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writtenbymisunderstoodnerds · 2 days

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Falling in love again (Christen Press x Reader)

Writers block is being a pain at the moment so sorry it's been a while since I posted. I'll be back to trying to write my list of requests in a few weeks when I'm back from holiday. This wasn't requested, just a random idea and probably not very good but I hope you like it!

Warnings: Death of a partner, grief. If you find anything else let me know and I'll add it!

Words: 4.3K

---

Almost two years had passed since I lost my person. The person I thought I would spend my life with, the person I loved more than I thought it was possible to love someone. Life was cruel like that, giving you a person who understood you, who loved you so deeply, only to rip it away in the worst way possible. The day the phone call came, telling me Talia had been in an accident that claimed her life was a blur. Honestly, at times it still felt like a dream. The overwhelming grief, disbelief and fear I felt that day still ever present if I thought back to it.

I had almost quit soccer for good after that, but I knew she wouldn't want me too. Talia loved watching me play, she knew how much I loved it, always encouraging me and supporting me in everything I did. So I kept going, every game I played, I played for her. The grief had faded since then. It was always there, it always would be, some days were worse than others, but it was bearable. It didn't consume me like it once had.

One of the things Talia used to love was colouring in my tattoos. Not that I would have admitted it to her, but once we started dating, my new tattoos were purely designed so she could colour them. Our spare time was often spent with her colouring them while I drew or did random stuff. It was something I found myself doing often, especially when I was missing her.

Someone sat down next to me as I slowly coloured in one of the many tattoos scattered over my body. I didn't pay them much attention, continuing colouring, "What are you doing?"

I shrugged, not looking up at Emily, "Colouring."

"Is she colouring in her tattoos again?" Kelley asked sitting across from us.

"Yup, we really need to get her paper or a colouring book."

"Have you ever noticed even when there's paper around she still does it? Look at how comfortable and peaceful she looks. It's like a built in stress relief." I fought the urge to chuckle at how they talked as if I wasn't there. To be fair I was only half listening.

"Why do you colour in your tattoos?"

I sighed, putting down the pen. The team had been bugging me for months now about it. These were some of the people I trusted most in the world, there was no reason to keep hiding it from them. "It reminds me of my wife. She would sit there for hours colouring in my tattoos while I drew. It became sort of a routine."

"You're married? You don't wear a ring."

I pulled the chain around my neck that held a simple black band and a silver band with a line of diamonds. "Mine and hers," I took a deep breath trying to control my emotions, "She died almost 2 years ago, I only take it off for games."

"God Y/n, I'm so sorry," Ali said, pulling me in for a quick hug.

Alex was the next to pull me into a tight hug, "How come we never knew? We've known you longer then two years?"

"No one knew except our close friends and family. At the time we weren't as close as we are now and I guess I couldn't bring myself to mention it after. We never specifically hid it, just didn't put it out there. She never wanted to the world to know who she was. Never wanted who she was with to impact her kids."

"She had kids?"

"She was a teacher at a school for kids with disabilities. They meant the world to her, she would do anything for them. It was always a worry that her suddenly being known would affect her job in some way."

"It sounds like she was an amazing person. I'm sad we never got to meet her."

"You did, you just never knew who she was to me."

"Talia? I remember you mentioning that she passed away and that's why you took that break," Alyssa asked.

"Yup, we had been married 4 years the day you met her."

"That's why you completely disappeared that day then wouldn't tell us why."

A small smile appeared on my face remembering that day. We had booked a hotel room, ordered way to much room service, gave each other massages, then had a bath and watched movies. It was simple, but one of my favourite nights besides the day we got married, "She had flown in that weekend just so we could celebrate our anniversary. We never spent one apart."

---

Christen sat down on her bed, staring up at me for a second before speaking, "That's why you turn everyone down when they ask you out? Including me."

There had been many people over the years that had asked me on dates, all being turned down for obvious reasons. Christen had been one of them though, about a year after Talia passed. Besides Talia, Christen was the only person I could actually see myself with if I ever got to a point where I felt ready. That wasn't now, but part of me hoped it would happen soon. Despite the guilt and grief that was there, I wanted the chance to be happy again with someone. We had talked about it a few times and neither of us wanted the other to hold on for too long. Talia would want me to be happy, to move on and one day, when the time was right, I would.

I sighed sitting down next to Christen. Sitting or lying on the others bed was a pretty common occurrence when we roomed together. "You know I know she would want me to be happy, but every time I even think about starting to date again, it feels like I'm betraying her. Like if I start something, I'll forget her."

"You'll never forget her. No matter what you're doing or who you're with, she will always be in your heart. She'll always be your person, but you can love someone else while still loving her just as much as you always have. It's not one or the other and if the next person doesn't understand that then they aren't worth the time. There's no rush to move on."

"Thanks Chris. Out of all the people that have asked me out, you're the only one I thought about saying yes to. I'm sorry I wasn't ready."

Christen placed her hand on my knee, squeezing gently. Something that always seemed to make me feel peace. "Don't be. I always knew there was a slim chance of you saying yes and I accepted that. I was just happy that it didn't change our friendship."

"Would you still be open to that date? Not right now, but sometime in the near future."

"Of course I would. There's no rush or pressure though Y/n/n, whenever you're ready, I'm ready. And if you're never ready that's okay too."

--- Today was two years since Talia was taken. Of course it was game day. When I realised the date it was like a weight was sitting on my chest. Christen was still asleep so I slipped quietly into the bathroom to shower and let the tears out. I had originally been thinking about pulling out of the game, but after my shower I was actually feeling okay to play. I was determined to win for her.

The final whistle blew as I clung onto whoever was closest, my knees trying to give out on me. The rush of emotions I felt was not what I expected. Happiness, relief, grief all rushing through me as I tried to hold it together in front of everyone. Letting my emotions show in front of friends or family was hard enough, I didn't need that happening in front of the fans.

I managed to hold it together enough to greet the fans before we made our way to the locker room. As I put the necklace back on, I broke. Tears silently streaming down my cheeks before a sob forced it's way out. Instantly, Ali's arms wrapped around me tightly as I sobbed into her shoulder. I didn't like crying in front of people, but there was no stopping it. So for once, I just let it out with the comfort of the people I trusted most.

Once I had calmed down, Ali finally spoke up, "What's going on Y/n/n?"

"I-it's been 2 years sin-since- I'm sorry."

Ali's arms tightened as another hand squeezed mine, "Never apologise for feeling how you feel. You can always feel how you feel with us. We've got you always."

We spent longer in the locker room than we normally would as the girls took turns comforting me and making sure I was okay before we left. After dinner, most of the team ended up in one of the rooms for team bonding. There were quite a few questions about Talia, normally I didn't talk about her much because of the emotions it brings up, but everyone seemed genuinely interested in her. Also, talking about her was actually quite therapeutic.

Even though it was therapeutic, talking about Talia still brought up emotions so I had found myself cuddled up with Ali for comfort. I had almost went to Christen for comfort, but the guilt had started to creep in again making me decide against it.

"How old were you when you got married? It must have been quite young," Tierna asked.

"We were. We started dating at 19, married at 23. Possibly too young in some peoples opinions, but at the time we just got the idea in our heads and went with it. I proposed and 2 months later we were married. My time with Talia was incredible, it was fun and low maintenance. We met in college when we both didn't have a lot of money, most of our dates in our first few years were picnics, walks or movie nights.

I mean our first anniversary, we made each other homemade cards. Talia got me marshmallows because I was obsessed with them at the time and I got her chocolate and gummy bears. We ended up at the beach, making smores before going back to my apartment and making pasta for dinner. To this day that was probably one one of my favourites. Talia never cared about fancy or expensive things, that never changed the further I got in my professional career or as our money situation changed. She was just happy if we were together."

I knew I was rambling, but I couldn't help myself. Talking about Talia before I lost her was one of my favourite things. The girls didn't seem to mind though as everyone's attention seemed to be completely on me. "She sounds like she was an incredible person."

"She was. I think she would have gotten along with all of you. Especially Emily and Kelley. Talia loved pranks and just being annoying. She wrapped up a carrot and gave it to me more than once, she would pull little pranks all the time or poke and prod at me constantly."

Later that night, Christen got my attention as I slipped into my bed, "Hey, you doing okay? I know today was hard."

"It was, but I'm feeling okay right now. I think talking about her helped. I've never really let myself because of the emotions it brings up. Turns out it's quite freeing to talk about her."

"The team would agree, it was nice to hear about her. I can see how much you love her."

"It's uh not weird for you is it?"

"No. Y/n, she was your wife, you love her, you always will. I know that. If we were to eventually get to a point past friendship, I would never expect anything else. You can talk to me about her whenever you want and I don't want you to feel bad about it."

"Thank you Chris. I don't want you to think I'm leading you on or anything. I have every intention of asking you on a date, I just need a bit of time."

"Hey, I don't think that at all. Like I said, there is no rush, there's no expectations."

---

It had been about six months since mine and Christen's initial conversation. I was finally feeling like I was ready to try dating again, all I had to do was ask. It had taken longer than I thought it would and a part of me was thinking that Christen would have lost interest by now or just didn't want to deal with my past. A part of me was tempted to not ask, to save myself from rejection, but I also knew there was no way to know unless I asked.

"So."

"So?"

I took a deep breath, trying to clear some of the nerves that had been building. I had never asked one out let alone dated anyone else besides Talia. Christen sent me a small smile, the nerves melting away when I saw the adoration in her eyes. "Will you go on a date with me Chris?"

"You're ready for that?"

"I think so, I've been thinking about it a lot recently. It's just this is something I haven't done with anyone besides Talia so I might not be perfect or even close to it, but I'll try."

"I would love to Y/n. Just tell me if we go on this date and you realise you're not ready. I'll understand. You also don't have to be perfect, we'll figure this out as we go okay?"

"Thank you Chris. I'll pick you up at 6?"

"We're sharing a room."

"I'm going to get ready in Ali and Alex's room, that way I can pick you up."

"And they say chivalry is dead."

---

Trying to plan a date was so far out of my comfort zone that I didn't even know where to start. Of course I had been on many dates with Talia, but that was different. It had been 10 or so years since my first and only first date. I knew Talia like the back of my hand, I knew what she liked, where she liked to go. Christen on the other hand, I knew her, but to a far lesser extent which was making me overthink. What if she didn't like what I planned? What if I did too much or not enough?

Before I could continue to spiral, I decided to enlist the help of Tobin. Normally I would go to Ali, but Tobin was Christens bestfriend.

"You okay Y/n?"

"No. Well yes but also no. Christen and I are going on a date tonight and I'm freaking out. I cannot for the life of me decide what to do. Every time something comes to mind, I convince myself that it's not enough. Chris will be the second person I've ever taken on a date, it needs to be perfect."

Tobin led me to sit on the bed as I had started to pace across the room. "Don't tell her I told you, but Chris doesn't care what you do, she's just happy to go out with you. Tell me your ideas?"

"I know she likes parks or gardens, beaches, picnics, museums, that sort of thing. There's not a beach around otherwise I would take her there and it'll be too late to take her to the museum but I found a nice park the other day. It has a lake and there were heaps of like lights and stuff. Was thinking picking up some takeaway and other bits to have a picnic at the park, but it doesn't seem like enough."

"Y/n, that is perfect. I know this is pretty much completely new to you, but you just need to try relax a little bit. You know Chris, she's your friend, you know what she likes. She's going to love a picnic in the park, maybe a walk around after."

"Thank you Tobs."

"Hey Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"Chris is going into this knowing there's a chance you realise you're not ready and she'll understand that, everyone will. There'll be no hard feelings or anything. Just if that happens, please tell her sooner rather than later. I know you won't do it on purpose, but I don't want her to get her hopes up."

"I will. This wasn't a decision I made lightly, I feel ready and I'm really hoping I am. I admit, it does feel a bit weird, but I really like her Tobin. The last thing I want to do is hurt her."

Tobin smiled slightly, pulling me into a quick hug, "I know and so does Chris. Just take it one step at a time, you don't need to rush anything or do anything that doesn't feel right."

After one last hug I made my way to the door, "Thanks Tobs, I should go get ready before I make myself late."

Before heading back to my room, I ran down to the shop to get a few things. Picking out what to buy took longer than it should have. Everything I thought about buying, I ended up second guessing if Christen actually liked it. Time was running out though so I ended up picking out some wine I thought she liked and some other picnic type things.

Despite almost making myself late, I knocked on the door at exactly 6 pm, trying my best to push down the nerves. Tobin was right, Christen was my friend, I knew she didn't expect or even really like some fancy date. There was no real reason to be this nervous. Part of it was probably because of how new it was, part of me was second guessing if I was truly ready for this, but I think that was due to nerves and not wanting to hurt Christen. Another part was because it was Christen. Gorgeous, kind, thoughtful Christen. Anyone in their right mind would be nervous to be going on a date with her.

"Hi Y/n/n."

"Hi."

Christen smiled, kissing my cheek softly, "You okay?"

"A bit nervous, but I'm okay. You ready to go?"

We made our way out of the hotel, stopping to pick up takeaway before starting the ten minute walk to the park. Christen didn't ask about what we were doing, instead making random conversation. Knowing I was nervous, I had a feeling she was doing it on purpose to try calm me down. It was definitely working, my nerves were fading away the longer we talked and I wasn't thinking so much about if it was enough. Instead, I was letting myself be excited about it.

When we got to the park, Christens eyes lit up as she looked around. I found a nice spot by the lake, spreading everything out on the blanket as Christen got comfortable. "How'd you find this place? It's beautiful."

"I stumbled upon it when I went for a walk the other night."

"You went for a walk, alone at night?"

"Maybe not my best idea, but I needed to clear my head away from our room, away from the hotel."

Concern covered Christens face as she straightened slightly, "Away from our room? Was I doing something wrong?"

"No, no you didn't do anything. I was trying to figure out if I asked you out or not. I guess I was worried that I had left it too long and maybe you weren't interested anymore. I also felt a bit guilty, making you wait so long. It seems unfair to you. Got in my head about it I guess. If you can't tell, I'm a bit of an overthinker sometimes."

"Well I'm glad you did. This wasn't unfair to me, I promise. You were honest about everything Y/n, you didn't give me false hope or lie to me. That was all I could ask of you. Are you feeling okay about this?"

"I am. Honestly, it feels a little bit weird which maybe you don't want to hear, but I'm really having a good time."

Christen smiled, taking my hand gently, "Look, I don't get how it feels, but I will never dismiss anything you're feeling. You can always talk to me about it. It's okay for it to feel weird because it probably is for you, I don't take offence to that."

"Thank you. Now lets eat before it gets cold."

We spent the next couple of hours talking about anything we could think of. There had never been anyone but Talia that I could talk to so comfortably without running out of things to talk about. That was until Christen came along. Long before there were any feelings, there had always been something about her that made me feel comfortable talking to her about things. Now I craved the conversations I could have with her. I wanted to get to know her more, from the mundane to the personal.

Conversation continued as we walked around the park hand in hand then back to the hotel when it started to get late. The nerves had long faded by now, instead being replaced by giddiness and maybe butterflies. Going on a date with Christen felt right. Despite the lingering guilt, I knew Talia would approve. I knew that out of anyone to move on with she would have chosen Christen for me. That in itself brought a sense of peace.

---

Christen slipped under the blankets on her bed, pulling me down with her. I laughed as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, mumbling something about wanting cuddles. Pulling her closer, I left a soft kiss against her forehead before speaking. "You want me to sleep in your bed tonight?"

Christen just nodded. We had just got back from our fifth date in two weeks. They could have been spaced out since we lived in the same city, but I felt like a smitten teenager again. Instead of the nerves that plagued me for our first date, I was excited about the dates. Maybe to some it was too many too quick, but I didn't care and Christen didn't seem to either.

Despite the amount of dates we had been on, we were planning on taking things slow. It was my idea to take it slow as this was something I hadn't done in a long time. We had kissed for the first time at the end of the last one, but even though we were rooming together, we hadn't slept in the same bed yet.

"That can be arranged, but I need to get changed and brush my teeth." She groaned dramatically, but let me go with a pout. After completing my nightly routine, I took my necklace off, putting it next to the bed. It felt unfair to Christen to be sleeping in the same bed as her while still wearing my wife's ring.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking it off."

"Because you want to or because you feel you have to?" I just shrugged, Christen stood up, grabbing the necklace and putting it back around my neck before her arms wrapped around my waist from behind. "I will never make you take this off. I never want you to feel like you have to for me okay? You will always love her and that's okay. It doesn't mean you can't have that love for someone else as well."

I nodded leaning back into her. One of my biggest fears with dating someone new was that they wouldn't understand or get mad at the fact that I will always be in love with someone else. That person just happened to not be here anymore. It was scary that I already felt myself falling for Christen, she was just such a beautiful person, inside and out. I don't think I could stop myself from falling even if I wanted to.

---

Christen and I were lying on my bed as the movie credits started to play. We were supposed to go out, but I wasn't feeling up to it. Talia's birthday was in a few days and I had been thinking about her a lot. No matter how much time passed, I still missed her just as much. I was feeling somewhat guilty about the new realisation that I was in love with Christen, like I was being unfaithful to Talia. I felt guilty a lot when Christen and I first started dating. It had mostly faded over the 6 months we had been together, though it always got worse near dates to do with Talia. I just had to keep reminding myself that there was nothing to feel guilty about and that she would be happy for me.

"I hope she's proud of me," I stated quietly, mostly to myself.

Christen turned her head slightly, "Maybe I didn't know her very well, but I know she is. You've come so far in your life and career. You are an amazing person, anyone would be proud of you."

"Sometimes I wish I could have one last conversation with her. See what she thinks of my life, where I am, who I'm with. I still talk to her sometimes, almost expecting a response, but of course it'll never come."

Her fingers laced with mine, squeezing slightly, "I'm sure she's listening and she's happy that you're living the life you want. That's what the people who love us should want for us."

I rolled over so I could look at her properly, brushing a piece of hair out of her face, "Have I ever thanked you? For letting me talk about her, for understanding that me loving her doesn't take away from what I feel for you, for always being there for me on days like our anniversary, or her birthday or the anniversary of her death. It's something I am forever grateful for Chris."

"I will always do all of those things, you don't ever need to thank me. I love you Y/n, I'll always be there for you no matter what."

"Y-you love me?"

"I do. You don't have to say it back, I just wanted you to know."

I kissed her softly, trying to show everything I was feeling, "I love you Chris."

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #christen press x reader #christen press imagine

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cowgurrrl · 2 days

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I Don't Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Author's note: this hatched as an idea for @tightjeansjavi 's june writing challenge but it doesn't end as I thought it would necessarily but I kinda lurv it so (ps thank you @egcdeath for your help 🫶)

Summary: "Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small quiet room." aka Javi makes a reappearance in your life [8.6k (she’s a whopper)]

Warnings: canonical type shit

It's a random Friday in April 1998 when you're walking down the hallway of FBI headquarters and hear a familiar voice call your name. Not just any voice but a voice you came to know as well as you would know your own. A voice you loved. A voice you haven't heard in four years. You freeze in your tracks and take two breaths before you actually turn around to see him.

He smiles big as he approaches you, and you struggle to find the same response. His hair is shorter and styled nicely, and he's wearing a bureaucratic suit, which you know he hates or used to hate. He's broader than you remember and seemingly more confident. You're still tense, but once he's close enough, muscle memory takes over, and you hug him.

His cologne is different. For some reason, that tugs at your heart.

"Hey, honey," he says into your hair, squeezing you a little harder. You hold him for another second before remembering you're at work and let him go. "Wasn't expectin' such a warm welcome."

"Well, that's what happens when you see an old friend for the first time in a long time." You say and Javi smirks, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"'Old friend.' Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is when I'm at work and have a reputation to uphold."

"Right," he says and puts his hands up in defense. "Didn't mean to insult Ms. FBI."

"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you resigned." You redirect, making him laugh even though you just gave away that you kept up with him even after you broke up.

"Stoddard asked me to teach a few classes to incoming DEA agents. Figured it was a good enough reason to get out of Texas," he says. You step to the side to let somebody go by in the hallway, and that ever-wandering eye falls down your body. "You look great."

"You too," you adjust some files against your chest, suddenly all too aware of how heavy his gaze is, and glance around. "How long are you in town for?"

"A week. We should get drinks or something. Catch up." He says, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. You're talking like you went to college together, and you're gonna reminisce about the good ole days over a few drinks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Sure, Javi. When are you free?"

"For you? Any time," he says so easily your heart squeezes. "But, I'm around tonight. I can meet you at the bar across from the Hill after work?"

"That works for me."

"Alright, then. I'll see you tonight." He smiles and looks you over again before swaggering down the hallway and into one of the classrooms like he used to walk to your desk or into your apartment. Nostalgia and something bigger bubbles in your throat, and you swallow it down.

You've often wondered about what it'd be like if you ever saw Javi again.

You never expected it would sting as much as it does.

You force yourself down the hallway into your office and let out a big sigh as you bury your head in your hands. Your engagement is cold against your skin.

You should be planning a wedding. You should be debating which version of white the napkins should be— eggshell or cream— or fighting with vendors on the phone. You should be doing a lot of things in the two months leading up to your wedding. Getting drinks with your ex is not one of them.

You worked at the United States Embassy in Bogotá during the hunt for Pablo Escobar in the early nineties. You were a fresh graduate from the DEA academy and got shipped off the day after you passed all your exams. They needed bodies in chairs and on the ground doing work to end the drug war, and you just happened to have a pulse and the qualification. Javier Peña happened to have those same things. Now, he's known as one of the men who took down the most dangerous crime syndicates in Latin America, but, at the time, he was just Javi.

He was a little older, a little more experienced, and, by all accounts, a little bit of a slut. He had a wandering eye and a bad habit of sleeping with newly minted Embassy employees who didn't know better. You were warned about Javi and his brown eyes and swagger, but you couldn't avoid him. He was your coworker, for Christ's sake. So all you could do was remind yourself you were there for a job and try to ignore him when possible. What they don't tell you about being thousands of miles away from home and dealing with nightmare-inducing horrors every single day is that you start looking for comfort wherever you can find it.

You made bad decisions like smoking cigarette after cigarette, sneaking just a little bit of whiskey in your coffee, or letting Javi bend you over his desk and leave bruises on your skin as he buried himself inside you. One time, you told yourself. You'll do this one time to get it out of your system, and then you'll both move on. As long as it didn't interfere with work, you thought it was okay to fuck him once, but either convenience or care kept you reaching for each other for the rest of your time in Colombia.

You spent most nights at his apartment because it was a little nicer and it felt like it would be too real if he entered your space. For all his sarcasm and hard edges, he was sweet with you. He'd make you breakfast and drive you to work under the guise of carpooling. Over time, you started to learn all his little quirks and tells, and you looked for him first when the smoke cleared and the gunfire ceased. He started stealing files off your pile of paperwork so you'd have less work to do, cook your favorite meals, and was ready with open arms when things got to be too much.

The love was like everything else that happened between you: quiet yet all-consuming.

As the months stretched on and you only grew to love him more and more, you started to imagine a life with him. You were naive and had too much faith in the world, but you couldn't stop yourself. The daydreams of a house with a big backyard, a dog, and maybe a few kids to fill it kept you alive when it felt like not even the weapon attached to your hip could. You wanted it so bad. You told him how much you wanted it, and he agreed despite how fucking crazy it sounded out loud. Love allows you to be delusional to avoid the possibility of rejection.

And you loved him so much that you let yourself believe once Escobar was dead or in prison that, you could go home together and live a somewhat normal life. That he could give it all up. That you could make it work.

So you threw yourself into the hunt. You didn't sleep. You barely ate. You went from smoking a few cigarettes a day to a pack as you got closer and closer. Javi wasn't much better off, and you definitely enabled each other's behavior, but you believed so hard in this future that you thought it would be worth it in the end.

He got snappy, and you argued a lot. You both shut down so much that it's a miracle you could find your way back to normalcy. He didn't even tell you when he got sent to D.C. for questioning. He just disappeared. When you and Steve stood over Escobar's body on a rooftop in Medellín, you couldn't focus on anything but the blood splatter on the shoes Javi got you as an early Christmas gift. At the end of the day, your only thought was, "It's over. We can go home. We can start over. We can make something of this."

Escobar wasn't even cold when Javi accepted a new position in Cali.

Everything he'd seen and done, the things you counseled each other through, the faces that kept him up at night didn't matter as much as that job. He broke the news to you as you were packing up your apartment. "There's an opportunity out there for you, too," he said, looking at you with those big eyes. You almost folded, drowning in affection for him, until you remembered how many times he'd almost died or disappeared without a word or struggled so much he buried his memories between your legs or at the bottom of a bottle.

How could he want to return to that? How could he want you to return to that?

That's when you broke.

You don't remember exactly what was said during the argument, but you know it was bad. There was a lot of yelling and tears. You said things you didn't mean, and he returned the favor. It went on for what seemed like hours, back and forth back and forth, until you were exhausted and done negotiating. You gave him an ultimatum: come to D.C. with you and start your lives, or go to Cali. He chose Cali. You chose D.C., and that was it.

That had to be it.

You didn't talk much in those final days, but you did a lot of crying. The horrors he helped keep at bay threatened to suffocate you. You were a shell of a person, but you couldn't reach for him again, knowing he didn't love you enough to stay with you. You had the tiniest shred of self-respect.

So, the day you left, you gave his stuff back, and he drove you to the airport in complete silence, even walking you all the way to the terminal without saying a word. His final act of care even when you'd told him you hated him forty-eight hours earlier. You waited until the very last second to get on the plane, hoping he'd change his mind or you'd change yours. You were both too stubborn and too broken, so you wished him luck and left. You didn't even hug him because you were so scared you'd never leave his arms if you did.

Things happened fast once you were stateside again. Within a week, you found a nice apartment in D.C., transferred to the FBI, adopted a cat named Astro, and swore off dating. With all your experience in Colombia, you got your pick of jobs and workload. You avoided field work for a while and got stuck pushing papers around at your desk, but you got bored three months in and asked to go back out. Your first case back in the field had you dealing with a serial arsonist who may or may not have had ties to a terrorist group. You were examining the rubble of yet another building when one of the firefighters called your name.

Harry was tall and charming and trying to explain something about accelerants, but all you could do was watch his scarred hands as they pointed. You remember thinking he was going to be a problem. It took three more fires for you to catch your guy, and Harry would later say it took those fires to build up the courage to ask you out. "You were much scarier than any fire," he told you. He had soot on his cheeks, and the flashing lights made his eyes sparkle. There was something about that stupid New York accent that just made you melt.

You thought one date couldn't hurt. You thought it would help you adjust to your new life. When he showed up in a nice shirt with a bouquet of flowers to pick you up for your first date, you knew you were fucked.

You went on a second date. And a third. And a fourth. He was patient with you as you struggled to open up to him about your time in the DEA and never pressured you to tell him anything you weren't ready to. That Christmas, you went home to New York with him and met his parents and all three of his sisters. By the next spring, you, Harry, and Astro moved into an apartment halfway between each of your jobs.

You got into the habit of bringing him cookies when he worked overnights at the station and smelling his shirt when he got home because, more often than not, it'd still smell like smoke. He'd surprise you with coffee or flowers at work "just because" and drag you away from your desk when you've been staring at the same words for however long. When a bullet grazed you in the middle of a chase, he made one of his EMT friends drive him to the hospital you were at in the ambulance with the lights on so he could get there as fast as possible. He made it in seven minutes and started crying the moment he saw you lying in the hospital bed, even though you were completely fine.

For something as unexpected as this relationship, you guys work really well. He cooks dinner, and you wash the dishes at the end of the night. He looks at big houses in nice neighborhoods and humors you even though there's no way you can afford it with two civil servant paychecks. But, when you see him playing with your nieces and nephews, something so deep inside you aches that you think the life-long debt would be worth it if it meant he got to be a dad. You take time off to visit his family, and even though he thinks it's the most badass thing about you, he doesn't say anything about your involvement with Escobar until you accidentally let something slip during a barbecue. When work gets too much, you hold each other, cry, and make promises to stay alive.

He proposes to you on the fourth anniversary of your first date. You knew he would because you'd looked at rings together, but you blub like a baby anyway and almost tackle him to the ground in Rock Creek Park. You're deliriously happy as you celebrate your engagement and even as you start to plan the wedding. It's like you blinked, and suddenly, it'd been four years since you left Colombia, and you're living the life you dreamt about, just with a new person. A person you love so fucking much, you still get butterflies when he walks in the room. The ring on your finger and the way he casually drops "my wife" into conversation when he means "fiancée" only adds to the giddiness.

You can't wait to spend the rest of your life with him. So, why the fuck did you agree to get drinks with Javi?

You pick your head up and dial the firehouse number before your brain can fully devolve into panic mode. They might be out dealing with a fire, but you figure it's worth a shot. On the second ring, Jack answers with his gruff "D.C. Fire Station 19."

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, hey, darlin'! How're you doin'?" He asks, and you swear you can hear him smiling. Jack is one of Harry's best friends and groomsmen, and he absolutely adores you.

"I'm good. How're you?" You ask, already feeling the weight come off your shoulders just from talking to someone.

"You know, I can't complain. I mean, I could, but I won't," he says, and you laugh. "You callin' for your lover boy?"

"If he's not busy, yes."

"Nah, you're all good. Well, listen, it was nice talkin' to you, sweetheart. I'll get him now." He says before yelling Harry's name through the station so loud you wonder if the neighbors could hear him. There's some shuffling and a quick "'S your wife" as the phone changes hands. The identifier makes you laugh and it's the first thing Harry hears when he presses the phone to his ear.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that." He swoons, and you make a sympathetic noise.

"Rough day?"

"No, I just miss you."

"You're so cheesy," you say. "I miss you too. A lot."

"You okay? You sound off." He asks, and you chuckle. Of course, he caught the tiniest change in your voice.

"I'm okay. I bumped into somebody I worked with in Colombia today, so I just… feel weird," you say, rubbing your forehead. You hear him shuffle like he's trying to move to a more private place, but the cord on the phone isn't letting him get very far.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I don't know. Just weird. We're gonna get some drinks tonight and catch up."

"Maybe that'll help," he chirps. "I mean, as much as I like listening to your stories, it might make you feel better to talk to someone who was there. Maybe get some closure."

"Maybe." You say. It goes quiet on the line, but you know he's there because you can hear him breathing and hear the distant sounds of the firehouse. You don't feel pressured to say anything; just knowing he's there breaks up the tension in your chest. "Chief is gonna have your ass if he finds out you're running up the phone bill." You tease, and he laughs.

"I'll just tell him I'm talking to my wife, and if he doesn't want me on the phone, then he should stop making me work overnights."

"Which I'm sure he'll take well."

"You're his favorite. I'm almost positive he'd install a whole phone just for you," he says. It's true, but hearing it still makes you smile. It goes quiet again.

You watch people mill around the bullpen from your office window and chew the inside of your cheek. You should tell him it's Javi. He wouldn't discourage you from getting drinks with him, but he knows your history with him. He should be in the loop. He's going to be your husband, for God's sake. But you also don't need him worrying about this while in a burning building or doing CPR.

"You know I'm not technically your wife for another two months, right?" You change the subject, and he hums.

"Yeah, but it has a nice ring to it. My wife." Even the way he says it over the phone makes you giddy.

"I can't argue with that." You say. He takes a deep breath, and you copy him.

"You're gonna be okay. Go get drinks with your friend and try to have some fun. Maybe invite them to the wedding if you get drunk enough and decide it's a good idea," he suggests, and you laugh at the idea of Javi at your wedding. "I'll be home tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk about it or not talk about it if that's what you want, okay?"

"Okay." You resolve and twirl the phone cord in your fingers.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Have a good day. Don't be a hero."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He says. You wait another second to have him nearby before hanging up and looking out over the bullpen again.

You could not show up. You could go home, cuddle with Astro, and put on Sex and the City or something else to take your mind off the day. You could go to bed early and take Harry breakfast in the morning. You know his hair will be messy and a little darker than normal, but he'll still smile and pull you into his lap even though the guys tease him all the time about your PDA.

But you're also too interested in what Javi could have to say to do that. You owe it to yourself to get closure or answers or whatever the fuck he has left to offer you.

And then you'll never think about him again.

Easy.

It's a slow day filled with paperwork and pencil-pushing at the FBI. No bombs or killers or threats. Just meetings and emails and the dread about meeting with Javi all day. You linger around the office a little longer than you need to until you're almost late, and only then do you start walking to the Hill.

It's bustling with tourists dying for a peek at the cherry blossoms scattered around D.C. and the Suits you usually see trying to get home. The April sun feels good on your skin, especially after being inside all day, and you take a moment to watch the sun dip lower and lower in the sky.

All things considered, if Javi was going to visit D.C., this would be the time to do it. Spring is in full bloom, and the last dredges of winter only show up at night or early in the morning when it's still cold. People are constantly out walking their dogs or taking their kids to the playgrounds. It feels like the city has come alive again after such a long winter. You come up with a list of recommendations of things for Javi to do while he's here, even though he probably won't do any of them. The least you could do is give him something to distract himself from work.

By the time you get to the bar, the sun has nearly set, and traffic is a waking nightmare. You push your anxiety away and duck into the bar, searching for Javi's familiar eyes amongst the exhausted interns and law students. He's in the corner, scanning the space just like you thought he would, and there's a glass waiting for you at the table. His eyes light up when he sees you, and your chest aches.

He gets up to greet you with a hug and pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman. "Don't know if your order's changed, but I figured I'd make a guess." He says, gesturing to your drink as you settle across from each other. You smile and hang your jacket on the back of your chair.

"Thank you. Next round is on me," you say as you raise your glass to his and take a sip. "How was teaching?"

"It was fine. Although I wish they'd actually listen instead of just staring at me like I have a second head." He says, and you laugh.

"You're a living legend to them. Escobar and the Godfathers of Cali? You might be the most experienced person they've come across."

"I think I'm the person professors warn students not to be in the field."

"There are much worse things to be than a Javier Peña or a Steve Murphy," you say. "Besides, I think the DEA has bigger problems than a few rogue agents."

He shrugs and glances up when the bell above the door chimes, checking out whoever just walked in. He did the same thing when you sat in bars in Colombia like he was always waiting for a fight. You used to tease him about it, but the fact that he still does it makes you smile.

"Steve sends his love, by the way." He says.

"How is he? How old is Olivia now?"

"She's gonna be five soon, and they're about to have another baby. A boy," he beams. "They're all doing good. Steve runs training courses for FBI agents now and sometimes goes back to Colombia to liaise with their government. Connie works at a hospital, and Olivia's in Pre-K."

"Sounds like you guys talk a lot." You're pleasantly surprised. They were good partners, but they could barely stand to look at each other when things got tense. Not to mention Steve leaving the DEA at the same time you did.

"Well, when Olivia started calling me Uncle Javi, it was pretty hard to ignore him," he says, and you 'aw' at the idea of her little hands reaching for him. Uncle Javi suits him. "She's a good kid."

He fills you in on his work in Texas and asks about your transfer. You tell him what you can about your job and the annoying bureaucrats you hate working with. He seems lighter than you've seen before, not just because of the drink in his hand. His shoulders are relaxed, and even though he still has the instincts of someone working in the field, he doesn't get trapped in them like he used to. It's a nice change.

You're almost done with your first drink when he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers you one. God, when was the last time you even bought a pack of cigarettes? It had to have been right after Harry came home from a particularly bad fire resulting from a stray cigarette. Three people died. After that, you couldn't pick up a cigarette without thinking about the seventeen-year-old who got stuck in the apartment. That must've been three years ago now.

"I quit," you say, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"That's new." He says like your hair turned blue before his eyes, but pops one into his mouth anyway. You shrug.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no, 'm not disappointed. Just surprised."

"Yeah, well," you sigh. "American cigarettes aren't as good as the Colombian ones."

"I guess that's true," he says as he flicks his lighter open and inhales until the end glows. Just as always, he politely blows smoke away from your face. "Alright, so you got a new job, a new apartment, a cat, and you quit smoking. What else has changed since I saw you last?" He asks, and your thumb immediately presses into the band of your engagement ring.

Well, it's now or never.

"I, uh... I'm getting married," you say, and his eyes fall to your ring. "In two months." He takes a big sip.

"Congratulations," he says. It might be the most unenthusiastic thing you've ever heard somebody say. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Harry. We've been together for a few years now."

"What's he do?" He asks in his interrogator's voice, and you give him a look.

"We don't have to do this." You say. Javi takes another drag of his cigarette and grinds his teeth.

"Do what?" He asks. "It shouldn't be hard to talk about if you love him."

"I do."

"Then, why don't you want to tell me about him?"

"Is that a serious question?" You scoff, and he shrugs. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I already asked you," he says. "What does he do for work?"

"He's a firefighter." You know it's a cliche: a cop and a firefighter, but you don't really care.

"How'd you meet?"

"First field case I had was an arsonist. He was one of the guys on site when I got there."

"Romantic," Javi muses, and you hum. You wait for him to continue bombarding you with questions, but the air gets thick, and suddenly, all you can do is take big gulps of your drink. You signal to the bartender for another, and Javi finishes his cigarette in silence. "Well, I'm happy for you," he says softly. He doesn't seem like he is, but you know better than to press him, so you just nod.

"Thank you," you say. The bartender drops two more drinks off at your table, and Javi raises his glass to you.

"Here's to you and Terry-"

"Harry," you correct, and he laughs, breaking up the tension that's settled. He took the news much better than you expected, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop. There always seems to be one waiting when Javi's around.

"To you and Harry and a lifetime of happiness." He says, tapping his glass against yours and taking a drink. "Now, tell me what you've been doing with the fuckin' FBI."

"Oh, you're gonna need to buy me a few more drinks before I start spilling government secrets, Peña." The name rolls off your tongue before you can stop it, and it brings you back to hot Colombian days and red yarn on a corkboard and his apartment. He raises his eyebrows like it's a challenge and smirks.

"Don't tempt me with a good time."

It's late and you're drunk. Drunker than you've been in a while. You didn't mean to. You just kept talking and drinking, and it felt so good talking to him after so long. Once you got through with the elephant in the room, it was so easy to fall back into the groove with him. You talked about Colombia and your lives outside of work. You even tell him the story of accidentally letting it slip that you used to work for the DEA after smoking a little bit of weed with Harry's sister, Caitlin.

You laughed together until last call and then argued over who would pay the tab. "Consider it my weddin' gift," he half-slurred, and you rolled your eyes and let him pay.

Now, you're strolling the empty National Mall, working off your buzz and elongating the time you have with him. You didn't realize how much you missed him until tonight. Despite everything that happened, you did have good days with him. Days filled with music and chain smoking and laughter. You'd like to get those back. You'd like that version of him back.

As you walk, you point out monuments to him and messily retell the stories the tour guide told you when Harry thought a walking tour of D.C. was a good second-date idea. You switch presidents and periods too much to make sense, but Javi listens anyway. Every so often, his warm hand will brush against yours, barely touching your skin but enough for you to notice when he does it. Neither of you say anything about it or break the flow of your conversation. Maybe it's for old-time's sake. Maybe it's because you don't know what there is to say. The night is clear and eerily quiet. The only sound besides your laughter and drunken stories is the chilly wind blowing through the trees and the clacking of heels from an exhausted-looking White House intern as she walks by.

Or, at least, it was until you stumbled across a busker by the Lincoln Memorial. The empty space echoes with the sound of his saxophone, and you smile as you get closer. There are a few other people milling around, and a few take turns throwing coins in his case. You've seen him playing here before, but you've never had the time to actually stop and listen. He's good. You wish you'd stopped sooner.

"You wanna dance?" Javi whispers in your ear, his breath fanning across your neck, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"Here?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else is."

"C'mon," he tuts. "Live a little." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else. He just grabs your hand and pulls you a little closer to the musician. You sigh but let Javi hold one of your hands and rest the other on his shoulder. He smirks and you roll your eyes to hide the fact that you're shocked he wants to dance. With you. In public.

Sure, you had little moments where you danced in the kitchen, but never in public. Even then, it wouldn't have ever been his idea to dance. He's like a whole new person. You don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck happened to him in Cali?

He spins you under his arm, and you do your best to follow his lead. You have two left feet as it is, something Harry has helped get out of your system, but the alcohol makes it even worse. You almost trip yourself but land against Javi's chest before you can hit the ground. He makes an oomph sound but doesn't do anything to push you away. You don't do anything to pull away.

The saxophonist continues playing, and the cicadas chirp nearby. If you listen hard enough, you can hear Javi's heartbeat. You think you'd know the sound anywhere. You memorized the rise and fall of his chest when you woke up from nightmares, and he was the one to calm you down. You used to count the contractions of the muscles in his heart until you fell back to sleep. It was often the first thing you heard when you woke up if bombs weren't going off somewhere in the city or your phone wasn't blaring with an emergency message from the Embassy.

And now, here it is again, unexpectedly thumping against you after four years, following the rhythm of the music surrounding you. Javi's warm as he tentatively rests his head against yours, and you feel his fingers flex around your hip. A mixture of his cologne and cigarettes invades your senses, and you can do nothing but ride the nostalgia wave until the song ends.

You pry yourself from Javi to turn and applaud the saxophonist, and he gives a gracious bow. Javi looks a little disappointed that the song is over but drops a ten-dollar bill in the saxophone case anyway.

"Didn't take you for a dancer." You say as you walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, and he shrugs.

"'M full of secrets now."

"I guess so," you say. You start walking toward your apartment, suddenly too cold and tired now that you're a little more sober. Javi follows, putting himself between you and the street and grazing your lower back whenever you cross the road. He's always been protective of you, even before you started dating. It makes sense he would still be, right? You're trying to make sense of the muddled mess in your head when Javi pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket, and you eye them. You must not be as discrete as you thought you were because he laughs at you.

"For someone who quit smoking, you look like you want a cigarette." He says, offering the pack to you, and you sigh. You take one from the middle and put it between your lips. Javi is quick with his lighter, and you lean into him just a little as you inhale. He watches your every movement like he's watching a miracle unfold before him.

You hate to admit how good the smoke feels in your lungs. After three years of not even looking at a cigarette, all it took was an offer and a quick puff, and you're back to the beginning. You'll start again tomorrow.

"Don't tell Harry." You say as you blow smoke away from him, and Javi laughs.

"What? He doesn't like you smoking?" He asks, looking for a reason not to like Harry, and you chuckle.

"It's not that. I've just heard one too many horror stories about a stray cigarette starting a fire." You say, and he hums.

"Is that why you quit?"

"Kinda. I also…" you start but then shake your head. "Never mind."

"What? Now you have to say it."

"You're not gonna like it."

"Try me." He says, and you inhale deeply, blowing smoke out of your nose. You think about telling him to leave it alone, but the alcohol and the pain in your chest tells you to say fuck it.

"I quit because it reminded me of you." You admit. He gets quiet. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks up at the stars as you silently spiral. You feel like you need two more cigarettes and a shot of tequila.

Javi has always had a special talent for making all your worst habits bubble to the surface.

"You're right, I don't like that." He says softly, and you nod. You walk a few blocks in silence. The only sounds are your shoes clicking against the pavement and the tiny crackling of your cigarette as you smoke. A siren blares somewhere in the city, and your stomach drops. It always does, but especially now.

Your fiancé is out there, putting his life on the line to save others because that's how good of a man he is, and you're getting drunk and slow-dancing with the man who broke your heart? You didn't even tell him it was Javi. What if something happens to him tonight, and you're out? What if you miss the phone call? Guilt gnaws at your throat like an angry dog, and you feel like throwing up. You swallow hard and stomp out your cigarette before it can get to the filter.

"I'm glad we did this," you say, trying to get things back on track. Javi gives you a weak smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You know, Harry said there's a place for you at the wedding if you want it. I know you'll be back in Texas, but it could be fun. We'd love to have you," you say, and he shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He says. You knew he'd say no, but it still stings.

"Just thought I'd ask." You say, and he nods. You're about two blocks away from your apartment, and you start fishing for your keys out of your purse when Javi stops. You keep walking, thinking he's going to finish his cigarette and pull out another one.

"Don't marry him." He says, just loud enough for you to hear, and ice floods your veins. Whatever alcohol left in your system seems to vanish, and you freeze.

"What?" You ask as you slowly turn around. Javi chews on his bottom lip and stares at you.

"Don't marry him," he says again. Something behind his eyes is familiar, and suddenly, you're the girl he couldn't leave Colombia for again. Tears prick in your eyes, and you shake your head. "You'll get bored in a few years, and you'll be stuck if you marry him."

"I love him."

"I love you."

"Stop," you mumble. He takes a step forward and cradles your face in his hands, tilting you up to look at him, and your jaw tightens. You wonder if he can feel it. "You don't love me."

"I do. I always have. I fucked up, and I'm so sorry for hurting you, but I'm here now. We can start over. I'll move to D.C.. I'll do whatever." He says in one breath like he's afraid he'll lose the courage to say the words out loud.

"It's too late." You say, and he shakes his head.

"No, it's not. We can go tonight. Anywhere you want. I-"

"You let me leave," you cut him off, years of frustration and heartbreak coming back up to the surface as you take his hands off your face. "I was drowning and you let me get on the fucking plane."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"I wanted you to reject the position in Cali and come with me because I really thought you could at least try to love me more than your job."

"I couldn't just give the Cali position up." He says and you scoff and take a few steps away from him.

"But you could give me up," you say, throwing your arms up in defeat. "That's not love, Javi. That's having someone around to play with and throwing them out when you get bored."

"It wasn't like that."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Do you remember when Carillo died?" He asks and you take a deep breath before nodding.

Most of your memories of Colombia are muddled, but not that day. You were pissed Messina wouldn't let you go, but you were fine to let the Colombian police make the raid. Javi and Steve were anxious. You remember watching them stand next to the radio like guards and trying to guess what was going on in their heads. Javi's gaze lingered on you a few too many times to be an accident, and he smiled fondly at you. You joked about them paying for the drinks you'd have later to celebrate. Things felt stable enough for you to sit down next to Messina. You were halfway through a cigarette when the gunfire chattered over the radios.

It wasn't an ambush.

It was a fucking massacre.

They never stood a chance. The scene was horrendous. Hearing Messina call Mrs. Carillo to tell her what happened was worse. Steve, somehow, was able to go with Carillo, so he wasn't alone in transport back to Bogotá. You and Javi were the cowards who went back and drank until you stopped seeing the pile of bodies you felt responsible for.

Javi put his fist through the wall of his apartment when he got home that night. You wanted to cry but knew that if you started, you'd never stop and who were you to be crying? People had just lost their sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers on your orders. You didn't deserve to cry. It was the beginning of the end for you and Javi, but you clung to your idea of the future so hard, it had claw marks on it when you finally let it go and got on the plane.

So, yeah, you remember. You remember it all.

"I couldn't let that happen to you or anyone else ever again. It would kill me," he says. You're about to tell him it's not his fault, and it never was. It was shitty intel. It was a trap. It was a lot of things, but it wasn't his fault. That might be the only thing you can say for sure about that tragedy. "So, I put everything that wasn't work out of my mind and made bad decisions, and that's on me, but I never stopped loving you or believing in our future."

"Then, why didn't you fight for us?"

"I didn't know how. You were so…" He searches for the right word. "Sure. You knew you didn't want to go to Cali, and I couldn't make you stay."

"I would've if you said the word," you say. "Even though I was miserable in Colombia, I would've come back if you asked me to because that's how much I loved you. Even if you'd just called me after I got here, we probably could've worked something out, but I'm marrying the love of my life in less than sixty days. And I've never had to beg him to stay with me or give him an ultimatum and question if he loves me because he wakes up every day and shows me how much he wants to be with me. I can't walk away from that."

"Does he know what you did down there?"

"Of course, he does." You say, annoyance buzzing in your molars, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Does he know everything?"

"You mean, does he know I've killed people?" You ask. "Yeah, it was super fun trying to explain that to him. You want to hear about how I hyperventilated through the whole thing, or do you want to ask me another question to try to undermine my relationship?" He purses his lips and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "I just don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Fuck you, Javier." You spit. You don't know the last time you used his full name like that. Something about it feels wrong and makes your skin crawl. "You left one girl at the altar over a decade ago, and you think you know about marriage?"

"That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is you coming here and making me feel like the bad guy for moving on. I deserve to be happy. I've worked, and I've cried, and I've fucking killed for it, and the second I feel like things are going my way, you do this!" You yell.

"I love you." He says again, like it'll change anything. The pressure behind your eyes returns, and you turn away from him, but he catches your wrist before you can. "Listen to me. I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeats over and over again, but all you hear is, "I love you, but I can't come with you." "I love you, but I need this." "I love you. Isn't that enough?"

You rip out of his grasp and punch at his chest with tears slipping down your face. He takes it, still saying that he loves you, and for some reason that hurts more. You push him hard and watch him stumble back, his brown eyes tracking the tears down your face.

"If you really love me-"

"I do." He cuts you off and you take a stuttering breath.

"Then, let me be happy," you beg. "Let me go. Please. If you love me, you'll do that for me."

You feel pathetic, standing there crying like he shattered your heart all over again as he just stares at you and thinks. You want to go home. You want this to end. You want to never see him again.

Maybe in twenty years, you could stand to face him again. You'll be happily married, and you hope he'll be, too. You'll have a few kids, and you'll tell stories about them and Harry will pull pictures of them out of his wallet. You won't hurt anymore. Maybe when your daughter goes through her first heartbreak, you'll find the courage to tell her about Javi. Maybe all this grief will be worth something someday. You want it to.

But right now, you're just the girl he didn't love enough to leave Colombia for, and he's not the man you love enough to marry.

He clears his throat, his own tears glistening in his waterline, and nods.

"Okay," he mumbles. "I'll tell Stoddard I had a family emergency or something back home. Get the first flight back." Your eyes flutter shut at his words, and you try to keep yourself from crying more.

"Thank you." You say.

"I love you." He says again, and you open your eyes. He's grinding his teeth again, and his hands are in his pockets as if he's forcing himself not to reach for you. You give him a small smile and nod.

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry."

Just as you did at the airport all those years ago, you stand awkwardly far apart, unsure of what to do now. He waits for you to change your mind. You won't. He'll get on the plane, and that'll be it.

He nods to himself one more time before turning to walk away.

"You do deserve to be happy. I've never doubted that. I wish I could've given that to you." He says like he's trying to convince you he's a good person. You sniffle and spin your ring around your finger.

"You did for a while. It's just Harry's turn to do that now," you say. "Goodbye, Javi." He opens his mouth like he's going to say goodbye or something else, but you turn your back to him and start walking toward your apartment before he can.

You figure, after everything, it's only fair that you get the last word.

You didn't sleep. You knew you wouldn't. Astro seems to sense your anxiety and cuddles into your chest, purring loudly to try and drown out your thoughts. You reassure her you're okay and kiss her head as the inky blue sky is replaced by a stunning pink and purple morning.

A good omen, you hope.

You force yourself to get up and get ready for the day. It's Saturday and a fire station breakfast day. It's never anything fancy: donuts picked up from a nearby cafe, greasy fast food breakfast, sometimes cold pizza. Today, you walk to a nearby bodega and pick up his favorite breakfast sandwich with two steaming cups of coffee before walking to the fire station.

It's cold, and D.C. hasn't quite woken up yet. It'll be a few hours before life returns as people sleep off hangovers or long weeks. That's okay. This morning is just for you.

The garage door is wide open when you get to the station, and Harry is perched on the back bumper with the firehouse dog, Maisie, whispering things to her. He looks tired. You don't think you look any better, but he still lights up when he sees you, and Maisie even starts wagging her tail.

"Hey there, stranger," you greet him as he pulls you closer and smirks up at you. "You have a good night?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now that you're here." He says. You would normally roll your eyes at his cheesiness but your chest fills with warmth instead. You lean down and kiss him. He smells like smoke but tastes like the chapstick you make him wear because of the heat. Maisie sniffs at the bag in your hand, and you laugh against his lips when she licks your arm.

"I think she's jealous." You say, and he sucks his teeth as he looks at Maisie.

"You have breakfast, you little terrorist." He reminds her but he immediately folds when she gives him that innocent look. "She can have one piece of bacon, but that's it. We need you trim to get up in the trucks, right?"

You pull a piece of bacon off one of the breakfast sandwiches and make her sit and shake before you give it to her. She crunches on it happily, knowing she's absolutely spoiled rotten. She makes space for you to sit next to Harry on the truck and you rest your head on his shoulder. "You okay?" He asks as he kisses your hairline, and you nod.

"Just missed you," you say. "I couldn't sleep last night." He makes a sympathetic noise and wraps an arm around your shoulder to tuck you further into his side.

"Were you thinking about Colombia?" He asks and you hum. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Okay. You wanna hear about why our kids will never be allowed to buy candles ever? No matter how old they get or how much smarter they think they are than us?" He changes the subject easily, and you laugh despite the pain still radiating in your body. You know he'll be there when you're ready to tell him about last night, no matter how long it takes you, and you will tell him. Eventually.

"Hit me with it." You say as you unpack your breakfast sandwiches and pass him his coffee. Maisie wags her tail as you alternate between sneaking her treats and listening to Harry's story. He knows you're giving her extra snacks but won't ever stop you.

You sit there on the back of that dirty firetruck, talking and watching the sunrise together and debating on which version of white the napkins at your wedding should be— eggshell or cream— and know you'd do everything all over again if it meant this was the outcome. You love him with everything that you are and ever could be.

And as you eat your breakfast and soak up each other's presence, you find yourself hoping Javi could love someone like this someday. You believe he has it in him. You've seen it. Whoever ends up being the one to tie Javier Peña down will be lucky and loved.

It just wasn't meant to be you.

#tightjeansjavijunewritingchallenge #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier pena imagine #javier pena one shot #javier pena angst #javi peña #javi p x reader #javi p fic #pedro pascal

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slumpsnail · 1 day

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I'll be opening commissions soon so I drew my Tavs as samples. I don't draw them a lot, they mostly stay in my head haha. I've carried these characters throughout so many games and campaigns, but I changed their lore a bit to fit BG3 better. If you want to know more about them I'll write a bit more under the cut.

I'm hoping to open comms by the end of June, I will keep you all updated if anyone is interested :)!

Rin is timid, shy, and is often described as melancholic. The youngest of a wealthy, large, chaotic, but loving family in Baldur's Gate. They had a rather idyllic and routine life before getting snatched up by the Nautiloid. Rin is not a natural born leader and struggled to form connections with the group.

Aria is an orphan from Waterdeep with a love for ancient history, lost civilizations, and books. She was a childhood friends of Gale Dekarios but their relationship soured after he became Mystra's Chosen. She left Waterdeep soon after to pursue research for her book. Aria tends to keep others at arms length as she has a fear for developing deep bonds. Though she can appear aloof, Aria is very kind-hearted and is often helping anyone in need.

Ravi and Nym are found family siblings from Thay. Their life in Thay is a bit of a mystery, but the siblings were living a quiet life in Rivington for over a decade. Nym is actually a wild magic sorcerer but has trouble controlling her powers so she rarely uses them. Always having a fondness towards music, she befriended many bards in the local taverns and learned how to play the lyre. Nym happily works part time with Circus of The Last Days when they're in town. Ravi is a skilled ranger for hire and is often away from home traveling with any number of adventures and mercenaries, which is how he meets Aria. Nym and Ravi are very charismatic, it's hard to tell whether they're being genuine or charmingly manipulative.

Rin is my first Tav when playing BG3. They were originally a full Drow but I decided to change their lore recently. Aria, Ravi, and Nym are characters I've kept in the same universe so I'd like to think they were all together when the events of BG3 happened. Aria is a character I often recycle in many games including the DA series. She's normally an elf but I wanted to change her to a tiefling for BG3 because, ya know, tail stuff. She's my Galemancer Tav hehe!

#my art #tav #tav bg3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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torahoes · 2 days

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(IDOLiSH7) Minami Natsume - 16PRODUCERS Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Touma Inumaru: Good work, everyone! 😄

Touma Inumaru: Wait, maybe I got here too early? We're all separated today so I'm bored 🤔

Touma Inumaru: The "Ź" in ŹOOĻ stands for "Zealously always singing together!"~

Touma Inumaru: The first "O" in ŹOOĻ stands for "Outstanding and unrivaled!"~

Touma Inumaru: The second "O" in ŹOOĻ

Touma Inumaru: stands for "Oh, I can't think of anything!"~

Minami Natsume: Aren't you giving up too quickly?

Touma Inumaru: Mina!! You were watching? lololol

Minami Natsume: Yes. From the very beginning.

Touma Inumaru: The heck? You should've said something then! I wouldn't have wasted my time with that nonsense! 😂 lolol

Minami Natsume: I was waiting to see when you'd get lonely and call my name, but you started talking about ŹOOĻ instead. It was amusing so I couldn't help but observe you silently.

Touma Inumaru: Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself 😂 Are you done with your magazine shoot?

Minami Natsume: Yes, it went smoothly. Good work completing your variety show recording as well, Inumaru-san.

Touma Inumaru: Thanks! I'm on my way to the next location now 🚘 Is Utsugi-san going to join us after his meeting? Hope he'll be able to make it on time

Minami Natsume: I'm sure he'll make it no matter what. I believe he's a man who always keeps his word.

Touma Inumaru: That's true 😄‼️ Where are you now, Mina?

Minami Natsume: I had some free time, so I came to a café. It's wonderful here.

Touma Inumaru: Wonderful?

Minami Natsume: They're playing "ZONE OF OVERLAP" inside the café right now.

Touma Inumaru: Seriously!? That's a pretty hardcore café! 😆 lolol

Minami Natsume: Oh, the customers around me are getting excited, saying they love this song

Minami Natsume: I'm happy.

Touma Inumaru: Really...!? That's awesome. It's fulfilling to know that our songs are a natural part of our fans' daily lives

Touma Inumaru: Let's keep working hard, Mina!

Minami Natsume: Yes, of course.

Shiro Utsugi: Good work today! I'm dying to know what the "Ļ" in ŹOOĻ stands for!

Touma Inumaru: Ah, Utsugi-san, you too! I hadn't thought about that lolol

Touma Inumaru: Umm, the "Ļ" in ŹOOĻ is for "Lovely ŹOOĻ"~ 👍‼️

Shiro Utsugi: That's perfect! I'll make sure we'll be able to sing this at after-parties and such.

Minami Natsume: Good work, Utsugi-san. I'm glad you were able to make it.

Shiro Utsugi: I made it just in time, somehow!

Shiro Utsugi: Incidentally, "Sasagero" was playing on the radio this morning while I was driving. For a moment, I was genuinely startled, thinking Inumaru-san had called me.

Touma Inumaru: No way! Really? I've gotten a bit hesitant about what to say when I call people now LOL

Minami Natsume: Oh, so that’s why you always start so politely with, “Hello, this is Touma speaking.”

Touma Inumaru: I know they can see my name on their screens, but I still feel the need to say it 😅 Wait, it's time, isn't it? My bad!

Shiro Utsugi: Yes! Alright, let's begin then. I'm sorry that we have to conduct it remotely this time. 🙇‍♂️

Shiro Utsugi: Let me explain it once more. We've been asked to show your usual interactions in a friendly, dinner-table-like atmosphere, so we opted to have a conversation in this format using Rabbit Chat.

Shiro Utsugi: Natsume-san, how did you feel when you found out Inumaru-san would be your producer?

Minami Natsume: I was very excited. Composing a song is a lot like writing a love letter, as the lyrics and melody convey how the composer feels about the singer.

Minami Natsume: So I was curious what Inumaru-san would write about me. After all, I'm the one always writing love letters to them.

Touma Inumaru: A love letter! That’s our Mina; you know exactly how to put it! You're right, I do love you! 😊

Minami Natsume: You say it so casually

Touma Inumaru: No, I'm serious! You were on my mind so much, you even showed up in my dream 👍

Minami Natsume: In your dream…?

Touma Inumaru: That's right! We did stuff like attempting to break the record for eating the most fried rice and cycling across Japan together 😂

Minami Natsume: Is that so? You had quite a naughty dream, I see.

Touma Inumaru: Must've been because I watched a show about that before going to bed 😂

Minami Natsume: Well, I suppose it's fine. I’ll gladly accept it.

Touma Inumaru: Seriously, my mind was completely consumed by thoughts of you! I couldn't give anything less than my absolute best to ŹOOĻ's composer, after all. And above all, I really wanted you to like the song.

Minami Natsume: Thank you very much. It’s become one of my favorite songs.

Minami Natsume: Unlike ŹOOĻ's usual songs, the melody really complemented my singing voice. I could tell you put an incredible amount of thought into it.

Touma Inumaru: Really!? That makes me so happy!! Your voice is so sweet and delicate when you sing; I wanted to make sure it shone, so I worked closely with the composer!

Shiro Utsugi: It has such a pleasant rhythm and a trendy feel to it! Please tell us more about the creation process!

Touma Inumaru: Mina may be younger but he's the #2 Sexiest Man Alive so he's got that sex appeal, right? I figured fans would love it if I brought that out more!

Touma Inumaru: But I didn't want it to be too mellow either. I wanted to capture the lightness of Mina's dancing in the song 👍

Touma Inumaru: And, honestly, I just really wanted to hear Mina sing a love song!

Minami Natsume: Why?

Touma Inumaru: Because you're so affectionate, Mina. You're super observant, strong-willed, and dedicated to your work.

Minami Natsume: Are you sure? I'm someone who ran away once, you know.

Touma Inumaru: It’s because you cherish everything so much that you wanted to run away. If it didn’t matter, you would have just quit. But you didn’t give up on music or this job, did you?

Touma Inumaru: Remember the whole thing with Tora and his stunt a while back? You told us you understood how he felt. That was when I realized that you probably always face everything head-on, one thing at a time, just like this.

Shiro Utsugi: Inumaru-san…....

Touma Inumaru: Haha, this is a bit embarrassing!

Shiro Utsugi: Can I hug you?

Touma Inumaru: Huh!?

Minami Natsume: Why would you hug him!?

Shiro Utsugi: I apologize! I got carried away thinking about how great ŹOOĻ is.

Minami Natsume: Well, naturally. It's ŹOOĻ we're talking about.

Minami Natsume: Inumaru-san, thank you for sharing the story behind "FANTASY." I will cherish this song for the rest of my life.

Minami Natsume: There's no need to run away anymore. I won't be tied down by anyone’s feelings. The sounds surrounding me give me confidence. "Guided by the never-ending melody, let's take off and fly."

Touma Inumaru: Oh, those are the lyrics! The music you make always gives me confidence too, Mina.

Touma Inumaru: "There's a sight beyond the starry sky that I want to see someday," so let’s keep singing together — the four of us. ‼️😄

Touma Inumaru:

Minami Natsume:

Minami Natsume: Feeling good. Maybe I’ll order two cakes

Touma Inumaru: Sounds nice! All I have with me right now are some gummies. Guess I'll just eat those!

Shiro Utsugi: In that case, I’ll have the candy I got from Isumi-san yesterday!

Minami Natsume: Both of you are adorable. Next time, all five of us should go out to eat together.

Shiro Utsugi: That’s perfect for Lovely ŹOOĻ! 🐾 Please tell us about the outfits and photoshoot too!

Minami Natsume: I was curious about that as well. I was surprised that someone like Inumaru-san who prefers rugged materials would come up with these outfits.

Touma Inumaru: They were awesome, weren't they?

Minami Natsume: Yes, I honestly really loved them.

Touma Inumaru: I'm glad! 😆😆 I agonized over it a lot, you know! Our tastes are probably very different

Touma Inumaru: You're sophisticated, mature, but then suddenly you're cool and tough. You've got so many different sides to you, it's amazing. So I figured anything would suit you.

Touma Inumaru: I went for a nightclub-like vibe, with colors reminiscent of the night sky that I thought would complement your fair skin. I also used lots of soft, flowy materials and elements to accentuate your dance moves! ✨

Minami Natsume: I’m happy. I took a screenshot

Minami Natsume: The silk fabric felt great against my skin. And the delicate yet commanding accessories were also perfect.

Minami Natsume: So that's the reason why only my outfit used the chic colors. You wanted it to complement my skin tone.

Shiro Utsugi: Inumaru-san, you must be incredibly popular with the ladies.

Touma Inumaru: What!? Where'd that come from!?

Minami Natsume:

Minami Natsume: For better or worse, you’re a very straightforward person. I don’t dislike it.

Touma Inumaru: I can't tell if that’s a compliment or not, but thanks!? lolol

Shiro Utsugi: Was the night pool for the photoshoot chosen because of the nightclub vibe you mentioned?

Touma Inumaru: That's right! Like I mentioned, Mina has this night-time feel to him. It suits him. But I thought a pool with soft lighting would fit him better than an overly flashy club 😆

Minami Natsume: Inumaru-san, you mentioned during the shoot that the four lights reflecting on the water were like ŹOOĻ.

Minami Natsume: Each light may be faint on its own, but when they come together, they shine brightly, illuminating each other and creating a large, warm and enveloping light.

Shiro Utsugi: You’re definitely popular, aren't you?

Touma Inumaru: Not in the slightest lololol

Minami Natsume: My, at the very least, your words did make my heart skip a beat. I'm moved by how romantically you described our relationship.

Touma Inumaru:

Touma Inumaru: I’m usually not that great with my words but being your producer kinda made me feel like a better man as well, I guess 😂‼️

Minami Natsume: Because I'm a great man?

Touma Inumaru: Exactly! Isn't that obvious 😄👍

Minami Natsume: Thank you very much. I'm sure the fans will love "FANTASY", which is sung by two great men.

Shiro Utsugi: Sounds wonderful! Please keep bringing us incredible music as ŹOOĻ! 🐾 Lastly, do you have any message for your fans?

Touma Inumaru: Mina, the composer of ŹOOĻ and the #2 Sexiest Man Alive, has many sides. I wanted to create a song that highlights his delicate, loving nature and expansive vocal range.

Touma Inumaru: Be sure to give Mina's love song plenty of listens, alright? If you do, I'm sure you’ll fall in love with him even more! 😄

Minami Natsume: I have always been in search for people who would put their soul into my songs and sing them with all their heart. Laughing at and scorning the world, while hoping that someday... I'd find such people.

Minami Natsume: Meeting ŹOOĻ and being able to create the best music was already a blessing for me, but I never imagined that one day they would make music just for me like this.

Minami Natsume: However, this is not something to take for granted. It's all thanks to the support from our seniors and the staff.

Minami Natsume: So, just for tonight, following the lyrics of "FANTASY," I want to try being a bit more honest.

Minami Natsume: I love you all. As long as I live, I will never let go. Let's stay connected forever.

Touma Inumaru: So cool…

Shiro Utsugi: You both are the best! Super handsome!

Minami Natsume: Thank you. Next time we meet, you’ll hug me along with Inumaru-san, won't you, Utsugi-san?

Shiro Utsugi: What!? Is that really okay…!?

Touma Inumaru: Can I join too!? I'll join! I’m totally joining! Let’s get Haru and Tora too! 🤗🤗

Minami Natsume: My, it's starting to sound like we’re forming a huddle.

Touma Inumaru: True LOL but I'm sure it’ll be fun with the four of us!

Minami Natsume: Yes, I think so too.

The End.

#idolish7 translation #zool #idolish7 #ainana #i7 #id7 #rabbitchat #rabbit chat #minami natsume #natsume minami #touma inumaru #inumaru touma #toma inumaru #inumaru toma #shiro utsugi #utsugi shiro

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hvnnibvnny · 24 hours

Text

Another quick write?

Maybe we meet at a club- packed with perpetually hypersexual adults, vibrant lights.

Its way too crowded to really do much, the smell of alcohol and sweat and a terrible mix of perfume and cologne - but a nice setting overall.

My friends have left me alone already, drifting off with the promise of a fun time, leaving me to sit nervously at the bar, stuttering over my words as I try to order myself a drink. I'm sure my cheeks are flushed now from embarrassment.

But then he comes, an older man, veey well dressed, sitting so close to me, eyes trailing over me before turning to the bartender with a easy grin, and without even asking, orders two drinks for us- something I've never heard of. He grabs the glass, sliding it over to me and I quickly grasp it, smiling and whispering out a soft "thank you".

He only smile down at me shrugging before asking " what brings me here?".

I take a sip of the drink - bitter- before telling him that I just came with some friends to have fun, celebrate our friendship or whatever, shit he really couldn't care less about as he nods along, smiling empathetically. It's only when I tell him that they went off with some newfound companionship does his eyes light up- interesting.

I take another sip, trying to pretend I like the drink out of appreciation- how cute. He leans closer, too close, when he asks if I have a boyfriend and when I shake my head no, he gives a low chuckle, stating that pretty little things like me should always have a man to please them before ordering me another drink.

I sit there dumbly, giggling uncomfortably before he's sliding me the next glass, and before long, the next.

At my fourth or fifth glass, I'm feeling dizzy and everything's too loud, too much. I cringe before standing up on shaky legs and looking around for my friends, but the man just grabs me, pulls me back down to my seat, asking where I'm going.

My head is swimming, but I tell him- I need to find my friends, I have to go.

I don't feel too well.

He only chuckles before moving closer, so that our stools are side by side as he runs my back soothingly, saying that I'll be fine- it's just the alcohol kicking in and that I'll be okay. He knows I will. I just nod stupidly, too out of it to even say anything as the hands that were just soothing rubbing up and down my back quickly snake down to my hips, squeezing tightly as I let out a weak gasp.

I hear him ask for the bill so he can pay off the tab.

He stands and pulls me up with him still holding onto me my waist , fingers digging in and he's practically dragging me along with him, through the crowd, towards the entrance. I push at him weakly- where are my friends? I mutter out slurred sentences, but he just ignores me, cooing softly, still dragging me out. I begin to panic now, breathing picking up as I try to pull away, ask for help, but he's way stronger, way bigger.

Tears prick at my eyes as we walk farther and farther away from the club. It becomes more and more secluded but we finally reach out destination- his car. I'm pushed against the the passenger door and held there by a harsh hand around my neck as he fumbles with his keys, unlocking the truck. When he finally does unlock it, he opens the back door and shoves me into the truck by my hair. I gasp and yelp in pain, tell him to stop- it hurts-

But he's amused, coming inside with me as he forces my onto my back on the seat.

" Stop? That's the magic fuckin' word, isn't it sweetheart?! You know what a dumb little bitch you are? You looked so fucking cute, so fucking stupid sitting there alone by yourself, struggling to order a simple drink."

Tears stream down my cheeks as I flail weakly. His hand is on my neck again, holding me down as he pulls up the short dress I'm wearing, stretching it as I whine.

" And look what you have on! Look at you, dressed like a little slut- fuck, you were practicing begging me to take you."

I shake my head no and he just ignores me, tugging at my dress until it's pushed up- right above my tits. He curses, hands moving to squeeze at them, pinch my nipples harshly and I squeal and squirm from the pain. He groans, leaning down to take one into his mouth and I let out a breathy gasp, back arching up at the feeling. One hand traces down my stomach to my panties before running a finger over it. I shudder and he pulls away grinning, telling me that I must like it because I'm so fucking wet. I only whine, head lolling to the side as he traces a finger up and down my clothed cunt.

When he decides he's has enough, he slips two fingers inside suddenly, setting a brutal pace from the start, and I moan, hands coming up to grab at the hand that has found it's way to my neck again. I squeal in pleasure, cunt clenching around his fingers as my hips shift for more of the feeling.

He just keeps going, calling me a whore, a dumb slut, a silly little bitch. I feel heat pool in my lower stomach and it's becomes too much, but he just goes faster.

It isn't long before the pressure snaps, my eyes rolling back and thighs shaking as I open my mouth in a silent scream, gushing around his fingers.

I'm so out of it, don't even notice him pull his cock out jerking it lazily, eyes locked on my glistening cunt. " I never caught your name, baby."

I only blink up at him stupidly, eyes furrowing as I try to focus, struggling against the effects of the drinks- I'm so out of it,

In irritation at my at my confusion and pathetic silence, he slaps me, my face snapping to the side. I let out a wail, hand coming up to soothe my reddening cheeks as he wraps his hand around my throat, tightening his grip as I struggle to breathe. * What's your name, princess?"

I stutter out my name as best as I can with my slurred speech, and he hums in acknowledgement." Pretty name for a pretty slut."

I mewl, legs trying to close instinct when I feel the head of his cock nudge against my slitz but he pushes my legs back apart, rutting against me before steadily sinking into me.

I flailed weakly, but he only pulled out again before slamming back in harshly again and again.

I finally lay there limply as he rambles on, fucking me in earnest.

" Fucking made to take cock."

" Such a pretty young thing, fuck, such a good pussy."

"Gonna come in this dirty fucking cunt- you'd like that, wouldn't you, you fucking whore."

I shake my head weakly, clenching around him at his words. It's too much and I'm already so sensitive from my first orgasm." N-no, s'too much-"

"What? No? Oh, baby....Im so sorry- is it too much? Hm? Answer me, Princess, wanna hear you."

He laughs when i suddenly tense, back arching as I come on his cock, squeezing around him.

He groans at the feeling," Fuck, s'good, fucking perfect- "

A few more brutal and desperate thrusts and he's coming, hot seed spilling into my messy cunt, pushing in as deep as he can. "Take it, take it. Good girl."

He waits, making sure not as single drop goes to waste before pulling out slowly, watching his cum spill out of my used pussy.

I lay there, a crying, twitching mess before he opens the door, pulling me out. I think that he's done, that he's just gonna throw me out, but then he's positioning me on my knees which are already bruising. He runs a soothing hand through my hair before gripping it tightly and holding his cock to my face, nudging the tip against my swollen lips.

"Open that pretty fucking mouth."

๑๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑⁠๑

Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes, I swear I went over it 100 times 😭 <3

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hitlikehammers · 5 hours

Text

but consider: Steddie, except in the Bridgerton Carriage

for @hbyrde36, @pearynice, and @penny00dreadful—I've been kind of a shitty absent friend lately and I am stupid enough to apparently still think that WRITING SOMETHING FOR PEOPLE is like a gift or something instead of the exact opposite, but you guys seemed to not-hate the snippet of this so...yeah. I'll almost certainly still be an absent friend when this posts, and I do sincerely apologize that, please accept this distraction from that fact and a token of my affection also in advance of S3Pt2 later in the week?

(also: this gets 🔥spicy at the cut bc obviously)

it has a baby epilogue thingy and and a baby sequel thingy (?) if you...wanted that or something I guess also I will assume not unless someone says otherwise okay bye

Eddie throws himself against the seat, may cause the carriage to shift for it, may even startle the horses but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because he was about to be engaged, he was going to be Lord of a house grander than he can quite fathom and yes all on his own and yes separated from all he knows but that would have included separation from—

Eddie pinches his nose to hold back tears, keep them just to stinging behind his eyes and then growls, throws himself across the cushion because he does that, Eddie learned to pinch his nose against weeping from him and of course the tears are caused now by him, too, by his interference, by his heartlessness, by his cruelty and his scheming to keep Eddie, supposedly his dearest friend, from any form of security or freedom or—

Eddie’s breath hitches: he may be enraged. Perhaps a little heartbroken. But he cannot think such lies about a man he’s held closer than any other in his life, his dearest confidant—his closest, most secret love.

Eddie bites his tongue this time against the tears that are building such pressure and shamefully, foolishly, he traces his lips. That one kiss. That one series of kisses. Just once.

Both wholly inadequate but beyond Eddie’s wildest dreaming.

It’s for tracing the bow of his upper lip, for losing himself in imagination and the single tear he lets slip, it’s for the pounding in his heart for so many more reasons than he has the energy or will to tease out: for all of it.

He misses the shouting until there’s a rapping at the hinges on the door, aimed to rattle. Forceful.

One might even suppose it to be desperate.

Eddie cannot deny curiosity—even in shame and ruin it has always been the root of his nature—and so he takes the fact that the driver stops at all as an omen for the positive, can’t be a threat or a vagabond, and he moves to check but is too slow, the door wrenched open to—

“Eddie.”

Gods be damned.

“I do not wish to speak with you,” Eddie bites out, refuses to make eye contact and focuses on gratitude that he’d already wiped his eyes.

“Please!” and oh.

Oh, but Steve knows Eddie would give him the world. Always has. Cannot deny him when he asks, but:

This isn’t asking. This is pleading.

“Let me in,” and he’s so breathless, chest heaving, eyes too wide and Eddie can feel them fixed upon him even before he turns to meet them and perhaps he’d been wrong before, to have called the shade of those eyes remarkable, especially when kind.

They are indescribable when, when…

Whatever Steve is now.

Eddie swallows hard, fixes his eyes opposite the door as he moves for Steve to clearly have the space across and diagonal from him to occupy. As far as Eddie can place space between them.

“We will stop at Harrington House first,” and damn but Eddie is proud of the strength, the evenness in his tone when he calls out and the horses take up again.

He prays it will hold when he eventually has to break the silence, and address the reality of the situation he’s in.

“What do you want?”

Strength enough, then.

“Did Lord Alexei propose?”

Eddie cannot help but leave his mouth to drop; his eyes to narrow.

“And exactly what business is that of yours?” because truly. The nerve. The pomposity, the presumption—

“I need to know,” and lord help and forgive him, Eddie cannot write off this man who’s been his friend, but who’s also taught his heart to swell for so many years, now; whose taste on his lips still lingers—

Eddie cannot deny him wholly when his eyes gleam, and his hands tremble. When he looks fit to shake from his skin.

“Did he propose?”

Though: even if Eddie can’t deny him, that doesn’t not require him to make any of it simple, or easy. He is not beholden to shy from the bitter sting of the evening, of the lack of a ring on his fourth finger.

“It is odd, isn’t it?” Eddie huffs a mirthless laugh. “When I asked for your help in finding a husband, I did not realize that also meant you claimed the prerogative to deny me one as well.”

Steve looks near-slapped across the face as he reels back the slightest bit and holy hell, but Eddie cannot even take more than half-a-second’s satisfaction in it, in something sharp in the truth of the consequences in Steve’s callous, thoughtless interference—no, Eddie gets his half-second, and then all he wants is to reach and soothe the wound.

Gods be damned for the heart he has, for the heart that this man’s stolen without knowing—he’d never be so cruel if he was sure how wholly Eddie’s affections were lost upon him—and more tragic yet: stolen, and unquestionably unwanted.

But Steve doesn’t require Eddie’s intervention to compose himself and regroup to the task he’s set himself upon, and his shoulders are squaring again in an instant it seems, leaning once more into Eddie’s space so as to flavor the air Eddie breathes in far too fast—so sweet.

“It is my business because I care about you,” and it is sincere, to be certain, and Eddie will not permit himself to look farther than the words themselves for nonexistent hints and pathetic yearning scraps. He must be grateful. His affections may be undesirable but there is a part of his heart that still may be given to this man in a certain, sensible way and Eddie must appreciate this as enough—

“You cannot marry that man.”

Eddie is the one who reels back this time; he blames this entirely for the lapse in his response, the sharp incredulity that rises in him at the persistent audacity, the sheer presumption—

“He will leave you for his voyaging,” Steve begins in earnest, certain in his tone, but Eddie wastes no time to scoff:

“Says the man who spent months frolicking the continent—”

“And he is far too particular with his, his strawberry varietals,” Steve continues as if Eddie’s said nothing, but there’s a subtle flustering at the edges of each word—he’s not been ignored.

“Cherries, actually,” and Eddie can’t help but prod further, it’s in his nature; “it’s truly remarkable to be so agitated that you can’t even be bothered to be correct—”

“And he is…” Steve cuts Eddie off proper, then, the flustered edge turning half toward desperate, perhaps beseeching:

“He is just not right for you, Eds.”

And Steve has always been a man of action, of resolve once he’s set upon a clarity of conviction. It does sound as if he’s found such a point to lean into and hold.

Just Eddie’s luck that when the issue to hand is his own holy matrimony, it’s merely a point, and involves someone else.

“He did not propose,” Eddie surprises himself for how flat his tone is, because Lord Alexei is witty, reserved in an endearing way, strange perhaps in a different vein to Eddie but: like courts like. He would not have been less than pleasant to grow old attached to.

“In fact,” and here Eddie surprises himself with the tone that escapes him, less anger—though still anger—than it is chiding; “he rejected me because of you.”

Steve’s eyes don’t widen, or drop in some emotion tangential to shame. If they do anything, they grow brighter; intensify.

If anything: Eddie burns with it, and tries like hell to shove it away—because he is angry. He could have lived a quiet life of freedom and cordial camaraderie and as many goddamn cherries as he ever wished to eat. He had a chance, his first and only, and this man saw fit to—

“Because the scene you caused led him to believe you have feelings for me,” Eddie’s indignation, his hurt and his pride and his heartbreak and his anger all coalesce to rear their head again as he narrows his eyes to remind Steve once more:

“An idea so preposterous, I do not know what to do besides laugh,” which Eddie cannot even manage, so the joke may be on him in the end, regardless. It’s the last straw of a sort, though, and he deflates, suddenly bone-weary, and heartsore.

“Now,” he breathes in deep, forces himself to straighten his shoulders and lift up his chin, to have some goddamn dignity: “will you please let us ride home in silence and leave me alone.”

It’s not a question.

“I cannot.”

It is not a question, so of course he doesn’t get a real answer.

“Please,” and Eddie tries to pack a lifetime of friendship into a single word, tries to raise the banner to summon some long-crafted pity if nothing else will suffice.

“I cannot,” Steve leans forward, and his eyes are…other, somehow. A certain glow about them in too little light.

“Because,” and he breathes, and stares, and Eddie’s almost afeared for his well-being when he whispers: “Eddie,” his name like a prayer to a god Eddie’s never known to name, before he may well speak in tongues for how much sense he makes:

“What if I did have feelings for you?”

Eddie…can only blink, and think to feel Steve’s forehead for a fever, and ignore wholesale and entirely the rabbit-beat his heart’s leapt to all at once.

“What?”

Steve stares a bit longer, lets Eddie’s heart really build a momentum, threaten the integrity of his ribcage like it’s a trial to be passed but then Steve sucks in a deep breath and the slightest hint of chest hair peeks out on the inhale and good god—

“I have spent so long trying to feel less,” Steve finally speaks, his voice low and breathy, like maybe his heart’s in a marathon too, but why, when what he says makes no sense:

“Trying to be the kind of man society expects me to be, and for a moment, Eds, for scarcely a moment I thought I had succeeded, for one time in all the failures and disappointments I thought maybe, though it clenched sour in my chest,” Steve rushes out, near trembling, and Eddie…cannot comprehend. He just, he can’t.

“But these past weeks, and more if I’m truthful, have been full of,” he licks those gorgeous lips, struggling, while Eddie struggles for…other reasons: “full of these confounding feelings, like a total inability to stop thinking about you,” he pauses and his glowing gaze drops to Eddie’s mouth, drops a kick to Eddie’s pulse as it trips, as Steve speaks again:

“About that kiss,” and how absurd, that Steve should have any thought of it, this man who’s known more lips than Eddie’s known people, that he might so much as think twice about the most perfect moment in Eddie’s life, that could not have been more than a casual obligation to an old friend from Steve’s view, it was—

“Feelings like dreaming of you when I’m asleep and gods, preferring sleep with all that I am because that is where I might find you,” and it’s so frustrating, because Eddie’s known Steve his entire life. Eddie knows his expressions, his tones, his hidden meanings.

He cannot find the latter. The first two, though, he, they…

There’s no sense, and Eddie’s heartbeat only rises.

“A feeling that is like torture,” and Eddie can agree upon the word, for the ache the pounding of his pulse is demanding, but the tone Steve speaks in is…it borders on reverent.

“A torture,” he repeats, words panted out close, high in his chest; “but one which I cannot, will not, do not want to give up. Not ever.”

And he looks…so honest. And Eddie knows what he sounds like in a lie—there is none here. He also knows what Steve looks like when he thinks he is in love.

This is…very close to that, but also: different. A wanting that Eddie’s never borne witness to before. A fire in it still but something violent, magnificent to the scope it could unleash.

“Please,” this time, Eddie does beg. Because the fire he sees in those eyes—nonsense, all nonsense, he reminds himself—but that fire is starting to spread and he’ll burn inside it wholly if he cannot stop it now:

“Do not say things you do not mean.”

“But I do mean it,” Steve is so quick to correct, to look wounded for being doubted and to look truthful to his bones; “this is everything I have wanted to say to you…for weeks. For longer than weeks.”

“But…” Eddie worries his lip, heart caught up now in his throat, a task to speak around at all but he must, he must.

“Steve, we are friends.”

“Yes, but we…” Steve starts, but then it is as if the glow in him dims, fades, withers before Eddie’s very eyes and it takes all that he is not to whimper at the loss of it.

And then Steve passes a visibly-unsteady hand over his face, between his eyes; pinches the bridge of his nose like he does to keep from—

Oh god, and Eddie loves this man. And he’s caused…

“Forgive me, um,” Steve looks down, anywhere but at Eddie and it’s in the loss that Eddie processes how warm it felt to be beneath that gaze; how cold it feels without. “I do not know what I was thinking,” and his tone is drained of color, deadened leaves before the snow and Eddie’s pounding heart cracks wide and for all that Eddie has labored under his feelings so long, alone in the shadows, his bond with Steve was always one of equals, no matter how much of a lie that spelled to the world around them. They stepped together, side by side. And here, Steve leapt without him, and somehow for him; is tumbling to crash.

Eddie cannot bear it. His heart will shatter in an impact more dear than his own could ever be.

He has to try.

“But I’d very much like to be more than friends,” Eddie exhales, desperate, trembling in every part of him. “So much more.”

Eddie can barely hear anything beyond his heartbeat now, the way his heaving breaths strain the lacing on his patently-unusual shirt, his waistcoat tight for the overtaxed burning in his lungs, in his veins, in his skin, like the blood in him’s turned molten and with every pulse he—

He looks to Steve, whose eyes no longer glow but have turned molten, too, and Eddie’s breath catches as Steve stares at him, incredulous, as if he is the unbelievable one and what nonsen—

Eddie can scarcely believe that he can think, that he can feel anything, for the way he knows his heart to burst wholly when Steve surges in and captures Eddie’s lips: not like their first time. Not even like the way that first time crested toward something: no.

No: this is…

Perhaps he lives still, as his blood still races and his lungs still burn and he rises to meet Steve’s lips yet: oh. Oh, but his heart has burst and whether this is to last, whether this is once and never again, Eddie does not need his heart to be anything but blown and spilled inside his ribs, warm and glimmering in a way he’s never known, alive in a way he’s never felt, and the way they move.

Oh, but how they move like a dance known not to men nor angels, known only to something primordial and wholly other, a secret to their souls alone in the dark and Eddie reaches to cup Steve’s face, trace his hairline and ease him closer, deeper, and wonder at the sweetness of his taste; just how Eddie recalls it, would know it on his deathbed but heated, thicker, stronger now as Steve slides his tongue between Eddie’s lips where Eddie opens, arches into him, body to body until his eyes flutter open and Steve almost seems to feel it, for how his own blink open the same and he pauses, pulls back the slightest bit, Eddie’s hand at the side of his throat now where his pulse thunders into Eddie’s palm, the tumult of the elements themselves in Eddie’s ill-suited hands but now he’s touched the heart of this man, this man, held it in this way Eddie dares to think means something more, and—

Their eyes meet. Steve’s still aflame, but the glow lived again below the inferno and it’s like he marvels, it’s like he sees Eddie as something wholly new yet forever dear, as if he cannot fathom the simplest truth Eddie’s ever known:

All of him, is Steve’s.

Steve’s lips are wet, sloppy, mesmerizing as he gapes, looks upon Eddie like a sculpture or a masterwork somehow and Eddie slides his hands into Steve’s hair the way he’s always dreamt: sinuous and sensual and Eddie may be gaping, mesmerized himself as he fights shaking his head in sheer dumbfound shock because: Steve is real. Steve is full of only truth, here.

Eddie knows what Steve looks like when he believes he is in love.

This look now isn’t merely other. This is, dare he even think it—

This is more.

He watches as Steve’s lips quirk, a punchdrunk giddy sort of thing that Eddie feels himself return because perhaps it is Eddie who’s feverish and delusional but he has never felt this, he has never known this: touch and desire and want in his limbs but returned in equal measure somehow, unthinkable.

And yet.

Steve kisses him, and to kiss through the curve of joy on their mouths is a potent thing, slips down Eddie’s throat and catches in his wild-thrumming pulse, puts the whole of him off balance in the most perfect of ways and Eddie has to balance himself upon Steve’s chest, feels the firm muscle beneath layers but then the pounding muscle at the center ripples out, his heart as unsteady, as affected as Eddie’s own and it’s…it is a miraculous sort of gift, to be in such resonance with someone, anyone—but to spell a symphony, beat for beat, with the person you’ve long given your heart to?

It threatens tears to Eddie’s eyes for reasons that fill his chest but know no name; that transcend words.

And for that moment in time: he can believe if it is wanted, if this is real, if this could possibly be real: to lose his heart in Steve’s chest would be no loss at all, merely a homecoming. To songs made to sing in tandem, close enough to touch.

Their mouths don’t break apart when they gasp, when they moan and pant: they just tip the barest angle fit to breathe and then dive back, but when their hips slide together, hardness prominent at either groin they gasp harder, deeper, and come apart to stare at each other, to try to read universes as much as the simplest questions, the most obvious of assent between eyes alone.

Steve makes his way downward by way of Eddie’s neck, lavishing it with the talents of his lips as he makes quick work of the fastenings on Eddie’s breeches, clear that he must know them well enough on another’s body, practiced, and it maybe lights an ember of jealousy to feel proof in the flesh of Steve’s poorly-veiled breadth of experience, but as Eddie is trembling for the spoils, he can’t acknowledge that flicker of envying for long, not for the sake of the proper fire that alights in him now to the tips of his fingers; not least for how Steve cups his palm so perfect, so exquisitely slipped beneath the heavy weight of Eddie’s manhood, lifts it tenderly in a way Eddie’s never bothered to touch himself, leaves his last two fingers to linger gentle attention for the briefest moments, a whisper of touch against Eddie’s straining sac as he eases Eddie’s full length from his drawers and Eddie’s hardly bare to the free air before he’s gasping, panting hard enough that he suspects a weather eye could pick the shape of his torrenting heartbeat through his skin between his ribs for how it pounds, and how his lungs squeeze it unforgiving to the wall of his chest and—

Steve’s hand upon his cock is transcendent, even without any motion, doing nothing but to touch yet Eddie is greedy. Eddie wishes Steve’s hand could also press to his chest, not least because he fears it could crack under the blatant assault; he trusts Steve to hold his wayward heart where it absolutely must stay at least a little longer, to see out this…this.

Wherever it leads.

As if beckoned by sheer desire, Steve lifts, looks Eddie in the eye and balances himself upon his sternum, rips the lacings fully free and slides his hand skin to skin above Eddie’s heartbeat and holds there, holds there while he teases the exposed slit of him to draw a whimper, only to abandon it and trace the sharp-raised vein below, back and forth as if he plays the strings of a stronger song, as if it’s but an idle whimsy, a pleasant pastime on the way to greater indulgences and Eddie’s gifted a moment to feel undiluted bliss at the sensation, the languid romance near saccharine in the connection of Eddie’sheart bounding unbridled against Steve’s strong, steady palm, so broad and so warm and safe, so so safe and Eddie melts for it, for a whole moment at least before Steve’s stroked the same bulging vein one too many times and Eddie feels himself tense—

And then Steve halts, his hands both still save maybe not, for the one at Eddie’s chest, he watches it shake a little out the corner of his eye, for the force of the blood-beat below or something primal and overcoming in Steve’s own veins; Eddie catches Steve’s eyes, blown full to black now, and strains his neck to kiss the tip of Steve’s finger, the closest part to reach and Steve shivers, and then he’s—

Oh.

Oh, but then, but then it may well mean the end of Eddie Munson because Steve moves his hand to kiss Eddie’s chest one time, enough to trip the heart beneath, and those same lips kiss the tip of his full-flushed cock as Steve glances up, wanton through those lashes and it’s not even in askance, it’s…surveying.

And Eddie feels a tingling pleasure spark through him, to know in that instant how Steve knows him, knew his heart before ever he reached to take where it was offered, knew his mind from the very start, and now needs only glance to check without a single word to speak: his hand never leaves Eddie’s chest.

But his mouth takes in the whole of him.

He spares less than a single thought that he hopes Steve knows what he’s doing—beyond the fact that it feels like nothing less, feels like Steve is truly a god among men beyond even Eddie’s lovesick notions—but if Eddie felt ready to loose himself with mere-perfect touch, the sweet silk of Steve’s mouth, the soft suction just so: Eddie won’t last. He can’t: he’s only a man.

He can glimpse heaven as a gift, perhaps; he can fly to the sun only a moment before he falls.

He does not process Steve preparing to move, too lost to notice, but he cries out, muffles it as best he can but he barely can when a wet finger swirls upon the rough pucker of his untouched hole, where he knows pleasure lies but has never…never made the attempt and yet just the hint, the fact of it so delicate and only just slipped between the cleft of him where Steve eases him up enough to slip a hand behind and circle once before withdrawing because it’s all Eddie needs, all Eddie can stand: it is but one touch. Not even inside him—though now there is another thing he will long for, for all of his days, with all of his being.

But the longing is for later; just now Eddie is coming apart, splitting at the seams.

Falling though, he finds, is an ecstasy of its own, as Eddie sees either the backs of his own eyes, blown beyond redeeming in the spindly trace of delicate-webbed light, or else he finds instead the face of god incomprehensible when he spills, faster than he’d ever hoped he’d manage should he find himself unthinkably in such a position, but harder than he imagines Steve can possibly expect, certainly with a force Steve can’t have predicted save that Eddie can feel his throat work tirelessly, dedicated singlemindedly to not merely taking all that Eddie gives and leaving none to waste like he relishes it, like he craves it with the wholeness of himself somehow—but then further still Steve moves to milking Eddie dry, sucking every third breath in as more a rhythmic excuse to take back in Eddie’s softening, emptying member in turn: insistent. Devoted. Greedy in the most awe-inspiring sense because this man, this man—

This is his wholesale devotion; aimed at Eddie Munson, and him alone.

He barely feels as Steve touches lips to the tip of him, a soft adieu to mirror his brazen hello, and tucks him gently, carefully back into his trousers, slides up Eddie’s chest and, careful once again, laces back his shirt to the neck, one hand pressed to the center of his chest where Eddie’s heart has yet to receive the notice to calm, perhaps because there is no calm, there is only…Steve.

Steve Harrington. Atop him. Adoring him. Hard still for him where his legs are spread now to near straddle Eddie as he tends to him, but never once does he sacrifice Eddie’s pleasure for his own. But Eddie so wants to return the favor.

By then, Steve’s composed Eddie back to something only generally debauched—there’s nothing to be done with the way Eddie imagines the haze in his eyes is drawn in the shape of hearts, pulsating mad and riotous and still disbelieving because how, how did—

Before Eddie can collect his mind as well as Steve’s collected his appearance, before he can plan a way to repay Steve, to ease the low-slung strain caught tight between his legs—before any of it, Steve’s lips are wide against Eddie’s, like he aims to devour but like this, Steve’s tongue can immediately lick into Eddie's mouth, where he's welcome, where Eddie has never tasted himself before but he knows instinctively where he ends and Steve’s savour begins already: he’s had two, admittedly thorough, chances to memorize that flavor, and let the almighty strike him down in his mindless, unthinkable bliss if he’d been fool enough to waste either opportunity to remember every hint, each subtle note of Steven Harrington’s taste upon his teeth, delectable across his soft palate.

It is maybe the certainty of that knowledge, his own devotion, that makes him bold, then, that makes Eddie slide his tongue back and deepen the kiss and revel in Steve's moan before he rocks his hips upward and—

“Oh!” Eddie gasps, breaks away as he hears by pure coincidence, his heartbeat still heady in his ear but it knocks differently, in a wholly different register, than a knock at a door.

Of a carriage.

One that he’s been recently, gloriously defiled in, and where he had been just about to stage a reprise in reverse, and oh, oh Steve’s leaning back in, Steve is no fan of Eddie breaking from his mouth and neither is Eddie, not in the least, but—

“Steve,” Eddie tries to keep his wits but they were scrambled already before Steve pulls at his lip with his teeth and Eddie moans and tries to pull back, a little hazy on the why until Steve pants hoarse:

“What?”

And oh. Right. Yes.

“Steve, we are at your house.”

And they both part, spit-slick mouths shiny and bruised as they stare at one another, gasping.

Before Steve huffs, eyes wide , and whines so fucking deliciously:

“Oh, God,” he laments, glancing out the quite-poorly-curtained window. “Could the carriage driver not keep on driving?”

He turns pleading eyes on Eddie who chokes on the bubble of laughter that rises in him—and when Steve loses the battle against his own giggling Eddie’s got no chance, they’re both falling into one another, forehead to forehead and shaking with…joy.

Just such a joy, the sort Eddie’s never felt. Never knew could even be.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” Eddie asks idly, now glancing out toward Steve’s home. “I was not paying much attention to…anything,” Eddie chuckles, tries to process the notion of having paid notice to anything but Steve, and Steve, and Steve, and—

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, cold shooting suddenly through his body because Steve is climbing out, Steve is leaving and Eddie, he, he thought? It had felt so, so real and it’d…Steve hadn’t looked like he looks when he thinks he’s in love, he looked like he really could be—

“Steve?” Eddie fights the way his heart tries to jump anxious to his throat or drop leaden to his shoes, he fights to speak evenly, to ask without fear or audible heartbreak, to trust this man who’s held his heart and still does, and Eddie did the same, was allowed, it can’t have only been him, it—

“Are you coming with me?”

Eddie’s pulse trips. Hard.

“What?” he asks, blinking, lost, but Steve holds out his hand and smiles small but so soft, so fond, so…safe.

Eddie’s heart doesn’t slow but it settles a little. Back toward the space that’s meant for it in his chest.

“Your,” Eddie licks his lips and oh, dear god, he still tastes of Steve, of him-and-Steve; “your family will see me.”

Steve wastes no time rolling his eyes but…but again: so fond.

So far beyond how he looks when he thinks he’s in love, and—

“For God’s sake, Edward Munson,” Steve huffs with a grin as he shakes his arm out at the wrist, beckons Eddie more clearly as he speaks the unthinkable:

“Are you going to marry me or not?”

And Eddie’s jaw drops, and his heart surges again, tries to soar, flutters wild as he doesn’t even think before taking Steve’s hand, and maybe his heart lands there too, and it’s impossible.

Save that Steve’s leading him to his home. Steve’s walking hand in hand in the night. With him.

If it is a dream, Eddie has no desire ever to wake.

yes Lord Alexei is a shoutout to this adorable man and his love of cherry Slurpees🍒

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

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ontherocks21 · 1 day

Text

Someday I'll Write It:

Lady Vader Part XII

The Organa-Skywalker administration serves for two full terms, yet the galaxy still begs for a third.

But democracy doesn’t work that way.

Besides, she’s played almost every role she can - Queen, Senator, “Empress In Waiting”, center of a scandal, wife, traitor, rebel, Vice Chancellor -; there’s only one she still wants to.

“Mom, Daaaad! Luke’s hogging the droid charger!”

Padmé laughs when Anakin slumps over the controls, pretending to die in his pilot's chair when yet another whine echoes through the cockpit. “How much longer until we drop them off?” he groans.

“Only a few more hours,” she replies. He increases his decibel for dramatic effect.

“We spend our entire careers securing peace and quiet - well, mostly…” he shrugs considering the validity of his words before continuing with his lamentation. “…for this galaxy, and we don’t even get to enjoy it in retirement.”

Standing and stretching, Padmé reaches over, soothingly patting her husband’s hair. “At ease, Hero-With-No-Energy. I’ll get this one.”

Her offer seemingly revives him. Anakin jumps to his feet, ensnaring her waist and stealing a grateful kiss. “You’re an angel,” he mumbles against her mouth.

“Mmmmm,” she whispers back. “So you’ve told me.”

“NO, Lei-uhhhhhhh!” comes the escalating protest from the ship’s lower deck.

Sighing, Padmé backs out of his captive embrace. “Duty calls.”

“Sounds like you’re in for some aggressive negotiations,” Anakin says, releasing her with a wink.

Padmé pushes onto her toes, pressing her mouth to his once more. “Good thing I learned from the best.”

******

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this!”

“I can’t believe we’re twin free for the next few days!” Despite his contagious exuberance, Anakin hesitates before powering up their speeder, glancing back at the Naberrie’s front door wistfully.

Her heart swells, and she almost glances back herself. But they didn’t come to Naboo just to visit this time. Knowing she’ll have to be the strong one, she touches Anakin’s cheek. “Come on, Ani. This house won’t find itself.”

The realty droid shows them five residences in and around Theed before Padmé’s eyes light up in the doorstep of the sixth.

“I have a good feeling about this,” she breathes, threading her fingers through Anakin’s and all but hauling him inside. His amused chuckle fades into a long, low whistle, punctuated by a soft “Wow.” Padmé only removes her eyes from the dazzling home to beam at her husband.

And it is indeed a home.

Charming details and cozy corners hide throughout the expanse. Instead of the usual marble and stone found in most Nabooian designs, dark wood floors and doorways provide anchors for the rest of the trim that runs throughout. Padmé gasps at the natural light, marvels at the kitchen, and fawns over the patio and courtyard out back.

“Look, Ani! There’s even space for you to have a workshop!”

Anakin grins as she babbles on, listing all the amenities present on their wish list until RL-T1 interrupts with something that sounds uncannily like regret.

“This listing has several offers already. The seller’s request best and finals be made by this evening.”

Furiously, Padmé works the news into their strategy when Anakin steps forward, a dangerous tone in the timbre of his voice. “Any chance the sellers would like to meet… Oof!” A swift elbow to his side cuts off the tired threat.

“What is the list price?” she asks calmly.

“One and a half.”

Still rubbing his aching ribs, Anakin glances over at her though she isn’t waiting for his permission.

“Double it,” Padmé says. “That’s our offer.”

******

Three million credits and three hours later, the Skywalkers celebrate with blesswine on their new patio, lounging on the sandstone as if it was as comfortable as meadow grass.

The sun sinks low on the horizon, but Padmé doesn’t shy away as darkness encroaches on their perfect evening. She’s come to terms with the black fabrics in their past, cherishes the gloom where they first hid from their passion from the galaxy then hid their rebellion from necessity, has loved in shadow. It may only be the alcohol warming her veins, but as night descends and the last few rays linger on her husband, Padmé has never seen the son of Tatooine look more stunning than as a father on Naboo.

She hums contentedly, drawing an expression from her husband that has nothing to do with vexation. “Would my lord care to disturb the peace and quiet of the upstairs in our new home?” she purrs, folding herself into his lap and giggling when Anakin scoops her up, knocking over their tumblers on his way to comply.

“As you wish, M’Lady.”

Image Credit: Eli Hyder

The saga is now complete. Posted on AO3 and FFN in its entirety.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #padme amidala #anidala #someday i'll write it #au fanfiction #fanfic ideas #lady vader #ao3 writer #ffn.net

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akirakirxaa · 3 months

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[ day 7: light ]

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑡𝑜 '𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒', 𝐴𝑘𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒𝑡𝑦. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑.

#ffxiv #endwalker spoilers #oc: stella-crys raha #hythlodaeus #aetherial sea #miqo march #miqomarch #miqomarch 2024 #miqo march 2024 #gpose #reshade #my screenshots #miqote #wolkids #wolkid #I'll write them meeting when I have more time #if you haven't worked it out he's who she was talking to with the azem crystal #not that she would recognize him the first time seeing him

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marypsue · 1 year

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Have I proselytised lately about My New Best Friend, Outlining? I feel like I haven’t done enough proselytising lately about My New Best Friend, Outlining.

#i resisted SO hard for SO long 'i'm a pantser! okay a plantser! I have to go where the story takes me! i can't know it ahead of time >#< it'll kill my excitement and I'll never get it finished!' bestie you weren't ever getting it finished ANYWAY #and you know what? figuring out a method of outlining that really worked for me #(which has largely ended up being. 'write down every cool idea you want to include and the ending you want to reach >#< then put them in order and figure out how to get between them by working backward and forward until you meet in the Dreaded Middle')#has actually only INCREASED my excitement about my writing projects! because now I Know I'm not going to get bogged down #staring at the looming Dreaded Middle coming up faster and faster in the windshield and having no idea how I'm gonna deal with it #when it gets here #honestly now that I'm outlining things I'm actually finishing MORE things and more quickly than I ever did when I refused to outline!#anyway this post brought to you by me ironing out a few of the last remaining wrinkles in the outline for former heroes #AND making a heck of a lot of headway on an actual outline for the ageswap fic #that's RIGHT the ageswap fic has an OUTLINE now and might actually get FINISHED #writing

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whichwoods · 1 year

Note

Do you have any lucemond fics Planned for when LSTS is over or is close to finishing?

oh so many!! for the lsts-verse i'll probably have a compilation of sorts added to the series in a few chapters or so, of deleted scenes and flashbacks that aren't making it in

and maybe i'll actually post some of my luke-gets-warded-to-kings-landing, slowburn/fix it, enemies to childhood friends to lovers au that was being plotted long before lsts ever was, but has so many moving parts i've been hesitant to share lol :,) someday <3

honestly i have so many ideas it'll be hard to pick what to do next, i may start posting snippets here early just so it can all be archived somewhere even if they don't get full fics

#i also have a few shorter fics for lsts for their kids after their first #actually have a whole fic planned for luke finding out he's pregnant w their 3rd but that's SO far off SORRy lol <3 #lsts #ty for this ask!!💕#also excited to write about all the kiddos dragons eventually #discord already knows so i'll spoil it here - they have 3 kids - naerys aerea and baelon #these 3 babies r constants in almost all my aus i have in my drafts so im vv excited to share more abt them when the time comes lol #im also v attached to my joffrey-pov slowburn joffron fic where lucemond r like parents to him kinda😭#jace is king aemond is his hand luke is lord of driftmark rhaenyra is [redacted]#built around me writing a scene of joffrey and jace having a screaming match like birdie and her dad when he tried to marry her off LMAO #“YOU CANT MAKE ME GO!!!! I WANT TO MEET LUKE'S BABE!!!👺😭”#“the babe won't be here for many moons!!😩 luke tell him”#luke:🫃🏻🤨 “uh pretty sure the babe wants to meet their favorite uncle jace (which isnt gonna be u btw)”#wynch writing

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risingsunresistance · 1 year

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btw. i dont think i'll forget, but Just In Case, i DO have art (nothing crazy) i wanna post for the 16th. but i also have a lot to take care of right before then. so if you dont see it by like 6pm EST please yell at me bc i probably got busy and forgot

#6pm is a fine time bc all my stuff is due at 5pm so it wont be interrupting me. i have a meeting i have to go to at 9pm tho #i could just queue the posts but i might make some last second changes once i get a good look at them #(cant get a good look rn. i am posting on tumblr between writing capstone stuff to keep my sanity up)#i would love to log on and like. reminisce on stuff. but idk if i'll have the time or the energy :/#but i WILL reblog a bunch of old posts on this blog. you've seen them 20 times already but one more wont hurt #kjfhdg i love reblogging old posts #again i'll be busy and exhausted probably so idk when but it Will happen. even if it's at like 11pm #resistance day hehe :]#chat #i have like. one more section to write. but it's so information heavy aaaaaaaugh #im on page 12 (single spaced btw. hell) but i wanted to hit like 14 :( oh well hopefully it wont be a big deal #my draft was also 12 pages... but in my defense. i did choose to write my draft in full sentences for some reason #so i feel like that padded the size out a lot #12 pages is probably fine right-#i feel like the final should be longer than the draft but. man i lined out exactly what i'd be saying in that draft. u get what u see #YOU made the mistake of telling me my draft was fantastic. cant fix perfection amen (i hate this paper)

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churipu · 3 months

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OUTFIT CHECK 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, iatdori yuuji x reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. jjk men being in love with you.

note. i'm back! i managed to fit in writing this in the middle of my midterms, i just finished my qualitative research paper for the midterms and i have 3 more take home exams to do. i hope you like this piece <33

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

you stood in front of the mirror, shifting your body from side to side, eying your reflection from different angles. raising a brow, you heaved out a soft sigh — before eventually twirling to face gojo who had been sitting on the edge of the bed. his icy blue eyes had been gazing at you for as long as you've been standing in front of the mirror against your reflection.

"'toru, do you think i look—"

gojo hushes you, putting a finger onto your lips, shutting you up immediately, "no, you don't look bad, and no your outfit doesn't look weird. you look beautiful," he rattles with a small smile.

"but i just feel like something's wrong with my combination," you said, stepping back to disperse from his finger, "like something's out of place. i just don't know what . . ."

gojo slipped an arm across your shoulder, turning your body to face your reflection, "i don't see anything wrong with your outfit or you, baby — you're really pretty . . . and i look pretty amazing too," he winked cheekily at the mirror, kissing the side of your face.

the male had been sitting on the edge of the bed, paying attention to you analyzing your own outfit for the past fifteen minutes. twirling here and there, stepping backwards and forwards cluelessly. the male didn't see anything wrong with your outfit or you, in fact, you looked absolutely stunning in his point of view.

his comment made you break a small smile.

"is this top too revealing?" you turn your back to the mirror, revealing a slight peek at your fragrant s/c skin.

"baby, baby," he scoffs, "i'm the strongest, i can fight, you know? and you look beautiful in that top, you should wear it often, yeah?" his slender fingers grazes over your exposed skin gently, sending shivers down your spine.

a string of laughter escaped your throat, "i love you, you know that?"

the male leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, "i love you more. no complaints."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

"do you think the top suits the bottom?" you asked nanami after changing into your third pants of the day — brows furrowed in frustration as nothing seemed to be clicking.

nanami raised his eyes from the book he had in his grasp, "you look beautiful," he complimented yet again for the third time.

"kento, how am i supposed to pick an outfit when you keep complimenting them all? help me pick one, will you?" nanami didn't understand why you were insistent on the 'mismatched' outfit (at least you think it is).

but in his eyes, everything seemed well-matched. he'd say it's a 11/10 for your ability to match these outfits of yours, "how? you look beautiful in them all."

groaning out, you raise two bags. a black and sage green bag, "pick one."

nanami inspected the two bags and then looked back at your outfit briefly, "the sage green one would fit perfectly with your outfit now," he pointed.

"okay. how about a jacket, do you think i'll need one?" you questioned, rummaging through the closet, "you always have a hunch of what i'd feel, it's your judgement."

he pondered your words for a bit, "take a jacket. forecast said it's going to be cold tonight, i don't want you getting sick."

you chuckled and bobbed your head, "right. anything else i should bring?"

"pepper spray."

"check."

"be careful, yes? call me if anything happens," nanami whispers, standing up from the bed — initially he wanted to come along with you to meet your friends. but he thought that he'd be a bother to you so he stopped himself from asking, "i love you so much."

"i love you more," you kissed his lips, to which he returned.

"let's drop you there, hm?" nanami grabs your hips, giving your flesh a slight squeeze, leading you out of the house.

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

"y/n, do you — oh, wow."

yuuji stood, a hand on the handle of the door he just opened and another on the doorway. his jaw dropped at the sight of you, his partner.

you stood in front of a mirror, blinking cluelessly at his reaction. not knowing whether it was his surprise because of how good you looked or the other way around, "yuuji? do i what?"

yuuji blinked himself back into reality, entering the room mutely, his back leaned onto the shut door, "where are you off to?"

shaking your head you gazed back at your reflection, "i'm just mix and matching for a hang out with nobara tomorrow, does this look funny?"

he shook his head harshly, "no, no, you look really nice! really pretty," yuuji honestly said before inhaling, you quite literally took his breath away.

"really? the color suits?" you asked, pinching the shirt you're wearing, "is the pants a bit too short?"

yuuji stood still, "no . . . you — wow, you just look so pretty y/n. i don't know what else to tell you . . ." he whispers, entranced by your figure as he detached his back from the door to approach you.

mustering out a smile, you gave him a hug, "thanks yuuji, you're the best."

he nuzzled his nose into your hair, "you're so beautiful," yuuji mumbled before kissing the crown of your head.

all of a sudden, yuuji pulls back, his face stern and a frown on his face, "how come you're going out with kugisaki and i'm not invited?" he asks you, narrowing his eyes.

"baby, i promise it's just me and her. i'll get you something special on the way back and then we can watch movies? your pick." you pinched his cheeks gently.

"any movies?"

you nod, "any movies."

"okay! deal." yuuji beams out, kissing your cheek.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fluff #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #itadori yuuji #itadori fluff #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader

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neverendingford · 1 year

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#I had a dream that the ladder of scars up my side un-faded and was visible again #unfortunately it was just a dream #they get visible when the temperature is just right and my skin coloration shifts a little bit with blood flow #but frankly quite sad that something that took so much work and hurt like hell didn't turn out how I wanted #I don't remember if it's 13 or 23 rungs. but either way.. over the ribs hurt like hell #maybe one day if I really really really feel like it I'll redo them. probably not. but who knows #it'll be midnight and the mood will hit me or something. you know how it is.#probably not though. I've grown enough that I'll just go eat some food and make a very messy painting instead #one of these days I should paint over my whole body. that would be cool #a big time investment and a lot of cleanup work but it would be fun #I've always had the idea to do some sort of art project where I paint/highlight my scars on some thematically appropriate day #if I ever do get any tattoos it's 100% gonna be visually collaborative with my scarring. that would be neat #it's not my fault scars and body injury have been a massive part of my identity since I was two years old #that's what you get for making a huge part of your monthly newsletter “the burned child is recovering well. here's several pictures of him”#that's what you get for making it into a story every time you meet old friends.#what you get for making me take off my shirt to show off “wow it's healed so well!” like I'm an attraction or experiment #anyway I should go back and write more stuff for my self insert oc who made me realize all this shit #because damn turns out I relate to the “child influencer has no privacy and grows up feeling like a spectacle” thing a little too hard #tag talk

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writersdrug · 2 months

Text

Simon Riley x Dog Sitter! Reader pt. 2

<- Previous - Next ->

Warnings: light cursing, light nsfw, Simon being the tiniest bit of a creep

A/N: so originally this was just a fluffy thought I had a few weeks ago... it's slowly turning into a longer, multi-chapter series, and Simon is a bit darker than I had intended him to be... but the story is still going to stay relatively normal (there will be full NSFW further down the line, lol)!

Sure enough, Simon had emailed you by Tuesday afternoon. You noticed how... unprofessional it was. Not that he had been rude or obscene, but it was obviously written by someone who never had to write many emails for his career.

here is riley's routine. she likes walks, usually 3 or 4 a day. she eats one scoop in the morning and one at night. she doesn't finish her food all at once, but she'll come back to it. if you're gonna give her more cookies, just two per day. fill water every morning. around the house, if you could just dust and clean up any dog hair, that would be great. let me know if meeting me tomorrow at 0900 for the key works. I ship out thursday. thanks.

Simon.

You chewed your thumb nail, reclining on your couch with a confused expression. Was he irritated with you for some reason? He didn't show it at the interview if he did have any hostile feelings... you reminded yourself that he was a rather gruff man, and maybe that just bled into his written words, too. You rolled your shoulders and started working out your reply.

Hello Simon! Tomorrow works perfect for me, I'll be there by 9 am!

Does Riley have any favorite places she likes to go? Any particular spots or trails she enjoys? Also, are there any rules you have for her, like being on the couch? Is she ok going to the dog park? Lastly, does she take any medications I should be aware of?

See you soon!

You sent the message, sighing and dropping your head back against the arm of the sofa. You were honestly thankful that you'd gotten the job, even if Simon was a rather stiff client. You finally quit your shitty job, and while you did still have babysitting your niece and nephew, you never charged for that - the only time you were "paid" for it was when you took them out somewhere fun, and your sister forced you to accept money for the admission fee.

So this gig fell into your lap at the perfect time. And the fact that you had beat every other person Simon had interviewed made your ego soar. It wouldn't be a bad idea to make a career out of this, you thought.

Your phone dinged - you held it above your face, and saw that Simon had already responded. You sat upright and opened the email.

she only takes aspirin when her leg flares up. no more than twice a day. no favorite trails, we just go around the block a few times. she can sit on the couch, my bed too, but she'll need help getting up. no human food is the only other rule. never took her to a dog park, but if you really want to, that's fine. she's good with other dogs.

Simon.

You frowned. Walking the same block every day, multiple times each day, sounded awful. It wasn't even close to animal neglect, but you couldn't imagine walking the same route every single time. If it didn't drive Riley insane, it certainly would for you.

You read back over the email, your eyes lingering on "if her legs flare up." Simon had never discussed Riley having arthritis with you - and you sincerely hoped that was the reason she had leg pain, and nothing else. You made a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow as you began to write your reply.

Understood. Thanks again!

--------------

"Here's the basement." Simon said, leading you down the stairs and into a dullish room. It had a cheaply-manufactured desk, what appeared to be a dining chair (not matching the dining set upstairs), a stuffed bookshelf, and some cardboard boxes filled with paper. A fan stood in the far corner, and next to it was the washing room. Much like what he had shown you of the rest of the house, it was bland and drab.

You looked around, letting out a polite noise of approval. Truth be told, Simon's life seemed awfully boring to you. Your mother had always told you that military men were always overly practical, in more than just home decor. They never cared much for the environment around them, as long as there was no mold, or anything similar. But you had never expected it to be so brutally true.

You knew he had a life outside of his home - from the way he described it, he was usually deployed more often than he was in his own home country. But you wondered - what did he do for fun, besides watch the telly? Did he have friends, and were they all like him? Any hobbies?

"If for whatever reason y' need to clean up a stain, you can find solution in there." He said, pointing to the washer room. "Other than that, nothin' much to see down 'ere."

You followed him as he trudged back up the stairs. Riley was sat upright on the floor, watching you and Simon move about the house with an observant expression.

"The only other things I'll ask you to do is hoover n' dust when it looks like it needs it." He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There really isn't much else t' do; of course, if you do see anything that needs fixin' you can always text me." He rolled his head from side to side, wincing as he worked out a crick in his neck. "Might not answer immediately, but I'll see it."

You nodded, standing in the walkway of the kitchen. Even with him leaning against the counter, muscles hidden under his sweatshirt, he was huge. For a brief moment, you imagined what he looked like on the field, dressed in his uniform and holding a gun - but you quickly shooed the thought from your mind before it had the chance to latch on and fester. "Gotcha. And just so I know, do you let Riley sleep with you?"

Simon paused in confusion before he responded. "Come again?"

"Like- you know, if I crash on the couch, is she allowed up with me?" You said, shifting your weight. You couldn't quite tell if Simon was irked by your question, or if he was genuinely confused.

He paused again. "Uh, yea, that's fine. If y' don't mind waking up covered in 'er slobber."

You laughed. "Nah, I'm used to it. A little drool never bothered me. Although, if I do need to wash up, am I alright to use the shower? Or would you rather I use my own back at my flat?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Simon's head. You were planning on sleeping at his house.

He had assumed you would just stop by for walks and meals - he didn't expect you to actually live here while he was gone, and he wasn't sure how it made him feel. He'd never had anyone else spend the night. Hell, no one ever visited, besides the rare occasions of the rest of the 141 stopping by. Even then, they never stayed for longer than a conversation or two.

But, once he took a second to think about it, he realized it might be better if you did stay - at least, while he was on missions. Riley would be bored out of her mind if she was alone that long, especially after spending the past several weeks with Simon constantly there. It would be good for someone to be there when he wasn't, and you seemed like you would be the best person for that, of course.

"Sure, 's fine." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just don't touch my shit in there."

"Don't worry about that..." You said quietly, "catch me dead and cold before I touch a 3-in-1 anything."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was refreshing that you could handle his gruffness - most people treated him like a landmine, never wanting to say the wrong thing and set him off. You seemed to have taken life by the horns, like you weren't afraid to bite back at someone. He wondered if that was all for show, or if you really would snap back if he was to test you...

He pushed himself off the counter and reached into the drawer behind him, pulling out a spare key. He walked over to you and held it out. You were just about to take it, when he suddenly yanked it back.

You faltered. "Sorry...?"

"You lose this key..." Simon began lowly, "n' I'll frame you for murder. Understood?"

You gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn't really mean that... did he? You waited for him to laugh and say he was just joking... but he never did. His eyes bored into yours so intensely, making you shiver, as he waited for you to answer.

"Y-yes, sir. Understood." You said, voice wavering a bit.

He grunted in satisfaction, then handed you the key. You let out the breath you had been holding, then cautiously took the key, before immediately attaching it to your lanyard. You didn't want to take any chances at losing it - not after Simon's threat. You took a deep breath and smiled at him, trying to dust the exchange off of your shoulders.

"You can come 'round tomorrow after o' nine hundred, I'll be out by then." He said, turning sideways to moce past you and heading towards the door. You followed behind and rubbed Riley's head when you passed her; she let out a contented sound.

"Feel free t' use the kitchen if you'll be stayin' overnight." He opened the door for you and leaned against it.

"Will do, thank you!" You chirped, hovering on the landing outside of his house, right were you were two days ago. "Thank you for showing me around - good luck on your- mission- deployment, thingamajig!"

He huffed. "Promise I will, luv."

Your spine tingled in response to his comment. Get it together, don't get your knickers in a twist over a client. You thought. You straightened your posture and cleared your throat.

"Well, see you around!" You said with a smile, then hopped down the steps to your car.

Simon waved, taking a moment to watch you pull out of his driveway. He shut the door and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

He was an observant man - he had to be, with his occupation. Your reaction to being called "luv" didn't fly over his head. And it's not like Simon didn't know the effect he had on women... he knew how he looked, how he presented himself, and he saw the reactions it got him.

But with you, something felt different. He saw your reaction, and a part of him wanted to chase after it. To see what you would do if he continued to apply pressure to your weak spots. Would you blush? Would you call him out? Would you drop the gig altogether?

He thought about how easily the word "sir" had rolled off of your tongue. He thought about how you would look, all tuckered out on his couch, donned in whatever pajamas you decided to wear, your face peaceful and expression soft as you slept - he imagined you in his shower, the room filled with warm steam and the scent of your shampoo, water hitting your skin as you-

Riley barked, making Simon jolt where he stood. She stared at him, ears turned to the side as she whined. She could always tell when he began to dissociate, and knew just as much as he did that it wasn't a good sign.

Simon sighed, running a hand down his face. "Get it together, fuckin' creep." He muttered to himself. "I need a bloody hobby, f' Christ's sake..."

He blamed it on the upcoming mission. He would typically stress about it beforehand, and if there was anything else that could occupy his mind, he would fixate on it. Right now, unfortunately, you were the victim. But he buried it deep down into his subconscious - it wasn't fair to you.

He pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the washroom, adjusting his crotch as he went. He figured he should at least tidy it up a bit, since you would be using it. The only other people who had been in there were Johnny and Captain Price, and of course, they never cared if there were trimmers on the counter, or if the mirror had splotches from toothpaste residue.

Hopefully, he'd forget all about you - at least, while he was on the mission.

------------

Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #simon riley x reader smut #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #cod fanfiction #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod x reader

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 month

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tense

Pairing: Patrick Zweig x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 2.5K

Warnings: Set after the movie; kid's tennis coach Patrick; single mom reader; fingering; oral sex ; vaginal sex; safe sex

Summary: You'd realized within a few meetings that Patrick wasn't exactly like a big kid—he was more like a frat boy that had never gone to college. He'd asked for an advance on his fee, but had agreed to an all-cash payment at the end of the first lesson. He palled around with your son, teased him about school, about the girls that he had a crush on. He didn't fill the role of a father where your son didn't have one, but he was more like an older, cooler schoolmate.

He was funny, he was knowledgeable, and he never missed an opportunity to flirt with you.

"You nail this kid's dick to the wall, I'll teach you that trick shot."

You know that the outward show of your disapproval for your eleven-year-old son's tennis coach's is necessary, but you're biting back a laugh, too. You know that it's the motivation that your son needs going into his final match, but there's gotta be a better way to say it, right?

Still, your son is nodding enthusiastically, and Patrick is turning to look at you. You tip your head to the side, purse your lips, and try not to crack a smile at the guilty, almost dopey smile that Patrick gives you, accompanied by a little shrug. You shake your head and reach for your coffee, using the sip to cover the smile you've been fighting.

Well, Patrick's methods have always been...A little unorthodox.

You'd been warned that he was a little different when you'd gotten his information. Your contact at the Mark Rebellato Academy had recommended him when your son hadn't qualified for a scholarship.

"He needs to get his game up," Your contact had said, "And Zweig's the one to do it. He'll write him a recommendation, too. He's a good guy, good coach. He's not on the level with the kids, but he can get there, you know. He's good with kids 'cause he kinda...Sometimes acts like a big kid."

You'd realized within a few meetings that Patrick wasn't exactly like a big kid—he was more like a frat boy that had never gone to college. He'd asked for an advance on his fee, but had agreed to an all-cash payment at the end of the first lesson. He palled around with your son, teased him about school, about the girls that he had a crush on. He didn't fill the role of a father where your son didn't have one, but he was more like an older, cooler schoolmate.

He was funny, he was knowledgeable, and he never missed an opportunity to flirt with you.

The first time, you'd figured that it was just his way of trying to secure his place as your son's coach, but after the fifth time, you got the sense that he was sort of just...Like that. Every hello and goodbye came with a less-than-subtle elevator gaze—a slow sweep up and down over your body before he gave you a little wave and sent you and your son on your way.

For as surprising as flirting had been, it wasn't totally unwelcome. Your dating life had basically been nonexistent since you'd had your son, and Patrick's advances were kinda...Flattering, even when you weren't completely sure that he meant them.

But the truth of it had been driven home when you'd been driving your son home from practice.

"Patrick asked about you."

"Oh?" You'd responded distractedly, figuring it would be something related—whether or not you'd ever played tennis, if you enjoyed it—but your son went on:

"He asked if you're single."

Your brain stalled for a moment, not fully taking it in as you pulled the car into your driveway.

"...He what?" You finally asked, twisting to look at him.

"Uh-huh. And if you date."

"What'd you say?"

"I dunno. That you're busy."

It was a fair answer, and the truth, but there shouldn't have been a world in which your son was getting that question in the first place. You stewed on it for a few hours before you ultimately called Patrick. You eyed your son a room away where he was doing his homework, listening to the brrrrr....brrrrr as you waited for Patrick to pick up.

"Hey—"

"What the hell are you doing, asking my son if I'm single?"

Patrick doesn't answer for a moment, and it gives you a chance to imagine where he must be, what he must be doing. You can hear the murmur of a tv in the background. Is he in a house, an apartment? Alone, or with someone that's trying to pin him down? You can imagine the cracked screen of his phone pressed up against his beard.

"...It just came up."

"How the hell did something like that just come up?"

"I asked him if he ever practiced with his dad."

Your hand flexes around your phone, irritation rising.

"We don't have contact with his father."

"Yeah, I uh. I got that."

"What's that have to do with me dating?"

"That was just pure curiosity."

You close your eyes, trying to quell your annoyance.

"Well if you have a question about that sort of thing, you ask me, not my son."

"Okay."

"Do not cross that line again, Zweig."

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"I won't."

"I'm serious—"

"I am, too. I won't ask him about that stuff."

"Good."

"So when's the last time you got fucked?"

Your jaw dropped, face going hot as you tried to parse where the hell this man got the audacity to ask you that kind of thing.

"Excuse me?"

"Thought it seemed like a pretty straightforward question."

"It's a stupid one."

"...Yeah, you're right."

It should end there, but before you can wrap the conversation up, he adds—"It's pretty clear that you haven't gotten any in a while."

"Is it."

"Very obvious, yeah. You're really tense."

"This is just how I am naturally."

"I doubt that."

"Doubt all you want, but you're wrong."

"I don't mind. It's kinda hot," He adds, "You've got that grumpy milf thing goin' on."

Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before you managed, "Okay, I—I am hanging up on you now."

"Sure. Think'a me when you're rubbing one out later."

You hang up without another word, your face hot with embarrassment. You take in a deep breath, dampening the appeal of the curse words that bubble up in your throat. You're fine. You're not worked up. Patrick Zweig did not get to you.

But despite your best efforts, you did, in fact, think of him as you rubbed one out.

His flirting hasn't lessened since then. If anything, it's become more overt. Patrick never says anything untoward when your son is around, but he teases you when the two of you are waiting for your son to get his things together, or over text between lessons. You never take it too seriously. You're sure he's coaching other kids, flirting with their moms just as much. Part of his personality, part of his business model—whatever it is, it's pure Patrick, so you don't begrudge him.

You look at Patrick again as he sits beside you in the stands.

"Nail his dick to the wall?" You repeat.

"With points. Obviously."

"Right."

"You look unconvinced."

"I just don't think that that's necessarily the right way to motivate my son."

"Really?"

"Really."

"...Huh."

You try to ignore his mock curiosity as he leans back in his seat, propping his elbows up on the chairs behind you. When your son serves, hitting a solid ace, and crowing in excitement as the ref declares the point his, you feel Patrick preening beside you, and feel his arm curl around the back of your chair. You can't even bring yourself to be truly annoyed, but you make a point of sighing anyway.

"What were you saying?"

"Can it, Zweig."

"So a trick shot isn't a way to motivate him, but this is?" Patrick waves his arm toward the array of flashing, screeching games, the children zipping back and forth, their pockets bursting with tokens and prize tickets.

"I promised him a month ago that if he won his tournament, he could pick two friends and come to Chuck E. Cheese. I just..." You trail off, "I didn't think that...He'd be pick you as one of the friends."

"Am I not his friend? I'm wounded."

"You are—Kinda, I just mean that I figured he'd pick two of his friends from school. You know, kids his own age?"

"Ah," Patrick nods. "Well, I'm flattered."

"I'm sure."

"...I am."

You hesitate before you turn to look at Patrick, and are stunned to find a small, sincere smile on his lips. You can't help but smile a bit, too.

"He appreciates you," You admit. "Your guidance, you know. You've totally changed his game."

"Eh," Patrick looks around. "He would've gotten there without me."

"Not on his own."

"...Not without you, either," Patrick meets your eye again. And while you're certain that everything else he's ever said about you has been a joke, you can tell that he means this. But you can't help but deflect:

"Yeah, well. I'm his mom. There are most places he can't get without me. School, for example."

Patrick huffs a soft laugh, and you smile—really smile. You see something in Patrick's eyes that you haven't seen before, something warm and wanting. You don't let yourself read too much into it as you turn to look around the Chuck E. Cheese again—but before you know it, Patrick is scooching closer, curling his arm around the back of your chair.

"So," He presses his thigh against yours, and you try not to think about the hard, steady muscle, "You still haven't gotten any, huh?"

You bite the inside of your cheek as you fold your arms across your chest.

"Do you have any idea how inappropriate that question is?"

"I know exactly how inappropriate it is."

"And how uncalled for?"

"I think it's very called for."

"Really."

"Very."

"I can't say I agree with you."

"Well it's a good thing I'm not asking you to agree, I'm just asking you to answer."

"You seem to think you know the answer."

"I dare you to tell me I'm wrong." You feel his breath brush against your jaw as he leans closer, lowers his voice to a husky murmur: "And even if I am somehow wrong, whoever it was did not do it right."

"The hell makes you say that?"

"You're still tense."

"I'm always tense. I'm naturally tense."

"I still don't believe that."

"I don't care what you think, and you know what else?"

"What."

"I don't think you could make me cum." You make the mistake of looking at Patrick when you say it. You hope that you've wounded him, but his knowing smile just widens.

"Really."

You can hear his slick smugness, and you know that he doesn't believe you at all. But you force yourself to hold his gaze, nodding.

"Really."

He pouts just a little, nodding.

"I think we should test that hypothesis. Make sure you really are just that tense."

"Even if I did agree to that, I don't exactly have a ton of time.

"What about when he's at school?"

"I have a job."

"Right."

"Mhm. It 's how I'm able to pay you for the lessons?"

"That makes sense. I'll work something out."

"Will you."

"Sure."

"I'd like to see you try."

Patrick grins, leaning back in his seat again.

"You're gonna like a lot more than that."

When you get the text, you realize that he must know that you're not—that your son must have told him about his friend's birthday party, that you'd have a free afternoon. You're tempted to tell him that you're occupied—that you have a date, that you've found someone else to fuck you.

But as you stare down at Patrick's text—Busy?—you can't help but lean into your curiosity.

It's supposed to be different from this. It's supposed to be awkward, and weird, and not nearly as good, but you can't help it. Your thighs are tense; your fingers are curled in the sheets; your arms are shaking as you hold yourself up, pushing back against Patrick's cock. He groans against your shoulder, his arm hooked around your middle as he fucks you from behind.

His breath pushes hotly against your shoulder, a groan pushing between his lips with each thrust. His hand slides up to grasp your breast, squeezing and teasing in a way that makes you shiver.

Goddamn, but it shouldn't be so good. He shouldn't have been able to make you cum on his tongue and fingers with that dopey grin on his face. He shouldn't have covered your body in kisses in a way that made you feel cherished and wanted and special in a way that you haven't felt in a long time. And now, he shouldn't be able to make you want to press back, to chase down the stretch of his cock as he picks up his pace.

You reach back, grasping his thick curls as he nuzzles against your neck, chasing the scrape his beard with a soothing, slick kiss.

"Patrick," You breathe, "Fuck, I—Oh, God."

"Cum for me again," He urges, sliding his hand down to toy with your tingling clit. "Fuck, tighten up on me, baby—Fuck, that's it, that's it—"

You cry out as you cum, hips rabbiting back against his as your orgasm swells. Patrick groans, pulling out as you're still cumming. He crawls up over you, yanking off the condom and jacking his cock over your parted lips. You lean up, taking the head of his cock in and swirling your tongue. The first spurt of his cum catches you off-guard as much as the feeling of his cock pressing more deeply into your mouth as he thrusts. You draw back just enough to let go of his cock, jerking it as his cum sprays across your neck and shoulder.

Patrick finally lowers himself to lay beside you, panting as the two of you settle. You glance over, taking in his hairy chest, his muscled physique. You watch the rise and fall of his chest as he calms his breathing, and feel his hand smoothing over your thigh. You smile a little bit at the feeling, giving his hand a pat before you push yourself off of the bed to go to the bathroom and grab a washcloth. You rinse your mouth out while you're able, cleaning his cum off of your skin before returning to the bedroom, passing the washcloth to Patrick. He mutters his thanks, wiping himself down beside he tosses it away.

"C'mere," He urges.

You climb back into bed with a narrowed, speculative gaze as Patrick takes your hand, drawing you closer.

"Hey," He laughs, "What's that face for?"

"Nothing."

"You still tense?"

"Told you I would be."

"I think you're faking it. And that better be all you're faking."

"What if it isn't?"

"Oh, it is."

"How can you know that?"

"I know." He doesn't let you keep your distance long, curling his arms around your middle and drawing you into his lap. You wobble a little, tucking your legs beneath yourself and steadying your hands on his shoulders. Patrick's hands slip down to cup your ass, giving it a playful squeeze and grinning when you smile. Patrick tips his head up, dotting your neck with kisses as you tip your head to the side, giving him a bit more room.

"What time's the party over?" He mumbles against your skin.

"Of all things, he didn't tell you that?"

"Said you might let him sleep over at his friend's place, but you hadn't decided yet."

You smile, nodding.

"I did tell him that."

"What'd you decide?"

"...He can sleep over."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Can I sleep over?"

"You gonna be on your best behavior?"

Patrick leans back, grinning up at you.

"Not a chance."

#Patrick Zweig x Reader #Patrick Zweig x You #Patrick Zweig/Reader #Patrick Zweig/You #Patrick Zweig fic #Patrick Zweig imagine

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ohbother2 · 4 months

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Okay….Adam sfw and nsfw headcanons? I cannot believe I have begun to simp after this trashbag DAMN YOU ALEX BRIGHTMAN-

I have an admission... I fucking love Adam pls keep sending Adam requests in I can't get enough of this man

Also, sorry I've been MIA, I've got a lot of deadlines coming up so updates will be more spaced out over the next few weeks :)

I love Adam but he's quite difficult to write, so pls lmk what you guys think! I tried to keep him in character! (This was far longer than planned lol I just love this man)

NSFW - Minors DNI

---

Adam x f!reader - General Headcannons

SFW

You'd been in heaven for many decades, possibly even centuries, before you had ever even entered Adam's radar

He was the 'original dick', as he liked to constantly remind everyone within shouting distance, and spent all of his time surrounded by the higher-ups of Heaven, attending meetings, court-hearings, and dealing with training his danger-tits army for the next extermination

It would take a lot to enter his radar, having to work your way into the correct circles, gain the right connections and attend the right events

But once you're in the circumference of society he haunts, you're on his radar immediately

He's a man with fine tastes, look at his previous wives, he has a type ("fucking bombshells" as he would describe them) and as soon as he sees you in his peripheral one afternoon he's zoned in and absolutely entranced

No one has ever said no to him before, so when you do, he's taken aback. Hiding his confusion and deep-rooted offence with a flippant comment "Oh, playing the hard to get game, babe? Lucky for you I fucking love the chase."

Inwardly, he's fucking fuming, why on earth would you reject him? Alas, he's sure he'll win you over eventually... right?

He's arrogant, he's cocky, he's a self-entitled piece of shit, but he's also determined, passionate, and is anything but a quitter

You will not know peace for months after your reject him

He'll storm into your office whenever he feels like it - which is whenever he has enough free time to do so - bugging you relentlessly as you try and finish your work. He never stops asking questions about you: your day, your hobbies, your love life, what're you doing after work tonight? He's free, he could take you somewhere nice, show you a real fun time

When you stop answering he starts bitching about his day to you, about the local gossip, about some Seraphim that pissed him off, about some bitch at the bar, which he could totally take you to, did he mention he was free tonight?

He doesn't just hound you at work, and you often find yourself coming to a screeching halt in the street and abruptly turning the other way when you spot his iconic mask - he's a tall man, his horns poking noticeably above the crowd as he tries to find any excuse to find and talk to you

When he gets really desperate, after months and months of unsuccessful attempts of gaining your attention, he finally turns to Lute with the all too familiar question "You're a woman, right? What do you-"

The advice she gives is not one he is happy to receive, 'stay away and tone it the fuck down', but he listens, ego taking a massive hit as he watches you carry on as normal

Funnily enough, you start to miss the annoying dick, and you begin to look forward to his far less frequent visits, which mainly consist of you both bumping into each other at work and making polite conversation

When he really can't take it anymore, and he happens to hear rumour about another man planning on asking you on a date, he practically breaks down your office door with a bouquet of flowers, thrusting them unhappily into your hands and asking incredibly politely for you to please go on a date with him

You're both surprised when you agree, and he can feel his face heating up beneath his mask as he whoops, calling a "I knew you'd come around babe, I'll pick you up at 8 tonight. Can't wait to see what you wear." over his shoulder as he bustles back out of your office, practically vibrating until he can tell Lute the news

He's 'The Original Man', and once you become his girl there is nothing he wouldn't do for you - he's constantly swinging by your office and pulling away the less important paperwork, commenting that he can get one of his workers to do it and freeing up time for you both to hang out; he's constantly flying through your balcony with bags of some new takeaway and chatting about this amazing new food place he found as he drops the heavy bags on your counter; someone causing you trouble? If he can't personally deal with it due to some 'relationship' he has to upkeep, he's sure to inform Lute who will have the situation handled before sunset that same day

Basically, he has authority in Heaven, and he's going to use that to make your life as easy as possible

Having a bad day? He can fix that. Oh, not in the mood for sex? Well, he's an amazing cuddle buddy, and he has the softest wings, let him just grab some snacks from the kitchen and then get ready for a night on the sofa wrapped in his strong arms and soft wings

His wings are insanely soft, and big, and despite his best efforts, no matter how long you've both been dating, they will flutter if he hasn't seen you in an extended amount of time, or if you're wearing something particular nice - he can't control it and it thoroughly ruins his bad-boy persona

You're the only other person beside Lute who he feels comfortable with letting preen his wings, and after you start officially dating he only comes to you with the issue, batting his eyelashes and pleading with you to 'take care of him'. You do, and he always breaks his promise not to 'make it weird' until you give him a firm smack on the back of his head - he's fallen asleep more times than you can count with your hands in his wings

He returns the favour, of course, and he sticks to his word like a gentleman, hands remaining firmly against your wings and not daring to wander. He's not a saint, however, and he will whisper less-than-holy things in your ear as he works - he'll stop if you don't play along, and finds himself enjoying the innocent intimacy of it. If you do play along? Oh, boy, his hands don't stay on your wings for long

He uses his wings a lot in his body language, and in your initial stages of courting he'll constantly puff them out to make him seem bigger, trying to impress you with his sheer size - embarrassingly for you, it works

PDA is not approved of in heaven, so he has to maintain his distance from you in public but that is a completely different matter in private

He will take every opportunity to touch you, innocently, whether that be a had on your jaw to bring your attention back to him or to guide your gaze wherever he wants you to look, a hand on your bicep to pull you this way and that, a large hand between your shoulder blades if you're being too slow

In public, completely subconsciously, whichever wing is closest to you will outstretch, barely noticeable to the majority of people, corralling you in closer to his side, and protecting you from whatever might happen - there's no danger in heaven, but still, he likes to know you're safe, and his wings reflect that desire

In private, he's constantly got a hand on you, oftentimes both, on your arms, your shoulders, your waist, the small of your back, your thighs, fucking anywhere - he likes having you on his chest on the sofa, and he finds it funny when he tries to do the same and crushes the air from your lungs

He loves when you cook and he can just stand behind you with his chin propped on your head or shoulder and his arms around your waist. You constantly have to tell him off for whispering foul things in your ear, but he quickly shuts up when you threaten to send him away, his grip tightening against you as he pouts playfully and watches silently

He will actively stretch out his wing when it's cold or windy or rainy, shielding you from the elements with his large wings and loving the excuse to pull you close. "What're they gonna say babe? I'm just keeping you dry."

The biggest difficulty in your domestic lives is the housework, he's an old fashioned man and he's never really had to do housework before. He's gotten better throughout your relationship, but he still absolutely hates washing dishes, but he'll happily sit in the kitchen and keep you company and talk mindlessly as he watches you work. He always thanks you with a kiss

If you ever make him do it, expect to be sat on the counter right next to him and no you cannot leave until he's done and yes you will listen to him complain the entire time and yes he will always slap your ass with a wet hand as payback, cackling as you yell half-heartedly

Deep down, incredibly deep, oceanic levels of deep, past the many many levels of crude jokes and brash humour, of over-compensating confidence and attempted witty one-liners, past the smirk and the puffed chest and the domineering presence, is a man who is cripplingly doubtful and insecure - two of his wives have left him for the same man, and he's absolutely terrified (but would rather burn in the fiery pits of hell than ever admit it) that it's going to happen again

He can seem rude and brash and uncaring, but he really is trying his best, and he's desperate to prove to you, in his own way, how much he really cares (He's scared to admit even to himself how much losing you would crush him)

Because of this, no event is ever half-assed - it's your birthday? He's got the biggest cake he can find and he's made some of his exterminators set up a surprise birthday party for you. It's your anniversary? He's pretending he's forgotten until the morning of and suddenly you've got a reservation at one of the nicest and most in-demand places in all of Heaven

"Come on, sugar," He'd reprimand you mockingly, shit-eating grin on his face at your excitement "you really thought I'd forget my special girl?"

He can doubt himself sometimes, worrying about your feelings for him, but he hides his insecurities whenever you catch him in deep-thought with some lame sex-joke

He doesn't ever want to talk about his insecurities, and he'll never outright tell you what he fears more than anything, but you pick up on it after enough time together

You don't pry, but you do card your hands through his hair when you see his eyes go particularly glossy one afternoon, pressing a kiss to his temple and scratching at his scalp, making your way slowly to his wings and back and taking your sweet time. He closes his eyes and listens to you ramble about your day, which eventually turns into you rambling about him, how handsome he is, how hard he works, and how much you love him and how you don't know what you'd do without him

He doesn't realise it, but you say just the rights things he needs for him to regain that pep in his step and for his cocky words to have more meaning behind them

NSFW

He's the Original Dick, and you'd hope he had the goods to back up the talk with the amount of bragging he does

He does; he does have the goods, and some would say he's being humble because what the fuck

He's the oldest human in history - he's seen it all, done it all twice, and he's more than willing to share some of his tricks with you

He's too proud and self-centred to ever let you have complete control, but when he's particularly lazy he'll let you go on top (as rare as this occasion is) but he'll still guide you as best as he can, lifting you easily with his strong arms and sweet-talking you with his sharp tongue

The first time you ever see him without his god-awful mask is during an intimate moment - you're first intimate moment, where you downright refused to continue if he didn't take the cursed thing off his face

Again, he's insecure, and it takes a lot of reassurance and just the right amount of kisses on his jaw and neck for him to be convinced that taking his mask off was worth it

He lets you look at him for several moments, and then he's had enough and he took his mask off for a fucking reason and he's pulling you into his lap and kissing you properly for the fist time

You can compliment him later, he has other things on his mind right now, the main one being fucking you until you can't even conjure a coherent thought

After that encounter he slowly takes his mask off in private with you more and more, learning to appreciate how nice it was to be able to kiss your temple and actually feel you against his lips, as well as how nice it was to feel your lips against his cheek

Still keeps the mask on sometimes, especially when you ask so nicely

He absolutely loves receiving head, resting back in his office chair or against the back of the sofa and letting you get to work, grunts and groans falling from his lips as his hands grip your hair tightly and guide you exactly how he wants you

He will give head as well, he's not selfish by any means, but he much prefers kissing you as you fall apart beneath him - for him, he'd much rather swallow your screams and mutter dirty things in your ear as he brings you to release

Be careful with his wings, especially when he lets you preen them - gentle touches can easily be misinterpreted as passionate caresses and before you know it you're pinned on your back with a red-faced and disheveled looking Adam hovering above you, muttering about how you're a "fucking tease" and if "you wanted it so bad all you had to do was ask, sugar. I'll never leave you wanting."

He knows the power of wings, and his heavy touches against your own when he needs to "Just sliding past babe, what's that fucking look for? Can't a man work?" are no accident. He loves getting you all wound up. He takes it as a personal challenge to do it in public, and his shit-eating grin remains the entire day before he's pressing you against the door of his office or your plush bed and muttering about how fucking needy you are.

He doesn't take being teased well, and he'll glare at you the entire time until he can do something about it - he'll have even less patience than usual, especially for people who aren't you, and often has to do damage-control after he's regained his bearings a few hours later

He's a big man, and he uses that to his full advantage, man-handling you with ease, positioning you exactly where he wants you, pinning both of your wrists easily with only one of his large hands, pushing your legs apart like butter

He can lift you easily, and he'll hold you against the wall, or countertop, or wherever the fuck you guys are, and he'll keep you there until he's done

Lute has walked in on you both far too many times, and she always hurtles back out of the door cursing at you both angrily

He likes pinning you beneath him, spreading his wings over your forms and completely shrouding you with his form - you're fucking his, and no one else will take that from him

He fucking loves dirty talk, and it's a challenge to get him to shut up - he'll carry on talking at you long after you're able to respond, and he'll just start talking about that instead: "Aw, look at you, can't even fucking say my name you're so fucking dumb for this c-"

As said before, he's insecure based on the way he lost his two previous wives and the reflects into the bedroom

If you do degrade him, he'll just challenge you, telling you you've obviously not learnt your fucking lesson and picking up the pace, desperate to prove he's the exact opposite of whatever had just spilled from your mouth - you'll pay for trying to goad him on, he won't relent until you're a babbling shaking mess, stuttering out apologies and taking back everything you had just dared to say to him

Any praise you offer him he absolutely laps up. Call him handsome, tell him your his, tell him there's no one else in the world who would ever compared to him, how good he's fucking you - he'll get so wrapped up in the praise he'll even stop talking, completely focussed on his task of making you feel good, making sure you know there's no one else who could give you what he does

Dig your hands into his wings and he becomes a groaning mess, and it'll only be a few seconds of you muttering those sweet praises in his ears and your nails digging into his wings before he's collapsing on top of you and panting raggedly, still trying to mutter out curses and praises through his gruff gasping

When he really loses control his wings will flap of their own accord, and you've had to completely clear your side tables because he kept accidentally smashing everything that was on them

He likes to rest afterwards, and he usually tries to encourage you into going another round.

He'll tug you into his sweaty side, pulling you half onto his chest as he breathes deeply, immediately asking if you enjoyed it, and when you agree, he'll always mutter something along the lines of "Of course you fucking did, it's me."

#hazbin hotel #Hazbin Hotel adam #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x reader #Hazbin Hotel Adam #Hazbin Hotel Adam x reader #Adam x reader #lute #Hazbin Hotel lute #Hazbin Hotel smut #Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel x reader smut #smut

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