#was supposed to meet my friend a full hour ago

[splicejunction]

I love how any amount of rain at all has the entire infrastructure of the bay area throwing up and killing itself

[calico-kiwi]

someone save me helllpppppp

[kurooh]

❆ BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE !

KINKMAS 2024 — holiday hatefucking + sukuna ryōmen

❆ desc. a record breaking blizzard blasts through your city, causing thousands of power outages & frozen pipes. what’re you & your sworn enemy of a roommate to do when it seems to last all night?

❆ warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, hatefucking, some degradation, pussy slaps, orgasm control, arguing, resolving misunderstandings, facesitting, one bed trope. | 6.0k words

“just like everything else, this is all your fault!”

“really, princess? last i checked, i can’t control fucking climate change.”

sukuna’s always been testing your patience, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with daily arguments and snarky comments. you let out a peeved sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. “of course you’d refer to weather as climate change. if i were you, i’d at least mask my stupidity better.”

“tch,” he manages, wordlessly rolling his eyes as he lamely tries to think of a comeback. anger boils in his stomach and burns through his veins, hot as magma. “you’re calling me stupid when you’re the one who fell into the toilet a few days ago, at three in the morning.”

“yes, and that happened because my inconsiderate asshole of a roommate didn’t put the lid down!”

“you deserved it,” sukuna scoffs, dismissing you with a wave of his hand as he turns on his heel. “go take your toilet ass to bed. g’night.”

you’re fuming with anger, but there’s no point in saying anything now that he’s walking away with no intention to listen to you. sukuna’s footsteps disappear into the darkness of his room, and he slams the door behind him.

how insufferable.

living with sukuna ryōmen meant you could never catch a break. between his occasional apartment-trashing parties and stormy demeanor, there was zero chance to turn things around. the feuds had started not long after you first met, and surprisingly, the two of you had actually hit it off pretty well.

your first meeting took place on a street corner downtown, right in the middle of the college district. after a horrible date, you had found yourself waiting on the corner for your delayed uber when sukuna pulled up on his motorcycle, extending his hand. at the time, you didn’t question his kindness, wrapping your arms around him and talking his ear off about being a student. he dropped you off at your apartment and offered to help you sign a new lease, after you had confessed how hard it was living in a dorm with so many fees.

initially, living with sukuna went well. the sexual tension was at an all-time high, but the two of you were always too busy (or afraid?) to make a move on it, so you remained friends. it was when his friends came over for a party during an important study night for you that things changed for the worse. they had been lounging on the couch, drunk and talking way too loudly about you.

remembering the things they said about you still makes you grind your teeth as you stomp down the hallway, pausing at the darkened screen of the thermostat.

“sukuna!” you yell, reading the numbers. “the temperature’s dropping further!”

“. . it’s a power outage,” he calls back after a moment, his voice muffled by the door. “what do you expect?”

it’s pointless but it makes you feel better, so you raise your middle finger to his door before walking off to your room. your door swings open, and you slide off your slippers, preparing to get into bed and wait it out, but you’re met with the not so soft material of the bare mattress.

oh, that’s right.

not long ago, the tv had been glowing with endless reports of the incoming blizzard. it was supposed to hit the city full force in a few hours. expecting a power outage, you’d thrown all of your sheets and blankets into the wash so you’d sleep well during the night in a warm, clean bed. it was as if the blizzard had a personal score to settle—it barreled through the city and prepared to stay, leaving hundreds of people without power or functioning pipes due to the freeze.

now that your apartment has no electricity at all, your sheets and blankets are left soaking in the washing machine downstairs. instead of breaking down and screaming out of frustration, you manage to pull it together with a few deep breaths before marching over to sukuna’s room. it’s entirely sickening that you even have to ask him for something like this, but you put the thought out of your mind and raise your closed fist to the door.

sukuna’s ears twitch when he hears the thumping at his door, and he gets out of his bed to go investigate. he rubs the tiredness away from his eyes and opens the door to see you standing in front of him.

“what now? did you come to tell me it’s snowing outside?”

“no, i didn’t,” you grit out, wringing your hands together, “remember i put my all my bedding in to be washed?”

“remember when i told you not to?”

“yes, thank you!” you reply brightly, “they’re currently soaking in the washing machine and i have nowhere to sleep without getting a bad case of hypothermia.”

“hm. you could always try the couch and some paper towels from the kitchen,” he suggests dryly, pulling the door shut. stubbornly, you push your foot in the way to stop him. “woman,” he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “if you think i won’t slam this door on your foot, you are sorely mistaken.”

it’s a risk you’ll have to take; you don’t budge an inch, looking up at him furiously. “just for tonight, i’m asking you to let me sleep in your bed.”

“i thought you hated me,” he hisses, “i could feel your little middle finger through the door.”

“i do, but if you had this problem, i’d actually help you, because i’m a good person!”

“keep telling yourself that,” sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically, letting his jaw go slack to mock your stupidity, “i would never have this kind of problem, because i’m not as dumb as you are.”

the wooden edge of the door starts to press into your slipper and a rush of panic strikes you square in the chest. your jaw tightens as hesitate, frustrated with the idea you have to convince him with. finally, your lips part, and the words tumble out sloppily, piling up into a debt you’ll be obligated to pay. “fine, fine . . . sometime i can make it up to you. i’ll even clean up the apartment after a party without any lip.”

sukuna crosses his arms, and the veins ripple beneath the skin with the movement. “oh, i hadn’t thought of that. i would love to see you clean the place without complaining as you usually do. although . . you did say anything.”

“yes, that’s right.”

where is he going with this?

his crimson eyes gleam with some kind of wolfish delight as he mulls over everything he could possibly impose on you. “perhaps i’ll save it and torment you while i think of something.”

“so, can i share the bed?” you urge, slipper tapping on the carpet impatiently.

sukuna offers a hand, and you can feel his black nails dig into your skin when you accept it. he moves out of the doorway at last, sticking out his foot and successfully making you stumble. you nearly faceplant into the carpet but manage to save yourself, biting your tongue even though all you want to do is shout at him.

sukuna simply gets into bed and tugs the blankets over his body, but he looks over at you in confusion when he notices you stacking a wall of pillows between your bodies.

“god, i am not that vile. i showered earlier and i washed my sheets yesterday,” he grouses, eyebrows pulling downwards in annoyance.

“i’m sure you did,” you assuage him dismissively, “i just wanna make sure we don’t touch once in the time that we sleep in this bed.”

sukuna fiddles with his silver lip piercings, tongue prodding into the backings impatiently while his fingers twist at the small spikes. “damn. are you done yet? goodnight.”

“goodnight.” you mutter, dropping down hard against the bed with your back facing his.

sukuna is what every daredevil wishes they could be. he is unique, with different piercings and dark, sharply lined tattoos that compliment his features naturally. all of his piercings had been acquired from bets or dares—he’d gotten his eyebrow done after his brother yuji beat him in a fight (he let him win because he wanted the piercing), his snake bites because he’d been dared (he did it himself with a hot needle and bent paperclips to keep the holes open since it was 1 am and all the jewelry stores were closed), and his ears when he won an eating contest (it was on yuji’s dime, so he got the most expensive jewelry too).

as you drift off, feeling warmer beneath all the blankets, you feel the tension leaving your body. for tonight, you’ll let go of your anger towards him and enjoy the pleasant moment and his rare generosity.

your eyes blearily open to the soft rays of morning sunlight shining through the gaps between the curtains, illuminating the dust in their thin columns over the bed. you let out a yawn, snuggling further into the soft pillows you’d set up the night before—but then your heart jumps into your throat and heat sears its away across your face when you register the warm body nestled against yours.

the position is so natural that it’s as if you slept like this for hours; it’s abhorrent, seeing sukuna sleeping like a baby, his breaths nothing more than quiet huffs into your neck. as the vestiges of sleep start to fade away, you’re all too aware of the sculpted muscle pressing firmly against your body. at some point, sukuna decided to take off his shirt, as evidenced by his bare chest against you.

outside, the sky looks to be a little cloudy, and the branches of bare trees are weighed down with layers of snow. looks like the blizzard came to a stop sometime in the middle of the night.

sukuna’s hand squeezes your side lightly, and he lets out a soft groan, tugging you closer. “ew, what the hell!?” you jerk back immediately, heart pounding wildly in your chest like a caged bird. an uncomfortable heat settles over you as the reality of the situation fully sinks in. he’s still asleep, fumbling around to grip onto you. your breath catches in your throat with each of his confused movements, and the warmth of his strong body leaves you dazed for a moment before you consider how wrong this feels. he firmly grabs ahold of your ass to pull you in, and you gasp, slapping his arm as hard as you can.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

he grunts out a curse, letting go of you and blinking awake slowly. his once relaxed face quickly shifts into one of annoyance, and he fixes you with a displeased glare.

“what’s your problem now, woman?”

“you were cuddling me, man.”

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard you wonder if they’ll ever return to their original place.

“to wake me up over something that trivial is ridiculous. it was a cold night and likely happened by accident.”

“no, sukuna!” you protest, hips swiveling as you push yourself into a sitting position. he hisses, jaw clenching firmly; the words die in your throat when you realize the problem—rather, his problem.

“wipe that fucking look off your face,” he snaps automatically. “ever heard of morning wood?”

“excuse me? you were all over—”

immediately, sukuna claps a hand over your mouth, his palm feeling hot against the lower half of your face. your words are muffled, but he knows you’re swearing and protesting at him—the way your eyebrows angrily move tells him enough.

eventually, you go still, opting to lick his skin. he recoils in disgust, wiping his sticky palm on your shirt to get it off. “you’re nasty, woman.”

“that’s not what you were thinking when you were wrapped around me like a koala five minutes ago.”

he doesn’t even know what to say. anger and something more bubbles up fast, scorching through his body before it finally exits through his mouth. “shut the fuck up. you started it last night, pulling me in and shit.”

“me?” you burst out incredulously, eyebrows furrowing as you lean forward, your stare burning holes the size of bullets into his face. “you’re the one who’s embarrassed for having enjoyed it, if your face is any indicator. you know how much i hate you, i’d never—”

you’re too close. beneath the blankets and sheets, your lower body thrashes while you speak, hips knocking into his a few times. each touch has his cock growing harder, throbbing painfully beneath his boxers and pajama pants.

“god, if you’d just stop touching me!” he barks, cheeks ultra hot now. sukuna’s lips pull into a scowl and he glares at you, annoyed with your sudden cluelessness.

“what is your problem now?!”

“it’s you,” he shouts, throwing off the blanket and startling you. “it’s always been you. since we moved in, since the blizzard, since i even agreed to sharing a bed with you! you’re always—” sukuna’s voice splinters and he swallows, pushing forward, leaving mere inches between your faces. “fuck. you’re always driving me insane.”

“back off,” you hiss, voice trembling. a crackling tension hangs in the air between you, heavy with unspoken words and growing anticipation.

“make me.”

“you’re really asking for it, aren’t you, sukuna?”

his lips curl into a wolfish smile and his eyes gleam with a similar intensity, anger blending with something more carnal. “maybe you can show me how much you love to hate me, princess.”

the demeaning nickname falls from his lips easily, as it always does, and you’re determined to make him choke on it.

“don’t you ever shut up?” your nose crinkles at the puffs of breath that brush over your lips. one of sukuna’s eyebrows quirks upward challengingly—your voice no longer has the bite it usually does.

“i only would if you let me use my mouth another way.”

your heart hammers in your chest, and anger still rushes through every inch of your body, but it’s much hotter now, leaving your skin sweltering beneath your clothes. giving in to sukuna ryōmen is a mistake—he’s your insufferable roommate who regularly makes your fists clench with anger, but he’s also the object of your deepest desires.

you’re too far in to back away now.

“go ahead,” you pause to let out a breath. “right now, i’m all yours.”

when you finally lean in to close the distance, your lips collide in a kiss that’s equal parts animosity and desire. it isn’t gentle, and it isn’t soft—it’s raw and furious, so overwhelming he loses himself and pulls you in, black nails digging crescents into your skin. in a manner that’s just as forceful, your hand finds its way to the nape of his neck and yanks him in, causing your teeth to click together sharply. the hungry kiss deepens, and his tongue slips into your mouth, stroking against your own. the deep-seated anger and tension that had been piling on top of each other is finally dissolving into something far worse—something so intoxicating you begin to wonder how you were living without it.

sukuna pulls back breathlessly, unable to look anywhere but your face. a small, glossy string of saliva connects your lips together, a sign of an encouragement to test the waters and continue. surely a heated makeout session would lead you to a crossroads, where you’d be left wondering how much further this could go, with only each other to figure it out.

sukuna coughs out a rueful laugh. “it’s funny, isn’t it?"

“what is it?” you demand, lips tingly from the kiss.

“i find it amusing this took so long to happen. of course, it was bound to eventually.”

“well, it’s only because you can’t keep it in your pants, sukuna.”

“and you can’t keep yours on,” he retorts, hooking his fingers into the flimsy waistband of your pajama pants before sliding them off your legs. now, only a thin layer of fabric hides the place he wants to see most. effectively silenced and now matching his black underwear, you take him in, eyes sweeping over his features. beneath his black tattoos, his skin flushes red, all the way up to the tips of his ears; his mouth is slick and shiny with a mixture of your spit and his own, and the silver spikes beneath his lip gleam temptingly.

“what’s wrong?” he questions expectantly, fingers curling around your chin with surprising force and tugging you forward. “cat got your tongue?”

“maybe i’m just waiting for the right moment to pounce,” you push forward stubbornly, forcing him onto his back so you can straddle him. you silence anything he would’ve said with another kiss, and sukuna’s hands travel from your hips to your ass. he gifts it with a squeeze and a pleasured groan slips out against your lips before he slides his fingers into your underwear.

the rough pads of his fingertips stroke over the skin of your ass while you suck on his tongue impatiently, hips occasionally rolling against his own. to add to each movement of your hips, you tease him a little more, using your teeth to lightly tug at the jewelry of his lip piercings. each moment of friction is something between solace and torture for his cock—it’s adequate, but it’s not enough and he’s dying for more.

you smile against his lips, sneaking a hand between your bodies to play with his cock. it’s an experimental gesture to test the waters, see how he reacts; the moment your fingers come into contact with his thick bulge, he groans, leaning up. one squeeze has him rushing to sit up so quickly his forehead knocks into yours. ordinarily, sukuna would’ve made a scathing comment, but he doesn’t have much to say when he grabs ahold of your wrist and pushes it into his boxers.

it’s a decision that further stokes the long burning fire that’s been ablaze beneath all the arguments and unbearable conversations; it’s something that has it roaring into an all consuming inferno.

“fuck,” sukuna chokes out, nipples hard against your loose shirt while he rests his hands on your ass. “you’re making me fucking crazy.”

you ignore him, rolling your eyes dismissively at his heavy panting and clenching abs. instead, you focus on lavishing his neck with attention in the form of wet kisses along the skin. he shudders a little as your tongue darts out to wet his skin before he eventually decides he’s had enough and cages you in his arms. you’re startled when you’re caught in something akin to an alligator death roll, opening your eyes to see that you’re pinned down beneath him.

“then do something about it,” you suggest, legs spreading without him having to ask.

sukuna groans deeply, his head spinning at the sight of you being this vulnerable in front of him. “take off that shirt now.”

the demand strikes you hard, his voice reverberating to your core. while you busy yourself with doing as he asked, sukuna kicks the pillows and blankets off the bed before positioning himself on his stomach. now, he’s eye level with your thinly covered pussy. he hasn’t seen it yet, but it’s sure to be everything he’s dreamed of. saliva pools on his tongue while impatience propels him forward, and he skates his fingers along your thighs, taking in the softness of your skin.

it’s not enough to simply touch you.

no, sukuna needs to smell you, taste you, feel you, devour you.

he intends to do so.

“what’re you—?” your voice trembles as you look downwards, nipples hardening at the sensual sight. sukuna’s nose is pressed to your thigh, and he’s breathing in with every inch upwards. you had expected something faster, more filthy, but sukuna’s behaving like he’s absolutely been dying for this.

the dull spikes of his lip piercings press into your plush skin and over a small area of your panties when he finally makes it to your hip. wordlessly, he slips his hands under your ass and raises you up while he takes a bit of your panties between his teeth. slowly, they slide down your legs.

a sweltering heat surges up your neck and to your face while another pools in your tummy like magma beneath a volcano. you writhe on the bed eagerly, too excited to have your panties finally out of the way. those fervent crimson eyes stare at your pussy and watch it flutter around nothing before flickering up to yours.

“don’t blame me if you can’t walk later.”

your face drops in annoyance. “why do you always have to ruin good moments?”

“a warning is hardly enough to ruin this.”

“but—”

a harsh, smarting slap to your pussy has you cutting yourself off with a pitched cry of delight that bounces off the walls and into sukuna’s long term memory. he raises an eyebrow, watching you closely as your legs settle and you return to your spread position.

“you liked it, didn’t you?”

“liked? it hurt.”

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” he says, eyeing your dripping, clenching cunt. “i’ll just do it again.”

you roll your eyes, bucking toward him impatiently. you want him inside you, and he’s hung up on moving slow to torture you.

“whatever. just fuck me alr—”

“ah ah,” he admonishes you with a slap that’s much rougher and directed to your clit. against the mattress, his cock swells with arousal. “i intend to fuck you my way. if you have a problem with that, i’d love to see you fight to be on top.”

tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill over and cascade down your cheeks. desperation and unbridled need easily shifts to frustration and anger that has you spitting, “i hate you.”

“don’t be like that. you’re soaking wet,” he points out with a self assured smirk. sukuna spreads your thighs impossibly wider and leans in, letting the tip of his nose graze your clit. the featherlight touch makes your skin prickle all over.

to be honest, you didn’t expect the events of last night to lead you here in the morning. in fact, you assumed you’d wake up on your respective sides of the bed and argue a little about snoring before departing. since most of your interactions usually go that route, this entire situation is shocking—but a small part of you is extremely thankful it’s finally happening.

there had been days so tense you’d considered sex as a solution, but never brought it up.

“s-sukuna!” you moan helplessly, grabbing at the sheets and twisting them beneath your fingers. with his teeth, he playfully nibbles at your folds, savoring the sudden catch of breath in your throat and whimpery cries. your quivering legs settle over his shoulders, and he appreciates the change, utilizing the new angle to pull you closer.

that sharp tongue of his can certainly do more than hurl creative insults all day long—it’s killer, and entirely hypnotic as he sloppily mouths at your cunt. wet slurps and lewd smacks of his lips have you shuddering, eyes rolling back into your skull.

“‘kuna,” you whine, long and drawn out, “don’t stop, d-don’t fuckin’ stop.”

he pushes his thumb into your clit and looks up, lips shiny with your bittersweet slick. “what did you just call me?”

“sukuna,” you lie nervously, trembling beneath his touch and craving more.

“now, girl,” he scoffs, and the new nickname doesn’t sound as demeaning as the usuals. “that isn’t what you said. go ahead and say it again for me.”

you look him in the eyes, feeling small beneath his heavy gaze. “‘kuna. that’s what i said.”

sukuna offers a gratified hum before returning to your sloppy pussy. a glob of spit sparkles in the morning light as it slips down your hole, making more of a mess. “keep calling me that, i like it.”

white hot euphoria zips through sukuna’s nerves as he dines on the wet dessert your pussy is. it’s the best breakfast he could’ve ever had—sweet as sugar and made even better with your decadent moans spurring him on. oh, the way you shakily card your hands through his hair and let your nails scratch over his scalp . . each electrifying touch shoots straight to his cock, and he discreetly ruts into the matress.

his tongue dips between your folds and he groans against you, eyes rolling back when you squeeze down on him like a vice. the once cold room is hot, your bodies feeling feverish from your own shared heat—if you were outside, you’d have melted the snow into puddles.

sukuna has always had an abnormally long tongue. he ponders your reaction to him pushing deeper, but the fluttering of your walls leaves no room for second thoughts.

“sukuna, holy fuck,” you sob, a tear or two running down the bridge of your nose. “y-your tongue, it’s so big—w-wait, wait a second.”

it’s painful to lose the fullness of his tongue, but you pull back and cup his face in your hands, looking down at him with a desperate look he won’t be able to refuse. “can . . can i ride your face, ‘kuna?”

you’re so cute with that little pout and those glossy eyes begging for more. sukuna smiles meanly, the lower half of his face dripping with your essence while his teeth gleam sharply.

“you liked my tongue that much, huh?” you nod, looking a little dazed as he gets onto his back. he helps you swing a leg over him, but before you sit down, his hand lands hard against your ass. “shit, you’re such a dirty girl. jus’ begging for me to get you off, aren’t cha? show me how much you fucking want it.”

you whimper, gasping out some kind of affirmative answer. sukuna tenses his tongue and sticks it upwards, then tugs you down impatiently.

“shit!” you squeal, startled by how fucking long his tongue is. it fills you up almost entirely, probably an inch and a half short of your cervix. whiny ooh’s and ah’s fall from your lips as you unsteadily rut your hips into his face, grinding your clit hard into his nose. “sukuna, ‘m close, you’re gonna make me cum . . ”

“you’re gonna make yourself cum, girl. ‘s all you.”

his voice is muffled, but you can somewhat hear him over the lewd squelches and noisy moans that fill the room. despite it all, he’s got stars in his eyes as he watches you ride his tongue to oblivion—stringy drool slips past your lips and your tits bounce deliciously while your face crumbles in euphoria.

“oh my god,” you weep, voice breaking, “‘m gonna cum on your fuckin’ tongue—”

one blissful tremor is the precursor to so many more. your jaw becomes slack and tears run down your face as you finally reach your high.

“‘kuna, ‘m cumming!”

the stifling tightness in your tummy finally snaps and leaves you a convulsing mess on his tongue, shaking so hard your teeth inevitably begin to chatter. sukuna smacks his lips, almost entirely satisfied—but then he roughly lifts you and sits you down on his chest.

you’ve got hearts in your eyes and you’re obviously drunk on him, ready for more.

“clean it up,” he demands, tilting his head to the side. without question, you lean forward and kiss him, tasting yourself with a moan. a groan rumbles deep in his chest when you pull back and start to sloppily lick at his cheek, tongue running over his tattoos. “good girl.”

“sukuna, i need—i want . . ” you flounder breathlessly, unsure of how to ask him.

he slaps your ass, scarlet eyes darkening lustfully. sukuna clicks his tongue, egging you on. “beg for it.”

“beg?” you ask incredulously, grinding your cunt into his abs. “i hate begging.”

“then you don’t get what you want, simple as that.”

“but—”

“no buts, girl.”

“f-fine,” you cede, afraid of being left unsatisfied, “please, i need your cock inside me . . i need you to fuck me hard.”

“there she is,” sukuna coos, flipping you over and reversing your positions so he’s above you, “my nasty slut. you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

you nod weakly, which has him flipping you onto your stomach and huskily growling into your ear. “fucking say it, princess.”

“all yours,” you slur your words, limply letting him maneuver your body.

“on your knees,” he pauses to gather your wrists together behind your back, pulling you toward him. “that’s right.”

with his free hand, sukuna tugs his boxers down so quickly the fabric audibly tears, and he tosses them over his shoulder.

the room is a disaster. blankets and sheets hang off the foot of his bed while pillows litter the carpeted floor in every direction. not to mention the discarded pajamas and underwear scattered around as well, evidence of the storm between yourself and your roommate.

your cunt is throbbing by the time he guides the tip of his spit slicked cock between your folds. it’s bulbous and fucking huge as it presses into you, slow and deep. sukuna tosses his head back with a loud groan when his cock bottoms out, pulsing against your cervix.

“loosen up, girl,” he grunts, your sticky walls bearing down hard around his cock, “can’t fucking move.”

“w-wait,” you whimper, nearly falling forward. your jaw hangs open loosely as you try to fathom the stretch and fullness his cock imposes. “‘kuna, you’re too big, i can’t—”

“please, this sloppy pussy was made for me,” he huffs, drawing his hips back and leaving merely the tip of his cock inside of you. “jus’ take it. you can and you will.”

he says nothing else before shoving forward, plunging his cock as deep as it can go inside you. it thickly pushes past rings of muscle and stretches you open, filling your ears with wet squelches. he sets a ruthless rhythm into place, focusing on taking your ability to walk tomorrow. tears pathetically pour down your cheeks and fall from your jaw to the damp sheets below, and you no longer can control all the noise you’re making. babbled cries of yes! and inaudible moans fall from your bitten lips, all of it spurring sukuna on.

“hah, shit,” he rasps, unable to tear his eyes away from where you’re connected—his cock slides in and out of your creamy pussy rapidly, the smacks of skin against skin sounding like an applause. “b-been waiting for this, goddamn.”

“i thought you hated me,” you wail desperately, feeling each thrust of his cock in your lungs. whenever the tip roughly kisses your cervix, your cunt squeezes around him while you cry out something incomprehensible.

sukuna pushes his tongue into his cheek, digging his black nails into your wrists tightly. “you were the one who hated me the whole time.”

“i-i didn’t!” you protest weakly, struggling to recall what you were just about to say. “it was you who started it—with your friends!”

“what’d we do?” he groans, pushing his free hand through his hair to remove the strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“uh, you—right there!—you were . . ”

“did i already fuck you dumb, girl?” sukuna snarks, his palm coming down hard across your ass. “can’t even remember, hm? perhaps if you weren’t so busy slutting yourself out for me you’d have something to fuckin’ say.”

his words are bitter, but they manage to help you recall your memory. “you were talking shit about me, a-and you threw that party the night before a big test i had—shit, ‘m gonna cum!”

“ah ah,” he snaps, voice edged with something domineering and dangerous. you’re pulled back by your numb wrists, and sukuna leans forward to speak directly into your ear: “you don’t get to cum until i fuckin’ tell you to. now, girl—finish that story for me.”

a miserable sob tears past your lips, “sukuna, i-i can’t, ‘m gonna cum right now—”

your wrists are released, making you fall forward into the mattress. your head can’t stop spinning and you’re in no state to catch yourself, so instead you accept the new position mutely.

the palm of sukuna’s hand presses into the crown of your head and his nails dig into your scalp while his warm breath fans against the shell of your ear. “don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses arbitrarily. “i said to finish the story.”

“i-i heard them saying horrible things about me!” you babble gaspingly, “i think you went along with it . . i didn’t hear you telling them to stop.”

“so that’s why you hated me?”

“yes! god, but i didn’t really—i wanted to talk about it s-sometime, but not right now!”

he chuckles ruefully, letting your head go. “now, girl. if i’d known something so stupid was the reason you’ve supposedly hated me, i would’ve taken care of it much sooner.”

you cry into the sheets, feeling the telltale throb of his thick cock deep inside you. “please—please lemme cum!” the words slur together, making you sound truly cock drunk.

“alright, princess,” sukuna hisses, teeth sinking into his lower lip, “go ‘head and let it allll out. cum all over this fucking cock, lemme feel it.”

stars flicker across your vision, and you cum with a broken cry that tears from your throat almost painfully. your gummy walls grip him like a vice, sucking the cum out of his cock. with a drawn out groan, he finally cums, collapsing on top of you and panting into your shoulder.

as you come down together, high pitched beeps fill the house. the microwave and oven come back to life, and the lights in every room snap on as the power is restored at last.

“goddamn,” he huffs, pulling you into a sideways spooning position without letting his cock slip out of you.

“tired?” you ask hoarsely, tired eyes running over his sweaty, flushed face. “clearly, that took a lot out of you.”

“me?” sukuna barks in offense. “look at you, you’re the one covered in tears.”

you pull out of his arms, whimpering breathily as his cock slides out of your pulsing cunt. the base of it is covered in creamy rings while the rest of his length shines wetly. sukuna spreads your trembling thighs and groans loudly at the sight—frothy globs of cum spill from your weeping hole, which clenches around nothing hungrily.

truthfully, sukuna would never be able to rid himself of the memory of your cunt swallowing his cock eagerly. the slip and slide paired with the immense heat had nearly made him cum on the spot . .

sukuna’s chest heaves with each breath as he lolls his head to the side to observe you. “for the record, i’m no longer friends with those vile people. cut it off right after they came into my home and started talking shit about you.”

embarrassment crashes over you like a wave. “wait, you never told me about that!”

“you stopped talking to me and decided to be argumentative all the goddamn time.”

you roll your eyes, looking off the bed awkwardly. a few pillows are scattered on your side, and you reach over to pick them up, tossing them to the foot of the bed.

“anyway, how did my pillow wall get destroyed?”

“don’t get upset.”

“what did you do?” you question him accusingly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“after you fell asleep, i moved two of them.”

“i used six different pillows!”

he dismisses you with a wave of his hand, smirking at the frustrated shock that takes over your features. “i thought it’d help me figure out what your problem was in the morning. obviously, it did.”

you snatch a pillow and hit him right in the face with it, savoring the moment of justice like high quality chocolate. “there. that’s what you get.”

sukuna rips the pillow from your hands and hurls it across the room, turning over to you with a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“you were saying?”

[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[pretentious-blonde]

insecurity

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: after you become closer to a certain metalhead, steve can't stop the insecurities that stem from his previous relationship. when it all becomes too much, you are left to deal with his outrage.

warnings: arguments, angst, steve is mean, panic attack (fluff ending ofc)

a/n: idk, this was supposed to be short and sweet but i got carried away!

The bell above you jingled as you entered Family Video, stopping briefly to glance around the shop for a certain brown-haired boy who had managed to capture your heart a little over six months ago. It didn’t take long to spot him, a grin plastered on his face as he stood behind the counter. With crossed arms, leaning his hip against the wooden edge, nodding along half-heartedly to whatever Robin was saying. She sat cross-legged on the desk, arms moving wildly as she spoke, her face lighting up as she noticed your presence. 

“There she is! Finally, I can’t tolerate this man for much longer,” she says with a huff, kicking her feet off the counter and pointing at Steve who was clearly not as into the conversation as she was. His attention hasn’t strayed from you since you came in. “Your turn.”

“Lucky for you,” he begins, briefly glancing in Robin’s direction, pointing back towards her as you rounded the corner to emphasise his point. “She tolerates me for hours.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek as you leaned into him, whispering a hello before smirking in Robin’s direction. “I’d say it’s more than tolerating,” you add.

Steve has a smug look on his face at your comment, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer. You can feel the warmth he radiates through his jumper, his fingers finding your jaw to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. 

The moment between you both was swiftly interrupted by a loud gagging noise. “Okay. I’m third-wheeling. Gross.” Robin stated as she hopped off her makeshift throne with a huff.

You roll your eyes, still trapped in Steve’s embrace, not ready to let go just yet. “You sure you’re not just jealous Rob?”

“Pssh,” she scoffs as she throws a VHS tape from one hand to the other. “Sure. If I wanted someone who can’t alphabetise for shit, then yes. I’d be all over Harrington.”

“Ouch,” Steve pipes up from your side. “Also I don’t want to hear anything from you after what you did to the returns bin. It’s chaos.”

“Organised chaos, maybe,” she replies as she points the VHS directly at Steve. “My system is far superior.”

You glance over at your boyfriend, a look of disbelief at her previous statement, he was about to interrupt but Robin quickly changed the subject. “I thought you were supposed to come by here yesterday? Or was I making that up?”

“Oh, I was. But Dustin asked me last minute if I was free,” you tell her. “He introduced to to his friend—Eddie? I think he mentioned him before. We all hung out for a bit.”

The words slip out of your mouth naturally and a small smile graces your lips as you remember the day before. What you don’t notice is the way Steve stiffens beside you. His hand, which was fitted perfectly against your shoulder, tensed slightly. Unbeknownst to you. 

“Eddie?” He asks, forcing his voice to stay light and cheerful. He wouldn’t dream of dampening your bright mood. Not when you had gone out of your way to drop by and see him. Although, that fact did nothing to stop the unsettling feeling in his stomach. 

You nod enthusiastically as he pays you his full attention, admiring the way your hair bounces along with your movements. It briefly distracts him from overthinking, that is, until you open your pretty mouth again. “Yeah, you know Dustin—he’s always finding new people to drag into his D&D world. Eddie’s super into it, too.”

His jaw tightens, his smile falters and he hopes to god you don’t notice, masking it with a casual nod. Eddie Munson, he thinks and cannot help the bitterness he feels. Of course, he remembers the metal head from high school, Dustin had been mentioning him more too. He never cared about popularity, the social hierarchy. Just… did his own thing. No matter what others thought of him. 

Steve was all Ralph Lauren polos and Members Only jackets, tender smiles and sickly sweet kisses. Eddie was band patches and ripped jeans, unapologetic and confident. Not like Steve at all. The total opposite in fact.

He glances at you in the corner of his eye, then quickly back to the counter, the knot in his chest growing tighter. He knew, he knew, he was reading too much into it, but he just couldn’t stop himself. Especially after Nancy broke his heart. It was only when he met you that it began to heal again. 

Is that what you’re into? The carefree, rebellious type? While Steve has spent his entire high school career trying to fit the mold, Eddie has smashed it. And what did he have to show for it? A washed-up ex-popular kid working at a video store? Not a lot, clearly.

“So… what did you guys get up to?” He asks, fiddling with the pen on the desk, trying to act as indifferent as possible. 

“Not much. Just hung out, talked about D&D for a bit,” you reply with a shrug. “Dustin thinks he is some kind of genius when it comes to that game.”

Robin chimes into the conversation, unaware of the tension radiating from the brunette next to you. “Well, if you’re into D&D Eddie is the go-to around here,” she tells you. “It sounds like you’re his next recruit.”

Steve’s laugh is forced this time, and you notice it, a small frown appearing on your face. He curses himself internally, quickly leaning over to place a kiss on the side of your head, a reassuring gesture for the both of you. “Sounds fun,” he says softly. “Maybe next time I could tag along.”

Just so he can see what Eddie’s intentions are, see if he is testing his luck with you. He has already lost one girlfriend to another guy so it seemed like a normal thing to investigate. Nothing weird about that… right?

You laugh and shake your head, patting his broad chest playfully. “Trust me, Steve, you don’t have to do that. D&D is certainly not your thing.”

He deflated at your statement, even though it was definitely true. He lets out a chuckle to ease the insecurity he is feeling. “Yeah, I’ll leave the nerd stuff to Dustin and Eddie,” he says, trying to play it off as nothing serious. 

You see the sad look that penetrates his features, mistaking it for him just feeling left out. You grab his hand and give it a small squeeze. “Am I still alright to come over to your tomorrow? Evening sound good?” You ask, hoping he could see how much you still wanted to spend time with him, despite your new friend.

“Of course, angel,” he replies, completely melting at the soft tone of your voice, looking up at him with those gentle eyes of yours. You could probably make him do anything with that expression on your face. He can’t resist stealing another kiss from you when you look like that. You smile up at him as he reluctantly pulls away. 

“Okay, great!” You wave as you make your way to the door, bell ringing as you open it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watches you leave until you are no longer visible, the tightness in his stomach easing ever so slightly at the thought of having you all to himself tomorrow. Just him. His girl. 

As soon as he turns around, Robin is smirking directly at him, arms crossed across her chest. “So, what’s the deal with Eddie?” She asks, her tone teasing. “You gonna join Hellfire now?”

Steve rolls his eyes at her, already dreading the incoming round of quips. “Hell no, I’m not touching that stuff.”

“Aw, c’mon Steve. I think you would make a great dungeon master,” she doesn’t even bother trying to hide the laugh that is bubbling in her throat. “You certainly are dramatic enough for it, you know? ‘King Steve’ and all that.”

“Yeah right,” he mutters, growing more irritated by the second. He usually had all the time in the world for her jabs, but currently? The tapes in his hands were the most interesting thing in the world to him as he tried to brush her off. “I’m retired from the whole ‘king’ thing, remember?”

She grins as she leans across the wooden counter, standing on her tiptoes to get closer to him. “True, true. But at least we know Eddie is pretty chill now, we don’t just have to take Dustin’s word for it.”

There it is, that name again—Eddie. He says nothing as he grabs more tapes off the side. Not that it served any purpose, just anything to keep his hands busy and mind preoccupied. 

“I mean, I have never really spoken to him,” she continued as she paced the shop floor, stopping only to place another VHS in her ‘newly organised’ returns section. “But he’s got that whole ‘rebel without a cause’ thing going on. You know? It’s pretty admirable.”

Yeah, I know, Steve thinks sourly. That’s precisely the problem. He does know. The free spirit who never once cared about fitting in, or pleasing anyone, and now here he was—Dustin’s new best friend and the subsequent new guy in your life. 

“Yeah, well,” Steve forces out another fake laugh, just as badly hidden as the first. “Good for him.”

Robin turns to face him directly, noticing the strain in his voice. “You’re not… jealous, are you?”

Her question catches him off guard, fumbling with the tape in his hand and nearly dropping it. “What? No. Why would I be jealous of Eddie Munson?”

“Alright, alright, no need to get defensive,” she holds her hands up in surrender, her eyes still trained on him. “It’s just… I don’t know. You’re acting weird?”

He didn’t respond right away, focusing on a blank point between two VHS tapes in front of him, he repeated the question in his mind. Weird? He wasn’t being weird. Was he?

Shrugging his shoulders casually, he glances at the clock, suddenly wishing for the small arms to go faster so he could see you again—just the two of you. No Eddie. No distractions. Just you and him alone. Maybe then he could stop himself from spiralling. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind for the rest of his shift, not when he had seen this story play out once before, with him ending up on the losing side. 

Laughter filled the cramped space of Eddie’s trailer. Dustin had invited you over here a few hours earlier and now here you were, doubled over on his couch, clutching at your sides as Eddie continues his ridiculous story. “And then—then he turned around and slammed right into the closet door! Swear to God, I thought he was gonna be out cold!” He finished, completely in stitches at his own tale. 

Dustin was practically rolling on the floor at this point, teeth on full show as he tried to get his words out cohesively. “How did you find these people, Eddie?!” He gasped between his giggles. 

You were wiping away the tears from your eyes, way past the point of caring if your makeup was smudged. As you came back to reality, you glanced over at the clock, freezing completely as you registered the time. 

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, your stomach dropping. “Guys, I gotta go. Like—like right now.”

You immediately leapt up off the worn-out couch, grabbing your jacket in a hurry and shoving your feet into your shoes. You had about ten minutes to be at Steve’s front door and had completely lost track of the time. “He’s gonna kill me,” you mumbled under your breath as you reached for your bag. Even though it wasn’t true, it was more likely he would be moping around the living room, glancing at the front door every couple of minutes awaiting your arrival. Just sad that he couldn’t get to spend more time with you. Steve didn’t get angry with you. Ever. 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his form still draped across the couch. “What’s the rush princess? Hot date with Steve?”

You briefly glanced over in his direction, looking increasingly flustered. “Well, yeah,” you admitted. “I was supposed to be there, uh, now.”

Before you could bolt out the door, you heard a groan coming from across the room. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll drive you.” Eddie rose from his seat and grabbed his keys from the coffee table in front of him, twirling them around his finger. “No way I’m letting you bike all the way there.”

You blinked in surprise at his offer. “Really? Are you sure? You honestly don’t have to—“

Eddie waved his hand in your direction, ignoring your concern. “It’s no problem. Besides, I’m not gonna be responsible for you showing up at Steve’s all sweaty and out of breath. The guy would kill me,” He shot a teasing grin in your direction as he headed to the door, holding it open as both you and Dustin ducked under his arm, heading straight for his van. 

The journey was easy, with Eddie being a surprisingly safe driver, music as loud as his personality. In between the heavy guitar riffs that thumped through the radio, he turned to you with a mischievous expression. “So… you and Steve, huh?”

You felt the blush rise to your cheeks at his comment, not getting a chance to respond as he continued. “I just meant you’re good together, you know? I never really saw him as the ‘settle down with a girlfriend’ type. But hey, they say love changes a person.”

You drew your gaze away from the passing trees, unable to hold the smile that had spread across your face. “Yeah, he’s—he’s really great,” you admitted softly. You could barely put into words how great he was without gushing, so that small line would have to do for now. If Eddie only saw how Steve treated you, both in public and private, all his questions would certainly be answered. 

Steve may not have had the same chaotic energy as Eddie or Dustin, but that didn’t matter one bit. Steve was… solid. Reliable. He made you feel safe. Made you feel cherished. 

The long-haired boy next to you shrugged, his tone still kind. “Hey, if Dustin likes him, well that’s saying something. The kid is picky when it comes to his friends.”

Dustin, now making his presence known from the back seat, spoke up. “Damn right!” 

As Eddie pulled up in front of the large house, he leaned over the centre controls, giving you a playful nudge. “Don’t keep him waiting any longer. I bet he is pacing a hole in the floor.”

You playfully glare at him as you pop the door open. “He’s not that bad.”

“Sure,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Well, tell him Dustin and I said hey.”

“Will do,” you replied as you hopped out of the van. You waved at the two of them as they began to drive away, heavy metal music blaring as they faded into the distance. Your smile from Eddie’s previous comment was still lingering on your lips as you bounded up to the front door, excitedly ringing the bell. 

What you didn’t see was Steve had witnessed the entire interaction from his window—your expression as you laughed with Eddie and Dustin, how you looked so at ease and comfortable around them. You hadn’t even known them for that long. The sight twisted something ugly up inside of him, insecurities that were larger than he knew. He didn’t know how to handle them, the thought of being left behind. 

The door swung open after a few moments, and there stood your Steve, leaning casually against the door frame as he looked you up and down. God, he was whipped. “Hey, there you are,” he said with that classic, easy, Steve smile, relief washing over him the second he laid eyes on you. 

You took a step forward, eager to close the distance between the two of you as you wrapped your arms around his waist “Sorry I’m late.”

He chucked as he returned your embrace, sturdy arms enveloping you. “No worries, I’m always happy to wait.” 

The statement was true. Way too true, and that fact started to scare him.

You leaned up to press your lips against his, he was soft, familiar, and for a second, it felt like everything was perfect. He held the door open for you to step inside, the scent of his earthy cologne filled your senses. 

He followed you into the living room, watching you kick off your shoes, holding his arm out just in case you toppled over. He had made that mistake only once in the past, the bruise on your leg was huge. You’re clumsy nature may have been endearing, but he’ll be damned if you hurt yourself on his watch.  

“You didn’t ride your bike?” He asked, subtly trying to figure out exactly why you had gotten out of the familiar van. 

“I was lucky Eddie offered me a lift. I kind of lost track of time,” you said nonchalantly, kicking your shoes into the corner. 

His posture stiffened for the briefest moment at your confirmation. Honestly, he had hoped that what he saw five minutes earlier was just a figment of his imagination. “Oh, cool,” he forced himself to keep his tone light. “That was nice of him.”

You didn’t notice how fake the plastered smile on his face was as you settled onto the couch, already making yourself at home as you reached for the throw blanket. “So, what’s the plan for tonight hm? Movies? Snacks? Oh, did you order pizza?” You rambled, getting more excited with each question. It put his mind at ease a little bit to see you this giddy with excitement. If he let himself believe that he was the cause, maybe he could stop worrying. 

He beamed and moved to join you, resting his head against the pillows as he glanced down at your pure expression. “All of the above, sweetheart. But we are not repeating what you told me a few weeks ago that eating leftover pizza for breakfast was ‘nutritionally balanced’.”

You giggled as you unfurled the blanket, taking extra care to make sure he was fully covered. “It is balanced! Carbs, protein, maybe a vegetable if there’s a stray pepper.”

“Right,” Steve smirked as he drew out the word, trying to get on board with your reasoning. Reaching over for the remote to turn the movie on. 

As the credits for the cheesy rom-com rolled across the screen, you stretched your stiff body out.  You untucked yourself from his side, resulting in a frown from Steve, not quite ready to let you go yet. 

“I still don’t get why we always watch these,” you speak over the ending soundtrack. “All the girl ever does is swoon over the guy, ignoring all the red flags until it’s too late.”

He rests his arm on the back of the couch, placing his chin on top of it to give you his full attention. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his foot with your own. “Such a romantic.”

Steve blushes before turning away, giving you a casual shrug. “I just like them. Who knows, I could always start serenading you under your window, the whole nine yards.”

“Serenade, huh?” You chuckle, angling your head to lean against his arm. “Do you even know how to play an instrument?”

He drew his face towards you, scrunching his nose in your direction. “I can learn. Get some guitar lessons.”

Maybe you like guitar. Eddie plays the guitar. 

You giggle at the mental image of Steve strumming clumsily, tongue poking out in concentration, getting frustrated with the sheet music that would be scattered around him. “Oh, I’d pay to see that.”

He runs his hand through your hair, admiring your soft features illuminated by only the TV screen. “You wouldn’t have to pay. If you wanted it, I’d do it for free.”

He meant every word. If it kept you in his life, he would practise until his fingers bled. 

“Has anyone told you how much of a sap you are?” You ask, but it lacks its usual teasing. 

“Yeah, but I’m your sap,” he replies, words overflowing with tenderness. 

You look at him closely. Really look at him. His loving smile falters slightly under your gaze, eyes flickering downwards to hide his expression more. 

Shifting towards him, you lay a hand across his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart quicken at your touch. “What’s wrong?”

Steve blinks, another smile forced, not quite reaching his eyes. God, why did you have to ask it like that? In a sweet tone, filled with concern. He thought he was good at lying. All those secret parties he held in his parent’s absence, brushing off their questions about various missing decorations that most likely had been broken. Nobody noticed when his heart was broken a few years back. When he could hardly drag himself to work. But somehow, you could pick him apart easily. 

“Nothing,” he lies, trying to brush you off. “Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

He sighs, his fingers tracing an aimless pattern on your shoulder as he avoids looking at you. “Just…us, I guess. Wondering if I’m actually good at this whole ‘boyfriend’ thing or if you’re just humouring me.”

The confession made him feel exposed. He regretted saying anything at all. 

You frown at his admission, “What? Why would you think that?” You can’t hide the shock from your voice. This is the same boy who kept your favourite tea stocked in his cupboard, the same boy who built your entire bookcase when you mentioned you were struggling with the instructions, the same boy who even phoned the doctor’s office for you when you were too scared to talk to the receptionist.  

He ticked every box and more, your heart broke for how he felt. 

“I don’t know…Sometimes I wonder if I’m gonna screw this up. Like, if I’m just temporary.” His eyes are still glued to his lap, unable to look away. If only he didn’t have this much baggage. 

You furrow your brows, reaching up to cup his cheek, tilting his head so he’s forced to meet your eyes. “Steve, you’re not temporary. Okay? You’re not some placeholder to me.”

He leans into your touch, his hand covering yours for a moment. But even though he smiles softly at your words, the doubt still lingers in his eyes.

“I guess we’ll see,” he murmurs, the vulnerability heavy in his voice.

You sigh, realising this is a result of something more going on, but you still give him a gentle look. You have no problem reassuring him. You could tell him one hundred times how cherished he is without complaint. As many times as it took to make the message stick. If that’s what it took, you would gladly do it. 

Steve was buzzing as soon as he got off the phone with Kieth. His presence at the video store was not required today, and he had been planning how to surprise you all morning. Acting as giddy as a high schooler. He hadn’t had the chance to see you since you last hung out at his place and he really wanted to do something sweet. Not out of the lingering insecurity he was feeling, but he wanted to see you happy. Especially when it was because of him. 

He tried to go the extra mile today, waking up early and driving to the nice florist on the other side of town, just to make sure he got the freshest flowers. A little effort from him means a big smile from you—totally worth it in his book. The bouquet was huge, it sat in your usual place, in the passenger seat. He specifically chose your favourite colour as the wrapping paper, and the bow that secured it too. Smiling to himself as he pictured your reaction. 

Climbing the steps to your little apartment, something you were so excited to finally be able to afford with your job, his heart beat with anticipation. He easily fished out the spare key you had given him, smiling as the tiny keychain dangled from it—a tiny VHS tape you had been so proud to find at the flea market, insisting on putting it on yourself because it ‘needed some flair’. It was a thoughtful gesture, it made him feel warm whenever he saw it. 

Holding his breath to not make any noise, he unlocked your door and gently pushed it open, careful not to startle you. His eyes immediately landed on the couch—and his whole world froze. 

There, sprawled out on the couch, was none other than Eddie Munson. Looking the same as he always did, completely relaxed In his worn Metalica t-shirt and scuffed trainers. 

The worst part wasn’t just him. It was you. Your head resting in his lap, and Eddie was absently playing with a strand of your hair. He glanced up at Steve’s entrance and immediately put a finger to his lips, signalling Steve to stay quiet. His blood boiled at the gesture. 

“Shh,” Eddie whispered, gesturing to you. “She’s asleep.”

He was glued to the spot. What the fuck is he doing here?

Eddie carefully lifted your head off his legs, swapping himself out for a pillow, taking extra care not to rouse you. 

“Hey, man,” he greeted casually as he stood, stretching out his arms like this wasn’t the single most infuriating sight Steve had ever seen. “We were just hanging out, watching some trash TV. She was out like a light.”

His voice was still a whisper as he explained what happened, trying to add some humour to the situation. “Probably for the best, I mean. I can watch crappy shit all day, but even this was painful to sit through. No big deal.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. Hard. His grip on the flowers tightened until he could feel a few give way under the pressure. No big deal? You’ve got to be kidding me. He felt a surge of possessiveness course through him, igniting an anger he believed was dormant. His mind began to race, everything he had been trying to ignore had bubbled straight back up to the surface like a ticking time bomb. She is that comfortable to fall asleep on him?!

Eddie, completely oblivious to Steve’s thinly veiled fury, patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry, but I gotta be heading myself. Wayne’ll be wondering where I’ve been.” He said, giving him a small smile as if this was a totally normal situation for the two of you. “Take care, man.” With that, Eddie slipped past him, closing the door silently as he exited. 

The apartment felt eerily quiet as Steve just stood there, staring at the door, trying to wrap his head around what the hell just happened. Unbelievable. He rediverted his attention back to you, still soundly asleep on the couch, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside of him. He crossed the room slowly, as if on autopilot, mind a nasty mix of anger and jealousy. You fell asleep on Eddie. Eddie, of all people. How long were you two just... sitting there like that?

He took a seat in the armchair opposite, memories of the two of you trying to squeeze onto it now bitterly replaying in his mind. The flowers were still clutched in his hand, forgotten in his flood of emotions.

He didn’t want to acknowledge what he had just walked in on. His heart beat painfully in his chest. This is how it starts, right? He thought bitterly. Starts all innocent like this. I’ve seen this before. I’ve lived this before. His mind flashed back to that goddamn Halloween party, to the nights he thought things were fine, only to realise too late that he had been left behind—again.

Steve exhaled sharply, frustration gnawing at him. It’s happening. It’s fucking happening again. He was always second best. His parents, Nancy, Dustin, you. 

He glanced down at the flowers in his hand, the stems crushed from his tense grip. They were supposed to be part of a sweet surprise, a way to make you smile, but now... now they just felt like a cruel joke. With him being the punchline. As per usual.

He set them down on the coffee table and leaned backwards, his gaze locked on your peaceful sleeping form, his mind a mess. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor. He was fuming—so mad he could barely think straight.

The room was in complete silence as you began to stir awake, reaching your arms above your head lazily. You blinked a few times as you returned to reality, the soft haze of sleep still lingering. You heard your back pop and you groaned at the sensation, falling asleep on the couch had been a terrible idea. 

You let out a brief yawn and look around for Eddie, but instead, your eyes land on your boyfriend. He sat across from you, arms crossed tensely, his expression neutral. He wasn’t smiling, which was odd for him. In fact, he looked angry. 

“When did you get here?” Your forehead crinkled in confusion, voice still raspy with sleep as you asked. “Where did Eddie go?”

Steve shifted in the chair, leaning back and spreading his legs further apart. “Eddie left a while ago,” he snapped, his tone was sharp and clipped. “I got the day off work.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” your brain still trying to piece the information together. “You should have called.”

He scoffed as he shook his head, a lock of brown hair escaping to rest against his forehead. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t aware you had other plans.”

You sat up straighter on the couch, trying to ignore the knot forming in your stomach. His tone—he never spoke to you like that. It sounded frustrated, irritated. Like you had done something wrong. You wracked your brain trying to think of anything that would have upset him, eventually coming up short. Eddie’s presence here didn’t even pass through your mind, there is no way Steve would be that possessive. Could he?

“Steve…what’s wrong?” You asked cautiously, concern creeping into your voice. “Why are you mad?”

His brown eyes darkened, his face twisting with an expression you had never seen before. All the insecurity he had been feeling, all the unresolved emotions, came crashing to the surface in a wave of anger. It was frightening. He was frightening you. 

“You wanna know what’s wrong?” He barked out a laugh, one that was filled with no humour. “I come over here, thinking I’m gonna surprise my girlfriend. But instead? I find her asleep on the town freak.”

Your heart sank. He spat the words out as if they tasted vile on his tongue. You never knew that he could be this vicious, the foul name that just spewed from his lips made your throat tighten. “Steve, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice bitter as he continued. “You think I’m stupid? Like I don’t see what’s going on here? You and Eddie. He’s always around, and suddenly, you’re all buddy-buddy with him, falling asleep on his lap like it’s no big deal. I mean—Jesus, sweetheart—how dense do you think I am?”

“Steve, it wasn’t like that,” your voice broke as you struggled to speak. The nickname that had always been filled with such love was now venomous, you struggled to understand what was happening. Why he wasn’t listening? Why wasn’t he trusting you?

“We were just hanging out, watching TV—“

“Oh yeah? Just watching TV? Sure,” Steve spat, getting up to start pacing, the adrenaline coursing through his body was too much. His mind was racing, old memories resurfacing, ones that he would rather not think about only helped fuel his rage. He turned back to you, eyes wild with fury.

“Moved on pretty quick, huh?” He ran a hand over his face, voice dripping with resentment. “I mean, I gotta hand it to you, honey. But you could have tried a little harder before the secret spilt out eventually.”

Tears formed in your waterline as you tried your best not to let them fall. “How could you say that?” You took in a shaky breath. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” he pointed a finger at you. “Don’t act all innocent here. I’ve seen this shit before, okay? Little things that aren’t that little. Don’t play dumb, it’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not!” You protested, not caring about the tears that now flowed freely down your cheeks. “I love you, Steve. Please. Eddie is just a friend.”

He rolled his eyes, your pleading falling on deaf ears. “Yeah, ‘just a friend’,” he muttered hostilely. “Sure.”

His words cut deep, and you felt yourself crumble under the weight of them. You began to panic as you realised there was no way out of this. Not when he was so dead set on believing what he wanted. You could only stare back at him in disbelief, heart breaking at how trivial this argument is. 

“I thought you left this high school crap behind you,” you whispered, scared and unsure of how he would react. 

“Yeah, well, some things never change.” He shot back, his tongue still as fast as it had been back then. He mentioned how he was in school a few times in the past, but now you could really see it. The petty boy who would say anything in the heat of the moment. The boy who could pick the thing that would hurt the most. 

The room fell into a heavy silence, staring at one another, the distance between you growing more and more with each passing second. You could barely recognise the man standing only a few feet away. You wanted to reach out to him, plead with him to just stop. Go back to being Steve. Your Steve. 

“I can’t believe what you’re saying,” you managed to choke out, wiping at your eyes with the sleeves of your jumper. “You’re hurting me.”

Steve hesitated for a moment, a brief flash of guilt flickered across his face at the sight of your tears. His beautiful girl was torn apart by what he was insinuating. But he was too far gone. His misplaced anger was the only thing he could feel right now, pushing him further. “Yeah well, now you know how that feels.”

A sob wracked through your body, his statement feeling like a dagger to your chest. He made his way towards the door to leave, his gaze landed on the stack of VHS tapes by the TV. He knew he should walk away, but a petty bitterness surged through him. He could never resist getting one final jab in. 

“Make sure you return those by the weekend. Late fees now apply, sweetheart.” He sneered, lips turning into a snarl. 

With that, he tossed the flowers he’d brought for you onto the table, the delicate petals now scattered across it. You stared at them, your vision blurred by your tears as Steve stormed out of your apartment. He slammed the door sharply as he left, making you flinch. 

As soon as he was gone, you collapsed onto the couch, finally allowing yourself to cry uncontrollably. You didn’t understand how everything had spiralled so fast. How the man who was so sweet, so kind, had turned into this.

On the other side of the door, Steve’s heart was racing, pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. He leaned against the wall for a moment and shut his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control as the rage he felt dissipated. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty, not over this. He didn’t jump to conclusions, not when the signs were so clear to him. 

He stumbled down the stairs and got into his car, foot pressing down hard on the accelerator as he drove away. Each mile felt heavier than the last. He couldn’t allow himself to question what he had said, besides, it was too late to take it all back now. What he couldn’t answer was why he felt so much more empty as he pulled up to his house. Alone. 

Steve pushed open the door to Family Video, the small bell above him chiming as he trudged inside. It felt like it was mocking him, only adding to his sour mood. He was fifteen minutes late, something that never went unnoticed by Robin.

His eyes looked and felt drained, dark circles framing his eyes from his obvious lack of sleep. The night before had been hell. All he had done was toss and turn, replaying the argument with you over and over again in his head until he was sick of it. His chest ached from all the emotions that were still swirling inside of him. Anger, sadness, and a terrifying amount of regret that he wasn’t sure what to do with. 

Robin was at the counter, tapping away at the computer when she saw him walk in. Her face lit up, clearly excited to spill something. “There you are! You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you. I saw Vicky at the movies yesterday and—“

“Rob, I’m really not in the mood today.” He interrupted her, rubbing a hand over his brows. 

The girl froze, her face contorting with confusion. Usually, Steve lived for gossip like this. In fact, he almost always begged for it.

“Wait…what? You were off yesterday. Shouldn’t you be, like, all refreshed or something? What, did you party too hard without me?”

He shot her a glare, making it crystal clear that something was wrong. Of course, being ever curious, Robin was not going to let this slide. 

“Oh, no. Spill it, Harrington.” She began, leaving the computer to follow his quick steps. “You come in late, looking like shit, and now you’re all moody? Did something happen yesterday?”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his messy hair he hadn’t even bothered to brush. Not willing to humour her at all today. “Robin, please—”

“Please what? I’m not gonna stop asking. C’mon, let it out. I’m all ears. I’ll even sit down for this one.” She says dramatically as she hops up onto the counter, crossing her legs, glancing at him expectantly as if she had all the time in the world. 

Steve groaned loudly. “Fine, fine. You want to know what happened?” He said, exasperated.  “I walked in yesterday, excited to surprise my girl, and guess what I saw? Eddie. Like, she had her head in his lap and everything. They were all over each other. It was disgusting.”

Robin scrunched her eyebrows as she processed his words. “Eddie? The Eddie Munson?” She squinted, looking even more confused. “Are we talking about the same Eddie here? The one who’s completely obsessed with Chrissy Cunningham? I mean, he’s had it bad for her for years. That Eddie?”

“What? Chrissy?” Steve frowned, pausing as her words sank in. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Robin tilted her head at him like he was an idiot. Which she would say was most of the time. “Uh, yeah? He’s been pining after her for, like, ever. He never had the guts to ask her out. Everyone knows that.”

She carried on talking as if this was common knowledge, which maybe it was. The knowledge was just not that common to Steve, apparently. “So Eddie’s into your girl now? Are you sure about that?”

He felt his stomach drop, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest. “I mean… yeah. Pretty sure? He was, like, touching her and they were—“ He stopped halfway through his sentence, doubt now taking over. 

Was that really all he saw? Surely not. He couldn’t have gotten so mad about just that, there had to be more. Only, nothing really came to mind. 

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Touching her, huh? And that exactly happened? No skipping details.”

Steve scratched the back of his head as he tried to recall the events from the evening prior, his anxiety continued to grow as he spoke. “I saw him drop her off at my place the other day. She got out of his van, and they looked all… close. Then, when I went to her apartment earlier, I walk in, and there she is, asleep across his lap.”

Robin took a second to process what he was saying, speaking slowly as she tried to wrap her head around the situation. “So… you’re mad because she fell asleep with him on the couch? While watching TV? That’s what you’re telling me?”

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat, immediately getting defensive, trying to prove that he wasn’t just overreacting. “Well, yeah, but it’s the way she was with him. It was just too… cosy.”

She could not believe what she was hearing as she stared at the boy blankly. “Dude, we do that stuff all the time. Like, every movie night.”

Steve's stomach twisted. He felt sick. “Yeah, but…that’s different. This is—” He couldn’t continue. There was no solid ground for him to stand on. The knowledge of that was overwhelming. Fuck. 

Robin narrowed her eyes, still determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. “Okay, I still don’t get it. What did you do?”

He shifted uncomfortably at her questions, his guilt was building inside of him as the true terror set in. “I, uh… I may have been a complete asshole.”

Her eyes widened at the admission. “Define ‘complete asshole.’”

Steve’s hands shook as he brought them up to his forehead, slightly damp from his growing fear. “I called Eddie the ‘town freak’—fuck—and I—“ He paused and took a breath in, the consequences of his insecurities now coming into the light. “I told her we were over basically…she asked me to stop hurting her.”

Robin’s jaw dropped, feeling outraged at the way her best friend had acted. That was not something she could ever stand beside, no matter how close they were. “You what? Steve, that's fucking insane! I can’t believe you drove her to the point of even having to say that!”

The world seemed distorted as Steve became short of breath, he had to rest a hand on the counter to keep himself steady, the tight grip becoming painful. “I don’t know! I just—it all came out. I couldn’t stop myself—shit. What—what do I do?”

Robin started at him, completely stunned and equally irked. “Steve,” she said, the stern tone felt foreign on her tongue. “This is not just ‘I messed up a little’—you blew it, dude.”

He was breathing faster now, mouth barren, limbs turning slightly numb. The panic had now set in fully. “No, no, no. Don’t say that. I can fix it, right? I always fix it. I have to fix it, Robin. Please, help me fix it!” His voice increased as he got the words out, hands trembling in front of him. 

She looked at him, she was no less annoyed, but she couldn’t help but pity her friend. Especially when he looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown like this. He was a wreck right now and needed someone. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll help you,” Steve sighed in relief, however, she wasn’t finished. “But I’m seriously not happy about any of this. If she doesn’t take you back, you have to deal with it, Steve. This is on you.”

Steve nodded frantically, hair flying everywhere as he clung to the small sliver of hope. “Anything. I’ll do anything. I can’t lose her, Robin. I just… I can’t”

She folded her arms, her face remaining stoic to show her displeasure with him. “Alright. We will think of something, and you better pray to God she hears you out. You have got a lot of sucking up to do Harrington.”

He muttered quiet a thank you, his heart not slowing down. He couldn’t afford to lose you, not over this, not because of his own self-doubt. Please, he thought to himself. Please for the love of God don’t let her leave me.

For ten long minutes, Steve had been standing outside your apartment, heart hammering in his chest as he stared at the shut door. Ten agonising minutes of him just waiting, stalling, trying to muster up the courage to raise his hand and just knock. He could have used the spare key that was burning a hole in his back pocket, but that wouldn’t be right. Not after what he did. He had to do this the right way if he had any chance of forgiveness. This wasn’t a situation that could be fixed with flowers or chocolates. He had spoken to Robin for the whole of yesterday, and they both agreed—he needed to own up to everything that transpired, to apologise, even if it was hard. Even if it was terrifying. 

Because losing you? That wasn’t an option. 

With a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the solid wood. The second he made contact with the door, his stomach flipped. He wanted to run. To turn around and bolt. But he couldn’t. Not this time. He had too much to lose—you. The sweet, kind girl who had always made him feel seen, made him feel held. How could he walk away from that without trying? 

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open, the sight of you nearly knocked all the air out of his lungs. You’d been crying, that much was obvious. Your eyes were red, puffy, and filled with the hurt that he had caused. If that wasn’t enough to crush him, you were clad in one of his old hoodies—one he’d left at your place months ago. Seeing you wrapped up in something of his twisted the knife so deep that he nearly staggered back before he caught himself. 

You immediately moved to shut the door, not willing to let him hurt you more, but Steve panicked. “Please, please, angel don’t,” his voice cracked as he begged to be let in, his hand pushing lightly against the door, so desperate to keep it open. Desperate to not be shut out before he could even try to say sorry. “I need to talk to you. Please.”

You paused, removing your hand and gently taking a step away from the entrance. You crossed your arms as you looked at him, still visibly upset, your voice sharp but exhausted. The tone pulled at his chest. “You’ve got five minutes Steve. Then I want you out of here.”

He nodded eagerly, grateful for a chance, no matter how slim. “Of course, anything…I’ll take anything. Just…please.”

You let him in, both stepping further into the flat, his eyes immediately locked onto the sight of the coffee table. The flowers he picked up yesterday were still sitting there—petals scattered everywhere, beginning to dry up and wilt. 

You couldn’t bear to touch them after he tossed them there the day before, you had hardly left your bedroom due to their presence. A brutal reminder of what happened. He felt sick to his stomach with the knowledge of how badly he hurt you. How you couldn’t even deal with the ruined gift because they were tied to him. To the things he said. 

You fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, now feeling embarrassed while wearing it, nervous as to what he could possibly say to make this right. If he even wanted to make it right. You honestly didn’t know. 

He turned to you, words catching in his throat as he tried to figure out where to even start with this. He had gone over this with Robin multiple times yesterday, but the sight of you completely threw him. 

“I—I’m sorry, angel,” he stammered, that was a good place to start, his voice as rough as he continued. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything. For not thinking. For not believing you. For… for making you cry. I didn’t mean to—I swear, I didn’t.”

You stood firm, arms not moving from their crossed position. You weren’t giving in easily, not this time. You had every single right to be upset. Steve has frightened you. He was mean and spiteful, lashing out at you instead of listening. His jealousy was ugly. 

He fumbled for more words, his hands beginning to shake. “I…I was an asshole, I hate that I hurt you. I just…I freaked out, okay? I thought—“ He stopped, swallowing thickly as his emotions threatened to choke him fully. “I thought I was going to lose you. Like…like I lost Nancy.”

Your expression shifted slightly, but you remained silent, allowing him to continue. 

His voice grew quieter, more pained. “Halloween, a few years back, Nancy told me I was just…bullshit. Jonathan swept in after that. And when I saw you with Eddie—fuck—I just—” He ran a hand through his brown hair, pulling harder at the ends as his frustration grew. “Eddie’s already got Dustin. He’s…he’s got everything. And I thought he’d take you too. And I just…I panicked. I know it’s stupid, okay? I was just—“

He was rambling now and he knew it, the words were tumbling out faster than he could stop them. He only had five minutes, he needed you to understand. To please understand him. 

“I was so fucking scared, honey. I’m scared you’ll wake up one day and realise that I’m bullshit. That you’ll find someone better. Someone who isn’t…who isn’t me.” His voice cracked again at his attempt to hold back the tears that clouded his vision. 

You let out a small sigh, your expression wary. You couldn’t let your guard down, not yet at least. 

“Steve…what happened yesterday was not okay. You hurt me. A lot.”

“I know,” he said in a hushed tone, his voice barely louder than a breath. “I know I did, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. I swear, I’ll be better. I’ll be so much better—if you’ll let me. You deserve everything, sweetheart. A-and I’ll give it to you, I promise. Just…please. Please let me prove that.”

Steve’s voice broke as the overwhelming dread overflowed, what had once been a gentle simmering below the surface now coursed through his entire body. No, he thought, It’s not working. It’s not fucking working.

His hands were quivering uncontrollably, his vision blurred as his thoughts spiralled. Everything was crashing down around him—the fear, the memories, the guilt. 

He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t lose you. Not you. 

“I—I can’t,” Steve stammered, his words short as they came out in small gasps. He backed up slightly, he didn’t know if he was scared of your presence or himself at this point. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I’m so—so fucking scared, I—“ 

His hands flew to his face in a weak attempt to hold himself together, his breath coming out in frantic bursts. His whole body shook involuntarily. Nancy, his parents, the same gut-wrenching feeling of being told he wasn’t enough. Wasn’t loved. That he was unimportant. Just temporary. 

You were stuck, rooted to where you stood, watching him unravel. And in that moment, you didn’t know what to do. The Steve you knew so well—the confident, charming, self-assured Steve—was crumbling before your eyes, his fear felt so raw, so overwhelming that it broke your heart to witness it. 

“Steve,” you say softly, moving towards him, but he couldn’t hear you. Not over his own mind. He was too far gone. 

“I can’t—fuck, I—“ His broad chest heaved as he tried to suck in air, but it seemed to do little to help. His hands shook violently, gripping at his tousled hair as he slid down to the floor, his back against the wall. “I’m gonna lose you, angel. I know it, and I can’t—I can’t do that again.”

“Steve,” you repeat, voice more forceful this time as you drop to your knees beside him. You reached out to him slowly, so as to not startle him, taking his unsteady hands in your own. “Breathe. Just…breathe with me, okay?”

He was trembling so much that it scared you, even more than he had yesterday. His breaths were coming out shallow and erratic, your heart ached to see him like this—so broken, so scared. 

“It’s okay. I’m here.” You kept your voice soft, soothing as you held onto him, your thumbs tracing small circles on his skin. You began to understand. “You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The skin around his eyes was pulled taught as he squeezed them shut, he tried to follow your lead, match your breathing with his own, using it as a guide. “Just breathe, okay?” You repeated, you held your voice steady until his ragged breaths began to slow, becoming deeper and more even. 

It took a few minutes to get his trembling to ease, fingers still tracing gentle patterns, reminding him of your presence. His grip eventually loosened, but never wavered, he clung onto you like a lifeline. His head hung low as he tried to pull himself back together. 

You watched his chest as you knelt beside him, it rose and fell more calmly compared to a few moments ago. His large brown eyes flickered open as they focused on you. Red and glassy, filled with fear as he looked at you. Really looked at you. 

“I’m so so sorry,” he spoke in a muted tone, barely audible as he turned his attention to your intertwined hands. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I—I needed to hurt you before you hurt me.”

Your stomach was in knots at the sight of him so vulnerable. Posture hunched over as if he wanted to disappear into himself. It broke your heart to witness. You squeezed his hands gently as you leaned closer to him. 

“Steve, listen to me,” you tell him. His eyes lifted to meet yours, amber and swirling with uncertainty. “I’m not going anywhere. But you have to talk to me, okay? If something is bothering you. If you’re feeling scared, you have to tell me. You can’t just take it out on me. It’s not fair.”

He shook his head and sniffed, rubbing his hand roughly against his eyes, trying to brush away the tears. “I don’t want to push you away,” he muttered, voice no longer as shakey. He felt his mind settle as the words flowed out of his mouth more comfortably. 

“I just… I don’t know how to do this,” he gestured between the two of you. “I’ve never been good at… at the talking stuff.”

For the first time today, you allowed a smile to play on your lips as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “I kinda got that,” you tell him. “You don’t have to be perfect. I just need you to be able to come to me, talk to me. Get out of your head. I’m always here.”

You tapped his forehead twice for emphasis as he exhaled slowly. The tension in his body had finally been released as he slumped against the wall. He brought both of your hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, swallowing hard as he returned them to his lap. “Don’t deserve you, angel.”

Leaning forward and pressing your forehead against his own, closing your eyes as you speak. “You deserve someone who cares,” you tell him as you pull back, eyes shining with pure honesty which soothes his shot nerves. “And I do. So, just…trust me. Even if it's hard sometimes.”

“I do,” he said quickly. “I do. I’m sorry I didn’t, sweetheart. I’m sorry for everything.”

“I know,” you say, rubbing your thumb across his cheek, looking at him with the tenderness he never thought he would see again. “You don’t have to apologise anymore.”

He nodded once more, your forgiveness was finally sinking into him, pushing the last bit of panic out of his system. He opened his arms, asking you silently if it was alright to hold you once more. 

You shifted yourself between his legs, allowing his arms to pull you into a tight embrace, bringing you close as if you might disappear again. Slip through his fingers if he let you go. 

You rested your head against his chest, tucked up tightly as his chin rested on your hair. You could feel his heart beat at a more steady pace. You placed your palm over it. It belonged to you after all. 

“I love you, you know that?” He asked as he held you against him, anchoring himself to you. 

“I know,” you respond, words slightly muffled by his jumper. “I love you too.”

You pull away slightly, meeting his eyes once more. The heaviness from the previous conversation had lifted, feeling relief flow through you as the warmth returned to Steve’s face. He wasn’t completely at ease, still very much shaken, but he could see a light at the end of the tunnel. The worst was behind him. And he promised it would only be up from here. 

“So tell me,” you began. You knew you needed to steer the conversation in a more light-hearted direction, not just for yourself, but for the boy whose lap you were in. “Was Robin mad?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Steve groaned as his head hit the wall behind him. At least he could walk into work with a smile on his face tomorrow. Tell her that he made it right…but maybe leave out the whole hysterical crying part. “She was ready to rip my head off after I told her what happened.”

“Oh, really?” You raised an eyebrow and giggled. “Good to know she has my back.”

“Guess I’m outnumbered,” Steve allowed himself to laugh, and God did it feel good to do it with you.

“Well, that’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

“Okay, okay. Fair enough,” he winced, but managed to maintain a grin. “I think I’ll survive her wrath…maybe.”

“Maybe,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Gonna have to put in some work there then.”

“I am prepared to do whatever it takes,” he tells you with mock seriousness. “Even offer to be her wingman with Vickie.”

“Wow, generous,” you snorted. It would probably benefit him more, if you were being honest. He had been nagging her to make a move for months, her constant pining and inaction was starting to get to him. He had been giving her the same advice over and over. It was getting ridiculous. His words, not yours. 

“And, hey, maybe I’ll give Munson a chance too,” he tells you, glancing down with a playful expression. “Join Hellfire, see what all the fuss is about.”

The laugh that escaped you was loud, you shook your head at him. “Steve, you would be terrible and D&D.”

“Hey, I’m good at strategy!” He protested, not allowing himself to be insulted in this manner. “I’d make a great…uh, whatever they call the fighter guy.”

“You mean a barbarian?” You say teasingly. “I could see you as more of a chotic bard. Always trying to talk yourself out of trouble.”

“Yeah? You never know, I could surprise you,” he says, leaning down to press his lips against your hairline. “For now though, I think I’ll focus on not screwing things up again.”

Your heart fluttered as you melted into him, securing your arms around his wide shoulders. “You’re on the right track, Harrington”

“Good,” he smiled at the nickname, placing his hand on your arm, the other on your back. “I don’t plan on going anywhere. And neither are you if I can help it.”

“Deal,” you say with a firm nod of your head. “No more freakouts, okay?”

He looked over your face once more, relieved that there were no more visible traces of the pain he had caused. Just his sweet girl smiling at him. Just the way he liked it. 

"I'll try my best," Steve whispered, holding you close. "I promise."

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - BLAST FROM THE PAST

A/N: And something new, that I've been working on for some time. The ending sucks, but I tried. Maybe it won't make sense, I don't know. It was supposed to be spicy, but I didn't know what to put there.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 5400+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - BLAST FROM THE PAST

Logan needed some time off. Was it from the students? The missions? He didn’t know. But he longed for some peace. A weekend away would be perfect. A week would mean the world to him. And yet, he’d never asked for that. Deep down, he liked teaching the students. He enjoyed the missions even when he was grumpy about it. 

He leaned against a pillar at the entrance, inhaling the cold wet air. The had been pouring for hours. It was a matter of minutes before the first thunder would start. With midnight slowly approaching, the scenario in front of him was very peaceful. It was exactly what he needed, even if it was only for a few moments. 

Logan took a cigar out of his pocket, lighting it up. No one would bitch about it now. When he took the first drag, his mind wandered to Jean. He would think about her here and there, always wondering… what if? What if she chose him? What if she never dates Scott? But it wasn’t like that. It sucked she chose Scott. It’s been a long time now. It was time to get over it for good.

Out of nowhere, he scoffed. There was only one person who would stupidly comment on it. Logan perfectly pictured his best friend beating his ass for acting like a fool. Like a love-sick puppy, she’d say. And would laugh, even now. 

Logan frowned. Now, his mind was preoccupied with the images of his best friend - Y/N. They met over two years ago. Or was it longer than that? It was at a time when he was cage-fighting for money. He wasn’t a teacher or an X-man. He barely knew who he was. He was blessed with that woman, to be honest. She sneaked into his life and nestled somewhere in his heart. 

He chuckled when he remembered how she would mock him. They had a similar sense of humour. She was a powerful mutant, also on the run from everything and everyone - even herself. Life with her by his side was easier. Their paths separated a few times, only to be brought together by some miracle. 

But then Rogue came and his life changed. The last time he met her was, again, a total coincidence. Because that’s what the universe had decided to do. Logan was on a mission with Storm, looking for more mutant children to be saved and protected. Turned out, Y/N was on her own mission, to help them. The meeting was short, amusing and before he blinked, she was gone. 

He kept wondering what his life would be if they stayed together. What if she was here with him? What if he stayed by her side and never set foot here? 

He took another drag, the taste lingering in his mouth a bit more than before. Logan’s eyes scanned the surroundings. The driveway to the school was empty. He didn’t sense any danger. And yet, he frowned. Something seemed off.

There was a scent lingering in the air. It was distant, mutant-like. Taking another sniff, Logan tilted his head. Odd. The scent was familiar. Too familiar. With every breath he took, he was sure he knew that person. That’s when his eyes captured a figure limping through the rain forward. He straightened his back, eyes wide. Could it be…?

“Am I delirious?” he heard the well-known feminine voice. “Is that the grumpiest man who ever lived?” 

Logan chuckled. Of course, she would greet him with words like that. “Y/N?” What the hell was she doing there? “Holy shit, is that you? How the fuck?” he asked in disbelief. 

“That’s how you greet your good friend?” she asked, chuckling. Y/N came closer, trying to keep her weight off her right foot. “I was expecting confetti and champagne.” 

The cigarette was immediately abandoned. Logan walked into the rain. It took him five large steps to approach her. His big arms wrapped around her body in a tight hug. “This has to be enough.”

“A warm hug from you? Worth it,” she laughed as she pressed her drenched clothes against his dry one. She rested her head against his hard chest, smiling. “But seriously, what the fuck are you doing here? Of all places?” 

Logan looked at her, eyes travelling from head to toe. She was a mess. “I think I should be asking that question, don’t ya think? Come on, let’s get your ass inside before you catch fucking pneumonia or something.” Before she could reply, Logan dragged her inside the school, away from the cold rain. 

“Holy shit,” he heard her gasp when Y/N stepped inside. She kept twisting and turning on her heel, scanning the interior. Her mouth was open while trying to take it all in. “Don’t tell me you fucking live here, Howlett,” and she punched him in the bicep. “Have you won the lottery?”

He held a chuckle and shook his head. “Still got that mouth on you,” he stated. 

“And yet, you still love me,” she had gifted him with a bright smile. That quickly turned into a scowl and a gasp. 

Logan noticed before she was limping. Now, under the light, he saw her swollen ankle. “What happened there, kid?” he pointed at her foot. 

She looked down, eyeing her injury. “Shit,” she mumbled. “On my way here, I slipped on a fucking mud and twisted it. Otherwise, I am fine.”

He could smell the lie on her, but for now, he decided to ignore it. She would sing eventually. Logan knew her damn well. Fuck, he couldn’t believe she was standing before him, here at school. Either this was the universe bringing them together or there were more lies behind those gorgeous eyes. 

Her feet moved. She kept turning around, looking at the interior. “Fancy. So, this is where you live now? What is this a school?” She stopped and turned back to him. “Don’t tell me you are a teacher.” 

Logan watched as she wrapped her arms around her body. The wet clothes were hugging her figure in the right places. “I know it’s hard to believe but that’s what I am now.” 

She chuckled. “From a fighting cage to becoming a teacher. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming. What do you teach?” 

“Ethics,” he said seriously. When he noticed how she raised a brow, he continued. “Believe it or not, I’m very good at it. I’ve got a way with words. You’d be surprised.” 

“Did you lose your mind again while we were separated?” she asked. “There’s no fucking way you, of all people, are teaching ethics. That’s… unethical.”

That’s when he started to laugh. He got her good. “Nah, I’m kidding, kid. I teach combat training or PE and history.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, exhaling loudly. “Fuck, you got me there.” Her whole body shivered. “S-so, how the hell did you end up being a teacher? Last time, we didn’t have that much time to chit-chat. You were saving the same kids as I was.” 

Logan’s eyes couldn’t watch how he kept shaking like an abandoned puppy. With long strides, he went to another room and reappeared with a fluffy blanket. He threw at her. “Here.” 

“Thanks,” she smiled. She wrapped around her, sighing contentedly.

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah?”

“Why the fuck are you here? And don’t give me some shitty story. Tell me the truth,” he said strictly. He crossed his big arms over his chest, flexing them. 

Y/N brushed the wet strands of hair from her face, her lips shivering. “I was sent here,” she said simply. Logan opened his mouth to demand more. “This might sound crazy, although, in our world, nothing is fucking crazy. Someone contacted me - no, that’s not the correct word. Someone connected with my mind. A telepath, a powerful one. He, I remember it was a male voice, helped me come here.” 

Logan shook his head in disbelief. “Charles,” he mumbled. “He’s the founder and headmaster of this school. He’s the one who contacted you.” 

“Well, shit,” she was surprised. “I was not expecting that. Does he know we know each other?” Y/N sneezed loudly. And then again. “The better question is, why me?”

Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”

“Is it okay that I’m here? It’s the middle of the night,” she had to ask while walking up the stairs, following her friend. 

He snorted. “Don’t play timid now, Y/L/N. This shit doesn’t work on me.” 

One simple glare and he had to laugh. “Damn, you know me too well. But seriously, everyone is asleep and I feel like an intruder.” 

Logan took her to his room and closed the doors silently behind them. “You are a fucking annoying intruder, but I don’t mind, darlin’,” he grinned at her. “Welcome to my room, don’t fucking sit anywhere with those damn wet clothes.” Logan moved to his closet and took out a shirt with long sleeves and some boxers he never wore. Again, he threw the clothes at her like he did with the blanket, making her curse. 

“I’ll be swimming in those clothes.”

“Shut up and be grateful.” Logan pointed at the second door in the room. “That’s my bathroom - change, shower, do whatever you need.” 

“Careful with your words, mon ami,” she winked at him. “Thank you, Lo’. I appreciate this.” 

“Save it, kid.” 

Y/N showed him her tongue on the way to the bathroom, grimacing before closing the door behind her. 

Alone in Logan’s bathroom, she smiled. Damn, she missed him. He was the only man who treated her like an equal. They shared the same humour, the same views. He was a strong mutant and so was she. 

Sighing, Y/N undressed from the wet clothes, hanging them on a heating rack to dry. Her ankle still hurt. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Bruises covered her body. Some of them still hurt like a bitch. 

One quick shower later, she felt better, warmer. Although, she smelled like him. It made her smile. She had to use his shampoo because there wasn’t anything else. In the end, it was better than nothing. As predicted, his clothes were too big for her. One of her shoulders was exposed, the boxers were low on her hips. 

Logan was still in his bedroom when she walked out. First, their eyes locked. Then, his eyes travelled south, scanning her figure and his clothes hanging on her. Has she ever worn his clothes before? He dryly gulped. “Yeah, you are swimming in my clothes,” he chuckled. “Now, get in the bed.”

“Woah, first buy me dinner you ass,” she laughed. “I’m not that easy.”

One glare and she was laughing even more. “Of course, you are the one with a rotten brain,” he commented. “One night we’ll share. We will figure out the rest tomorrow after you meet the rest of the X-men.” 

“I mean, we shared a bed once. It was during a winter, a shitty snowstorm got in our way,” Y/N grinned like a winner. “I was surprised when you cuddled me.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “You were cold and asked me to help you,” he reminded her. 

“But you decided to do it,” Y/N grinned at him. “If you’d like, you can cuddle me tonight, too. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Damn you, woman,” he growled. “Just get in the damn bed and shut your noisy, annoying mouth.” 

“Again, you love me,” she winked at him and climbed into the bed, taking the right side. Luckily, the bed was big enough to accommodate them together. “So comfortable,” she sighed contentedly. “You are treated well here.” 

“Benefit of being a teacher here,” he chuckled. “Sleep, Y/N. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” 

Her eyes were heavy. She didn’t have the energy to give him some witty comment. She simply turned her back to him, cuddling to her pillow, drifting into the realm of dreams. 

At least for a few hours before she was up again, surrounded by darkness and gentle snoring. She turned her head to see the silhouette of her friend deep asleep. Sighing, she slowly left the bed, legs bringing her to a big window. The rain never stopped. It kept pouring on the grass, the wind swaying the trees. Her whole body ached. She had a couple of rough months behind her. Now, she was safe. 

Y/N didn’t slip on the mud. She was on the run for several days in searing pain. Her wrists remembered the cuffs around them, not letting her move. What mattered now was the fact that the dark times were gone and she was in a place where she had someone she knew well.

Logan shifted in the bed, turning on the other side, still asleep. At least he was able to do that now. Maybe his mind was in a better place, healed. He deserved it. 

Y/N rested her elbows on a wooden window sill and put her head on her hands. Watching the rain was better than sleeping at this point. It soothed her, washed away the pain, the distress. 

In the morning, when she came out of the bathroom, Logan was sitting on his bed, frowning. “Already grumpy?” Y/N asked with a teasing smile. 

“You didn’t sleep,” he glared at her. 

“I did,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not the whole night, but at least a few hours.” There was no point in lying.

He shook his head. “Staring at the rain is better than resting in the bed?” he asked. “I knew damn well you were standing at the window for hours.” 

“You are a damn spy,” she said dramatically. “Fine, I was up. So what?” 

“You should have rested, kid.”

“If you knew I was up, why didn’t you say anything?” she challenged. 

A sigh escaped his lips. “You are a pain in the ass, ya know that?” He huffed. “I figured you needed a moment to collect your thoughts, as you like to say.”

Without a word, he stood up and locked himself in the bathroom. Y/N rolled her eyes. Grumpy Logan in the morning was a blessing. She fixed the clothes on her body, sighing at how loose everything was. Her own clothes didn’t smell good. They needed a good wash. 

Her ears registered noise coming out of the hallway. The voices shaded into each other. The students were up and ready to start their day. At first, she thought there’d be only a few kids. By the sounds of it, there had to be way more. How many kids did they save? 

Once Logan was out, he was already in his jeans, just putting on his white tank top. It was only a second but Y/N got a perfect glimpse of his hard abs and a path of hair. Her eyes moved up to his face. 

“I’m taking you to Charles,” he said. “Since he was the one who brought you here.” 

Y/N showed him a thumbs-up. A second later, she stopped. “Wait, I can’t meet him like this,” she pointed at how she was dressed. Logan's clothes were too big on her body. Also, it would look… weird. What would the people around here think? 

“Give me a minute,” he said and left the room, leaving Y/N standing there alone. 

Logan came to a different room, knocking on it. It took ten seconds for the person to open the door. His eyes met with Rogue’s. “It’s too early to give me any pep-talk you have in mind,” she said, annoyed.

“I need a favour,” he said. 

That piqued Rogue’s interest. “Alright, what is it?” 

“I need to borrow some female clothes,” he said, not looking at her. He wanted to avoid that teasing look on her face. “Before you start asking shit… I have a friend here and she needs some clothes to wear.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, grinning. “A friend you say? Is it really just a friend, Logan? What happened to her clothes? Are they torn?” 

He glared at her. “Will you help me out or nah?” 

Rogue bit her lower lip, trying her best not to laugh at him. “What is her sizing?” she asked. 

Logan described her body type. He didn’t give her too many details. Just enough so Rogue had a picture of her. “I think I have something here. Can I meet her?” she asked. 

“You are nosy, ya know that?” he tilted his head, patience wearing off slowly. “You’ll meet her later, okay? I have to take her to Charles. He was the one who brought her here.”

“Huh?” she was confused. “Hold on,” and hid in her room where she tried to find some clothes that would fit Logan’s mysterious female friend. Once she handed him the clothes, she put a teasing smile on her face. “I wanna meet her.” 

“Later, kid,” he waved a hand. He went back to his room. 

When he entered, Y/N was sitting on the bed, looking at her nails. He threw the clothes at her. They smacked her face. “Here, put this on.” 

She raised a brow. “Whose clothes are these? Please don’t tell me your girlfriend’s, that would be fucking weird.” 

“They belong to a student I saved some time ago,” he explained. “She’s a good kid. She also has a big mouth. You two would be great friends,” he chuckled. 

Y/N made a face. “Kinda hard to believe, but okay.” Taking her clothes, she went back to the bathroom to change. To her surprise, the clothes fit her nicely. They were simple sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Once she got out, Logan’s bed was perfectly made. 

He noticed some bruises on her arms but decided not to comment on it yet.

Logan took Y/N through the vast hallways of the school to the lower levels where Charles had an office. Some students eyed Y/N from head to toe, not knowing what to think of her. There were whispers here and there, pointing their fingers in her direction. 

“I feel like I am a zoo animal,” she snarled a little. “I’m surprised they are not taking pictures of me, yet.” 

“Give it time,” he teased. 

“Fucking great.” 

Logan knocked on the office door three times before entering. For the first time, Y/N was able to see the man who connected with her mind. He was old, bald, in a wheelchair and dressed fancy. 

“Y/N,” he said her name with a smile. “I’m glad you are here. Please, sit.” Then, he turned his eyes to Logan. “Thank you for bringing her. I’ll speak with her alone.” 

The Wolverine didn’t comment on it. He gave him a nod, patter Y/N’s shoulder and left the Professor and his friend alone in the office to talk. 

Typical Professor. He’d keep his secrets to himself until things when to shit. Logan hoped he’d give him an explanation. And if not him, he would hear it from Y/N. 

Damn that woman. They had known each other for many years before he became a teacher at this school. They were close, sometimes wondering how close they would be if… He shook his head. It was useless to think that way. Yes, she was fucking sexy and beautiful. He would be lying if he said the opposite. It made him question things back in the day. Even now, when he saw her face this morning, there was a question lingering in his mind. What if..?

“Where is she?” Rogue startled him. “I wanna see her.” 

“Jeez, kid. You are acting as if you want to catch Santa during Christmas,” he said. 

Logan and Rogue walked into the kitchen. He made himself a coffee while Rogue got cereal and milk. She had that teasing smile on her lips, waiting for something juicy from Logan.

“I’m curious. Is she pretty?” 

He almost choked on the coffee. “Shit,” he mumbled and coughed. 

“Well, she must be if you are acting this way,” Rogue smiled. 

“What do you mean, kid? I act normally. The damn coffee went down the wrong pipe,” he glared at her and put the mug on the counter. 

“Whatever you say, Logan,” she giggled. “How come you never told me about this friend of yours? Or shall I call her a crush?” 

“Have you ever told me about your friends?” he asked back. “And what am I, five?”

She put a full spoon of cereal in her mouth and shrugged. “This is different,” she said after swallowing the food. “I can confidently say I know you well, Logan. But since this morning, there is this different energy coming out of you.”

“How is this different?” 

“It’s you we are talking about,” she said. “The grumpy guy who doesn’t let anyone in. And suddenly, there is a woman that is supposedly his friend. Ask anyone, they’d say it’s… unusual.” 

His ears registered the sound of wheels and Y/N’s gentle voice approaching. He took a deep breath, preparing for their entrance. It seemed Charles had decided to give her a tour. When they entered the kitchen, Logan noticed how Rogue’s eyes widened when her eyes captured Y/N at the door in her clothes. 

And they both smiled at each other. Fuck. Rogue and Y/N would be a deadly combo for him. He would never hear the end of their nagging and teasing.

“You’ve met Logan,” Charles chuckled. “This is Rogue. Logan saved her some time ago.” 

“Hi!” Rogue said cheerfully, too cheerfully for Logan’s liking. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You will meet more people as the day goes by,” Charles said to Y/N. “Some of them are on a mission in Salt Lake City. They should be back in a day or two.” 

Logan turned his gaze to Y/N. “So, you are staying?” It sounded rougher than he intended to. He would be glad to have her here, with him. “Wow, wasn’t expecting that,” he added. 

She shrugged. “I think it’s time to lay low. My life has been hectic for years. Now, I got the opportunity to have some sort of stability - in a matter of speaking.” 

“If you excuse me,” Charles said politely, “I have a class to teach. We will speak together more this afternoon. We’ll arrange a room for you and some clothes since you don’t own anything.” 

“Thank you.” 

 . . .

Y/N sat alone in a room they assigned her. Some would say it was small. To her, it was luxurious and vast. She never had a room like this. As a kid, she would share the sleeping space with other kids. And then, she would travel from place to place, sleeping wherever it was possible - benches, couches or in a van when she was with Logan. 

She thought about the time she would spend time with him. How they would share his van. That man had a kind heart. He wouldn’t let her freeze to death when he found her. And since that day, their friendship blossomed. 

That man. Shit. Was there a time when she imagined his hard muscles under her hands? Yes, many times. When they were together, she could never cross that line. It was rare to have a good friend in her life who was willing to take her in like a stray. She wouldn’t want to screw that up. 

A knock brought her back to reality. Rogue came inside her room with a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “Hi,” she greeted Y/N. 

“Hi, uh, Rogue, right?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Is it okay to come?”

“Sure,” Y/N pointed at the spot next to her on the bed. “So, you are the girl who gave me some clothes to wear,” she tugged at her sweatpants. “Thanks. That was very kind.” 

Rogue kept the smile. “I know what’s like not to have any clothes. They gave me everything when I got here. I have a bed to sleep on, food to eat and friends.” 

Y/N nodded. “That’s good.” 

“So, what’s up with you and Logan?” she asked boldly, making Y/N snap her head up and look at the girl.

“We are friends,” Y/N said, unsure what Rogue meant by it. “We’ve known each other for years. We separated a while back and now, the universe has brought us together,” she explained. 

“Universe,” Rogue grinned. 

The door opened without knocking. Logan walked in as if it was his room. “Sure, come on in, this room is a public space,” Y/N commented with a smirk plastered on her lips. “What do you want?” 

Logan glared at Rogue. “What are you doing here, kid?” 

“Getting to know your friend,” she smiled at him. It was followed by a wink. 

“Don’t you have classes?” he questioned. 

Rogue huffed, annoyed by him. “We’ll talk later,” she waved a hand as she was leaving Y/N’s new room. She gave Logan one last teasing look before she left. 

“You are such a dad,” Y/N laughed at Logan. “Strict hand, not taking any shit.” 

Logan poked her forehead, making her laugh. “Have you hurt your head, kid? You are talking shit.” 

“What? You don’t like being called a dad? How about ‘daddy’?” she put a wicked smile on her face, waiting for his reaction. When his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, she started to laugh at him. 

Logan shook his head. “I think it’s time for you to start singing, Y/N.” His voice got deeper. The teasing was gone. He demanded answers. “I talked to Charles. He didn’t want to tell me what happened to you, or the exact reason why he found you. In his words, you should be the one to tell me.” 

Y/N eyes lowered. She knew it would eventually come. Her eyes trailed over the few bruises that were on her arms. “I was locked in a mutant testing lab,” she whispered. 

“What?!” Logan’s voice raised. “How long?” 

She rolled her eyes from one side to the other, counting the days. “Over a month,” she said. “I got information that they had some kids locked there and I wanted to get them out. My goal was to take them to an underground network that helped mutants. Unfortunately, they captured me and locked me with them.”

“Y/N,” he sighed. 

“Don’t,” she glared at him. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. Don’t be over-protective when you were here, living your life.” 

She was right. He wasn’t with her. He didn’t have the right to act this way. “What happened there?” Logan’s voice sounded more neutral. The anger behind it subsided. 

Y/N started to play with her fingers, picking up dirt under her nails that wasn’t there. “They experimented on us, abused us,” she shrugged. “I wanted to get us away, but I only made it worse.” 

“What happened?” he demanded this time. 

“I blew up the whole place!” she raised her voice. Her eyes met his. “Many people died. I wanted to get them out and I… I killed them, Logan.” 

Y/N’s mutation was a dangerous one. She was able to blow things up. Because she lacked control over the mutation, no wonder things went quickly south. “I didn’t want to,” her voice broke. “I’ve never done anything like that before.” 

“Holy shit,” Logan shook his head. “How many dead?” 

“I don’t know. I panicked and ran away,” she admitted. “Everything was on fire.” 

There was silence between them. Logan wasn’t commenting on it. Y/N didn’t want to talk more about it. It was too fresh. The wounds didn’t heal. She killed many people, including mutants. 

“So that ankle,” he pointed at her leg. She wasn’t limping that day, but it was still a little swollen. “You didn’t slip on a mud.”

She shook her head. “No. All injuries were from…” her voice faded into nothing. Y/N’s head lowered, not daring to look at Logan. She tried to hold back the tears and not to cry. She felt ashamed of lying, not telling the truth to the one man she kind of trusted. “Can’t believe the Professor wants me here after everything.” 

“This is the problem,” Logan started to talk. “You never told me when something went to shit. Whether it was you being attacked as it happened at the Canadian borders when we travelling together. Or when your powers got out of control. Now, it’s still the same. Here I thought you could trust me.” 

“I’m sorry,” she jumped in. “I didn’t want to seem like a damsel in distress or a weak mutant that doesn’t have things under control. Plus, it’s not something I wanted to brag about when there were casualties.”

“And again, you didn’t have your mutation under control,” he spat. Logan was upset and he didn’t understand why. “Why do I have a feeling that you cannot trust me? After all those years? You think I’d judge you? Come on, princess.” 

“I trust you.” 

“Do you?” 

She opened her mouth to argue. Logan stopped her by raising a hand. “Don’t even try.”

The anger mixed with dread. Logan cared for her more than he ever realised. However, he was upset that she didn’t trust him enough to tell him what happened. She had to lie just to present herself as strong and brave. 

He went out to smoke and calm down. Why couldn’t she admit that she fucked up and was injured? Stubborn woman. 

. . .

Logan and Y/N didn’t talk for the rest of the day. She stayed in her room, hidden from the world while he dealt with students. Also, he wanted to know more information from Charles. He gave him a better glimpse into what happened. It seemed some mutants got away before Y/N blew up the whole building. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me anything about it,” he said. 

Charles sighed. “I understand you two share some past. Your paths separated for some time and things changed. You can’t blame her for not trusting you enough.”

Logan frowned at him. “You know awfully a lot, Charles.”

“Sometimes your mind is too loud, opened for telepaths like an invitation to an open house,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Then don’t snoop around,” said Logan. 

Charles took a deep breath, ready to speak, when his face went stoic. He knew something was off. ��She wants to leave,” he announced. “Rogue is talking to her at the entrance door.” 

“Fuck,” Logan gritted his teeth. His legs took him out of the office and straight to the front door where Rogue was talking to Y/N. The woman had new clothes on her and a backpack. She was serious about leaving. 

“Stay,” Rogue said. “You need to talk it out.”

Y/N shook her head. “I have to leave. Too many ghosts in the closet,” she shrugged. 

“You’re not goin anywhere,” Logan lurched forward. “You just came here and I ain’t letting you go that easily.” 

“Logan,” she sighed. 

“No,” he shook his head. He grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her back inside the mansion. “I get that you re upset about what happened, but we can talk about it and deal with it together.” 

“Logan, it’s not that easy, I killed all those people…”

He huffed. “Y/N, stop it, okay,” he shook his head. “We can help you here. We can make you understand your mutation better. You will train with us, how to use it, how to control it. What do you say?” It seemed as if he was pleading now. 

She opened her mouth, ready to ramble some more. Logan reached for her, grabbing her by the neck and pressing her body close to his. His lips found hers in a kiss that took her breath away. 

Rogue’s mouth almost dropped to the floor, but she was glad that Logan made the step. She knew that man liked Y/N. Because she didn’t want to ruin the moment, she slowly stepped away from them, giving them space. 

When Y/N slowly pushed away from Logan, she was speechless. Like a fish on a dry land, her mouth was opening and closing without making a sound. 

“Stay,” Logan said softly. “Come on, princess. Let me help you, give you a safe place.” 

She bit her lower lip. “Will it come with more kisses from you?”

He snorted. “As much as you want, darling.” 

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

Next Chapter

[jolalibrary]

meet me in the city where we won't sleep

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: home: a place where we feel most comfortable, loved, and protected — where we most feel at home. except javi, who has returned from colombia and feels his home is living miles away.

childhood besties!javi x f!reader

wordcount: 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings: childhood best friend!javi. flirting. 18+ - although just a little smutty with fingers. brief mention of drunkenness years ago. emotions (ugh) and feelings (yuk) and idiots who just don't wanna confess things but really should. javi calls you flor and you call him a pineapple. alternating times.

an: originally started for april showers, it's taken me an age to get this done because i wanted it to be perfect. i really hope it is. the biggest thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who read all of this and gave me a gold star. it would have stayed in my drafts if not for you. thank you to @rhoorl for checking my spanish.

It would have been cliche to say he fell for you in a field of bluebonnets—your dress white, face glum, hands ripping up blooms from the soil that you clutched in your hand.

Lost, aimless, both in the blue of the petals and in your thoughts as you continued to yank stems up and bring bunches to your nose, unaware of him watching from the tree. His legs swung, and a smile slid into one cheek as the leaves rustled above in the warm breeze.

It took a while before you noticed him, practically half a field’s worth in your hands, hands wound around them as your dress swished at your ankles.

“What do you want, Piña?”

He supposed, for kids, that was an insult.

“What you doing in my field, Flor?”

Javi didn’t know your name then. Now he struggled to go a minute without thinking it.

Sitting still hadn’t seemed a possibility in the days since he’d been back.

And then, that’s all he’d done for the last eight hours before he was greeted by rain.

It’s relentless, an onslaught that blurs the world into a watery haze. The kind that soaks through every layer of clothing like a challenge; the type that drips from everything, making pools in the streets and turning them into dark mirrors, reflecting the grey and full clouds from above.

Not that Javi cares.

If anything, he likes it. Finds it cleansing, like the world is being washed clean, even if he knows how untrue that actually is as his eyes follow a bead rushes across the glass of the cab.

The driver has been mumbling about the weather for the entire journey—a thing he’s barely listened to since he’d recommended waiting for a break in the weather. It was likely they just didn’t wish to drop him where he’d described, rather hoping Javi would opt for someplace warmer, most likely smokier, so that he could call it a day too.

Javi doesn't do that now—smoking, that is.

Hasn’t done since he left that apartment that never felt like his, in a city that he’d spent years in that never felt like home. Threw them in the trashcan before his Pop had picked him up, craved and wanted all the way through dinner. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.

When the cab screeches to a halt, he pays, steps out (bag in hand) and spots the phone booth all in one fluid motion. It’s barely lit, front weathered by time and neglect. Smirk curling into his cheek as he remembers you telling him about it—that on cloudless days you can see it, likes to make stories about it as you enjoy a meal-for-one or crunches down cereal.

It hadn’t been a thing he’d thought much about.

Then, it was all he had thought about.

Standing there, making a story that could become real. A gesture, kind and deserving of someone who had put up with his shit since they were children. You’d always liked those big moments in the movies—his eyes glancing over at you, finding yours big, wide and shimmering with tears that wish to glide down your cheek.

Although, that had been well over a decade ago—the two of you had remained in touch, close, or as much as he could allow. Your visit to Colombia had still felt like the sunniest day, a bright spot in a sea of dark; a day that coloured his world in shades he hadn’t known existed, that dulled the moment he’d had to bid farewell at the airport.

It hadn’t been safe for you to do another, pleading in fact to not risk it. A thing, he suspects, is not a thing he’s been easily forgiven for.

He supposes it’s why he hasn’t told you he was coming. The flight had been booked, bag packed—fingers tapping, soul hoping you wouldn’t turn him away once he’d gotten here. To the phone box over the bridge from your place—the one obscured from view by the downpour that seemed never-ending.

Because, as soon as two weeks had racked up at him being home, he found himself itching to move, to be somewhere other than surrounded by fields and the watchful stare of his Pop. Parental worry a hard thing to hide from in a home washed in memories.

Sliding open the door, cramming himself into the booth, Javi had no concern about remembering your number. It was burned into him, etched into him with a blunt tool—almost studied, committed to memory while he ticked over godfathers and the weight of right and wrong.

He remembers when you’d changed it, when your voice informed him of the move, the chance—all excited tone, a pitch closer to a squeak than your voice: no more roommates, just me, myself and I.

He also remembers the ember inside of him pleased that Tom joined the underserving list, slid under Mia and Rich as you informed him you were single again.

Sliding quarters in, finger punching the numbers—he hopes you’re home. A niggling feeling threatens to unwind inside of him as the tone drills into his skull—attempts to drown out the rain rapping against the glass booth he’s standing in.

“Hello?”

“Flor?”

It kisses his ear, your snort. Light. Sweet. “Javier Piña, what do you want?”

You sound like you did in Colombia. Having half-expected the crackle meeting his ear to be down to the distance, rather than your shoddy home phone.

Pressing the receiver to his head, a smile there—desperate to flow out across his lips and exhausted face, he moves it back. “Tal vez te extrañé.”

“Mierda. I don’t believe you.”

Even amidst the noise of passing cars and the relentless drumming of raindrops, he catches the melody of your laughter—a symphony of joy that unravels a part of his soul. It releases it, unlocks it, beckons it to be free—metaphorically makes him release his shoulders, and take a breath. The part of him hidden away, floods back through him—no longer fearful of being taken, clawed or wormed from him as he handed other parts of himself to the job, the task, the goal.

Not you, though. Javi would never surrender you.

A pocket of sunshine he’d kept close to him like your chicken-scratch letters and your tipsy phone calls when he’d caught you coming in after a night with friends.

“Where are you, Piña?”

Wiping his mouth with his thumb, he pauses. Traces his index along the hair growing above his lip, glancing out through the rain-smeared glass, the one cracked in places. Not sure if any of the lights on the other side are hers, but lingering on each just in case.

“In a phone booth on a bridge…”

He hears you swallow, loud, almost difficult.

“…right across from your place.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Smirking, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. “Are you lying to me?”

Smirking, he stares out again. “No.”

Because he couldn’t, not if he tried. Not just because you see through it, but because it wounds him to do so. Picks at him, and makes him bleed in ways that don’t ruin him in scarlet.

“Give me five minutes.”

The call ends before he can get in a bye.

The receiver placed back, bag straps cutting into his palms again as he exits, the heavens lashing against him as he slowly walks. Taking his time. Nervousness bubbling like a broth inside of him with each step, coming up to the top curve of the bridge, trying to look up, spot you—

Then he does.

Running, coat billowing behind—flapping in the wind as it breaks out over your face: that smile. The one that lit fires inside of him, the one first doing so at the time his bedroom at home had its last lick of paint, it now peeling, cracked.

Dropping his bag, Javi isn’t sure whether to brace or not—taking three more steps forward before you collide with him. Arms around him, chest to chest, your wet cheek sliding past his as your soaked clothes marry to his.

It would be odd to say it felt like home hugging you, but it does. It feels right, safe—a piece completing him as he digs his chin into your head.

“You smell the same,” you muffle into his chest.

Javi smiles, knowing the bottle on his dresser is the one from his younger years. Sun-ruined and likely faded, yet managing to linger on his skin enough to cause recollection.

Pushing past lilies, excusing himself through swarms of bodies adorned in black fabric, Javi found you sitting cross-legged between two tall stands of flowers.

Your eyes were puffy—red, swollen—and your dress was as black as his suit; your fingers were balled around a single lily and a scrunched-up tissue, the skirt of your dress skated over your bent knees.

“What d-do you want, Piña?”

But it didn’t land with the tone he had come to know.

Instead, he extended a hand you thankfully took, pulling you up from the ground before he opened his arms—letting you move in, slot yourself between them as they enveloped you close.

Letting his best friend fall apart at the back of the church, your sobs vibrated against his bones and his chin rested on your head as he whispered he had you, over and over again.

A thing you repaid when his mother passed a few years later.

Talking had always been a skill—unless he had to discuss feelings.

It wasn’t that it was easy to lie, or that he found the idea of feeling difficult—if anything, it was as though he felt too much. Guilt. Affection. Righteousness. Protection. Each one a little harder to carry, to wear.

More so around you. The walls had to be tighter, or they’d crumble into ruin, the dust spilling all his secrets before he’d confess whatever wasn’t already written over his face. But, you don’t needle him—instead, you make him a plate from leftovers, tell him about some gossip your mom had informed you of, until you offer him your shower, your sofa and bid him goodnight.

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Not going anywhere.”

Lingering in the doorway to your bedroom, fingers playing the piano on the wood. “You’ve said that before.”

He knows he has.

It rises up in him like a storm, whipping around his organs, making his chest tighten as he lies down in comfort but stares up at the unfamiliar. He can hear the rain, how it pitters and patters—how it likely streams down the windows behind your curtains.

He should find it odd that he'd rather fall asleep here, than in his bed back where he grew up. A strange solace in the unknown here, a quiet surrender to the whispers he usually has to hear when the night comes.

But, they're not here.

At some stage, he must sleep, before he wakes to the scent of coffee and soft sunshine. His ears catch the sound of you calling in sick—a cough, a put-on voice, one all removed when you throw a throw cushion at him and ask him what he wants for breakfast.

That’s how he finds his knee kissing yours under the small table as your spoon scoops cereal before letting it drop back into the bowl. Just like when you were kids. Just like when you were all excitable, too in a rush to sit for a moment, stomach likely fluttering with agitation.

“You keep staring.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Flor.”

The thing is, you’re not wrong.

Each time he has a second, he lingers—gazes. Metaphorically pinching himself as he forgoes digging a nail into his skin under the cuff of his shirt, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming. A thing he finds he’s doing now, after a night of laughing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and a full day of exploring, you walk a little ahead before spinning on your heel to smile at him.

“I have to show you my favourite place—before you go.”

He hates that there’s an end date on this. Bought himself a few days of normal, before returning to something that feels anything but.

Scratching his jaw, brows raised and eyes wide. “You’ve replaced our spot?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his hand—fingers slotting, palm pressing against his. For a moment, a reflex, he thinks of pulling away. Thinking of what else sat as perfectly in his palm as you—a thing that took, but never gave. A thing that he held more than he had ever held a woman.

“My favourite place here.”

He expects a lot of things, maybe flowers, maybe a bar, but he finds himself inside a bookshop. One with floor-to-ceiling shelves, dark wood, the large window letting in light that barely reaches the back. He supposes it’s good they have a chandelier, one that sparkles, shines—like it’s as well maintained as the shelves.

“Books?”

“Books.”

Your finger prodding into him, facing him, body fully twisted. That smile there, the one which slides into one of your cheeks and makes his eyes flick from it to your eyes and then back.

It’s there when you turn on your heel down an aisle, it remaining when he follows—when he hovers close, so easily able to pin you, cage you in between his palms.

“Which do you recommend?”

Shooting him a look, you trail your finger over spines, over the shelf they sit on. “Didn't know you could read?”

“Funny.”

Grinning, you pull on one, handing it to him. His eyes take it in, the cover, the name, the author.

“I think you’ll like the characters,” you explain, eyes lighting up as you lean. “They're flawed but resilient.”

Chewing his cheek, he swallows. Listening, hearing you read the blurb after you lift the book in his hands so you can read it, word for word as he focuses on you. Noticing the way your eyes shine when talking about something you love, the way one of your hands begins to move as you describe the plot, and the characters. Realising, that he could listen to you talk about anything all day.

“You should read it,” you suggest, as he flips through the pages. Having never been much of a reader, time being a factor, his job has been the reason.

“Alright,” he nods, tucking the book under his arm. “I'll read it.”

Your smile brightens even more if that's possible.

“Chucho is gonna be so shocked when I tell him you bought a book.”

Frowning, he follows you, leading him down another aisle. “You talk to my pop?”

Shrugging, like it’s nothing. Like the words that are about to tumble out of your mouth don’t matter like they won’t stitch themselves to him and make him feel like pulling you to his chest.

“I check in—make sure he’s okay. Done it weekly since you left the first time.”

His face falls, descends slowly. He feels it—watches you take it in as yours slowly mirrors him. And, even if he’s been thinking it, it bubbling at the back of his throat, he finds himself unable to stuff it back down—to shove it between other regrets and unsaid words.

“I’ve really missed you.”

Each word lands, your eyes widening as your nose does a little twitch as they do, before you whisper, resting against the edge of a bookcase, “I’ve missed you too.”

Sat on the rock, the sound of a car door slamming disturbed the peace. Not needing to look, knowing that gait, that little kick of the ground as you stopped in front of him.

Hand shielding your eyes from the sun, flower tucked behind your ear.

“Hello, Flor.”

“Piña. Heard you were cursing Laredo.”

Smirking, you sat next to him, nudging him over. The two perched on a rock overlooking part of the city—as his head turned but his eyes stared at you from the corner of them.

“I give it a month and someone else will do something bad enough that people cross the street.”

Swallowing, he exhaled. “Thanks.”

“Did you love her?”

Turning his head, staring at you—eyes flicking from yours to a place on your face he shouldn’t look. “Not enough to marry her.”

“Then you did the right thing.”

A thing he only believed when your hand slid over his, hooking your little finger over his.

“It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”

Snorting, head shaking, your words washed back over him and he broke into a laugh. “Shut up, Flor.”

Nudging him, taking the flower from your hair and handing it to him. “It’s okay if you do, I know I’m a catch.”

He's embarrassed that it isn't until the second day that Javi finds the chance to really admire your place.

How it’s exactly what he imagined. So very you, all cosy, muted, with spots of colour. Plants and throw cushions, blankets and wicker baskets stuffed with things he suspects you have no recollection of.

What catches his eyes are the photographs, the memories frozen in time around your walls and on shelves. His eyes sweep over them, in a trance still from the scent of your perfume mixing with vanilla from a lit candle.

Each time he sweeps his sight over, he spots new things, remembering brief conversations, smirking to himself until his eyes land on a frame that makes his mouth part and his heart clench.

Him and you; you and him. Sunglasses far too big for your face, staring up at him as he beams at the camera. The backdrop of his ranch, his home, the one he so often left behind like it hadn’t mattered.

Done it weekly since you left the first time.

The words roll around his head now. All metal and round, bouncing against other thoughts, trying to dig his heels into the present and not wonder about what kind of calls you make—whether they’d be about him, whether you’d confess things you’d never admit to him.

Your clanging around is what pulls him to the present. The bangs of cupboards and pans clattering as he stares at it—as he notices how different his build is, how many years have passed. The occasional cursing from you is a rather nice anchor that keeps him in the present.

“Flor?” He waits until he hears you hum. “Order in again, I’ll pay.”

It’s here within the hour.

A favourite, you had told him. A quick apology that you’ll be messier than last night, that you’re dying of hunger. He reminds you he doesn’t care. Not as you slide the triangle slice out, the tip kissing your chin before it’s absorbed by your mouth, sauce lingering on your lips—dust from the crust resting on your nose.

He’s not sure what’s better, the taste of the pizza or the sight of watching you. Having the chance to watch you.

“So I have to ask.”

Grumbling, he pulls at the topping on his slice. “Here we fucking go.”

“Did you like the tie I sent you?”

Half-scowling, swallowing the mouthful of pizza—recalling the box on his desk, atop files and paperwork with a note attached: One down, three to go. Written in that same handwriting he could spot in a lineup—the one he had wished there and then would be etched into him, a mark left, a thing he could brush his thumb over when his heart ached and he felt lost.

“I was disappointed not to see you photographed in it.”

“You knew damn well I wasn’t going to wear a fucking pineapple tie to a press conference.”

Pouting, you smirk. Picking at another slice, staring up at him from the floor, all cross-legged. “Thought you might have for me.”

It’s there, ebbing—words that feel far more intimate than they should—crystallising, burning upon his tongue.

I’d do anything for you.

It’s there, unwritten, pulsating and breathing in the space between you and him, existing, never diminished. Memories where it’s been all but similar rising like lava, singeing him, threatening to burn away the walls he throws up for the sake of friendship.

Because he knows what people think. Saw it hung in his pop’s eyes at his Tia’s wedding when you came as a guest, an uninvited plus one that was welcomed like you were already part of the family. Heard it, in the wind between the grass before he’d left the first time, a farewell outdoor thing, your parents crestfallen, as though they’d assumed—like he imagined a lot of them—the two of you would have figured it out by now.

Watching you stand, hand outstretched for his plate, you take it with a smile. A shout of two options for drinks, an unsurprising one chosen by him—it bubbling in the glass when you hand it to him, settling in beside him.

“Not sure I told you, but you have a nice couch.”

“Most expensive thing in this place—probably better than my own bed,” you smirk, sipping your drink. Head rolling towards him, brows raised, eyes that bit wider. “So, are you okay?”

You’re the only one who could ask and get a reply, he supposes. Those same words were said to him a handful of times, down the phone from Murphy, over the table from Pop, even on aisles of the supermarket when he’d been staring between brands he hadn’t heard of.

“I gave you a day to tell me, and since you won’t, I’m gonna ask. Are you okay, Javier Peña?” you continue, body shifting, thigh pressing against his—heat radiating from between yours to his. “Because you’re methodical. You’re not… get on a plane and fly to a different city just because.”

“You not happy I’m here?”

Grinning, all teeth—it reaching and hanging in your eyes. “Los más felices. But, are you?”

Yes. It’s all he thinks.

Chewing his tongue, his eyes drop to his soda because he’s unsure how to say that. Not as he watches the bubbles float up and burst—the song that had been playing coming to a stop, allowing the rain to play an interval against your windows.

It doesn’t make sense, in some ways: how he’s kept you—been able to keep you close. Somehow not ruined you, twisted this thing between the two of you, made it rot, sullied it with disappointment and selfishness.

“I am now,” he replies.

Good, you breathe. Letting it sit, simmer. Paper over any cracks as your eyes sparkle and remain fixed on him, tracing him as though not completely sure he’s real.

That is, until you grab the remote, excitedly telling him about the night of television they have ahead of them. A blanket, at some stage, finds itself over him, you nestling into his side—like when they were teens before the world became a problem and narcos were all he hunted.

For a while, you catch him up, explain plots and characters. Then, you fall silent, brows crinkled in concentration. His eyes slide to the side to watch, to spot the little things you do as she settles in closer, brings your legs up, and rests almost all of yourself against him.

Between one show and another, he feels the rhythm of your breathing change, your body relaxing further against him. He glances down and finds your eyes closed, features soft and serene in sleep. Realisation dawns on him—you’ve fallen asleep. His heart does a slow tumble in his chest, a wave of warmth spreading through him. All of a sudden aware of the gentle weight of you against his side, the way your hand is loosely holding onto him. He watches, just for a moment, taking in the sight of you, so peaceful and trusting in your sleep. This moment is so intimate, so precious, he wants to freeze it in time.

What else is a guy like you gonna do…

This, he thinks. Looking at you, asleep, peaceful—curled into his side, fingers around his forearm.

Smiling, he takes the remote from your fingers, turning the volume down as he gets more comfortable—pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

He carried a single red rose down the side of your house—nudging open the window the rest of the way, climbing in like he had done years ago.

He didn’t need eyes, didn’t fancy having to explain to his parents how he could do that to that nice girl and her family. Javi had faced enough judgement, enough stares.

The only eyes he wanted were staring at him, remaining so as he stepped close and handed you the flower with the thorns picked free. “Come with me.”

Sighing, eyes averting, you swallowed loudly in the thick quietness. “You don’t want that. Your best friend following you.”

Eyes flicking up to meet his, you took another deep breath. Fingers flexed at your side, weight shifting from one foot to the other before you exhaled—louder than before.

“I don’t want to follow you, best friend.”

Then don’t be just that, he thought, thumb swiping over the tips of his fingers as he hovered, waited. Then he took a step closer, and another. The gap closed, becoming shorter and shorter—

“What are you doing, Piña?”

“Kissing you.”

Lips pursing, trying not to smirk, you took the rose and put it on your dresser. “Don’t feel your lips on mine, Javier.”

And then he kissed you, his fingers clutching at your jaw—body pressed against yours, tasting your whine, your moan.

He felt your fingers clutch at his shirt as he told you to be quiet.

Laid you on your bed of flowers, knees digging into stitched roses and sunflowers, as you arched off the bed when his fingers slid between your thighs—like he wished he’d done a handful of times before now.

He’s not sure of the time when he wakes, but it’s dark.

A contentedness in his bones that doesn’t fade as he begins to blink, as he takes in his surroundings and remembers where he is. Feeling you, warm, pressed as close against him as humanly possible. Able to see the outline of you, before his eyes manage to paint the rest, how his knee has slotted between your legs—bodies a mess of limbs that takes him back to years ago.

Javi notices how the television is switched off as you try to move, to wiggle and escape. His shirt discarded, the cool air misting over him, pebbling his skin as he slides his arm around you, pinning you tighter to him.

Brain all addled with dreams and sleep, as his awakening state tries to remind him what he’s doing.

What door he’s trying to open all over again.

“Javi…”

Not Piña, Peña or Javier. Javi, all soft and whispery, like honey dripping into his ear as he turns his head to find your stare in the dark. Somehow finding it shimmering, fixed, more than awake.

Then you whisper his name again, and it’s heavenly, a piece of it anyway. A sound he realises he’s missed more than he cares to find words to describe as he hears you push out a breath—fingers finding his arm, stroking, sliding their warmth up and down the muscle of his arm as he swallows.

It’s slow, hand cupping your cheek as he shifts his body, and finds yours moves with him. The beginning of a partner dance, one it feels you’ve both practised in small spaces but never actually have as he slides his lips over yours. Moulds them to yours. Tasting faint mint on your tongue when you deepen it—when you pay attention, listen, taking each cue you give him from the movement of your mouth to the way your hands grasp at him to come closer.

A whimper tries to break through, to escape through messy kisses and tangled bodies, but it vibrates through him. Makes him shudder with how much he wants you, moving your knee, hooking it over his hip as he slots his waist between your thighs and you gasp at the feel of him flush against you.

Practically whine.

Nose brushing your cheek, palm flat, fingers spreading out over your hip as he feels you roll your body into him, he smiles—breathy, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “Forgot how soft you are.”

You hum, head-turning, mouth latching itself back to his.

“Forgot how good of a kisser you are.”

Snorting, he lightly bites your lower lip. “Best remind you then.”

“Best do,” you whisper, pulling him by his hair back to your mouth.

You write a poem against his lips, signing it with your tongue against his as his fingers snake under the band of your sleep shorts, tasting your moan, your hiss and whimper when he touches you like he’s wanted to since he landed back in the States.

When two fingers slide slowly inside of you, curling, the sound of his name is like a fucking sin he wants to be draped in, wrapped in, even dressed in. Him seeking, searching, finding that spot that has your legs opening for him, nails scraping against his scalp.

“More, Javi. Please—”

“You’re so tight, Flor,” he croons, burying the words in your neck, the tip of his tongue swiping over your collarbone as you grab a handful of his hair. “Feel so good around my fingers.”

Your hips writhe, roll them against his hand, gasping. Making a mess, dripping, practically gushing over his hand, as he fights pulling his hand free and getting a taste.

“Be better—dios mio—around your cock—”

Smirking, teeth nipping at your neck, “I remember.”

Head lifting, thankful the night sky is clear, that the moon is draping you in a slither of milky light so he’s able to see your eyes flutter shut. Able to witness what his fingers do to you, the effects of their teasing and the languid movements as he finds that angle, the one which makes you grind against his palm, and has your chest heaving.

He moans your name against your tongue, drinking down a blend of pleases falling from your swollen lips as he plunges deeper, walls squeezing him.

There he thinks, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder, as you dig your nails further into his scalp, tensing, bearing down on him to the point he hopes you’ll leave a mark, leave a cut, a signature of this moment he can run his fingers over.

“Kiss me,” you gasp, all wrapped in desperation as you pull at his shoulder.

His mouth only just pressing to yours when your cry buries against his tongue, when you flutter and arch as he continues to work you through it. His name breaks through messy kisses, it escaping effortlessly like it doesn’t wish to be buried anymore.

You don’t let him pull away, hooking one leg around him. Watching, not able to take your eyes from him as he retracts his hand—as he licks your pleasure from his fingers and you stare with a twinkle in your eye.

“You best fuck me now.”

Smirking, a low laugh escaping. “Yeah? Want me that bad, Flor?”

Lifting onto your elbows, he waits for a taunt, a tease—something that’ll bring him down a peg or two. What he finds, instead, is your fingers slowly crawling up his bare chest, around his neck, your chin tilted up.

“I need you, Javi. Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“And then I wanna get on top,” you whisper, dragging each syllable out, “and fuck you until the sun comes up.”

“Murphy is a nice guy.”

Eyes narrowing, he shot you a glare—watching as you shimmied your jacket from your shoulders. Bare arms, bare legs—except for the thin tank and shorts adorning your body—that had him thinking un-best friend things.

“You jealous, Piña?”

“Of a married guy? Fuck no.”

Grinning, you moved closer—boxing him in. Staring into his eyes, in a way that made him feel like he was being seen, read, and admired all at once. “Is that because you left a bite mark on my hip?”

Tracing his fingers along your neck, he felt himself smile. That flutter in his chest again, the one which had appeared one day when the two of you were teens and hadn’t gone away since.

“Ask me to stay,” you whispered, hands on either side of him—all boxed in. “Ask me, Javi.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he raised a hand, knuckles brushing over your cheek. Wanting nothing more. A week gone too quickly. Already feeling the pressure slip back over his muscles, seeping into his bones. But he knew. He pictured it, the things he had nightmares over—even when you were far away, never mind when you were asleep in the room next to his.

“Too dangerous.”

“That it? I can learn—”

“No.”

“No?”

He stared. Thought of the things he had done. The people he had already let down. The things he had let happen to people who deserved far better. It layering, and layering, and layering and—

Nodding, disappointment spread, before it was washed over in acceptance. “What’re we eating?”

When he wakes, he expects to find you dressed in corporate and apologising in a voice that’s accompanied by a pout at the foot of your bed. The place the two of you found yourself on at 4 am.

Instead, you fake another performance. Earn an Oscar over the phone before switching to the excitable one you present to him when you sit at the foot of the bed.

There’s something there. It hangs in your eyes. A secret, a thing shifted and dislodged now your mask has slipped from the few hours of sleep and the ruining of your sheets.

But he doesn’t ask, because if he does, he fears he’d tell you things in return. Alter the way you see him. Change it, taint it. Practically ruin the man you think he went to be and the one he's returned as.

It'll hurt him if you look at him with disgust. You’ve burnt him after all, left him winded, air knocked from his lungs each time he’s laughed. All but imprinted into his mind, a thing never filed but rather pinned up and forever there, like artwork on a fridge.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

Hands pulling on a pair of jeans, buttoning them as he sees the peaks of your nipples through your white tee. And he knows your face is bare and you're dressed in clothes you just pulled out without thought—yet, you are, as always, the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

A thing he thinks when he showers.

When he smiles as he scrubs the shampoo into his hair, feels the soreness at parts from where your nails had dug in. He doesn't stop beaming when he smears his palm across the glass, takes in his appearance as you open the door, a towel hung low on his hips, eyes dropping down.

“Now who's staring, hermosa.”

“Don’t be a work of art to be admired then.”

He dresses in record time, your hand swinging beside his, so within reach, so easy to grab. But he doesn’t.

None of last night mentioned, even if he knows he’s left bruises on your inner thighs from keeping them apart; even if you've left scratch marks on his shoulders from when you sunk down on him, head thrown back, jaw elongated as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

Javi doesn't even mention it when he hears you gasp at the taste of your coffee, a noise similar to when he'd licked a stripe up your pussy, when he tasted both you and him.

It was just like in Colombia.

A thing buried, hidden underneath other topics the two of you don’t discuss. Dead parents and a town you both ran from. A thing he almost wants to change, correct, but then you stop outside a flower shop.

The sign battered, peeling. Hidden between two nicer shops, yet the scent made his nose twitch.

“You should buy me flowers.”

“Should I?”

Smirking, teeth biting your lip. “Por lo de anoche.”

Head shaking, he finds himself following anyway. Unable to stop his eyes from falling to the back pocket you shove your phone in, hand reaching, palm pressing to the globe of your ass as he hears the muffled sound of a giggle—

“Piña.”

“Flor,” he whispers, practically breathes it against your neck.

The bubble expands, knowing at some point it’ll pop. Too happy, he thinks. Too settled for a man who has a solo flight back. It’s why he drops his hand, lets you move further in, watching as you scan over already-made bouquets for one he knows you won’t find.

Because they don’t know you. Not like him. There’s not years between you and this shop—this place.

His fingers lightly roll over a stem, staring at the flower, before he has pulled it free from the bucket, and then another, and then another. Not at all a florist—or someone artistic enough to make a bunch—but a person who at least knows you. Knows that in each of the pre-made bundles there’s a flower you dislike, one that’ll remind you of something, someone.

“Here.”

You blink, eyes widening as they move from the bunch in his hand to his face. “Javi…”

“There your—”

“Favourites,” you finish, eye narrowing, lips still parted. “You remembered all my favourites?”

Shrugging, aware of how close he is to real—to something that could shatter, break. A thing he’ll do, just give it time. Feeling it wrap its tendrils around his chest, around his heart, squeezing and squeezing until your hand slips in his. Palm to palm, fingers finding their way between his slowly, cautiously, your eyes not leaving his face as you do.

“Didn’t know my pussy was good enough for flowers, Piña,” you comment, voice low, a smirk there.

“You deserve more than flowers.”

“I’m that good?”

Shaking his head, hand still in yours, he presses a kiss to your forehead, swallowing. “Siempre has sido.”

“Hello?”

He heard the hiccup, the slur of his name as he smirked against the phone—finger and thumb massaging his forehead as he heard you hiccup again. “Flor?”

“Piña, did you know that I miss you?”

Adjusting the tie around his neck, staring down at the pineapples—the box open, atop a bunch of files, in the office he should have been thankful for. “You sound like you’ve had a good night.”

You howled, the laugh all high-pitched. “Maybe I have—maybe I haven’t. What I do know is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No. I love you.”

Smirking, thumb tracing an outline of one of the pineapples. “You’re drunk.”

“Still love you.”

Swallowing, he let out a heavy exhale.

“You doing okay, mi Piña?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer, how to respond. Head tilting back in his office chair, the ice melted in his whiskey and the hour so late he wondered why you were still up as you extended his nickname out into as many syllables as you could.

“I am now—okay, I mean.”

It needs to be left alone.

He knows it. Reminds himself of it when it rears its head at every second he doesn't. Because, it doesn't need to be needled, or picked at until it bled.

But, Javi picks at it all the same when you avoid his question again.

His hand slides over his face, index finger tracing a line down his nose as he waits until your laugh fades. Your fork twists the spaghetti round and round, and when it falls, it simply lands on the table between the two of you—the air tinged with the scent of dinner and the flowers from the shop.

“When were you going to tell me you hate your job?”

Your smile shrinks, like the sunlight being muted by the night. Spine straightening, chin lifting. The walls coming down both literally and figuratively, seeing you prepare for war when he’s army-less and unafraid.

“Si significo algo para ti, no lo hagas.”

He snorts, resting on his arm, letting the sheets fall to his waist. Because of course, he cares, and of course, he wants to do this. Balling up the hand beside his hip, seeing the murkiness in your eyes, the joy snuffed out and hidden, as though the hatchets were coming down to protect against his storm.

Javi says your name, softly, honeyed—delicately drip-feeding the air each letter until it’s out there existing.

One by one, it happens. Your eyes avert, chin dipping down; your tongue drags across the front of your teeth and then your arms fold. “I hate my job. Happy? I wanted it so bad—and now I have it, I hate it. I hate going in, I hate doing it. I can’t tell anyone that because it’s all I wanted.”

“It’s okay.”

Snorting, fake smile sketching across your face as your eyes harden to the point they’re brittle. “It isn’t. I left. I turned my back and got as far out of there as I could, and now I’m stuck.”

It breaks him a little.

Seeing it then, the many shards inside of you that you’re trying to keep whole. The pieces that are so worn and tired from doing their best to fit, but struggling to do so.

It’s why he protests that you’re not. He tries to rationalise and says the same words he knows you’d say to him if he called—if he had told you the truth about everything when he was over there. He tries to add kindness to his words as you continue to stare at him like you wish your bed would swallow him whole.

“—You’re saying this like I didn’t say the same thing to you, and you went and did another five years.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” you spit, standing now, finger pointing and nose flared. “Because your job means more?—”

“No, because I’m a fucking idiot, Flor. You’re not.”

You mutter under your breath, curse him—a blend of poisonous Spanglish that has the heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Because it’s like last time.

The words surge up inside of him—except you’re both older now, both carrying more pain and hurt from a world that continues to pile on when bones are already struggling. Walls threw up, keeping him out in all the same ways—except now his mess is also between your thighs, and you aren’t half as good at hiding how his words hurt you.

“Come home with me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Folding your arms, your head shaking. “I can stick it out—work my way up, it’ll get better—”

“You know it won’t. Know how well that went for me.”

Then you scoff. It blended with razors and sharpened to injure. “No, I don’t. Because you don’t talk about what happened.”

“You read about it.”

“But that’s not your story, Javi. That’s theirs.”

For a moment, he sees it. How hollow you look, how weak, sad and broken. So he repeats it, the request, the offer. Come home with me. But the door shuts, locks, a bolt thrown over.

And everything, all of it, splinters; it doing so before your mouth even opens and he sees what his request has done.

“I’m not coming home just because you’ve decided you want to play happy fucking families, Peña. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you’ve decided to run away, and it doesn’t begin turning again because you’ve come home and decided what you want.”

“That isn’t—”

“You left. You left me.”

“—Flor—”

“—and I asked you to let me stay—when I knew you were hurting. I asked and you said no—”

He whispers your name, broken—like it shatters the moment it greets the air.

“—I wasn’t good enough then. So why am I now?”

Shaking his head, legs flung from under your sheets, he stands—aware he’s half-naked, aware this isn’t the time as you step back.

You shake your head, tears dangling, resistant to fall. “I bet you’re not even staying.”

“I am—”

Head tilting, a crystal tear falling down your cheek, you scoff. Loud. Brutal. “Have you even unpacked? Or did you just get on a plane here?”

Swallowing, Javi rolls his jaw. Fingers flexing at his side, staring, urging himself to find words as his tongue thickens in his mouth. Because he’s staying, he’s staying, he’s staying—

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Flor—”

“Save it.”

The door of your bedroom slamming behind you is the final sound that echoes out between you both.

It was different.

Hearing you cry down the phone—than when the two of you were younger.

When your first love broke your heart and he lay beside you on sheets covered in stitched flowers. Your head turned to him, the bedroom door open, as you teased your lip between your teeth. The tears had dried, but the rest had still been there, written in markers across your face as you sighed, staring, waiting for him to answer. “What do you want, Piña?” you’d asked, and he’d swallowed that he wanted to punch them.

Now, though, there were miles between the two of you. Distance far more than there had ever been—cities, a whole country.

“I’ll be home soon—can visit you.”

He heard you laugh, it hanging, echoing. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it.”

“You mean a lot of things, Javi.”

“Flor—”

“I wish you'd never kissed me.”

It's a whisper, the way he said your name. It cracked, snapping as it left his tongue.

“I should go shower, early morning and all that.”

He asked you to stay and he heard you sigh.

“What do you want, Piña?”

Swallowing, Javi tapped his fist on the desk—tiredness having crept over him, the last ditch at doing right in Colombia suspended over him. Tell me I’m doing good, that it's worth losing you, Flor. “Have a good day, Flor.”

It’s weeks.

Eight weeks and four days to be exact.

At some point, it becomes less of a want to get in touch and more of a need not to. Your number is always there on his fingers, but his digits never dialling it when his Pop nips out to go to the store, and he’s left alone with his thoughts and memories in a house stuffed full of them.

Javi doesn’t expect anything else.

Having woke that next morning to find a note attached to the book he had bought: Had to go to work. Have a safe flight. Speak soon—a thing he both hoped and prayed for, even as he nursed a drink on the short flight and chain-smoked at the airport before he did the drive home.

Home.

A thing it felt even less of when he arrived this final time. Pulling his truck into its place, dust swirled and kicked up around him. Staring at the house that hasn’t changed much, just the paint thinning, the sun-dyeing it.

Each day that ticks by, he thinks of you. Each week that’s collected, he fights with himself when he’s sat alone at the dining table about flying back out and apologising.

Because he knows what he did.

Did the same thing back then—assumed and foolishly acted as though your wants never mattered. But they do matter. A thing he rehearses in his head when he’s feeding the animals; a thing he runs over when he’s repairing a door here or a fence there.

One week adds up, then another, and another.

If his Pop thinks things, he doesn’t share them. Just shakes his head occasionally, not asking what is wrong, likely knowing. Suspecting he wears it like the rest of his shame, brightly coloured and decorated in bright lights.

A fool’s outfit, he thinks. A thing he is, a thing he knows. It carved into him at this point. Scratched into the skin and muscle, yet everyone else sees the word hero.

It’s eight weeks and four days when the door of the party opens, the sun streaming in—illuminating the back of a person in a dress adorned with flowers. It takes a second, the condensation on his beer dripping down his wrist as he stares, trying to place the shape and the style of the hair. Not wanting to imagine, not wanting to jump ahead of himself until he hears your mom say your name, all excitable—practically a shriek.

He’s not prepared.

Yet, it’s out of habit he moves.

Like the two of you are magnets, that realised they were supposed to be a pair. The music doesn’t quiet, and the room doesn’t hold its breath, but Javi does—and he suspects you do too.

Just as time comes to a slow stop—the hand in his watch takes an age to flick to the next second as his heart hammers into his ribs. Staring, fingers itching to reach out and ensure you’re not something he’s fabricated, not a mirage from wanting so badly and convincing himself he’d never have it.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Piña.”

It weighs heavy then—clots on his tongue. Almost shapes itself into bile and rests horridly against his tongue as he follows you around, hand close to reaching out to place on your lower back, but stops when he remembers where he is.

Home.

A thing it all of a sudden feels like when you turn your head, lift your chin and stare at him—eyes full of forgiveness, and understanding. “We should talk, right?”

Right, he thinks. Trying to stop the twist in his chest from tightening, trying to stop the dread from filling him and drowning from within. Conversations never go well. A thing he thinks over, and over as his hand strokes over his face, following, one foot after the other, until the warm sun kisses his skin and he finds himself leaning against the side of the building.

“I didn’t come for you.”

He says nothing, not sure if there are any to say.

“I quit. Moved back a week and a bit ago—” your hand comes up to halt him, half-pleading with a tilt and a raise of your eyes. “—and I needed to find things for me, first.”

Folding his arms, he stretches his legs, lets himself elongate, and tries to fill his lungs with air.

“Because I’d have resented you for being right.” Your chin dips, eyes following. “A thing I would do, because you, Javier Peña, know me. And sometimes I really hate that.”

Exhaling, he finds you do the same. Head tilting, lips rolling as you take him in, trace him with your eyes as though you can't quite believe he's real.

“Did you know that every person I’ve been with, it gets to a point where I think ‘Fuck, Javi wouldn’t do this to me’?” Meeting his gaze, you exhale. “And then, no matter how much I felt for them, it goes.”

“Flor…”

Swallowing, you offer the smallest smile. “It’s never gone for you, though. Not when you left. Not when you came back, and left again. Not eight weeks ago when I should have asked you to stay.”

Tongue sticking, flat against the roof his mouth, he grabs your hand—holds it. Runs his thumb over the knuckles as you avert your eyes.

“I live in Laredo now, further north. Did you know I’m so good at what I do, people seek me out?” you say, beaming, letting him pull you closer. “Think they’d have cloned me if I’d asked for it.”

Dragging his knuckles down your cheek, he’s unable to stop the way it flares up in him—that joy, that ember of happiness—when you smile.

“Because I don’t think I find the idea of being yours that terrible—”

“That so?”

Shaking your head, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt, he watches your smile falter—just for a moment. “Don’t do this, if you’re going to up and leave again, Javi. Because I’d have died happily not telling you what I feel for you.”

“Not doing it again to you.”

“Okay. Then,” you sigh, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding a home on your waist. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I really like your moustache.”

“Just really like?” he teases, swaying you as you purse your lips together.

“Fine. I love it.”

Smiling, walking you back until your back meets the wooden railings. “I love that you love it.”

Rolling your eyes, forehead meeting his chest, he feels the laugh roll through you. Rumbling.

“You owe me flowers.”

Snorting, he rests his chin on your head. “I’ll buy you a field, Flor.”

“That’s a good start.”

Thought so, he thinks. Wrapping his arms around you, keeping your head against him, rocking you, like he's wished to do so many times before now.

Home now feeling right.

[allwaswell16]

F a v o r i t e F i c s O f 2 0 2 4

As an ardent reader of One Direction fan fiction, 2024 has been an amazing year for fics! I read so many incredible fics this year, so please check out all my recs for the year here! Below you will find fics that brought me to tears, made me laugh, comforted me, filled me with joy, or had me yelling in my living room. I share this list with you all not to say that these fics are better than others from this year, but to say thank you to these writers who have left a mark on me with their fics.

To all our fandom's writers, thank you for the gift of your stories! Sending much love to you in the new year!

🪩 Louis / Harry 🪩

with venom on your tongue by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 91k, enemies to lovers) a boarding school AU where Harry and Louis are academic rivals until they realize they’re more similar than they thought.

don't be afraid to love (and love again) by localopa / @voulezloux

(T, 83k, trans Louis) the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

When the Lights Go Out by thelarenttrap / @antidotetogo

(E, 79k, F1 au) In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press--on and off the track--Formula 1 has ever seen.

I'm Praying (that you don't burn out or fade away) by @lululawrence

(NR, 74k, soulmates) Harry and Louis are literal stars who have known they were soulmates from their creation eons ago, however when Louis came to Earth to start the next phase of their fated future, he forgot everything. Even Harry.

A Frail Farewell by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(M, 44k, famous/not famous) Louis can’t believe his luck when he is offered one of the easiest jobs he has had as a long-term house-sitter for the wealthy. Most of all he likes that there are no surprises until he gets the shock of his life from ex-pop star Harry Styles who isn’t supposed to be home.

The Things We Know To Be Wild by harryanthus_annuus / @harryanthus-annuus

(M, 39k, dragons) Louis is a London zoologist sent by the University of Highlands and Islands to assess the safety of the island of Eroda as part of the Wonder Seekers Project for sustainable tourism.

hard times in elmsmere by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci

(M, 37k, time travel) for louis, being a full-fledged vampire complicates everything, not just his relationship with harry but with harry’s entire coven who took Louis in as an orphan.

Enough To Wish For More by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(M, 33k, The Bridges of Madison County au) Louis Tomlinson just wants a few days of peace and quiet while his family are out of state. But when he meets the lead singer of a band he’s never heard of, his life and everything he thought he knew about it changes forever.

Your Reign is Free (to give along to Santa) by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 28k, humor) It’s Christmas Eve. It’s a totally normal Christmas Eve. Harry and Louis have some friends coming by, and some totally normal birthday and Christmas plans. It’s a totally typical totally normal Christmas Eve. A fic that takes place over 24 (+1) hours where surely everything will go totally to plan.

and so I have to say (before I go) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 27k, mystery) Sometimes falling in love is taking a leap of faith, jumping into the unknown with your eyes closed, hoping someone will be there to catch you. Sometimes falling in love is seeing the person in front of you, all their flaws and imperfections, and taking that leap nonetheless.

Rewriting the Melody by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 26k, canon divergence) Louis doesn’t get put in One Direction. This time, the path to true love takes the long way round, including singing in toilet cubicles, fruit baskets, and long distance band counselling from someone who really doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just wants to keep talking to Harry.

Sugar, Sugar by @parmahamlarrie

(E, 25k, sugar daddy Louis) Meeting your soulmate was the most joyous event of one’s life… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Harry, in all of his 25 year old wisdom, was suspicious of the role fate plays in everyone's lives. He'd rather focus his time dating older men he meets off of a sugar baby website.

Room For One More Troubled Soul by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey

(M, 25k, supernatural elements) Louis Tomlinson is the chief medical examiner of the Centre for the Law Enforcement of Supernatural Beings - more commonly referred to as simply "The Centre".

On a starlit night by @lunarheslwt

(M, 24k, omegaverse) omega and future Luna Louis is holding a mating ceremony to find his mate, but what he doesn’t expect to see amongst the alphas vying for his hand, is a familiar, yet unexpected face: Harry Styles.

Colorful Hearts by Larrysmomfics / @larrysmomfics

(M, 20k, humor) In a world where orgasmic emissions change color depending on the person’s mood, Louis Tomlinson’s semen has only ever been blue. At the recommendation of his doctor he attends a support group for people with similar conditions. 

 Behind Smoke Stained Curtains by @jaerie

(E, 19k, omegaverse) The worlds align when Louis meets an alpha from the road with as many secrets as he holds himself.

Stand on Holy Ground (series) by @wishingforloushair

(E, 17k, religion kink) Louis comes back to confess again, and Harry has an idea of how Louis can show God his devotion. 

Peeping by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 16k, roommates) Louis has a thing for his housemate, Harry is under the impression that clothing around the house is an optional extra, and neither of them seem to be able to stop wanking long enough to get their shit together and admit their true feelings.

Lost But Won by @2tiedships2

(NR, 16k, omegaverse) When Harry loses his passport after a weekend trip to see Niall, the inconvenience of being stranded in America becomes a little more bearable after meeting Louis. Or a lot more bearable.

At your service, for your usage (series) by @holdingontochaos

(E, 16k, sex work) Louis is a doctor who works so much that he has barely any time to himself for pleasure, let alone to clean his house so he hires Harry as his naked maid and kills two birds with one stone.

so pull me closer, why don’t you pull me close? by @alwaysxlarrie

(M, 9k, uni) If the captain of the soccer team wants to substitute players and be Harry's partner instead... well, Harry's lemons just turned into lemon meringue pie. Who is he to argue with fate?

 and then, i wait there for you by punk_pillow_princess / @punkpillowprincess

(M, 9k, established relationship) Harry has always dreamed of having his “happily ever after”, but hasn’t found the right one yet. Suddenly, he meets Louis.

never just the tip by journeytothepast / @suckerforhome

(E, 6k, omegaverse) Harry believes alphas can't control themselves. Louis proves him wrong.

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 5k, omegaverse) Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

Good-Old Fashioned Lover Boy by not_fitzwilliam / @not-fitzwilliam-darcy

(NR, 5k, omegaverse) When a miscalculated decision leads to an accidental courtship with the sweetest, most gentle alpha, Harry is torn between breaking the alpha's heart and telling the truth. 

Pretty and Preposterous by @brightlyharry

(NR, 5k, neighbors) Harry donates a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his little free library. He never expects what comes next.

 Pussy Juice by @homosociallyyours

(M, 4k, girl direction) While she manages to dodge the bar’s “special” drink, the Pussy Juice shot, she can’t avoid the feelings that come up when her former teacher (and teen crush), Louis joins her and her friends for the night.

 That’s the way love goes by bella28

(T, 4k, soulmate goose!) In a world, where soulmate geese are sent to the people who can’t figure out who their soulmate is, Harry finds himself stuck with a goose when he is attending a concert of his favourite artist Louis Tomlinson.

Come On and Rescue Me by @kingsofeverything

(E, 3k, silver fox Louis) Louis only intends to watch his hot neighbor’s Instagram live, but he winds up with his hand down his pants.

Figure This Out by @haztobegood

(E, 2k, age difference) Louis is everything Harry could have imagined when he’d typed “silver fox enthusiast” into his Grindr profile. Too bad he's probably scared Louis off by giving him too many expensive gifts.

coming home by @seekforwarmth

(E, 2k, canon) It’s coming home, one way or another.

What’s in a Name by @hellolovers13

(T, 2k, soulmates au) Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate. The name on his arm disagreed. But what did his soulmark know about true love anyway.

 You are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad) by @dreaminrainbows

(M, 2k, pining) Louis is a hot bartender and Harry is pathetically in love with him

The Unselected Journals of Louis W. Tomlinson - Vol 1 by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 1k, epistolary) The Wandering of Things was not new, nearly two years into living here. However, the, uh, nature of this particular thing was quite different.

skinny dip (in water under the bridge) by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal

(G, 880 words, exes) It’s a Wednesday and nostalgia might just get the best of Louis.

can't hide from yourself by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(M, 666 words, suspense) Harry's home alone, faced with his reflection. And something's not quite right.

🪩 Rare Pairs 🪩

Like A Force Of Nature by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 30k, Zayn/Liam) the Heartstopper AU no one asked for.

To start again by @loretheloner

(E, 27k, Louis/Michael Blackwell) Louis finds himself slowly falling for a bandmate again, despite Oli's warnings against it. Michael finds himself slowly falling for his boss and fighting against the ghost of Louis' past relationship. 

It’s a Craving Not a Crush by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 9k, Liam/Louis) the one where Liam and Louis are best bros who end up getting married so that Liam has the insurance he needs to go to rehab. Now that he’s sober, they can get divorced. But do they want to?

Can You Feel Where the Wind Is by @fallinglikethis

(M, 3k, Zayn/Liam) He remembers arguing that he had no real power over anything, so no one would care about him, let alone try to hurt him. But that assessment had proven to be untrue today.

I regret you all the time by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 2k, Louis/Prince William) Louis’ friends don’t understand, and they wouldn’t even if he explained. But every time William texts, Louis drops everything to go see him.

Skin on My Skin by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

(E, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Let me touch you where you like it Let me do it for ya

[evandsolo]

Home is where you are. | ft. Choi San.

choi san x reader genre : fluff, established relationship, slice of life words : 1,790. trigger warning : none ! if you see some, please tell me. plot : it's your first anniversary with the love of your life. you just spend the night together. side note : i just love San so much, i wanted to write the cutest thing with him ! I hope I gave him justice !

It’s already been a year. The best year of your life if you had to be fully honest. A year since he said he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. You knew San for a long time before, but could you imagine how amazing your life would be today ? You’ve never felt so loved before, so understood, so cherished, even though his work was taking a lot of his time. He always made sure to have enough time to spend with you.  

“I can't wait to be home and to be with you again” he said on the phone last night making your heart flutter so fast. “I Can't wait either. Will you be home when I get back from work?” You asked, hoping for a positive answer “I'm landing in the morning. I'll probably have to make a stop by the agency before heading home but I'll be there. I promise.” 

Your day was full of meetings and appointments, but you loved your job so much. You had a lot of responsibilities and you've never felt so accomplished in your life ever before. You kept on checking your phone every time you had the chance to. You wanted to make sure your boyfriend arrived safely, but the text did not arrive as soon as you hoped it would. He was supposed to arrive in the morning. He always texted you when landing. He probably had forgotten, you knew he had a lot of things to do. Or maybe the plane was running late. For a second you thought about checking his flight, just to reassure yourself. But it'd be a little bit extra. You let the hours pass by, until it was time for you to go home. Still no news of your lover. You can’t help but start to worry. It’s not usual for him to remain silent, especially when he comes home from a long trip.  

You hoppe in a taxi trying to call his best friend, who also became yours over time. “Yeah ?” answers Wooyoung’s voice on the other side of the phone. “Good lord, you’re alive !” Relief can be heard in your voice. “Of course I am ! Are you okay y/n ?” Okay ? How can you be ? “ I haven’t heard from San since you took off the plane, is he still with you ?” you ask. please please please, tell me he is with you. “No, he left the agency a few hours ago, but I'm pretty sure his phone died. You don’t have to worry, y/n” You try real hard to hold back your tears. “Yeah, I hope you’re right. Thanks Woo.” You finish, hanging out the call. Why hasn't he reached out to you yet ? On that day that seemed so special for the both of you. 

Your way home is full of questions and worries. You try to call him up but you end up again by falling on his voicemail without even a tone. Wooyoung was probably right after all, there was no need to be worried. 

You unlock your door and suddenly your heart stops in your chest. A soft dim light is diffused in the whole apartment, and the floor is covered in red petals. The room is filled with the sound of your favorite melody. All the pieces of the puzzle are assembled and you finally realize what was going on. Your eyes are starting to fill with tears as you move into the room. He stands up here, behind the central island of the kitchen. His eyes finally reach you and you can see the widest smile on his face. “ Hi gorgeous !” He says, in his joyful voice. 

Your bag falls on the ground, and you run into his arms, burying your face into his chest. You were so worried, that seeing him here was the biggest relief ever. “I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He chuckles. “ I missed you, and you didn’t send any text. I thought something bad happened to you.” You admit, keeping your face close to his heart so you could hear his heartbeat. “ My phone died before I left the agency and I didn't have any battery left in the other one. But I had to come home fast.” You sigh in relief. You finally took a second to reach out to his lips and pressed yours against it. “I missed that.” He says, when you step back. 

“What were you cooking? It actually smells so good !” You ask, leaning on the counter to see into the pot. “A Sundubu-jjigae. Your favorite.” He answers, putting a kiss on your temple. “You really make my life feel like a dream, Sannie.” You were so lucky to have him. The sound of your favorite jazzy melody echoed in the room. Everything was so damn perfect. “ Would you like to dance with me ?” He asks, behind your back. “Here ? But the kitchen is way too small, we don't have enough space to dance.” You say, pointing at the room around you. “We won’t be fancy waltzing for sure, but I just want to have you close and swing to music.” He puts his hands around your waist and you wrap your arms around his neck, and starts swinging softly around the room. Soft light coming from the little spots and candles around the room made it even warmer. That was comforting. You always dreamed of those kinds of moments, but never thought it could be real. But here you are, slow dancing in the arms of the love of your life. “ I’m so thankful for the life we share.” You whisper, eyes riveted in his. He was gentle, understanding. The most caring and beautiful soul you’ve ever seen in your life. He makes you turn around yourself and you can’t help but giggle. “I’m thankful for you, y/n” He murmurs in your ear. keeping you close to him. The music changed, and sadly you stopped the moment. 

It was time for you to freshen-up a little, as the dish was finishing to stew. You had a few minutes before you. Once you reach the room, you find a giant box on the bed. The bow on it doesn't fool you. You also had a present prepared for your lover, but this ! This was quite wild. “Love ? What's in there?” You shout from the room. “Open it, you'll love what's inside !” Curious, you pull the piece of fabric to open the box’s lid. It’s absolutely full of things, and every little detail makes your heart warmer. Twelve items, for twelve months of love. A giant bear plushie, some candies, your favorite perfume, a very pretty bracelet. amongst everything there was a silky sleepwear set. Two cats were embroidered on the top, right on the heart position. It was the cutest thing you’ve ever witnessed, and it was quite special to you. It was personalized and showed how much attention he puts in everything you said or shared this past year. You took the time to admire every single item, before heading to the bathroom for a few minutes. 

“So ? You like… Wow ! Hello Baby.”  He says, appearing in the door frame, making your smile become wider. The way he was looking at you, could make you fall in love again. “How did I get that lucky ?” He asks, as you turn to him. He had so much love in his eyes. That's something you have never witnessed ever before. And the way he looked just like a prince out of a fairytale. His half buttoned shirt, rolled out sleeves, perfectly adjusted to his good amount of muscles. He couldn't look more handsome than this. “ You ain’t bad either, love.” You answer him with a little voice both amused and lascivious. You loved the way his honeyskin stood out even more thanks to his white shirt. He probably would be even more handsome without, but you’ll keep that for later.

You grab the small box on the dresser before heading towards him and placing a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Here’s yours. Open it.” You invite him, a little smile on your lips. You waited for this for days. You knew he'd be so happy.  “What’s in there ?” He says, looking at it closely. But it was just a box, no brand, no distinctive signs of anything. “Just open it !” You press him with all your impatience. You couldn’t wait any longer. He opens the upper part, just to discover a gorgeous beige necklace. “Babe ?” He says, a little bit lost, when taking the object in his big hands. You can’t help but giggle. “You should just read the paper in it, before looking at me like that.” He took it with concern, and read the lines you handwritten him earlier on. 

Hi ! It’s me, Byeol. 

Apparently, you told mom you were hoping to grow the family one day. So here I am the first addition to our family. I may not be a human baby, mom says it’s a little bit too soon, but she said to me you’d be the happiest kitten dad in the world.  

I can’t wait to meet you ! You and mom will come and get me tomorrow morning. 

See ya, Byeol ! 

“Is it real ?” He said, lifting his head up to you, his eyes sparkling with joy. You nod your head quickly, happiness reading in your features. “But you said because of your allergy we couldn’t have cats !” His cautiousness made your heart flutters. “It’ll be okay, I've discussed with doctors and I was able to be desensitized, so we will be able to accommodate her.” You didn’t tell him anything to keep the surprise total. And it worked just as you expected. “ You did that for me ?” He asks, wrapping his giant’s arms around you. “ Yeah. You wanted to have a cat for so long now. I knew you’d be happy.” He leans to you, to kiss you deeply. “Do you know how much I love you ?” He says against your lips, making you smile as you step back a little. “I’d probably love you more after the diner. Because you cannot imagine how hungry I am.” You say, leaving his arms to run to the kitchen. 

From the hallway you can hear him yelling with joy and saying "Guys! I’m going to be a cat daddy!" Probably a voice message he sent to his best friend, impatient to share the big news. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

Life was so good by his side, you hoped it would remain like that, forever. Even how fast, crazy and amazing it is. It’s just as perfect as you expected it to be.

I really hope you appreciated it, do not hesitate to reblog or to leave a note i’d love to read all about your thoughts. ✿

[screamingoverfiction]

Sleeping In

Fred Weasley x f!-reader. No house mentioned. 18+ smut ahead minors DNI!!

Also, I'm sorry for disappearing, I was stressed, and writer's block took its toll! Hopefully, I'll be able to do a request I have sitting in my drafts.

Word Count: 2.24k

"Oi, George, where's your sodding twin?" Y/n shouted, throwing her hands in the air as she entered the Gryffindor common room.

"Er, I think he's still in the dorm," George replied, nodding toward the stairs. The younger twin was sitting on the couch, playing cards with a few other students, his girlfriend Angelina resting her head on his shoulder.

Y/n huffed annoyedly, mumbling incoherently as she ascended the stairs, her nostrils flaring.

She reached the twins' dorm in no time, turning the knob and stepping inside, flicking the light switch.

"Ah, fuck me," A voice cried out, which Y/n immediately recognized as Fred's.

"Rise and shine fuckface," Y/n spoke, grabbing a random jumper off the floor and chucking it at Fred, who was busy rubbing away the sleep from his eyes.

The cloth hit him directly in the face, making him reel back.

"Ow," Fred mumbled, yawning again and blinking a few times.

"You were supposed to meet me in the library an hour ago," Y/n said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to her hip.

"Shit. Did I sleep that long?" Fred said, his eyes widening. He looked at his nightstand, and the small clock read 11:23 am.

"Fuck," He mumbled, running a hand through his hair and glimpsing at Y/n, flashing her an embarrassed smile.

Y/n just rolled her eyes with a sigh, running her tongue along her cheek. She walked over to the curtains, pulling them open and letting the light shine in.

Fred cringed from the brightness, sitting up with his back against the frame, admiring her from behind, sucking in a sharp breath.

Y/n turned around, her eyes widening slightly as she saw him.

He was shirtless, his muscles on full display, wearing only his plaid pajama pants beneath the covers. His red hair was messily falling over his forehead, and his eyes were still drowsy with sleep.

She quickly looked away, her eyes focusing on everything but him, the curtains, his dresser, the wall.

After all, they were only friends.

"Get dressed and meet me in the library," Y/n said, starting to walk to the door.

As she walked by, his hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her down on top of him.

A light gasp escaped her lips when his hands found themselves tightly grasping her hips, steadying her on his lap.

"I didn't mean to oversleep," He spoke softly, his eyes a pool of warm brown as they stared at her.

Y/n couldn't say a word, her mouth was open, but no sound came out, and her heart was beating a million miles an hour. She feared he could hear the rapidness.

"I did actually get up, brushed my teeth and everything, but then I took a...'five-minute nap.'"

"I looked like an idiot waiting for you," Y/n whispered. Her breath was shaky, full of nerves. She just now noticed her hand placement, both on either side of his neck by his collarbones, but he didn't seem to mind. Her legs straddled his waist, and the only thing separating them was the thin covers.

Fred let out a dry, breathy laugh. His eyes flickered to her lips before he lifted his gaze to hers.

Slowly, his hand raised to cup her face, his thumb gently tracing her cheek, making her inhale sharply.

His pupils were blown with what seemed to be lust and desire, and his eyes bore into hers, hesitant yet yearning.

Y/n's core burned with intense heat, her mind told her to back away, to save their friendship while she could, but her body's urge was far more powerful.

"Allow me to apologize," He said quietly, swallowing thickly as he gradually leaned forward, his hand still gently holding her face.

Y/n closed her eyes as his lips brushed against hers. With her lips trembling softly, she closed the gap.

Their lips met in a soft kiss. It was timid, slow, sensual, the calm before a raging storm.

Fred sighed against her lips, bringing his hand to the back of her head and drawing her closer, deepening their kiss.

Y/n leaned into him, her nails digging into his skin as she gripped his strong shoulder. Her other hand traveled to his jaw, holding it tightly.

A soft whimper-like gasp left her lips as Fred's free hand snaked under her shirt, his warm fingers brushing against the cool skin of her waist.

Like a bolt of lightning, desire shot through his spine from the noise. His tongue clashed with hers, and soft moans escaped their lips as the kiss dragged on.

"Fuck," Fred groaned, wanting nothing more than to rip off her clothes and ravage her completely. Hear her cry out his name as he fucked her into the mattress.

"Freddie," Y/n breathed, both of her hands now laced in his hair, lightly tugging it.

"Y/n, fuck. Can I?" Fred said, his fingers toying with the bottom of her black shirt.

She didn't hesitate to nod her head, a chorus of yeses quickly escaping her lips.

Fred lifted the fabric up and over her head, briefly disconnecting their lips.

Y/n didn't give herself time to feel ashamed, instead opting to connect their lips before he could scan her body.

Fred's fingers danced over her hips and around to her back, sliding upwards toward her bra clip.

If he died from kissing her lips, he'd die happy. There was no other taste in the world that could ever amount to her. She was the finest meal of them all.

"Can-"

"Yes, please," Her words came out in a whispering whine, a plead. She knew there was no going back to how things were, but hell, she didn't want that anymore.

Fred smiled, softly biting her bottom lip, kissing her passionately as he swiftly unclipped her bra.

He tossed it off the bed, pulling away from her lips and casting his eyes down.

If possible, his pupils expanded even more. He was so full of desire and passion that he felt he might explode.

Her body was perfect, exquisitely, and seemingly made purely for him.

Y/n could feel the shame rising on her cheeks. She felt the world slowly swallow her in the seconds before he responded.

"Bloody hell. You're so beautiful," Fred murmured, his lips attaching to her throat, kissing and biting downwards, making sure he left marks.

Y/n let out a soft gasp as he trailed further down, her head knocking back when he started on her breasts.

"Oh fuck," She whispered, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut as his lips thoroughly covered her nipples and breasts in hickeys.

"You look so fucking pretty covered in my marks," He said, smiling against her neck, kissing the sweet spot below her ear.

Y/n laced her fingers in his short red hair, breathing heavily, subconsciously rutting herself against him, searching for some sort of friction.

She hastily sat straighter, pulling the thin covers back and straddling him completely, feeling his erection through the cloth of his trousers.

Her lips found him again, and it was her turn to scatter love bites along his skin, which she did without hesitation.

Her teeth nipped and marked the skin around his throat, leaving a skillfully placed hickey just below his jaw visible to everyone.

"Making me yours, I see," Fred mumbled teasingly, his hand now drifting to her arse, head knocked back in pleasure.

"Not like you didn't do the same," She replied breathlessly, pulling back to admire her work, tracing her fingers over the various marks on his neck and jaw.

Fred smirked, taking her chin in his hand and dragging her back to his lips, kissing her deeply.

"Do I look pretty?" He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Very," Y/n answered, gasping as his hand ran over her arse, stopping at the waistband of her sweats.

"Take them off," She says before he can even ask, already assisting him in sliding them down, kicking them off and away from the bed.

Y/n's fingers hooked into the hem of his trousers. He soon helped her take them off and quickly discard them with the rest of their clothes.

Her panties were next. Fred practically ripped them off her legs, too impatient for anything else.

The cold air hit her bare pussy, and she shivered, but as soon as his warm body touched hers, her mind was clouded yet again.

She wasted no time taking off his boxers as well, the bubbling warmth in her core only growing larger when his large erection brushed against her inner thigh, teasing her.

"Do you- Do you have-" Y/n started to ask, but he cut her off.

"Top drawer to the left," Fred said quickly, an audible displeased groan leaving his lips when she pulled back.

Y/n would've rolled her eyes at his whines, but she was too wrapped up in lust to even care.

She opened the top drawer, took a condom from the box, and handed it to Fred.

He ripped it open with his teeth, spitting the plastic out and carefully sliding the latex over his aching cock.

Y/n could do nothing but stare and drool, the mere sight of him making her cunt clench in anticipation.

He was half propped on his elbow, one hand traveling to her neck, pulling her lips to his while the other held her by the hip.

Y/n kissed him deeply, aligning his cock with her entrance and slowly lowering herself onto it, breathing rapidly.

Airy moans left both their lips as he bottomed out, her tight muscles clenching around him.

The covers were hanging off her lower back, but she didn't care. There was no way in hell she would get cold.

His warm body pressed against hers as she started rocking her hips. Chest to chest, their bodies worked together, his hand on her back, pressing her further into him, her hand on his bicep, nails digging into his muscles as she moved.

"Ah- fuck, just like that, love," Fred groaned, his handsome features scrunched in pleasure.

He looked down to see where they connected, her back arching ever so slightly to take him all, her perfect pussy stretched around his cock.

He was able to hit every perfect place inside her, rutting against her g-spot, sending waves of pleasure shooting up Y/n's spine.

But oh fuck, he needed to be deeper, needed her moaning and mewling his name like it was a prayer.

So without missing a beat, he flipped their positions, her legs locking around his torso as he started thrusting.

She wrapped her arms around him, encasing him closely, their chests still touching.

"You're so good for me, angel, taking my cock so well," He grunted, breathing heavily from the sensation of her walls clenching around him.

His thrusts weren't overly rough, but they didn't need to be. He didn't want to fuck her. No, he wanted to love her, cherish her body like the temple it was, and make her cry out in intense pleasure as she came on his cock.

"Freddie," She whimpered, arching her back to meet his thrusts, each perfectly timed. Tears of euphoria welled in her eyes, starting to slowly drip and roll down her cheeks as her orgasm quickly approached.

He looked so pretty above her, eyes closed in pleasure, messy hair, the freckles dotting his pale skin shining from the droplets of sweat trickling down his body.

His forehead rested against hers, fingers digging into her waist as he chased his climax. His breathing became more labored and rapid with every passing second.

Y/n felt the knot in her stomach coiling, the bubble of heat ready to pop with just a few more thrusts.

"Fred, I'm so close," She whispered, pushing her body closer to him, back arching off the bed.

"Fuck, me too. Come for me, Y/n," He said, his warm breath tickling her neck, the sensation sending her over the edge.

Her orgasm washed over her in waves of immense pleasure, lightning in her veins, a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. Her legs shook, and her core was on fire, burning through the high as she came with his name on her tongue, crying it out.

Fred finished a few moments after, his hips sputtering as he filled the condom, his stomach burning with heat and pleasure.

The first few moments after having sex with someone new are the most pivotal. They decide if it's a one-time thing or something more.

Fred swallowed, resting his forehead against hers and sighing deeply, trying to catch his breath.

Y/n's hand wrapped around his neck, lacing in his hair. She smiled softly when he let out a breathy laugh. The sound was always music to her ears.

"I think I need to sleep in more often," Fred whispered, pulling his head back to connect their gazes, admiring her fucked out appearance, bruised lips, hickeys everywhere, and dried lines of tears running down her cheeks. She was beautiful.

"I think..." Y/n breathed, propping herself on her elbows and cupping his face in her hands.

"I could go for another apology," She finished, a smirk toying on her lips.

A shit-eating grin spanned across Fred's lips, his eyes lighting up at her insinuation.

"If I ever say no to that, kill me,"

----

Hope you enjoyed! If there are spelling/grammar mistakes, I'm sorry. I wrote this at like 1 am.

[selarina]

Gojo Satoru who’s working undercover at a florist shop. He doesn’t know much about flowers, but he hardly thinks it matters, for this obscure florist shop had remained unvisited since he got here a week ago.

It’s nestled in a quaint corner in the city, hardly noticeable — its inconspicuousness being its very shield as it conveniently found itself in the direct eye line to the building he was assigned to watch.

He thinks Yaga might have sent him here out of spite really, but also he thinks that anything could happen, and he would hate it if he was right so he played his part, if only to thwart the satisfaction of Yaga's potential correctness.

And to really hone it in, it starts raining, the clamorous beats of the rain runs on the roof akin to a cascade of hard stones, ensuring that no soul would venture in at such an hour.

Then, like a shifting scene in a play, the bell above the door chimes, and you enter. You flit through with a slew of apologies about your wetness and the rain. And frankly, you’re really pretty so he couldn't care less about the clean-up.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, a practiced smile forming, one he knew appealed to many. "Hey," he says, threading a casualness into his tone.

"Hi," you reply, gracious in demeanour as you offer a nod to your accompanying greeting.

You bend down, carefully balancing your closed umbrella against the door's ingress, before your eyes start wandering, scanning the shop as you advanced toward the counter.

"How can I help you?" Gojo inquires, upholding the same practiced smile, despite his unfamiliarity with the florist's etiquette.

"Right. Um — I need some roses,” you say, mirroring a smile — courteous and formal. His discerning eye catches a wave of shiver that passes through you. He wishes to offer a coat or warmth of any kind but it remains unfulfilled; he had nothing.

“Of course! Any preference in—" And then his eyes flit to the rose section — stashed with only red today. "Color...?" he concludes, somewhat disjointedly.

Amusement twinkles in your eyes, as they come to meet his. "Well, red, I suppose?"

"Red it is!" he quips, moving with haste as he rushes to get them. He reaches for a fist full of the bunch, promptly placing them on the counter before him.

He catches you staring at the other flowers as he works, your drenched appearance only seemed to amplify how pretty you seem to look.

He smiles, as he talks again, breaking the silence, “So who are these roses for? Parents? Sister? Grandmother — Aw, she's not sick, is she?” He frowns, with a look of pity and you stare back with your eye brows raised — concerned and cautious.

As your silence persisted, he made another attempt. “Um, or are they for a friend?”

An internal chant commenced — Please don’t say boyfriend. Please don’t say girlfriend. Please don’t mention a partner. Please. Please. Please — but he knows he’ll do nothing of it. It’s odd, really. This senseless chase of his.

"Actually," you say, your tone finding a precarious balance as you squint in response. "They're for my boyfriend."

“I hope he dies,” the mutter that leaves his mouth is immediate, and shocking even to him.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What?" you blurted.

Acting swiftly, he retraced his words with fluidity, “I hope he likes... the flowers,” he recants, like the liar he is.

A pregnant pause ensues, a silence ripe with tension.

"Right. Thanks," you managed, your mask of politeness only slightly marred by the odd exchange.

"For valentine's day, ah? Perfect choice," he quips again, with a smile as fake as his enthusiasm.

You don't know what it is that prompts you to speak up but you do. "More of an apology, actually," your tone softening as the confession escaped your mouth.

He responded with a mere hum, as his attention resumed its focus on the flowers before him.

A few beats pass.

"Should you really be working here this late?" you ask casually, your gaze assessing the store for another person, a mentor perhaps. "You seem young."

"Well, you're young too," he retorted. "Should you be out here at this hour?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. "Nah, Mom's going to kill me, but young love and all that. Sacrifices must be made."

Something twinges inside him — will he ever experience this? Young love? Does he even want to?

"Well, I hope this guy appreciates the gesture if you're going through all this trouble," he adds.

"Yeah, fingers crossed." Your chuckles fluttered after your words nervously.

His fingers reached for satin ribbons, his hands moving deftly, crafting delicate arcs to bind the bouquet tightly.

He held his hand out to you with the bouquet now, wrapped in a simple gossamer wrap, "Well, here you go. I hope they do the trick."

"Thank you," you responded, reaching for your purse. "How much do I owe you?"

"Just a moment," he finally says, disappearing into the back of the shop. He returns with a small card, slipping it into the bouquet with practiced ease. "Here you go."

"Thanks again," your smile was a touch more authentic than the first time.

He smiles, and waves you a little goodbye as you make your way out after paying him. The rain seems to be cleared out and you start making the trek down to your boyfriend's place. And as you walk, there's something within you that nags and nags and urges you to do it.

You pick up the card placed inside the bouquet by the peculiar man you just encountered.

You turn it over, and you notice flowery calligraphy presenting a number, alongside a message: "In case your boyfriend doesn't appreciate the roses. Call me :P"

You could only laugh out loud, like a madman on the street. The sheer audacity of it all.

However, you don't seem to realise how you end up pocketing the card instead of throwing it out at the nearest bin.

Part 2

[schlattslonghairytoes]

pictures and pizza📸 🌃 🌹

personal assistant reader x boss schlatt

schlatt forgets something important. again. how will he make it up to you?

working for schlatt was easy

getting every thing done meant you guys could kinda just hang out

you two were getting along great, you were basically friends, except you cooked for him, cleaned, and kept his schedule moving

and you were beginning to love it

but not everything can be perfect

there was one thing about schlatt that was very hard to deal with

schlatt is really fucking stubborn and no diss, a bit lazy

like omfg it was getting old

if he didnt want to do something, or better yet, didnt want to get out of bed!

there was no use, you had no chance of convincing him

but that is your job, and you were damn good at it

it was 10am, as that was the set time you and schlatt decided work began. he had gifted you a key to his apartment after one morning, where you had to call his little sister to let you in, you thought schlatt was dead.

he just fell asleep with headphones on.

anywho, you let yourself in and tidyed up the living room, because the night before schlatt promised you he would be up and ready at 10, he had an extremely important meeting at 11 that was kinda far.

like he could not miss this.

so you trusted him, you also hated barging into his room, it felt like a total invasion of privacy to you, schlatt didnt care when you did it, but to you it was the end of the world

so you waited.

and waited

until you knew he would not make it on time if he wasnt up.

so you mustered up all your courage and knocked on his door.

... silence

by then you gave up and opened the door, and oh lord if you werent mad at him it wouldve been the cutest thing youve ever seen

he was spread across his bed, limbs and blankets everywhere, and jambo and garlic bread (i am not writing REACTED every time.) were cuddled up on top of him. jambo curled up in his left arm, and garlic bread sprawled across his right leg

for a moment you forgot you were mad at him, he looked so handsome, yet so adorable, his mouth was open, and he was snoring softly, and honestly drooling a bit

you pulled out your phone and took a picture, wanting to make it your lockscreen but too scared he would see it. you hearted the picture in your camera roll before opening youtube

you connected your phone to his speaker in the room, and searched "morning bugle call" and hit play on full volume

jambo and garlic bread went flying off of schlatt as he sat up and slapped his hands over his ears "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT" you were wheezing on the floor at that point

when you finally stopped laughing you locked in and turned of the sound, then frowned slightly at him "up and at it, we were supposed to leave 30 minutes ago, you have 5 minutes to get ready. your outfit is picked and hung in the closet, lets go." and you shut his door and sat waiting on the couch

he was out in 4 minutes and 26 seconds. you handed him the breakfast you got him and made your way out the door silently.

"toots, im so sorry, i know i said i would wake up, i swear i set an alarm, c'mon dont be mad at me doll. i promise it wont happen again." he followed hot on your tail, almost chasing you.

like if someone saw they might be worried your about to be abducted.

you sighed and got in the drivers seat of your car, you wanted him to eat so you decided he could be the passenger princess for once

"schlatt this is the third time this week, im not mad, like this is literally my job, but it throws the whole day off, its whatever, eat your breakfast so you dont pass out at the meeting." the meeting was in new jersey and you didnt want to hear schlatts bitching the whole way

you turned up the music and hoped he would be quiet

schlatt on the other hand was rethinking his entire being

how could he let you down again, all he wants is for you to love and want your job, and hes already jepordizing that. for the span of the 30 minute car ride he hatched a plan.

after his four hour meeting he was drained, he waited to see your car pull up and get him, but you were taking an abnormally long time, he was getting worried

but those fears subsided quickly when he recived a text from you

"im gonna kms johnny. why the fuck did you have to have a meeting in new fucking jersey. traffic is insane, be there in 30 minutes pls dont die to a homeless man."

that certainly made him feel better, he searched for a near by store or cafe, but when he found a flower shop he knew that it was redemption time

you on the other hand wanted to throw yourself off of a freeway.

the traffic leaving the city to new jersey was insane, why on a thursday at 430 was traffic slower than joe biden falling off a bike? dont have the answer to that one

but this drive gave you time to think, it wasnt schlatts fault he had trouble waking up, and when traffic got so bad you could literally park, you went on amazon and bought him an alarm clock

one that will for sure wake him up, problem solved. now you could relax. night changes played on aux (rip liam 🥲) and you could think about the man you were ten minutes away from picking up

you opened your phone to see the picture from this morning, you decided so what if he sees, this picture ment the world to you, even though schlatt had been in your life for nearing a month, you knew he'd somehow be apart of it forever

schlatt stood outside of a coffee shop you told him to wait at, holding stuff that could possibly help fix his mistake.

when your car pulled up he started to get nervous, what if he got the wrong flowers, or they didnt make your coffee right, but those doubts melted away when your car came to a hault

you watched him open his door and hand you a large bouquet of flowers and a cold brew. overwhelmed at first you didnt realise what you were holding. you placed the cup into your cup holder and looked at the flowers infront of you

it was made up of roses, lilys, sweetpeas, carnations, alstroemerias, daphnes at the bottom you think?, ruscus, dusty millers, and eucalyptus.

you didnt even know this many pretty flowers existed, after placing the boquet on your lap, you reached over and threw your arms around schlatt

"johnny what is this!" you exclaim, voice muffled my his neck, suprised he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close

"thought you deserved a gift after i fucked up this morning" he sighs, whichmakes you pull away, but you place a hand on his cheek, slightly scratching his beard with your nails

"oh jay, i wasnt even really mad, this is the nicest thing anyones every done for me" you look at him in awe as he leans into your touch.

"yeah but i feel bad, m' gonna make it up to you, tonight your comin' over, were gonna watch 10 things i hate about you, play mario kart, and order pizza, dont ever let me break your trust again, sound good toots?" his smirk cut right through your heart

oh he looked so kissable right now

that night was spent cuddled up on his couch, playing wii games, forcing schlatt to watch rom coms, and stuffing your faces with pizza

he made you feel like you were in a rom com

that was only just beginning

[apollo-likes-writing]

LAPIS LAZULI - 2. Opulence

Character(s): Veritas Ratio/Lapis Lazuli, Jelena/Topaz

Tags: Long fic, mentions of sex (not explicit and not between Ratio and Topaz), arguments, Ratio's backstory.

Word count: 2,787 words

Summary: He missed an important meeting after a night out and Topaz is incredibly pissed at him for it. Lmao.

Author's Note: I know I said I'd post this at the weekend but executive dysfunction decided to beat my ass so y'all are getting it on Thursday instead lol.

Just want to note I am not writing explicit smut in any of this fanfiction. Read my boundaries if you'd like to know why. This was inspired by the incredible @havanillas with her roleswap!AU! Have a look!

This is off topic but, as someone who has family near Florida, I wish anyone affected by Hurricanes Helene and Milton and the Super Typhoon in Taiwan/China safety and peace.

Account Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Prologue

10:39am - Wednesday

The sound of a phone ringing wakes him up, which is strange because he could have sworn he put it on Do Not Disturb the night previously. His arm reaches blindly for his phone on the bedside table. As he does so he smacks his knuckle against the corner of the wood and swears loudly as pain shoots up his arm. He continues his hunt regardless, the tinny jingle of his ringtone starting to bounce around his skull irritatingly. It takes him a while, but he finds his phone and grasps it tightly, bringing it in front of his face and promptly blinding himself as he turns it on. Topaz is calling. Of course she is. 

The man grumbles and sits up in his bed, squinting at his colleagues name for a few seconds before begrudgingly tapping the green button to answer it.

“Topaz! My friend! To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man begins with forced positivity, placing his forearm over his eyes and willing his phone to suddenly have a crappy connection.

“Lapis, where in Qlipoth's name are you?” Topaz’ exasperated voice rings out. “You were supposed to be at the meeting over an hour ago.”

“Oh shit, that was today?”

“Yes, Lapis. It was.” He can hear how clearly she wants to throttle him through the phone. The idea makes him suppress a laugh. “Where are you?”

Lapis eyes the other side of his bed. There, the tanned shirtless back of his chosen boy-toy of the night lays there peacefully, facing away from him in a blanket of black curls. “That doesn't matter. Fill me in on the important, definitely-not-going-to-bore-me-to-death stuff.”

Topaz sighs. “Diamond and Jade are throwing a business party on Friday and they want us to attend.”

“Sounds dull,” Lapis replies simply, grinning slightly at the snort his colleague lets escape in response. “Do I have to go?”

“Yes, Lapis Lazuli of Stratagems, you do,” she answers irritably.

“Ooh, my full title. Am I in trouble?” he teases.

“You will be if you don't show up. Meet me at HQ in thirty minutes.”

With that, Topaz hangs up and Lapis throws his phone back onto the bedside table frustratedly. He crosses his arms and rubs the bridge of his nose, feeling the makeup he forgot to take off last night on his fingertips. The sensation of a hand soothing against his thigh meets his senses and Lapis looks down at his current companion, who has now turned around to face him. He's cute, Lapis admits, which is the main reason why he decided to spend the night with him. His dark skin is littered with lovebites and his coily hair fans out below his head, now slightly messy. It was his eyes that struck Lapis when he first saw him though: a beautiful hazel with flecks of teal dotted about in them and large pupils. 

Those eyes are currently looking up at him from where he lays next to him, gently massaging his thigh in a surprising show of domesticity.

“Are you alright?” the man asks, slightly guarded.

The Stoneheart nods. “Yes, just work stuff. None of it concerns you.” He sneaks his hand onto his companion's head and plays with his hair absentmindedly.

“I don't think I'm smart enough to understand it anyway, Mr. Corporate,” he teases. “But a party? That sounds fun. Are you going?”

“I'm going to have to,” Lapis replies, sighing. “Don't get me wrong, I like parties as much as the next man, but this one is for work and I have to save face which is boring.” He tilts his head back and pushes his palms into his eyes, groaning loudly as he watches a kaleidoscope of colours burst behind his eyelids. The man beside him chuckles warmly.

“You're Lapis Lazuli. A party is no big deal to you, right? Just go there and rub shoulders with whoever you need to rub shoulders with then drink until you do it willingly.”

He has a point.

“Good idea,” he answers, taking his hands away from his face. He pulls the duvet off and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, shivering at the cold air of the surrounding room now hitting his bare skin. He sits there for a while, head lowered, as he musters the motivation to stand up. He does so after a few moments and then hunts around the room for his clothes so carelessly thrown about the night before. He's half-dressed when he turns to his company. “Unfortunately, I've got to go out and attempt to be a human being to prevent my colleague from murdering me,” he says, receiving a laugh from the other man. “You're welcome to anything in the kitchen. The door will automatically lock when you leave, so don't worry about that. Please don’t steal anything — it causes a great deal of hassle that I wish to not be caught up in.”

“Wow, it’s like I’m in a hotel,” he giggles.

“Yeah, well room service isn’t included. Sorry.”

He’s followed out of the room by a hearty laugh. He heads to his bathroom and goes about his morning routine, brushing his teeth and his hair before rooting through his makeup bag to wipe off the old and do his skin care before renewing it. He nearly pokes his eye out with his eyeliner in the process and groans as he smudges the red under his eyes. He finishes soon afterwards and pointedly ignores the hickeys on his own chest and neck (his colleagues have seen worse anyway). He leaves and nabs a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter on his way out of the building, shoving it in his pocket.

It’s raining when he gets outside, raindrops splashing on cement and dirtying the bottom of his trousers. He sighs irritably and rings up his chauffeur to collect him. He draws upon his Imaginary energy and creates a black umbrella for himself as he waits impatiently in the rain, eyeing the sky every now and again when thunder rumbles nearby. 

To his chauffeur’s credit, a slick limousine pulls up only two minutes later. He enters smoothly and wrings out his umbrella before he closes the door behind him. He takes a seat at the back of the car, not bothering to put his seatbelt on.

”Good morning, Sir. Where will you be headed?” his chauffeur asks on the other side of the window that separates driver from passenger.

”Morning, Connors,” Lapis replies, running a hand through damp hair to neaten it. He debates in his mind whether he should piss off Topaz even more or actually do as she asks. He decides on the former. “Take me to that coffee shop on 4th Avenue,” he asks. Connors nods his head and puts his foot on the accelerator, pushing the car forwards.

Lapis watches the buildings of Pier Point fly by as they drive past. Tall skyscrapers touch sturdy bubbles that float above them that act as buildings in their own right. Billboards and screens advertise various IPC products that Lapis knows definitely do more harm than good but are still being sold regardless. Neon signs point to bars and restaurants with the aim of drawing the eye but only succeed in forcing the viewer to look away to prevent themselves from losing their eyesight. It is meticulously blinding and doesn’t do any favours with the slight hangover the Stoneheart is nursing. 

Connors turns a corner and travels on a road away from the cacophony of light and sound, slowing to a stop outside an easy-on-the-eyes building. He states, “We’re here, Sir,” and Lapis gives a non-commital grunt of affirmation before reaching for his umbrella and leaving.

”Stay here, Connors. I’ll be five minutes,” he directs before shutting the door and heading inside.

The coffee shop is a homely one. Mismatched chairs are tucked under old wooden tables and there is, oddly, a wide variety of clocks dotted around the walls. Cool browns and soft whites meet Lapis’ eyes as he scans the cozy place. A kind-looking woman stands behind the counter, blending a coffee mixture and pouring it into a cup. Once done, she turns and hands it to the patron on the opposite side of the cash register.

“That will be £5.50. Scan or swipe when you’re ready,” she says, her smile evident in her tone of voice despite the obscene price of her drinks. The customer mutters their thanks and turns away, giving a wide berth to Lapis as if he was poisonous to the touch (with his reputation, he probably was). Lapis pays them no mind and strolls up to the counter with the manner of a man much more care-free than he actually is. Once the barista looks up, her wide smile turns into a grin. “Lapis Lazuli, my loyal friend! Nice to see you again.” The way the woman looks him up and down as if he were something tasty does not go unnoticed by the executive, but he ignores it.

“Morning, Oti,” he responds, matching the smile of the woman opposing him.

“The usual?” Oti asks, already reaching under the counter for a cup.

“The very same,” Lapis replies easily. While his order is being made (a large salted caramel frappé with coffee and cream. Fancy and expensive – just like him), the feeling of dozens of eyes digging into the back of his neck reach his senses. This is not an abnormal occurance. Lapis Lazuli is a top dog around these parts; there will be several people who work under his chain of command in this cafe alone. There's a kind of power trip that occurs whenever he thinks on it. Money talks, as the saying goes.

A plastic cup (not biodegradable? Naughty boy-) filled with a delicious-looking iced frappé, whipped cream placed perfectly on top in a swirl that pokes out the hole in the semi-circular lid, is placed on the counter. A paper straw is poked inside it and is then pushed towards him. Lapis looks at it for a moment and smiles.

“Looks as delicious as ever, Oti,” he comments, picking it up and taking a sip. “Mmm, and tastes it too.”

“I'm glad you like it,” Oti replies, smiling. “That'll be £6.60.” Lapis digs in his pocket and fishes out his phone, tapping the top of it against the pin machine without paying any mind to the price.

“Brilliant. Thankyou, Sir. Come back soon!” the barista calls as the bell to the door rings out when Lapis leaves.

11:25am - Wednesday

IPC headquarters is as busy as it always is. Busy-body staff briskly walk past him with respectful (and scared) nods of acknowledgement as Lapis strolls through the main entrance. Soldiers and guards stand to attention and salute him. which he ignores in favour of heading to the secretary’s desk. There is a line that stands between him and the workers, but they all shift out of the way with terrified looks on their faces at a simple clearing of his throat. Lapis shoots them all a superficial smile and steps forward, reaching the desk and leaning on it comfortably.

“Good morning,” he begins, winking at the woman behind the desk. She looks up and startles at the sight of him, her face turning an ugly shade of red.

“Ah! Lapis Lazuli, Sir! What can I do for you, Sir?”

“Nothing much,” he replies with vague condescension. He takes an obnoxious sip of his coffee before continuing. “A little birdy told me that P45- Topaz is looking for me. Where is she?”

With trembling fingers, the woman taps on the keyboard and looks something up on her computer. “Sh- She's on the 57th floor, Sir. Room Six.” Lapis gives a hum of affirmation and leaves, slinking back through the queue and heading for the elevator.

When he finds Topaz, she looks like she's ready to strangle him.

“Does your watch work?” she asks as soon as he opens the door.

“Mmm, yes. It works perfectly fine, thankyou for asking. Why do you ask?” Lapis answers after another long sip of his coffee, finding great joy in the anger of his colleague.

“Okay, next question.” She strides up to him and plants herself a few inches away from him. She's a foot shorter than Lapis and has to look up at him, the irate look on her face reminding him of an angry bird. He decides not to point that out. “Do you know how to tell the time? Because I could have sworn I told you to meet me fifteen minutes ago.” She has the audacity to take the coffee out of his hand and slam it on the table beside them. He shoots her a small glare before fishing into his pocket and pulling out the banana he retrieved earlier, peeling it with a controlled slowness that would annoy anyone (including him if he wasn't the one doing it) and taking a large bite.

“Topaz, I have a PhD in mathematics. I can assure you that I know how to tell the time,” he says, mouth full.

“Then why, in Qlipoth's name, are you only here now?”

“Because I find great enjoyment in pissing you off. Was that not obvious?” he replies, gesturing between the two of them with banana in hand. Topaz opens and closes her mouth several times, finding the choice words she needs to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“The party is at 8pm on Friday. Black tie, so wear something decent for once. Opal is breathing down my neck to get you, Sugilite, and Obsidian on board and, surprisingly, Obsidian has been the most agreeable. Unlike you and Sugilite, she was actually there at the meeting this morning. I now see why you weren't in attendance.” She gives him a once over, gesturing to the lovebites on his chest and neck. 

“Y’know, I do actually have a social life, Topaz,” Lapis states. “You should try it some time.”

“I'm not saying you shouldn't have, uh- hobbies, Lapis. What I'm saying is that your job should come before them, or did you forget that?”

Lapis shrugs. “I'm here now, right?”

“That's not the point. You have duty here as one of the Stonehearts. Not a duty to your favourite casinos and clubs.”

“Let a man live a little, alright? I spent half my life in academic squalor seeking the attention of an Aeon that clearly wanted nothing to do with me. My life's work was made entirely useless. I might as well have received the attention of the Nihility if the Preservation didn't snap me up first.”

“Oh boo hoo, cry me a river,” Topaz snaps. “At least you have people here who give half a rat's ass about you.”

“That's becoming ever more debatable by the day,” Lapis seethes, demeanour now serious.

“Well too bad. You're here now. The only way you're getting out of this place is in a wooden box.”

“I can say the same for you, Topaz. How deep has Jade's manipulation really gone? I can't tell what's you and what's her anymore.”

“You don't know anything about me. You've been a Stoneheart for - what - a year? 10 months?” Topaz jabs a finger into his collarbone. Lapis doesn't move an inch.

“I don't need to know you. Your denial of it is proof enough.” Lapis smiles again, this time less cheery and more angry. The movement of his lips more a grimace than anything else. Topaz steps away from him, glaring daggers into his very soul. If Lapis wasn't, you know, Lapis, he would have wilted on the spot at such a murderous stare. She turns and stalks to the tall window of the room; a dreary view that shows the cityscape of Pier Point through the gloomy rain. 

“At the party,” she begins, facing away from him. “At least try to present yourself as a decent human being, alright?”

Lapis gives her a long, hard look, watching her through the reflection of the window. “You and I both know that's not possible for either of us. We've got too much blood on our hands.” He snatches his coffee from the table and heads for the door. His hand rests on the handle before he turns back to face the woman, who is still facing away from him. “Oh, and Topaz?”

She twists around and looks at him this time, watching him with a weary look that makes her look decades older than what she is. 

“What?”

“This could've been an email.”

He ducks out of the door before a stapler is launched at him from across the room.

--

Reblogs appreciated! <3

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[csainzsgirly]

OMG I CANT BELIEVE YOU ARE BACK!!! Can I ask a drabble with fwb Lando (specifically the shirt pictures taken while the summer break) just like he and reader are on holiday with friends but nobody knows what happens behind closed doors?

Hi girly I'm so sorry for seeing this so late but here ya go <3

A sigh rolled over your lips as you turned to your other side, the thin sheet getting caught between your legs. You had slept for maybe two hours, but it had been enough. The burn of your hurting muscles made you hum softly, reminding you of the way he had bent you over the balustrade of the balcony barely three hours ago, muttering pure filth in your ear. "They should know how wet your little pussy is for me, darlin'," which had made your knees buckle as you drenched his cock with another orgasm. You were sure his fingerprints were visible on the back of your thighs from how hard he held you down and spread open for him when he took you back inside, his other hand covering your mouth to prevent everyone from hearing you, no matter how much he liked it when you moaned his name while he dragged his fat cock through your soaking walls.

Lando was still sleeping, but the warmth that pooled in your lower abdomen and the slick that started to cover the inside of your panties were burning you up from the inside, and you couldn't resist sitting up to straddle him. It was unfair how he didn't allow you to mark him, his chest still a bare canvas beneath you. It was unfair how he had prevented you from biting your teeth into his abs, silencing your whine in dismay by pushing his cock past your lips and twisting his fingers in your hair to force you down on his length till you were a drooling, spluttering mess - the way he loved to see you, and the way you loved to be for him. Lando shivered as your nails tickled his chest, the material of the shirt you were wearing, his white button-up, scraping along his stomach when your lips reached his neck.

He peaked at you through one eye, a grin lazily curling the corners of his mouth. His eyes sparkled as he took you in, sitting so prettily atop of him, causing his cock to stir in his boxers. Perky tits were covered by the white material, the sheer see-through white giving him a glimpse of your pink nipples, which he had much rather in his mouth now he had another look of them. Without saying anything you reached into his boxers, freeing his cock from the tight material and shoving your panties aside to sink down on him. You were impossibly wet, and his mind was spinning at the thought that his cum was still in you after he emptied his balls in your pussy last night.

"Fuck," he said, his eyebrows furrowing together as he could barely comprehend that you felt so good even though he had been buried inside you a couple of hours ago. "Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, hmm, pretty?" Lando muttered, watching your tits bounce in his face as you found a rhythm that had your toes curling. Footsteps in the hallway made you hold your breath for a second, your pace slowing down as you looked at the door. Lando took the opportunity to hold you down on him as he started to rut into you, making you muffle your moan by pushing your face in his pillow. "I know it turns you on that anyone can walk in now, because nobody knows you're here," he continues, riling you up, making you even wetter. "Nobody knows how good I'm fucking you."

The arrogance in his tone made you want to roll your eyes, but it's impossible to resist as he buries his cock deeply inside you, filling you up, stuffing you full and your mind turns into a mess. You vaguely remember you and Lando were supposed to meet your friends downstairs in like an hour, but the only thing you wanted, craved, desired was the orgasm he was about to give you. One of his hands slipped between your slick bodies, rough pads of his fingertips circling around your clit and making you squeeze around him. "That's it, that's my good girl," he praised, sliding his cock in and nearly out your cunt in a firm, controlled pace that made you tremble. The hot ropes of his cum against your walls tipped you over the edge, sending you into a searing state of bliss.