thanks but I’ll have to refuse. They’ll probably wonder where I went. It’s my dinner, after all.” The polite smile he gave you was so infuriating.

You got up from the bench. He had the audacity to look you up and down after that. “Then please tell Hunnigan I’m sorry I left early, will you?”

“I will.” He fidgeted and crossed his arms. Oh God, you’d made him uncomfortable. It was just minutes ago he was sort of flirting with you. “Don’t drink too much.”

God, why did he have to be so annoying?

The next time you two met was at the closest pharmacist to work, few weeks after his dinner and your failed attempt to get him in your bed.  

“One box of aspirin, please.” Your head snapped up at that voice. Unmistakably, Leon. With his broad back facing you, he hadn’t seen you yet.

“What can I get you, miss?”

Leon stepped over to the side when they called to you, still not looking at you.

“Eyedrops, please.”

“Miss, are you alright?”

To that, he did a double-take. You’d looked disheveled to the point of worry. Eyes and nose a few shades redder than the rest of your face, eyebags puffy and makeup smudged. With your now extremely frizzy baby hairs doing anything but their job of framing your face, it was apparent that you’d been crying.

“Yes, it’s just an allergy.”

“Can I get you anything for that?”

“No, thank you. I already have meds for it.”

Leon thanked when they gave him his aspirin and turned to you. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly left the pharmacist.

Surprisingly, you did wait for him outside. Why? You had no idea. Frankly, you were hoping to cry more in your car.

Approximately five minutes later, he came to you jogging lightly. He thrusted a water bottle in your hand. “Where’s your medication?”

“What?”

“For your allergy?”

“Oh, um—” You couldn’t find a lie fast enough, usually you were not bad at lying but the way he appeared to be worrying about your well-being was baffling to say the least. “I don’t have it, I mean—” You pressed the water bottle to your stomach and held on to it for comfort. “I don’t have an allergy.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Are you alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.” He looked at you and around you as though checking to see any injury. “You should drink up.” He motioned to the bottle and watched you take a gulp.

“Thank you. Oh, you should, too,” You tried to give him the rest of the water while his stare questioned you. “For your aspirin.”

“I already took it. I’m supposed to take it with water?”

“Yes, Leon. Have you been taking them without water this whole time? Then why did you bring me water?”

“I didn’t know that! You looked dehydrated.”

“That’s not good for you. Now I’m worried about your stomach.”

His blue eyes shined like he came to a revelation. “That’s why my stomach burns when I take them?”

How are you this stupid, you suppressed saying, if you had known him well enough at that time, you definitely would. You forgot for a second that you were annoyed at him for rejecting you few weeks ago and find yourself flabbergasted at thinking that he is endearing, in a way.

You made small talk with him about his lunch break and he insisted on walking you to your car.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said sympathetically once you stood in front of your open car door. “You still look…”

Like a truck hit me, you wanted to complete his sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It just happens time to time.” You tried to make yourself presentable by adjusting your blouse and hair.

“It?”

“Sometimes I cry for no reason. It happens randomly, too, I don’t know when and where I’ll be crying most of the time. Like, I’ll be reading something, it doesn’t have to be sad, I mean— I was reading reports before I came here. Sometimes it gets too much, like now.”

“Will you be okay driving?”

“Yeah! Talking with you definitely helped.” His apprehensive gaze pierced through you. You actually felt like crying again, your chest feeling tight, eyes burning. You stood upright with the support of your car door. “I’ll be fine, Leon.”

“I’m choosing to believe you. Drive safe.” He shifted his weight on one of his legs and seemed ready to take off.

“Thank you. See you around?”

“You probably won’t for a while,” he said to the ground, soothing the itch on his calf with his other leg’s shin. He looked up and squinted his eyes against the sun. “I got assigned a mission. I don’t know for how long.”

“Oh, I’ll be at your celebratory dinner then, if I get an invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know how it will go. I’ll only invite you if you won’t talk for the whole dinner but flirt with me outside again.”

“You didn’t need to embarrass me like that,” you chuckled nervously. “I wouldn’t say I’m a push and pull kind of woman.”

“You can show me what kind of woman you are when I get back?”

“Very smooth, Leon.”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll see you then.” Suddenly, he was distant again. This time you didn’t know what made him uneasy.

“Yeah… Be safe on your mission.”

He just nodded. You got in your car and gripped the steering wheel tightly until the sight of his leather jacket clad back disappeared. You hunched forward, shoved your forehead to the wheel and tried to take a deep breath. The crying spell didn’t go away as the tears burst down first and then the sobs jerked your entire body.

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

—Like Real People Do, Hozier

The inside of Leon’s car smells nice, he takes good care of it.

“I’m going to see my sister this weekend,” you say, averting your gaze from the way he steers the wheel with one hand. His other hand is on his knee, tapping away. The effect his toned arms have on you is humiliating.

“I think I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything that day. I can go with you. It’s your mother’s death anniversary, right? I think it’s time I pay my respects.”

It’s these things he says that leave you puzzled. He’s incredibly thoughtful, no matter who he’s talking to. He very well could have his day off-work for himself, but he asks anyway.

“Do you actually want to meet my sister?”

“I do. I hope to make a good first impression.”

You think about it for a second and end up telling him. “I sent a picture of you to her back when we got married.”

“How’d you get a picture of me?” he asks, appalled. The only picture he has of himself besides the wedding one is on his badge.

“Our wedding picture, dummy. We have one, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot.” You can’t complain because you keep it in a dresser drawer in the envelope it came in. He was on duty again when it came and you’d showed it to him once he was home. The left corner of his lips had curled up and for a second, you thought you saw affection in his eyes. “It came out okay? I was sweating buckets, but you—" he’d said and pointed a finger to your face in the photo. “Your hands were ice cold, I nearly asked you to paste your hands to my forehead just so I could cool down.”

“We still have the picture, right?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s in my room. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Yeah, they sent two. Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?”

“Give it to the mafia or hire a hitman to go after you, what else?” He lets out a hollow laugh. You want to record the sound and have it forever play in your ears. “I want to frame it and put it on my desk. People usually have pictures of their spouses and children or even their dogs on their desks, no?”

Yes, you know. You have pictures with your best friend and sister on your own desk at work.

It’s his way of saying you mean something to him.

You call your sister’s name as soon as you see it. “Why do you have this picture here?”

She’s carrying the empty plates to the sink as you hold on to her fridge’s door handle.

She looks up to see you pointing at your wedding picture. It’s on her fridge. You don’t even display it in your own house.

“You printed it?”

“I did,” she says. “It’s a good picture.” Her house is littered with pictures of her and her husband on different vacations, of you and your mother and her together in some.

“You just met Leon today.”

“And I think he’s great. You’re happy with him. That’s all I could ask for.”

You were happy since he was in a good mood the entire ride coming here. It was long but you two had a smooth ride and he amused you with his corny jokes and stories. You tore small pieces of bagel and fed him when he said he was getting hungry. He was tired from driving the whole time, but of course he didn’t have it any other way and jestingly banned you from getting behind the wheel. He did make a good first impression like he promised, although he kept bobbing his cramped leg. He’s now in the backyard with your brother-in-law, chatting about football, probably.

Your sister gets your attention by giving you a side hug and rubbing your back. “You’re my only sister, of course I’m going to have a picture of your happiest day.”

You hug her back around her waist. She even had photos of your birth in the living room. Your mom in a hospital bed, one day-old baby you cradled in her arms, your father hugging your mother and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. Did he know then, that he would never be there for you to look at you like that again?

“You remember dad, right?” you ask quietly. She was older and was able to tell stories about him to you. “How was he like? Before he left, I mean.”

“Like I told you, he loved us so much. I don’t know if it was the same case for my mom. She later told me she saw it coming, that he likely had another woman.”

“How did mom know?”

Your sister sighs and rest her head on top of yours. “She said she could just feel it. Said he felt distant. He used to come home late leading up to it, sometimes drunk. One day I woke up and he wasn’t home. Didn’t say anything, just abandoned us like that.”

There’s that sadness again, creeping up to your chest and placing a big rock there. You feel like you’re being crushed by it. Your mom had always been ambitious, had dreams for herself and her family, deserved so much more than what she got.

Leon’s laughing loudly in the backyard, your head whips to see the sight.

“Come on, go mingle with your husband. I got it from here,” says your sister and starts to place the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll go get us some beer,” says your brother-in-law and gets up from his chair. The weather is amazing today, your sister had set up a nice meal outside. Leon was getting along with them well. What more could you ask for?

You find yourself alone with Leon when your brother-in-law goes inside the house. You sit next to him and he promptly puts his arm on the back of your chair.

“How’s your leg?” you ask him.

“My thighs are sore,” he groans. “Good thing we’re not driving back tonight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You put a hand on his knee and start to massage, hoping it will help his aching legs. You’re even bolder than a few days ago. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It hurts here,” he says and grabs your hand, placing it higher on his thigh. “You can put more pressure, I can hardly feel it.” His thigh is firm and thank God, your hands manage to stay stable. You ball your hands into fists and start to punch lightly where he wants. The meat of his thighs doesn’t even jiggle, reminding you that he’s mostly made of muscle.

You focus up on his knees. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

“I can—”

“No. You’re tired, Leon. I want to drive, don’t make me upset.”  

“Would you actually be upset if I—”

“Yes, very.” You pinch his thigh and that makes him press his lips together.

“They’re really nice, you know,” he means your sister and her husband. “I feel like an ass for not meeting them sooner.”

“You like them?” You raise an eyebrow.  

“I do.”

“So, any propositions?”

“Huh?”

“Got asked for a threesome yet?” you smirk.

“I’m sorry?” He’s horrified and you find it funny.

“After I sent the wedding picture to them, they both said you were hot. I just remembered it.”

“I’d rather not know that!”

“Relax, Kennedy. I’m just joking. They’re not gonna ask you that.”

He visibly relaxes and puts you in a headlock in a play-fight manner with the arm that was behind you. His nose and mouth pressed up against your hair, he says, “I’ll just tell them I’m a one-lady type of man if they ever do.” You consider biting his arm.

“Can the lovebirds look up here for a second?” chirps your sister. She has come with her camera outside. “It’s the golden hour.”

Leon adjusts his head to look towards the camera and relaxes his hold on you, arm dangling from your shoulder, other hand engulfs yours on his knee, rings clashing.  

“Aww,” your sister coos as she takes the photo. “I’ll send this to you.”

She doesn’t suspect a thing, probably because you’re not pretending anymore.

You splash your face with cold water after you’re done brushing your teeth in your sister’s guest room bathroom. Leon’s inside the room, splayed out on the bed, exhausted after today. It won’t be awkward, you say to yourself, hope to God your hands don’t start to tremble from anxiety.

Leon has taken off his t-shirt, bent one of his knees and put his hands behind his head. Not helping your case by looking irresistible. Even the tufts of hair under his arms are endearing to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asks once you sit on the bed next to him, back facing him. He knows you will visit Cathy too when you get back.

“I’m good, Leon.” You take off your ring and place it next to his on the bedside drawer. “Never been better, actually. I missed them.” You twist your upper body to face him. “Here,” you say as you place your newly washed cold damp hands on both sides of his face in attempts to cool him down.

He shivers, his shoulders going up slightly for a quick second. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. You’re silent, in part because you’re speechless before his beauty, but you also would like to try to give him a little piece of serenity he needs.

“This used to be my mom’s room when she was living here.”

He hums softly and opens his eyes, his hands coming up to hold on to your bare arms, the skin between his eyebrows pinched.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hands finding place on his broad shoulders.

He starts to rub your arms up and down, his hands stopping after a while to trace a strap of your tank top with his fingers. All of your worries about intimate gestures going out the window the moment you let his hands wander.

This is the tender domesticity that you’ve been longing for so badly, you want to thank him.

He scrunches his nose. “I wanted to kiss you, now I think it’ll be inappropriate.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your grip on his shoulders is now stronger, begging not to tremble. He feels lonely, he shouldn’t have come here. You have to swallow hard. “It won’t.”

His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, he’s staring at your lips like he doesn’t wish for anything else. “C’mere.” He tugs at your hip to get the lower half of your body up on the bed. He drapes you halfway on his torso.

Once you’re situated to his liking and casting a shadow on his face, he brings you down ever so gently to his mouth, massaging your nape. He’s hot all over, his mouth, his breath on your face, his chest, the hand that’s splaying his fingers on the small of your back. With his soft lips moving lazily against yours, you’re quite literally bursting at the seams. The muffled sigh he drags across your mouth tempts you to press your entire body to his harder and sling your leg across his hips.

His kisses turn into open-mouthed ones and he tastes like minty toothpaste and sunlight on golden hour.

A small noise comes out of your throat, hands straying down to his bare chest and he has to cradle your face to stop. “We should sleep.” His Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I seriously don’t want to disrespect your mother’s ghost.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he hugs your head and buries it to his chest, his chin resting on top. “You’ll apologize to her tomorrow.”

It’s okay, you think when you feel the low timbre of his chuckle on his chest. We’re okay. We’re doing better.

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done Sit in and watch the sunlight fade Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late There's no plan, there's no hand on the rein

—No Plan, Hozier

The fourth time you saw Leon Kennedy was at a bar. You thought his coworkers were going to be there to see him after his mission but it was just you two.

He had emailed you a day before, saying he asked for your email address from Hunnigan, inviting you for drinks the next day and apologizing for letting you know this late.

“Where’s everyone? Am I early?” you asked, despite noticing the table he was sitting at was for two people.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sight of him. He looked tired. He had a bit of a stubble and his hair was tousled. “No, you’re right on time,” he said, getting up to pull your chair for you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said, ridding yourself from your jacket. You actually put in the effort to look good that day. A nice outfit, a little bit more makeup, hair done.

As you sat down in front of him, a corner of his lips went up, “You look good.”

“The last time we spoke wasn’t my best moment.”

“How have you been?”

You placed your hands on the table and started to play with your fingers, anxious. “Since then? Better, I suppose. How about you? Your mission went well?”

“Depends on how you define well.”

“You’re still in one piece.”

“If only that was enough.” You didn’t get to see his disappointed expression for long when a server came up to your table and Leon quickly ordered a drink, asked what you wanted and waited with his hands together on the table.

Once the server was away, you slightly leaned towards him. “They should be grateful that they got their best agent back alright.” Although you couldn’t ask him any details about his mission, you knew he was a special agent that was good at this job.

“Hunnigan told me you’re in the archives.”

“Yeah, that happened months ago, before your dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I—uh…” Your throat felt dry under his piercing stare. “I wasn’t needed there anymore. So I transferred.”

“Really? I heard it’s quite the opposite.”

“Oh, they’re talking about me?”

“Yes, seems like they really want you to work with agents again.”

“I know that,” you said and dug your fingernails to the corner of the table, his eyes following the motion.

“What do you mean?” he said, scratching his jaw. “You said you weren’t needed.”

“I felt like I wasn’t being useful. I tried to quit. They tried really hard to keep me there. Now, they’re constantly asking me to come back after everything.”

“They do know how to squeeze the last bit out of everyone,” he nodded. “Are you happy with where you are right now?”

“As in life?” You rolled your eyes thinking about it. “What does it look like?”

“I was worried the last time I saw you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know, I looked miserable.” Probably looked like the physical embodiment of a cry for help, too. “Can we not dwell on it, please? I’m better now. But now you—” You reach and tap on the middle of the table. “You look like you need to sleep for days.”

“That would be great,” he sighed.

You kept looking at the door but no one from work was coming in. “Why is no one coming, Leon?”

“They won’t, to be honest with you. I only invited you.”

Your back was then one with the chair. “Oh.”

“I should’ve let you know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind the quiet,” you smiled. And then you realized, he was doing the same thing you were doing, pushing anyone and anything away.

Him reaching out to you, this was his cry for help. Why you specifically, you didn’t know.

“You told me you lost a partner in Spain, were you close?”

To that, he dropped his chin and stared at his lap. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t know him. We met under strange circumstances and ended up helping each other. I got the impression that he regretted a lot of things but wanted to believe people could change.”

“I believe people can change, for the better or worse,” you mumbled.

Your server came with your drinks. Leon didn’t waste a second and downed nearly half of his drink. “You tried to quit?” he asked.

“I did. I thought it was time for a little stability in my life. This is as far as I can get to it,” you said and took a sip of your drink which was the same one as Leon. It was strong.

“Stability. That’s unlikely in this job,” he scoffed, fingers tapping at his glass.

“Do you see it as impossible, Leon?” You desperately hoped he would say no, you needed to hear from someone that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.  

He seemed to be thinking for a slow moment. “I guess, for some people, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“For you it would?” you inquired.

“I once thought I would marry my first girlfriend. I was like what? Twenty, twenty-one? I was really stupid and in love. If twenty-one-year-old Leon saw this, he would be devastated,” he said and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find someone who would understand what I do. It’s not like I can tell them. They’d be in danger because of me. I can’t ask them to trust me blindly. I wouldn’t want them to.”

“If someone was willing to accept you as you are, do you think..?”

“Who in their right mind would?” he groaned in exasperation.

“I would. But my situation is different, I have an understanding of what you do. I also can’t be in any more danger than I already am.” There was a beat of silence after you said that. The drink was definitely too much for you, you were sure. Your ears were burning hot, one hand coming up to cool one down with your nervous cold fingers, your eyes roamed the whole place. You chugged the remaining of your drink and wiped your mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he bolted and looked at your abashed face as if he was in a contemporary art museum, trying to understand what the artist meant with their absurd piece.

Feeling self-conscious, you fixed your hair and babbled out, “Why did you get into this line of work in the first place?”

His back straightened, shoulders rolling back. “I was… recruited.” You didn’t quite understand how but remained from prodding any further. “I was the best candidate for what they wanted. An orphan who didn’t have anything to lose.”

It really wasn’t going well for you. You wanted to bang your head against the table and avoid looking at him completely but after what he had revealed to you, you couldn’t be any ruder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

If Cathy were to hear about this, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Good job honey, that’s one way to woo a man. She would’ve said it in that sarcastic tone which she infamously was a master of.

“No, it’s fine,” said Leon. “You could do so much better than me, though.”

Have you seen yourself, you wanted to exclaim.

Your nostrils were wide, trying to sober you up by hogging as much oxygen as possible, you tried to remain calm, you were feral however. “Why do you keep putting yourself down, Leon? You know, you could’ve called your friends today and they would’ve come running to you. You’re a great person, they don’t give a damn about how successful your mission was. They’re happy that you’re back, that’s all. They are your friends, not the alcohol.”  

He was dead silent, staring at his glass with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sorry for overstepping but I saw how they were trying to look out for you at the dinner. There wasn’t even a glass of wine there, celebration my ass. Everybody can tell you’re not fine. I don’t know you that well but even I can tell. What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. It’s self-destructive.”

He wiped his forehead. “You’re the one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hunnigan’s always talking about how you’re running away every time you see her. She has to drag you everywhere. She’s being nice to you, you could try appreciating that, you know? And you’re clearly stuck up on something, are you trying to repent for your sins or what?” He quite literally disarmed you with his icy stare.

“I’m not Catholic,” you retorted.

“Well, would you look at that. We’re more similar than I thought.” The smirk he had on was sardonic, the furthest from being friendly. You felt an urge to get up and never look back.

“Wrong,” you said as you crossed your arms. “I don’t expect alcohol to solve my problems.”

“Yeah, you’d rather run away from them. And that isn’t going well for you, is it?” He finished his drink and motioned for the server for another. “Also, stop being a hypocrite.”

“Excuse you?” you said with seething anger.

“Are you not trying to ‘get wasted beyond recognition’ right now, as you put it?” he sneered and pointed out your empty glass.

“That was one time, I usually don’t drink. And I’m not planning on drinking more.”

“Oh, did I ruin your fun?”

“Stop that,” you said through your gritted teeth. “Stop being mean. I’m not your friend. You don’t have to push me away. I don’t know why you invited me here. I can just get up and go, leave you with whatever you have up your ass that’s making you act like this. I’m only asking you to stop putting yourself down so much and you’re being all defensive. You know what, I don’t deserve this.” You got up from your chair, grabbing your jacket and purse.

He stood up quickly and tried to follow you. “Sit down, Leon. Your drink is coming.” You didn’t give him any chance to reply and threw the amount of cash that covered your single glass of alcohol on the table.

The walk from the noiseless bar to the nearest bus stop was not pleasant, to say the least. The air was biting cold, hitting your warm cheeks and making you shiver.

Leon only lost sight of you because he stopped to tip the server generously. He fucked up big time, he knew that. It was going to be a pain in the ass if you already jumped in a cab but he had hope that no vacant cab was passing the area on a Friday night.

He was stupid to think this would go smoothly. The last time he saw you, he was concerned about you. The way you’d casually admitted you were not fine was echoing in his mind. He wanted to see if you’d be there by the time he was back from duty. He admitted he was scared for you, for that woman who seemed so small during the funeral, for that woman who had a meltdown in her car in the middle of the day, barely hanging on.

He wanted to tell you today that maybe you should quit. But you had already crossed that bridge.

Maybe you wanted to help people, too. At least at the beginning. Now you wanted peace and quiet, because your life has been anything but. Unlike you, he gave up on that a while ago. He wanted to regard your daring words— I would— as being drunk, he really did.

Ada would never admit she’d want something like that to him, to anyone. Ada didn’t want a stable life, she would never live at a place longer than a month, work with someone more than twice. Even after all of their encounters, Leon still didn’t know what her actual motives were. Raccoon City, Spain, his last mission.

It was pitiful, the way his breath would hitch every time he saw a dark-haired woman wearing red out of the corner of his eye. His heart would pound in his ears for a quick second before he’d realize he was mistaken. He would allow himself, for a brief moment, that maybe it was Ada, here to see him. However, she was never the one to be sentimental. Her every action had a tangible intention that Leon could never guess.

But Leon knew she cared. Enough to save him every goddamn time he needed saving. Enough to ask him to come with her. If he was twenty-one, he would’ve chosen to tail behind her, ready to follow her wherever. Except he had changed, he was not naive anymore. He’d like to think he made the right choice by separating their ways back in Spain. He didn’t know if he was going to be used again.

He also didn’t know what would become of them. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to abandon the mission and ride off into the sunset with Ada yet a part of him wondered about their alternate universe in which he chose to follow her. What would have happened if he just hopped onto that helicopter with her? Where would she have taken him? Was she planning on greeting him properly after all those years? Was he ready to forgive her after Raccoon City?

Perhaps she would have dropped him off somewhere, with a phone number or an address, leaving him confused yet again. Maybe he would’ve reached out, met her in a different circumstance where they didn’t have to constantly run away from trouble. Maybe she’d be living in a small flat and then she’d ask him to come over. Maybe he’d continue to visit her, make himself familiar with her small space.

Except that was not feasible at all, since she was a fleeting kind of woman, just like all the moments they shared. Not there to stay. And none of these would happen, it would always be a different hotel room, different city, barring him from being constant in her life.

A puppy love, he used to think. Young, naive, credulous love. No, he realized, it got older and bigger, sicker. It was time to put it down, put it out of its misery.

He sprinted to the bus station, his hunch was right, you were sitting there, arms folded on your chest, alone. You looked up the moment you heard his footsteps. He left a few steps between you two and braced himself by putting his palms on his knees.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on your red nose. Probably from the cold, he convinced himself.

“What do you mean? You asked me to,” you grimaced.

“You said we’re not friends, so why did you come here?”

Your head turned opposite of Leon, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging yourself tighter. “I wanted some company,” you grumbled, the collar of your jacket muffling your voice. “I think Hunnigan’s right and I might need it.”

“Sorry I’m not a decent one.” He took slow steps to sit next to you on the narrow bench of the bus stop, his shoulder grazing yours. That made you perk up at him.

“I’m sorry for the things I said earlier,” you said, holding his gaze.

“You said a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m sorry for all of them, I crossed a line.”

“Don’t be, I needed the scolding.”

“I didn’t mean to scold you.”

He knocked his knee to yours. “Do you always regret the things you say immediately after? I was an asshole, you got angry, rightfully so.”

“But I was the one who started it,” you pursed your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not kids.”

“I, uh, called a taxi, should be here in a few minutes,” you said after a minute of silence.

“Okay, tell me something in the meantime.”

“What do you want to hear?”

His thumb caressed his brow, he was contemplating. “Would you consider marrying me?”

“What?”

“Would you marry me? If I asked?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Your eyes took in every inch of his face, searching for a sign, anything that might explain this. “Leon, are you drunk?” 

“No, I’m nowhere near drunk. It takes more than one drink for me to get buzzed.” He crossed his arms, imitating you. “Think about it, we can both try to live calm and stable.”

Your face was contorted in confusion, still for a slight pause. “People don’t marry out of spite, Leon. They marry out of love.”

“Who said anything about spite?”

“You’re clearly angry at something or someone.”

“I am not.”

“This life you are living right now… isn’t quite what you planned, is it? Some things didn’t go according to plan and now you’re here, trying to steer the reins again. And you’re angry.”

“What are you, my therapist?” This time his comeback didn’t sound as if it was meant to hurt you, but to make the air between you lighter. “I guess I do resent some things, doctor.”  

You went along with his enactment. “Admitting is a huge step Leon, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Now you be honest,” he said, bouncing his leg in impatience. “Are you in a relationship? Am I being creepy by cornering you like this?”

“I’m not and I don’t feel cornered. If I did, I’d just get up and go. You just saw.”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Experienced firsthand how you run away from your problems and I don’t mean it figuratively.”

You chuckled. “You are not a problem in my life.”

“Not a friend either.”

Your smile dropped. “I don’t think we know each other that well.��

He hummed, looking far away. “That’s probably your cab.” He got up, shaking off dust from his jeans. “Take my number before you get in and let me know when you make it home safe.”

You gave him your number but didn’t get to write your name in his contacts as the cab drew near. “Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t need to run after me,” you said as you handed him his phone.

“We won’t dwell on it,” he winked as he opened the back door of the cab for you. “And think it over, okay?”

“What?”

“My proposal. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient.”

“Tell me one good thing that will be convenient.”

“Uh, okay. Here’s two for you,” he said and held up two fingers. “A better healthcare plan and tax benefits.”

You laughed and the driver seemed annoyed that you were still standing in front of the open door. “I should get going.”

“Text me when you get home,” he said when you finally got in the car.

You texted him again two weeks after his ridiculous proposal.

Hi, Leon. Do you remember what you asked me after the bar two weeks ago?

Hi. Yes I remember.

Were you being serious or should I pass it as tipsy nonsense?

There was no response from him for a few minutes and you had started biting your nails nervously.

I was being serious. I wasn’t tipsy.

You stared at his short text longer than it took him to reply. You had already made up your mind but it felt cheap telling him over a text. This was not the proper way of doing this. You also didn’t know how to convey this to him, so you resorted to a playful text.

Ask me properly and I’ll consider it.

I’ll ask you again properly over dinner next Friday? I know a good Italian place.

The next Friday, he kept his promise and said those four words in a fancy quiet Italian restaurant. You said yes.

“I have a request,” you said, swirling your wine before taking a sip. “I want a wedding dress, not like a gown or anything. Just a simple white dress.”

“Sure, I already have a suit that I can wear.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The fact that you had to buy your wedding dress by yourself, no matter how simple you envisioned it to be, without Cathy by your side was making your ears ring, drowning out all the knife and fork clatter around you.

Here's my hand There's the itch But I'm not supposed to scratch

—Love Me More, Mitski

It’s four a.m. and you want to say you’ve actually seen it coming. Every time something good happens, its catastrophe follows eventually. Just like how Cathy’s mission was going so well until it wasn’t.

It’s four a.m. and the meal you’ve prepared for Leon has gone cold on the dining table. You thought he’d be hungry when he came back from mission, so you went out and bought ingredients, followed a recipe word for word, even made soup additionally just in case he didn’t feel like eating solid food after what his body’s been through. He said he’d be back at one a.m. and he hasn’t contacted you since. You’ve called and texted him numerous times but it was radio silence from him.

He had promised you, before you got married, that he would always let you know when he got back from a mission and he always did. He never once forgot because you were very serious about this, wanted to know as soon as possible that he was back safe.

It’s four a.m. and you feel like you’re going crazy, soaring into a heaving fit as each minute passes by.

The sound of his keys makes you clutch at your chest and before you even realize, your legs are walking you to the front door. He’s being quiet and you wait for him few steps behind the door. His steps are feather light, head bowed down to take off his shoes, he exhales a long breath as he places his backpack down.

He flinches when he sees your silhouette in the dark. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“You didn’t text me,” your voice breaks, your hands are clutching at the sides of your pajama shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“I forgot.”

Your tears threaten to fall down and you’re grateful that it’s dark and he can’t see. You bite down your lip strong enough to make it bleed. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you didn’t need to stay up.”

It’s not like you chose to, you physically couldn’t lie down or eat anything when your mind went all haywire, creating the worst possible scenarios it could think of.

“I, um, made dinner.” You point to the table. “But it’s gone cold, I can heat it up. Don’t know if it will taste any good, though. Did you have any chance to eat something? I mean, if you ate dinner, it’s been hours and you’re probably hungry—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I also made soup, so it’s easier on the stomach. You’re tired, right? Just eat some soup and then go to sleep. I’ll heat that up and there’s also tea in the pantry, supposed to help you sleep. Oh, I filled up the bathtub, I’ll go drain it, the water’s gone cold and you probably want to have a hot shower—”

He cuts you off again by blurting out your name. “Hey, hey, slow down.” His calloused hands come up to hold your shoulders and you let out a small whimper of surprise, your chin dropping to your chest. “I don’t want anything, I’ll just sleep.”

You shrug and escape from his hold, so he doesn’t ask you why you’re trembling like a leaf. “But shower…” you manage to make out and point to the direction of his room.

“Yes, I’ll drain the tub and shower, you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. He’s home, you repeat deliriously. He’s here, very much alive. The thought calms your nerves instantly.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights while navigating his home in the dark. You crane your neck to watch his silhouette move to his room. He opts to turn on the bathroom light first. You listen to the water droplets as you put away the food you made for him in containers. He says something you can’t quite hear when he gets out of the shower.

“Did you say something, Leon?” you raise your voice slightly.

“Yeah, did you clean my room?”

“It was messy. Thought it’d be nice to see it tidy when you came back.”

He doesn’t reply right away and your head turns to his direction as if he can see you through the door.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to.”

You actually cleaned the whole house when he was away, not that he had the chance to see it.

You were aware from the very beginning that this was what you got yourself into. You and Leon never promised each other love. But why are you feeling like this now? Stupid question, really. Because things have changed, you’ve grown to love him and you’re afraid. You’re afraid that one day you’ll have to face the world without him by your side because he has become your anchor, holding you in place where you now call home. It’s nice having his warm hands on you, it’s nice coming home to him.

However, in moments like now it feels like you’re playing house, actors going their separate ways after the lights go out. It awfully feels like you’re standing in the middle of a dark stage, curtains closed so nobody can see what goes down behind the scenes.

You’re in front of his door, first aid kit in one hand, knocking. “Leon?” You know he’s not sleeping. He can’t sleep well after he comes back from his missions, his insomnia making it impossible for him.

The door cracks open and you slide past him before he can say anything, perching cross-legged on the side of his bed, placing the kit on your lap before propping his pillow against the bedpost so he can sit comfortably in front of you. “Let me have a look.” You pat on the bed. “And turn on the lamp, please.”

You can finally see him when he does. The first thing you see is the big purple bruise on his side because he’s only wearing his sweatpants. His hair is wet from the shower, hanging to his eyes, eyebags dark and prominent, one of his forearms is freshly bandaged. Despite all, he’s standing tall in front of you.

“They already patched me up,” he says, showing his bandage.

You take his hand and draw him near, making him sit on the bed with one leg dangling from the side. Half of his face is illuminated like this and you can see the cut on his jaw in its full glory. Your fingers begin to work quickly, cleaning the wound all the while he winces by closing his eyes. “Seems like they didn’t take a good look at you. What happened to your ribs?” you ask to distract him.

“Got kicked. They’re not broken.”

You put the band-aid on his jaw and search his eyes as they open. He blinks slowly at you, understanding that you want to hear more. “Hurts when I breathe but it should be gone in a few days, it’s not that bad.”

You take his unwrapped hand in yours, the skin of his knuckles is very red, it probably hurts when he flexes it. You grab the ice pack you remembered to bring with you and place it on top on his knuckles.

“Not there,” he mumbles. “Put in on my shoulder, it’s really sore.”

You place the pack on the shoulder he points. He tries to turn his head that way but his face contorts in pain and he gives up, exhaling a long sigh.

“Did you have them wrap it up?”

“No, can’t be bothered to rewrap it later.”

“That’s why you have me to do it for you,” you hum, adjusting the ice pack. You’re closer to him like this, able to smell his soap and shampoo from his body. You can make out the shape of his chapped lips and yours ache to kiss his pain away, except you are overheated with grievance.

His eyes bore into you, taking you in. There’s an unassuming hand on your bent knee, squeezing lightly. “Did I scare you?” he asks.

“You promised me,” you gripe to him, fumbling with your fingers on your lap after you place the first aid kit next to you. “You promised me that you’d let me know when you were back. Of course I was scared.”

His forehead falls onto your shoulder, damp strands of hair pressed to the side of your neck as the ice pack tumbles down his back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says breathily.

He’s only called you by your name all this time, so this is new. And stomach lurching. Your cheek knocks the side of his head with your startled reaction.

“I have no excuse,” he murmurs. His palm on your knee slides up, leaving a burning sensation as it goes along your thigh, bypassing your hips and finding place on the curve of your waist.

“It’s okay,” you squeak when you feel his thumb caressing your ribs through your t-shirt.

You don’t remember ever sitting down with him, drawing lines about the nature of your relationship, lines that both of you never meant to cross, because you didn’t. You didn’t discuss anything about boundaries because at the time you were getting married, you didn’t know him much. Both of you assumed that it would naturally develop, silent agreements to come.

It was manageable before, now it confuses you to the point of ripping hair from your own head. There were times where you didn’t think twice about giving him a friendly hug, a pat on the back, a reassuring squeeze to his knee but after getting into bed with him, every action was testing the waters.

It wasn’t even a bed; it was the couch in the living room where you had countless dinners and conversations, the heart of the home, if you will. It felt shameful afterwards as if it happened in an open space, because it was quick and devoid of any intimacy, but it was in the confines of your own quiet home still.

You want to go back to the time when you were friends, and not what this was supposed to be. You want to go back to the time when you didn’t know how it felt to have him like that, when you didn’t know his touch would be so tantalizing, his lips unbearably addicting, his warmth conquering.

Initially, you thought you’d cross any bridge regarding him when you came across it, but there weren’t any bridges around to reach him to begin with. You quickly realized that he had burned them before you, for everyone. So, you painstakingly built each and every one of them with your bare hands, desperate to get to him. And him shaking them felt immensely unfair, all your hard work threatened to fall.

Your hand on his chest pushes him away ever so slightly before his hand drops from your waist. He hisses softly yet the action hurts you more than it hurts him. He yields to your touch, back leaning on his propped-up pillow, waiting for you to gather the scatter of your thoughts patiently.

“Stop confusing me, Leon.”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you exactly?”

“You’re my wife,” he says. Obviously.

“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“We never guaranteed that it would.”

“Yeah, I know that. All this time I thought maybe we were doing better, now I don’t know Leon, you’re confusing me. Either stop giving me hope or just say it outright.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”

His jaw ticks, lips curl in disdain. “How shallow do you think I am?”

“I know we never established any boundaries between each other but it’s gotten to a point where I don’t know how I should act around you.”

His face stays stagnant. “You can’t be serious. Your boundaries were set from the beginning. You never had a place for me in your heart.”

Time seems to stop for you in that dire moment, Leon’s blue eyes serving you a new wrench of dismay. “When did I give off that impression?”

“Our first anniversary,” he clarifies hoarsely. “We ate pizza on the couch, remember?”

You do, you even remember the Disney movie he had rented as a cheeky nod to time you two first flirted. The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I always wonder why you said yes to my proposal in the first place,” he said after taking a bite from his pizza slice. It had been a year since getting married, Hunnigan was the one to point out to him. Apparently, she was proud of herself due to the fact that she was the one to introduce you two.

“I thought of Cathy and what she would’ve said to me,” you said, watching the animated Quasimodo sing his heart out to the town below him.

“What would she have said?”

“That it is ridiculous and maybe I should say yes.”

“So, you thought of what Cathy would’ve said to you getting married but not your family?”

You turned your head to him, ready to get vulnerable. “Cathy was family to me.”

“I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yeah, we met when we were roommates back in college. She urged me to change majors and follow her path.”

“To become an agent?”

“No, she was the one who always wanted to be a special agent. I didn’t know what to do at first but somehow ended up working alongside her.”

“What were you studying before?”

“I was studying to become a nurse. Kind of in my sister’s path, she’s a doctor.”

He scratched his nape, looking ashamed. “I believe I never asked that before, sorry about that.”

You elbowed his side after taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, you better be sorry for not knowing what your sister-in-law does for work.”

He rolled his eyes upon your teasing. “Were they supportive of you changing majors? Your family, I mean.”

“My family’s always been small. It’s just me and my mom and sister. Dad’s never been in the picture. He left when I was a few months old. My mom raised us herself. And yes, she would support anything I did. She loved Cathy because she would make me do things I’d never do myself.”

“Your mom sounds like a great person.”

“She was. She died four days before Cathy did.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said, much more ashamed than before. You didn’t blame him, the first year of your marriage flew by really fast, with him on duty most of it. Forget sitting down like this to talk, you rarely got any chance to see him.

“Yeah, their deaths being so close fucked me up really bad. We were on mission. My mom was living with my sister then because she was sick. My sister didn’t tell me her condition was even worse than before.”

“Why?”

“Mom knew we were working on something big and begged my sister not to tell me. She thought she’d see me after I was done with the mission. I had a whole fight with my sister about it. I felt betrayed.”

“I think I would, too, in that situation.”

“I was so fucking unprofessional after that. I couldn’t keep on helping Cathy properly. And she—”

“It isn’t your fault.” He shook his head, meeting your gaze in the space between you two on the couch.

“I’m tired of hearing that,” you huffed.

“None of that is on you. It’s the truth.”

“It’s not. I knew the situation was going bad. Cathy tried to make me believe it was not. Somebody else had to be transferred to take my place instead. I insisted but I had to be taken out. That’s when we lost connection to her.”

“How did you know it was going bad?”

“I could tell from her voice. I know her better than I know myself. I failed to get her help. I should have never listened to her.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you? She clearly gave you wrong intel. You can’t send back-up until—”

“I could’ve made it seem like she requested back-up. That would’ve saved her, exterminated the mission, but saved her. I’d have faced the consequences of my actions sooner or later. If I did that and saved her, she’d be mad at me for years but who cares as long as she’s safe and sound?”

“I get it. I’d also have someone mad at me if it meant they’d be safe.”

“In the end, she died for nothing. The cult she was infiltrating dispersed after they killed her, all fled to different countries. It’s harder to track them down now. They’re everywhere.”

“You follow through with it? It would be impossible to track down each mission.”

“Why do you think I’m in the archives? I have access to mission reports. They don’t think it is bioweapon related, so sometimes they let me see them.”

Esmeralda was dancing along people’s whistles, captivating every man in the square.

“You said Cathy died for nothing but you actually don’t want that to be true.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you said, “Obviously.”

“You’re loyal,” he remarked. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to see her mission completed. Do you ever think of working as an analyst again?”

“Nope.”

From his expression you could tell he wanted an explanation, so you gave him one, “I don’t want to see people get hurt anymore. It’s a dangerous job, you know it. Why are you asking me?”

“No offense, but then why did you agree to marry me knowing I do the same job? If you’re scared of losing someone this much—it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You sighed, having a hard time thinking where to even start. “You’re going to call me crazy.”

“I would never,” he said, half-jokingly.

“Okay, I really did think what Cathy would tell me to do. I always listened to her, the whole time we got to spend together. She told me what she wanted to do with her life, told me I looked depressed with what I was studying and maybe we should join an academy together. She was larger than life, lit up an entire room with her presence, never spoke ill of someone, liked to help people in any way she could. I’ve always been shy, so she went above and beyond to find me decent blind dates.”

“She sounds wonderful. She was also your matchmaker?”

“In a way, yes. Dragged me to parties with her so I could have some fun.” You gave Leon a smile, recalling Cathy and her antics in your mind, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Nothing sounds crazy so far,” he reassured you.

Finished with your pizza, you dusted off the crumbs into the box and lifted up your knees to sit cross-legged facing him. “I couldn’t keep someone interested in me for more than two dates.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, his eyes traveling up and down.

“No, seriously. This one time, a guy left mid-date, told me he had a phone call, paid for the coffees and just left. I waited there for half an hour. It dawned on me when I couldn’t see his car outside. Didn’t call me after.”

Leon shrugged one shoulder. “His loss.”

You smacked his bicep playfully as a way of thanking him for his compliment. “I only went on these dates because Cathy thought it would be good for me. I had a few fights with my sister about Cathy and her influence on me. She thought I was like her puppet but I genuinely don’t think like that. I told you I knew Cathy like the back of my hand. It was the same for her. Never pushed me to do something I’d be uncomfortable with. Well, I’d feel awkward at times but it would be momentary, I’d learn so much in the long run.”

“That’s a very healthy way of looking at things. I’m still waiting for the part where you think I’d call you crazy.”

“I trusted her judgment because I knew she only wanted the best for me. She’d definitely try to set me up with you if we weren’t so busy all the time,” you said, lips curling into a roguish smile.

His eyebrows shot up, being brazen about it. “Oh, you’re saying I’d have her approval?”

Especially when you keep raking your hands through your hair like that, you wished to say. “Yes, you would.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“Well, she means so much to you, I feel honored that you think that way.”

A haze of grief washing over your heart, lungs expanding, you started, “I also… never mind.”

A comforting hand fell on you shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Now you have to say it, don’t leave me hangin'.”

“Here’s the crazy part,” you swallowed dryly. “Whenever I thought of my future, it was always with Cathy. I didn’t even think of getting married. I thought we’d retire together when the time came, she and Allison—her girlfriend—would live next to me. And if they ever had the chance, they’d marry and maybe have kids. I’d look after them like they were my own, be the best aunt. Isn’t it crazy, dreaming of looking after someone else’s kids and not yours? Sometimes I’d lay my head down and imagine myself in a little community, living next door to Cathy and her family, growing my own vegetable garden—though I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’d learn! I would also grow pretty flowers and give them out to anyone who decided to come over. Go to the bakery in the morning, greet everyone on the way and grab my breakfast fresh out the oven. I’d get so fat! Eating baked goods every day, sounds like heaven to me.”

“Indeed.” With a fond smile on his face, he took of his hand from your shoulder and fully turned to you, bending one leg up on the cushions. “I don’t think I met an Allison at the funeral, was she there?”

“She was,” you said, remembering the painful conversation you had with her. “She arrived really early and left before anyone from work came.”

“What happened?” he asked, noticing you ripping skin off your fingers just like you had been doing during that day.

“I tried to talk to her. She told me I was a liar and walked out—” Leon interrupted your chain of thoughts by taking your hand, preventing you from damaging your fingers further. “I couldn’t keep my promise to her. It’s awful. I told her before the mission that it was going to be okay, we’d done this with Cathy many times and I’d make sure to keep her in one piece.”

Your other hand had a death grip on your knee, nails digging and leaving indents to keep yourself grounded. “They tortured Cathy while she was captive. She died because she refused to give them any information.”

Leon seemed like he didn’t want you to continue, placed your hand in his as though he was reading your palm and started to fidget with your gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Tell me more about that dream of yours. I bet you wouldn’t even install normal ceiling lights in your house. It’d just be little lamps everywhere.”

Giggling, you said, “Yeah! I’d be that auntie that collects little trinkets and displays them all around her house. I’d learn how to knit and make so many ugly sweaters for God knows anyone.”

“So, no partner living with you? Just you with your trinkets?”

“There’s so many types of love and I just didn’t see myself in a romantic one. It just happened that I never pictured myself alone. That’s it.”

His hands slipped away after your raw confession, broad back straightening, appearing tensed up. Yet again, you couldn’t make out what his expression meant.

Esmeralda was now singing a hymn, Quasimodo staring at her in admiration from the shadows.

“I talked so much today, now’s your turn. I feel embarrassed that you know my abysmal attempts at finding love. How about you, Leon? You got any embarrassing stories that you can tell?”

His answer was quick and mischievous, “Yeah, this one time this lady just got up and left me at the bar. In the middle of an argument.”

You pursed your lips and bumped on his knee on the cushions, restraining a laugh you know he’d get satisfaction out of. “Don’t piss me off, that wasn’t even a date.”

“I had a girlfriend when I was twenty-one, she broke up with me before I started working as a cop.”

“That’s so long ago and not that embarrassing if I’m being honest,” you sniffed at him.

“I already told you about how I thought I’d marry her. I really believed my first ever relationship would live to see its future.”

Offering him a new perspective, you explained, “Well, technically it did, it just wasn’t a bright one.”

“Pshh,” he scoffed, turning to the TV, stretching before bending his arms behind his head. “Wait—you’re telling me I’m the only long-term guy you had?”

His late light-bulb moment pulled a chuckle out of you. “Turning it back to me again, okay. No, I did date a guy for nearly one year. And before you ask, he said I worked too much and wasn’t fun.”

Leon’s face scrunching as if he just ate something sour, he blurted out, “Where do you find these types of guys? Did Cathy set you up with this asshole?”

“No, actually, I found him myself.”

“Is he the one who made you think you’re not fun to be around?”

You were left stumped, unable to think of any answer.

“What? If he is, I disagree with him.”

“You only say that because I go along with your corny jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he chimed sarcastically.

Quasimodo was saving Esmeralda from the burning stake, the sign that the movie was about to end.

“Your dream,” he cleared his throat. “I could just picture it like a happy ending to a Disney movie. You know, they all have happy endings. Besides, I don’t think you’re insane for wanting a happy, peaceful life.”

“What’s insane about it is that I even imagined myself dying before Cathy. Getting buried before I got to bury her. I’ve never thought I’d live the day she wouldn’t, yet here I am… I wrote an entire script for the rest of my life in my mind, that’s why I spiraled down and down and down when it was not possible to play it out anymore. So, I stopped. It wasn’t healthy for me to continue obsessing over my ruined happy ending. I decided to live in the present. Write as I live on. Be more like Cathy, hopefully.”

There was little beer left in his can but he raised it anyway. “In the loving memory of Cathy Donovan, then.”

“I don’t have any drink left,” you gasped, lifting your can. “Cathy, I’m so sorry, you deserve the fruitiest of Martinis.” If Cathy was there, she would’ve laughed like a hyena, found it hysterical that you managed to call her fruity given the context.

After the honorary toast, Leon leaned back and intertwined his hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Phoebus and Esmeralda were passionately kissing.

“The novel’s ending was not family friendly, I guess,” you mocked.

“I haven’t read it.”

 “If you’re planning on reading it, my lips are sealed.”

“Don’t know if I have the time. I don’t mind, tell me.”

“It’s painfully sad. Esmeralda gets hanged, Quasimodo pushes Frollo from the cathedral tower in grief and rage. That’s the moment he realizes he’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He also refuses to let go of Esmeralda, starves himself holding on to her dead body in her grave. Years later, an excavation group finds their intertwined skeletons and when they try to separate them, Quasimodo’s bones crumble to dust.”

“Now that’s vile.”

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart Baby, bang it up inside I'm not wearing my usual lipstick I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

—Washing Machine Heart, Mitski

“How would I know I’d end up here?” you ask him, voice shaking. “We didn’t promise each other anything, so I didn’t have any hope.”

You want nothing more than to ask him about the teddy bear keychain he has in desk drawer, why he holds onto it, ask whether you should be relieved that it no longer has a key attached to it.

There is that gut feeling, clawing at your churning stomach, that tells you he has someone. Someone else who knows him better than you, who is a better match to him, who makes him happier.

Someone he loves.

“But we had sex, it made me question everything and I’ve come to the conclusion that we were both lonely and weren’t thinking straight. You acted like it didn’t change anything, it almost made me go crazy. Please say something so I can finally understand, Leon,” you cry out.

“I don’t regret it,” he declares. “I don’t regret what we did. And I know how we started this marriage, I assumed it would always be the same after you told me your feelings.”  

“I admit I’m hard to be with.” Your head hangs to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s hard for me to trust someone as much as I trusted Cathy. I’m sorry it took two years for us to be candid with each other. I used to be laidback about who I slept around with before. Now, I don’t know, I think twice about how I should touch you, talk to you. I used to think romantic love was not for me, so I wasn’t worried when you proposed because you didn’t expect it. I thought it wasn’t for people like us.”

“But you are capable of love,” he emphasized. “I know you are. You’re so good to me all the time. You stay up all night worrying when I’m not home, cook food for me despite your hatred for it, remember the smallest things and help me out, talk to me when I can’t sleep. I can’t even repay you for any of it and you still continue to be good to me. See, you’re speaking in a way that’s making me think there’s a chance that you love me and I still can’t say it back.”

Your silent tears unsettle him, this is the first time you let him see you cry. He has heard it before, the soft sobs and small chokes at night when you didn’t know he was awake.

You sniffle, “I know you’re capable of it, too, Leon. If the reason you can’t say it back to me is what I think it is, you definitely are.”

You quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“There is someone, right? You love them.”

His silence speaks volumes and it becomes your acceptance.

“Don’t let this thing between us hamper it, okay? I’m fine with it. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to keep up the faithful husband act.”

“Jesus,” he howls. “Just how terrible do you think I am? This thing between us is our fucking marriage. Not some situationship. Although I can’t make you think otherwise because you refuse to. I’m only gonna say this once, okay? I respect you enough to not sleep around behind your back.”

“Thank you, Leon, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You take both of his hands, wanting to remember the feel of him. “You love someone else and it’s okay. You’re better off with them. Hopefully they’re better at love than I am.”

You take off your ring and place it in your palm, caressing it. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking for this but I got so used to the weight of it on my finger. Can I have it as a keepsake?”

He grips your wrist tightly, grimacing. “What are you doing?”

“This is me letting you go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, voice thick. The way he places the ring on your finger again is a wretched overcompensation for not doing it before. You two didn’t have rings at the wedding and you were the one to place it on your own finger after purchasing them. “You’re running away,” he speaks in a hoarse croak. “Where will you go this time, hm?”

“I’ll resign and move close to my sister.”

His palms are cupping your jaw, fingertips in your hair. Him closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours is a way of saying I can love you if you give me time, I know I can.

“Stay,” he whispers, narrowing your whole world down to his warmth and you shudder from it. “Just tell me what you need.”

I need you to love me more, love enough to fill me up till there’s no crack left for me to write happy ever afters that will never come true. I need you to fill me full up, love enough to drown it out. Drown me out.

“Kiss me.”

“That I can do, honey.”

You know perfectly well that you’re selfish for wanting him like this. However, you yearn for the still of his hands on you, the irresistible feel of his skin on yours.

A kiss is placed on your temple, another one on your damp cheekbone, another on your jaw. Your eyes are closed the whole time he moves slow with his kisses. He grazes his nose beneath your ear, bringing you close to the brink of tears again. His hot breath is licking the other side of your face after, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“Scoot,” he says before gripping your waist and tipping you towards his torso. “My back is killing me like this.”

You’re afraid of hurting him with your weight but he insists, pulling you and placing you on his lap, getting you to straddle him, your thighs encasing his on either side. Your face a few inches above his, he tips his head back and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see a gash on his shoulder that disappears down his back which you didn’t notice before and you become aware once again that this isn’t the right moment to ask him for this.

“Leon—”

He can tell you’re about to get off him and he shuts you up by pulling you in a crushing kiss, pressing your chest to his with arms around your back so you won’t get away. “Stay here, don’t run away from me,” he says between labored breaths. His fingertips dance on your sides, making the hair on the back of your neck stand. He can probably feel your heart thumping crazy against his chest.

You caress the indent on his chin with your pointer finger, leaning down to kiss it. Leon lets out a delicious sigh, hands feeling up the sides of your thighs.

“Why did you kiss me at the wedding? There was no one to see,” you finally ask.

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the side trying to remember it. “The officiant was there. And the photographer.”

You nod and his lips are on yours again, tender this time. He opts to place quick kisses over and over again when he’s done being gentle. A chuckle escapes you when his nose bumps yours.

Fingers drifting under your shirt, he scratches your back up and down with his blunt nails. Any inch of skin he comes across, he kisses. Earlobe, jaw, neck, shoulder peeking through shirt. One hand splaying his fingers on your back, middle finger in line with your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the other one comes up front, lifting the front hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”

He doesn’t move the hand on your back when you’re taking it off, eyes dropping down to meet the new exposed skin. But you feel too naked, even though he’s wearing the same amount of clothes as you. You hug him around his neck, careful not to hurt him, bare chests pressed together.

He clasps the tops of your arms, biting the inside of one bicep.

“Ouch.” You retreat. “Why did you do that?”

“Let me see you.” He tips you backwards after his hand comes up to your nape, your butt slides on his lap, making you sit right on his crotch. He lets out a content hum, not embarrassed of his half hard erection. You cling to his biceps although his hand on the back of your neck is securing you in place.

A kiss is planted to the base of your throat and then to each collarbone. The hand on the front cups the underside of your breast, goosebumps rising on your skin. A wet kiss on the valley of your breasts, his breath cooling it. A low moan from you when he takes a stiff nipple in his hot mouth, finally giving it some attention. He twirls his tongue around it, teasing, before licking it right.

Your hips move involuntarily, rubbing against him through clothes all the while he sucks, kisses, grazes teeth. A jolt of electricity travels down to your core when he switches sides, underwear clinging to your sticky folds. You keen into him, pushing your chest out when he begins to suck a bruise under your breast. Your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his damp strands.

You discern his knitted brows and inclined back before tapping his shoulder. “Leon, stop.”

He halts the moment he hears you. The sight of a string of spit connecting his lips to your chest is obscene. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurting. You should lay down,” you say while standing up.

His eyes never leaving you, he gets off the bed as well. He seizes you under your arms, picking you up with ease. “See, honey? I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” He doesn’t let you protest and nips at your bottom lip before sloppily kissing you, tongue claiming every crevice of your mouth.

“No, put me down!” you wail, kicking your feet in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, setting you down on the floor. Your heated cheeks amusing him, he takes your hand and places it on the waistband of his sweatpants. “This is the only thing you need to worry about.”

You decide to be daring and slide your hand down, palming him through layers of clothing. “Fuck,” he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours, big hands pawing at your backside, fondling your ass. Your hand slips past his briefs, touching him without any barriers.

“Oh, just like that,” he encourages you when you pick up a pace. His abs tightening, it doesn’t take long for him to fully get hard. “Ah, wait—”

“Hm?” You look up at him, just holding him in your palm.

“Need to get a condom, be right back.” He squeezes your ass one last time. “You better take everything off,” he teases before stepping away to get to the bathroom.

Second thoughts come rushing to your mind the time he’s undressing and grabbing a condom in the bathroom. Maybe, you shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to make it harder for the both of you. You admitted loving him and he wasn’t able to say it back. But he told you to stay, he needs you, wants what you’re able to give him. And you desperately need to give him all you have, mind and body, even if it means for a short time.

Because you know you will never be able to love like this again.

Your thoughts are interrupted when a packet of condom is thrown on the bed in front of you, hands gathering your hair on one shoulder to return messy kisses to your neck from the back.

Your back meets his pecs, his erection snug between your bare ass cheeks, you sigh softly when his fingers find their way to your clit, making your spine tingle. You hold on to his forearm, clawing at his veins as he gathers your wetness from your entrance, back to circling your bundle of nerves with now soaked fingers. His bandaged hand urges you to spread your legs more before finding place on your throat. He ruts his hips against your ass, breathing loudly while you whine out incoherent sounds.

He groans your name, drawing your attention up to his scrunched face. “You’re so good to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper as he drags two fingers all the way along your slit, pumping them inside. The way you stretch around his fingers distracts him from the rhythm of his hips, making him still. But you crave the friction, arch back your own hips to get him to move again. Your hand winds around and finds his aching hard dick, thumb stroking the precum all over his angry red tip. Your head rolls back over his shoulder and you want nothing more than to properly see.

“Leon, I’m close,” you moan and push his hand away. “I want to see you.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he pants in your ear, tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, endowing him the sight of your glistening slit before laying down on your back, waiting for him to get on top of you. He parts your legs, taking a good look before smearing his tip on your folds, a mix of your wetness and his precum making it extra slippery.

“Please,” you manage to make out, one arm across your chest, another resting on his shoulder.

He rips your arm from your chest and pulls both your wrists above your head. “I said let me see you.”  

He doesn’t let you fuss, fucking up his cock against your clit, allowing himself the bare feel of you for a little while.

He kisses your pout away before retreating to roll the condom on. You hiss as his tip breaches your entrance, legs trying to close on instinct, but he’s laying between them. He gets you used to the feel of him inside before you nod for him to move, slowly at first. Once your back arches and your hips shift, he gets the message to piston his hips faster.

He searches for the right pace just by examining you, what your face does when he tries something new, how your back arches, by the sounds you make. Not too fast, not too slow, he eventually finds an angle you particularly like.

“Too good for me,” he chants whilst thrusting, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head. You notice the absence of his ring but you don’t worry about it because you know he leaves it on his desk when he’s away for a mission, not wanting to lose it.

Your legs hug him around his waist, heels pressing him into you deeper. “Yes, yes, yes…” You keep singing his name when you feel it building up inside.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he grunts, listening to the slaps of skin and your frantic cries of pleasure.

“Good ‘cause I’m so close.”

He takes that as a challenge, making sure you reach your high before him. He watches as you do, walls clenching down on his length, lips chasing his.

He’s cooing in your ear between your gasps, coaxing your bliss out of you. “I know, honey, I gotcha. You can let go.”

Your mouth opening in a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you, hands trembling in his hold, legs trying to shut, your entire body quivering as you ride it out.

Irregular thrusts of his hips bouncing your breasts in front of him, he nestles his face between them, breathing in your scent. He noses the blossoming mark he left under there and moves slow, dragging it out as much as possible.

He sinks boneless on you, his weight feeling comforting rather than crushing. You embrace him as he softens out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He peels the condom off and lays on you for a while, head between your ribs, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away sweat from his temple, frowning.

“You’ll have to hop in the shower again.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, voice muffled and nasal. “And you’re coming with me, too.”

“Leon!” you shriek, playfully slapping his twitching bicep. “You shouldn’t tire yourself more.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was gonna ask you to wash my back.”

After a few minutes, you drag him in the shower, helping him soap his back. He stands under the hot rain when you’re cleaning yourself with his body wash, eyes and hands wandering, groping here and there. You smack his naughty hands each time, can’t help but giggle. However, he’s tired and sleepy, so he’s only playing.

You offer to change his sheets but he insists on doing it in the morning and tugs your arm to your room, preferring to sleep in your clean sheets. He nearly falls asleep as you blow-dry your hair, waiting for you in the bed.

As soon as you’re snuggled up to him, he tucks you to his chest, chin on your forehead. Soft sighs tickle the crown of your hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your pointer finger stops drawing circles on his pectoral muscle. “Mhm?”

“After your mom and Cathy passed away, how did you survive? There has to be a reason.”

“I actually planned to end it all after both funerals. I told myself to just get past that week. It’ll all be over in a week. But there’s my sister. She came with me to help with Cathy’s funeral. Forced me to eat anything she could cook while I lived on autopilot. She was washing my hair in the sink when I realized I can’t leave her behind. It’s just not fair. She has a wonderful husband but a husband doesn’t mean forever— I mean, look at what my mother got. A deadbeat husband who left her with two little kids. My sister doesn’t have any kids. Worst case scenario, her husband leaves her and—”

He retracts abruptly to search your face, hand on your cheek to steer you to him. “So, you wrote a script again. With a sad ending.”

“My sister is my only family left. I don’t want her to live unhappily.”

“Hey, I’m your family, too. Why are you talking like I’m not here?” He presses a long, soothing kiss to your lips. His fingers tip your chin up. “Look at me. What do you have in that mind of yours? What kind of script do you have for us?”

You lie. “I don’t have one.”

He smiles. “Good. Because we’ll write one as we go on.”

(a/n: a very short part 2 will be posted here in a few days, keep an eye out for that. ty for reading!) >> read PART II.

[nouearth]

my favorite scent is you.

bruce wayne x male reader.

summary: bruce needs to be taken care of too (in which reader believes it's through the form of sex).

wc: 3.5k. genre: smut, angst (kinda?). warnings: top!bruce, consensual!somnophilia, blowjobs, slow mouth-fucking, fondling, reader is asleep, bruce and reader are the same age, reader also grew up with bruce, mentions of parental death, trauma-bonding.

notes: it's been a while since i've done a brucey smut (and also fulfilled a request), so here ya go! actually my first time writing about somnophilia, so be easy on me, lmao. it was harder than i thought! also i'm trying a new layout,,, kinda, don't mind me.

“Do you remember that night? When my parents… you know.”

It had been a little less than a decade, but the uneasiness you felt when mentioning your parents’ death was akin to hovering your palm above an open flame. The flicker of the heat frightened you. Though, you couldn’t help but feel magnetic towards it—closer and closer—until you felt a strike to your calloused hand.

Just a little more, and you’ll break free.

It was striking how your wounds maintained their novelty. Years of skin hardening, scabbing and layering over the memory of Bruce breaking the news to you on that night, and the slightest mention of your parents tore it open with little defiance.

“Yeah…” Bruce whispered, and a sudden impulse to hold you prevailed over him. He turned over on his side, slipping his arms over and under your frame, and pulled your back flushed to his chest. You eased with a melting squirm, a physical gratitude, and then another when you pressed a kiss to his forearm. “It was supposed to be Alfred telling you, but I insisted.”

“Really?” Your curiosity was piqued and you felt Bruce nod into the crown of your head, breathing you in deep like his favourite cologne. A scent he’d never wear himself because it matched you perfectly. “How come?”

“Well, I had no one other than Alfred when my parents died. He tried his best, but we barely had time to grieve. A bunch of responsibilities were bestowed upon him overnight; my parents’ estate, numerous paperworks, the press and media, not to mention the funeral service. It was… a lot for him.”

Bruce sighed, squeezing you tighter for support as he continued. “I remember reading—signing off things that I knew nothing about the very next day.” He then laughed, a bitterness surfing for air in the bass of his voice. “I didn’t even have a signature yet.”

“I’m sorry…” A heaviness sank you and Bruce deeper into the mattress. You latched onto Bruce’s arm for support, held him gently, and found levity through the brush of his lips, as if he was saying—consoling you through the black void: I’m here, I’m here. 

“Is that why you guys hired my parents?”

“Mm-hm, we needed help around the manor while Alfred had bigger duties to tend to. And I’m glad he suggested the idea as much as I was apprehensive about it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met such an incredible family. A year became two, then another two, then another, and…” Bruce recalled the sounds, the visions of red and blue flashing—blaring into the sky.  “Which was why I thought it would be best if it came from me. So I could be that someone that I desperately needed during my grieving.”

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about that though… I mean, what—we were only fifteen? Coming from your background, you should’ve been… cocky, annoying, emo, selfish, like every other teenager.

“I guess your personality kind of compensated for that—” He amused himself with some levity.

“Hey!” You choked out a laugh, then lightly elbowed his stomach behind you. “Ass.”

“Ow,” Bruce pressed a smile to the back of your head, inhaling your scent again. “I did have that emo phase though.”

“Oh yeah—” Within his hold, you turned your body to meet Bruce face-to-face as a flood of memories came rushing in. You greeted him with a smile that he was able to single out from within the dark. Then, he made sure your presence was acknowledged with a chaste kiss. 

“Your hair came down to your nose and stuff—oh! And you kept wearing the same hoodie too.” 

“Yeah, okay—we get it. Not my best look.” He groaned, tearing himself away from you as your descriptions of Bruce suddenly developed into powerfully cringe-inducing memories. As embarrassing as the past was, he was glad it brought you some kind of merriment. He’d been scolded multiple times by numerous people, though namely Alfred, to treat you better.

You and Bruce weren’t always close. In all honesty, it took your parents’ death that empowered you two to stick together more than ever. Where darkness used to storm over the roof of the manor, you and Bruce managed to conjure a light that illuminated a path to find sanctuary within each other.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The moonlight reflecting through the bedroom window casted shadows across Bruce’s profile. Wrinkles you’ve never noticed before were accentuated; eye-bags that you’ve been nagging at him to take care of deepened; glimpses of a boy who was forced to grow up. 

He turned when you reached over to trace over the spotlighted features. A single digit caressed the bumpy bridge of his nose; the stubble that tickled you whenever you kissed; the cut over his broad chin that was your favorite spot to kiss,; the scar over his left cheek that had been healing for months, only to restart the process again after Bruce’s late night endeavors.

“Let me take care of you now.”

You weren’t sure how Bruce took your proposal. Recalling the moment had you adding unnecessary details that all-the-more exploded the situation into a narrative you couldn’t exactly trust.

Wait… he made a weird face when I told him. I remember a face! No, idiot—he just had an itch on his cheek. Oh.

I don’t remember his phone ringing… You think he was trying to get out of the conversation? Maybe? He usually has his phone set on the loudest volume possible…

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed addict. Well, aren’t you— No?! I just—wanted to take care of him… We rarely see each other these days and I doubt the lunches I’d make for him add much to that narrative. I needed something more. Wow, I’ve been talking to myself for this long?

You probably look crazed, especially if someone were to walk in the bedroom at this moment, but you’d be too deep into your thoughts to hardly notice. If you did notice, you’d probably go on a tangent about how Bruce was probably disgusted by how you could even suggest a thing like that.

Your toes and fingers curled at the recollection you were certain happened.

“So… I know you’ve been out late at night—” “(M/N), it’s not what you—” “Shh, I’m too good of a catch for you to cheat on me.” “I mean, keep that cockiness up and maybe—” “Excuse me?!” “I’m joking.” “Uh-huh, well, keep joking and I might have to rescind my offer.” “Your offer?” “Look, I haven’t seen you much lately. It’s not your fault. You’re busy.” “I know—I just need to deal with this…” “Bruce, you look—you are tired. You’re overworked and whenever we do spend time together, you’re asleep!” “I’m trying my b—” “You’re trying your best, I know! And I don’t know what you do at night, not sure if I do want to know, but… two-three hours of sleep is not enough. You’re killing your body.” “Hm…” “And one day, you’re going to crack and I just…” “Just..?” “I’m not sure how to… put it.” “What is it?” “If you want to… and it’s entirely up to you, but…” “Jesus, spit it out—” “I— if I’m still asleep, and you want to somehow… relieve your stress..?” “Oh—” “I’m all yours.”

The second hand on the clock cycled slower, almost as if it was mocking you for being so desperate, impatient, and doubting. Yet, at the same time—if clocks could have a personality—there was a dormant kindness in the rhythm of the minute hand striking every corner of the wheel. Gentle and soothing, the lids of your eyes grew heavier with every passing second as the sound of the clock counted sheeps for you.

Forty, forty-one… fourty-two… Forty… three…

The floor creaked despite Bruce’s best efforts to remain light on his feet. You’ve always been a light sleeper, even at the sound of wind whistling you’d jolt up to, but surprisingly—nothing. 

As he approached his side of the bed, his eyes settled on you like always. To Bruce, it was a sweet sigh of relief to come back home to you again. Sometimes, a miracle depending on the crimes of that night. Nightly patrols have taken a toll on him; on his body, on his mentality; but being in your presence always—no matter what—brought him back to the solitude his life was at before being laboured by vengeance.

Coldly, he sat on the edge, careful to not wake you, as he dried off the damp strands of his washed hair with a towel. Then, he chased after the tremors off his bare body with several rubs of the coarse towel, gathering water molecules into the material until he was somewhat dry. It was the typical nightly routine of Bruce Wayne, in which he was guilty of vacating you of.

Bruce witnessed—took part in—how you ended your night. A late night snack, a book, a tv show—and he’d stroke your hair to the sound of his heartbeat until you were out like a light. He’d never forget to kiss your forehead as if it was an enchantment that would guard him for the rest of the night. Naively, Bruce was apprehensive of the subtle chance of reducing his survival rate if he were to miss a night of seeing you—touching you. Even if you had the biggest argument with him, even if you were in the wrong, he’d make sure to see you one last time before escaping into the shadows, saving the city—saving you.

After dressing himself in a fresh set of briefs, the soft cushions of his bed and pillows enticed him back into sanctuary. He crawled back into bed and instinctively found his arms around your body, warm and full against the recovering bruises against his own flesh. Skipping dinner was a norm, but he felt satiated when he could hear you breathe, feel your pulse, and watch you writhe within his doting affection.

“Goodnight.” Bruce muttered as he nestled his nose into your hair, another deep inhale of your scent to ground him that you were still present in his life. And then another as his head turned towards your neck, a familiar smell that taunted him to lean closer until his nose pressed softly into the crook of your skin.

White musk.

The top note of his favourite cologne on you. It lingered delightfully in Bruce’s nostrils, and there was a reason why he always urged you to spray it on date nights. It was intoxicating.

Come to think of it, Bruce’s night routine hadn’t completely checked off all of his tasks for the night. After he would come home, it was a no-brainer to shower off the sweat, dirt, and sometimes blood, from his patrols. He would scrape his hair clean with the shampoo suds, mint and cooling on his scalp. Then he’d move onto his body. The suds would trickle down his torso, gather in his muscles, and he’d add onto the bubbles with his body wash, lathering himself from head to toe. And almost always, the slightest brush of his length would break the restraints the night had locked his sanity behind. It was always you that managed to free him. As he would squeeze himself, fondle his sack while the suds dribbled down his leg and feet, he’d think of you—miss you in ways he wouldn’t dare to ignore, ways in which he was ashamed to desert you of.

“I’m all yours.” Your proclamation echoed, ran marathons in Bruce’s mind as the white musk led him astray. The simple thought of him taking advantage of you guilted him, churned his stomach until it was bundled into thick knots, but it made his heart race.

“(M/N)?” He whispered. The bed creaked when Bruce peered over you, and he was met by silence. A few soft snores joined the ticking of the clock, but for the most part, silence.

I shouldn’t… Bruce convinced himself. It was… shameful to even think of taking advantage of you like that—in your unconscious state, in your vulnerability. You looked peaceful in your slumber and knowing how hard you worked, he wouldn’t dare to ruin it because of his own selfish desires.

He sighed, rolling flat onto his back again, hoping the uncomfortable ache in his briefs would settle down in a minute or so. When it didn’t, Bruce tended to it with a brief re-adjustment of the way his length stood. Then again as he twitched in defiance.

Again, as he throbbed.

And again, when his briefs couldn’t support his throbbing erection anymore. 

Bruce turned his head to the side, scanning your unconscious state. His eyes traced the languid form of your body as it sank deep into the mattress, hugging the air to your body while he slowly pulled the blanket off of you.

The bed creaked as inch by inch, Bruce scooted closer to you, turning back to lie on his side and nearly spooning you again. His movements were sluggish, apprehensive to wake you, but at the same time, there was an adrenaline rush surging through him knowing he could be caught any second (despite your permission).

His hand felt it as it caressed your arm in singular, docile strokes. Then his breath, as he leaned closer, pressing himself against you again, and slipped a hand under your shirt. Your bare stomach rested warmly against his calloused palm, and he felt your breath hitch, your stomach tensed, every evidence of your presence, as Bruce ran a palm upwards to touch your chest once, then back down to bravely slither under the waistband of your boxers.

“Fuck…” Bruce’s breath unevened, struggling to keep a steady rhythm, when his palm gently groped a handful of your flaccid cock, a complete opposite of the shameful erection he was prodding near your bottom. You writhed once, and he quickly paused with a shudder as you suddenly turned to lie on your back, smacking the dryness in your throat away as you drove yourself into deeper slumber.

He found it unusual how you haven’t awakened by now, but the cynical part of him pleaded for you to remain asleep—until he had his way with you.

Gently, Bruce lifted your hips to pull down the remainder of your boxers off until you were bare in all of your glory before him. Your balls lay briefly in between your legs before they were back to being fondled in his warm palms. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this…”

Droplets of sweat formed over Bruce’s hairline as he sluggishly maneuvered himself to kneel over your unconscious state. His thighs hardened, flexed as he maintained his balance over you. He stroked his cock with his free-hand; to the gentle snores you poured out, to your slightly parted lips that he could easily spread open with his girth, and to his surprise, to the stiffness of your cock as it stirred awake from his constant fondling.

What are you dreaming about? Are you dreaming of me? Are you dreaming of being fucked by me? Bruce groaned as he witnessed the once softened features of your face stiffened into diffident lust. Your breath unknowingly quickened when Bruce began stroking your cock together with his in one grasp. Your body writhed with uncomfortable pleasure as if you wanted whatever was happening to you to stop, yet the throbbing veins of your cock begged Bruce for more—to hold you for longer, to keep doing as he pleased.

Bruce forgot what it was like to have you like this; to have you squirming beautifully beneath him, dripping in heavy pre-cum while simultaneously having your cock lathered in his own fluid. He was enticed by your every movement, squirming and writhing confined by the state of slumber as you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop the uncomfortable pleasure that was happening to you because you were dreaming a dream that refrained you from resisting your boyfriend.

I know you want it. Fuck… I know you want my cum, (M/N). He paused briefly to press his forehead into yours, sweat dripping off his face and onto your body in his maneuver, and breathed languidly against your lips to find the parting in order to breathe his lewd thoughts into you. Bruce was careless, dangerously brave as he slipped a tongue inside of you to spread your mouth open further. You made a sound, but he muted it with a swallow as he ravished you like honey on a spoon. Remnants of mint lingered on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to continue tasting you, he needed to relieve himself.

He was close.

Carefully, he dragged himself over your chest and kneeled over your chest. Bruce’s cock hung heavy above your slumber, dripping in thick strings of pre-cum from the plump tip—a shameful exhibit of how much this had turned him on, how much he had been deprived of this act for so long.

Open wide. It was morbid. Bruce never thought himself of ever once doing this obscene act, but the guilt that had been the cause of his apprehension was only fleeting the moment he pushed his cock into your sleeping mouth. 

“Oh, fuck…” He was careful with you. Careful enough to not stir you awake, but courageous enough to fulfill his sense of greed. Bruce pushed deeper, and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. His thick cock steadied your breathing and in favor, your saliva warmed him with complete gratitude.

Come on, I know you can take it… His eyes darkened at your inability to take his girth. As much as it sounded like a threat, it drove him delirious knowing you couldn’t. Even in your waking moments, it fueled a sense of pride when you gagged on his cock, covered him in bubbly thick spittle, and looked like an absolute mess while attempting to swallow him again.

Fuck, (M/N)... You’d pull him out when you had enough of gagging on his cock and jerk him off instead, catching your breath in the midst of it all. He never told you, but it was Bruce’s favourite part whenever you two did this together. The pure lust in your eyes, craving for a fill that you and him both know that he would deliver upon greatly. And somehow, as lewd as the act was, you both knew it was more than sex. You and Bruce were making love, fucking with a craving that you only have for each other because it was only you two that could bring this type of pleasure to one another. 

“Fuck—” Bruce paced himself, biting back an adamant moan, thrusting slow yet filling into your mouth as he held onto the headboard. The scrape of your teeth made him hiss, but the pleasure of your warm mouth was so fulfilling that it overwhelmed any painful feeling you’ve prescribed him to.

I’m close, (M/N)... Fuck, let me cum on you… On your body, on your face, I want it everywhere on you.

He released his cock from your mouth and took the heavy girth into his own palm, pumping the muscle with a sudden vigor that had been motivated to see you covered in his fluids. Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his lids, panting heavy and harder because he was so close—so fucking close. He could see you sticking your tongue out for him, on your knees, playing with your cum-covered cock as you would wait patiently for his reward. You would begin begging for it—his cum, his cock, him. You’d worship his body, mouthing at his toned thighs, then his abdominal muscles, licking the sweat off the gutters to briefly satiate your appetite for Bruce.

Until you were gifted with his indulgent desire for you and only you in the form of thick and creamy white ropes. “I’m comin—” Bruce’s stomach sucked in hard, his abs contracting while his thighs vibrated with tremors, then with a guttural push, he released himself with a strong grunt. His grasp directed his thick and heavy loads towards your chest and stomach, stroking his throbbing cock through the glorious sprays. He sucked in his teeth to control the sounds that were threatening to burst out of his throat and whimpered with a shudder when it was unmanageable, continuing to empty his balls until he could smell the heavy sex and musk off your body.

Scanning you from head to toe, Bruce was breathless. Despite his delirious stint, it was impressive to see you drifting off to sleep like nothing had happened. Or rather, it was impressive that he had a certain amount of control to not completely make love to you like a wild mammal, rousing you from sleep.

Nonetheless, he powered through the overwhelming need to sleep to clean you up, even if you hadn’t mind the mess. And like always, he never forgot to end his night with a kiss, pressing a chaste yet breathless pant to your lips.

“Think your way of ‘taking care of me’ needs more time in the workshop , but we’ll talk about it later.” 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[sunrizef1]

What happens in Vegas pt 15

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Driver!Reader

Authors Note: IM ALIVEEEEEE

Warnings: Cursing “kys”

Masterlist

TWITTER

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yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

MESSAGES

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TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

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logansargeant

I don't think that's in your meal plans

yourusername

Shut up Logan 😐

logansargeant

😂😂😂😂

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lewishamilton

🫶

yourusername

🫶

——

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yourusername

📍Spain

liked by charles_leclerc logansargeant and 6,888,009 others

yourusername te amo

load comments…

user1 OH MY GOD SHE POSTED SHE POSTED

user2 her first insta post since Vegas we cheered 😭

user3 LMAO dating Charles leclerc and only posting the top of his head I love her sm

user4 that's where they went 😭

user5 viva la españa

user6 🇪🇸🇪🇸🇪🇸

user7 awww I love them

carlossainz you come to Spain and don't see me?

yourusername I don't like you

carlossainz 😔

user8 wait I love that this is her only post and its Charles 🥹

user9 can we see the rest of that photo??? 😭

user10 EL GATO EL GATO EL GATO

user11 🐱🐱🐱

user12 WAIT ✋ “TE AMO”?????

user13 I LOVE YOUUUUUU

user14 I adore them

user15 my fav championship leaders

landonorris Im still mad you abandoned me

liked by yourusername

user16 te amo???? 😭

lilymhe my fav girl 🫶 (and her bf or whatever)

yourusername 🫶🥹

porscheracing dont have too much fun 🤓☝️

liked by yourusername

user17 I love them sm its not even funny

logansargeant whats that Taylor swift song??? Come back… be here????

yourusername I don't even live in London

logansargeant well actually, you have a London house 🤓☝️

logansargeant (i know that because I have broken in multiple times)

yourusername oh so its your rat-looking-ass that's been triggering my ring doorbell

landonorris oh so you'll ring doorbell the London home but not Monaco 🙄

user18 wait her brother is lowk in the likes…

user19 oh to be on a Spanish vacation with Charles leclerc

charles_leclerc te amo 🤍

yourusername 🤍

user20 alright now, its been two weeks, lets get to imola

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logansargeant

WOAHHHHH

THATS RUDE

yourusername

I’m not a fan of you as a person

logansargeant

And if I said that made me sad then what

yourusername

Kys

logansargeant

😱😱😱😱

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georgerussell

That’s not nice

yourusername

Blame Lando for knocking my drink over

georgerussell

But I didn’t do anything 😔

yourusername

You watched it happen and that’s bad enough

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landonorris

I ALREADY SAID IM SORRYYYY

yourusername

🖕🖕🖕🖕

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lewishamilton

What did I do?

yourusername

I’m so sorry you’ve been caught in the crossfire of Landos actions 😔✊

But nope

You don’t

So sorry unc 🙏

lewishamilton

😔😔😔😔

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charles_leclerc

I don’t even get a tag?

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yourusername added to their story

logansargeant

WHAT THE FUCK

ARE YOU KIDDING

YOU LIKE ME MORE THAN HIM

I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS

yourusername

Lmfao that’s my boyfriend

Ur my annoying little brother

Why would I tag you 🫶

logansargeant

Kys

🖕🖕🖕🖕

I will not forget this

yourusername

Love u ☺️🫶

logansargeant

I hate u ☺️🫶

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landonorris

Oh I see how it is

yourusername

“How it is” is me posting my bf

Whats ur problem

landonorris

😔😔😔😔

We don't need a reminder of your happy relationship pls die

Not all of us have found our soulmates

yourusername

☺️🫶

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georgerussell

Oh okay

yourusername

🙄🙄🙄🙄

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lewishamilton

…

yourusername

I don't want to hear it grandpa

lewishamilton

Woah now

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charles_leclerc

🤍🫶

yourusername

🤍🫶

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[ratatoastwrites]

Playing house

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

[this was specifically written with s2 bratty(suffering from withdrawal)!Spencer in mind 🧚‍♀️]

Synopsis: “has a PhD in engineering and thinks that Ikea manuals are for stupid people” boyfriend vs “isn’t really a good handyman but is determined to follow the rules” s/o get into a bit of an argument 🫢

a/n: it’s me woo! did y’all miss me? 🌝 ofc u did!! 🥰 jkjk but umm i was inspired to write this bcuz i actually got a new chair from ikea a few days ago and i almost ripped out all my hair by the time i managed to put it together ✨ i was listening to the Like a Prayer EP from deadpool & wolverine for the whole two (2) hours it took me to put it together as well lmao 🪑 also, the pic on the left of the moodboard is my own ikea manual on the exact page i messed up!! fun 🧚‍♀️ also, did u guys like that i included a synopsis this time? i hope u did ;)

cw: light angst, arguing about something that shouldn’t really be a cause of an argument, reader has one (1) violent thought but doesn’t actually mean it and also doesn’t act on it ofc, allusion to Spencer’s addiction/withdrawal, some kinda unhealthy thoughts, Spencer is a bit 🤏 of an asshole in the beginning, mostly fluffy ending, also kinda rushed ending which is my bad :( sorry

“This is stupid. And you’re doing it wrong.”

You scoffed in exasperation at your boyfriend’s complaints, but otherwise kept your focus on the task at hand.

You’ve been trying to assemble your new desk chair for the past half hour, while Spencer loomed over your hunched figure, like an unhelpful little devil on your shoulder.

“Well, why don’t you do it then?”

You mumbled under your breath, not necessarily wanting him to hear. He did anyway.

“Well, I would. If you weren’t so insistent on using the manual.”

You could quite literally hear the eye roll in his tone, and while you usually didn’t mind his bratty attitude, right now it wasn’t helping your already frustrated mood.

“Oh, right. Silly me, using the manual that tells me how to assemble this piece of- furniture.”

You had to try your hardest not to start cursing, not wanting to let this swedish nightmare of a chair get the better of you. Spencer sighed behind you, and you were secretly hoping that it was a sigh of resignation.

“I have a PhD in engineering, do you really think that I don’t know how to assemble a chair from Ikea?”

Your hopes were proven to be futile, just like every other time you found yourself not seeing eye to eye with your boyfriend. You took a deep breath, not wanting to turn this petty argument into an actual fight.

“I don’t know, Spencer. And I’m not interested in finding out. I just don’t understand what you’re trying to prove by refusing the very idea of using the manual.”

Your tone became a little sharper by the end, although it wasn’t actually aimed at him. As you read over the manual again, you realised that you messed up the last step, cursing quietly under your breath as you had to undo the last eight screws in the armrests.

“Good thing you were using the manual.”

You were seriously contemplating throwing the screwdriver at your boyfriend’s smartass head after his smug comment. However, you just slowly put it down instead, before standing up from your place on the carpet, ignoring the crackling in your knees as you turned around to face him.

“Spencer, I love you more than words could describe, but you’re seriously getting on my last nerve right now. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, do not follow me please.”

You told him with eerie calmness, before walking out of the living room and towards the kitchen.

You tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at your stomach at how annoyed you’d gotten over something so trivial. You knew that he was going through a rough patch in his life, and you couldn’t blame him for being more annoying than usual. But you couldn’t always have the patience of a saint, and you were already quite worked up about that stupid chair.

‘I just need a few moments of peace. Then I’ll go back and pretend like everything is okay. As per usual.’

You tried telling yourself, blocking out the voices saying how unhealthy that sounded.

You went through the steps of making your tea, doing your best to silence the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest. By the time you finished your hot beverage and put your cup in the sink, all your previous frustrations were gone, replaced by only tiredness. The weight of the day weighed on your shoulders as you dragged yourself back to the living room, although the slight aching in your muscles quickly faded to the back of your mind when you took in the sight waiting for you in there.

“Wh- Spence?”

You were dumbfounded as you looked at your boyfriend, who was standing next to your -now assembled!- chair with a sheepish smile.

“I, uh, put it together for you. All according to the manual, of course.”

His tone was almost shy, and he gave you the sweetest puppy dog eyes imaginable, which never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“But I thought the manual was stupid.”

You stepped closer to him, still feeling a little confused, but your gaze softened in fondness as you looked at him. He shuffled on his feet a little, glancing between you and the chair awkwardly.

“It is. But it doesn’t matter. According to the studies, most healthy relationships are based on compromises. I guess I just realised that I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately.”

You frowned at his words, stepping even closer to him, until you were almost toe to toe. You didn’t like it when he talked about himself like that, and he quickly understood your expression.

“You know it’s true. You’ve been nothing but patient and accepting since I… And I can’t even swallow my pride for an hour to help you put together a piece of furniture.”

He continued before you could argue, and your heart broke as he trailed off mid-sentence. You knew that it was hard for him to acknowledge what he was going through, and you really wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t do anything wrong. But you knew that those empty words of comfort wouldn’t do your relationship any good.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But Spence, I don’t want you to think that me being there for you is a chore, or a sacrifice. I’m being patient and accepting, because I love you.“

You told him, reaching your hands out to hold his, interlocking your fingers as you smiled at him softly.

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. And you being a little annoying about a stupid chair doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend. Not to mention that you ended up putting it together for me.”

You nodded your head towards the aforementioned furniture next to you, squeezing his hand a bit tighter as you smiled at him fondly.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He said softly, tilting his forehead against yours.

“Negative. You deserve only good things in your life.”

You told him, before capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

The two of you didn’t always agree, and you could both be incredibly stubborn. But at the end of the day there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your beautiful, intelligent, sweetheart of a boyfriend, no matter how much he tested your patience. And you knew that he felt the exact same way about you.

🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

Bonus badly edited pic of Spencer in my new chair ✨

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

🔖@mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig

@pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read

@ari-aurelia @flipsideoflife @mggreidsreads @@farfromthehomelands @spicyspirit @donttrustlove @chicaconfudidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @@nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @famouslynerdy @batrensworld @batrensworld

@Cattosmush @im-this-girl @Sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere@ Cattosmush @lariclifford @daphnesutton Ccatstars @Iniyalovesall @solemnarration @emma-e-a @haygirleyhay Mel-knee @broadwaytraaaaash @Wildflowerpassion @itshardtopickaname @Timidquindim

@yourfavoritefangirl @waywardxrhea @Aliceofonederland @joshuafatubaee @jc10622 @timeboundkate @Roslxnxx @Gensthoughts23 @marvelshittt @lavvylove @Slitherss @mythumbhurts @Xiaexact @Honestlyloving @maryyy-8

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[iheartmonaco]

could you make a george russell x m!reader smau

ik u usually do text fics but i thought i’d make a request any way

love ur fics btw :)

Sure I can, anon. You're too sweet <3

Is He Gay Or European?

George Russell X Male! Influencer! Reader

George trying to soft launch his relationship but the fans just think he's being.... George

Face claim: none

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Celebrations 🎉

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User1 George who is that man 😨

Lewishamilton Congrats, mate 🥂

Georgerussell63 🥂🥂🥂

User3 so... Are we all just going to ignore the other man?

User4 Girl this is George fucking Russell we're talking about...

User3 ykw you're right

User5 Y/N L/N IN THE LIKES??????

Yourusername on [Instagram]

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A break from the sponsors (with the beloved 🤍)

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User6 this is literally the same restaurant George Russell was spotted at last night

User7 @user8 HANA ARE YOU THINKING WHAT IM THINKING

User8 OH MY GOD YES I'M THINKING WHAT YOURE THINKING

User9 y'all need to get a fkn life lol, stop obsessing over other people's lives

User10 GEORGE RUSSELL AND LEWIS HAMILTON IN THE LIKES WHAT THE HELLLL

User9 no cuz there are so many influencers getting into f1 recently it's kinda annoying

User11 @user9 shut the hell up literally let people enjoy what they want???? What are you the joy and whimsy police??

User12 idk if it's just me but y'all are freaking out over nothing, George Russell and Y/n L/n have been liking each other's posts for a long time...

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User13 we all talking abt George but what if Lewis is the one making the move here 😳

User11 PLSSSS

Yourusername on [Instagram]

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So long London 💕

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User14 WHO IS THATTTTTT

User15 George Russell 🤷‍♂️

User14 pls, is he even gay? Stop stereotyping

User15 I mean....

User16 yn will we see you at the British gp?

Yourusername 👀 maybe

User17 WHATTTTTTTT

User18 looking gorgeous as always ❣️

User19 Alex Albon in the likes too now 😭😭😭

User20 it's like George is recruiting them lmao

Georgerussell63 on [Instagram]

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Playdate 🎾

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User20 GEORGE RUSSELL SECRET GIRLFRIEND?????????

User21 boyfriend*

User22 George Russell spending his precious time out of F1. What is he doing? Playing sports with other men of course

User23 fellas is it gay to call hanging out with your friends a playdate

Yourusername had so much fun 🤍

Georgerussell63 rematch?

Yourusername you bet

User24 STAY CALM PEOPLE, THIS IS NOT A DRILL

User25 FWHAT THE FUCK I JUS WOKERUP FROM A NAP WHAT DID I MISS??????

User26 guys honestly why are we even surprised? Maybe they're just hanging out

User27 George Russell willingly spending his free time locked in a room with sweaty man, likely place for him to be

User28 fork found in kitchen

User29 fork found in kitchen

User30 fork found in kitchen

User31 fork found in kitchen

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Oh for fucks sake y'all we're gay

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User32 OH WOW OKAY

Georgerussell63 love you more and more every day 🌇

Yourusername love you more actually

Lewishamilton ❤️🏳️‍🌈

Yourusername ❤️

User33 WHAT HAPPENED TO YALLS FORK FOUND IN KITCHEN NOW HUH

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Lover 💕

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[ashwhowrites]

OMG I CANT BELIEVE REQS ARE OPEN YAYAAYAYAYAYAYYYYY

okay so basically i was wondering if you could do something with popular!bully!eddie x sensitive!reader

okay okay. so reader and eddie like each other but its a secret from the other and eddie bullies her lightly (cos he doesnt know how to deal with emotions) and shes super insecure cos she has like no friends and stuff and he went prom dress shopping with chrissy and saw reader there and teased her about the dress she picked and she got sad and cried at home then its prom and eddie's rejected everyone cos hes waiting for reader to show up and finally confess but shes nowhere to be found so he goes to her house with flowers or smth and he finds her crying and he comforts her and has her put her dress on and they kiss

IM SORRY IF THIS MAKES NO SENSE!!!

but thank you SO MUCH ash your writing is literally amazing it always has me in my feels <333 thank you for bringing so much happiness (and angst LMAO) to my feed!!

You are so sweet!! Thank you so much 🫶🏻I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting!

Prom Dress

Eddie never had a good hand on his emotions, he never learned how to express what he felt correctly. All he saw growing up was expressing emotions through anger. His dad was never around to tell him about girls and his mom was never there to teach him how a girl wants to be treated. So he went with what came naturally, except he barely ever felt real feelings towards a girl.

Until he met Y/N

Eddie was popular, it was easy to have girls on his arm and in his bed. But he didn't have feelings for them, so it was easy sweet talk and then they wouldn't talk again. But it was like his brain froze when he was in Y/N's presence. His sweet talk was out the door as he stuttered out something to say, and it was always a comment that sent her over the edge. He just didn't know that.

Y/N was a very alone person. She wasn't the best at making friends, making peace with being her own friend. She was insecure, never telling a boy how she felt because she knew it would go the exact way she thought it would. And when she realized her heart raced when Eddie walked in the halls, she knew that one would never happen.

Plus she has a good damn feeling he hated her guts. He added fire to the hell she lived in but there was something about him that she wanted. She allowed herself to be his punching bag because she felt alive when his eyes were on her. He was practically the only person that talked to her, and she didn't want to give that up.

Because at the end of the day, she had Eddie Munson's attention.

~~~

Eddie groaned as Chrissy picked up another dress to try on. He looked at his watch, annoyed that they had been in the same shop for two hours.

"At this point, Jason won't care what you pick. Can we please go?" Eddie moaned, his head thrown back as he sat on the uncomfortable chairs.

"You're fine. I have two more dresses and then we'll leave!" Chrissy sighed, going into the changing room.

Eddie moved his head back and looked around the store. He blinked a few times when he saw someone familiar. He stood up and slowly walked closer, squinting his eyes as a girl walked away from the register with a puffy pink dress.

"Y/N?"

She froze as she recognized the voice. Already on edge as she turned out. Panic in her eyes as she met his brown ones.

"Hi Eddie," she said, a small smile as she greeted him politely.

"Is that your prom dress?" He asked, his eyes looking over her shoulder as she held it.

"Yeah," she said quietly

"So you are going to prom? What? Alone?" He scoffed, a mocking chuckle left his mouth and Y/N shifted on her feet uncomfortably.

"Um, I don't know yet. Depends if someone asks" She shrugged

Eddie felt his body burn, a sense of discomfort thinking of someone asking her. Some guy takes her, takes pictures, and spins her on the dance floor. Someone she would have gotten dressed up for. He wasn't sure why the thought made him so damn angry. But the good news for him, he knew how to express anger.

"Ask you? You know that's not going to happen" he argued, his eyes dark as he stared down at her. "And while you are wearing that? A puffy pink dress, you think you are some fairytale princess? That dress looks like it's for a five-year-old old" He teased, but it wasn't his usual tease. This time it felt like every word he said sliced through her.

The one dress that fit her like a glove. The one dress that made every problem wash away. A dress where for once she felt beautiful.

She didn't say anything, just turned around and walked out of the store.

She cried as she raced to her car, harshly throwing the dress in the backseat. She cried the whole way home, feeling helpless in this world. She wasn't sure why it felt like everything was always up against her.

~~~

It was the night of the prom, and Y/N ignored the dress that hung up in her closet.

She bought it a week ago, a week since Eddie ruined the one bit of confidence she had left.

She wanted to return it, but the store wouldn't take it. So now she was stuck with a reminder that she would never be the gorgeous girl who walked into prom and changed everyone's perspective of her. She would still be that loser everyone laughed about.

So she stayed home. Her parents weren't too involved with her life, out on vacation as she sat on the couch. She watched romantic movies, crying as she stuffed her mouth with chocolate ice cream.

~

Eddie checked his watch for the tenth time of the night. The loud music overwhelmed him as he kept his eyes on the door.

"Want to dance?" A girl from the cheerleading squad asked.

"No thanks. I'm waiting for someone" he said with a tight smile, then moved his eyes back to the door

The prom started two hours ago, and she still wasn't there.

He turned down about ten dances before he took matters into his own hands.

He grabbed his keys from his pocket and hit the road. The flowers he bought sat in his passenger seat, guess he was going to drive them to her instead.

He pulled up to her driveway, letting out a nervous breath as he got out. He fixed his suit, patted down his hair, and gripped the flowers. He knocked on the door, stepping back as he waited for it to open.

"Eddie?" She was surprised, her body mostly covered by the door. Some sort of protection for herself.

He looked up and frowned. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet. And she wasn't anywhere near dressed up for prom. Her hair was down, but no makeup on her face.

"Hey, can I come in?" He asked

"Why?" She asked, covering her body even more with the door

"Why didn't you come to prom?"

She was surprised he even noticed. But she was more curious as to why it mattered to him.

"Didn't want to go. Is that all?" She snapped. It was enough that he could torture her at school and outside of school. But at her own house is where she drew the line.

"Um, uh, these are for you," he said shyly, not used to her face looking so annoyed and a snap in her tone.

She eyed the flowers as he held them out for her. She opened the door wider to grab them. They were truly beautiful and it was the first time she ever received flowers.

"Oh um thank you, Eddie," she said, smelling the flowers

"Can I come in? Maybe we can talk?" He asked, he twiddled his fingers as he waited for her to reply

"Uh sure but don't you have like a date or something?" She asked

"No, I was waiting for you," he said honestly, for once just saying what he felt instead of turning it into a joke.

She didn't know what to say so she opened the door and let him step inside.

She walked to the kitchen and got a vase for the flowers. He followed without asking.

"So why were you waiting for me? Was a big bucket of red paint gonna fall over me?" She asked, watching as the water filled the clear vase.

"No, why would I do that?" He asked, his head turned like a confused puppy

She laughed to herself bitterly

"Because you make my life hell" She looked at him like it was obvious. Softly placing the flowers on the kitchen table.

"I don't mean to, I'm sorry" his eyes looked sincere but she wasn't sure what trap he was waiting for.

"Then why do you do it?" She asked, her arms crossed as she angrily looked at him. Maybe this was her chance to finally stick up for herself and tell him to shove everything up his ass.

"Because I like you, and I wasn't sure how to show that" he explained, a small blush formed on his face as he muttered the words.

Y/N stood frozen as she stared at him like he had two heads.

Eddie confessed he liked her?

What kind of prank was this?

"Which I can see now I did in every wrong way possible. I'm sorry for everything, I didn't know I was upsetting you."

She sighed as the apology lifted some weight off her body. It felt nice to finally be apologized to.

"Thank you for apologizing," she said, a small smile on her face

"Thank you for allowing me to," he said, a shy smile on his face

They stared at each other, neither knowing what the next move should be.

"Can I uh see your dress? I saw it in the store but didn't get to see what it looked like on you" he asked, his eyes moving to the floor

"Are you going to make fun of me?" She asked, her arms crossed. Her protection shield is back up.

"No!" He shook his head dramatically, "I know my horrible take on flirting was more hurtful. So I will keep my mouth shut" he said

"That was flirting? God, you are horrible" she joked, loving the way the air shifted into something lighthearted. He laughed with her and agreed.

She led him to her room, allowing him to sit on the bed as she went into the bathroom to change.

She slipped on the pink dress, looking at herself in the mirror. That same rush of confidence filled her body. It was like the dress was magical and healed every broken part of her. She tried to reach the back zipper but couldn't get it. Her face was already on fire as she realized what she had to do.

She walked into the room, Eddie looked up from his hands and his mouth dropped. His eyes skimmed over her dress, the way it hugged her body perfectly.

"Could you zip me up?" She asked, turning around as she tried to keep her breathing normal.

He coughed and stood up. Wiping his sweaty palms on his suit pants. His fingers danced down her spine, making her shiver. He reached the zipper and slowly pulled it up, her skin disappearing under the fabric.

The room felt thick as she slowly turned around. The ghost of his fingers was still on her back.

"You look breathtaking," he said, his voice a quiet whisper as he looked into her eyes

She gulped when his eyes dropped down to her lips. Then he was slowly leaning in.

His hand moved up to hold her cheek, and his eyes moved up to her eyes to check for a sign of rejection. But her eyes were zoned in on his lips.

He smirked as he noticed, slowly leaning in until his lips pressed perfectly against hers.

She wasn't sure where to put her hands so she softly placed them on his chest. Her head turned as he deepened the kiss.

She felt like he kept chasing her lips, sucking away her breath as she gripped his suit in her fingers.

Her body buzzed with electricity. His lips and hands were softer than she thought they would be. His kiss was gentle and slow. Her stomach fluttered and her head spun.

He held back his moans as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. Her lips were soft and warm. Her hands on his chest made his heart race and his face flush. He tried his best to not get carried away, not wanting to scare her. His free hand slipped to her back as he pushed her further against him. He never felt this way ever when he kissed a girl.

She pulled back when she felt like she couldn't breathe. She took a huge puff of air into her lungs as they kept their faces close.

Panting against each other as they looked into each other's eyes.

Like she said, it was a magical dress.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlx @ineedmentalhelp123

[junovrsmp4]

one of the girls

part 1. the arrangement

Chris Sturniolo was bad news. You knew it, every girl within a 100 mile radius knew it. Your own brother had warned you to stay away from him, despite being his best friend. That didn’t stop you from wanting him though.

pairing: chris x reader

pt.1 summary: despite all the warnings, and his reputation, you're intrigued by chris. on your 18th birthday, u find out exactly why he's bad news. and like a drug, u get addicted to him. cue, the arrangement

warnings: ABSOLUTE FILTH, very very plot heavy, rough sex, oral, choking, slapping, over-stimulation, mild bdsm, p in v, degradation, slight age gap (reader is 16 and chris is 18 when they first start fooling around, reader is 18 and chris is 20 when they first have penetrative sex)

word count: 6.9K (lmao i think this is going to be a thing)

author's note: so, i found out as i was writing this that @worldlxvlys has a fic with a very similar premise because its inspired by the same song, check it out if u havent already, its so fucking good

It had started out innocently enough.

Chris was your older brother’s best friend, so naturally he was always over at your house or your brother over at his. You remember the first time you’d seen him, sitting on your living room couch, dressed in a black t-shirt and denim shorts, sporting a silver chain. You’d just run down the stairs, yelling for your brother to order you some food when you spotted him. The shock of seeing a complete stranger- a hot one, at that- had you stopping dead in your tracks. You remember how you’d just stared at him like an idiot, before turning around and sprinting back up to your room. You cringe a little, every time you think back to that moment, how you’d been dressed that night, in one of your old sports bras and baggy shorts, your hair an absolute mess.

Awkward first meeting aside, you got to know him, little by little. Sometimes, through little anecdotes reluctantly shared by your brother at your behest, and sometimes, from the man himself. Every time he came over, you’d make excuses to be around him and your brother, and you remember how he’d always smile at you, include you in conversations even when your brother would groan on about how annoying you were being and try to push you back to your room.

So of course, you developed a crush on him.

As a thirteen year old, you would make up cute little scenarios in your head of how you might confess your crush to Chris, and maybe he’d tell you he always liked you too, or maybe, maybe he’d be the one to confess first, with a bashful, awkward smile, and you’d become boyfriend and girlfriend and live happily ever after.

It didn’t take long for you to get over your little fantasies though.

While it hadn’t been obvious to you at thirteen, as you grew older, you witnessed the whirlwind that was Chris Sturniolo, the guy who got every girl’s attention, showed them a good time, and then left them in the dust when he got bored, before moving onto the next.

Your brother, bless his soul, did warn you to stay away from Chris. Had tried multiple times, to tell you how much of a player he was, how he just had a rotation of girls ready to go, and was always looking for someone new to ruin.

“He’s no good,” he’d said. “He’s my best friend, and he’s like a brother to me, but I wouldn’t trust him around you, alone.”

“Why are you friends with someone like that then?” you’d asked.

Your brother hadn’t been able to give you an answer then.

Knowing what you did about Chris didn’t get rid of your interest in him though. You’d long since let go of the silly fantasy of being his girlfriend. It had been a childhood delusion and nothing more, but you still found him…intriguing. The way he commanded every room he walked in, the way every girl around him fell to their knees to be able to service him in some way, the way guys hung around him in hopes of having his appeal somehow rub off on them, it fascinated you.

Even more fascinating was how Chris seemed to be so obviously putting up some sort of front. There was an edge to the cool, suave persona he seemed to be parading in for everyone else.

For every person who told you to stay far, far away from Chris, all they did was stoke the little part of you that wanted to see just what he was really like.

Besides, we all know what they say about curious cats; curiosity may kill them, but satisfaction definitely brings them back.

-------------------------------------

The party was already in full swing by the time you’d made it through the front door. The entire house was lit with flashing lights, bright and blinding, the music so loud it seemed like it almost thrummed straight through the bodies that surrounded you, almost consuming you and swallowing you into the heart of the party.

A party to celebrate the end of an era, and you turning eighteen.

You hadn’t wanted anything crazy, but trust your friends to go behind your back to plan something big.

“It isn’t just your birthday, ya know?” they’d said. “We’re finally done with high school!”

It seemed like they’d invited everyone who was anyone in your town, because you don’t even recognize some of the people at the party. Friends of friends of friends, and so on, you guess. Some were your seniors in high school, who had graduated way before you and your friends. It helped that your birthday and graduation coincided with summer break, because it meant a lot of the older kids were back from college for the holidays, which guaranteed the presence of more…discreet party favors.

The air was thick with smoke, from weed, tobacco, and god knows what else, the humidity only amplifying the feeling of breathlessness you feel every time you’re in a big crowd. You spot your brother and his group of friends huddled together, taking up a section of one of the big couches, all of them nursing beer bottles. All except one.

Chris’ eyes are on you the minute you step through the crowd. Unlike all the other guys sitting beside him, he opted out of drinking, and was instead smoking a joint, plumes of smoke slightly obscuring his face. He looked relaxed, leaned back with one arm stretched over the top of the couch, legs spread out. His eyes scan you from head to toe, and you see the way he glides his tongue across his bottom lip before biting into it. Your breath catches in your throat when he slightly shifts his hips, his eyes flitting down and then back up at you, like he’s silently asking you to go sit on his lap. You almost go over to him, slightly swaying on your feet, before you remember where you are and who’s sitting right next to him. You stand there long enough to see some other girl swoop in and plant herself on his thigh, looping her arms around his neck and leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Your brother spots you just then, and you make a show of pointing a thumb at Chris and rolling your eyes, like you’re not desperately wishing it was you that was on Chris’ lap, before making your way to the make-shift drink station that had been set up on the dinner table, where you find Matt fixing drinks for his friends and himself.

“Hey kid,” he drawls out, bobbing his head to the music, and swaying slightly as he pours drinks for the people around him. “Happy birthday!”

His outburst has everyone nearby yelling out their own wishes, and you thank everyone, accepting side hugs and shoulder pats from a bunch of them. One of them even comments on your outfit, telling you that you looked sexy and asking if you wanted to ‘hang out’ with him for a bit, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

You look down at yourself, flattening your palms over the black mini skirt you were wearing, the length, obscenely short. You’d paired it with a black bralette, a cropped mesh top with a watercolor wine print and platform ankle boots. Your friends had helped you with your hair and makeup, and you knew you looked really fucking sexy, if you did say so yourself.

You yell out a quick thanks but decline the offer to hang out, before asking the Matt to pour you a drink. You can still feel Chris staring, but you don’t dare look back, because looking back would mean giving in to him. Not yet.

You had a game to play after all.

-------------------------------------

Funnily enough, the game between you and Chris had started with a literal game. Specifically, his last lacrosse game for Sommerville High.

You usually didn’t care to go to school events, especially to watch a bunch of people play a sport that you didn’t understand, but it was also your brother’s last game that he’d be playing for your high school, so you’d gone to show your support. Your parents had been there too, and they’d taken a seat next to Chris’ family.

“Oh, this is such a bittersweet moment, isn’t it?” you hear Mary Lou ask your mom, who nods solemnly. They strike up a conversation about their kids, how they grow up oh so fast. It’s funny watching them lean over to talk to each other while Nick sits between them, looking bored out of his mind.

He catches your eye and breaks out into a grin, before politely asking your mom if she’d like to switch seats with him, which she excitedly accepts.

“Never thought I’d see you at one of these,” Nick comments as he looks down at the field, eyes searching for his brothers, you assume. “Want some?”

He’s got a bag of popcorn that he tips your way, and you thank him before grabbing a handful. You make idle conversation for a while, mostly about how he, his brothers and your brother would be graduating soon, and about your classes. You avoid the topic of the triplets ever-growing YouTube channel; you don’t need Nick knowing you obsessively watch every video of theirs.

Nick was a welcome presence; where his brother Chris managed to put you on edge and make you feel hyperaware of his presence, Nick was comforting, grounding.

As disinterested as you are in sports, the energy of the field gets to you eventually, your eyes tracking the same three players, 3, 4, 15, Chris, Matt, your brother, over and over, while listening to Nick chime in occasionally about the score. You have enough awareness to pick up on the energy of the crowd, and it looked like the Sommerville players were doing really fucking well. You watch your brother and Matt make a couple of saves, and Chris going full offense by scoring a bunch of points for the team, all while clutching onto Nick as the two of you cheer each time.

It’s down to the last few minutes of the game, and you watch with bated breath as both teams turn the ball over to score a point or stop the other from scoring.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you ask Nick. With only two minutes left, you notice all the players running to the edge of the field and forming team huddles.

“Timeout,” Nick says before taking a sip of his drink. “Coaches probably want to discuss final strategies with the team, but it won’t make much of a difference at this point. We’re winning this thing!”

“Oh, I see…” you mutter, and your eyes gravitate towards player number 3. You can’t see much of Chris’s face from this distance, but you watch as he swings an arm over your brother’s shoulder. His head tips upward slightly, and for a second, you almost feel like he’s looking right up at you, but that would be crazy.

The game is back on, and you watch as your brother immediately springs into action, trying to get the ball that one of the players on the rival team had managed to grab. A shrill whistle blows, and Nick winces beside you.

“Shit- what’s wrong?”

“Your brother just got a foul, kid,” Nick says with a shake of his head. “He was playing really well though, damn.”

One last minute. You watch as the Sommerville team expertly passes the ball around, going back and forth between a bunch of the guys as the other team tries to bat it from them. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath when you see Chris has the ball now, and with just a few seconds left on the clock, he makes the last score of the game, and the crowd goes fucking wild.

Everything else was a blur after. You remember being ushered onto the field by Nick, your parents joining you as the players all took pictures together, as a team, with their families. You remember seeing Chris’ eyes widen as he took in your presence, before quickly flashing you his signature smirk.

“Look who decided to finally show up for a school game!” he’d said, arms cross over his chest, and you’d remember feeling small under his gaze, holding onto to Nick’s arm to hold back from flinging yourself at him in front of all these people, in front of your family.

The next few minutes had been spent taking pictures, and there was a particular moment when both your mother and Mary Lou had asked for a big group photo, and that’s how you found yourself pressed up between Chris and your brother, who had his arm slung over your shoulder. You still remember the way Chris’ fingers brushed against yours, your breath catching in your throat when, in an extremely bold move, considering you were with your families, he’d linked his pinky with yours.

That’s how it had started. Looks exchanged across rooms, stolen touches hidden from everyone else’s eyes. A pull and push, a game of who’d break first. It was like something that emboldened Chris that day of the game, and he’d test the limits to what you’d allow him to do to you. The goal for him seemed to be to get you to let down the invisible guard you’d put up whenever he was around, to get you to admit something even you weren’t aware of. Your goal was to get your fill of Chris in hopes of satiating whatever curiosity and hunger you had for him before you had to watch him with some other girl as soon as he got bored with you.

There were nights after that game when he’d come over to your house to hang out with your brother when Chris would sneak into your room, under the pretense of going to the bathroom or to grab a snack.

It was during those nights that you’d exchange rushed, heated kisses, Chris grabbing onto your waist while you clutched at his shoulders, pulling him close before quickly pushing him away, breathless. He’d swipe his tongue across his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into it, fighting back the grin that threatened to take over his face.

“Go out with me,” Chris had asked one night, leaning against your dresser and fiddling with the rings you’d left there from earlier that day.

“No, Chris,” you had replied, already back to reading the book he’d pushed out of the way when he’d crawled over you to kiss you. You tried to ignore the way your lips feel swollen and bruised from where he’d bitten them.

“I don't know why you’re playing so hard to get,” he said with her arms crossed over this chest, his lips quirked up in his signature smirk. “You clearly want me- why not date me?”

You can't help but let out a chuckle at that.

“What?”

“Everyone and their mother knows you’re not the dating kind, Chris” you said, with a tight smile. “You’re going to bail the minute it gets too real, before going with one of the other girls in your roster.”

The silence that follows makes you look up from your book, and Chris is watching you with a look you can’t comprehend.

“Touché. So you’re good with being one of my girls then? I just don’t want you to come crying to me later saying you were hoping I’d be your boyfriend or some shit.”

You roll your eyes, hating the way his words made you feel. It was pathetic, chasing after crumbs, knowing you wouldn’t get anything more. You knew what you were getting into, and you weren’t expecting anything more. but it still made you feel like a fool.

“By the way,” Chris begins to speak, arms crossed tightly across his chest, his shoulders stiff. “The only reason I bail-” he says the word with a harsh tone you’d never heard from him before, “-is because all of you seem to have already set your minds on being with me for one thing, and one thing only. Not that I’m too mad about it.”

He’s scowling now, and you see the muscles in his jaw flex, like he’s gritting his teeth. He was definitely mad, about what exactly, you weren’t so sure.

“What do you mean?” you’d asked, but Chris was already walking out of your room.

You’d spent the rest of the night wondering what had gotten Chris angry. There was a part of you, the one that really, really enjoyed Chris’ attention, that was worried you’d pushed him away, but a bigger part of you wondered if this was for the best. You’d gotten more than you’d ever imagined from him, and it was probably best to leave it at this before you ended up getting swept up in…him.

It didn't matter in the end, because that same night, after making a show of leaving out the front door to go back home, he’d snuck back into your room through your window and spent an hour leaving harsh kisses and bites on your lips, your neck and your collarbones.

He was clearly taking out his frustration from earlier on you, his fingers gripping at your waist and thighs as he pressed your body down onto your bed with this own.

He took, and took. Took your breath away with his kisses, took your wrists in his hands, grip tight as he held them down on either side of your head, all while laying claim on you and your body. Just like you wanted him to.

Realizations were made that night, because as soon as Chris had gotten his fill and left, you’d made yourself cum, over and over, as you imagined him being rougher with you, laying his claim on you with harsher, more painful touches to your body.

-------------------------------------

Parties like these really weren’t your scene, but you did enjoy being a fly on the wall, observing all the people around. Drunk teens and young adults giving into more baser instincts, their judgement clouded by the various substances they’d consumed. Some were loud and brazen, engaging in risqué activities right where everyone could see them, some hidden in dark corners, making out with each other.

You’re still nursing your first drink, letting it pull you into a tipsy haze, and you vaguely register the guy standing beside you talking about something you had absolutely no interest in. He’s got one arm against the wall as he leans into your personal space, his lips close to your ear as he speaks, to make sure you can hear him over the loud music. You let out noncommittal hums and nod occasionally to seem like you’re listening, but your eyes are trained on Chris and the girl who’s currently sitting on his lap, a different girl from the one you saw when you first walked in, grinding down on him.

Just as Chris turns his head in your direction, you turn your head towards the guy next to you, bringing your free hand to his and pulling it to rest on your waist. You smile up at him and laugh at a joke he’d just made, something incredibly unfunny and slightly problematic even, before telling him you were going to go grab another drink.

You head into the kitchen, where you get pulled into a conversation with a couple of your former classmates. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chris slip into the kitchen as well, before he squeezes past you. What no one sees is the way his hand lingers on your lower back as he moves past, dipping low to grab your ass, before quickly moving to the group of people that were also in the room, slinging his arms over the shoulders of two guys before delving into a loud discussion about this seasons lacrosse game.

Heat blooms across your face, and you bite your lower lip to keep from shouting across the kitchen at Chris to just fuck you already, because that wasn’t the plan. You had to have more control than that now, because this was the only time you’d have it tonight.

Your mind wanders back to the several texts you’d exchanged with Chris over the years, after you’d first started your…dalliance with him. They were sparse, you mostly kept your conversations minimal over text, but there had been one night last year, when you hadn’t been able to sleep and had found yourself sending the one text you thought you’d never send to Chris.

> i need something

You’d immediately regretted it. You thought you’d worded it in such a way that you could pass it off, pretend it didn’t happen, or that it was meant for someone else, but you knew Chris would be able to tell exactly what you meant. He would be able to figure out everything you’d thought of him since the past year, every dirty thought, every horny fantasy you’ve had since you first started letting him kiss and touch you, only ever with your clothes on, nothing that progressed past heavily making out and groping each other, leaving you panting and breathless, and him hard.

It was 2 a.m. on a Thursday night and your text could only mean one thing.

You’d put your phone down, trying to go to sleep, hoping that, come morning, if Chris did reply to you, you could pretend you had sent it by mistake, but the anxiousness you felt made you pick your phone back up, and you saw it, the three dots that meant Chris was typing a response.

> U need to go to sleep

That would have been the responsible thing to do. You imagined being bolder, but you were only sixteen, and you had no experience flirting with guys, especially with guys like Chris, so you’d sent off a quick text apologizing, and telling him it was meant for someone else.

> Is that true? Who was it meant for?

> goodnight chris

> Tell me who

> no

> Need is a strong word, almost sounded like u wanted some late night lovin’

You don’t think, you couldn’t think, not with the way your blood rushing in your ears makes you feel slightly faint, and before you know it, you reply with-

> well i feel strongly about it

> Strong feelings can be dangerous

> i want something dangerous

You were being honest. Chris was dangerous. This was dangerous.

> Want? Or need?

> need

There was a long pause, no ellipses indicating Chris was texting back, and for a moment, you think he’d abandoned you, that he was probably texting the many other, more experienced, girls he could be with.

> Dont fall asleep yet. I’ll be there in a bit.

> okay

> So the text WAS meant for me then

> shut up

> :P

The abrupt shift in tone of the conversation had made you giggle a bit, but you remember how you’d waited with bated breath for Chris to show up outside your window, before letting him into your room.

Chris had spent those early morning hours teasing you with his mouth and hands, whispering dirty little things into your ears, coaxing your needs out of you, demanding you tell him exactly what you meant with that text, with one hand wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you feel breathless but not take away your ability to breathe, because you told him you wanted it, while the other one dipped down into your underwear.

You’re so fucking responsive, even to the slightest touch, he’d said. Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but here you are, sneaking around with your brother’s best friend, what would everyone think?

You’d let your body melt under his touch, letting him envelope you with his touch, his words, his scent.

I think about how you’d look with my cock inside you. I think about tasting you. I think about holding you down and fucking you until you can’t hold back your sweet little moans. God, you’re so fucking desperate for my dick, aren’t you?

And you were, you really fucking were, because no matter how much you pretended to be unfazed by him and his touch, the truth of the matter was, every moment you spent with him was followed by you locked up in your room with your fingers desperately pumping in and out of you, imagining how he would fuck you if you actually let him, how he’d open you up and push his dick into you, how you’d be so full of him.

That was the first night he’d touched you, really touched you, the first night you’d cum from fingers that weren’t your own.

A loud laugh accompanied by a friendly slap on the shoulder pulls you out of your thoughts, and you let out a weak chuckle as your friends remark on how out of it you seem, even though you’ve only had one drink. You look up to see Chris looking back at you over his shoulder, and when you meet his eyes, he jerks his head up slightly, and you know exactly what he’s trying to indicate.

Come upstairs.

Your eyes widen and you shake your head as imperceptibly as you can, even though you’re going to do exactly what he wanted, and you see how it gets him excited, because Chris liked being teased, liked how you played so hard to get, and you loved playing it up, acting all coy and innocent when both of you knew otherwise.

You tell your friends you need some fresh air, but instead of making your way out to the backyard, you slowly make your way upstairs, pushing past people and hoping to all powers above that there was at least one room that wasn’t occupied.

You take your time checking every room on the floor, opening doors to people in various stages of undress, quickly yelling out apologies before moving to the next, until finally, you come to a door furthest from the stairs leading up to the floor. It was quieter here, the music from downstairs was almost muffled. You press an ear to the door, and when you don’t hear any noises from the other side, you excitedly turn the handle to open the door, but it doesn’t budge.

Locked. Fuck.

Just as you’re about to turn away, you feel a presence right behind you, the heat of a body. The strong scent of weed washes over you as hands come up to rest on your hips, before warm lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Look what we have here,” Chris whispers in a teasing tone, sending a tingle up your spine, making your skin break out in goosebumps. You shiver slightly as his arms encircle you, before he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking down at the door knob.

“It’s locked,” you whisper back, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearms.

“I know,” he mumbles, before holding out one of his hands, and you see a set of keys.

“Go on,” Chris says, nuzzling into your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your burning hot skin. You quickly grab the keys and fumble with the lock as Chris’ hands wander down between your thighs, grabbing onto them as he presses into you from behind. You feel his length, not hard yet, but still hard to ignore, and the possibilities of how tonight is going to go has your head reeling.

You finally get the door open, and you stumble inside, Chris not far behind. You watch as he grabs the key out of the lock, before following you in and locking the door from inside this time.

You have half the mind to ask him how he got the keys to the door, how he thought of keeping it locked, but all that goes out of your head when he swivels you around and pushes you up against the wall, one hand cradling your head as his lips descend on yours. His fingers grip the hair at the base of your neck and pull, making your head tip back and you gasp as both pain and pleasure bloom and settle low in your stomach, your thighs clenching, and he takes that as invitation to lick his way into your mouth, his tongue fighting and very quickly winning for dominance. Your knees almost buckle from the intensity of it all, from just how turned on you are.

Here you were, with Chris Sturniolo, your brother’s best friend, pulling at your hair, grabbing you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips and thighs by morning. It was a heady feeling, being wanted, and being wanted by Chris was like experiencing the best high from the best drugs.

Chris lets go of your hair to grab onto your hips, pulling your waist away from the wall and grinding you against him, like you were just here to help him get off, and it still surprises you, how much it turns you on. The thought of being just a body to be used, a body that Chris owns and controls.

Your hands find purchase in his hair as you gasp under the assault of his mouth on yours, his teeth biting into your lower lip and pulling, before going back to twisting his tongue with yours. It’s a messy kiss, rough and just painful enough that it has you wet and dripping. You feel the way your underwear sticks to your folds, and the patheticness of your own arousal turns you on even more.

Chris’s hands snake up your stomach under your top, making it bunch up right below your neck. His gaze is heated as his eyes rove over your body, before he’s pulling your bralette down, and the fabric of it bunches up tight below your breasts, pushing them up further into Chris’ face. He takes no time before licking and sucking on your nipples, groaning as he grinds his growing erection against your thigh.

“Chris- please, please-” you whine, body writhing under his attention, hips bucking as you try and find some relief.

“Stay still,” Chris says, and it almost sounds like a growl, which has the opposite effect to what was intended. Your moans get louder and he bites your nipple, your chest arching off the wall.

Chris straightens up, one of his hands coming up to smack you on the cheek before grabbing you by the chin, forcing your head back against the wall.

“Stay. Still.”

The slap had been more shocking than painful, but it still turns you on, just how rough Chris is being with you right now, and you think about how much rougher you hope it gets.

Chris peers down at you, his grip on your chin relentless. “Will you stay still and quiet?”

You nod against his grip, teeth sinking into your lower lip to hold back a whine.

“Good girl,” he says, thumb stroking your lips before pushing into your mouth. You instantly wrap your lips around it, tongue laving at the tip of it before sucking it deeper into your mouth. You see Chris’ pupils dilate as he watches you, mouth falling open slightly as he heaves deep breaths in and out.

“Take off your panties,” he says as he pulls his thumb away, swiping it over your nipple. He chuckles as you jerk away from the cold, wet touch. His fingers flutter over your skin as you quickly shove your underwear down your legs, and you think about kicking them away, but Chris holds out his hand.

Oh.

You hand over your underwear, soaked from your arousal, to Chris, who pockets it with a smirk.

“Hm, good girl,” Chris mutters, before patting the side of your leg. “Spread your legs.”

You peer up at him through your eyelashes as you spread your legs apart and the cold air in the room hits your heated core, making you quiver.

Chris doesn’t take his time. His body presses up against you as he brings a hand up your skirt and to your core, two fingers sweeping through your folds to gather the wetness that was dripping out of you before pumping them in and out of you, each thrust of his fingers punching a gasp out of you.

The room fills with the wet, obscene sounds of Chris’ fingers squelching in and out of you, and he adds a third finger, twisting and spreading them inside you to stretch you out.

“Fuck, Chris, I need you-” you moan, your hips rolling and pushing down to meet Chris’ fingers. You bare your throat to him as he presses his nose to the spot under your ear, his teeth scraping down your throat. His fingers continue pumping into you, pressing repeatedly at the spongy bundle of nerves that had you clenching around them, and that’s how he gives you your first orgasm of the night.

“You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?” Chris asks, nipping at your jaw. “Look at how fucking wet you are.”

He steps back and holds up his fingers, glistening from the wetness, and spreads them apart, and you see the strings of your fluids clinging between his fingers, some of it dripping down onto his palm. Your breath catches in your throat when Chris brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them and moaning at your taste. He’d done this before, when he’d fingered you, and it made you squirm each time, seeing this visual confirmation that he enjoyed your taste.

Your eyes flick down to Chris’ crotch, where you see the clear outline of his hard dick, and you realize that this is the first time you’re actually going to have a dick inside you. You remember the first time you’d seen it when you’d asked him if you could suck him off, and he’d had you kneel for him, before pulling it out of his sweatpants and feeding it into your mouth, guiding your head up and down his length, before he’d eventually just jerked off and cum all over your face.

You watch him as he pulls it out now, and you can’t explain how oddly attractive his penis is. You didn’t think you’d find a penis attractive, but Chris’ was. It was long and thick, but not too thick, and it curved slightly to the left. It was ruddy now, from all the blood that had rushed down to it and the head of his dick glistened from the precum that was beading and dripping out of his slit. Chris wraps his hand around it, stroking it slowly to gather his precum and slick it up.

You make a move to step towards him, thinking he’ll move things to the bed, but Chris grabs your hips and turns you to face the wall before lining his body against yours, pushing you into the wall, with your face turned sideways, your cheek pressed down against the cold surface. You hear the telltale sounds of a condom wrapper being torn open and rubber being stretched over skin.

You look back at Chris, eyebrows furrowing, as he hikes your skirt up your ass, lining his cock up against you and grinding it between your cheeks.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” Chris whispers in your ear, his hand coming up to circle your throat, pushing up to tip your head against his shoulder. You feel his other hand reach down between the two of you, before guiding his dick into you, and your eyes flutter close when the tip slides through your folds to push into you, stretching you. Chris keeps his grip on your throat tight, and braces his other arm against the wall right beside your head.

Your body opens up for him, accepting him into you, as Chris sets a brutal pace, his dick driving in and out of you, leaving you breathless.

“Chris- oh god, f-fuck, ngh-” you whimper, your hands scrambling to grab onto him, one hand clutching at his bicep, while the other comes up to grip the wrist of the hand that is squeezing your throat. “Harder, please- fuck, fuck, fuck- choke me harder-”

“Such a fucking slut, what would everyone think if they knew you were up here begging me to choke you, huh?” Chris rasps out against your temple. “What would your brother think?”

You clench around him, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he continues restricting your airflow, arousal and shame making your blood run hot in equal measure.

“You love being split open on my cock, don’t ya? Your pussy is fucking dripping around it,” he grunts, punctuating his words with harder thrusts into you, the head of his dick hitting the bundle of nerves that has you seeing stars.

“Yes, yes, yes-” you chant, legs quivering as you gush around Chris’ dick. “I’m gonna cum-”

“Yeah? Cum on my dick, c’mon,” Chris rasps, the hand that was braced against the wall moving to rub against your clit, making you buck up against him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight still.”

His fingers rub furious circles over your clit, which has you clenching rhythmically around him, and it doesn’t take long before you cum around Chris’ cock, the force of your orgasm wracking through your body and making you quiver violently.

Chris keeps thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm, and you’re hit with that thought again, of being owned and controlled by Chris, because it was the truth, wasn’t it? He hadn’t even bothered to get either of you fully undressed, hadn’t taken you to bed, because you were just a means to a satisfying end, a warm body that accepted his rough, painful, attention.

And you loved it.

All you hear are the sounds of skin slapping skin and Chris’ grunts and moans over your own punched out whimpers, and now Chris has both his hands on your hips, gripping them hard as he pulls you back onto his dick, his blunt nails digging into your skin and leaving a delicious burn. You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually Chris comes with a muffled cry, biting into your clothed shoulder as he fills the condom.

“Fuck,” you breath out, slumping forward against the wall, wincing when Chris pulls out, before bringing two fingers up to glide through your folds, still wet, but now also puffy and raw from the constant rubbing.

Chris guides you towards the bed, and you hold onto him because your legs won’t stop shaking. He helps you fix your clothes, pulling your bralette and top back down your torso and smoothing your skirt down your thighs. He tucks his dick back into his pants before disappearing out of the room with the used, and now tied-up, condom in hand.

You sit on the edge of the bed, dazed and out of breath still, and Chris comes back a few seconds later with a wet towel which he gently swipes between your legs, while kneeling before you, letting out a chuckle and a sheepish ‘sorry’ when you wince and jerk away from the cold and rough towel.

Chris stands back up, and goes to say something when his phone buzzes. He looks down at it, letting out a low whistle at whatever message he’d just received.

“I’ve gotta go,” Chris says, his thumbs flying over his keyboard as he types out messages.

“One of your girls?”

“Huh? Yeah,” Chris says distractedly, before tucking his phone into his pocket. “You going to be okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alright, happy birthday again” Chris says, bending forward to place a quick kiss to your cheek before patting the top of your head and leaving.

You flopped back onto the bed, sighing as you push your hair out of your face, your legs rubbing together to try and warm yourself up in the now too-cold room. And it was only then that you realize that Chris had left with your underwear.

Fuck.

> you have my underwear asshole

His reply came much later that night, after you’d already gotten home, using a pair of cycling shorts you’d snagged from the closet in the room Chris had left you in and bunching them up under your skirt to make do as underwear for the rest of the night.

> Oops

author’s note: idek if i like this one y'all (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @slut4mattsturnio1o @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @cutiepiess4l @kvtie44 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @zina25sworld @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @whyarefictionalmennotreal @55sturn @cheetahmadi @sturniolowhore @cupidsword @sturnsblog @lovehoneygirll @breeloveschris @littlemisswhore @worldlxvlys @sturniolo04 @sturnioloco @littlemisswhore @pandacake128 @chrizznmetswife

[venusbby]

characters/pairings: itoshi sae x reader

warnings: fluff. the reader is an avid reader lmao so funny. sort of clingy sae? annoyed sae? just sae. maybe ooc too but idrc.

note: self indulgent because i've been reading this one book nonstop for the past week and can't think of anything else. wondered how sae would act with a reader who likes to read a lot like me lol this is lowkey bad forgive me sorry for typos

🌊 summary: sae starts to get annoyed because you won't stop reading your book. (and also because you won't give him your attention, but that's a secret— that isn't as well kept as he thinks it is.)

"y/n," sae muttered. he watched you with a glare, noticing how you had heard him clearly yet still ignored him, continuing to smile to yourself with your bottom lip between your teeth. he rolled his eyes, trying again, this time resting his hand on your thigh. his fingers impatiently tapping against the soft skin.

"y/n."

no response. you even giggled as you read the lines in that book you had been attached to all day long. that little 600 page romance book that entertained you so much more than he could— what the hell was it even about?

sae knew you loved books. you visited the library nearby almost every week, and he couldn't even decide if it was because the lady there was so nice to you or because you wanted to get away from him. there was no way he was that boring, right?

it was always sae who accepted all your amazon packages for the books that hadn't yet arrived in the library— and although the sight of your excited smile when he told you it was finally here was something, he never understood the hype at all.

why would he, when his sport was his all-time focus? books weren't ever as exciting to him as they were to you. so as long as you got any and every book you wanted (he made sure of that) he was alright.

but right now, sae had this urge to hide all your books from you.

especially this one.

because it stole you from him.

sae was annoyed. and he was even more annoyed that he started to think about hiding your books away from you like a madman, because it's fucking embarrassing that he's going borderline insane just because you haven't talked or even looked at him for the past two hours. and he's been in bed next to you this whole time.

he cursed under his breath and subtly thrashed around under the covers like a child who didn't get the toy he wanted. he shifted closer to you in the midst of his little quiet tantrum. "y/n. look at me."

"yeah?"

when you finally looked at him, it was as if he'd found oxygen.

and he hated it even more. why was he like this for you?

but then you went back to that book.

that stupid fucking book. again.

sae was going to cry.

fuck no, he wasn't. he won't. not ever. that's lame. so lame.

whatever. if you liked your book that much, maybe he should find something else to do too, he decided.

he turned around with his back to you and shut his eyes.

and then he heard another sigh. a dreamy one, at that.

"alright, enough. give me that." he jumped up from his sleeping position, grabbing the book from your hands. he didn't even know how to properly hold a book, but he didn't find it in himself to care as he shut it close, a breath of relief escaping from his mouth just as you started to whine.

"sae, no," you struggled, trying to get the book back, but you knew better than to fight against your boyfriend who was glaring at you like that with his lips pressed in a sad, thin line. his hair was still a little damp from the shower he took while you were just into the first 60 pages of the book. he swept his hair back, setting the book beside him, where you couldn't reach— atleast not without getting through him.

"i was almost done," you said slowly, trying your best to explain now that you were out of that world. "i promise, just gimme it now 'n i'll finish the first part in just 20 minutes."

sae scoffed. "fucking no."

he stared at the book placed near his side, literally judging it by its cover. "what's in this that has you giggling so much? some dude?"

you gasped, dramatically. "okay, he is not some dude. he is my husband."

"oi," sae groaned, things still not getting better for him even after that book had been closed and put away from you. "i'm sleeping next to you shirtless, and you've been giggling with your book husband?"

"you're always shirtless, though."

"that doesn't fucking matter." he retorted, huffing and looking to the side, chin up. you pursed your lips, placing a soft hand on his back, and leaning closer to leave a kiss on his shoulder. he always smelled so nice. he shook you off.

"baby, my sweet sae, if you wanted me to stop reading, you could have just said so." you smiled, watching him run another hand through his hair, his fingers pulling on his roots this time.

"first of all, i don't want your attention." he said blankly, finally looking at you. "and second, you ignored me when i said your name. guess you were too busy with your husband."

you laughed quietly, incredibly amused. about an hour ago, you were actually expecting sae to go back to sleep after showering— but for some reason, you were glad he didn't. this new side of him was so adorable that you never wanted it to end.

you sighed, lying back down, urging him to do the same. he listened as you explained, with you on your side facing him. "you know, i love this book a lot."

"i can see that."

so snarky. you resisted the urge to kiss his slightly puffed out cheek.

"it's really romantic. it's about the relationship of this newly married couple, how it develops day by day, and it's so cute. the main guy— my 'husband', is so good to the main character."

sae raised an eyebrow lazily, still opting to look at the ceiling and didn't respond. you weren't going to gain his attention this easily after that.

you went on. "and this guy reminds me of you. like, you guys are similar to an unhealthy extent. and the reason i was so invested in it was because there was a particular scene where things got a little hot."

"so?" he asked, still not convinced.

your cheeks were reddened from embarrassment. "so, whenever he said or did something, i thought of you. and that is why i was giggling."

sae turned to look at you. his eyes looked much more focused on your lips. he had forgotten how much he missed the feeling of kissing you. again, feeling another annoying pang in his heart because seriously, it had just been two hours. he had to stop acting like you'd been away for days.

"so basically you were having sex with 'book me' in your mind."

"oh god, no!"

"that's exactly it."

"you're so wrong."

"shut up, i'm right."

you groaned, covering your face with your palms and closing your eyes. you felt sae's arm slowly trailing around your stomach, him shifting closer until you could feel his breath fanning against your neck. you giggled out of nervousness and embarrassment, both. "that was not what was happening, okay?"

his lips twitched slightly at your state. "you know i'm way better than him."

"...are you, though?" you peeked one eye open, dragging out your words, guilty. fictional men were just different—

"ah, do you need proof?" he said, a smug look on his face as he began hovering over you. your laugh echoed through the room as you smacked his chest playfully, your arms going around his neck to pull him down on top of you.

"i don't need proof, thank you very much." you said softly with another laugh, letting sae rest his head on your chest. "but i wanna make it up to you for ignoring you. im sorry, my sae. i'll be better. you were just really cute."

"don't do it again," he said, staring up at you from his comfortable position. "or else you might have to go back to your 'husband'."

"i won't really mind— wait, baby, don't go! i was joking!"

taglist: @hyomagiri @yoimyas @beanxiv @hqfeatbetty @shuvvloverrr 🤞🤪

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when they get caught dating!

AN: I just imagine this as if the other dreamies caught you two dating. 

Mark Lee

You and Mark were caught when he sneaked you in their dorm but turns out they went home early. Mark is probably calm, lets out a sigh everytime one of them gets distracted by something. He explains everything to them CALMLY that yes, he has a girlfriend and you two have been together for so long. He doesn't deny that you two are dating BUT has prepared a long ass explanation on why he has to hide it. After that, the dreamies probably have connected all the dots to why one moment, Mark's personality suddenly shifted. 

Huang Renjun

I feel like Renjun got caught dating because you accidentally left some of your clothes at their dorm. The Dreamies probably investigated WHO among them are dating someone. Eventually, Renjun gives in and confesses that he is indeed dating someone. He doesn't care at all and doesn't really have any plans of keeping it, it just happened that he hasn't found the opportunity to tell them. He'll shrug it off so casually, "so what if I have a girlfriend?" lots of teasing from the dreamies probably.

Lee Jeno

When Jeno gets caught dating you, the first thing he would probably do was apologize to Dreamies. I feel like he'll be sorry for hiding it for too long, and thinks that it may come off that he doesn't trust his members with his relationship. But it's Jeno! so the Dreamies would probably brush it off and just ask him questions like, "since when?" or "when can we meet her?" Jeno would probably be all smiley as he tells them your love story. :( He then later calls you and apologizes to you too because he revealed your relationship to his members. You told him that it's okay. 

Lee Donghyuck

Haechan will give them a confused look when they jumped on him and asked him if he was dating someone. Haechan thought that he was so obvious that he has a girlfriend! He'll probably shrug it off and say something like, "You guys are so stupid, I mean I'm on my phone all day calling with someone and you still think I'm single????" probably will show off too, like he'll tell them about you and how pretty you are and how lucky he is that you're his gf lol. 

Na Jaemin

The moment Jaemin confesses to Dreamies that he is dating someone, the next day he'll ask you to come at his place. You thought that it's just another day to hangout with your boyfriend but the moment you entered the place and saw other huge shoes in front you'll be confused??? what do you mean I'm meeting your members??? Jaemin will assure you that there's nothing to worry about, they just want to meet you personally. And though at first, it was awkward, soon you get used to around them and Jaemin's has a proud smile because you get along with his members. :>

Zhong Chenle

Same case with Haechan, Chenle will just shrug it off that he's dating someone. "Yeah I'm dating someone, it's not like I need to tell you guys that too." He'll probably ask other questions about his relationship with you and has to show a picture of the two of you so that they would be convinced that he's really in a relationship. I feel like Chenle would also tell them to get a girlfriend too lmao. 

Park Jisung

It's a whole interrogation when the Dreamies learned that Jisung has a gf. Like! That's their baby, what do you mean he has a girlfriend? Out of all the Dreamies, Jisung is the most secretive out of all, so it'll be shock factor to them that he has a girlfriend. That's why Jisung would be so ANNOYED that they have to interrogate him. "See this is why I don't want to tell you guys about her." he doesn't like to entertain questions and at the same time the endless teasings are killing him jk.

[heartsforhavik]

can you write sounding with one of the yan boys or ignoring them because of something?

GIVING SUPERFAN! AND STALKER! YANDERE BOYS THE COLD SHOULDER

warnings: obsessiveness, sfw, some slight su!c!de references, bayani is basically a servant and victor needs a therapist, just overall unhealthy behavior cuz they're yanderes. (i do not condone yanderes irl and this is for writing purposes) gender neutral reader, no use of y/n.

a/n: hey guys i just found out my best friend might be dating my ex bf (that made me hide in my house for a year) which is funny bc he told me "not to worry about her" while we were dating. and my birthday is in 2 hours so it's quite an unfortunate time to find out that they've apparently been dating for a few months. if it's true, then whatever LMFAOOO now she's gotta deal with him and it ain't my problem. also thanks for 1k followers, you guys are awesome!! sorry for not updating much, i just don't have a lot of motivation these days

———————————————————

if you ignored bayani...

bro do you *want* him to jump off a cliff???

he is panicking. he is having a CRISIS

bayani lives to please you. if he's talking to you and you just ignored him for whatever reason, he would be heartbroken. absolutely crushed.

he would attempt to ask what's wrong, and fix it as soon as possible. as much as he enjoys being mistreated by you, he'd hate for you to be upset with him for an extended period of time.

his first instinct is to fix whatever he did wrong. he would automatically blame himself, even if it wasn't actually his fault.

he always seeks your love and validation. if you were to ignore him, he would literally sink into the floor and die.

if you forgive him and stop ignoring him, he would be overjoyed. and he'd be less clingy, and a lot more careful around you. he wouldn't want you to get mad at him ever again. that would be his worst nightmare. if you want him to return to his old self, let him know he can be clingy again. if you don't, he'll remain cautious around you for the rest of his life. he just wants you to be happy with him. he can hold himself back from showing too much affection if it means you'll approve of him.

if you ignored victor...

yeah no he's not having it lmao

he'd be so butthurt. and unlike bayani, victor would be very annoying and start hanging around you more. usually he lets you do the talking, or follows you around from a far distance. but if you started ignoring him, he'd become more talkative just to piss you off.

he hates being ordered around, so he's not gonna let you stop him from interacting with you. he's gonna keep talking to you and hanging around you no matter what.

it'd take about a week for him to get agitated. he'd wonder what he did wrong, and try to ignore his insecurities by pushing them on you. instead of drowning in his sorrow, he'd turn it into anger and blame you. you're the one being unreasonable, he did nothing wrong. of course he doesn't believe that, but that's what he would convince himself. he would rather take his anger out on you, the love of his life, rather than admit how unhappy he is with himself and how he treats others.

he'd find ways to punish you for your behavior. as much as he loves you, he won't accept any disrespect. he takes it as a huge blow to his (very fragile) ego.

BUT if you gave up and started talking to him again, he'd get a huge ego boost. of course you'd talk to him again, he's just irresistible! this was totally expected... even though he was crying in his bedroom every night wondering why you weren't talking to him and got very insecure, wondering what he did to make you mad at him. would he ever confess this, though? nope.

he's too prideful to admit that he missed your voice and attention, but he'd show how sorry he is by helping you with chores and work. if you bring it up, he'll say something along the lines of: "i'm not doing this because i'm sorry... i just think you weren't doing it right. i know how to do it better."

this insecure and bratty ass man child would rather sit naked on a hot grill than verbally say sorry lmao