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xetlynn · 3 days ago

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arcane imagines- vander

it’s (no longer) quiet

pt 2, to this [it’s quiet]

prompt: :)

“Love, could you take that customer. Gotta open a new box.” Your husband passes you, give your thigh a light tap while doing so. You hum in response, nodding your head.

Lately you haven’t been feeling too well. Nausea hitting you like a truck. A lump constantly stuck in your throat.

Sweat also seems to be never ending in your pores. Giving you that awful oily look that you despised. Heading over to the lady sat at a table, peering over the drink menu. Swallowing down hard you force a smile upon your lips. “What can I get for ya, hun?” Your eye is slightly twitching. “What do you recommend?” She glances up to you and you don’t have the chance to hide the grimace that etched your facial expression.

You try to play it off, covering it with a bigger smile. “I’d have to go with a plain ol’ Sazerac.” You tell her, which is truly one of your favorites and it’s quite easy to make. “I guess I’ll go with that then.” The lady grins, closing the menu and clasping her hands together. Your shoulders slump, grateful that she wasn’t a difficult customer. “Be right back with that then, my love.” You head back over to the bar.

As you make the simple drink, you open the absinthe and the smell of herbal like licorice hits your nose instantly. You gag, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. Vander plops down a box of unopened alcohol, raising a brow over at you. Silently you excuse yourself, rushing to the bathroom. Pushing past two randoms. Shoving the stall door and falling to your knees as you throw up. The toast from this morning violently came up.

Vander went to follow after you but a customer stopped him from doing so, complaining about his drink order. He mentally curses but knows once you come back he can question you about what just happened.

You flush the toilet, huffing as you stand back up from the disgusting floor. Going to the sink and washing your face and hands. Staring in the broken mirror that you’ve had to replace multiple times already. You observe yourself, looking pale compared to your normal complexion. Your eyes sunken in. A hot mess.

Sighing you had an idea of what was happening but you plead that you were wrong. Your husband already explained how he felt, so if this was happening. You had no idea how to go about this. How to tell him. Another part of you secretly hoped that it was happening. That selfish part of you.

You snatch a paper towel, wiping off your hands and face before tossing it in the trash and leaving the bathroom. Fixing your posture. You go behind the counter, making a quick soda and downing it to get the wretched taste out of your mouth. The carbonation burning your throat as it seeps down. Slamming the cup down you go back to making that stupid drink. Holding your breath as you pour the absinthe this time.

Not noticing that your husband was watching you the entire time. How you didn’t make yourself your own sazerac like you normally did everytime a customer ordered one. Sipping on the drink throughout your shift.

And later that night after closing, you didn’t even take a shower. Going straight to bed and passing out as your body hits the mattress. Not even covering yourself with the blankets. Which was something that you strictly had to do every night. But fatigue got the better of you. Vander changed your clothes for you, knowing how much you hate outside clothes in your bed. He’s a little worried about your behavior. He hopes you’re not coming down with something.

Because when you’re sick, it hits you extremely hard and you don’t let anyone help you even though you obviously need someone to. His independent wife. He climbs into bed after his own shower, turning the lamp off and letting you curl into him. He feels your forehead and thankfully you’re not hot but you are sweating. A sign he still doesn’t like but much preferred over a scorching fever.

•••

You wake up in an empty bed, drenched in sweat. You gaze over to the clock beside your bed, tired. Your eyes widen once you see the time. Two hours past the time you were supposed to open the bar. You shoot up, grabbing clean clothes and heading to the shower. “I don’t even remember falling asleep last night.” You whisper to yourself, wracking your brain for the memory of the night before. As you take your clothes off, clothes you again don’t remember even putting on, you grow irritated with yourself.

“I need to get a test.” You murmur, climbing into the shower and taking a swift, quick shower. Washing off the disgusting sheen of sweat that covered your skin.

You throw your clothes on, attempting to look as presentable as possible, rushing to the front of your house. You don’t even see the figure standing in your doorway as you try to find your shoes. “Mom, if you’re looking for your shoes you should give up.” The voice startles you, your heart beating through your chest as your glare up at your eldest daughter. “Vi,” You puff, clenching at your heart. “Gonna give your old woman a heart attack.” You pout.

She apologizes through a laugh. “Dad said you were sick, so he opened with Claggor’s help. Go back to bed.” She crosses her arms and you raise a brow. “He turned my alarm off.” You state, clearly upset with Vander.

“You’re sick, of course he did.” Violet steps over to you and you roll your eyes. “I’m not sick.” You disagree and she gives you a look. “What? You don’t believe your own mother?” You point a finger at her. “Calling her a liar? Cause if you are you got another thing comin’-”

“Mom.” She puts her hands on your shoulders and you slump down. “Okay, fine. I’m possibly coming down with something.” Your head falls as you lie. You couldn’t tell her that it’s actually, probably from being pregnant. How do you tell your daughter that? “Go lie down, dad sent me to take care of you for the day.” She shoos you back to your bedroom and your jaw slacks as your feet move underneath you. “I’m not a child!” You exclaim.

“Just go rest.” She orders and you let out a breath in disbelief by the treatment you were receiving. You kick off your work pants, changing into sweatpants and you lay down in your bed. Glaring at nothing, annoyed with your loving family. But as you calm down you realize you can take today to get that pregnancy test from the store. You’d just have to figure out how to get Violet to leave to do so.

Thirty minutes pass and Violet comes into your room with a steaming bowl, she hands it to you and you stare down at it. Tears threaten the brim of your eyes immediately. “Is this-” You choke on your own words and Violet stands there awkwardly. “It’s your old recipe, the soup you made us as kids.” She finishes your sentence and tears stream down your face as you start to eat it. “Uh… why are you crying?”

“You’re so cute, oh my gosh.” You sniffle, shoving spoonfuls in your mouth dramatically. “I can’t be-believe you remembered!” You sob and Violet starts to panic. She didn’t know what to do at that moment. She’s rarely ever seen you cry before. “Sit down with me.” You tell her and she hesitantly listens.

“I have to tell you something.” You wipe your tears away. She nervously looks around the room, wondering what the next words out of your mouth are going to be. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Even Cait.” You stick a pinky out to her and she smirks down at your hand. You taught them what pinky promises were, using it as more of a “promise to behave.” type of thing. Not to promise to keep a secret. That was something you were heavily against.

“No secrets in this household.” You’d all point to them as they lined up in shame after you figured them out for the umpteenth time. “A secret, mom?” Violet tilts her head to the side and you shush her.

“Don’t think of it as a secret… think of it as… a uh something kept between you and I. Our little thing.” You smile softly and she deadpans at you. “That’s a secret.”

Your face falls. “Whatever, nevermind. Leave me and my soup.” You shrivel in place, now eating with a frown. Eyebrows furrowed as you do so. “Fine, fine, I promise.” Your daughter sticks her pinky out and you take it with a mouth full of the food she made. Shaking her pinky before letting go. “Okay.” You sit back up.

“Wow, okay. I don’t know how to say this.” You chew at your bottom lip, thinking this through. “I uh, I think. That doesn’t sound right. Um…” You stammer helplessly, Violet was beginning to get antsy. Staring at you. “Mom.” She places a hand on your knee and you sheepishly grin. “Sorry.”

“I think I’m pregnant.” You blurt out and Violet sits there silently. Her eyes widened, her mouth open in shock. “I don’t know for sure. I just, I’m having all the symptoms you know. My boobs are quite sore. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?” You ramble on to your daughter who can’t even comprehend what she was just told. “Are you going to say something or am I going to keep talking like an idiot? I just told you, you might have another sibling.” You blink at her, slurping on the soup once again, acting incredibly nonchalant.

Violet seems to have snapped out of her chance as she closes her mouth and then opens it back up to speak. “You and dad still do it?” She asks and you look taken aback. “Still? What?” You place the bowl on your nightstand. “I mean, like you guys are kind of older… I didn’t know you could still get pregnant. I don’t actually want to know that you and dad do it. That’s gross.” She says, grimacing in disgust and your face twitches downward. “Old!? I’m 38! And it’s perfectly natural! I walked in on you and Caitlyn so let's not forget that.” You throw your hands up, shoving a finger in her face. Her face turns red at your words. “Oh my god.” She covers her face and you laugh. “You promised you wouldn’t bring it up!” She cries out and you bear your teeth, giving a small apology.

“Anyways… are you sure?” She grabs your now empty hands and you take a deep breath. “I don’t know, I need to take a test. Make an appointment with a doctor.” You tell her truthfully. “I can go get you one, if you want?” She offers and you shake your head. “Nah, I’m gonna go. If you want to come with you can, though.” You say, standing up from the bed. Taking your dirty dish with you.

“Does dad have any idea?” Violet asks, walking beside you as you guys head into the store. “No, I don’t even know how he’s going to react.” You press your lips together.

•••

Getting back to your house you notice the lights are on in the living room, your face falls. Violet goes to open the door but you stop her. “Your dad’s home, hold on.” You mutter, shoving the pregnancy test in your pocket. As you do so the door opens loudly. Vander standing there with a disappointed expression. “Love, why can’t you just rest.” He grumbles. You grin up at him, your face turning warm by the fact that you were almost caught. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Vi, I got it covered. You can go.” He exasperates and she glances over to you. You nod your head, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell you later.” Side hugging her as you whispered into her ear. “Tell Cait I said hi.” You wave her off as she walks away. “Will do!”

You then face back to your husband who’s facial expression never falters. “Get back to bed, please.” He gives you space to move past him. “I gotta go pee first, am I allowed to do that?” You ask him in a smart tone. He runs a hand through his long hair, shaking his head. You stress him out. “I guess.” He gruffs, and you hurriedly rush into the tiny room. Slamming the door behind you.

Vander patiently waits for you, leaning against the couch. After about ten minutes he begins to wonder what you’re actually doing in there. He goes up to the door and as he lifts his fist to knock he hears you sniffling. “Love?” He speaks worriedly. You clear your throat, “yes?” Trying to hide the wavering in your voice. “You okay in there, didn’t fall in, did ya?” He jokes and you let out a small giggle through the tears. “No, I didn’t fall in.” You almost inaudibly say before opening the door.

Showing the two tests that sit on the counter. His eyes automatically flicker over to them. It was quiet between the both of you as he picked them up. “I peed on those.” You warn him. He ignores you though. Staring at the bright double lines that show on the plastic sticks. “You’re pregnant?” He doesn’t look at you, still kept on what's in his hand.

“Yeah… I’m sorry.” You whisper, letting shame engulf you. His head snaps in your direction, dropping the tests. “You have nothing to be sorry for, [Name]. What are you on about?” He forces you to look up at him.

“I know you don’t want this.” You shutter, crying for the third time that day. His face softens. “Love, why would you say that?” He asks you. “You said it, you said we don’t have the time for a baby. And we agreed a long time ago we wouldn’t have biological children. That our four we had were enough!” Your body wracked with sobs as you explained. He thinks back to the conversation in the bar before… your fun activities. He bites his bottom lip, looking down at you.

“Well, we kind of didn’t do anything to prevent that from happening these last two months.” He scratches the back of his head. Ever since that night 60 days ago, the two of you had been going at it like teenagers. “B-but-”

“[Name], my love, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out together.” He brings you into an embrace. “You want to keep it?” You peep up at him from his chest as his large arms engulf you. He smiles. “Of course,” he cranes his neck down to peck your lips. One of his hands going up and wiping your tears.

“We’ll make an appointment for next week.” He says, still holding you close to him.

He stares down at the pregnancy tests, it wasn’t ideal for sure, not exactly planned but he knows the both of you will be okay. This baby will be loved just as much as your other children. He grows excited to see what the mix of the two will look like. Also thinking about how plump you’re going to get. Your stomach that will grow round with him. Your breasts that he remembered you said were already tender the other day.

You admire him, pondering what his thoughts could be. That gets cut off by getting poked in your stomach and your lips etch upward. Your eyes innocently peering up at him. “You like the fact that I’m pregnant?” You tease him and he scoffs. “That your seed took and I’m going to have your baby.” You purr in a sultry tone, pulling away from him and reaching up. Grabbing his face and making him look down at you.

“Hm, my dear husband?” You ask and his heart skips a beat. Your tear stained face smirks up at him. “Keep talking like that and you won’t be leaving the house for a while.” He grunts, you take that as a challenge.

“Like what?” You ask, a hand going to your stomach. “I’m just stating the fact that you impregnated me… fucked me so good while doing so.” Your eyes don’t leave his, watching his facial expressions. How his eyes dilate and go dark with lust.

Abruptly he lifts you in the air, your legs wrapping around his waist. “Gonna keep you on bed rest this wwwhhoolee pregnancy, my love.” He growls in your ear and you giggle excitedly. Attacking his neck with kisses.

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narrans · 17 hours ago

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A Small and Tall Collection | Chapter Fifteen | Candle Lit Christmas

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Chapter Fifteen | Candle Lit Christmas

First thing the next morning, one thing was absolutely certain – it was freezing. Ashlynn huddled under her blankets in every clothing layer she possessed and still she was insufferably cold.

Were her thoughts occupied with the dangers of her interaction with the three brothers last night?

No.

Was she thinking about how to keep herself safe and to avoid any unnecessary confrontations with the three humans she had decided to trust?

No.

Was she considering the possibility of returning?

No.

All she could think about was how cold it was.

What on earth is going on? It’s absolutely frigid! Did Soren turn off the heat? Is there something wrong with the heater? Is this some kind of human ploy to get me out of the walls? What time is it even?

Ashlynn dared to poke her head out from under her layered blankets, brow and eyes instantly stiff with an unforgivable chill, as she looked around her home. It was here that something caught her eye – her lights weren’t on. The little lights she’d tapped into and borrowed from the neighboring apartments were completely out.

That’s weird. The chances of this being a simple fix dwindled fast. What made it weird was that the power for the lights came from lots of different places. If there was a short or something along those lines, just one strand would be affected. Did this mean something happened to the power in all of these places?

It was with regret and reluctance that Ashlynn bundled up and hauled herself out of her bed, the imprint of warmth left behind in a perfect silhouette of her body. She shuffled over to the plugs and places she’d wired together just in case, but found nothing in the light of her hip lamp that indicated that the wires were bad or that something had burned out. Bulbs tested. Wires checked.

Ashlynn watched her breath form a steaming fog with every breath out, and every breath in felt like she little icicles were jabbing her lungs from the inside. She quickly retreated back to the warmth and safety of her bed, relieved her warm spot was waiting for her, and extinguished her lamp.

Just a few minutes longer, and then if nothing happens I’ll go check and see if the boys are here. Maybe Soren is doing something with the electricity. Then again, I haven’t heard them all morning. Hope everything’s okay…

~~~^*^*^~~~

And, for the boys, everything was more than okay. It was great!

First thing, early in the morning, Soren woke up his brothers and showed them the fresh layer of snow spread across the yards. Layers and layers of gray snow already scraped from the road was once again concealed by a duvet of white, frozen flakes. He usually let his brothers sleep, but sledding on Christmas Eve day was too good to pass up.

So, he picked out the warmest clothes they had and bundled them up into the car to go to his favorite secret sledding spot. It was a treasured place. Sometimes hard to get to, and rarely visited since everything happened, but it didn’t diminish the special meaning it had for Soren.

The trio set out into the snow, unaware that moments after they left that the power would go out for them and the rest of their neighborhood.

“Soren? Where are we going?” asked Dorian, interrupted momentarily by a yawn, as he peered out the window.

“Sledding. I told you that,” reminded Soren as he glanced back at his brother.

“I know, but… you turn left to go to the part; or we walk. You… see? You took a right,” pointed out Dorian. Rey’s eyes gleamed as he attempted to bounce and squirm. His efforts were severely thwarted from his layers of puffy winter coats and the seatbelt protecting him.

“Oh! OH! I know! I know! We’re going to The Hill, right?” grinned the youngest brother. Soren couldn’t hide his smile.

“Maybe.”

“Oh! I knew it!” cheered Rey.

“Wait. The Hill? Really?” Dorian chimed in eagerly.

The Hill, as Soren called it, was a place that he and his parents used to go to whenever it snowed because it had the best hills, hence the name. There was a park he and his parents used to enjoy when he was younger right next to a thick, wooded area. The park was an old-fashioned one, with rusted spring bound horses and metal slides. The swing set rocked back and forth due to years of abuse and the earth leveling beneath it.

It also had the best places to sled down. Old trails took you to several quiet, steep hills. It was here that Soren and his father, Aaron, had the all-time record for hills to jump. If you started at the top of one, you could crest over some of the smaller ones beside it, and Soren and his dad had managed to make it all the way to the end during one particularly icy snowfall.

That was before he got sick…

As if the brothers behind him could read his mind, Dorian asked, “Isn’t this the place your dad brought you to?”

Soren had to clear the tension in his throat before responding, “Yes, it is.” His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to see Rey and Dorian exchanging elated glances.

“Just like you’re dad took you!” Rey smiled. Soren swallowed hard and continued to nod rather than respond.

“But you’re not our dad,” stated Dorian in a matter-of-fact tone. It made Soren chuckle.

“No, I’m not. I’m something better – your pesky older brother,” he said as he glanced over his shoulder at his brothers. Rey started giggling before going off into his own side tangent.

“Soren? Soren? Do… wasn’t that so funny yesterday? When Ashlynn was like, ‘Isn’t Soren your dad?’ And! And…”

“That definitely was interesting,” admitted Soren. In a way, Ashlynn wasn’t wrong to guess Soren’s roll here in the family. He had taken on quite the heavy mantle after the accident with the boys’ father and their mother. It still made his blood boil, the way it all had to happen.

Brady should’ve never been behind the wheel. Soren’s grip tightened on the wheel. Serves him right. Drunken scumbag.

He was so focused on his loathing that Soren almost missed the turn. Quick jerk to the left with a little skidding that made the boys giggle and squeal and, all of a sudden, Soren felt like he was back in a memory. He followed the unplowed road through the arcing trees up one road and down the next before, just like before, he saw the all-too-familiar sight of the place he’d adored as a child.

“We’re here!” the boys cheered in tandem.

Yes… yes we are.

“Alright you two, unbuckle and let’s get going. We have some sledding to do.”

Soren hoisted the sleds onto his back and led the way around the park, over the creek, and then began the trudge up the series of small hills. He and his brothers paused frequently, mostly because of Rey wanting to eat icicles and draw smiley faces in the undisturbed winter around them, until they saw it.

The Hill.

It towered over them, a mass of white that made both boys pause and look up with their entire bodies since their bundled bodies couldn’t simply move their neck. The motion reminded Soren of the original Batman costume, but the reference would be lost on his brothers.

Maybe we’ll watch that if they don’t want to watch something else more Christmas themed tonight. Soren thought.

“Alright. Final push, and then we slide down,” huffed Soren.

“Soren? I’m tired. Could you carry me?” asked Rey. Soren looked over his shoulder to see his brother standing pitifully in snow almost to his knees with his lower lip puckered out. Whether Rey knew it or not, Soren could never say no when his brother made that face.

“Alright. Get on,” he relented as he knelt in the snow.

“Hey! Can I go too?” Dorian asked.

Figures. I knew this would happen. I did the same thing at their ages.

“Pile on!”

It took some finagling, but Soren managed to get both his brothers onto his back while dragging the sled behind. With both boys secure and Soren realizing this was going to be quite the challenge, the eldest forced his quaking knees to push him upright as he began the climb. The boys knew better than to flail and bounce. They knew Soren would make them walk if they weren’t going to behave themselves, so they remained motionless and fastened tight, clutching onto Soren’s shoulders for dear life.

Step after step, Soren ascended The Hill.

Each step made Soren feel stationary. No matter how much he pumped his legs, the top was nowhere to be found. He didn’t relent. Everything worth having was worth working for, and his brothers deserved this. Finally, out of breath and a bit achy, Soren crested over the top and partially as a joke and partially because his legs were screaming in protest, fell face first in the snow.

“Soren! Are you okay?” Rey squeaked.

“Did you get hurt?” asked Dorian immediately after. Soren rolled over and, in the blink of an eye, had grabbed his brothers and rolled them into the snow. The chorus of laughter erupted as the three were now covered in snow.

“Ugh, just crushed by you two. When did you decide to get so big?” groaned Soren as their laughter died down. The boys opened their mouths to protest, but paused as they saw the look in their brother’s eyes. It was unidentifiable for the youngsters, but it was unlike any way he’d looked at them before. Pride? Nostalgia? Realization?

Their mom had that look a few times…

As fast as the moment came, it went and soon Soren was on his feet and setting up their three person sled.

“Okay, Rey first, Dorian, and then me. Let’s go!” Soren’s commanding voice set the boys to action immediately. If only I could get them to do chores that easily, thought Soren sarcastically. Snow crunched under their feet as they assumed the correct order. The oldest remembered how his father did it, and now he was going to do the same. “Alright. Hang on tight and don’t lean, bounce, or let your feet drag. Ready? Set!” On “Go,” Soren pulled the sled back and ran with it, only jumping on at the last moment as it careened off of the edge.

The boys’ squeals were caught in the top of their throat as the frigid wind whipped past their faces. They held on tight, death gripping the edge of the sled by the improvised handles Soren made for them last Christmas. The weightlessness carried them down the hill and over the first two bumps before sliding to a stop on the third.

Almost! Thought Soren. Gotta get the record though. Not worth the trip without it.

He turned around and, using the handle, began dragging his brothers back up the series of hills. Thankfully, the boys didn’t make the next few climbs difficult, stomping through the snow beside Soren instead of getting a free ride off of his back. It wasn’t until the fifth try that, finally, the snow was flat enough for them to make a proper run of it.

“Ready? Set! GO!” Soren sprinted as he pushed the sled, his muscles aching in the cold, as he leapt on at the last moment. They soared over the first hill and the second, caught air on the third, and coasted through the last one all the way to the tree line before coming to a skidding stop right before the creek.

“We did it! We did it!” cheered Rey, bounding like a puppy in the snow with Dorian cheering right beside him.

Yeah… we did. See that mom? Dad? Keeping the tradition alive.

“Ready for another round?”

“Yeah!”

~~~^*^*^~~~

Hours passed in the freezing cold before, finally, the boys returned home. Everything felt numb, but neither boy could stop talking about what an awesome time they had. Now, a promise of hot chocolate and a warm bath lured them back to the car to make the drive home.

Soren had to admit that he could also use some time in a nice hot shower, but hot chocolate and getting the boys warm took precedent. They would pass out like played out puppies and nap the moment Soren left them alone for more than a minute, and it would be better if they were already PJ’d up and ready for a night in than trying to wake them later.

They rounded the final corner to their neighborhood and up to their place. Soren tapped the garage door and, to their surprise, nothing happened. Twice. Three times. Nothing. Soren put the car in park and stepped up to the keypad to press the frozen through buttons when he noticed the light failed to come on.

“Oh no,” he grumbled. This wasn’t good. He tried once more, just to be safe, and sadly received the same result.

The power was out.

How long has it been out? We’ve been gone for a while. Please tell me the pipes haven’t frozen. Looks like it’s improv time.

“Soren? Is everything okay?” Dorian had unbuckled himself and was leaning out of the car, concern etching its way into his thawing features.

“Maybe. I think the power’s out. Storm must’ve taken out the power lines and the generators,” replied Soren, who returned to the car and shut it off. “We’ll have to go in through the front. Come on.”

He guided the boys inside and, to keep them from tracking in snow, quickly undressed at the front door step so he was in nothing but his long pants and long sleeved shirt before picking up one boy and then the next, shoving them in the garage to rid themselves of their snow covered gear. The moment he stepped inside, Soren could’ve sworn he could see his breath. Evidently, the power had been out for a while, and that wasn’t good. The emergency flashlights flooded the room with small beacons of light, but that was all with the blinds closed and curtains drawn.

At least I remembered to keep the curtains sealed. It would be unbearable if I’d thrown open the blinds first thing.

He was prepared, as always, for emergencies, but it would add time and, sadly, the boys wouldn’t be getting a bath today unless the power came back on. Jammies on the boys and his own gear drying in the garage, Soren set to work.

“Soren? Why is it so cold in here?” asked Rey as he shivered and pulled his sleeves over his fingers.

“Well,” sighed Soren as he grabbed one of his own jackets and slid it onto his brother, instantly dwarfing the youngster, before pulling up the hood to cover his head. “When the power goes out, that means there’s no electricity. The heater runs off of electricity, so no power means no heat.” Soren pulled Dorian closer and slipped one of his jackets on him, zipping up the front all the way to Dorian’s chin.

“So… does that mean…” Soren knew where Rey was going with this.

“Yes. Operation Survival. You know where the flashlights are,” grinned Soren, biting back a shiver as he pulled a hoodie over his head.

“Yeah! Tent city! Campfire burner! Candles and fire! Let’s go!” Dorian cheered as he and Rey scampered off.

“Flashlights first!” Soren called. He rolled his eyes and stared at the kitchen sink, daring to reach forward and flicking the tap on.

Nothing.

Curses. Either the pipes are frozen or the backup generator is out too.

Soren crouched and opened the cabinet to see if he could find any signs of freezing pipes when he heard something on top of the counter directly behind him.

“S-s-soren?”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Ashlynn bundled in blankets to the point he could only make out part of her face.

“Ashlynn, hey,” he breathed.

“Wh-what’s g-going on?” Ashlynn’s teeth were chattering hard. “Is the p-power out?” A million things were going on in his mind to help get everything prepared for a potential power outage long haul, but pausing for a second to explain wouldn’t do any harm.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Soren grumbled. “Usually, there are generators and stuff to kick everything back on, but this snow storm must be hitting a lot of people all at once. So, we’re going into what myself and the boys affectionately call ‘Survival mode.’ We’ve also called it pioneer night, but operation survival motivates the boys.”

“Ah, I s-s-see,” muttered Ashlynn. “Explains the c-cold.”

“Oh… oh yeah, wow. So… gosh yeah, that would probably affect you more than any of us since you probably don’t have access to direct heat, huh.” Soren saw the small woman nod sheepishly. I couldn’t imagine not having access to electricity and modern tech. Basically every night is like pioneer night for someone like her. Soren shuddered to think of what it would be like to have to take care of him and his brothers if he were Ashlynn’s size with basically nothing to his name.

It made his heart ache, but then an idea hit him.

“Well, I don’t know what your plans are for the evening, but you’re welcome to join us. Dorian and Rey are going to be back here in a second and I’m going to set them on tent duty, which is basically a giant fort made of blankets so we can all be together and keep warm if the power doesn’t come back on. If you want to join them, I’m sure they’d love to have you,” suggested Soren. “Or not. Whatever you prefer. You might’ve just come down to figure out what was going on.”

“And… what are you doing?” asked Ashlynn.

“Me? Checking for leaks and breaks in the water pipes, but I don’t see any here and I can’t do much else except wait and see if there are any leaks,” replied Soren as he ducked back into the cabinet and, using his keen eyes, started seeking for any seam splits.

“Why can’t you do much else? Why wait?” asked Ashlynn, who knew the dangers of water leaking for more reasons than one. If there was a leak in the pipes, walls and floors were instantly torn up. She’d seen it happen to a friend’s family when they were growing up, and they had to move shortly after. The damage water could do was also dangerous. It could lead to mold and would ruin everything if not dealt with properly.

“Well, a lot of that stuff is either under the house where I can’t reach it right now or it’s in the walls,” explained Soren. It was like a bolt of lightning struck them both, giving the same idea at the same time. “Ashlynn…”

“Soren… er…” They accidentally started talking at the same time. They both chuckled as Soren gestured for Ashlynn to go first. “Well… if you need someone to check the walls, I could do that. It’s easy enough. I’ve already mapped out most of the pipes and stuff. It’s how I… well… er… let’s just say I know how to check for that kind of stuff.”

Soren’s smile was nearly from ear to ear.

“That would be great. Seriously, Ashlynn, thank you.” It felt like a boulder had been lifted off of Soren’s chest. With Ashlynn checking the walls, I can get everything else going. If she finds something, it’ll be a quick fix. If not, I’ll know it’s a generator. “Come back as soon as you’re done.”

“Sure,” Ashlynn replied. It was the first time she actually felt useful, like she was paying back a debt that wasn’t being asked for.

She’d almost made it to the walls when she heard Soren’s soft, “Oh.” She paused and looked back at him. “By the way, what kind of hot chocolate do you like? Have you… had it before?” Ashlynn had heard of this drink, but had never had a chance to borrow any. So, she shook her head. “Little of a few different ones then. Good to know. Thanks.”

Ashlynn clicked on her hip lamp and, like the shadow she was, slipped into the darkness in search of a leak.

Soren, in the meantime, gathered up a few pots and set them on the gas stove to start boiling snow for hand washing and other miscellaneous things. He had drinking water reserved in the closet and the garage. He retrieved the electric generators from the shelves and set to work making a big bowl of ramen for lunch and then soup for dinner.

When he told the boys Ashlynn would be joining them, they just about lost their minds.

“Twice? In two days!” They cheered as they set to work on the tent, saying, “Let’s make this one the best one ever so Ashlynn will be impressed. She’s probably never been in a fort before.”

Ashlynn determinedly began scouring the walls for every water pipe she could remember in the apartment. Up walls. Down corridors. She placed her hands on each frigid pipe and examined it up one side and down the other looking for bulges or poking out ice. She even made sure her area was secure before snagging a few things she would need if she was going to spend the evening with Soren and his brothers.

Brothers. Ridiculous. I should’ve seen it. They just… whatever. They look related, but not by much. Dorian and Rey must take after their actual father or Soren just really takes after his. Ashlynn crouched and flipped over some of the nearby pipes when she heard something.

*Hiss… Drip… Drip…. Drip…*

Everything stopped. She held her breath. Every little motion froze in place. Ashlynn listened as hard as she could, turning her head one way and then the other to tell where it was coming from. She picked up the pace, following the sound down one corridor and having to crawl on all fours under a support beam, but still finding nothing.

“Well, shoot,” she muttered, hands on her hips and reaching up to scratch the back of her neck. “Where are you? Sounds like it’s coming from… hm…”

She had an idea.

Ashlynn had a good sense of direction, and she knew this part of the house was near the outside of the house. If I’m right… Ashlynn slid down a line she’d secured when she first arrived in case of emergencies and, instantly, felt the bitter cold freezing her solid. It was the passage that led to the outside, and she was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea.

Just a peak. Just a pe-AK! Ashlynn was halfway down the line when, suddenly, her foot hit solid ice. The jolt made her lose her grip and, as she slid down the rest of the line, she saw the culprit.

The water hose on the outside had indeed burst, and the spray had coated her emergency line in a thin coating of ice. Ashlynn plummeted straight down into a frozen mud pit, water spraying over her and into her hair. The wind kicked up again, sending millions of tiny snowflakes rushing right past her. The frigid air nearly brought Ashlynn to her knees once she was upright again.

Shoot! This is bad. Curses! Of course this happens to me. Ashlynn thought as she wiped the mud on her pants. She thanked her lucky stars she had her spare line and didn’t have to spend any time knocking the ice off of her safety line. It was that one more second that she needed to get inside instead of sitting outside freezing to death.

Though it took a bit longer to get inside because of her mud slicked hands and pants, Ashlynn was finally back inside and certain the pipes were alright.

“Great. Now I just have to get back and be a muddy mess for the rest of the night,” mumbled Ashlynn as she made the long slog back to her bag and the electrical cover on the counter.

~~~^*^*^~~~

“What happened?!” Soren’s voice was saturated with concern as he watched Ashlynn march back onto the counter, mud and ice on her clothes and in her hair. “Are you okay? Did you find a leak? Gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine, Soren,” Ashlynn interrupted, feeling a bit flustered that Soren was fussing over her so much; not that she minded. In fact, she kind of liked it. She reached up and scratched the back of her neck, body still shivering from her exposure to the outside world. “Really. I just need to change and I’ll be good. On the positive side, at least we know it’s just a split hose outside and not something in the house.”

Soren sighed, right hand reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb, before glancing over at the lit stove where he had successfully melted several bowls of snow.

“Well, at the very least you can wash off that mud if you want. I’ve got some warm water here, and we’ll give you the bathroom to get changed and everything,” said Soren. The mention of warm water instantly made Ashlynn’s body tingle. She’d only ever had warm baths here, and she liked the experience. “Though technically, if you’re cold, it’s skin to skin that is recommended, but…”

Ashlynn didn’t hear the rest. Her ears instantly started ringing and her cheeks began burning hotter than her candle burning stove at the thought of skin to skin with Soren. Gosh! What’s wrong with me?!

“Ashlynn?”

The Borrower woman startled as she suddenly realized Soren’s hand was only a few inches from her. She looked down at his hand and then back up to his features, only now noticing the bowl of steaming water in his left hand.

“Is that… something you’d like?” he asked.

She swallowed hard and, realizing he was talking about the bath, nodded bashfully and stepped onto his fingers as she snagged her bag with her spare clothes in it. The heat radiating off of his palm was soothing, and she was tempted to see if she could just sit there and keep warm. The Borrower thought better of it and let Soren carry her to the bathroom, which was lit with candles.

“Um… there’s soap here and give a shout or come into the living room when you’re done. I’ll leave the door open a crack for you,” stated Soren as his hand glided down to the surface of the countertop to set her down.

“Th-thank you,” she mumbled as she disembarked and watched Soren go. Good grief! I can’t blank out and think about something as ridiculous as skin to skin with a human! What on earth is wrong with me?! Even if I took him up on that, he probably is treating me like he would a little sister. He treats his brothers with this same care. Good grief! What am I even thinking?

Ashlynn stripped and slid into the warm water, dunking herself in the hopes that warm water would cool her head.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Twenty or so minutes later, Ashlynn was squeaky clean with fresh clothes and clean ones drying on the edge of the sink. After getting clean, she scrubbed her clothes free of mud and set them out so she’d have something to get into later if she had another wardrobe malfunction.

Then, she wandered into the living room to see what exactly this “fort” was supposed to look like; and, in all actuality, it looked like a Borrower fort. The blankets were ramshackle and pinned in every which way between the two couches, which were now facing one another instead of being perpendicular. Other blankets and something that looked like foam were on the ground in between the two couches. There were also miscellaneous games and padded boxes that Ashlynn didn’t recognize, but one thing she did know for certain.

Heat was coming from somewhere. Based on the mild glow and the cord going from it to one of those padded boxes, Ashlynn guessed it was the reason there was any semblance of warmth anywhere here.

“Ashlynn!” Dorian’s face peered out from under one of the blankets on the couch as he gave a little wave. “Do you like it? It’s not done, but it will be. Want a grand tour?” Ashlynn spotted Soren not too far away unrolling some kind of plastic thing, so she elected to nod.

Dorian slipped out from the blankets and was at her side in a few simple steps, something Ashlynn would’ve had to short distance sprint to cross in the same amount of time.

“Okay, here you have the grand foyer. This is where we’ll have food and play some games and where the heater is pointed. That’s that thing over there,” Dorian explained.

“Heater? I thought…” Ashlynn’s confusion was evident and Rey, who was carrying in more blankets from Soren’s room, dropped everything to answer.

“Yeah! It needs electricity, but Soren has that covered. This thing here. It’s called a generator. It is like a big battery that Soren keeps charged in case we lose power. It also plays music and can make emergency Morse code signals if we’re in danger.” Rey was beaming with pride at his concise answer, and it earned him a scrutinized look from his brother.

“I was gonna explain that,” complained Dorian. “Any-who! That one there is my couch, so that’s where I’ll sleep. And that one there is Rey’s couch. That’s where he’ll sleep. He’ll probably also lose some of his toys in there because he always loses his toys in the couch.”

“I do not! Not always,” Rey claimed indignantly. “I can’t help it if I like working on my inventions before bed and… well… sometimes I fall asleep and sometimes things fall out of my hands, but that’s part of being an inventor, which… OH! It’s Christmas Eve! We can give you your thing!”

Rey scampered off while Dorian continued to talk about the entrance and how it’s important to have blankets in a particular order because, otherwise, you’ll still be cold even under a mountain of blankets. To Ashlynn’s surprise, she actually found this useful.

By the time Rey returned, Soren had lunch in bowls for all of them, even Ashlynn, as well as a cup of hot chocolate for each of them. It was the first time Ashlynn ever had anything like it. It was warm and sweet and made her insides toasty like warm soup. And then adding marshmallows? Something else she’d never tried?

A Borrower could die happy if this was their last meal.

They finished lunch and played a few games, which Dorian and Rey barely made it through because they were exhausted from sledding, and then decided to lay down while Soren cleaned up. It was admirable, seeing the way Soren diligently tended to his brothers, and Ashlynn couldn’t stop herself from staring as Soren came back and practically collapsed onto something they called an “air mattress.”

But it’s not made of air… just filled with it… whatever.

It was when they woke up that the real, as Rey called them, “reindeer games” actually started. They took turns having Ashlynn on their team as they played things like “Cadoo,” more Pictionary, Jenga which Ashlynn was especially good at since she could climb and maneuver the pieces so well, and a few others Ashlynn hadn’t heard of.

It was only after dinner, yet another meal Ashlynn found herself groaning over, that they celebrated Christmas Eve. Soren did something called praying, which Ashlynn had seen some other humans do, before he retrieved several boxes from under the tree, each wrapped in green or red wrapping paper. He handed three each to the boys and, to Ashlynn’s surprise, one to her.

“Sorry I don’t have the same to give like I do the boys,” apologized Soren. “It’s what I could come up with in time.” It was a beautifully wrapped blue package that was about as tall and as wide as herself. She worried it would be too big to bring back to her own home, but banished those thoughts as she poked a hole in the paper and tore away the sides.

It was a massive, fuzzy blanket with an elegant “A” stitched into the side which was about the size of her hand. One side was a blue checkered flannel and the other was a cloud like fluffy material that was softer than anything Ashlynn had ever touched before in her life.

“Y-you… made this? For me?” she asked, craning her neck to look up into Soren’s golden hazel eyes. The illumination of the flashlights and candles only accentuated the flecks of green in them.

“Yeah,” Soren muttered as he reached up and nervously scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry it’s not much. But…”

“I love it. I… I just…”

“Wait! What about ours!” Rey interrupted as he quickly snagged a flashlight and darted into the darkness of his bedroom.

“Mine too!” Dorian called as he raced after his brother.

Soren chuckled, completely unaware that they’d managed to pull something together, when he heard a little sniff by his knee. He honed in his attention onto Ashlynn, who was clutching the blanket to her chest and shivering slightly.

“Hey… Ashlynn. Are you okay? Did we… do something wrong?” asked Soren. Ashlynn shook her head, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and along her sleeve. Her voice barely carried through the air, and Soren had to leave over to hear Ashlynn’s mumblings.

“I just… I haven’t don’t anything to deserve this. You’re all just being… being so kind. It’s something I would never have thought a human would do for a B…” Ashlynn stopped herself short before continuing, not finishing the word she had in mind. “You know? You hear these stories about others getting captured or killed. It just makes you so afraid, and then someone like you comes along… all three of you… it’s just…”

“It’s a lot?” Soren ventured a guess after Ashlynn was silent for a minute. When she nodded, he continued. “Yeah, I can understand that. And, please, if this is too much all at once you can just tell us. It’s okay.”

“See? Stuff like that. You’re all just so understanding. I just… I wish there were more humans out there like you. I’d even take more like you for my kind if I’m being honest.” Soren felt a rush of flattery making the tips of his ears burn. It was nice to know his efforts were worth it and that she wasn’t feeling hostile or as secretive anymore.

“Well, as long as you’re comfortable, you’re always welcome. It’s quick, but it definitely feels like you’ve joined the crew, if that’s what you want,” offered Soren. Ashlynn, emotions running wild like a rampant tornado in a jar, found herself nodding. It had been so long since she’d been a part of something – part of a family – and having it happen so quickly only affirmed in her mind that it was meant to be.

“We’re back! Here, Ashlynn! Open mine first.”

“No, me!”

Dorian and Rey both presented their gifts, which were, at the very least, good efforts that showcased the boys’ charm. Dorian had made something that looked like a coat rack out of some pencils and rubber bands. He also claimed it could function as a makeshift tent as he draped a blanket over the edges.

Rey, on the other hand, had managed to create a type of “quick descending” device using a skillcraft lanyard zip and some extra fishing hooks. He was also working on a quick ascension device, but he was having trouble getting it to not lock up.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” It was true. Ashlynn felt at a loss for words to show her gratitude, but an idea came to mind that she knew she had to act on. She stood and, to each of the boys, she went over and hugged their fingers, seeing that was the only part of them she could actually get her hands around. Despite her body shaking with excitement and so many other emotions, she managed to hug and thank each of the brothers.

Soren’s gifts to the boys included one toy they’d both been asking for separately, which was a Lego set of their choosing, something that interested them independently, music box mixing for Dorian and an electronics kit for Rey, and something they could do together, which was two new card games. In exchange, Dorian gave Soren a tool kit with medical and practical supplies, which Soren knew he was getting since he purchased it, and Rey gifted him some homemade flashlight gloves and matching head mount for his flashlights.

So… this is Christmas. I like it, Ashlynn thought as she watched the brothers hug. They crawled into their prospective beds not too long after and, using her new “tent,” Ashlynn found herself turning in for bed too. Both Dorian and Rey were breathing softly in their makeshift beds under a warmed tent, obviously knocked out from the events of the day. Ashlynn wasn’t far behind. Her eyes were just beginning to unfocus when she heard Soren’s signature cough.

“Hey, Ashlynn? You awake?” asked Soren.

“Mm-hmm, yeah,” she replied, sleep saturating her voice. How much time had passed since the boys had fallen asleep? Was Ashlynn asleep? Or that odd twilight between awake and not?

“Thanks for spending Christmas with us, and thanks for checking out the house. You really saved a lot of time and eased my mind at least, and I know the boys would say they had a great time with you tonight. So, thanks.”

Soren’s voice was growing fainter with each passing word until he completely drifted off to sleep. Ashlynn wasn’t far behind. Sleep played at the edges of her vision, eyelids lulling like shades that wouldn’t pull down. Up. Down. Further down. Up again. Closed. Up.

Sleep beckoned her with open arms as she nestled deeper into the cocoon she’d made from the blanket Soren gifted to her. Weightless. Effortless.

It was everything she’d always wanted – to be part of a fam-…

*WHAM*

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue | Coming Soon

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

A Tall and Small Collection | Original Story

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witchofawoman · 18 hours ago

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LATE NIGHTS ⋆｡°✩

5. Storm ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

featuring : jj maybank x kook!reader

summary : After last night’s tension with JJ and Rafe, you just wanted to disappear, but Rafe demanded you to come to a party, which you couldn't afford to refuse even though that's all your heart wanted as you knew how bad it would be for you...

words count : 2.5k

warnings : drug and alcohol usage, angst, violence, addiction, cheating, etc.

a/n : This is the 5th part of the serie !! Enjoy <3

That morning, you felt sick to your stomach. Sarah had gone to take a shower, but you sat on your bed, staring at Rafe’s text. The sight of it alone was enough to make you nauseous. It made you feel miserable, but you couldn’t afford to refuse his invitation. So, with a shaky hand, you texted him back a simple “ok.”

You were stressed. For once, Rafe would actually be with you at the party. He wouldn’t be off in some room with another girl. No, this time, he’d be right next to you, watching your every move. The thought of it was unbearable. And as if things couldn’t get any worse, JJ was going to be there too.

You stayed on your bed, lost in thought, until Sarah emerged from the bathroom.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” she asked. Her hair was damp, her usual outfit thrown together with practiced ease. Her lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes gave her away it was like she was in a rush.

Before you could answer, a loud honking interrupted you. Frowning, you walked to the window and peeked out. John B’s van was parked outside, and his friends were piled in, waiting.

You shot Sarah a confused look, but she quickly held up a hand to cut you off. “I’ll explain later, but I have to go now. Please grab my stuff and bring it tonight, okay? Love you!”

Before you could even process what was happening, she was gone.

“Uh… okay,” you muttered to yourself. Your head spun. What was going on?

The day was suffocating, the hours crawling by with cruel deliberation. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, not even to grab a drink or smoke by the window. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by dread, your mind spinning in loops you couldn’t break. All you could do was lay in bed, staring blankly at the screen, movies flickering without meaning.

By the time 5 p.m. rolled around, the walls felt like they were closing in. You had no choice—you had to get up, had to move.

Dragging yourself to the mirror, you barely recognized your own reflection. Your skin was dull, your eyes sunken with exhaustion. You couldn’t care enough to pick a real outfit, so you grabbed the first thing your hand landed on: denim shorts and a white bikini top. You smeared on some makeup, shaky hands smudging the eyeliner, but you didn’t bother fixing it.

The phone buzzed violently on your nightstand, dragging you out of your spiral. You stared at the screen for a moment, your heart sinking when you saw his name. You didn’t want to answer—but you knew he wouldn’t stop. With a deep breath, you pressed the green button.

“Rafe,” you said, your voice flat.

“Where the fuck are you?” His voice was already sharp, cutting through you like glass.

“At home,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even.

“You were supposed to be here already.”

“You were supposed to pick me up,” you said, the exhaustion creeping into your words.

There was a pause on the line, followed by the sound of him sniffing. It made your stomach churn.

“Do you think I have time to play chauffeur, Y/N?” His voice was low now, edged with something darker. “Jesus Christ, you can’t do anything for yourself, can you?”

“Are you seriously doing this right now? You’re the one who forgot—”

“Don’t fucking start with me,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You love this, don’t you? Acting like a victim all the time. Like I’m the bad guy. Guess what, love? You are the problem. You’re pathetic.”

You blinked, your breath hitching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you whispered, anger and hurt mixing into something volatile.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” he snarled. “Do you think anyone else would put up with your shit? Your little tantrums, your moods? Nobody cares about you, Y/N. Not Sarah, not those Pogues, and sure as hell not me if you keep acting like this.”

“Then leave!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “If I’m so goddamn unbearable, leave!”

There was another sniff on the other end of the line, followed by a humorless laugh.

“Oh, I will, love. But not before you drag your sorry ass here. And don’t you dare try anything tonight, or we’re done. You hear me? Done.”

“I—” you started, but the line went dead.

You stared at your phone, your chest heaving, the words you couldn’t say burning in your throat.

It coursed through you, a fiery rush that burned away everything else. Grabbing your bottle of pills, a few joints, and your car keys, you stormed out.

By the time you got to the party, the music was thumping, and the house was packed. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to see Rafe, didn’t want to see anyone. Slipping through the chaos, you headed upstairs.

It was Lucy’s house. You knew it well, knew the quiet spots but most of all knew how to disappear. The upstairs bathroom was perfect. Locking the door behind you, you dumped the pills onto the counter, crushed them into neat lines, and inhaled. The burn hit hard, sharp and immediate, but the numbness came quicker. Your heart raced, your mind blurred.

The bathroom door burst open so hard it slammed against the wall, making you flinch.

“Hey.”

The voice was familiar, but you were too dazed to place it. Blinking, you turned—and the sight of JJ standing in the doorway hit you like a bucket of ice water.

“JJ,” you breathed, your voice shaky.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His eyes were sharp

You wiped at your nose, trying to compose yourself. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, sure. Nothing looks a lot like snorting shit alone in a bathroom at a party.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his glare with defiance. “What are you even doing here, JJ?”

“Looking for beer, not a breakdown,” he shot back. “But I guess you’d call this fate, huh?”

You scoffed, leaning against the sink. “Oh, spare me the lecture.”

“I’m not lecturing you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m just wondering how someone who acts so untouchable is actually this fucking reckless.”

You stiffened, the words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “What do you care?”

“I don’t,” he snapped, but his eyes betrayed him. “I mean—fuck, Y/N. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to yourself? Or is this just another game to you?”

“Don’t act like you know me,” you said, stepping closer. “You don’t. You never did.”

“Oh, I know you,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “I know you push people away before they can hurt you. I know you can’t stand being vulnerable for even a second because you think it makes you weak. But you know what’s really weak, Y/N? This. Hiding in a bathroom, getting high like that’s gonna fix anything.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and stinging. But instead of retreating, you closed the gap between you, your faces now inches apart.

“Am I weak, JJ?” you whispered, your voice soft but laced with challenge. “Or are you just scared of me?”

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking to your lips for the briefest moment.

“Scared of you?” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “You wish.”

Your lips curved into a faint smirk, but before either of you could say anything else, the moment shattered.

“Little bitch, you are, Y/N.”

Rafe’s voice cut through the air like a whip, and JJ stepped back, his expression hardening as Rafe stormed in.

“What, Rafe? I’m the bitch here?” you said, your voice sharp, not even turning to look at him as you wiped at your nose again.

He didn’t answer, and didn't waste time. He grabbed your arm and spun you around, slamming you back against the wall. His hand gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, his face inches from yours.

“Look at me,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “What the fuck were you doing with that Pogue?”

“Do you need to know every move I make?” you snapped, meeting his glare head-on.

“Yes,” he spat, his grip tightening. “Because you’re mine. Do you hear me? You’re fucking mine.”

“I’m not yours, Rafe!” you screamed, shoving at his chest. “I’m not your property, and you don’t get to control me!”

His eyes darkened, his face twisting in fury. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

“Fuck you,” you shot back, your voice trembling with rage. “This is the end, Rafe. Never talk to me again. Go back to your little flings and hope they’re stupid enough to put up with your bullshit.”

“You don’t get to leave me,” he snarled, but you were already shoving past him, slamming the door behind you as you disappeared into the chaos of the party.

a/n : I know it's been a while since I haven't posted but I'm trying my best I promise, love you !!

[like and follow !!]

Taglist : @immyowndefender @imsiriuslyreal @yvesoull1 @yesshewrites1

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outerbanks #rafe cameron #outer banks #jj maybank smut #obx #f!reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #jj maybank x kook reader #toxic relationship #flirting #little tease #tw drugs #obx fic #fan fiction #rudy pankow #drew starkey

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theonlyonesora · 2 days ago

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Chapter 2: Fractured Bonds

Toji sank into the chair across from Megumi, his movements slow and deliberate as though the weight of his life pressed on his shoulders. Kiyomi slid into the seat beside her younger brother, her presence a quiet balm to the tension in the air.

Toji leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight, and smirked at the stormy expression on Megumi’s face.

“Why the long face, kid? Still brooding about the money?” Toji asked casually, biting into the burger with an audible crunch.

Megumi glared, his jaw tightening as he shoved a handful of fries into his mouth instead of replying.

Toji chuckled, finding his son’s silence amusing. “You should lighten up. Life’s not so serious,” he quipped, his words dripping with nonchalance.

Megumi’s fork clattered onto the plate, his irritation spilling over. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one watching all our money vanish because of your bets!”

Toji raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “And it’s easy for me to win it back too,” he countered, taking another bite.

Megumi’s voice rose, his frustration finally boiling over. “You never win it back! You lose everything, and then you count on Kiyomi to give up what little she has just so we can scrape by! It’s not fair!”

Kiyomi, sensing the mounting tension, placed a gentle hand on her brother’s arm. “Megumi, enough,” she said softly but firmly. “Let’s just eat in peace.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the clinking of utensils and the faint hum of the fluorescent light. Toji’s smirk lingered, though his gaze flicked briefly to Kiyomi, a glimmer of something unspoken passing through his eyes.

The cramped apartment was dimly lit, a single flickering bulb casting a weak glow over the peeling wallpaper and mismatched furniture. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city filtered through the thin walls. It was home, but it bore the weight of weariness—a reflection of the lives that unfolded within it.

the tension lingered like a shadow. Megumi stormed off to his room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the walls.

“Still grumpy, huh?” Toji muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he wandered into the kitchen.

Kiyomi settled onto the couch, the glow of the TV casting soft light over her tired features. Toji joined her, a beer in hand, sinking into the worn cushions of the opposite couch.

“So, it’s just you and me now, huh?” he said, taking a long sip. “The little prince is sulking in his castle.”

Kiyomi glanced at him, her voice quiet but steady. “Megumi’s just...strong-willed. He doesn’t mean to be difficult.”

Toji laughed, though there was a hollow edge to it. “Yeah, he’s got fire. Too much sometimes. But he’s not wrong, you know.”

She tilted her head in quiet question.

Toji swirled the beer in his hand, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “About me. About the gambling, the money. I know I screw up. But what can I say? Old habits die hard.”

There was a beat of silence before Kiyomi spoke, her words gentle but pointed. “He doesn’t know what you were like before. When Mom was here.”

Toji’s expression flickered—regret, pain, and something softer, all fleeting across his face. He didn’t respond immediately, the weight of her words sinking in.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “He doesn’t remember. But I do.”

The air grew heavier, and Kiyomi broke the tension with a question. “When are you going out again? To work?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Toji replied, his tone returning to its usual casual drawl. “Got a job lined up. Shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

Kiyomi hesitated before asking, “Aren’t you afraid you might not come back? What would Megumi and I do if that happened?”

Toji froze for a moment, caught off guard by her concern. He met her gaze, his usual carefree mask slipping slightly.

“Hey, don’t think like that. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing. And I’m not planning on leaving you two anytime soon,” he said, ruffling her hair with a small, reassuring smile.

Kiyomi nodded, her expression still heavy with worry. “Just...be careful, okay?”

“I always am,” Toji replied, though the look in his eyes hinted at the weight he carried. “Now go get some sleep, kid. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

She leaned in to hug him briefly, surprising him. Toji hesitated, then returned the embrace, his hand patting her back awkwardly.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she murmured before retreating to her room.

Toji watched her leave, his smirk softening into something more genuine. He drained the last of his beer and sat in the quiet of the living room, the weight of his choices pressing down as the apartment settled into stillness.

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 3 days ago

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Can I request the maximum of 🌲 and ⚖️?

Yes!

1k for 🌲:

---

As Buck gets back on the road, headed south to El Paso, he wonders if he’s made a mistake. Not in going after Eddie. Not even in leaving Chris. But in his timing. Is his timing wrong?

He hadn’t wanted to wait. He’d wanted to get to Eddie as soon as possible. Who knows what the hell that woman is putting him through, right? Who knows if his father is hurt or dead or… Or what! But at the same time, what’s the plan here? What edge up does he have, going back? Should he have waited for business hours? Gone and purchased a gun or something? No. What? No. He’s being crazy. He doesn’t want a gun. He doesn’t even know how to shoot. Guns don’t make anything better. Not really. He’s just scared. He doesn't want anything to happen to Eddie.

He parks outside of a Cabela’s when he reaches El Paso. It’s not even six in the morning. The store doesn’t open until nine. He’s not sure what he’s doing here. Is he going to wait three hours? Buy a weapon? No. Right? He’s not… No. That’s not him. That’s never been him. But who is he willing to be, to protect Eddie? Pretty much anyone, he thinks. For Eddie? Anyone. Anything.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, unsure of the next best step. He doesn’t know what’s right. He doesn’t know what’s crazy. He doesn’t even have a plan.

The feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket startles Buck. He doesn’t expect it. Not at this hour. He reaches into his pocket, hands a little shaky, and pulls it out. It’s a text. From Eddie.

Idk if you’re awake or even nearby… But if you are, I need you to come pick me up.

Buck just stares at the text. He’s kind of baffled. Just… Just go pick him up? That easy? No gun needed?

Uncertain, he replies:

How do I know this is really Eddie?

The response is immediate.

Buck… Really?

You’re the first to cry on emotional calls.

You watch way too much reality television.

You have a freckle on your left ass cheek.

Need I go on?

Wait. He does? Well, okay. That’s Eddie.

He replies:

I’m coming for you.

🌲

There’s a long discussion. One that doesn’t include their mother. One that hardly includes their father.

It’s a discussion about how to move forward. About how to take all this shit, and move forward anyway.

Ramon will go with Sophia for a while. Stay in San Antonio. He needs time. Eddie can respect that. He’s been through a lot. Eddie’s not sure how much of the blame his father bears in everything that has happened. He’s not blameless. But whatever he did, no one deserves to have their agency stripped away.

“Marcus is okay with that?” Eddie asks Sophia when she makes the call.

“He’ll have to be,” she says. “Plus, he can’t stay in this house. Not until it’s… A house again.”

Rather than a forest. Right.

“I’ll work on that,” Adriana says.

It’s her Eddie is most concerned about, actually. Because it’s her who has volunteered for the unhappy task of staying behind. With their mother. Eddie didn’t like it. He didn’t agree with it. Surely she doesn’t deserve that; a child sticking by her after all of this. Especially Adriana, who she left out to rot in the woods, when she was the only person who could have known what had happened to her.

“You can’t think of it that way,” Adriana argues. “It’s not about giving her what she wants. It’s about… Well, someone needs to keep an eye on her, first of all. You two have kids. Eddie, you… You never need to be around her again. I mean that. And I… I have a lot of time on my hands, while I figure out how to heal from this.”

She plans to fix the house. To make Helena help her fix the house. And maybe, if she can do it without making herself worse, take their mother back to Sweden.

“Maybe it’ll help her,” Adriana says. “Or maybe I’ll leave her there. Haven’t decided yet.”

“You know you don’t have to do this alone,” Eddie says. He’s told her and Sophia what he and Buck figured out. Their theory. The one he plans on rolling with, as best he can.

“We love you,” Sophia adds. “You’re our sister and we are always going to fight for you.”

“I know,” Adriana smiles. “I love you guys. But I need to do this. I have a lot to atone for.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie argues.

She shrugs. “That’s a flimsy line. And I need to feel less like a monster.”

Eddie supposes he understands that.

“But you won’t be a stranger?” He ensures. “You’ll check in?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Good,” Sophia says. “We will look through any forest to find you, Adri.”

“I know you will,” she smiles. She looks at Eddie. “Thank you for finding me.”

Eddie nods. “Always.”

For his own part, Eddie feels sort of like he’s getting away with something. Like the only one in the group project not doing any work. He is simply going to go home to his son and… Well, and his boyfriend. He guesses. That’s probably the right word for them. Anyway. Point is, he’s going back to his life. He’s going to try to get as much of it back as he can. He’s not taking on the care of any parent. He doesn’t actually have the energy for that. He doesn’t want to be involved in whatever happens to their mother, and he’s not too clear on if he’ll ever have a relationship with his father again. Maybe. He doesn’t know.

---

1k for ⚖️:

---

Buck is hardly functional when the knock hits the door. He’s crashed out hard after delivering that punishment. Half because of the relief of the tension inside him, half because of the horror of viewing that man’s life. It makes it sort of hard to stay awake and think. Not to mention days and days of hardly sleeping at all have taken their toll on him.

The point is, when he opens the door to Eddie, he feels like a zombie. He’s sure he looks like a zombie, too.

Buck frowns when he sees Eddie standing there, two coffees in hand.

“You don’t have to knock,” he says by way of greeting.

Eddie's mouth tightens a little. “I wasn’t sure.”

Buck sighs. “I told you it’s not… Can you just come inside?”

Eddie hands the coffee to him and steps through the door.

“Thanks,” Buck mumbles.

“I don’t know how much space you need,” Eddie says. “So tell me to leave, I guess. But I’m worried about you, okay? I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and you didn’t answer my texts.”

“Sorry,” Buck says. “I was sleeping pretty deeply… After not sleeping for a while.”

“Oh,” Eddie nods. “Uh, sorry for waking you up.”

Buck shrugs. “S’fine.”

Eddie exhales heavily. “Buck, are we okay? I don’t… I don’t want us to not be okay.”

Buck does his best to smile. It probably doesn’t look very convincing.

“We’re totally fine, Eddie.”

Eddie frowns. “What? You were… You were pretty mad at me yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. “I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. His brows furrow, like he’s still not satisfied. “I appreciate that. But I’m also kind of thinking that there’s, like, a bigger issue than just some heightened emotions yesterday.”

Yeah. Yeah, Buck can see how he’d think that.

“There was,” Buck agrees. “But I fixed it. It-it won’t be a problem anymore. So we can forget about it.”

“What does that mean, Buck?” Eddie asks. “What did you do?”

“Does it matter? It’s… It’s fixed.”

“Fixed?” Eddie asks. His expression turns from concerned to angry. “The problem where I don’t want you to look into my future is just fixed? You aren’t worried anymore? So, yeah. It matters. What did you do? I mean, when did you even… We didn’t even touch after that!”

Okay, right. He can see how that looks.

“No, no, no,” Buck shakes his head. “I didn’t look. I didn’t do anything.”

“Then how the hell is it fixed?” Eddie asks.

“I made a deal,” Buck says. “I made a deal with Nemesis.”

Eddie’s face slackens. “What?”

Buck explains it. The whole thing. The deal, the terms, all of it. What he had to do in the middle of the night. The way he feels now. Eddie listens, face frozen with terror. He should be happy. Why isn’t he happy? Buck fixed everything. All their futures. Everyone is going to be okay.

“Oh god, Buck,” Eddie says. “That’s not a good trade.”

“What?” Buck demands. “What do you mean? It’s a great deal, Eddie. Everyone I love is going to get the best future they can.”

“At what cost? You torturing yourself?” Eddie asks. “This is too much.”

“No,” Buck says. “No. I was already stuck with this either way.”

“But this is worse,” Eddie protests. “You could have gotten by on helping people. You liked that part.”

“I… I still can,” Buck reasons. “It just doesn’t… It won’t be enough.”

Eddie sighs. He pinches the bridge of his knows. The way he does when something - or someone - is exasperating him. Buck tenses. It feels oddly condescending.

“Stop,” Buck pleads. “Eddie, stop. Just be happy. Please. You’re going to be happy.”

“Have you possibility considered I don’t want to buy my happiness at your expense?” Eddie asks loudly. Almost a shout.

Buck swallows. He doesn’t understand why this is so bad. He doesn’t get it.

“Well, I’m the one that made the deal,” Buck says. “It was my choice.”

Eddie purses his lips. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Buck. I’m not going to pretend I’m not freaked out for you.”

“Okay, well I’m good. I’ll adjust,” Buck says.

He’s actually not sure that that’s true. He thinks he might be lying. Because really… He’s scared. He’s terrified. He feels awful. He wishes Eddie would just get over this so Buck could just… He doesn’t even know. Ask him to stay here and hold him for a little while? Would that make it better? Maybe not for long, but for now…

Eddie sighs. He crosses his arms tightly, like he’s cold. “Okay, well… Alright.”

“Alright, what?” Buck asks.

“Alright, I… I guess I don’t know what to say.”

“About what?” Buck asks. “It’s done, Eddie.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Eddie replies.

“What do you want me to do?” Buck asks. “I’m not going to take it back. So either… Either you…”

“Either I what?” Eddie demands.

“Either you-you have to be okay with it, or… Or you leave me, I guess!” Buck flounders.

Eddie’s whole face falls. “Are you serious?”

No. No, Buck is not serious. He doesn’t want Eddie to leave. He doesn’t want any sort of ultimatum to be issued. Not really. But, what else is he supposed to say? What more does Eddie want him to do? What's done is done.

So Buck just shrugs helplessly. He feels helpless. He feels exhausted.

“Wow,” Eddie says. “So much for your best possible futures for everyone, then.”

“Wait, no, that’s not-”

“You know, I think I’m gonna go,” Eddie says.

“Eddie, come on. No, I-”

But Eddie is already walking towards the door. “You know, when I was struggling, you were allowed to worry about me without me giving you some sort of ultimatum,” Eddie says. “I think you’re in trouble, Buck. And if you can take your head out of your ass to actually listen to me, I’ll be around.”

#daisies and briars writes #firelight fic #an angry blade fic

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andrews-grave · 1 year ago

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Andrew being very tired and stumbling into his and Ashley’s shared bedroom but he’s sooo tired his legs can only carry him to his sisters bed… Where he will promptly give up, flop down beside her and very quickly fall asleep while she stays awake longer just… watching him and playing with his hair while he snores quietly, cuddled up next to her <3 bound to sleep better than he has in a long while, as long as it’s beside her

#I wrote this while I was in. a very similar state to Andrew #if somethings wrong I’ll fix it in the morning #I’m so tired but I needed to get this out #proship #proship safe #antis dni #profic #proship please interact #proshippers please interact #the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #andrew graves #ashley graves #coffincest #andrew x ashley

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neptunes-blue · 1 year ago

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It’s 3am but I drew my first full body since march 2023, are you proud of me guys guys guys are youproudof me guysguysfuys

#this is still a hashtag WIP by the way #wingmen #wingmen ensan case #ensan case #my gay lt cdr meow meow….#i just realised that something’s wrong with the shoes but I’ll fix it in the morning #jack hardigan #ok goodnight Neptune nation snorkkkmimimimi

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marsdql · 2 months ago

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ℋ𝓎𝒰𝓃𝑔 ℒ𝒾𝒩ℯ — 𝒶𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒸𝒶𝓇ℯ

𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･ How enha hyung line react to you being sore, a lot of fluff | wc: 1.3k —

Lee Heeseung

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains as Heeseung walks into the bedroom with a mug in hand. He pauses at the door, smirking as he spots you sprawled out on the bed, groaning softly.

“Look at my poor baby,” he murmurs, setting his coffee down on the nightstand. “What happened to you?”

You roll onto your side, pouting up at him. “I’m sore. Like, really sore. My legs don’t work anymore.”

He laughs softly, slipping under the covers and pulling you onto his lap effortlessly. “I didn’t know I was that much of a menace,” he teases, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You are,” you mumble, burying your face in his chest. “This is all your fault.”

Heeseung tilts your chin up, his dark eyes softening as he studies you. “You’re so dramatic,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Just relax.”

His hands move slowly, massaging gentle circles into your lower back and thighs, his warmth easing the tension in your body. “You’re not doing anything today,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re staying right here with me. I’m not letting you move an inch.” Rest of the members below cut !

Park Jongseong

Jay cradles you in his arms, your head tucked against his chest as he brushes lazy circles over your shoulder. You shift slightly, letting out a quiet whine, and he glances down at you.

“Something wrong, baby?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

You pout up at him. “I’m sore everywhere. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He hums softly, pressing a kiss to your temple before shifting to sit up. “Stay right here,” he says, slipping out of bed and disappearing into the hallway.

When he comes back, he scoops you into his arms without a word, ignoring your confused protests. “Jay,” you mumble, “what are you doing?”

He tilts his head down, brushing his lips over your forehead. “Just trust me, princess.”

The warm scent of lavender and steam greets you as he carries you into the bathroom. He sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist as he brushes your hair back. “I’ll stay here with you,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm. “You just relax for me, okay?”

His quiet attention lulls you into comfort, and when he notices the tension leaving your body, he smiles faintly. “That’s my good girl,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

Sim Jaeyun

Jake is sound asleep, his face buried in the crook of your neck, when your soft whimpers stir him. He groans lightly, his arms tightening around you as he nuzzles closer.

“Why’re you making noise, baby?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You pout, shifting slightly. “I’m sore. My legs hurt so bad,” you whisper.

His eyes flutter open, and he lets out a sleepy sigh, pulling back to look at you. “Yeah?” he mutters, his hands already sliding down to your thighs. “Let me see.”

Without another word, he moves to sit up, his hands finding the tense muscles as he begins to knead them gently. His touch is warm and deliberate, his thumbs pressing into just the right spots.

“Better?” he asks after a moment, his voice quiet and affectionate.

You hum softly, your pout softening. "A little." Jake leans down, brushing his lips over your knee with a faint grin. "Good," he whispers.

"Now let me finish fixing you so we can go back to sleep."

Once he's satisfied, he pulls you back into his arms, tucking you against his chest. "If it still hurts in the morning, just wake me up again," he murmurs, his voice fading as sleep takes over.

Park Sunghoon

Sunghoon's eyes follow your every movement as you shift under the covers, your quiet groans catching his attention.

Without saying anything, he moves closer, his hand slipping under the blanket to rest on your thigh.

"Stop moving," he whispers, his voice low and steady as his fingers brush lightly over your skin.

You pout up at him, your voice soft and frustrated. "Hoonie.. it hurts." His lips curve into a faint smirk as he leans down, brushing his mouth against your forehead. "Shh," he murmurs. "I'll take care of it."

His lips trail down your body, his touch deliberate and unhurried. When he reaches your thighs, he presses a soft kiss to the tender muscles, his hands massaging slow circles into your skin. "You're so perfect," he murmurs against your leg, his voice low and reverent.

You shiver slightly, a quiet sigh escaping as his warmth lulls you into relaxation. "You're too much," you mumble, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

Sunghoon glances up at you, his sharp features soft in the dim light. "And you love it," he replies simply, his lips brushing over your knee.

[ marsdql ]

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celestiamour · 5 days ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ we're doing better ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ your husband has finally been honest with you, but what now?┊3.0k words; prt one (here)

contains: his pov, lots of perspective and lore, love at first sight, happy ending where the reader forgives him, note that sociopathic/psychopathic behavior has no known cure & that this is unrealistic fiction, he can’t be fixed but he can be here <3

➤ author's note: the long-awaited & heavily-requested part two!! the ending is sucky because i didn’t plan to write a part two and because i personally wouldn’t have forgiven him, but lots of you guys seemed to want to. i wanted to write something exploring their relationship, so i hope this is received well & that you guys will enjoy!

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning” were the last words you said to him before rushing out the door and disappearing to your mother’s house. that was last night, but it was now early evening with the sun finishing its descent over the horizon and you were nowhere to be seen. he briefly wondered if you were also watching it from wherever you were like he was through the window, knowing that you adored the beautiful array of colors blending into each other and always pointed it out when you were with him. he never cared for it himself and took the sight for granted until you came along. now he’s aching for your presence asking him if he thought it was pretty when you were always the prettiest sight in his eyes with the orange light reflecting on you.

his hand was itching to call you or send a text, but he decided against it. you needed your space, especially after that fateful conversation which left him with regret weighing heavy on his chest. he wasn’t sure what the regret stemmed from, if it was regret from not trying harder to keep his secret, if it was from not being more careful to hide his tracks from seong gi-hun, if it was from attempting to build a normal life, or if it was leading the type of life had in the first place. it was a mix of everything, and he hated the feeling of it.

gong ji-cheol never regretted anything in his life. he didn’t regret spending his days getting a sadistic kick out of playing judge and jury to people he viewed as worthless trash when they lost against him, whether it was slapping people he was recruiting into games they would inevitably die in or spending his free time messing around with homeless people. he didn’t regret getting tangled up with the mysterious oh il-nam and the activities occurring on that island, starting as a guard and working his way up to a salesman. he didn’t regret firing a gun on his own father in cold blood when he unknowingly begged his own flesh and blood to spare him.

he’s a man who was steadfast and stubborn when it came to his fucked-up morals and ideals, always believing from a young age that it made him better than others. there was never a reason for him to change as he got older when he found himself working for a hidden organization that introduced him to the addicting taste of death, paid well, and protected him from the law if the unlikely situation of getting caught by authorities for his crimes ever happened. he never cared to do the right thing was doing wrong was just so much more suited to him, never minding the strict set of rules he had to adhere to as long as he was allowed to freely exercise his psychopathic tendencies without trouble following him. it made him feel like a god at times who was so high above normal people if he ignored that he was still an employee with a boss.

and now he’s sitting in the living room, disheveled and staring at the floor waiting for your return like a dog awaiting its master.

he couldn’t even be mad at you for storming out like that. he’s surprised about how mellow your reaction was to learning the truth of his occupation and how dirty the cash he used to spoil you was, how you didn’t scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and how you didn’t call the police— or maybe you had already called them at some point today and his friends in higher places were working to keep him safe. more than anything, he misses you, filled with a feeling of longing he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

at first, he was only trying to look normal. the people around him started to wonder why a man as tall and handsome as he with money that flowed in like water from an unknown source he kept secret was still single. when people wonder, they start to become nosy. he couldn’t have that if he wanted to keep up the lifestyle he had, so he started searching for someone suited to be his wife.

to others, he seemed incredibly picky, never reaching out for a second date even once or even bothering to send a polite text saying he didn’t feel a connection. to him, he didn’t think he was picky enough. despite carefully combing through his options and sometimes even hiring private investigators to stalk them if needed, there was always something he missed which was a dealbreaker for him in a relationship: ignorance and stupidity, improper table manners when he reserved at a fine restaurant, running more than fifteen minutes late without traffic in the way, and most importantly for him, asking too many prying personal questions which weren’t relevant on the first date. yes, he understands that first dates are all about getting to know each other, no, he doesn’t find it necessary to talk about stupid things. although he would rather not say anything at all, he’s very particular about how quickly he shares information about himself with others and gets ticked off by anyone who tries too hard to learn more about it (he won’t admit it, but he also gets a bit threatened by it).

by the time the day his first date with you rolled around, he was ready for it to be his last before he lived out his life alone as originally planned. he lost his faith that he would find someone who lived up to his lofty expectations and received news that oh il-nam was dead. the next games were canceled to mourn the loss of the founder, and part of ji-cheol wondered if he should cancel the date as well to take the time to pay his respects. he didn’t think you would be the one and believed there wouldn’t be any difference whether or not he actually showed up.

yet there was something in him that refused to pick up the phone and make up an excuse. it was indescribable like a higher power making sure that he followed the path intended for him. he told himself it was nothing but not wanting to be rude when it was only half an hour before the arranged time and because he didn’t want to pay the cancellation fee, nothing more nothing less. he never cared before if he was thought of as rude to people he didn’t intend to keep in his life for long, and he had enough money to buy the entire place if he wanted to.

so what was his problem all of a sudden?

you showed up perfectly on time, a few seconds before the clock struck, looking beautiful. it’s not a word he uses often. pretty, maybe, but not beautiful, yet it was the first word that crossed his mind when you introduced yourself. he found himself enamored by your presence and everything about it from how you carried yourself to the subtle glitter eyeshadow that made your eyes sparkle to the dainty jewelry hanging around your neck, so enamored that he forgot to accept your outstretched hand and to get up to pull out your seat for you at first.

more than easy on the eyes, dressed appropriately, good table manners, well-educated, never pressing too hard on matters he clearly didn’t want to talk about, you were quickly checking off everything on his list as his partner— although what he was really looking for was to draw away suspicions and your likable personality made you perfect for the job, he could even see you as a companion. even if you were visibly nervous, he didn’t mind, your timidness was adorable actually, akin to a little bunny being fed by his hand.

when he finally got home, he realized he was still smiling when he’s usually constantly reminding himself to do so. he also realized that he lost track of time and came back a whopping two hours later than he expected.

it was history from there, gong ji-cheol, a man who saw other humans as unequal trash, had succumbed to love at first sight, which baffled him.

it made him remember a scene from his childhood, one where he asked his mother why she remained married to his deadbeat father after another night of him not showing up in favor of gambling and drinking instead of spending it with his own family. she embraced him with tears, once again reminding him of her own tale of love at first sight, and also telling him that when you’re so deep in love like she was, you’re willing to forgive them for anything.

he thought she was stupid for that. now he knows he’s truly just like his mother just like everyone said.

you were shy in the first steps of the relationship, quickly realizing that you had become a glorified sugar baby of sorts. he didn’t know how to express his affection through words nor did he have the extra time to spend with you during that time of the year, so he spoiled you with lavish gifts and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. any debts you might have were paid off, one of the nicest condos in korea was bought for you to move in together, your parent's retirement was paid off in full to allow them to stop working, and any other money-related issues were quickly covered by him. you could even quit your job if you wanted to, but you didn’t want to become too dependent on him and wouldn’t know what to do with all the extra time in your day.

it soon became clear there was a boundary not to be crossed, which was not to dig too much into his personal life. if he gave you a curt, general answer to your question, you were not to say anything more about the matter. no one you spoke to about this thought this was too strange, even when you were preparing to get married, because what was there to worry your pretty head about? you love him and he loves you, he was treating you better than a queen, and his wealth spread into your circle of people you cared about with friends getting luxury perfumes and parents getting first-class tickets to wherever they wanted. in a way, they didn’t want to ask any more questions if it meant angering him and possibly not having these things anymore.

you never liked it, but he never cared about it. they were just trivial things and he was perfectly fine with sharing what he had, or at least, that’s what he told you. it was mainly to ensure he was well-liked among them and no one would ever try to come between you.

the only people who ever did were a few snakes parading as your friends trying to steal him away from you, trying to seduce him, and getting too close for his comfort. you were too sweet to notice and always forgave it if you did, but he noticed their lingering eyes and was disgusted. it was the one time he allowed his mask to slip, calling them out for being human garbage with a polite smile on his face as they gasped in shock. if they tried to cry to you about how awful he was to them, he simply told you the truth and encouraged you to cut them off which you always did.

the garden he carefully cultivated of a normal domestic life was flourishing. you were so captivated by the colorful flowers he planted and the butterflies pollinating them that you didn’t notice how dirty his gloved hands were when ripping out anything that didn’t belong like weeds trying to sprout through the soil. he was always sure to take them off and discard them afterward, never daring to touch you with the sins of his life outside of you.

then you fell pregnant after months of trying, and while he was overjoyed at first with renovations in mind to turn one of the extra rooms into a nursery, there was an unease in him wondering if the child would turn out like him: a remorseless psychopath who would one day kill his own father as he did his. he would later by a few books about parenting, hoping that he could prevent that type of future.

time flew by and he hadn’t killed anyone in a while although he was still complicit in hundreds of deaths a year. his violent urges slowly calmed and his hand was only raised during ddakji matches, but even then, they were more gentle than before (which meant that they still stung and made their face swell up, but it was an improvement when in the past, he would sometimes hit them so hard that they could taste blood on their tongue).

the effects of being a husband and soon-to-be father were changing who he was at his very core, but it didn’t change everything he’s already done.

he was stupid to think he could have such a picture-perfect life with the woman he loved after everything. for someone who meticulously plans out things down to each syllable of the words he spoke, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do once he was found out.

the law couldn’t touch him, but he didn’t care about the law, he cared about you and your unborn child.

he ran his hand through his messy dark locks, sighing in frustration trying to think of a solution as he dug around the kitchen until he fished out an entire bottle of wine. he could manipulate himself out of this situation as he had done countless times before, he’s a snake with a forked silver tongue who could easily get his way just by flickering it, but the thought of lying to you again broke his once unfeeling heart. it would never be the same way again with your relationship tainted with distrust. the truth would have to come out eventually.

oh god, but what would he do without you?

before he could begin to spiral for the fourth time that day about what would happen if you left him, the familiar sound of a keypad being pressed and the front door being unlocked. he froze in place, not expecting you to come back at that very moment— but he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. he wasn’t sure of anything, simply staring at you when you caught him hunched over the counter drinking straight from a bottle of wine and looking like a child whose mom just caught him sneaking a snack at two in the morning.

“oh god, i leave for a day and you’re already a wreck, what happened to the ji-cheol who’s always put together even when it’s raining?” you approached him casually, reaching up to mess around with his hair until he looked more like his usual self. there was an air of awkwardness you tried to hide and was successful for the most part, but he could read you easier than a book. you were nervous around him now, acting with slight fear and carefulness like you were inching around a predator, and even flinched when he hugged you to feel your presence and breathe in your scent.

you hugged him back after a moment, looking up at him with your voice shaking, “if it’s really… that… then i understand it would be dangerous for you to tell me, so i won’t ask any more questions… i don’t… i don’t want to leave you and leave our child fatherless…”

if you were any other person in the world, he would have smirked at the fact that he didn’t need to bother trying to manipulate you into staying with him. he would have relished his control over you and how you came back in the end, free to continue killing and asking people to play a game with him to satisfy his sadistic desires.

but you weren’t any other person in the world, you were his wife.

“you really forgive me? after knowing all that?”

“i guess love really does let you look past everything no matter how bad… at least you didn’t cheat on me as my friends suggested, that would be the real unforgivable offense…”

the topic of his occupation never came up again, but he made the choice to resign on account of it no longer fitting with his current lifestyle. the current frontman, who was an old friend of his, looked upon him fondly for his loyalty, thanked him for his service, and was even kind enough to use his connections to find him a new place to work. it was boring by his standards, but it paid well and wasn’t illegal, so he persevered. he now has plenty of things to tell you about his workplace, from the annoying co-worker who keeps showing him the most random unfunny things on the internet to how the coffee shop downstairs wasn’t half bad. mundane things that made you grin when he told you about his day, which was all that mattered to him.

you soon gave birth to a healthy baby girl with his eyes and your smile. the world became a lot brighter, even with all the sleepless nights of her crying and learning how to change diapers. she was a little joy born out of his love for you.

finally, you’re both doing better, and he no longer has to hide himself away from you.

tag list!! @tric0rd / @solatiiium / @iloveragdollcats / @sugaremedy / @pear-1206 / @orangutanjazz / @boowiththegoo / @knoepfl / @miaasmf / @queenjang21 / @larissa-slays69 / @munch3025 / @qrstarz / @capital-koreasofia / @swiftieee4lifeee / @liliylikescats / @maryyyswift / @vaenys2 / @bane-y-zane / @dynaloy / @chunkzdeluluwife / @everyonelovestay / @tomhollandtoothbrush

there will not be a part three, thank you for reading!!

#📜. her works #the salesman #the salesman x reader #gong yoo #gong yoo x reader #squid game #squid game x reader

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luveline · 8 months ago

Note

oooh what about hotch's sister calling spencer to pick her up at the hospital after an accident or something because she doesn't want hotch to know since worry and go into protective big brother mode, but spencer tells him anyway and they both show up and lots of fluff ensues :)

adopted fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for panic attacks

You should call your brother.

You think about it, even pull up his contact, he’s the first person you go to when you need help and he always has been, but lately Aaron has been so stressed you hesitate, clicking the text button by mistake.

You read back his last message.

I can feel myself being spread too thin but there’s nothing I can do to fix it, he’d text. I guess I’m frustrated. But how are you, working girl? New jobs are scary. I bet you’re doing better than you think already. Jack and I are super proud of you

You’d sent him a meagre response. You aren’t always sure what to say to him. Sincerity is easier in person, but even then, he can be terse and deflective; he looks after you and no one looks after him.

You didn’t tell him about work, and you won’t tell him about now. You call Spencer instead. This is a good way to test the almost dating thing, right?

He doesn’t answer. When you call again, he answers on the first ring. “Hey, are you okay?”

“No. Are you busy?”

“I’m not busy if you’re not okay. Two seconds.” There’s a pause where you assume he’s moving from one place to another, perhaps closing a book around his hand, or closing the lid on an early lunch. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m, uh, in hospital. I had a huge panic attack at work and I… thought I was having a heart attack, so I–” You’re so embarrassed your voice turns to a thread. “Sorry, I know it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, that’s not stupid. How do you feel now?”

“Like someone hit me really hard in the chest.”

“Are you calmed down?”

“Mostly.” You wince. “They want to talk to me about medications. Uh.” You clear your throat. “I want to go home.”

“Angel… I’m on my way, okay? I’ll get Hotch and–”

“You can’t tell him.”

“What?”

“Please, Spencer, he gets so worried, he’s worried enough. And if he finds out I had a panic attack he’ll try and make me take time off of work and that’s just another thing on his plate he didn’t ask for–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, “please don’t panic. You’ve had a hard morning, panicking again is really gonna hurt. Try and think about things that don’t wind you up, alright? Is there anything you need me to get?”

“You don’t have to come.”

“That’s why you called me, right? I’ll be there.”

You can’t know that he says goodbye and ducks straight back into Hotch’s office, where he’d been, to tell on you. It’s not to hurt you and it isn’t because you told him not to —it’s two parts concern, and one part self preservation. Aaron needs to know and you need him with you, and he also can’t imagine things going well for himself if he kept the news of your stay a secret. The shovel talk plays in his mind.

Aaron’s shovel talk being, You won’t do anything to hurt her, said simply, and with an impassive expression that bordered terrifying. Not overly unaffected, just casual.

You’re laying in your hospital bed with your hands clasped across your stomach when Spencer arrives. He frowns at you in your bed, worse when he sees your smudged makeup and the chafed inside of your wrist where you’ve picked and squeezed at your own skin. Your panic has left a physical mark, your chest aching as you force yourself to sit, and it hurts doubly so when your brother lets himself in behind your nearly-boyfriend.

You don’t have it in you to complain.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says, reaching down to give you a quick hug as you sit. “I had to tell him.”

Aaron’s hug is similarly apologetic, though much longer. “You weren’t gonna tell me?” he asks quietly, his hand settling at the place between your shoulders. “How do you feel now?”

“I’m fine, I– I really thought I was having a heart attack.”

“That’s common,” Spencer says, “it’s the feeling of impending doom, thousands of people mistake anxiety for medical issues every week.”

Aaron holds you by the shoulders. “It’s okay,” he says. “Was it a doctor that checked you out, or a nurse?”

Aaron probes the name of your nurse from you and promises to be back soon. He seems to have gleaned that the quickest way to get information today won’t be from you.

Spencer goes in for another hug when he leaves, and then, to your delight, a very quick kiss pressed to your cheek. He ducks away after that and sits on the side of your hospital bed, his knuckles gracing the outside of your thigh. “Thank you for calling me,” he says, smiling at you, and better when you smile back.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. I know how it feels, okay? If they want to talk about medication it’s a good thing, but everyone has moments like this.”

“I can’t believe you told Aaron,” you say, giving a weak but playful glare.

“I can’t believe you weren’t going to. He loves you, he wants to know what’s hurting you, no matter how much stuff is on his plate.”

You bite the inside of your lip, contemplative for a few slow seconds. “You think so?” you ask finally.

The hair flicked under his ears wobbles as he nods. “Absolutely.”

You lean forward to readjust his collar and tie. He’s wearing one of his cutesy waistcoats, dark grey over a light blue shirt. His tie has patterns you trace with your thumb, like fish scales. “Sorry, I know you were working,” you murmur.

“I think my boss will forgive me.”

You let your hands fall. Spencer, perhaps picking up on a hint you hadn’t meant to give, takes them both into one of his and squeezes reassuringly.

“It’s harder than I thought,” you confide softly.

“It’s an adjustment period. But maybe it’s not right for you, there. That’s what started it, right? Your job.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I get panicky about all sorts of stuff, but I’ve never had one this bad before. I was a miserable kid, you can ask Aaron, but I really thought I was better.”

He rubs over your fingers with his thumb. “I think we all have stuff that messes us up. Doesn’t mean you’re not better. You don’t even really have to be better. And I… I am here for you, I promise. I know you have no reason to trust me with it yet, but I’ll listen whenever you need me to.”

You think about kissing him. Spencer kisses like he’s suffocating and your air, it’s cliche and undeniably true. Whenever you kiss him it’s like a shock —he steals your breath, he can’t stop himself from grabbing your face, and any other time you’d love it, but right now you just need a peck. You’re hoping he can do those kinds of kisses too.

“Will you kiss me?” you ask tentatively.

He gets the memo on gentleness. You shouldn’t be surprised, your very first kiss was tame, his hand running up your arm as he encourages you forward. Your eyes shutter closed at the feeling of his lips on yours, and the exhausting thrumming that’s lived beneath your skin since you woke up numbs to a more manageable ache.

Spencer breaks away. He cups your cheek quickly, dropping it immediately when the door opens.

You shuffle backward nonchalantly.

Aaron gives you a sarcastic look. Really? it says. I wasn't born yesterday.

“They want to give you a prescription for Paxil, honey, what do you think?” He turns his attention to Spencer reluctantly. “What’s her best option here?”

“Paxil could be fine. They didn’t suggest a benzodiazepine? Paxil is an SSRIs, it slows down the rate of serotonin reuptake, basically increasing the effectiveness of your bodies natural serotonin, which could decrease the risk of another attack, but taking it won’t stop her from feeling like this,” —he frowns at your location— “very quickly. Ideally she should have a medication for general anxiety and the option for quicker relief if this happens again.” He smiles at you suddenly, nearly shyly. “If that’s what you want, that is.”

“What are you thinking, honey?” Aaron asks you.

You have the two of them here to look after you while you decide. You take Spencer’s hand gently, desperate for reassurance. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay, we’ll work it out,” your brother promises.

Spencer squeezes your hand.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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cheriladycl01 · 4 months ago

Text

Kinktober 01/10/2024 Max Verstappen- Voyerism

Plot: Max cannot help but take pictures or videos of you whenever you guys get heated! But what happens when he’s leaving you for a long time.

Warnings: Kinktober, Smut, pillow humping, VOYERISM, masturbation, watched unknowingly etc. 18+ Minors DNI

Max was obsessed with you.

Not in like a creepy stalker way, but in a more … you were his person kind of way.

Every time you came to a race, all he would do is follow you around. His team? Didn’t exist. Christian Horner? Who is that? Sergio Perez? Not sure who you mean.

His interviews were 90% staring at you and 10% listening and answering the interviewer. It actually got to the point, that even though it wasn’t affecting his driving Christian threatened to black-list you from all F1 races.

Max of course didn’t take this lightly.

Due to Max’s obsession with you, when you couldn’t attend race weekends he was sort of lost, just in this limbo area of his mind with nothing to do. Especially if you were doing a modelling gig and didn’t have much time throughout the day to answer him.

So he started to film you, in your more intimate moments to feel closer to you when you were away as the more you started to do, the bigger you were getting and the bigger you got the more you were booked in for.

But it didn’t stop there, once he got to a race weekend and became particularly frustrated he realised how much these videos helped him let off some steam when you weren’t there to help him.

Of course you knew about the videos. It was something fun for you and Max to do to liven up your sex life when you were together.

But then Max became obsessed with the idea of you not knowing when he was playing these videos just for himself. You were unassuming at a shoot, strutting your stuff and he was there tangled up in the sheets of a hotel room in Italy, using one hand to jerk himself off while the other held up his second video of the two of you of the night.

When he would come home, he’d start to watch you get undressed and shower from the crack in the bathroom door that he needed to get fixed but because he felt like he was never home he didn’t ever bother. He would make sure to tell you wrong times that he would get home, just at the off chance he might be able to catch you in a private moment to yourself, hearing those little noises you made and calling out his name as if you knew he was there.

Then came the bedroom camera. Max never told you about this camera, why would he … it was his apartment after all. That’s what he told himself when he was thinking of the idea.

It was one of those motion-activated ones, and he installed it just before a triple header, above the wardrobe in between two show boxes, and unless you were looking specifically for a camera you definitely wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Bye baby I’m going to miss you! Look I’ll try and make it out to your home race. But good luck for the first ones, I love you so so much” you smiled at him kissing all over his face.

“Mmmm I’ll miss you too, don’t know how I’ll last without my gorgeous girl” he sighs before leaving.

But that was a lie, he knew exactly how he would last without you. He knew that camera in the bedroom would make him feel as though he was at home with you. Even if he was just watching you sleep or get changed like he normally did when you both got ready with each other in the mornings.

He waited and waited, pulling his phone out every-time the custom haptic vibration he’d made for the app that linked the camera to his phone so he knew what it was buzzed..

Mostly it was just you doing house chores and bringing washing back to the bedroom to put it away in the closets or changing the bedsheets now that he’d be gone for three weeks so they’d be fresh for when he was back home. He missed you changing the first time because he was out with Lando, Oscar and Charles playing Paddle and his phone was in his gym bag.

He of course rewatched it but he just sort of found it sweet watching you do the same routine you did even when he wasn’t there, only missing out a few steps that normally involved him.

It wasn’t until the night before his first race that he was laying in his hotel room, exhausted from the day he’d had in qualifying and staying late to train on the sim against the teams orders that he saw you more intimately on the cameras.

You’d come into the room rather naturally actually. You had a large cup of water with ice and a straw which wasn’t uncommon for you before you went to bed. You then sat on top of the duvet covers with your back propped up with the pillows against the back board as you put something on the TV.

And you pretty much got through the whole film just watching it drinking your water slowly and eating the snacks you’d brought with you.

He saw you get a little fidgety towards the end but you never were one for sitting still for long periods of time. So he didn’t think anything off it and nearly clicked off for the night until you got your phone up.

He immediately saw the bite of your lip as you started scrolling.

He sat up more awake and alert than he had been the last hour of watching you on and off while you watched your film. He was curious about what was on your phone that was making you bite your lip.

However once he heard the audio come from your phone he was all too familiar with what you were watching. It was a video he’d taken during the last time you guys had had sex with one another. He knew immediately because of what he said at the start of the video.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me while I’m gone?” And when he heard himself say that, he could feel something in him stir.

It excited him, the thought that you were just as desperate and needy as he was.

He watched as one hand travelled down into your silk shorts as you spread you legs open giving you easier access. He watched as you hand grazed over you clit, he couldn’t see much right now with those shorts still on but the light airy moan that he heard through the cameras audio was enough to let him know what your fingers had just brushed against.

He couldn’t even really tell if you were just rubbing yourself through your panties or if you’d pulled them to the side and he wanted to know more. He wanted and needed to see more.

When you made that face, the one where something stated to feel really good that’s when he knew you’d dipped your fingers in a little further, only to test the waters. Your legs closed around your hand as he could hear those sweet noises still coming from you.

You attempted to prop the phone up against your knees but he could see your frustration as it kept sliding down at an angle you could view it.

Max was already hard as a rock from just watching you lightly touch yourself but when you spun round so that you were facing away from him, propping the phone up on the top of the headboard and placing a pillow underneath you he pulled himself right out of his pants.

He almost felt like a pervert but he convinced himself if he told you what he’d done or was doing you’d love the idea. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

His hand rubbed quickly up and down his length as he watched you hump a pillow, which was of course one of his usual ones. Your moans came through the camera way clearer than he had expected.

What caught him and nearly had him letting go of that growing feeling was when you moaned his name.

“Max, fuck please” you’d groaned and the camera had picked it up perfectly, his jaw dropped and his hand sped up seeing the stuttering of your hips into the pillow meaning you were also close.

He kept watching you completely obsessed with everything he was seeing.

“Come on baby, come for me” he called and as if you’d heard him you were shaking, moaning and gasping into the other pillows while your hips drove down into the pillow riding out your high.

Max came watching that wet spot grow on your panties from the angle your currently were at. He couldn’t believe that this was only the begging of the night. And when you turned round pulling your underwear off and you went into the special draw by your shared bed, he knew you’d both be in for a long long night.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

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wendichester · 27 days ago

Note

i feel like both the boys would be very warm and/or run very warm, they'd have heat almost radiating off them?? maybe it's the hypervigilance or worry of something going wrong that makes them and their blood on alert 😭

and oh to take advantage of that in both platonic or romantic ways; having them as your personal heaters, putting bare cold hands on their biceps / shoulders/ back and them freaking out and sometimes worrying like?? you sure you good? 😟

a girl can dream 🫒🔥

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ cold hands,

summary. cold hands, warm bodies, an easy fix

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 225 ; 390.

notes. but of course, they would be the best heaters. just sliding your hands up dean's back or stealing sam's clothes... ooof, that would be the d-r-e-a-m .ᐟ

The bunker’s kitchen was colder than usual, the kind of chill that seeped through the walls and settled deep in your bones. You shuffled in wearing your thickest socks and the fuzziest sweater you owned, but it still wasn’t enough.

Dean was standing by the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand while sipping coffee from a chipped mug in the other. The smell was comforting, but not nearly as comforting as the warmth radiating off him.

“Morning,” he grumbled, not even looking up as you approached.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice muffled by the steam rising from the griddle. Without much thought, you reached out and pressed your freezing hands against his back.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean jerked forward, almost spilling his coffee. “What the hell, sweetheart?”

You laughed, not even bothering to remove your hands. His body was like a furnace, the heat soaking into your palms instantly. “You’re so warm. I need this. Don’t move.”

Dean twisted to look at you over his shoulder, his brows furrowed but his lips twitching with amusement. “Are you sure you’re not dying? Your hands are like ice.”

“I’m fine,” you said, pressing closer. “You’re just my personal heater now. Accept it.”

Dean sighed dramatically, setting his coffee down. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, leaning back slightly to let you soak up more of his warmth.

The bunker’s library was a sanctuary most days, but tonight, it was an icebox. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wandered in, spotting Sam buried in a pile of books. He was sitting at the table, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his brow furrowed as he flipped through pages of an old tome.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice slightly muffled by the blanket draped over your shoulders.

Sam looked up, his warm hazel eyes softening when he saw you. “Hey. You okay? You look cold.”

“Because I am cold,” you replied, tugging the blanket tighter.

Sam frowned, his concern immediate. “You should’ve said something.”

“I figured I’d find you instead,” you teased, stepping closer.

Before he could reply, you slipped your icy hands onto his bare forearm. Sam jolted, eyes wide. “Whoa! Your hands are freezing!” He grabbed them gently, cradling your fingers between his much warmer palms. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, laughing softly at his reaction. “I’m fine, Sam. Just cold.”

Shaking his head, Sam released your hands only to reach for the hem of his sweater. “Here,” he said, tugging it off in one smooth motion and revealing a snug white T-shirt underneath. “Take this.”

You blinked in surprise as he held it out to you. “Sam, you don't have—”

“I have, and you will,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “You’re freezing, and I’m fine.”

With a hesitant smile, you took the sweater. It was warm from his body heat and smelled faintly of his soap and shampoo. Pulling it over your head, you were instantly enveloped in his comforting warmth. The sleeves were comically long, nearly swallowing your hands, and the hem fell well past your hips.

“How do I look?” you asked, grinning as you did a little spin.

Sam chuckled, leaning back in his chair to take you in. “Like you raided my closet.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you replied, sinking into the chair across from him, the sweater already doing wonders to chase away the chill.

Sam smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he returned to his book. “If you get cold again, just tell me, alright? Don’t freeze yourself trying to be tough.”

“Deal,” you said, tugging the oversized sleeves over your hands as you relaxed into the warmth.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester fluff #supernatural #.docx #.req

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2hightocare · 9 months ago

Text

DOWN BAD! 02

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genre: friends to lovers. college au. slowburn!

Warnings: angst, drug use, profanity, explicit content, talks about abusive home, fighting, arguing, screaming, crying, flashbacks, oc and jk are nineteen (freshmen’s in uni) mentions of death, daddy/mommy issues.

a/n: GOSHHHHHHH! pray for my girl yn😓😓 she’s down bad and she fr ain’t getting up. Left you guys on a cliffhanger hehe. enjoy🤍🤍

01! playlist

"What do you want?" He says, the smallest glint of amusement on his face has Jungkook's stomach recoiling.

"The regular," Jungkook found himself saying, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I don't have opioids. My supplier said there was a shortage—want to try some new shit?" Yoongi says as he balances his cigarette on his lips, looking into a cabin.

"You've tried snow before, right?" He looks up at Jungkook who stands there. "No, I told you l don't fuck with that shit," Jungkook shakes his head, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

"It's on me, just try it," Yoongi hands Jungkook a small bag filled with white powder. "Just snort it and let it do its thing, boy," Yoongi chuckles as he watches Jungkook look down at the drug in his palm. "It won't kill you if that's what you're thinking," he continues, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling.

Jungkook's mind immediately goes to you as the words leave Yoongi's mouth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” you scream, your hands pulling on your hair as Jungkook watches silently—his heart breaking as he sees the tear fall from your eye. Whatever he wants to say stays stuck in his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook finds himself muttering, a loud scoff heard from you as you hold his face in your hands, making him look up at you. “Tell me what’s wrong, fuck! I’ll fix it, just tell me,” you cry out. Jungkook watches as your legs give out and you drop to the floor in front of him.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, his heartbeat stops, and his mind goes blank. He wants to drop to his knees and beg you to not care and run away as far as you can from him, but the selfish part of him wants you to stay.

“Baby,” Jungkook slurs, the drugs in his system not letting him speak normally. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologizes again for the hundredth time in the past few days. Jungkook drops beside you, removing your hands from your face as another sob racks through your body. Your eyes red and puffy as tears continue to cascade down.

Jungkook knows nothing about love, but there’s you. The highlight of his days, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning.

He hates how he drags you along with him—in every bad decision he makes. Jungkook’s life hasn’t been easy; an abusive household isn’t something anybody wants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who got it. He knows he’s a legal adult and can move out, but his feet stay glued inside that house because of her, his mom.

God. Jungkook has seen everything fucked up in the piece of shit he calls his house. The blows his mom would take from the man whose blood Jungkook carries. He wasn’t a father to him, that’s for sure. Screams and fighting are the only things his house is filled with. He never heard a bedtime story or got a good night hug. The hug was replaced by a hit on the cheek, jaw, face—or anywhere his dad could get his hands on.

Jungkook blames his dad for the way he is, and every time he looks at you, he imagines the what ifs. Jungkook has done everything he could do to push you away, but instead of leaving, you stayed. It’s scared the shit out of him.

He’s in love with you. Jungkook has never felt anything more in his life than his love for you—it’s almost pathetic how much you make him feel. If your love were a drug, Jungkook would do it every day, every hour, and every minute instead of all the shit he put in his system to forget.

Your love is pure and innocent—everything that Jungkook isn’t. Every time he looks at you, he’s afraid he will break you. He wishes you could realize how unfixable he is and leave—but instead, you’re on your knees begging for him to be better.

How badly did he want to be better; so he could be with you.

“Stop saying sorry and stop doing it, fuck,” you sob, your fist holding onto his hoodie—your knuckles turning white from fear that if you let him go, he’ll vanish.

“You’re better than this. I know you are,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wetting his hoodie with your tears. “Please stop, you could die.” you beg desperately, like a child would.

“Shh,” he comforts, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into him, “I’m sorry.”

As Jungkook walked, the guilt inside him consumed him more and more. The hurt expression on your face after he disrespected you remained etched in his mind, feeling like someone was poking his heart with a needle with each step he took.

Similarly, the weight of the small bag in the pocket of his sweater sent a sense of panic through his body. He hadn’t planned on taking it, but the moment it was placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Instead, he bit his tongue and shoved it into his pocket.

His heart sank as an image flashed in his mind of what your reaction would be if you ever found out. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought deep within him before reaching the main door of his house.

Jungkook’s hand trembles as he holds onto the doorknob. He had nowhere else to go, it was either yours or this. He felt his throat close up as his mind went back to you, his heart screaming for you. To turn around and run back to you—like always, his safe space. The only place where he could let his guard down.

The aching sensation in his chest reminded him of the first time he told you about his dad. You were both seventeen—laying on the carpet of your room, staring up at the ceiling. The broken expression on your face after he confided in you made him feel worse than any hit he had ever taken.

“Did you seriously get into another fight?” you groaned as you examined his face, the purple and blue marks beginning to form twisting your stomach in knots. “Who was it this time?” you frowned, your hand reaching out to touch his bruised cheek.

“Didn’t fight anyone. I actually hit myself with the car door,” the lie flowed smoothly out of his mouth.

“A door?” You raised an eyebrow, not fully believing him. Jungkook had a tendency to throw the first punch after someone lightly touched him—he had more suspensions and run ins with the police than anyone could count. Every time you saw him, there was another bruise decorating his skin, always brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Who was it?” You tried again, your face turning to him.

Jungkook's eyes remained locked with the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled softly into the darkness.

“Why not? Is it a secret?” You quipped, scooting closer to his side—your finger tracing his features as he let out a deep breath. “It’s a really big secret,” he hushed, to which you only nodded eagerly.

“I can keep a secret,” you smiled, your heart beating fast in your chest as you noticed the proximity between you two. You raised a pinky into the air. “Pinky promise,” you bit your lip anxiously, watching him interlock his pinky with yours. “Okay, now tell me.”

“My dad,” he said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What?” You stuttered out, hoping you had heard him wrong.

“My dad, he's abusive,” he restated. The color drained from your face, and Jungkook saw it.

Sadness written all over your face. Words didn’t come out when you opened your mouth; instead, an ugly cry replaced the words.

“That’s why I can’t stand someone’s hands on me,” Jungkook says, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to escape the pain in his heart. It felt as if he was being kicked and thrown.

“Fuck.. I always touch you,” you bit your lip, trying to contain your sobs. “Your touch is the only touch that doesn’t repulse me, baby. So if you plan on not touching me, don’t,” Jungkook quickly interjected, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

Jungkook loved your touch; your fingers on his skin felt like heaven. It almost confused him how much he looked forward to it—sometimes he found himself initiating it. You were the only exception with such privilege; anyone else who laid a finger on him sent a sense of nausea and shivers down his body.

“I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Let me help you.. we can tell the police, he deserves to be in jail. Please,” you sobbed, placing your palm on his cheek.

“You think I don’t know he needs to go to jail? For all I know, he should be put on a electric chair,” Jungkook spat out, shoving your hand away from his face.

“And fuck. Yes, my mom knows. She fucking gets hit too,” he rambled, his chest heaving as he tried to look anywhere in your room that wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw him break down.

As Jungkook crumbled down with a loud sob, his hands cover his face as his shoulders shake as he weeps, you wasted no time dropping to your knees and pulling him into you, whispering reassuring words in his ear.

"She doesn't leave," he cried. "I keep telling her he's going to kill her if she doesn't leave, but she stays." The cracks in his voice mirrored the cracks in your heart as you listened, feeling the weight of his pain, as the double meaning clicks in your head.

"And I can't leave. Who's going to protect her if I'm not there?" he sobbed quietly, his hands tightening around your waist. "I'm scared that if I leave for too long, I'll come back to a house with a dead body in it," he confessed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby," you cooed, tears streaming down your cheeks,

"we should tell the police. They'll help you. I promise."

But his response shattered your hopes.

"No," he croaked out, untangling himself from your embrace.

"Listen to me. If you even think about telling a policeman what I just told you, I swear to god yn, I will never fucking forgive you," Jungkook shook, his face contorted with pain and panic.

"I trust you enough to tell you, but I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, we're done. Whatever the fuck we have, it's done. I will never fucking forgive you."

Jungkook pushes the door open, and he’s met with silence. Without thinking twice, he rushes to his mom's room, slamming the door open to be met with her limp body on the bed.

His heart stops beating, and suddenly everything stops—his hand trembles as he makes his way to her. He nudges her once.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls, only to be met with silence.

“Mom,” he tries again. She stirs in her sleep.

“Jungkook?” She croaks, her voice hoarse as she peeks from her lying position. Jungkook's heart picks up again, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?” Jungkook asks, dropping beside her on the bed. His fingers move her dark hair off her face carefully, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

“He hit you again?” Jungkook lets out a growl, his fist tightening beside him.

“I made him mad. It’s not his fault,” she defends, almost automatically making Jungkook scoff. “Mom, that's not an excuse!” He grits his teeth.

“He isn’t a bad man, Jungkook. He's still your father,” she sighs, the look of tiredness clear on her face as she winces when she moves to her side. Jungkook watches dumbfounded.

“You know, you remind me of him,” she shakes out a laugh, the whole sentence feeling like a punch in the stomach for Jungkook. The more he tries to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. “He was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you—it’s like I’m seeing him. He is a good man underneath it all, Jungkook. You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” she continues, and every word feels like a hit in the gut.

“W-what do you mean.. I’m just like him?” Jungkook stutters, his throat drying up and the familiar feeling of tears picking up in his eyes have him clawing his nails into his palms.

“Do you think when I met your dad, he treated me wrong?” She finally locks eyes with Jungkook. The light in her eyes she once had is now gone, replaced with dull, tired eyes. “He was gentle with me, he was sweet, caring, he was everything to me. He’s still everything to me,” a tear rolls down her cheek, making Jungkook suck in a breath.

“What about me?” Jungkook's voice cracks, the knot in his throat tightening as he watches his mom shake her head.

“Am I not everything to you, Mom?” Another tear falls, followed by more.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Jungkook,” she sighs. Jungkook feels his heart crack into a million pieces as he watches the woman who brought him into this life discard him.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” Jungkook speaks, wiping the tears from his eyes before clearing his voice. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispers into the silence.

“He wouldn’t?” A shocked laugh leaves Jungkook's lips as he can’t believe what he just heard. “He fucking wouldn’t? He fucking hits you? Aren’t you fucking scared that one day he throws the wrong punch?” Jungkook shouts, anger taking over.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snaps. “I’m your mother, and you don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

“Well, you’re a shitty mother. A good mother would put their child first. The only reason I’m still here is because of you!” Jungkook snaps back, his frustration growing stronger as he watches his mom stay motionless.

“I keep coming back because I’m scared he’ll kill you. But apparently, you don’t give a fuck,” he breathes out, his hand tugging on his hair—feeling almost manic at the lack of his mother's reaction.

“Every hit he took on me, you blamed it on me. When all I did was try to protect you. But you always choose him. So fucking next time he comes in through those doors and has his way with you, don’t come running or yelling my name to come and save you,” Jungkook spits out before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jungkook's mind kept racing, never shutting up for a moment, allowing him to think. His brain was filled with repetitions of everything his mom just said. The words "he was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you-it's like I'm seeing him" kept getting repeated in his head over and over again without a break.

Screams of his mom asking for him to save her echoed in his brain, the weight of his guilt and the haunting memories that plagued his mind had Jungkook pulling out the small baggie from his sweater, moving to the small desk in his room.

Jungkook dropped the white powder on the surface, making a line. Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned over, pinching one of his nostrils before snorting.

A sharp burning, stinging sensation spread through Jungkook's nose as he sniffed, rubbing off the remaining powder.

Jungkook dropped onto his bed in a star position as he stared at the ceiling, the feeling of numbness taking over his body. His muscles relaxed as the drug entered his bloodstream, sending a sense of euphoria—a warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him groan in pleasure.

And for once, the voices finally stopped.

It was embarrassing how you found yourself looking for the man you were in love with every corner of the campus. You started with the lockers and hallways, peeking through every classroom, hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the boy who left you standing in your angel costume Saturday night.

You had debated on running after him; the guilt that weighed you down from the slap was intense. Your touch was supposed to be his only gateway, instead, you used it against him to hurt him the same way his dad does. As messed up as his words were, it didn’t compare.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, poking Dahlia on the shoulder. She turns to look at you, mouth filled with food as she nods without saying anything.

“You have?” Your eyebrow raises as she continues to nod eagerly.

“Y-yeah, he’s ou-outside, in the corner,” Dahlia finally says, swallowing her food. You throw a small ‘thank you’ and rush outside.

As you run to the corner where everybody meets up to smoke, you curse out loud as you trip on the crack of the pavement before changing your pace to walking instead.

Your eyes meet his in an instant as you pass the corner, the lit-up joint hanging from his lips. You look around to see Taehyung and Jimin with worried looks on their faces. As you walk closer to them, Jungkook passes the joint to his friend before crossing his arms in front of him, flexing his muscles. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would find it hot.

“What’s up, pretty,” Taehyung says, trying to break the awkward silence as he takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Jimin, who looks uncomfortable as hell.

“Hey,” you acknowledge them both, giving polite head nods before turning your attention to the boy in the middle, his eyes bloodshot red with a small grin decorating his handsome face.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, crossing your arms in front of you. A loud laugh slips out of his mouth, shocking the boys beside him. “Hi baby,” he says, his eyes dropping low as he moves closer to you. You push him away with a hand on his chest, making him pout.

“Rude,” he playfully scoffs, leaning back onto the wall and reaching for the blunt on Taehyung’s fingers as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“That’s enough,” you say, taking away the joint from Taehyung’s hand as Jungkook was about to reach for it.

“This is our cue to leave. Let’s go,” Taehyung hurries off, pulling on his blonde friends arm, before they both mutter something under their breaths as they disappear around the corner.

“Don’t throw that, it’s some good shit, and I just bought it,” Jungkook chuckles, reaching for it only for you to push him away.

“Alright then,” you pull the rolled-up paper up to your lips and take a drag. Jungkook's face drops, and suddenly nothing is funny. His hand immediately shoots up and yanks the joint out of your mouth before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook roars, watching you cough loudly as white smoke rushes out of your mouth.

“Fuck, what were you thinking?” He panics, rubbing a hand over your back to coax your coughing fit. Your throat and chest burn as you continue to cough.

“Don’t ever do that shit again, do you hear me? It’s not good for you,” Jungkook sighs, his rough hand drawing circles down your back as you finally calm down.

“So, you agree it’s not good for you?” You say, your voice hoarse from all the coughing. “Let’s not do this right now, yn,” he pulls on your arm as he walks you to the parking lot. “You never want to do anything,” you yank your arm from his grip. Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying his best not to snap at you.

“Just get in the car, baby,” he continues, opening the passenger door for you. Instead, you push him off and slam the door shut.

“You’re high as fuck; you can’t drive, asshole,” you snap, throwing your arms in the air in anger. “And you’re not?” he clenches his teeth. “I took one hit,” you shove a finger in his face.

“Yeah, a big-ass one. Before you know it, you’ll be high, so get in the fucking car or I’ll put you in it myself,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t dare,” you spit out, and before you know it, your ass is in the air as he hauls you over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t?” Jungkook mutters under his breath as he opens the car door and sits you down on the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and strapping you in. “Where are you taking me?” You roll your eyes as he sits down beside you.

“To your fucking house,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot of the school and driving you home.

The whole car ride is filled with silence; neither of you decides to utter a word. The moment the car stops in front of your house, you hurriedly unbuckle your seatbelt and open your door before sprinting to your door, unlocking it, and disappearing inside. Jungkook almost screams into his hands, wanting to throw a whole tantrum in this car, but he decides otherwise.

With a loud sigh, he turns off the car, turns to the back seat, gets his sweater, and jumps out of the car. He takes the same route he always did when he showed up at your house, climbing himself over the picket fence before climbing the tree next to your window.

The window is opened as you sit on the ground of your room, your knees up to your chest. Jungkook throws his sweater in first before jumping in.

Then his heart dropped, your small hands hold the tiny bag that was in the pocket of his sweater that had fallen out.

“What’s this, Jungkook?” You voice out, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the wavering of your voice as you finally look up at him. His heart might just have been stabbed by your shocked expression, the betrayal and the pain etched in your expressions send a shooting pain in his heart.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me! What the fuck is this?” You interrupt him, your hand shaking as you think of every possible drug that could be in the bag. Jungkook didn’t reply; the words suddenly died in his mouth.

“Is this a way of pushing me away?” You ask, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, mixing with your anger and heartbreak.

“Did something happen at home again? Why? Fuck, why?” You cry, a soul-crushing sob that comes out of you, which has Jungkook coming back to his senses. He feels like shit, and that word doesn’t even cover half of what he’s feeling.

“Please tell me why? I’ll do anything. Let me help you, just fucking stop doing this shit, baby.” You cry, pulling his body to yours, wrapping your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform.

“Use me, scream at me, tell me horrible shit if that helps. Just don’t ever touch any drugs, Jungkook. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” You whisper the last words as you sob into his arms, begging for him to stop. “I’m never leaving your side, so get that into your head. If this is your way of pushing me away, it won’t work.” You sob.

And that’s where everything clicks for Jungkook. His mind thinks back to his mom, “You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” and his heart drops to the ground. All the walls he took so long to build collapse. He was just like his dad—Jungkook wanted to say he wasn’t, but here he was, hurting you, making you sob into his arms, begging for him to change. The same thing his mom does anytime his father would get drunk.

“I’m not good for you,” Jungkook finally speaks, his hands cupping your face. “I’m not good for you.” He repeats, and you shake your head disapprovingly repeatedly. “Stop.” You cry, your tears wetting Jungkook's palms as he repeats the same thing over again.

“You deserve someone so much fucking better, baby,” Jungkook whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “You deserve so much better than me. I can’t give you anything, baby, besides heartache and pain.” He continues as you repeat ‘no’ over and over again under your breath.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry, as he untangles himself from you, pushing your hand away gently when you try to reach for him.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t leave. Stay the night; we’ll talk about this in the morning.” That was the last thing Jungkook heard as he jumped out of the window and ran to his car, leaving his heart in the hands of the girl crying on the floor, praying for him to be safe.

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flemingology · 1 month ago

Text

O is for the only one I see ─ alexia putellas x reader

part 2 of my l-o-v-e miniseries. full masterlist here!

in which: you and Alexia have your first communication mishap after a family meeting gone wrong

warnings: argument, miscommunication, insecure reader

wc: 7.9k

an: i hope you understand the concept lol. i think the name 'miniseries' makes it sound like it's all gonna be 1 continuous story but it's more a one-shot vibe based on a lyric each time, as i describe in the summary. nonetheless, hope you enjoy!

In the past few months, Alexia had seamlessly become a part of your every day in ways you never thought possible. From her quiet insistence on walking you to your car after late dinners to the way she texted you pictures of her travels when she was away for games, it felt... natural. Easy, even. But meeting her family? That was a whole new level, one you weren’t sure you were ready for.

The way Alexia spoke about her family never failed to fill you with warmth. The way she, her mother and her sister bonded together over the course of their lives was something you could only admire. They were pillars in her life, the people she would fall back on when everything else in her life seemed to be going south. And now, you were about to meet them. It wasn’t just nerves bubbling under the surface, it was the nagging doubt if you were going to fit in. If they would approve of you, think of you worthy enough to date their daughter.

Alexia didn’t date. Hadn’t, in a good few years. She held herself to high standards and her family knew that, so they only wanted what was best for her. Whether that’s what you were, they’d have to see. What if they don’t like you?

“You know they’re going to love you,” Alexia said, leaning against the bathroom door frame with her arms crossed over her chest, as you smoothed down your shirt for what felt like the sixth time in as many minutes. You shot her a glare. “You say that now. Wait until Alba starts grilling me like a detective.” She laughed, walking over to you and fixing your collar. She cradled your face, hands on your cheeks and pressed a reassuring, lingering kiss against your lips. “If Alba says anything, I’ll handle her. I just want you to be yourself.” You shot her a grateful smile, turning your gaze back at the mirror, taking your appearance in another time.

“Do you think this is too much? Or… not enough? I can change if you want, I have another couple options laying on the bed.” Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, and some of your nerves settled at the warmth that radiated from her embrace. She pressed gentle kisses against the side of your neck, you leaning your head back against her shoulder to allow her more space. “You look perfect. My family is not expecting royalty, you know. They’re just excited to meet you.” You turned in her grasp then, tucking a couple strands of hair behind her ear. “Excited to meet me? Or excited to see if I’m good enough for you?”

Your girlfriend–– it still felt surreal to call her that, chuckled at that, leaning her head against your shoulder. “Mi vida, stop. They won’t judge you. Mami will probably try and feed you whatever she’s been cooking since this morning the second you walk through the door, and my sister will ask you a hundred questions about how we met.” You stayed silent at that, taking a moment of appreciation for the kindness and understanding that came from your lover.

“You’re overthinking. They’re going to love you. How could they not?” Alexia tilted your head back up, her eyes meeting yours. “Because I’m not… you. I don’t have the perfect career or the perfect family. What if they think I’m not good enough?”

Alexia bit her lip at that, before taking your hand and leading you back to the bedroom. She sat down on the bed, signaling you to come sit on her lap. You did, your knees on either side as you faced her again. “First of all, I’m not perfect. And second, that’s not how my family works. They don’t care about status or titles. All they care about is kindness, respect, and whether you make me happy.” The Spaniard rested her forehead against yours as she spoke.

“And do I?” “Every single day.”

As you left the bedroom together, Alexia threw another look towards you over her shoulder. “Oh, and for the record, if anyone asks you about football. The answer is always Barca.” You giggled, rolling your eyes at her words. “Noted. You’re going to owe me for this.” “Dinner with the Putellas clan is a small price to pay. Trust me.”

The apartment door clicked shut behind you, and you’re met with the cold afternoon air on a wintery Saturday in Barcelona. You pulled your jacket a little tighter around your figure, already cursing yourself for having dressed too lightly for the occasion. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the quiet neighbourhood, the orange-yellow hues bouncing off the cobblestone pavement beneath your feet. You despised Winter. Despised the cold, despised the dark mornings and dark evenings.

Alexia’s car brought you back to your senses. It’s familiar, and the way Alexia’s perfume lingers and mixes with the faint sense of leather calmed you down. The soft hum of the engine the only sound between the two of you. You couldn’t bear the silence any longer though, as if it was weighing you down with each passing minute.

“Okay, let’s set some expectations. What’s the worst thing your family could say or ask tonight?” Alexia glanced over at you, an amused smile on your face as she expertly manoeuvred the steering wheel one-handed. “Worst thing? Hmm… Mami might ask if you know how to make paella. She likes to test people on their cooking knowledge.” You scoffed nervously at her words. “Great. Let me just Google how not to butcher a classic Spanish dish before we get there.” Alexia cocked an eyebrow at you. “Relax. You could burn your toast and they’d still like you.” You didn’t respond at that, and that led to your girlfriend briefly squeezing your knee, and then resting her hand on your thigh. “I’m serious. You don’t have to impress anyone. Just… be yourself.” You looked out the window, looking at the passing cars. “I wish I had your confidence.” “You don’t need that. You have mine.”

The roads were quiet for the time of day, but there’s a faint hum of life outside. The city felt alive but not overwhelming. Alexia’s playlist waltzed through the background, the songs that remind you of your lover calming your senses once again. You noticed the way she taps her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music, her relaxed demeanor helping you stay calm. You didn’t want to mess this up. It had been a while since Alexia had seen her family, properly, for more than a couple short moments after a game. Somehow, you hadn’t met them yet. The games you went to, they couldn’t come and vice versa. It was Alexia’s mum that insisted she brought you to the family dinner, something that on its own should’ve calmed your nerves, but the rational part of your brain was completely at the mercy of the overwhelming feeling of self-doubt.

The journey didn’t take as long as expected, traffic not nearly as bad as either of you had foreseen. Alexia’s hand was tracing soft, reassuring patterns on your thigh and your hand was on top of hers, steadling grounding yourself with her touch. Before you knew it, Alexia pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. “Oh God, I didn’t realize we were here already.” Alexia chuckled, but stayed silent for a moment. She let you come to your senses, knowing you were going to be fine, but just needed a moment to ground yourself. Your eyes searched the area, and you were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of cars that were all around the house. “Baby, how many people are here tonight?” Alexia winced at that, having forgotten to mention that it was never only close family when the Putellas’s came together. She tried to remain casual, though. “Eh, maybe like 20 people? Just a small group. It’ll be okay, amor.” You mumbled something incoherently under your breath and Alexia wished it wasn’t you cursing her out, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it as you opened your door and stepped outside.

“So, any final words?” You questioned, your hand resting on the doorbell, not quite ready to ring yet. “Smile. Be yourself. Don’t let mami overwhelm you with food.” You cocked your eyebrows at her. “Mhm, that’s a lot of pressure. What if I fail at one of those things?” Alexia pressed a kiss against your temple, mumbling her next words against your hair. “Then you’d still look cute failing.” You rolled your eyes. “Such a charmer, Alexia. I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” “Completely. But seriously, you’ve got this.” Your girlfriend took your hand in hers for a second and gave a reassuring squeeze, before she eventually rang the doorbell.

Eli’s face lit up inexplicably wide at the sight of her daughter. “Mi niña, look at you, you’re finally here.” She pulled Alexia into a tight hug first, and by Alexia’s body language, you could tell that she needed this. She practically smothered her daughter with affection, but Alexia quickly became second best the moment her eyes landed on you, her expression softening into one of pure warmth. “And you must be the one she hasn’t stopped talking about!” Before you could even fully process her words, she’s wrapping you in a firm, welcoming embrace. The scent of her lavender perfume and something faintly sweet invaded your senses, and it immediately struck you as a homely feeling. Her hug lingered just long enough to feel sincere, and when she pulled back, her hands settled gently on your shoulders.

“Come in, come in! Don’t just stand out here in the cold. I’ve been so excited to meet you." Alexia watched the interaction with a fond smile, her gaze flickering between you and her mum as you stepped into the warmth of the house. It felt almost surreal. The cozy hum of voices from the living room, the inviting smell of food wafting from the kitchen. You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this; this immediate sense of belonging. You couldn’t help but glance at Alexia, a smile creeping onto your face despite your earlier nerves. She noticed, her own smile widening in response.

But as Eli ushered you both further inside, you caught a fleeting glance exchanged between Alexia and her mum. It’s quick, almost unnoticeable, but something about it tugged at the edge of your thoughts. Maybe it was the slight furrow in Eli’s brow that smoothed out too quickly, or the way Alexia’s smile dimmed just a fraction before she responded. It passed before you could think too much of it, overshadowed by Eli’s bright chatter as she guided you toward the living room. But the seed of doubt was planted, small but persistent.

The living room buzzed with warmth and chatter as Eli guided you inside. The people gathered are lively, her relatives talking over one another, kids darting around in a chaotic blur, and a general air of familiarity you can almost taste. “Come, let me introduce you,” Eli said with a bright smile, tugging you further into the room. Alexia stayed close, her hand lightly resting at your lower back, an anchor as you’re passed from one family member to the next.

First, it’s Alexia’s aunt. A lively woman with curly hair and a booming laugh, pulled you into a tight hug as though she’s known you for years. “Oh, so this is her,” she said knowingly, nudging Alexia with a grin. “You didn’t tell me how gorgeous she is.” “Tía” Alexia mumbled, her ears turning pink, but the playful reprimand only made her aunt laugh harder. “And polite, too, I bet,” the aunt added, turning to you. “Please, call me Tía Marta. Now tell me, is she as much of a neat freak at home as she was when she was a kid? She used to get mad if I folded a towel the ‘wrong way.’” Alexia groaned behind you, but you laughed, feeling a little more at ease.

Up next is Alexia’s grandmother. She was smaller than you expected, her frame delicate but her spirit vibrant. She took your hands in hers, her skin soft and warm, and looked up at you with kind, twinkling eyes. “Eres preciosa, niña,” she said softly, her voice comforting. You managed a thank you in your best Spanish, and she beamed with pride. “Her Spanish is good!” she told Alexia in Catalan, patting your hand. “Abuela,” Alexia interjected gently, translating for you with a smile. “She says you’re beautiful.” “Well, she’s beautiful too,” you responded shyly, feeling your cheeks warm under the older woman’s approving gaze.

Then suddenly, a young cousin, the boy probably no older than six, bolted toward Alexia the second he walked in, arms wide and squealing her name. Alexia catched him mid-run, spinning him around effortlessly. It struck a chord somewhere inside of you, but you weren’t ready to develop the thought yet that was simmering at the back of your mind. “Who’s this?” the little boy asked once he’s settled in Alexia’s arms, pointing at you.

“This is my... friend,” Alexia said carefully, glancing at you with a flicker of hesitation. The little boy looked at you curiously before deciding, “She’s pretty. Do you like Spiderman?” Caught off guard, you stammered, “Uh, yes? I think he’s cool.” “Good,” the cousin declared, nodding seriously. “Because I don’t like boring people.” You shared a laugh with Alexia, who shook her head fondly.

At one point a couple minutes later, an uncle, already stationed near the appetizers, offered you a small plate. “Try this,” he said, holding up a slice of jamón ibérico. “This is the best you’ll ever taste.” You accepted it, and the flavor immediately melted on your tongue. “Wow,” you exhale, impressed. He grinned, nodding approvingly. “I told you. Good taste,” he said, pointing at you before winking at Alexia. “This one’s a keeper, eh?” Alexia chuckled, shaking her head. “She hasn’t even had the croquetas yet.” “Croquetas?” you asked, curious. “Just wait,” Alexia replied, her smirk confident.

Eli stole you away then, leading you with her to the sofa. “She talks about you, you know,” she said quietly, handing you a glass of wine. You blinked in surprise. “She does?” “Every time we talk,” she said with a smile, her eyes soft as they glanced toward Alexia. “You make her happy.” Your heart swelled, and you glanced at your girlfriend across the room, who was talking to her cousin again. She must’ve felt your eyes on her because she looked back, offering a small smile that’s just for you.

But then, there was a change in the air. It was not outright hostility, not even close. But as the introductions continued– they seemed endless, there was a distinct feeling in the back of your mind that you couldn’t ignore. A couple of the older relatives asked pointed questions about your work. Questions that felt almost like challenges, though they were wrapped in polite tones. “So, what do you do exactly? Must be quite demanding, no?” You answered as best as you can, without wanting to seem too affected by the unpleasant tone you’re being spoken to.

As you were chatting with another of Alexia’s cousins, one of her aunts– not the one that welcomed you so warmly earlier, interrupted the conversation with a comment that caught you off guard. “Well, I hope you’re not one of those people who thinks dating a footballer is all glamour and fame. It’s hard work, you know.” The words are said with a faint smile, her tone almost teasing. Almost. But there’s something about the way her eyes lingered on you, as though she’s waiting to see how you’ll react. “Oh no, I wouldn’t think that at all.” You stammered, trying to laugh it off. Before you could say more, Alexia stepped in smoothly. It’s like she felt the discomfort oozing off you through the room, and she was by your side in a mere couple seconds to defuse the situation. “She’s not one of those people. Trust me.” Her aunt gave a small nod, her smile tight as she moved on to another conversation.

The exchange left you rattled, though you’re not entirely sure why. It wasn’t outright rude, but it felt like a test, one you’re not certain you passed. As the evening went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were under a microscope. Most of the family was kind and welcoming, but a few interactions left a sour taste, small enough to make you doubt whether you’re overthinking it or not.

Your mind drifted back to the glance Alexia exchanged with her mom earlier. Was it about you? Were they worried about bringing you into this tightly-knit family dynamic? You glanced at Alexia, who was across the room now, laughing with her sister. She looked completely at ease, as though she belonged in this moment in a way you could never hope to. The doubt crept in again, insidious and unwelcome. Did you really fit into her world?

The room was alive with conversation and laughter, but your thoughts felt far too loud. You were perched at the edge of the couch, smiling politely as Eli chatted animatedly with a group of relatives nearby. Alexia caught your eye from across the room, her easy smile fading when she saw the tension in your shoulders. Excusing herself from the conversation she’s in, she made her way over to you, her movements casual so as not to draw attention. She sat next to you, her hand comfortingly placed on the small of your back. “Hey, you okay?” You take a moment, hesitating on what to tell her, because the last thing you’d want is to be a burden. “Yeah, just a bit… overwhelmed”, you eventually settled on. Her hand softly brushed against your knee and it brought you a sense of comfort. “They already love you, you know.” Her words settled over you like a warm blanket, and for a moment, you let yourself believe them. You nod, offering her a small smile. Thanks. I think I just need a minute to adjust.” Your girlfriend squeezed your knee and then stood up, moving back across the room to where she was before she came over to you.

You started to relax again, letting the hum of conversations wash over you, but then you heard it; a hushed voice from somewhere nearby, just loud enough to catch your ear. “She seems nice, but do you think she’s really with Alexia for the right reasons? I mean, it must be intimidating, dating someone like her. Maybe she just likes the idea of it.” The words hit like a gut punch. You glanced around, trying to place the speaker, and your stomach sank when you saw it’s the same cousin who’d been teasing earlier. She was speaking to another relative, who nodded slightly but didn’t add anything to the comment.

“Well, she does seem a bit… out of her depth. But Alexia must see something in her.” “Yeah, but for how long? I mean, Alexia needs someone who can handle all of this. The attention, the traveling, the pressure. Do you think she’s that kind of person?”

Your pulse quickened and your fingers tightened around your glass. It felt like the air had been knocked out of you. Why were they even talking about this? Your stomach sank further with each word. You fought the urge to stand up and defend yourself, although you weren’t quite sure you’d know what to say if you did. Were you really out of your depth?

You glanced back toward Alexia, wishing she’d somehow heard the exchange, wishing you could share the burden of what had just been said. But even if she had been closer, would you have had the courage to repeat the words? The thought of telling her felt unbearable. What if she agreed, even a little? What if, instead of reassuring you, she hesitated? You tell yourself off, firmly. It was Alexia that brought you here, Alexia that wanted you here. She wouldn’t hesitate. But before you can dwell on what you heard too much, dinner is being served and you’re all called to the living room.

The dining room was warm and inviting, with a large wooden table set for everyone. The atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and overlapping conversations. Alexia was seated beside you, and her presence helped calm your nerves, even though the earlier comments still lingered in your mind. You tried to focus on the moment, enjoy the evening with Alexia’s family and forget about what you overheard earlier

.“So, tell us more about yourself. Alexia mentioned you work on some pretty impressive projects.” It was Eli’s voice that pulled you out of your thoughts. You were glad that everyone seemed to be in their own conversations, only a couple relatives really listening in to what you were going to answer.

“Oh, it’s nothing too special. I mostly enjoy being behind the scenes, making sure everything runs smoothly.” You worry, overthinking every word as if the people around you would be nitpicking every single thing that you said.

“Well, Alexia couldn’t stop talking about how talented you are. She doesn’t say that about just anyone, you know.” Her words made you feel a little more at ease, but the shadow of doubt from earlier lingered.

Dinner went smoothly for the rest. Conversation flowed easily between a couple of you, the steadying presence of your girlfriend aside you doing just enough to ground you. During a lighter moment, someone shared a funny story about Alexia’s childhood.

“Did you know Alexia used to practice free kicks in the yard until she knocked over the flower pots? I think my parents banned football from the garden for a year!” The family laughs, and Alexia playfully rolls her eyes, leaning in closer to you. “Don’t believe everything they tell you.”

At some point, a little further down the evening, Alexia leans in quietly, her hand brushing against yours under the table. “You okay? You’ve been a bit quiet.” she asks softly. You force a smile, one you know she won’t believe, but it’s the best you could muster up. “I’m fine. Just taking everything in.” She didn’t push, but her eyes lingered, and you knew she was onto you. But you appreciated her for not pushing.

As the meal ends and people begin to move around, Alexia finds a quiet moment with you, sensing your unease. “You’ve been amazing tonight, you know? I can see how much they like you.” You found yourself in a quiet corner in the kitchen, and you allowed yourself to circle your arms around her neck, Alexia’s resting around your waist. “You think so? It’s just… a lot to take in.” Alexia nodded, briefly brushing her lips against your forehead. “I know it’s overwhelming, but you’re doing great. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t know you could handle it.”

The silence in the car was heavy, but Alexia didn't push. She glanced at you every now and then, her brows knitting together in quiet concern at the expression on your face. She decided she could do no wrong by testing the waters. “You were amazing tonight,” she said softly. You nodded with a small smile, but it was forced. You continued staring out the window, replaying the events from the night over and over again, especially the words from one of Alexia’s aunts kept on ringing in the back of your mind.

The car ride felt uneasy. It wasn’t usual for you both to be so quiet, and it almost felt awkward. You knew you weren’t doing the right thing by not telling your girlfriend what was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You felt as if, if you would recite the words that were spoken by one of her relatives, that she’d agree. That she’d realize that they were right, that you’re out of your depth and not made for someone with a schedule like hers. So you stayed silent. As much as it hurt you to ignore Alexia’s silent advances throughout the drive, whether that be a hand on your knee or a soft touch on your thigh, you didn’t dare speak up. Not if that meant you would put your relationship at risk.

When Alexia pulled into the driveway of your apartment block, you could feel the hesitation in her movements. You unbuckled your seatbelt and she did the same, but before you could reach the door handle, you felt her hand on your wrist. “Amor, wait…,” she spoke softly. You closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before leaning back against the car seat. “You did great tonight. I promise. It was everything I hoped for. I’m so glad you finally met my family and they love you. Te lo prometo.” You gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but you couldn’t help but melt in the kiss that followed. You really shouldn’t have, should’ve held your walls up, because you knew you were in for a rough night as soon as your girlfriend left. But when she kissed you with that much fervour, pouring so many unspoken words in it, you couldn’t help but be at her mercy. “Call me tomorrow?” You nodded, but you weren’t sure you would. Stepping out of her car felt like floodgates opening. The emotions hit you like a brick: insecurity, shame, and the growing belief that this relationship was a mistake.

You ignored Alexia’s calls the following day. You knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. After all, she didn’t do anything wrong. But you couldn’t bring yourself to, not when you felt like every new word you spoke to her would bring her closer to realizing that you weren’t enough for her. Her texts start off light, reassuring. But when she realizes that you’re not going to reply, they come with an urge.

From: Ale I hope you’re feeling better today, amor. Let me know when you’re free?

From: Ale Hey, I’m getting worried. Are you okay?

From: Ale Please talk to me. Did something happen?

You read them but couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Each message felt like a dagger, reminding you of what you’re running from.

As the day dragged on, the insecurities became louder. What if you’re just another thing for her to take care of? You’re nothing compared to the people she’s surrounded with on a day-to-day basis. Her teammates, her family, they’re all… extraordinary. Alexia deserves someone who fits into her world effortlessly. Not someone who feels like they’re constantly falling short.

You started analyzing every moment with Alexia, wondering if you’ve been blind to signs that this was doomed from the start. You were not made for this world. Not made for her. So you did the thing that you thought was best for you, best for her, you decided not to reply to anything she sent you. She’d get over it, she had so many other things on her mind that she probably wouldn’t even think twice. You’d get over it too, eventually. At some point. Probably. Maybe.

But God, were you wrong. On the other side of Barcelona, your girlfriend was miserable. She had sensed something was off since the evening before, but she didn’t want to pry, knowing that usually didn’t help her case in trying to get anything out of you. But now, as the afternoon bled into evening and she still hadn’t heard from you, prying was the only thing she wished she did. As far as she knew, things had gone quite well with her family. There wasn’t anything that she could remember that would warrant such a response from you, so she felt like her hands were tied in what to do.

She wanted nothing more than things to work out with you. She hadn’t felt like she felt about you in ages. You got her, you understood her, and she was so incredibly grateful for you. You were like a breath of fresh air in her clouded, busy life. So when she didn’t hear from you for a day, Alexia curled up into herself. She was worried, insecure, in her head and making up all kinds of scenarios that were way too obscure, but she couldn’t help thinking them anyway. What if you didn’t want her anymore after meeting her family? Was it not what you expected? Did someone tell you something about her that struck a wrong chord?

Despite the overwhelming thoughts that clouded her mind, Alexia manages to get out of her sofa that evening and try a different approach to get you back.

It’s well past 9pm when you receive a voicemail from Alexia, and you can’t help but listen to it. The prospect of hearing her voice was too good to turn down.

“Hola, mi vida. I don’t know what’s bothering you, but please talk to me. We’re a team, you know? You and I. Just the two of us. Let me in and we’ll work out what’s on your mind. And, check your front door for me. Te amo. So much.”

You hadn’t realized tears had welled up in your eyes at the sound of her voice, until one was rolling over your cheek. You quickly wiped it away, not ready to be vulnerable about this yet. Not when she was being so sweet. You mustered up the courage to get out of bed, walking the way up to the front door of your apartment. You checked the peephole, but nobody was there. You opened the door and spotted a bright bouquet of red and white roses on the ground, accompanied with a little envelope. Your first thought was about how Alexia had gotten into your building, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that right now. You picked up the flowers and smelled them, a faint hint of her perfume mixing with the fresh scent of the roses. It hit you hard then, another few tears escaping your eyes.

The letter that came with, was even sweeter. It wasn’t much, not a love letter by any means, but just a small couple reminders of how much she loved you. That she was proud of you. That she couldn’t wait to see you again and hear your voice. It only felt more guilt rise up in you. How could you treat this woman, who clearly loved you to the moon and back, so poorly? But the guilt wasn’t enough to overshadow the insecurities. At least, not yet.

The office was dimly lit, the desk cluttered with blueprints, pencils, and a cold coffee cup that you’re not sure you even took a sip from. When things got rough, work is where you turned to in life. Work didn’t make you insecure. Work didn’t make you doubt yourself. It was always there. Steady. A pillar of strength that would never disappoint you. You weren’t the only one who knew that, though. As long as it took you to open up about your professional life to a certain blonde, she now knew everything about the ins and outs of your life as an interior architect. She too, knew that this was where you retreated when things weren’t going your way. To experience some sort of stability. To make you feel like even though everything else around you was crumbling, you still had this. The hum of the building and the outside traffic was the only sound until the door swung open abruptly, startling you.

Alexia walked in, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. She looked out of place here, her casual sweater and jeans standing stark against the sterile, professional backdrop. She didn’t speak right away, just stood there, her gaze fixed on you. The silence felt suffocating. You haven’t turned around yet, but the mere presence of the person gave away who it was.

“I knew you’d be here,” she started with. “You shouldn’t have come.” You had turned around on your seat now, but were still avoiding her gaze. As much as you wanted to look at her, take her in, because you missed her, missed her more than you could put into words, you didn’t. Because then it would take approximately 3 seconds for you to give up the facade that you’d been putting on, and you weren’t ready for that. Not when you weren’t good enough for her. She stepped closer. “What else was I supposed to do, huh? You’ve been ignoring me for almost 2 days. I’ve been losing my mind wondering what I did wrong.”

There was a sense of hostility in her voice, and you didn’t like it. But, you guess you deserved it. You finally met her gaze then, and if it weren’t for the bags underneath her eyes and the concerned look on her face, you really would’ve thought she was angry at you. You stood up from your desk, taking a couple tentative steps toward her and crossing your arms over your chest. “You didn’t do anything, Alexia. This is on me.” You knew it was weak, and not good enough. But you couldn’t give her much more than that. “That’s not good enough. I deserve more than silence, don’t you think?”

Your throat is tightening, but you try your best not to let it sound in your voice. “I needed time to think.” “Time to think about what, y/n? If you even want to be with me?” You frowned then, looking up at her. You didn’t know it had cut so deep with her. It’d only been a day and a half, and you hadn't given her any clues on what this could be about, so for her to have made this assumption took you aback. It’s not what you wanted, or… maybe it was? It was best for the both of you, either way.

You decided at that moment it was best for you to open up, to relieve some of the tension for the woman standing in front of you. “I’m not good for you, Alexia. Can’t you see that? Your cousin, your family, they see it. And they’re right.” The Spaniard’s face hardens at that, her brows knitting together. ““I don’t belong in your world. I don’t know how to fit into it, and honestly, I don’t think I ever will. You deserve someone who can stand next to you without feeling like they’re constantly falling short.”

Alexia closes the distance between you, and you can feel her breath against your face as she speaks. “That’s bullshit, and you know it! You think I care what anyone else thinks? My family? My cousin? Do you think I’d be here right now, chasing after you, if I thought you weren’t good enough for me?” You interrupt her, but it’s a futile attempt. “No, you don’t understand-” “You don’t understand! I chose you! I want you! Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

It’s like someone opened up a can of bottled feelings within Alexia. You’d voiced it many times to her that you thought you weren’t good enough for her, and each time she’d patiently coaxed you back to her, melting your insecurities away with whispered promises and lingering kisses. What you didn’t know is that it had also taken an effect on her. She just wanted you to believe her, to be happy with her, to stop thinking that you weren’t what she wanted or deserved.

“Because I’m scared, Alexia! I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize they were right. That I’m just this… nobody who got lucky. That I’ll never be enough for you.” Alexia’s expression softens slightly, but her frustration remains. She runs a hand through her hair and takes a deep breath, her voice quieter but still firm. ““You’re enough for me. You’re more than enough. But I can’t keep fighting to convince you of that if you’re not willing to believe it yourself.”

The words hit you like a dagger. Of all the ways the conversation could go, you hadn’t expected that. And it only further confirmed your thoughts. Alexia was realizing that this wasn’t what she wanted. “Maybe I’m doing this for you, Alexia. Maybe you’ll thank me someday.” Alexia’s voice was sharp as she replied. “Don’t you dare make this decision for me.” You flinch, but remain silent.

She steps back then, running her hands across her face. “I don’t know what else to say to you right now.” Her eyes linger on your figure a little longer, but then she’s gone. The sound of the door falling shut feels deafening, and you finally let the tears flow that you’d been holding in throughout the conversation. Argument? You didn’t know and you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

As she storms out of the studio, the cool night air hits her like a wall. Her chest feels tight, and her hands tremble slightly as she fumbles to unlock her car. She hesitates for a moment, gripping the door handle, debating whether to turn back. But the ache in her heart makes it hard to think clearly, and she sinks into the driver’s seat, resting her forehead against the steering wheel.

She didn’t know how it could’ve escalated this quick. For her, the meeting with her family went well. Of course, there was the odd comment, but she didn’t think it was major enough to cause an upset like this. It seemed like, in one day, you’d built a wall so high that she couldn’t reach you anymore.

She bites her lip, trying to keep the tears from falling, but a few slip out anyway. She feels a mix of anger, heartbreak and guilt, but above all that she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be feeling. She drives around aimlessly, not ready to drive home. Before long, Alexia realizes that she didn’t handle the argument in the right way. Instead of calming you down, she yelled, too lost in trying to make you see what she sees. By the time she finally gets home, she’s emotionally drained. She sits at her kitchen table, the undeniable sting from the unanswered calls and texts still there. Alexia had never felt this way about anyone, ever before in her life. And she wasn’t going to let you walk away because of some stupid comment or your own doubts. You were hers, and she was going to remind you of that even if it took everything she had.

Alexia starts her plan to get you back the next day. She comes to terms that barging into the studio again wouldn’t make it better, so she starts with something simple. She drives to your place and slides a little handwritten note under the door, a small one that says, “I love you. No matter what they say, no matter what you think. You are everything to me. Please, let me prove it. A.” She also sends flowers to your workplace, a bouquet of your favourite flowers with a little note attached to it, “You’re the only one I see.” She’s patient, very patient, but when she hasn’t heard anything from you by the evening, she starts pacing around her apartment.

She had done quite well at keeping busy throughout the day. After quickly dropping off the note, she went to training and was able to keep her mind off the situation for a couple hours. But when she came home, deep in the afternoon, and she couldn’t even get her post-training nap in because she was thinking about you, she knew she wasn’t gonna get anywhere.

Her fingers hover over your contact, but the prospect of rejection makes her hesitate. She lingers, but eventually decides it’s best not to. She was gonna let you come to her. And you did. The next morning, somehow you’d remembered that today was a day off for Alexia. She was sat at the kitchen table, sipping on her daily cup of coffee while scrolling through her phone. The doorbell startled her, not really expecting anyone at this time of day, especially not when she was still wearing her pajamas. But when she looks through the peephole, noticing your figure on the other side of the door, her heart skips a beat. She scrambles to unlock the door and open it for you, but when her eyes land on you it feels like all is right in the world. She has to refrain herself from throwing her into your arms, knowing that wouldn’t be the right thing to do right now. She gives you a small smile, one you return, and the warmth that spreads through her chest at the little gesture is unimaginable. She steps aside then, letting you inside of her apartment.

It doesn’t take long for Alexia to crack. She makes you a coffee and joins you on the sofa, and you had planned to start the conversation, but she didn’t let you. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice cracking slightly. “For yelling, for walking out, for everything. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, nodding, fiddling with your hands. “I… I wasn’t trying to push you away, Alexia. I just-” “You’re scared,” she interrupts, and a relief washes over you at the realization that she understands your feelings. “And I get that. But, please, I need you to talk to me, not shut me out.”

There’s a couple moments of silence, and you readjust your position on the couch, your knees now flush to your chest with your arms wrapped around them. It was the only way to stop yourself from curling into her. You wouldn’t get to say what you wanted if you did. “It’s not just fear,” you admit. “It’s everything. What your cousin said, it wasn’t just about me. It was about us. Like I don’t belong in your world. Like- Like I’m just… some fling that you’ll outgrow.”

Alexia’s face hardens, jaw tightening and she reaches a hand out, but quickly retreats. “Don’t let them get to you, por favor. She doesn’t know anything about us, about you.” “But what if she’s right?” You whisper, your voice trembling. “What if I’m not enough? For you, for your family, for-” Alexia does follow through with her hand then, placing it on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze. “Stop.” Her voice is firm but not harsh, cutting through your spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You are everything.” Your eyes meet hers, and you’re looking for anything that gives away she’s not speaking the truth. That she doesn’t mean this, that she’s just saying this out of pity. But you can’t find it. The only thing you find is a couple unshed tears, showing just how much emotion she’s pouring into this moment. “Do you know how much I love you? How much I admire you? Your kindness, strength, the way you light up any room without even trying. You’re the only one I want.” You go to speak up, but she lifts her hand in protest.

“What someone else thinks, whether it’s my family, my friends or anyone, doesn’t matter to me. You matter. You make me happy, and that’s all I care about. And if my cousin, or anyone else has a problem with that, they’ll have to say that to my face. And not behind your or my back.” Alexia straightens slightly, retreating her hand from your knee and placing them in her lap. “But I know I didn’t handle this right, and I’m sorry for that too,” she says earnestly. “I shouldn’t have lashed out. I was frustrated because I hate seeing you doubt yourself, especially when you’re so good to me, so good for me. I want to be better for you, better for us. But you need to let me in.”

You swallow hard, her words from the last couple minutes sinking in. You couldn’t believe how you deserved the woman sitting in front of you right now. So good, so honest, and all she wanted was you. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you, or… seem weak, I guess.” Alexia shakes her head, her gaze soft. “You’re not weak. And you’re never going to hurt me by telling me how you feel. We’re a team, remember? On the same side, mi amor.” The pet name sends a wave of warmth through you that you only now realize you missed terribly. “Besides,” she adds, her tone lighter now, “if our relationship has had to endure all the teasing from my teammates and the comments from fans, I’m sure we can handle a little communication hiccup.”

You laugh softly, and Alexia grins, relief washing over her. “There it is,” she says, her thumb brushing a tear off your cheek that you didn’t even know was there. “There’s my girl.” You let out a shaky breath, the weight on your chest lifting ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, too. For shutting you out. I’ll try to do better.” Alexia leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out together.”

As the tension melts away, Alexia pulls you up, wrapping her arms tightly around you. The warmth of her embrace makes the world outside. She tilts her head to rest against yours, her voice soft as she speaks. “You’re never allowed to disappear like that again,” Alexia murmurs, her lips brushing against your temple. “Do you know how much I missed you? Two days felt like two years.” You nestle further into her, your arms circling her waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just needed space to think. But it wasn’t worth it. Being without you felt awful. I just kept convincing myself that you were better off without me and vice versa, but I know that’s not true.”

Alexia pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. Her thumb brushes gently over your cheek as she smiles, her expression soft. “You don’t have to run away to think, cariño. Just come to me, and we’ll figure it out together. Always.”

The weight of the past days begins to fade away as Alexia leans down and brushes her lips lightly against your forehead. Then your nose. Then your cheek. Each kiss feels like a promise, her way to say that everything’s going to be okay. “Stop,” you say, giggling softly, though you don’t actually want her to stop. “You’re making it impossible to stay mad at myself.” “Good,” Alexia says with a smirk, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. “Because I’m not done making it up to you yet.”

She shifts, sitting back down on the couch and pulling you into her lap. You hesitate for a moment, but her arms tighten around your waist, grounding you. “This okay?” she asks softly, her lips brushing your ear. You nod, melting into her touch. “More than okay.” Her hands trail up and down your back in soothing strokes as you rest your head on her shoulder. The two of you sit like that for a while, in silence, before you take a nap together on the couch. As you lay in her arms, you know that that’s where you’re supposed to be. And you’re gonna battle every single one of your insecurities that tells you differently.

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #barca femení x reader #barca

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solarmorrigan · 9 months ago

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Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #cw child abuse #referenced but does not take place in the fic #cw panic attack #even if it doesn't look like one at first #soft ending though as always I promise

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