#if it isn’t for the asks idk if i’d have enough to write about him with the lack of content

[luminique]

omg I am starving for more lighter content and your lighter asks/posts have been feeding me THANK YOU RAAAHH I cannot stop thinking about him

THANK YOUU !! theres still one more ask in my drafts that i’m currently writing for. i am happy that my random lighter thought posts ended with me having a bunch of asks in my inbox. i hope this spreads the lighter loser agenda but i am open to other/cool lighter thoughts !!

i’m excited for his release but also VERY SCARED that my posts end up being huge mischaracterizations of him. until then, I EAT UP EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT I HAVE ABOUT HIM MHM

[james-bucky-barnackle]

I mean?

Synopsis: On a press tour with your co-star Sebastian Stan, the interviewer asks you a question about another film he did and the answer surprises him.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Actress!Y/N

Word Count: IDK I'm too sleep deprived to count.

A/N: Bro I am on a resurgence. Might just fuck around and continue writing more fanfics or whatever.

It’s another busy day promoting your new movie with Sebastian, The Road Trip. It's a funny romcom about two best friends going on a long trip to see another friend who your character is dating. Interestingly enough, the guy who plays him is Chris Evans. The interviews are currently being done in pairs, and you're with Sebastian.

You've always been candid, speaking your mind without feeling shy. Deep down, you're a bit of a pessimist, accepting things as they are. When you first heard from your agent that you were cast in The Road Trip alongside Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans, you laughed hysterically. The idea that you, an unconventional beauty, were chosen to be on screen with those two seemed surreal. You never really think about dating co-stars, which helps with acting in general. The media is impressed with how chill you are around A-list actors, and even though it hasn’t fully sunk in yet, the industry has started promoting you to that list.

The interview has been going on for about 15 minutes when another journalist joins, mostly asking about the experience of working with the cast.

“It’s my first romcom, can you believe it?” you say.

“First?!” Sebastian stares in mock disbelief.

“I know, right?!” You feign surprise.

The interviewer continues, “How does it feel to do something lighter and a bit comedic for once?”

“You mean, a movie where no one dies?” Sebastian covers his mouth at your response.

“I mean essentially,” the interviewer laughs. “Wait, no one dies?!” They nudge you playfully.

“I mean, I’m not sure, no spoilers,” you say, breaking the fourth wall and looking into the camera. Sebastian cackles. “It’s definitely refreshing. It feels like going to school for some reason. Like I don’t want to miss a class just because I might miss something wild happening.”

“What?” Sebastian glares. “What school did you go to?”

“I mean, aside from the learning stuff…” You grimace. “It’s fun, honestly. I’d love to do more romcoms. It’s very down-to-earth and just resonates with you so much. I don’t wanna get too cheesy, but I’m such a hopeless romantic��this is my jam.”

“Sebastian, how’s your experience working with Chris again, this time outside of the Marvel universe?”

“Wait, this isn’t in the Marvel Universe?!” you butt in. Sebastian again, fakes a loud gasp. You two laugh. This interview feels like it’s going nowhere.

“It’s totally fun, as Y/N mentioned—it really is like going to class. But most of my scenes are with Y/N, so she’s like the lab partner I’ve never had. Chris was always texting us, checking which location we’re going to be at, making sure we’re scheduled on the same day. It’s fun when we’re both on set.”

You nod in agreement. “Yeah, we’ve got a good rhythm going. It’s like having a little family on set. Plus, Chris is always the one who brings snacks, so that’s a bonus.”

Sebastian laughs. “Oh, absolutely. Chris and his endless supply of trail mix.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Sounds like you all have a great dynamic. Was there a favorite scene you both enjoyed filming together?”

You think for a moment. “I really loved the scene where we’re stuck in the car during that rainstorm. It was so chaotic, but we had a blast improvising and just playing off each other.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that was a good one. The rain machine was going full blast, and we were just trying not to crack up the entire time.”

The interviewer smiles. “It sounds like it was a lot of fun. And the chemistry definitely shows on screen. Speaking of different roles, Y/N, Sebastian’s been in the movie Fresh where he plays a sociopathic killer who preys on lonely women pretending to be a genuine guy.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you say, laughing, as Sebastian shakes his head.

“Would you, like Noa, fall prey to Steve’s antics?” This question gets a louder laugh from Sebastian as your face shows pure shock. You hold him back with your hand and say,

“I’ve thought about this, to be honest,” you start, looking at Sebastian as he raises his eyebrows, impressed.

“Oh, you have?”

You laugh and continue, patting his thigh and looking back at the interviewer. “Me and my friend talked about it a while back. And it’s frightening because I would’ve probably ended up on a chopping block.”

“Noooo!” Sebastian shouts, “I was rooting for you.”

“No! But, like, you are incredibly good-looking and charismatic. It would be hard not to give my number at the grocery aisle.”

He tilts his head at your response. “Surely not good enough to get yourself killed?!”

“You’d be surprised how far I’d even go,” you say, as the interviewer laughs with you both. “Oh god, I need to call my therapist,” you add, ending the topic with the three of you gagging.

“Might just have to talk to mine too, after hearing that.”

You can already feel TikTok saving this clip and turning it into a meme.

You notice, after you call Sebastian good-looking, he’s been eyeing you sideways and biting his lip. As if he’s suddenly gone bashful. You can’t help but feel a boost in your ego. Could it be that Stan is shy? You make it a point to tease him for the remainder of the interview.

“What’s something funny or unexpected that happened on set?”

“Oh, there were so many moments,” you start. “One time, we were filming this really serious scene, and out of nowhere, a bird flew into the set and landed right on Sebastian’s shoulder.”

Sebastian laughs. “Yeah, I had no idea what to do. I just froze, and then Y/N started making bird noises to try and get it to fly away.”

You laugh, nodding. “It took a good ten minutes to get back into character after that. Everyone was cracking up.”

The interviewer grins. “That sounds hilarious. It’s great to hear that you all had such a good time. Speaking of moments on set, were there any funny or awkward moments while filming the more romantic or intimate scenes?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, plenty. Like the time we were shooting that kiss scene in the rain, and Y/N kept slipping on the wet pavement.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Hey, it was slippery! You were the one who can’t stop laughing during takes.”

Sebastian laughs. “True, true. But come on, we both know it was because you were so nervous about kissing me.” You notice him biting back.

You gasp in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was not nervous! I was just...distracted by how ridiculously good-looking you are. It’s hard to concentrate when you have that face right in front of you.” He smiles uncontrollably again, feeling defeated by your nonchalance. He wonders, how are you so good at this?

The interviewer laughs, clearly enjoying the banter. “So, who do you think had the hardest time keeping a straight face during those scenes?”

You both point at each other simultaneously, then laugh.

Sebastian leans back, shaking his head. “Definitely Y/N. There was this one scene where we were supposed to be having this deep, romantic conversation, and she just couldn’t stop giggling.”

You nudge him playfully. “Well, you weren’t helping with all your ad-libs! You kept whispering things like, ‘Is that your stomach growling or are you just happy to see me?’”

Sebastian laughs. “Hey, I was trying to lighten the mood! And let’s not forget the scene where we had to stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. I swear, Y/N, you blink more than anyone I know.”

You smirk. “Only because I was trying to avoid getting lost in those baby blues of yours.” At this point, Sebastian was laughing hard, but feeling nervous at your jokes. He secretly wished it were all real, his ears were red and hot. He’s already thinking of how to approach you after the interview and get himself out of the friend zone which he didn’t even thought he’d be in, having found a new interest in you. 

The interviewer looks between the two of you, amused. “It sounds like you both had a lot of fun with it. Do you think all that chemistry will translate to the screen?”

Sebastian nods. “Oh, definitely. I think our off-screen dynamic really helped make the on-screen relationship feel more genuine. Plus, Y/N here is an amazing actress. She made it easy.”

You smile, feeling a bit bashful. “Well, Sebastian’s not too bad himself. It’s hard not to enjoy working with someone who’s so talented and, let’s be honest, ridiculously attractive.” 

Here she goes again .Sebastian grins. “Right back at you. But let’s be real, we’re both just incredibly good-looking people trying to make a movie here.” The internet is gonna have a field day.

The interviewer laughs. “Sounds like a tough job! Any last funny or romantic moments you’d like to share?”

You think for a moment. “There was this one scene where we had to dance together. Neither of us are professional dancers, so there were a lot of missteps and toe-stepping. But it ended up being one of the sweetest scenes because it felt so real and unpolished.”

Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that was a great scene. It was supposed to be this perfectly choreographed dance, but it turned into us just goofing around and having fun. I think it really captured the essence of our characters' relationship.”

The interviewer smiles, clearly delighted by your stories. “Well, thank you both for sharing these wonderful moments. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

As you and Sebastian leave the interview room, you head towards the lobby where a few other cast members are mingling. The energy is still high from the fun and laughter of the interview. Sebastian nudges you playfully as you walk.

“Hey, remember in the interview when you called me incredibly good-looking and charismatic?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes, grinning. “Oh, come on. Don’t let it go to your head, Stan.”

He chuckles. “Too late. I’m pretty sure I’m going to bring that up every chance I get now.”

“You would,” you laugh, shaking your head. “ It’s not like I was lying.”

Sebastian stops walking, turning to face you. “Well, thank you. And for the record, you’re pretty incredible yourself. Both on screen and off.”

You feel a warm blush creeping up your cheeks, putting a palm to your chest as if to continue the gag. “Thanks, Seb. That means a lot.”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “No, really, it’s been really great working with you. I think we make a pretty good team.”

“I think so too,” you agree, feeling a flutter in your stomach, you realize he’s actually serious now. There’s a moment of silence as you both just look at each other, the playful teasing from earlier now replaced with something more tender.

Sebastian breaks the silence first. “So, what do you say we celebrate wrapping up the promotion tour? Maybe dinner tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, teasingly. “Is this your way of asking me out, Stan?”

He grins, a little sheepishly. “Maybe it is. What do you think?”

You pretend to think about it for a moment, then nod. “I think it sounds like a great idea.”

“Perfect,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. “I’ll pick you up at eight?”

“Eight it is."

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[luveline]

since you’re looking for marauders requests could you write more for coworker james? 💗 maybe they kiss again or he asks her out or idk whatever strikes you 💗

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.2k

You close your eyes on a whim, and he kisses you soundly. His lips part against yours to encourage a similar movement, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side and your noses smudged together. “Please,” he murmurs against your lips. 

You wake up that morning to the memory. Mouth still tingling with phantom warmth, hand on a thigh that isn’t yours. 

“What?” you say, confused. 

Your phone is ringing. There’s the confusion; the noise is loud and sudden and constant. You glare at your nightstand, turning onto your side to grab your phone from the charging wire it’s connected to on the floor by your bed. You stretch, whining at your sore back, and breathless when you finally answer. 

James. 

“Hello?” you croak. No one answers. “James?” 

“Did I wake you up? You sound so tired. Are you okay?” 

Too many sentences. You're tired as he deduced, enough to let the phone lay on your pillow as your eyes slip closed again. 

“No,” you say eventually. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I mean, you didn’t wake me,” you lie. 

“Oh, good. Do you want to get coffee?” 

“With who?” 

“Ha ha. Very funny. Can I please buy you some coffee? Please. I’d love to get you one before work.” 

You groan into your hands. “What time is it, James?” 

“I didn’t wake you, but you don’t know the time?” he asks sceptically. 

“It’s so early.” You’re whining for no reason, just your bed is warm, the sheets are soft. Your lower back aches, and you’ve never felt as comfortable as you do with James on the line. 

“Well… maybe I can pick you up? We’ll get coffee from the Costa drive-thru?” 

That's scary. You yawn and sniff, sitting up, posture flopped like a poorly fish. Your face feels tight under your hands as you rub your cheeks and eyes, James’ tinny voice echoing from the phone but not comprehensible. 

You push yourself out of bed onto tired feet. Then you drag the phone to your ear. “I’m sorry, James, I need time to wake up. Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” 

“I’m just asking,” you say softly. Isn’t this what you should be doing with one another? Soft questions. You really do care about the answer, after all. He must know that. 

“I’m fine. I’ll feel better when I see you–” You laugh, which stops him in his tracks. “What’s funny?” 

“James. I’m gonna get dressed, alright? Let me get ready and you can pick me up and we can get coffee. Um, in half an hour. Okay?” 

Too tired to feel anxious, you say goodbye to James, wash up and dress yourself for the day ahead, and pack your bag for work. Your phone rings the moment you’ve put on your coat, and it’s not hard to guess who wants to speak to you. 

“Hey,” you say, having clicked answer and pulled it again to your ear. 

“I’m outside, if you’re still coming with me. No pressure.” 

“What do I get if I come with you?” 

“Can you just come and get in the car, please, lovely girl? Before I go insane?” 

Lovely girl, you think, weighing your options. You can continue to tease him, as is best. You could even turn him away. But you haven’t wanted to fight with him half as much as you’ve wanted to kiss him this last week, and you decide to be kind to yourself. “You’re dramatic. I’m coming, just need to lock the door.” 

“Don’t rush, I’m only in agony the longer I go without seeing you.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

“I’m trying to be.” 

“Well, maybe pump the breaks.” You open your door, see his car idling past your driveway. You catch his eye as you continue, “You move too fast.” 

He grins at you. Smirks, eyebrows thick and pulling down over light brown eyes as he drops his phone. “Get in the car,” he mouths. 

You really wish you didn’t want to, if only to drive him mad. He’s all bark and no bite anyways, he can’t be truly mean, doesn’t have it in him, and you’re barely in the car when he’s reaching over to take your hand. “Listen, I have something to ask you… and you don’t have to rush into an answer, I just need you to know I’m thinking about it.” 

You sit silently, your minty mouth suddenly dry. 

“Is that okay? Can I ask you something?” 

“That depends on what you’re gonna ask me.” 

His hand is hot. He smells amazing enclosed in the car together, the radio plays a quiet old rock song from the seventies, and his tie is tight to his throat. He’s handsome, and you make assumptions on what he’s going to ask because he kisses you like he feels the same way about you. Stolen kisses in corridors and elevators, less than you can count on both hands. Each one as capering as the first. 

“Would you– I mean, you’re so special, you’re beautiful, and I just can’t get enough of you. I can’t. And this is sort of awkward to ask you, but I figure it’s about time. I mean, it’s been a week already.” 

Your eyes widen of their own accord. “James…” 

“Would you,” —he rubs the backs of your fingers gently, each pass of his touch a heartbeat— “send me the quarterly returns for me to finish on excel?” He starts to smirk again. “They’re more than a week late now. As department head, I’m getting quite concerned about it.” 

You’re too lulled by his touch to feel mad. “You’re not department head,” you say softly. 

“You’re beautiful.” He leans in across the console for a kiss, the car humming under your legs, his lips their own humming where they press to yours. “And so bad at your job,” he says. 

“That’s not funny.” 

He shrugs. “Are we funny?” he asks. 

You want to tuck a stray curl behind his ear, so you do. “Be nice to me today, or I’m not gonna let you kiss me again.” 

“Where’s the fun in being nice?” 

“Where’s the fun in not kissing me?” you ask.

It’s a bold question, the kind where you’re almost begging to get your own feelings hurts when he answers, because it’s a lot to say to someone who’s nothing more than an annoyance turned crush turned occasional kissing partner, and yet. He looks properly chastened. 

“I’ll be nice from now on,” he promises. 

It’s insane. He got too close to you a week ago and you lost control, asked to kiss him against your better judgement, let him kiss you when he wanted to, and now you’re here. It’s too good to be true. 

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting, and waiting… 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Doubt clogs your throat. You swallow it down. “Yeah, I’m okay. What do you get from Costa? Coconut milk cappuccino?” 

“No,” he says, leaning over for a kiss, proof of his lie a curve against your lips. “What makes you think that?” 

You smile and struggle to kiss back. He just seems like he’d like a coconut cappuccino.

[f0point5]

would you consider writing the time when max realized that he loved yn?

i remember that he was like in a mindset of idgaf what happens with her im js happy being best friends and having her in my life but i wonder how he got to that point

The way this came out…idk I hope you like it 😂 I really wish I’d retconned this whole situation but I stayed true to the fic timeline.

I just…I really hope you don’t hate it 🫠

✨Set after Max wins his 3rd championship in Qatar✨

Honestly, who (is he) to fight the alchemy?

Max has been in love before. He knows what it feels like. It felt like winning a race. The adrenaline, the elation, the satisfaction, the sliver of relief. He didn’t think there was a better feeling, and if you feel that when you’re with someone, then that must be love.

He never felt like that with you. So he wasn’t in love. He loved you, but he wasn’t in love. Thank God for that, he’d always thought to himself. Max didn’t put effort into games he wouldn’t win and the games you played with men didn’t have a rule book. He was just so lucky, to have you as a friend, and a roommate, and a feline co-parent, and that’s how it would stay.

Except, when the journalist had asked him if you were going to live with him after he retired, he didn’t know what to say. Of course you would, except, how would your boyfriend feel about that? And of course he wanted you to, but he wanted a family, too. But you were family, in some complicated way that he’d never realised before that moment might mean that you wouldn’t always be…with him.

And he didn’t have the desire or the language skills to explain that to a random German journalist. He’d rattled off some answer about how he never knew what the future would bring. It was true, he didn’t think much about the future. But he should have, because when he did it always had you in it.

He wanted a house, and a wife, and kids. It wasn’t like he envisaged doing all that with you. Except, he hadn’t envisaged doing any of it without you, either. It was always you imagined having breakfast with, you he imagined would teach his kids to ski, you he thought about when he thought about buying one of those mansions in the hills above Monaco. Naively, he hadn’t imagined either of you with partners that would mind you and Max living your lives together. It sounded fucking stupid when he thought about it. But, it’s not like he was going to marry you, because he’s not in love with you.

It’s not like I’m in love with her. He’d said that before.

Aren’t you, Max?

Isn’t he?

Is he?

So now here he is, at this totally-not-a-party party, celebrating his this third world championship, wondering if he’s in love. Wondering if that even matters. The music is loud, not enough to drown out his thoughts. He can’t even drink too much because he still has a race tomorrow. He feels lightheaded enough.

He doesn’t know why he’s questioning himself. He has an answer. He knows what being in love feels like, and he doesn’t feel that about you. How he does feel about you, is…not quantifiable. Except he’d really like a name for it right about now. One that’s not going to spin his whole world off its axis. But then, he’s not exactly the axis, is he? Not really.

He should feel like the centre of the universe tonight. He’s lost count of how many times he’s received praise and congratulations, plaudits, and pictures, even gifts. Everyone wants to be in his orbit, everyone wants to talk to him, everyone except you.

You’re leaning against the balcony, bopping along to the music, talking to his dad of all people, your flushed face and lazy grin telltale signs you’ve had too much to drink. Jos is as close as he ever gets to smiling, a telltale sign he’s had too much to drink, and the two of you are, as usual, talking over each other. His eyes linger on your long legs and gentle curves. It would be cutting a corner, to say he’s in love with you, because how can you not be at least a little bit infatuated with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen? But that’s not love, exactly. Even half drunk, with all this talk of spinning and the party beginning to blur at its edges, the only thing he can see clearly is you. You don’t even notice him looking, because you’re so used to feeling eyes on you.

No, being around you has never felt like winning much of anything. It actually feels a bit like he’s fighting for his life. It feels like…driving, he realises, as the gin starts to hit.

Being around you was like being in the RB19. Like being behind the wheel of something that could kill you, but fits you like a second skin. Like the illusion of having control of a force of nature. It was like living on a knife edge, but building a home there. Comfortable with the uncomfortable, they’d called him, and nothing had ever made him as uncomfortable as you.

If that was being in love, he’d probably been in love with you for as long as his dad said he was.

You don’t notice him looking, but Jos does. He waves Max over, and Max is glad for an excuse. His body gets up before he’s decided to, and he blinks furiously as he walks, trying to focus his thoughts enough to hold a conversation with you when he’s beginning to think he might-

“Maxy,” you say, grinning like it’s the first time you’ve seen him all night.

Fuck. Fuck.

Oh, fuck. The gin’s coming back. For a second he feels like he’s either going to ask you to marry him or vomit all over you.

“I’m leaving. She’s all yours,” Jos says, and Max steadies himself. His dad leans over and gives him one last hug before switching to Dutch. “Get her to bed. And yourself, also. You’ve still got to race tomorrow,”

Max nods and waves him off, closing his arms around you when you wobble, leaning into him for stability. Jos gives you a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, and you teeter again, pushing you further into Max. The extra weight is like a balm on what is now a gaping, raw wound, with the nerves exposed. He will never recover from this.

You turn in his arms, scrunching your nose in displeasure as you look up at him. “I hate this hat,” you flick the brim of his World Champion cap. “Worst hat they ever made you. Next year, we do a better one,”

“Okay,” he says, chuckling as the hat leaves his head.

“Can I have this?” You’ve already put it on.

“Sure,”

Take it. Take my Valkyrie. Take the trophy. Take my last name.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t know how he’s looking at you. Is it different than he looked at you two hours ago? Different then when you were 19?

He just shrugs, tipping the hat back for you, since it’s so big. “You’re drunk,” he yells over the music.

You lean in, so close that he’s intoxicated by the scent of your perfume, champagne, and Red Bull. He turns away from you slightly, because he’s had too much to drink to be this close to you.

“I know,” you whisper to him, your lips grazing his cheek as you talk. That’s not helping. He turns back to you, finding your eyes searching his. For the first time, he’s worried what you might see. Because you’ve always seen him too clearly. It was awful, then exhilarating, now it’s just fucking terrifying. Your eyes narrow and Max thinks you’re about to outright accuse him of wanting- “You’re supposed to be drunk, too,”

He laughs. He laughs at your pout, at getting away with it, for a little while longer, at least, and he laughs because on the night he’s won a world championship he realises he lost his heart a long time ago.

Loving you didn’t feel like a winning a race, it felt like driving in one. And after all, isn’t driving all he ever wanted to do?

“I am, Engel,” he says, “trust me, I am.”

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Lee Minho x F!Reader TW : fighting ; Minho being a jerk ; angst ; fluffy at the end ; established relationship Word Count : 3.8k Request : i would like to know if you could please write something super angsty but with a fluff ending with him, could be a fight or maybe some bad things said in the heat of the moment, idk you choose, whatever you feel comfortable with. A/N : This took so long to get around to and I'm so sorry, but I finally finished it and I hope that you love it! It was a nice little change from what I've been working on right now. Thank you for loving my writing and supporting me, and I don't know if you remember saying it when you requested but you said you love me forever and always and the feeling is 100% mutual anon!!! Thank you so much!!

Things with Minho weren’t always perfect, no relationship ever was, but you liked to think that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the usual hurdles that most couples went through. For the most part, speed bumps would be smoothed over in a matter of minutes and arguments were more like the flame of a birthday candle, blown out within seconds of lighting it. You both loved each other, and that feeling was strong enough to get the both of you through even the toughest of days. You weren’t sure what was different about this time around, maybe it was the timing, or maybe it was just the fact that you both had gone through this kind of thing so many times that there was no more going around it. You both had to face it head on, and that was something that you never expected to do. 

“Where are you going?” You asked when you saw him heading to the door with a suitcase. Nothing had happened, not yet at least, and the sight in front of you had your stomach sinking. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?” He had never given you a reason to feel like you had to walk on eggshells, but seeing him this way, like he was about to walk out on you, had you beyond nervous, beyond terrified. 

“I’m not going anywhere, kitten.” He cooed, placing the bag down next to the door before walking over to you, his hands moving to your hips to hold you steady as he looked you in the eye. “We’re gonna be filming a new music video further out in the country and it’s gonna take a couple days. I’ll be staying at a hotel so I don’t have to keep driving back and forth every day. I’ll be back before you know it.” He leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead before backing up, but his words and the sentiment behind the action weren’t as reassuring as you wanted them to be. 

“Well… Why didn’t you tell me about it? I never heard about a new music video…” You said, the words coming out rather sharply, although you didn’t intend them to. “I mean… What if I didn’t catch you leaving? I’d just wake up and you’d be gone. Do you not care about how that would have made me feel?!” 

He rolled his eyes, running his fingers through his hair as he glared at you, his eyes ice cold and sending a shiver down your spine. “Sometimes I forget to tell you things, my life is kind of busy Y/N. Sue me for it. My life doesn’t exactly revolve around you.” He snapped back, and you knew that he could be kind of harsh with his words, but you didn’t know the extent of it until now, and those words had never been targeted towards you until this moment. “You’re so far up my ass anyway, I thought you would have known about the music video already considering you’re always right fucking there.” 

You swallowed thickly, a nervous chill running through you from being yelled at by the one person in your life that had never raised their voice at you at all before. You weren’t used to it, and you already felt the tears pricking your eyes as you stared at him. “I’m sorry that my way of loving you isn’t good enough, or if it’s a little too much for you. You should have let me know so that I didn’t get so attached.” You retorted, albeit far more quietly, your held back tears causing the words to come out sounding more choked off than anything. 

“Yeah, maybe I should have. And maybe I didn’t tell you about my little trip because I didn’t want you to tag along. I need my own space.” He said, and you felt your stomach tighten up, your throat closing in, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep yourself from crying. If you continued with the argument you’d only break down, so you stayed silent, waiting to see if he had any more left to say. You were like his verbal punching bag, and maybe he was just really stressed out right now, but he was taking it all out on you, and everything that he was saying sounded like his genuine feelings. “I’ve wasted enough time on you… I need to go.” Was the last thing he said before walking out, not a goodbye uttered by either of you, just the tension filled silence that grew and filled the space between the both of you until he walked out the front door. 

It was strange, how your mind was filled with so much, yet you couldn’t think of anything at all. You just stood there in the middle of the room, staring at the door that he had walked out of you don’t know how long ago now. Time seemed to stand still, everything was frozen, not even the sound of birds tweeting outside could be heard. It was like your entire world had stopped, and that’s when you realized that maybe he was right, what he had said wasn’t just nonsense said in a moment of anger or annoyance. It was the truth, it was the wake up call that you needed. 

You were attached to him, far too attached and it wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest. Your world shouldn’t feel like it was crumbling just because of one argument, but it did, and the walls were caving in and the floor was sinking beneath your feet and you felt like you were going to be swallowed into the nothingness that would be your life without him. You had to do the both of you a favor, you had to get out of there, you had to give him the space that he very clearly needed, a space that you didn’t know you needed as well. 

With your number dialed on his phone, his thumb hovered over the call button. You’d pick up, he knew that you would, but he was scared of what you’d say to him. He knew what he’d say to himself if he had been on the receiving end of his own words this morning. You had simply asked where he was going, and there was nothing wrong with that, he knew that. He would have felt the same sense of fear that you clearly felt if the roles were reversed. He was stressed, but that was no excuse for treating you that way, for acting the way he did. 

“Guys… can you… can you be quiet for a moment?” He called out to the rest of his members that were foolishly goofing off behind him, not a care in the world, and while their voices softened just a bit, their antics continued. He’d never be able to talk to you, not like this, at least he wouldn’t be able to be relaxed during the conversation. He needed to apologize to you, and while a face to face apology would be better, a phone call was all that he was able to give you right now, and for that, he felt even worse. 

His thumb pressed against the green button and he quickly brought the phone up to his ear, awaiting and expecting to hear your voice after the first ring. But the first ring came and went, leading into the second, and then the third, and it was so rare for such a thing to happen that he assumed he had just dialed the wrong number. 

Now, something like that wasn’t likely to happen, not with him. Your number had been etched into his mind since the day he had gotten it from you, the dialing of the digits a muscle memory now. He had to find a reason for the lack of an answer though, and the only reason he could come up with was that maybe his finger had slipped, it had slipped just enough to press a wrong number, and that’s why your voice hadn’t come through his speaker to reassure him and calm his nerves. 

He pressed out the numbers once more, slowly this time, focusing on his screen and reading back the digits at the top once they were all there just to make sure he was right this time around. “Come on…” He mumbled to himself as he heard the first ring sound out, fading off into silence just to be followed by the second ring. This never happened, you never ignored him, you always had your phone close enough to you to hear the special ringtone that you had given to just him. This had to mean that something was wrong, something happened, and his own stomach sank at the possibility, all of the things that could have happened. “I have to go guys.” He said, his words short as he walked right past them, not even bothering to give them an explanation as they all tried to follow behind him. He didn’t have time for explanations right now, but once he was sure that you were okay he’d tell them what had happened. You were his top priority right now, you were top priority always, no matter where he was or what he was doing, you were always number 1 in his mind. 

His phone sat in the center console of the car as he started the drive back home, his eyes glancing down at it every couple seconds just to check if you were calling him back or if you had texted him to let him know that you had just been busy in the shower or something. Anything, he would have taken anything over the silence that he was receiving right now, and the longer it lasted the more worried he got. The little argument that the two of you had earlier that morning seemed like nothing to him, it didn’t even cross his mind that you’d be upset about it because he just assumed that you would know that he meant none of the words that came out of his mouth. There was just so much going on, the words were meaningless, and at the end of the day, he absolutely adored you, he loves you, you knew that. 

The set for the music video was 2 hours away, and that was if there was no traffic at all, but of course, he had the luck of running into rush hour, and he had been stopped at every single red light, turning what would have been a 2 hour car ride into almost 4 hours and in that duration of time he had heard nothing from you, he hadn’t heard from you at all and by the time he pulled up to the apartment he was on the verge of having a full fledged panic attack. 

His keys were almost left in the ignition of the car in his rush to get inside, and the only reason he remembered to grab them was because he needed to unlock the front door to get to you. No matter how fast he tried to move, it felt like his feet wouldn’t carry him any faster than the speed of a snail, and maybe it was some kind of internal hesitation, a fear that what would be on the other side of the door once he opened it, or better you, what might not be there. 

“Y/N!” He called out your name, practically screaming it as he pushed the door open, the sound of the doorknob slamming against the wall breaking the silence of the shared home. As he looked around, everything seemed far too still, as if nothing had been touched, no one had moved inside these four walls for hours, and his breaths became faster as he stepped further into the apartment. It was quiet, too quiet, and he could only describe what he felt right now as being at the top of a 20 story building and standing on the edge looking straight down. 

It was like he was frozen in the center of the room now, trying to find any sign of life, any sign of you being there, and he thought, maybe if he looked around enough, maybe if he did a couple double takes something would come up, but all he was met with was nothing. There was no heat that clung to the LCD screen of the television after having been on for a little bit too long. There was no scent of laundry detergent in the air that would alert him that you had clothes going. The hum of the dishwasher wasn’t heard as it usually would be when he came home, and there was no sound of water running through pipes that would indicate you were in the shower. Everything about the house right now felt empty. 

Why did an empty house feel so claustrophobic? The walls were closing in on him, he couldn’t breathe and all he wanted was to push them back, and the only thing that would allow him to take a deep breath was finally seeing you. Where were you? If you had only gone out for groceries, the house wouldn’t feel like this. There was some sort of resting stillness, a sense of finality in the emptiness, it felt like it would be like this forever, and he didn’t understand why. 

He hadn’t stepped any further into the home, dread filling every bone and taking over every fiber of his being at the mere thought of taking another step. Was it a good thing that he hadn’t? The doorknob jiggled and the sound of keys rattling on the other side had his head whipping around to see you walking in. “Minho…” You whispered his name, freezing in the doorframe. Your arms and your hands were empty, you hadn’t gone grocery shopping… So where have you been? “I didn’t think you’d be here. I’m sorry…” Why were you apologizing? “I just forgot a few things… I’ll be out soon.” Your tone was hushed as you made a move to step past him, but his arm instinctively reached out to grab you, to feel your skin against the palm of his hands, to stop you from walking away from him. 

“What do you mean you’ll be out soon? Where are you going?” His tone was hushed as he looked at you, but you didn’t even meet his eyes, staring down at the floor as if you didn’t want to see him. “You didn’t answer your phone, you didn’t text me… What’s going on? Is something wrong, did something happen?” There was a soft sound that came through your lips, and it sounded like a scoff, but he couldn’t be quite sure. You were acting so distant, it scared him, you had never been like this before. 

“I was just trying to give you what you needed…” You mumbled, and he could hear it in your voice, in your tone, in every syllable of every word that he couldn’t seem to understand the meaning of. You had been crying, you were devastated, and the only thing that he could manage to get out of the vague sentence was that it had been his fault. 

You tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t want to let you go, he couldn’t, not until he knew that things were okay. If he let go now, he was scared that you’d walk away from him, walk out on him, and he knew that his heart wouldn’t be able to handle that. “What do you mean…? I need you. I don’t know where this is coming from, love… I just… I know that we had that little spat this morning but… It was nothing.” 

At his words, your eyes finally lifted from the floor, the whites of them reddened and the skin underneath puffy and raw. “It was… nothing?” You repeated his words questioningly, and although you weren’t looking directly at him, he could see your eyes waver as you looked around the room. “Was it nothing because… you didn’t get hurt? Because you got to walk out after completely breaking me down and making me feel like shit? You make me feel like my love isn’t good enough, or that it’s way too much… And then you get to just come back in here and say that it was nothing?” 

Clearly what he had thought to be a little spat had been so much more to you, and while the both of you usually didn’t like to dwell on arguments, this one had stuck with you, it had bothered you enough to the point that you were seemingly on the verge of walking out, of leaving him. “I-...” Where was he going to go with that sentence? He didn’t even know, but he was so scared, so so scared that you’d try to pull away again, that it would be the last time you’d ever pull away from him. “I was stressed… I didn’t mean any of that, you know I didn’t… You don’t really think that I think of you like that, do you?” 

But surely you did… Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be acting this way… You wouldn’t be so upset… “You’re the only one who gets stressed… Sure, we’ll go with that.” You mumbled, letting your arm drop limply, aware now that he wasn’t going to let go of you, not that easily at least. “You said you wanted space, and that’s what I’m giving you. If you’re so stressed… If that’s what made you say that, then I don’t want to be around you anyway.” 

What was he supposed to even say now? You were using his words against him, words that he had tried all morning to forget that he had said, but you didn’t forget, you never did. His eyes squeezed shut as if the answers to his question would appear on the insides of his eyelids, but all he saw was darkness, which was exactly what his life would be without you in it if he didn’t fix things. “I’m not… I don’t want space. I want you here with me, I want you to cling to me, I need it.” He was breathless, his breaths coming heavily as if he had just ran a marathon, and he was surely sweating as though he had as well. There was nothing more stressful than what he was going through right now. 

“Why? So you can go right back out the door again and leave me here feeling more confused than I was this morning?” You shook your head, but he mirrored the action only double the speed as his eyes went wide, pulling you closer to him until your chest was pressed against his, and his forehead resting against yours. “Minho…” You gasped out his name in one short breath, all others that were supposed to follow were held in your lungs. 

“If I walk out that door again… I don’t want to do it alone. I want you right beside me, love.” He quickly spoke, feeling as though time were slipping from his hands the longer he made you wait, he needed to speak fast, he needed to get all of his feelings out so that you knew he was being serious. “I want you to come with me to the shoot, I want you to be there to watch us film, I want to feel your eyes on me the entire time.” 

You gnawed on your bottom lip, your eyes staring down at the faded pattern of his t-shirt that had been through the wash way too many times. “What if I don’t want to…? What if I need space?” You quizzed and his heart felt constricted, his breaths sharper now as he thought and assumed a deeper meaning to your words. Why would you say that? Did you just want space so that he could come back home and you not be there? What was the reason behind it? 

“No.” He said flatly, causing your head to pull back so you could look up at him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t mean to sound so short with you, but it was the only word he could think to say when everything felt like it was being stacked against him. “Please��� I’m sorry…” He wasn’t the type of person that wore his heart on his sleeve, not at all, and his emotions were usually bottled up quite well, but right now it felt like the bottle had been shaken and it was bubbling over, making a mess of the table and the floors. “If you… If you need space, fine… But come with me. You can have space… I just don’t want to leave you, I don’t want to be away from you. Please…” 

Begging definitely wasn’t his thing, but he’d be damned if he lost you because his pride was too high. He was willing to do anything to make things right, especially since it had been his words that had messed things up in the first place. He had made the mess and it was his job to clean it up. “You’re so confusing, Minho…” You sighed, letting your head drop back down against his chest as his hand came up to pet through your hair. 

“I know, I’m gonna work on that, I promise.” His chest vibrated, but what you assumed to be laughter that you weakly chuckled along with were the stuttered breaths that he had been holding for so long it felt like his lungs would burst. “I love you, and I need you, I’ll always feel that way. If I ever say anything stupid like that again just… call me an idiot and throw a pillow at me or something. I don’t ever want you to feel like your love is too much… I need it. I’ll die without it.” 

You scoffed as you lightly pushed him back, crinkling your nose at him. “You’re so dramatic. You’ve been hanging with Hyunjin a little too much, haven’t you?” You teased, but he couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed with the comment, he was just happy to see you playing around, to see your smile again, to know that you weren’t going to leave him. 

The two of you belonged together, he felt it in his bones, in his heart and in his soul. There was no one else in this world that he’d rather be with, and if it wasn’t you, he wouldn’t settle for anyone else. He needed you, that much was the honest truth, and while he wouldn’t actually die without you, he’d be much better off that way if he didn’t have you. You were his, and sure, you were attached to him, but he was attached to you, and that’s simply because he wouldn’t be himself without you, and you wouldn’t be you without him. You were each others better halves, and that’s how it always was, how it always will be.

[the-hopeless-haze]

I Do Bad Things With You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: smut. nsfw mdni

Summary: You don't feel like you're a good agent. Aaron assures you that you are. And then he fucks you. or inn other words, I think I need someone to study my brain because I did cry in my boss' office for very similar reasons to this and I am very much attracted to her but we did not fuck in her office and she has no idea I want her I just have breakdowns at work because 1) it sucks and 2) I am mentally unwell. I just truly don't know if this fic was birthed from the worst compulsory heterosexuality of all time or if I'm truly just an insane bisexual (I think it's the latter) but when I tell you I have not thought about Hotchner in years I MEAN years. I haven't watched Criminal Minds in like five years until today to write this fic. But like. He is FINE. y'all know. you're here. come for my unhinged summary stay for the smut idk

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“I can’t do this anymore,” you mutter under your breath, hating how the tears fall anyway, how you can’t stop them. “I’m not doing a good enough job. I need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks you. “Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s just… it’s just I feel like I can never get a grip. Like I can’t ever get everything done that needs to get done. Like I’m not good enough.”

“You’re good enough. You’re a good agent. You come in and you do your job,” he says gently. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

You were usually so put together, so stoic, even, so sure of yourself. He can’t quite believe you’re in his office like this, past the verge of tears, sitting across from him weeping.

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him.

“For the effort you put in. How you’re a new agent and you still proved yourself to my team. You’re living up to your potential and then some. We appreciate you. I appreciate you.”

“You just have to say that.”

“No. I don’t have to say anything. I’m telling you what I see and what I believe. And I’m not letting you quit.”

“But, sir, I—“

“I won’t accept it,” he says firmly but quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose. You know this. You know your grades were stellar and your psychology background is enviable. You know you passed every test with flying colors. The adjustment to being a full-fledged agent in the first year is tough, to say the least. It’s grueling. Getting accustomed and used to death, danger and just the pressure of the job is something that not everyone can handle. But you can. I know you can. If I lost you, I’d lose an asset. You’re an excellent profiler. It’s intuitive for you.”

There it is, though, that behavior analyst part of your brain and you noticed how he said “I” and not “we” and how his eyes softened, how he wasn’t looking at you sternly and stoically but there was more of a tenderness in his dark eyes.

He likes you. He means what he says. You know he does.

But that isn’t enough. You don’t believe what he says. You don’t believe you’re worthy. This job takes up so much of your waking hours but when you’re outside of it you have next to nothing. You’re not close to family here in Virginia. You don’t have a significant other. You’re not home enough to have a dog. And you just feel like you’ve been letting yourself go since you only seem to have time to eat, sleep and work.

You’ve always been an anxious person. You’ve managed to quell the thoughts wracking your brain with years of practice and medications to a point where you can function, to a point where you made it through school and made it into the FBI. Impostor syndrome dies hard, though. You keep trying to swallow down your tears but it’s fucking impossible when you’re like this. You dry them on the sleeves of your blazer, biting your lip nervously.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” Aaron says, breaking through your thoughts.

“It’s not okay,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t be breaking down crying.”

“You’re human,” he says gently. “This job is overwhelming.”

“It doesn’t seem to get to you.”

“It does. It still does. I… I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“I just don’t think I can do this, Hotchner. With all due respect, I need to put my two weeks in,” you say, strengthening your weakened resolve.

“No,” he refuses, shaking his head. “What do I have to do to get you to see what I see?”

You sigh, leaning forward and bracing your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”

You feel him before you see him, refusing to lift your head up as the tears started streaming down your face. He kneels in front of you, taking your hands gently from your cheeks, but your eyes are still squeezing shut. “Look at me,” he orders.

“Hotchner, I—“

“It’s Hotch. You know that. Or… you can call me Aaron. Just call me Aaron. Look at me.”

Finally, you blink your eyes open, tears spilling over, and he squeezes both your hands gingerly.

“Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home for the night. You’re going to take your mind off of the job. And you’re going to come back tomorrow morning and everyone in here is going to talk about how much you’re missed when you’re gone. Because we all value you. But you need to take the time for yourself. You’re burnt out. You’re not a bad agent. You’re just mean to yourself and you shouldn’t be.”

It’s not lost on you, the way he’s still touching you when you don’t think you’ve seen him so much as brush against anyone else on the team. Is he…?

You squeeze his hands back, forcing yourself to smile.

“There we go,” he smiles back. “See? Do you feel better?”

“A little. Thank you, Hotch.”

“Please. You can call me Aaron in private,” he reiterates. He would have, could have, should have let you go by now. But he hasn’t.

“In private?”

“I don’t let just anyone use my first name. There’d be questions if you started using it especially since you called me SSA Hotchner for months before I got you to just say Hotchner at least. You’re a rule stickler, hm? I think that’s part of your problem.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to think rules are made to be broken,” you counter. Sure. You were a stickler. You were. Deferential to authority - that deserved it. You spoke out, and you would speak out of turn if anything felt wrong or uncomfortable. Rules made things feel safer. Still. You’d call out the unjust. And you think Aaron is the same way.

“Some of them are,” he muses.

“You yelled at me,” you say suddenly. “My third week.”

He furrows his brow, trying to recall the incident you were talking about and then he nods. “You were reckless. You put yourself and Morgan in danger. You walked straight into an ambush. It was a mistake. A rookie mistake. A mistake you learned from. You never did it again.”

“But I—“

“It’s been almost a year since then,” he says, gently. “I don’t hold it against you. I’ve had to pull everyone who works here aside for something. And I’ve been pulled aside myself. No one’s perfect. I… I raised my voice because I was worried about you. Not because I was angry with you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Okay.”

“I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I see a strong, capable, intelligent young woman who’s an amazing profiler — you can glean someone’s familial background in record time. I see a woman who holds her ground and then some in interrogations.”

“I’m crying in my boss’ office right now,” you titter awkwardly.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still all of those things. I see a beautiful woman who’s passionate about her career, who wants to do the best she can…”

He trails off. You wonder if he realizes the weight of what he said.

Always walking the line of professionalism. Making any comments regarding your appearance was crossing it, even if it was as benign and modest as “beautiful”. It was still a step too far.

But you, you’re depressed and anxious, and you’ll take whatever you can get.

He’s still kneeling in front of you.

You know it would be stupid, especially when he’s a broken man himself, even if he denies it to everybody. His wife cheated on him. It was hard, with the job, to have a stable relationship with anyone outside of it. You know this. You’re living it.

He’s still touching you and your skin is on fire now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, no effort to stop staring through your eyes to your soul. Is he profiling you? Trying to see if your breath hitched when he let the compliment slip?

“Don’t be,” you say breathily.

“It was inappropriate,” he says, and he does get up then, wincing at the stiffness in his knees from crouching in front of you for so long. You miss the warmth of his hands already. “You’re dismissed, agent. Go home and take care of yourself.”

Your emotions flip like a switch, it’s just how it’s always been, and you use it to your advantage in a room full of profilers. It’s good to be unpredictable, a wild card. You don’t even mean to. You just are. You can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next. He stood up, so he’s towering over you as you sit in the seat across from his desk, but he’s looking down at you, waiting on your next sentence. And what you say is, “Agent? I thought we were on first-name basis, Aaron?”

It’s the first time you’ve said his first name, and it goes right through him. He wasn’t lying. Not many people do have the privilege to use it. None of his subordinates would be brave enough, maybe not even if he gave them explicit permission like he gave to you. It’s intimate, all these walls up in this bureaucracy that even something as simple as a woman using his first name could drive him up the wall like it would an upstanding Christian man in Regency England. Rules. Rules to be broken.

Aaron whispers your first name, and it’s barely audible, but you hear it in his low, soft baritone. Not the first time, but the only time he’s said it without your last name tacked on the end of it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Aaron?”

You’re teasing, now, and he wonders if it’s just a reflex, trying to gain back some of the power you lost by coming in here crying, or if you genuinely want something from him besides reassurance and a couple of hours off from work. It was maddening at first, trying to figure you out. He still doesn’t know exactly who you are and he’s resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d never be able to nail you down.

“Don’t,” Aaron says again, looking at you sternly as you stand up.

“What is it that you don’t want me to do, Aaron?” you ask, and you’re still not eye to eye but you’re closer now, and his eyes never left your face throughout the whole conversation anyway.

He says your name again like it’s a curse under his breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Use your words, Aaron.”

“Stop teasing me,” he murmurs, looking away from you for the first time, down at the floor. You never expected him to be so… shy.

“I’m teasing you?” you ask, feigning innocence. You didn’t have to be a profiler to see how he was getting tenser as you continue this conversation.

“Yes,” he says, looking back up at you, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before. “And I suggest you stop.”

“Or else?” you say before your brain can catch up. You’re playing with fire. You know you are.

But you like him. Tall, dark, handsome, nothing like the men you’ve been with before. Other men were intimidated when he walked into the room. And you being you… you always wanted to break him down into a crying, blubbering mess, and be the only one who got to see him like that. Break the stoic wall and get to see him. Human.

And if he was this reactive to you just saying his name?

Lord help both of you.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Go home for the day.”

“Is that to help me, or you?”

He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Perhaps both of us.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to get my resignation if I make things so… hard… for you, Aaron,” you say, and you move a little closer, his breath hitching audibly in his throat.

Again. He says your name like it’s the worst curse in the book, hissing it like it physically hurts him, and you know, maybe you are.

“A little selfish, maybe. I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “And I meant what I said. I’d lose an asset. You’re a stellar agent.”

You don’t really know what to say, now, but he continues.

“Profile me,” he whispers. “In this moment. What am I thinking?”

“So you don’t have to say it out loud?”

“Mm.”

“You want me, Aaron,” you say shakily, losing your resolve almost as quickly as you gained it back. “I don’t think you’d have to be a profiler to figure that out.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

“Right now… yes.”

“You need me. You need me to show you how valued you really are,” Aaron says, searching your eyes for confirmation that you want this, too. As always, though, you’re unreadable. “Say it. Let me show you my appreciation.”

God. What in the world? Your brain is fuzzy with lust, and never in a million years would you have thought this is how today would’ve gone. Mondays back in the office are always the worst, piles of paperwork from the cases prior to sift through and file and the anticipation of when you’d be on the road or up in the air next always gnawed at your stomach. You fully expected to give your notice and come home crying. You didn’t foresee the prospect of being utterly fucked by your boss who very much did not want you to resign.

You know why the rules are in place. Dating coworkers was messy anyway, never mind dating someone in this line of work. Still… you thought it made sense in a way. The only person who was really going to understand your crazy schedule was someone who was working the same hours.

So you nod, giving him full permission to do as he pleases.

His lips meet yours, surprisingly soft and gentle, akin to the way his hands squeezed yours before. “I can’t believe I held myself back from doing this for this long,” he mumbles against your mouth, then he pulls you in an embrace, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck where he can reach. “I need you here. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay, Aaron.”

“I’ve wanted your body since the second you walked into this building. I need you. You ground me. Make me feel better, human. Like maybe I could exist outside of the field and outside of this office.”

“Did you know I was struggling?”

“You hide it well. I knew you were frustrated, but the last case was tough and we all are a little on edge. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you to lean on, honey,” Aaron says, moving his head back to face you, eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I want you to always come to me if you need anything. Anything.”

You don’t say anything, just hum contently, pressing your mouth back to his for a kiss that starts off chaste and quickly becomes heated, his hands cupping the curve of your ass.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. “Promise me you’ll always come to me.”

“I promise,” you agree.

“Good girl,” he affirms. “You’re such a good girl. Never have to worry about you doing your job. You always get your reports to me on time, you always make brilliant deductions when we’re going over cases, you always make sure the rest of the team doesn’t need anything… such a good girl.”

You kiss him fiercely, the voice in your head screaming he was your boss and both of your careers are on the line if this goes south long silenced. His large hands on your ass pull you closer to him, and you feel his hardening cock against you as he does. “Aaron,” you choke out breathily.

“Feel me? That’s what you do to me, honey.”

You snake a hand between your bodies and palm him through his dress pants, and you can tell he wasn’t expecting that to be your next move from the way his cheeks flush and he groans heavily. “This is about you,” he manages to say, taking your hand away from his clothed cock. “All about you. Go sit on my desk, honey.”

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together as he follows you and takes his suit jacket off, revealing his tasteful button-down underneath. “Good girl,” he whispers, spreading your legs with hands, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he does so, letting the fabric of your skirt ride up.

And then he digs his nails under the thin sheer of your tights and rips them. “Aaron!” you hiss in surprise.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responds almost dismissively, easing the torn fabric down the length of your legs, kissing the swell of your calves as he takes your heels off and places them on the floor underneath the desk.

“I’m more worried about how I’m going to walk out of here,” you say, smiling.

“I sent them all out on different tasks and told them to get lunch first. They’ll be gone for a while.”

“Did you plan this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” he smirks. “But now you can be as loud as you need to be.”

“Aaron,” you say, almost scolding, but whatever you were going to say after that is lost in the recesses of your mind as you feel his mouth on yours again, hot and ready, tongue gliding against yours with ease. He shrugs your blazer off, too, leaving you in just a black tank top and your skirt that was hiked up to your waist.

“I believe regulations are to wear long sleeve button-downs underneath blazers,” he says lowly. You know it’s a lie. If Garcia can dress the way she does there are certainly not strict restrictions on what you can wear, even if you’re a field agent. But you’ll play along.

“I believe regulations are not to have your subordinate spread out on your desk in front of you, sir,” you retort.

Aaron chuckles deeply at that. This is how you usually were, sarcastic and snippy, even with him at times. Funny. “Rules and regulations,” he muses. “I think I’m alright with those two being broken.”

And with that his fingers of his right hand start ghosting your cunt, pressing the thin cotton of your panties, groaning lowly at how wet you are. “You’re soaked, honey,” he says. “Can I feel you? Please.”

“Yes, Aaron, please touch me,” you nod.

He pushes aside your panties, slipping his index finger in slowly, catching your lips with his in the process.

“Want to make you feel so good, so much better,” he murmurs, starting slow and building up pressure before he inserts another finger, stretching you out, making you impossibly wetter, reaching depths of you that you couldn’t reach yourself with your much shorter and thinner fingers. “Lift your hips,” he instructs, and in one swift motion, he slips your panties off, pocketing them in his dress pants. “Good girl.”

“Not fair, Aaron,” you say.

“What’s not fair, honey?”

“You’re still fully dressed,” you point out, reaching for his tie to loosen it. You were absolutely soaked, you could feel it, and you wonder if his desk will stain from your slick. You untuck his shirt from his pants and run your hands over his stomach, scars under the pads of your fingers, God, you want to lick every inch of him.

“Mm. I can help you remedy that,” he agrees, meeting your hands when you were halfway through the buttons on his pristine white shirt, pulling it over his head along with his undershirt. You reach for his belt buckle and he stops you. “Not yet. Let me do something first.”

And before you know it his tongue is on you, swirling incessant circles around your swollen clit, and you can tell he’s not taking his time now. He wants to bring you over the edge and fast, and you wonder how long it will be before the rest of the team do return from their extended lunch breaks. You’ve been eaten out before, sure, but to use a cliched metaphor for the umpteenth time in human history, you finally figured out what women meant when they said their man ate them like it was their last meal on death row. You clamp your legs against his head, and he moans, sending vibrations through your cunt, damn near sending you over the edge as you pant and whimper.

“Am I not making you feel good?” Aaron looks up in worry.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“You’re not screaming. I suppose I should try harder,” he says, furrowing his brow and then he adds his fingers back, fucking deep into you. His tongue focuses on your clit and your thighs are shaking and you gasp, no longer able to hold yourself up seated, leaning back and bracing yourself on your elbows.

“Aaron, I’m so close,” you moan, trying to fight the urge to push him away as the pressure builds. You squeeze your thighs tighter and the sudden force of it drags Aaron’s tongue flat against your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge, whining his name over and over again.

He doesn’t stop.

“Aaron,” you choke out, trying to back away from him due to the overstimulation. “Aaron. Please.”

“You can be louder than that,” he says, not bothering to lift his head, voice muffled by your wet cunt. “I’m not stopping until you reach a decibel level I’m satisfied with. And I will know if you’re faking.”

You’ve never had anyone go down on you for multiple rounds. You were lucky if you came once with previous partners. Part of the reason you never wanted to make a move with Aaron was that you figured he would ruin you for other men.

And God. Were you right.

You only hope you’re ruining him for other women.

You know you’re next orgasm will be embarrassingly close as he never gave you a chance to come down from the first one. You didn’t expect it to come on like it did though, your right hand carded in his jet black hair, just again, him flattening his tongue against your clit as his fingers continued to scissor you open and you can’t help it, gasping for air, shouting, yelling, keening his name. “Aaron,” you plead. “I can’t give you another one. Please.”

“Shh. Good girl. You can and you will. For me,” he commands authoritatively.

And you can. And you do.

The next time, mercifully, Aaron stands up, and leaves you alone to breathe. He kisses you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s achingly hard now, a quite visible tent noticeable in his dress pants, cheeks red from exertion, everything from his nose to his chin wet with your slick.

What a vision.

How were you ever going to get this out of your head?

“Can I be inside you? Please?” he asks.

“Yes,” you affirm.

Aaron lets you unbuckle his pants and lets them pool to the floor, helping you out of your tank top and bra, sucking and biting on your nipples and the flesh of your breasts for a few moments before he steps out of his shoes and boxers, completely bare in front of you.

“God, Aaron,” you breathe. “You’ve really been holding out on me.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and his cheeks flush redder. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“I told you,” he says lowly, lining his cock with your entrance. “Since the second you walked in this building.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask, but it’s a loaded question if not a stupid one. There’s a myriad of reasons why you don’t tell someone who works under you that you want to fuck them stupid. That you like them. That you love them?

You frown slightly. You don’t think you could handle it if this was the only time you got to be with him like this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You promised you would tell me.”

“Is this… is this a one-time thing, Aaron?” You ask tentatively.

“I don’t want it to be,” he answers quickly. “It’d be a daily occurrence if I had my way.”

With that, he grabs your hips, and looks at you for consent, then slams all the way in when you nod in affirmation. Neither of you can help the moans and groans escaping your mouths at that, you from feeling completely full and him being fully sheathed in you.

“I… I love you,” he says, pressing his sweat-sheened forehead to yours. “You don’t have to say it back. I know how dangerous and inappropriate and difficult this situation is never mind adding emotions to it. And I… I’m not good at them in the first place. I just… I just need you to know that. I want to be with you. All the time.”

“Again, Aaron, why did you never… fuck,” you trail off as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow and languid pace.

“I don’t know. I was afraid,” he chuckles.

“Of me?”

“You’re intimidating. You’re beautiful, smart, and capable. To tell you I wanted you…”

“You’re calling me intimidating?” you ask. “You? Of all people?”

“I’ve seen you interrogate. Baby-faced assassin, hm? You’ve shaken some grown men in their boots.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” he chuckles, then softens. “Seeing you cry like that today… I… it broke my heart, honey. I never thought I’d see you break. I’d do anything to make you never feel like that again. You need to stay.”

“I already promised you, Aaron,” you say, biting your lip as he somehow angles his cock deeper in you. “I love you.”

Kissing you fiercely, he squeezes your hips, and you can’t wait to see if there’ll be bruises there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. “God, you’re fucking squeezing my cock, honey,” he grunts, and you feel yourself clench more at his words. You’ve never heard him swear. Ever. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long, old man,” you tease.

“You’d be surprised how much stamina I do have,” he threatens, rolling his eyes at you. “You’ll see tonight when I have more time with you.”

“How presumptuous.”

He scoffs, doesn’t say anything, but starts running over your clit with his thumb, kissing you deeply, fucking you faster and harder, setting a much more brutal pace.

“You just need me that bad, Aaron?” you ask, hellbent on seeing him break. “You need to fuck me all the time now that you’ve had me?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Need you all the time. Every day. Need to fuck this pretty cunt. Make you know you’re appreciated. Valued. Loved. Never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. Not…I’ll worship you. Kiss the ground you walk on. Fuck you until you can’t stand. Whatever it takes.”

“What about you, Aaron? How do you feel right now?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. “So fucking good. Such a good girl. You keep sucking my cock back in every thrust, you feel that, honey? So wet, so warm, fuck, I’d stay inside you forever.”

“Yeah, Aaron? Hmm? I—“ your teasing backfired on you, and before you can think of anything else to say, you come on his cock, your nails dragging down his back stalling his motions to stutters and he’s asking you, begging you, “Please let me cum inside you,” he begs. “Please, honey.”

You nod breathlessly, unable to speak, and you don’t think he’d be able to make it out of you in time completely if you’d said no because you feel his seed fill you as you’re still riding out the aftershocks of your own orgasm and he’s moaning your name in choked sobs and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever fucking seen or heard.

“I love you,” he whispers, dark eyes looking up at you from where his face now rested in the swell of your breasts. “I love you. And we’re going to make this work come hell or high water.”

“I love you,” you say back once you catch your breath. “Are you still sending me home?”

He laughs. “You look and smell like sex.”

“Do you think you look or smell any different? You did this to me,” you say, messing up his sweat-streaked hair more with your fingers. “I think your boss should send you home, too.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could convince him,” he says, giving you a wide smile.

He helps you get dressed, kissing you wherever he can reach in between and it takes much longer than it would have had you dressed yourself. You’re not complaining. But there’s no fixing your hair or your tattered tights. No fixing Aaron’s disheveled hair, either, or the sweat stains around his armpits from when you teased him for so long.

“Follow me home, honey,” he instructs. “Round two.”

Maybe you should have mental breakdowns at work more often.

[midmourn]

play the part

PAIRING Lee Donghyuck/Haechan/GN!Reader/Na Jaemin

SUMMARY Haechan���s your boyfriend, but Jaemin’s your best friend. How could he ever compete?

GENRE Angst

CONTENTS Brief mentions of (almost) vomiting, I think the phrase is called emotional cheating, alcohol use, surprise sad ending

WORDS 1,428

LISTENING TO that way by tate mcrae, traitor by olivia rodrigo, high infidelity by taylor swift

NOTE im not writing a part two so please don’t ask, thank you <3 i found this in my google docs so i tweaked it just a tiny bit and i couldn’t find it on my old blog so idk if i ever posted it or not

When Mark finds Haechan, the younger boy is still nursing the drink that he had received from Jaehyun when they first stepped inside the party. “Woah,” he tries to joke, already knowing how his best friend was feeling, “Still drinking that drink? You’d usually be in your fifth one by now. Finally decided to take AA seriously?”

Haechan doesn’t laugh, and Mark’s smile fades, sighing as his shoulders slump. Mark downs the rest of his own drink before setting it aside, not wanting it anymore. Haechan doesn’t look up when Mark sits beside him on the railing of the balcony, “You know, it’s probably not safe for us to be this close to the edge while drinking,” Mark gestures to the ground beneath them.

“I feel like death would be better than life right now,” Haechan murmurs, and even those the words could be taken as a joke, both of them know it’s not. And Mark has a pretty good idea on why that is. Mark follows to where Haechan’s gaze is, finding a group of people sitting around the pool in Jaehyun’s backyard, but Haechan’s eyes were only on two people— a familiar head full of of black and a familiar face.

Jaemin’s arm was thrown around your shoulders, the back of his head facing Mark and Haechan but your face was clear for Haechan to see. The grin on your face was so bright that even Mark’s eyes hurt. He wasn’t close enough to be able to see, but if he was, he was sure that he would’ve been able to see the stars decorating your eyes. Mark remembers when you and Haechan first met, the younger would not shut up about you. Mark knows things about you that he shouldn’t, and that’s because of him.

“They’re just friends,” Mark says, swallowing the lump in his throat for he can’t swallow the empathy swelling up inside of him— knowing exactly how his best friend feels. “You’re their boyfriend.”

“I have the title,” Haechan sighs, tilting his head up to drag his eyes away from the two of you. His glistening eyes stare up at the dark sky, clouds decorating the sky and moving to cover the moon. “But he has their heart.”

“If they had feelings for him, they would break up with you, Hyuck,” Mark tries to reassure him, but even Mark doesn’t believe his own words. He wishes he could help more.

“Not if they knew I’d be heartbroken by it,” Haechan swallows the rest of his drink down, welcoming the burning taste. It couldn’t beat the burning in his heart, though.

“Either way, you’re heartbroken,” Mark argues, shaking his head as he turns to face Haechan. “But if you were over, at least you’d be free to move on.”

Haechan doesn’t respond for a moment, only rolling his shoulders as he looks back down at the group of people again. He licks his lips before saying, “I have the title. That’s enough, right?” When Mark doesn’t respond, he exhales through his nose sharply, “I’m their boyfriend. I love them. That should be enough.”

There’s a painful silence before Mark speaks with an underlying tone of hurt, “Sometimes, it isn’t enough.” He’s starting to wish he had another drink. “Hyuck, you’re going to have to do it if they won’t.”

“Guess I’ll just have to play the part, then,” Haechan says suddenly, pushing himself off the railing and onto the balcony floor.

“What part?” Mark asks, eyebrows furrowing as he turns to him.

“Acting like I’m really stupid,” Haechan smiles, but it’s an empty smile. Mark’s not familiar with it— and he hates it. “And that I have no idea that they’re falling in love with their best friend.”

“How was your day?” Haechan asks, his phone laying on his bed with the speaker on. He’s drying his hair with the t-shirt he had on before he took a shower, staring into his mirror in front of his bed. “Have fun?”

“All I did was sleep and play Among Us with Jisung so,” you giggle and his heart swells at the sound, a smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I did have fun.”

“So you’ll play Among Us with Jisung but not me?” He snarks, throwing his shirt into his dirty clothes hamper but you know he’s joking— he’s always joking like that. “Maybe you should date him instead.”

You giggle again, “Jisung is too young—”

“It’s barely two years,” he sits down on his bed, grabbing his phone to go through his photo gallery, almost every single one being of you. “I’ll even tell him for you, that way if you get rejected—” A small smile is on his lips as he stares down at a picture of you and him, visiting your shared lock at the Love Lock of Namsan Tower.

“Hey!”

“— You don’t have to witness it and ugly cry.”

“In this hypothetical situation, even if he said he liked me back, you’d still tell me he rejected me, wouldn’t you?”

Haechan laughs from surprise, sometimes forgetting just how much you know him, “And you’re right, for once. I’d then tell him the text was for someone else to humble him.”

Your laughter is loud and unapologetic, just how he likes it. “Oh, you are so—” You cut yourself off and it’s silent from your side before you start giggling, “Stop it.” His eyebrows furrow, head tilting as he pauses in his scrolling. What had he done? “No! Don’t be like that and don’t you dare—” You start giggling loudly again, shrieking for whoever to stop what they were doing. If you weren’t laughing, he’d have been concerned.

Haechan says your name once but when it’s not heard over your laughter, he frowns and goes back to the call, seeing that he’s not on mute. He says your name again and when no reply, he goes to say your name once more but a familiar voice stops him. His body freezes as his blood goes cold, staring down at his floor when he recognizes the voice.

No one has a voice like Na Jaemin does. And even if there was, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

It’s when even after you stop laughing, and you talk to Jaemin like Haechan still isn’t on the phone with you, is when his heart finally drops like an anchor to the bottom of his stomach. You forgot.

They forgot, they forgot, they forgot, his mind chants back at him.

Haechan doesn’t register when your voice first cuts off, only looking down when he realizes and seeing that the call ended. He doesn’t remember if he ended it or if you remembered and did it yourself. Either way, his heart still hurts. Tears stream down his face as sobs rip out of his chest, with loud, violent sounds. His chest hurts, too. His chest is tightening, and coughs start to cough, each cough getting more violent than the next. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the harsh crying or—

He turns to find a water bottle for him to drink but his vision is blurry from crying and the coughing won’t stop, no matter how much he tries to breathe and calm himself down. The crying doesn’t stop, either. He has a feeling he’s about to throw up and pushes himself off his bed, stumbling to his bathroom with his hands on the walls and door frame so he won’t fall.

It doesn’t work, and he falls on his knees anyway. In only a matter of a few minutes, he’s soaked to the bone and his shirt is wet— his previously dry hair is clinging to his forehead and neck. Bile— he thinks— crawls up his throat and he throws himself to where he knows the toilet is, clinging onto the bathroom sink as it comes up and into the toilet.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally comes around, dried tear streaks on his cheeks and his vision is no longer blurry. His breathing is still heavy, but it’s slow and ragged. He’s not coughing or crying anymore. He can’t help but look in the toilet, not even knowing if he really threw up or if it was just his imagination. His breath catches in his throat, the sight of a familiar singular flower floating in the otherwise empty toilet. A light pink Orchid, your favorite flowers. He knows because he gave them to you on your first date.

Haechan isn’t stupid— and the flower only confirms his thoughts.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Howdy Charlie 🤠 l have been enjoying these new fic releases from you. You’re amazing and I love reading your work at the end of the day to unwind.

I’m not in a hurry as I’ve read you’re taking a break but if you do get inspired to write again, can I please request

❛ you are losing my interest, and that’s very dangerous. ❜ & ❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

Pre-outbreak where reader does something that causes a huge fight with Joel and they ignore each other for days then reader thinks it’s the end of their relationship so she packs her bag to leave without a word but Joel comes home earlier than expected and stops her and they get into another fight before reconciling and he shows his sweeter side to make up to her . Can you make it EXTREMELY angsty and a lil fluffy in the end.

Thank you! 😘

Anon, when I say that I've had this fic sitting in my drafts FOR WEEKS I'm not even lying. I absolutely loved this prompt but idk I couldn't make it seem right... I've done my best, I really hope you enjoy it! I'm just on my Joel Miller bullshit atm, don't judge me.

Pairing | Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count | 3k

Warnings | Some angst, some fluff, mentions of alcohol, mean!Joel at one point, SMUT - oral (f receiving) no use of y/n and I think that's it.

Main Masterlist

There was something about Joel Miller that had you smitten from the start. Maybe it was the fact that he was so different to the stupid college boys you’d been wasting your time with, or maybe it was the fact that he was devastatingly handsome, or the fact that whenever you were together, he would make it his mission to make you come enough times that you forgot your name before he even thought about taking pleasure for himself. Whatever it was he was different, and you were pretty sure you loved him. 

He'd barreled into your life headfirst a few months ago. Your car had given up the ghost on a small country road and you had no cell service to call a recovery. There had been a moment of dread when his truck had pulled up behind yours, this is how so many girls died in those documentaries you’d watched, but when he stepped out of his truck and that Southern drawl had hit your ears, you thought that even if he was going to murder you and leave you in a ditch, you wouldn’t mind all that much. Got you out of finishing your thesis if nothing else. 

“You stranded, sugar?” He’d called out, keeping his distance enough to reassure you he wasn’t going to try anything stupid. 

“Yeah,” You called back, “I have no idea what’s wrong with it and there’s no cell service.”

“You want me to take a look?” 

“You a mechanic?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly, but I’m good with my hands.” 

The innuendo isn’t lost on either of you, you smirk but give him a signal to look at your car. He pops the hood and takes a few minutes to look around, “Was it steaming when you pulled over?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” You admit. 

“Looks like it’s just overheated, sugar,” He muses, “Not much to do but sit and wait for it to cool down a little,” You pull a face at the thought of having to sit in your car without the air con, “I don’t got anywhere to be so you can sit in my truck with me for a bit?” He offers, “The air-con is on.” He adds, sweetening the deal. 

So you do. You sit with him for an hour, talking about your master’s programme and how stressed you are with your thesis. He talks about his work, bailing his brother out of jail for the second time that week and his daughter Sarah. When the sun starts to set, he jumps out of his truck to inspect your engine again, deeming it safe to drive. 

“Well, thanks,” You say as you sit in the driver’s seat and start the engine up, “Literally don’t know what I’d have done if it weren’t for you.” 

“You’d have let it sit, tried turning the key a little while later and been fine,” He chuckles, “But you’re welcome, it was nice meetin’ you.” 

“Joel-” You call as he tries to walk away, “Can I maybe buy you a drink to say thank you?” 

He turns around and smirks at you, “You askin’ me on a date?” 

“Would you say yes if I was?” You arch an eyebrow at him. 

“I’d be a fool not to, sugar.” 

It’s cliché for you to say but the rest really was history. You’d bought him a drink to say thank you a few days later, he’d bought you more because he liked your company. You’d snuck him into your room a few hours after that, managing to dash past the kitchen where your housemates were having dinner, where he’d spent an hour knelt between your legs, lapping at your pussy and then fucked you better than anyone had ever done in your life. 

It was summer break now. Sarah was away at camp for a few weeks, your thesis finally done and submitted. Joel had suggested that you stay with him, he’d mumbled something about it being nice not having to sneak around to see each other and you had to admit he was right. Waking up next to him with streams of sunlight illuminating his face, that was priceless. Making him breakfast before he went to work, domesticated but you loved it. 

It had been two weeks of that, with another one still to come before Sarah came home and you had to go back to the small room in your shared apartment. One of your friends had invited you out on Saturday night – a way for you all to celebrate being done with studies. You’d planned to go back to Joel’s that night, he’d even given you money for the cab ride home – but one too many tequila shots and a dead cell phone later, you’d been led back to your apartment by your friends, plugged your phone in to charge and promptly fallen asleep. 

When you’d woken up the next morning there was dread in your stomach, reading through the texts from Joel last night. Ten missed calls and texts that read where r u and please let me know ur safe. 

You dressed as quickly as you could, grabbing your phone and keys before you called a cab to pick you up. You knew you’d fucked up. You wanted to call him, let him know you were okay, but this was something you’d have to do face to face. It took far longer to get to Joel’s, Sunday morning traffic proving a challenge as you left the city and headed for the suburbs. You took a deep breath as you fit his spare key into the door and opened it. 

“Where the fucking hell have you been?” He asks when you shut the door and put your keys on the side table, “I’ve been worried sick about you all night.” 

“I’m sorry Joel,” You mumble, you really were, “We got carried away and then my phone died, and my housemates just dragged me back to my apartment, I was just going to charge my phone a little and then come back here but I must have fallen asleep.” 

“You didn’t think to use that landline’a yours?” He was sat on the couch, but he’d turned his body towards you in the doorway, he was pissed. 

“I’m sorry Joel, okay, it was a stupid mistake, what more do you want me to say?” 

“I gave you money to get home, told you to tell someone to remind you that’s where you were going, what were you thinking goin’ out and gettin’ so drunk you couldn’t remember where you were going home?!” 

“Don’t you dare make this out like I was outta control!” You counter, “I was safe Joel, I was with my friends, I’m not fucking stupid.” 

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” He’s standing now, taking steps towards you. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Should’a fuckin’ known,” He says, mostly to himself, “Don’t think about anyone but yourself, silly little girl.” 

His words cut through you like a knife. He’d never once made you feel like this. Despite the ten-year age gap you’d always seemed like his equal. Not now, now you felt small and insignificant. 

“You are losing my interest and that’s very dangerous.” Is all he says next.

“Fuck you Joel Miller,” You spit at him, reaching for your keys, “You think you’re doing me a favour? Letting me stay in your nice big house playing families? All you wanted was a fucking maid the way you’ve been behaving.” 

You’re out of the door, slamming it behind you and pulling your car out of his driveway in record time. You make it to the end of the round and a little way around the corner before you have to pull over and sob into your hands. 

*

Four days. Four miserable fucking days and he hadn’t even bothered to text you. You’d moped around in your room for the first twenty-four hours. Then your housemate had practically forced herself in because she thought you’d died. You’d cried to her about how unfair it was, then she’d made you sit on the couch, drink too much wine and watch shitty reruns. 

If it had been four days and he hadn't bothered to message, then it really must be over, right? You led in bed that morning running through all the things you’d left at his house that you really did need back. You still had the spare key, and you knew he���d be at work until later this evening, so you push yourself out of the tangle of sheets, get dressed and make the drive over. 

Thankfully when you arrive his truck is nowhere to be seen. Definitely at work then. You open the front door, closing it behind you softly. You take a moment when you step in to remember all the times you’d been happy here. The time you’d helped him make Sarah’s birthday cake, or the time you’d snuggled up under the blanket together on the sofa and fallen asleep watching a movie. The time he’d hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter and eaten you out like it was his last meal. Or the time you’d not made it up the stairs and he’d fucked you from behind halfway up the steps. Tears pricked at your eyes. Foolish. Silly Little Girl, thinking he might be the one, just like he’d said. 

You wiped angrily at your eyes and made your way up the stairs to his room, trying to block out the shiver down your spine as you thought of the long nights and lazy mornings you’d spent wrapped up in his bed. You find your duffle bag in the bottom of his wardrobe, you set it on the bed and start pulling clothes from his drawers, shoving them as quickly as you can into the bag. 

You’re setting a bottle of perfume into it when you hear a key in the door. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Of all the days he could come home for lunch, it had to be this one. 

“Sugar?” You hear him tentatively call from downstairs. 

He won’t get the satisfaction, you think, you won't talk to him, just get your things and leave. You hurry to gather the last of your belongings, hoping you can just leave, when you hear his work boots on the stairs.

You’re fighting with the zip on the bag when the door creaks behind you, “Hey, I was calling you.” 

“I heard.” You reply. 

“What are you doing?” He asks. 

You groan in frustration when the zip catches and refuses to move, “What does it look like, Joel?” You hiss, “I’m packing my stuff so I can be outta your hair like you want.” 

“I don’t want that.” Is all he says. 

“Well you’re doing a fucking good impression of it,” You turn to him, “You don’t call me, you don’t message me, you call me a silly little girl, but you want to keep me around?!” 

“Sugar, listen to me,” He’s walking forward, gripping your arms in his hands, “I was angry, and I handled it badly, I’m just-” He falters, “I’m not used to any of this, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t mean what I said.” 

You look at him and you don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes plead with you like they are now. It breaks your heart a little. 

“But you called me a silly little girl Joel,” You whimper, trying hard not to cry, “Everything you said to me hurt.” 

“I know sugar, I know.” He breaths, pulling you into his chest, “I thought if I gave you some time, we’d be able to talk, but I don’t want you to leave,” His lips brush the top of your head in a kiss, “Never want you to leave.” 

You tilt your head and press a kiss to his jawline; it had always felt like home when you were wrapped in his arms. 

“Let me make it up t’ya, sugar.” His hands are roaming down your spine and you can’t resist him anymore. 

You soften into his body, and he takes it as a yes, he tilts your chin up with one of his hands and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft and you let out a sigh as you wrap your arms around his neck to mold yourself closer to him. His hands are gripping at the meat of your ass as he’s walking you back towards the bed. Before he lets you fall, he grabs the forgotten bag of your belongings and tosses it to the floor, settling you to sit on the edge of the bed whilst he drops to his knees. 

His hands are pushing the skirt of your dress up to gather at your hips, his mouth leaving trails of hot kisses up one thigh and down the other. Your head drops back, and you let out a sigh when his big hands come to rest on your hips, “Can I take them off, sugar?” He asks, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. 

You look down at him and smirk, “If you want to make it up to me, I’d say it’s pretty essential.” 

He copies your smirk, “Lift up then.” 

You push down on your hands to lift your ass off the bed just enough for him to pull the lace off your skin and down your legs. You set yourself back down on the sheets but opt to stay in your sitting position, shifting your backside as close to the edge as you can without risking falling off, widening your open legs for Joel to see you. 

“God, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, sugar.” He groans, leaning down to press kisses over your mound, but never once dipping low enough to give you relief. 

He knows what you want, your hips are chasing his mouth as they move around to press kisses to everywhere but your pussy. You grumble in frustration when he moves away from you, “You want my mouth on your pussy, sugar?” He asked, looking up at you like the cat that got the cream. 

“I’d have thought that was pretty obvious by now.” 

“I gotta hear you say it, sugar.” 

“Joel-” You moan, reaching out to grab a fistful of his hair, “Please put your mouth on me.”

He responds with a grin from between your legs before he licks one long stripe up the seam of your pussy, tongue dipping ever so slightly through your folds to tease your clit before he’s pulling away, “See what happens when you ask nicely?” 

You’re about to respond with something smart when he uses his fingers to spread your lips to reveal your clit, and then he’s running soft circles on it with the tip of his tongue. A guttural moan drops from your lips and your hips are bucking into his face as he continues his teasing touches with his tongue. His hands are gripping the meat of your thighs and God you want more. 

“Joel-” You moan, gripping his hair again, “Fuck, God alive I need more.” 

He pulls away from your pussy just enough to say, “What do you need, sugar?” Before he’s back to work. 

“Fu-fuck, Joel,” You’re grinding your hips into his mouth, “Fingers, please, I need your fingers.” 

You swear you can feel him smile against you, but one of his hands moves from your thighs and you feel him slip one inside of you. You’re so wet that it’s easy for him, he pulls out and when he’s pushing his fingers back into you, there’s a second, “Oh my god yes just like that.” Is all you can managed to get out. 

He’s being more forceful with his tongue now, switching between the soft teases from the tip of his tongue to full licks with the flat of it and it’s got you on the edge already. When you look down at him it’s like heaven. You can see his tongue teasing your clit and the movement of his shoulder as he pumps his fingers into you. It’s a depraved sight but one that you never want to forget. 

“Can feel you gettin’ tight around my fingers sugar,” He mumbles into your pussy, “You gonna come for me like a good girl?” 

“Yes!” You’re crying out as his fingers curl inside you into just the right spot to have spots clouding your vision, “ohmygod Joel, I’m so fucking close.” 

He knows exactly what to do from here. He’s learnt how to play your body like a fucking fiddle, and he knows it. He’s pressing his fingers so deep into your pussy, curling them to hit that sweet spot inside of you. Then he wraps his lips over your clit and sucks whilst his tongue is still flicking tight little circles over you, and you’re gone. 

Your head is thrown back and you’re screaming his name. Your pussy is clenching around his fingers and your whole body is convulsing as it washes over you. Joel pulls his fingers from you, and you look down to watch him lick your slick off them before he’s dipping his tongue lower and literally drinking from you. Wide stripes from his tongue from your aching entrance as he cleans up what you’ve given him. 

He pressed kisses to the inside of your thigh, and you can feel your slick on the scratch of his beard, “I really am sorry, sugar.” He says and you laugh. 

“Get up here.” You say, pulling at the neck of his t-shirt. 

He obliges, standing up briefly to kick off his work boots, before he’s gathering you up and placing your head against the pillows. He’s kissing you; you can taste yourself on his tongue as it molds into your own. 

He flops down on the bed next to you and you curl into his side, running your hands down his chest to rest on the bulge of his jeans before a yawn falls from your mouth, “Tired, sugar?” 

You nod, burying your face into his chest, “Not been sleeping.” Is all you offer in explanation. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, “Take a nap.” Is what he says, taking hold of your hand on his groin, wrapping your fingers together to rest on his stomach, “I can wait.” 

“Promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up?” You ask, looking up to meet his eyes. 

“I got nowhere else on earth I’d rather be, sugar.” 

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Okay I’ve been toying with an idea for a Six of Crows au post-Crooked Kingdom where Van Eck won for a little while now and yeah idk but I had a scene idea come to me just now so I’m gonna write it here to see what you guys think and if there’s any interest then I might add it to my list of fics to write

This feels like a weird introduction but, er, here we go:

Inej knew the moment Kaz got home. There were no longer any crowds in the house to come to attention at his entrance, or if there were then no-one had bothered to come down to the half-room and tell Inej, but she could hear his voice drifting through the vents as soon as the door upstairs banged shut behind him.

“Where’s Inej?”

“Where do you think?” Matthias’ reply came roughly, and Inej could all but picture the disapproving grimace that must be crossing his face about now.

Let him judge. She didn’t need to leave the half-room, and for as long as that was true she wouldn’t. The vents did not give her every room though, and she did miss gathering her secrets. She wondered if there was anyone else in the house, but the five of them. Five? She stopped and counted them on her fingers. Yes, five. Hopefully still five. Inej had not bothered to leave the half-room in days, and no-one had been down to see her since yesterday morning.

She heard the door click open behind her, of course, but she did not bother to look up as Dirtyhands entered the room.

“Wraith,”

“Don’t you read the papers, Kaz?” Inej asked, without turning, “The Wraith is dead,”

She stood up, hand wandering across the table for her little pot of jurda. It tasted like shit and it wasn’t nearly as strong as she wanted it to be, but it took less than a month for the price of the blossoms to surpass the height of the stars so she’d have to make do with whatever they had left.

“Inej-”

“They found her body on the steps outside the Church of Barter almost three months ago, remember?” she finally turned to face Kaz, unscrewing the lid on the little silver pot as she did so, “Killed by some mercenary called the White Blade, who still hasn’t been found by they way in case you haven’t seen the latest. I guess it’s difficult to catch a ghost,”

Difficult to catch a wraith.

“We’ve had this conversation several times, Inej-”

“And we’re going to have it again,”

Inej placed an orange jurda blossom on her tongue, then offered the open container to Kaz. It was almost empty. He waved her off.

“I thought you didn’t go in for that sort of thing,”

Inej shrugged.

“Gotta stay awake somehow, haven’t I? We’re busy,”

“We’re not on a job”

“We’re never on a job. Unless the reason you’ve bothered to grace me with your presence is a proposition?”

Kaz shook his head.

“I just wanted to tell you there’s no news,”

Inej looked away. There was never any news. And yet somehow she always expected differently.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Probably,”

Inej caught another jurda blossom between her fingers. She needed to stay awake, because if she slept she would see him. She would see all the ways she’d failed.

“It wasn’t your fault, Inej, we’re having the same conversations on repeat can’t you see-,”

“And we’ll have them again,” she shrugged, “We will have this conversation again, Kaz, because I made a mistake and you are coddling me like a child who won’t be able cope if you tell them something was their fault. Tell me it was my fault, Kaz! We both know that it’s true,”

Kaz shook his head.

“I’d rather repeat the previous,”

“Then let’s,” snapped Inej, because hell if this jurda wasn’t strong enough to keep her awake then maybe an argument would be, “Let’s repeat the goddamn conversation, Kaz, because you’re right. We have the same two conversations on repeat and do you want to know why? Because I am owning up to the mistake I made and I am trying to deal with the consequences of it, but you had no right to do what you did, do you understand me? You messed up and you need to take some damn responsibility, because if you think-”

“You always knew Tailoring Dunyasha’s body to look like yours was a possibility for your escape option,” said Kaz, calmly.

She hated how quiet his voice was, how slow and deliberate he sounded next to the and ramblings that she could not stop from stumbling out of her.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she hissed, slamming her jurda back down on the table.

“I couldn’t have done anything to stop that,”

“You could have tried,”

“Inej-”

“Shevrati,”

Know-nothing.

She waved a hand vaguely at the door.

“Get out,”

Kaz turned to leave, then paused.

“I am sorry, Inej. They’d like to see you upstairs, you know. Nina misses you,”

“Nina can come down here then,”

“Inej… I can’t do anything for you but apologise,”

“Keep you apologies,” she snarled, and when the door had closed behind him added: “Choke on them,”

Kaz could apologise all he wanted. She would not forgive him. What right did he have to expect anything different from her than this? Did any of them? Kaz had not had to watch his parents cry, as they carried home the body of a child that wasn’t theirs. Kaz had not had to feel the ironclad grip of the person he thought he’d trusted most in the world as they held him back and told him to swallow his sobs and keep quiet. Kaz had not given up and gone limp in their arms, a mess of tears and useless prayers, as he saw his parents slip from his grasp once again and knew that he would not have the chance to tell them truth.

Kaz had also not failed the others, and did not have to feel the truth of that choking him every time he saw them. Kaz had not spent almost three months barely daring to venture out of the half room, just so he would never have to lock eyes with Jesper Fahey. There was a scream inside Inej that had been slowly building itself since the day of the auction, and if she did not find a way to release it soon it may very well eat her alive.

[prncssie]

Heyy babes it's me againn

I was wondering if you'd consider writing a smutty drabble about hobie with a reader who has a praise kink? 👀

Much love from yours truly, ☄️

welcome back! always love the interactions c: of cawrse you can! idk how long this is but i think it qualifies as a fic soooo . . . hate the ending but it was getting tooooo long c: ageless and minors dni i will block you, black fem reader, she/her prns

hobie first notices the way you sort of . . . cower when he compliments you a few weeks ago. maybe cowers isn’t the best word — more like shy away. sure, you’ll always smile and accept it all with grace but there’s always something about it. if he looks at you hard enough, your brown eyes looks a little different than usual. it brings about a curiosity in him that he’s never had before.

it’s a question that dwells in the back of his mind and only resurfaces now, when you’re both created comfortable indents on hobie’s gray couch, one that he’s gotten secondhand and restored himself. he holds a wine glass in his hand, filled with cheap, store bought wine. he doesn’t care too much for the taste or expensive experience and you feel fortunate that you are able to pick out the bottle this week.

on the tv, just large enough to cover the stand, plays another episode of too hot to handle. each time another bad episode of trashy reality television comes to an end and netflix auto plays another — your account because hobie would never — you just let it continue playing, transfixed on the forced drama.

“you think you could last on a show like that?” hobie asks, taking a sip from the round glass. the wine is more sweet than bitter and leaves a subtle alcoholic aftertaste on his tongue. he would prefer something a little stronger but the point is not to get drunk. instead it’s to enjoy each other’s presence. “like, on an island with a bunch of hot guys that you can’t fuck but you want to, so bad.”

you glance at him from the corner of your eye expecting to meet his gaze, only to find the side of his face. even from this direction, the angles of his jaw is still just as sharp and reflects his true beauty in a way that used to intimidate you in the earlier days of your relationships. “well, can i fuck the girls?”

hobie’s tongue clicks against the ridged roof of his mouth with a hushed tut! he rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips twitch upwards. you’re such a smartass. “obviously not. don’t act daft.” in between his words, he pauses to scowl at the private interviews from the contestants.

“then no. plus, i only want you. if i ended up on that show after meeting you, i’d just be bored, i think. what would i even do?”

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, spreading in thick warmth that crawls its way out his throat. his head lulls in your direction and the hand, attached to the hand wrapped around your shoulder, rubs across your bare skin, left uncovered under the white shortsleeved loose, cherry patterned top. it’s long enough to be perfectly comfortable when you’re curled up into his side, hanging around your arms without constricting your movement when the fabric gets bunched and stick beneath you.

“jeez, bug. aren’t you proper perfect. always treatin’ me so well.” when he looks down at you, there’s that look again, along with the sheepish smile that slowly creeps along your face. he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it’s there and it makes him curious. you’ve never been too shy with him, not anymore at least. yet, here you are, losing your train of thought every time he sweet talks you. “why do you do that?”

this time, instead of continuing to sit there with that distracted look on your face, you squint at him. his question confuses you enough to turn your head, having to tilt your head up to eye him comfortably. “do what?” you rest the base of the wine glass on your knees, propped up and pressed into your chest. the sock-covered soles of your feet are stable on the couch.

“that thing. every time i say something nice to you, you start acting weird.” hobie explained. he mirrors your expression, confused that you’re confused. how could you not know? you’re consistently doing it, each and every time without fail.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘bie.” you say with a small shake of your head. the shiny fabric of your silk bonnet catches the sunlight and reflect it back out of the skylight over your head.

hobie’s houseboat is quaint, a little small, and depends heavily on the natural lighting. several windows are littered around the walls and occasionally left open to allow the cool breeze, rolling over the water, inside the room. the kitchen and the living room are only a few steps away, so much so that hobie doesn’t necessarily need a table in the kitchen. instead, he opts for bar stools at the counter that keeps the space from feeling stuffy.

the small, gray sectional is covered in a throw blanket and a few pillows, all varying in color and material — courtesy of you. the brown, coffee table in front of you has its own decor on it. decals from different shows hobie watches, figurines of characters he’s a fan of, a couple plants too that thrive in such sunny conditions.

a little ways down the hall is the bathroom, which is more open concept than your standard way of living. the sink is left unguarded and open to the houseboat residents while the shower and toilet are surrounded by three walls and a door, all designed to mimic the texture and appearance of wood.

farther down from that is the only bedroom in the boat, the one that you frequent for midday naps when you’re seeking the comfort of your partner. the little space is does have is narrow and only enough to fit a full sized bed, stacked on top a bed frame that allows for pullout drawers beneath, optimizing the storage. there’s a window next to the bed with blinds that stay pulled up during the day so you can ogle at the soft waves the push and pull of gravity brings about.

he’s gotten his walls decorated with posters of bands, memorabilia, and other random clutter hobie’s collected over the years. it’s never truly tidy here but it’s comfortable, it’s cozy to be somewhere that feels lived in without regrets.

“you don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?” hobie reiterates with a curl of his lips. he’s got his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed together, knitting and inching together on his forehead akin to caterpillars. sometimes, he’ll rest with his head on your lap and flinch under the cold tweezers when you pluck astray hairs out of their follicles.

you shake your head again and lean further into the warmth of his side. “mm-mm,” you hum and take a sip of the stella rose, pink and swirling in the rounded walls of your glass. you can still feel his skeptical eyes focused on the top of your covered head. before he can press you anymore, you cut him off, lifting your finger to point at the screen. “she’s actually an idiot. he’s been flirting around with two other girls but she’s still trying to get with him. that’s so stupid.”

he wants to side eye you, listening to that voice in his head coming up with what feels like rational assumptions but he doesn’t, because you’ve already moved on. instead, he just shrugs and drops it entirely — for now. “maybe she’s into that. a girl cuck.”

nighttime comes peacefully. the horizon darkens as the sun dips out of visibility. you made dinner, seasoned asparagus with steaming mashed potatoes and herb-crusted chicken; hobie washed the dishes from that night and after going through the motions of getting ready for bed, you both ended up in bed and under the soft sheets, wrapped in each others arms. you’re especially grateful that the boat remains well-vented and the air is cool on the water when you’re pressed into hobie’s bare chest. his skin is always so warm to the touch, so much so that it makes you hot with prolonged contact. in the summer, you can only cuddle for a few minutes before rolling away and throwing the sheets off to cool down.

you got your phone shoved into his face, playing yet another cat video. you smile at the orange feline on your screen, running around its living room in glee. “it’s so cute. i want one so bad.”

“yeah? think you’d be better off with a rock. can’t even take care of yourself.”

you can feel him smirk into your shoulder. one of his long arms goes to trap your body before you can turn and swat at him for his antics. he knows you and how you’d probably flick his forehead for talking about you in such manner.

“what — fucking — ever. get off of me.” you mumble, writhing in his strong hold forcing you into the mattress. he’s left you with enough room to turn your head. it’s a desperate attempt but you try anyway, straining your neck towards his skin to clamp your teeth down. each time, he angles just out of your reach and scoffs.

“feral ass animal. say please and i’ll let you go.”

“hobie!” you more or less whine, lifting your legs and pushing it against is. your futile kicks do nothing but tangle your legs in his until he’s got them squeezed and trapped. you’ve officially lost and there’s nothing you can do.

hobie couldn’t be more pleased with himself and distributes more of his weight onto your back. he grins, white teeth gleaming in the yellow lighting from the lamp on the shelves above your head, set on dim and creating a cozy mood to relax in. “say it. say it or we’ll sit here all night.”

you purse, pout, and wiggle even more. your phone has been discarded and forgotten about, lost somewhere in the bed between your struggling for power. it takes a few minutes to fall still and the air fills with harsh breaths from the both of you. hobie’s giggles are mixed in with snorts and you can’t help but smile at his delight.

“fine! whatever. please let me go.” you’re more upset that you have to admit defeat than the playful battle you’ve gotten yourself in.

it’s almost immediate, the way hobie retracts his grip and removes himself from you entirely, except for the sole arm lazing over your waist, lightweight and without purpose. “atta’ girl. you’re such a good listener.”

he expect some snarky remark to leave your lips, glossy and slathered in aquaphor but nothing. you don’t do anything at all. you only lay there, hands feeling around for your phone. you don’t even turn around to smack his shoulder. you do nothing at all and it confuses him.

hobie sits up, propping his head into the palm of his hand. from here, he gets a wide view of the expression you’re trying so diligently to hide. he can see the soft, timid smile on your face. you’re too busy digging around for your phone to notice his peaked interest. by the time you’re wrapped your fingers around the now warm glass of your phone, hobie’s fingers have done the same but with your chin and tugging it in his direction. “you’re doin’ it again,” he muses.

you’re forced to roll onto your back in his new position and clutch the phone against your chest. you feel a bit like prey, stationed underneath hobie and being accused of something you aren’t even sure about. “what?” your attention flickers between both of your eyes. you’re trying to get an gauge on the situation and turn even further to him.

hobie, much like you earlier, says nothing. his brain whirs with thoughts that rush through a million miles a second. he’s back to jumping to conclusions, working through the possibilities on his own. there’s only a few theories that he can come up with but they all sound silly. all except one. “you like it, don’t you?”

“what?” you repeat, even more lost than before. you’re rapidly falling behind his train of thought and squint your eyes at him. “you have to give me more than that, hobes. i don’t understand right now.”

he repositions himself, sitting up in totality. he doesn’t hold onto you anymore and instead moves to the space in front of you, space that he created by pushing your legs apart until you’re straddling his waist. he’s got a leg hanging off the side of the bed and dangling. the other is folded into him. “are you acting dumb or are you deadass?”

the sudden change in his demeanor has you spooked, even more so because you’re left in the dark. “are you mad at me? did i do something?” you push yourself up until you’re just a few breaths away. your heart races and you’re already wondering how to make up for your wrongdoings.

with the lighting, the room is still pretty dark. you can’t see too well that far apart but when you’re up close and personal with hobie, every detail in his face is on display and perfectly meshing together.

“you like when i talk nice to you. it’s obvious, darlin’. you start acting weird every time. ever since a few weeks ago.” his accusation is based on a few things he’s noticed as the days passed.

“well, yeah.” you sound like he’s the one pretending to be dumb, getting so worked up because you’re appreciative of his kindness. “of course i do . . .? what’s your point?”

hobie shakes his head. his own night cap glints with the occasional red glow. by now, he’s got his hands on your waist making temporary indents into your skin. “no. no, not like that. i’m talking about you like it. like, real bad. like, i bet i could get your panties wet from it, alone.”

your mouth falls open in a shocked o shape. it catches you completely off guard that he’s so suddenly brought up your infatuation with his sweet talk in such a suggestive manner. “huh?” is all you can manage because worst of all, you know he’s right because you have been hoping you’ve been discrete about it this entire time. “shut up?!”

“you didn’t say no.” he looks arrogant now, thumbing the elastic band of your cheeky-cut underwear, made from a gray cotton material and hemmed with a cream lace trim. the little bow on the front is sewn in and perfected with perma-stitches. hobie pulls it back and retracts his thumb. every time it snaps back into place, his grin widens. “i mean, if you wanna experiment, we can. y’know i never mind it, gorgeous.”

it’s suffocating. this whole thing is suffocating and you feel like you’re going to die in the best way possible. this so called “experiment” was not supposed to go this far. it was only supposed to be for a little bit, a half hour max and then you’d both go to sleep with the new knowledge to expand upon at another time. this was particularly important because you had to wake up early tomorrow and hobie knows this. it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have believed him. he looked too excited to worship you in praises and got so carried away that you’ve gotten your chest pushed into the bed. the arch of your back is so deep, you’re pushing your ass so high in the air and against hobie’s thighs.

hobie’s experiment is going so well for him. he’s gotten his chest against your back and his lips right next to your ear. his goal, done successfully, is to make his words as clear as possible so they process in your brain and send another wave of desire racking through every nerve of your body. a hand of his swipes along your clit, curling around the front of your body. his arm is getting somewhat squished underneath you but he couldn’t give fuck all about it. he’s too busy focusing on your wanton moans as you lose yourself, throwing your ass back fervently.

you got your head planted firmly into the bed and hobie hates it. he despises the muffled tone he’s given no choice but to hear; he puts up with it only because he’s having so much fun, too much fun. leaned down so close the the shell of your ear, he’s able to speak so alluringly, never mind the gravely tone his voice had taken on under the strain of casting his pleasure to the back of his mind. “my good — shit, god you’re so perfect — good fuckin’ girl.”

your response is nothing but open-mouthed whines into the sheets, leaving behind a damp trace of the shape of your lips in your wake. your legs quiver and would have otherwise been plopped onto the bed but you’re held up, what little strength you can muster through your forearms and hobie’s snacked around your waist working together keeping you where he’s got you.

you roll your head in his direction and cup his cheek. you look needy, basking in the warm lighting and drowning out the croaking frogs hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the lake. your fingers dig into his cheek to pull him closer and attach your lips to his, rewarding him with wet and sloppy kiss. both of your saliva mix as your tongues swirl against each other.

each particularly deep thrust paired with the smooth words of encouragement constantly flowing from hobie sends another watery gush of arousal from your cunt. it leaks down the sides of your thighs and becomes slathered on hobie’s.

he can’t help but laugh when your attempts to kiss him fall weak and you’re moaning against him. “hobie,” you whisper with a flutter of your eyelashes. they brush across his cheek and hide the burning desire in the brown rim of your eyes behind your eyelids.

a shudder runs down your back, all in preparation for your ultimate undoing. your head droops back into the bed and you clutch the sheets between your fingers. it’s all balled up and pulled into wrinkles.

he wants to reassure you but he can’t; hobie isn’t any better. he’s just as needy as you are, just as dizzy and on the brink of ascending. it’s just something that comes with being buried in your fluttering cunt. “perfect fuckin’ pussy. soo wet f’me, huh.” he says it more like a statement than a question. he doesn’t have to ask because he knows. it’s not like there’s anyone else that can get you to unravel like this, get you so soft beneath them, get your cunt dripping in slick.

there’s a moment when all movement stills and the feeling, the orgasm ebbing away brings a certain discontent that makes you mewl in hopes that the sound would active some carnal sense in his brain. it doesn’t. the only thing that happens is hobie shifting behind you, lifting his torso until he’s looking down at you. his hands grip at your waist, thumbs pressed into the curved dimples in your back. he likes to think they’ve gotten deeper from the amount of times he’s planted them here. “you want it?”

if you were in your right mind, perhaps the eagerness at which your head rise and falls with a nod. “yes, yes please. please, hobie. i want it.” by now, your bonnet had slipped off and tumbled onto the floor, leaving your hair exposed to the elements. you’re fortune to have twisted it a few days ago because even with the hairs beginning to frizz and coil into knots, most of it remains maintainable.

you can feel his rather large palms massaging your skin. it jiggles in waves whenever his hand cracks down hot and heavy. with enough time, you’re sure he could leave behind a dull shade of red. “do it yourself then, treacle. go ahead. take your dick.” he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, brushing your hair off your shoulders until he’s able to get a good, firm grip. he’s able to lift your head this way, pulling you out of your trance so you’d really and truly hear him.

you can feel your breath hitch and is stolen away. your limbs move for you, reaching out and taking a hold of the headboard. the other hand is firm on the bed, as firm as you can get it. you’re panting by the time you’ve gotten yourself here but you know it’s the right decision because hobie’s fingers trail down the column of your spine.

your tongue goes to spread across your now chapped lips. you can feel each ridge created from your once hydrated lips, stolen from the kisses and rubbing against the sheets. with your newfound hold, you sniff, grit your teeth, and throw yourself back against him.

hobie does nothing else but lightly hold your waist and eye each ripple of your round cheeks when they slam against his groan. he wants to throw his head back but then he’d miss his front row seat to your show, in all your glory. “l - look at you. mmm, fuck! looks so — . . . so good.”

you’re so mouthy, now but it’s all warbling and blabber, nonstop and nonsensical in tandem with every stroke you subject yourself to. it’s unexpected that this is what the night ultimately led to. after watching tv, eating dinner, and bickering with the love of your life, he finishes it off by filling your pretty little head with praises.

“look at how you fit around me. y’so good.” hobie peels apart the round globes of your ass. he’s able to get a clear view of his cock, long and skinny, sinking in between the folds of your cunt. it all glistens with arousal, coating the base of his shaft in a thin, milky liquid. he can’t help but lower his head towards your body and stick out his tongue. a droplet of his spit rolls down his tongue. it adds to the wet mixture of your sex and gets lost in all the precum.

he’s going to kill you, you’re certain. his cock is going to crawl its way up your esophagus and murder you. there’s no way it won’t with how full you feel, your cunt and your brain. still, even with how overwhelmed you feel, there’s no chance you will ever stop. if anything, it’s reinforcement to keep going, to hold the headboard harder, to launch your body back farther. the praise is going straight to your head and he knows it. hell, you know it. to die like this would be an honor and somewhere, in the deep, depths of your brain, you’re hoping it never ends.

[lovelywhiteroses]

HI omg I’ve never requested anything but I love your writing anyways can you do Lloyd from Ninjago and his nightmares (he’s a traumatized boy) and the reader comforting him idk just fluff

✨🌹Oh of course my Dear Anon! I got the perfect scenario for you. I’m glad you asked dear anon. Now then. I also apologize for this being very late. Let’s get going now. Shall we?🌹✨

Ninjago

Lloyd Garmadon x Reader

Worst nightmare

The night was quiet, and so was the monastery. Everything was silent except the the crickets and the soothing wind. The ninja and you were sleeping peacefully.

Lloyd however seemed to be shifting and muttering something while it was clear it was a nightmare he was having. His nightmare was nothing short of terrifying for him.

He looks around, every l thing is pitch black, he starts to wonder. The walk seeming never ending, until he comes upon a figure……

You

He then walks over to you.

“Hey, is everything alright?” He placed his hand on you’re shoulder, yet you didn’t respond. He then goes infront of you, you’re expression looked…… empty…… he waved his hand in front of you’re face to get you’re attention but it doesn’t work. He wonders what’s going on.

“Hey you holding up ok……?”

Kai speaks in a worried and saddened tone behind Lloyd. He walks past him to you. You don’t answer you only cry putting you’re hands up to you’re face. Kai giving you a side hug, as to try and comfort you. Lloyd is even more confused and doesn’t know what is going on. “Hey what’s going on? Sweet-“ as he goes to hold you’re hand he suddenly stumbles and falls……

Right through you.

He was confused. How come he was able to touch you before but not now? “Hey… I hope I’m not intruding on anything.”

Nya had arrived as Lloyd got up, you and kai look over to her. Nya seemed to have… flowers? But what for?

Suddenly a table appears making Lloyd more confused and weirded out on what’s going on. You seem to be on the verge of crying again. Nya hugs you. “Hey, it’s alright…… we’re going to miss him to. I image it’s tougher for you though… I wouldn’t know how I could go on knowing Jay is gone.”

Wait…… what…?

“Have room for more?”

Jay comes in along with Cole, Zane, P.I.X.A.L, and Master Wu. Lloyd is even more determined to know what’s going on. He walked up to them and was more eager to know. “Guys! What’s going on? What’s happening-” with that all of them walked right through him. They placed thing on the table, just like how Nya placed the flowers. “I can’t believe he’s gone……”

You finally spoke, you’re voice was more shaky and you’re eyes still teary. Nya and Kai comfort you. The others paying respects to something. But what? “Guys…… this isn’t funny…”

“I’m going to miss Lloyd…”

Lloyd’s heart stopped.

What was Kai talking about?

“I thought maybe things would’ve worked out… you know…?”

You try to say through tears. Kai comforts you. Nya sighing seeming more saddened as P.I.X.A.L put a fixed a picture that had a familiar face on it…

Lloyds Face…

“Let’s all go. I think they need space.”

Cole suggests as they leave you in the now shown room of the monetary. The voices of the others and their footsteps going quieter and quieter.

Silence hits upon the room… you’re face, now in you’re hands. Assuming you’re crying…… “sweetheart, it’s ok I’m not-”

“Idiots…”

Lloyd then looks to realize you’re…… laughing. You look up and laugh a bit, silence hits again. You then gave his portrait a wickedly sickened grin. You step closer and touch his portrait tracing your finger along his face in the portrait. An unsettling feeling comes over Lloyd.

“I really didn’t think it would be that easy to get rid of you… who would’ve know all I had to do was bat my eyes and try my best not to act like Harumi did and I’d be able to wrap you around my little finger……”

“Wha…?”

Lloyd looks at you unsure if this is the person he fell for, all they see is a wicked person right in front of them.

“So easy…… too easy…… how cute it was… unfortunately for you… it wasn’t enough to save you. Stupid… it’s so foolish. Haha!”

You wrapped you’re arms around yourself and laughed.

“Killing you myself was so easy! Slipping that poison in you’re tea was so stupidly easy! It’s hilarious! The way you let you’re guard down……”

You then look at his portrait and grin.

“I wouldn’t love a fool like you… even if the world were to end……”

Suddenly you turned to the real him……

“You… you’re not-”

He stepped back, terrified, confused, betrayed, angry…… all his emotions boiling over as he stumbled back. You took some steps closer, you placed you’re hands on his shoulders and leaned into his ear.

“Trust nobody…… dear……”

You pushed him, but the wall wasn’t there……

“Lloyd Garmadon.”

He fell as you laughed, the fear of losing someone he love so dearly… ended up betraying and deceiving him… this can’t be real can it?

WAKE UP!

WAKE UP!

PLEASE LET THIS ONLY BE A NIGHTMARE!

PLEASE!

“Lloyd! Wake up!”

With a cold sweat he woke up from his nightmare, hyperventilating, scared out of his mind of what he just saw, his dream felt real? Did it actually happen? Was it a vision? What even was that?! You carefully and gently comforted him. He had tears in his eyes…

“Hey it’s alright.”

With that you guide his face to look at yours he looked into the eyes he knew all too well, that was genuine and knew he could trust. You’re eyes. With that he hugged you, thanking the first master underneath his breath that it was all just a nightmare, and that wasn’t you. You held him close gently running you’re fingers through his already messy hair.

“You’re real right? I can trust you right?”

You kiss his forehead, before taking his hands in yours.

“Yes Lloyd. I’m real, you’re alright. Don’t worry, it was only a nightmare.”

With that Lloyd finally relaxed, he then gone ahead to hold you in his arms, he always love the warm comfort you bring to him. He then kisses you and you jokingly stick out you’re tongue.

“Ew you already have morning breath.”

Lloyd only smiles as you and his end up sleeping together in his room for the rest of the night……

Having nothing but the sweetest of dreams…

✨🌹Bonus scene!🌹✨ 🤭✨

“Hey Lloyd have you see-”

Cole quickly stops seeing how you two are sleeping in each others arms. He quickly shuts the door. “Did he have it?” Nya asks as Cole only shook his head no and sighed. “No if anything I think Jay has the wooden sword, he has been trying to one up Kai lately.” Cole smiles, knowing well that it’s better don’t to bother the two of you.

✨🌹That’s the end of our journey my dear, I do hope you enjoyed it. Again, so sorry it took so long for me to respond and write this. I hope you have a good day, afternoon, or night wherever you are. Do be sure to take care!🌹✨

[luffyvace]

AAAAAAA I WANNA GIVE YOU A BIG PLATONIC SMOOCH I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH

ok ok recently I have been infected with eustass kid and was hoping you could write for him with a male reader nothing specific I feel like he would be so angry if his testosterone filled crew made fun of him for it. Love your work ❤️

AWWW THATS SO SWEET OF YOU DEAR! 💗

PLATONIC KISSES 😚😚

thank you so much!! I’d love to write for you but I simply don’t know much about kid!! I’m on the marineford arc- 😭😭 I usually turn down characters I don’t know much about him but you seem like such a sweetie! After having done some research..Here ya go!~

As stated I’ve chosen to research as much as possible in fandom and other’s headcanons! This may not be the most accurate but I sincerely hope your satisfied with my attempt dearest!~

I feel Kid would think of food as a sort of affection

so technically gift giving??

but it’s like his love language is food

his favorite is cabbage rolls right?? Welllll he loves to eat them together!

not…together together

he buys it for y’all separately

I doubt he’d want to share his favorite food 😭

if you beg for his in a case where he didn’t get you some...

“what?! No! This is my food get your own!….ugggghh FINE! You get a half! This was supposed to be for me”

(● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

I also feel he’d be better off witth someone who’s either all for his rambunctiousness or (somehow) able to calm him down (like killer)

if your just as reckless as him great! Your adventures are now considered dates :)

not necessarily, but he’s fond of them as if they are

he’s always recalling on past times you’ve fought together

you know how people say someone you’ve fought a war with knows you better than a friend?

yeah, I feel like that’s why he has such high respects for his crew

And of course because they’re his crew

so yeah he feels closer to you every time you fight together

if you want you can listen to the song ‘one thing’ by amerie- the lyrics remind me of him idk why (keep in mind I don’t know this guy well :3)

kid would allow you to ride on his shoulders

you could just kinda hop up there casually and he won’t say anything

privileges

but I feel like if he’s in a foul mood or busy he’d grab you buy the waist and sit you down somewhere LOL

another way to spend time with him would be to do your make up at the same time (if you wear it)

(love that it’s casual for men to wear make up in one piece)

he seems like he would be anal about his so you’d be doing your own and he does his, but it’s still fun to do it together

he’s kinda like that with most things

which now that I realize it that could count as quality time

so the conclusion I’ve come to?

his love languages are gift giving or quality time

but thinking about it now I feel he may also do acts of service

now this isn’t as intentional

he just takes pride in likes to help you with things he knows he could do better

aw man you broke your ___? Well I’m sure he could fix it! 😼💪

If you initiate physical touch his reaction will range based on where you are/who’s around and how much it is

if there’s barely anyone/no one around and you give him a peck on the cheek? Fine. He’ll just half smile at you

if it’s a public area and your trying to kiss him on the lips? “Cut it out! Don’t get distracted we’re here to (xyz)!”

he can’t display the weakness of not being masculine

besides he hates cute n’ cuddly crap 😒

he’d be so proud if his boyfriend physically strong

It even boosts HIS ego

especially since your his ♥︎

he takes care of you in subtle ways

such as making sure your eating, not over working and getting enough sleep

”hey! I haven’t seen you eat all day! Get in the kitchen and tell killer to make ya’ somethin’!”

”how long have you been at that!? Get up and come over here!”

”what on earth are ya’ still doing awake?! Go to sleep! Captains orders..”

killer occasionally asks how your relationship is going

kid’ll tell em a few things but he tries not to get sentimental

trust that’s a lot more than what he tells other people..”

”screw off! mind your own business..”

this is really random but he seems like the type of guy who’s always grumbling

idk I just had to say it..

would enjoy headrubs (IN PRIVATE)

and it has to be casual, don’t baby him about it :P

”your hairs’ really fluffy/soft” *casual headrubs*

like that

you have to compliment stroke his ego so he won’t get angry then pat him

to be more specific about reader being a male :

Even if you don’t hc kid to be straight (idk what i hc him to be idk em enough)

his ego is HURT when he realizes he’s in love with you

love?! What is such weakness?! such DISEASE?!

the fact that he’s in the lgbtq bc of one guy kinda makes him angry

cuz like now (some) people are gonna categorize or even ridicule him for even liking you

even though he’s angry about it, it’s not for the same reason

he’s upset because he fell weak to love in general

homophobes may be upset because he likes a man

what does it matter?! He sure never cared..

you can tell the first thing this guy sees is NOT gender

it’s—threat? Or no threat?

so ya- essentially what I’m saying is he doesn’t care for gender- except when it comes to homophobes

then he’s angry 🙂☝️

and as for his crew making fun of him?!

oh he’s absolutely livid. 😄💥

”SHADDUP’ YA STINKIN’ MAGGOTS! I AM NOT WEAK!!”

Actually- they didn’t call him weak. That’s just what he hears 😂

btw that is not what he said I censored it bc I headcanon him to have a potty mouth (and I don’t)

his skin and hair is the same color from how angry this dude is

HE’S LITERALLY LIKE ‘😡’

HAHAHAH

He always storms off whenever they bring up his ‘sOft SpOt” for you 😋

he’s not even soft really he just goes out of his way to do stuff for/with you

its not they’re business anyway?!

right killer?!

while I was researching I saw that the flower he resembles is a tulip! That’s my favorite flower!! 🌷♥︎♡

Enjoy! I did my best 😅

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Interlude.

GIFs by uuuhshiny

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Flashback to the first erotic phone call between our favorite couple.

WORD COUNT: ~5k

RATING: 18+ Minors DNI.

TAGS: more phone sex to satiate our horniness, dirty talk is a given, masturbation (f&m), porn with feelings, lots of terms of endearment, javi thinks she's really pretty and perfect, fluff at the end because these two are in love and it sickens me (in the best way possible), you don't really need to read the main fic to enjoy this, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

A/N: okay, listen, i couldn't help myself from writing this because it was living in my head rent free since i mentioned it in a previous chapter. this takes place between chapters 15 and 16 here on tumblr (17 and 18 on ao3 bc they don't match up, sadly) so, um, yeah 🙃 idk when the next real part of this will be out... but just know blood, sweat, and TEARS are being poured into it. lol anywho, my thoroughfare baddies, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🖤 and alliigator tears by beyoncé definitely fits them like a glove. as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier leans back against the sticky leather of his couch, the phone pressed against his ear, his voice low and teasing. “So, is this the part where I’m supposed to ask what you’re wearing?”

Her soft giggle floats through the receiver, and he can almost see her biting her lip, playful yet coy. She shifts on her bed, the soft rustling of her sheets barely audible. “You can if you want,” she flirts, “but m’afraid you might be a little disappointed by my answer.”

He chuckles, “I doubt that. You could be wearing a potato sack, and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful girl to ever walk this godforsaken planet.” He’s anything if sincere and it makes her cheeks flush.

She toys with the cord of the phone, fingers tracing the spiral absentmindedly as she tries (and fails) to suppress the smile spreading across her face. “Y’know, Marilyn Monroe did that once,” she informs, leaning back into her pillows. “Just to prove a point.”

“Yeah?” he questions, taking a sip from his beer, “And what point was she trying to make?”

“That she looked good in anythin’.”

“Seems like you two have that in common, then.”

Her laugh is magnitzing, drawing him in. “That’s like, one of the best compliments you can give to a girl.”

“Being compared to Marilyn Monroe? Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I’ll tell you right now— you run laps around her.”

Her blush deepens, staring up at the ceiling in a futile attempt to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach.

“Oh, stop it.” He always makes her feel like she’s crushing for the very first time.

The soft hum of the phone line hangs between them, a balm against the ache of being apart. Talking over the phone just isn’t enough anymore. Not after tasting each other, not after knowing what it feels like to reach euphoria together.

It’s become almost unbearable to stay away, more difficult than ever before.

He can almost feel the heat of her skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. He imagines her sprawled out on her bed, hair fanned out like a halo, lips parted just so.

“Just saying how it is.”

Her hand tightens around the receiver, heart pounding in her chest. She isn’t exactly sure how to navigate this type of call. She can sense it escalating it into more… naughty territory just by the way tension is building over the line. 

It’s something she’s always been curious about, eager to explore, but she’s never had a boyfriend or lover who made her feel bold enough to try it.

And now she has one of the two who is more than willing to indulge.

“What about you?” she whispers in a sultry tone— an attempt to sound confident and not embarrassed. “What are you wearing?”

“Not much,” he admits, the shift in her voice enticing him, which in turn has blood pooling at her cheeks. “Sweatpants, a college t-shirt,” he pauses for a moment, “Thinking about you.”

She bites her lip, the image of him lounging comfortably in his space looking handsome as hell without trying, so close yet so far, sending a thrill through her. “I’m flattered… what exactly are you thinkin’ about?”

“How one of these days I’m going to be selfish enough to keep you in my bed all night. Treat you the way you deserve.” His cock stirs at his own imagination, memories of their date clouding his mind like a beautiful and welcomed storm. “I’m always thinking about you, sweet girl… every inch of you.”

She blinks rapidly. “Javi,” she breathes, “can’t say things like that. Makes it real hard to wanna stay in my own bed tonight.”

“That’s the point,” he replies lowly, using a seductive tone that sends shivers dancing down her spine. “If I didn’t give a fuck about your dad, I’d sneak over and climb your window to show you just how much I want you.”

“I mean… you could…” Her eyes flit over to the open window of her bedroom, imagining his broad frame climbing through and taking her right here on her bed. Her thighs rub together.

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“Honey, dontcha think we’re past that by now?”

He smirks, taking another sip of his beer. “Not entirely in the clear.”

Right. And at the rate they’re going— he’ll never be.

Another bout of silence before he asks, “So… what are you wearing? Told you what I was sporting, it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

Her voice is soft, almost shy, as she answers, “Just a camisole and some sleep shorts.”

He paints a vivid picture of her in those simple clothes, clinging to her curves. It gets him hot all over. “You wearing any underwear?”

There’s a pause, her hesitation makes his pulse quicken. Then, her angelic whisper replies “... No.”

A grunt escapes his lips. “I just know you’re looking real cute right now laying in bed.”

Her lips curl into a small, mischievous smile, “Who said I was layin’ in bed? Could be on the couch… or in the kitchen…”

Javi chuckles knowingly. “You wouldn’t be speaking so freely if that were the case.”

She hums, the sound vibrating through the line, “Hmmm, I guess you’re right.”

Her fingers play with the delicate bow at the front of her camisole, a teasing thought crossing her mind. “There’s a bow tied to the front of my top,” she murmurs seductively, “If I undo it, my tits will spill out.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “What a fucking sight that’d be. They’re gorgeous.”

She chews on her lower lip, lightly tugging at the tied string, the tension in her body building. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” words drip with intent. “Love feelin’ them in my hands. Wanna bite and lick all over them, mark them up. Know I’d be able to make you come just by playing with ‘em.”

Her thighs twitch instinctively, a wave of arousal washing over her. She can almost feel his hot breath against her skin, the way his teeth would graze the hardened nub of her nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive area before suckling it into his mouth. The image sends a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, her breath growing ragged.

His smirk is damn near audible as he hears her reaction over the line. “What’s wrong, baby? Wasn’t expecting that?”

She swallows hard, “You and that fucking mouth of yours, Javi.”

Another dark chuckle, words coming out in a low purr. “That’s not even the filthiest thing I could have said.”

Curiosity and arousal bubble within her. “What is, then?”

His voice drops even lower, “I’d latch right onto those pretty tits, querida. Fuck you with my fingers ‘til your pussy is crying for my cock.”

Her hand tightens around the phone, eyes fluttering closed as she lets the scenario he’s planted in her mind take over. The thought of his fingers inside her, stretching her, teasing her, making her lose control, is almost too much to bear.

“Wouldn’t take much— I promise you,” she tells him.

A satisfied laugh rings through the receiver. “Gotta build your tolerance up. It’d be too easy to just give you what you want every time.”

The faint thudding of her neglected clit is slowly but surely driving her crazy. She needs to touch herself, or hell, sneak out her damn self and drive to his place just to have him fuck her.  “S’not very nice to torture me, cowboy.”

“I’m not torturing you, my spoiled girl,” he tilts his head, fingers drumming along the tattered fabric of the armrest, “It’s gonna make it that much better when I finally give you what you need. Gotta warm you up first. Tease you.”

She blows out a breath, heart skipping a beat as he calls her his spoiled girl.  “You do enough of that by not doin’ a goddamn thing. So fuckin’ annoying.”

“I can say the same to you. Damn near half hard any time you’re around.”

She giggles and he smiles, “Does that mean you tug one out when I leave ya?”

“Sometimes… most of the time…”

“And now?” She asks a little boldly.

“With the direction this call is goin’ in, I was hoping we could indulge in that together.”

Her breathing picks up again and attuned as ever, he notices. “You ever done this before, palomita?”

She hesitates, her thumb tracing the curve of the phone. “No,” she admits, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Not like this.”

There is a beat of silence, and then his soft, reassuring voice breaks her nervousness.  “That’s okay, hermosa. I’ll talk you through it. Just listen to me, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you.”

I’ll take care of you. His words are like a warm embrace, wrapping her in a sense of assurance. Her body tingles with curiosity, nerves, and growing desire. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice small but eager.

He hums, finishing off his beer and placing the empty bottle aside. “Now, I want you to do something for me. Pull the string on your top. Let your tits spill out, princesa.”

Her fingers tremble slightly as she tugs at the string, letting it fall open, pulling the fabric beneath her breasts. The cool air kisses her bare skin, making her shiver.

“Okay, they’re out.”

“So compliant. Me encanta.” He praises tenderly. “Fuck me, I wish I could see you right now. Bet you’re lookin’ good enough to eat.”

A soft whimper spills from her lips, the praise stirring something deep inside her. “Javi,” she breathes, body already aching for more and nothing has happened yet.

“Shhh, just keep listening, baby. Now, slide your shorts down. I want you laying there, all soft and naked, just for me.”

She follows his instructions again, mind swimming with ardor as she kicks off her shorts. She lays back against the pillows, her body exposed for whatever he’s about to throw at her. “Okay, they’re off.” She informs, coyly.

“There we go. Don’t be shy.” He hears it plain as day in her voice. He’s so used to her sharp tongue, her playful teasing when she’s strutting around town like she owns the place. But here, on the phone, she’s different— modest… compliant. He fucking loves that he can elicit this facet of her personality. 

His large hand palms at his erection over the fabric of his sweatpants. “Doing so good. You ready to hear what I’d do to you if I was there?”

Her breath is ragged as she nods, realizing he can’t see her. “Yes,” she whispers.

“I’d kiss you slow at first,” he begins, “down that pretty neck of yours, taking my time, tasting your skin. Always so sweet. Like strawberries and honey all over.” He grunts, squeezing his dick, practically tasting what he’s just described on the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes flutter closed again, her body responding to his every word. Picturing him hovering above her, his lips grazing her neck… she can’t help but let her hand come down to grope her own breast, kneading the full, warm flesh with her free hand. “Oh…” an airy gasp tumbles from her.

“You touchin’ yourself, palomita.”

“Mhm.”

“And when did I give you permission to do that?”

Her eyes snap open, “I-I—”

“It’s okay, I’ll let it slide this time,” he licks across his teeth and she shudders.

This time. Will there be more times? God, please let there be more times.

“What are you touchin’ on?”

“My tits.”

He groans, squeezing his cock, “Fuckin’ perfect. Could spend hours between them. I’d suck those pretty nipples into my mouth, just the way you like.”

Her body arches as if his mouth were already on her. She moans his name and he revels in it, “It feels so good… just hearing you.”

“I know it does,” he says, a cocky smile in his voice. “ I love hearing all your sweet noises. Making me so proud, cariño. Reward yourself by rubbing your clit.”

His words make her bolder, her inhibitions slipping away as lust takes over. “I wish you were here so bad,” she whines, manicured fingers moving down her toned body until they’re between her legs and she spreads her thighs, exposing herself.

When she reaches her clit, her eyes widen at how wet she is— almost not believing how worked up he’s able to get her. Her tone grows needier as she begins to rub wide, slow circles against her sensitive pearl. “I wanna feel you inside me, Javi. Want you to make love to me.”

His breath shudders, the tenderness in her voice slicing through the heated tension. Make love. The words hit him in a way he’s never felt before. He can’t remember the last time someone asked for that— hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever done it. Not with Lorraine, not with Helena, not with anyone. He’s always been about the rough, fast release, the urgency of a quick fuck.

Slowing down, savoring each moment? It never seemed like his thing.

Too intimate.

But now, with Paloma’s soft moans in his ear as she touches herself under his guidance, it’s different. She’s saying his name like it’s sacred, begging him not just to fuck her, but to make love to her. And for the first time, the idea makes him want to lose control in the gentlest way possible.

What a sight she must be sprawled out with her hand between her thighs. “Fuck, I’d love nothing more. You’d feel so damn good wrapped around my dick. I’d go slow. Let you feel every inch of me stretching out your tight cunt, chiquita.”

She mewls, clenching around nothing and slowly picking up the pace with her fingers, smearing her sticky arousal around her pussy, spreading her folds and massaging her labia. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do, honey. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

Her words hit him like a shot of adrenaline, stroking his ego. It drives him wild. “Don’t tell me that,” he growls, his voice strained. “Not when I can’t do anything about it.”

His head falls back against the couch, his teeth gritting as he forces himself to slow down, schooling his hand movements so he doesn’t come so soon. That’s how much power she has over him— how much she gets under his skin in the best way possible.

And it’s killing him that she’s not here, that he can’t reach out and feel her, make good on all the promises in his head and on his tongue.

“You’re everything, Paloma. I’d make you feel like the only woman in the world because that’s what you are to me.”

Her chest tightens, lust and emotion wracking against her ribcage. “You’re the best I’ve ever had,” she admits shakily, words laden with sincerity. And I’ve only fucked him twice!

He lets out a low groan, finally pulling his cock out from the restricting fabric and he pumps slowly, tightening his fist around the heated skin as precome squirts out from his slit. “Damn, palomita. You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me. You’re so perfect. Everything about you is perfect.”

Her confidence soars at his words, body humming. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You don’t have to do a thing but be yourself,” He says this so sincerely, it’s almost painful. “You’re already everything I need, nena. Just you, laying there, listening to me… that’s all I want. Still touchin’ on that pretty pussy?” Just asking her has his shaft twitching in his calloused palm.

The intimacy of his words makes her feel cherished and adored in a way she had never felt before, yet the crudeness of his question makes her feel sexy and desired.

“Y-Yeah.”

“She wet?”

“You know she is.”

“Suck and spit on your fingers then, fuck—” he cuts himself off with a groan, adjusting the phone to rest between his shoulder and ear to bring his hand down to cradle his balls while he picks up the pace at which he’s fucking his fist, “put two inside. Slowly. I want to hear you spit on them.”

She can only assume that he’s also touching himself, and envy curls in her belly— jealous of his hand for being able to have him in a way that she hasn’t yet. 

Her skin prickles as she obeys, her digits messy as they slide up to her mouth. She licks them deliberately, exaggerating the motion so he can hear the wet suction of her lips around her fingers before she spits and some of it dribbles down her hand. The sound is shameless, and it earns her a sharp curse in Spanish from him.

“Dios mío...” His voice is ragged, barely holding on to control. “I want you to spit on my cock like that when I fuck your throat, corazón.”

“Oh my god,” her back bends as she sinks two of her fingers inside her cunt, and while it feels good— it’s nothing compared to how his had felt. So thick and full and calloused. “Javi,” feeling more comfortable, she continues, “I know you’ve got your cock in your hand,” another grunt from him and a ghost of a smirk haunts her plump lips, “Wanna hear you spit in your hand and wrap it around him. Can you do that for me?” She asks, oh so sweetly, almost echoing his words to a T.

He almost comes then and there, that lilt in her tone and the presumable pout on her lips making him feel like he’s dreaming.

He can envision her looking up at him through those thick lashes of hers, mouth parted while his heavy cock hovers over her face. “‘Course baby. Anything for you.”

He brings his palm to his mouth, spitting into it obscenely, and the sound earns a quiet, satisfied sigh from her. The added wetness makes it easier for him to stroke himself, his grip tightening as he imagines her lips around him. “Add another finger,” he demands, “Know you can take it. Just how you take this dick, babygirl.”

Her ring finger joins her pointer and middle, a slight burn comes with the stretch, the pad of her thumb grazing her clit and it makes her hips buck upwards, breasts swaying with the movement and she almost lets the receiver slip from her grasp. “Oh honey, this feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“The things I’d do to be there with you. Wouldn’t even touch you. Just stand there watching as those pretty fingers get swallowed by that tight pussy.” She gasps, curling her fingers and just barely brushing up against that soft spot that makes stars dance in her eyes. The spot he so easily finds and pleasures as if it’s nothing. Like a fucking expert.

“Turn over. On your stomach,” he instructs, twisting his wrist and shuddering at how good the motion feels on his dick. “Put that fine ass in the air.”

She’s dizzy, his instruction almost muddled from the pleasure she feels by fingering herself. She pulls her digits out, core aching from the sudden emptiness. 

She lets the phone slip from her grasp, shuffling onto her stomach, her knees trembling as they dig into the mattress while her ass lifts into the air. The texture of her comforter brushing against her sensitive nipples makes her keen and he hears the faint whine over the crackle of the landline and that makes him dizzy.

She’s never gotten herself off like this before, and her nerves dissolve into excitement as she calls out for him again, phone tucked against her ear, one cheek pressed against the mattress, fingers eagerly awaiting further instruction.

“Put those fingers back inside, baby. I want you to pretend it’s me. Feel how tight you are, how badly your pussy needs me to fill her.”

She writhes under his command, cheeks flushed with arousal, as her hand moves between her legs once more. She slides three fingers inside again, her wet heat wrapping around them, hips instinctively rocking to meet her own touch. “Oh God, Javi,” she moans, quivering as she imagines it’s him, his cock stretching her, buried deep inside her completely.

“That’s it,” he growls, his own hand moving faster, jerking himself with the same intensity he imagines she’s giving herself. “Now bounce on them, pretend it’s my dick.”

She swivels her hips, keeping her wrist locked tight to keep her fingers upright as she begins to ride them in this position. It feels so good, better than anything she could have ever fucking imagined. “Oh jesus fuckin’ christ— Javier I’m not gonna last long, oh fuck—” her words taper off into a loud moan.

He chuckles, dark and husky. “Quiet down before your daddy hears you,” he warns, the thrill of being caught only adding to the fire between them.

She bites her lip hard, body trembling as she tries to keep the pleasure at bay, stifling the sounds that threaten to escape. The phone digs into her ear, his voice the only thing keeping her grounded in the storm of her own lust. “I can’t… it feels too good,” she whispers, breath ragged as her hips buck uncontrollably against her hand.

“I know, princesa,” he purrs, soothing yet commanding. “But you’ve gotta be quiet for me. You don’t want anyone knowing how dirty you’re bein’ right now, do you?”

She shakes her head, even though he can’t see, teeth sinking into her lip to keep her moans at bay. The phone slips slightly from her, resting inches away from her face, his voice still filling her ear as if he were right there with her.

“Wanna ride you so bad,” she’s so drunk off dick she’s getting through a phone call and lewd instructions, “Might not come close to any of your previous whores but I promise I’d make it worth your while.” 

The second she says it, a flicker of insecurity tightens her chest. She doesn’t know where the jealousy comes from, but it’s there, bubbling up from the small pit of doubt she carries inside. Being with a man like Javier— someone who’s been engaged, lived a life so far removed from her small-town world, who knows his way around a woman’s body like second nature— it makes her feel out of her depth.

He’s been with women who’s entire job was to know exactly how to please a man. He’s so confident, so sure of himself, and here she is, fumbling through dirty talk over the phone, trying to measure up to whatever came before her.

How could a small-town girl like her ever compare? She bites her lip, feeling the weight of that doubt creep in, even in the middle of something so intimate.

But she says it anyway, wanting him to know. Wanting him to understand that despite her uncertainty, she’d give him everything.

“Not come close?” He scoffs, “fuckin’ crazy, palomita. You’re already lightyears better than any of ‘em.” He leans over, letting a string of spit fall onto the head of his cock before his fist returns to the quicker strokes he craves. Each movement is fueled by the mental image of her submitting to his every command. “I’d bend you over and pound into you so hard, you wouldn’t be able to think straight. I’d watch that sweet ass bounce back against me, see the way it moves with every thrust.”

His reassurance cuts through the lingering haze of her insecurities. The doubt fades away, replaced by a surge of raw desire. She moans, body rocking against the bed, imagining him behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he takes what he wants.

“Oh yes!” she gasps, her free hand finding her clit, fingers circling it in sync with the thrust of her other hand buried inside her. She’s desperate, moving faster, harder, matching the intensity of his voice in her ear. “I’d take you any way you want. Any way, just to feel you inside me again.”

He curses under his breath, large hand moving with a newfound urgency as he tries to prolong his own orgasm, wanting to hold on just long enough to hear her come undone first. “You’d let me fuck you from behind, wouldn’t you? Let me spank that pretty ass ‘til it’s red, leave my handprints all over your soft skin.”

“God, yes,” she cries, her body trembling with every thrust of her fingers. She feels the pressure building, the tight coil in her belly about to snap. “I’d take it all, Javi. I’d let you fuck me so hard. Scream ‘til my throat is raw, ‘til the only thing I know is your name.”

“You’d be so loud,” he grunts. “I’d have to cover your mouth to keep those pretty screams quiet, wouldn’t I? You’d be cryin’ for me, beggin’ me to stop, but you wouldn’t want me to. You’d love every second of it.”

Her body jerks at his words, digits moving faster as her climax approaches. “S’hard to keep quiet when I’m bein’ fucked by a cock so good. Need you to fill me up,” she gasps, her voice breaking as the pleasure overwhelms her. “Oh shit, I’m gonna come.”

He curses, his own body teetering on the edge as he imagines himself pumping her full of his cum, pulling his cock out and watching his spend drip down onto her pretty pussy. Fuck. “Go on, get yourself off,” he urges, his tone both commanding and tender. “Let me hear you fall apart. You’re doin’ so good for me. I wanna hear you come, palomita.”

With a final thrust of her fingers, her body shatters, her orgasm ripping through her as she mewls his name, her entire being convulsing, shuddering from head to toe. “Javier… oh my God,” she moans, barely contained, as she buries her face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

He lets out a low, primal growl as he follows her over the edge, his body tensing with his own release. “Fuck, Paloma,” he pants, milky spurts dripping over his knuckles, voice filled with both relief and satisfaction.

Hearing her name fall from his lips like that damn near takes her out.

“You’re perfect, baby. So fuckin’ perfect.” He babbles, trying to even out his breathing.

She lies there, her body utterly spent, her breath coming in stuttering gasps, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through her like soft waves.

“Jeez, that was…” She tries to find the words, but they seem to hang just beyond her reach. Heaven. She feels like she’s floating somewhere between realms, tethered only by the soft, steady tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” he breathes, understanding and satisfied. “You don’t even have to say it, nena. I know.” He pauses for a second, and she can almost hear the smile tugging at his lips. “Fuck, give me a second. I gotta clean up this mess I made.”

She giggles, a playful note in her voice as she bites down on her lower lip. She slowly pulls her fingers from her sensitive pussy, savoring the last of the sensation. She brings them to her lips, licking at them. “Take your time. I just cleaned my mess up.” The purposeful loud, wet pop of her lips around her fingers makes him groan in appreciation.

“Evil woman,” he mutters, leaving the phone by the couch as he rushes to clean up in the bathroom. The sounds of running water and his quick movements fill the background before he returns.

She turns to lie onto her back, stretching her limbs like a lounging cat while fixing her top.

“You there?”

“Mhm,” she hums, content and satisfied.

“You did so good, princesa,” he praises very pridefully. “Especially for your first time doing this. You were amazing.” His words are sincere, the tenderness unmistakable.

She feels a flutter in her chest, her heart skipping at the praise. Hearing how pleased he was makes her glow with pride. “Really?” she asks a bit bashfully.

“Really,” he confirms, the smile in his voice clear. “I knew you’d be amazing, but damn, you blew me away.”

She’s over the moon, her cheeks flushing with excitement. “I can’t wait to do it again,” she admits, her eagerness bubbling to the surface now that the initial nervousness has faded.

“We won’t have to just do this over the phone for much longer. We’ll have all the time in the world to do whatever we want together. No rushing, no holding back, no sneaking around.” There’s a warmth that coats his words, that speaks to more than just the physical side of their relationship. While the thought of tangling up with her in the comfort of his sheets sounds like fucking paradise, it’s not what he’s most eager for.

What he’s looking forward to, more than anything, is being able to walk hand-in-hand with her in the open, to take her out in public, proudly. To share with the world how happy she makes him, how proud he is to have such a remarkable woman by his side. Never one for public displays of affection before— he’s always been too guarded, too private— but with her, everything’s different. She’s shifting his perspective on so much, and though it unsettles him sometimes, he’s found he doesn’t mind the change. Not with her.

“Anything you want. Whether it’s in bed or out. You being content is all I care about.”

Her heart stirs, fluttering with emotion at the way he always puts her needs first, making sure she’s more than content. It’s that selflessness of his, the way he cares for her, that has her falling even harder. He always brushes it off, insisting he’s the opposite, but she sees through that. He’s good to her— so much more than he gives himself credit for.

“You make me feel so special,” she murmurs softly as she stares up at the ceiling, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “It’s like you always know exactly what I need.”

“That’s because you are special, Paloma,” the sincerity of his words making her chest ache in the best way. “You deserve that and more. I just wanna make sure you’re always happy.”

She swallows hard, feeling the weight of what he’s saying. There’s no doubt in her mind anymore. She’s in love with him— completely. How could she not be? He’s everything she never knew she needed: protective, caring, and so damn thoughtful, even when he’s not trying to be. It’s like second nature to him.

He lets out a soft, almost bashful laugh, a sound so rare it makes her stomach tighten. “You just don’t know how lucky I am to have you.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice that catches even him by surprise. “I adore you so much.”

The openness in his confession after everything that’s just transpired between them, hits her like a wave. She’s used to the way he keeps his emotions guarded, but this side of Javier— the unguarded, raw version— is something new, something precious. Maybe it’s the clarity that comes after the release, or maybe it’s been simmering inside him for a while now, but he feels compelled to express it, to let her know how deeply she’s embedded herself in his life.

And it’s uncharacteristic for him, this kind of vulnerability. He’s always been the strong, silent type, the one who doesn’t talk about his feelings unless absolutely necessary. But her, in her gentle, unassuming way, has a way of bringing it out of him, coaxing him to show sides of himself he’s kept hidden for years. Just like he can draw out her vulnerability in sex, she shines a light on his softer edges, the parts of him that long to be known, to be seen.

“Now get some rest,” he continues, his words a tender caress. “I’ll see you soon.”

She blinks rapidly, her vision blurring as her eyes well up with unshed tears. There’s an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love swelling in her chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment. He’s not the kind of man to throw words around carelessly— when he says something like this, it holds weight, it means something.

A part of her, the cautious part that’s been guarding her heart, once would have hesitated, would have put up a wall to protect herself from getting hurt again. But there are no warning bells going off this time. No second-guessing that they’ve both crossed a threshold where they’re truly seeing each other for who they are— flaws and all. And it’s enough.

“And I adore you, Javi.” They’re not saying the word love just yet, but it’s there, nestled between the lines of their words. For now, this is enough. It works for them

“Goodnight, cowboy,” she adds with a soft smile, the familiar endearment laced with warmth and affection.

“Goodnight, palomita. Sweet dreams.”

They linger for a moment, neither one wanting to hang up just yet, their shallow breathing filling the line.

“Thank you… for everything,” she murmurs without really thinking, not just thanking him for tonight, but for proving to her that she was more than just another woman being used to exorcise his demons.

He lets out a soft snort, “If anyone should be thanking someone, it’s me to you, cariño,” he says, his voice gentle yet firm. “For giving me a second chance. I know I don’t deserve redemption, but I’d move heaven and earth for you. You know that, right?”

Her heart skips a beat, overwhelmed by his convinction. She knows, without a doubt, that he’s telling the truth. He’s already done enough to show his sincerity, and she feels that trust settling in her bones now.

There’s no hesitation. Just a quiet, steadfast belief that this— whatever they’re building— is real, and it’s good.

“I know, Javi. I know.”

And with that, they finally hang up, leaving both of them with a sense of newfound sense of peace. Hearts feels lighter, fuller, and as she lies back against the pillows, she can’t help but smile, knowing that with him, she’s found that something she’s always yearned for.

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 7

y’all I am SO SORRY this is so late. I’ve been caught up with end-of-year stuff at work and planning for next year. but I’m posting the last two chapters now🙃

I’m not sure how active I’ll be moving forward lol, 2025 is shaping up to be a pretty big year for me, professionally speaking, and that either means I’ll have more free time or less. Idk. But thank you for supporting my writing!!! You guys make me happy🩵🩵🩵

table of contents

found god at your ex’s house

To be entirely honest, the longest and only conversation you’ve ever had with goddamn Keeley Jones was at the Prada show right before you found out about Bean’s existence. 

You’d prefer to keep it that way but fucking Madeline is friends with her so now you’re headed to a stupid, awful, horrible girls’ night at her house and you’d rather fucking die.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But your experiences concerning Keeley have been unpleasant at best. 

She first caught your notice in a tabloid on a yacht with Jamie and a screaming headline to match your screaming mind. It was two weeks after Jamie came over for the last time and apparently not enough time to get over him.

You’d gone straight to Madeline’s to scream into a pillow.

Then she was in your instagram, and when you had blocked her she appeared in fan edits and fucking WAG accounts. Then she was at the Prada show and in magazines and on the telly. It felt like no matter how much you tried to shut her out, Keeley fucking Jones remained as a painful reminder.

It wasn’t her fault per se, but you hated the role she played in Jamie’s deterioration. 

And now Madeline is fucking friends with her.

“What the actual hell, Madeline,” you groan. “Keeley fucking Jones? Are you serious? She’s the fucking worst. AND she’s not to be trusted! The girl hardly has two braincells to rub together.”

Madeline rolls her eyes. “I understand that you hate her. But she’s kind and sweet and actually a bit brilliant. I’m not going to tell her about you or Bean, but she’s not some vile, boyfriend-stealing bitch.”

“I’m not saying that,” you reply as you try to get Clare to burp. “I’m just saying that the girl could stand to grow up a little.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She has. I think you’d like her.”

“Fuck off,” you scoff right as Clare burps. “See? Clare agrees.”

Madeline shrugs. “Clare is three months old. She doesn’t get a vote.”

You wrinkle your nose and say, “You mean unless she agrees with you, right?” and Madeline smiles her most angelic smile. 

“All I’m saying is you’re more than welcome to come with me tonight.”

“I’d rather die,” you inform her.

—

Jamie has the day off. They won against Aston Villa on Sunday so he’s supposed to be resting, but he’s never been very good at that.

So he does what any self-respecting person would do and goes to his ex’s house.

He forgets Roy fucking Kent is going to be there until the man himself has opened the door but Jamie musters up some arrogance and breezes right by him. Keeley knows he’s coming anyway, so he’s not going to be harassed by some grumpy old twat.

Roy must be sick or something because he doesn’t say anything. If Jamie weren’t so consumed with his own worries he might actually be concerned.

But he’s not so he sits on Keeley’s couch like he belongs there and lets her hand him a cup of tea before she sits down next to him.

Roy isn’t far off, pretending to read a book but Jamie is abso-fucking-lutely positive he hasn’t turned a single page yet.

But absolutely FUCK it because he needs Keeley’s professional, girl opinion.

“I’ve got a kid,” he says, and both Keeley and Roy do absolutely horrible jobs at pretending they’re shocked.

“Fuck off, how the fuck did you know?” he protests. “Was it Ted?”

Roy and Keeley exchange a Look and it just makes Jamie madder.

“Technically it was Coach Beard,” Keeley says in a mousy voice. “We figured you’d tell us when you were ready, Jamie.”

That’s just confusing. “How the fuck did Beard know?” he asks.

“Kid looks just fucking like you,” Roy says and that makes Jamie mad too because when the fuck did Roy see Clare?

“I saw them on the green when I was with Phoebe,” Roy clarifies and Jamie takes a minute to file that away as Roy Kent’s first-ever non-swearing sentence.

He says, “fucking hell,” because really, fucking hell. He went from not knowing he had a baby to knowing to apparently the whole Richmond coaching staff knowing (and apparently meeting) her.

Keeley asks, “Is that why you’re here, babes?” and her gentle voice actually makes him want to fucking cry so he just nods and puts his head in his hands.

“Don’t know shit about being a dad,” he says, voice muffled, and Roy slams his book shut because apparently he has shit to say.

“Fuck off, Tartt,” he says. “Stop being a little bitch.”

Keeley exclaims, “Roy!” but she’s also curious about what he has to say because she doesn’t do anything else to stop him.

“I fucking mean it,” he continues. “You fucking come here expecting to fucking cry on the couch and be told you’re fucking shit at something and throw a fucking pity party, so fuck off. You might be a shit father, you don’t fucking know, but that girl doesn’t fucking think so and if I were her, I’d hate your fucking guts. So untwist your fucking pants and stop being a fucking whiny little bitch. Go fucking be a dad and if you’re shit, you’re shit. But stop looking for fucking sympathy for something you’ve made up in your stupid fucking twat brain.”

With that he pushes himself out of his chair, swears at his knee, and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to remain silent for the next year since he’s met his word quota.

Jamie looks at Keeley as if to say, Are you hearing this prick? but Keeley just lifts a shoulder and says, “He’s right, babe. You’ve got to actually go do something about it.”

So Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and recounts everything his mum told him over the phone for some extra review.

—

Clare is easy, as far as babies go, but for some reason tonight she’s decided to be an absolute terror. She won’t eat, won’t go to sleep, won’t calm down. She just cries and cries and no matter how many times you check her temperature or her diaper, she cannot get it back together.

It doesn’t help that you’re tired, either. Like, newborn-level tired. And hungry, too. You’d order in but Clare hasn’t even allowed that so you open the fridge as best you can while bouncing Clare up and down. All you can see is a jar of gherkins, a can of soda, and some lemons. 

And a fucking banana which must be Madeline’s because you’d rather die of starvation than eat that shit.

Fucking hell.

I am not going to cry you tell yourself sternly, except that doesn’t do anything except allow tears to well up faster than if you’d just let it alone.

You can’t call Madeline because she’s at Keeley’s and you’ll be damned if you interrupt her girls’ night. Madeline didn’t sign up to be tied down and she deserves a non-parent friend, so she’s not an option.

For a split second, you debate calling Jamie. But that’s a level of desperation you haven’t quite reached. You close the fridge and are saved from deciding what to do next by a knock on the door.

Clare wails like she’s being murdered, so you hope it isn’t the police but it isn’t, it’s just Jamie with a bag of groceries. He’s in the house setting up in the kitchen before your brain catches up with your eyes and Clare just cries the whole time. 

You know exactly what he’s making before he’s even pulled out half the ingredients. It’s chicken pesto risotto, the dish you always begged him to make whenever he had a moment of free time. Jamie can cook maybe four things in total, but damn he can cook them well. He slices some bread, puts it on a plate with some butter and hands it to you, swapping the plate for Clare so easily that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’s been doing it his whole life. She stops crying the moment she’s in his arms and honestly, you’re too tired to worry about it. You crash on the couch and fall asleep after two bites.

It’s dark out when you wake up, but the lights are on in the house and it’s warm. Someone’s gently caressing the top of your head and saying your name, so you open your eyes to Jamie standing over you.

He’s looking at you with a soft expression, and your heart aches. It all feels too painfully normal.

He says, “Food’s ready,” and holds out a hand for you to grab.

You hesitate for the barest fraction of a moment before taking it. “Little Bean’s asleep in her bed,” he continues. “You hungry? Figured we could eat then you can go back to sleep.”

You nod. “Smells good, J. Are you planning on spending the night, then?”

Jamie shrugs. “I thought- I don’t know, I thought maybe you could use a break.”

He sits next to you at the table. The food’s been set out, and it’s still warm. It’s also the first meal you haven’t been responsible for in a good long while.

“So you’re just here now,” you say. “You’re the kind of person who shows up, cooks dinner, puts the baby to bed and watches telly in the evenings? You could barely handle a relationship, and now you want a fucking family? You can leave me all you want, but I swear to God, Jamie, I will murder you if you hurt Clare.”

It’s frustrating because it feels like you’re at an impasse. Jamie can come back once he’s shown he’s changed, but he can’t really show he’s changed if he can’t fucking come back, can he?

It doesn’t matter that he probably has changed and you know deep down that even he isn’t a big enough dick to abandon his daughter.

Jamie says, “I am. I mean, I won’t. I mean, fucking hell, you don’t have to fucking murder me, yeah? Just give me a chance, like.”

You snort. “Do you even know how to change a diaper?”

Jamie says, “Googled it, didn’t I?” and that makes you genuinely laugh. Of course he did. But you laugh too loud and it wakes up Clare, who lets you know she’s irritated with a shriek. You knock your head lightly against the table and whisper, “Fuck,” before putting down your fork. You push your chair out and Jamie stands, lightning-fast.

“I got it,” he tells you, and you raise an eyebrow.

You reply, “Okay,” because if he’s going to act like a father, he’s going to have to put in the work. And you’re hungry and this is your favorite meal. Besides, what’s the worst that’s going to happen?

So Jamie goes to Clare’s room where she’s sobbing like there’s no tomorrow and you continue to eat while straining your ears to make sure Jamie isn’t panicking.

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for the fact that the worst thing that could happen is Jamie comes back out after ten minutes with a sleeping Clare on his chest and he looks so fucking hot that you want to jump his bones then and there. 

Jamie is thankfully oblivious. He sits back down and pats Clare on the back so she doesn’t wake up again.

“How’s the food?” he whispers. “Haven’t cooked in fuckin’ ages.”

“Good,” you whisper back and then you lapse into silence. 

 “I can stay the night, if you want,” Jamie offers after a bit, and you glare.

“Not like that,” he hastily amends, “I mean if you want to sleep. I can feed Clare and whatever.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Jamie. What the fuck do you want from me? You can’t fucking come back here and play house when you want, and I get it, your dad’s a piece of shit and you don’t want to be like him. But you’re in the fucking Prem, Jamie.”

(“Got relegated,”) he mouths, but you just keep talking. “Fine. You’re in the Championship but everyone knows you at least are making it back to the Premier League and someday you’ll be with a team in the Champion’s League and that’s a lot of travel. It’s a lot of nights alone, and you’re not exactly the kind of person who likes sleeping alone.

Jamie looks offended at that, but it’s true. He’s twenty-six and in his prime.

This whole thing is just one giant circle with no solution. 

“Oi,” he says, and he’s got his serious expression on. “I don’t want anything from you. I want you. Not even because of Clare, but she’s mint. I was coming to find you the other night because I wanted to fix things. I told you that. I meant it, I want to get back together. I know I’m hard to love sometimes but swear down, I want to make it work. Keeley’s on me about commitment and shit and I dunno, it sounds nice. I’m fucking tired of fucking around. That shit’s exhausting.”

“Yeah, because a baby and a girlfriend isn’t fucking exhausting as well.”

Jamie wrinkles his nose. “Fucking Garnacho’s having a kid. If that little shit can handle it, I can too.”

You concede. He has a point. “Fine. You can spend the night. I’m going to shower and then pass out, which means you’ve got the dishes and Clare. You can sleep in the guest room, yeah? I’ll set up the baby monitor.”

Jamie smiles, and before you can really think it through, you lean over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say softly before heading upstairs. You’re going to get an earful from Madeline later, but for now you’re going to get good sleep for the first night in a long while.

next chapter

[wayfayrr]

If requests are still open, how about Wild and Tears comparing weapons? (Or really anything that gives you an excuse to highlight how they're similar and how they're different)

My brain has only worked out one little snippet, but I feel like it could be expanded upon? Idk??? This is what I've got so far:

Comparing Lynel weapons -- BotW's Lynel weapons (ooooh, I could see Tears geeking out over the craftmanship of Savage Lynel Sword, Crusher, and/or Spears) vs Totk Lynel horn weapons (I can see Wild absolutely losing his mind (/pos) over the existence of Silver Lynel Reapers and/or Maces. Probably begs & pleads for 200 of them lmao)

Little drabble suggestions like this are gonna be open for a while I think, they're really fun to write and I've got a pretty good flow for tears at the minute!!!

Also your ideas so far? In love/srs naming him lilac is honestly so big-brained and is such a perfect little nickname for him and I've already started using it, the weapons too - there is so so much potential, it feels like I've barely scratched it here (this is also set after they've talked out their issues about how they view their memories, after that gets cleared up they're literally twins your honour!!)

also @h4wari got some more of your boy here for you<333

“What are you holding, I don’t think I’ve seen something like that in my Hyrule.”

“I mean, seeing as you don’t have fuse that isn’t a surprise.”

“Huh?”

“I made it, that’s why you haven’t seen it around.”

Is that what I look like whenever I get excited over something? I’ll have to ask [name] to take a photo of me next time, I could make them something nice in return. Actually, I could probably take them on a quick tour of my- you’re getting distracted thinking about them Link.

“You made it, what from? How long will it last if I’m using it, how much damage does it do, where did you find the materials?” “It’s a silver lynel reaper, I fused one of its horns to a royal broadsword; it should last a good while.”

“Lynels drop their horns in your hyrule? Mine only ever drop their weapons…”

“Oh? I don’t think I’ve seen them drop weapons, well besides bows.”

Our Hyrules are far more different than I thought, maybe they would have been identical during my first quest, if I hadn’t rushed it then I’d be able to know for certain. If I had done it the same way he did… could everything with zelda have been avoided? She was so desperate to get me to remember her when I didn’t want to that she went into the underground and then, no, no point thinking about hypotheticals like that. What’s done is done. 

“Would you like to swap?”

“Swap?”

“I’ll give you one of my lynels weapons and get that in return?”

That might have to be one of the most generous trades I’ve ever heard, neither of us can carry many weapons but I have enough horns to give everyone here one without batting an eye. I would be a fool to turn it down though. Giving one to the smith might be interesting actually, it would be interesting to see what he can do with it.

“Sure, before you’re set on this one though… you want to see the things I’ve made from shards of dragon horns?”

“YOU’VE MADE WEAPONS FROM DRAGON HORNS???”

[oldiesstationlover11607]

🎶I want to saaaayyyy…hello🎶 (How I haven’t used that one yet is incredible).

The day I run out of various hello lyrics and jokes will truly be a sad day in Tumblr history. Anyways, hello! It’s me. 💛. OMG I absolutely loved what you wrote for my last request. Tyler is just something else this tour man. Idk what he is eating, but he is just no filter and I live for it. Honestly, that oneshot might be one of my favorites from you (and that’s saying something because all your works are bangers).

So, you said you were willing to write Spooky Jim so I am going to torture you with my ideas because I feel like Josh’s Blurryface persona isn’t explored enough and I just think he looks good in red eyeshadow 🤷🏼‍♀️. I was wondering if you could maybe do an angsty oneshot where the reader is exposed briefly to Spooky Jim, but Josh quickly takes back control. However, Josh is horrified by that side of him showing so he sort of shuts the reader out. Eventually, the reader manages to convince him that she isn’t going anywhere.

I’ll be honest, I’m very excited to see how you do Spooky Jim, even if it is only briefly. ☺️

Spooky Jim - Spooky!Josh x Reader

Relationship: Spooky Jim/Josh × Reader

Warnings: Swearing, choking, violence, crying - lots of angst

Word Count: 791 - thought this would be perfect for a short blurb type piece so whipped this up in he back of my class lol

A/N: Hope this is okay! Sorry it took so long!

PART 2

The banging had been ongoing for hours, each hit and crash seeping through the walls that I thought were thicker than this. My head was throbbing and my brain felt like it was swelling within my skull. Josh and I had moved in together a few months ago and we’d been planning to build a soundproof studio so he could work on his music without it ringing throughout the house. But with tour coming up, he had to practice–there was no changing that. I always tried my hardest to be patient with the drumming and I definitely didn’t mind it behind Tyler’s voice and accompanied by a backing track but by itself it just felt like noise–constant noise that never ever stopped. I wasn’t against his music or him practicing–that wasn’t the case at all–but when it’s 10:30 pm and I’m trying to get a paper done, that’s a different story. I could feel every crash vibrate through the floor and into my body as I tried to focus and finish my research before the deadline. Closing my laptop and climbing out of our bed, I marched down to the basement as each step fell in time with the beats. The closer I got to the banging, the more I realized there was a backing track playing, a weak and gentle hum hidden beneath the drums. I leant against the staircase, waiting for him to finish the track which I’d recognised as ‘Heavydirtysoul.’ Something was off though, each hit of the kit seemed to get louder and harder as the song progressed, causing my ears to hurt. The banging continued, Tyler’s voice just peaking through the drums. Bang! Crash! Bang! Each hit caused a painful pinch in each of my ears until a loud snap rang through the room. Both red painted drumsticks in his hands snapped plainly in half, small splinters of wood flying across the kit. I gently placed my palm on Josh’s back, the gray shirt he was wearing slightly damp with sweat. He flinched violently, turning around and grabbing my wrist tightly. His fingers burned into my skin, the tips likely to cause a line of bruises. 

“What?” he spat, eyes completely bloodshot. 

“I was… uh… drums… headache?” I asked, completely in shock at the pain in my wrist. Josh stared at me blankly as if he was turning over thoughts in his head. 

“You want me to stop?” he smirked, standing up and throwing what was left of his drum sticks to the floor. I nodded slowly, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong. Very slowly he started to walk us up against the wall, my head slamming, causing a sharp wince to escape my mouth. “Do you think I have the time to care about your silly little headache Y/N? Do you think I’m not busy and need to practice Y/N?” he shouted. I could feel my heart thumping desperately in my chest, head rushing through possible ways to get out of his grip. He brought his other hand up to my throat, running his fingers across the rings of my trachea causing my eyes to widen in fear. He’d never tried to hurt me in the past. Josh was one of those people who would never hurt a fly, even when he was stressed out. My breath was shaky as tears poured from my eyes and I tried to pick my next words carefully. 

“Josh?” Almost immediately his expression changed from an intense stare into pure fear. 

“You need to leave,” he said, taking four large steps away from me. Something had changed when he heard his name, something important. 

“What?” I questioned, my voice raw. I could see two things out of the mirror in the back corner of the room. One: My neck had a large red mark in the shape of Josh’s right hand. Two: Josh’s hands were both shaking behind his back. 

“I said get the fuck out Y/N! Leave! Get out!” he screamed. With a heaving breath I ran up the stairs and out the front door, not a single thought in my head. There was nothing to think about, either I stayed down there with him and he could hurt me again or I could leave and be safe–and I wasn’t going to pick the first option. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself on the side of a busy road halfway to Tyler’s house. Car after car passed me as I stumbled in the direction of where I could remember his house being–that was the only place I could go. It was completely dark outside and the only lights were the occasional car and street lamp that I passed. As I reached into my back pocket for my phone I felt nothing–it was empty. Shit. Tyler’s house wasn’t too far from where I was and in a split second decision I decided to sprint there. I wasn’t going to be stuck out on the side of the road alone at 11:00pm. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself on Tyler’s front porch. The lights were on which I’d found odd given Jenna was on a trip with the girls and Tyler usually had the lights off when he was home alone. The night air was crisp, the cold air swallowing me whole as it circulated through my lungs. I stepped up to the door raising my fist to knock before the door opened, Tyler standing on the other side completely dressed and fully in black. 

“Hey,” he smiled, holding the door open for me. He clearly noticed the look of shock on my face as he reached for my hand and helped me inside. Every soft light in the house was turned on, the ambience calming and welcoming. 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go.” He tightened his grip on my hand slightly telling me to stay where I was. 

“He said you’d probably end up here,” he sighed, leading us to the upstairs studio with the large windows–I loved that room. 

“Wait, you talked to him?” I paused in the door frame, Tyler walking into the studio and turning on the neon lights. He nodded, sitting down right in front of the wall of windows. 

“Of course I did. He called me the second you left the house,” he explained. I slowly made my way across the room till I was sitting next to him, my knees pressed flat against my chest. 

“So he told you what he did?” I sighed, looking out across the property. 

“He told me what happened, yes. But it wasn’t him, I’m telling you that wasn’t him,” he looked down at me. 

“I’m pretty sure the man with his hand around my throat was Josh, Tyler,” I snapped. In a complete state of shock I surrendered, Tyler pulling me in as I wept messily into his shirt. My chest was heavy as tears fell and I took quick breaths. 

“Y/N… it’s more complicated than that,” he rubbed my back.

“He… he… Josh…I–” I sobbed, each word muffled into his chest.

“You need to rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he declared, moving to get up but I shifted my weight so I stayed on the floor. 

“Tyler, I can’t–we–please,” I sighed and he nodded, sitting back down.

“Do you want me to tell you what really happened or do you want to wait for Josh?” He checked his phone as if anyone would be trying to reach him at this hour. 

“I’m not going near him again so just tell me,” I huffed, wiping the tears from my face. He nodded before starting.

“You know Blurryface and how I have control over him most of the time?” I stared blankly at him trying to figure out where he was going with this. “Josh has a blurryface too except he’s called Spooky Jim. From what it sounds like, you met him tonight.” This couldn’t be true. If this was true then he would’ve told me, we’ve been together for a year, he would’ve told me. 

“No,” I scoffed, “that’s not fair… he–he wouldn’t–no.”

“I told him to tell you sooner but clearly he didn’t,” he sighed. If it was true then I couldn’t blame Josh for any of it. I loved him more than anything and I was going to stay with him–be there for him–because he needed me. 

“You’re sure?” I ran a hand through my hair, my palms sticky with sweat. “Yep,” he nodded. I needed to call him. I needed to see him. Anything to tell him we were okay. Tyler noticed me looking around the room and pulled out his phone. “He’s not gonna want to talk to you for a while Y/N. I’m sure Jenna’s told you about the first time Blurryface came out that I ghosted her for three weeks. He’s going to need time,” he started. 

“At least let me send him a text. My phone is back at the house,” I begged. He nodded, passing me the phone. 

“Keep it short. I can stop by the house tomorrow to pick up anything you need,” he spoke, getting up and leaving the room. I pressed Josh’s contact photo, one that Tyler had taken from their most recent tour. The most recent messages about an upcoming photoshoot. I started to type up my message. 

‘Hey. It’s Y/N’ (deleted)

‘I’m at Tyler’s’ (deleted)

‘I miss you’ (deleted)

‘Josh?’ (deleted)

‘I’m safe. I love you and I’m always here for you. Call me when you’re okay. I love you - Y/N’ (sent)

//

Requests open!