#these will be posted on ao3 at some point during the month

[iboatedhere]

i've got two if you're cool with it, do with them what you will:

summer vibes: the smell of sunscreen june prompts: dandelions

and let's go with post-canon 👀♥️

“I think you missed a spot, sweetheart.”

Henry looks up, a white cast of sunscreen covering his entire face and even more on his fingertips. 

“Where?”

Alex laughs and rubs in an incredibly thick spot on the outer edge of Henry’s ear. 

“There, I think I got it.”

“You shouldn’t tease,” Henry says, upending the bottle of sunscreen and squeezing a dollop into his palm before rubbing it onto his arms. “SPF is very important.”

“I know it is, babe, but I don’t think you have to reapply every twenty minutes.”

“It hasn’t been that often, and even if it has been, there’s nothing wrong with being proactive. Skin cancer is no joke.”

“You’re going to smell like a coconut for the next decade.”

“Suppose I’ll just need to take a very thorough shower tonight,” Henry says as he works on his other arm. “If you’re good, I might let you join me.”

Alex grins and lowers his sunglasses over his eyes. 

It’s a nice thought for a nice day.  

The sun is bright and warm when he tips his face into it, and the blanket is soft beneath his hands as he leans back. 

There's a couple a few yards away, her head in his lap as she reads, and just beyond them, a mother braiding dandelions into her young daughter’s hair. 

Further down the hill, a man throws a ball for his golden retriever, and at the curve in the path, two kids buy fresh sliced fruit from a brightly colored cart. 

There’s pop music blasting from someone’s shitty Bluetooth speaker, and sirens and car horns sound off in the distance. 

It’s a symphony of everyday New York City life. 

It’s beautiful, if he doesn’t look at the teenage girl with her phone up and pointed in their direction. If he doesn’t wonder what Twitter account it’ll be posted to or what tabloid it’ll be splashed across. He doesn’t worry about what they’ll say about their body language or how he hasn’t shaved in a few days. That Henry’s hair is longer now, or that it’s a Wednesday afternoon and they’re sitting in the sun in the middle of Prospect Park. 

If he pretends that he doesn’t see Amy and Cash posted nearby, looking out of place in their dark suits as they scan the crowd. 

If he doesn’t think about how he might have squeaked out a few years of normalcy, maybe, a few administrations from now, when he’d be replaced by a newer, younger–but not necessarily hotter–First Son. Alex would have the time to finish school, pass the bar, and get a job at a respectable firm before he decided to get into politics and step back into the public eye on his own terms. 

He can’t live that life because he fell in love with Henry, but he can’t imagine living any kind of life without Henry. 

Henry, who never stood a chance at anonymity no matter what. Who had been photographed more times before his first birthday than Alex has in his entire life. Who is part of a royal bloodline and obligations. Who could walk away from it all, give up the title, and still be hounded by the press, both destined and doomed. 

“Hey,” Alex says, sitting up and wrapping his fingers around Henry’s wrist. “I love you.”

Henry blinks at him from behind his Wayfarer Ray-Bans. “And I love you,” he says. “Is everything okay?”

Alex wants to ask if he still thinks it was all worth it. The drama and the sleepless nights. The vitriol from his grandmother, brother, and certain corners of the press. If he’d do it again if it got them to this moment, sitting together in the park, drowning in sunscreen. If he’d be willing to wait a little longer, push a little harder for that life they both want. Privacy and family and a future. They can still have that, but it won’t be easy. Nothing ever is.

Instead, he leans forward for a kiss that Henry doesn’t pull back from but doesn’t move toward either.

“You know there’s a teenage girl filming us,” Henry says, because of course he sees her, too. 

“Does it matter?” 

Henry shakes his head and smiles as he closes the distance. 

From now on, they’ll be at each other’s side, and it’s the only thing that matters. 

[plutotheplum]

XO

akaashi keiji x fem!reader

summary: being the manager of the msby black jackals is stressful, but when a handsome stranger shows up, you think you might’ve stumbled upon a hidden perk.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, post-time skip, kissing, oral sex, blowjobs, p in v, smut, fluff

wc: 5.3k

a/n: watched the movie last night and i cried (if you saw this post before, no you didn't) <3

also on ao3!

Six months in, and you think you might be ready to quit your job.

Sure, securing a job as the MSBY Black Jackal’s manager was one of your proudest achievements, but no one had told you that you’d be dealing with men like this. You understood that you were in the presence of some of the finest sporting talent in Japan, but these men were wildly immature.

It’s why you’re here now, glaring at the man who had made fun of his teammate.

“What were you thinking?” you hiss, pointing your pen at the offending man.

Atsumu groans, his head tipping back against the wall of the locker room. “I was only having a little fun.”

“A little fun,” you reply, nodding along, “right, and that’s why Bokuto is off sulking in who knows where!”

“C’mon!” Atsumu protests, leaning forward, staring at you desperately, “I made a comment on the color of his shoes! How was I supposed to know that was gonna set him off?”

You can feel a headache begin to set in and you sigh, pointing towards the door of the locker room.

“Just go warm up, okay? I’ll try and find Bokuto.”

Atsumu nods, and has the grace to look at least a little apologetic as he pats your shoulder and leaves.

You follow him soon after, out of the locker room. Bokuto’s sulking most likely meant he wasn’t going to perform as well. You knew about his bouts of being discouraged, had seen it during the occasional game when something would set him off. People are milling about, and you quicken your pace, turning a corner to finally find Bokuto sitting on a bench.

“Bokuto!” you call out, the relief in your voice clear.

The outside hitter looks up at you, a pout on his face. 

“You ready for the game?” you ask, putting on a wide smile to try and make him feel better.

“Do you think they’re ugly?” 

“W- what?”

“My shoes,” he says, pointing at them, “do you think they’re ugly?”

You have half the mind to tell him that they’re just shoes and that he should grow up, but the look of utter despair on his face has you holding back. A quick glance down at his shoes and from what you can gather, they look relatively… normal. You were definitely going to kill Atsumu later.

“They look fine,” you say, pausing when you see his frown deepen. Your fingers tighten around the clipboard clutched against your chest and you put on a cheery smile, voice pitching up. “I meant they look totally great! And they really suit you!”

Bokuto makes no attempt to move, simply stares down at his shoes and traces one of the stripes absentmindedly. You’re at your wits end, growing antsy as you check your watch and realize there’s only 10 minutes before the game starts.

“I could get you some new-“

“You doing okay?”

A voice breaks in through from behind you and your head turns, brows furrowing when you see an unfamiliar man. The lanyard around his neck has a card attached to it, bold letters spelling out VIP . 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto sits up, his eyes lighting up for a moment, “do you like my shoes?”

You stare at the pair of men, bewildered. The man, Akaashi, pats Bokuto’s shoulder and lowers his voice to whisper some words to the pro-volleyball player. In what you think might be the quickest change of mood from Bokuto yet, the volleyball player stands up and gives a hearty laugh, his chest puffing out. 

You’re even more stunned when he pats your back happily and jogs off in the direction of the court.

“How did you do that?” you blurt out, eyes flitting towards the man who was now standing beside you.

“I used to play with Bokuto in highschool,” Akaashi replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Fukurodani. I was the team’s setter so I had to get used to Bokuto's little slumps.”

Huh. That did make more sense. You narrow your eyes, examining the man a little more. He’s handsome, sure, his glasses sitting on the slope of his nose as he shifts on the spot. Akaashi stares back down at you expectantly.

“Uh- well, thank you,” you say, holding your hand out and giving him a sheepish smile. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get him onto the court at all today.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his hand shaking yours. 

You introduce yourselves and he follows you onto the stands, both of you overlooking the two teams as they line up on the court. Nervousness makes you restless, your teeth biting into your lower lip as you watch the players get into position. You really wanted the Jackals to win.

“Relax,” Akaashi murmurs, his head lowering to speak directly into your ear to help you hear better over the roar of the crowd.

Your eyes meet his and he stares back at you intently, his hand squeezing at your shoulder gently. You think some sort of magic might be laced into his words with the way your body loosens slightly, your tense shoulders dropping.

“Thank you,” you mumble, giving him a faint smile.

Akaashi smiles back and squeezes your shoulder one more time before his hand drops away. You nearly protest against it, wanting to feel the heat of his body near yours again, but you can’t because you’ve only just met the man and you aren’t that desperate.

The game goes perfectly well, thankfully, and you’re up on the tips of your toes cheering for the Jackals as they shake hands with the other team. Your previous nervousness has all  melted away, leaving only a feeling of pure giddiness. Akaashi claps with you, his reaction much more toned down compared to yours.

“You can come down with me,” you say breathlessly, flicking through a few pages on your clipboard to find the schedule for the post game press conference.

Akaashi nods, his eyes drifting over you for a moment. “Yeah, I’ll come. I need to congratulate Bokuto anyways.”

You beam up at him and against better judgment, hand him a copy of the schedule before giving him a wave and disappearing off to meet the team. Akaashi watches as you flutter away, skirt swaying, the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. 

- 

“No talk of shoes, okay?” you warn Atsumu as you had him a bottle of cold water. “We can’t have Bokuto breaking down on national television.”

“You worry too much,” Atsumu complains, pressing the bottle of water against his flushed cheek.

“My job is on the line!” you argue, giving the man a glare.

Atsumu only gives you a pout and you thank Meian when he comes to get his teammate, grateful for the captain’s unwavering leadership.

You slip into the conference room before long, making sure to give the Jackals an encouraging smile and a thumbs up before you sidle up to the wall, watching as the various reporters ready their questions.

A few bottles of water sit on a table beside you and you reach for one, twisting at the cap. The stupid plastic burns across your skin harshly, making a glare settle on your face as you narrow your eyes at the bottle of water. You try again but to no avail, the cap latching on stubbornly tight. A soft curse gets muttered under your breath before someone’s hand reaches out, grabbing the bottle of water from you.

You blink in surprise when you realize it’s Akaashi, his hand twisting at the cap effortlessly and breaking the seal. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“That’s the third time today,” he whispers back, his eyes glimmering with mirth, “should I keep sticking around for more of your thanks?”

A smile pulls at your lips and you glance up at him to find him smiling back. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” you mutter, elbowing him in the side lightly.

Akaashi hums in response, his warm hand grasping at your elbow to hold you in place. You freeze for a moment, surprise flitting across your face but then you lean into him slightly, avoiding his eyes as you press into his side. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just stands there with you, his eyes trained on the little notes you scribble on paper as the players speak.

To your relief, Atsumu manages to steer clear from the topic of shoes, answering the reporters’ questions thoroughly with a bit of humor thrown in, to lighten the atmosphere of the press conference. You find that you can’t really be all that mad at the man, he knew how to get the job done when it came to it.

The press conference comes to a close half an hour later and Akaashi trails after you as you usher the men back into the main foyer.

“Good job everyone,” you announce before flicking through a few pages of your clipboard. “The Chairman has been impressed with your performance this season, so he’s personally sent a congratulatory cake.” You stare pointedly at Atsumu and Bokuto. “Please make sure to not make a mess.”

The men are gone in a rush before you can say anything else and you smile fondly, shaking your head.

“You gonna let me get in on this cake thing?” Akaashi asks, raising his brows.

“You’re welcome to join,” you reply, shooting him a smile as you try to not sound too eager. “You do have VIP status, after all.”

Akaashi smiles back and you think it might be a miracle that your legs haven’t given out under the soft gaze he sends you. 

Thankfully, Atsumu and Bokuto don’t make a mess although you do spot them bribing Hinata to bring them a few more slices, the orange-haired man utterly oblivious to the fact.

“Hey,” Akaashi murmurs, stepping in beside you as you finish off your piece of cake. “You’ve got a little something.” He motions to the corner of your mouth.

“Oh!” you flush with embarrassment, wiping at the corner of your mouth with a napkin. “Gone?”

“Just a little more,” he says, watching as you try and fail to get rid of the chocolate icing that’s smudged over your lips and the corner of your mouth. “Just- here, let me.”

You freeze when he reaches out for you, his thumb swiping over your lip and skin gently, cleaning you up.

“Napkin?” you ask weakly, offering it to him so he can clean his thumb.

“No need.”

Akaashi keeps his eyes on you as he licks the pad of his thumb, your hazy eyes following the motion of his tongue, a rush of heat pooling in your lower stomach.

“Do you-” you begin, clearing your throat when you hear how airy your voice has become, “do you do this often?”

A smile pulls at his lips and he leans in a little closer, his breath fanning across your skin as his mouth opens to murmur something into your ear.

“Hey, hey, hey!”

You jolt, half-lidded eyes snapping open when you find Bokuto slinging his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. Irritation flashes through Akaashi’s eyes but it seems to fade when Bokuto begins to speak animatedly, detailing the past events Akaashi had missed.

Part of you would’ve liked to speak to Akaashi more, but you can’t find it in yourself to fault Bokuto, deciding to busy yourself with getting another slice of cake. A heavy arm slings itself around your shoulders and you roll your eyes when you realize it’s Atsumu, the wide grin on his face making you feel uneasy.

“Saw you getting real chummy with Bokuto’s friend,” he whispers conspiratorially, trying to swipe at your cake slice. 

“I was being friendly,” you retort, glaring up at Atsumu.

“You look like you wanna fuck him.”

“Your observations are not appreciated,” you grit out, trying to squirm away from under him when he steers you into a corner.

“Good news is, I think he wants to fuck you too,” Atsumu says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“ Why are you doing this?” you groan, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Because you, my lovely manager, deserve happiness!” he says cheerily.

Your eyes narrow, taking in the smile on Atsumu’s face, suspicion flaring. “What did you do?”

“What?” Atsumu’s smile falters. “Nothing. Why do you always assume I did something?”

“Because you usually do something, Atsumu,” you reply exasperatedly, trying to peek out from behind him to catch another glimpse of Akaashi.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, moving to the side so as to block your view of Akaashi.

“Let’s hear it then,” you say, peering up at him. 

He beams at you, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear. “Just make sure you take charge. Guys like that sort of thing. Yank him by the shirt or something and kiss him. My advice is foolproof .”

Was the advice really foolproof if the fool himself was giving it to you?

You shoot Atsumu a skeptical look, waving him off before he puts any more ridiculous ideas into your mind. 

As the night passes, the amount of players reduces, deciding to make their way back home. Atsumu shoots you a wink in passing and you glare back at him, fighting the urge to swat him.

“Heading home?” 

You blink up to find Akaashi standing beside you, his brows raised.

“Yeah,” you say, a wistful smile coming across your face, “it’s been a long day.”

“I could drive you home?” Akaashi offers, falling into step beside you as you both exit the volleyball stadium.

You had been planning to just catch an uber or something, but when Akaashi stares down at you like that , his gaze soft and lips looking sickeningly inviting, you nod immediately.

A few stolen glances later coupled with you biting back an inappropriate remark at the way his lithe fingers wrap around the steering wheel, you find yourself standing opposite Akaashi in the open doorway of your apartment.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” you say, peering up at Akaashi.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Akaashi murmurs, his hands shoving into his pockets.

Akaashi shows no signs of leaving however. Silence passes over you as you both just stand there, staring at each other. Your gaze dips down to his shirt, trying to stop Atsumu’s obnoxious voice from blaring through your normally rational decision making.

Yank him by the shirt or something and kiss him.

Eyes flitting up again, you decide to take your chances. Your hand curls into Akaashi’s shirt, yanking him towards you, lips crashing onto his. Several seconds pass and Akaashi stands there limply, his lips unmoving and non-reciprocating. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, feeling utterly mortified as you let go of him. “Atsumu said you wanted to fu- I mean- he said guys liked that sort of thing!”

At the same time, Akaashi begins to speak. “Bokuto said you weren’t interested.”

“ What? ” you sputter, eyes widening. Frustration sets your nerves alight and you fish out your phone, dialing Bokuto’s number, ready to give him an earful. 

“Hey,” Akaashi says, plucking your phone from your hand and setting it down onto a nearby dresser, “think you could do that after I kiss you?”

Your flurry of movements pauses, breath hitching when he steps inside your apartment, the door shutting behind him softly. He smiles down at you, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering as he spins you around, pushing you up against the door gently, “y-yeah, I can do that.”

“Yeah?” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours. One of his hands slips up higher, smoothing over the length of your neck to cup your cheek.

You let out an incoherent noise, managing out a jerky nod. Akaashi laughs, tilting your head to the side as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut, heart racing uncontrollably in your chest as he drags his lips across your skin, planting another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His glasses dig into your skin but you can hardly find it in yourself to care, pulling him closer desperately when he slots his lips over yours. Akaashi kisses you heatedly and you whine, arms wrapping around his neck to return his kisses eagerly. His tongue gently parts your lips, hands slipping back down to squeeze at your waist and move you flush against him.

A few stumbles later and you’re pushing his chest, watching as he falls back onto the couch. Akaashi grins, his thighs spreading invitingly as he gets comfortable.

“Come sit on my lap, baby.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You scramble up onto his lap, straddling his hips, lips finding his again. Akaashi groans when you run your fingers through his hair, hips rolling across his lap as he spreads his fingers over your skirt, groping at your ass.

“So- so you do wanna fuck me?” you ask breathily, unable to resist yourself from leaning forward and stealing another kiss.

“I thought I made myself obvious,” Akaashi replies, his hands slipping under your skirt to feel the warm, bare skin of your thighs.

A soft hum leaves you, fingers tracing across his cheek before reaching out to take his glasses off, setting them down. You smile down at him hazily and Akaashi smiles back, maneuvering your body so that you’re laying down, head nestled in the cushions.

You bite your lip when he kisses down your neck, sighing softly when he undoes the buttons of your shirt, pulling it apart. Akaashi’s eyes darken when he sees the swell of your breasts in your bra, his hands reaching out to grope at them greedily. You fumble around, unclasping your bra, tossing it behind you.

“So pretty, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips before kissing down your body.

You gasp when his tongue swirls around your nipple, squirming underneath him as his hot mouth envelops it, sucking and licking, even nipping gently making your body twitch. Back arching, you moan, fingers tugging at his soft hair. Akaashi lets out a hum, mouth opening wide to suck your breast into his mouth, groaning when he feels your hips buck underneath him.

“ Fuck ,” Akaashi hisses, his fingers rubbing at your clothed cunt, panties utterly drenched, “you’re dripping. How long have you been like this?”

You flush, looking away. Akaashi clicks his tongue, grabbing your chin to turn your gaze back onto him.

“Tell me,” he coaxes, rucking your skirt up before he tugs your panties up, watching the hard press of the fabric outline your puffy folds.

“Maybe- maybe since you opened that water bottle for me,” you mumble, blinking up at him innocently. 

Akaashi’s grip falters, his brows shooting up in surprise. Your cheeks are hot, eyes dropping to find his cock straining against his trousers, the bulge making you lick your lips.

“That long?” he whispers, leaning in.

“Mhm,” you nod, arms looping around his neck to pull him into a sloppy kiss, tongue and all.

“If I knew it was that easy, I would’ve done it the moment I saw you,” Akaashi smiles, his nose nudging against yours as he continues to rub your pussy through your panties.

“Shut up!” you laugh, pushing at his chest.

He laughs with you, smacking a quick kiss to your cheek before slinking down, pulling your thighs apart. A contented sigh leaves you when he licks up over your ruined panties, mewling softly when he pulls them to the side to get a glimpse of your slick pussy.

“Such a pretty pussy. All of you is so pretty,” he murmurs, pulling your panties off. 

You don’t miss the way he tucks them into his pocket.

Akaashi’s mouth encloses around your clit, sucking with fervor. You let out a strangled moan, fingers fisting his hair roughly, thighs twitching. 

“A- Akaashi,” you whine, hips rolling up to meet his mouth needily, “ hah- oh fuck!- ”

His nose nudges into your clit when he stops suckling on your clit, licking up a wide strip along the length of cunt, a low moan slipping out of him as he watches your cunt clench and flutter around nothing.

“Taste so fucking good,” he rasps, arms curling around your thighs, thumbing apart your folds to press his tongue in deeper, licking over the velvety flesh of your cunt.

You moan again, breath catching in your throat when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles into the sensitive bud before his tongue presses into your aching pussy, thrusting in and out of you. He makes an obscene sound and you tug at his hair roughly, pushing his face deeper into your cunt, squealing when he shakes his head, tongue swiping all over you.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, beginning to chant drunkenly, “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Akaashi grunts into your pussy, spreading apart your folds against to spit on your cunt, his tongue swirling around your swollen clit before sucking it into his mouth. He suckles on it hard ; the sensation making your toes curl and eyes squeeze shut tightly. 

“Gonna cum?” he asks, a hoarse laugh leaving him when you push his head back down.

You nod rapidly, hands squeezing at your breasts, pinching and tugging at your own nipples. Akaashi slips his fingers up past your chin and your mouth opens obediently, hips rolling up as you suck on his fingers. 

A whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your clit, his tongue laving over it again as he sucks desperately, driving you further and further to the edge.

“Cum on my tongue, baby,” Akaashi whispers, “wanna watch you cum all pretty and needy.”

You don’t need any more encouragement, back arching as your body draws taut. You cum with a cry of his name, squeaking when he licks over your oversensitive pussy, thighs clamping around his head while your fingers tangle in his soft, black hair. 

Akaashi pulls away with one final suckle to your clit, peppering kisses up your body before slotting his lips over yours again. You whine softly, cupping his cheek to return his kisses feverishly, feeling the press of his clothed cock against your inner thigh.

“Take your clothes off,” you say softly, pecking his lips sweetly.

You squirm out of your skirt and top when he gets off of you, watching with hazy eyes as he pulls his shirt up over your head. The flex of his biceps has you letting out a low whine, fingers slipping between your thighs, unable to help yourself, rubbing your clit unabashedly.

Akaashi doesn’t miss the movement, shooting you a lazy grin, his hand smoothing over his trousers, squeezing at his bulge.

“Enjoying the view?” he murmurs, unbuttoning his trousers, “hm, baby?”

“‘m enjoying it a lot,” you reply airily, entranced by the motion of his hand as he grasps himself through his boxers.

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes his boxers down, tongue feeling heavy as you watch the bob of his cock, heavy and thick. The hardened length twitches when he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his cock, pre-cum beading at the tip.

“T-taste?” you mewl, slipping off the couch and crawling towards him, “wanna taste, ‘kaashi.”

“Needy baby,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face.

Your eyes flutter shut when he bends, meeting his lips in a short kiss. Akaashi presses the head of his cock against your lips soon after, a moan slipping out of him when he sees the way his pre-cum spreads across your lips.

You lick your lips, mewling at the taste of his pre-cum, mouth opening wider, tongue lolling out.

“Want it,” you whisper, fingers digging into thighs, “please?”

“‘m gonna give it to you,” Akaashi rasps, grasping the base of his cock to smack the head of it against your tongue a few times. “Go ahead, pretty.”

You hum happily, mouth wrapping around his cock, hand curling around the base of it. Akaashi groans, his head tipping back as you squirm on your knees, fingers finding your slippery clit again.

“Just like that,” he whispers when you begin to bob your head, tongue swirling around the head of his cock, suckling gently.

Akaashi’s thighs twitch, the hand tangled in your hair tightening when you shuffle closer, mouth stretching open to take more of him into your mouth. 

You suck and lick, practically dripping onto the carpet beneath you as you hear the grunts and groans that leave Akaashi. He sounds pretty, the little airy gasps and stutters of his breath giving you the encouragement to try and take him deeper, your nose pressing into the black tufts of coarse hair at the base of his cock, before you pull off with watery eyes.

“I might have a hard time letting go of you after this,” Akaashi says, watching as you blink up at him with starry eyes, stroking his hand over your hair as you mouth lazily across the length of his cock. 

“So don’t,” you whisper, laving your tongue across the head of his cock, tasting his pre-cum.

You land a soft kiss to the tip, tilting your head to kiss at his heavy balls. Akaashi stops you before you can suck them into your mouth, dipping his head down to kiss you instead.

“‘m gonna cum if you do that,” he whispers against your lips.

“That’s sort of the point,” you smile, hand stroking along his length.

He snorts, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you up onto your feet. His throbbing cock presses against your stomach as you wind your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Akaashi gropes at the fat of your ass appreciatively, both of you standing together as you makeout languidly. 

You pull away for air soon after, hands roaming across his firm chest, eyes growing hazier with the way the muscles of his abdomen flex under your touch. A glob of pre-cum beads at the tip of Akaashi’s cock and you grasp his hand, rocking up to kiss his cheek before pulling him after you.

“Wanna ride my cock?” he whispers, teeth nipping at your earlobe gently when you lead him into your bedroom.

“Y- yeah,” you reply airily, crawling up onto his lap when he sits down, his back against the headboard of your bed.

You rock your hips, grinding your cunt against his hot length, mewling softly when the tip of it nudges against your clit a few times. Akaashi catches your chin, pulling you forward for another filthy kiss, his hands smoothing up and down the length of your back.

“Sink down on it, baby.”

A soft whimper escapes you at his low voice, hands gripping his shoulders as you rise up onto your knees. Akaashi wraps his hand around the base of his cock, holding it for you. His head tips back, a guttural groan leaving him when you sink down on his cock, your nails digging into his skin.

“ Oh- ” you whine, “‘kaashi- hah- ”

“Keiji,” he replies, fingers dimpling the fat of your hips, trying to gain some semblance of control with the way your cunt’s clenching around his cock, “call me Keiji, baby.”

You let out a dazed sigh, rolling your hips and whining again, your own head tipping back.

“K- Keiji, you feel so good.”

Akaashi moans appreciatively in response to your words, landing a spank to your ass to urge you to move. You hiccup, cupping his cheeks, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as you roll your hips one more time and begin to rise and fall on his cock.

He keeps his eyes on you, letting out soft pants as you mewl and whimper out his name, hips swaying back to meet his thrusts when he begins to move his hips too.

“Good girl,” Akaashi whispers, head dipping to suck your breast into his mouth, “gripping me so tight, baby.”

“Keiji,” you mewl, dragging out his name in a needy call.

“‘m right here, pretty,” Akaashi murmurs, arms wrapping around your waist more firmly. 

You squeal when he lifts you up and begins to drop you down onto his cock himself, his face pressing into your chest, leaving desperate, heated open-mouthed kisses against your sweaty skin as he makes you take his cock.

“Oh fuck-,” you begin to gasp out, eyes squeezing shut, “ oh fuck! ”

“Take it,” Akaashi hisses, hands drifting down to grip the fat of your ass tighter, “fucking take my cock, baby.”

A surprised squeak leaves you when he lays you down, his cock pushing into you almost immediately after. Your legs wrap around his hips, hand reaching for his as he fucks his cock into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing lewdly throughout the room.

You scrabble at the bedsheets, trying to find some purchase as Akaashi drives his cock into you harder and faster.

“Gonna make me cum,” he grunts, face pressing into the crook of your neck, his body dropping to be flush against yours, hips rolling to a slow grind.

“‘m gonna cum too,” you say weakly, eyes fluttering as he mouths at your breast lazily. 

Akaashi peers down at you when he pushes himself up, bullying his cock into your cunt, balls pressed snugly against your ass.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks softly, brushing your hair out of your face.

“You’re a terrible influence,” you sigh, giving him a dazed smile as you pull him down for a kiss, “but yes, you can.”

Akaashi grins, mouth slotting over yours again, thumb rubbing at your clit. He groans when he feels you clench around him, his hips stuttering jerkily when you dig your heels into the backs of thighs, forcing him to push his cock in deeper. 

“Brat,” he hisses, head dropping forward as he lets out a low whine, cock jerking inside of you as he cums.

You squirm, back arching as his thumb rubs harder, thighs twitching as you fall apart on his cock. Akaashi pants against your chest, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a few more whines, thick cum filling you up.

He rolls off of you so as to not crush you with his weight, running his hand through his hair. You curl up into his side, leaning forward to kiss his jaw.

“‘m gonna go clean up,” you whisper.

Akaashi nods, patting your hip affectionately, his eyes trained on the sway of your hips as you disappear into the bathroom.

You tug on a fresh shirt and a pair of panties, crawling back into bed to find Akaashi’s pulled his boxers back up over his hips, the manga volume you had been reading last night in his hand.

“It’s good,” you inform him, pressing into his side, head resting on his shoulder as you look over the little panels of drawings.

“I’d hope so,” Akaashi says, his hand rubbing at your side absentmindedly.

“Why?” you ask, brows furrowing.

“I happen to be the editor.”

You stare at him blankly, eyes flitting from his towards the manga. “No way.” You snatch the manga from him, flipping through towards the large page. His name is there in the little lettering, plain as day.

Editing: Akaashi Keiji

He smiles at you, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing several kisses here and there.

“Well,” you say, setting the manga down and wrapping your arms around his neck, “now you have to tell me what’s to come.”

“My lips are sealed,” Akaashi replies, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Keiji!” you whine, pouting up at him.

“Not happening, baby,” he says, shaking his head before leaning forward to kiss the pout off of your mouth.

You let out an irritated huff, pushing his head away when he tries to kiss you again.

“Look at that,” he muses, “you get all sulky like Bokuto.”

“Please don’t insult me.”

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is�� complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane Preference] And Their Favorite Hot Drink

Every time I say I want to make at least three, and every time it takes me a month to make three. But between today and tomorrow, I want to post something else with a cozy/winter theme, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, in my little self-promotion corner, I'll let you know that you can find my fanart here, and here you can find a fanfiction I'm working on, if you want to check out my other projects!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

Hot tea.

With lots of cookies, not just one or two like nobles who drink tea to be chic.

He drinks tea because it makes the cookies taste better and softer.

And if I told you he prefers fruity tea?

Basically, he likes a strong flavor, and fruity teas have the most aroma, although having grown up as the Kirammans’ ward, he’s learned to drink it in any form.

Viktor:

Sweet milk.

Or milk and honey.

Occasionally, milk, coffee, caramel, and whipped cream if he wants to be fancy, but he never has the time, so it’s usually just sweet milk.

He has such a stockpile that statistically, at least one bottle is expired, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t pay attention to those things.

Ekko:

Cappuccino. It’s quick, it’s hot, it gives energy, and the milk makes it sweet enough without adding sugar.

Easy to find and great for the group because it’s not expensive—just steal an industrial-sized can of milk and some instant coffee, and he can make it for more than 20 people.

Tea is problematic because there are no plants in Zaun, and in Piltover, they either sell it in small doses or loose.

Vander:

Hot chocolate, because I say so.

This man was born to be a father, and what do kids love? Hot chocolate.

Hard to come by in Zaun, which is why he always adds chocolate bars or cocoa powder as an extra price in his smuggling deals.

It became his favorite because of the connection it has with his kids and his happy place.

Silco:

Whiskey doesn’t count as a hot drink, and that’s a bit of a problem.

But luckily, coffee exists.

Not American coffee, long and watered down, but espresso.

He holds the small cup in his hands to warm himself, but subtly enough that no one notices.

Jinx:

Sugar.

Not a hot drink, sure, but any drink works for her if it has enough sugar.

Milk and honey remind her of when she was little, tied to special occasions when her parents actually managed to get honey.

But pretty much anything works for her: fruity teas with three tablespoons of sugar, hot chocolate with one spoonful, cappuccino with two…

Vi:

Anything works for her as long as the cup is big enough to warm her hands.

Simple and easy-to-find drinks are great, sure, but no one can convince me her favorite drink isn’t either hot chocolate with rum or a complex, spiced Piltover-style beverage.

She doesn’t mind sweetness but never adds sugar to her drinks—she’d rather choose something with natural sweet notes.

Caitlyn:

Tea.

English breakfast tea with sugar and milk is something her parents made her during festive mornings, so it holds sentimental value.

But the tea she’s used to drinking is Oolong or Yorkshire, typical of the five o’clock tea tradition with her mother and occasionally their guests.

Mel:

Coffee and variations.

In my little artist brain, Piltover has an ethical equivalent of Starbucks, and that café is Mel’s happy place.

Coffee is easier to find for sure, but coffee-based drinks with caramel, ginger, and plant-based milk are absolutely her favorite.

She loves sipping them slowly, savoring the flavors, taking half an hour or more to finish her cup.

Sevika:

Whiskey.

No, she won’t accept that it doesn’t count as a hot drink.

She doesn’t like milk, but if she’s forced to have it, she spikes it with whiskey or gin.

The same goes for hot chocolate.

She’s not a coffee person either; she doesn’t see the point of drinking something so bitter without a real purpose.

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [2]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 8.6k

I posted this a day later than the one on ao3 because I forgor :''DD

Seeing the support and comments from both website got me off my ass to fix the storyline, even made a lot of changes on the chapters I've had preserved.

this chapter got rewritten a LOT, and was longer than it initially was so I hope y'all don't mind long chapters.

<<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>>

__________

There's been times where your heart has truly fluttered for a man throughout your lifetime. Too many times has it been because some of your bosses (read: Jimin) flirted with you but you have never felt anything remotely giddy for anyone else outside the group.

Except for the man now sitting in front of you, flashing you a dimpled smile after handing out his card with an ease you only see in your friends and male leads in dramas. An action more attractive than any kabaedon or flexed muscles.

He's attractive but you don't like like him.

Yoo Guwon came to you as a bashful giant, rubbing the back of his head whenever he’s flustered and a constant sheepish smile featuring his deep set of dimples indented on both cheeks. He’s charming and articulate with his words just like a lawyer would be. Everything about him reminds you of another gentle and clumsy giant probably hunched over his music equipment back in the BigHit building.

It’s only been a few hours but you surprisingly covered most of the basic grounds of first meeting conversations during the short time you drove around Han River in a two seated bicycle. From the meager questions of ‘what dreams do you have?’ to the more complex and deeper ‘If the world falls into ruin, will you burn my body when I die?’. 

Too graphic for a first date but you wanted to test the waters and you concluded that he’s too perfect.

He knows the right words to say, the proper way to act and it makes you suspicious. Your mother has never recommended you to a good guy before, having a track record of ten shitty suitors who all ran their mouths about their mediocre achievements, and dared to ask you about your purity before ranting about how dirty you are for not saving yourself for your husband the moment they find out you're not a virgin anymore. Then all of a sudden, she led you to good boy Guwon.

And it makes your skin crawl.

What did that woman eat? Has your father fed her something bad this time? What is she planning? It’s scary how she has finally advocated for an actual nice guy.

After taking you to a museum you're sure Namjoon has visited once, he drove you both to the Han River to rent a double seated bike to drive around with before ending the night with a nice reservation somewhere in the Seocho district.

The place is as sophisticated as fine dining areas usually are. With an intimate lighting, marbled tabletops matched with soft cushioned seats and high ceilings to make space for modern glass chandeliers, the restaurant was no doubt expensive, the type you have to reserve a spot two months prior to be able to experience its greatness. The point was driven home when you saw the amount of zeros it cost for one can of soda. 

You asked him how he managed to get a table and he went down the rabbit hole of the many advantages he got from successful cases, ranging from a free monthly subscription to fruit baskets to a free week-long voucher to a five star hotel somewhere in Busan. 

Going back to the butterflies, while not as wild as it got when Hoseok possessively wrapped an arm thrown around your waist to pretend as your boyfriend to ward off a persistent suitor, they're there, albeit subtle.

Very subtle.

Maybe it's in the way he didn't think twice to hand out his card towards the waiter in the most suave way with the thick golden watch decorating his wrist, sleeves neatly folded up to reveal the thick cords of veins on his forearms with his hair strewn messily and a dimpled smile that made you react like that.

You ignore the voice comparing his uncannily similar traits to someone else.

Meeting Guwon wasn't like how the movies illustrated love at first sights. They talked of fireworks exploding in the background and hearing the sweet chimes of wedding bells upon eye contact but for him, it's just that. A meeting far more formal than you'd like. He has a lot of qualities that check your list of husband material traits yet instead of butterflies, you could only feel an echoing hollowness in your chest as you listen to him list out his future plans. 

It felt like surrendering to the fate the divinities had weaved out for you which is being an untethered forced to love someone you don't even feel any spark with.

He's a nice man who’s offering a comfortable future and you're just a woman who wishes to live a lavish life at home while your husband wastes his years away in the office. You might be a hopeless romantic who wished for soulmates and the like but you're not blind to the opportunity Guwon offers you.

You haven't texted the gc anything during the date other than the selfie you took before you left for the date but there's been constant vibrations in your purse and it's no doubt the guys asking for updates but for a moment you wanted to try to focus on the man before you.

Not that it wasn't hard to try with Guwon anyways.

Whenever the man spoke of his achievements and hobbies with a humble approach, he never forgot to ask you for your opinion or input on the topic. You also noted how he has never cut you off and let you speak whenever you wanted, listening with an eagerness only your friends usually show. He asked relevant questions with a genuine curiosity, eager to know more about you. 

So when he asked if you wanted to go on a second date that night, it came to no surprise for anyone when you accepted it albeit the heaviness in your heart.

It was funny how eagerly you searched for a husband you could bring to your parents' doorsteps but the moment someone with all the qualities you seeked came, it felt disappointing. Boring even.

But you can learn, this man is your ticket to living without working anymore.

It came to no one's surprise that your mother was overjoyed, she wasted no time calling you before you could even change to squeeze the memory of today out of you.

The shrill scream of victory she let out that night was unforgettable because finally, a suitor you actually liked. Your dad even congratulated her off-screen for her matchmaking achievements before telling you to bring Guwon home to meet them.

Logically, you’re aware you've won the love roulette—Guwon has it all, he checked every box on your list, yet it felt like defeat and it tasted foul, bitter on your tongue.

You couldn't tell them that it was you deciding to settle, that would break her heart.

Tapping the end call button felt like the dam breaking and all the water held onto for so long flowed out. You fall lifelessly on your bed with a heavy sigh. Taking a couple evening breaths, you finally opened the group chat with an overwhelming number of unread messages.

[Today, 08:49]

[08:49] Mimi: I'd run my bank dry to take you on dates if you'd dress so pretty like that, noona~

[08:49]Tete: We're really seeing this for free when the poor guy has to pay for it. #livingapriviledgedlife😁👍

[08:49] Hobi: Wow noona🤯

[08:50] Yoongs: 👍

[08:55] Tete: Wait, I don't think those shoes fit you, go back home and change it😁

[08:56] Jinnie: Hey, you're showing too much skin on the first date! Go back and change!

[08:57] Joonie: Ignore these haters noona, I hope you enjoy your day😊

[Today, 21:48]

[21:48] Jinnie: are you home yet? You haven't seen our messages in HOURS.

[21:48] Tete: NOONA DID YOU GET MURDERED?!😱

[21:50] Joonie: Let's be rational guys, don't jump to conclusions. The date might just be going great if she's busy enough to not check her phone😊.

[21:51] Mimi: doing great? don't scare me like that hyung😵‍💫

[21:51] Tete: BUT WHAT IF SHE GOT KIDNAPPED HYUNG????

[21:51] Hobi: please reply soon, we're worried🥲

Jungkook's absence from the conversation didn't come to you as a shock, the kid doesn't even reply to you for a week despite being one of the people who raised him. Nonetheless, you sat up from your bed to record a quick video of you giving them a thumbs up and turning the camera to show your room.

The latter was an assurance to Taehyung that no, you also didn't get kidnapped into someone else's house to be someone's housekeeper, and no, it wasn't a clone either.

The moment your message gets sent, the replies blow up your phone almost instantaneously.

[22:28] Mimi: noona you're alive!

[22:28] Joonie: How did the date go?😊

[22:28] Jinnie: how nice of you to remember to update us PEASANTS.

[22:28] Mimi: How was Guwon?

[22:29] Tete: I KNEW WE SHOULD'VE WENT WITH YOU ANYWAYS

[22:29] You: Shockingly, he's a pretty nice guy. Not too bad on the eyes, and pretty smart. I think you'd get along well with him, joon. He's a lawyer so he covered most of the expenses today😁

[22:29] You: Overall, it was great, we're gonna go on a second one. He's pretty cool.

Instantly, messages from the members, even Jungkook’s to your surprise, flooded your screen.

[22:30] Tete: Noona you've been cursed! We need to bring you to the nearest shaman to break it!!

[22:30] Mimi: don't joke with us noona

[22:30] Mimi: I just got goosebumps!

[22:30] Joonie: Congratulations are in order then? Will we be expecting him around you soon?

[22:31] Yoongs: I need to meet him, need to know if he's good enough

[22:31] Yoongs: men are trash, I need to see him for myself before I decide

[22:32] Yoongs: and you know what they say about lawyers, they LIE. I wouldn't trust him 

[22:32] Jinnie: WE need to meet the man who managed to steal your heart! I want to talk to him😊

[22:32] Mimi: don't use that emoji again, hyung

[22:32] Hobi: SCARY JWANN😱

[22:32] Joonie: Let’s not threaten anyone please.

[22:32] Joonie: But I'm really happy for you 😁.

[22:33] Tete: Those periods really scares me hyung…

[22:33] Tete: Somehow, I don't think you mean it…

[22:33] Joonie: What makes you think that, tae?😁.

[22:33] Tete: 😰

[22:34] Ggukie: a few drinks will fix you up, noona😁

[22:34]  Mimi: you'll invite me this time right?

[22:34] You: I don't know, you already used your mischief hours this week, I doubt Sejin would be so kind next time.

[22:34] Hobi: if he does that right now during practice, I also wouldn't be so kind to him😊

[22:34] Mimi: you are scaring me hyung…

[22:34] Hobi: good😊

[22:34] Tete: Hyung, are you just gonna ignore Jungkook leaving?!?!!?

The messages continued for a good five minutes, mostly consisting of holding Jimin back from leaving practice and him sending pictures of the infamous Hoseok death glare from across the room before your doorbell chime rang, making you shoot up straight.

A beat. Then it continues in three quick successions, the knocks almost in sing-song and sounded like two hands were used to produce the tune, giving you an inkling on who might be visiting you at this late hours of night.

Padding out of your room, the front door suddenly swings open without warning and you yelp. By the doorsteps stands the intruder, a tall man in a black coat with his face hidden by a mask and a cap. Your body would've frozen a thousand times over if you didn't know this stranger who's hugging two paper bags, one overflowing with snacks and the other a breeze away from tearing apart from the weight and water drenching the material of the bag.

"Hi noona!"

After today, seeing Jungkook felt like a cure, his presence alone repelling the heaviness in your shoulders and you ushered him inside and he wandered into your home with ease, approaching the coffee table to place down the shopping bags. 

Suddenly you remembered what he had scheduled prior.

"You're putting me on Hoba’s punishment rotation, what are you doing here?" 

He giggled. “We both know he won't, hyung loves you more than me.”

He falls on your couch with the ease of someone who has visited your space numerous times throughout the years, propping up his feet on the back support and folding his arms underneath his head before staring up at you, expectantly.

"Anyways, I brought us food and drinks, don't I deserve a little praise?" 

Sometimes it's easy to forget how young Jungkook really is, forced to grow and act mature to blend in with his surroundings, you've always seen him stand with pride alongside his hyungs. Seeing him awaiting for your praise so eagerly like a pup fills your heart with awe.

"Yeah yeah, good job. Now move over, let me sit down."

You tapped his arm, motioning him to move over so you could sit next to him, something he obeyed without resistance, busying himself in removing the contents from the soiled paper bag instead.

“Couldn't you have put some effort into it? At least sound grateful.” He pouts. Placing down the cluster of beer cans, you turned to him and pinched his cheeks.

“Oh my dearest darling, thank you for saving this noona of yours. Such an amazing baby I have here.”

Despite being the one who asked for it, Jungkook only rolled his eyes with a barely held back grin as he slapped your hands away, making you laugh, and turned to the bag holding the snacks he bought. You didn't miss the redness dusting his cheeks or the cheeky grin that tugged his lips wide as he spilled the contents of the last bag onto the table.

There's a significant amount of sweets and snacks laid before you, as well as stacks of canned beers and you turned to him with furrowed brows.

"Wouldn't this ruin your diet?"

He waved you off with a huff. "I work out enough to eat all of these in one sitting."

Instantly, your mind brings you back to white walls and gray furniture, faced with manager Sejin who warned you about interfering with the idols' diet at the start of your career. If it wasn't for Bang PD waving off their concerns, saying they needed to be rewarded for their hard work anyways, you would've been long booted out of the company.

It's a matter long settled yet it remains to weigh heavily in your head.

Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, Jungkook continues.

"I can show you proof of my efforts," 

He then reached down to the fabric of his shirt tucked into his jeans and tugged it up, flashing you the tightly corded muscles in forming on his abdomen and the thin happy trail you often see when patting his sweat down during concerts and you hastily pulled it back down with a yelp, cheeks growing hot while he laughed.

As he throws his head back in his mirth, you couldn't help but notice the way adulthood has taken away the fullness of his cheeks and has sharpened his features. A far cry from the sensitive young boy who cried his eyes out every time his hyungs got hurt. 

There was no denying that Jungkook had grown without you noticing and it makes your chest swell with pride knowing he's been raised well by the others, in extension, although not so much, you as well.

"Don't worry so much about me, noona. I can handle the consequences now, you leave the reprimanding to me."

Under the warm overhead light of your living room, even with the exaggerated puff of his chest and his nose turnt up high, Jungkook's shoulder had never looked sturdier, reliable, in your eyes. You smiled, reaching to pinch both his cheeks making him grin wider than he already was.

"Look at you acting so cool, when did you grow so much?"

He rolled his eyes, pulling your hands away from his cheeks and entangling it with his. “I've always been cool, you just don't pay attention to me, noona.”

Before you could reply, he's already moved to reach for the beverages on the coffee table, popping two of them open and handing you one can, immediately you take a swig.

The beer fizzled in your tongue and left a trail of burns down your throat. The sensation is refreshing nonetheless and you place it down next to him before picking up the large bags of chips and standing up.

"I'll go put these in a bowl, go put something on the tv."

"Can I play anime?"

You waved at him dismissively, unable to find it in yourself to say no to him as you head towards your kitchen to transfer the junk into a bowl when a shrill tune from your bedroom cuts through the air, someone was calling you. You look over to Jungkook, scrolling through his phone, no doubt looking for a movie online.

"Gguk, can you pick up the call for me? My hands are busy right now."

There's a shuffle of feet behind you and in a moment, your phone quietens down. Finished with filling one bowl, you turn to find Jungkook leaving your room with a deep look and your phone in hand. His jaw set tight as he stood there with furrowed brows, eyes lit with irritation.

Looking at his reaction, you asked about your mysterious caller.

"Who was it?"

When he turned to you, the tick in his jaw dispersed. All of a sudden, he's smiling at you with mischief twinkling in his eyes, the change giving you a whiplash.

"It was the others, didn’t answer their calls cause I want you for myself tonight, noona."

(Later on, you'd find yourself staring at the many unread messages and two missed calls from Guwon, wondering in your drunken state if you've muted your phone at some point earlier.)

Hearing it from his lips now, your body locks, heart stuttering in your chest and butterflies exploding in your stomach, spreading a tingly feeling throughout your body and you laugh. 

"Where did you hear that line from, brat? You just activated my fight or flight!"

"Taehyung says that and gets thanked but when I do it, I'm punished?" He pouts, stomping as he approaches the island counters and crossing his arms on the marble surface.

It reminded you of a bunny you saw from a video on the internet, angrily thumping their feet at their owner when it was being purposely ignored.

“In his defense, he does it while he’s acting like my crazy ‘exes’ and saves me from dates.”

“That’s just favoritism! I saved you once from a date!”

You threw him a deadpan stare. "Throwing me over your shoulders and kidnapping me isn’t the same as Tae and Jimin acting crazy enough to make the other guy uncomfortable to save me.”

Hoseok had your favorite troublemakers kneeled on the floor with both their hands up and facing the wall at the time, punishing them for being an hour late to their practice. He had called you in, asking if they had been accompanying you during —they weren’t. 

Long story short, you didn't risk sharing Hoseok’s wrath with the two and took Jungkook instead, a decision you quickly regretted later on in the night when instead of approaching to act like one of your exes when you gave him a signal, he hoisted you up onto his shoulder and ran away while your date only watched in terror.

“Now that’s blatant favoritism! I didn’t kidnap you, we ran away together into the sunset! It was romantic!"

"Not for the other guy, no! He was shitting bricks when he called my mom. She got me squatting the entire afternoon when we met again."

Mentioning it alone made phantom pains throb in your knees and thighs, you shivered. If torture wasn't a socially unacceptable and punishable offense in the modern world, you were sure your mother would have stripped you down to your underwear and made you squat under the sun in front of your family house instead. 

The absolute fury she unleashed on you that day is enough proof that she would've done it with no hesitation if it was lawfully appropriate.

"That's too much for a failed date."

"No reason to dwell on it. Main point is, don't take notes from dramas anymore."

With a last roll of his eye, Jungkook then picked up the bowls and brought them to the coffee table following you who had returned to your seat ahead of him. Once the two of you are situated back on the couch, he navigates through the streaming app for an interesting title before eventually settling on the romance anime he claimed to have heard amazing reviews about.

Without hesitation, Jungkook navigates himself into a familiar between your legs and leaned back on your chest, head finding his rightful space under your chin with a precision gained from doing so for years.

It goes without saying that Bangtan is affectionate. With the pressure they had during their rise to fame, it wasn't shocking that they comfortably seeked each other's comfort and spared no skinship. As one of the only staff within constant exposure that's close to their age, you too became one of their pillars of serenity. 

It was the reason you had crushes on everyone at least twice during your time as their make-up artist, not that any of the boys knew nor does it matter.

Stability and work takes precedence over something as shaky as love.

There's only so much comfort another man can offer, your mother says from years before.

Jungkook more than anyone else in the group. 

As a boy who sacrificed his childhood and time with his parents to pursue his dream, you felt more inclined to watch over him than the others who were adults by the time you joined. You were there for his first heartbreak, his first drink, his high school graduation; the point is, you were there and you held him every time he struggled with problems—mostly girl problems—he's too shy to seek his hyungs for.

But now with his growth spurt, cuddling up to you like he used to when he was younger with his gangly legs awkwardly hanging from the couch, carelessly leaning his head in between the mounds of your breast while his large hand mindlessly drew circles on your knee, you found yourself wondering about the appropriateness of it all.

A man and a woman alone in a room at night in close proximity, body leaning against each other. Society would argue they wouldn’t end the night as friends anymore after the encounter.

You paused mid-drink and grimaced.

It must be the beer talking.

"Noona."

"Yeah?"

"Wrap your arms around me, it's cold."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not though? I always keep my house warm." 

He let out an exasperated groan before reaching behind to grab your arm and roughly slinging it on his shoulders.

As time continued its cycle and episodes started to fly across the screen, the pile of opened beer cans on the table expanded. You really tried to focus on the movie but the feeling of his fingers tracing stars on your bare thigh left you oddly bothered. Jungkook has shifted his position higher at some point during the movie, his body now turned sideways, successfully squeezing himself into the small space between you and the back of the couch, legs entangling itself with yours while an arm is thrown across your body.

This position puts his nose closer to your ears and it makes you shiver. The feel of his hot breath fanning across your skin has given you more goosebumps in under an hour more than you've had throughout your life.

Even drunk, you could feel the building tension thickening around you and the will to tell him to off ebbs away with every caress of his fingers.

Gone were the innocent traces of stars and hearts on your thigh, his hand now grabbed onto your waist almost possessively, thumb rolling slow circles on your bare stomach; the motion conjuring the most unholiest of thoughts known to mankind.

When the credits started rolling, you knew you had to draw the line before you lost yourself to intoxicated thoughts and end the night with regrets.

"Time for you to go home now, your hyungs must be looking for you."

You tried prying his hand from your waist so you could reach for your phone on the table only for him to tighten around you, stopping you from moving away. He groaned, head nuzzling closer into your neck and his lips grazed your skin. 

Instantly, electric jolts shoot through your body.

"Jungkook, I need to get my phone and tell someone to fetch you from here."

"Can't I just stay the night? I'm too comfortable right now…"

The gruff in his voice and the sensation of his lips moving on your skin has your stomach fluttering and you're too drunk to address the growing heat in your abdomen but thanked the sense of professionalism seeping through the fogs of your intoxicated mind.

Managing to pry him off, you reached for your phone and opened up SMS to tell Jin to pick their youngest up.

           [01:21] You: Jwannn

           [01:21] You: can you pick up your kid from my house? He's drunk and stinkyyy

           [01:23] Jinnie: your knight in shining armor is on the way!

“Just let me stay the nighttt,” he whined into your skin.

"I don't have any more spare beds other than this couch for you to sleep in, Gguk. I turned the other room into a closet, remember?"

"I can just sleep with you on the bed, we used to do that, didn't we?"

He attempted to reach around you again but you pushed his limbs away once more before slapping his arm.

You tried not noticing how thicker and harder the muscles felt, you really did. 

"But it's different now, Gguk. Come on, go wash up and drink water, I've already told someo—"

The moment you rose to stand, his arms shot around your waist in record speed and pulled you flush to his front, nuzzling his nose on the back of your neck before he sighed. When the first hot exhale hits your skin, you flinch away but the limbs wounded tightly around your middle restrict you from moving.

You try to ignore the heat simmering under your skin but it was hard when you felt the press of his plush lips on your nape as he leans closer into your skin. 

“You always smell so nice, noona.” He whispered breathily, the sensation of his moving mouth sending shivers down your spine and you shivered.

“I-I can give you my lotion brand later, let me go so I can get it.”

“But I'm comfortable here…”

Mustering every strength left in your body, you manage to pull an arm out of the death grip he had on your body and slapped his hand. Jungkook easily ignores it.

“Come on Gguk, let me out now. This isn't appropriate.”

"How is it different now?"

The alcohol intoxicating your system loosened your grip on your inhibitions and your lips regrettably moved faster than your brain.

"You're a man now, Gguk. Honestly, we shouldn't be even doing this right now. It's inappropriate."

You try to stand once more, managing to pry him from your waist and standing up before his arms hooked around you once more and tugging you back down, this time on his lap as he burrows his head onto your back.

"Gguk?"

"Yo-you see me as a man, noona?"

As a child your mother has taught you how words could heavily influence and drastically change a situation, now as an adult, you've mastered the art of speech. But as you sit still on his thighs, body warm and inhibitions blurred by the alcohol, your loose lips have led you back to the very thing you try to avoid.

"It's hard not to think so when you've grown up this much."

In a flash, Jungkook is now hovering over your face as he places you back down on the couch, his nose a hair's width from touching yours and his hands planted on each side of your head. 

There's a feral hunger swimming in his eyes as it stared into yours, desperate and intense before it fell to the plush of your parted lips and his gaze darkens. All of a sudden, you're a prey pinned down by an apex predator who's ready to devour you at any given moment.

Fire alarms blared in your mind and you regained control over your senses.

“Jungkook.”

"Noona."

You tried wriggling out of his grasp but it was no use, he's stronger. "Get off of me, kid."

“How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not a kid anymore?”

“I'm not hearing anything out when you're acting like this, Gguk.”

He scoffed. “I just want to sleep here, in the same bed, nothing else is gonna happen. Why is it such a bad thing?”

“It's different now, Gguk. Come on, let me go.”

“How is it so different? You and Jimin hyung cuddle sometimes, I've seen you fall asleep next to Hobi hyung once, why is it different with me?”

“It's different because we're both drunk and things could happen.”

“I wouldn't mind it.” Jungkook responds with a cheeky smile. His grip on one of your wrist loosened enough that you were able to hit his arm and he giggled in response.

“But I do. It wouldn't be fair.”

Even something as small as letting one member stay at your home without the others can be the loudest announcement for the rest of the group. All those times you've rejected your friends, with reasons like ‘I don’t want to risk everything’, and ‘I don't want to hurt the others’, to turn back around to accept their youngest would be hypocritical of you.

He scoffs. "You tell us about all your stupid dates, don't you think it's more unfair for us?”

A familiar weight grows in your chest. Guilt tasted like rust on your tongue and dug into your heart with a ribbed knife. Your own late night thoughts manifesting before you and you pushed him away.

After everything, you were all friends, you trusted them more than you do with your other circle. There's not a secret left undiscussed between the eight of you so it was no surprise that you had indulged them with the details of your quest for a husband. Nobody ever raised any complaints with you sharing your days so you never thought twice about it.

It's been five years since Jin had confessed, three for Taehyung. Their eldest had confessed for the sake of him finally being able to move on after your rejection and with how he acted after, you had believed him. It was different for Taehyung who had continued to act like normal after his confession, neither dejected nor did he show signs of letting go but he did introduce a date to your group once, a year later, so you had assumed the same.

Were you wrong after all?

“Jungkook, we're drunk. Let’s talk about this tom—”

“I've never been more sober in my life than I am right now, noona.”

You didn't respond, couldn't reply.

What were you supposed to even say?

Jungkook usually obeyed you and his hyungs without hesitation, happily offering his aid whenever he could. He's the type of friend who's run himself dry just to fetch you a cup of water from the other side of the world but now as he hovers over you, he became a whole new person.

Greed has always been an irritating parasite that eats away at a person's morals but somehow in your drunken mind, you thought it looked so good on him. It fits him and his generous character the way one light clothing molds well with the dark fabrics. His familiar scent of vanilla and coconut clouded your senses, calming your panicking mind into a hush, leaving nothing but the thoughts of how his lips tasted and wondering if he’s as sweet as he smelled.

He let out a shaky exhale from through his mouth as he watched your parted lips with a rapt attention as if hypnotized by the way they subtly trembled with every breath that passed through.

In the pregnant silence of your room, his voice cuts through like a knife.

“Can I kiss you?”

He whispers against your lips, voice breaking in the middle from the weight of his request, honeyed and pleading, as if your kiss holds the answer to the problems of the world and holds the power to break him.

His hand travels up to cup your cheek oh so carefully like you're fragile china yet you feel yourself shatter under his touch.

You are losing grasp on your sober thoughts as lust starts to cloud your already compromised judgment, his request far too tempting to ignore.

Maybe a kiss wouldn’t hurt. 

But wouldn’t it be unfair for the others who have expressed their romantic intentions to you since years ago? 

It was a last ditch effort to reason with your mind and your body froze from the cold wave of realization. In the short time after his question, you recall the confessions you turned down to not ruin the relationship Bangtan has established for themselves and the bitter taste it left on your tongue.

“Jungkook… we can’t.”

Watching his expression contort into confused hurt almost made you want to take your words back, but your mind takes you to memories of apologetic and understanding smiles you’ve received throughout the years and the aches from those moments resurfaces, squeezing your heart in a tight grip.

“I-I’m sorry I can’t control my feelings, I just wanted to tell you about it… Thought that maybe after this, I could move on.” An apologetic voice whispers, the memory of premature confessions in the middle of a cleanup resurfacing.

“I can’t—I can’t do it to them, it’d be unfair.”

You pushed him back and he relented, letting himself be sat back onto the other side of the couch defeatedly. Despite it, his tight grip on your waist remained, pulling you flush to him and burying his face in your chest as if trying to hear the lie in your words through the beatings of your heart.

“I’m also seeing Guwon now.”

“Then don’t let me meet him. I-I don’t know if I can take it.”

It was heart wrenching and at the same time, left an uncomfortable twist in your stomach. Jungkook never had to beg since you first met him, everything he could ever want was given to him by you and his hyungs without hesitation. Hearing him plead for you to never bring Guwon around if fate had actually paired you both, it was a different kind of pain.

It felt like thorns growing and rooting its stems of pointy ends into the deepest parts of your heart. You hated this, but you don’t want to hurt any of your boys by accepting one.

Relief comes in the form of Taehyung when he busted into your apartment while Jungkook has excused himself to your bathroom to sober up just a moment before. Seokjin trails behind him, calmer than the younger man who declared his arrival with a deep voice and a loud bang of the door. You immediately thought of the elderly couple and the new family of three living next to you and internally facepalmed.

“Noona! We’ve come to take Jungkook away!”

Kim Seokjin’s face has never been more handsome when he closed the door behind him, and you verbalized your thought, leading his ears to glow red in embarrassment.

“Am I only handsome to you when I’m closing the doors?! This face that people fawn over all over the world?!”

“It’s your true calling, door guy.”

“Oh shut it hyung, you’re making my head hurt.” Jungkook mutters as he reentered the living room, looking far better than when he left.

The tension was palpable, the effect of a rejected profession still raw and thick in the small joined space of the living room and kitchen and you caught Jin's eyes as the two youngest bickered, there’s a knowing look passed between you, an unsaid ‘let’s talk later’ hanging in the air.

“Hey, just because you got to escape Hoba’s practice without scratch doesn't mean you're hot shit, show me some respect!”

Seokjin scolds, accompanied by a playful kick to their youngest’s butt. Immediately the stuffy air dissipates and Jungkook responds in kind; by kicking him in the shin, hard enough to launch Seokjin into another lengthy nag.

It was a quick retrieval after his rant. Jungkook lets himself be towed out of your apartment by an oddly enthusiastic Taehyung who's going on about a new game trailer he saw online while Jin has offered to be left behind to clean up the mess. It was no doubt obvious, the familiar awkwardness and tenseness brought by a rejected confession lingered in the air when they arrived, it only took him one look at you and he already knew. 

The moment the door slams shut behind the boys, he immediately began:

“Did he admit it?”

His voice was soft yet it rang loudly in the pindrop silence of your living room. The sigh he let out echoed more when you nodded.

“I told him to not do it, you know? But you know how stubborn he gets.”

You didn’t reply. You simply move, walking to the trash bin to put the empty beer cans in and Jin follows close with the bowls stacked on top of each other to place in the sink. It was a brief moment of reprieve. He let the moment from earlier simmer in your stomach, let the smoke from it fill your lungs and weigh your heart till you burst.

Out of the seven boys, you've always turned to either him or Yoongi as they're older than you, so it came to nobody's shock when you break and told him.

“It just never gets better, I always feel guilty even if I didn’t choose. I’m just lucky I didn’t have to suffer through seven of these, I don’t think I could take it and just quit.”

It was a thought you’ve entertained when Taehyung came to you with his heart in his hand, giving it to you carelessly despite knowing how you’ve handled the other confessions. He was all dopey smiles and flushed cheeks, it continued even when you’ve pushed his heart back to him with an apologetic look.

Seeing the happy creases in his eyes iron out despite the huge boxy smile continuing to play on his lips, the existing pressuring guilt reawakened. Taehyung’s heart that gleamed and glowed gold, vulnerable for you to take and use from where it settled in the middle of his offering palms. You could’ve taken advantage of it all as they were rising in fame, when they were facing discrimination from the other companies and had found comfort in you but you didn’t.

Even with the attraction you've felt for them, you were nothing but a makeup artist to the company. Another asset to deploy and replace if it got annoying to handle. You couldn't risk your career on uncertainties, this is your dream job.

You loved them all equally and held them in the same regards as the others, they’re your best friends, chosen soul companions even without the marks to solidify it. 

They loved you and you loved them all but you wouldn't bet your life on an uncertain future.

“You should give us more credit, you know?” 

He says from the kitchen sink, the sound of water slowing into a halt. Seokjin didn’t move for a while. When he did, it was to place down the plates, washing his hands before turning around to face you.

“We’re grown adults now, we can handle rejection so don’t feel too bad about it. You can choose and we’d even help you keep it a secret from everyone besides us eight.”

It was genuine. Even in the haze of your intoxication, those words felt like a cool balm for your aching heart. While Namjoon’s words were cited research, formal and factual and Yoongi’s were calming droughts to ease the discomfort of sadness brought by gloomy thoughts, Seokjin speaks from the heart, true and unbiased but says it with a gentleness and care. 

Guilt sets like a boulder on your heart. Being able to feel, to experience such a privilege when all you've done is break his heart since your hunt for a husband, the weight in your chest multiplied and tears sprung from your eyes.

You wanted them but you couldn't risk your dream job, couldn't risk a friendship as precious as theirs for kisses and hugs that eventually has its ends.

You didn’t even notice it when he crossed the distance between you both and pulled you plush to his chest but you recognized the familiar sensation of plush lips pressing against your forehead.

If it lingered a few seconds past what's platonically allowed, you didn’t mention it.

Seokjin’s muted scent of freshly baked cakes brought silence to the rampaging waves of thoughts in your mind and if you pressed your nose flush to his chest to bury yourself in his fragrance, he didn’t say anything, bringing one hand behind your head protectively.

“I'm sorry to put you through this pain, Jinnie. I-I didn’t know.”

“I knew you didn’t know but I'll be fine... eventually.” He breathes out before leaning down to bury himself into the nest of your hair. "As long as you're happy, then I am too."

It was heavy, being loved and held so preciously even after you’ve turned him down, it felt cruel, sadistic even. But like the selfish woman you are, you accepted it. Soaked in his affections greedily.

“You know, he asked me to never show Guwon around you guys.”

He sighed. “I knew he would.”

“Do you want that as well?

Silence followed but you heard his answer loud and clear.

The second date happened after the first leg of the tour in Seoul.

Although planned suddenly, you appreciated the downtime after being lost in the haze of rushed outfit changes, reapplying makeup, and patting sweat from foreheads. If anything, you were thankful you could loosen up after earlier. The awkward tension didn’t go amiss, it only took Namjoon and Yoongi one look between you and Jungkook before taking charge on how the night progresses.

Yoongi didn't waste any time waving you over to ask for help for his makeup, even when he was already being prepped by one of your older colleagues, Ji hae. Thankfully, the woman lets you take over, saying she wanted a snack anyways.

The man didn't bother asking you what happened and settled comfortably in his chair but not before offering you the snack he bought earlier and was laying neglected on his lap. Yoongi asked about Guwon in a hushed voice, because while you were living in a reverse harem with most of his brothers, he was genuinely curious about your boyfriend-to-be.

Maybe it was the fact he has never admitted his affections for you that made it comfortable to discuss topics you could never talk about with the others with him, but you let your tongue a little loose.

And he listened.

Yoongi has always been a man of action not words, his love language has always been opening water bottles, blankets appearing from nowhere when you're passed out on their couch, and listening attentively. Despite what the world says about his nonchalance and silence, in your eyes, he's the sweetest guy on the roster—not that you'd tell Jimin that of course, he'd riot if he were to find out.

By the end of the concert, Guwon asks you on an impromptu date. A simple late night walk on a market nearby because there's apparently a food fair, and as usual, the expenses are on him. Hungry with a principle of never turning down free food, of course you accepted. 

Though you had a long time deciding whether to go or not with Jungkook’s confession still fresh.

Minutes later, he's waiting for you by the exit. The scene of him leaning on his Mercedes, waiting for you to reach him at the bottom of the stairs looks like it was pulled out of a kdrama.

Oddly enough, they didn’t question your lack of updates in the group chat but Jimin reached out later on and you suspect he told everyone your whereabouts instead, hopefully minus the date part to spare the others (read: Jungkook) from heartbreak.

The fair looked like a mirage of a paradise in the night hidden away in a small gently-lit up alley. The path was lightened up with gentle lanterns hung above you, the warm colors setting a more intimate scene. It wasn’t as luxurious as dinner from yesterday or as calming as the bike ride around the Han river but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You’re ready to drop dead but you pushed through, you wanted this relationship to work. Because then, maybe the monsters—your mother and her wide selection of personalities as well as aunties, her friends, trying to refer you to their horrible sons—haunting you from under your bed will finally leave you alone.

It was cruel that you’re using someone else to erase the memory of being professed to by one of your best friends.

Guwon was happy enough to take charge the whole date, leading you from food stall after food stall, ordering whatever your eyes lingered at which is half of what the fair offers. He understands your lack of responses as it is, tired from work, and talked enough for the both of you. Which you are grateful for.

He talked about his job and what happened that day, willingly telling you about the story of how he and his co-workers clicked back in College, never to part till now in the field they wanted. He spoke of his dreams, how he envisioned his dream home by the province surrounded by nature and the cat named Nabi waiting for him at home.

There's nothing more blatant of a signal than the last part, whether you accept it or not depends on you.

Normally, you would've frowned at the thought, immediately thinking of running away but as the night deepens and stalls start to close, the idea grows more and more tempting despite the logical voice in your head disagreeing. Seeking a distraction and possibly leading on a kind man is cruel, both to him and you.

But at the end of the day, it’s just an escape from the reality you're stuck in, a temporary answer to a long time problem. 

How harmful can it be? 

People had hookups before, you’ve had hookups before your mother has started a hunt for your husband this year so what are you so reluctant for? 

If this man is to be your husband, you should check your physical compatibility right?

You shivered. God, you sounded like one of those shitty guys you’ve dated before.

"Hey, the stalls just closed. Are you fine with me driving you back to your house?"

His voice cuts through your deep thoughts and you turn to him. Even in the dimly lit corner of the alley, Guwon looked attractive as ever with his dimpled smile and laid back attitude, his soft eyes gleaming under the lanterns, affections overflowing from his gaze and you. shuddered from its weight. 

Staring at the man, you wondered if you'd ever fall in love with him as he seemed right now.

Soon enough, you both arrive in front of your apartment building. However, not every plan goes through as you thought it'd go and you find two familiar figures rushing down to meet you. 

Taehyung didn't hesitate to run up to you with open arms and a wide smile. He didn't even care that you both almost toppled over if it wasn't for Guwon hand supporting you from the back.

"Wh-why are you two here? Shouldn't you guys be resting?"

Jimin shrugged but you caught the mischievous glint in his eyes as a small smile tugs his lips. "Hyung got so worried and wanted us to make sure you got home safely."

"Even a thumbs up would be great but you ignored every text and call! Jin hyung panicked and sent us out, if you didn't come home, he would've had a huge manhunt for you." Taehyung chimed in, pulling away but keeping his hands on your shoulders as he stared deep into your eyes, as if trying to hypnotize you into believing them.

Jimin snickered. “Yoongi hyung was an hour away from declaring you missing so the good dongsaengs we are, we decided to camp outside your apartment.”

You would've accepted his explanation, it was logically sound yet the dark glint of mischief and something else in his eyes as his gaze bounced from you to Guwon told you a different story.

They've always had to interrupt your dates when it becomes sour but this was the first time they've confronted a potential partner outside the intentions of ruining a date because you wanted it to suck.

This was them laying their claim over their own, a silent statement. A declaration you try not to think so much about, fearing you'd dig yourself deep and fall to your death.

“These must be one of your kids?” Guwon asks from behind, reminding you of his presence and you turn to him with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, Taehyung and Jimin. I practically raised them.”

Jimin scoffs and your head snapped to him, widening your eyes in warning to which he ignored. “Just because you’re a year older, doesn’t mean you could say you raised us you know?”

“See what I deal with everyday?” 

Guwon laughs lightheartedly before patting your head to get your attention. “Since your kids are here to protect you, I should get going now.”

“Drive safely.”

“See you soon?”

“Definitely.”

Then he placed a haste kiss on the edge of your lips, catching you off guard and you froze. Guwon was already in his car by the time you realized what happened and turned to chastise him. You couldn't even knock on the passenger window when the arms coiled around your shoulders tightened and tugged you close.

Letting Guwon kiss you in front of one of the men who confessed to you once was the first mistake, second was looking up at Taehyung whose hug is starting to hurt.

Gone were the usual giddiness and child-like enthusiasm that would pour from his eyes. It was replaced by a colder glare, almost blank and emotionless as it narrowed behind you and jaw locked tight. There was something primal in the way his hand behind your head was pushing you closer to him as if he was hounding over his game from another predator.

Goosebumps prickled your skin awake.

If butterflies exploded in your stomach and ignited a molten heat in your abdomen at that very moment, it's a secret you’d take to your grave.

“Tae?”

“Noona, I think we should head inside. It's getting cold.” Jimin’s sweet voice sounded forced and you resisted the urge to look at him.

While their reaction to being challenged is obvious, you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out why he should feel like that when he’s been seeing other people since his confession. From your past dates where he attended as one of your escape plans, he’s  never expressed such an intense show of displeasure so you thought his fleeting crush had passed.

Until tonight.

When Taehyung pulled away, the traces of his hostility were gone and you had to double take at how vastly different he's appearing now. He has his lower lip pushed out into a pout, eyes wide with mirth as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, his warm palms heating your cold-nipped skin.

“Aigoo, you're so cold noona. Let's go in and binge that foreign show you've been following.”

With hands now intertwined, he leads you inside the building where Jimin was already standing inside and was holding the door open for you both. You were being tugged into your own home yet you couldn’t help but feel tense as Taehyung and Jimin welcomed you back in with the same dark look you saw earlier.

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter One

Synopsis: You quit. The Guardians of the Globe? What a joke. You are surrounded by assholes. Rex-Splode being the biggest of them all. Except, now he keeps trying to call you. And there's a knock at the door.

Pairing: Rex Sloane x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Chapter: 1/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: alcohol mentioned,

Note: My first attempt ever at a fanfiction. Could not find any Rex x Reader on Ao3, and I am a sucker for a slow burn. Just watched two YouTube videos on how to use Tumblr, and here’s the first draft of chapter 1! Please tell me what you think! Once I have more chapters I’m going to post it on Ao3 as well.

Background: Chapter 2 will character build the MC more, this chapter is meant to be more of a hook.

“Go away!”

The knocking stilled for a moment; you stood just a few feet from your front door. God, he did not know how to take a hint. You had turned your phone off over half an hour ago when he first tried to call you. And you were sure if you turned it on now a litany of notifications would hinder it from running smoothly for at least a few minutes.

The silence lasted a bit longer before a few more knocks rapped against the door. It was dark out; it must be late. But to be honest, you were not sure what time it was. After all your phone has been powered off for who knows how long, and you were not about to just sit in front of the microwave for your time-checking purposes.

“Please-” A soft voice said through the door, followed by a soft thud. The assailant must have just put their head against the door. You could picture it. A sad, pathetic sight. With a sigh and a roll of your eyes you responded.

“Why Rex.” It was not really emphasized as a question, but an exasperation. Running a hand through your hair you turned and put your back against the door. Against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the lock.

There was another long pause, for a second you thought you could hear his breathing, quick, erratic, messy.

It is odd to think that everything has led to this. Years, months, weeks, days, it did not matter, a lifetime had passed since you had both met. He’s an asshole. Has always been an asshole. It was the first thing you thought when he opened his damn mouth during your first encounter. Never had you ever met something so egotistical as Rex-Splode. God, even thinking his name made you want to rip your hair out. It was insane to you that someone could be so in love with themself that they did not even have an identity outside of their “secret” identity.

Maybe he was ashamed on some deeper level. If he was even capable of being that self-aware. Maybe the only interesting things about him were his abilities. Who he is on a level past that is so disappointing and pathetic, pathetic, that he has erased it. He practically lives in his costume, in fact, you once saw him wearing street clothes and before you could fully be surprised, he disintegrated it to reveal that he was in fact, still wearing that damn costume.

But you had to admit, he was able to jump into the action much faster than you because you had to grab your backpack and pull your own costume on. Which regrettably you still are not great at doing with complete efficiency.

He was a good hero though, you could admit this to yourself internally. As unpleasant as he was as an individual, he made up for it in a lot of ways with his competence. They had definitely gotten their asses beat loads of times, but he was never one to give up.

This was one of the few things you admired about him, but as of right now, it was the bane of your night.

“I… I have to talk to you.” The voice responded finally, “Fuck- Please Joy.”

You found yourself rolling your eyes once again. You hated that nickname. And you made it well known. You held nothing short of disdain for that stupid, stupid-

And then he whispers something, it hardly makes its way through the wood. You cock your head slightly in surprise, pointing your ear towards the door. And then you hear it again, a little louder this time, you had not imagined it. Rex had just said your name, your actual name, not your alias, or any of his ridiculous nicknames for you, your given name. You could count on one hand how many times you remembered him saying it.

Suddenly you’re unlocking the door, bad idea, and you’re pulling it ajar just slightly, bad idea.

His hair is wet, it must be raining outside. It’s too bad you cannot hear it in your apartment, it would be nice to lull off to sleep to the rhythmic tapping. There is also a faint scent of alcohol. Great. Much to your surprise he is wearing street clothes right now, but part of you wonders if even now he is wearing that orange and yellow suit underneath. That cannot be comfortable.

After a few moments of silence, you realize you are just standing there looking him up and down. Is he not going to say anything? Your mouth parts slightly, ready to say something snarky, your brow rising.

“Can I come in?”

Silence again. No, you cannot come in, I hate you and I hate your stupid face and your stupid ponytail, man-bun, whatever it is. You have done nothing but complicate my life and make me feel miserable.

“Fine.” Shit.

You shuffled slightly to the side, letting him come in. He took in your apartment for a second, seemingly forgetting why he was here. In the dim light of your apartment you could see now that not only was his hair wet, but he seemed to be almost soaked, scratch that, he definitely was soaked.

“Did you walk here?” Disbelief is clear in your tone. Headquarters was much too far, a twenty-minute drive on a good day. Maybe he had been drinking at a nearby bar, but that was still quite the walk.

“What? No.” There was that familiar indignation. Most assuredly a lie though, there was no other reason why he would be quite literally trailing water into your entryway. Rex had a way of seeming disingenuous no matter what he said, which made it hard to see through his lies sometimes, but you were starting to be able to pick up on certain cues.

He walked up to a shelving unit in your living room. It had books on it, not that you ever had time to read, they were mostly birthday and last-minute housewarming gifts. There were some framed photos too, well kind of. There were picture frames that still had the generic stock footage in them from the store. A sad reminder of the fact you could not have a normal life, and now Rex was staring at them.

“You like the family tree?” You finally quip, sighing as you leave to go get some towels from the other room “You’re making a mess everywhere.” You state dryly, handing him a towel and drying up the trail he left from where he was standing to the front door.

Rex simply gave an absent-minded hum. He never shut up for this long usually, it was nearly impossible to get a word in without him feeling the need to have the last word during your first. Even if you were not saying something that could be argued with, he always seemed to find a way. He hesitated for a moment just standing holding the towel before he tried to dry off the ends of his pants which were the major culprit of the indoor mess.

You could not deny your mind was racing, and he was apparently in no hurry to explain why he wanted to come in. After spending far too much time making a sad attempt at banging down your door, he was suddenly docile. He was not looking at you and his hands were fiddling with the damp towel. If you did not know better, you might even think he was nervous. Had he even looked at you since entering?

“I like your apartment, the interior design in here is… nice.” He finally said.

What.

“Oh, thanks?” What? “It actually came mostly furnished; I did not want to search for furniture while also trying to settle in with the Guardians you know? Kinda…busy.” What is happening right now?

“Oh.” He seemed almost disappointed. “Well, it’s nice.”

Great talk.

“So-”

“Uh-”

“Oh sorry-”

“No, you go first.”

YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WAS JUST BEGGING ME TO LET YOU IN WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘No, you go first’ WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“Not to interrupt your sightseeing in my apartment, but what exactly do you want Rex?” Silence. Again. Is he drunk? He’s not swaying, but you definitely caught the scent of it earlier. He was not usually the poster child for moderation either. But he was also not slurring, then again, he has said approximately seven words since walking in so how can you really know.

“You have to come back to the Guardians of the Globe-”

“No.”

Theres the eye contact, first time since he walked it, but now it felt weird. You wish he would go back to staring at the embarrassing frames on the shelf.

“You’re a strong asset to the team-”

“Oh do not give me that rehearsed bullshit. Is Cecil feeding that to you right now? Because that’s a new low for him.” That was not a new low for Cecil, he has definitely gone much lower. You knew this after learning more about the ReAnimen.

“Fuck, Joy what do you want me to say?” He held his hands out in exasperation, taking a step towards you.

“I am not going back; you’re wasting your time. I am sure that you have better ways to spend your evening than being here beating a dead horse. Also, I am getting tired of you calling me that.” You step back towards the door, grabbing the handle to escort him out.

“Half the Guardians just left on some bullshit expedition to Mars, only Rae, Kate, and I stayed behind.” He folded his arms and did not budge. “If anything happens-” He gritted his teeth, man it must have almost physically hurt for him to admit that you were a good member. It was not too long ago that he practically threw a fit when Cecil introduced you. “At least wait until the others get back to go on this pity party.”

Rude.

“Seriously?” You could not believe the nerve he had to beg to be let in and then pull whatever this was. “If you need back-up so bad ask Mark.”

“He left with them.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Honestly Rex, I do not care. You’re a big boy, I think you can hero without me holding your hand for a little bit.”

“What is your deal!” He glared but then closed his eyes taking a breath. “I did not come here to fight or force you.”

Cute, he’s doing self-affirmations now. Okay, time to go. Out.

“Alright this has been fun, bye Rex!” You started to open the door just to feel it slam shut again. Your gaze snapped up to his hand pressed against the door. He moved fast.

“Fuck this isn’t-” He was a little too close for comfort. You back away, your hand trailing off the door handle. His eyes follow you closely.

“Rex, you’re drunk-” You start, your arms crossing over your chest.

“No-”

“It is really late-”

“No-”

“I am tired, it’s been a really long day-”

Your name, said loud, for the third time tonight, finally shuts you up for a second.

“You’re not listening.” There’s a tense silence now, his hand is still against the door even though you have stepped away. “I’m not drunk.” He almost whispered, shaking his head as if even he did not know where he was going with this.

Right… sure…

If there was one more long silence you were going to do something violent.

“Do you need me to call a car to drive you back?” You said quickly, turning around to go get your phone. He did not say anything, but you could hear him impatiently tapping his foot behind you. After a second of holding down the power button your phone flashed to life. As you expected it struggled for a bit, once fully on a litany of messages flashed across the screen and your notification sound went off an obnoxious amount of times. You turned around to see Rex now pinching the bridge of his nose. It was such a bizarre situation you almost wanted to laugh. But instead, you ordered a car. Five minutes out.

“You did not really leave because of me, did you?” It takes you off guard, his voice is soft, there is no layered sarcasm. It is almost vulnerable feeling.

“What do you want me to say?” You mirrored his words from earlier back to him, raising your eyebrow. Was it one hundred percent his fault? No. Was it approximately ninety-two-point-eight percent his fault? Yeah, that sounded about right. But what productive would come from telling him that?

“Say it wasn’t my fault.” He rasped. He stepped towards you again. You stepped back again.

He almost looks hurt.

“The car is going to be here soon, let me show you out.”

“Goddamn it.” His jaw tensed and he looked away, but did not say anything else, and stepped aside so that you could open the door.

The tense feeling did not stay behind you in your living room, it followed you down the hall. The other apartment doors one by one make you feel like you were in a box of mirrors. Did it always take this long to get to the elevator? If you lived in an apartment building with less stairs you would have jumped at that. Quickly running down the stairs with only the footsteps resounding in your head. The idea of the two of you standing side by side in the elevator as 13 floors passed was not one you were fond of.

You shook your head to yourself remembering his outburst about not being drunk. You were getting very tired of the lies. Pressing the elevator button there was nothing left to do but wait in more silence.

Maybe you should go back to the Headquarters with him.

If he was telling the truth about the Mars trip, then it might be better for you to be around. Even if Rex was lying through his teeth earlier about you being an “asset” in his eyes, you actually were. Even if he did not truly think so.

God, no what are you thinking? You have not even been gone twenty-four hours; you haven’t even been able to sleep on it. No way.

But a part of you wanted to make sure Rex got back safe. Even if he made horrible decisions and bruised your pride more often than not, you had been through a lot of fights together. And he does not seem to be thinking clearly.

With a ding, the elevator door opened, and you stepped in, Rex following behind. You pressed the button for the first floor.

Begrudgingly, you had to admit he had even saved your skin more than once, not just in the field but to the team before as well. He was not one to step down when he thought someone was being unrighteously lectured. Even if he did not like the person being lectured very much. He must have had some sense of loyalty. God forbid you defend him though, or he would get upset you did not let him handle it himself. Now you were getting irritated all over again at several unpleasant memories.

If you were one hundred percent honest you were probably going to go back to the Guardians after a week, maybe less. It would be embarrassing after the scene you made about leaving “for good” but you were meant for it. What good were you if you were not a hero? A week. Maybe less. Rex gave you approximately fourteen hours.

You glanced over at him without turning your head. He was biting the inside of his cheek, staring straight forward. No readable expression. Why was he so quick to try hauling you back? He could hardly stand being in the same room as you for more than five minutes. You used to pride yourself on being mostly likable, you had very few enemies. You were even nice to Rex for quite some time, but it did not make a difference. He was just an ass. An ass who thinks to come to your apartment when he’s drunk? He turned his head slightly and you faced forward again with a snap.

The elevator dinged again, ground level.

Hurriedly, you leave the elevator, a certain discomfort you couldn’t place enveloping you. The glass doors are an entryway ahead of you, showing clearly how much it was pouring outside. No wonder he was unintentionally giving your floor a spot clean. You could see the car waiting outside, the rain showing even more clearly in the beams of the headlights.

You could hear it now, the thrumming of the rain. It immediately made you feel more relaxed. You did not hold the glass door for Rex.

It was very cold outside; you should have grabbed a coat. I guess you had more pressing matters on your mind. You sighed to yourself, not able to hear it over the rain. The windshield wipers of the car squeaked as you got closer. You waited a moment for the driver to open the passenger window, telling them where to take him, and to make sure he gets inside fine. If the driver was just some random guy this would have been highly irregular and definitely not in their job description. But it was one of Cecil’s guys, so they knew exactly where to go.

The passenger window closes, and you go to open the back seat for Rex. Once again, his hand stops the door from fully opening and you prepare yourself for another short-lived argument. But you glance up and he’s just… looking at you.

There’s that feeling again, from when you left the elevator. Was it apprehension? Waiting for him to say something stupid? You shifted back slightly; he leaned forward slightly.

Odd.

“The driver will take you to the headquarters.” You say finally, your gaze jerking from his eyes to his shirt collar. You could see a sliver of orange and yellow and for a second you thought triumphantly that you knew it. He is wearing it still, typical. Focus.

“Come with me.” His brow is furrowed, he must be angry. Angry he was not able to force you into submission, into coming back.

“No.” You said softly, managing a sympathetic smile. You needed at least twenty-four hours of not being around that ridiculous team.

He leaned forward slightly more; you were very close now. That feeling again. Manual breathing is now the only thing that enters your mind. How do you remember to breathe when you are not actively thinking about it? How did you manage for so long until right now? Because this is taking a lot of effort to make sure you’re breathing normally.

“Please.” He’s not looking you in the eye, his eyes have flickered down for a moment, a blink and you miss it moment. You did not blink, and you did not miss it. His lips are slightly parted, and he edges forward what could not have been more than a millimeter. Your gaze returns to his eyes. There is no way. He is drunk and you are imagining this, go to bed.

“Goodnight Rex.” You finally say, but you do not back away immediately. He is entirely in your personal space. But a small insignificant voice in your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to go back to your apartment. You had to know why he was there. For Pete’s sake, it had only been fourteen hours. Why were you now standing here feeling crazy wondering if he was actually leaning forward more. You needed him to explain.

And then you stepped back.

If you did not know better the emotion that crossed his face would have looked a lot like disappointment.

Rex got into the car and closed the door. You turned around to watch it drive off. A shiver ran through your body. Damn rain.

He’s an asshole. Has always been an asshole. It was the first thing you thought when he opened his damn mouth during your first encounter.

Divider credit: @/ saradika

Chapter two

[pleasuresofsohodolls]

⋆.ೃ - Smith!Reader

Smith!Reader who isn't actually a Smith by blood, and was actually one of Negan's students pre-outbreak, but slowly got 'adopted' by Negan and Lucille throughout the beginning of the apocalypse.

Smith!Reader who would travel with her parents when they were younger, all over the USA and wherever they could afford in Europe - her favourite place being England due to spending the most long-term time there than any other country she's visited. Her mom died in 2008, when she was only ten. Her dad was never the jolliest man but after the death of the only woman he's ever loved, he was barely even there - physically and mentally.

Smith!Reader who's obsessed with anything and everything pop culture. She can't go anywhere without her CD Player and her Headphones. Her music taste ranging from Mozart to Rob Zombie. She has every single magazine she can find scattered across her room, she has dvds of old tv shows and movies she used to watch at the local library. She's so well endowed with her own knowledge that Carl's lack of pop knowledge physically pains her sometimes.

Smith!Reader who the only way she could bond with her dad was through comics, something he had raised her to love. Marvel, DC, Snoopy, she loves them all. She watched through the window as Negan killed her dad in her small garden with the same bat she had used years prior to play baseball with the poor man, if only he didn't get bitten.

Smith!Reader who was basically like the daughter Lucille never had. They'd listen to music while Negan was out finding supplies or on patrol, her dancing while Lucille sang along weakly. Safe to say she didn't handle Lucille's death well.

Smith!Reader who started calling Negan her dad once Simon took them to the Sanctuary, she'd only properly known the man nine months by this point, but he'd done more for her than any man ever has in her life.

Smith!Reader who's first real interaction with Carl was him threatening her with a gun during the Savior's first visit to Alexandria after watching her trying to take some of the medicine - she just smiled at his empty threats and shitty aim. It was cute.

Smith!Reader who's indifferent. She understands both sides of the 'war' ; that's what makes her so likeable to people, such as Carl and even Daryl. She doesn't treat Carl like an enemy and she doesn't treat Daryl like a prisoner - she treats them like what she believes others are supposed to, she treats them like people.

Smith!Reader who's obsessed with Judith. Before Judith she'd never held a baby, never even been that close to one - but she instantly fell in love. And it went both ways. Maybe even three ways.

Smith!Reader who helps Alexandria subtly throughout the war. She tells Carl about different Saviour plans through a walkie-talkie (which have caused many late night conversations with the pair), and gives him a gun that she makes sure he knows has to remain a secret - even to his dad.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

Woah first post. I'm not really a writer I just like making up different personas (is that the right word???) to imagine my crushes with and wanted to write some of it out !!

Also I should really be focusing on a fic I'm writing on ao3 (abt this reader actually) but schools a bitch and just really tires me out 💔

There's so much more I could say abt her but I'd just be yapping with like 100 different paragraphs so I limited myself to 10 😭

[au-roulette]

AU Roulette Challenge 2024

What is AU Roulette? A casual fic-writing challenge encouraging authors to play around with different types of alternate universe stories, which will be randomly assigned to each participant regardless of the fandom they sign up with. The goal of the challenge is to encourage creativity and get authors to write fics with premises they might not otherwise have considered, with varying difficulty levels of participation for writers of all experience levels.

How does it work? Writers will be able to sign up from now through June with a fandom of their choice. At the start of July, each participant will be assigned three AUs from a masterlist using a random number generator. Each author will then have the choice of completing the challenge one, two, or all three of the AUs. Any fic exceeding a 500-word minimum will be considered a completion, so long as it employs the AU premise. The fic-writing period of the challenge will run for a month. Fics can be posted at any point during this time, and authors will have the option of having them added to an Ao3 collection for the challenge if they desire. They can also be posted to tumblr using the tag #AU Roulette 2024

What kind of AUs will be included in the challenge? The AU Roulette challenge will focus largely on popular, staple AU types with broad applicability to any fandom or relationship type. For example, a possible result might be something like a Time Travel AU (encompassing all the possible subsets, such as fix-it time travel, time loops, or other tropes under the same umbrella), but more restrictive AU types like a Soulmate AU that make assumptions about the author’s interpretation of character relationships in canon have been intentionally kept off the AU masterlist. The official list of AUs will be kept under wraps until assignments are given, but will have over 30 different prompts to ensure authors receive a good variety of options, and if you have suggestions or concerns about what AUs are being included, feel free to reach out.

What if I get an AU type that doesn’t work for the canon I chose? Limited re-rolls will be allowed on a case-by-case basis. You are also encouraged to be as creative as you want with your interpretation of your assigned AUs, which may help with making them fit. The goal of this challenge is to encourage weird, creative fanfic, not to have every author who rolls the same result write cookie-cutter versions of the same types of stories. If you were to get a Coffee Shop AU, for example, there is no requirement that the coffee shop in question be a real-world 21st-century Earth Starbucks. In fact, deviating from the mold is highly encouraged. So long as you can make a case that you filled the loose premise of your AU type, you will get credit for having completed it.

Can I participate if I am not a writer? AU Roulette is a fanfic writing challenge, so official sign-ups are for those interested in writing (regardless of skill level or experience writing AUs). However, if you are interested in the challenge but not in writing fic for it, consider having a look at the #AU Roulette 2024 tag or the official AU Roulette 2024 collection on Ao3 once authors have begun posting their stories. If one of them really speaks to you, it might be a nice gesture to draw a piece of art, make a playlist, or create some other fanwork inspired by the fic and share it – in which case you would also be more than welcome to use the official tag!

(Authors are of course also welcome to do this for their or other participants’ stories, too.)

How do I sign up? Fill out this form with your email and fandom of choice.

Looking forward to seeing the AUs everyone creates this year!

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 23: Comfort/Crying

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Comfort/Crying (🌼)

Summary: You’ve had a shitty couple of months, trying to hold on for the sake of everyone around you, but you can only take so much…

Warnings: Angst, crying, slight allusions to depression, self-loathing, hurt/comfort, not proof-read

Word Count: 982

A/n: This prompt hits differently now than it would have when I intended to post it, but now it also comes at the right time because I do feel like we have all cried a lot lately. I know I have, and I could use some good old Matty comfort right about now. Like, a hug would be enough.

Read Me On AO3! (coming soon)

You’re tired. 

You’re so tired.

Life has had quite the habit of beating you down lately, and you are so exhausted you just want to disappear. You are expected to function, but how can you when you’re already falling apart?

“Hey,” Matt says softly from the doorway. “You okay?”

You don’t look up from the onions you’re cutting. He just got home from court; the last thing he wants is to listen to you bitch and moan about what a shitty month you’ve had. 

You have to function because there are people who depend on you. If you’re not strong for him, what is the point? In your mind, at least, that makes sense, twisted as it may be—and it is incredibly twisted.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… making dinner.”

The vegetable’s gases burn in your eyes. You’re shaking, but that must be all the caffeine you had after yet another sleepless night. Matt is gone so much, during the day as this kindhearted lawyer who fights for the rights of the innocent, and at night as Daredevil, he doesn’t know how you keep tossing and turning when he’s not there. You can’t blame him for having his own shit to deal with; he’s a good boyfriend, and you love him to pieces, but you can’t talk to him. 

You don’t want him to worry because you know he would burn the world down if it meant you could be free of all this pain. He would find a way to exorcize the hell out of the demons in your head, wrap you in cotton, and keep you safe from the storm raging outside. He would let go of everything just to be with you, and you refuse to let yourself be this fucking selfish. Because people depend on him, too. 

But oh, you are truly falling apart at the seams. Too much to feel, too much to think about—it is a painful weight on your chest threatening to crush you. There is no reason behind it, just a myriad of disasters balled into one, and the avalanche is about to take you away. 

Matt reaches out, fingers brushing your shoulder. “You sure?” he asks. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. 

“You’re crying.”

“It’s the onions,” you say. “The, uh, fumes…”

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t have to acknowledge the fact that you’re crying to know something is wrong with you. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. 

He’s your sanctuary. 

His hand hovers over the one holding the knife.  “Let go,” he says. “Let go…” 

Your fingers loosen around the handle. Matt catches it, wasting no time to place it aside before you can hurt yourself on the sharp edge of its blade. His voice is a mere breath against your heated temple. “That’s it. It’s okay.”

You can barely breathe, your arms flailing around helplessly. Matt doesn’t dare let go of you, afraid you might fall apart if he loosens his hold, so he squeezes his arms around you until you are enveloped in a cocoon of him, and the world outside disappears.

He shushes in your ear. Gentle whispers of, ‘You’re okay. I’ve got you,’ course through your veins like a balm for your weary soul. You’ve been holding on for the sake of the people around you for too long; it rolls over you like a boulder. You can no longer stop it. 

His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Let it out,” he says. 

The tears run down your cheek in an endless flood. It’s ugly, messy, and feels like too much, but Matt doesn’t pull away. He stands there, absorbing every bit of it, trying to work as a sponge to soak up what’s hurting you. He would rather have you take the pain out on him than suffer through any of this alone.

When you finally manage to suck in a deep, shuddering breath, you’re exhausted—wrung out. Wrecked. But there is a sudden emptiness where the crushing weight of the world on your shoulders used to be. 

You finally lift your head, tearful eyes staring back into his. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He shushes you. “You needed to cry. It’s okay.”

You whimper at the tenderness in his voice. 

“It’s okay to lean on me.” He turns you around to him, pressing your face into his chest. “Just promise me you’ll come to me next time.” A kiss melts against your temple. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

A sharp breath burns the tender flesh of your lungs. “No, I–” you stammer. “I have t–”

He cuts you off, his own voice on the verge of breaking. “You don’t. You’re not alone, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

The dam might be breaking, but he is right there to pick up the pieces before they can get lost in the current with the shards of your broken heart. He patches you up the only way he knows how: with his hands and silent declarations of his undying love. 

And it really is undying, you realize. He loves you when you’re put together, and he loves you when you’re broken. He loves you without a doubt or second thought. He loves you unconditionally, wholly, and he would go to the ends of the earth for you. 

You’re not alone. You might have been once, but not since you met him. Not since he walked into your life and turned it all upside-down. 

You filled each other’s empty hearts like it was the only thing to do.

You don’t have to deal with these demons on your own anymore because Matt will always be there for you, no matter how much you loathe your miserable self. He will always be there to pick up the pieces, and you will never have to be alone again.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

[aealzx]

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

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Despite not being comatose anymore, Danny’s health still wasn’t the greatest. After getting introductions for who everyone was they had started to explain to him what had happened. Only for him to fall asleep again before they got very far. After being assured by Bruce and Leslie that it was normal for those who had been in a coma to not be able to stay awake very long in the beginning, the others had found ways to entertain themselves while letting him rest more. When he woke up again hours later they let him orient himself again before trying to pick up where they’d left off. They had to repeat the same sequence again two more times before they got through the entire two months worth of events.

The hardest part of catching Danny up on everything had been admitting they didn’t know what had happened to Maddie and Jack. During the third time of being awake Danny had asked where they were, being confused why they hadn’t shown up to see him yet despite everything. And when Jazz had finally admitted it was because they weren’t there, and they didn’t even know if they were okay, Danny had panicked slightly. If he’d been in better health Jazz knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop him from running out into the city to try and find them himself. Yet at this point he couldn’t even push himself upright without help, and changing forms or even floating seemed impossible. Which had left him collapsed in Jazz’s lap, sobbing, “You don’t get it, Jazz! None of this matters at ALL if the people I care about aren’t alive! That includes mom and dad! None of this matters if they’re not okay too!”

Jazz knew that Danny really only fought to keep certain people happy. He’d protect everyone, sure. But the reason he kept going, the only real motivation he had for throwing himself in harm's way all the time, was to protect his friends and family. He did a lot of crazy heroic things, but he didn’t want to be some big time famous hero like she had learned Batman and Superman were. It was hard to not be able to tell him that he hadn’t failed. Only Sam, Tucker, and Danielle had been able to get him to calm down by reminding him how resilient Jack and Maddie were. Despite all the fights they got in, it was very rare that those two got hurt. So odds were they were still just fine after this disaster too. It had been enough to calm him down at least enough to stop crying, and allow himself to rest more. But his words still rang in Jazz’s head the next day.

Throughout the days Leslie was present more, checking Danny’s vitals, drawing a little more blood for another panel, bringing him room temperature water to sip in the afternoon. She strangely didn’t try to get Danny to eat anything until the next day. When Jazz asked about it Leslie had explained that while Danny definitely needed to eat again, there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to handle it just yet. While the cryo stasis had helped him not deteriorate as much as anyone else would have over a two month coma, he still had. He was underweight, malnourished, and easily fatigued. And that included his digestive system. She tried to help by giving Danny another vitamin IV with a slightly different formula. But even with that the first time she’d let him try eating two plain crackers he’d ended up throwing up less than an hour later.

That was when Bruce happened to come check on them. With the biggest hurdles for now having been taken care of, most of his kids had gone back to their own homes, as they usually did. It was hard to keep them around for more than a few days, and while there was still the task of getting these displaced kids back home they all knew that could wait until Danny was feeling better. Especially after learning through bits and pieces of information that there was a government team back there that would just love to hunt him down the first chance they got. So with Duke and Damian currently at school that left the house rather empty, and Bruce found himself taking charge of checking on their visitors. He had learned a lot about them in the past two days. The kids were obviously used to helping patch Danny back up, without the help of any adults. But they still relied on Danny being okay to feel secure. Danny was the one that protected them. Danny was the one they relied on being okay to judge whether or not everything else was okay. When Danny was cracking jokes the others were at ease. But when Danny couldn’t force himself to reassure them, there was a harsh spike in their anxiety. And usually Jazz was the one that took charge, trying to keep them all calm and reassured.

It was an unfair, but understandable situation that didn’t allow for Danny to truly rest. And that was what motivated Bruce to enter the room and approach the kids this time, stopping by the connected bathroom to grab a soft towel first. Jazz was once again the only one sitting on the bed while the other three hovered nearby, waiting to be directed. Her hands were on Danny’s back and arm as he was curled over the bucket Leslie had made sure was left just in case, coughing and half heaving despite there being nothing left in his stomach. Bruce couldn’t imagine how much stress it must be to have an audience, so decided the first thing he’d do would be to get the others to disperse. When he raised his hand to Tucker’s shoulder he couldn’t blame Tucker for jumping in startle.

“D’dude! You scared me,” Tucker protested shakily.

“He’ll be alright,” Bruce chose to assure instead of apologizing for inevitably sneaking up on the kids. “Can you three go work with Alfred to find a change of clothes and bedding?”

The three almost jumped on being given something to do, a series of affirmatives before they scurried from the room. Bruce sent Alfred a text to request he keep the three of them occupied for a while then knelt down next to the bed and offered the towel to Danny. It seemed his stomach had decided to stop throwing a fit for now, and as Danny took the towel and buried his face in it Bruce relocated the bucket to the nightstand. He didn’t need to wipe his entire face, but from that angle Bruce hadn’t missed the tears, and realized Danny was hiding.

“Jazz, can you join the others?” Bruce requested on Danny’s behalf. “And find Leslie to help waterproof his injuries so he can have a bath?” Not only would that give Danny some time away from the others, but he actually really needed one too. A fact Bruce realized when he’d reached up to help pull Danny’s hair out of his face. He’d probably feel a little better after getting fully cleaned up for once too.

Jazz seemed reluctant to leave, but at least seemed to know when her presence was a detriment more than comfort. She knew her brother well, and after leaning down to give Danny a peck on the head and whisper a quick ‘I love you’ she headed out the door.

“...Am I even allowed to have a bath?” Danny’s question came after he was sure Jazz was gone, raising his head and looking and sounding as miserable and pathetic as he probably felt.

“Of course you are,” Bruce assured, using his thumb to brush away another tear that escaped when Danny blinked. “We’ll just have to waterproof your injuries and IV site. But then you should be fine to take one for as long as you want.”

“...Really?”

“Yes.”

The idea of getting some time to himself was welcomed, but after realizing what he was thinking Danny’s expression crumpled again, and Bruce had to raise a little to catch him as we swayed. He was a little surprised when Danny actually curled into him then, his form shaking.

“Sorry,” Danny whimpered, and Bruce couldn’t keep himself from gathering the boy up in a tight hug. “...I’m not okay.”

That sounded like it had been incredibly hard to say, and Bruce had to wonder if it was something someone had been working on with him. He’d heard from Jason that it was relatively recent that Danny’s parents even knew what he was, let alone what he’d been going through. Perhaps one of them had been the one to talk him into letting them know when he wasn’t doing well.

“...I know,” Bruce responded quietly as he moved to sit on the bed and pull Danny into a ball. Everyone knew Danny wasn’t doing well physically. But Bruce knew he wasn’t just talking about that part of his health this time. “You’re going to be okay though.”

It felt good to be held by someone he didn’t have to protect. Someone that he didn’t have to pretend he knew what he was doing for. Act like he was just fine and nothing fazed him. It had been something he had just started getting after his parents got involved with all aspects of his life, and he hadn’t realized how much he would miss it until they weren’t there to give him that comfort. Jazz had a habit of calling out the fact that he was just a kid, but she was too, and couldn’t quite give him what he needed. But Bruce was an adult. And someone who seemed to have also lived through similar injuries. Hearing him say he’d be alright felt like a stated fact instead of just a confident reassurance.

It didn’t take long for Leslie to arrive and expertly shoo Jazz away again to help Alfred with the others. She wasn’t surprised at all to hear that Danny had thrown up, and instead just assured him he was going to be okay, and to think of it like having the stomach flu. The comparison did wonders in helping Danny calm down more, to the point he was only sniffling quietly as she took care of dressing his wounds in a waterproof covering.

“Don’t scrub too hard on the edges of the bandages when you’re washing up, okay?” Leslie directed while rubbing the said edges of the last bandage she was placing around his arm to encase the temporarily detached IV. She’d taken some time to clean the sites that would be covered so Danny would be able to feel completely clean after his bath, and was pleased to see he was healing a lot faster now that he wasn’t in some sort of stasis mode. She wouldn’t be surprised if his wounds were completely healed by the end of next week at this rate.

Danny gave a small hum in acknowledgement, understanding that he couldn’t break the seal if the bandages were going to work properly. The desire for an actual bath was strong enough that he was willing to comply with their conditions, even if it meant he had to have Bruce in the bathroom with him, just in case. It made sense considering he couldn’t go to the toilet on his own just yet, but at least Bruce had promised to stay facing towards the door as long as he could. He also had his phone with him to work on his own projects, so wouldn’t even try to get Danny to talk to him.

It was exhausting, but Danny also didn’t realize just how much it would feel good to be clean. To not have his scalp itch, and skin feel like a layer of grime was coating it. And also just to lounge in the warm water, in the silence and almost complete isolation. He was there for a little over an hour - dang fancy rich people's tubs and their ability to keep the water just right - before it became uncomfortably apparent he wasn’t just imagining the aching starting to get worse. Which led him to reluctantly using his foot to nudge the plug out to allow the water to drain and reaching out to knock his hand against Bruce’s shoulder.

“Done already?” Bruce asked easily, glancing over his shoulder halfway.

“Morphine is wearing off,” Danny admitted with a grimace, resting against the side of the tub.

“Ah,” Bruce nodded in unfortunate complete understanding, turning his phone screen off and tucking it into his pocket while grabbing the towel and soft robe to hand to Danny. “Let me know if you need help.”

Danny hummed once again to acknowledge what was said, but stubbornly took care of at least getting the bathrobe on himself on his own once the water had drained. Unfortunately he had to ask for help to get out of the tub, still too weak to lift himself up or stand. But Bruce didn’t react differently towards this than if Danny had simply asked for help opening a jar or something. It was nice.

Alfred had already brought a pair of soft pajama pants and fluffy socks when he’d returned to change the bedding as well. And once Danny was dressed Bruce had carried him back to the edge of the bed where Leslie could double check that the bandages had worked, get the IV reattached and another dose of morphine going. He found he was so worn out from the simple task, but also found that once the morphine did its job taking away the aches and pain he did feel a lot better than before. Enough that Duke pausing in the doorway while returning home from school didn’t make him feel too wary.

“Oh- First post injury bath?” Duke asked, pointing a finger at Danny as he noticed the bathrobe on the bed and Danny’s still damp hair. When Bruce nodded, Duke grinned. “Nice! Those always feel amazing somehow. You should take him to the couch next.”

“The couch?” Danny couldn’t help asking. Was it just the family room couch or something different?

“In the study. It’s quiet in there, and being stuck in bed sucks,” Duke explained. “I bet he was actually already planning on taking you there. After living here I came to find out Bruce is actually really good at helping people feel better. Even though he’s not perfect, no one is, he still makes a nice dad-”

“Duke,” Bruce interrupted, a slight scowl hiding his embarrassment. “Make sure you have enough time to finish your homework before patrol.”

Other people may have been put off by the glower, but Duke just laughed. “Sure sure. I’ll meet you in the study?”

It took Danny a moment to realize Duke was talking to him, and couldn’t keep his shoulders from drooping. He didn’t really want to entertain people yet, he was already feeling physically drained on top of emotionally.

Surprisingly Duke picked up on the mood easily. “I’ll keep quiet. Promise. But trust me when I say it’s really nice,” he offered, easily picking up Danny’s anti-social vibes.

“...Sure. We can try,” Danny accepted, figuring he could at least attempt the idea since Duke didn’t seem to want to spend the time talking.

It was just a few more minutes for Leslie to finish giving him another routine checkup and add an anti nausea patch behind his ear before allowing Bruce to pick him up again. Danny inevitably felt tiny as Bruce was able to carry him with just one arm, leaving the other free to bring the IV pole with them. But he found he didn’t mind. It had only been two days of him being awake in that bedroom, but Danny found getting to leave the room was nice. The study was quite a ways down the hall, and when they reached it Alfred was already there.

“I’ve provided the usual snacks for Master Duke and Master Damian. There’s also a thermos of warm broth that Dr. Thompkins has approved for Master Danny to try if he’s up for it. I will continue to keep the rest of the children occupied until supper,” Alfred informed, bringing their attention to the mentioned food on the low table in front of the very plush couch.

“Thank you Alfred,” Bruce responded simply, heading further in the room to get settled.

There was a fire crackling gently in the fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm despite the autumn chill outside. There was already a slight frost on the windows, but the glass was the only thing that reflected that cold. All the colors of the room were warm, and the faux fur blanket Bruce grabbed to help bundle Danny up in only increased the cozy feeling the room had. It was quiet, as Duke had said, and comfortable. Even when Duke and Damian joined them to work on their homework they rarely spoke. And when they did it was in low voices, and to each other about their homework or school day.

Danny had accepted being brought there with the thought that he’d have to end up asking to go back to the bedroom later. But after having spent some time quietly looking around the room his gaze had settled on watching the fire. And slowly the crackle of the wood, soft scratch of pens and pencils, rustling of paper and quiet taps of technology muddled into a soft haze. Eventually Danny’s eyes drooped closed as the soft sounds and comforting warmth became a lullaby coaxing him to sleep. 

Duke was right. The couch was pretty nice.

_____________

This entire chapter was unplanned X'DD but I ain't complaining.

Bruce was as hard to draw as Dick was 8 | my art style is too cute coded for these rugged american comic characters.

Also I am extremely distracted translating a manga that not available in english just so I can know the story |D updates might be a little slower.

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

[thechildofshadows]

THE BOY AND HIS WINE CELLAR

Avery Grambs x Jameson Hawthorne - 1.6k

hello! I did say that I would write something, and that I would get it would a week or two after Valentine's ... so it's been about three weeks, it's been a month, okay? This fic is dedicated to @saythewordheiress, who posted asking for a fic where Jameson takes care of drunk Avery ... I wanted to give Jamie some backstory, and now i have a completely different fic. mb girl, I'll get back to you on that. This fic has a lot of time-skips. TW for alcohol addiction, which I definitely didn't write accurately. I rated this Teen on Ao3, so read with a little bit of caution. It focuses on our king JH and his relationship with alcohol through the years (two years). It places a heavy emphasis on his damaged relationship with Grayson (I always thought it was sad that they were at each other's throats so often). TLDR : If you wanted fluff, you've come to the wrong place, if you wanted bourbon, you've come to the right one. be back in a week (or a day!) for that drunk Avery fic. Enjoy!

“Where are you going?” I asked him. After everything it has taken to get to this point, he couldn’t just walk away. “To hell, eventually,” Jameson answered. “Probably to the wine cellar, for now.” -Jennifer Lynn Barnes, The Inheritance Games

Jameson Hawthorne: NOW

The tabloids thought that Jameson loved alcohol. They weren’t entirely wrong.

He loved the buzz it gave him, and how free it made him feel.

It didn’t hurt that Hawthornes were blessed with one of the highest alcohol tolerances known to man.

Did he love the actual drinks themselves? Hell no. For a majority of his life, he didn't see the point in alcohol. But the first time he'd had something that actually hit-

It was a beautiful feeling and he enjoyed it so much.

Maybe too much.

Jameson had been at his first gala when Nash handed him a glass of wine. He took it. He’d seen the adults drink during dinner before, but never took any sips, since being drunk felt like a hindrance. But there wasn’t much he could do that day and the function was dragging on and on. He had his first glass of wine at thirteen years old.

It tasted like shit. He preferred coffee.

But that didn’t stop him from trying a shot at a party one night. Country Day had won a state golf tournament, and everyone was gathered at the house of some rich socialite. There were whiskey shots lined up on the table, and an open bar. Jameson tried some whiskey, conveniently named after himself.

It tasted like shit. He preferred coffee.

Oh how that’s changed, he thought, moving out of the living room, and going upstairs.

Jameson Hawthorne: Age 17

Emily Laughlin left the world after Jameson turned 17. And, he supposed, she took Grayson with her. Their former bond was irreparably wrecked. And Jameson felt that the only reason he’d mourned for so long was because he’d lost his brother too. His closest brother. His favorite. His first friend. They had done everything together when they were younger, and now they couldn't be in the same room as each other. Their longest argument before had lasted a grand total of three days, and both had been miserable and forgot about the problem after two hours. This one seemed significantly worse.

But he'd loved Emily as well. He had. They had done so much together in such little time. She understood him better than anyone, she understood everything. They were both trapped when all they wanted was to be free. He thought she loved him. And she died.

He was so tired. So tired.

The next day, three bottles were missing from the wine cellar. Smashed glass of a Scottish whiskey bottle was found on the grass, almost as it it had been dropped from the roof.

Jameson snuck into the cellar for what may have been the second time that week. He relished the adrenaline high he got when he drank, and had developed a taste for whiskey.

He reached for the nearest bottle, but it moved.

His lips parted in confusion, and his eyes widened as they fell on Tobias Hawthorne himself.

The usual teasing smile on the man’s face had gone and he was frowning at Jameson.

“This is enough.”

Jameson held back an eyeroll, and Tobias continued. “Over a thousand dollars of drinks are gone, and you’re giving the tabloids something worse and worse each month.”

Jameson gritted his teeth. “It’s always about you, isn’t it Grandfather? Does it matter how I feel? Never! It’s always the tabloids and what they think!”

His grandfather narrowed his eyes. “The girl is dead.”

It’s not about Emily.

“She’s been dead for several months.”

It’s never been about Emily.

“It’s been too long.”

But you think it is-

“Once we leave, this door will lock, and the key is going to be hidden exactly where you think it is.”

-because it’s less painful to think about her than ... other people.

Jameson turned to leave, and promptly crashed into a wall, falling over. Oh crap, how much did I drink?

I'm wasted. 

“I should not find you here again.”

Jameson knew better than to go against his grandfather. “Fine.” And he actually left the room, managing to make it back to his room in one piece.

Change didn't come quickly. But Jameson was a Hawthorne, and Hawthornes can do everything.

Jameson Hawthorne: Age 18

Jameson avoided the cellar like the plague.

He knew his grandfather, and he knew himself. There had to be traps in the hallway and stairs, Tobias would never leave something with just a warning.

It wasn't easy. He was miserable (Ask Nash). But he found himself reaching back towards the coffee bar, and slowly regaining back his abilities as a barista.

Jameson had spent a year cultivating his cooking skills, and used an entire month developing his coffee-making talents. Now, he found it therapeutic, following the same instructions, or even trying something new.

And that was how he found himself reaching one month, fully sober.

His birthday came and went. He drank coffee.

So did Grayson’s. He drank coffee then, too.

They still didn’t talk and it made Jameson want to rip his hair out. (Again, no one said it would be easy abruptly quitting alcohol.)

But a few weeks later, Tobias Hawthorne died.

Jameson went to the cellar.

There were no traps anywhere. The key was inside the lock, and when he went inside, there was a note on the whiskey.

I’m sorry. I wanted better for you.

Nash had run out of his stash of cheap vodka and had told a slightly less drunk Grayson to get some more.

He went to the wine cellar, looking for a bottle, and instead found his brother, already gone through multiple drinks.

Their consciousness had passed the point of rivalries, and spent the night sharing a few bottles of whiskey. Their drunken laments were somehow understood by each other, and after a few more drinks, they didn’t need words to communicate anymore. Had they not been blackout drunk, one would’ve thought they were seven again, seemingly talking with more than words.

Grayson woke up the next morning, on a couch across from his brother.

He left the room immediately.

Jameson woke up a few hours later with a killer hangover,, and figured he moved the sheets while he was drunk.

Interesting feeling. Jameson got drunk often, but never to the point of blacking out. Getting that drunk gave him a killer hangover and rendered him useless for about half the day.

He smelled tequila, something he had never developed a taste for. Grayson was the only person in the house who drank it, and Jameson knew better than to touch that corner of the wine cellar.

What the hell did I do?

Grayson never told him.

No one usually checked on Jameson, and after Tobias had died, no one went to the backyard either.

Of course, she wasn’t no one.

She found him on the balcony railing, drunk and shirtless, and the first thing he had done was give her a riddle. He didn’t know why Tobias had required her presence, but he was going to make it fun for himself.

And she'd solved it, too. Maybe she's more than just a puz-

NO.

He would’ve gone down for more bourbon, but the house was Avery’s now, even though she probably didn’t know that it even existed.

Avery.

Tobias Hawthorne usually had a reason behind every one of his actions, but Jameson couldn’t figure out his reasoning behind this one.

And that made her all the more fun.

Bourbon might be good for me, if I get to meet pretty girls.

He mentally slapped himself. That’s not fair.

They had a connection.

He tried to deny it, but they had a connection.

He’d connected with his grandfather. He’d connected with Grayson. He thought he’d connected with Emily, and both had left him. (Though things seemed to be getting better with Gray.)

Or so he thought.

Then he found out she was in the coma.

He went down to the wine cellar, and reached for the bottle of vodka.

And then he paused.

Do I want to be drunk when she’s awake?

Do I want to forget?

But I don’t want to feel…

But she will wake up. And when she does, I’m going to do everything right.

Jameson walked out of the cellar and locked the door. And that means no more day drinking.

Goodbye, room. I owe you a lot.

Avery wasn’t going to die.

But when Alisa moved her out of the hospital, Jameson had to be held back by Xander and Grayson from almost punching her in the face.

“She could’ve died!” He yelled, his voice growing hoarse with the volume. “No amount of money is worth her life, Alisa! You had no right-“

“It had to be done, Jameson.”

“No it didn’t! She-“

“One of us is a professional, and it isn’t you. The situation isn’t ideal-”

“Ideal?” He choked out. To even plan for this scenario… “Damnit, Alisa.”

Nash walked out of Avery’s room with Libby, and upon seeing his brother about to throw hands with Alisa, dragged Jameson toward his room. He offered Jameson a bottle of whiskey, and his eyebrows shot up when Jameson refused.

“No? It’s been long few days, Jamie," Nash sat down next to Jameson. "and there used to be a time where you weren’t seen without at least a drink down.”

Jameson nodded, staring at his hands. “Need to be sober if she wakes up.”

“When. She’ll wake up. She’s strong, Jameson.”

“She is.”

Avery woke up later that week, and Jameson almost collapsed with relief.

Jameson Hawthorne: NOW

Jameson reached the roof and stared at the sky.

Once in a lifetime, you meet someone you love so much, you become a better version of yourself for them.

The moon shined down as Jameson dug through his pockets. He opened the small velvet box, and the light reflected off the diamond on the ring.

I love you with more than words.

Thank you for being mine, Avery Kylie Grambs.

Alright, how do we feel after 1.6k words of sad? please like, reblog and leave feedback in the notes. Or just throw watermelons at me. Anything works. I will balance out all of this angst with fluff, give me a week. and if you want to be added to the taglist, which does not yet exist, just let me know somehow, put it in the notes somewhere. This fic is green (because I'm Irish) because I love green (because Jameson's eyes are green), and I'm not technically Irish. Happy March, leprechauns. (This is my formal apology to saythewordheiress, who was tagged without consent. I'm very sorry.) (dividers are from @/cafekitsune)

[celestie0]

hi friends, i won’t be posting or updating any of my works for an indefinite period n will be on hiatus from this blog as well.

i’ve unlisted kickoff & ihm on ao3 (haven’t deleted, they’ve just been made private) and i’ve unpinned my masterlist here on tumblr (again nothing’s been deleted so you could probably find the chapters if you searched my tags)

but the reason i did that is because i don’t want any new readers finding my works during my hiatus because i don’t want to potentially upset more people in the event that, during this hiatus, i decide that i would no longer like to write my fics

that would be an insanely sad decision to make. i put so much thought into my stories not because i am trying to make them entertaining, but it’s because they genuinely mean so much to me and are cathartic in ways i can’t describe. i have spent a great majority of my life self negating for the sake of others, and so writing was just a form of expression where i could talk about all the things i’ve suppressed over the years - anxiety, career stress, financial stress, avoidance, depression, loss, coming of age, navigating love, etc

but lately, and i do think it’s been a build up of just some careless words from a handful of people over the months, i find myself steering towards a practice of writing that is no longer asking the question “how can i put as much of myself in this piece as possible?” but rather “how can i make sure people won’t criticize this…i feel awful that it doesn’t have what they want it to have…other creators are doing xyz, should i be doing that too?…i’m just scared to share this”

not exactly sure when that shift in headspace began, but as of right now, it’s as strong as ever. and i understand that those questions may seem irrational, and i just have to try to not focus on the feeling, n i wish i was someone that could compartmentalize those thoughts better, but here’s the thing — the whole reason i started expressing myself through writing in the first place was because i’ve spent my whole life compartmentalizing. it would feel so ironic & untrue to the lessons i’ve learned in this journey if i just chose to “suck this up” and continue pushing forward until i reach a point of burnout simply because i don’t want to upset anyone

i’m really sorry i couldn’t focus on the positive. especially with all the insane n incredible amount of love n support i’ve received for my works. i’ve said this time n time again but when i started posting kickoff to ao3 back in january of this year, i had NO idea it would be this loved by so many people…i was like ok can’t wait to interact w these four readers for the rest of the year…and then BAM, i find myself fully sobbing after each chapter update because i was so touched by all the sweet n kind words. i don’t want this decision to come off in a way that makes it seems like i don’t love u guys sm or that i’m ungrateful — i’ve always taken pride in respecting my audience. even for a simple hobby, i try to put effort into my works. i proofread, i plan out, i edit in length, all because i am, well, for one, i’m a bit of a perfectionist LOL but also i think there’s a great deal of honor in respecting an audience that gives you their time n attention

but i already am struggling in my life to focus on the positive. medicine has been such an incredibly daunting career to pursue, i’m honestly only doing slightly better now because i’m just filled with relief that i got into med school to begin with lol it’s still surreal to me, so the stress has been kinda manageable so far on that sense of optimism, but dear god the shit i went through to get here…and the shit i know i still face ahead of me. i spend all of my serotonin on trying to stay positive in the face of my responsibilities. so all of this time i’ve spent trying to stay positive for the sake of my stories too has just left me with so much exhaustion — i just don’t see why posting my works should be anything less than fun and endlessly exciting when it’s a hobby that’s supposed to help me thru the actual brunt of life.

anyways, i’m getting a little carried away here. all this to say, i just need to take time away from posting my works so i can see writing as something for myself n not for others again. i don’t want the thoughts swimming in my head to be thoughts of anxiety over people potentially criticizing me n my creative decisions. i want the thoughts in my head to once again be positive, excited, and nurturing towards my stories. i don’t see how i can accomplish that at this point unless i start writing for myself once more, and not for others

i still have a great deal of passion to write, which is why i haven’t formally taken down my works. i anticipate that i may be able to come back in the future to share my writing again. but as of right now, i just want to heal the relationship that i have with this hobby, and i feel like that’s gotta happen in private (lmfao it sounds like im tryna freak my writing)

i’m sorry that i turned off my asks n my replies, i know so many of u care about me n want to support me n i just am beyond thankful. i don’t anticipate this is a forever goodbye, but i do just need some time rn away from all of this.

hope u all have a happy time!! and take care of yourselves :) much love

- ellie

[livwritesstuff]

finally posted that alternating steve/mike-pov fic i've been teasing for ages (at 10pm last night like a lunatic)

In the Spring of 2002, Steve finally gets an answer to a question that has been floating in the background of his brain, the background of his life and the Party’s life like a distant storm cloud for almost fifteen years.

It’s 2002, and Steve is thirty-five, and, for the record, he really had no idea when he woke up that morning he’d be getting any kind of answers to any kind of questions.

This one (the floating one) is about Mike Wheeler, because Mike has been operating like a living question-mark ever since 1990, when he wrapped his car around a tree one night and skipped town before the next morning’s sun could rise, and then he spent the years that followed popping in and out of the rest of their lives like some kind of traveling ghost.

Honestly, Steve has kind of learned to live with it at this point, which sucks, obviously, but Steve’s also spent many years figuring out how to at least partially unlearn his tendency to dive headfirst into other people’s problems without at least considering what might be at stake for him.

“You know, you’re more than just the guy that shows up and helps people get out of shit, right?” Robin had told him once, “You deserve to, like, chase the things that make you happy, or whatever.”

So he did, and thank fuck for that, because now, years and years later, he gets to spend a lazy Saturday morning at home with Eddie, his partner of almost a decade now, and Moe, their eight-month-old foster placement they’re currently in the process of adopting.

Steve has said it before, but Moe has brought a kind of happiness to his world that he hadn’t known existed, and the fact that he and Ed have already had eight months with her is kind of baffling to him.

Eight months isn’t that long, Steve had thought, but then he looks at photos they’d taken all the way back during that first month of Moe’s life and can’t believe how little she’d been, can’t believe how big she’s gotten. She’s even started crawling over the past few weeks, which is totally bonkers because, hello, wasn’t it just yesterday she was this teeny little being, all fragile bones and pink skin and squawking cries? And now she’s crawling?

(Nancy gave him all sorts of shit when Steve recounted that milestone to her and Robin – “She’s not crawling backwards, though, right?” she’d said, the bastard).

So, yeah, long story short, Steve woke up this morning content with the idea of spending the entire weekend hanging around at home with Ed and Moe.

Now, Moe has just finished breakfast (she’s just started to eat solid(-ish) foods, which has made meals their own kind of adventure), and they’ve all migrated into the living room, Steve working on a puzzle and Ed poking around at the pieces, one eye on the Star Trek rerun playing on the TV, while they decide if there’s enough time before Moe’s nap to go on a walk.

And then the buzzer sounds.

And then the buzzer sounds again and again and again.

“The hell?” Steve mutters, looking towards the door with a perplexed look on his face.

“Robin?” Ed ponders, because she’s the only person he can think of who would find that kind of behavior acceptable.

“No…” Steve says slowly, “She and Nance are up in Montreal right now.”

“Alright…” Eddie replies, and still, their buzzer continues to ring over them unrelentingly, “Well, shit, I guess I’ll go see who it is.”

Ed, as Steve is more than well-aware, used to take the fuck around and find out approach to life more often than not. Eight-and-a-half months ago, Ed probably would have just let whoever’s outside into the building first and asked questions later, but that was eight-and-a-half months ago, and now they have Moe, and while Steve won’t speak for Ed, he’ll say for himself that the world seems a hell of a lot scarier now that it includes Moe. The way Ed leaves their apartment, closes the door firmly behind him as he heads down to see who could possibly be outside, instead of…well, any other course of action, speaks for itself better than Steve could that Ed might be feeling something like that too.

Now, it may be true that Steve is a worrier by nature, and it may also be true that those tendencies have skyrocketed ever since they met Moe, but right now he’s not actually all that worried. It’s probably Robin, back home from a work trip earlier than expected, or guests of a neighboring condo who’ve found themselves at the wrong building. It’s probably fine, but Steve still scoops up Moe from where she’d been playing on the rug with a plastic cup (surrounded by toys, Steve will add, but why play with colorful baby toys when her Dada’s abandoned dishware is available?).

Moe points to the door Ed had just locked behind him, then looks back at Steve like she’s making sure he’s looking too.

“Did Dada go outside?” he asks her, “Can you say Dada?”

(She can’t. Eight months is a little too early for first words, but it’s worth a shot).

Moe just continues to look back and forth between Steve and the door Ed had just vanished behind.

“He’ll be right back, sweet pea,” he tells her.

Indeed, Steve hears footsteps and voices out in the hall only a minute or two later, and then Ed is letting himself back into the apartment, and when he does, when he steps through the doorway, it’s with a look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost.

And then Ed steps to the side so Steve can see who'd been ringing their buzzer and he understands that Ed sort of has seen a ghost.

Because Mike Wheeler is standing in the doorway.

read the rest on ao3

[ilreleonewikiart]

I finally reached 1k followers on IG yayyy!!!✨

I wanted to celebrate this great milestone earlier but I was busy with commissions, so I decided to make this illustration now, before restarting my normal posting schedule.

This illustration was one of the options for my dtiys birthday challenge, so I though it would be fun drawing it now.

This is a family portait based on the events of my AU fic on AO3.

For the ones who don't know it, Harwin Strong and House Strong general have an important role on my story, so I thought they deserve at least a portrait.

I decided to set it on 143 AC, so at the end of my fic so the kids would be more grown up.

Because at this point I didn't had the chance to write more about them as a family, I decided to give you some description of these ocs. ☝️✨

Harwin Strong: in this au, Harwin didn't died, faught for the Black and for some reason he had to marry 3 women, after the events of 130AC (read my fic to know why). He married his first two wives for duty, after his younger sisters choosed them for him, while he married . Because his first two wives all died shortly after marrying him in tragic ways people started to whisper that the tile of Lady of Harrenhall was cursed.

Cordelia Bracken: she's Harwin's third wife and the one she loved the most. She's the only daughter of the former Lord Bracken and his younger brother is the present Lord Bracken. Before Harwin, she was married to another Lord who mistreated her, that eneded up dying 2 years after. She meets Harwin in 132 AC, when they both are in full widowhood and they fell in love with eachother at first sight. Because of her family's situation and the many rumors surrounding her capacity of conciving she was considered a bad party for Harwin by his two sisters, still the two will get married at the end of the same year. Just nine months after their wedding she will give birth to twins, Harren and Lyomond. Alys and Cordelia were found of eachother.

Lyonel Strong: he's the first son of Harwin that he had with his first wife, Jayne Mallister. Her mother died a month after his birth after killing herself. Because of this, he and his father will have a difficult relationship. He will ending up marrying Alys Blackwood, Lord Benjicot's daughter.

Lyonora Strong: she's the first and only daughter of Harwin and his second wife, Linthen Piper, who died after she had an acciedent with an horse. She's his daddy princes and the light of his eyes. She and Cordelia will develope a special bond during the years. She will end up marrying Kermit Tully's son, becoming Lady of Rivverun.

Harren and Lyomond : their are the youngest children of Harwin and his current wife, Cordelia. Their twins and they're a menace. They like messing around and destroying everything they encounter. They love to make mischief to the servants, especially to their sister Lyonora. Cordelia likes to call them her little

[maybege]

Take-Off - FBI 14

Summary: Your nightly rendezvous with Morgan has some unexpected consequences.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.0k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: CM typical stuff

I love how I said this would be out by mid-January and yet here we are … Anyway, sorry not sorry. I had to move back to my parents for like 6-ish weeks, my country’s election resulted in a drastic shift towards conservative/right-wing policies and January (being the awful month that it is) had my depression returning for an unwanted sequel, you know how it is. Anyway, Part 15 is not yet finished so idk when it will be out but rest assured I am thinking about Hotch and I hope that after reading this next chapter you do too! Let me know what you think 🥰

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

There was still sleep in your eyes as you made your way from the car to the elevator, searching for your badge in your purse. “Thank you for letting me sleep at your place,” you said, looking over at Derek, “I – I have no idea how this would have panned out if not for you.”

Derek pressed the button and the metal doors closed before the little jolt of the cabin notified you of the movement.

“We are all here for you, kid,” he smiled, “You are one of us, you hear me? Anyone in that office would help you if they could. Garcia, Rossi, Reid, Hotch,” – your heart jumped at that – “Prentiss, me. All of us, okay?”

The elevator stopped, and you smiled. “Okay.”

Arriving at the office was nothing like what you had imagined your glorious return from PTO to feel like. For one, you had seen yourself wearing a glamorous new outfit that showed everyone just how happy you were to be back and how confident you were in returning to your post. Most importantly, it would’ve given you the emotional support to think that Hotch’s presence wouldn’t have any impact on your confidence.

Admittedly, what you had not thought about during your holiday was what it would look like to your colleagues when you and Derek would arrive at the same time, both carrying coffee mugs that said his name, and his shirt thrown over a dress that you clearly had not planned on wearing.

“Well, aren’t you just the cutest?” JJ teased you, rounding the corner of your desk to sit down opposite you, “Disappearing without another word to get some,” she drew bunny ears in the air, “relaxing and,” – another set of bunny ears – “soul-searching done and now you show up with Morgan? Way to go, my friend.”

“Shut up,” Derek laughed, throwing back the last of his coffee, “You don’t want to know what she looks like under that shirt.”

You laughed, too, your heart feeling fuller by the minute of being surrounded by your team again. “It really isn’t –”

“You look like shit,” Emily greeted you dryly, a teasing smile on her lips as she crossed her arms, “Was it worth it at least?”

“We have no time for small talk,” Hotch’s voice sounded from the door to the conference room, “Everyone at the roundtable now.”

It should have stopped being surprising how put together he could look in the middle of the night, but your eyes still lingered on the white shirt he was wearing, how his tie seemed a little loose and how that was the only indicator that maybe it had been a little too early for him as well.

Reid and Rossi were already at the table when you entered and you sat down next to the older man with a smile. He threw a pointed look at your shirt and he did not even need to open his mouth for you to know what he was about to say.

“Shut up,” you grinned and he only laughed, good-naturedly patting your knee when JJ threw on the presentation.

“Alright, we have a child abduction in Montana,” Hotch opened. The image of a teenage girl was projected onto the wall. Blonde, blue eyes, preppy cheerleader outfit.

“Grace Donovan, 15 years old, was last seen at dinner with her parents when they reported her missing two hours ago.”

“It’s the middle of the night, how do they know she is missing?” you asked, frowning at the image, “Are they sure she is not out with her friends?”

You watched as Hotch opened his mouth to say something when his eyes met yours. And then they roamed over you, landing on the shirt you were wearing and Derek next to you and you could see the frown forming on his face.

Shit.

“She is not in her room and none of her friends know where she is,” JJ answered smoothly, not having noticed Hotch’s pause, “That and the security system seems to have been tampered with. This is beyond anything a fifteen-year-old could do.”

You nodded, looking down at the table and trying to avoid Hotch’s eyes on you.

“All right,” he said, throwing a look at his watch, “Wheels up in 10. We have 22 hours left.”

He caught up to you at the door, a dry hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back into the room. If the others noticed, they did not show it, simply leaving the room as Hotch pulled you back to the front.

The blinds were still closed, you noticed, and as the door fell closed behind JJ, you were completely alone with him. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes completely taking him in. Standing tall at the end of the desk, he eyed you and your skin tingled wherever his eyes seemed to land – your calves, your thighs, your torso, your face.

When you had handed in your PTO request after an entire week of being ignored by him, you had fooled yourself into thinking that maybe distance was what you needed. That distance would get you to see him in another light and not the one where you thought about what dirty things his voice could whisper in your ears late at night.

Clearly, the racing of your heart proved that that was not the case. That even time and distance away from him didn’t get rid of the sudden need to feel his arms around you. Or his lips on yours. Or his hand between your –

Until he opened his mouth.

“Need I remind you of the fraternisation policies the FBI has in place, Agent?”

“Hotch –“

“I understand that you have been gone for two weeks and, quite frankly, it should be none of my business what you two get up to in your private time so make sure it remains none of business. Understood?”

“It – it’s not what it looks like!” you protested, knowing what must have been going through his head. But what was worse was that you weren’t sure if you wanted to convince him of the truth because of the FBI rules or because you wanted him to know the truth.

He made a big step towards you and you gasped, feeling his body heat radiate so close to you, “And what does it look like?”

You could not say anything, the lack of sleep and confusion at Hotch’s angry demeanour catching up with you. You could not remember the last time you had seen him so upset at you. Openly upset.

“I see you, wearing clothes that clearly have been worn a whole,” he started again, his voice cutting through the silence, “Shorter hem than usual, deeper cleavage, formfitting. Obviously showing off the best parts of your body. On top of that, I see a shirt that clearly does not belong to you. When I called Derek at four in the morning, he said JJ needn’t contact you because you were already there with him, which leads me to believe that this,” he tugged at one of the buttons, “is Agent Morgan’s shirt. Am I wrong?”

Had he just said you were attractive?

He scoffed, “I didn’t think so. So now, what does it look like?”

“Josh kicked me out,” you blurted out, swallowing thickly at how close he was to you, “Derek found me in a diner after, uh,” slowly you lifted the hem of the shirt, revealing the red-yellowish condiment massacre on the fabric, “He gave me his couch to crash on.”

Hotch did not say anything, a tiny furrow between his brows. You glanced down and saw his forefinger and thumb pressed together.

“I know the FBI rules, Hotch,” you continued with a small voice, “And I, uh, I am really not interested in Morgan like that. He was a friend when I needed one.”

“Why were you in a diner of all places?” he asked.

“I – I didn’t know who to call,” you shrugged, “I was emotional and confused and it was the closest thing that was dry and warm and open.”

For the longest time, he did not say anything and you kept looking at him. Your hand was still in his and sometime during his speech they must have slipped from your wrist to interlace with your fingers and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

He was so close.

“Next time you call me,” he said slowly, his other hand going to grab something from the inner pocket of his jacket.

You looked down at the little white square in his hands, “I already have your business card, Hotch,” you reminded him gently.

“This is, uh,” he cleared his throat, letting go of your hand like it was burning him, “This is my personal contact information.”

“Oh,” you said dumbly, looking at him with wide eyes before the reality of the situation hit you, “oh.”

You took the offered card, keeping it close to your chest as if he would decide to snatch it away from you any second. “Thank you,” you mumbled, cheeks and ears warm as your heart began to race, “I should probably go and – “

“Yes,” he nodded slowly, “You probably should.”

*

Hotch did not know what he had been thinking when he confronted you in the conference room.

He probably had not been thinking at all.

And when was the last time that had happened?

The team was quiet as everyone found their place on the jet, settling into their respective routines. Even after years of work, late-night and early-morning calls never got any easier. And despite the worry for the missing girl on everyone’s mind, exhaustion was slowing everyone down.

The first talk over the files had already happened as soon as the jet had started. Now all they needed was to wait.

“We won’t get any new information until we are there,” he announced, “So everybody get some rest while you can.”

General murmurs of agreement sounded all around him and as he set up his laptop on the table in front of him, he saw Reid settling down on the couch, Derek and JJ sitting opposite each other, each occupied with their own books while Emily seemed to be choosing which playlist to listen to.

He tried to ignore the fact that the only free seats now were with him and Rossi.

“How long will the flight be?” your voice piped up from the galley way at the back of the plane. You were wearing different clothes now. Jeans and a colourful blouse. Flowers, he recognised at a second glance at the same time as he turned away, because why did he need a second glance?

“Come join us,” Rossi offered, opposite to him and motioned to the seat right next to Hotch. His jaw tensed but he kept his eyes on the laptop screen, trying to focus on what the PD had already sent him.

“Thank you,” you smiled, sitting down next to him and he tried to ignore how your thigh brushed against his.

“Tired, huh?” Rossi commented motioning to his face, “You got that look of someone who had a long night.”

“Well, it is five in the morning, Rossi,” you answered good-naturedly, “I don’t think any of us have gotten enough sleep tonight.”

“Right, you are,” the older man said, reaching into his bag in the seat next to him,

Silence fell over the jet. “What are you doing?” you asked quietly, looking up at him. Not because you wanted to, obviously, but because you tried to show him you were not trying to look at government documents without his permission. And the soft look in your eyes, he argued, was just because you were tired.

“The responsible detective sent over some of his personal notes from the first victim,” He explained, his fingers tingling as he remembered how your hand had felt in his, “I wanted to get a head start on them.”

You hummed in understanding. “Always working, Agent Hotchner.”

His lips quirked up, “Is that critique I hear, Agent?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you grinned, a sparkle in your eyes that made his heart jump in his chest in a way he had not experienced in a very long time.

This was going to be a long flight.

And well, if your head fell onto his shoulder while you were sleeping, who was he to wake you?