#see: not wanting to share any of it with his big city friend

[millidew]

if the p4 the magician manga gave us anything it was yosuke canonically using kaomojis

[followmybadreligion]

Thinking about bf!art who’s so obsessed with you that it borders unhealthy…

You’re the first thing on his mind in the morning; what do you want for breakfast, is that position you’re sleeping in comfortable, are you going to kiss him good morning or just say the words— all questions he sifts through. He doesn’t even have time to wipe the sleep out of his eyes before you consume his thoughts.

Most of the time, he sits on his side of the bed and gazes at your serene figure glowing softly in the early morning light. He hates to disturb you, knowing how upset you usually are when he does, but seeing you like that never fails to awaken an almost desperate need for you within him. He’ll fight it off for as long as possible, but as you release a deep sigh and shift your head his way, showcasing that pretty fucking face, he just can’t help it. So, in the blink of an eye, he’s pressed his body against you, one arm underneath your torso and the other on top of it, caging you in his warmth. He’ll lay there like that with you, matching your rhymic breathing like it were the beat to his favorite song, until you wake for the day, ready and willing to give him all your love.

And boy is he demanding of your love.

Art's like a battery of sorts when it comes to affection. When you've given him enough, charged him with your kisses, affirmations, or whatever else you were willing to give, he's at his best and brightest, going through the world with a big, lopsided grin and tingles in his chest. This is where he likes to be--- full of your love. However, if he feels as if he hasn't gotten his fair share, and starts feeling a little neglected or ignored, be prepared for a completely different boyfriend.

He'll show his discontent in small ways at first-- way more touching, little whines and grumbles when you're focused on something else, pointless reminiscing just to get you to talk-- all ways of him trying to scratch his itch for your attention. But if all that fails, and you're still not giving him what he wants, he gets more and more demanding. You were working on an important work project? Guess who just shut your computer! You were in the middle of a phone call? Guess who has the overwhelming urge to kiss you now! You were on the way to meet up with a friend? Guess who's not letting you out of the house (at least without a fight)? He just can't help it. When it comes to you and your love, he needs all of it and then some.

But, he's also incredibly aware of how smothering he can be sometimes. It's one of the things he's most insecure about in your relationship, actually.

To him, his want for you never runs dry. He could sit in an empty room, with nothing but you to entertain him, and he'd feel as if he'd just sailed the seven seas. So why don't you feel the same? Why do you constantly seem to push for space? Why don't you want all the love he has for you?

He'll rarely ever bring that insecurity up, though. To him, it's pointless-- you can't make yourself want more of what you already have. Instead, he'll just try to find new ways to present it to you.

Naturally, he likes to show his love through his money and his time.

In the beginning, you had to get used to his on-a-whim, thousand-dollar restaurant dates or his random weekend vacations for the two of you. You had to learn how to accept the designer clothes he bought you, or the big bouquets of roses he sent to your house and your job. You had to learn to lean into having a man who was willing to drop any plans he had the second you called him.

And it was a lot.

Sometimes too much, and Art started to pick up on that.

So he adjusted.

Instead of buying you lavish gifts and taking you fancy places all the time, he started to cut back to maybe once or twice a month (still insane but he's trying). He planned smaller, quieter dates for the two of you, like cooking dinner or baking together, or trying new desert shops around the city, and can you tell this boy really likes to feed you? He began to focus his efforts on being more helpful to you, as well. Need him to pick up some dry cleaning? Done. Sick of washing dishes? He's got it covered. Forgot to order groceries for the week? He's already made a list. Any and everything he could do to make life stress-free for you, he'd do.

And then don't even get me started on the sex.

Art is absolutely drunk on you. Your body, your scent, your voice-- all of it.

Before you two were together, Art was ashamed of the way he lusted after you. It made him feel perverted and dirty sometimes, the way he’d be practically drooling at the slightest glimpse of your shape. He was always the first to view your Instagram stories, (because he had your page notifications on) and at first he told himself that he was just eager to see your cute little selfies or your adorable little fit checks. The amount of cleavage you displayed was just a plus! But soon after, he found himself fiendish over the detail pictures you’d post, showcasing your tight-fitting shirts, or the necklaces that dangled just above your tits, or the low-waisted jeans that curved artfully around your ass. The way you presented yourself was just so enticing to him. A little at a time, just a glimpse per picture. Enough to let his imagination run wild, but not enough to fulfill his fantasies.

So you can imagine that from the time Art got his first fill of you and then on, he was in heaven. You were better than every fantasy, dream, thought- everything he’d ever dreamt up. The second you pulled off his shirt and told him to lay back, that you’d give him what he needed, he was a lovesick puppy under your care, and he loved that. He swore with every command you gave or moan you drew from him, he was falling deeper into you.

However, this also ignited a new passion in him. He had to be the best, just as he felt you were. Had to be good for you, or else what was his purpose?

So, he spent hours and hours studying the porn you watched, trying so desperately to mimic the strokes and moans of the men you got off to. He studied the positions you liked and even did a little research on his own to know which ones would feel the best for you. He wanted to make you throw your head back in bliss, moan uncontrollably, and glow from how good you felt, time and time again, and he was determined to do what it took to make that happen. He'd do it all and then some, and all he needed to hear was you saying his name.

Oh, and speaking of saying his name, that's one of his biggest turn-ons. He likes to say there's a certain tone you use, intentionally or not, that mimics the sultriness of a siren, and he can't stop himself from getting hard every time he hears it. Maybe it's the tone itself, or the fact that you're calling him in the first place, but he can't help the way his mind gets all fuzzy from it, only focusing on your voice and the way your lips move to say the syllable.

There’s nobody else on the planet that has ever, or will ever make Art feel the way you do. You make his body feel ways it never has, make his heart light up with feelings he didn’t know existed. In such a short span of time, you’ve become his everything, and that’s why he’s determined to keep you as his for as long as he can.

As long as he can. As long as you let him. Because he’ll be only yours for forever and ever.

Your sweet, lovesick bf!art.

part 2

A/N: this was just a massive brain dump for art since he’s been on my mind since i watched the movie LOL. want him SO BADDDDD

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter one

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

Eddie leaves Hawkins (and his girl) behind to chase his dreams with Corroded Coffin. 2 years later, things have definitely changed.

Chapter Warnings:

Pregnancy, labor/birth, blood, traumatic birth/complications, secret baby

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N:

This is sort of a prologue, but I’m calling it chapter one. I’m really excited about this new series and I hope you will be, too!

—

“It’s my dream, baby. I can’t let this opportunity pass us by. This could change our lives.”

You had heard it over and over again. The same words coming from the same man with his wide puppy dog eyes, holding both your hands in his as he occasionally reached up to wipe your tears away again. He knew he was breaking your heart, and he hated that more than anything, but he also felt confident he was making the right decision.

You had been thrilled for him when he walked home into the trailer, screaming about how a scout had actually been to The Hideout and approached Corroded Coffin (specifically Eddie himself) after their show. The two of you stayed up all night talking excitedly, thinking of what this would mean for the band, for Eddie’s dream. Then he proceeded to give you the best sex of your life.

Things moved fast after that. It turned out the label really liked Corroded Coffin, and they wanted them in the studio immediately. And it really was a dream, at first. Eddie and the guys had just graduated and they immediately dumped all their time into the studio and perfecting their songs. You spent near every day lounging around the studio, watching the band record, a grin on your face so big it hurt watching Eddie do what he does, the happiness simply exuding from him. You loved him deeply, and seeing him beginning to really live his dream was everything you ever hoped for.

When the album was done, it released to more success than any of you could have dreamed of. Corroded Coffin was building a substantial and dedicated fan base already, they were on the radio, everyone was begging for them to perform in their city. That’s when the tour started being discussed. And their new manager began to point out the fact that there were no opportunities in Hawkins - the band would be better off moving somewhere like California.

You had never really thought Eddie wanted to leave like that. Sure he always dreamed of the band making it big, but you always assumed at the end of the day he would come home to Hawkins, come home to you. But it was obvious immediately that Eddie and the guys were completely on board with the idea of moving.

“Eddie, I can’t move to California,” you had explained, pacing around your tiny shared bedroom and huffing a humorless laugh. “My family is here. My mom and Dustin. All my friends are here. I’ve never even lived anywhere else.”

Eddie had ran his hands through his wild curls, another sigh escaping his lips. “I know, baby. But we could make a life out there, you and me.”

Tears had begun to well up in your eyes. “I would be left alone all the time, Eds. You’d be so busy with all the band stuff and being famous, and I’d be stuck alone, states away from home with no friends or family or support system.”

Eddie’s face fell, because he knew that was true. He hated the idea of being apart from you, but he hated the idea of making you follow him and be miserable, too. “We could do long distance?”

The tears actually began to fall then, and you collapsed on the bed next to him, your face in your hands. “I don’t know, Eddie. It sounds awful.”

Eddie didn’t say anything else as he started rubbing your back. He didn’t know if there was anything else to say. Those were your options, and none of them were great. But he knew if he passed up this opportunity, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

There were many variations of the same argument over the next few months as Eddie and the band prepared for the move to California and the beginning of the tour. There were a lot of tears. A lot of fighting followed by make up sex. None of the arguments ever made any actual progress, you always found yourselves stuck right back at the beginning.

Now Eddie stood in front of you, holding both your hands in his as you cried your eyes out in front of him. His heart was shattered in his chest. But the day had finally come, the bus was packed and waiting as the band said their goodbyes. It was somehow one of the best days of his life, while also being the worst.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with me?” Eddie asked you again, although at this point it was too late, they were leaving now.

You sniffled, your face already red and eyes puffy from the amount of crying you’d done in the past few months but especially today. It seemed you only got more and more emotional about the whole thing as time went on. “I can’t,” you said, which is exactly what Eddie knew you’d say.

Eddie looked at you with the pain visible in his eyes. He moved his hands to gently hold either side of your face and pulled you in, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on your lips. Like it was the last time.

“I love you,” he said. “I will always love you.”

You were pretty sure there was nothing left of your heart to break. “I love you too, Eddie.”

He pulled you into a tight hug. You never wanted to leave that embrace - it felt so final, and you always hated goodbyes. Eddie held you until one of the crew members tapped him on the shoulder, telling him it was time to go.

He pulled away from you reluctantly. He looked you in the eyes for a moment before placing a kiss to your forehead. Then he was turning and walking away.

You watched him go, duffel bag and guitar case slung over his shoulder, the rest of everyone’s belongings and the band’s supplies packed tight under the bus. You watched as he climbed the stairs and turned, giving you one last look before you lost sight of him.

You stayed and watched until the bus drove away, down the road and completely out of your view. Taking your heart and soul with it.

—

It was two weeks later when the positive pregnancy test stared you in the face.

You couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, it did seem like that would be just your luck.

You had been feeling sick for the past week, but convinced yourself it was the nerves and emotions over Eddie leaving and the break up. You hadn’t even heard from Eddie since he left, despite his insistence that he’d call, relationship or not. You hoped he had just been busy and he hadn’t simply forgotten about you that quickly. You’d been together for two years before he left, you didn’t think you were that unimportant to him.

You cried on the bathroom floor of your new apartment for who knows how long. Your life was over, you felt quite sure. Eddie was long gone, who knows where at this point, with no plans to return. And now you were carrying his baby.

You didn’t say a word about it to anyone for a while. You had to work through it in your own head first. What did you even want to do? The thought of an abortion crossed your mind, but ultimately you felt you couldn’t go through with it. You could handle things on your own, you thought. Your waitressing job at the diner paid well enough for you to live off of, especially with all the overtime you picked up. Could you have and raise this baby on your own?

A week after the positive test, you broke the news to your mom and younger brother. Your mom cried, of course, which made you feel terrible. You had always imagined telling this news one day to be a joyful occasion, but that wasn’t your reality now. Your reality was being a single mother at 18. Dustin was in shock, but he seemed excited at the prospect of being an uncle, at least. You avoided all questions about Eddie.

Next, you broke the news to your best friends Steve and Robin, leaning over the counter of Family Video. They may have been more shocked than your family had been, and they both absolutely freaked out.

“You’re gonna have a baby,” Steve had choked out, as if that part was hard enough to say, “at 18, by yourself?”

Having the facts spelled out in front of you like that did nothing to help, and you burst into tears for the millionth time in the middle of the video store. Robin shot Steve a look before she was hopping over the counter to wrap you in a tight hug.

“What Steve meant to say,” Robin said, glaring at your mutual friend over the top of your head, “is that we’re here for you, whatever you need. You don’t have to do this all alone.”

You knew you needed to tell Eddie. And you definitely did have every intention to…but he never called. Never. Not once. And that hurt you so deeply, and made you so angry, you refused to reach out to him first. So…he never got the news.

True to their word, Steve and Robin were the best support system. Dustin, too. Your mom called you every single night needing to know exactly how you and the baby were and how you’d spent your day and that you were making good choices, which drove you a little bit crazy but at least she cared.

Your pregnancy progressed healthily, and the weeks went by faster than you were prepared for. Watching your body grow and become unfamiliar to you was…bizarre. And you missed Eddie. You started seeing Corroded Coffin popping up on magazine covers at the grocery store check out. You’d lay your hand over your growing belly and think about what could have been, what wasn’t.

Then you’d shove the magazine back in the rack and push him out of your mind.

Steve and Robin loved the belly. They found it fascinating, even if it made Steve a little squeamish. The first time the baby kicked you had been hanging around Family Video on your day off, looking through the new releases for a movie night with Dustin. You felt the strange flutter beneath your skin and you gasped, your hand shooting to that spot on your belly. You felt the kick again, against your hand.

Steve and Robin’s heads both shot up at the sound of your gasp. Robin was hopping over the counter and rushing to your side before Steve could catch up. “What is it? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Robin asked in a rush.

You just laughed, taking Robin’s hand and placing it where you had felt the kick. She looked at you strangely until you felt it again - her jaw dropped. “No way!!!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Steve asked, confused and not liking feeling left out. Robin moved her hand as you let go and grabbed Steve’s instead, placing it in the same spot. Sure enough, there was another kick moments later.

“Holy shit!” Steve said, but he jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. “It moved!”

You laughed. “That was the first kick!”

Robin cooed to the unborn baby, her hands moving back to the bump. Steve kept his distance, but watched the two of you.

“It’s weird,” Steve finally said, “like an alien. Have you seen Alien?”

Despite his squeamishness around a lot of pregnancy topics, Steve was an amazing support the entire time. He drove you to every appointment, Robin usually tagging along as well. They were there along with Dustin and your mom as you found out the gender of the baby - a boy.

Names were a big debate for a while. Not only choosing a name for your baby boy, but deciding what last name you would give him. You felt bad giving him your own last name and erasing Eddie entirely, but it also made no sense to give the baby the same last name as him when he didn’t even know of his existence and would never meet or know him.

You went into labor early, at 35 weeks. It caught you by surprise when your water broke and contractions began at 2am while you were snuggled in bed. Steve and Robin were going to take turns staying at your apartment when you hit 38 weeks, but you never made it that far, so you were alone with no transportation. You fought off a panic attack as you stumbled into the kitchen and picked up the phone, breathing through an intense contraction.

“‘lo?” was the sleepy reply when your call was picked up. It was obvious that Steve had been in deep sleep.

“Stevie?” you had said, knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the countertop. “The baby is coming.”

“What?” he certainly sounded a lot more awake after that. “Like, now? It’s too early!”

“I know it’s early, but it’s definitely happening,” you said.

“Shit, I- okay. Okay, shit. I’m on the way right now.”

The call ended before you were able to say anything else, so you hung the phone back on the wall. You grabbed your bags from your bedroom, feeling grateful you’d packed so early. You paced as you waited for Steve, you couldn’t stand to sit still when contractions started wracking through your body. It’s the only thing that controlled some of the pain as you remembered your breathing exercises.

Thankfully it didn’t take Steve long at all. You heard his tires squealing as he sped to a stop right in front of your apartment building. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. He was bursting through your front door moments later, sweating and looking panicked. He was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that was on backwards, his usually perfect hair completely mussed up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing onto your shoulders and looking you all over as if you might have had the baby already and hid him somewhere.

“I’m okay,” you said, needing him to calm down. “The contractions are bad and they’re coming on fast but I’m okay. Your shirt’s backwards, by the way.”

Steve looked down at himself, a blush rising to his cheeks when he realized you were right. He pulled the shirt over his head and spun it around. “Sorry,” he said shyly.

Steve grabbed your bags and helped you into his car. Less than an hour later you were set up in your hospital room, dressed in an ugly gown and hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Steve sat next to you, having already called Robin and your family for you.

When things had calmed and you were relaxing in the bed between contractions, Steve looked at you seriously.

“Do you want me to try to reach Eddie?” he asked tentatively, cautious of your reaction.

The reminder of Eddie on that day hit you harder than ever. Did you want Eddie to be there? Yes, more than anything. But the reality was that he was god knows where, living his rockstar lifestyle, completely unaware his ex-girlfriend back home was preparing to give birth to their son. It was partially your fault, you knew, but still. You didn’t imagine he would have turned the bus around and quit the band to come play happy family with you, anyway.

“No,” you told Steve simply. He nodded and squeezed your hand once, although he looked like he had more to say.

When it was time to push, you were surrounded by support. Steve, Robin, and your mom stayed in the room with you - Dustin, who had no desire to see any of what was about to go down, moved back to the waiting room until it was safe to return.

The birth was more complicated than expected. You pushed for a long time, your mom wiping the sweat from your face as the pain went on seemingly endlessly. The doctor started talking about a c-section, but you didn’t want that. The thought terrified you. It motivated you to push even harder, and within the next 5 minutes, the baby was out and the room was filled with the sound of newborn cries. The doctor asked if Steve wanted to cut the cord, and he said yes without hesitating.

Your mom started bawling immediately, even Robin and Steve were tearing up at the sight of the baby, your baby boy. You tried to lean up to see him, but your head was so woozy, the second you lifted it from the pillow you felt like you were spinning. Nurses were working on the baby across the room while the doctor still hadn’t moved from between your legs - but you couldn’t get your brain to form a proper thought. Your vision was starting to get blurry and nausea roiled in your stomach.

The chatter in the room turned frantic, and you saw Steve turn to look at you in a panic, your mother’s sobs sounding less like happy crying now. You were confused as your mom and friends were quickly pushed away from your side and the sidebars on the hospital bed were lifted and locked into place. You caught some mentions of “emergency surgery” and “bleeding” as the bed started moving before everything went dark.

You woke up in a quiet, brightly lit room. You squinted from the lights as you opened your eyes, looking around you confused. You felt incredibly sore, and more alert than before but still a little out of it.

“You’re awake,” a relieved voice said, and you turned to see Robin by your bedside, looking exhausted.

You went to speak but found that your mouth was incredibly dry, your throat sore. Robin noticed immediately and grabbed a jug of water, holding the straw to your lips to help you drink. You accepted the help gratefully, and the ice water soothed your mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” you croaked out as she set the water jug back on the rolling table. “What…happened?”

Robin looked at you sympathetically. “You were bleeding really bad. They had to take you back for emergency surgery. But you’re okay now,” she added the last part quickly, seeing the panic rising on your face. “They got it under control. You’re going to be just fine.”

You nodded, and Robin looked behind you as another voice spoke. You hadn’t even realized you weren’t the only two people in the room.

“Somebody wants to meet you, if you’re up for it.”

You turned to see Steve, holding a little bundle of blankets gently in his arms. He looked even more tired than Robin, but he also looked happy. Your eyes locked in on the tiny bundle as Steve brought it closer before leaning down and placing it gently in your arms.

He was perfect. Sure everyone thinks their baby is the cutest, but this one? This had to be the cutest baby to ever exist. Tears began to fall and a huge smile spread its way across your cheeks as you took in the sight of him. You looked him all over, wanting to memorize every part of him.

He looked like Eddie. The realization sent a pang of guilt and hurt through your heart. He had a head full of dark brown curly hair, and looked up at you with the same big brown doe eyes his father had that got him anything he wanted. You realized you had just created another little person who would have that power over you. He was still so small, only born 5lbs 6oz. But he was healthy, and strong. The hospital just wanted to keep him for a few extra days since he was premature.

Your mom and Dustin returned a minute later, both relieved to see you awake and alert. Dustin got to hold his nephew for the first time, and you took a photo on the polaroid camera you packed. You got a picture of everyone holding him, and your mom took plenty of you, one including Steve and Robin on either side of you like three proud parents.

Asher James Henderson was perfect. You had decided to give him your own last name, since you were doing it alone and you were the only parent on the birth certificate.

You were terrified of being a single mother - even with the amazing support you had, it was still horrifying to think about. But honestly? You rocked it.

Asher was a happy baby, hardly ever fussed and slept like an angel. He loved spending time with you, would light up in the brightest smile every time he saw your face. He was also close with Steve and Robin, who came by every day. Uncle Dusty was another favorite, and your mom stepped into the grandma role happily and easily. Things were not the nightmare you feared they would be.

He got a bit crazier once he entered the toddler years. Reminding you of Eddie and what he must have been like as a child - which happened every single day - he was full of endless energy, completely fearless and always looking for adventure. You spent most of your time chasing after him and stopping him from climbing the furniture. But he was also the sweetest kid in the world, full of love for his mom and loved ones.

2 ½ years after Eddie’s departure, things had become easier and easier. You were comfortable with your little life, your little unconventional family. You were happy. Sure, sometimes it felt lonely, but you didn’t feel the need to date when you felt your attention should be all on Asher. And the idea of bringing a new man into his life scared you. So you didn’t.

You liked your job at the diner. You’d been there since the summer after graduation, and while it could be hard work and long hours, you loved your coworkers like family and it took care of you and Ash.

You were wiping down an empty table when the bell above the door chimed, signaling someone had entered the restaurant. You looked up to see Steve rushing in, breathless, still in his Family Video uniform. He held a piece of paper in his hand as he looked around, presumably for you.

When he spotted you he came walking over with purpose, which made you furrow your brows in confusion over what could possibly be so important.

Steve reached you and slammed the paper on the table in front of you. “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

You looked down at the paper - and felt your blood run cold.

“…Corroded Coffin is coming to Hawkins?” you asked, your voice suddenly weak.

“A homecoming show,” Steve scoffed. “This weekend. I thought they were too good for us now, but I guess they can spare one little visit for us hicks.”

Steve looked pissed. Eddie’s calls had stopped for him, too, not long after he left. You weren’t surprised - if he had abandoned you, the woman he claimed to be in love with for years, then nothing surprised you about him anymore. But Steve had been deeply hurt.

Your ears were ringing. You thought you might pass out. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at - they were really coming here. Back home to Hawkins. Eddie and Asher would be in the same place and not even know the other existed.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, suddenly realizing you didn’t look too good. He rubbed your back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just…I just saw it and I freaked and I had to tell you.”

You shook your head. “No, Steve, it’s…it’s alright. I’m glad you told me. I guess it doesn’t really matter, though. It’s not like I’ll be going.”

Steve looked at you, his face etched with concern. “Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”

You bit your bottom lip nervously. “I don’t think so, Steve. I don’t think I can.”

Steve nodded in understanding. “Okay. Well I’m not gonna push you. But if you wanna go, try to talk to him…we can do that. It could be good.”

You considered his words. Should you see Eddie? Let him explain himself? …Maybe tell him about his son? The thought made you feel like you could be sick.

“You look pale,” Steve said, looking worried. “You should sit down.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine.” Steve didn’t look like he believed you, but he didn’t push the subject. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? I don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know what to think.”

Steve wrapped you up tight in his strong arms. “Hey, it’s your decision, sweetheart. You let me know what you want and we’ll make it happen. I’ll be right by your side either way.”

You nodded, grateful for Steve’s unwavering support as tears began to fall. Great, now you were crying and you still had 4 hours left of your shift.

Steve held you for a little longer, fingers soothingly brushing through your hair before he pulled back. “I gotta get going. I just totally ditched Robin to run over here the second that guy dropped these flyers off.” He ran a hand through his immaculate hair. “We’ll talk later, okay? It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You wanted to believe your friend’s words as you watched him go, but it was hard. You had finally found your footing on your own, and now Eddie was coming back to Hawkins and throwing everything off. Going to this show or not would be a life changing decision. Either you can keep living life as you are, ignore the show and Corroded Coffin leaves Hawkins again without giving you a second thought…or you go, talk to Eddie, and flip both of your lives upside down.

You felt thoroughly fucked.

[cyberjam]

E!42 MILES DATING A SHY!SOFT READER . . . ☆

warnings - black fem!reader in mind but you can imagine it however you'd like, miles having a soft spot for you, pink coquette vibes from reader, profanity, slightly suggestive.

word count - 2.2k | lowercase intended.

main masterlist | proof read?: kinda😭

song rec for fic?: yo love - from "queen and slim: the soundtrack - vince staples, 6lack, mereba <3

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

. . HOW YOU FIRST MET . .

ఇ . . . you two were assigned as partners for a science project that would play a big part in your final grade. you knew of each other but never fully interacted until now.

ఇ . . . miles knew you as quiet, only speaking when spoken to. you were an approachable person with a warm smile. you carried yourself well, and treated others kindly, even if they were undeserving. he was entranced by you to say the least. with how things were currently going in new york, he was surprised that the city hadn't dimmed your light. miles wanted to know more about you and this project gave him the perfect opportunity to do so.

ఇ . . . you knew of miles as well. he had the reputation of being an unapproachable person. easily intimidating others without trying, and keeping his circle of people small. you took a small interest in him as well. you'd catch yourself glancing at him every now and then, trying to break down his character. he didn't seem as mean as everyone claimed but now was finally your chance to see for yourself.

ఇ . . . that project was only the beginning of your and miles' relationship.

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

. . CRUSHING STAGE . .

ఇ . . . miles protectiveness increases the more your relationship grows. he'll cut into situations and defend you before you can fully form a thought. he never hesitates to step in-front of you as a human-shield and tell someone off with a simple phrase.

"ay, watch yo mouth." | "huh? repeat yo'self." | "i know you not talkin'-"

ఇ . . . he starts eating lunch with you. his friends get on him for being a simp but he brushes it off every-time. he enjoys the convos you two have during lunch and would rather sit next to you than a rowdy group of boys who use the lunch food as science experiments.

ఇ . . . he seeks you out. during school, after school, on his nightly patrols, etc. without even fully knowing it himself, miles is always looking for you no matter where he is. he just naturally gravitates towards you. you bring something to miles life that he hasn't had in a long time. peace.

ఇ . . . let's you mess with his hair. when he's over your place he'll let you put your cute baby pink hair clips in his braids and even tie in some hair bo-bo's at the end of them. but only if you take them out as soon as you're done and don't take any pictures. (you still take pictures)

ఇ . . . let's you draw on him. you can't remember when it exactly started but it's became a routine for you to doodle and write on his hands in every class you two share. he'll return the favor, if you ask nicely. he copies whatever drawing you did on his hand to yours so you'd be matching. (he dreams of getting matching tattoos with you.) <3

ఇ . . . scares classmates away. whether it be a glare from across the room or an arm slung around your shoulders, miles is always scaring your classmates away. even if they show the smallest romantic interest in you.

ఇ . . . maintains eye contact. he's always looking for your eyes and trying to remain in contact with them when you talk. he just loves staring into your pretty doe eyes while you ramble about something you like.

ఇ . . . nicknames. miles doesn't want to scare you off by being too forward, so he'll limit his nicknames. the ones he does call you while crushing on you are ma and princesa.

ఇ . . . passes notes in class. he's a bit of a "model student" in class (not talking back, not interrupting or disrespecting classmates, turning in his work early on time. he just wants to be left alone lmao) but he's more than willing to pass notes with you throughout the entire period. you'll catch him up on the newest gossip and he'd update you on the stuff him and his homeboys get into.

ఇ . . . he'll help you study. if you don't know spanish or you're just a struggling student, he'll teach you everything you're having a hard time with at a comfortable pace. he'll quiz you every once in awhile just to make sure you fully understand and don't feel behind in anything. if you've shown a significant amount of improvement he'll treat you by taking you out for your choice of dessert. (it's really just an excuse to take you out on a date without using the word date)

ఇ . . . there's an unspoken rule that you are his. classmates know, your friends know, his homeboys know, hell, even the teachers know. you're the only person miles gives the time of day. you're the only one who gets to walk around with his arm on your shoulders, have his undivided attention, as well as be the reason for his smile. you are his and he is yours.

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

. . DATING STAGE . .

ఇ . . . late night facetime calls. you two are truly never apart. when you're not together physically you're on facetime with each other. he loves when you call him and showcase the cute things you bought for yourself using his card. he also just loves the comfort those calls bring him. seeing you engulfed in a warm blanket fast asleep while he's doing his own thing just makes him feel content. you're able to be there for each other without physically being there and that's enough for him to wait patiently until he's able to hold you again.

ఇ . . . clingy as hell. although, he'll never voice out his wants for your touch he will initiate it. miles will be the one to commence 80% of affection. partly because you're shy and mainly because he can't keep his hands off of you. miles is always touching you in some way. whether it be an arm around your shoulder, a hand resting on your thigh, or a hand rubbing your ass while you're cuddling. he can't resist kissing you either. his lips always finding any available part of your skin to kiss when he feels like it.

ఇ . . . compliments. every chance he gets he'll remind you how good you look. always hyping you up and telling you how beautiful you are. whenever you get overwhelmed by the flow of affectionate words that smoothly flow out of his mouth, you'll cover your face with your hands and turn away from him. it only gives him more fuel in the long run because he loves to see his girl get all shy and cute for him. sometimes he doesn't even use his words. a simple look up and down while licking his lips will leave you weak in the knees.

"that's all mine right there."

ఇ . . . genuinely hates arguing with you. he hates when you're upset with him. there are plenty of times where miles has provoked you to the point you've gotten upset with him and that's usually when he knows he's gone too far. you're his girl, his everything. he can't have you sulking because of him. although, miles does have a bit of a short-temper, he remains calm throughout these situations. he lets you both voice your sides and he won't let the situation go until you come to an agreement. he tends to avoid arguments at all costs. usually murmuring a "you got it, ma." before it turns into something more. after settling long disagreements, he'll engulf you in a hug and give you a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"love you. don't want my girl goin to bed mad at me."

ఇ . . . nicknames! his nicknames will consist of mi vida, mi reina, ma, mami, baby, etc. any term of endearment you can think of he's most-likely called you. usually consisting of 'my/mine'. he's very possessive. your contact name in his phone is 'mi corazon 💘' and you're the only one with an emoji next to your name.

ఇ . . . spoils you. you want it? you got it. although, miles isn't incredibly wealthy, he does have money. he uses it to take care of you and his mom, providing help for the both of you. he helps rio with actual necessities, while with you he provides you with gifts. ranging from shoes, eyelashes, lace fronts, plushies, clothes, or electronics. the most expensive gift he's gotten for you is an ipad and apple pencil. it was for your birthday and he knew he had to get it for you after hearing you fangirl about it nonstop.

ఇ . . . lets you do his hair. he usually only lets rio do his hair, he's a major mama's boy. so, when you were granted the privilege to do his hair you felt honored. he also just loves when you take his braids out and give him scalp massages. he's fallen asleep on occasion because of how gentle and soothing your hands are. he's also tender-headed as hell so, please be careful or you'll get a earful of him complaining.

"damn, ma. why you gotta pull so tight?"

ఇ . . . buys matching sets. he buys you both matching shoes, clothes, and jewelry. he likes the simplicity of being able to match with you and show everyone you're his without voicing it. you two are the couple that matches on christmas. matching christmas tree pants, and santa hats...rio thinks it's adorable. for your 5 month anniversary you were gifted a gold necklace with his name written in cursive and once he helped you put it on he revealed the necklace that was under his shirt that had your name in gold written in cursive. only time you two take it off is when you're in the shower/pool. he'll take it off during prowler business as well, he doesn't want to disclose any of his personal business at work, it's very dangerous for the both of you.

ఇ . . . cant sleep without you. once miles gets a taste of what life is like keeping you close and holding you to sleep, it's hard for him to go without it. he loves cuddling with you and if there were any instance where you two wouldn't be together he would toss and turn all night and look at the ceiling until his body physically shut down itself. it's not the healthiest way to go by so when he starts to show up to school with deeper eye bags than usual, you decide to give him a plushie of his own. he'll buy the plushie little clothes and change them every now and then. he names it after you, and he even bought the exact perfume you wear and sprays it on the stuffed animal before going to bed and cuddling it. he's embarrassed to admit it, so he'll never tell you how much he pampers it. (you don't need him to tho, you've caught him kissing the top of the stuffed animals head before cradling it in his arms and murmuring 'goodnight, mi vida.')

ఇ . . . will go to the barbie movie with you. he'll thrown on a pink hoodie, black jeans, and pair it with some jordan's while you're decked out from head to toe in pink. he's gonna cry at one point during the movie and you have to pretend you didn't see. when you ask him if he liked it he'll shrug his shoulders while sniffling. he def gave his mom a big hug when he got back home. :')

"yeah, yeah...it was alright, i guess."

ఇ . . . talks about you to his mom. mile's didn't speak much of you when he had a crush on you, but he really didn't have to. his mom knew there was something or more so someone occupying his mind whenever he'd come back from school with a slight dazed expression and the tiniest smile.

ఇ . . . graffiti's your initials together. whenever he's bored and has a little extra time on his hands he'll graffiti his and yours initials together. sometimes replacing your last initial with an 'M' for Morales..

ఇ . . . treats your stuffed animals like they're your children. he scolds you if he catches one of them on the floor, he'll name them future child names he has in mind because he def wants to get married and start a family w/ you, he gives them hugs and buys cute little tutu's for them. lowkey will throw a fit if he finds out you gave some of them away.

ఇ . . . buys/sends things that reminds him of you. he'll buy you your fave bag of chips if he sees it in the store, he'll pick up a keychain with your name on it and attach it to his bookbag, he'll send you memes or recommend a tv show because the character reminded him of you. you're really on his mind 25/8.

ఇ . . . bakes with you. he loves baking with you. you two will bake the hell out of some chocolate chip cookies or some brownies. nothing that takes too long or a lot of preparation though, he'll get antsy and kinda touchy which leads to burnt products and a ruined cake pan.

ఇ . . . shows you off/brags about you. his friends and close family members know all about you and your achievements. if you play sports he'll cheer you on and brag about your wins, if you're an artist he'll post your artwork, if you have a small clothing brand he'll wear it and tell people to buy from your store if they ask, if you knit/crochet he'll ask you to make him a bucket hat or a mini version of you and him, if you dance he'll stay up all night on the phone while you show him your new choreography. it doesn't matter what you do, miles will continue to support you and brag about any and every achievement you accomplish. big or small.

ఇ . . . miles morales loves his sweet soft significant other.

currently re-writing my miles morales fic that was 6k words because tumblr decided to randomly delete it 🥲 i'll try to get it out soon! <3

also sorry for inactivity, i've been busy w/ school and work but i'll try to shoot out fics faster when i get the time :) !!

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

adjustments (paige x reader)

summary: you and paige just started dating but you’re not used to signs of affection

content warnings: none

You grew up in less than ideal circumstances. Moving from foster family to foster family, constantly changing schools, having to pack up and start life all over again in different states and cities. You lacked everything that your peers had. No best friends, no family, no stability. Nothing in your life was consistent, you used to try and fight it but as you got older you started to think maybe that’s how you would be forever, alone in this big world with no one to lean on when you needed them.

Going to college changed that though, you knew you’d be in one place for years, seeing the same people everyday, building routines and friendships and relationships. It scared you. It scared because it was new. It felt like you were learning to live again, learning to trust. You were experiencing things at eighteen for the first time that most people experienced when they were eight.

When you met Paige, you dreamed of her being your best friend. She showed you love and compassion and care. She asked you questions you’d never been asked before. She made time in her busy schedule to see you. She introduced you to her friends and they quickly became yours too. She was your best friend and then she wasn’t. She was confessing her feelings for you and you were confused. You didn’t understand. Paige was acting like what you imagined a best friend would but saying she wanted more.

You were forced to be honest with Paige because you liked her and didn’t want to lose her. She was understanding and said she was happy to take things slow, at a pace that was comfortable for you. But it didn’t take you long to realise you shared the same feelings for her and you’ll never forget the smile on her face when she asked you to be her girlfriend and you said yes.

You’ll also never forget the way she frowned and chewed on her bottom lip when she pulled you into a hug, pressing her lips to your forehead and you jumped away.

“I’m sorry. No one- no ones ever done that to me before.” You had admitted.

Paige being Paige understood and reassured you that it didn’t make her feel any differently towards you. You guys could take things as slow as you wanted.

You had been dating for almost a month now and your heart still raced at the slightest of touches, your skin tingled every time she was close to you and you’d pulled away from every kiss after just a few seconds, the feeling being too much, too quickly.

Never in your life have you craved a hug, never have you wanted someone so close you almost mesh into one but you’d had a bad day and all you could think about was being in Paiges arms.

“Oh hi baby.” Paige smiles as she opens her apartment door to you.

You had come round unannounced, straight from your last class of the day.

“Hi.” You whisper, voice almost breaking as you do.

“What’s up?” Paige asks, brows furrowed as you walk inside.

“Bad day. Could I- could I have a hug?” You ask and your hands shake as you do, this was a foreign feeling for you but it would be for Paige too. She wasn’t used to you asking for hugs or even wanting to be touched.

“Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. C’mere.” She coos, arms opening immediately for you to walk into.

Paige encapsulates you in a tight hug, her arms firm and strong around your body, her chin rested on your head. It takes you a moment to hug her back but eventually your arms snake around her waist and you squeeze her, never wanting to let go.

“Is this OK?” Paige checks in.

“More than.” You reply, voice muffled from the way your face is buried in her chest.

“Let’s go to my room.” Paige says letting you go and you already want to feel her again so you slip your hand into hers as she leads you through her apartment.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but cuddles always help me after a bad day.” She says sitting on the edge of her bed, hand still linked in yours.

“I’ve never cuddled with anyone before.”

“Will you let me show you what it’s like?” She asks tenderly.

You nod and Paige shuffles back on her bed so she’s laying down, propped up slightly by a few pillows. She taps the space next to her and you slip your shoes off before climbing onto the bed.

“Here, shuffle down. Put your head on my chest.”

You do as she says and it takes you a second to find a comfortable position, nestled into Paige but once you do it feels like you’re two pieces of a puzzle fitting together perfectly. One of her hands is running through your hair and the other trails up and down your arm and you feel as though you’re floating, the events of the day washing away with each stroke.

“That feels nice.” You murmur as you move your arm to rest over Paiges stomach.

“It does, doesn’t it?” She agrees.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me baby. You don’t need to earn my affection. Not now, not ever.” Your heart pangs at her words and suddenly you want to touch her. Every part of her. You want her skin under your fingertips, her lips on yours and you want it now.

You look up at Paige who’s already looking down at you and you bring your hand up to her face, gently stroking her jaw and her eyes flutter shut. Your finger traces up and over her brow bone, down her nose and across her lips, “You’re so beautiful.” You breathe out, heart racing.

Paige is quick to prop herself up and her hand finds your hip and positions you so you’re fully laying down. You gasp at the sudden movement, “Is this O-” Paige begins.

“How about I let you know when it’s not OK? Just keep going.”

Paige is straddling you now, knees at either side of your waist. Her hands start on your face, pushing your hair back, they trail down your neck and your breathing increases as they palm over your chest and down your stomach, “I’ve dreamed of this.” She rasps, her tongue running along her bottom lip as she looks down at you, eyes hooded and needy.

“Kiss me…please.” You practically beg, your hands now planted on Paiges thighs.

She leans down and kisses the tip of your nose and your eyes close as her lips find yours in a gentle, passionate kiss. Her lips are soft and plump against yours and you can’t hold back the throaty moan as her tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste her and it’s euphoric. She detaches her mouth from yours only to press kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Fuck…her lips on your neck feel so good. You hold her head in place as she sucks and nips at the sensitive skin before poking out her tongue to soothe the spot.

She moves down to kiss your collarbone, her hands are under your shirt and yours are in her hair, “You’re so perfect.” She groans, eyes flicking up to look at you and you let her head go, hands frantically pulling your shirt up and over your head tossing it onto the floor.

“Shit.” Paige hisses as her eyes trail down your exposed torso. She leans down, peppering kiss up your stomach and your head flies back at the feeling. “Don’t stop.” You plead and she doesn’t until you feel as though every inch of your skin has been touched by her lips.

Your hands are having a field day exploring your girlfriends body, you squeeze her flexed biceps as she hovers over you and you tug at the neckline of her shirt wanting it off. She removes it in one swift movement so you’re both left if your bras. Your fingers trace over her toned abs and she flops down next to you, taking your hand and guiding it over her stomach, “I love feeling your hands on me baby.” She tells you softly.

“I love having my hands on you. I can’t believe it took me this long.” You say pressing a kiss to Paiges shoulder.

“I would’ve waited longer. As long as you needed.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: bro 😔 starting to feel touch starved like reader. ive been single so long

[padfootagain]

Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Pairing : Hozier x fem!reader

Professor! AU

Warnings: hurt-comfort, angst, fluff, no smut but suggestive scenes so 18+ only

Chapter 1 : 'And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately'

Chapter 2 : 'Through me the way to the City of Woe'

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Chapter 4 : ‘For he gave all his heart and lost’

Chapter 5 : ‘But here comes the lyrebird passing through the sky’

Chapter 6 : ‘I’ll lie here and learn how, over their ground, trees make a long shadow and a light sound’

Chapter 7 : 'And so I still wait, like a lonely house, for you to see me and inhabit me again. Until that time, my windows ache.'

Chapter 8 : 'I hope she never learns how to peel oranges'

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river-- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Chapter 10 : '[I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea'

Chapter 11: ‘Lived to see you throwing me aside.’

Chapter 12 : 'Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again'

Chapter 13: ‘So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.’

Chapter 14: ‘Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery’

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Chapter 16 : ‘Only the things I didn’t do crackle after the blazing dies’

Chapter 17 : ‘Dear pine cone, let me hold you as you open’

Chapter 18 : ‘What the devil do I care what I know, and what I say?’

Chapter 19: ‘I knew winter cold like the nuzzle of fjords at my thighs’

Chapter 20 : 'My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you'

Chapter 21: ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love’

Chapter 22 : ‘And if you missed a day, there was always the next, and if you missed a year, it didn’t matter, the hills weren’t going anywhere’

Chapter 23 : 'Even the dearest that I loved the best are strange – nay, rather, stranger than the rest'

Chapter 24: ‘Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing’

Chapter 25: ‘They will think of ways to make you smile so you can be happy for a while’

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Chapter 27: ‘They loved music and swam in for a singer, who might stand at the end of summer’

Chapter 28: ‘You are neither here nor there, a hurry through which known and strange things pass as big soft buffetings come at the car sideways and catch the heart off guard and blow it open’

Chapter 29: ‘My lover’s words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips’

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Chapter 31 : ‘Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief’

Chapter 32 : ‘How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then’

Chapter 33 : ‘The scent already in the air’

Chapter 34 : ‘One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.’

Chapter 35 : ‘Love comes quietly, finally’

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Chapter 37 : ‘I found the other half above the pillow where you lay’

Chapter 38: ‘They are elsewhere beyond the night way higher than day in the blinding brightness of their first love’

Chapter 39: ‘He grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was’

Chapter 40 : ‘Where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.’

Chapter 41 : ‘Just one candle burning on, shadows lurking everywhere: some one came, and kissed me there’

Chapter 42: ‘Love in such a way, as I… love… you.’

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Chapter 44 : ‘I go up to the stone wall for a friendly visit.’

Chapter 45 : ‘Nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone.’

Chapter 46 : ‘Both of us, of the love which makes us one.’

[puckinghischier]

i just knowwww quinn has this streak of jealousy within him at all times.

like, even when you’re just joking around with jack and luke, you KNOW he’s giving them side eye the whole time, not appreciating how touchy jack is when the two of you are laughing at one of his bad jokes, or the way luke always seems to squeeze you extra tight during goodbye or hello hugs.

and it not that he’s doing it in a toxic way, really, he just always wants you all to himself. he loves the relationship you have with his brothers, truly, but you’re the one thing that he gets to have that they don’t. you were his friend first. you always wanted to come to the lake to spend time with him. you go to all of his games. live in his city. he’s had to share everything with his younger brothers growing up. the same hockey teams, the same coaches, luke following his footsteps and playing for michigan, jack being on team usa with him, their stats always being compared, and everything else about them.

which, he loves the fact that they all made it into the league and he loves experiencing all of this with his brothers, but sometimes it’s nice to just have something that’s yours.

and when you’re out at the bar with him? game over. if a man so much as looks in your direction with any sort of impure intentions, quinn is on you like glue. not that he doesn’t trust you. he trusts you infinitely, but he doesn’t trust everyone else. he makes sure your drink is always full so guys don’t try to buy one for you. he’s got a hand on you at all times, letting everyone know who you came there with. he’s always there to guide you to and from the bathroom, making sure you don’t get cornered by some drunk man looking for a good time.

at games, when he watches guys attempt to flirt with you in the stands, even though you’re wearing his name and number on your back, always gets him going, too. he knows you always turn them down, watching you flat out ignore their comments most of the time, but he can’t lie and say it doesn’t fuel him to play that much better, skating over to your section and making some big display of affection towards you after he scores, glaring at whatever man was trying to get your attention that night.

of course, you’re aware of his small jealousy problem, scolding him when he gets too pouty when you’re spending time with his brothers or chatting up his teammates while you wait on him to fulfill his captain duties after games. but you can’t lie and say the slight flare of his nostrils and grumpy furrow of his eyebrows doesn’t give you butterflies, sometimes. knowing he’s not really trying to control you, just wanting your attention, gives your ego a slight boost, if you’re honest.

despite his harsh demeanor and glares when the two of you are out in public, all it takes is one smile from you and he’s mush. he’d do anything you asked him to do (because let’s be honest, we all know he has a subby side), his number one priority always making sure you’re happy, even if he does have to clench his jaw to stop himself from yelling at jack when he plops down next you on the couch during movie night, leaving no room for quinn.

he knows you love him, and he know he loves you with everything in him, but sometimes he just wants to lock you up in his apartment so no one else gets the privilege of seeing your pretty face and hearing your sweet voice. because even though you decided quinn was the lucky one that gets to wake up next to you every morning, doesn’t mean everyone else has a right to experience your beauty and kindness all the time. sometimes he just wanted to be selfish, keep all of your good qualities to himself.

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕻ICK & CHOOSE

Daniela Avanzini x fem!reader

summary: your best friend, dani can be a really possessive freak and you guys fight about it a lot. when you get a new boyfriend, she was falling back into her toxic ways, but you—maybe, just maybe—kinda find her jealousy… hot?

warnings: slight!nsfw, suggestive/sexual themes, harsh language, mean/toxic!dani, pushover!reader, cheating

Daniela had always been a territorial woman. Since her days on the playground, sneering at any kid who would come up and try to snag her seat on the swing or in high school, when she’d yank a girl’s scalp off for taking her cheer spot.

Being Daniela’s best friend could be really exhausting at times, especially when she saw you as just another thing she owned.

Even in middle school, people would mistake Daniela as your girlfriend, the way she’d always have an arm over you or scare off any interested boy or girl with one cold glare. And nobody dared give you a second glance. As much as her reputation shielded you from any potential threat, it stripped you of your freedom to experience things in the dating scene.

And honestly, she has no shame in taking accountability for it.

Daniela truly believed nobody was good enough. They would always be too tall, too short, too annoying, too quiet—nobody ever satisfied her rigid standard for your partners.

You’d spend nights in her room, after sending the boy you’re talking to home to recover from a night of mean and passive comments from Daniela, fighting her about her attitude.

She’d always roll her eyes, calling you ‘insane for getting mad at wanting to protect you’. But she’d somehow always make it up to you in some half-assed apology and big puppy dog eyes, taking you out for ice-cream, making sure you’d crawl straight back into her open arms.

And like the fucking pushover you were, you would.

You met Jake at a really cool record store. You stopped by the place after work—alone, because Daniela was still caught up at rehearsal—and you were greeted by a well-dressed boy with a thick Australian accent.

The two of you had shared a similar taste in music, and he made you laugh in a way you hadn’t in a very long time. When he asked you for your number, you didn’t have to give it much thought—you wanted to see this man again.

You didn’t mention the encounter to Daniela when she asked about your day that night. She would absolutely freak.

The months after you met Jake, you would hang out with him whenever Daniela was unavailable. You felt so free, mind in such a happy state whenever you were around him.

You felt you worry less about Daniela when you held hands for the first time when Daniela bailed on you for a Katseye bonding thing, when he kissed you under the snow during Christmas eve when Daniela wanted to go clubbing with Manon, when he brought you to dinner over a city view of LA to ask you officially to be his girlfriend with flowers and a record of the band you both adored.

You remembered feeling an argument with Daniela arise that night when she called to ditch you for her career for the nth time. She was making up some bullshit reason, when she was just choosing to prioritize her bandmates above you.

You sighed, wanting out before things got tense.

It caught her off guard when you would just tell her a simple “no problem, see you” instead of whine like usual.

She knew something was up; you had been acting off for months, the effect she had on you—the control she had on your relationship—was slipping through her fingers.

Which brings us to now, you in Jake’s car after calling him the moment you hung up on Daniela.

“No, I’m telling you, you need to watch the movies in order from best to worst, not chronologically,” Jake insisted, his eyes trained on the road, “It won’t make sense, but it’s better.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. You interlaced your fingers with his on your thigh.

“I don’t know why you love those movies so much, it’s just about grown men driving fast cars and tokyo drifting.” you teased, immediately scoffing at the loud gasp he let out.

“Don’t you disrespect the Fast & Furious franchise like that.”

You looked at him, admiring his side profile as he sped through the busy LA streets. You reached out to run a hand through his styled, black hair, feeling him buzz as he chuckled. “What?”

“Thanks for taking me out tonight, Jake.”

He brought your intertwined hands up to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. “Of course, love. I’ll take you wherever you want, just give me a call.”

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed, interrupting the music you were playing on bluetooth. Siri read out the contact name and you froze; “Text message from, ‘DANI ♡’. On my way to your house, I’m bringing booze’. Reply?”

Your hand untangled from Jake’s grabbing your phone to quickly silence the message. You shot her a quick “sounds good” before shoving your phone into your purse. Jake raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you quickly before he had to avert his gaze back to traffic. “Didn’t you say Dani was off partying tonight with her friends tonight?”

You nodded, smile faltering. “Yeah, but it’s fine. She probably needs a place closer to downtown to crash, she does this when they go out, my apartment’s closer than their dorm.”

Jake hummed, “So… I can’t stay over tonight?”

He drove into a small street and pulled into your driveway, turning the ignition off. Jake turned in his seat, his piercing eyes now fully focused on you as he grabbed your hand again. He pouted, quivering his lip dramatically as he sniffed.

“Guess not. Tomorrow night?”

He nodded, before getting out the car and running over to your side. He popped open your door, a hand held out to take yours as you both stood on the side of your car. He leant against the hood, hands on your hips as he smiled. “I’m glad you called, I’d rather be out with you than doing some lame spreadsheet for my stupid clients.”

You chuckled, slapping his chest. “Those stupid clients pay your bills, Jake. But thanks for dinner, that place was amazing. We should go back some time, it’s a nice excuse to dress up.”

He bit his lip, eyeing you up and down. “Oh, we’re going back if it means I get to see you in this smoking outfit again.”

“Okay, perv. I have to get out of said smoking outfit before Dani gets here.” You leant in, smirking, “Wouldn’t want anyone but you seeing me like this now, would I?”

He took your lips in for a long kiss, moving against yours in sync. You pulled away before he could deepen the kiss anymore, because you knew he’d sweet-talk his way into having you get back into his car.

“Goodnight, Mr. Sim.” You whispered, hands slipping from his shoulders down to his hands before pulling apart. You backed towards your front door, watching him blow you a kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“You got it… Mrs. Sim.” He smiled, his hands in the pockets of his suit. “Have fun with Dani. I love you.”

You feel a flutter in your chest, a mix of nerves and excitement, and you’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t even notice Daniela standing in your bedroom window.

The door closed softly behind you, and when you retreat to your room, you saw her. She’s leaning back casually, one leg crossed over the other, but there’s nothing relaxed about the way her eyes are fixed on you. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her jaw is tight.

"Well, well," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Looks like you had fun."

You blinked, caught off guard. "God, Dani, you scared me.”

She was lying on your bed, a magazine from your nightstand sprawled out in front of her as she threw a swig of beer back. “I thought I’d come since I was in the neighborhood. Clearly, I shouldn’t have bothered—you’ve got a new little boyfriend for that now, don’t you?"

Her words are laced with venom, and it sets you on edge. "His name is Jake. He drove me home after a date, that’s all. Why are you acting like this?"

"Like this?" she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I just watched you make out with that fucktard in a suit in front of your house like you’re in some cheap rom-com."

Your cheeks flushed, both with embarrassment and irritation. "You were watching us? Dani, that’s insane."

"What’s insane," she said, stepping closer, "is you wasting your time on someone like him while you leave me waiting."

"Stop it," you snapped your voice rising. "You don’t know him.”

She laughed sarcastically, shaking her head. "I don’t need to know him. I know you. And I know you’re settling for someone go definitely doesn’t deserve what you can give."

You crossed your arms, trying to steady yourself under the weight of her intense gaze. "And what do I deserve, Dani? Someone like you?"

The words are out before you can think better of them, and for a moment, there’s silence. Her expression hardened, but there’s something else there—something raw and unguarded.

“I just don’t think he’s good for you,” Daniela scoffed, her hands in her pockets. Her sharp eyes glared straight at you from across the bed, swinging her legs over your sheets to sit on the edge of your bed. “I mean, when was the last time you had time for yourself, really?”

You groaned, shaking your head. “This is not up for discussion, Dani, I’m not about to argue about this with you, okay?”

“I want what’s best for you, mami, and it’s so obvious you’re not even that into him.” She barked. She watched you take your hair out, fluffing it out as you stripped out of your jacket, shaking off your heels, then the tight and skimpy dress you had hugging your skin. “Why’re you entertaining this prick?”

“How would you know what’s good for me? You haven’t given me any of your time since you debuted,” you sighed, “Y’know I’m very happy for you, Dani, but I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Oh my God, it’s my opinion!”

“Well it’s not your opinion to have!” You raised your voice, “For the love of God, Dani, I’m not some pet you own. I don’t have to run every little thing or decision in my life by you before I do them, okay? And while you’re out drinking and fucking girls, Jake has kept me company. He doesn’t make plans and then call to cancel last minute. And he’s not a prick.”

Daniela’s nose scrunched as she held back a snarl. Her fingers tightened around your sheets, scrunching under her white knuckles. Oh, if she could have five minutes locked in a room with this guy, she would beat his face in so much he’d taste his own brain. He was tainting Daniela’s perfect little girl.

“I work extra hard so I can take you on vacations during my breaks. I deserve some downtime, don’t you think?” She stood, tilting her head, “It doesn’t really matter anyway, does it? While I’m out fucking those girls, you’re busy fucking him.”

“And what’s wrong with that, exactly? I’m a grown woman.”

“A grown woman who doesn’t even know what she wants,” Daniela muttered through gritted teeth. She walked closer to you as you backed away from her, eventually, your back hit the wall. “A grown woman who left her best friend waiting in her house while macking her boyfriend on his car outside like a whore. A grown woman who let the first guy who showed her any interest shove his dick in her.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening at her harsh words. She was always mean, but she had never been so cruel before. You felt tears well into your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“No? You hurt ‘cuz I’m right, mami?” She laughed at your reaction, a hand resting against the wall beside your head. “When have I ever been wrong?”

She had a point. She was really toxic with it, but she was seldom wrong. Still, you were absolutely over the way she treated you. You weren’t the same high-school girl who was loyal to a fault who would agree with everything she said.

“How much do you fuck in a week, hm?”

You swallowed thickly, turning away to avoid her heavy gaze. You knew to never stare straight into those piercing eyes, it was a trap. “That’s none of your business.”

“Bet he starts feeling you up every time, you say ‘no’ but after a couple drinks and couple kisses, you end up letting him touch you.” Her voice was low and husky, her breath grazing your cheek. “Then you wake up in his bed, feeling real good about yourself, before you leave him to come see me.”

Sex with Jake was a sensitive topic. He was a very passionate guy, very touchy and he loved inviting you over to his place a lot. You always thought he rushed into it too much, but you tried not to pay those thoughts any mind because you wanted to keep him happy.

“Dani, please, just stop.”

“He’s a placeholder,” she interrupts, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “You’re so desperate for someone to love you that you’ve settled for the first guy you see. It’s pathetic, honestly.”

Anger was gradually taking over your bruised self-esteem, but so does something else—something you can’t quite name. Daniela’s words sting, but the way she’s looking at you now, her eyes burning with intensity, her plump lips spitting out whatever insults she could think of and her body mere inches away from yours. It made your stomach churn… or flutter?

“Get off me. You’re being an asshole about this and I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you say, though your voice wavers slightly. “You don’t decide who I fuck and that’s that.”

“Oh, don’t I?” She leans forward, closing the space between you, and suddenly the air feels charged. Her gaze drops to your lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back to your eyes. “I’ve seen you in ways he never will, loved you better than he ever can. I know you better than anyone. Better than yourself. And I’m not about to sit back and watch you throw yourself away on someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

Her words are venomous, but her proximity is intoxicating. You wanted to shove her away, to tell her she crossed the line—but you can’t. Because part of you knew it meant she cared, and after months of feeling neglected, you craved it.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Am I?” Her hand comes up to cup your jaw, her fingers firm against your skin. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me everything I just said isn’t true and I’ll back off.”

You couldn’t. Because she was right. You didn’t want to say it though, to give her the satisfaction.

“Whatever. I’m gonna take a shower, you better be gone when I get out.” You warned, gently shoving her backwards. “Take the booze. I don’t wanna see you until you stop acting like a child throwing a tantrum at their mom not getting them candy.”

“Don’t walk away from me.” She tutted, pulling you back by your wrist. Before you could tell her off, you felt her grab you by the waist, her lips silencing whatever you had to say.

It’s not gentle or soft—it’s fierce and demanding, exactly like everything else about Daniela. Her lips thrashed against yours, her nails digging into your skin as if she’s trying to stake her claim. Her hand crept up to your neck, fingers squeezing the sides of your jaw slightly as she gripped your throat. Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to tell her this was insane, but your body betrayed you. You kissed her back, letting out a soft moan as she pulled your lip back between her teeth.

Her possessiveness, her toxicity—it should repulse you. You always thought it did. But now, with her pinning you to your bed as her cool hands snaked up your stomach, things seemed clearer. The way she took control, the way she pushed you to the edge—it was irresistibly hot.

When she finally pulls back, her lips are swollen, her breathing ragged. Her eyes hooded and her pupils blown wide. “You don’t like me staying out late? Fucking whatever bitches who throw themselves at me?” she rasped. “If you missed me that much, you could’ve just told me, mami. I would’ve dropped anything to come see you.”

Daniela doesn’t give you time to think. Her hand slid from your throat to your heaving chest. She smirked, a mix of arrogance and desire, and leant in again.

“You like this, baby?” she murmured, her lips ghosting over yours, teasing but not quite touching. “You like me putting you in your place? Maybe if I’d done this earlier, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into that fuckface’s arms.”

You want to deny it, to push her away and tell her she’s wrong, but the words catch in your throat. The truth is written all over your flushed skin, in the way your breath hitches every time her lips get closer.

“Answer me,” she demanded, her voice low and commanding.

“Yes, Dani, yes, I do.” You panted breathily.

She grinned in satisfaction, the grill in her teeth shining under the dim lights on in your room. She quickly muffled any noises that came from your mouth with another kiss, deeper this time. Her fingers were quick to grab at the hem of your dress, tugging it up just enough to make you gasp against her mouth. She took advantage, her tongue sliding against yours, and it was absolutely dizzying, intoxicating.

Her knee pressed between your thighs, you gripped her shoulders, nails digging into her skin as if to ground yourself, but it only seemed to turn her on.

“He’s just a blank piece of shit who wants to get his dick sucked,” she whispered against your lips, her voice dripping with venom and passion. “Tell me who you belong to, mami.”

Every word she said, every move she made, set your skin ablaze. You were getting hot and needy, your body aching at the absence of her touch.

“Dani,” you breathed, her name slipping from your lips like a confession, a surrender.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes searching yours. “Say it,” she repeated, softer this time but no less insistent. “So you won’t ever forget it.”

“I’m yours,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “You own me, Dani.”

Her lips curl into a victorious smile, and she leans in, her breath hot against your ear. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, her voice sending shivers through you. “I’m gonna spell my name out in hickeys, so that boy you of yours know it too.”

Before you could respond, she’s kissing you again, more demanding, more consuming. Every touch, every movement feels like a claim, a declaration that you belong to her and no one else. You’re lost in her, in the intensity of it all, and for the first time, you don’t want to mind Daniela’s possessiveness.

You knew you’d fight about this in the morning, but confusion was definitely pushed to be experienced in the morning…

Jakey :) Hey baby you left your wallet in my car

Jakey :) Can I come drop it off really quick?

[jjenthusee]

Handshakes And Trash Cans

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

a/n: simply, i wrote a lot and i didn’t wanna release it in parts, so i squeezed the entire fic here. I’ve been having fun writing small excerpts and then they turn into full fics. Jason deserves all the love, so i focused on a neighbors to lovers? No mention of vigilante stuff, but tons of domesticity. With some mentions of big brother Dick (i’m a firm believer that he’s the number one supporter of Jason and just wants the best for him), a bit of steaminess if u squint, and a very devoted Jason. leave me any comments if your comfortable sharing because i wanna know what u guys think XD and if you were crying screaming sliding down the wall like i was (also despite me still being in my repenting era, i wanted to release this as an early apology cause i wanna write another angsty drabble so maybe…maybe not look forward to that) ENJOY (link to the work before this one here)

word count: 7.1k

tags: pining, tons of fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, heartfelt confessions, big brother dick shenanigans

When you got your first two-bedroom apartment, you always thought the dream would only be possible with a roommate. You didn’t have much money during college and transitioning into a full-time job didn’t allow you to freely spend outside of necessities and rent.

But you did it. You got two bedrooms and you didn’t initially know what to do with the extra room. A hobby space, a library, a guest room, or an office? There were too many possibilities.

This was your space, so you combined it all. A basket to keep all of your current craft obsessions next to a bean bag, two full shelves of books from your childhood to your university years, and a desk in the corner to write. It was everything you hoped for. A spot to leave work out of, to decompress and remember the things that made you happy.

You were proud you did it on your own. You could enjoy solitude, your hard work and give time to prioritize yourself.

But an unexpected accomplishment came with an unexpected visitor. A handsome visitor no less. Maybe being an adult wasn’t so bad all the time.

…

But meeting new people was bad. Or you were bad at it.

When you were up at two in the morning, doing normal two a.m. activities like trying to turn your entire life around, you believed that dragging yourself to one of the community events at the apartment complex would help you get to know your neighbors. Then you could scope the scene to see if you wanted to hide forever or maybe have a friendly acquaintance you acknowledged in the hallway.

Now you wanted neither as you sat, alone, at a bar stool in the well decorated community balcony. Although you were distancing yourself from the main party, you couldn’t help admiring the string lights they hung up, the pristine décor, and new furniture. They clearly went through a grand renovation before you moved in.

Despite your need to socially decompress from all the small talk, you did feel mellow in the warm lighting, listening to the slow music you quietly hummed to.

The view was great from your table, you got to see from the edge of the balcony into the city view. Gotham City did have its moments and lots of outsiders tend to see all the bad that overruns it, but when the city is calm, it has its own virtue.

As you watched the sky line, a man also decided to join in, admiring the city lights. He stood farther from where you sat, leaning against the glass and steel railing. He was probably distancing himself from the party like you were. You could only see half of his face from your current angle and distance, but he was…charming. Broody and charming.

Gotham did have the best views, but staring was bad. A little bit of hope crept into your mind at the thought of a handsome neighbor living in the same apartment building.

Another pretty man joined him. Wow, you never realized that Gotham had a lot of great views. Maybe you needed to get out more, enjoy the scenery a bit.

The two beautiful men seemed to know each other. One more talkative than the other, but they seemed close. It was amusing watching the way they contrasted one another, a man clearly dragged to be here tonight and the other fueling himself with the night vibe.

As much as you wanted to continue to be nosy, maybe it was time to call it a night, it was late and you got enough of your pretty boy fill for the evening. Which would have been the plan if you didn’t make eye contact with the second model that blessed your eyes.

You nervously observed the charismatic man walking toward you with a bright friendly smile.

“Hello, I just wanted to ask if my brother—the tall very alone one standing over there—could be tall and very alone over here, in this seat.” He dragged the stool out from underneath the glass table you were resting your arms on.

You looked at the empty seat across from you, then glanced at his presumed brother you were staring at earlier. He clearly didn’t agree to this sudden turn of events as he watched the two of you talk and he looked more mortified than you were. It was…cute. It brought a smile to your face.

“Well, your tall and very alone brother looks scared of me.” You glanced back to the man still holding the chair out.

Your comment must have been hysterical at the way the man was almost leaning forward from laughing. His dimples fully visible and his hair falling forward. Everything he did looked stunning.

“I promise he’s friendlier than he looks.” He breathlessly held his stomach still amused at your first impression of his broody brother. “He’s tall, alone, and friendly if it helps.”

You thought for a moment, debating on your options: leave or sit with a handsome man in possibly awkward silence.

“I don’t mind being alone together.” You smiled more, giving into the curiosity of the man leaning against the railing.

You were a simple human and apparently the man in front of you was too when he ushered his brother over. A man much too large for the bar stool, but you got a good look at his full face.

The curls, defined dark eyebrows, a white streak. His face had definition, a particular beauty that differed from his brother. Not less beautiful, but you were more drawn to the rougher look.

You definitely made the right choice.

Before you had any time to say anything, the conspirator left to go mingle with another bunch of attendees. You watched him hop from one conversation to another, you didn’t know whether he knew them or he just met them like you had five seconds ago.

“I think social anxiety is scared of him.” You laughed in disbelief to your new companion.

“Trust me, you have no idea. I’ve seen him wear some of the most horrendous outfits in public, willingly. What’s worse is—I hate to admit it—but he can pull it off, in a horrifying way.” The stranger shook his head, no mortification in his voice, and you almost unconsciously lulled to the sound. “But he means well, uh, sorry he dragged you into whatever he’s planning. I could leave you alone, he tends to unintentionally be pushy.”

Oh? Broody, charming and thoughtful. Was the bar low or were you easily impressed? Maybe the husky voice is blurring the distinction.

“No, it’s okay, he seemed worried about both us being ‘very alone’ as he put it.” You spoke, glancing into the eyes of the man in front of you. Greenish blue. A wave of amusement washed over you and with the most serious expression you could muster, you decided to test the waters. “From one alone person to another, let’s be alone together.” You reached out your hand to introduce yourself.

He coyly smiled at your formal gesture, leaning in to mimic your movement. You were both leaning onto the glass table, close enough to see the slight scaring on his face. Faint enough to see them only if you were close enough, wanting to drag your thumb across them.

His warm hand engulfed yours. Calloused. A firm handshake.

“Jason, alone man, and been alone for twenty-one years.” Jason gave you the most breathtaking smile, never letting go of your hand. “I’m looking forward to this opportunity…alone, of course.”

You laughed, almost giggled from how charming this man was.

“It’s been twenty-three alone years and still counting.” You mischievously smirked, glad he joined in on your antics. “I’m glad to let you join the team. I expect great things from you.”

“And I hope to learn a lot from my superiors, I’ll be in your care.” Jason’s voice was so low at the end of his statement. It caught you off guard that you almost missed the way he held onto your hand just a tiny bit longer than you anticipated. So short that you felt like you imagined it.

The warmth still lingered on your hands after you let go.

You were so engrossed in Jason’s company and Jason only had the eyes to look at you, that neither of you could see the man, who schemed your interaction, was beaming from watching the connection spark.

…

That single handshake and nonchalant agreement that you shared with an unknown neighbor actually kept it’s promise. That evening, you found out that Jason lived on the same floor as you did, that his brother visited him a lot, and he took out the trash on Wednesdays.

He didn’t tell you the last one, but you found out the last bit of information by accident when you bumped into him on your way back from the trash room. You thought the evening you met Jason would be the first and last time you would see him, but your laziness prevented you from taking out the garbage on your designated day and you were graced with seeing his lopsided smile as you passed him in the hallway.

You were so giddy from the surprise and seeing Jason’s captivating smile, you tested your luck and took the trash out on the same day and time the following week.

You listened out in the hallway, trying to hear a door open, it was honestly crazy behavior, but you continued your slow pace, but with no tall alone man in sight and a defeated sigh, you walked to the trash room with no Jason by your side and swung the door open.

Like a beam of light cascading over you, the man in question was standing in front of you, opening the trash shoot. You never thought a man in a trash room would be sexy, but with his shirt tightly straining on his body, a flushed face, and his muscles eye level with you, anything was possible.

May whoever told this gorgeous man to live at this apartment complex eat delicious meals, have working phone chargers, and a lifetime of happiness.

Somewhere off in the far distance, Dick sneezed.

You almost forgot the reason you were in the trash room after you set your eyes on Jason’s post-workout state. He kept the shoot open for you and with unsteady steps you threw your trash bag to disappear to the unknown. You were trying to not trip up with Jason’s defined arm holding the handle open and the close proximity of his chest to your face.

Maybe you need to go on a run. Why were you acting like this right now?

“Hey, neighbor.” Jason casually spoke to you. His voice felt airy, probably winding down from the exercise. “You come around here often?”

You cleared your mind from any thoughts, the trash room was not the place to start flirting, but what were you supposed to do when Jason started it? Or what you assumed to be flirtatious conversation.

“Nah, I’m new to town.” You glanced over to him, leaning your neck back to grasp his full height. Jason hadn’t missed the movement, combing your collarbone with his gaze. “But, I might stay a while.” You melodically spoke.

Before your stare and voice settled in the air, you stepped to the side to add a little distance between the two of you. Pulling away from the tension.

“Just so I can continue my alone things.” You explained trying to smoothen the mood with a playful tone.

Jason stayed quiet like he was contemplating something in his mind. Then he let the trash shoot close and with small steps the both of you walked out into the hallway.

“What alone things do you have planned tomorrow?” Jason nonchalantly asked, so casually you almost thought you heard wrong.

“Uh, work in the morning, but nothing planned for the evening, I wanted to try out a new cookie recipe.”

“Do you wanna come over to my place—I wanted to cook something for dinner, but it just hasn’t worked out yet. Maybe you can bring those cookies?” Jason didn’t look at you, suddenly interested in the pure white walls of the hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

You were stunned. How was such a beautiful man asking you to come over to his place with the promise of him cooking you dinner and all you had to do was bring your shitty cookies?

“I want to warn you that my cookies aren’t award worthy. I just follow the recipe, they’re nothing special.” You wanted to ensure that Jason was really inviting you over.

“Then I can’t wait to try your ‘nothing special’ cookies.” He reassured.

…

You spent the entire afternoon making sure your measurements were precise, not a lump of flour above the rim of the measuring utensils you haven’t brought out in a while. Usually you winged the ingredients, not really worried about the quality too much since it was just you.

But now you wanted to cry.

How did you properly fold ingredients, were you whisking right, maybe you should’ve got the too expensive butter from the store?

It took three full hours to prep, bake, and try your hand at cutely packaging the cookies. It took four attempts to arrange the cookies in a way that didn’t make you want to cancel the dinner.

But after a few pep talks in the mirror and reassuring yourself that this was a hang out and not a date, then you were able to walk over to his unit number.

You hesitantly knocked on the door, five minutes after seven because you would torture yourself thinking about arriving right on the dot before you fell asleep tonight and every night after.

Your worries left your mind when you saw Jason open the door in an apron.

“You’re just in time, I’m ready to plate everything.” He beamed.

Your heart might not be able to survive tonight. But it was just dinner.

You awkwardly handed Jason your tin of homemade cookies. You tried to limit your snooping around his apartment when he told you to wait for him to get the drinks, but curiosity was coursing through you once you realized that you were being invited into a part of Jason’s life and home.

You were no longer going to be strangers. You didn’t know if this qualified to make you friends, but you knew you were two people about to eat dinner together. A dinner he made and cookies you made as thanks.

Once you were ready to eat, you stared at your plate filled with spices, fresh veggies, a meticulously cooked entrée and a…homemade lemonade? You stared up at Jason, watching you look at his food.

“I feel like bringing you cookies isn’t enough.” Although you felt guilty, you took a bite because you didn’t want to look at one more second of Jason’s shining eyes.

You could only sigh, which made Jason worry.

“I think I’m going to name my children after you.”

Jason chuckled at your exaggeration.

“I’d be honored.”

The rest of the meal was relaxing. You didn’t have to force yourself around Jason. Your conversation flowed easily and you were interested in learning about the man you met on the balcony.

…

After many trips to the other side of the apartment building and a couple of deep cleanings of your apartment, you got accustomed to having Jason walk around your kitchen, rummaging the cabinets and organizing your spices the way he likes it.

One shared meal after another. Sometimes several times a week or spaced out further when work got busy. It was nice to look forward to a meal with Jason.

Now you had text messages from him on your phone, a designated mug for him, and a couple of his snacks that he wanted you to try.

You traded recipes. Jason gave you his favorites and you mainly just gave him ones you were curious about, not very fond of your kitchen.

After several failed attempts at convincing him that it was your kitchen that was the problem and not your ability to cook, he came over more to prove you wrong.

Now you sat at your kitchen island to watch him concentrate on mixing an assortment of spices and herbs while you memorized as much of his face and hands as possible. The TV was on, but you had no interest in whatever movie played.

“I have a confession to make.” You sadly looked at Jason.

He glanced over from the pan on the stove to your face. Confusion in his eyes from your sudden change in tone.

“I actually don’t really like cookies.” You threw your hands up in a guilty pose. “Now it’s eating me inside that I had to give those to you when I first came over to your place.”

Jason hummed and tilted his head with one of his eyebrows raised in a teasing manner.

“So, the guilt finally got to you, huh?” He grinned moving his attention back to the food cooking in front of him. His nonchalant voice resonating around you.

“I can’t sleep at night anymore.” You exaggerated, walking a little closer to his side. “Well, once you became my personal chef I realized I had to make it up to you.” You could smell the food better now that you were standing next to Jason.

“I can see the guilt in your eyes.” He flatly said watching you eyeing the food.

“We always eat when we hang out and I can make simple foods, but if I can follow a recipe I was going to suggest if I should cook something, but you are also here to prove me wrong that my kitchen isn’t cursed. Which it is by the way—”

“Your kitchen is not cursed.” He warmly scolded you. “I’ll come over everyday to prove it if I have to.”

You always had to reset your brain when he used that tone with you. It just felt too…sincere. Too intimate.

You wanted him to come over everyday. You took a breath.

“I make more money than when I was still in college, but I don’t think I can afford that many grocery bills.” You teased him. “Why do you think I go over to your place?”

You wanted to evade any serious topics and humor was the best at evading. You were good at avoidance.

“So, I’m a free pantry to you?” His eyebrows rose, questioning you. “I knew you were using me!” He faked a flabbergasted voice like he just heard his life-long partner declare they were cheating on him for months.

He turned off the stove, covering the pan with the lid and turning to face you.

“I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.” You gave him your best dejected look. “I promise I’ll pick up more shifts to help restock your fridge, but let me just taste your homemade ravioli one last time.” You begged as he moved closer to you, closing you in with the kitchen island behind your back.

His height and broad shoulders easily caved you in. You gulped watching his face lean down and inch closer.

“If I can’t trust you with my fridge, you don’t deserve my ravioli.” He lowered his voice, gazing down at you with a look that made you breathless. You couldn’t move with the counter behind you and Jason hovering dangerously close to you. “But, you can make it up to me.” He brought his thumb to your chin, barely a wisp of touch.

“How?” You stammered, wondering if the bit was still going.

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market tomorrow.” His hand moved from your face to the edge of the counter, close enough to touch your side and his voice returning to normal, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay, uh, I’m off tomorrow.” You stared, darting your eyes between Jason’s eyes. Trying to adjust to the tension that was radiating off of him.

“Good, foods ready.” Jason pulled away, moving to the cabinet to grab your glass plates. He was too familiar with the layout of your kitchen.

That night you quickly learned how easy Jason was able to turn the tables. Your racing heart and shallow breathing were the only evidence of it ever happening.

…

The heat beat down on you. Of all days for Gotham to finally clear it’s clouds, it chose today.

Although you weren’t fond of the warm air, you liked watching all the colorful tents, the food on display, and seeing the various local products. Everything looked intricately cared for and it brought a proud feeling to contribute to the locals.

“Bags?” Jason asked, going through his mental checklist.

“Check.” You raised the reusable grocery bags in your hands.

“Hats?”

“Check.” You nudged the baseball cap on your head.

“Money?” Jason smirked.

You grabbed onto Jason’s bicep. Giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Check.” You grinned up at Jason looking at the placement of your hand. “Now let’s go!” You gleefully led him to the first tent with your hand still on him.

You had no idea how you ended up carrying all the bags, but you were trying to ease your mind that this could be considered a date. Jason didn’t call it that and you never asked to clarify, but you couldn’t help it itching at your brain.

You didn’t want to label anything, out of respect for Jason and what he wanted, but you noticed he had started to touch you more and the contact makes you giddy that you had to put all of your focus on making sure you don’t drop his produce.

You stood by Jason, looking at various jars of loose leaf tea. He was smelling all the aromas, helping to move the jars to your nose, so you could smell them too. He insisted on helping you since you refused to give him a bag, but you also didn’t have a free hand to grab the jar.

After a couple more sniff tests, he settled on a jar of prickly pear tea, a lemon-ginger flavor, and he was contemplating on some earl grey cookies. You were watching him, entranced by his concentration. His brows lowered, a small line appearing between his brows. You could see more of his face with a cap on, no messy curls on his forehead and his side profile was really something.

You broke out of your trance when he offered you a piece of the earl-grey cookie, holding it in front of your mouth.

“They’re free samples, try it.” He looked at you, waiting patiently. “I know you don’t like cookies, but these are made with the tea sold here. I saw all the tea you keep in your pantry, so I think you would like it.”

In your lost state at this man in front of you, that could’ve sounded like a proposal to you at that point.

You inched forward, opening your mouth for the cookie. You hesitated at the intimacy, but how could you tell that face ‘no.’ Staring at the small piece of cookie, baked a quarter of the original size they sold, you also saw all the scars that littered Jason’s hands. Many healed over, but you could see the faded lines.

You dangerously wanted to kiss each one.

You grabbed the piece in your mouth, but you didn’t realize that you accidentally touched Jason’s finger with your lip.

You quickly glanced at Jason, but his eyes were glossed over. His attention focused on your mouth.

What a sight.

You chewed and hummed. They were good. Jason cleared his throat at your approval.

“I’ll get a bag and the tea. I’ll be back. You can put the bags down for a bit because there’s a small line.” He quickly turned around, a small tinge of redness left on his ears with his head turned away from you.

You watched his back walk away, then settled the bags down to give your arms a break.

“Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you that you two are adorable.” A honeyed voice spoke trying to grab your attention.

Your head whipped back to the table of teas. An older lady restocking the various collection had a mischievous look in her eye. You hadn’t noticed her there at all.

“The way your boyfriend looks at you, I haven’t seen a look like that since my husband passed many years ago.” The lady gushed.

“Wha, no, I—“ You stammered, trying to clear up the confusion, but your flustered face must’ve amused the woman.

“That made my day, so I wanted to give you this lemon bar we just started selling. Go on, take it and share it with him.” She pressured you to take the free treat. You were too speechless to try to refuse it and insist that you pay before she placed it in your hand herself and she walked off to help another customer wanting a sample.

Your face felt hot and you hoped it cleared before Jason came back, but before you could fan the redness away he appeared next to you with his purchase.

“Hey, you okay? Where’d you get that lemon—”

“Let’s get some lunch!” You grabbed the bags and nudged him to the food trucks lining the edge of the market, trying to hide your face with your hat and leaving the comments from the woman behind.

…

“Wow, this might be the best empanada I’ve ever had.” You chomped at your lunch.

Jason found a waffle place and settled on a berry topping. It was wrapped perfectly to fit in his hands.

You sat across from Jason at an outdoor table with an umbrella to shield you from the sun, sitting away from the rush of people lining up to also eat. The midday lunch rush got to you and you wanted to have a bit of privacy before you went back home.

“How long have you known about this place?” You asked Jason, a slight breeze grazing your face. Watching a kid nudging his dad for a piece of banana bread he found on one of the vendor’s tables.

“Last year? It was recent, but I’ve heard it’s been around for a while. Maybe over five years?” Jason took a bite of his waffle.

“I wish I had found this during my university years. This is a bit out of the way of my walk route, but it would’ve been awesome to browse with my friend.” You saw the boy you were watching earlier smiling wide as he held his dad’s hand and the banana loaf as big as his head. You smiled at the interaction.

“But I probably would’ve sent my friend into shock.” You continued, the boy and his dad disappearing into the crowd. “I wasn’t very social during my university years.” You glanced at Jason, his waffle gone and he was neatly folding the wrapper.

“My friend would joke that I would only meet someone if they magically met me at home. Like that was the only way I could score a date.” You pitifully joked at the old memory. “Sounds absurd doesn’t it, but she wasn’t wrong—“

You saw a shift in Jason’s eyes. He had an oddly serious look, it stopped you from talking and you sat up straighter, wondering what he was thinking about.

You waited, watching him internally fight with whatever he wanted to say.

“That’s not true.” He hesitated. “You’re funny, you’re able to connect with others, you’re a great listener, and you’re honest. You don’t have the heart to be mean to others and your facial expressions are adorable.” His voice rose the longer he defended you. His serious expression further amplified with his furrowed eyebrows. A part of his face obscured by his cap, but you felt the raw emotion emanating from him.

“Anyone would be enamored with you, even if they met you in the hallway or walking down the street.” He puffed, crushing the waffle paper on the table.

You were surprised, glancing over at Jason, watching him get this frustrated. You realized you’ve never seen him this…emotional and he refused to look at you.

The sudden development and his clear thoughts about you stunned you. You joked with Jason how alone you both were, it even brought you together thanks to his brother, but you didn’t really know how alone he truly was. You don’t think he really understood how lonely you were too.

You enjoyed your shared meals, you craved his time and attention.

You got so used to his presence that the days you didn’t see him, you felt like you were dreaming. Waiting to wake up when you heard that familiar knock on your door.

Your heart raced and you hoped he cherished your time together like you did.

You didn’t want to assume his witty personality as being flirtatious, you didn’t want to misunderstand any of his intentions because he was funny, charming, and awkward in ways that you just wanted to grab his face and protect him.

You didn’t particularly need Jason as your person, that felt too selfish, but you also wanted to be somebody to him. Either next to him or from a distance.

A friend, a companion, a lover. The label didn’t really matter to you because you were open to any role. A lover wasn’t more significant than a friend would be. They both had the same foundation, to care for someone unconditionally.

You convinced yourself that you were happy alone, but not until recently you realized you weren’t living. You were asleep in the routine of life.

And when Jason entered your life, you felt like you woke up for the first time.

Like he was the only one who could wake you up.

All you knew was that you wanted to be there. Through his pain, his suffering, his happiest moments, his accomplishments, his anger. To be his person.

To also help him wake up.

Your silent contemplation made Jason panic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get worked up—“

“I think apartment community events count.” You softly whispered, indecisive of whether you wanted him to hear you or not.

“What—“

“And secret meetings in the trash room too.” Your voice meek.

You were shaking, too tense to look at his reaction to your words.

“Despite what she told me, I still managed to meet you. And I was able to have some of the best meals. I’ve never laughed as hard as I have when we joked. I’m able to try new things.” You raised your head, overwhelmed by your feelings, but you hoped to convey yourself properly to Jason. “I’ve never felt so comfortable and safe with anyone else.”

Jason looked at you wide eyed and speechless, his mouth slightly agape. You took the disbelief as a sign to continue.

“I’m able to be all those things that you said because I’m with you.” Your voice filled with more resolve the more concrete your feelings felt, the more sure you became. You squeezed your eyebrows together, complete sincerity in your gaze, your heart filled with so much emotion.

But your eyebrows relaxed once you saw Jason’s face turn red. His ears a crimson shade. Before you could engrave it in your memory, he tilted his head down, covering his face with the front of his baseball cap.

“Wait, wait, wait—I didn’t expect this.” Jason rubbed a hand down his face, but the redness contrasted the skin of his hand. “You were so shy every time I tried to push the boundaries between us, but now your directly confessing everything at once.”

He stopped rubbing his face and rested his hand on the table. Meeting your gaze, a tint of red still on his skin but not as deep as before.

“I’ve been trying to get closer to you. I’ve been hoping to run into you since we first talked on the balcony. When we met in the trash room, I purposely tried to meet you again. I’ve looked forward to every meal I’ve cooked for you and although I haven’t been clear about my feelings, I didn’t want to pressure or rush you.” Jason took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

When they opened again, his eyes were completely focused on you.

“I want us to be more than friends…I want to be able to come over when I miss you, fold laundry together, buy you things when they remind me of you, I want you to call me when you need car maintenance.” He kept his eyes trained on you, but his voice faltered. “I want to hold your hand and to kiss you. I want us to go on dates.”

You raised your hand to the table, placing your hand over Jason’s, but he quickly flipped your hands so he was holding yours a little more firmly.

“I want to know if you snore while you sleep, to have your things at my place, so I see you in every inch of my life. I want you to know how much I’ve fallen for you.”

“I want that too.” Your voice trembled. “I’ve been wanting to hold your hand while we walked today and I want you to come over more often.” You choked as Jason leaned in to caress your face with his hand. A sickening sweet touch that you never knew you would get to feel. You cupped your hand over his.

“I’m so happy. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” Jason whispered to you, his voice so honey sweet.

You looked up to him. A gentle gaze reflecting back.

“I probably look like a mess right now.” You shakily laughed.

“Of course not, you’re breathtaking, sweetheart.” Jason rubbed a thumb on your cheek, completely enamored by you.

“As much as I would love to hear you continue, I’m worried about the stuff you bought and this heat.” You tried to focus, but the smooth touch of Jason was difficult to ignore.

“Yeah, we probably need to make our way back.”

Despite his words, he didn’t move. He lingered on your face a while longer before he looked at all the bags he accumulated this morning.

“Will you let me help you carry some of the bags?” He asked. “I also want to hold your hand on the way back.”

You beamed at him. Reaching for his hand as you stood up.

…

Your walk back was refreshing.

You were exhausted from the intense flux of emotions you released, but Jason’s grip on your hand stabilized you.

You couldn’t stop smiling, the heat no longer bothering you. You swung your interlaced hands to the motion of your steps and Jason let you do what you wanted as long as you still held on.

When you got to the entrance of your apartment building, you were graced with the AC hitting you. Your hair would definitely be messed up from the sweat and your cap.

You waited in front of the elevator doors as it descended from the last person that used it. The lobby was empty, except from the usual leasing office workers inhabiting the space, but it was just you and Jason off to the side.

As you glanced around, making sure the employees were occupied, you used your grip on Jason’s hand to pull him down enough for you to kiss his cheek. A little awkward with your cap in the way, but you were able to surprise Jason.

He stayed hunched forward, shifting his face to look at you closely and digest what you did.

Ding. The elevator doors opened and you pulled Jason in the elevator.

You felt accomplished as you pushed the button to your floor. When you moved back to Jason’s side, you looked up to him, but he grabbed your face.

His hand pushed your cap up, so he could lean in and kiss you. His hat also moving up at the angle he was in.

You closed your eyes, disoriented at the feeling and because Jason completely blocked your view of the elevator, so you only heard the doors close.

Lost in the feeling and the movement of his lips, you dropped the bags in your hand to grab at Jason’s sleeve, wanting to grasp at something.

You’ve never felt so desperate to get Jason even closer and he must have understood or he craved it more because he pushed you back against the elevator wall. You felt the cold metal against your back and you gasped.

Jason devoured the sound, motivating him to hold your waist, but it wasn’t enough for him. He crouched a little lower to grasp you behind your legs to lift you fully off the ground, inching your body up, higher and more level with his face.

The angle changed and you easily wrapped your arms around his neck while simultaneously wrapping your legs around his waist. The moment intensifying as you pulled at his hair below his hat and you swallowed the low groan that left his mouth. You were drawn to the deep sound and the feeling of the hum you felt on your mouth.

You were practically flush against his body and you were down to your last few breaths, but you didn’t want to pull your face away from Jason.

You nipped at his lower lip and he lifted his hands to cup the sides of your face, digging his fingers into your sweaty hair and rubbing the back of your ears. You opened your mouth wanting to feel more of him when you heard someone loudly clear their throat.

You pulled away, shoving Jason by his shoulders as he whipped his head to see where the voice came from. You fell to your feet trying to lean against the wall with the sudden motion, hair a mess with your cap lopsided as you looked past Jason to see Dick standing there with a hand on his waist and the other holding the elevator door open. He didn’t look at the two of you directly, more like a lost look to the side.

You breathlessly adjusted your cap as you frantically smoothed out your shirt.

Jason pulled his cap down as he sighed then redirected his attention to you, gently reaching out to you to smooth out some of your hair and help you stand up straighter. Then he grabbed the bags you both dropped on the floor as he turned around to face his brother.

“I didn’t know you were coming over. You should’ve texted.” Jason walked past his brother, annoyance laced in his voice.

“I did.” Dick replied. He looked at you then followed after Jason. “But it seems you were a little occupied.” Amusement coating his voice and visible in the way he walked.

“I see you’re getting to know your neighbors very well.” Dick teased, a giant grin on his face. “I’m glad.”

What a way to meet Jason’s brother again after all this time. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you away from the lack of awareness you had to make out with Jason in public.

You couldn’t decide if it was worse that a stranger could’ve saw you or that Dick was the one who did.

“Yeah, yeah, come inside.” Jason unlocked the door to his apartment. You nervously followed after the two.

“No seriously, I’m glad you two continued to see each other.” A genuine comment from Dick. “I’ve never seen you so comfortable with someone, Jaybird.”

A small hum from Jason as he set the bags down onto the counter.

With no indication that he wanted to speak further, you decided to talk.

“I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. I promise I’m usually a better influence.” Hopefully your lighthearted tone would give off a better impression than the one on the elevator.

“Ha! I know you are because,” Dick moved in closer, lowering his voice. “This is the most behaved I’ve seen Jason in months.”

“Alright, enough, dickwa—Dick,” Jason cleared his throat. “But we just got back and I want to shower. It was too damn hot today.”

“Oh, I bet it was—“

“Thank you! Never come by again. See you. Good Night.” Jason raised his voice, shoving his brother out the door.

“No, please, I swear I’m done!” Dick pleaded as he was trying to hang onto the door frame, but Jason closed the door before he could start to beg.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” You questioned Jason.

He didn’t bother to answer your question as he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and letting his hands intertwine around your waist, falling onto your lower back.

Jason signed into your shirt. The feeling slightly tickling you.

“I wasn’t done earlier.” He whispered against you. “Then that dickhead had to interrupt.”

You laughed, loving the pouty sound of his voice.

You embraced him back, leaning your head against his.

“I think the elevator interrupted you.” You rubbed his back in soothing circles.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting a silence fall in Jason’s apartment before your curiosity got to you.

“Jaybird?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“It’s cute.”

“Enough about him, we need to put away all the stuff we bought.” Jason lifted his head to sullenly look at the numerous bags.

“That reminds me.” You let go of him to dig around the bags, trying to find your earlier gift. “I was told to share this with you by an older woman who thought my boyfriend was adorable.”

Jason shifted behind you. Closing his hands on the edges of the counter, both of his arms on your sides. Once you found the lemon bar, you turned your body, careful to lean against the counter with Jason’s body still in front of you, around you practically.

“It’s a new product. She said I could have it for making her day, but I have to thank you because we wouldn’t have gotten it without you.”

You opened the wrapper, breaking a piece off to feed to Jason.

“How does it taste?”

Jason lingered. You anticipated what he thought, but he leaned forward to kiss you. You held onto the lemon bar, but lowered it the more heated your kiss became. The tangy taste invading your mouth.

“Amazing.”

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[nelle-y]

I loved your recent Alhaitham fic! I was wondering if you would consider writing a pt. 2 where Alhaitham regrets how he treated you and attempts to win you back (maybe 4ggravate finds out and attempts to help Alhaitham to win you back)? I understand if not. Thank you for sharing your writing!

Thank you so much for liking my first fic! Feel free to request anything genshin-related and I’ll try my best to provide!

You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath (pt. 2)

It was rare, I was there

Here’s part 1!

Synopsis: despite the neglect and everything that happened, you both still longed for each other…

Content: Alhaitham x fem!reader, wingmen!4ggravate, implied Dehyarzad, Collei, absent Cyno, Tighnari, second chances, writer!reader, angst to comfort, reader is with someone else

Warnings: slight cursing, long intro again (I can’t help it), mild spoilers for Sumeru archon quest chapter 3 act 2, Collei goes missing

Note: this part can be optional for you. If you prefer to end it at part one, then feel free to do so! But, if you’re a sucker for second chances (like me), then consider this a treat from me to you!

—

Nothing. You could hear nothing.

Not your heart pounding to the rhythm of your feet. Not the screaming in your head as you spotted familiar grey hair walking around the city. Your thoughts immediately tasted bitter—if he had the time to walk now, how come he hadn’t back then?

You surmise that you weren’t worth the step.

The weight of his absence hung over you like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over the warmth of the day. Despite your efforts to push the pain aside, it crept back, heavy and suffocating. Your mother's words echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain, a reminder that perhaps you had been foolish to invest so much in someone who couldn't reciprocate your love.

The shops were as busy and ever; merchant services, inquiries about products, scholars out in the open. You were out for groceries, almost ashamed for showing your face after the scene you caused 15 days ago. The world needed to know you were strong, though, so you put a big smile on your face and a new perfume worth Alhaitham’s salary. You even reached out to Cyno about the book you mentioned; so far, everything has been accurate, according to him.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called to you. Turning your head in that direction, you see Dehya in the distance waving at you. Once you’ve said hello, she looked at you with a smirk on her face, “Wow, did a flower barf on you? You look radiant!”

“Radiant?” You humble yourself, “I don’t remember putting on any jewelry.”

“No, silly!” She gestured to your everything, “There’s this aura you’re emitting and it’s making you glow!” Glow? All you did these past few days was cry, eat, and write. Perhaps it was the tears that helped. They irritated your eyes so much it gave you a softer, more approachable look. “Do you think you could lend me some of that eyeshadow?”

Try crying every hour, Dehya. “Ah, I just did a favor for a friend studying cosmetology. I’m not entirely sure what products they used,” you lie. Thinking about Alhaitham will certainly eat you alive; you change the subject despite the flattery you enjoyed. “What brings you to the city?”

Enthusiasm spouts from the mercenary, “My lady Dunyarzad invited me over for the Sabzeruz Festival; and you know me, I gotta be there for my lady!”

You found it adorable—almost enviable—how they still keep in touch even after Dehya’s resignation. Call a spade a spade, that is real commitment. It makes you wonder if you’d be here, ‘radiant’ and ‘glowing,’ if you were treated that way.

“The Sabzeruz Festival? I didn’t realize it was so close. Wow, time surely flies.” Suddenly, you feel excitement rush through your veins, a new experience after days of steady tides.

“Couldn’t agree more,” said Dehya. From a distance, you both heard Dunyarzad call her name. “Ah, it looks like she needs me back there. I better go check on her. If you want, you should totally come over the bazaar once the festival is ready. Dunyarzad and I would be lucky to have you celebrate with us!” After you gave an accepting nod and farewell, Dehya ran off to the woman in purple, practically skipping on her feet.

As you watched their lively interaction, a surge of envy and longing swept through you. Their easy camaraderie and genuine happiness a stark contrast to the emptiness and loneliness gnawing at your insides. You had longed to experience that kind of connection, to be enveloped in the warmth of love and companionship once more. But deep down, you knew it was a distant dream, a fantasy you could never reclaim.

You weren’t a religious person, but out of sheer desperation, you prayed.

Lesser Lord Kusanali, please free me from this torment. Let the flowers in my garden bloom of life, let the fruits grow ripe even without much sun, let the trees reach the highest of buildings.

—

Simple greetings and little nods, Alhaitham wouldn’t have minded if those scholars were you. In fact, instead of returning those nods and hellos, he would embrace you, lift your feet off the ground and spin you around like you always wanted.

After you stormed out the tavern, Cyno went ahead and asked what happened to the both of you. For the first time, he couldn’t give a straight answer. Every excuse seemed to damage your image, and that was the last thing he wanted. Kaveh ended up taking over to save him the embarrassment.

The 15 days he burned for you were like falling into the abyss, fighting every day to the brink of death, unable to eat the sustenance that came from your warmth.

The now Scribe Alhaitham needed something to keep you off his mind. He considered attending a meeting, but none seemed to pique his interest. Every thought ended up on your doorstep, making him think of dropping by. “Kaveh,” he called the architect scribbling on his notebook, “have you seen Y/N, as of late?”

“No, she hasn’t been feeling well these past few weeks. Shouldn’t you be in a meeting?”

“Shouldn’t you be paying rent?”

Kaveh cursed at Alhaitham, “I’m trying to make the money, goddamit!”

“Maybe you would have the money if you stopped settling for your clients’ low budgets.”

“Is it hard to find me considerate?”

“I’d rather call it pathetic.”

“Go catch whatever Y/N has,” he shooed Alhaitham away, “maybe that would give you some perspective.”

The scribe stood silent for a few seconds. He knew his roommate was right, he should’ve thought about how you felt before anything. Kaveh was about to believe he had won a squabble for once, but then he suddenly revealed, “Y/N… is angry at me.”

Kaveh pshawed at him, “With the way you talked to her? No shit.” Alhaitham didn’t move an inch. “Hey, what happened there, anyway? It wasn’t like Y/N to burst out to you like that. Are you hiding something?”

With a sigh, the grey-haired man decided to reveal everything to his roommate. He listened intently, gasping and scolding him for his lack of attention towards you, adding salt to his open wounds. Upon recalling the words the scribe had said, Kaveh took a slight breath, “You fucked up.”

“I know.”

“You need to go fix this.”

“I know.”

“And you were calling me pathetic!”

“I know! I just-“ he couldn’t believe he was saying this. “I need help.”

As he was popularly known, Alhaitham wasn’t one to ask for help. Not because he had too much pride, but because he knew how to solve things like the back of his hand. He had access to numerous files from the Akasha, and he had connections to powerful people, being the scribe and all.

But this was a different situation. Every solution did not guarantee a 100% success rate, 87% at best, and that was not enough for Alhaitham. He was ready to do anything for you, to get on his knees and raise you to the highest regard, to even beg.

“I could ask Tighnari,” Kaveh began, “The Sabzeruz Festival is coming soon, maybe you could ask her out?”

Right, now that he’s perceived as a hero of his nation, he is expected to attend these festivals. He never bothered to come before, and he wouldn’t now, but he was willing to if it meant getting to see you again. “I don’t think she’ll be accepting me as her date.”

“Then we’ll talk to her.”

“Will she be willing to listen? Wait, isn’t she sick?”

Kaveh sighed, downhearted, “Right.” Then he clicked his fingers at the scribe, “I have an idea!”

—

“Collei? What are you doing here,” you said after opening your door. She drew a small grin with worried eyes, holding a box of goods for you. It’s been a while since you saw her, she grew up well, taller since your last meeting.

“Hello, miss Y/N! I heard from Master Tighnari that you weren’t feeling well,” yes, you distinctly remember lying to them (Tighnari, and Kaveh) so they wouldn’t see you as often. “So I thought I could bring you simple remedies.” The little girl observed you. “But now I think there’s no need for that,” she chuckled.

“Ah, yeah, don’t worry, it was just a small cold. Speaking of Tighnari, how come he isn’t here with you?” You ushered her in and sat her down for some tea, placing her box of medicines on the counter.

“He had some business to attend to with a merchant and allowed me to visit you. It’s been a while since you’ve travelled to Gandharva Ville, miss Y/N, do you have any plans on visiting?”

“Yes, I’m thinking of basing the rainforest as the main setting for my new book, actually.”

You both chatted about everything you could as you waited for the water to boil. Afterwards, you served a hot teapot, dwelling in mint and lotus herbs. “Ah, Collei, how long are you and Tighnari staying in the city?”

“Just for three days, though I would like to stay until after the Sabzeruz Festival,” she chuckles, holding her now warm cup in her hands.

“You could come with me if Tighnari would allow it.”

The little girl’s eyes beamed with stars, “Really? Oh, I’ve been dreaming of going to one for ages! Miss Nilou will be performing, right?” You nod to her delight, “Yes! Archons, I really hope Master would let me.”

As if he heard his name, Tighnari knocked on your door. Opening it, he looked glad seeing your healthy state. “Y/N! Good to see you’re feeling well now.” He peaked behind you to see Collei sip from her cup.

Upon recognizing her master, Collei got up and greeted him. “Hi, Master! Miss Y/N and I were just talking about the Sabzeruz Festival, and that I could come with her to see Miss Nilou perform!” Her enthusiasm was as contagious as a cold, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“As long as it wouldn’t be a hassle for Y/N, and that you would always be careful when purchasing products,” Tighnari worries like a mother. “Always look at the expiration dates, check if there are anything you’re allergic to.”

He goes on and on for about 5 minutes until you cut him off, “Alright, alright, Tighnari, it’s not like she’ll be going all alone; she has me with her!”

With this, Collei wrapped her arms around your waist, ever so thankful for your support. You thought of her as a niece, and she thought of you as an auntie, willing to give her advice on anything, trivial or not. After a few more words exchanged, and details for the festival, the pair decide to head to their cottage.

For once, you enjoyed your time and not think of Alhaitham once!

Oops.

—

It was the day of the Sabzeruz Festival; you had already picked Collei up from their cottage and are on your way to the Grand Bazaar. You could see thousands of attendees, travelling merchants, and familiar faces on the way.

As the vibrant colors and lights of the festival unfolded before you, the once a source of excitement and anticipation now loomed before you like a daunting reminder of what you had done. Despite Dehya's invitation, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider, a solitary figure adrift in a sea of joyous revelry. Each smile, each laugh felt like a dagger to your already wounded heart, a painful reminder of the love you had lost and the embarrassment that now consumed you.

But this was no time for dwelling upon the memories that brought misery, remember, Collei is counting on you to give her a good time.

“Y/N, Collei!” You spot Kaveh in the distance waving and walking your way. Collei happily waved back. “I’m so glad I could run into you guys, you have no idea how terrified I am of meeting a client by accident.”

You laughed, “Do I have to accompany you, too, Kaveh?”

“Actually, I was thinking of letting you have some fun while I take care of little Collei here.” He ruffles her neatly-done hair, now messy but more natural-looking. This led Collei to bring out a small comb to fix it.

You felt irresponsible leaving Collei in someone else’s care, you’d said you would take care of her, and it felt like you would be breaking a promise if you agreed to his offer. You tuck your hair behind your ear, “I don’t know, Kaveh, something feels wrong about that, no offense. Plus, if something were to happen to Collei, we wouldn’t hear the end of it; you wouldn’t like Tighnari when he’s angry.”

“A fair point, but you’ve been locked up in your house for two weeks, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. You deserve to be out there, butterfly, spread the wings you grew from being in that cocoon!”

That somehow felt too specific. Does he know something? Collei starts to agree, despite seeming so excited to go with you. “Even you, Collei?” You sigh, “Fine, but if something happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You weren’t expecting to have so much fun here. The lights, the music, even the people were a blast! At first you were anxious for Collei, checking in from time to time, then as you continued to do so, your vists would be more spaced apart. You drank some punch with Dehya and Dunyarzad, who seemed to be doing really well for themselves, then you danced with the crowd in the name of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

After all of that, it was time for one last dance before Nilou’s grand performance. The band began to play a soft, romantic folk song. “Alright, Sumeru City,” called the lead singer, their voice sonorous with seduction, “before we settle down for the reknowned Nilou, let’s have a little treat for all the couples out there. So, grab your partner and dance along.”

Just as you were at the height of excitement, everything seemed to come crashing down again. You stood on the sidelines, feeling lost and out of place. Dehya and Dunyarzad swayed together, hand in hand. A lot of other couples came together and danced. The passion embedded in the song they sang only made you feel more alone, the walls of the Grand Bazaar growing taller and taller as you gazed upon them in longing.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, a man you don’t remember meeting. “Excuse me, miss, could I trouble you with a dance?” He looked about your age, a nice smile and an energetic demeanor. You were cautious of his intentions, though. It’s possible to have fun while maintaining a distance, right?

You accepted his invitation, all of the sudden you felt a sick knot in your stomach, like you were cheating on Alhaitham. But you weren’t together anymore, why would you stop yourself from meeting new people?

The man said his name was Hafan, a mercenary from the Corps of Thirty. He offered to buy you a drink once the dance was over, and again, you gladly accepted while the sweat in your palms said otherwise. You talked with every step you took, getting to know each other and telling stories. He made you laugh—a lot—and you impressed him with your witty comebacks. Perhaps this was the Dendro Archon’s response to your prayer? A hand to guide you through the maze, and to help you believe in love again?

But just amidst the merry atmosphere of the festival, a lingering anxiousness settled within your stomach.

Then, you saw him.

Alhaitham stood in the corner of the room, the desperate merchants and harmonizing of the band seemed to die down as time stood still. The vibrant colors faded into shades of grey as your heart clenched with a mixture of dread and longing.

It was as if a gate had opened within you, unleashing a torrent of emotions you had struggled to contain. Guilt gnawed at your conscience, regret tore your chest open, and love gave your heart to him.

As Hafan twirled you gracefully across the makeshift floor, you held your gaze with Alhaitham, your heart torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could’ve been.

Maybe you had been thinking too rashly, maybe he had changed over the course of your absence. The way he looked at you with such burning could not make you think otherwise.

In that moment, with all the crowds in the festival and the ache of your fractured heart, you knew for certain—no matter how hard you deny it, no matter how fast you tried to run, you could never escape the grasp he had on your soul.

The dance had ended, though it felt like it just started. Before Hafan could get that drink he promised, you said, “I’m sorry, Hafan.” He looked at you in confusion. “You must be looking for someone to—I don’t know—spend the rest of the festival with, and I don’t think I can fulfill that position. You’re a sweet guy, truly, I’m just not in a good place for anything right now.” Archons, you sounded ridiculous. But to your suprise, the man hardly took it personally.

“It’s okay, I get it. I had fun with you tonight, Y/N. You’re a great person to be around.” You almost regret having to end your time with him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?” He gave you a nod of farewell and left your side.

You looked in the direction of Alhaitham, again, hoping to catch that feeling of familiarity, but you had found he was no longer there. Perhaps it was your imagination.

You then searched for Collei and Kaveh, but they were nowhere to be found. They weren’t near the stalls, or in front of the stage.

They were nowhere in the bazaar.

The panic you felt shook your entire foundation, the pillars that kept you from going back home, back to the pain.

What if they had been kidnapped? You trusted Kaveh’s words, that he would take care of her, but for all you know they could be in the middle of the desert right now! What if Kaveh had run into a client and got distracted? What if Collei got injured or hospitalized?

Your heart began beating in your ears, your breath hastened with every thump. The air seemed so thin in the enclosed space, you needed to go outside. Yes, perhaps you could have a better chance at finding them out there, too.

As you walked out the doors of the Grand Bazaar, Collei’s name immediately echoed through the night. “Collei!” After numerous calls left with no answers, lumps of tears began crawling down your cheeks. “Oh my archon,” you sobbed. You could imagine the look on Tighnari’s face, the worry, the anger, the disappointment.

The feeling of losing them was clawing to your soul, like a mother bird losing her chick after their first flight. If they go missing, it was your fault. That fact will forever stain your soul, haunting your remaining days until the sweet release of death.

You sat on a curb, just near the entrance of the bazaar in hopes that the little girl and the architect would return unharmed. More tears had revealed themselves as your thoughts grew more and more intense, terrorizing, even.

The streets were so quiet, only the music from the festival and the first chirps of the crickets seemed to fill your ears, your sobs excluded. No guards or matras were present with you. Who the hell was in charge of security here!? The starry sky brought a comfortable cold instead of blazing heat.

You then heard footsteps from the bazaar and a person sitting beside you. “I walked them home,” a gruff voice sounded, “Collei was getting tired.”

Just your luck, the man who sat with you was no other than Alhaitham. Despite the conflicting emotions that came to you in a flash, you were relieved that Collei was safe. You let out a heavy breath. “Thank you,” you sniff, brushing away the tears that stained your face.

It was quiet again, for a while. You could hear Nilou’s music from outside; “Collei would’ve loved seeing Nilou dance,” you thought aloud. “I remember her basking about it when she had just became Tighnari’s pupil.” Suddenly, you felt calmer, safer now that the eerie silence accompanied you with the presence of the man you knew as well as breathing.

—

Alhaitham couldn’t say anything, busying himself gazing upon your eyes and your weakly pulled smile. There was still sadness lingering within them, covered by a coating of relief. He felt remorse for taking Collei away from you, for making you worry like this, for leaving you in the dark for a long, long time. Nonetheless, he was happy it led to you talking to him again. He was almost certain this day would never come.

Then he is reminded of you dancing with another man. His heart pounded erratically against his chest, each beat echoing the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him. He had come to the festival in search of hope and redemption, a fleeting reprieve from the pain that chewed up his soul. But instead, he had found more heartache, contrary to the plan.

As he watched you twirl and sway with the man’s hand in yours, he felt as though the world tilted off its axis, leaving him teetering on the precipice of anguish. How could you be dancing so freely with another when every fiber of his being yearned to hold you so close, to feel the warmth you gave him once more?

His hands clenched into fists against his knees, his jaw tightened with unexpressed emotion. He remembered how badly he wanted to look away, but the flow of your hair and how gracefully you moved wouldn’t let him, it was as if you had casted a spell upon him, forever tormenting him to stay on the sidelines, to repress the overwhelming desire to be the one twirling you around and making you smile.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over him—a searing pang of jealousy intertwined with a profound sense of regret and longing. Then just when he was ready to cross the bridge that separated you, he felt a small tug on his darkened cape. “Mr. Scribe Alhaitham,” Collei said meekly, sheepishly rubbing her eyes, “Did the plan work?”

He remembers Kaveh’s words, so filled with determination, She’ll do anything for Collei, so if she asks to go to the festival, Y/N will for sure accompany her! Once the slow dance starts, that’s when you’ll swoop in and declare your love.

And if it doesn’t work?, the scribe raised his eyebrows.

It will! I’ll make sure no one gets near her.

Boy, did that plan go to shit.

He gave the little girl a soft smile despite the mind-numbing pain in his chest. He knelt down to her level, “Isn’t Kaveh supposed to be with you?”

“Someone was talking to him just a while ago. It seemed pretty heated, so I slipped away when I got the chance,” she yawned.

“Of course,” Alhaitham muttered. Must be a client of his. “You look tired, Collei.”

“I think I’m ready to go home now, Mr. Alhaitham.” The drowsiness in her eyes could barely hold her awake. It was getting late, she must not be used to staying up at times like these.

Alhaitham looked back at you, wondering if you were still keeping your eyes on him. To no avail, it was like you had vanished like a ghost with the beautiful, painful sight he had witnessed along with you. A heavy feeling lingered in his chest, leaving him to wonder if you would lock your gaze with him again. Then he left, accompanying Collei back to her and Tighnari’s cottage.

On his way back to the bazaar for reasons unknown, he found you weeping in your hands, curled up like a shriveled bug beaten down, calling out Collei’s name. After he assured you of the little girl’s safety, you began talking about your experiences with her. Ever so glad, he listened to your voice, melodious and soothing like a lullaby to put him to sleep. The euphoria he experienced was one like no other, it was the first time he felt at peace for eons against the stars and the cool breeze. Then, he wondered, were you feeling the same?

“They found a new Grand Sage,” he announced.

“Is that why you have the time now?” Your words stung his morality, picking on the weak scabs of his mistakes.

He took a moment to respond. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Unable to meet his gaze, you managed a casual tone, “I know, Alhaitham.” His name sounded like a song whenever it came from your lips. “Besides, it’s not your fault.” Your voice was then hoarse of emotion, fingers picking at the dirt beneath you. “I shouldn’t have let myself to get lost in my own thoughts.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” Alhaitham insisted. “I should not have made you feel like you were alone.”

“But it happened anyway.”

For a moment, silence enveloped the space between you, only broken by the distant sounds of the festival. Then, slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, in a light that had no remorse, for the first time since you told him to leave.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you admitted, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “But I do know I’m willing to try.”

With this, Alhaitham took you in a warm embrace, letting out a shaky breath as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He then held you by the shoulders, teary as you released him from this torture. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right again.”

As you looked into his eyes, you found the sincerity in his voice, determination reflecting upon his irises. Despite everything that had happened, you couldn’t deny the hope that ignited in your stomach. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to find your way back together.

You held his hands first, then traced your way to his cheeks, warm with anticipation. Then you pulled him into a kiss that was long overdue, Alhaitham almost tumbling from the force you had exerted.

As your lips meet, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way they press together, as if each touch carries the weight of a thousand whispered promises. Time seems to stand still as you both lose yourselves in the sensation, senses heightened by the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. It's a symphony of sensations—a gentle caress, a fleeting brush of lips, a silent exchange of emotions that speaks volumes without a single word. And in that fleeting moment, you find solace, connection, and a sense of belonging in each other's embrace.

Slow as the breeze blew your hair, everything froze and only he brought the fire to relieve you of your vains. Alhaitham’s lips were soft and cold, clearly waiting for this day to come. When he leaned back for air, foreheads connected together, you breathed, “I love you.”

As you heard the crowd’s applause from a distance, as if cheering for your reconciling, he replied, “I love you more,” before pulling you in for another well-deserved kiss.

—the end.—

[mydarlingclaudia]

just you and me, alone in the dark

note : divider is from @/thecutestgrotto. ermmm idrk. Leon is ooc again I know, I’m trying to write a few Leon summer fics over the next few weeks, if you have any ideas please let me know I only have like two more 😔 mdni

wc : 3.8k

tags : @lottiies

desc : Leon’s back in town, that couldn’t be too hard on the gigantic crush you have on your best friend, right? friends to lovers, smut!! - unprotected p in v, little bit of fingering. not proofread, fem!reader, post re2r!Leon

Leon was back home for one week this summer, he’s been a cop in Raccoon City for almost a year now, the two of you have been calling and writing each other, trying to keep up with each others lives, but it’s nothing like being face-to-face again. You’ve been hosting him at your house for the past few days, Leon’s been going to catch up with a few other friends, but he’s always back at your place by at least midnight.

It wasn’t like when you were kids. Some of your friends had moved away, that arcade a mile or two away that you and Leon would always walk to had closed down and was now a fancy restaurant, the old lady who ran the laundromat and would give the two of you quarters for the arcade games had passed away. But your crush on Leon had stayed, maybe even grew a bit. The two of you had been changing bit by bit, too. Leon was a big city cop now, and compared to him, you felt like the friend who went to college and immediately ran back home.

Leon’s always been handsome to you, but since leaving for the academy and becoming an actual cop, he looks more grown-up. Seeing him in the mornings, his hair all messy and still half-asleep, was proving to be a problem. Along with when the two of you would watch movies at night, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing whatever food you were eating like you did when you were kids.

You’re starting to think that Leon might like you back.

You catch the way his eyes follow you when you walk through the house with wet hair, damp skin, and clothes that cling to your skin just a bit more after you get out of the shower. Or how he scoots closer to you when you both sit down together. Especially when he accidentally hugged you goodnight the second night he was over and pulled away with a red face. Not that you really mind being close to him, or his attraction to you.

Anyway, Leon’s leaving in two days, and the two of you are going camping for the night.

It’s not gonna be anything crazy, the two of you weren’t much for setting up tents and rocky roads riddled with pot-holes and roadkill. You’re staying the night at a smaller campground, there’s a lake, a playground for any kids there, and a camp store. There’s no need to bring a tent unless you’ve got more than three people with you. Each campsite comes with a small shelter that can hold a few people, each shelter has three walls and a roof, the opening faces the site.

Leon and you would come here with your family when you were kids, it was only an hour away from where you lived, the two of you wanted something a bit more fun to do than sit around at your house or go to dinner.

Leon hasn’t gone camping since before he left for the police academy, not that what the two of you are doing is anything difficult. But there’s no hotdogs cooked over the fire, just a pizza you had picked up a few hours ago and s’mores.

There’s chocolate around Leon’s lips as he chews on his s’more, yours goes ignored for a few minutes as you stare at him. The fire in front of you is low, you and Leon face it and lean back against the table part of the wooden bench, your knees knocking together.

“I know I got shit on my face.” He says to you, turning to look at you as he licks the marshmallow off of his fingers.

You smile at him and shake your head softly, taking a small bite of your s’more. “I’m just looking at you.” Leon only giggles, wiping his mouth with his palm.

“You’ve had plenty of time to look at me.”

“I know that, doesn’t mean I have to stop. And besides, you look at me all the time.”

“Yeah, that’s because I’m talking to you, you just stare at me sometimes.”

“Because I missed you terribly, and I’m happy to have you back home.” You joke a little bit, finishing off the dessert in your hand. “I’m still gonna miss you when you go back to the city.”

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t miss me so much if you came to visit every once-in-a-while. You know it wouldn’t kill you to drive three hours to see me. You’d like the city, anyway.” Leon scooted even closer to you and nudged your shoulder with his, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I know, I know. Just goddamn, I don’t get why you couldn’t have been a local sheriff or deputy or some shit. You could give me parking tickets everyday.” You laugh, his smile drops a little.

“Raccoon City is as good as it gets for me, I could give you parking tickets everyday of the year if you lived there.”

You drop a hand to his knee, squeezing it gently and leaning in closer to him. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to be mean. I know the city’s a big deal for you, and I’m really, really happy for you. You worked really hard.”

“You flatter me,” Leon’s smile brightened a bit again, your heart fluttered. “You haven’t seen me in action yet.”

“Yeah? And what exactly is ‘action’ for you? Helping old ladies cross the street? Maybe pulling someone over for speeding?” You chuckle, letting go of his knee and pushing against him.

“God, when did you get so mean?” Leon snickered and rolled his eyes, grabbing your bicep and pushing you away from him.

“Oh, come on, I’m supposed to be mean to you, that’s what best friends do. You’ve never complained before.”

“Yeah, you complain constantly when I do it.”

“Because boys aren’t supposed to be mean to girls. That’s the rule, aren’t you supposed to know all the rules, officer?”

“Don’t call me that!” Leon laughs, pushing you further away. “Listen, just- just come over. I just wanna see you, even if it’s for a couple of hours. I miss you a lot.”

You can feel your heart clench a little at his words. You know he means it, he’s always tried to come over and visit when he was able to, even when he was in the academy. You just didn’t want to be a bother to him, he’s living his dream, and you don’t want to get in the way of it.

“I’ll try, I promise. Maybe I can come over for a weekend in September.”

“Good, I’ll hold you to it. I was starting to think you didn’t like me anymore.” He jested, turning his gaze to the fire that was almost completely gone now.

“Jesus, don’t say that. I’ll always like you.”

That caught him off guard a little bit, you watched as his cheeks turned red and how his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.

“That- that’s good.”

You smile at him, scooting closer once again and bringing your hand to rest on his shoulder to shake him gently. “Don’t forget it.” There’s a pause. Leon looks back up to you from the fire, his eyes bore into yours for a few long seconds before they trail down to your lips. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Let’s go to the lake, it’s fun to swim when it’s getting dark.”

—

Leon had raced you back to your campsite three hours later and won. It was dark now, nearing eleven p.m., the fire was now completely out and all the other campers were asleep. The campground is illuminated by streetlights placed sparingly along the road, you can hardly see anything on your site besides your car and the outside of your shelter.

The lake had been fun, it was different from when you’d come here together a decade ago and push each other off the dock and into the water, but it was fun in a new kind of way. Luckily, there weren’t many people there due to the late hour, not that either of you would’ve really stopped even if it had been packed. Yours and Leon’s swimsuits cling to your skin, you probably would’ve run the race, but once he got in front of you you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the way his back muscles looked when they were wet.

“Fuck, I didn’t set up my air mattress.” You chuckle as you follow Leon into your campsites shelter, shuffling your bare feet along the ground to try to keep yourself from tripping.

“Well, hurry up then.” He giggles but waves you off, his back turned to you as he runs his towel over his wet hair once again. You scoff at him half-heartedly, turning away and going to get your air mattress out of the trunk of your car.

You discover that Leon’s air mattress is bigger than yours once you finally pull it back into the shelter and lay it down next to his. The air-pump is already attached to the nozzle, Leon sits at the bench and watches as you try to inflate the mattress.

“This isn’t working,” You groan, rising up from your squatting position and letting go of the air-pump to shake your arms free of the strain. Leon just shrugs at you, you roll your eyes and squat down again, patting down the air mattress, looking for rips, and you find one that you can fit your entire fist inside. You groan again, more loudly this time. “My mattress is trashed, I don’t have tape or any patches that’ll fix this.”

Leon rises from his seat at the bench, stepping into the shelter along side you and looking down at your air mattress. “You can share with me.”

“Really? You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t mind, it’s probably gonna be a bit colder tonight, anyway.” Leon offers you a small smirk, offering a hand to you to help you stand up.

“Thanks,” You say as you take his hand, he pulls you to your feet, holding onto your hand for a second before he pulls away. The two of you put your hands on your hips at the same time, glancing around the site. “I gotta get changed.”

“Alright,”

“I don’t wanna walk all the way to the bathroom, though.” You sigh, Leon chuckles and looks towards you.

“You gonna change here?”

“Yeah,” You don’t miss how his face drops slightly, the color returning to his cheeks. “Can you hold the flashlight for me?”

“Wh-“ He cuts himself off when you reach for the hem of your wet shirt, already pulling it up over your head and revealing the one piece you wore underneath.

“You don’t gotta look at me, dumbass. Just hold it so I can see what I’m doing.” You don’t see Leon nod, but you see the bright flashlight turn on and shine against you. You drop your wet shirt to the ground and reach for the straps of your swimsuit, beginning to pull it down over your shoulders.

You make the mistake of glancing over at Leon, he hadn’t turned away in the slightest, his gaze was locked onto you like it was absolutely necessary for him to watch you undress. Despite this, you don’t stop. You don’t know if he saw you look at him, but he keeps watching you as you begin to peel to wet swimsuit off your body.

He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple goes up and down once again as he does so. The flashlight in his hand shakes slightly as you pull the swimsuit off your body completely.

Leon looks back up at your face for the first time and immediately winces, his free hand goes to his eyes as if to cover it and pretend he hadn’t seen you fully naked.

“Leon-“

“No, I-I’m sorry. You just- no, goddamnit, that was- shit, y-you’re just really pretty and I-I get it if you’re mad.“ His apology stumbles out of his mouth, his face is even more flushed and his hand that he had moved to cover his eyes now runs through his damp hair. You trail your eyes up and down his body, unsure where to focus, but your gaze keeps landing on the tent forming in his swim trunks.

“I’m not mad.”

“… S-Seriously?” Leon’s gaze meets yours again, he looks a little dumbfounded and awestruck, you can’t help but grin at him.

“No.”

“Oh,” He chuckles awkwardly, clearing his throat and looking down at his feet. “This is just k-kinda embarrassing.”

“… Sorry.” You mumble, looking from him out at the dark campsite.

“What? No- don’t apologize. You just look pretty, I mean, you’ve always been really fucking pretty and I’m just looking at you like- God, I don’t even know. Just don’t apologize.”

“Thanks,” You look back at him, you can’t help the smile on your face when he calls you pretty.

“I mean it, I’ve thought you were the prettiest since like, high school.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna sound weird or anything, but I’ve always kinda… liked you? Like, more than a-a friend. And I’m sorry for telling you this when you’re naked in front of me, I just-“ You don’t let Leon finish his sentence, shutting him up with a kiss instead of letting him get his thoughts out.

He melts against you almost instantly, his hands finding their way to your hips as the flashlight is discarded onto the floor. Your hands anchor themselves in his hair, keeping his head in place as the kiss goes on for another five seconds before the two of you split apart for air.

“I should’ve asked, I’m sorry-�� Your own apology is cut short when Leon pulls you against him even closer, kissing you again but only for two seconds.

“I told you not to say sorry.” You smile at him, your hands moving from his hair to the back of his neck. Before you can even stop yourself, your lips attach themselves to his neck, kissing and sucking along the skin you find there.

Leon groans, his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as his head tilts back to give you more skin to work with, which you happily accept. Your hands move again, this time going from his neck to graze over his bare chest. Leon takes that as a sign to move his hands, leaving your hips to grip just underneath your ass. You giggle and push yourself up against him more, he gives a soft chuckle in response.

“This okay with you?” He asks, one hand moves up to cup your ass and squeeze it gently.

“Yeah, it’d be better if we weren’t standing, though.” You pull away from him, his grip on you loosens as he takes your hint and sits himself on the ground at the foot of his air mattress.

You wanted to straddle his lap, but when you lower yourself down to do so, Leon grabs hold of your hips once again and flips you so the upper half of your back rests on top of his air mattress as he hovers over you. He kisses you again, this time tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue to ask for entry. That doesn’t take any negotiation for you, his tongue meets yours, your arms find their way around his neck as he lowers himself down on top of you more, your breasts pressing against his chest.

“We need to be quiet,” You whisper to him once you pull away from his lips.

“Everyone’s asleep by now, and there’s only like, two other campsites near us.” He chuckles slightly, pulling back a few inches to get a better look at you.

“Leon.” You scold quietly, his chuckle turns into a snicker as his hands find their ways up to your breasts.

“Okay, okay,” Leon shakes his head slightly as he brushes his thumbs over your nipples. “Don’t ruin my fun just yet, I’ve been wanting to do this for years.”

“Have you now?” Your arms kissed around his neck, you push yourself further into his touch.

“You’ve got no idea,” He looks up from where your tits rest in his hands to your face, leaning in to kiss you again. The kiss goes on for what feels like thirty minutes before one of your arms unwraps itself from his neck and goes down to the hem of his swim trunks, you tug on it lightly.

Leon pulls back to look at you, his hands leave your breasts to rest on your thighs. The teasing smile on his face is gone, now replaced with a look of concern.

“You’re absolutely sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely.” You smile at him, you cup his face in your hands and give him a small peck on the lips, feeling him smile against your mouth as his hands leave your thighs to pull down his trunks. Leon’s hands are back on you two seconds later, dipping in between your thighs to run his fingers through your slick folds.

“Fuck,” He murmurs, leaning his head down to press kisses to your cheek as his thumb presses against your clit, gently probing against your entrance with his middle finger. You whine softly, it only seems to spur him on, he gently pushes his finger inside you, continuing the soft amount of pressure on your clit. “You’re really pretty.”

“You keep saying that.” You giggle a little bit, your hands move to rest on his shoulders as your head tips to the right.

“Because I mean it.” You’re not sure why he groans, but he does once his finger slides deeper inside of you. “I missed you so much, I didn’t think that this was gonna happen when I came back to town, but I’m so happy it is.”

“M-Me too,” You agree a bit breathlessly, Leon’s kisses trail down to your throat as his pointer finger slowly joins his middle finger. You’re not even really sure how to feel right now, you’ve been craving this for so long, maybe not in a campground with a shelter that hardly concealed any noise, but you really hoped that this wasn’t going to be where things ended for you and Leon.

Leon’s kisses turns into gentle bites as his ministrations continue and the pressure on your clit increases. You bite down on your lip, trying to not let yourself get too loud, but the noises that do slip past your lips, Leon responds to with his own.

“Leon, please.” Your small whimper makes him stop, his fingers come to a halt inside you and he pulls back again to look down at your face.

“You sure?” You only close your eyes and nod, your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as you wait. “Okay, I got you, I- I’m gonna be gentle.”

His fingers slip out of you, you whine quietly at the loss, earning a tiny snort from him as he pulls back to sit on his knees, keeping one hand attached to your thigh, longing himself up with your entrance. Leon pushes in slowly, watching your face and how your mouth falls open at the intrusion. He lets you adjust for maybe fifteen seconds before he starts moving slowly, keeping one hand on your thigh and slipping the other underneath your back to hold you up a bit.

“Holy shit, you feel s-so good.” He mumbles to you, biting down on his own lip to keep his groans from getting too loud. You nod, unable to find any words to respond with while you begin rocking your hips gently to try and meet his movements.

Leon’s thrusts don’t get much faster than this, he’s trying his best to be gentle and quiet, you’re sure it would be a different story if you were back home. You let your whines get a bit louder as you let the feeling of him pushing in and out of you take over, the soft squelching noises don’t help.

Your hands roam over his chest and shoulders as he continues on for the next few minutes. You can’t make any complaints, you’re sure he can’t, either.

His hand that had been on your thigh had left to trail in between once again, finding your clit and circling it, letting strained pants and whimpers fall from his lips as he hovered above you. Neither of you can find words to say to each other, too focused on how the both of you feel as you move together.

After a few more minutes, the feeling coiling up in your lower abdomen is beginning to become unbearable. “L-Leon, mm fuck- Leon, ‘M gonna-“

“It’s okay, ‘M not gonna stop just y-yet.” Only then does his hips snap forward a bit harder, determined to push you over the edge.

The moan you let out when you came was louder than any other noises you had made that night, Leon seemed to appreciate it, you could tell by the grin that grew on his face as you began to calm down, not that he stopped moving. He pulled out before he came, instead, cumming on the shelter floor and your thighs, you couldn’t say that it bugged you.

The two of you laid there for maybe five minutes, trying to catch your breath as you pressed kisses against each others skin. The floor was a mess but Leon only focused on wiping his release off of you, a stupid smile was painted on his face as he did so.

After the two of you went to piss on separate sides of the site, you met back up in the shelter and actually got dressed this time around. Leon didn’t push you away when you crawled onto his air mattress with him, and he was more than happy to wrap his arms around you and share his blanket with you. Your hands rested on his shoulder blades, head pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. One of his hands was in your hair and the other rested on the small of your back, holding you close to him.

“I don’t… want to leave you just yet.” He said quietly.

“We’ve got a couple more days.”

“No, I know. What I mean is I- I want you to come to the city with me. Just for a few days. I just wanna figure things out between us because I think there’s a lot we should probably discuss and I just really, really don’t want things to end here.” Leon’s voice was a bit louder, you could hear the slight tremble in his words as he spoke, but you didn’t look up at him.

“Would you really be okay with me coming over?”

“All I want is for you to come over. Please.”

“Alright,” You smile against his chest, closing your eyes. “Just don’t keep me waiting with your fancy job.”

“I’m sure my bosses would understand me needing to put a few things on hold for my dream girl.”

[eddieslunchbox]

sweet child of mine

summary: it's 1988 and eddie takes you to a guns n' roses concert to see your favourite song live

18+ [boyfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: a lot of fluff, a lot of love, kissing, brief mention of alcohol, swearing, eddie takes care of you

word count: 4.7k

a/n: extremely cheesy concert vibes since eddie never got the chance to love guns n' roses. and as will always stand, my characters are adults and no longer in high school! please reblog/comment if you enjoy my writing, any feedback is extremely appreciated ❤

Spending half his paycheck to snag tickets for a band he heard play on the radio twice was never something Eddie thought he’d do. 

At least not until you burst into his trailer one day with an Appetite for Destruction cassette tape in your hand, demanding that he let you use his boombox so you could play him the band your friend had just introduced you to that morning. The two of you then spent the night listening to the entire album. 

Well… what he thought would’ve been the entire album. 

When track 9 came on for the first time, he saw the ways your eyes lit up at the rich and memorable guitar riff combined with the first few words that rolled off of the tongue of Axl Rose through the speakers of his cassette player. 

She’s got a smile that it seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

When everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky

Every time the song ended, you reached over and rewinded the tape to the beginning of the track, leaving Eddie having the lyrics memorized within half an hour, miming the guitar riff with his hands as the two of you laid on the floor in his bedroom. 

Sweet Child of Mine quickly became your favourite song, Eddie throwing it on whenever you were in the passenger seat of his van just to see the joy on your face. He later sat you down in his room and played the entire song he learned for you on his guitar. You then proceeded to climb into his lap and kiss him until his face was red, mumbling against his lips that you loved him, which just happened to be the very first time you told him that. 

So when Wayne mentioned to him that Guns N’ Roses were headlining a show in Indianapolis, he called in sick to work and drove down to the arena at the crack of dawn, standing in line for four hours to get a pair of tickets. 

It was worth every second though, when he picked you up from work that afternoon, leaning against the side of his van with tickets in hand.

You slipped them out from between his fingers, a smile pulling at your lips. 

“What’s this?” You asked, tilting your chin down to read what was printed on the cardstock before you looked back up at him with wide eyes. “Eddie- are you serious?” 

“As a heart attack, sweetheart,” he murmured and was practically body slammed into his van when you lunged into his arms with an excited squeal, squeezing all of the air from his lungs. 

He could still feel the tight hold you had on him that day if he closed his eyes and thought about it hard enough. 

You were even more excited when he said it would just be the two of you, as his bandmates briefly mentioned wanting to see them if they ever came to the city. Eddie never had the privilege of taking you to a concert before and was taking advantage of it, eager to have you pressed against his side the entire evening listening to your new but now shared, favourite band.

The drive to the venue was filled with your eager ramblings about how much you were looking forward to the evening, and Eddie was already over the moon at your delight. 

He had been to Market Square Arena once before when he saw Iron Maiden a few years back, but was in the nosebleeds with the only tickets his uncle could afford. This time though, you were on the floor, much to your surprise when you got scanned in with a bright yellow wristband being handed to you.

Eddie guides you onto the arena’s floor, hand tucked tightly in yours. There were no seats, the entire floor acting as one big mosh pit he’s sure would form sometime throughout the night. Hoards of people already crowding at the barricade, packed in like sardines despite the amount of empty space lingering behind them. 

He glances down at you to ask if you want to be closer to the front, but your eyes are wide as they scan over the crowd filled with loud, burly men with cups of beer in their hand, uncaring when the liquid splashes over the rim and onto the sticky floor. Younger people are scattered amongst the crowd as well but Eddie knows that doesn’t matter when you unintentionally falter in your step beside him. 

Wordlessly, he leads you towards the side of the room where the crowd is sparser and he can lean against the wall separating the crowd from the endless rows of seats slowly being filled behind him.

“Is this alright?” He asks, pulling you to face him as he rests his lower back against the lip of the wall. 

You nod. “You didn’t tell me we were on the floor!” You exclaim, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he smiles, holding your hand to his chest and dipping his chin down to kiss your knuckles. 

“You saw the tickets,” he teases and you roll your eyes, glancing towards the stage. “Do you want to go and grab any merch before the show starts?” 

There was a little less than an hour left before the band took stage and you’d already stopped on your way in to grab a bottle of water that Eddie insisted you have, wanting to ensure you stay hydrated throughout the night. 

“I don’t want anything,” you say and he lifts his brow at you, tugging on your hand and focusing your attention back on him. 

“I call bullshit.” 

“I don’t!” You insist, not wanting him to spend more money on you than he already has. You know that he will insist he pays for whatever you might want, but having him here with you is more than enough. “We’re already here anyways, I don’t want to fight through the crowds.” 

He saw you eyeing a t-shirt on your way into the arena and has no doubt that you’ll be changing your mind later, hopefully before everything is sold out. He would run and grab you whatever you wanted but he doesn’t trust a single person around you, other than the minimal security guards stationed in different parts of the pit. 

“You know I’ll buy you whatever you want, darling,” he says with a squeeze to your hand and you smile at the fact that you were right.

“I know you will, Eds. But I don’t want anything. Unless you do?” 

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, curls brushing the leather jacket he hardly ever takes off. And as per his request, you’re adorned in one of his denim jackets, the fabric soft with wear and draping over you with the subtle scent of him left behind.

There really is nothing he loves more than seeing you in his clothes, other than you of course, and when you lean forward to curl your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest, he feels his heart beat a little faster at the reminder that you chose him out of everyone you could’ve had. He feels like the luckiest person on planet earth, with you in his arms. 

You’re relaxed in his hold, surrounded by the earthy smell of his leather jacket combined with the velvety musk of his favourite cologne. Your eyes fall shut for a few breaths and Eddie’s chin comes down to rest on the top of your head, one of his palms splaying over your back with the other dragging softly down the side of your thigh. 

The touch is innocent but when you hear a sudden wolf-whistle from somewhere behind you, your eyes flutter open to see a man watching the interaction with a sleazy grin on his face that makes you grimace. You pull back in time to watch Eddie lift his middle finger in the air, muttering “dickhead” under his breath as the man ignores him in favour of dragging his eyes down your figure before turning back to converse with someone standing next to him. 

You’re dressed in a pair of dark skinny jeans with Eddie’s oversized jacket hanging down to your thighs, but you briefly feel as though you’re wearing nothing as you pull your arms out from around him and move to stand at his side instead, partially hidden from the crowd. 

Eddie wastes no time in curling his arm around your shoulders to keep you pressed into his side as he looks down at you. “Don’t even think about him. He’s a piece of shit, yeah?” 

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest as you eye the man’s back. “More like a heaping pile of shit,” you mutter and Eddie laughs, tilting his head down to press his lips to the side of your head. 

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles and your chest warms with his praise, no matter that it was at the degradation of another. 

You spend the next little while talking about whatever is on your mind and you eventually park yourself back in front of him, uncaring of the man from before now that a hundred more people have filled in the room behind him.

Eddie keeps one hand on you at all times, hooking a finger around one of your belt loops when you drift a little further away from him while you’re talking or dancing to the music filtering through the speakers around the room. He listens intently to everything you say but his eyes follow every man that walks past the two of you, particularly the ones that keep their gaze on you for a beat too long. 

Those are the moments when he pulls you back into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and lacing his fingers together at your lower back. You don’t know why he keeps doing it but you can’t complain when he looks down at you with so much love in his eyes you feel like you could burst. 

The crowd starts to get a little rowdy the closer it gets to showtime as there was no supporting act, and the next time he wraps his arms around you, he doesn’t let go. Your hands fiddle with the zipper on his jacket and his hands eventually fall to slide into the back pockets of your jeans, making your lips curl up into a smile as you speak. 

“Do you think we can stop for food on the way home?” You ask and he lets out a quiet laugh.

“You’re already thinking about that?” He teases since you both ate your dinner on the drive to the city, evidenced in the paper bags littered on the floor of his van. “Of course we’ll stop somewhere. Wherever you want.” 

“What a gentleman,” you quietly swoon and he smirks, enjoying the way you wrap your fingers around the ends of his hair, tugging softly on his scalp. 

You part your lips to speak again but get cut off when someone yells something from the back of the room, your gaze flitting up towards the seats. You turn your head and squint slightly when a familiar voice yells again, clearer the second time. 

“Eddie!” 

There’s a small group of boys waving their arms above their head in the first row of balcony seating, trying desperately to get the attention of the boy wrapped around you. It’s hard to tell, but you think you recognize Gareth and a few of his other friends. Dustin is standing at the end of the row, clearly the one yelling. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters under his breath and you glance back at him with a giggle as he lifts his hand up in a brief wave, so as not to draw any more attention to the two of you. “Even when we’re alone, they’re still just… lingering in the shadows.” 

The tiny smile curling at his lips tells you that he isn’t as annoyed as he’s making himself out to be and you look back up at the stands to see Dustin beaming at the fact that he was able to spot Eddie before the show. 

“I think it’s sweet,” you say as he promptly tucks his fingers back into your pocket and turns his back to the boys who were briefly spying on him. “You know how much that boy looks up to you.” 

You glance up over his shoulder and wave to Dustin to hopefully satisfy him enough to keep his lingering eyes on the stage for the entire evening. 

“Now this is going to be all he talks about for the next week,” he says and you smile with the shake of your head, bringing your hand to rest on his cheek. 

“Don’t be so grouchy about it, baby,” you say, your thumb tracing across his bottom lip when he juts it out in an exaggerated pout before pressing a kiss to your thumbprint. “You don’t always have to be so mean and scary when they’re around.” 

Your comment isn’t malicious and you’re grateful he doesn’t take it that way when he gasps and pulls your thumb between his teeth. You tug your hand away from his mouth and rest it on his chest as his brows pull together. 

“I’m not always mean and scary,” he mumbles and you purse your lips, giving him a sarcastic nod. “Just… sometimes. When they deserve it. Never with you, though,” he defends as your hand slides down his chest to sit against his waist, goosebumps rising up on his arms. 

You can’t help but smile at his comment, leaning into him with your eyes never leaving his. “Never with me. You buy me concert tickets and tell me I’m pretty and kiss me-” 

He squeezes your bum through your jeans and you let out a laugh as your forehead presses into his chest. “Damn right I do,” he mumbles.

You pull back to say something else but all of the lights suddenly cut out and your eyes widen as the entire arena erupts into ear piercing screams. 

“You ready?” Eddie leans down to ask in your ear and you nod, an eager smile tugging at your lips as you spin around in time for the opening chords of You’re Crazy to bounce around the room. 

It takes an hour and the band trailing into their second encore for them to play Sweet Child of Mine, making the crowd go wild.

You feel Eddie curl his arm around your shoulder, pressing softly into your chest to hold you against him. There’s a bright smile on your face when you turn to look up at him, his face illuminated every few seconds by the spotlight that passes over the crowd and the colourful lighting streaming into the audience from the stage. 

His lips pull upward in a lopsided grin as you beam up at him, his chest filling with warmth when you press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t let you get far, lifting his hand to your jaw, keeping your head turned and capturing your lips completely. 

He kisses you until your head is spinning and you pull away with a quiet gasp to catch your breath, poorly attempting to hide the coy smile that frames your face. When he nudges you back to watch the band sing out your favourite song, his cheek comes to rest on the side of your head and you can just barely hear his voice floating into your ear, singing the words that make your heart swell in your chest. 

You’ve never been as happy as you are at this moment. 

His breath fans softly over your cheek, the vibration of his vocal chords buzzing across your skin when he dips down and his lips brush over your ear. The feeling sends tingles down your spine, threatening to beat out the heavy bass line that’s shaking the floor and sending vibrations up your legs. 

You close your eyes as he sways you to the music, your hands clutching tightly around his where it’s resting against your stomach, his rings icy against your hot and sweaty palms. You’re overwhelmed with joy and the amount of love you feel for the boy curled around you and you open your eyes when he says something that you can’t hear over the song. 

Before you can look up at him, your eyes widen as he drops his arm from around your shoulder and uses your tangled hands to spin you away from him. A squeal leaves your lips when he twists and twirls you back into his chest, your head tipping back as a loud laugh spills out of your lungs. 

Eddie’s eyes are filled with complete adoration as you stumble into him, pressing your hands against his chest and biting your lip to hide your giggles. His hands grab your wrists and tug your arms to wrap around his neck, your chest pressing into his and his foot sliding between yours. 

He can’t find anything to complain about when you immediately stand on your toes to kiss him for a second time, sliding one of your hands into the back of his hair and curling your fingers around the strands. He has little care in the world for who might be watching the interaction, but is still a little surprised at your not-so-subtle display of affection, especially after someone whistled at the two of you earlier in the night. 

You kiss him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, tasting the lingering flavour of nicotine on his tongue, enjoying the way his bangs brush against your forehead and how he drags his hands down to squeeze the flesh of your bum over your jeans. His grip tightens when you moan into his lips and press your hips into his, letting yourself get lost in the moment as the song plays out like the perfect soundtrack to your love.

His lips are slightly chapped as they move over yours and you’re reluctant to pull back even when your lungs squeeze in your chest and he starts to smile against you. 

Eddie is the one to pull away when you accidentally let a heavy breath escape from your lungs, and he knocks his forehead into yours, shutting his eyes as he catches his own breath. 

You can’t really see him in the dark until he pulls away and catches the soft smile on your face as you sink back down onto your heels and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his chest. He smooths his hands over your back, sitting his chin on the top of your head and hugging you tightly as you listen to the crowd scream along to the lyrics that the band leans into, Axl peeling his microphone from the stand and pointing it towards the audience. 

When the song eventually trails off into its inevitable close, you don’t move from your spot around Eddie, spending the rest of the encore cuddled against him and quietly singing along to the last one you know, sandwiched between two covers. 

Eddie knows that your adrenaline and excitement is worn out when you turn your head up to meet his gaze, lip jutting into a small pout as soon as Guns N’ Roses announce their final song for the night. 

Already dreading the amount of traffic he’ll have to fight through to get the two of you home, he leads you towards the exit but stays for the remainder of the song so that you don’t miss a single word. After a couple of minutes, you glance up at him and nod towards the hallway behind you, content to leave even despite the music still blasting through the room. 

He steers you out of the arena before the major crowds of people could clobber you from the floor and the sudden shift in volume when you make your way further away from the music leaves you feeling a little like you’re in a dream as a wave of exhaustion hits you. 

It’s still busy in the winding hallway of the arena and Eddie nudges you in front of him, keeping his hands secured around your shoulders to guide you through the crowd, practically beelining towards the front door. 

He almost knocks you right onto the floor when you stop abruptly in your tracks near the stand of merchandise. 

“I want a shirt.” 

You turn to look at him and he glances at the slowly growing line of people and the piles of shirts getting sparse, sighing through his nose. He knows he shouldn’t have listened to you when you insisted that you wanted nothing, but he can’t be mad at the hopeful look in your tired eyes.

“Really?” He asks and you nod. 

He flickers his gaze up to a small group of teenagers standing in the line, huddled in a circle and paying no mind to their surroundings. As soon as the man in front of the group steps ahead in line, Eddie pushes you forward to slide discreetly in front of the teenagers, making you gasp at the sudden movement. 

“Eddie-”

“Shh, s’fine,” he mumbles, not bothering to glance at the group behind him, still chattering away in blissful ignorance. “We’d be here all night and leave with nothing otherwise.” 

You curl around him again, resting your chin on his chest as you look up at him.

“Tired?” He asks, bringing his hand up to your cheek and brushing your hair back when you nod.

“My hearing is all fuzzy.” 

Eddie slides both of his hands to the sides of your head, brushing his thumbs over your ears. “Should’ve let me bring those earplugs I offered,” he says but you shake your head, brows dipping together. 

“I wouldn’t have worn them.” 

He smiles, smoothing his thumb over the wrinkle in your brow. “If I take you to any more concerts, you’re wearing them, darling.” 

You grumble something under your breath that makes him laugh and you rest your cheek back on his chest, letting him shuffle you backward every time the line inches forward at a snail’s pace. 

The shirt you want isn’t sold out by the time you reach the table and Eddie buys you one, getting himself one to match. Before you can leave the building, you stop in a quiet corner to peel off your jacket and throw on the t-shirt over the one you’re already wearing. 

“Happy?” He asks when you look down at the Guns N’ Roses logo covering your chest and you nod. 

“Yes. Thank you, Eds,” you beam, hugging him tightly before he pulls away to drape his denim jacket back over your shoulders, the fabric draping down past your hands. 

“You’re welcome. Need anything else before we leave?” He checks as he swiftly does up the buttons of his jacket to keep you warm, but he’s thankful when you shake your head and take the hand he holds out for you. 

He glances at his watch to see it’s a little past 11:30pm and he silently wishes that he would’ve caved and got a hotel in the city for the night. 

“Can we go home now?” You ask when you finally walk out of the building and the brisk night air prickles at your face. 

“Yeah, baby, we’re going home,” he says, weaving through the parking lot to where his van is parked. 

He helps you into the van with his hands on your hips before getting into the driver's seat and cranking the heat, tugging his seatbelt over his chest. 

“That was so much fun,” you say through a happy sigh when he pulls out of the parking space to get into the line of cars waiting to get out of the lot. 

“Yeah?” He glances at you and you nod, tucking your hands between your thighs. “What was your favourite part?” 

“Being with you, I think,” you reply, voice quiet as you turn to look out the window. 

Eddie feels his cheeks flush as he pulls his lips to the side to hide the smile that threatens to form on his face, his hand coming down to rest on your thigh with a tiny squeeze. 

You stay awake long enough for Eddie to buy you McDonalds, and happily munch on the fries in your hand, feeding him a few every couple of minutes until the carton is empty. You keep quiet conversation when he finally gets onto the highway, an hour long drive back to Hawkins ahead of him, but it only takes about twenty minutes for your words to trail off into one-word replies as the rumble of his tires against the asphalt threatens to lull you to sleep. 

It’s only when you haven’t said a word in ten minutes that he looks over to see you fast asleep, his jacket now acting as a cushion between your head and the door after you pulled it off to drape over the front of you like a blanket. 

He opts to keep the radio off for the remainder of the drive, finishing off your Coke to keep him awake. 

When he finally pulls into the trailer park, he winces and slows down the van as the gravel road crunches loudly under his tires until he pulls up onto the grass in front of his trailer. The light is on inside and he knows that Wayne is still up, despite Eddie’s insistence that he don’t wait up for them. 

You’re still asleep when he rounds the front of the van to pull your door open, unclicking your seatbelt and setting the crumpled ball of his jacket in your lap. Not wanting to wake you just to get you inside, he curls his arms around your back and under your legs and lifts you off the seat, slamming the door shut with his elbow. 

Your head lulls to rest on his shoulder, a deadweight in his arms as he makes his way towards the front door which opens before he can walk up the steps, Wayne appearing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt. 

“Didn’t have to wait up,” Eddie says as he climbs the steps and Wayne rolls his eyes, holding the door open as he carries you inside. 

“And how do you propose you would’ve gotten the door unlocked?” 

Eddie mumbles something inaudible under his breath as he kicks off his shoes. 

“How was the show?” Wayne offers as he locks up behind the two of you. 

“Fucking amazing,” he replies quietly. “I had the time of my life.” He glances down at your sleeping figure before briefly flicking his eyes up to his uncle. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow… Night, Uncle Wayne.” 

“Goodnight,” Wayne says with a tiny smile as Eddie spins on his heel to carry you into his bedroom.

You finally stir when Eddie is tugging your jeans down your legs to change you into something more comfortable and he glances up at you when you let out a quiet groan. 

“Eddie?” 

He smiles, leaning over you with his hands pressing into the bed as he presses a kiss to your cheekbone. “We’re home, sweets. I’m just getting y’out of your jeans.” 

“Okay,” you mumble, mostly still asleep and not helping at all as he pulls the band shirt over your head, keeping you in the one you wore to the show. 

You do eventually move so that he can get you under the covers and you peel your eyes open, squinting in the light as he gets himself ready for bed, tugging his shirt over his head and shoving his jeans to the floor to deal with tomorrow. 

“Hey, Eds?” You murmur from your spot in his bed and he turns to you, raising an eyebrow as he slides his rings from his fingers to drop onto his nightstand. “Thank you for taking me tonight. It was the best night of my life.” 

He smirks, softly shaking his head as he flicks off the light before climbing into bed beside you and pulling you into his chest. 

“I’m glad that you had such a good time. Tell me all about it in the morning, yeah?” 

You nod with a hum, burying your face into his chest. “Love you lots, Eddie.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[risuola]

CALL IT DOUBLE TROUBLE — F. READER x GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU, who have a habit of sharing everything

It’s been a while since you last saw your college ex-boyfriend Gojo and a Halloween party led to your reconnection. It was cool to see him again, although your break-up was messy. What turned out to be a plot twist, was that he now has a handsome best friend and together, they are deadly.

cw: smut, exes to lovers, strangers to lovers, threesome, double penetration, praise, cum play, oral (f & m receiving), su*cide is mentioned (no description, just brief mention), reader discretion is advised — 6k words

masterlist

a/n: with that post I'm concluding the kinktober - sorry about the delay! work overwhelmed me, it sucked the life out of me, but I'll be getting back to writing now, so stay tuned! also, we hit 1300 followers, so I just want to say thank you so much for being here and reading the shit I post!

You were never that big on parties – you found them mostly annoying with the masses pushing and pulling all around you, drunk assholes that never seem to understand how consent works and even more drunk girls, that throw themselves at anyone slightly attractive. At least that’s how you remember every party you were on during your college years. You experienced firsthand how much effort men can put into chasing a hem of a mini skirt and you also saw in real life, how women were flexing their assets just to get into the pants they want. Unfortunately, usually pants that were in the biggest demand, were coincidentally belonging to your boyfriend. Uh, yeah, maybe that’s why you don’t really like parties.

Dating Satoru Gojo was a blessing, in some parts – he was just lovely to you. He was caring, to some extent, he was sweet-talking you into everything he wanted, and his arrogance always seemed to fly right over your head, but you loved him for longer than he deserved. You trusted him to not sleep with those eagerly spreading girls and he never did. At least that’s what you like to believe. Flirting with them – that was a different story. Satoru was an attention whore, really. He was basking in the gazes glued to him, the salivating mouths were feeding his already enormous ego and he seemed to have the time of his life pulling the strings of those poor, naïve girls that every time believed him when he told them they are just so pretty. His crystalline blue eyes were capable of turning lesbians into straight and straights into gay. The number of suggestive pictures he posed for flooded your social media each time after the parties you attended with him, and not one of those pictures he’s ever taken with you. And then, after leaving the frat houses and clubs, he would tell you how lucky you are to have him, how all of those silly girls were offering him their pussies oh so eagerly. He’d tell you how they envied you. All while he’d fuck you. You spent two years with him, then came the break-up and just as everything that involved Satoru was messy – so was your parting.

You really had no pleasure in partying, after freeing yourself from the toxicity of Gojo, you finally found peace. You flew through college with ease and after it ended, you found yourself quite a nice job – you were okay without attending any kinds of alcohol and loud music related people gatherings. That’s until Shoko called you earlier that month, practically begging you to pay her a visit on Halloween. She was in the city, having her family house all to her disposal due to her family being on a trip somewhere warm. It was a party where all of your college, mutual friends were going to be, a little reconnection if you will and she insisted you show up as well. It really sounded lovely to see where all of your friends landed in lives. With some you still had a regular contact, but some just went their ways and you rarely crossed paths with them, so you agreed to be there. That was a perfect opportunity to catch up and you were excited.

For some unknown reason, not even once you considered Gojo to be there as well. You just kind of pushed the memory of him to the back of your head, you removed him from the picture of your mutual circle of friends and completely you forgot that he’ll most likely be there as well. You realized it when Shoko asked you about him.

“Have you seen Gojo already?”, her tone was quite cautious when she mentioned the name to you, and with the way you looked at her from above your dying cigarette, she spoke again, “You know he’s gonna be there as well, don’t you?”

“Guess I blacked out that possibility,” you mumbled, shrugging softly to shake off the uneasiness of the thought and killing the cig in the sink before throwing it away. “No, I haven’t seen him and I hope it will stay that way.”

“Oh, you’re still wounded after him?”

“No, Sho, I’m not wounded,” you grabbed yourself a red cup from the array on one of the tables in the kitchen. You had no idea what concoction of liquid courage was inside every each of them, but you really couldn’t care less. If that was one of your first parties in years, you were not going to be picky and you trusted Shoko enough to not have death in those cups. “I’m really not. Thing is… I don’t know, it’s been so many years, I’m not really sure what to even tell him. We broke up in a mess that wasn’t addressed ever since, so you know.”

“Yeah, right, I remember the insanity of that action. Gojo was haunting my dreams for two weeks after the suicidal stunt he pulled off.” Ieiri flinched at the memory but laughed right after realizing how stupid all of that was. “He was a drama queen, we have to give him that.”

“See?”

“Well, you’ll most likely see him anyway, so just a hi will be good.”

“Noted.”

She left you to greet someone, and you shook your head, hoping to get rid of the flashbacks, but they were inevitable, you guessed it. Long time after ending things with Gojo you couldn’t find peace after what happened. You think you will forever remember the argument that unraveled after you told him you’re breaking up with him. There was so much screaming, your head pounded with pain for two days straight after that. Nothing more than accusing of the most bizarre shits and poison was spilling from his mouth when, for the first time, Satoru Gojo was informed that someone else is leaving him. Usually, it was him who ended things up, it was him who was cutting the strings and he was too immature back then to come to terms that other people are also entitled to just go away. You remember he went completely feral, almost psychotic as he was laughing at some point, throwing ironic insults at you as if it was gonna make you stay. He had to prove a point that it’s not you who want to leave him. It’s him who want to break up and you just accidentally happened telling him that before he managed to do so. After that, he threatened you that he will kill himself and he made it everybody’s problem – you had to know it, Shoko had to know it and every single one of your friends had to know it as well. You heard from Ieiri that after about three weeks he got back to being his usual arrogant playboy, as if he didn’t just cause drama of the century. He moved on. Traumatized everyone around him, but moved on nonetheless. Now you found the situation kind of funny. You were just kids and you were not meant to be together. That’s just how life works and you wondered sometimes if Satoru learned a little more life after that or did he stay the same.

Sighing again, you took the cup and slipped in between people in the living room, stepping outside to breathe some fresh air on the terrace, thankful that no one was there. Or so you thought and no wonder you almost jumped out of your own skin when you heard a voice right next to you.

“Fire?” He asked, after a moment of watching you search for the lighter in the pockets of your makeshift schoolgirl uniform. The unlit cigarette in your mouth betraying what you were looking for.

His tone was soft, saccharine sweet and calm at the same time and as you looked up at him, it somewhat matched the picture that met your eyes. The man was tall and broad, dressed all in black with dress pants and a hoodie. His sleeves half up, exposing the veiny forearms as he was keeping his lighter visible, ready to give you a hand.

“Yes, please,” you replied finally, leaning into the fire he opened and with relief you take the first breath in. You were not a smoker in your day-to-day life. One pack of cigarettes lasted you a year, but it was Shoko’s influence that today made you poison your lungs more than usual. “Thanks.”

“I’m Suguru. Geto Suguru,” he introduced himself, offering you his palm and you gave it a short squeeze, telling him your own name. You couldn’t find his face in your memories, and you’d like to think that such handsome features would tattoo themselves into your brain in one way or another. He had to come with someone else, you figured. Probably a boyfriend or a husband even. You couldn’t care less about asking. “Enjoying the party?”

“I’m not big on parties, really,” you shrugged, keeping your gaze away from him because hell, he made it so easy to stare with his long luscious, black hair resting over his shoulders and back, half tied up in a little bun just to get them out of his face. You couldn’t tell what his costume was, he had some kind of alternative style going on, slightly rocker vibes with his pierced ears and silver chains hanging from his neck, but it might have as well be his usual style – he looked good in it. He most certainly looked like a big, red flag but hell was the flag attractive.

“I see. Well, I’m not either,” he confessed, huffing out a greyish cloud of smoke out of his lungs and by the smell of it, you could tell it wasn’t nicotine.

“What you’re smoking?”

“Weed, why? Wanna try it?” It was an offer that you should politely say no to, but it was your first and probably last party in a while, so you asked yourself why not and took the joint from his fingers.

“So, you’re here with someone?” you questioned, just to keep the conversation going once you gave him the smoke back. You could feel the unfamiliar but somehow pleasant burn in your lungs after the drag you took and slowly you blew the fume out. Suguru found the view attractive. Sharing a joint with you felt a little more intimate than it should have, the way your lips wrapped around the brownish paper made him wonder how would they look wrapped around something else. Thoughts like this shouldn’t bloom in his head right after he’s met you, not when he’s an adult man, not a stupid kid anymore, but some things couldn’t be stopped.

“Yeah,” he inhaled once more, deeply enough to kill the joint and throw it away. You watched for a moment how he kept the smoke in his lungs, letting it go after a moment. The cloud escaping through his mouth and nose in a soft stream. Fuck, what a gorgeous man. Whoever was the girl that got him had to be lucky. “You know him, he told me about you.”

Oh, never mind.

“He? Ah, fuck, don’t tell me you came here with that idiot,” you reached down for your cup that few moments prior you put on the ground while searching for a lighter.

“Ow, you’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart.”

And there he was. You wondered where that tower of an asshole hid.

Once you look back at Geto, there was also Satoru. He was standing next to his friend slash partner, with his forearm propped over Suguru’s shoulder as he looked at you from above the black glasses, with the very familiar grin painted on his face. Gojo changed a lot since you last saw him. He was now buffier, seemed even taller than you remembered, and his facial features matured – his jaw became more square, eyes a little more lidded and even the smirk on his lips seemed less playboy-ish and more menacingly manly. He lost his princess looks and became a man. You wondered if his character changed as well, because you could still see him using his looks to take what he wanted.

“Oh, do I?” You questioned, eyeing him up and down. His clothes were almost exactly the same as Geto’s – only difference being the light color and the fact his sweatshirt had no hood. What he was wearing completely contrasted to what his friend had on and it made sense if they were here together. Black and white, like yin and yang. You had no idea if they were here as friends or lovers, but either way, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“You sure do,” Satoru shook his head, his smile now more friendly as he approached you, entrapping you in a hug that surely took you by surprise. “It’s good to see you, beautiful.”

“You too,” you guessed, not completely convinced about what you just said but you let it be.

“I’m sorry. I have to say it before you run away from me. I’m really sorry, I was a dick when we were dating,” Gojo’s voice reached your ears directly, but you had a hard time believing what you were hearing. He was never a type to apologize for anything. Please, sorry and thank you is a set of words that you were certain he never used and yet there he was, saying just that. He really evolved. Or he wanted something.

“Yeah, you were. Hope you’re not anymore,” you chuckled softly, brushing your hand over his side.

“I try not to be,” he confessed quietly, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck before letting go of you. He shouldn’t have kiss you like that, but the feeling of longing was way stronger than him. Even if for a moment, he had to just have a little taste of you.

Ever since you broke up, Gojo had no idea how much he missed having you in his arms. Up until that night he was okay with some random girls coming into and getting out of his bed with no strings attached. He seemed to be unable to form a lasting relationship after you, you were his first and last girlfriend that he committed to for so long, no matter how poorly. Even if he was nothing but an asshole to you, he often wished to marry you back in the college. Even if he couldn’t possibly show you how much he cared, because his childish behaviors were standing in the way of him reaching your heart properly, he really thought you will be the one and only in his life and even if he seemed to move on so quickly after you broke up with him, it was only for show. A cover up for the thunderstorm that was raging inside his chest, a band aid over the bleeding wound. No other girl was able to even half-fill the emptiness you left in his heart.

You were special to him and it thrilled him to the core when for the first time he heard from Shoko that you agreed to be there, because if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t show up as well. His time for partying finished along with his fourth year of college, when he realized there was less and less fun in drinking alcohol and forcing himself into flirting. When it came to you, he had never needed to force himself to do anything. He was just an immature kid when you dated, but he loved the time you gave him.

And now, you were still fitting perfectly into his body. As if he was made from memory foam that still remembered your shape. Now, you were still just as beautiful and breathtaking as he remembered you. In your little, schoolgirl mini skirt, thigh-high socks and a white button up shirt with a loosened tie you looked way sexier than you had a reason to. It’s been quite some time since he was that aroused from just looking at someone and you made him harder than he thought is possible. Fuck, what you were doing to him?

“So, what do you do now? Still living from party to party and from girl to girl?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink. It was strong and it really was better for you to take it in slowly, but there was a certain burn of nervousness tied to meeting your ex that you needed to drown.

“No, it’s in the past,” Satoru replied, inviting you inside, where all three of you found a nice place to sit on one of the couches. You landed between the two men. “I took the lead of my father’s company, Suguru’s my partner in crime. We’re doing good, I don’t party anymore. Honestly, if Shoko didn’t give me a sign that you will be there, I wouldn’t probably step by.”

“Oh, so you came to haunt me,” you joked, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Yeah, kind of. Couldn’t reach you before and wanted to sort this whole mess out. I’m usually cool with having enemies, but you’re not someone I want to have as enemy.”

You gave his words a soft roll of your eyes. Maybe few years back you’d let yourself be sugarcoated into believing him, but not now. Maybe, just maybe, he matured a little, but some things will never change. Gojo was a flirt, is a flirt and probably will always be a flirt. But hell, was he cute. You cursed his innate ability to attract you from a mile.

“Sure, whatever,” you shrugged and the conversation after that was flowing nicely. You got to know Suguru, you learned who he is and why did he stick with Satoru. It was a friendship they developed that kept them together and maybe it was thanks to Geto that your ex wasn’t so much of an asshole anymore. Maybe it’s the brunette’s calm personality that somewhat grounded the playboy. Or maybe it was all an illusion. Yea, it had to be an illusion. There was no way that these two six-foot-three giants were not causing some troubles.

Yeah, they were a trouble. Double trouble, to be exact, and you got to learn that when the doors of one of many bedrooms on the floor closed behind you. You don’t even know how and why you agreed to go with them anywhere in the first place. You had no idea how on earth did Satoru sweet-talked you into fucking him again. For the old time’s sake, my ass. And more important, how did he sweet-talked you into fucking not only him, but also Suguru? At the same time?! You were not built for this, that’s for sure.

“Let’s have fun like we always did, yeah?” Gojo had this typical, shit-eating grin stretched on his face, when he was pulling you by the wrist onto the bed. Geto took his time and lit up another joint, opting to just stand and watch for now. He had a smirk on, his eyes were fixed on you, and you could tell that they weren’t new to sharing a woman. It really was obvious they did that before.

You had no time to think if that surprises you at all. Satoru was a stranger to patience. He never enjoyed waiting and always went straight for what he wanted, and this time was no exception.

“God, you look so fucking hot as a schoolgirl,” he muttered, burying his face into your neck, nibbing and kissing wet marks onto your skin whilst his fingers were already dealing with buttons of your white shirt. Your body acted on its own accord, responding to the red stains of his lips and the cold touch of his fingers with excitement that you felt for the last time when you were in college. It bothered you that you still were so receptive to the way he feels on you, you thought that you’re way over the Gojo effect but seems like you were gravelly wrong. “What a naughty one,” Satoru chuckled, his voice bordered a moan when he finally opened your shirt and your shapely tits, hugged beautifully by a lace bra entered his field of view. “Fuck, I missed those.”

“You’re talking too much,” you grabbed him by the hair, tugging the snow-white strands at the base of his neck and pushing his face down your neck and onto your chest, hoping it will shut him up. That was the issue with your ex. He really was a phenomenal lay but he was just talking so damn much. That was what ultimately pushed you over the edge when you were together back in the day. You just couldn’t stand listening about other women while he was with you.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, sucking a red spot onto one of your tits, earning himself another tug on the hair.

“Don’t mark me, idiot,” you warned him, but it was already too late and both of you knew it.

“My, my… so nervous. Let me help you relax,” Gojo smiled wide and made you lay flat on the bed. It took him no time to find his place between your thighs and before you even got a chance to react, he was already pulling your panties off of you. For a split second, your mind got distracted by the subtle scent of weed that’s filling the air. The smell that reminded you that it’s not only you and your ex in the room, but also another person.

“Don’t worry about me,” Geto smiled. Something mischievous lingered over his lips as he did before he took another drag. The joint between his fingers slowly but surely becoming smaller as he was saturating his lungs with the fumes, only to breathe them out after a moment.

“Are you not going to join?” You asked, your voice slightly breaking into a whine once Satoru flicked his tongue over your clit, reminding you how well he spoke the language of your body. He was fluent in your pleasure, you were never sure if it came to him with experience or was he just naturally gifted, but either way, he had a skill and was proud of it. He began eating you out like he was starving for the past decade. His tongue worked the puffy nub of nerves all the way around, he sucked and licked, slurped and kissed your cunt, causing your body to jolt in pleasure. He was purring while between your legs, his long fingers already working their way into your hole. The stretch was delicious, the symphony of his mouth and hands was slowly driving you insane.

“You’re so sweet,” Satoru mumbled, taking the pleasure away to smear some wet kisses along your inner thighs. “She’s so incredibly sweet, Suguru, you have to taste her,” he added, accentuating the thought with a bite onto the fat of your thigh. His friend just chuckled, making his way towards you and he handed you his half smoked joint.

“I’d love to,” Geto replaced your ex between your thighs. He kept looking into your eyes when he opened his mouth, presenting you with his pierced tongue. Little, metallic ball in the middle of the muscle glistened in the artificial lighting and it made you moan out loud, when he swiped it along your slit, gathering your juices. There was something absolutely intimidating about his calm demeanor, something nearly diabolic but it was exactly what attracted you to him. He was complete opposite to Satoru. He wasn’t bright and loud; his eyes weren’t big and vibrant. He looked mysterious, he kept himself quieter, his eyes kept the focus that Gojo couldn’t achieve. They really were made for each other.

“Oh god—,” your eyes nearly rolled back as he began working on your swollen clit ruthlessly. You had no idea if it was because of the piercing or was it just his skill, but it felt even better then when the snow-white was between your thighs. Or maybe it was just you being so turned on by him.

“You like it?”, your ex asked, grinning as he was taking the time to undress himself. “Knew you’re gonna enjoy it.”

You spared him the comment, losing the track of thoughts in the way Suguru was making you feel. You could have sworn you never felt something like this, he was just incredible with the way his tongue was engraving his own name into your clit. Cold metal of his piercing doubled down the pleasure you were receiving, contrasting with the heat of his muscle.

Your thighs began to tremble, your toes curled in, and you felt yourself quickly falling down the hole of ultimate lust. Euphoria was rushing through your veins; your heart was drumming in your chest as the smoke was leaving your lungs after the drag you took from the joint in your hand. Suguru was pushing you over the edge with such ease it felt illegal. You could feel him grinning proudly from his spot between your legs, you could feel his fingers gripping your hips with bruising strength, keeping them in place while he was slurping your soul straight from your weeping pussy.

Your orgasm exploded and you called out Suguru’s name. He didn’t stop. He kept drinking, thirsty for more of you as your juices coated his tongue and the bottom of his handsome face.

“You really do taste fucking sweet,” he commented, getting up and crawling above you. His lips were on yours the moment he reached your face. He tasted the smoke and you tasted yourself in that kiss. It didn’t last long, but the intensity of it made you almost dizzy. “Let’s get you out of this uniform.”

 It took just few moments until you were completely bare underneath the heavy gaze of two men around you. Satoru was just in his underwear, the tent in them painfully apparent and you knew him well enough that he won’t be able to wait much longer, but what bothered you was the fact that Suguru was still completely clothed. He looked sexy in his dark outfit, but he can look sexy in it later.

“Aren’t you a tease—” you muttered, once he got up from the bed to drown the rest of the joint in what little of alcohol was left in one of your cups on the bedside table. “Take this off.” You demanded, coming up to your knees and pushing his hoodie up.

“How demanding,” he laughed but complied and you managed to just blink twice before his god-like figure presented itself to you. A muscular, large body beautifully decorated with a dragon tattoo that wrapped its tail around his right bicep and spread on his back. You couldn’t decide what to focus on – his impressive musculature, the ink on his skin or the fact that even though he still had his pants on, you could already feel yourself salivating.

Satoru was right behind you, swiping the angry tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering your slick and making you shiver from the touch. He then pushed his girth into you, stretching you impossibly and pulling a quiet, whiny fuck straight out of your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve been having sex with anyone, not to say anyone with that size, but you couldn’t deny that the burn was delicious. It set all your senses on fire, the heatwave washed over you and once Gojo went with the first thrust, it reminded you how much you missed the physical act of intimacy with him.

“Can’t focus, pretty girl?”, Suguru brought your attention back to himself. His long fingers gently gathered all of your hair into a messy ponytail, and you got the hint immediately. As on cue, you unbuckled his pants, pushing them down almost too eagerly. “Good girl.”

The praise in his tone got you weak, you were already becoming a mess from how perfectly Satoru was fucking you right now, pounding his hips against yours in the mind-numbing manner. His cock hitting all of the sweet spots inside of you with each long stroke and that was enough to make you almost incapable of thinking straight, but your hands and mouth acted on its own.

Geto watched how your lips wrapped around his dick. The sight of you taking him into your mouth with such hunger was something he wanted to engrave onto his brain and if the picture was amazing, then there was no word to describe the feeling itself. Your soft, plush lips felt divine brushing along his sensitive shaft, your tongue dancing around his length made him almost lose his composure. You were a sight. And you made him feel so good, he could feel himself twitching in the hot, wet embrace of your mouth. You were sucking him as if your life was depending on it, as if it was your last supper and you wanted to devour it and every time his plump tip hit the back of your throat, he could feel you taking control over him.

“Isn’t she amazing?”, Gojo mumbled from behind you. His grip remained iron on your hips, the bruising force being the only thing that was grounding you now. You could feel yourself clenching around him, your juices were running down your thighs and the wet sounds of skin slapping against each other were filling the room.

“Oh, she is,” Geto confirmed, applying some force onto your head. The tug on your hair was enough to send you overboard and the vibration of your throat once you moaned were enough for him as well. You couldn’t tell who came first, and frankly, you couldn’t care less about it, as long as it felt so damn good.

“I, fuck— I told you,” Satoru panted out. His hips moved slower as he was sloppily riding the high out. You licked the cock in front of you clean, satisfied with the first course but hungry for more.

You shouldn’t allow all of this to happen. There was not a single argument that could justify everything that was happening right now – you shouldn’t sneak out to god-knows-whose room in your friend’s house and you absolutely shouldn’t sneak out there with not only your ex-boyfriend but also his friend. You couldn’t even remember how you agreed to that. Why have you agreed to that? You had no idea. Was it to talk?

You wouldn’t exactly call the way your body was being stuffed full by two cocks at the same time talking. You were squeezing Suguru’s shoulders as he was thrusting his hips up against yours. His body below you, laying flat on the bed made for a canvas for your nails to leave marks, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. He was kissing you with a mixture of passion and laziness, a smirk stayed prominent on his lips as he was swallowing your moans. The subtle taste of weed in his mouth got you wanting more of him. He felt perfect in every way, his movements were setting your nervous system on fire as the heat was spreading over your entire body, radiating from your core. You could feel Satoru’s fingers teasing your clit, you could feel his lips smearing wet trails along your spine. The way his hips were moving seemed to be perfectly in sync with the brunette.

You were so full of them, you never felt something like this before. The initial pain you felt when Gojo pushed his girth into your asshole was long gone now as he was pounding into you in complete unison with how Geto was moving. The sensation of being so incredibly full turned your brain into a heated mush, your body was trembling between them, electrocuted time after time with a sharp waves of white pleasure. Your vision was blurry, the stars covered most of it. You could no longer tell whose hands were where and your thighs were wet and sticky from all the seed that was being pumped into you, gushing out with every piston of their hips.

“You’re so perfect for us,” someone told you. A low, rasped out voice resounded right next to your ear, followed by a harsh bite onto your shoulder and the sudden wave of new pain that radiated from it pushed you over the edge. You were speeding, falling with no parachute. You couldn’t breathe for a moment as the climax was overtaking you. “Such a good girl, you’re making so much mess.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered, gasping for air as their thrusts picked a pace. You couldn’t form any coherent sentence as they were fucking the soul out of your body. Right after you came, they both came as well. Their cum coated your insides and leaked onto your thighs, dripping down as they pumped into you some more.

Gojo was first to pull out, spreading your cheeks and admiring how his white overflown your hole. The menacing grin spread across his face as he gripped your hips and lifted you off Suguru’s cock. The long-haired man sat up as you, led by your ex’s hands turned to straddle Geto’s lap. Your back was facing his chest as he pulled you back onto his shaft. All of his length sank right into your ass, pulling a moan right from your chest.

“Look at you, so gorgeous,” Satoru was in front of you, admiring for a moment your bouncing figure before his long fingers slipped into your cunt, curling in a way that got him pressing onto your oversensitive sweet spots. “Open your mouth for me.”

You barely registered his words, but your jaw dropped nonetheless. His cum coated digits slid right through your lips and you sucked on them, twirling your tongue around and tasting the mixture of your juices and their seeds. Suguru’s hands were kneading your breasts as his friend was playing with the mess between your thighs.

There was something deeply erotic in a way the white-haired man kept your gaze up. How he looked right into your eyes while you were being fucked by his best friend, how he enjoyed the way you gave them your body to play however they wanted. And it felt even more erotic when Satoru licked the lone drop of cum that escaped the corner of your mouth only to kiss you right after.

Geto was still slamming his pelvis up and you got stuck in the realm of pleasure, hanging somewhere between the movements of the cock in your ass and the lips over your own. You could feel your thighs trembling. Your body, still oversensitive from the last orgasm and yet, already entering the state of another. The wave of lustful relief now flowing dangerously close to your core, the knot in your stomach holding just barely and you squeezed Satoru’s hair, tugging at them harshly. You were struggling to breathe through the heavy kiss he was laying on your lips, but the sensation of it rendered you unable to fight it.

And then it hit you once again. The man below you filled you to the brim, tearing down the last bits of composure you had and your world shattered once the final climax. You felt as if the lust and desire were steaming off of all three of you. The breaths were mixed and the tastes concocted. As all three of you fell onto the bed, blissfully satisfied, you began to slowly regain your mind to the sound of a soft chuckle from your left side. Satoru. He had a habit of laughing when he was fulfilled – a sign of his happiness, the state nearing high. There was some gratefulness in it as well.

“How are you feeling?”, the question came from the right side, where Suguru seemed to already plan how to take care of the entire mess. He kissed your shoulder softly.

“Good,” you replied to him, watching as he gathered himself up from the bed.

“You rest a little bit longer; I’ll go get washed first and then you two.”

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*puts down some SAGAU fluff* come here i have a tasty meal for you :)

Childe often goes to the city to pick up supplies, as you can't wander into a crowd without getting accused of impersonation- he's seen the scars etched over your skin, the lines of starry blood from blades and burns. so even with the cloth mask you always wear, he doesn't push you to venture into any big cities or villages. you are the Creator, after all, and Childe- Ajax- wants you to be as happy as possible. besides, it's always the perfect opportunity to catch wind of any news floating around, both from his subordinates and chatter on the street. the Eleventh Harbinger is oddly quiet nowadays, completing his work in silence and deep thought, yet the agents of the Fatui swear they can see a faint sparkle in his deep blue eyes.

it's during one of his outings that Ajax notices that he has a shadow- a small, fuzzy shadow, a kitten trotting after him as he goes around doing his weekly errands. the tiny thing is determined keep following him, even though one of his steps is practically an entire journey to it, and after the kitten trails after him to every shop he visits, Ajax simply scoops it up in one hand and carries it with him. it clambers onto his shoulder and makes itself comfortable, periodically mewing and nudging his cheek. Foul Legacy is going mad trying to stay silent in the back of Ajax's head, trilling and chirping in delight at the new adorable friend.

you're equally as delighted when Ajax brings the kitten home, gasping and reaching out as he gently sets it in your hands- and just in time, as Foul Legacy takes over their shared body, nuzzling up to you and chittering very quietly so he doesn't scare the cat. he watches your every move and reaction, the warm smile on your face after all that you've suffered making his heart melt. your newfound friend meows, high pitched and squeaky, kneading biscuits against your scarred palms as Legacy gently pulls you into his lap and purrs deeply along with the tiny kitten's buzzing.

the Creator, an Abyssal monster, and their fluffy companion- now all you need to do is think of a name.