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the-clock-of-the-time-dragon · 21 days ago

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[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

#wicked #gelphie #elphaba thropp #elphaba #glinda x elphaba #glinda upland #wicked movie #elphaba x glinda #glinda #fiyeraba #fiyero #fiyero tigelaar #elphiyero #gliyeraba

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saidrabbles · 2 months ago

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vulnerable

pairing: g-dragon x reader warnings: none word count: 1.1k

— this is for anyone that feels like a burden to others if they dare open up about their feelings —

jiyong slides in his chair, letting out an exasperated sigh. music production has been so stressful, trying to meet the high expectations put on his name. g-dragon. sometimes, he wishes he can run away from this name, from his genius producer reputation. but he loves music, his fans and...he wouldn't have met you.

he met his girlfriend of three months now through mutual friends, and he couldn't be more thankful. you're everything to him, which is why your reply made him sulk.

jy: hi baby, are you free tonight? ;) y/n: hii my beloved, im sorryy :( work has piled up and i see no escape. i'll be busy for the next few days :(

several days is way too long of a time without seeing you. "i don't blame her, i'm struggling the same with my work. but i would love to see her for an hour or two." he was ranting to his bestfriend, taeyang, on the phone with a visible sulk in his voice. "i think you should tell her that jiyong, maybe she was too stressed to think of meeting for a few hours."

he was staring at the demo he produced a few hours ago, his mind thinking of ways to make the song sound better. he forgot taeyang, still on the other side of the call, but a feminine voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "did she say she's busy with work for a few days?" "yeah, why?" he cleared his voice, "uhm guys, what are you on about?"

hyorin, taeyang's wife, sounded worried. "i think you should go check up on her, jiyong-ssi." he sat straight in his seat "why? what does it mean when she says she's busy?" hyorin sighed on the other end, "i can't talk in detail about it because it's not my place but, (y/n) has struggled with being vulnerable because of a previous relationship." he stood up fully now, rushing to save his work. "i coincidentally went to visit her with a meal when she said she was busy, and she was having a breakdown...she thinks she will be a burden if she made people rush to her side everytime she's going through something." his heart felt like it stopped working, like it malfunctioned. why would she...she's not comfortable with me?...

you heard a knock on your apartment door and you started wiping your tears, the delivery man doesn't need to be seeing dried tears and puffy eyes, you tried to joke. "you can leave it just on the inside-" you were super-glued to your place. it wasn't the delivery man. "ji-jiyong?" your voice came out thick from all the crying you did. "can i please come in?" his voice was almost a whisper, like he is afraid to raise it any higher in case you run the other way.

you silently opened the door wider to allow him in, not knowing what to do with yourself. run, hide, don't show him your weakness. your traumatised mind was screaming at you, but you were still glued in-front of the gentlest man you've ever met. his eyes had an expression you couldn't read; pain? guilt? sadness..?

your body starts forcing you to walk into the living room, but before you turned around he leaped and wrapped his arms around your waist, his head leaning into your shoulder, engulfing you whole. you stayed in your place, you didn't understand what was happening. "(y/n)" he breathed again. "(y/n)" he breathed out, "why are you crying, alone, when i'm here?" you felt your body shaking, so you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your head into the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide from the confession he was asking of you.

you held him tighter, and he returned it by pulling you closer to him. "it's not about you" your voice was more of a whisper than anything. "i know baby" you shifted in his arms, "you know?" he slowly started drawing circles on the small of your back. "hyorin told me a bit about it, but" he placed a kiss on the top of your head as he rested his chin on the top of your head, "who in their right mind would not want to hold you in their arms, like this, and smell your floral shampoo?" he tried to lighten the mood.

"a whiny, clingy person" you started "that's what he told me when i called him, needing reassurance." at which point did your tears started pooling around your eyes again, you don't know, but you notice how jiyong starts swaying the both of you gently right and left, like he's telling you he's listening. he knew you still had more to say. "i'm the type of person that holds it in, i don't complain unless i've suppressed my emotions for too long. at some point in my relationship, he started sighing anytime i tried to express how i'm feeling.." you started crying, but wanted to continue,

"so, i stopped telling anyone how i feel. every time i tried to speak, my mind would start to attack me, scream at me, and it shut me up." you hid your face in his chest as you cried your heart out. you let out all of your pent-up feelings to another human being after all this time. it wasn't just anyone, it was to the person that mattered the most to you. his arms melted away your sadness, stress, frustration. after what felt like hours, your cries were now sniffles, slowly settling into this newly cleansed heart.

you felt jiyong pull away, and pull you with him over to the couch in the living room. he sat you down, held your tear-stained face ever so gently, wiping any escaping tear from your (e/c) eyes. "your vulnerability" he kissed the space between your brows "is what you makes you human" he kissed your left cheek "becoming someone you can lean on," he kissed your right cheek "is a great honour for me." he kisses your nose "i want to know your everything, i want you to cry only in my arms, and to complain when life feels unfair." he grazed his thumb over your lower lip.

he slowly leaned in, placing a feather-like kiss. you smiled as he kissed you again, deepening the kiss, like he's sealing the promise he made to you with his warm, soft lips. you melted, feeling your mind settle into an unheard whisper. he rested his forehead on yours, sighing happily.

"i love you, kwon jiyong." he giggled at the mention of his full name, "i love you too, (y/n) (l/n)." you were both giggling at this point. you settled on his lap, as he held you close to his chest. feeling his heartbeat, you felt yourself come home. "thank you, my dearest." he reassuringly squeezed your upper arm. "always, my most beloved."

a/n: im working on a gdragon x reader slow burn friends to lovers reuqested by anon, but enjoy this scenario written by yours truly :)

#drabbles #imagines #scenarios #writing #gdragon #kwon jiyong #gdragon x reader #fanfic #oneshots #bigbang #gdragon power #mama 2024 #kwon jiyong x reader

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skulkingfoxes · 2 months ago

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A post-mortem of "Good Morning, Rose"

A few weeks ago, I posted my addition to the comic anthology GLIMM*R, a short comic called "Good Morning, Rose".

The reaction to it has been so uplifting and exciting. It really seemed to struck a cord with people, which, really, the best thing for me to hear as a creator. I absolutely love writing and making short comics, you can do much with so little, explore such interesting stories. The feedback I've gotten has been very heartwarming! It makes me want to explore short stories even more!

But, first, I want to talk about some of my feelings and about the process of making "Good Morning, Rose". This got a bit long, so you'll have to indulge me a bit. You should also read the comic first before reading this. Don't worry, it's only 8 pages.

Now the preamble is out of the way, lets go back to the beginning.

The idea of "Good Morning, Rose" was a nugget in my brain for a long time! Originally it was actually from the Dreamwalker's point of view, where she was a faceless entity who had a long term relationship with Rose and was trying to figure out how to explain that their relationships only were in Rose's dreams. It was a story about seeing, accepting, and loving each other truly and fully, and the trials and tribulations of getting there. Also a cute girl with an ancient eldrich being is always fun to explore.

A lot of it was too convoluted, emotionally and storywise. It also required to get into what the Dreamwalker actually was, which I ended up really not liking. So, ultimately, the idea didn't work, and I put it down. I ended up going to do my short comic Twigs instead.

When I was invited into the wlw anthology GLIMM*R and was told that the theme was "dreams", I decided to take another stab at the concept. This time, I inverted the pov, it's now Rose's story. And instead of a long term relationship, it was about the powerful first feeling of a perfect (maybe even too perfect?) first date.

One of the hardest thing to write in romance is getting readers to care about the relationship in the first place. To have the readers believe in the character's feeling, to be invested in their romance. This is even harder to do when you only have 8 pages to do it. Focusing it around a first date helped a lot in that case. There I'm not trying to sell that these two character will love each other forever and forever, just the fluttering first butterflies of realizing you're developing feeling for someone. It's why I leave it so open-ended about whether the two of them meet again at the end of the comic, or even if it was real in the first place. It's just not the point of the story.

That's something important about writing short stories, I find. You really have to hone in on an idea, on a thought. Take a simple idea and try to find all of the interesting layers. It's too easy to try to stuff a short story with too many ideas that ultimately go unfulfilled. In fact, the first draft of the comic, at the time called "Dream Date", there was a big problem with this and the pacing.

Here, take a look at the first stab at the roughs:

(BTW, there is something so fun about roughs for me lol. The art is so kinetic and loose, all about just getting the story across)/

As you can see, a lot of the ideas and imagery made to the final version of the comic. But both the initial readers and I agreed that the beginning and end were good, but the middle was messy and slowed things down. You can also see that I got stuck in the same problem I did when I first conceived of the story, it's bogged down trying to understand the Dreamwalker in a way that actually hurts the story. You simply dont have any room for bad pacing a short comic like this. I need to focus more on the character's and their emotions and exploring their actual relationship rather than blandly trying to explain the situation. A friend also suggested that I should hone in on the fluid dream-like aspects of the first couple of pages, especially since it's so fun to explore in the medium of comics. So I got to work gutting it out and trying again with the new, much stronger imo, direction.

Also there were some issues with the page format that needed changes for printing, thus the final spread had to be split up. Which is a shame, but oh well, it still works. I also honed in a lot more on Rose and her insecurities. I ended up putting a lot of myself into Rose. I'm glad readers seems to able to relate to her.

After figuring out the the story and the pacing, I went and, well, made the comic. Once you've done as many comic pages I have at this point, once you figure out a process, the actual drawing is fairly straightforward. Eventually, after thinking, and drawing, and toiling, and revising, and thinking hard about my life choices, I come out of the other end of the tunnel with a comic. One that I ended up really liking. One that other people ended up liking, which is always crazy to me.

I got a lot of interesting reactions to the comic. One demographic thinking it was sweet, wanting more of it (always a flattering thought), and enjoying the romance. Other remarking on the bittersweetness of it all, finding your soulmate in a dream, maybe never to see them again if they were even real in the first place. There were a lot of people remarking how they had a similar dream, one where they met someone they seemed totally and completely convinced that they were real and told the dreamer so, until the dreamer woke up. There was one person who asked if I had met the dreamwalker myself. Alas, my dreams are not this romantic and straightforward.

But all of us can hold hands, nod at each other, united by one universally true statement: big eldritch lady hot.

There's a lot of little bits I can talk about, like how Rose's dress is actively modeled after selkie dresses because I think they're cute, or some other trials and tribulations. But I think I've finished all I have had to say. I hope you enjoyed this and will stick around for my future projects! I definitely want to explore more short stories in the next year, especially as I am illustrating big graphic novels for my day job and don't have the time or energy for huge projects.

Till then, thank you so much! Happy holidays and have a good new year!

#long post #good morning rose #comic #my art

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raeinyourdreams · 3 months ago

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'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x1/x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

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strangemaleswaps · 4 months ago

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Strange Roommate Swap

I started walking back to my dorm from the last class of the day. It was my second year of college and there was no doubt autumn was coming up fast with the amount of people wearing jackets outside. I was way ahead of them, as I was desperate for the weather to get colder so I could wear my leather jacket. I felt really cool with it on, even though I wasn't really a cool guy. I was kinda sensitive and geekish, but hey, if I can look the part then maybe people will think of me as cool.

I arrived at the dorm building, walked inside, and took the elevator to get to the 6th floor where my room was. I opened the door to find my roommate, Nathan, on his PC as usual. He was a pretty big guy, at least bigger than me. I've seen his clothing sizes from when his shirts were lying on the floor, and he wore size XL, and sometimes 2XL. But even though I was gay and we were roommates, he wasn't really my type.

When Nathan noticed me, he immediately got up and started heading towards the bathroom. We were the type of roommates that rarely spoke to each other, unless it was something chore related. We should've been friends because we both spent most of our freetime online, but I guess we're both too shy. But still, I wondered what was up so I broke the silence.

“Hey what's up?” I said.

“I got a date. I told myself I'd start to get ready around the time you got back.”

“Oh nice!” Woah, he didn't seem like the type anybody would be attracted to, but I guess there were plenty of fish in the sea. He grabbed some clothes and closed the bathroom door, so I began working on my homework. After awhile he walked back out in a shirt and tie, with his beard neatly trimmed.

“Looking good,” I blurted out. He didn't seem to care how awkward I sounded because he smiled.

“Thanks man.”

He did his hair a bit and was out the door in a flash. I wondered who he was going on a date with?

A few hours later I was doing homework on my bed when the door opened and Nathan walked in. He didn't look too happy so I'm guessing the date didn't go too well. Since I didn't know much about his personal life, I didn't want to say a word in case he was the type to lash out at others. So I just continued what I was doing.

He began taking off his formal clothes. Nathan was the type of guy that wasn't shy with undressing in front of people. The sight of him shirtless wasn't the prettiest sight though. When he untucked his shirt, his belly flopped back down, hanging over his belt.

People always warned me about eating habits in college and most get that Freshman 15, but from what I've seen with old photos of Nathan, he went way beyond 15. He was as skinny as I was now on some of his socials, so he must've really let himself go. Good thing I had a fast metabolism; I hadn't gained a pound since I got to college.

He didn't take off the rest of his clothes; he just plopped down onto his chair, turned on his PC, and started gaming. I finished up my homework and decided to do the same, opening up my laptop and spending the rest of the night online until I was ready to take my contacts out and head to bed.

The next morning I woke up to my alarm, that for some reason sounded much further away. I opened my eyes to find it actually wasn't next to me at all…and for some reason I was in Nathan's bed? I looked to the other side of the room and saw a lump in my bed - a sign that someone was underneath the covers. I reached around to find glasses…although they weren't mine, somehow I could see with them. When I tried to sit up, I found it way more difficult to do so. It felt like gravity was pushing down extra hard. Maybe the sheets were weighing me down? I threw them off to find I was shirtless…and fat! What the fuck! I put my hand over the round lump of flesh to confirm if it was real or not. It was soft to the touch and felt kinda squishy. I also had a good amount of chest hair, which was something I wasn't used to, being a hairless twink. But I definitely wasn't a twink anymore!

I got up off the bed and could feel my entire body jiggle. I looked down at my belly and although it was harder to see with my big gut in the way, I noticed I was wearing blue shorts - Nathan's blue shorts. Oh god. I began making my way towards the bathroom when the covers started moving from my bed. What must've been Nathan in my body pulled them off himself and stared at me for a few seconds until he found my glasses, put them on, and stared at me again, looking even more confused.

“Brent? What's going on? That IS you right?”

“I-uh don't even know.”

“Why is it like…I'm seeing myself?” He then glanced down at himself and squeezed his shirt… I mean my shirt. He then lifted it up and bit and touched my chest, rubbing his hand around.

“Are we…?”

“Each other…”

“Fuck”

I could tell this must've been as awkward for him as it was for me. “So uh…do you want to do the big reveal?”

“The what?”

“You know. Like in those movies where they both look in the mirror at themselves and scream or whatever.”

“Uh…sure.” He jumped out of bed, and power walked to the bathroom. It was so strange seeing myself walk around, like playing a 3rd person perspective game. Is that what I really looked like? When we got to the mirror, I understood what he meant. It really was like in those movies where they freak out at their new bodies.

It was crazy to gaze straight ahead at the mirror and see someone else's face. It was like wearing a mask or something, but I grazed my hands all over and assured myself that it was all real. I slowly moved my hand to my chest and felt the curves of my…man tits. I was grossed out and pulled my hand away.

“You don't have to do that. I mean it is your body now afterall…er right now anyway.”

It was kinda creepy, the idea of him allowing me to touch his body, especially since it was spoken with my voice. All of a sudden reality set in. I was so focused on how ugly I looked that I completely forgot we had no idea how this happened or how to change back!

“We need to figure this out soon. I have class today!”

“Can't you just skip?”

“No I can't. It's the kind of class that knocks down your grade if you don't attend.”

“Oh shit. Well I could go for you I guess.”

The idea of someone else going around looking like me in public was unsettling but I don't think I had a choice.

“Fine. But hurry up. I don't want to be late.”

Nathan got ready for me, putting on exactly what clothes I told him to wear, which included my leather jacket. Seeing myself from a different perspective made me realize how hot I actually was. I glanced down at my chubby belly as I hoped this curse would end soon. I told Nathan the details of getting to my class and everything, and as he closed the door behind him, I realized that I didn't know what I should do today. He didn't have any classes of his own and I really didn't want to go out in public like this.

I walked back into the bathroom and stared at my fat self as I touched Nathan's belly. I instinctively made my way down towards his dick and felt a bulge forming. Why was this happening? I definitely wasn't turned on by Nathan. Maybe it had something to do with the idea that I was technically grabbing someone else's dick. I didn't want to see his face so I took off my glasses. That way I could kinda see everything else, but not a clear identification. I then grabbed my belly as I stroked my dick and started jerking.

The fat slapped my arm with every movement, but I didn't care. I came all over the floor and after a bit, I got dressed and decided to go outside after all. Surprisingly the idea of walking around as a fat guy in public was turning me on once again. I really didn't even mind Nathan walking around in my body now if it meant I could walk around in his!

#strangemaleswaps #male body swap #weight gain #male tf #body swap

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just-a-ghost00 · 6 months ago

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Crush series : the events leading to your first kiss 💋

Deck used : Seventh spere Tarot de Marseille deck from Labyrinthos

Group 1

Strength, Queen of wands, 8 of swords, The Moon, 2 of wands

What leads to this first kiss is a feeling of desperation. An illusory impression of being acculated, having no other choice but to act on impulse before the opportunity eludes us. I see the setting being at night time. You and your crush are not alone. You have been waiting for this moment for quite some time. You are feeling nervous but you keep telling yourself that this is now or never. You have been planning for this moment for at least a month. You have been overthinking and fantasizing about every possible way to do this, trying to build up the courage to finally kiss this person. Cause I'm pretty sure the feminine will be initiating the kiss, so if you identify as such then this is you. You may be encouraged to rush into this moment by other people. Either out of fear of seeing this person walk away and choose someone else to be with or because people have been pushing you to show this person how you felt before it was too late. This feeling of urgency isn't real though. It's like somehow you came up with the idea in your head that if you didn't kiss this person quickly, then all would be over. This feels a bit confusing to be honest and this is likely reflective of the state you will be in that day. I asked for a clarifier and got the Queen of pentacles. There's another feminine at play here. Maybe you thought that this person was hitting on your crush and had better chances of being in a relationship with them. You kissing them is your way of showing them that you care more than you let on and though you may not be sure of where this is going, you're sure as hell not going to let anyone step in the way.

Group 2

7 of cups, knight of pentacles, 10 of cups, knight of wands, 5 of wands

Okay this feels very similar to group 1's reading except that in this case the masculine is initiating the kiss. This first kiss could be happening at a party that your crush invites you to. It took quite a while for them to make this invitation. But once they do, both of you will be very happy and excited about it. I see you having fun with each other, being very chatty, sharing a couple drinks together, just vibing and spending a very good time. And then, chaos ensues. Another masculine comes into play, tries to court you a bit forcibly. You are not very happy about this. You tell this person off but they insist. Your crush interferes and gets into an argument with this other person. In a fit of rage and wanting for this person to be gone, your crush grabs you by the waist and kisses you strongly. They don't forget to look at the third party to make their statement : they are mine, don't you touch them again. For this group as well, the timing of this first kiss isn't clearly stated. It could be happening at any time depending on your situation. Another thing I'm picking up on is gift giving. So maybe this happens at someone's birthday party or maybe during Christmas Eve, a baby shower possibly. Basically any occasion that would be fitting to offer gifts lmao

Group 3

Page of pentacles, 3 of swords, Strength, 8 of cups, ace of wands

This energy is different from the two previous groups. This first kiss could be happening at a challenging time for you. Either you lost something or someone that was important to you. You are finding it difficult to move on from this situation and your mood isn't at it's best. Your crush will learn about this and contact you to ask you to spend some time together. For some of you, they may clearly state that they are offering you to sleep with them. But for others it may just be offering to spend the night together without any ulterior motives at first. Until you actually see each other and then the tension starts building. I see this person holding your face as you are crying, pinning you against the wall with as much strength as they can to help you forget about whatever is going on. This feels more primal than the other two groups. This person is acting based on instinct. They're wanting to protect you from the pain you're going through and somehow the only way they can think of doing this is through embracing you. The timing isn't very clear as well. Maybe I'll do a seperate short PAC to figure out a timing for this first kiss.

#pick a card #just-a-ghost #pac reading #love pac #tarot reading #crush series

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mxtantrights · 3 months ago

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estoy rendido del amor de una mujer

a/n: he got me y'all don't look, I'm down bad. so basically this is just a one-parter. I don't know. If you ask for a part two or if I see y'all like it maybe I can whip something up. lets just see how it goes.

and for the sake of this story: Armando didn't kill the captain, and he's out on some 'good behavior' deal and helping Mike and Marcus with cases linked to the cartel.

Armando Aretas x fem!reader

SUMMER 2023, MIAMI FLORIDA

You almost got burned tonight. A rookie cop saw you, and the heat you were packing and tried to arrest you. After hastily explaining to him that you weren't packing for no reason, he let you go. But you had missed an important meeting.

It had taken you two years to get into German's inner circle. German is a big player in the Miami scene. He's not known for being a trusting person. But he does have a thing for high ranking positions of power and women. Deadly combination, which was what you used.

Although he's putting you on the back burner after tonight.

You sigh and slot your key into the lock. The lock doesn't turn. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You take out your knife, not wanting to make too much noise for your neighbors.

Slowly you ease into your apartment. You look around quickly. The four corners of the living room are clear. Then again they would be, anyone who was lurking inside could be seen from the window.

You had your knife up as you tip toe into the kitchen. And there you find them.

Mike and Marcus. And they brought company. Three other people you don't know in your house. Your undercover house. They are all looking above something on the table, too occupied with it to notice your arrival.

"Oh what fresh hell is this." you say.

They all turn around.

Mike smiles, "I was just telling the crew about you."

You hold up you hand, "Whatever the hell this is, is gonna fuck with my shit so you need to go. Now."

"Langauge! I thought I told you that last time." Marcus shouts.

You put down your knife with a sigh.

"I've been working this guy for two years, and if he sees two cops coming out of my apartment I'm done. I'll curse if I want to curse." you explain.

The tall blonde man raises his hand, like he's in school. Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you look at Mike and Marcus.

"Dorn, you don't have to-just say what you want say man." Mike says.

The man, Dorn, nods his head and then looks at you.

"We know you're after German. And we're not here to cause any trouble but we just needed to ask for any information you have on his right hand man." Dorn says.

He picks up a tablet and shows you a picture. You look at the screen and then back at Dorn.

"Do you know him?" the woman asks you.

"That's Nico, they call him Nissan. Well, called. German found out he was skimming some off the top and lets just say he's not on vacation right now." You answer.

Mike groans, "He was our only way in."

"Into what? What have the two of you old-timers got yourself into this time?" you ask.

Mike and Marcus start arguing loudly when you call them old. You snicker as you reach into your fridge and look for the last Corona you had. When you find the bottle is not inside, you close the fridge door.

Your eyes scan the counter top, to see if you maybe left it out. But you don't find it. So you look over at the table. You find it there, opened and empty. Next to the unknown male in your kitchen.

You meet his eyes.

"You drank my beer?" you ask, though it's not a question.

He smirks and tilts his head at you. "Problem?"

You roll your eyes. Then you walk over to Marcus and Mike.

"I've told you that he's dead, so he can't help you. Neither can I. Yo've gotta go now." you say.

"No no no, hold on. If Nico is burned then the only one who can help us is you. We just need some files-" he speaks but you cut him off.

Burned. Nico is burned. He was an informant? German definitely didn't know that. Or if he did, he is keeping it close to his chest. Christ.

"Do you want me dead?! German either killed Nico knowing or not knowing that he was an informant, but either way he's dead. If I go snooping around I can just drive myself over to the morgue." you argue.

"She's got a point." Dorn says.

You turn to him, "Thank you, tall International man."

"Dorn is not international, but that's not the point. The point is, you have an in. And we need you." Marcus says.

You sigh. They need an in when you're not exactly in German's good graces. Great. Not only would you have to work your way back but you'd have to work under pressure.

"He'll smell her from a mile away." the unknown man says.

Mike looks over at him, "She's very good at what she does."

"Cops tend to have a tell." The man shrugs.

"She's not a cop. She's a freelancer." Marcus answers.

"And the best one I know." Mike tags on.

No doubt buttering you up. You groan. Yes, you liked being called the best at what you do. And it wouldn't take much to get info. You have the access. You'll be under a close eye but you can pull it off.

"Tell me what you need and when you need it by." you say.

2 DAYS LATER, MIAMI

You pulled the straps of your dress tighter. No wonder needed them to be 'loose' for an accidental cleavage slip.

The compute chimed and altered you that the information was done copying. You ejected the thumb drive and stuffed it into the fake juul packaging. You closed all the windows on the computer and pressed restart.

Now came the hard part. You smoothed out your dress and walked over to the door. You checked between the blinds and made sure no one was coming this way.

It's not like you couldn't be in the office. If someone a bit lower than you saw you coming out you wouldn't be questioned. But if someone higher than you in ranking saw, they might be curious.

You exit the office and turn down the hallway. Taking the way with the most witnesses as possible, more people to account for you later on.

Into the blue room, where you pass the exotic dancers. Then though the 'greenery' room, where some workers are watering the plants. Finally through the purple room where the weapons are stored.

You make it all the way outside with no one stopping you.

With a sigh of relief you quick walk to your motorbike. You take out your helmet and put your bag into the storage underneath the seat. Without another thought you get on your bike and ride out of the compound.

You ride from South Miami to your apartment near Hollywood.

When you get there, you go around the back. Better to let everyone think you weren't here than you were. Who knows who could be watching you.

You come in from the window in your bedroom. And somehow it feels like you're intruding because here he is. In your room.

Mike told you about him, a little. Armando is his son. His son with the cartel woman he was seeing way back when that he didn't know he had. He's done things, bad things. But he's making up for it.

Making up for it by sitting at your computer in your room.

"Oje, get the hell out of here!" you shout.

He turns to you slowly. You hate his cocky attitude. You hate his smirk and how he keeps eye contact with you. You step fully into your room and slide the window closed behind you.

Armando gets up from the seat with his hands up, "Lo siento,"

"You're not sorry, otherwise you wouldn't have found your way in here in the first place." you speak.

He looks you up and down. Yeah it was probably the dress. It's summer time in Miami and you weren't about to put on a sweater. You'd have to blend in and a sundress was about as normal as ablue sky here.

"You know spanish?" he asks.

You start walking away from him, "This is Miami."

You take out the thumb drive and open the door to your room. When you stop walking, you hear him laugh to himself. You watch him walk through it first and then you after him.

"Mike, I got it." you say as you walk into the living room.

The shades have been drawn and the black out curtains too.

"I ever tell you you're the best?" he jokes.

"Yeah every time you need something." you reply.

You hand the drive to Dorn. He takes it and plus it into his computer. You watch as the flies pop up on his screen. He seems to be reading them a mile per minute.

"What'd you want with all that anyways?" you ask.

You watch as Marcus and Mike share a look between themselves. It unnerves you. You know they have a way of talking without sharing words. It's what happens when you work with someone for so long.

Marcus smiles and claps his hands together, "Mike thinks I should be the one to tell you. Because he has a more salp-able face."

You squint your eyes.

"Are you about to screw me?" you ask.

"Not per say, but you might not like what we have to say." Marcus ushers you to the kitchen.

The two of you walk all about two steps in before he's unloading on you. He starts off pretty strong, that you''re more than capable of handling German. And that you put in the time for it too.

But then he's telling you a different story.

German is in connection with a guy they're looking to take down. Something about a syndicate. Something about getting both of them at once. And Mike and Marcus have the backing of the PD.

You can feel the steam coming from your ears.

"Marcus you can't be trying to poach my guy right now!" you yell.

"The yelling, keep it down, you're undercover after all." He holds his hands up in defense.

You cross your arms over your chest, "You don't even know who I'm working for."

"Well, it's not someone who's paying you that's for sure." He divulges.

All at once he realizes he probably shouldn't have said that. Because if he knows you're not getting paid for this job then he's went though your bank statements. And probably a lot more.

Your eyes widen and your turn around and run into the living room. There you find Dorn, hiding behind Mike, with his computer in hand.

"You got beanstalk here to go through my stuff?!" you yell.

Mike pushes Dorn back even further.

"Look, we needed to know if we were stepping on government agency toes. And now we know we're not." Mike answers.

You leap to pounce on him but Marcus is faster and grabs you by the waist. You fight against him a little, knowing the he's probably gonna feel it tomorrow morning.

"That's an invasion of privacy. But I guess like father like son, since this one was in my room when I got here." you shout.

Mike looks at Armando, "Now, I told you to get out of there."

Armando shrugs.

"I'm sorry. But listen you can still be part of it." Mike says.

"How nice of you Mike. I'll be sure to thank you when we're done." you spit sarcastically.

Marcus lets you go and you decide to take a seat on the couch. Dorn frees himself from the corner of the room and takes a seat in the arm char that is farthest from you.

"You never take a job for free. What gives?" Mike asks.

You roll your eyes. It's not like you were money hungry. Yes you needed money to survive but you weren't broke. You could afford to not work for the next ten years if you wanted to. But you'd miss it too much.

This isn't that though. This isn't fun.

This is revenge.

"I thought you read through my stuff. You didn't put it together?"

"It's revenge." Armando answers.

You turn around from your seat on the couch and look at him. He's looking right back at you. He probably didn't read your file, probably was too boring for him. But how'd he figure it out?

It's not like you left the reason on your computer. You wouldn't make such a rookie mistake.

"How'd you figure that out? Did you find her moodboard?" Marcus jokes.

You pass him a look. He takes a step back.

"Alright, alright, no more jokes about the mood board. Got it." Marcus says to himself.

"What other reason could she be doing this for?" Armando asks.

"It's been twelve years. I spent ten years tracking him down and two years infiltrating his circle. He has no clue who I am. None." you start to explain.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't in your file. Who are you?" Dorn asks.

"Well she was leader of the dirty dozen in New York. Highly effective tactile group, skin ranging from murder, assassinations, weapon making, and a whole lot more." Mike says.

"And when the group cut ties, she ran the underground for a bit. Nothing happened without her knowing it." Marcus adds on.

"Not a cop." Armando says.

"I'm the daughter of German's former right hand man." you answer.

Which is why it stung a lot that Mike and Marcus wanted to take this case from you. Knowing who you are and knowing what it means. You worked for this. And you're gonna see it through come hell or high water.

THE NEXT NIGHT, MIAMI

Mike and Marcus were all set with their crew. German would never allow them to step foot into his compound but lucky for them they don't have to.

You snuck in last night and triggered the sprinkler system. Everything got flooded. So while German is getting everything cleaned up and possibly looking for a new base of operations, he's hanging out with a buddy.

Zio. Money hungry drug mover. Only thing he loves more than money and drugs is his expensive shoe collection. Which he's putting on display tonight.

A rich man's party is the best place to re-con. You told Mike and Marcus how many men German has on him at all times, but that doesn't give them much for when the time comes to take him down.

What's their tactical response like? What weapons do they bring on the move? How many cars? Things like that. Which was smart thinking and not at all on your mind when you first started this.

Armando leans back in the van's chair, man spreading. You roll your eyes but you say nothing. You weren't really trying to talk to him. Lest he find out more about you.

He seems to be tapped in to you. Which is weird. You've never had someone checking for you before.

"I can hear you rolling your eyes from here. What's up? he asks.

He spins around in his chair and faces you. Smug look on his face as he leans back.

"Nothing. Just want to get this over with." you say.

He nods once, then he creeps closer to you with his chair. He's about a foot away from you.

"You wanted to be the one to kill him." he muses.

You look at him, "Well yes. It was my mission. I found him. I infiltrated. I lost someone to him."

"It won't make the pain go away." he says.

"Oh please don't give me the 'revenge will just turn into guilt' talk. I got it from Mike and Marcus." you sigh.

Before you can blink or think of anything else to say, you feel your chair being pulled to the left. You grab onto the only thing in view and that happens to be Armando's leg.

"If I get him in my crosshairs, I'll hand the shot to you." he says.

You look him in the eyes, "Do you want a thank you or something?"

He smiles, "No te preocopes, no quiero nada."

"It doesn't seem like you don't want anything." you reply.

The back door of the van opens and he lets go of your chair. You slide back a bit to put some space between you two. He turns back to the screen in front of him.

THE NEXT MORNING, MIAMI

The steam from the shower wafts out the bathroom. You wrap your towel around your body a little tighter as you walk into the kitchen. The tea you were making is beyond ready, the kettle at this point screaming at a frequency only dogs can hear.

You turn it off and set it aside.

As your reaching for your favorite mug, you hear faint noises from the front door. You run over to the dinning room table and reach underneath the wooden chair. Your fingers wrap around the gun and you pull it close.

One swift check and the safety is off. You crab walk to the other side of the kitchen counter, away from the door. The noise becomes louder until you hear the door open.

"Shit, where'd she go." a voice says.

A voice, you know it. You get up from your position on the floor and look around the wall. Armando.

"What the hell are you-" you're about to ask.

"We need to go. now. No time to pack. Put some clothes on." He directs you.

He almost gives you no say when he grabs you by the elbow and maneuvers you into your room. He closes the door behind him and takes out his gun.

"Am I just supposed to undress in front of you?" you question, with your eyebrow raised.

He lets his arms fall to his sides. Then he walks over to the window, allowing you to walk over to the closet. You pull the door open and grab the first pair of jeans and shirt you can find.

Making sure he's actually turned first, you then put on your underwear and bra. Then you pull the shirt over your body, lastly your pants.

You walk to your dresser and reach into the cabinet. The noise must alert him that you're dressed because he turns around.

"We don't have time. You got made." Armando says.

"What the fuck do you mean I got made?" you ask.

"What I said. You're not safe here." he answers.

You grab your go-bag and move over to the window. Chest to Chest with Armando you look up at him.

"Where the hell am I gonna be safe then?"

He doesn't answer you. Maybe because he didn't have an answer. Or because the bullets started raining into your apartment right on time. Then he was nudging you out of the window and down the fire escape.

A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, UNAMED MOTEL, ORLANDO

You put your bag down on the floor. The bed looked horrible. But horrible would have to do for now. You can't really make requests on the run.

Armando shuts the door behind him.

"Since you paid you can take the bed." you say.

He scoffs, "I'm not that kind of man."

You look over your shoulder, "Just one that snoops through my personal stuff and ignores personal space."

He says nothing. He walks silently into the bathroom and closes that door behind him too. You sigh and plop down onto the bed. You didn't understand.

Before Mike and Marcus showed up you were on track to get revenge within the next two weeks. Everything was set. There were backup plans. They were contingencies.

Now it was all shot to hell.

You hear the shower start up and lean back into the bed. And without meaning to you end up falling asleep. Right there on your back.

Armando comes out of the shower about five minutes after that. The soap sucked and the water had no pressure but at least he didn't feel like the sweat was clinging to him anymore.

He walks out of the bathroom and finds you laying on the corner of the bed. He looks you over once and crosses the room to cut off the lamps.

When the room is dark, he takes one of the pillows from the bed and sets himself up by the door. His gun tucked to his hip. This way he can keep an eye on the door and you.

You were interesting to say the least.

Usually people don't affect him this much. He can get on with his day and do what he has to do. Nothing comes in between him and a mission.

Especially now when his only mission was his freedom.

But there was something about you. Or, that's not really true. There were multiple things about you. He could see the lust for revenge in your eyes, he recognizes it well. He could tell you weren't being forthcoming either.

And he liked how you spoke your mind.

Liked? Why is he saying liked?

He doesn't really know you. He knows a little bit. He knows you only like tea, there is no coffee in your apartment. And you live in sweatpants when you don't have to be undercover. You also seem to have an aversion to the color blue.

He doesn't really know you. He can't like you.

He looks over at your sleeping form. How your lips part just a little bit and you snore. And your head leans to the right, your dominant side. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable and move you. But he knows you'll wake up sore from sleeping this way.

So he gets up. He gets up because he needs to stretch his legs. Not because of any other reason.

He walks to the bathroom and turns on the light and the vent. Hoping the sound will rouse you and you'll move on your own. He steps into the bathroom and closes the door with a bit more force than needed.

He looks into the mirror. He looks himself in the eyes.

This is bad. This is bad because you're the type of girl he would take a bullet for.

THE NEXT MORNING, ORLANDO

"Mike-"

"I fucked up. I know you wanted this, and I took it from you when I should have let you handle it."

"Mike-"

"And now you're on the run. You've never been burned before, and it's because of me."

"Mike!"

"What?"

"Shut up for a second and let me think."

You sigh.

German caught on to the eyes on him when he was at the shoe party. While anyone else would have packed up and fled to a non extradition country, he's staying here.

A sign.

Whoever it is that wanted to get him, should come see him face to face. No way in hell were you going to do that. Not only did you have the smarts to wait him out, you didn't want Mike and Marcus to put themselves on the line. They would no doubt follow you into the fire.

"I think I should make my peace with this before anyone gets hurt." you say.

There's silence on the other end of the line. With Mike not talking , you turn around to find Armando. He's standing there, two feet away from you on the hood of the stolen pick-up truck from the motel parking lot.

"That's big of you." Mike jokes.

"Very. But I mean if I see him about to get ran over, I'm not goin to save his ass." you quip.

Mike laughs, "He doesn't deserve it. Your forgiveness."

"I know," you say and Armando looks at you then. "I should probably return him to you, since he's on parole."

"Yeah well he did some things that might kick that back a few years." Mike answers.

You shake your head, "You can say it was all me. Make sure Dorn gets rid of any incriminating footage."

"I didn't tell him to go get you, you know that?"

You don't know why but hearing that makes your heart kind of thump weird. Not thump weird. Your heart is already thumping, but it feels different.

Different as you look him in the eyes.

The first time you interacted with him you hoped it would be the last. And now here he is sticking his neck out for you when you haven't been all that kind.

"I didn't know that. I'll get him back to you in one piece." you speak.

"Thanks. And keep me updated wherever you land."

"Will do. Thanks Mike."

You hang up the phone. Armando takes a step closer and you hold out the phone for him. When he does you feel the quickest static brush against your fingertips.

"You good from here?" he asks.

You nod your head, "I'm a big girl, first time for everything."

He nods once with a small smirk on his lips. He looks away, somewhere off behind your shoulder. It's not like you didn't notice he's good looking. But you just never thought about it for too long.

"Let me drop you off at the station." he says.

You don't want to smile. You shouldn't smile. "Okay."

Armando waits for you to start walking. Once your in front of him he walks over to the driver's side. You climb into the truck and shut the door.

You could've walked. The station is only ten minutes from here. You smile a bit to yourself when he puts the car in drive.

#armando aretas x reader #armando aretas #armando x reader #bad boys

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junedenim · 4 months ago

Text

it's three in the morning

for the long haul

warnings: piv, eating, pregnancy piv, mild dad!alex, and probably some other stuff too

word count: 8.8k

There was an attitude when you first met that you each would hold a sense of permanence in each other's lives. It wasn't completely romantic at first. You and Alex met through a series of shared friends.

This was 2013 and you were both otherwise occupied with separate relationships. His was longer and much more stable. Yours was a short passionate fury that ended by early 2014. Coincidentally, as did his.

But still, it wasn't a direct rebound. He was touring and when the band stopped in New York—your home at the time—you stuck around at the after-party with Alex. Nothing much happened there other than a questionable conversation three rounds in.

"It's all speeding up," he said. It was drunk talk and you weren't paying attention to the idea he had spoken before it but you tried your best to follow after. His body came closer and huddled so close to yours, which was excusable in the February chill, but debatable with the indoor heating.

He slung an arm over your shoulder and, with great camaraderie, you slid your arm behind his back; a "friendly" side hug. "Time is weird," you said.

Alex looked at you. His eyes were alcohol-glazy but his soul was bursting to say something. You could both feel the unsaid left lingering and his head moved forward at one point as if he were going to kiss you but it was then decided he would hesitate on that front.

He chuckled through his nose as if some joke had been made before turning his head to look at the buzzing partiers. He nodded at something and you weren't sure if it was related to your statement or not. You took another sip of your vodka Coke and he said, "Timing is everything."

He slipped away from you after that and it's possible he slept with someone else that night but you aren't sure. You don't even know if he would remember. He slept with a lot of people in 2014. It was a messy time.

Later in the year, toward the end of July, he called you from Iowa. Despite the hour, somewhere in the early morning, neither of you was drunk. Alex's sleep schedule had little idea of the concept of time with the mad case of severe jet lag he could be diagnosed with and you, well, you were asleep but you acted like it was normal for him to wake you up at 3 AM.

"Where in Iowa are you from?" He asked. Neither of you had really gotten to know one another. Not those small details. You knew he was from Sheffield but you don't know what college he went to or his parents' names or if he's ever broken a bone. Your relationship had never been built on knowing each other. It was always just about feeling each other. You had always gotten on well, never fought, always laughed, slung arms around one another, and thought about the maybes.

"Why do you ask?" You laughed at the idea of him calling you in the dead of night, sitting outside his tour bus, smoking a cigarette, talking about your tiny hometown.

"We're playing there tomorrow. Council Bluffs or something. You're the only person I know from Iowa." You told him that the first night you met and he latched onto it like it was some lie you told to impress people because people are usually so impressed with the concept of being a Hawkeye. Although, he never got more information about it. He didn't know that you grew up on a corn farm and you learned how to drive your dad's truck at 9 years old.

You scoffed, "Council Bluffs. You might as well just be in Nebraska."

He chuckled. "Sorry. I'll plan it out better for you next time."

"I'm from Beaman. It's close to the center. Very small town," you told him. "But there's a library and a basketball court that becomes an ice skating rink in the winter. It was dull but I liked it."

"Sounds like a nice place to grow up." You shrugged, not that he'd be able to see it. An air of silence hung over the conversation and you're not sure if he was waiting for you to say something in return. And then he suddenly said, "I've been thinking about you. Not just in Iowa."

You weren't sure what that meant. He was still so new to you and a one-on-one phone call had never been done before. You couldn't yet tell what he was trying to convey through the tone of his voice if this was some playful thing, a joke or something serious, a flirtation. "Why?" You questioned.

It was silent and you imagined him shrugging but you'd never know for sure if he did or not. Eventually, he answered, "Guess I just missed you. Is that allowed?" It was rolled in humour and tucked in a laugh so you took it as a joking sweetness. Some sense of sincerity lingered but it wasn't packed with desperation.

So, you told him you missed him too and hopefully you'd hang out again soon. The conversation ended and soon wasn't around the corner. You kept in touch, by text and through friends, but he didn't return from the road until November and you weren't yet one of the people he would hang out with as soon as he was back, especially since you were in New York and he was in LA when he wasn't on the other side of the pond.

But then you moved to LA, right at the beginning of 2015. Truthfully, it was for your boyfriend. It was an awful idea and you knew it. You had only been dating the guy for a few months and retrospectively it was never serious but in the moment fantasy and blurred visions came to mind and they took the wheel from you. Besides, you had a career that you could do anywhere, most of your friends were in LA, and there was, of course, Alex.

At a shared friend's birthday party, you saw Alex again through a barrier of smoke. Your boyfriend was off in the bathroom and Alex was pushing himself off the wall with a drunken stumble and throwing his arms around you.

"Huck told me you'd be here. Told me you're out in LA. How come you didn't tell me?" His words were rolling out of him quickly with little care where they ended up.

You did your best to reciprocate the hug and follow his sloppy manner as he leaned back against the wall. You stirred your gin & tonic with the flick of your wrist, still sober having just arrived. "It's all been hectic. We're just starting to settle out here."

His eyes drifted away, looking behind you, and when the cold hand touched your back you realized what he was looking at. "Yeah, well, once you are, we should get together or something. Alex, by the way." He waved to your boyfriend, staying against the wall this time. He looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open but his speech was clear with no slurring sounded.

You put your arm around your boyfriend's back, returning his hold. "I'd like that. We'll probably have some housewarming party at some point so..."

Alex hummed his acknowledgment like words were becoming too much work. He brought the spliff to his lips and the smell of marijuana began to give you a headache and a craving at the same time. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him away from you. It took a moment of staring before you moved to find residency on the couch, but more lingered in the air than just the smell of weed. Uncertainty persisted.

A month later, the house had been settled and a housewarming party occurred but Alex didn't attend. He had said he was out of town but you're not sure where out of town. It didn't matter much. You didn't live in that house for very long.

It would seem like fate stepped in at some point or a mere happenstance that the night you and your boyfriend broke up everyone in the world seemed to be busy. Friends were away for the weekend or had guests staying with them or simply didn't pick up their phones at 2 AM. But Alex did.

When you arrived at his house, he was peculiarly waiting in his driveway. His hands were on his hips and his head cocked in a way that some might interpret as pissed but you knew it was just his resting position.

Your unaffected nature could also be misinterpreted. You didn't feel the urge to cry, and though you were upset at the demise of a loving relationship, it didn't provoke your tear ducts and you remained indifferent.

After exiting your car, he asked, "Are you okay?"

And it was easy to nod and answer, "Truthfully, yes." It's probably easier to feel this way when you are the one who initiated the break-up.

It's also easy to feel that way when instead of going to bed you're accompanied by Alex and drinks. No rejection was involved when downing a bottle of hard liquor, especially when Alex seemed to have it stockpiled. You both operated better drunk, which could have been alarming to an outsider, but for you and Alex it was understandable. It wasn't used as coping, each other was used for that. The alcohol was just an additional treat.

"It's hard to not feel like I'm wasting away my youth," you told him, leaning your head on the back of the couch.

He was on the opposite end, cigarette stuck in his mouth as he spoke, "You're still young."

"Not forever," you lamented. "I guess that's the thing. I'm not particularly pissed it's over. I think I did us both a favour but I'm pissed about running out of time for these things. I mean, I moved across the country for this guy. I used to have fun with guys! Now I'm just following them places and desperately trying to play the role of wife. Like, who am I?"

Alex openly laughed in response.

You giggled in return, "Don't laugh at me."

He shook his head, removing smoke and cigarette from his lips. "I think you're getting worked up over nothing."

"Maybe." You shrugged. "But I don't think so. I don't know what I'm saying. Wait, yes, I do." Alex laughed again. "I'm saying I want to have fun again."

"Right." He nods.

His eyes locked with yours and once his cigarette was stubbed out and the bottle you had been clutching was placed down on the coffee table, his lips then locked with yours. It was harsh and rough like every drunk kiss that had occurred before in history.

It must have been around 4 AM at this point and everything felt hungry. Like this was—he was—your midnight snack. This is when desperation occurs. The quick need for satisfaction with no care about the journey to get there.

Alex's arms clutched around your lower back up to your shoulder blades, pulling you on top of him. Her hands grasped around the endpoints of his sharp jaw making it impossible to be stuck in a heated makeout. You straddled him but it was hard (in two ways) to not feel frustrated quickly.

You reached down, swiping your hands along his chest, and landing on the button of his jeans. Everything must come undone and he understood that perfectly. You didn't even bother to pull his zipper down, instead reaching your hand into his underwear and letting the force drag the zipper apart.

He pulled your hand out just so you could get your top off of you and while your arms were up in the air, you grind on him and soft moans escaped, swallowing it up when your lips reunited. He was a master at unclasping a bra and had easy access to your pussy through your small skirt made up of flowy material.

Your hand made small movements around his cock and his fingers grazed through your folds and he seemed to want to do a version of shared masturbation but you ached for something stronger. You lifted yourself off of him to remove your skirt and panties. He shuffled just enough to kick his jeans and underwear off the bottom of his feet. You finished reaching nudity at the same time.

Alex didn't allow you to straddle him again, pushing you onto your back as he took off his shirt. His nude body hovered over you and the back of your head hit the arm of the couch. You curled your legs around him, pushing his hips toward yours. Everything is non-verbal, all performed through signs. You've always been on the same wavelength and it feels like words would have ruined this and made this all seem questionable.

He quit the foreplay of kissing your neck and pinching your breasts and became rough like this is what you wanted, now shut up and take it. He was in you and on top of you and it's exactly what you wanted: fun. He could be described as a pleasurable jackhammer as he moved in and out of you. Everything was hard and skin was slapping but you're both moaning and none of it was silent whimpers. It was shouts of "Fuck!" and "Harder!" and "Holy shit!" and "Right there!"

It's all responded to correctly. You nipped at his neck and toward the end, he reached down to rub your clit. It's all masterfully done on both of your parts. Your walls clenched around his dick and he stretched you open to a degree that has you grasping at the couch cushions until you've come. Then, he pulled out of you, letting it all go, straight onto your stomach.

Exhaustion and complete silence fell. Alex laid back on his side of the couch, panting. A few breaths passed before he rose and grabbed a rag from the kitchen, wiping his cum off you.

"Is that your cum towel?" You joked.

His face broke a smirk and he nodded. A question hung in the air of what to do next, stuck in the middle of his hot living room. He towered over you as you sat up, slowly adjusting. He folded the rag up in his hand and then asked, "You wanna use it again?"

Laughter erupted from you but you did end up using it again the next time in his bedroom, which allowed comfort and greater sensuality. It was less rushed but left you both exhausted by the end of it. You slept like rag dolls, limbs hanging over one another, and powerful sleep.

In the morning (or afternoon, you're unsure), with your bodies connected, you both awoke around the same time, blinking away sleep and finding his eyes doing the same. Your unsaid nature returned and you weren't sure if you should even leave the bed or if you should be racing out the front door.

"Thanks for letting me stay," you whispered with tired vocal chords.

He shuffled closer, sheets rustling, and licking away sleep. "Course," he croaked. "You could stay forever."

It might have meant more, especially after fucking each other, but it felt more like a favour than a request. You ate breakfast together before you left, no goodbye kisses, and he said goodbye at the door instead of walking you to your car. Two weeks later, he joined you and a group of friends for drinks where you shared light small talk and he bought a round. You left for New York two days later with no acknowledgment of anything more. It just was what it was and neither of you was hurt by that, but both of you still felt longing for it to be otherwise.

In the heat of summer, you visited LA and met up with Alex for dinner. The LA visit was more for business but you decided to sort out the personal while you're there. His hair was longer, cut around the ears, no longer greased back. It's a reminder of that morning when everything was thrown about without care. He was dressed in a white button-down that was unbuttoned enough to have a clear view of the chain that hung around his neck and his seductiveness was so clear you have a hard time believing he didn't know exactly how this night was going to end.

There was small talk but Alex was quick to cut through the bullshit and get to the heart of things. "We've never had dinner together before," he said. "Not just the two of us." A smirk played on his face and lewd images flashed in your mind.

You sipped your wine as a coping mechanism and leaned back in your chair. You needed to be far from him, at least for now. Playing it cool was the main goal. "Are you telling me you don't want to hang out with me?"

"Oh, I want to hang out with you but I was thinking of something much different."

Intentions were clear and things were laid out on the table so when he invited you back to his house for drinks, you had no issue with him stopping in an abandoned parking lot so you could fuck each other.

Because fucking was easy and you always felt things together instead of knowing things together. So, when he takes you in the backseat, confined, and hot & heavy, it feels romantic for something usually so drenched in the word "dirty."

The leather seats stick against your sweaty back while he undoes his belt and then his trousers before sliding your underwear aside and going into you. The AC is blasting but you don't feel it and there's a lightheaded feeling likely from wine and dehydration but you blame the way his cock hits that spot in you.

The rest of the drive isn't awkward and that's when things started to feel different. It became clear that the sense of permanence with one another wasn't a platonic coincidence of sharing friends but something much more loving. You laughed that his car radio was stuck on the sports channel and made fun of the baseball announcers shouting over the Dodgers losing to the Phillies.

Before this shift, you expected to continue your intense rush to instant passion; fucking in the hallway, fucking in the living room, fucking in the kitchen, fucking on the bathroom floor, fucking in the shower, fucking in his bed, fucking against a wall, fucking on the washing machine, fucking on the ceiling if you could. Instead, you watched the rest of the Dodgers v. Phillies game, despite knowing little about baseball and Alex's knowledge reliant on Bad News Bears and high school phys ed.

Besides, little attention was paid to the game itself. He drank a beer and made you a vodka Coke and baseball is boring and Alex had suddenly become everything.

"There's a reason baseball is America's pastime," you commented. "Who the fuck wants to sit and watch this all day?"

Alex shrugged, a smile playing on his cheeks. "It's fun when they get a home run."

"It's fun when I get a strike in bowling, doesn't mean everyone wants to sit and watch me," I struck back.

He chuckled, wiping his beer lip. "You like bowling?"

"Yeah. My dad used to set up empty cans and have us play. The nearest bowling alley was 45 minutes away so we went there on special occasions."

Alex smiled, completely charmed, and that's when you started knowing each other. Later, you walked to his bedroom and had sex and while it was passionate, it had lost its spontaneity quality, which didn't lessen it, instead changing it into something new.

The following morning, you took his old words of "stay forever" to heart and never left LA. Your return move to LA was mocked by your friends for your coming-and-going nature and moving everything all over again was a pain in the ass but Alex flew to New York and helped pack your things. When you moved into your new place, Alex helped you unpack and helped "Christen the place," as he put it by going down on you on those marble kitchen counters.

Separate places felt ideal not to rush things, but soon it seemed wasteful as most nights were spent at Alex's. You weren't a big fan of your new place in comparison to Alex'ss, which wasn't shocking. Alex had a pool for Christ's sake.

Although, it still felt like the best fit. You didn't like how much Alex smoked and Alex didn't like how messy you were. While technically not living together, you fought over these things like you did.

Smoking usually went:

"It's my house. I can do it however much I want to!"

"You're going to ruin the house by smoking inside it!"

"I paid for it!"

"You're killing yourself!"

"It's my lungs!"

"I'm gonna die from secondhand smoking!"

Messiness usually went:

"You can't come over and trash my house!"

"It's barely anything! If you let me have a drawer this wouldn't be a problem!"

"It's not just your clothes! You leave dirty dishes everywhere!"

"I get to it eventually!"

"So do the rats!"

But all and all, it always ended relatively positively. Alex took to smoking on his balcony more and you would join him from time to time. You didn't really clean up more, but Alex did give you a top drawer in his dresser.

At the beginning of December, you both attended a Christmas party, where you and Alex wore a Santa hat you bought at Party City because neither of you owned anything festive. However, everyone at the party considered it to make you the cutest couple there. You both thought it was rather cheesy but you leaned into the cliche of it and got drunk off eggnog and roleplayed Mr. & Mrs. Claus at the party until it verged on too creepy.

Over a shared cup of eggnog, Alex asked you, "You want to come to Sheffield?"

Meeting the parents had never been discussed. It was easy when his parents lived in another country and your parents were scared of planes. Though excitement and nerves bubbled, you answered, "Sure" before taking a sip.

He chuckled, now accustomed to what your reactions meant. "We could do Christmas there."

You said, "Sure" and sipped the eggnog again because it helped fight against those nerves in your stomach.

Alex chucked again because he was charmed, now completely lost in you.

Christmas in Sheffield was cold. It rained heavily the whole time you were there. You and Alex only braved walking around town once on the 23rd when the rain had stopped momentarily. The city centre was time for sightseeing all his old haunts. You walked arm-in-arm with Alex in an effort to combat the cold but still keep your hands in your coat pockets.

You got a half hour in before it started pouring rain and you were left feeling like idiots for not bringing an umbrella with you. The car was far away and you both debated ducking into a bookstore but you were both already too soaked and cold and decided just to head back to the car. He grabbed your hand, leading the way, as you raced through the unbearably cold beating rain.

On the way back to his childhood home, the rain had increased even more making it nearly impossible for Alex to see properly while driving. "This is how you end up killing someone," you said.

Alex put his hand on your shoulder but kept his eyes steady on the road. "Relax. I know how to drive."

You removed his hand from your shoulder and placed it back on the wheel. "Then, keep both hands at 10 and 2," you ordered.

He laughed and reached over to kiss your cheek and while the affection made you gain a cavity, your nerves bubbled up as you pushed him away. "Eyes on the road, mister!"

You both made it back unscathed, minus your socks, which had been soaked through. The house was warm and the smell of dinner wafted through the air. The house was quiet other than the pattering of rain and some jazz record his dad had put on. It felt like coming home.

Christmas dinner, however, was hectic. You drove out to his grandparents' place and the quiet 4-person car ride led to a fistful of screaming grandchildren and uncles whose laughs broke the sound barrier.

It had you turning to him. "This is your family?"

"Yeah. Hard to believe, right?" The calmness of Alex must come from his mum's side of the family.

Once dinner was served, the noise level calmed down as people stuffed their faces and they wished to show a great impression to their American guest of honour. The questions were light and it was clear that you weren't the first American girl Alex had brought home but everyone was welcoming and Alex placed a reassuring arm on the back of your chair. He would occasionally lift his hand and play with the longest strands of your hair, bouncing the curls you had made that morning.

Later, while the young kids played with the toys they had just received as gifts, Alex and you drank tea together. It was a warm distance for the fast nights of Los Angeles. You leaned close to Alex on the settee so he could hear your words. "I like Sheffield a lot."

He turned his head away from watching the kids, meeting your eyes. A smile crept to his lips. "Good." His hand smoothed down your sweater-covered arm. "I'm happy you're happy."

That in turn made you smile. "I like this quietness. You know, of the city, not this house."

Alex chuckled and pushed the front hanging pieces of hair behind your shoulder, eyes sculpting over your body. "It's nice to come back. Feels like a reset."

You took your fancy tea cup off your fancy tea plate and took a sip, feeling like a proper English lady. "You should come to Beaman. You'll probably hate it but it's like no one else in the world exists out there."

He hummed, staring softly at you. His eyes made the ice in you melt. "If you love it, I'll love it," he promised.

"It'll just be you, me, and the chickens," you giggled.

Alex grinned, skimming his thumb over your cheekbone. "Hm. I love you."

It caught all the air in the room and it suddenly didn't feel as cold as it did a minute before. You inched closer to him and smiled because he was smiling. "You've never told me that before, you know."

He furrows his brows, playing up his acting. "I haven't?"

"Actually, you told me when you were drunk once. Back in October, at that Halloween party."

He squints seriously this time. "I don't remember this."

You coyly smile. "I know. It was when Miles and me were carrying you inside and I couldn't figure out if you were saying it to me or him."

He leaned forward, his arm pulling you toward him as he laughed in your ear before kissing your cheek. "You. Always you."

"Good." You clapped your hands. "I'll hang this over Miles's head for decades."

That night, Alex fell asleep quickly, allowing you to realize something. You nudged him awake, making him groan. "What?"

You curled your arm around him. "Nothing. I'm sorry I woke you."

His arms moved around your waist, laying you on top of him. His eyes stayed shut, not wanting to lose his sleepiness. "It's alright," he mumbled. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." You leaned into his ear, whispering, "Love you."

A grin spread across his lips, enticing you to lean over and kiss the corner of it. He hummed. "Love you too. Night."

The following year, Alex went away on tour. You stayed, he went, but it never felt like it placed a strain on the relationship. There was longing and missing but never any resentment and as Alex would put it, "It always makes for great reunion sex."

You briefly joined them in August when they played California: Santa Ana, San Diego, and Outside Lands in San Francisco. They were all one after the next and left you exhausted and though Alex was much more well-adjusted to the pace of touring, it was reaching the tail end and he struggled with the comedown on it all.

Those were the only times you grew frustrated with one another. You never really yelled or fought—maybe because you didn't want to or maybe because you were in close quarters with other people—although, you had tiffs.

Much like your annoyances at home, traveling or touring only amplified what truly annoyed you about each other but in a way—a super corny, cheesy way—you loved Alex even more for that.

"I like that you're not perfect," you said late to him one night. He was smoking a cigarette and though the weather was hot, there was a nighttime breeze that settled over the two of you.

"Gee, thanks," he quipped, puffing away.

You knocked a shoulder into him. "I'm being sweet. If you were perfect then I'd feel inadequate all the time in comparison but since you've got these flaws and vices that make you more real, in a roundabout way, you are perfect. For me, at least."

Alex grew amused with every passing word, tucking an arm behind you. "Well, you're perfect. I hope you feel that."

You shifted your body to get a full look at him. "Maybe not perfect but I feel worthy or something. You always make me feel adequate. I appreciate that."

He shrugged, unsure of how to respond. "You're easy to love. I've never struggled with that."

That's always been the word: easy. From the moment you met, it was a clear link holding you two together, and with time doing its thing, it only grew slowly into what it should be. There was never a force of change, you held onto each other until you clicked at the right time. After that, there was no way to disrupt it.

You moved into Alex's in September. After the tour (and even before), you spent all your time there anyway. He decided over breakfast one day to make it official.

He pulled out a pan to make eggs but before he could place it on the stove, he stared at it. "This is your pan," he said."

You looked up from your cereal. "Oh, yeah, you don't have small pans so I brought mine over. It's better for your eggs, you know. Heats up quicker."

Alex began to laugh, placing the pan down on the stove, and his hands on his hips. You chuckled along with him, even though you were confused. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head, trying to shake off the laughter. "Do you even have anything at your place anymore?"

"Um, I don't know." you thought aloud. You shoveled a pile of cereal in your mouth.

"Why don't you just sell the place?" He suggested. "Move in here."

You shrugged. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He questioned.

"Yeah, I mean, I like my place."

Alex snorted. "You're never at your place."

"I still like it," you insisted.

He moved over, coming behind you like a snake, and hugging your waist tightly. "Come on, move in," he whispered in your ear.

"I'll think about it," you said as he kissed your neck.

Alex decided on other plans for breakfast. You stood up to clean your bowl but his arms stopped you from making it to the kitchen sink. "I have a convincing argument," he said, taking the bowl out of your hands and setting it down.

You laughed at his bravado but you were soon overpowered by it. He bent you over the counter harshly with a kiss to your left shoulder blade as a form of salvation. He kneeled down on both his knees and grazed his hands on your butt, playing with the fabric of your shorts. He squeezed and pulled and yanked, eventually dragging the material off of you and having it lay at your feet.

Alex's slow nature in the morning took hold as he danced his fingers around your cunt. The tips of his fingers edged on the lips of your pussy. The thumb on his other hand, touched over your asshole, making it pucker up with tension.

"Your teasing is only making me want to say no," you said, desiring relief as soon as possible.

Alex only hummed and muttered, "Interesting." He placed a light kiss on your inner thigh but it only felt like he was moving further away from the point of release. He moved up and kissed your left butt cheek, his hand squeezing the right.

His touch became light and he moved his hand back down to your lips. "I know how to get you there," he insisted. He tapped both your knees. "Spread. They're so close together. It's like you don't want me to touch you."

"It's called being bored," you retorted.

Then, Alex slapped your ass. He'd never done anything more than a pat and it was usually more in a casual setting, not when you were butt naked and not that hard.

You turned your head around, looking down at him with a squint. "Did you just slap my ass?"

"Yeah," he quickly admitted. "Why? Did you like it?" A smirk presented as if he already knew the answer.

You didn't want to give in to him. This was frustration, it wasn't supposed to be satisfaction. You wanted him begging for you, not the other way around. But you couldn't help it. You bit your lip and turned away, not wanting him to see the pleasurable smile on your face. "Maybe."

But then he overwhelmed you, diving straight in and placing his mouth directly on your cunt, dragging a long moan out of you. You could feel the coldness of the counter through your shirt, erecting your nipples. Your hands made a fist, unable to grab onto anything, thwarting you.

His tongue plunged into you and then moved up to your clit before pulling away again, making everything unbearable. His mouth moved to kiss your inner thigh before he left completely to slap your ass again. "You alright?" He asked to make sure, even if you gasped in delight at every feeling.

"Go back down," you demanded.

Alex listened and returned to your core, licking his way through your fold, and reaching his tongue up to your clit. He continued the game of agony, moving back and forth from the pleasurable, but slowly the edging made for a great build-up and he began to lay it on thick, never abandoning your clit until your legs were shaking and you were practically pushing him away from you.

He stood up and slapped your ass. You moved in on Tuesday.

Not much changed. You already had drawers in his dresser and space in his closet and pans in his kitchen. You had already infected his house with your essence and the only difference was you weren't paying rent on a place you were barely ever sleeping.

As the new year began, things slowed. Alex started growing his hair out, stopped shaving, and became far more reclusive. He had grown tired from the road, was now in his 30s, and, most importantly, settled. At times, that thought was terrifying for you, staring down the barrel of this being the rest of your life. Other times, it was comforting, usually waking up in the morning next to Alex.

But there was a lifestyle shift in Alex that you weren't yet aligned with. He rebuffed the idea of going out, talked about leaving LA, and locked himself away in his music room. You weren't particularly annoyed at the latter other than it sometimes felt like he was locking you out of part of him. The idea of leaving LA wasn't unappealing, but he longed for England more and you were American through and through. Going out, well, maybe that's where you got into trouble.

Alex's newfound life as a hermit wasn't horrible now that you were living together but you started to go out more and more without him. Usually with various groups of friends, sometimes for work, two times with Miles, and one time by yourself. Alex said no to going so often that you stopped asking. Soon, you weren't spending many nights together. He'd stay up late working on music or you'd stay out late drinking. Like everything else, it eventually came to a head.

"I think I'm going to Beaman next week," you told him while getting ready to go out one night.

He was in the shower. He was staying in. "Why?"

You furrowed your brows toward the shower curtain. "I haven't been back in a while. My mom's birthday is at the end of the month."

"Alright," he said over the sound of rushing water.

"Do you want to come with me?"

For a moment, only the shower made a noise. It didn't even sound like Alex moved an inch. You stared at the shower curtain and thought he might pop his head out. But he didn't and you didn't move to open the curtain either. Finally, he answered, "No, no. I think I'll stay here. Jamie's coming into town soon."

You thought about fighting it or asking him if he was going to do anything with Jamie, instead, you said, "Okay. I'm leaving now."

"Alright," he said, "Have fun. I love you." He never came out from behind the curtain. When you came home he was asleep.

Upon your return from Iowa, Alex picked you up at the airport. The car ride home was pleasant and he made dinner. You were scraping your fork along the plate when he asked, "Would you ever want to live in Iowa again?"

You snorted at the ridiculousness. "I left home when I was 18 and have only lived in New York and LA. Does that strike you as someone who wants to move back to the Midwest?"

Alex shrugged and thoughtfully looked down at his nearly empty plate. "I just never knew if you thought about it."

"Are you thinking about it? About England?" You leaned on your fist, eager for the answer.

He shook his head. "I'm just homesick, I guess." He then stood up and took his plate to the dishwasher.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You shouted into the kitchen.

You awaited an answer from the other side of the wall. You heard the dishwasher shut and his feet pad across the wooden floor, he stopped in the archway, facing you. With certainty, he said, "I'm happy here."

You stayed seated. "Would you want to move back?"

He looked unsure but answered, "I don't think so."

"You can be honest," you assured him. "If you think I'm worried or going to shoot it down. I mean, I'm not saying yes, but if you're thinking about it I think we should talk about it."

He shook his head. "I'm not saying I want to be here forever and maybe that's something we should talk about since..."

"Since?" You questioned, clueless of where his words were leading.

Alex laughed at you, turning away, not bearing to make eye contact. "Since we're us. You and me."

"I'm confused," you said, crossing your brows. "What's this have to do with England?"

He laughed again, nerves tackling him. "We're not just fooling around here anymore. This direction..." He motioned a straight line and though you were catching on you still wished to hear him talk in full.

"This direction?"

He rolled his eyes with a smile, exasperated by your questioning. "Look, we've talked about it."

You playfully raised an eyebrow. "It?"

He wagged his finger at you. "Quit playing games with me here."

"Oh," you nodded enthusiastically, "the marrying me thing. You talk around it like it's a curse word."

"'Cause it makes me nervous." He played with the ends of his hair as a soothing mechanism.

You shifted forward, leaning your head onto your hand, resting it on your knee. You genuinely asked, "Why does it make you nervous?"

A nervous smile played at his lips as he calmly said, "Why the fuck do you think?" He laughed, feeling overwhelmed, both of you.

"You tell me," you egged him on.

Alex threw his head back, exhausted from you toying him. "You do the laundry. I know you've been in my underwear drawer."

You giggled, remembering the sight. "Well, you put it in your underwear drawer, how cliche are you?"

"At least I didn't do my sock drawer!" He shouted, trying to insist he wasn't such an idiot. "I didn't think you'd go digging around in there."

"Hey!" You assert. "I didn't find it. It found me."

You both laughed and soon the room fell quiet. "Hey," you said. "You got me a princess cut." It was dainty like you wanted, no giant diamonds, and no uncomfortability. A simple, classic look. He did good.

He kept a small smile, despite both of your racing hearts. "Well, that's what you wanted."

You grinned back, sitting up straight, and leaning your side into the back of the dining room chair. "You got my ring size right too."

He raised his eyebrows. "You put it on?"

"On my right hand that way I didn't break any rules."

Smiles were plastered on each of your faces. "Should I just go get it?" You'll probably cry if he does go get it.

"Yes. And yes to your next question too."

"I haven't even gotten down on one knee."

You shook your head. "You don't have to get down on one knee."

"I want to." He does. And the ring fits just as well on the left as it did on the right.

Just like moving in, being engaged isn't that much different either with the exception of getting your mother off your back and a nice new piece of jewelry. Alex enjoyed calling you "fiancée" when introducing you.

You started to go out less but when he did he came more often. It was a non-verbal comparison and with a new album on the horizon, you started to stockpile time together. Any wedding talk was limited but agreed upon to take place after the tour so you could enjoy married life together. Alex also heavily enjoyed the in-between state of being engaged and what you thought would be the dull before the actual excitement of marriage, turned into its own new game.

You accompanied him more on tour, mostly because it was much longer this time. You joined him for branches, attended the US shows, made him shave his head in Texas, and made your way over to London. There were bigger breaks this time with things not packed so closely together. You spent Christmas in Iowa with Alex for the first time. You went to Hawaii for his birthday. You went bowling for Valentine's Day.

When the tour ended and there was an actual wedding to plan, everything felt stuck. It was either too cliche or too underwhelming. It became easier to just get married and worry more about planning a party. So, you got married at a cute small inn with sycamore trees with a small number of guests. Those who would be willing to sit through a wedding without getting antsy.

The reception party grew in numbers and the loveliest part is you didn't have to worry about cleaning any of the mess up. Alex got cake on his suit and you went to the bathroom more times than you can count. But overall, it was a simple, sweet night.

Honeymooning (fucking) in Fiji and then resuming life two weeks later. "Wife" became Alex's new favourite word but everything else stayed the same. Well, for about a month.

You just had a feeling. You woke up one day and felt it. You nudged him awake, it was early before the sun was up. "Alex."

He hummed in acknowledgment, shut-eyed.

You burrowed into him and nonchalantly said, "I'm pregnant."

"What?!" His eyes were wide and his face wrinkled in confusion. "Seriously? When did you find out?"

You flopped onto your back, turning your head to the side to look at him. "Just now. I can feel it."

"So, you feel like you're pregnant?" He questioned.

"Yeah."

"But you don't know it. You didn't take a test?"

"No, but I know. I'll take one in the morning, I just wanted to let you know. Night." You turned over into your pillow and closed your eyes.

Alex sat with his mouth agape. "Yeah. Night." He didn't fall back asleep.

And you were right. You shrugged and said, "Told ya." Alex laughed. Then, he cried. Then, he hugged you. Then, he kissed your stomach, but you thought that was too weird so you told him to stop.

Being pregnant definitely changed things but things felt the same just with one more thing. You fucked. A lot. Your sexual appetite increased but you had always been horny for Alex. It's just a given. But there was a point where things did change.

It was the first ultrasound. You felt it when you entered the room. The air was cold and there was a shift, everything suddenly becoming real. You enjoyed watching Alex twiddle his thumbs while you waited for the technician.

When they started to move the wand around your stomach, he became fascinated with the machine, continuously asking questions. More of them were about the machine rather than the baby.

And, well, then the whole twin thing happened.

"Like two of them?" Alex held two fingers up like he couldn't quite comprehend it.

The technician nodded and you still couldn't think of a verbal response to the news.

Then, Alex said, "We've been having a lot of sex, did we like make another baby when we—"

You interrupted, "Are you the dumbest person alive?"

Alex pinned the ultrasound to your fridge and kept a copy in his wallet. He held an affection for it that you didn't. Maybe because you were the pregnant one. The proof came attached to you. Nonetheless, you were charmed by Alex in his fatherly role, even if he stressed you out with the need to be super-ultra-prepared. His nervousness about what you could and couldn't do got annoying by the second month. He calmed down after you yelled at him.

Although, it was nice for him to take on the extra work. You picked out the design for the nursery and he did all the work, citing that you couldn't paint because of the toxic fumes and everything was a heavy load.

He knew you were full of bullshit but he didn't care. "I like helping out. Being the man in charge."

You told him not to get too full of himself. His insistence on doing everything led him to break his index finger.

But after everything had healed and two babies became two girls, you both relaxed into your final months of solitude, which really just meant lots of sex. You fucked and he went down on you but sometimes you felt too sore down there from all the pelvic pressure and though Alex insisted that no sex was fine, you insisted that release was release, even if it wasn't your release. Alex still fondled your breasts too, saying that's where all his horniness came from.

"How can I not be turned on when they're just staring at me?" They were bigger and Alex was always insatiable.

"I feel like a cow," you whined. You were bigger with two babies and the only way you did have sex was doggy style with everything hanging.

"You're not a cow," Alex said, climbing into bed. You were under the sheets, exhausted at 9 PM. He curled up behind you, whispering in your ear, "You want me to fuck you on your side?"

You thought about it, felt the ache, and said, "Okay."

You were already underwear-free because they hurt your vagina too much when you slept. You had returned to your old days of quickness. Alex pulled himself out of his boxers, gave himself a few pumps, and slid into you. You softly moaned as Alex pushed into you slowly at first before his thrusts grew quicker. He knew you were tired and needed a quick release.

"Fuck," he harshly whispered as his speed picked up, skins slapped, and sweat beads formed. He clutched your hipbone tightly and you fisted your pillowcase. Every action rushed and a final slam resulted in you falling apart and him emptying into you. His hand caressed up your bump and you knew he was very turned on but the whole pregnancy sex things and not just because of the boobs. However, he did love those too, and gave them a quick squeeze before cleaning up.

The final change came in an expected way. Labour was shorter if only for the epidural and the C-section. You wanted to resist the idea until the thought of pushing two babies out set in and the pain became too unbearable and Twin A was breached and then a C-section seemed like the best thing, even if it was surgery.

Alex liked wearing the medical gear and kept adjusting his mask. Oh, Alex, sweet naive Alex. Luckily, everything was smooth, except for the fact you couldn't hold the babies until they had sewn everything up. But Alex cut the umbilical cord and got to hold them, which was a sweet enough sight.

When you were placed in recovery and finally got to hold them, then came the hard part. "What do we name them?" You asked.

Alex shook his head. "I got no fucking idea." Names had been discussed but you never really landed on one let alone two. "You should name them. You carried them and they're getting my last name."

"It's too much pressure," you whined.

Alex sighed and concluded, "Thing 1 and Thing 2 it is then."

Eventually, you decided on Wren and Willow. You initially hated the shared first initial but Alex liked it and it became too frustrating to think of any other names.

The first month was harsh. Your body was slowly healing and you ached all the time. You had backup with both sets of parents but then everyone went back home and everything shut down and it was just you, Alex, and Wren & Willow. It didn't actually feel like much had changed. It's not like you would have left the house anyway.

Alex takes to having the girls nap on him. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes both. Sometimes he will let you nap in his arms too. The days are long but the weeks move fast.

One day, Willow laughs. It's the first time either of them has laughed. It took you both by surprise. You were feeding Wren while Willow laid on her back with Alex loomed over her. Usually, when he would blow raspberries on her stomach she would just gurgle and flap her arms and legs around, but this time she laughed, and it’s the loudest sound you've ever heard.

Alex looked down at her, completely engaged, not bearing to take his eyes off, scared to miss the sight. It gets him laughing too with tears in his throat. He leaned down again and blew more air against her tummy. She shrieks this time, giggling, and you want to capture the sound forever. Run and have Alex record it.

But you looked down at Wren and rubbed your finger against her tiny baby cheek, deciding that there was no need to move from this comfort.

They aren't easy babies. There are two of them too. They both wake each other up, which means both you and Alex have to get up because it's 2 v. 2 and they're small but mighty. They eventually get on a sleep schedule and a routine and trade-off between you and Alex is set into place.

By the end of the year, it's the new normal and you don't remember a time when they weren't around. You want to be with them all the time just like you want to be with Alex all the time.

They're great. But then they wake you up at 3 AM.

a/n: so...this slowly became a prequel to my dad!al fic and i decided to just finish it that way. i also have not read through it because i'm tired so any mistakes you did not see.

#alex turner fic #alex turner x oc #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #alex turner #alex turner smut #junedenim

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suchawrathfullamb · 3 months ago

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No, the flannel and the wolf cut don't make you look like Will Graham. I see a lot of people trying to emulate Will's style or hair but of course it doesn't satisfy them because they're not fully getting what they actually wanted, which is the Will VIBE. So here's a guide, for you, because I love you, and fashion and aesthetics and the codes of physical appearance.

How to Give Will Graham

(oh and do check out my vibe analysis where we go into the spiritual code of Will Graham using astrology and numerology).

Now, I'm sure you didn't aim to give "plaid and kaki" vibes, right? Maybe you did, in that case you can move along. But if not, you were aiming for Will by just copying his clothes, which would never work because he doesn't give plaid and kaki guy, he gives sexy confident motherfucker with a gun who isolates himself because he thinks he's too cool but also because he is a menace and has no patience for people.

In other, better lol, words, he has the codes of disinterested academia. I made that up. But it's accurate.

It's the code of intellectuality but without the academic flair of formality.

Sam Winchester has almost the exact same wardrobe yet the vibes are different (the character arc is the same, interestingly enough), Sam is softer and kinder, and Will is more fuck everybody get out of my sidewalk vibes.

So there's an arrogance to Will. He isn't interested in what most are, he thinks most things are boring. And he's also hiding his true self, which comes out a bit more in Season 2 when he have the Slut Fashion Transition, which is excellent. Translating that to his style, you have outfits that carry a bit of an edge, although concealed to avoid exposure, and lack of attention to detail. So Will would not care to choose patterns because that is too much detail, or belts, or too many layers. His mind is busy with other things, he cannot focus on styling details.

So you can evoke the vibe without copying his exact outfits. As long as it has the elements of a put together but simplistic academic "southern" style. Which is also known as rugged americana.

(post prison inspired)

(twitchy man, season one inspired)

#nbc hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #hugh dancy #fashion #analysis #codes

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winniewritesstories · 15 days ago

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Seeing Crimson | Soldier Boy x Wife!reader

Summary - You're sick of your husbands relationship with another supe, even if it's just for show. Set around 1980.

Pairings/characters - Soldier Boy (Ben) x wife, wife!reader

Warnings - language, Vought are dicks, angst with cliff hanger ending (kinda)

Language - English (British)

Word Count - 2,297

Notes - Sorry about the ending lol. Not proof read.

Credits - this imagine is partially inspired by @syrma-sensei <3

Star divider is @cafekitsune

A while ago, Vought decided Soldier Boy needed a girlfriend. You didn't pretend to understand their bullshit reasons - publicity, good image, blah, blah - and you definitely didn't understand why it couldn't be you, why you and Ben couldn't finally go public with your relationship.

Oh, no. Of all people, it had to be her. Crimson Countess. The nation's favourite whore.

When Ben had first told you, the argument had been fierce. You couldn't understand why Vought decided he needed a girlfriend, why it couldn't be you, and why it had to be her instead. Ben had reeled off the crap excuses they'd given him - it needs to be someone famous, we'd make a great power couple, you're not a supe - and it equal parts broke your heart and enraged you.

Of course you understood Ben wasn't happy about it, either. You knew he loved you - he had married you, after all - and you knew it was just for show. But it still hurt. Still pissed you off.

And then today - today, Ben and Countess had been doing some red carpet, interview type thing, and she pulled him in, kissing him firmly on the lips, leaving her bright red lipstick all over him. You'd seen it on the news, the video of their kiss playing over and over again in your mind. You could read Ben well, saw his body stiffen, his hands staying where they were, not pulling her closer. The way he pulled back quickly, jaw clenched. He hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't wanted it.

You were sat on the couch, arms crossed over your chest. Ben would be home any minute - likely with flowers, or wine, or both, ready to grovel - and you were doing your best to remain calm. Level headed. Trying to remember this wasn't him, it was Vought. The front door creaked open, and you heard him leave his boots and shield by the door - something he never usually did, which meant he was sorry and he didn't want to piss you off further.

"I'm home," he called quietly, checking the kitchen first, then rounding the corner to see you sat stoically on the couch. "Hey." He sat down next to you, close enough to bump knees gently but not too close, in case you were mad. You didn't say anything, didn't look at him, just sat staring ahead. "You mad?" he asks, as if he couldn't read it on your face. One of his arms rested on the back of the couch, the other fiddled with his super suit. You let out a sigh.

"I'm not mad at you, Ben." You say quietly, and it's true, to a certain extent. It's not his fault, not like he asked for it.

"Not even a little bit?" he asks. You give him a small, sad smile.

"Maybe a little..."

"Why a little bit?" he questions, a small frown gracing his forehead.

"You didn't bring me flowers, which you always do when you mess up." You reply with a smirk. Ben rolls his eyes fondly, his hand moving the hair off you shoulder tenderly.

"I'm so sorry I forgot your flowers, princess. Is that all you're mad about?"

"Mhmm..." You muse quietly, one finger tracing patterns over his thigh absentmindedly. His finger moves to your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes.

"You sure that's it?" he prompts again, and you try and avoid his gaze, letting out a long sigh.

"They were talking about you today, at work. You and... her."

"Saying what?" he asks, almost defensively.

"How... good you two look together. That you're a- a great couple and you'd - that you'd..." Every word feels like poison in your mouth, spitting them out through gritted teeth.

"We'd what?" he prompts, finger tracing your jaw gently.

"They said you'd make cute babies," you say finally, shoulders slumping in defeat. Next to you, Ben tenses up, clenching his jaw. He cups your cheek, making you look at him again.

"That is bullshit. Absolute crap. I love you. I married you, not her. She is - she's a - a prop. Set dressing for Vought. I love you, darlin'." he says emphatically, his rage simmering beneath the surface of his words. "You know that, right?"

"I know," you say softly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Ben looks at your hands, recognising the anxious habit. He picks your left hand up in his own, kissing the back of your hand, the ring on your finger. He can tell there's more, something else troubling you.

"Talk to me, doll," he requests softly. Your fingers entwine in his lap, his other hand still stroking your hair.

"It's just-" You sigh sharply. "I didn't mind being a secret. I... I understood why Vought wanted it that way - why you wanted it that way. I'm fine being out of the spotlight, away from potential danger. But... this. This bullshit with Countess... I don't get it. I know, I know you gave me their crap excuses, but you and I know it's shit. I don't care about being secret, but now... now I feel like the other woman." You try and explain. Ben's hand tightens in yours, his fingers stilling their gentle wanderings through your hair. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry, darlin'. I - I never meant for this. For you to feel like this. But you - you are not the other woman, you hear? You are my wife - mine. I love you, I chose you. You could never be the other woman, okay?"

"I know that, Ben. I'm the one with - with the ring, and the house, with your last name, for crying out loud. Logically, I know all of this, but that doesn't make it any easier, doesn't make it hurt less. First Vought said you couldn't have a girlfriend because of your image, now you suddenly need one for your image? And that Crimson bitch of all people? It just - it makes me so mad." You fume, working hard to try and keep your cool. Ben, you can see, is trying to do the same.

"It's not real, though. It's just publicity." He retorts, jaw tight as he tries not to direct his anger at you.

"The way it makes me feel, the way it affects our life - that is real. Ben, every time I leave the house, I see the two of you plastered on every - every billboard, the side of every bus, on fucking soda cans. I can't even go to work without seeing a magazine with the two of you on it, or without half the department talking about you and your movies and how great you look together, and it kills me, because I just have to take it, to put up with it." I cry, frustration building, eyes welling with tears. Ben feels guilty - how could he not? - that his crap is affecting you so much, that he can't look after you properly. But, in true Ben fashion, it presents as anger.

"What the hell do you want me to do, then?" he yells. The both of you are now standing - god knows when that happened - facing each other, breathing heavily. Ben's fists are clenched, your arms crossed over your chest as you stare each other down. You both know your anger is with Vought, but now you're taking it out on each other.

"I want you to fight for me, Ben! Stand up to them, for God's sake. You're supposed to be the strongest man alive, America's greatest superhero! Fucking act like it and do something. Fight for me, for us! How are we supposed to have a future if we're living in the shadows? How can we have - children, a family?" You shout back, frustrated that he doesn't seem to get it. Why wasn't he trying harder to end this publicity stunt with Countess?

"I can't, don't you see? We have nothing without Vought, they call the shots. I can't just turn around and tell 'em to fuck off. They own me, Y/N, which means by extension, they own you too. We piss 'em off, they could - fuck, they could have you killed. We would lose everything."

"We don't need them, Ben. And they don't 'own' you. Maybe the own the - the Soldier Boy name, the suit, whatever; but they don't own you, Ben. And we could do it, we would be fine without them or with whatever consequences they throw at us, if you would just stand up for me!" You shout back, chest heaving with anger, fighting back the tears in your eyes. His eyes simmer with a dark rage you never see targeted at you.

"I am Soldier Boy, it's not just a name, a - a costume. I thought you understood that? And provided they didn't — didn't try and have you killed or something, we would lose everything. The house, the cars - all of it." "I don't care about that! Let them have it! I don't need a fancy house or expensive cars, I need you. I married you, Ben. Not Soldier Boy, and not Vought. I chose you, I want to have a family with you, and I don't care where that happens."

"Really? You'd be fine with, what slumming it? Living in some crappy, too-small apartment, or, or a cabin in the mountains? No vacations, no fancy dinners, none of it?" he retorts condescendingly.

"Ben, I have never given a shit about that, about any of it! We could be on the streets, in a shack in the arse end of nowhere, and it wouldn't matter to me, because we'd be together. Don't you see that? I don't care where we are, how big our house is or how many vacations we go on. All of that - it matters to me because of you. It matters that this is our home that we made together, the walls that we painted this fuck-ugly green, that crooked shelf in the kitchen that you put up. It matters that you planned our vacation last year because you know I love Paris, not because we flew first class to get there. This ring - you've always known I love sapphires, that is why I love it, not because of how much it cost or where you brought it from. I don't - I don't care what it costs us, Ben, but I... I can't do this anymore. I can't feel ashamed of our relationship, I can't feel like the mistress in my own marriage. Please." Your voice gets softer with every word, until those last few sentences are barely more than a whisper, tears sneaking down your cheeks. Ben looks at you, brows furrowed, eyes displaying pain and an insurmountable love. He swallows, taking a step towards you.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, pulling you into his arms. "I'm sorry I - fuck, I'm sorry I said you only cared about - about... I love you. So much, I do. I - I can't lose you, I won't lose you." He pressed a kiss to your head, his strong arms holding you close. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, wiping away some of the tears. "Do you really think the walls are fuck ugly?"

You laugh, shaking your head at him. "Kind of. I... I liked the green in the store, but it doesn't look right here. That's also not the point."

"I know it's not." he says, smiling as he plays with your hair. "I'll tell them. I'll... we'll figure it out. Together. I just... we have this thing, in Nicaragua. I need the team to be together, to be focussed for that. Can you wait until then?" You nod slowly, understanding the importance of the upcoming mission.

"It'll give us a few weeks to get things in order, too." you say softly. You disliked Vought before this, but now you loathed them. Might as well take them for as much money as you could. "We could... transfer the house, the cars, into my name. Then they wouldn't have a claim on it, right?"

Ben nods thoughtfully, brows furrowed. "That's not a bad idea, doll." He sighs, looking down at you, hands still on your cheeks. "I love you. More than anything." He says earnestly, leaning down to kiss you gently.

"I love you, too." You whisper against his lips.

"After Nicaragua, then. I'll tell them to shove the Countess thing, that we're going public, take it or leave it." He says with conviction, a determination in his eyes. He presses another tender kiss to your forehead. "Did you mean what you said just then? About - about wanting a family. Kids." He asks quietly.

You smile softly, nodding your head. "Yeah. I do want a family with you, Ben. I always have." He smiles, eyes bright, as if he can't believe.

"Really? You - you want to have a baby? With me?" You nod again, chuckling softly.

"Of course I do."

"We could.... I mean, only if you wanted, of course, but... we could try. For a baby, I mean. When we go public, after Nicaragua. We could have a baby." He murmurs, almost afraid to say it aloud.

"I do want to. And yes. Let's... let's try for a baby." You reply with a tender smile, cheeks flushing a light pink at the thought.

Ben beams. "Okay then. After Nicaragua, we'll tell Vought to stick it and then have a baby." He says softly, almost reverentially.

"After Nicaragua," you repeat softly, smiling at the thought.

🫣 sorry about the ending!! please let me know if you enjoyed!!

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