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ducktoo · 7 months ago

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Frayed Threads

LE SSERAFIM’s Sakura x Reader

Note: Thanks again @hyeyulenjoyer for the request again. At this point we're just doing for every single IZ*ONE members lol

You noticed the changes immediately—little things that wouldn’t have registered if they weren’t so unlike her. Sakura was always someone who kept you grounded. A quick text here, a photo of something random there, or even just a string of emojis when she didn’t have much to say. But for the past week?

Silence.

It started innocently enough. She cancelled your usual Friday dinner plans. "Sorry, something came up. Next week, promise!" she texted, followed by a heart emoji. It seemed fine at first, but then the pattern began.

Your goodnight texts were left on read. Calls went unanswered. Even her Instagram stories—usually filled with behind-the-scenes glimpses of her day—had gone dry. When she finally posted something, it was just a vague snapshot of her shoes and a caption that read, "Busy days ahead!"

Busy with what?

Then there were the whispered conversations when you swung by her dorm unannounced. Once, you overheard Chaewon muttering something like, "Does she think this will actually work?" before abruptly cutting herself off when you entered. Another time, Yunjin practically shoved you out the door after telling you Sakura wasn’t home, but her tone carried an undercurrent of don’t ask any more questions.

Even the LE SSERAFIM group chat felt weird. The jokes were fewer, and any time you brought up Sakura, the others changed the subject like they were guarding a state secret.

Your brain went into overdrive. Maybe she’s working on a new project and can’t talk about it yet? you reasoned, trying to calm yourself. But then the darker thoughts crept in, the ones you couldn’t suppress.

What if she’s seeing someone else?

It sounded absurd, but you couldn’t shake it. You thought about the way she’d been so distant lately, almost as if she didn’t want to see you. And wasn’t it just last week that Kazuha had mentioned Sakura getting a bunch of late-night calls? She’d laughed it off at the time, but what if it wasn’t so innocent?

And then there was the ultimate gut punch: the bracelet.

You found it sitting on her dresser during your last visit. It was simple, with a charm you didn’t recognize—something floral, maybe? She’d never worn it before, and when you asked about it, she got weirdly flustered. "Oh, it’s nothing. Just a gift," she’d mumbled, quickly tucking it out of sight.

A gift from who?

Fast-forward to Thursday, and you were restless.

You were sitting in your apartment, phone in hand, staring at the last text you sent her—read but unanswered. It’d been days since Sakura had gone radio silent. Sure, you had caught the occasional glimpse of her at a shoot or through a mutual friend's Instagram story, but even then, she seemed distant.

Now, your mind had gone full cinema mode. Was she okay? Did you do something wrong? Or was she… seeing someone else? You shook your head, willing yourself to stop spiralling.

But really, could you blame yourself? Sakura wasn’t just your girlfriend; she was the type of person who kept you on the ground, made everyone want to be around her with her calm demeanour. The idea of her dodging your calls for any reason was enough to stir up your anxiety like a blender stuck on high.

With an exasperated sigh, you threw on your hoodie, deciding that sitting around wasn’t going to help. You needed answers—or at least a distraction.

You found yourself at the LE SSERAFIM dorm, a place you usually walked into without hesitation. Today, though, you hesitated. The thought of knocking felt foreign, like you were suddenly on the outside of something you used to be at the centre of.

Before you could back out, the door swung open, and Chaewon appeared, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Oh, hey," she said, stepping aside to let you in.

"Is…Kkura around?" you asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Chaewon tilted her head, studying you like a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. "Uh… not right now. She said she’d be back soon."

Of course, she wasn’t here, as usual. That would’ve been too easy.

"Anything you wanna tell me?" you pressed, hoping Chaewon might spill some tea.

She shrugged, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Not really. But if you're here to interrogate me, maybe try Eunchae next time. She cracks under pressure."

Her playful tone didn’t exactly ease your mind, but you nodded, muttering a quick thanks before leaving.

Hours later, you were at home again, pacing like a detective in a noir film. Then your phone buzzed, and you dove for it like it was a lifeline.

Sakura:

Can we meet? I’ll come to you.

Your heart leapt at the sight of her name, but the message didn’t ease your worries. If anything, it made them worse. The formality of it, the lack of her usual emojis or teasing tone—it all felt off.

When she arrived, you almost didn’t recognize her. She was bundled up in an oversized hoodie, her hair tucked into a beanie. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days. And she was holding something behind her back, the aforementioned charm wrapped around her small wrist.

A tote bag, from what you can formed.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping inside. Her voice cracked, and the sound of it only made your chest tighten.

You stepped aside to let her in, closing the door behind her. She didn’t move far, standing awkwardly by the entrance as if she wasn’t sure she was welcome.

“Kkura, what’s going on?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

“I… I owe you an explanation,” she began, finally looking at you. Her gaze was uncertain, her hands twitching at her sides, gripping her tote bag like lingering the last thread. She wanted to do something but didn’t know what.

Your patience snapped. “Yeah, you do. You’ve been avoiding me for days, dodging my calls, barely even texting me back. What am I supposed to think?! That everything’s fine?!”

Her eyes widened at your tone, but you couldn’t stop.

“Are you…seeing someone else?” The words tumbled out before you could catch them, raw and accusatory. "Did he give you that charm on your wrist?"

“What?” Her voice broke through your spiral, sharp and disbelieving. She became conscious of her own wrist. "Why did you think that?"

“I mean, what else am I supposed to think?” you continued, the words coming out harsher than you intended. “You’ve been distant, secretive, and—”

“I’ve been making this for you!” she blurted, cutting you off as she yanked something out of her tote bag and thrust it into your hands.

You looked down, blinking at the object in confusion. It was a scarf—lopsided, slightly uneven, and clearly handmade. The stitches were all over the place, some too tight, others too loose, with bits of yarn fraying at the edges.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought it would be cute, and I thought I could actually pull it off. But it took way longer than I expected, and I kept messing up, and…” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “And then I got scared that it wouldn’t be good enough. That I wouldn’t be good enough.”

You stared at the scarf, your brain struggling to catch up. "What…about the charm?"

"ahh…" Sakura glanced down to her wrist. "the IZ*ONE members gave it to me…sorry…should've clarify it…"

"Ahhh…" You heaved a relieving sigh.

“So… this is what you’ve been doing?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost disbelieving.

“Yes!” She ran a hand through her hair, exasperated. “I know it’s stupid. I know I should’ve just told you. But I wanted it to be a surprise. And instead, I made you think…”

She trailed off, biting her lip, and suddenly, all your anger drained away, leaving only guilt in its wake.

“Kkura…” You stepped closer, the scarf still in your hands. “You thought you weren’t good enough? For me?”

Her silence spoke volumes, and the vulnerability in her eyes hit you like a punch to the gut.

Wordlessly, you wrapped the scarf around your neck. It was itchy and uneven, and easily the most imperfect thing you’d ever owned.

“It’s…a bit lopsided…” you said firmly. "But I like it. A lot."

She blinked at you, her eyes glistening. “You don’t have to—”

“I mean it,” you interrupted, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened for a moment before melting into your arms. “But next time you want to surprise me, can you…maybe…not stress yourself out so much that I think you’re cheating on me?”

She laughed against your chest, the sound muffled but full of relief. “Deal.”

As the tension between you finally dissolved, you tightened your hold on her, vowing to never let your own fears cloud your trust again.

You pulled away slightly, still holding her close, and looked down at the scarf wrapped around your neck. It was… well, it was something. The uneven stitches gave it character, and the mismatched colours—soft lavender fading into a slightly-too-bright yellow—felt endearing in a way you couldn’t quite explain. But it also raised some questions.

"You know…" you began, your tone light but teasing, "if this is the final version… what do the others look like?"

Sakura froze, her eyes widening. “What others?”

You arched a brow. “You said you kept messing up, right? I’m assuming there are… prototypes?”

Her face flushed instantly, the tips of her ears turning pink. “I—uh—they’re nothing! Just some failed attempts. Totally not worth seeing!” She tried to wave it off, but her nervous laugh betrayed her.

“Ehhhh, come on,” you said, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You’ve been dodging me all week because of this. The least you can do is let me see the discarded ones.”

“No way!” She shook her head vehemently, her hands coming up as if to block you from even thinking about it. “They’re terrible. Like, embarrassing terrible. You’d never look at me the same again.”

“Too bad, now I have to see them,” you teased, already stepping toward her tote bag, which she had carelessly dropped by the door.

“Wait—no—don’t!” She lunged for it, but you were faster, snatching the tote bag up and holding it out of her reach.

“Relax,” you said with a laugh as she grabbed at your arms. “I’m not going to judge you. I just want to see how much effort you put into this.”

“No, you really don’t,” she insisted, but her protests grew weaker as you peeked inside.

The first thing you pulled out was a tangled mess of yarn that vaguely resembled… a fish? Or maybe a lopsided bowtie? It was hard to tell. You held it up, squinting at it.

“This is… interesting,” you said diplomatically, biting back a grin.

“That was supposed to be a beanie,” she muttered, covering her face with her hands.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter this time. “This beanie? For who, Manchae?”

“That kid is wayy too big for that!” she groaned, her voice muffled by her hands. “Plus, it was my first attempt! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

Grinning, you dug deeper into the bag and pulled out another piece—a square of fabric with one corner wildly unravelling. It had a heart stitched into it, but the shape was warped, almost like it had melted.

“This one’s cute,” you said honestly, running your fingers over the uneven stitches.

“It was supposed to be a patch,” she mumbled, still hiding her face. “But I couldn’t get the heart right, so I gave up.”

You reached out, gently tugging her hands away from her face. “Aww, don’t hide. These are really good.”

Her eyes narrowed skeptically. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m serious,” you said, holding up the patch. “Do you know how much effort it takes to make something by hand? You could’ve just bought me a scarf, but you didn’t. You decided to spend all this time and energy trying to make one yourself, even when it wasn’t perfect. That means a lot.”

Her expression softened, a small, shy smile creeping onto her lips. “You really mean that?”

“Of course,” you said, reaching up to flick her beanie playfully. “Even if Manchae's beanie looks like a deflated jellyfish.”

“Yah!” she exclaimed, shoving you lightly, but she was laughing now, the tension from earlier completely gone.

You put the patch and scarf down carefully, then pulled her back into a warm and tight hug. “Seriously, though. Thank you, Kkura-chan. This means everything to me.”

She leaned into you, her arms wrapping around your waist. “You’re welcome. But next time, remind me not to take up a hobby I’m terrible at just to impress you.”

"It's YOUR hobby you took, Ms. Miyawaki." You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Plus, I kind of like seeing you flustered.”

Her groan of protest only made you laugh harder, and for the first time all week, everything felt exactly as it should.

Later that evening, as you and Sakura lounged on the couch, content and wrapped in the coziness of each other’s company, her phone buzzed violently on the coffee table. She reached for it lazily, glancing at the screen before answering on speaker.

“Hello?” she said, her tone casual. "You're on speaker by the way.."

“Sakura-unnie! For the last F*CKING time, come and get your crochet disasters out of the living room!” Yunjin’s voice practically boomed through the phone, making you stifle a laugh.

Sakura shot you a glare before responding. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the mountain of yarn vomit you’ve left behind, unnie!” Chaewon’s voice chimed in, equally exasperated. “There’s half a sock on the coffee table, something that might be a disfigured teddy bear on the floor, and don’t even get me started on the abomination hanging off the dining chair.”

“That was supposed to be a pouch!” Sakura defended herself, sitting up straighter.

“Well, it’s not a pouch, unnie,” Kazuha’s calm voice joined the chaos. “It looks like a... blob. A very colourful blob.”

“It’s art,” Sakura said firmly, though the red creeping up her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.

“It’s garbage!” Yunjin shouted. “If we find one more piece of half-finished yarns lying around, we’re burning it. You have until tomorrow to get this stuff, or we’re holding a bonfire in your honour!”

The line went dead, leaving the room in silence for a moment before you burst out laughing.

“Wow…” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “You really went all out for me, huh?”

"Shush…" Sakura groaned, burying her face in her hands. “They’re being so dramatic.”

“You did leave all your failed attempts lying around for them to find,” you teased, nudging her shoulder.

She peeked at you through her fingers, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, maybe I got a little carried away…”

“Just a little?” you quipped, grinning.

She groaned again but couldn’t hide her laugh. “Fine, I’ll clean it up tomorrow. But you’re coming with me to help.”

“Yes, ma'am.” you said, pulling her into your arms. “And for what it’s worth, I'll take it all home tomorrow.”

“Even the blob?” she asked, her voice muffled against your chest.

“Maybe no-,” you closed your mouth as her glare was lasering through your skull. "…Ok even the blob."

She sighed dramatically, but you could feel her smile against your shirt. “I’m never crocheting again.”

And with that, the two of you settled back into the couch, the laughter and mess of the day fading into the warmth of each other’s company.

#kpop #sakura #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim #le sserafim sakura #izone x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x y/n #le sserafim x you #le sserafim fluff #sakura fluff

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lovelytsunoda · 9 months ago

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the scaredy cat support group | logan sargeant

summary: much to her dismay, y/n's friends have dragged her to see the scariest film of the season. luckily for her, the blond sitting next to her in a darkened cinema seems to be just as petrified as she is

pairing: logan sargeant x female! reader

warnings: scary movies & scaredy cats, implications of fear and gore, logan being a sweetie.

"this is such a bad idea."

the theater was packed, groups of people passing by them to get into the auditorium, eager to see the latest blood-soaked halloween killfest on screens. y/n, however, just couldn't get her feet to move. her friends stood just in front of her, worried looks on their faces as they looked back at her.

y/n loved halloween, make no mistake. it was her favourite holiday by leaps and bounds. she loved micheal meyers and ghostface and even freddy krueger.

but she absolutely hated being scared. she was a sensitive soul, and that was why she preferred older horror movies that were limited on the level of blood and guts.

"are you sure you don't want to sit this one out? we told you you didn't have to come." her friend said gently.

"no, no. i came here to spend time with you guys because i love you. and no scary movie is going to keep me from doing that."

she was reassured by the group of college guys that came in after her, with an athletic looking blond hanging back to stare at the film poster with a similar queasy look to the one that she was sporting.

"alright, let's get this over with. but if i barf up my popcorn, it's on you guys!"

they filed into the dark theatre, previews already beginning to play out on the big screen in front of them. their group of five took up most of the row, which, being in a small cinema, only held ten seats.

she sat in the middle, next to gloriously empty seat as she tried to steel herself for what was to come, with reminders to herself that it was all made from special effects, and she could walk out of that theater and into the real world whenever she wanted.

"is this seat taken?"

she look up and towards the soft speaker, who was using his phone flashlight to try and find his ticketed seat. it was the same blonde who had stopped to stare at the poster outside, and he looked a little pale in the face as he sat down next to her.

"not a fan of being scared?" she whispered, offering him some popcorn. "me neither."

"oh good. that means i'm not going to be the only one shaking like a baby." he laughed. "god, i would much rather have gone to see fucking joker or something."

"i wasn't given an option. they just told me that this is what was happening and i was invited if i wanted to. i'm y/n."

"logan."

"will you two be quiet?" the man behind them hissed. "some of us are trying to watch a movie.

logan shrugged, typing something on his phone before showing her the screen.

a movie that hasn't even started yet? i didn't realize that the advertisement for jackass was so interesting

"and turn your damn brightness down!"

y/n stifled a laugh as she watched logan pretend to give the guy the middle finger before slipping his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. the lights in the theater dimmed even further, the feature presentation beginning to unfold on screen.

to her credit, she lasted about half an hour before she jumped, knocking over her bag of popcorn and spilling some slippery buttery kernels into Logan’s lap. she was mortified, but the massage logan typed out on his phone reassured her that everything was fine.

it’s all good, squeeze my hand if u get 2 scared

no points for grammar, but five for being a sweetie.

naturally, it was logan who reached for her hand first, during a particularly gory on screen kill that had y/n squeezing her eyes shut and physically turning away from the screen while logan clutched her cold hand in his.

despite herself, she found Logan’s touch to be comforting. what did that say about her that a little scary movie had her seeking out comfort from strangers? (don’t tell her mother that or she would start singing the jamie walters song and everyone would be miserable) for a minute, she almost forgot that she’d come with a group of friends and was only reminded of that fact when one of them messaged her.

getting cozy over there? see, horror flicks are a great place to pick up guys! just make sure his favourite isn’t american psycho.

she giggled, looking over at her friend, who flashed her a thumbs up before turning back to the screen. that scene had long since passed, but logan continued to hold her hand, and she could feel his muscles tense as a scare drew nearer and nearer on the big screen.

she squeezed his hand reassuringly, only to be clutching it in terror moments later, one hand clapped over her mouth to stifle a scream. Logan reached over her body, almost as if he was gallantly and protectively trying to shield her body with his own.

she was going to fall in love with him at this rate if she wasn’t careful.

the movie finished, winding down in a way that much much calmer, if not eerie compared to what they had seen throughout the course of the film. she was relieved to see the end credits roll, although displeased at the idea of leaving logan behind.

she followed her friends out of the cinema, dropping her empty popcorn container in the trash as she went.

"y/n!" a voice called after her.

she paused, turning around to see logan standing just near the door. she glanced back at her friends, smiling when she saw their excited faces, gesturing wildly towards logan.

she walked up to the blonde, hands tucked nervously in the pockets of her flannel coat.

"hey," she started, rocking back and forth on her heels

"hey." logan grinned, scratching at the beck of his neck. "so, i think you're really cute." just out of her range of vision, she could see logan's friends standing behind him, sticking their thumbs up and whistling in encouragement. "and i was wondering if you wanted to go and get a coffee with me?"

she beamed, looking back to her friends for approval, one last time.

"i would love to. after all, you were my protector in there."

logan smiled. "is now okay with you? there's a little place in the plaza just across the way."

"sounds perfect."

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #the cozy collection 2024 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #logan sargeant x you #f1 x fanfic #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant fanfic

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ozzgin · 2 years ago

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Sorry to bother you, but the bodyguard post you did was just 🤤🥰😍 and I can't stop thinking about it day later

Have you ever seen Oshi no Ko? I'd love to see Bodyguard react to someone trying to do something similar as what happened to Ai.

Fans get wind their beloved idol might have feeling for her staff, so a crazed fan tracks down her private address. He plans to get revenge for "His idol cheating on him" but doesn't know there is a guard dog inside ready to bite any threat to his precious charge.

Sorry to keep ragging on about the topic, I just adore you work enough that it lives in my head rent free.

Happy holidays

-🌟

I sadly haven't seen Oshi no Ko, but your description sounds very interesting. Thank you for the idea! I've combined it with your previous suggestion, I think they work together really well. Happy Holidays to you, too! :)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (II)

Your new manager has sent you home for the holidays after persistent rumors surrounding you and your bodyguard. And, as luck would have it, the fan responsible for the accusations successfully sneaks his way in. Sadly for him, you’ve never left the watchful gaze of your loyal, mean dog.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

content: female reader, violence, threats, mentions of stalking

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Enjoy your holidays!"

The driver cheerfully bids you goodbye and speeds away, leaving you behind the imposing gate. You drag your luggage inside and nonchalantly toss it with an annoyed huff.

What now? You're all alone in a hollow mansion.

Early December you begun receiving worrying letters from a fan, making wild claims about you and your bodyguard. Naturally, you laughed it off. Your bodyguard found them equally amusing. So much, that he'd ask you to read them out loud as you rode him. "I w-won't stand for it. You know we ha-ave something special going on, (Y/N)-chan." You barely managed to form coherent sentences, feverishly clinging to the large man underneath you. "You heard the guy. Better be on your best behavior", he'd add with a chuckle, wiping the drool from your mouth.

The new manager, however, wasn't as relaxed about it. He couldn't risk tarnishing the reputation of his beloved cash cow, so he suggested you take a break from personal assistants until the rumors tone down. If you remained within your expensively secured house, you wouldn't need any guarding. So, he caringly prescribed a dose of homely isolation for the upcoming holidays.

"Don't be so dramatic", he said, "Jesus spent 40 days in the desert by himself. And he didn't have your indoor cinema or jacuzzi bathtub."

"Yeah, but he had the Devil to tempt him. Where's my bad guy?" You whined as a retort.

You let out another groan and throw yourself on the couch, fiddling with the remote. Kind of them to decorate everything for Christmas, you think as you eye the gigantic kitsch of a tree slapped in the middle of the living room.

Fuck. What an absolute waste of time. All because of one crazy fan. You almost wish he'd show his stupid face so your bodyguard could pummel it to bits and crumbles. You wonder what he's doing by himself. Is he going to be assigned to another idol? Probably not, two weeks is too short of a time for anything. You check your phone.

Suddenly, the screen lights up. A text notification.

"Bored?"

Heh. It's almost as if he can read your mind. You smile to yourself and type your response, stretching onto the sofa. Your little back and forth messaging goes on until you look up and notice the room has gotten darker. Already evening. You can hear your stomach growl, so you get up and drag your feet towards the kitchen, searching for takeaway fliers. If you're going to be under house arrest, the least you can afford is junk food.

Once you place your decadent order, you hop onto the counter and idly dangle your legs in anticipation. Your favorite off-duty guard dog has abruptly told you he needs to go and is now offline. "Something came up". What could possibly require his immediate attention? A mistress? You giggle at the idea. In all your time spent together, you haven't seen him glance at a single woman. If he must, he will engage with other people using one-word replies, visibly uninterested. You never considered him much of a talker, but his behavior with anyone else, in comparison, is downright hostile.

There's a rustling sound and you jolt. Was the food delivered already? It hasn't been that long. You jump off the marble countertop and freeze in place once you see the man standing in the doorway. His face is concealed with a medical mask and he's audibly panting, the hot air fogging up his glasses. You notice the knife in his hand.

"How rude of you to cheat on me so shamelessly, (Y/N) dear."

Huh? Your eyes widen in realization. Was this the crazed fan bombarding you with threatening letters? Your features twist in utter disgust, still transfixed on the weapon within his grip.

This little shit. Not only does he break into your home, but he decides to intimidate you with a department store kitchen utensil. Is that all you're worth? Is that any way to greet one of the top idols in this country?

You angrily pull the nearby drawer open and grab a long, sharp blade. The man tenses up and steps forward, but you stop him in his tracks, throwing the item at his feet. He stares at you, bewildered.

"It's a Yoshihiro Sashimi knife. More than your monthly income, most likely." You state as you leer down at him, grimace plastered on your face. "Pick it up like the animal you are."

He cannot move. Is this his beloved (Y/N)? Her pretty, innocent smile and sparkling eyes have been replaced by this hateful scowl. He feels like a cockroach about to be stepped on, a mere vermin invading her personal space. This can't be right. It's him that should be upset, he's the betrayed party. When has she gotten so...Ah. This must be the work of that bodyguard. He's always known. The way he looks at her, with a predatory glint as if marking his territory. He should've noticed earlier. Poor, sweet (Y/N), at the hands of a brute. Tears form in his eyes and he opens his mouth to speak up, but a burning blow assaults his back and everything goes black.

Your bodyguard casually walks in and lifts the intruder up by the nape of his neck.

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

You blush and wipe your eyelashes dramatically, releasing a gentle sob from your puckered lips.

"Touch? He almost killed me! I was so scared...I thought I was done for."

He frowns at your words.

"I'll take care of it."

You can feel the familiar knot forming in your stomach. As he drags the body out of the kitchen, you follow behind enthusiastically.

"Do it in the living room!" You almost squeal.

"Are you sure? It will get messy. I'm not letting this one walk out." He warns you with a worried expression.

"Yes, yes!" you nod, all bubbly. "Right here, next to the Christmas tree."

Once the gory spectacle is over, the bodyguard sprawls onto the sofa, exhausted. He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair. You are about to join him, when a thought crosses your mind.

"Now that I think about it, how did you know I was about to be attacked? That was some really extraordinary timing."

Out of reflex, he palms his pocket to check if his phone is still within his possession. Thankfully he hasn't left it in plain sight. You squint suspiciously.

"Are you spying on me or something?"

He remains quiet for a few moments and eventually lowers his head apologetically, avoiding eye contact.

"Forgive me, Miss."

When he glances up again, your small figure is looming over him.

"Wow, what a pervert you are." You push his chin up with your dainty fingers. "How will you make it up to me for such nasty habit~?"

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Good boy."

#female reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc

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jscrawls · 5 months ago

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Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, poor writing, possible ooc,

Part 13: dinner and a movie?

🔹🔹🔹

“Hello.” an unknown voice calls out to you from the library doorway, you quickly turn and spot a redhead in a wheelchair holding the door open with one arm.

“Hi there, are you one of the befores?”you watch as she wheels herself into the room, the door falling shut with a quiet thud as the carpet crunches softly beneath the wheels. “The befores?” She tilts her head, glasses slipping down her nose a bit before she nudges them back up.

“The people I apparently knew before the attack.”

She pauses at that, before nodding her head. “Yeah, I'm a before. I'm Barbara Gordon, nice to meet you again. Please call me Barb.” She holds her hand out for a handshake which you give, her hold unsurprisingly firm.

“Like wise, I'd introduce myself but that'd be foolish.” You drop down on the couch behind you after the introduction, lightly wincing for a moment. “Funny, are you in pain?” she puts the brakes on her wheelchair beside the couch and pulls a lemonade out, watching you curiously through her lashes.

You shrug before answering, she likes to stare you note. “Physical therapy is a bitch.” You also fell on your side earlier while trying to hold a plank, but that's for you alone to know.

She snorts at that, “oh, trust me I know exactly how much of a bitch it is.” She mutters under her breath, when you glance at her with furrowed brows she elaborates. “Spinal injury, long story.” You nod your head with a small wince, you've had enough of those types of injuries in your life.

“noted, well Miss Barb can I ask what you're here for? Not to be rude, I just don't remember much yet.” You go straight for the point, she seems relaxed but you don't miss how she watches your every move, head quickly turning towards you when you reach for the book you'd been reading when she came in. She's on edge around you.

“Dick invited me over for the movie.” She says casually before taking a loud sip of her drink, the memory of the overly touchy young man nearly makes you roll your eyes, of course he's here-wait… “what movie?” Barb smiles something devious, looking amused with herself for a moment before replying.

“oops, guess Bruce didn't tell you yet. Just between you and me he wants everyone to have dinner and watch movies with him in the cinema room, you included.”

….. What? You give her an incredulous look at that revelation, her expression and body language showing she's serious. “…alright, is this something the family does often…?”

She nods, still looking amused at spilling the tea before anyone else could. She leans closer to whisper conspiratorially to you. “Mhmm, usually it's Duke or Alfred pushing it but I think your man wants an excuse to spend time with you. Just treat him like a boy with a crush, yeah?” “…okay?”

She pats your shoulder almost patronizingly before taking the brakes off and rolling herself towards the door, calling to you over her shoulder as she goes. “I'll see you in a bit, operater!” The door slams loudly behind her.

🔹🔹🔹

dinners awkward, as soon as you’d walked in barb gave you a knowing grin before turning back to her conversation with cass and an unknown blonde girl. the blonde, upon seeing you, hopped up out of her chair and approached you.

“howdy partner.” they winked and gave you finger guns, looking you up and down with exaggerated scrutiny while starting to circle you.

you watch them with confusion, you’re guessing they’re one of the kids friends…

“…hi, we’ve met i’m assuming….?” “yep! call me stephie!” they nod with a smile and loop their arm through yours and pulling you with her towards the table, sitting you between her and dick, great.

the rest of the dinner was spent between two very chatty young people, by the end you understand captain rogers complaints about slang.

you tried to slip away after dinner, you even had the perfect excuse too. you were tired after physical therapy and wanted to crash early, but then you were cornered by bruce of all people.

“….hey, are you busy?” his voice is soft as he approaches you, he leans against the wall with forced casualness and crosses his arms loosely.

you shift slightly as you glance down the hallway and then look back at him, “i was just heading to bed, why?” barbs words echo in your head as he rubs at the back of his neck, is he still nervous around you?

“me and the kids were dogpiling in the screenroom….you wanna come sit in for a bit?” he smiles at you, though you can tell it’s forced. you glance down the hall again, he could invite his affair partner if he wants someone cuddly. you open your mouth to reject the invite when he speaks up again. “you don’t have to watch a whole film, i just think it’d be good for you to be around loved ones right now. maybe you’ll remember something?….” that’s practically a beg, you’re surprised he’s not on his knees for you right now.

just say no, your attempts at blending in won’t suffer if you’re too tired to play dollhouse. “……a few minutes won’t hurt.” why did you agree. but before you can backtrack he exhales and grabs your wrist to lead you, you’re so fucked…

you’re lead through the large house until you reach some kind of home theater room, barb and the two girls are again talking on one of the couches while tim leans against the stephie girl, damian is sitting in the floor with a large dog curled up trying to pretend it’s a lapdog, and dick is watching jason and duke bicker over something in the center of the room.

when bruce drags you in all eyes turn to you, there’s a moment of silence where you’re just awkwardly staring at each other before bruce clears his throat and pulls you further in the room to one of the couches.

“what’s the verdict, who’s picking this time?” bruce glances around as he speaks, his eyes landing on a scowling duke and a smug jason. “i want to watch the godfather again.” duke cuts in before jason or anyone else can. “dude, that was your pick at halloween. we’re not watching it again.” jason rolls his eyes as he walks over to you. “it’s a great movie!” duke calls out defensively as he follows jason.

“how about we watch something more light tonight?” dick tries to mediate, damian scowls up at him from the floor. “no, i’d rather watch the godfather again than sit through one of your disney movies.” dick looks offended at damian’s scoffing retort.

bruce sighs as the bickering morphs before your eyes, “come on let’s play nice, i thought you all had something picked out already?” “i just wanted to watch lord of the rings.” jason crosses his arms as he speaks, stephie rolls her eyes and speaks up from her spot on one of the couches. “you can’t just watch one of those though, we’re not sitting here for nine hours jay.” “you wanted to watch the barbie movie collection at christmas shut your mouth about long movie runs stephanie.”

you drop your head back against the couch while they bicker, bruce slowly sits down next to you at a respectful distance and drapes a blanket over your lap. it feels like he’s trying to keep you there. barb looks over at you with an amused smirk on her face, pointedly glancing between you two before turning back to her conversation.

“enough fighting guys, just pick something please.” bruce pinches his brow, clearly fed up. no wonder he’s going grey.

“how about we let master wayne decide? they should feel included yes?” a voice speaks up behind you all, alfred walking in the room with a sly look in his eyes. you bet he knows you don’t want to be here, he looks too smug as he sets down a tray of snacks and drinks.

the kids all exchange glances and turn to look at you, bruce shifts beside you and turns his head to speak quietly to you. “you don’t have to answer, i know you don’t know any of these movies so i can just pull rank on the kids.” you turn your head to also speak quietly, “it’s fine, i’ll manage somehow.” you glance at duke. “let’s watch the godfather.” you speak loud enough to be heard over the quiet bickering still happening.

duke throws his hands up in victory, “yes! suck it jay.” he quickly dodges the tossed pillow and goes to fiddle with the projector, looks like you’re resigned to sit here for a few hours.

🔹🔹🔹

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#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batman x reader #batfamily x reader #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x gn!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #black widow reader

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fratttymatty · 19 days ago

Text

Update Complete

(All characters are 18+)

Eliot Raynes was everything you’d expect from a nerdy senior in high school. Scrawny build, thick glasses, an encyclopedic knowledge of comic book timelines, and a long-standing crush on the quiet barista at the corner café. He was 18, openly gay, and proudly spent his weekends coding mods for indie games and watching queer cinema on his tiny laptop.

Eliot didn’t care much for sports. In fact, he actively avoided anything that involved shouting, sweat, or "bro-ing out." His locker sat three rows down from the football team’s, and every time he heard them slamming their fists or belting out obnoxious chants, he rolled his eyes so hard it nearly gave him a headache.

But it all changed after one strange afternoon.

It started with a new phone.

He hadn’t ordered it. It just... showed up. Black box. No label. No return address. Inside was a sleek, matte-black smartphone. No logo. Just a post-it note stuck to the screen:

"Tap to update your reality."

Eliot chuckled. “Some weird ARG?” He loved that stuff. So he tapped.

The phone blinked. The screen flickered like static. Then a loading bar appeared:

"Reconfiguring: Nerd Mode -> Bro Mode... 5%..."

“What the—” he tried to turn it off, but his fingers didn’t seem to work. His hand stayed locked on the phone. The progress bar jumped.

20%... 45%... 78%...

He gasped and doubled over as a shockwave of heat spread through his body. His hoodie tightened around swelling muscles. His arms cracked and bulked, gaining definition in seconds. His narrow chest ballooned outward with thick slabs of muscle and a sudden V-shaped torso. He yanked off his glasses — only to find his vision had gone perfect.

“Dude…” His voice came out lower. Deeper. Lazier. Confident. “What the hell is this?”

His thoughts scrambled. His brain, once sharp and meticulous, was being rewired. Long-form essays and art-house films were replaced with protein counts, fantasy football leagues, and bench press PRs. A sudden flood of aggression and cocky swagger bubbled to the surface like it had always been there.

He tried to fight it.

“I’m… Eliot… I like—uh, I like guys, I—”

99%... 100%

Transformation complete. New profile: Matthew ‘Matt’ Brody. 18. Hetero. Athlete. Confident. Alpha.

His phone chimed again. The screen now read:

Welcome, Matt. Let’s get you caught up, bro.

Matt blinked. His room wasn’t even his room anymore. The posters had been replaced with jerseys and flags of college football teams. His mirror now reflected a 6’2” muscular jock with a backwards cap, tight Nike tank, and a cocky smirk. His jaw was sharp, his skin tan, his eyebrows trimmed just so. He looked like the type of guy who said “no homo” before chest-bumping his friends.

He gasped as a weird tingle hit his scalp. A sudden heat surged through his hairline. His usual stringy, unwashed mess vanished strand by strand, replaced by clean, thick brown locks that shifted on their own, slicking into a perfectly careless middle part, with strands falling naturally in that casual, sporty way that made girls giggle and guys jealous. It screamed “I don’t try, I just look this good.”

He flexed one arm and nodded to himself. “Damn, I look shredded.”

No memory of Eliot remained. No coding. No crushes on baristas. No indie films. Just parties, protein, and pounding out reps at the gym.

His phone vibrated again. A group chat with names like "Chad 🔥," "Zack 💪," and "Tyler 🏈" popped up.

Tyler: Yo bro u hittin’ the house party tonight? Zack: Don’t ghost again, Matt. Rachel’s bringing her friend 👀🔥

Matt grinned, typing back:

Matt: Hell yeah, bros. Leg day first tho. Let’s get fkn jacked 💯

As he strutted out the door, he passed a shy, glasses-wearing kid standing by a locker—someone who looked familiar, but Matt didn’t think twice.

“Sup, nerd,” he muttered with a smirk, shoulder-checking the kid on his way out.

There was no Eliot.

There was only Matt Brody — jock, straight, confident, conservative, and loving every second of it.

And he never looked back.

The house was packed. Music thumped. The air was heavy with cologne, beer, and fake confidence.

Matt walked in like he owned the place, dapping up other jocks, throwing casual “yo’s” and flexing abs he didn’t even know he had this morning.

That’s when he saw Rachel — cheer captain, blonde bombshell — waving him over.

“Matt! Finally! This is my bestie, Cassie!”

Standing next to her was a cute brunette, dressed in a pink crop top and high ponytail. She blinked when she saw him. And then…

She changed.

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in a giggle. Her posture shifted to something bubbly and air-headed. Her already-short skirt seemed to shimmy just a bit higher. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and tilted her head with a dazed little smile.

“Ohmygod, like… hiiii!” Cassie said, voice high and sugary. “You’re Matt, right? Rachel said you were, like, super hot, but I didn’t think you’d be, like, this hot.”

She stepped closer, practically bouncing.

Matt smirked. “Haha, yeah, I guess I’m kinda shredded.”

Cassie gasped, placing a hand on his bicep like it was involuntary. “Ugh, totes! Like, I can feel the muscles, ohmygod. Do you, like, work out every day?”

“Duh,” he grinned, flexing casually. “Gotta stay alpha.”

Cassie giggled again, looping her arm through his. “That is, like, soooo hot.”

She was hooked. It was like the universe had rewritten her just to match him — the perfect bimbo cheerleader for the perfect bro.

As the music pumped and the crowd chanted for beer pong, Matt leaned back with one arm around Cassie, sipping a Solo cup of something cheap, not a single memory of who he used to be. No Eliot. No comic books. No shyness.

Just Matt Brody — confident, straight, conservative, jock legend. And he was loving his new reality.

#male tf #male tf story #nerd to jock #gay to straight #smart to dumb #gym bro tf #conservative tf #lib to con #female tf #female tf story #cheerleader tf #jockification #jock tf

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foreverisntenough · 7 months ago

Text

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend. You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy?

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 17 - 'Rarely Wrong’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 12 k

The tension in the room was heavy before Trent even stepped inside Jack’s house, well it was your house too but he knew Jack was home and you were out and that was exactly why he was coming over. Coming over with the hopes of settling things between him and his best friend. Although, Trent didn’t even get the chance to speak before Jack had squared up to him in the foyer of the house, his shoulders taut with rage.

“You’ve got some fucking balls showing up here,” Jack growled, his fists clenched. Trent raised his hands in a peaceful surrender.

“Jack, mate, come on, I just want to talk—” Trent kept his tone as even and calm as he could.

“Talk? Nah, lad. Let’s settle this right now.” Jack stepped closer, his chest puffed out. “Or you gonna be a pussy about it? Hide again?” Jack quipped. Trent tried not to laugh, even though the situation was anything but funny. It was just that Jack was not the fighting type, and neither was Trent—although somehow, fights seemed to be following him lately, especially when it came to you.

“I’m not fighting you, bro,” Trent said firmly but with a cheeky smile he couldn’t bite back. Jack scoffed, annoyed by Trent’s smirk seeing it as arrogance not innocence.

“Why? Too scared?” Jack taunted and then Trent’s jaw tightened, his faint smile completely vanished into tight lips more pissed off that Jack was trying to actually start something here, but he held his ground. He came to stop this, not start something else.

“No, because she won’t want me and you like this. And I don’t want us like this.” Trent emphasized. “Seriously, you think she’d be okay with us throwing punches over her? You know her better than that. She doesn’t want this.” Jack froze for a moment, his expression wavering, but the anger still burned in his eyes.

“So you’ve talked to her then?” Jack asked albeit snippy but also genuinely curious and mildly concerned. He hadn’t seen you for days. You hadn’t responded to texts and yes, while now a little too late, you had turned off sharing your location with him. He assumed you were with Layla but had also been blocking out the idea you might’ve been with Trent. Although right now seeing Trent again, hearing him talk about you, it was glaringly obvious you had seen him. “What? She hiding out at yours now?” Jack bit.

“Jack! Stop mate. I’m tired of taking your shit over this. It’s bullshit you’re being a dick to me and to Y/N. You’ve called her shit that’s way out of line and me things too but I’m coming to talk to you. Stop judging and just let me fucking talk to you.” Trent yelled, gesturing towards him. Frustration boiling over.

“Why’d you have to lie, bro! Why did you sneak around with her if you guys are so 'in love?'” Jack quipped in a mocking tone.

“Because you're acting like this!!! Bro, it’s serious with her. Just let me fucking explain. Jack, just listen to me.” Trent pleaded fluctuating between impatience and desperation.

“Fine, talk bro! But honestly, the more I deep it, the more I’m thinking I can’t let this go, mate. It’s fucked up. Sneaking around with her? You were supposed to be my best friend, and you… you crossed the line.” Jack tone settled mildly and he stepped back a little dropping the idea of a physical altercation.

“I crossed a line because I love her, not to hurt you. I am your best friend but the things you keep saying about me have me questioning things Jack.” Trent stepped closer, not to fight, but to keep him in range where he could see the sincerity and hurt in his own eyes.

“Mate, you are my best friend. I’m sorry I said shit that wasn’t 100% true the other night. I was angry. But I’ve also seen you with girls before and I don’t want Y/N treated that way. I’m not having Y/N coming home crying because you decide to ghost her like the rest,” Jack said, his tone sharp.

“This, Jack! This is why we hid it from you.” Trent yelled. Jack puffed out air running his hands over his face trying to compose himself. His head was spinning, he was so hurt, he couldn’t see straight. But his silence only aggravated Trent. .“Wow… Alright, so that’s what you think of your best mate?… Like what am I to you or who do you think I am if you wouldn’t trust me with Y/N?” Trent asked harshly, frustratedly. His past wasn’t squeaky clean but he’d never been anything but good to you. He was tired of Jack talking about him like this awful guy. He took a deep breath in an effort to salvage a lifelong friendship. “Jack, I know. I know it’s fucked up, and I tried not to… for years.” His tone was softer but insistent. “I swear to you, mate, this wasn’t part of some big plan. I didn’t go after her. She didn’t come after me. It just… happened.” Trent tried to explain earnestly.

“That’s not enough of a reason though, Trent.” Jack interjected, his voice cracking. “She’s all I’ve got left, man. I fucking told you this! Our mum’s gone. My dad fucking left us. She’s the only thing holding it all together for me. I got you and I got her and now… you’ve made it so I have neither.” Jack’s words started flaring with temper but they faded into sheer sadness and hurt, tears were building in his eyes. It was childish to claim you like a toy, to place blame, but his emotions made him feel like a little kid again. And so the two boys who’d shared their whole lives together, shared everything including you, now shared hurt, stood facing one another laying it all out in the open finally, raw and vulnerable.

“Jack…you always have me bro. You and me are so close, you’re like my third brother, mate. But you can’t pretend like you didn’t know there was something there all these years. And I’m sorry there is. But it’s there and it’s what I want and she wants too. Please. I’m coming to you to ask. I will do what you want here. I will, but you have to just please… have a think about this because neither she or I want to be apart... but neither she or I want to have you this angry with us.” Trent said heartbreakingly honestly, his voice trembling with desperation.

“Us?” Jack snapped quickly hearing Trent lump you two together officially as a pair. Tent sighed before he began his next monologue.

“I love her, Jack. I’d never hurt her, and I’d do anything to protect her—even if it meant letting her go but you’ll be breaking my heart and hers if that’s what you want us to do. But if that’s what it takes for you to forgive her, I’ll do it for her. She’s miserable without you, she loves you, and I know she won’t move forward with me unless you’re okay with it.” Trent pleaded. Jack stared at him, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions.

“You’re like my brother Trent and that’s why I just…. I can’t. What if I can’t be okay with it?” he asked, his voice quieter but still laced with bitterness and hurt. Jack knew he sounded childish but he just felt so betrayed.

“Then you’re both stuck. And she deserves better than that. You both do. Y/N needs you bro, so if that means her and I not seeing each other for her to get you back, for me to get you back as a friend… fine but you just gotta know it will destroy me, but I’d do it if it kept you and her all good.” Trent replied, starting to feel his own emotions rise. He felt sick laying out the possibility of giving you up. “But please, mate. She’s not just someone I care about. She’s it for me. I don’t want to lose her, but I also don’t want her losing you. Just… give me a chance to prove this can work.” Jack ran a hand down his face, his body sagging as the anger began to wane. He looked at Trent, his eyes glossy. Trent puffed out some air heavy with nerves as he tried to find the right words. “I understand this is your sister,” Trent began again, his voice steady but full of urgency. “But you’ve been my best friend my entire life. You know me, Jack. When I’ve been in proper relationships, I’ve never once cheated. Never. You can’t fault me for being the guy I am when I’m single.” Jack’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt, so Trent pressed on. “Fine,” he admitted, exhaling sharply, “maybe you’re right. I’ve told girls I loved them when I didn’t mean it. But this is different. I swear, since—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. He was walking a fine line. “I know you’ll hate to hear this, but since the first time I kissed her, I’ve never even looked at another girl. Not once.” Trent leaned forward, his voice lowering, as if confessing something sacred. Then Trent uncontrollably quietly let out a small bashful laugh to himself. “Honestly, even before all this, I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at her. It’s been slow, Jack, and it’s been hard, but I’ve never been so head over heels in love with someone like I am with Y/N. She’s it for me, man. I know it. And you know it too. You know we click. Everyone has always known.” Jack made an unintentional face of disgust, shifting uncomfortably in his stance. He ran a hand over his face again, clearly grappling with his emotions. Of course, he’d known, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. He wasn’t stupid. He’d seen it in the way Trent watched you, the way he always lit up around you. And you, god, it was the most blatant crush on planet earth but Jack belittled your feelings for his best mate; brushing them off because he couldn’t stomach it ever being mutual. The retrospective thoughts came flying in; how could he have let you run around the back garden in little bikinis with all his friend’s over every summer. Of course, Trent lit up, all the other boy’s did too. He felt stupid. He hated that he’d let it get this far. But he also knew this was not trivial, not anymore. Not some cheeky comment passing by each other in the kitchen late at night, not some childhood crush, no. You were in love with Trent. Trent was in love with you. And who was Jack to deny you of love? He couldn’t but he was your big brother and so if someone did love you, it would at least come with a threat.

“She’s been through so much already, Trent. She can’t handle losing another person in her life.” Jack spoke hesitantly. Trent nodded, listening closer than ever because he hadn’t heard a ‘no’ yet. “If you hurt her…” Jack picked up his gaze and looked at Trent sternly.

“I won’t,” Trent interjected, his voice firm, almost desperate. Jack stared at him, his expression softening slightly. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s not losing me,” Jack said, his voice quieter now. Trent’s heart rate picked up… this felt like the decisive moment, “and I guess she doesn’t have to lose you either.” The begrudging but earnest acceptance in Jack’s tone was enough to make Trent’s shoulders relax. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Thank you, mate,” he said earnestly. “I’m really sorry it happened this way, bro. But I promise I won’t let you—or her—down.” Trent tried to reassure him. Jack shook his head, leaning back against the wall.

“You better not. If you mess this up…” Jack muttered accepting that he was giving Trent a go ahead.

“I won’t,” Trent promised, his voice resolute. “You have my word.” Jack let out a long, shaky breath before nodding slightly again. He felt like they had physically fought, he was drained but as he looked at Trent, the hurt dwindled, and relief started to rise. He was relieved that if there was anyone to look after you, he was glad it was his best friend making that promise. A promise he hoped he could keep.

“I’m not thrilled about you lot lying to me still…” Jack reiterated just to be clear.

“Course. And I’m sorry.” Trent jumped eagerly.

“But for her sake…” His voice broke coming to terms with it all. “For her sake and for my best mate… “ Jack’s eyes flicked to Trent’s with a glimmer of love for him and for you. “Give it go. She’d never forgive me if I stopped you.” Jack smirked. Relief washed over Trent’s face as he stepped forward and pulled Jack into a brotherly hug.

“Thank you, bro. I probably wouldn’t forgive you either.” Trent teased, probably too soon. A cheeky laugh slipping out.

“Fuck off.” Jack chuckled, shoving him away with a shake of the head. But then Jack moved to clap him on the back. He still wasn’t sure if he could stomach when the time came and he actually had to see you two together, but deep down, he knew Trent wouldn’t be going anywhere. And maybe, just maybe, that was okay because after all he was his best friend.

You’d been avoiding Jack like the plague, dodging his calls and texts, unable to face him after everything. You hadn’t even gone home, opting instead to camp out at Layla’s. She didn’t say much about it—she just let you take over her couch, her wine, and her ear whenever you felt like talking. But mostly, you didn’t talk. You stewed, overthinking everything, torn between guilt and longing. And then there was Trent. He hadn’t pushed you, even though he wanted to. He gave you the space you didn’t want but desperately needed, keeping his distance even as it visibly ate at him. He didn’t bombard you with messages or call relentlessly, no matter how much it must have pained him. Instead, he took matters into his own hands. You had no idea that Trent went to talk to Jack. Your phone had been off as you holed up in Layla’s apartment, sinking deeper into your own head. Every scenario ran through your mind. It was starting to feel like you had to pick a side, and the weight of it was unbearable.

After your night with Trent, your heart was even more torn. You didn’t want to let him go. You couldn’t. But you didn’t know how to face Jack, either. You were paralyzed by the thought of it. If you saw Jack first, maybe the guilt would crush you, forcing you to give Trent up. The idea was excruciating. So you stayed at Layla’s, hiding from the world, hoping somehow it would all resolve itself before you had to make a choice. Little did you know, Trent had already decided that he wasn’t going to let you choose. Not between them, at least. He’d gone to Jack, laying it all out, begging for the chance to prove himself worthy of you.

You were standing in Layla’s kitchen while she was still at work when Jack appeared in the doorway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture uneasy. His expression was hard to read—equal parts guilt, anger, and regret. You pretended not to notice him, focusing instead on your cup of tea. It had been days since you’d spoken, days you spent avoiding him. The silence between you had grown so heavy it felt impossible to break.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, his voice tentative but louder than you’d expected. “I figured you must be here but Y/N, god, I was worried. A text would’ve been nice.” He quipped but with some normalcy in his voice that confused you. You stiffened, still not meeting his gaze.

“Why would you care about a slut?” you spat, the bitterness in your voice catching you both off guard. He had calmed after speaking with Trent but now it felt like the wound reopened.

“I don’t think you’re a slut,” Jack replied quickly, and surely, his tone sharp but layered with an unmistakable note of regret.

“Wow, thanks,” you said, glancing at him with narrowed eyes before turning away again.

“Nah, come on. We need to talk. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean those things, and you know it,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. His voice was firm, but his shoulders sagged under the weight of the conversation.

“Didn’t mean it?” you snapped, spinning to face him fully. “You said I was slutting myself out. That Trent didn’t love me. You said it, Jack. And you meant it.” You bit back frustrated and hurt. Jack winced, the pain in your voice cutting deep. He let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I was angry. I shouldn’t have responded that way and I shouldn’t have called you those things, alright?” He replied. You stared at him, your chest tight, your throat burning with unshed tears.

“But you did and it hurt Jack. You think I’ve ruined everything, that I’ve ruined you and me, and him and you…all because I… because I love him?” Your voice cracked, and you cursed yourself for showing just how much his words had hurt. But then you caught your breath trying to refocus and get your thoughts out. “But you’re also the one ruining things because you’re being petty about this. What about him and I? Have you even thought about us” You whimpered. Emotions crashing back over you. You’d been asking that same question to yourself for days. What about you and Trent? “I know we shouldn’t have hidden it but you’re the one who is driving me away from you. And now my heart hurts so bad Jack because you’ve driven me away from him. I love you but I also love him. I need you both but you can’t say I’m the one ruining everything.” Jack’s frown deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He moved closer, closing the space between you. Jack’s heart ached. He never wanted to hurt you, he’d spent his whole life trying to protect you from hurt and now to hear you say that he was the one causing it was horrible. He needed to let go of his pride.

“It’s not about ruining anything Y/N. It’s just—” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to deal with you and him.”

“Why?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that I didn’t plan this, especially not to hurt you? That I didn’t mean for any of this to happen? It wasn’t about you.” You snapped a little harsher.

“But it became that way because you lied!.” Jack burst out, throwing his hands in the air. The conversation swung back with a more tense momentum. “He’s my best mate! He’s been around my entire life, and you… you’re you. You’re my sister.” The room swinging further away from sadness and straight into aggression and then back again. “You’re the only thing I’ve got left, With dad off wherever the fuck his latest job is and mum gone… Y/N, I’m so sorry I hurt you. I never want that.” His voice cracked as his emotions bubbled to the surface. The anger seconds ago dissipating. Jack couldn’t hide behind anger anymore, he was hurt. “And then it felt like I could possibly lose both of you.” He whimpered. You never saw Jack like this. Rarely did he let emotions out especially vulnerable ones, one’s that made him weak but here he was looking more like a hurt little boy than ever before. Tears pricked your eyes, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“You’re not losing me, Jack. The only reason you’d lose anyone is if you really genuinely are against this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it feels like you’re trying to force me into making me choose, and I can’t. I won’t.” Jack’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain etched across your face.

“I’m not asking you to choose,” he said quietly, his tone almost broken. “I’m just trying to figure out how to deal with this. It’s like… like I knew you liked him but the lies… you’d never lied to me, he’d never lied to me and this hurt.” He continued. You let out a shaky breath, wiping at your tears.

“Do you think this was easy for me or even for him? Do you think I wanted to fall for him, knowing how much it would hurt us? I’ve spent my whole life putting you first, Jack. And I appreciate what you’ve done for me but the way you talked to me the other day was unfair because I’m not ‘slutting myself out’ for Trent, I’m in love with him. This… this thing with him just happened. But it was meant to happen for ages. I’m sorry I lied, that we lied… but I won’t apologize for loving him.” Jack flinched at your confession but didn’t look away. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words hanging in the air between you.

“I’m scared,” he finally admitted, his voice raw. “I’m scared he’ll hurt you. I’m scared you’ll end up heartbroken, and I won’t know how to fix it.” He told you earnestly. Tears streamed freely down your face as you stepped closer.

“Jack, I’m scared too,” you said. “But I think he loves me and I love him. And I need you to trust that, even if it’s hard.” Jack studied you, his jaw tightening as he fought against his own emotions. Finally, he let out a long sigh, nodding slowly. For the first time in days, the tension between you eased, leaving room for something fragile but hopeful to take its place.

“He does love you.” He confirmed. “But you’ve known that,” Jack admitted with a regretful huff, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his confession.

“Yeah?” you asked, your tone more sincere than anything else. “Why do you say that?” you asked, there was a tinge of tease but not yet, it wasn’t the time. Jack groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t really want to talk about it. It makes me a little sick to think about.” He winced, visibly cringing at the idea of imaging you and Trent together.

“Jack…” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent. Jack let out a defeated sigh, shaking his head.

“Well, he was actually mad at me. Pissed, even, so that’s new. He came to me begging for you.” He looked at you sheepishly, clearly uncomfortable with the topic but determined to still talk.

“Wait, wait, wait…. You’ve talked to him? He came begging!? And you’re just bringing this up now? You’ve talked to him?” You yelped anxiously, excitedly, inquisitively. “Jack, what the fuck! What did he say!?” You pleaded for information.

“Yes, I spoke with him and yes, he loves you.” Jack disgruntledly got out while you internally screamed. “But can we just get through my apology piece?” He asked calmly so you nodded, gesturing with your hand for him to keep going. “Because I’m sorry Y/N. I really am. You are none of the things I said. Not one of them. And Trenty doesn’t actually treat girls the way I was saying, you know. And I know he’s never treated you the way I said.” You blinked, his words and the switch catching you off guard.

“I mean… he never treated me that way and I knew that,” you admitted, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m not stupid, Jack. Before me, you guys weren’t exactly a friend group of saints.” You pulled out a chair at Layla’s kitchen table and patted the surface of it, trying to keep the mood light. Jack followed your lead, sitting down with you a slight laugh escaping.

“I resent that,” he said, a playful smirk softening his features. The tension between you seemed to ease, the conversation shifting to something more bearable.

“You have to talk to him though because he wants what you want,” Jack said after a moment, his tone growing serious again. “And I’d rather not lose my best friend… and you, obviously. Me and him are fine… shitty but fine. I get it, you’re very lovable.” He cooed gently as you leaned your head onto his shoulder. “So now it’s on you two to hash whatever it is out and if you want to give it a go…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands, his discomfort with the situation palpable. “It’s disgusting, and I’ll hate it, but if you… you know.” You couldn’t help but smile at his awkward attempt at giving his blessing.

“I don’t need your approval,” you teased, though the look in your eyes betrayed how much it meant to you. “But it’s helpful. I’ll see if he’ll talk to me again.” Jack rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his face.

“He will. As much as I wish he was stupid enough not too, he’s not.” He kissed the top of your head with a playful aggression and shoved you away from him a little creating some distance teasingly. You smiled appreciating that you had your brother back. The jack that would kiss your head one moment, and shove you the next. “So, if you two get together, I’m gonna have to deal with him even more, aren’t I?” He looked at you with a cheeky smile.

“Probably,” you said with a grin. Jack groaned sarcastically and dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “And you’ll love it too.” You flashed him a big toothy smile.

“Oh that’s great. Just great.” He laughed. You giggled, the sound light and full of relief. For the first time in days, things felt a little less broken between you and your brother. But then the room fell silent and not comfortable. Jack had more to say and you could feel it. You weren’t out of the woods in the way you thought you might’ve been. The pendulum of emotions kept swinging.

“Y/N… you’re so important to me. I’m sorry I said those things,” Jack began, his voice soft but thick with emotion. He cleared his throat, looking down at his hands as he spoke. “It was the heat of the moment, and even though it was wrong, I just… I was protecting myself from the hurt. The idea of losing you to someone else—even to Trent—hurt.” You felt a lump rise in your throat, his sincerity cutting through all the tension and hurt that had built between you.

“Jack,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m always yours. You’re all I have. I never meant to hurt you or hide anything. It was just… scary because, you know…” You hesitated, tears welling in your eyes. “I… I’ve always loved him. And I’m sorry it ended up being your best friend, but—” Jack held up a hand, cutting you off gently.

“I know,” he said with a small, sad smile. “It’s fine. Mum used to always tell me you were my best bet at getting a brother in the family. I guess if you’re with Trent, he’s locked in as my best mate, then…” He let out a soft laugh, the teasing edge in his voice doing little to hide the bittersweetness of his words. You couldn’t help but smile through your tears.

“Yeah, well, she was rarely wrong.” You cooed imagining your mum urging you to tell Trent you loved him in writing. Jack nodded, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“She was rarely wrong,” he repeated quietly. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

“I’m going to go, okay?” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice gentle. Jack pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“Yeah, where?” he teased, though you both knew the answer. You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the grin that spread across your face.

“Where do you think?” You teased him back.

“Noahs?” he said jokingly, shaking his head with a mock sigh. You shot him an annoyed look. “Too soon? Sorry.” He smiled and you laughed, swiping at your lingering tears as you stood up. “Just tell him what you want. But don’t get too comfortable, yeah? I’m still keeping an eye on him.” He looked at you as he stood up beside you. He had to leave Layla’s afterall too. “Love you so so much.” He wrapped you in another tight embrace before he let go.

“I will. Love you Jacky boy, more than anything.” And as you walked away, the warmth of his acceptance settled deep in your chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, things between you and Jack felt like they might actually be okay, Maybe if Trent wanted this too you could make it all work, maybe this would work.

You drove straight to Trent’s, Jack’s begrudging yet loving approval filling you with a mixture of relief and nervous energy. Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel as you pulled up outside his house. The plan had been impulsive—Trent needed to know—but as you sat there staring at his door, doubt started to creep in. You almost turned the car around, but instead, you grabbed your phone and clicked his contact.

“T…” you said softly, your voice tinged with hesitation.

“Baby, hey, you alright?” He answered almost immediately. His tone was cautious, unsure, as though he wasn’t sure if this was the call that would end everything. “You called…” He said vaguely. While he got his go ahead from Jack he didn’t know what you’d think. Maybe it all had been too much. Maybe you didn’t think it was worth it. But then your voice cut off the ones in his head.

“I’m outside. I hope that’s okay,” you admitted, awkwardly glancing at his house.

“Fuck, really?” he yelped, his surprise palpable. You hummed nervously in response, hoping the reaction was a good one. It was, but you had no idea what he was thinking. Trent had no clue Jack had spoken to you, let alone that Jack had finally given his blessing—albeit begrudgingly. Trent didn’t know what Jack had told you or how you felt after your talk with him. For all he knew, this could’ve been you showing up to end things officially.

“Yeah, um… Should I not?” you asked, suddenly worried.

“No! No, don’t leave,” Trent said quickly. His voice was breathless with urgency, almost as if he’d leapt off the couch. Taking a deep breath, you hung up the phone and stepped out of the car. Trent rushed to meet you in the drive of his house.

“C’mere,” Trent murmured, his voice low and steady, as he tugged you gently into his arms. He pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was soft yet insistent, grounding you in a way nothing else could. His touch was familiar, his scent warm and calming, yet your stomach twisted with nerves. When he pulled back slightly, his thumb grazed your cheek as he looked at you, his expression serious.

“I didn’t hear from you yet. I didn’t want to pressure you, so… I’m sorry for—” You attempted to rattle on, you opened your mouth to keep on, but he leaned in again, unable to resist now that you were back in his proximity, cutting off your words with another kiss, deeper this time. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that spoke volumes, as if he was trying to make you feel every emotion he couldn’t yet put into words.

“I just didn’t want to bother you or upset you more,” he finally admitted, his forehead resting against yours. His warm breath fanned your face. “I wanted you to take your space, baby. Whatever you needed but….” The affection and thoughtfulness in his voice made your chest ache, and you nodded quickly, biting your lip as tears threatened to spill. But then Trent pulled back entirely, his hands falling to his sides, and something flickered in his expression—fear. Real, raw fear that startled you more than anything. “Baby,” he started hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked like he was preparing himself for the worst. “I talked to Jack but I still hadn’t heard from you…” He exhaled shakily, his gaze darting away before landing back on yours. “So… is this…. Is this not what you want to do? Or—or maybe I’m not what you want.”

“No.” The word left you instantly, instinctively. You shook your head, your heart lurching at the vulnerability in his voice. “I want you. Trust me. So, so much.” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. “But I talked to Jack too.” At that, Trent stilled. His body tensed, and he searched your face like he was bracing himself for a blow. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. “He said he was sorry,” you finally continued, your voice careful and slow, trying to convey what you needed to say. “He doesn’t want to lose you as a friend.” Trent blinked, and for a moment, you could see the relief flood his features. But his shoulders didn’t quite relax, and you realized he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, bracing himself for a blow.

“Can we talk about us?” he asked cautiously, his voice soft but edged with apprehension. “Or… did you come here for him?” Trent’s mind was scrambled. He couldn’t decide where you were at. Was that just a goodbye kiss?

“No.” You stepped closer, your hands trembling slightly as they slid up to rest on his chest before curling around his neck. You clearly weren’t articulating your thoughts well. So you puffed out some air to reset. “No, I’m here for me. For us.” His hands landed on your waist, but his grip was tentative, unsure. You could see it in his eyes too. “But if—if this is too much for you,” you babbled, the words tumbling out in a rush before you could stop them. “I guess… I guess that’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. It’s awful. It sucks, and it makes me feel sick, but I’d rather know than be dragged along. If you don’t want this, if you don’t want me, just—”

“Y/N,” Trent interrupted gently, his voice steady but firm. His hands came up to cup your face, holding you in place as his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that silenced your spiraling thoughts. “Stop. Do you love me?” He asked you point blank. You looked back at him petrified by your own answer. You could only nod slowly. “And I love you.” He told you earnestly. Your breath caught in your throat at his words. They felt like a balm, but the sting of doubt still lingered.

“Are you just saying that?” you whispered, your voice trembling. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you looked at him, scared to believe it, scared to hope. “I know you’ve said it before…”

“No.” Trent’s response was immediate, his tone unwavering, his big, doe-like eyes boring into yours with a sincerity that stole the air from your lungs. “Not to you. It’s different.”

“Different?” you repeated skeptically, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice soft but filled with so much conviction that it made your knees weak. His thumbs stroked your cheeks, brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “I love you. You. It’s different because I’ve only ever wanted it to be you.” The rawness of his confession, the vulnerability in his voice, cracked through every wall you had left. A sob escaped your lips as you leaned into him, your arms tightening around his neck. And this time, when Trent kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or frantic or uncertain. It was steady, sure, and filled with so much love that it made your heart feel like it might burst. In that moment, everything else faded away. There was no Jack, no fear, no doubt—just you and Trent, wrapped up in each other, holding on as tightly as you could.

As you stepped into Trent’s house, it felt different. The air was alive with chatter, laughter, and warmth—a house full of life, full of family. Trent’s entire family were all over for a meal, a complete family. It was familiar yet bittersweet, stirring something deep inside you that made your chest ache. The feeling of your own tattered, rose within you. You hesitated just inside the door, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag, you hadn’t realized his entire family was over, you wiped under your eye hoping your mascara hadn’t run from all the crying outside.

“Well, c’mon, pretty girl,” Trent teased, his voice soft but encouraging as he reached for your hand. “Look perfect, yeah?” He kissed your temple. His touch was grounding, and you nodded, letting him guide you further inside.

“Mum, brought you a present!” The moment you crossed the threshold into the living room, Trent’s playful voice rang out. You barely had time to process what he said before Dianne turned around, her face lighting up with pure joy. Her gasp was loud and genuine as her hands flew to her chest.

“Oh, my beautiful girl! Haven’t seen you in ages!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap you in one of her signature cuddles—warm, tight, and overflowing with love. You couldn’t help but laugh, a little nervously but genuinely touched by her reaction.

“Hi, Di,” you greeted, the nickname rolling off your tongue like you’d never stopped using it. “Missed you too.” And you meant it. You had missed her. Missed them. It hit you then just how much you’d been avoiding—his family, the normalcy of it all. For months, you’d been hiding, sneaking around, building a secret world with Trent that kept the rest of life at arm’s length. But standing here now, surrounded by the warmth of his home and his family, you realized how much you’d longed for this, how much you’d missed it without even knowing. Dianne pulled back just enough to hold you at arm’s length, studying your face with a motherly concern that made your heart squeeze.

“You look tired, love. Are you eating enough? How’s everything been?” Before you could answer, Trent chuckled, stepping beside you and placing a protective arm around your waist.

“Mum, let her breathe. She just got here.” He cooed gently.

“Oh, hush, you,” Dianne said, swatting at him playfully before turning her attention back to you. “It’s just so good to see you, darling. Really.” The rest of the room had gone quieter, eyes subtly drifting toward you. Trent’s brothers and cousins were scattered about, their curious gazes darting between you and him. It wasn’t judgmental—more like surprise. His brothers in particular looks lingered a little longer. You’d been an idea for so long, Jack’s little sister, a punchline tease about a crush, and now here you were, hand in hand with Trent, a silent statement you both had yet to put into words.

“Come sit, love,” Dianne insisted, pulling you toward the sofa. “Tell me everything. Where have you been darling? And don’t even think about saying you’ve been too busy for us, because I know someone has been stealing some of your time.” She cooed smugly with a sly smile. Trent let you go with a small nudge of encouragement, his eyes soft as he watched you settle in. The house was bustling, and the atmosphere was undeniably warm, but your heart still raced. This wasn’t just a visit. It was an unveiling, a step into the life you and Trent had been building together, one that no longer hid in the shadows. And as you sat there, laughing nervously at Dianne’s endless questions and catching the amused glances from his brother’s, Trent sat beside you, his knee brushing against yours in quiet reassurance. His hand found yours again, resting between you, a silent but steady reminder.

When it was time for lunch, the table was buzzing with chatter, a mix of laughter and overlapping conversations as everyone dug into the food on the back garden’s patio. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over everything, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax. You were seated between Dianne and Trent, with his brothers and cousins scattered around the table. Across from you, Michael, his dad, had a kind smile on his face as he passed a dish of roasted vegetables. It felt warm, natural, like you belonged here. Dianne leaned closer to you, her voice soft but affectionate as she reached for your hand.

“Gosh, hun, more and more you look just like your mum,” she said with a wistful smile. The way the sun caught the highlight of your cheek bone reminding her of her friend. You felt your throat tighten slightly at the mention of your mum, but before you could respond, Michael chimed in.

“She was beautiful, lovely too,” he said warmly and fondly. Your parents were all close, they had to be because of Jack and Trent and since her passing, the subject of your mum was never taboo. You liked to hear about her but it still ached every time. “Your dad’s a good man as well, but we don’t see him as much anymore.” Micheal cooed gently. You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to keep your voice steady.

“Yeah, we don’t see him much either…” you trailed off, the weight of the words sitting heavy in the air for a moment but you forced a quiet chuckle. “But I have Jack,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, though the words came out softer than you intended. The mention of Jack stung though, a fresh reminder of the recent tension between you two. You’d spoken to him, yes, you got the approval, yes, and you were with Trent now but things still felt fractured, and saying his name aloud made it all feel so much more real.

“And me, baby,” Trent’s voice broke through your thoughts, grounding you as he leaned over to kiss your temple. His lips lingered there for a moment, warm and reassuring. You blinked up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the emotions swirling inside you. Dianne’s eyes sparkled as she bit her lip, clearly overjoyed to see Trent openly showing you affection.

“We’re always here too, hun,” Dianne said gently, her voice filled with sincerity. “You know that, right? If you ever need anything. And I’m sure you’ve got your girlfriends—Layla and the lot—but you can always come to me if you need to complain about him.” She grinned, pinching at Trent’s side playfully.

“Oi, Mum!” Trent yelped, laughing as he leaned away from her. The exchange made you laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep, lifting the heaviness that had been following you. It felt good to be here, to be surrounded by a full, loving family.

“I mean it,” Dianne continued, her tone softening again as she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re always a part of our family, sweetheart. Always.” Her words hit you harder than you expected. It wasn’t just something she was saying to be polite—she meant it. You felt it in every gesture, every glance, every word. And as you looked around the table, at Trent’s brothers bickering good-naturedly, at Michael’s quiet but warm presence, and at Trent himself, who was watching you with a small, knowing smile, you realized something. For the first time in days, you didn’t feel alone.

After the plates were cleared and the last of the food put away, you found yourself in the kitchen with Dianne, sleeves rolled up as the two of you tackled the dishes. The conversation flowed easily—lighthearted banter about Trent’s childhood clumsiness, teasing remarks about his brothers and Jack, and a few loving jabs at how much trouble he probably gave you. But then, as you placed the last dish on the drying rack, Dianne turned to you. Her warm, knowing eyes searched your face, and before you could even process what was happening, she wrapped her arms around you. Not a polite hug, but a real one. One that broke through all the walls you’d built up.

“It’ll all be okay,” she whispered softly, her voice filled with maternal certainty. The words pierced through your defenses, as if she could see every ounce of your hurt—the tension in your shoulders, the weight you carried in your chest, the unspoken pain in your eyes. You wanted to believe her. You really did. You managed a small, faux smile, nodding in acknowledgment before mumbling something about needing the bathroom. You slipped away quickly, your steps echoing faintly as you walked down the corridor. The further you got from the kitchen, the tighter your chest felt. When you reached the bathroom, you locked the door behind you, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the edge of the sink. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the cracks in your carefully crafted facade starting to show. And then it hit you. The tidal wave of everything you’d been holding back came crashing down all at once—the mess you’d made by sneaking around with Trent, the guilt over the hurt you’d caused Jack, the overwhelming love and validation you finally felt from Trent, the emptiness of missing your parents and the family you once had. It was all too much. Your chest heaved as you choked out a sob, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle the sounds, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping it now. You slid down to the floor, your back pressed against the door as you hugged your knees to your chest. The emotions swirled together, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. You didn’t even know how long you stayed like that, lost in the storm of your feelings before you stood back up attempting to calm yourself down but one look back at yourself in the mirror set you off again.

Trent had been watching you all afternoon, a quiet intensity in his gaze. He noticed the small shifts in your demeanor: how your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes, how you stared off into the distance when you thought no one was looking, and the faint tremor in your hands as you helped Dianne clear the table. He could feel it in his gut—something wasn’t right. When you excused yourself to the bathroom, he waited. At first, he thought maybe you just needed a moment to yourself, but when you didn’t return after several minutes, unease settled over him like a heavy fog. He got up and followed you, his footsteps hesitant but purposeful. He pushed the door open gently and froze at the sight of you. You were leaning over the sink, your hands gripping the edge so tightly that your knuckles were a shade lighter. Your body shook with silent sobs, tears streaming down your face. You didn’t even notice him come in at first, too lost in your emotions to register his presence.

“Baby,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room.Your head snapped up, and when your tear-streaked eyes met his, the dam broke completely. The sobs you’d been holding back came pouring out, raw and unrestrained. “Baby, hey, what’s wrong?” Trent asked, rushing to your side. His hands found your face, cupping it gently as his thumbs wiped at your tears, though they kept falling faster than he could keep up. “Talk to me.”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you were feeling. “It’s just… when your mum hugged me, she really hugged me. And it just—it broke me, T.” Trent’s brows knitted together in concern, his hands still cradling your face.

“That’s a good thing, though, pretty girl.” he told you, his voice low and careful. You nodded, but a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.

“It is. It is, but it made me feel so much all at once. It made me think about my mum and dad and how much I miss them. And then Jack—I’ve hurt him so much, and I just—I feel like I’ve made such a mess of everything.” Your words came out in a torrent, your chest heaving with the effort of getting them out. Trent’s heart broke for you. He hated seeing you like this, so overwhelmed and lost. Without another word, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“Hey, hey, shh,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked your back. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, okay? You’ve got me. We decided that, yeah?” You clung to him, your fingers curling into his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I need this to work, T,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “I can’t lose all of this. I can’t lose you.” Your panic was an onslaught of imagining your life with anymore loss. Whatever this was with Trent, it needed to work. Trent leaned back slightly, just enough to cup your face again. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes were full of unwavering determination, his jaw set.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. “You have me, baby. You’ve always had me, and you always will. We’ll figure it all out, I promise. We’re moving forward. I love you.” Your tears slowed as his words wrapped around your heart like a lifeline. You nodded, sniffing softly.

“Okay,” you whispered, though the fear still lingered in your chest. “I love you too.” You pouted. Trent pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“You’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling,” he said gently. “But don’t ever think for a second that you’re alone with it. You’re not. Not as long as I’m here.” You exhaled shakily, your body relaxing slightly against his.

“I just… I don’t know how to fix everything,” you admitted, your voice small.

“We’ll fix it together,” Trent promised, his hands moving to hold yours. “One step at a time, okay? No rush, no pressure. Just us.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in a different way—one filled with hope instead of despair. You squeezed his hands, grounding yourself in his presence.

“Okay,” you whispered again, this time with a little more strength. Trent smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your lips. “I’ve got you and we’ve got this.” And you believed him.

When you came home, it felt almost surreal. The house was quiet except for the faint sounds of a basketball game playing on the TV in the living room. Your footsteps echoed slightly as you set your bag down by the door, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. You glanced around the space, noticing little things that made it feel unmistakably like home—Jack’s trainers kicked off haphazardly by the door, a half-empty glass of water on the kitchen counter, and his jacket thrown over the back of a chair. It wasn’t much, but it was familiar.

“Hey,” you called out hesitantly, stepping further inside. Jack’s head turned slightly from where he was slouched on the couch, eyes fixed on the game.

“Hey,” he replied casually, but there was a softness to his tone that hadn’t been there before. You walked over and plopped down next to him, your body sinking into the worn cushions. You didn’t say anything at first, just letting the sounds of the game fill the silence between you. Jack glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk forming on his face.

“So, you his girlfriend yet?” he teased, his voice light but with an underlying curiosity and begrudgement. You groaned, tilting your head back dramatically.

“No…” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop a small smile from tugging at your lips. “We just had lunch. His parents were over.” Jack raised an eyebrow, sitting up slightly.

“Oh yeah? Big Mike cook up?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, nodding. “It was good… the usual.” There was a moment of silence where you could feel Jack processing your words. His eyes flicked back to the screen, but you could tell his mind wasn’t on the game anymore.

“That’s nice,” he said finally, his tone softer now. “It’s been a minute since I’ve been over there. Feels weird.” He admitted. Trent and him hadn’t spent a lot of time together alone since you started this whole thing. And so naturally, Jack hadn’t seen Trent’s family, or even his house in a while. You nodded, biting your lip.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” The guilt twisted in your stomach again, the thought of how much Jack had been left out hitting you harder than you expected. You noticed the shift in his mood. “But I’m getting hungry again so for dinner… want me to make something?” you asked hesitantly but with an idea already in mind. Jack hummed.

You tucked off to the kitchen, the weight of the day lingering but softened by the comfort of routine. You pulled out everything you needed to make your mum’s go-to fix-all meal, one that seemed to soothe whatever needed soothing—hearts, stomachs, spats after footy matches, lately you and Trent, or even broken family dynamics. It was the one dish that seemed to make everything feel a little less heavy—something you’d both grown up with and carried into your adult lives. Cooking it now felt like a small bridge back to the way things used to be. The familiar rhythm of slicing, stirring, and seasoning was grounding, a small act of care in a world that sometimes felt too overwhelming. Jack wandered into the kitchen not long after, drawn by the scent wafting through the air. He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just watched you slice vegetables with a quiet fondness. The tension between you two had been unbearable lately, but right now, watching you cook, it felt like home again.

“Aw, Y/N… you’re actually the best,” he finally said, his voice breaking the silence as he tilted his head with that familiar crooked smile that always made you feel like his little sister, no matter how grown up you were. You smirked, not looking up from your chopping.

“And to think you were going to let me go…” you teased, the words light but carrying just a hint of seriousness. Jack straightened slightly, his expression softening as he stepped further into the room.

“Y/N…” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, the usual teasing gone, now it was laced with regret. He pushed off the doorway and moved to sit at the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on you. “I wasn’t actually going to do anything. I was hurt, yeah, but I love you. You’re my little sister. I just… I care. A lot.” He cooed. You paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before humming quietly. Your hands slowed as his words hit you, and you glanced at him over your shoulder. The corners of your mouth tugged upward into a small, appreciative smile.

“I know,” you said softly , your voice just above a whisper but filled with sincerity. You glanced over at him, offering a small smile. “Thank you for caring.” Jack nodded, watching you work with a rare tenderness in his eyes. You glanced over at him, offering a small smile. When you finished cooking, you slid the plates across the island toward him before coming around to sit next to him. You watched as he took his first bite, his face lighting up in approval.

“God, this is so good,” Jack said between bites. You hummed with satisfaction and pride at your handiwork. You grinned, picking at your own plate.

“You know,” you began, poking at your food with a fork, “I made this for T the other week.” you said, testing the waters with a careful glance at him.Jack paused mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air as he processed your words. At first, his face was unreadable, but then a slow grin spread across his face, shaking his head.

“Lucky bastard,” he said, his tone teasing but with no real venom, shaking his head as he took a bite, relishing the familiar flavors yet something completely unfamiliar; you and Trent.. “But to be fair,” he added, his grin widening, “Good on you. I mean, it works every time. I’m assuming it worked between you two?” He looked at you and you nodded.

“It’s working for us now, isn’t it?” You smirked knowingly. Jack laughed, a sound that felt like a balm to your heart.

“Yeah, it’s working for us,” he agreed, pinching at your side like he used to when you were kids.

“For us, every time,” you confirmed, nudging him playfully with your elbow. Jack laughed, the sound filling the kitchen with an ease you hadn’t felt in weeks. For the first time in a while. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you were back on solid ground with Jack. And it wasn’t just the meal—it was the love that came with it, the unspoken understanding that no matter what happened, you’d always have each other.

“Hey, Jack… Can I show you something?” you asked softly as he was putting away the dishes from dinner. Jack looked over his shoulder at you, curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, go on. What’s up?” he asked, drying his hands with a tea towel.

“Well, hold on—it’s upstairs,” you said, your tone holding a hint of excitement. Jack raised an eyebrow, impatient as always.

“I’ll just come with. What is it?” he asked, already following you toward the stairs, his familiar sibling banter making you smile. When you reached your room, you started rummaging through your things, finally pulling out the worn book of poems your mum had left you. Jack sat on the edge of your bed, his hands resting on his knees as he watched you curiously.

“Mum left me this,” you began, sitting down beside him. You held the book up, running your fingers gently over the faded cover. “It’s just a bunch of poems, but… she annotated the whole thing. Like, all of it.” Your voice softened as you opened the book, flipping through pages filled with your mum’s handwriting. You stopped on a particularly meaningful page and handed the book to Jack, your fingers lingering for a moment before letting go. Jack took it carefully, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something quieter, more reverent. His eyes scanned the page, catching on her familiar handwriting, and you saw his jaw tighten. He blinked rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but you could see the tears welling in his eyes.

“Mum,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. He traced her words with his thumb, pausing on a note she’d written in the margin. “She always wrote like this… It was like she could read minds...” He muttered with sadness but you sadly giggled knowing it was a true statement. As Jack read her writing over again. The seal of approval. ‘Always reminds me of you and TAA—tell him one day, okay?.’ He sighed his heart aching, missing your mum, missing having her help in real time.

“She did,” you agreed, leaning closer to him. “It doesn’t make anything better about how we went about things, but… maybe it’s something.” You cooed. Jack swallowed hard, still looking at the page.

“She was rarely wrong, you know,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. You hummed. He tapped at the letters ‘TAA’ your mum had written. “I love you… but you deserve to be loved, Y/N,” Jack said, turning his gaze to you. “And I know he loves you too. Mum was right—you should’ve told him. And as hard as it is for me to stomach… I’m glad he told you.” He admitted. His words hit you like a wave, a mixture of relief and guilt washing over you.

“You think she’d be okay with all this?” you asked quietly, your fingers brushing over the edges of the book. Jack nodded, his lips quirking into a small, bittersweet smile.

“Yeah. She’d probably say, ‘Jack, stop being such a pain in the ass, and let your sister be happy.’” You laughed through the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Sounds about right.” You giggled, blinking back tears. Jack closed the book gently and handed it back to you. “You know, she always told me everyone likes to know they’re loved. No matter why or how, they should hear it,” you said, looking at him pointedly. You were recalling the same story you told Trent at the beach. The advice you should've taken earlier. Jack’s eyes flickered with understanding as he caught the subtext in your words.

“You’re talking about Meg, I’m assuming,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“You love her, Jack,” you said simply. “And if you don’t tell her, you might miss your chance. Trust me, I know how hard it is to just sit with it, harbouring it.” You cooed gently. Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Taking advice from his little sister is not easy, but you, like your mother, were rarely wrong.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He muttered. You reached out and put your hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Mum was rarely wrong, remember?” You cooed with a singsong tone. Jack chuckled, shaking his head.

“She really wasn’t.” For a moment, the two of you sat there in silence, the weight of your mum’s presence filling the room. It was a quiet kind of healing, the kind only family could bring.

That night, you climbed into bed, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. Things with Jack felt like they were finally on the mend, and things with Trent were… good. But what did ‘good’ even mean now? Were you together? Was it too soon to ask? Would it make him pull away if you did? You stared at your phone, debating whether to call him. The screen lit up suddenly, Trent’s name appearing. You hadn’t even realized you’d texted him first.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he said, his voice soft and warm.

“Hi, T,” you replied, the sound of his voice easing some of your nerves.

“You okay? You sound… quiet,” he said, always attuned to your moods.

“Yeah, I guess… So…. this is just how it is now,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You knew you could be on the phone with him, it wasn’t a secret anymore but it felt odd. Open. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but the uncertainty was gnawing at you.

“How it is?” Trent asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone. You bit your lip, wishing he were there with you, holding you, grounding you. It was always so much easier when you were together.

“I don’t know. nevermind.” You murmured not wanting to start something bigger. He was quiet for a moment, his voice softening further when he finally spoke.

“I love you—that’s how it is now. Yeah?” He cooed. The way he said it made your chest ache, his certainty a balm to your doubts. “Wish I was with you.” He reaffirmed as if he could read your mind.

“Yeah… my T,” you sighed, a mix of affection and longing filling your voice.

“All yours,” he cooed, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. You felt a small smile tug at your lips, but your mind was still racing. The day had been so full of emotion that now, in the stillness of your room, your thoughts were louder than ever but then an image flashed in your mind. The vision of if Trent was in bed with you… and all the times he had been and how good it felt and how you missed it.

"T... I really miss you, baby," you sighed, your voice trembling with longing, practically a moan. It was a zero to sixty moment. Suddenly your hormones took over and you couldn't hold it together anymore. A switch from longing to lust in an instant. Trent could hear your whine, he picked up on the new direction of the conversation immediately.

"God, your voice is my favorite sound," Trent replied instantly, his words making your heart ache in the best way. You let out a small giggle, trying to push away the sadness and focus on the warmth his voice gave you. But the desperation bubbling in your chest wasn’t going to be ignored.

"I miss your voice in my ear," you murmured, your tone suggestive. Trent groaned softly on the other end.

"Yeah? You miss me telling you how sexy you are? What a good girl you are f'me?" His voice was rough, low, and it sent a shiver through your body. You sank further into your bed, the soft rustle of the duvet audible through the phone. Trent leaned back against his headboard, trying to compose himself as his imagination took over, the thought of you making it impossible to stay calm.

"T, I miss being close to you," you admitted, your voice heavy with need.

"Me too, baby. Miss your body so much," he breathed, his tone thick with longing. "Do me a favor, yeah?" Your lips curled into a small smile. You'd do anything to feel close to him again, even if it was just through the sound of his voice.

"Whatever you want," you replied earnestly. If this is how it was, maybe you liked it.

"Touch yourself for me," he asked, the innocence in his tone at odds with the heat simmering in his words. Your hand slipped into your jogger, and down to your panties, your fingers gliding through your wet folds as you let out a soft moan.

"T... I'm already so fucking wet. I miss you so much," you whimpered.Trent exhaled sharply, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah? Fuck, baby, I love knowing I can make you like this even when I'm not there." He hummed.

"Baby..." you hesitated, the ache in your chest mixing with the burning need in your body. "Can I see you?" Your phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call before you even heard his answer. You accepted it, and there he was—his warm brown eyes clouded with lust, his chest bare, and his hand already grazing his toned stomach.

"Lemme see that pretty pussy," he said, his voice thick and commanding. You discarded your joggers entirely and leaned back, propping your phone up so he could see you. Slowly, you spread your legs, your fingers running through your folds to gather your slick, and Trent's breath hitched.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Suck on your fingers like it's my cock, baby." You dragged your wet fingers up your body, pulling your shirt up to expose more skin. Locking eyes with him through the screen, you slid your fingers into your mouth, sucking on them slowly, your tongue circling and teasing in a way that had his jaw tightening.

"Do you miss having your cock sucked?" you asked boldly, your voice low and sultry as you pulled your fingers free. Trent let out a choked laugh, his hand sliding down to his cock.

"Yeah, baby. Miss your mouth so much. Fuck, you're perfect." He started stroking himself, his hand moving in sync with the rhythm of your fingers as they dipped back down to your wet core. "Slide them in, baby. Let me see you."

"T... I miss you," you whimpered, sliding two fingers into yourself, your back arching at the sensation. "Fuck, I need you."

"Need you too, baby," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "Want to feel that pussy on my cock again. Miss the way you feel, the way you sound when you're close. You close f’me?" His words pushed you closer to the edge, your breathing quickening as your fingers moved faster.

"Fuck, T... I'm close," you whimpered, your mind clouded with images of him-his touch, his warmth, his weight pressing into you.

"Be a good girl and cum f'me," he urged, his voice tight as he watched you fall apart on his screen. “Let me see you cum.” He commanded.

"Fuck... fuck..." you gasped, your body trembling as the wave of your orgasm hit, white-hot pleasure surging through you.

"That's it, baby," Trent groaned, his hand moving faster as he watched you come undone. "Fuck, I'm cumming." He let out a low moan, his head falling back against the headboard as he came, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sounds of your breathing filling the quiet.

“I miss you," you murmured, pulling the duvet back over your body, feeling spent but still aching for his presence. “Come back.” You pouted. He smiled admiring the cute roll of your bottom lip.

"Miss you too, baby. Soon, yeah?" he replied, his voice soft but full of promise.

"Yeah. Soon," you whispered, wishing with everything in you that it could be now.

“Alright, you gonna have a better sleep now though?” He cheekily smirked. Admittedly, you slept better after an orgasm. Who didn’t. You nodded with a shy smile still feeling your heart race from your high. “Good girl. Night, baby. I’m up early for my flight but I’ll text you. Love you so much,” Trent added, his words tender, but you barely registered them.

“Love you too,” you replied softly before hanging up. But even as the call ended, your thoughts didn’t. The worst kind of post nut clarity fell over you. The kind where you wondered what the hell just happened? Trent seemed to have a way of pulling you out of reality and right now with his presence gone you were crashing back down into it again. Jack’s question earlier rang in your mind: Are you his girlfriend yet? The answer felt simple, but it wasn’t. Why weren’t you? What was stopping either of you from saying it out loud? Your thoughts spiraled, each one tugging at your insecurities. Was Trent just waiting for the right time? Did he think it was too soon? Or worse—did he not want that at all? But you just said you loved each other, none of it made sense. You sighed deeply, curling into yourself under the covers, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. You tried to remind yourself of his words, the way he’d said, I love you, like he meant it with every fiber of his being. But still, as you drifted off to sleep, the question lingered in your heart: When would you finally be his, and would he ever truly be yours?

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 18 - Safe xx

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #Movie Night Fic

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andbreakmynose · 10 months ago

Text

cowboy films on gloomy afternoons

you loved everything about working at your local cinema, besides that one employee who just really confused you. he's just as pretentious as you thought but maybe he's also... something else.

WARNINGS: smut!! p-in-v, soft dom! al, one use of slut, office sex, age gap (unspecified, reader is in university). this is really fucking self indulgent

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

written with tbhc alex in mind because tbh he's the only one i can imagine being this level of pretentious tbh

You believed that you truly had the perfect job. For a film student, working as the projectionist at the little independent cinema across the street really was too good to be true. You spent your long hours watching movies—the kind that mattered. Sometimes you’d get stuck with the blockbuster of the week, but you were mostly met with true classics and arthouse features, which not only stuck with you long after watching but actually helped you get ahead in class. Your workspace was cramped and less than ideal, but not even that made you hate the job. You were surrounded by what felt like cinema history in unused rolls of film and posters left over from all 78 years the theater had been open, plus there was a half-decent couch to nap on. And yeah, you got free soda and snacks from it. Perfect.

The company was nice too; if the film ran long and you felt like you needed to stretch your legs, you could walk down to the never-busy lobby and talk to Lucy at the concessions counter (and steal some food) or Dylan at the ticketing stand. Somehow you even got a pretty good boss; Marty was one of the coolest and most experienced people you had ever met. He also wasn’t ever that busy, so he could help you with your homework if you really needed it.

But there’s always that one confusing co-worker, isn’t there? The one that’s either always out for the day or just plain weird. You had Alex. He worked in programming, getting to decide what movies the theater would show regardless of anyone else’s opinions. And goddamn, he was really good at it. Almost every showing you saw was completely sold out (who knew Sheffield had such an audience for auteur films?). But every time you praised his talent, he’d just... shrug it off. He was an enigma wrapped in an encyclopedia of film knowledge.

The problem with Alex is that he was aloof and painfully so. At team meetings, he’d stay in the corner, and you never really saw him out of the office. He also had a habit of being fickle; one day he’d decide he wanted to do an entire week of Tarkovsky films, and the next he’d want to do 1940’s horror films instead. His behavior echoed the type of students that would be dismissed in your class as ‘obnoxiously pretentious’, and god he was, you still remembered the time he went off on poor Marty for suggesting they show a Star Wars movie. But you were still interested in what he had to say; you loved Lucy and Dylan, but they couldn’t hold a conversation about a movie. Alex could, you assumed, if he was able to hold a conversation at all.

The first time you ever talked to him in private was when you went to ask about the copy of the film that was being shown. You had heard there was both a director's cut and a theatrical cut, so you wanted to make sure which you were playing. He answered your question with one sentence; “Director’s. Why the hell would I pick the theatrical edition?” And then went back to his work. It was a while before you talked to him again.

The next time you talked to him was for the same reasons, he seemed a little deep in his work when you came down to his office but you had 20 minutes before credits hit and your boss needed you to do this now. It was something about a high paying donor having a desperate question, whatever.

This exchange was almost the same, except this time he insisted that it was the theatrical cut and that the director’s cut was cash-grab bullshit. Ever the confusing man. You started on your way out when he called at you.

“Hey, what’s your favorite movie?”

It was an unexpected question, he never asked you anything let alone a personal question. It must be a trap, he wanted to hear your favorite movie and then would make fun of you for it. And it’s not that you had bad taste or anything, you're just sure he could find a way to tease you for literally anything you said.

“C’mon, I don’t have all day.” He says, an almost bored expression on his face.

You hesitated in choosing your words, anxious not to provoke the irritation you had seen in men like Alex, even though you knew he was likely to remain impassive. And even though you hadn’t seen him lose his temper, his distant demeanor made you uneasy, as if any slight could provoke a reaction. You had no reason to be scared but you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease in your bones.

Alex on the other hand finally turned to face you fully. He had been observing you for a while, you were always around and so was he, and he noted that you also seemed genuinely interested in the films and not just your paycheck. He also found himself begrudgingly noticing that you always wore the same type of skirt, ending right above your knees. He thought that if you were a character in a film it’d be one of your defining traits.

“Mulholland Drive.” You coughed up after a second of thinking. It was an answer that was both honest and, perhaps, intended to impress him. You didn’t want to dwell on whether that was your true intention or not though, you had other things to do.

Alex felt a flicker of satisfaction at your choice. He anticipated a more predictable answer, so Mulholland Drive was certainly a more compelling choice. In his mind, it confirmed that his suspicions were true; you were a different type of girl than any other employee he had seen in his 10 years of working at this theater. Maybe he really was pretentious, but he felt like if anyone was to work with him it should be people like you. He gave you a satisfied nod and a hum of approval, returning to the emails at his desk. He found you just as mysterious as he found you, he wanted to tear down the layers you had shown to everyone else.

Taking that as your sign to leave, you made sure to stop at the concessions stand for a bag of popcorn before going back up to the projectionists booth.

Two weeks later was when things started to change.

Alex had started to smile more, but you decided that was just because it was warm outside again. He had an interesting smile, it was warm and took up his entire face. It wasn’t the smile you’d expect him to have, you expected him to have a sneer if he was even capable of smiling.

You always liked to look at the schedule of films for the next week when they dropped on Thursday afternoons, you’d compare it to your classes’ syllabus to see if there was anything you could watch to get ahead. It seemed like Alex had decided on cowboy films for the next week, he’d done Sergio Leone before but this was just… a lot of 1960’s cowboy movies you had never even heard of. Nothing that would be helpful at all for you.

In between ‘Navajo Joe’ and ‘Billy the Kid Versus Dracula’ (god, where did he even discover these things), your eyebrows shot up. In the midst of all these damn horse operas he had snuck in… Mulholland Drive.

To say there were a million thoughts going through your head would be an understatement. A small, selfish part of you wanted him to have included the film because he had a soft spot for you, maybe this was his way of saying he saw how much you liked movies too. The logical part of your brain told you that there was some other reason, maybe an anniversary or something.

Checking the remaining time on Sabrina (Alex was on an Audrey Hepburn kick this week), you saw you had an hour left. That was plenty of time to wander the lobby and see if you could catch Alex. You slipped your phone into your pocket and climbed down the ladder from the projectionist’s booth to the lobby, praying to every god possible that Alex is somewhere to be found.

Lucy called out to you the second she saw you, beckoning you over with popcorn. You sighed and walked over, smiling at her.

“Hey look, I can’t talk for too long… have you seen Alex? Urgent question from someone at the screening.” It’s an utter lie, your mother would’ve reprimanded you for how filthy it was. But you needed to talk to him.

Lucy thought for a second, tapping her chin with her finger before she remembered. “He’s in his office, he’s always in his office, remember?” She said like it’s the most obvious thing ever. You nodded and gave a thumbs up, taking a handful of popcorn in your mouth before standing up again.

And that’s how you ended up in his office again, although you were shyer this time. If it was actually a question from a patron you’d ask it so easily, but this time it was your own. He’d have to give you an insight into his mind, you weren’t sure if he had ever done that before.

Your foot tapped lightly as you knocked on the door to his office, you heard him shuffle some papers around and groan.

“Come in.”

You have to take a deep breath before you open the door, there’s no reason this stupid movie should be making you feel this nervous but god…

“You’re gonna make me watch shitty westerns for an entire week, Turner?” You say with a small smirk, you embarrassingly had thought of your words all day. You didn’t want to just come in and ask him about why he picked your favorite film.

His eyes darted over to you the second you walked in, slowly taking you in. You had on the same skirt as last time. “I was watching one at home last night and was reminded of how brilliant the genre was. What, you don’t like a good shoot-em-up?” He asks you with raised eyebrows, leaning back slightly in his desk chair. Of course he liked westerns.

“Not my thing at all.” You replied, taking a small step closer to him. His hair was messier today than it usually was, his beard had gotten longer. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a bit, although he never looked like he got a lot of sleep. “Is it yours? Is your favorite film a western?”

He took note of how you were asking his favorite, the same way he asked yours. Smart girl. He smirked and shook his head, “Nah. My favorite film is ‘Le Samouraï’, you seen it?” Alex wouldn’t judge if you hadn’t seen it, but if you have it just might make you his favorite person on the planet.

You have to rack your brain on what you’ve heard of this film before, maybe it’s been mentioned in class before, you haven’t seen it. “No. Is that a sin?” You asked, leaning against a file cabinet in his office. His office was definitely bigger than the projection booth, he had made it very Alex.

Alex scoffed and shook his head, “I’m sad you haven’t seen it because it’s so brilliant but not mad. They haven’t taught you Melville in that expensive film school yet? You’re getting ripped off, sweetheart.” He matched your comfortable stance by leaning further back into his desk chair and crossing his legs. He had noticed that you aren’t scared of him, not even intimidated by his knowledge. He liked that, he liked talking to you.

“I’ve heard the name, we just haven’t watched it yet.” You respond, looking for the next thing to say to bring you to your point. “But I guess you’ve seen my favorite film, right? I saw you included Mulholland Drive in the lineup, was that a coincidence or are you being deliberate?”

Alex laughed at your words, of course you picked up on that. You really were too smart for your own good. “Well I suppose it’s a bit of both. I wanted something different in case not every regular audience member was on board with my westerns-’ he paused to roll his eyes, as if that thought disgusted him, “but yes. I figured it might be a pleasant surprise for someone with a discerning taste.” His eyes met yours and he smiled again, mostly because he saw a smile creeping on your face. He wanted to keep you smiling.

There was something about him admitting that it’s for you that made you feel… something. You didn’t quite know what. Maybe excited? You were excited and felt validated that he found your taste in film good enough to put on a lineup. You liked that he was perceiving you. “You’re saying you picked it for me? And here I thought you were just gonna be cryptic... What's your angle here?” You asked him; the smile was still on your face, but now your eyebrows were raised.

“Ah.” Alex uncrossed his legs, finally standing up. He got a little closer to you; he wanted to make stronger eye contact with you. “A great teacher back when I was in film school told me that it’s not just about what you watch; it’s about connecting. Maybe it’s all worth it if I can connect with someone who also appreciates the genius of Mulholland Drive.” Pretentious bastard; even his flirting was fucking pretentious. You would’ve made fun of him if you weren’t fighting back a blush.

You took another second to decide your words; it wasn’t often you were speechless, but you were now. "Well, I didn’t expect you to remember, let alone care enough to do that. Maybe there’s more to you than I thought... but don’t get any ideas about being my hero because you saved me from a complete week of westerns.” You had to throw an quip in there; without it, you thought your words felt too… vulnerable. You weren’t sure you were there with Alex yet.

He had to admit that you were funny, even if it was obvious what you were trying to say. He let out a laugh and shook his head. “I’m not trying to be your hero, sweetheart. I just figured that someone who loves the film as much as you deserves to see it on the big screen. Even if it’s from your tiny projection booth.”

His words, once again, leave you stunned. That was really sweet—maybe the top 5 sweetest things anyone had ever done for you. It was almost impossible not to blush and grin at him, and your body betrayed you by making you step forward. “Yeah? That’s… nice. But if you’re not trying to impress me, what’s your real game here? Or do you just have a thing for making people feel special?” You asked him; your smile was somewhere between teasing him and being genuinely flattered.

“You are special.” He responded, also taking a step forward. You started to feel his breath on your face; somehow just this one conversation had made you go from being terrified of him and thinking he’s so pretentious to wanting him.

As if he could read your mind, he reached forward and placed his hand on your hip, giving it a small squeeze. “Maybe I just enjoy challenging expectations; I can’t always be the mysterious bastard in the office. And like I said, you’re special.” His voice lowered, and his face got impossibly closer to yours.

Against all odds of being at work, and that just a week ago you thought he was the most confusing man on the planet, you needed to fucking kiss him. And you did; you took a half step forward and smashed your lips against his. He kept his hand on your hip, squeezing the soft skin as he pushed your back against the filing cabinets. You guessed that he wanted you as bad as you wanted him because he was practically sucking your face; you thought that was just a saying. It was an absolute mess of tongue on tongue and teeth on teeth; your noses even collided a few times as his beard scratched your face. It was uncomfortable in the best way; it was damn hot.

You moaned the very first second you felt his hand grope at your ass and his mouth slip from your lips to your neck. “So fucking pretty, so good,” he muttered before he started to attack your neck. It was an added sensation to have his beard pressing against you alongside his mouth (and teeth; he almost teethed at you). He definitely would leave more marks than just hickeys, but you were so in pleasure you didn’t even have time to think of work.

Oh fuck, work. You cursed silently to yourself and looked up at the clock, just as his hand started to snake under your blouse and over your bra, giving your tit a nice squeeze. “Fuck!” you called out, not just from the intense pleasure but from the fact that you only had another 30 minutes left before you told yourself you needed to be back in the booth. In an ideal world, you’d have an entire night with him.

He continued his mouth’s attack on your neck and hand’s attack on your breasts, feeling his pants start to become tighter; he could only imagine how wet you were. His fantasies were interrupted by you pulling him away and sighing, trying to catch your breath. “Alex… Alex I don’t have much time before I need to go. Do you want-”

He interrupted you this time with his hand coming up to squeeze your lips together, promptly making you shut up. “You got enough time for me to fuck you? Because I’m going to fuck you,” he said as if he'd already decided, and then he started to work with the hand not on your face to unbuckle his belt.

You weren’t able to really form words, so you just whined and nodded, giving him that permission he wanted. He took it quickly, flipping you over and bending you over his desk, your tiny skirt riding up so he could get a view of your pants. You were soaked; he knew you would be. His large thumb started to trace your folds before he made a ‘tsk’ noise and flipped you over again. He wanted to see your face, he decided. Alex Turner was nothing if not confusing.

“This wet only from a little kissing, god, sweetheart, I didn’t know I was dealing with a slut. Although I could’ve guessed from these tiny skirts you keep wearing.” His voice is cool and calm, a complete contradiction from how sinful his words were. You whined at them.

“Alex please. We don’t have much time; please just fuck me!” You cried out, hastily pulling your skirt down so he had easier access. Alex nodded and began to work faster on pulling his pants down. He was so goddamn aroused watching you act like this; you were such a gorgeous girl, and now he had you completely under his control. You moaned loudly, and he grunted, bringing his hand up over your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’d love to hear all those pretty little noises, but not now. I’m not getting fired because you had to talk all sweet to me and get bent over.” It was an unholy whisper into your ears, causing your skin to shiver. You nodded, and he took that as a sign to slip your panties down. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt.”

If it was even possible, his words caused you to get even wetter. You could’ve guessed that he was big from the hardness in his jeans, but by the time he slipped his pants and boxers off, you were left gasping against his hand. There was an underlying fear—how the hell was that supposed to fit inside of you?—but also a great arousal because THAT was supposed to be inside of you. Alex tilted his head down to look at your pussy before he smirked, adjusting himself so he could get closer to your entrance.

Your cunt started to clench around nothing, getting excited just at the sheer closeness of his cock. He looked at your entrance again before he spat on his hand and started to rub it along his length as extra lubrication. “I don’t want to hurt you, babygirl,” he whispered before gently forcing the head into your heat, causing you to scream against his hand.

He shushed you again as he kept pushing himself further in; all of your tiny moans and whines were hidden by his hand, but that was for the best; he’d hear them eventually. You were so tight, so warm, and in that very moment Alex decided he was never going to fuck another girl in his life.

When he bottomed out, you gave in and bit at his hand; it was the only way you could keep an actual scream from coming out. You felt so full, you could even feel him throbbing in your cunt (or maybe that was your walls clenching; it could be both). He smirked and started to move, setting a pace that was relentless. He’d prefer to take you apart slower, but you didn’t exactly have the time for that.

His cock was hit every spot in you that made you mewl and arch your back; it was like he knew things about your body that you didn’t. His eyes were focused like you were one of those damn emails he was always writing; it was hot to you that he was that focused on your pleasure. Gentle grunts started to fall out of his mouth as the hand not on your mouth came up to twist at your nipples. The pleasure was starting to become unbearable, and you weren’t sure how much longer you had until you started crying.

You knew you were close when a particularly hard thrust caused your eyes to roll so far back in your head it hurt, so you brought your thumb down to your clit. You needed to cum, and you didn’t care what you had to do to achieve that.

Alex cared though; he wanted to be the one to make you cum. He took his hand off of your nipple and smacked yours off your clit, causing you to whine at the loss of sensation. “None of that. If you needed that, you could’ve just asked,” he grunted, bringing his thumb down to your sensitive bud. It was a funny thing for him to say, as you couldn’t exactly speak, but you still bucked up at his manipulation.

His pace started to become sloppy; you knew he was close too. His breath was also starting to become staggered, and you could almost see a tremble in his legs. You’d never seen him this undone, and it was so damn arousing that you caused it. Alex had already memorized all the spots that made you shake and whine; he knew you were close, so he made sure to hit them all on his thrusts. He knew he didn’t have much time left, and he wanted to make sure you didn’t leave unsatisfied.

It was a particular stroke where he somehow managed to hit your g-spot and pinch your clit at the same time that had you over the top. You felt your legs start to shake and your back arched. You were sure the noises coming from your mouth were starting to get louder than his hand-cranked control, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care when your hand spilled the pencil cup on his desk all over the floor. All you cared about was that you were cumming and he was making you cum.

Alex grinned at the sight of you becoming this undone because of him. That was what sent him over the edge—the idea that it was his work that just made you coat his member in juices. He pushed until the last second, until his cock was actually twitching, and then he pulled out. The loss of contact was hardly noticed, and he came all over his office floor just by seeing how fucked out you were. You still hadn’t caught your breath, but you were watching him with awe. His dick was really damn nice, and now it was leaking so much cum onto the floor.

He collapsed onto his desk chair and reached for a tissue from his desk. He wiped off his cock before tucking it back into his boxers and then wiped off your pussy, cleaning up the table too. He threw the tissue away and made a mental note to take his own office trash out later.

Once you had caught your breath enough, you stood up, legs still wobbly, and put your pants back on. It took a second, but eventually you had them and your skirt on. Alex just smirked at you.

“That was... good,” you said with a small smile. You were starting to get shy being around him; you just fucked him, and now you had to go back to work.

“It was. You’re uh, you’re perfect. I meant it when I said you’re special.” His smirk turns into a genuinely warm smile, and he brings his thumb up to trace your chin. There was a faint mark on your mouth from him keeping you quiet. You looked down at his cum on the floor, raising your eyebrows in a silent offer to clean it up. He just shook his head; he’d deal with that.

You nodded and sighed, “I should probably get back to work... I don’t look like I just had sex, do I?” Your hair was slightly messy and your shirt was wrinkled, but it also always was. “No one will notice sweetheart,” he replied with a bit of a laugh. He was glad this was your secret.

"Right, uh, thank you, Alex?” It comes out as a question; you’re not sure if you should thank your co-worker for making you cum like that. He shook his head and stood up. “No, thank you for being such a damn good fuck and a special girl.”

You smiled at this; his words gave you a slight hope that maybe this would happen again. You opened his door when he called out to you.

“Sweetheart, I was thinking that maybe I could come up with you and watch Mulholland Drive next week.” It was an optimistic idea; he was worried that you only wanted to fuck. But you grinned and nodded, “I’d really love that; we even have a couch up there.”

He chuckled and stepped closer to you, placing his hand on your chin again. “A couch, fancy!” He joked before he pressed a singular peck on your lips; he wanted you to know that you meant something more than a fuck in the only way he knew how. He wasn’t exactly the best with words. You laughed back at him.

“Alright then, it’s a date.” You grinned at him before leaving his office; you would’ve stayed longer, but time really was running out. You were so lucky that Lucy seemed to be on a bathroom break; you didn’t have to deal with her asking why you were in Alex’s office for so long.

When you got settled back in the projection booth and the credits began to roll, you took a minute to think about what the fuck had just happened, and when you opened your phone, the list of his stupid fucking westerns was still on it. But that was Alex, and maybe you liked that about him.

A/N: yeah like i said... self indulgent (i used to work at a cinema lol). but i'm already obsessed with this version of alex ahh.

#andbreakmynose #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner smut #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #fanfic #alex turner #arctic monkeys smut

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t-lostinworlds · 2 years ago

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The Grump & The Drunk | Miguel O'Hara

》 PAIRING: miguel o'hara x spider-woman!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x (drunk) sunshine, fluff, humor

》 SUMMARY: You were clingy, feisty with no filter when you're drunk. Miguel had front row seat of it—literally. You're lucky he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad it was him and not anyone else. The thought made him seethe in jealousy even though you technically were not his girl. But he wasn't sure if that still rang true after tonight's drunken confession (or that make-out session).

》 WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, soft!miguel (also emotionally constipated!miguel but what's new), r calls him miggy to tease him, height difference (he's 6'9" he's an effin giant), r thirsts over him in front of his face lol, some innuendos, brief argument about feelings, overall very cute and fluffy.

》 WORD COUNT: 6.1k+

A/N: can anyone guess what movie i watched recently. is anyone surprised that i liked the grump with a side of trauma lmao. ANYWAY. this is the first time i'm writing miguel so pls be nice. wrote this fairly quickly too and it's barely proofread sooo. but i hope you still enjoy it!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

It was late.

Quiet.

Well, for now, at least.

Moments like these were rare to come by, where there wasn't much to do except to let things happen. The multiverse was stable enough not to need any intervention.

It usually was the epitome of the calm before the storm.

Nevertheless, everyone—well, those left at HQ and weren't on stakeout—in the Spider Society took advantage of it.

There was always some sort of activity going on during these types of days. Most of it were small get-togethers in the cafeteria, or perhaps a low-key karaoke in the cinema room. Other times it was much more on the nose.

Right now, there was a party held on the rooftop.

The music was blaring—muffled for him, thanks to his soundproofing—as it jumped from genre to genre depending on who successfully bribed the DJ.

It was rowdy—that he was sure of. What, with the modified alcohol strong enough to affect any Spider-Person as if they weren't enhanced, how could it not be?

Miguel wasn't one for festivities. Not to mention, strobe lights always gave him bad migraines. So after showing face for about ten minutes—he wouldn't have shown up at all but was begged to go by someone he couldn't say no to—he decided to call it a night.

Well, back to his…Spider-Cave.

He was sure there would be copyright issues if that was made official.

But it was dubbed by you so it simply stuck.

You, with bright eyes and a sweet smile as you pleaded for him to come with you to the rooftop even if it was "just a couple minutes, please?"

You, who wore a simple yet gorgeous black dress as you all but dragged him into the elevator, bouncing with excitement because it was going to be your first party here at HQ.

You, who enthusiastically sipped on your Pink Señorita—a margarita with pink lemonade—giddy to feel the buzz of the alcohol after years of being unable to.

You, who was so joyful and uncaring as you danced to your heart's content when your favorite song came on, right in the middle of the floor, shining as bright as the sun as the others revolved around you.

Miguel only watched from the sidelines, his chest aching with longing. So close but out of reach because he couldn't.

He'd only put a damper on your light.

It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

He couldn't do that to you.

Soft spot.

Miguel had very few of those.

Anyone who dared to give their opinion on his life with the bravery to say it right to his face said one was occupied by you.

Some would even imply that you held the biggest one.

And sure, the first time Lyla scouted you and suggested for you to be recruited into the Spider Society he might've said yes far too quickly than he should've. But that was only because he saw the way you took down a sector of the Maggia all on your own. He was thoroughly impressed.

There were also times when he let you get away with annoying him scot-free. Whether that was teasing, various nicknames, talking his ear out for hours as you refused to leave him alone to do work, and sometimes even pranks. If it were any other person doing the same things you would've done, they would be leaving the premises at least fearing their life.

He also let you spend time around his magic carpet—as you so unoriginally named it. You were constantly testing those copyright issues—quite often to the point that some of your stuff had migrated the space. There were little trinkets scattered around, evidence that you'd been here.

Miguel finally bought a desk chair perfectly suited for his big and tall stature all because you complained about not having anywhere to sit while you were up here with him.

It was more your chair than it was his, to be honest, since you definitely sat on it far more than he had.

Sure, he could've bought an extra one for you but he didn't want to encourage the teasing—that had been nonstop since you waltzed into his life—that he was playing favorites.

He preferred to stand while he worked, anyway.

Fine.

He could kinda see why many people would say he had a soft spot for you.

Speaking of…

Miguel could hear you before he could even see you.

You were giggling to yourself, followed by poor attempts at whispered apologies when you knocked over something or bumped against something else.

It made him worry a little.

Sure, you were too enthusiastic for his liking, all optimism and sunshine despite everything that you had gone through—it harshly contrasted with his personality.

But he wouldn't particularly classify you as clumsy.

He waited for you to call for him, anticipating which way you'd say it this time around. Your most recent one was: "O'Hara, O'Hara, let down your floating chair."

You thought you were really funny with that one.

But silence.

No cheeky way of asking him to let you come up.

Where'd you go?

Suddenly, he heard a very annoyed and frustrated groan, prolonged and all dramatic.

Then, that familiar thwip rang in the air.

You couldn't have been more impatient.

He was aware of exactly where you were, shooting your webs in random directions so long as you hit a column that took you higher and higher. But even if he didn't have his enhanced senses, your constant giggling would give you away.

Yet as loud as you had already been, your shriek was even louder.

Miguel didn't hesitate to jump off the platform.

His heart was pounding as he clocked your falling figure, adrenaline and fear all at once.

You looked dazed in your freefall, unable to comprehend that your cartridges were empty as you kept trying to shoot your webs.

In the nick of time, he caught you by the waist—upside down.

He let out a huge sigh of relief at the same time you turned into heaps of giggles.

"This isn't how I imagined us getting into this position," you snorted as if you weren't dangling a couple of feet above the ground, feet in the air, arms limp and swaying. "Wow…your thigh is bigger than my head!"

Miguel's whole body warmed, not only from your comments but also because you were still in your dress.

Thank fuck it wasn't a loose skirt.

Not that he would ever look. He might be a bit of a grump—temperamental at times, he'll admit—but he was still a gentleman.

Though he was glad you couldn't see the obvious fluster on his face given your current upside-down predicament.

He'd never hear the end of it.

"I'm flipping you around," he said.

"Like a pancake?"

He didn't answer. He simply tossed you into the air, your squeal echoing off the walls. He caught you again but the right way up this time—your hands clinging onto his shoulders, legs around his waist.

Miguel tried not to dwell on your closeness as he shot a web and pulled you both back up.

"You flipped me like a pancake!" you giggled, stumbling onto the platform once you reached it.

What on earth is going on with you?

One look in your eyes, his unspoken question was swiftly answered.

"Widely irresponsible to swing while drunk," he reprimanded, arms crossed over his chest.

You blew a raspberry, waving your hand dismissively. "Am not drunk."

"Then why did I have to save you from falling head-first into the ground?"

"I slipped!"

"You could've just called me to let the platform down."

"And have it take so fucking long?"

Miguel blinked.

Oh you were so drunk.

"I know it's an intimidating tactic or whatever the fuck it is you're doing. Either way, it's a choice, but it doesn't have to be so damn slow, Miggy!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," he said, no heat in his tone. He simply couldn't stand the way his heart did a funny thing whenever he'd hear that nickname slip past your lips.

"Sorry, sir," you said, sarcasm lacing each letter.

Miguel took a deep breath.

"Don't call me that, either," he said, voice an octave deeper.

You rolled your eyes, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Someone's extra grumpy today."

"Night."

"What?"

"It's night."

"Pfft, you know, you should loosen up your suit," you said, waving at all of him. "Maybe the tightness is making you grumpier somehow, suffocating your muscles and everything."

"The tightness of my suit has nothing to do with my mood."

"Could've fooled me," you scoffed, glaring at him from head to toe. "You're probably chafing in weird places and it's making you irritable. I bet—no, I know you're naked underneath because even though I haven't seen you naked I can still see…stuff, many stuff, big stuff, you know, imagination and not leaving any and shit."

"Dios mío," he grumbled in disbelief, rubbing a palm over his warm face. "How drunk are you?"

"Zero percent-o, Miguelito."

He bit back a smile.

"Could've fooled me," he said, raising a brow at you.

"Don't you dare throw my words back at me," you warned, attempting to appear threatening with your chest puffed out, chin raised as you got all up in his face. You slumped with a pout a second later. "You are so fucking tall!"

"And you are so drunk."

"M'not!"

"Uh-huh, sure," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh I am very sure—Miguel, can you sit down," you complained, brows deeply furrowed as you tried grabbing onto his shoulders, urging him to settle on the chair.

He decided to mess with you a little, planting his feet firmly so you weren't able to budge him even with your enhanced strength.

Your inebriated state wasn't helping your case.

It was the first time he ever got to see you annoyed and he actually found it cute. What, with your brows deeply furrowed and that pout in full play, huffing and puffing as you pushed at his chest with your full body strength, how could he not?

"Miggy sit the fuck down!" you growled.

He resisted the urge to laugh, throwing his hands up as he obliged, "Okay, okay, I'm sitting."

Now, he was the one looking up at you.

Yet you still looked frustrated.

"Is that not any better?" he asked, confused.

"No," you mumbled, glaring down at him, pout still prominent.

The next thing he knew, you were already grabbing onto his shoulders, pushing yourself up the chair.

You sat right on his lap.

Miguel was rarely surprised these days, considering what he did for a living.

But he sure as hell wasn't prepared to have you on top of him.

He could almost feel his brain short-circuit, taking a bit more time and effort for it to get its bearings back into place.

But then, you turned shy, eyes blinking at him all wide with shock as if you didn't know that climbing onto his lap resulted in him and you being so close.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hello," he murmured, fingers twitching to hold you. He gripped the armrest instead. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're doing?"

"What…was I doing?" you questioned, almost to yourself, scanning the nearly non-existent space between you both before your face lit up. "Oh! I'm trying to talk to you without spraining my neck, genius."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah! You try talking to a six-foot-nine Adonis of a man and see if your neck doesn't hurt after a while."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Adonis, huh?"

"Not like that," you quickly said, voice shyer. "I mean like…huge, muscular, a-and plump."

"Plump?"

"Yeah!" You nodded enthusiastically, pressing your palms right on top his chest, one on each pec. "You've got plump boobs and ass."

He almost choked on air.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked, thoroughly amused.

"You, hopefully."

"Diosito, ayúdame," he muttered, resisting the temptation to take your word for it. You were drunk. You had no idea what you were saying.

Miguel shook his head when you stared at him confused, still slow on your Spanish. Then again, he'd only ever taught you a few phrases so far.

"How many lemonades did you have?" he asked instead.

"Why are you asking me so many questions!" you groaned, head thrown back as dramatically as you could. "It's my turn to ask questions!"

"Fine," he sighed, ignoring the urge to nip at your exposed skin. He heavily disregarded the thoughts that brewed in his head from the way you were innocently squirming on him, trying to get more comfortable, your skirt hiking up in the process.

He was good at keeping his composure, mastered it after years. He could do it for a couple of minutes more.

"Why'd you disappear?" you sighed.

"Too bright. Too loud."

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"You were having fun. Didn't want to spoil your mood," he stated the obvious. "Besides, my absence didn't affect anything."

"But it did," you insisted, bottom lip jutting out. "Was gonna ask you to dance."

His brow rose at that. "And what made you think I'll say yes?"

"You always say yes," you said, shrugging as if it was a known fact to the universe.

If it was you asking? Maybe.

He honestly felt a little glad he left the party early. He wouldn't even dare to imagine the outcome if he was seen out on the dance floor with you.

He would much prefer it with no audience—just you and him.

"I don't always say yes."

You narrowed your eyes, obviously not believing him by one bit.

But you didn't bother to argue.

Instead, you plopped forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face pressed against his neck.

Miguel froze.

He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

Well, he wanted to do so many things at once, he just didn't know if he should—too many boundaries, too dangerous to cross.

A battle between logic and emotions.

You chose for him, though.

"Will you just—" You pulled his arms off the armrest, wrapping it around you instead. "Want cuddles, please."

How could he say no?

And for the first time in a long while, Miguel finally let himself go.

Body relaxing into the seat, he pulled you a little closer, palms rubbing soft patterns on your back as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head.

It had been so long since he'd cuddled with someone, so maybe his judgment was a little skewed. But still, he didn't remember it feeling this lovely—not until now.

Or maybe because it was you.

And if he didn't know any better, he'd say you were purring.

"Comfortable?" he hummed, rubbing the tip of his nose against your crown.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, humming soon after, "I've always wondered just how nice you smell up close."

He couldn't stop the flush that crept up his face.

"You're warm," you whispered, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat.

It made him wonder if you'd been hanging around Spider-Cat too much—or Meows Morales.

He'd rather not think about it.

Instead, he commanded his suit to uncover his hands, one less barrier between his palm and your skin. The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal your warmth as he continued giving you comforting rubs.

It made you bury yourself deeper into his arms as if you could go any further.

"This feels nice," you murmured, voice muffled against him.

He hummed in agreement.

You both settled into a comfortable silence after that.

But if he listened closely, the steady thump of your heartbeat was soft against his ears. He found the sound relaxing, and the minuscule romantic part of him imagined it was syncing with his own.

A peaceful rhythm.

Your soft breaths tickled his skin as you snuggled closer, his smile unabashedly painted on his face.

No one was here to see it, anyway.

After a few more moments of calmness, he assumed you'd already fallen asleep. He was already preparing himself to carry you across universes and back home when you suddenly spoke up,

"Can I touch your fangs?"

He blinked.

"What?"

You shifted, pulling back a little so that you could meet his eyes, face so close your noses almost touched.

"Your fangs," you repeated.

Before he could even respond, your hands were already on his face, one thumb lifting the corner of his lip while your other hand found his chin, holding him still.

"Wanna feel how sharp they are," you muttered, opting to use both hands now to pull his lips and expose his canines.

"Very sharp and dangerous," he chuckled despite himself, gently grabbing your wrists to stop your prodding. "Just take my word for it."

"You're pretty when you smile," you said, beaming and proud as if seeing his fangs was an accomplishment.

He rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning.

You smiled wider in return.

Holding your hands between you both, he absentmindedly started stroking your palms with his thumb.

It guided your gaze toward it.

"Your hands are naked!" you gasped, grabbing his wrists and bringing his fingers up to your face, wonder and awe in your eyes as if it was the first time you'd seen them without cover—it wasn't.

You'd seen him in casual clothes before.

Miguel couldn't stop his laugh from escaping even if he tried.

"I didn't know you could do that!" you said, fully amazed before your brows furrowed, pout coming back. "Why can't my suit do that? I have to get all naked just to feel my fingers."

He didn't dwell on that picture.

"I'll tweak it for you if you'd like," he said instead.

Your whole face brightened.

"Really? You'd do that?" you giddily gasped, bringing his hands up to press your palms against his like a double high five. The way your hand was much smaller than his made his heart warm.

He interlaced your fingers together. "Really."

"We're going to make a suit together!" you laughed, lovely and sweet. "That's a big big step."

He chuckled, gaze carefully tracing your beautiful features, each curve and divot glowing with happiness. He felt tempted to count every perfectly imperfect mark that littered your skin, wanting to know if it was there naturally, or if there was a story behind it.

It was supposed to be a swift glance.

He didn't mean to settle too long on your lips.

Nor did he plan to get caught.

"Stop staring," you whispered shyly.

"You're right in front of my face," he deflected, eyes back on yours.

"I know but…" You trailed off, shifting slightly, the tips of your noses brushing in the process.

"But?" he softly prodded.

"You're looking at me weird."

"How so?"

"Like…" you started, voice dropping into a whisper as if you were disclosing a secret. "You want to kiss me."

He couldn't even bother to deny the truth.

"I'll stop staring," he hummed, words holding no weight as he never removed his eyes from you.

"No!" you protested, turning flustered a second later, shyer when he smirked.

"I thought it was weird?" he teased.

"'Weird' was the wrong word," you said, scrunching your nose in thought. Adorable. "I meant different."

"How different?"

"I don't know," you admitted, leaning a little closer. "But I like it."

"Oh, do you, now?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, hands finding their way to gently cup his cheeks.

Miguel leaned into your touch with a soft smile. "Now who's staring?"

"It's because I want to kiss you," you admitted shamelessly. Your fingers traced the outline of his lips, your eyes following their path.

Miguel kissed your fingertips.

You leaned down and kissed him.

He gasped, eyes wide in shock.

A split second, they fluttered shut, head tilting, whole body melting as he kissed you back.

He spent countless amounts of time daydreaming about this moment, different scenarios, wondering what you tasted like, how it'd make him feel. But fuck—nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

It was so many things all at once.

Relief, hunger, satisfaction, desperation, fondness, fear, mind stopping, heart beating faster, soft lips, warm skin, so lovely, so sweet, so fucking addicting.

Now that he'd gotten a taste, he couldn't get enough.

Miguel cupped the back of your neck, arm snaking around your waist to keep you steady, close.

Your hand held onto his shoulder, the other finding its way into his hair, your fingers combing through the strands.

He lost any sense of control when you pulled.

Gripping your hips, he teased his tongue against the seam of your lips, slipping it in the second you opened up for him.

He groaned at your taste.

You whimpered in response.

The sound made him want to devour you.

But then you started moving your hips.

It was awakening, in more ways than one.

But the rational part of him prevailed because it was for your sake.

He pulled away, gently grabbing your chin, when you tried going back in.

"Slow down," he rasped, holding your waist and keeping you still. "Estás borracho, corazón."

"You know I don't understand," you breathed out, chest heaving, lips all plump and tempting.

"You're drunk, sweetheart," he clarified.

"I don't care," you whined, squirming.

He cupped your face in both hands.

"I do."

You pouted.

"Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Don't pout," he sighed.

"I'm not pouting," you denied.

"You are," he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

Your pout only turned more prominent.

The beep of the clock broke him out of his trance.

It was midnight.

Miguel stood up, taking you with him before gently urging you to stand on your own two feet.

"It’s late. You should go," he said monotonously and stepped back.

You frowned.

He looked away.

"Why do you always do this?"

You were frustrated—no, you were getting angry.

He turned his back on you, eyes on the holograms even though there was nothing worth looking at.

"Do what?" he said, acting oblivious.

"Confuse the fuck out of me," you said, loud with frustration. "You act cold and distant one minute and then you're being nice and sweet the next. You keep your distance but then call me all these cute nicknames sometimes—and yes, you say them in Spanish but I asked Lyla about it once and she told me what they meant."

Traitor—thrown under the bus by his own invention.

"But then sometimes you give in and we get closer but the second I chip your walls you push me away," you continued, getting angrier by the second. "I thought things were getting better between us. But now, you won't even fucking look at me even after we just kissed—"

"You kissed me."

"You kissed me back!" you screamed.

It took him by surprise.

You had never raised your voice, much less yelled at anyone.

But honestly? There was no one else who deserved it more than him.

Slowly turning around, his heart sank when he met your tear-filled eyes.

By instinct, he reached out to try and comfort you.

It only made you angrier.

"You're doing it again!" you growled and stepped back, hands balled into fists.

Miguel stopped, hands up in surrender.

"I'm just trying to protect you," he softly said.

"Protect me?" you scoffed. "Or protect yourself?"

"I'm doing what's best for you," he reasoned, wanting nothing more than to wipe your tears away and kick his own ass for making you cry in the first place.

"You don't know that!"

"Maybe," he said, hands dropping to his sides, dejected. "But I know myself.

"Someone like me shouldn't be with someone as pure and as bright as you."

"No one gets to decide who I should and shouldn't be with," you gritted, taking long strides until you were squaring up to him. "No one but me. That's my choice."

Despite your boiling anger, despite the fact that you were glaring at him in a way that should scare him, despite the absolute animosity that lingered in your voice, your next words couldn't have brought the most opposite reaction from him.

"And I want to be with you."

Happiness, warmth, euphoria—the few things that made his heart burst at the seams.

But Miguel shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground, quickly stomping down emotions.

"I'm only going to end up hurting you," he sighed, pacing back and forth as he rubbed a frustrated hand over his warm face.

"I trust you that you won't."

"Well, you shouldn't," he insisted, eyes filled with longing, wanting to pull you close and taste your lips again despite his words saying otherwise. "You deserve so much better."

"If you believe that so fucking much then be better."

With that, you turned on your heel.

So many things flashed before his eyes, one of which was if he let you walk away now, he was going to lose you, for good.

He fucking panicked.

So much so that he jumped—right over your head.

You squeaked in shock when he landed in front of you.

Miguel didn't waste a second.

He grabbed your face and kissed you senseless.

You stumbled back, Miguel quickly webbing the chair, pulling it just in time for you to land on the cushion.

Not once did his lips leave yours.

He was bending over, hands grabbing the backrest, trapping you against it. You cupped his face, a shiver running down his spine when you trailed your hands down his chest.

But then you gently pushed him back.

He ignored the ache in his heart as he pulled away.

Miguel dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his, placing a kiss on each palm before he pressed it against his cheeks.

"I want to be with you so badly," he confessed, eyes never leaving yours so you could see it—all of him at your mercy.

"But I'm scared," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "I'm terrified that all I'll ever do is fail you, that I will never end up being the man that you deserve."

"How would you know if you won't try?" you said, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with the sweetest smile. "And I know you think otherwise, but you deserve to be happy, too."

Miguel didn't know what to say.

So he didn't.

He kissed you instead.

It was slow, reassuring, a soft touch of your lips on his, but never less passionate.

He would've opted to deepen it a little more, but then you downright yawned between the kiss.

And here he thought you couldn't get cuter.

"You need sleep," he chuckled.

"I don't wanna go home," you grumbled, burying yourself into his chest. "It's too far."

"My room, then?" he offered.

You quickly nodded. He could almost feel you grinning against his suit.

He kissed your forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Bed?" you gasped, emerging out of your hiding spot to wriggle your brows at him teasingly. "Gosh, take me out to dinner first."

"What am I going to do with you," he grumbled, shaking his head

"Many things, I hope."

He rolled his eyes, pressing the button to let the platform down.

"Miggy, can you give me a piggyback ride?" you asked, pouting for good measure. "I'm tired."

He sighed, turned around and crouched down.

"He doesn't always say yes he said," you giggled.

"Are you getting on or not?"

"Okay, okay, geez." You grabbed his shoulders and hoisted yourself on his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Cheek pressed against his shoulder, you grinned. "Always eager to have me ride you, huh?"

His face warmed.

"I'll drop you if you won't stop."

"No you won't."

Miguel loosened his grip.

You yelped, quickly tightening your hold around him.

"You're so mean!"

He chuckled, turning his head as much as he could and puckering up his lips.

You giggled as you gave him a chaste kiss, pressing your cheek in between his shoulder blades with a deep sigh.

"Lyla, please send extra blankets and pillows to my quarters," he said, smiling to himself when you suddenly got heavier on his back.

He was sure you'd already fallen asleep.

Lyla appeared in front of him a second later, her grin far too wide for his liking.

"Not a single word about this to anyone," he interrupted whatever it was she was starting to say. "Please. Just…give us time to figure this out."

"Gotcha, boss," she said. "But for the record, I'm doing it for her."

"Good."

•••

You squinted at the bright glare that roused you from your sleep. You always close the curtains, it was part of your nightly routine. Why did you forget it this time?

Sitting up, you flopped back down with a deep groan.

Your head was pounding.

Hungover.

You didn't miss this part of drinking at all.

After a few moments, you slowly opened your eyes, the ceiling looking too unfamiliar.

Glancing down, the color of the sheets wasn't the sky blue you recently changed it into. As a matter of fact, that bed was much bigger than you were used to.

This wasn't your room.

In fact, this wasn't your world.

"What did I do?" you whispered, glancing at the nightstand. You saw the tall glass of water first, then the few pills of aspirin.

It was the framed picture that made you realize where you were.

This was Miguel's room.

Memories from last night came rushing in like a train, using your brain as railroad tracks which made your headache worse.

You quickly gulped down the water and meds, throwing the blankets off of you only to flush at the discovery.

Boxer shorts and a huge jacket—you were wearing his clothes.

Stumbling into the en suite, your heart warmed at the extra toothbrush that was already waiting for you.

You quickly made yourself as presentable as possible before making your way to the only place you knew he would be at this time of day.

First to clock in, last to clock out.

The platform was already down when you got there.

It was as if he was waiting for you.

"Morning, sleepy head," Miguel greeted without looking away from the screens.

"Good morning," you responded shyly. You picked at the hem of his jacket, second-guessing your choice of not changing out of it.

You honestly didn't know where to even begin.

As if sensing your discomfort, he turned his chair to face you.

Something flashed in his eyes for a brief moment, something primal as he regarded your figure. It was gone the next second you might as well have imagined it.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching out both hands for you to take.

Walking over to him, you slipped your hands into his, the platform beginning its ascend once you did.

You gasped in surprise when he suddenly pulled you onto his lap.

He placed your hands on his shoulders, his strong fingers curling around your waist.

You couldn't look him far too long in the eyes.

It felt like you'd combust if you did.

"What, now you're shy?" he teased, smirking freely. It was a good improvement, but you didn't know if your heart could take it having him smile at you like that. "You didn't seem to have a problem with this last night."

"Don't remind me," you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.

Miguel chuckled.

God this was so new.

It felt like you were drunk all over again—no sense of what was real and what was all in your head.

But with the soft squeeze on your waist, and the gentle fingers circling around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face, you knew this was as real as it was going to get.

"What else do you remember?" he asked, thumbs drawing random shapes on the insides of your wrist.

You scrunched up your face. "Everything?"

He hummed, leaning a little closer to nudge the tip of your nose with his, urging you to keep your eyes on him.

"I have no idea how to do this…relationship thing. It's been a while," he started, a faint blush on his cheeks that made him so much more endearing. "But I'm willing to try this—with you."

Your heart grew ten times its size, you were sure of it.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, kissing your knuckles. "If you'll let me."

"We'll figure it out together," you said, holding his face in your hands with a smile.

"I'd like that," he whispered, grin turning cheeky. "On one condition."

"What?" Your brows furrowed.

"Morning kisses are mandatory."

You let out a hearty laugh, sound quick to turn into giggles when Miguel pressed his lips against yours.

It didn't take long for things to get heated.

You were picking up right where you left off last night, a little further given that alcohol wasn't in the equation anymore.

Yet with the way Miguel's hands were roaming your body, grabbing and groping whatever he could reach, tongue hot and heavy as it slipped past your lips, his deep groans vibrating against your palms as you rested it on his chest, his kisses moving their way onto the warm skin on your neck, softly nipping, tongue soothing—it was far more dizzying than any modified alcohol and then some.

It was a familiar voice that broke you off this time.

"Ahem! Uh, hello, I'm here!" It echoed from below. "The baby, too, by the way. So make sure you're…uhm, decent when you bring that thing down."

Miguel pulled away with an annoyed groan, eyes landing on the floating figure that appeared behind you.

If he could kill Lyla with one look—

"What?" she exclaimed. "I didn't say anything!"

"She didn't! You guys just weren't particularly…quiet," Peter B. defended on her behalf, chuckling. "And this place has the worst echo."

"Yeah, that's your fault," you whispered against his lips, pecking him one last time before getting off his lap.

He wasn't particularly happy about that either.

You pushed the button before he could say anything, the platform descending, smiling at him all innocent.

"I'm not done with you," he warned, voice deep with lust it made your whole body tingle.

"I'm counting on it." You winked, hopping off the platform before he could even respond.

Mayday landed in your arms before you could take a step.

"Hi, beautiful girl!" you greeted cheerfully, her chubby cheeks lifting as she giggled at you. "

"I wouldn't rush it," you heard Peter say.

"What?" Miguel gritted, still so annoyed.

"I know you're thinking about having a baby with her."

You bit back a laugh.

The utter silence from Miguel made it so much harder.

"You know nothing," he grumbled.

"Maybe," Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. "About time you made your move though."

Miguel grumbled something incoherent and turned back towards the screen.

Still, you caught the smile he was trying to hide.

It made you warm and fuzzy inside.

You walked over to him with Mayday in your arms. "Say hi to Uncle Miggy!"

Always your best accomplice, Mayday made grabby hands at him, blubbering, "Middy! Middy!"

Miguel sighed, carefully taking Mayday from you, before giving her a soft smile—the only other person he wasn't grumpy to. "Hello, peanut."

She giggled in response, climbing onto his shoulders, settling on them with her arms above his head. She always loved being so tall.

Miguel shot you a glare then, no heat to it at all. If anything, it was filled with pure fondness.

You grinned at him.

"You're a bad influence," he whispered to you.

"I don't think I am, Middy," you teased, standing on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips.

The way he suddenly turned flustered was adorable.

And when Mayday made a yucky sound, and Peter B. laughed, you knew your work of teasing him for the day was done.

"Come on, bub, let's go get you ice cream," you called, the little girl giggling in delight before jumping into your arms. You sent Miguel a wink before leaving him to deal with his beloved friend's teasing. Peter was practically waiting for this moment.

Many people regretted what they had done while drunk, especially when it involved something embarrassing.

Not you.

You regret nothing at all.

✫*｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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