#in the first one and not immediately as a love interest at first just as a protector

[coffee-and-geto]

SAY YES TO THE SET - SATORU GOJO

“You perv.” “Me? Are you blaming a man? What am I saying— YOUR man. Actually—your very lucky man.”

pairing: husband! satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: after a long, tough day, satoru usually comes home to find you there. however, you have a surprise planned for him, which he will be delighted to discover before turning it into yet another opportunity to jump on you!

warnings: MDNI, suggestive, dirty talk, fluff, quite domestic, mention of yuji, megumi and nobara, just a whipped husband with his beloved wife <3

wc: 1,714

Satoru Gojo fell in love with you more than once.

He’s always willing to do anything you ask for, because every time he looks at you, the white-haired man feels like a teenager again, exactly at the time he met and knew you were meant for him.

So basically, his love language is gift-giving.

Or commonly called by you spoiling a bit too much.

A little bit too much.

Not counting the times he literally booked an island for the two of you for your honeymoon, bought expensive vintage cars for your beautiful eyes, bought brands (yes, you read that right) as soon as you vaguely mentioned liking a brand or two in particular, or even bought several penthouses in every city you might be interested in visiting on your next trip with him.

As said, maybe a little bit too much.

Maybe.

But when it comes to spoiling him, it’s a whole different story.

Satoru acts like a puppy. A lost one? A loyal one? A clingy one maybe? You never can tell. He’s a mix of all possible puppy types. He almost feels undeserving of you spoiling him. The idea of you giving him or providing him anything doesn’t make sense in his mind.

Not a hint of patriarchy or dominance comes into play here, but rather because he prefers to give rather than receive.

It’s in his nature.

So one day, you decide to wait for him in front of his car after his long day at Jujutsu High. His students—Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi—wave to you from afar before heading back to their dormitory, while a slender figure approaches you with long strides.

“Is that a dream? Am I in heaven?” And immediately, Satoru’s arms find your waist to hold you tighter than ever in his familiar embrace.

“Maybe both,” you crackle, cupping his cheeks while your lips peck his whole face. “I checked your schedule and came earlier.”

He presses a firm, (loud) and loving kiss on your own lips. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long, love.”

“It’s never too long when I’m waiting for you.”

And damn.

He’s a full mess now, heart beating like a cannonball, body temperature hitting impossible degrees until his hands are sweating and he’s ear-blushing just as his teen self used to.

“Can we go to the mall right now?” 

A smile followed by a little scratch on his undercut? He’s already carrying you to the passenger seat while he busies himself with starting the engine as quickly as possible. And as if he were afraid you would disappear if he didn’t touch you, Satoru’s large hand rests on the inside of your thigh, the perfect spot for him to feel safe with you and for you. A huge smile refuses to fade, and you immediately guess that even under his black blindfold, Satoru’s smile reaches his eyes.

“What do you wanna do at the mall?” he asks casually, his free hand pulling that move he always does when parking — spinning the wheel in one smooth circle with just one hand, head turned over his shoulder as he checks behind the car.

And of course, you catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he moves — a small detail that makes your thighs instinctively squeeze together.

“Some clothes. I need your opinion.”

He raises both eyebrows and holds out his free arm once he has locked the car. “Of course you need me for that. How could you even breathe without me by the way? You need my air.”

On the way, a cute lingerie shop catches your eye, and you gently pull Satoru inside.

He opens his mouth, a little confused at first.

“Didn’t you say clothes?”

“Aren’t they clothes?” you smile.

He clears his throat but finally glances at you. “Clothes. Alright.” But he was silently screaming naughty girl and you’re snorting.

The inside of the boutique is small and quiet, almost cozy. A few narrow racks line the space, each holding unique and delicate sets — but what really catches your eye are the dainty, coquette-style pieces. Soft pastel colors, flirty floral lace, and little sensual details that feel like summer tempt you enough to pick out one or two sets.

When you glance over at Satoru, he’s distractedly staring at the display of blue lingerie, eyes half-lidded and lost in thought.

“You know, I said I needed your opinion,” you comment, a small smirk tugging the corner of your lips, “so… if you like any—”

You don’t have time to say anything else before he’s already picked up a dozen sets of lingerie—your own items looking pretty meager in comparison.

Sighing, you head for the deserted fitting rooms. Perfect.

And as you turn to draw the curtains away from prying eyes, you come face to face with Satoru, standing with his feet firmly inside the fitting room, a questioning look on his face.

“Out.”

“Pretty, please—”

The next second, he is sitting on a chair, his left ass’ cheek still sore and kinda burning from your kick.

Putting on the first set, a light blue baby doll adorned with discreet white lace, you admire yourself in the mirror before opening the curtain slightly to call Satoru. He hurries to come in before even seeing you.

And when he finally gets to admire you, he has no comment to make. His gaze gradually softens behind his blindfold, his mouth slowly parts, and his arms, once crossed over his chest, fall to his sides, not knowing what to do with themselves. He’s dying to wrap them around you as he usually does, but something freezes him in place.

His eyes sparkle with admiration, but less mischief than usual.

Just pure love. It wasn’t the cute outfit that made him fall in love for the umpteenth time in his life. It was just you. You and your smile, anticipating his reaction—more specifically, about to laugh at a potentially charming and flirtatious comment he usually makes; your bright eyes fixed on him, your cheeks slightly flushed from the heat in the store and even more so in the fitting room.

“You are beautiful,” he finally says quietly.

A faint blush creeps up your cheeks, reddening them even more. “What about the baby doll?”

He shakes his head. “You are stunning in everything.” His arms finally wrap around you and he turns you toward the mirror, meeting your gaze, which you know is on you despite his blindfold. “See?” he whispers next to your ear, chest pressed against your back. “That’s my beautiful wife. The one I am lucky and grateful to see every day when I wake up. My first and only love.”

“Hey, you are not allowed to make me cry,” you protest, swallowing to make the lump in your throat go away as he kisses the side of your neck.

“Guilty as charged,” he sighs, stealing another kiss on your cheek and pats your hip. “Next one now.”

“Fine.”

The next isn’t as simple as the previous one. More girly, you think, eyes darting the small flowers all over the corset. An admiring whistle is heard right behind you, and through the reflection in the long mirror in the dressing room, Satoru has lifted a corner of his blindfold to admire you from head to toe. “I quite enjoy the view right now.”

“You perv.”

He takes a dramatic shocked expression and brutally hits his hand right where his heart beats. “Me? Are you blaming a man? What am I saying— YOUR man. Actually—your very lucky man.”

You hide your face behind your hands in an attempt to muffle your bursting laugh, and Satoru grins proudly, shoving his hand in his jacket’s pockets.

“Anyways. I love this one.”

“You do?” you ask, calming down. You spin around slightly to give him a 360 view of the set. “It’s… floral. I like the— What’s that look for?” you ask, your hands on your hips in a disapproving stance.

“Tell me, wouldn’t you look good if you wear that while I make you cum on my cock?”

Your face flushed immediately when your brain pictures it perfectly. “Satoru!” you hiss. “We’re not alone!” And you push him out of the dressing room, glancing nervously at the saleswoman at the store entrance, who looks at you with a slightly confused expression.

The third set is a simple pastel yellow nightgown that you picked up earlier. Its straps are made of lace in equally light shades of pink and turquoise with small fruity details—including mini grapefruits and lemons. It’s long enough to cover most of your torso and almost all of your rear. However, Satoru notices a second later that a single movement allows him to see that the nightgown comes with a thong of the same color, so thin that he almost didn’t notice it.

And before you even think about giving your opinion, Satoru is already lifting you up in his arms and pressing you against the wall.

You gasp, nails digging into his broad shoulders as his nose buries itself between your clenched legs. “Satoru, what—”

“Just let me eat you out in this set,” he mumbles, tone muffled as you struggle. “Pretty, please—”

“We can’t!” you protest. “The saleswoman could—”

“Is everything alright here?” she suddenly asks from behind the curtain. You didn’t even hear her come in.

Satoru freezes under the nightgown and holds his breath as you hold back from yelling at him.

“Y-Yes, I’m just on the phone right now,” you respond nervously. “Sorry.”

“Oh. No problem, take your time,” she responds sweetly before the sounds of her footsteps fades away.

And as if he had guessed that you were going to kill him on the spot, Satoru pressed a chaste kiss on your clothed clit.

You gasp, nails digging into his muscles even deeper. “I swear, if we get banned from another lingerie store—”

“That’s their problem,” he mumbles against your inner thigh now.

“Satoru, stop talking—”

“Only if you stop looking that good.”

You slap his head lightly. “Home. Now. I’m putting you on a leash.”

“Kinky,” he grins, looking up way too fast.

And with that, your very problematic, very whipped husband drags you out of the store with five lingerie bags and zero shame.

a/n: here comes a fic after 3 months of inactivity, i'm sorry! i have a lot to write and i'm planning soon to finish them, i promise <3 how are yall doing btw? i miss posting here 🥲

reblogs, likes and comments are very appreciated! <3

tags: @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wisheclairr @sanemistar @monokaix @starmapz

[to-the-beginning--the-end-waits]

Only Me

Summary: You’re starting to notice your best friend Yunho’s increasingly protective behavior; the daily tea deliveries, constant walking you to class, and his habit of scaring away any guy who dares to talk to you. You confront him about his possessive guard dog tendencies.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Genre: Friends to Lovers, College AU, Romantic Comedy, Fluff

Warnings: Possessive behavior (mild), jealousy, college setting, best friends to lovers trope, intimidation tactics​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

A/N: Short one before I kick-off the mafia series. I'm omw to my first literal holiday of the year so early update for today + I didn't check this one properly sorry for any mistakes.

====================================

You should have known something was up when Yunho started showing up to your morning classes with two cups of tea instead of his usual energy drink. You should have definitely known something was up when he began walking you to every single class, even the ones that were completely out of his way.

But the final straw? The final straw was when he scared away your study partner by looming behind you like a six foot tall guardian angel with a very intimidating scowl.

“Yunho,” you hiss, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away from the poor guy who’d just wanted to review calculus notes with you. “What is wrong with you lately?”

His expression immediately shifts from intimidating to puppy like innocence. “Wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m perfectly normal.”

“Normal?” You gesture wildly at the space where your study partner had been sitting before he’d practically sprinted away. “You just death glared Kevin into another dimension!”

“His name is Kyle, actually,” Yunho corrects with a slight smirk.

“I don’t care if his name is Voldemort! You can’t keep doing this!”

Yunho’s face scrunches up adorably. “Doing what?”

You stare at him in disbelief. For someone so tall, he could be remarkably dense sometimes. “Following me everywhere! Bringing me tea every morning, which, by the way, is always exactly how I like it, which is suspicious, and glaring at any human being who dares to speak to me!”

“I don’t glare at everyone,” he protests, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the library. “I didn’t glare at Mrs. Chen in the cafeteria yesterday.”

“Mrs. Chen is sixty five and married!”

“Exactly. Not a threat.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “Not a threat? Yunho, what are you talking about?”

His ears turn pink, and he suddenly becomes very interested in his shoelaces. “I just… I mean… you’re my best friend, right?”

“Right…”

“And best friends look out for each other, right?”

“Right…” You draw out the word, sensing there’s more to this.

“And you’re…” he gestures vaguely at you, his blush deepening, “you’re you, so obviously people are going to want to-”

“Want to what?”

“-steal you away from me!” he finishes in a rush, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

You blink at him. Once. Twice. “Steal me away from you?”

“Yes! Like Kevin-”

“Kyle.”

“Kyle! He was definitely planning to ask you out after your study session. I could see it in his beady little eyes.”

“His eyes aren’t beady, Yunho. They’re actually quite nice.”

Yunho’s face goes through several complicated expressions before settling on something that looks suspiciously like a pout. “You noticed his eyes.”

“I notice everyone’s eyes. I noticed that Mrs. Chen has lovely hazel eyes too. Does that make her a threat now?”

“That’s different,” he grumbles.

You reach up and flick his forehead, making him yelp. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous! I’m being protective! There’s a difference!”

“Protective is making sure I get home safely after a night out. This is…” You wave your hands around, trying to find the right words. “This is like having a very tall, very attractive guard dog who thinks everyone is a burglar!”

Yunho’s pout deepens. “You think I’m attractive?”

“That’s what you got from that sentence?” But you feel your own cheeks warming. “The point is, you can’t keep scaring people away from me. What if I actually want to date someone someday?”

The look that crosses Yunho’s face is nothing short of tragic. “You want to date someone?”

“Hypothetically!”

“Who?” The word comes out sharper than you’ve ever heard him speak to you.

“No one! It was hypothetical, you giant possessive-” You stop, really looking at his face. At the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are a little too bright. “Yunho…”

“Forget it,” he says quickly, turning away. “You’re right. I’m being ridiculous. I’ll stop bothering you-”

“Hey, no.” You grab his arm, surprised by how tense his muscles are. “You’re not bothering me. Well, okay, the scary guard dog thing is bothering me, but *you* don’t bother me. You could never bother me.”

He looks down at where your hand is wrapped around his forearm, and something in his expression shifts. “Really?”

“Really. You’re my best friend, Yu. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“And if someone asks you out?”

You study his face carefully. “Are we still talking hypothetically here?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Maybe not entirely.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “I guess that would depend on who’s asking.”

“And if it was someone you’ve known for years? Someone who brings you tea every morning and knows exactly what you like in your tea? Someone who walks you to class even when it makes him late for his own? Someone who maybe has been completely crazy about you for months but was too scared to say anything because he didn’t want to ruin the best friendship he’s ever had?”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. “That’s… very specific.”

“I’m a specific kind of guy.”

You step closer to him, and his breath catches. “And if this hypothetical someone finally got the courage to actually ask me out instead of just scaring away the competition?”

“Then he would probably ask if you wanted to get dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. Like a date.”

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like a date. Because it would be a date.”

You pretend to consider this seriously. “And if I said yes?”

“Then he would probably be the happiest guy on campus. And also he might still glare at people who look at you too long, but he’d try to be more subtle about it.”

You laugh, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “You’re absolutely insane, you know that?”

“Insanely crazy about you,” he agrees, leaning into your touch.

“That was terrible.”

“But you’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling when I’m with you, you possessive giant.”

His grin is so bright it could power the entire campus. “So is that a yes to dinner?”

“That’s a yes to dinner. But Yunho?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you want to ask me out, maybe just ask instead of becoming my self-appointed bodyguard?”

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re impossible.”

He laughs and leans down to kiss you right there in front of the library, you can’t help but think that maybe having a possessive best friend isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Especially when he kisses like that.

THE END

====================================

[cod-dump]

Can you please do TF141 and how they laugh?

How they laugh:

Gaz: The prettiest, charming, addictive, most infectious laugh. He has people grinning from laughing, making them feel giddy as he does. Literal prince laugh that makes you swoon. This laugh will make someone fall in love with him.

Ghost: He has two laughs. A deep, macho laugh that matches his overall size and appearance. The kind of laugh that you picture to come out a man like him. Then you have the other laugh, the laugh only his closest friends and loved ones hear. It's manical, mad scientist laugh. If he laughs too hard he starts snorting while cackling.

Soap: Loud, fully belly laugh. He laughs with his whole being. Sometimes if he laughs too hard he starts choking, and he continues to try to laugh as he chokes. It's funny and concerning. Pulled a muscle from laughing too hard, no one will let him live it down.

Price: Deep, baritone laugh. Sometimes sounds like a growl before you can tell he'a laughing. This laugh hits your soul before your ears. It's a polite laugh, he tries not to get too loud or laugh too hard. If he laughs too hard he coughs.

Nikolai: He also has two laughs: The loud laugh and the polite sounding "I'm smiling but I'm going to fucking kill you" laugh. His first laugh shakes the room, it's shocking but charming. The second laugh isn't loud, sometimes not very noticeable, but it's bone chilling. No one wants to hear the second laugh.

Laswell: A rough, low laugh. She doesn't giggle, she chuckles. Sometimes it's a completely silent laugh, she can't breathe and she's wheezing. If she laughs too hard she also starts coughing, but the laughter persists so she might die over a dumb dad joke.

Farah: Has two laughs: The professional "I'm in charge" laugh, and her real laugh. Her first laugh is akin to a superhero laugh, just not as boisterous. It's proud, confident. Her second laugh is just teenager girl giggles. Only her closest friends and loved ones even know the second exists let alone hear it.

Alex: Charming, high school popular boy. Sounds like he's faking a charming laugh but it's his real laugh. Dimples and everything. Loud, captivating. It's immediately a loud, belly laugh. Sounds like someone just started up a recording and then hits pause. He's very in control of it.

Alejandro: Has two laughs: Polite, professional, a bit sexy. The second one he sounds unhinged yet still sexy. He's charming all around, even when he's thinking about killing someone while grinning at them.

Rudy: Rarely laughs, truly laughs. Usually has a small, quiet chuckle, something charming and socially acceptable. But his real laugh is like a hyena. Sounds like he's going insane, a bit scary. It starts off quiet, too, so no one can tell what's coming until it's too late.

Graves: Classically charming. Actually not very laugh, even when laughing hard. He's all teeth when laughing, grinning like a madman. The kind of laugh you expect from the love interest in a rom-com, something that's immediately supposed to make you love him.

[zepskies]

Ahhh thanks so much, Jolly!! 🥰 When I saw that color progression I immediately saw seasons. The angsty metaphor for their relationship just clicked into place in my mind 😅

Girl, I'M so happy - thanks very much for diving in! 🥹💕

Oh god this is so wholesome - why was I hoping it'd just stay like this until the end. 🥺

I so wish we could stay in spring/summer 😭😭

But ehehe I love that you caught the Jared's reference!! You're the only one who's pointed that out! 😝

Uh-oh, noooo, here comes the angst and OF COURSE the timing couldn't be worse 😭

*hisses* RACHEL. Also, "She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile." Very nice pick up on the canon detail! But my gosh I want to throttle her sister for taking advantage of his drunken and bad mental state like that.

lmfaooo you're right to hiss, my friend, she's a bad bitch (not in a good way).

I love that you highlighted that line though! Rachel is literally the worst, and you'll learn more about her/her motivations in the next part.

This was such an interesting take on his backstory from the little we know so far! And you captured Mark's personality so good! (especially seeing as you wrote this chapter right after the first few episodes). The snapshots draw such a beautiful picture of their relationship, four scenes of an entire year and we get to watch how a perfect happy relationship cracks and shatters because of circumstances out of their control. (I'm counting Rachel as a circumstance out of his control since he was dead drunk lol)

Aww thank you so much, hun!! I did have some apprehension when I first posted this because yeah, I wrote and posted it legit after watching the first 3 episode premier. 🤣 But his character/the story was so compelling, I couldn't help myself! And immediately was intrigued when Melinda and Rachel were mentioned.

I had a hard time believing Mark would cheat on her out right, so I wanted to explore the "what if" behind that relationship. (Hoping we get to meet Melinda in canon and get more context to what actually went down, because I have theories.)

I'm so glad that you feel I captured his personality - that of course was my top concern/priority. 💜💜

Oh yeah it's definitely circumstances out of their control, and you'll see that sense of "control" is going to be one of the main themes throughout. I thought this would just be an angsty fun overview of their relationship, until I started fleshing the reader out more in the sequel. I think the second one, Catastrophic Blues, is where I really started to figure out where I wanted to go with these two. (And you're on the right track with Rachel...you'll see 😂)

Thank you so much again, friend!! I really hope you enjoy the rest of the series. I have big plans for how to finish it. 😈

DOWNGRADE

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: There it was. The beginning of the end, and neither of you saw it coming.

AN: Ahhh here we go! For the first time ever, Mark Meachum! Obviously I’m still learning this guy as a character, but this idea grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. Thanks so much, @luci-in-trenchcoats for choosing this color prompt for the 5K Follower Celebration!

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, implied smut, and rom-com vibes, until the angst sets in (lol). Medical diagnoses, implied cheating

Spring

Mark set two mugs of coffee on his nightstand to free up his hands. He had to cut wide swaths through the bedsheets to reach you. As usual, you were a tangle of limbs and frizzy hair.

“Jesus, what’d you do here, woman?” he said, lips tugging at a smile when he heard your muffled giggle.

Eventually he unearthed your head and found your sleepy smile. You squinted at the sun glaring through the window behind him. It backlit that look of fond amusement on his face.

You clawed half-blind at the front of his shirt and pulled him down to you. He lost his footing and grunted as he fell, just barely catching himself from crushing you. Your laugh rang in his ear and forced a chest-shaking rumble out of him too.

You freed your own arms from the warm nest you created, just to take his face in your hands. Your thumbs caressed along the coarse edges of his beard.

“Getting scraggly, baby,” you remarked.

“Yeah, but you like your man all wild and caveman-like,” he said mischievously.

You shook your head, but you still couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Only when he fucks me,” you said. A cheeky challenge in your eyes.

Mark’s brows popped high, his devilish grin showing teeth. It didn’t matter how long you’d been his, you still managed to keep him on the ropes.

“Well, he does aim to please.”

Summer

The sound of your laugh was like sweltering sunshine in his chest. After the wave finished dunking you both, you swept the salty sting of the ocean out of your eyes and clung to his shoulders in the water.

Santa Cruz agreed with you. It shone down on your glistening skin and caught in your eyes. You both needed this—taking a beat, just the two of you.

Finally, Mark had allowed himself to take some time off. He was reluctant at first, workhorse that he was. But the Captain—your father—insisted that Mark take a break. Wrapping up a triple homicide after four months of legwork, getting to see that motherfucker be denied bail until trial, and giving the victims’ families a sense of relief that the killer was off the streets was a decided win.

“You’ve got someone waiting for you,” the Captain reminded him. “Don’t take that for granted.”

Mark grabbed your left hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. He felt the coolness of metal against his lips. It reminded him to turn your hand over.

“Whoa!” He closed his eyes and playfully looked away as if he was being blinded. “Who gave you that fucking rock?”

The summer sun glinted off a modest stone. Your sister told him not to overthink it. Just get the classic square cut. But his instincts told him to go with something called a “cushion,” like the sales lady said at Jared’s.

Mark knew he made the right choice when you gasped, covering your mouth with shaky hands, your eyes filling with tears when you met his slightly nervous ones.

Now, you just laughed in his face. “Oh, nobody really. Just the love of my life.”

His smile quirked, even though his heart was double-timing.

“You’re so fuckin’ cheesy.”

“But you love it, though.”

(That day, you both spent an extra hour looking for the ring when it somehow slipped off your finger and fell into the sand.)

Fall

“I’m just saying, sweetheart,” Mark said, his tone deep and gentle while he steadied you in his arms. “Maybe it’s best we put off the wedding, just a few months. It’s a lot coming at you right now.”

You shook your head, covering your mouth with trembling fingers.

“No,” you said eventually, but your words faltered along with your unsteady breaths in between. “No, he wouldn’t have wanted that. I just wish he, uh…could be there.”

You were a pillar of a woman, but no one could fault you for falling apart. Your father had been a lifelong smoker. He quit ten years ago, but it still caught up to him in his sixties, a severe case of COPD that he’d been trying to hide for months. It eventually withered him down to weeks of degeneration in a hospital bed, relying on oxygen masks that could no longer sustain him.

Your mother and sister had left the room for just half an hour to grab some coffee. You stayed behind.

You were alone with your father when he died. All you could do was hold his hand.

Now, all Mark could do was hold you. But he had to blink past a sharp pain, almost like a sudden migraine. Aftershocks reverberated through his skull, radiating from the right to the left.

He’d been dealing with less intense versions of the feeling for a month, but this time, it was like a small shiv between the eyes. It took him enough by surprise that it forced a grunt out of him, making him grimace and blink hard.

You picked your head up from his chest and met him with tearful eyes, frowning in concern.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Mark said. “Just a little headache.”

Winter

“Mark, you need to go to the doctor. You’ve gone through three bottles of Advil. That’s not normal.”

“Look, I told you already. I’m fine.”

“Yeah. That’s really convincing.”

“…Look, that’s Rachel pulling up. You ready to go?”

 You looked out the windows near the front door and saw your sister walking up the driveway. You blinked, like you both could and couldn't believe what you were seeing.

“Wow," you said. "She couldn’t have found a skimpier dress to check out the church. Who’s she trying to impress? The pastor’s already married.”

Mark snorted in amusement, but something soon occurred to him.

“Didn’t you tell me she and her boyfriend just broke up or something?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with it?”

He shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. She’s probably just looking for attention.”

You sighed. You loved your younger sister, but there were times when you wished she’d just grow up a little.

One appointment with Mark’s primary doctor led him to the oncologist. His entire inner world was leveled with just two words:

Glioblastoma Multiform.

Two words he couldn’t say to you.

It all rang between his ears…

The excitement in your voice when you told him how your last fitting went for the dress.

Faces he’d put behind bars. Years he’d scraped and clawed his way through bureaucratic bullshit, standing his ground against officers with more power than him, but never as much heart.

Your raw, broken grief when you watched your father waste away from the absolute monument of a man he’d been.

How was Mark supposed to level your world too?

He kept it all inside. And like the master of improv he was, he faked enthusiasm for a joint bachelor-bachelorette weekend.

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers he stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

AN: 🫣 I know, I know - I'm sorry it's not my usual happy ending. 💔 But! I am working on a second part to this for @waynes-multiverse, who also requested Mark Meachum for the 5K Celebration...though that one's gonna be even angstier than this one loll 😅 (but maaaybe with a kind of happy ending?)

In the meantime, what did you think of this drabble? Don't you wish we could've stayed in Summer? ❤️‍🩹

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Add yourself to my Tag Lists ⟡ Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. ❤️

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Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

I haven't built out the Mark Meachum tag list just yet, but he's now available on my Tag List form, for anyone who wants to add themselves.

For this post, I'll just include the Dean Winchester tag list and some others who I think are interested in Mark Meachum. Next round, I'll only tag people who want in on the tag list.

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28

@midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad @kmc1989 @siampie

@masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

@impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @bettystonewell

@bleuatlas @podiumackles @samslvrgirl

[sunflowersteves]

ooh i saw your clark post! and absolutely no pressure if you don’t like it! but maybe reader has just a massive crush on clark to the point where no one else could sway her. maybe superman is trying to talk to her and she’s all “no i’m ok - not interested” sorta thing. idk haha but i love your work!

omg i love this idea, my love. but also,,,, i love this man

pairing || clark kent x f!reader

warnings || fluff, canonical violence, reader only has eyes for clark (if that's even a warning? bc we all do)

masterlist

Clark Kent is a clumsy, bashful man whose six-foot-five stature seemed to be more of a cuddly teddy bear than anything else. He once tripped on his own two feet and landed with a hard thud in the bullpen of the Daily Planet. 

Superman is not.

Superman is a courageous and confident superhero who saves everyone and anything from the depths of darkness. Granted, those two personas are the same person. Clark is Superman, and Superman is Clark. They are one.

However, there was still a façade placed upon his shoulders by the idea of Superman. There’s still an expectation that Clark has to meet—he has to meet that, or people will die. So, there’s pressure. A lot of pressure that Clark places right on top of his own shoulders. One that he won’t let fall. That he can’t let fall. 

He is strong. He is powerful. He embodies the essence of hope in a city like Metropolis. He still, in the mind of others, is an idol—a hero that should be remembered as one of the greats who saved thousands of lives. And he does. 

However, sometimes, he wished that people would take Clark just as seriously. Sometimes, he wanted Clark to be Superman instead of the other way around. No one knew—not a single soul. Well, his parents. His lovely, Kansas upbringing is part of why he cares so much in the first place.  

Even though Clark knew that Superman is him and Superman is Clark, sometimes he still feels like there’s a bit of a difference. It was still there—even a hint. So when you were saved by Superman and rejected his flirty advances, he was absolutely stunned. 

Today was supposed to be a blissful summer evening. The night sky shone brightly with stars, and the gentle, light breeze could make anyone smile at how nice it was. It seemed almost perfect.

Almost.

You were walking home. The heels that once hugged your feet, the ones you wore to the office, were long gone, placed securely in your bag. Instead, what hugged your feet was a cushy pair of sneakers. You had just said goodbye to Lois, mummering to her that she shouldn’t stay too late. However, you both know that she will, in fact, stay way too late. The elevator down felt too long—you were almost too antsy to get out of that building and into the fresh air. 

You turned the corner by the Daily Planet, doing your usual walk back home. You had your earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the situation unfolding on the block opposite yours. While you weren’t usually so unaware, especially at night, there was just something about this day that washed away all your worries. You were happily singing along to one of your favorite songs in the dead of summer. While you usually watched kids play in the fire hydrants, there wasn’t a soul in sight. 

Well, it was because of the alien attack. While Superman was fighting off someone trying to attack the city, you were having a little dance party in your head. That beautiful summer breeze and fantastic night had come to a halt, though. 

You let out a gasp, a reflexive reaction that enabled you to move three spaces back. The brick wall to your left had burst—easily—with Superman and his opponent entangled in a battle. You stood, absolutely stunned, trying to shake off the shock. They rolled on the ground, both out of breath, before getting back up again in another fight. Superman’s fist connected with his opponent in a fast strike, blue blood spattering on the concrete. 

The opponent laughed, muttering a small, “Is that all you got, Superman?” Before immediately making a jab into the superhero’s ribs. Superman let out a grunt—the force of the hit had sprung him back a few feet, but nonetheless, it didn’t knock the wind out of him that much. 

Then, you saw it—the shift. 

The alien had locked eyes with you. The devilish smirk had risen onto his features. You couldn’t even gulp—you just knew. 

Before you can even react to the sight in front of you, the alien is suddenly flying towards you. You let out a scream, Superman’s eyes going wide at the realization. The antagonist grabs you, holding you hostage against your arms. 

You open your mouth, but nothing escapes it—your body held siege by the stranger. The pressure of his hold was going to leave bruises. The strong grip had hurt, your body aching for release. There was something familiar about the blue eyes that bore right into yours, though. “Move and I kill, Superman.”

Clark doesn’t move a muscle.

He didn’t realize it was you until he saw the flow of the summer dress that you were wearing at work this morning from the corner of his eye. The fear in your own eyes made his Kryptonian heart palpitate, something taking hold in his heart. The raw dread that’s locked between his chest almost hurts. 

“Let her go.” 

He demanded—no, yelled. Panic was evident across his features. Not you.

Anyone but you. 

His hands started to tremble, and the mere thought of you being in danger had made his head spin. “Please.” 

The opponent laughed and lifted a hand. Before he could even do anything, Superman reacted. It was pure instinct—the one to protect you. If he can’t even protect those he loves, how is he going to protect those he doesn't? 

His fist knocks into the villain almost immediately—almost at the speed of light. He wasn’t even thinking, just fueling into action. His fist instantly connects with his cheek, and the super strength that occurred had made the villain fall back almost thirty feet, crashing through buildings in the wake.

Clark usually holds back—he’s generally able to hold back. But not this time. This time he couldn’t—not with the quick image in his head of your dead body splayed across the concrete. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

You could tell that Superman was ready to attack again, the way his stance seemed secure to the ground, but not before taking a quick glance at you. You were knocked to your feet, your body falling onto the concrete. You seem unscathed—so far. Just as Superman was about to fly toward the alien, his hearing catching the slight move of rubble, Green Lantern appeared.

He started attacking the alien, making gestures and putting on a little too much of an act—all while Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific were helping out. 

Clark felt himself relax a bit. He could focus on you—just for a little bit. 

“Are you okay, miss?”

You looked up—body still on the concrete. He offered you a hand, and you took it graciously. His hand was large and warm, one that you would expect from a superhero. He lifted you up almost effortlessly. 

“Thanks—uh, for that.” You swiped some dirt off of your dress. He couldn’t help but smile at your awkward appreciation. It was just so you. He could feel the butterflies rush through his chest, a stark contrast from the horror he felt earlier. 

“No problem. A-Anytime.” He coughed out. He felt awkward, not knowing how to handle the fact that he couldn’t envelop you in a hug right now. He was still checking for any injuries, to the point where he thought he should use his X-ray vision. Just in case. 

You didn’t say anything after, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline. You seemed to be still in shock, but there was also a part of you that was grateful. Had Superman not been there, had he not reacted like that—you knew you wouldn’t be here. Instead, Clark let his mouth run before his brain could catch it.

“You-you come here often?”

He wanted to kick himself, if he was being honest. That line, out of all of them? God, Clark, he thought, why don’t you hump her leg while you’re at it? He inwardly cringed—he did not plan for that to leave his mouth. 

“No thanks.” You said, so nonchalantly, like it was so casual.

His eyes widened. It shocked him. 

Everyone liked Superman, but you seemed unfazed. Grateful, sure, but still unfazed. It was honestly…refreshing for him. He knows he’s handsome—as Superman. He knows, but you always seem to surprise him. 

“I actually like someone you know.”

That intrigued him—made him tilt his head to the side. You almost squinted because that’s precisely what Clark does when he’s confused. 

“Oh? Who?” He was sweating, though. Because, what do you mean you like someone? 

“Clark.” He just blinked. Then blinked once more. Huh?

He thought for sure his heart had stopped. You mistook the blinking as unfamiliarity. “You know, the guy who interviews you? Does the six-five nerd who’s impossibly handsome ring a bell?”

You liked him. Clark. The purest version of his own self. The one where he doesn’t have to fake being brave and fearless all the time. No persona—no superhero powers, or god-like features. Just him. 

“So, I’m good. No need, Superman. I’m not interested.”

He just stared. You liked him—and he could hardly believe it. The guy whose favorite color is crayon red, the one who likes to garden—even has one on his patio. The guy who reads shitty mystery novels before bed and always has his tie on crooked.  

Superman is him. Superman is Clark, but no one seems to be fazed by Clark or give him the time of day. Sure, he enjoys that, the simple pleasures of life. But sometimes he just wants to be recognized as himself, not the superhero. 

You liked him.

His smile was bright. It was so bright that it even made your own breath hitch. He wore that smile proudly—like it could power the whole city with its glow. 

That’s what caught you off guard—that smile. 

You had gotten to work early. Maybe a little too early. 

You just didn’t want a repeat of last night, where staying too late in the evening meant you’d run into that big hunk of muscles again. It wasn’t that you disliked the man or anything, but now you’re worried. You were worried that Superman would tell Clark that you had turned down his advances and that you’re head over heels for the journalist instead. 

It was stupid—and probably irrational—but here you were. It made your heart beat a little too loudly. The pit of your stomach sank just a bit too much when the elevator dinged to the top floor. 

You just needed to rip the band-aid. You just needed to tell Clark you liked him before the red and blue man did. 

If only it were ever that simple, though. 

You only looked up for the 130th time when the elevators dinged, but this time it made your heart skip a beat. Clark rushes in—obviously late again—and clumsily avoids people in the bullpen. All the meanwhile, you are trying to be “busy” by just typing random words into your computer. 

You were definitely not watching Clark from the corner of your eye. 

Clark didn’t even go to his desk. Your eyes start to widen when you realize that he’s walking over to you. He ends up tripping—somehow—and while he catches himself this time, one hand on your desk—he is still as disheveled as ever. 

“Please? Can I talk to you? I really need to talk to you, uh, not here.” He rushes out the sentence so fast that you’re barely able to comprehend what he says. 

“What?”

He grabs your arm, which lifts you up from your chair in the process. “Clark—” He’s dragging you a bit, lightly and not harshly, but your body follows his. 

“I just, you know, really need to talk to you. Like now—like in private—Like—” And now you’re in a closet. You’re in a cramped, super tiny closet with Clark’s frame towering over you. His chest was heaving—his eyes sparkling with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

You were so close to touching. One move and his body would be flesh against yours. “Clark, I-”

You were interrupted by his lips on yours—the sound muffling against his lips. Your eyes widened, your head going backwards, but the closet prevented you from going anywhere. Once Clark realized what he had done, he made a noise. A cute noise. 

Clark immediately tears his lips off of yours, “Oh gosh, Oh no, I should’ve asked—I mean—I should’ve said—”

Now, he was interrupted. Your lips crashed on top of his—trying to catch up by being on your tippy toes. It works, though. Now, he’s stunned. 

It takes him a moment, just a small moment. But then he’s wrapping his big hands around your waist—warmth radiating off of him. The way his lips feel, on yours, feels as though they’ve always been there. The way his saliva is mixing with yours and the heat of his mouth is heavy on your skin.

It’s intoxicating. You never want to stop. He never wants to stop. He dips his head further, like he’s trying to get closer and closer to you, as if that’s even possible. Something snaps inside of you—the way he feels, the way he looks—it’s all too much. 

He’s the one to pull away first. He thought that maybe you needed some air. He could go for much longer, but he has non-human lungs. “Sweetheart?”

It was timid—like he was almost afraid to speak. You were looking at him so softly, so kindly, that it struck something inside of his chest. “Did Superman tell you?”

He laughed—the chuckling sound bouncing off the closet walls, and it made you feel so warm. “Yeah, he told me. I-I just couldn’t wait.” 

He knows he should probably tell you the truth. Soon, he will tell you the truth. For now, though, he’s content with your arms and his interlinked. “Good. I’m glad he did.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Meet the Sallows

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI Word count: ~2,800 Tags: reader insert, female reader, shameless smut, explicit sexual content, marriage, husband and wife, workplace sex, auror MC, auror Sebastian, jealous Sebastian, p in v, oral sex, no beta

Summary: You and your husband, Sebastian Sallow, are both Aurors for the Ministry of Magic. When the new hire fails to realize you're married, he shows interest in you, drawing jealousy from your husband.

Notes: No idea what this is -- just a tiny dose of some shameless workplace smut. 💖

Read below the cut.

The Auror Division of the Ministry of Magic is quiet this morning. Sebastian Sallow sits at his desk, twirling his wand in one hand while his nose is buried in a spellbook. His brow furrows as he considers the spell theories on the page while his partner, Everett Clopton, scribbles notes at the desk across from him. The pair continue in relaxed silence until the department door swings open.

Dennis Dimford, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, strides in followed by another man Sebastian doesn’t recognize.

“Sir,” Sebastian greets his boss with a nod.

“Morning, Sallow,” Dennis greets. “I want you to meet Theo Pemberley, our newest agent.”

Sebastian sizes up the new Auror, who looks to be about the same age, maybe a tad younger. He’s tall and handsome with dark hair and rich, brown eyes.

“Welcome,” Sebastian says politely as he extends a hand. “Pleased to have you aboard.”

“Great to be here,” Theo replies before he moves to greet Everett.

“You’ll meet the rest of the department later,” Dennis says. “Some of the other Aurors are out on assignment.”

It’s no more than twenty minutes later that you and your partner, Fiona McIntyre, return to the office, fresh off the takedown of a small poaching ring.

Theo notices you immediately. He watches as Dennis commends you and Fiona for your arrests before you fall into conversation with Sebastian at his desk. Fiona eyes Theo in amusement before she crosses the room to introduce herself to him, where he stands next to Everett.

“Who is that?” Theo asks, his stare lingering on you.

“Who?”

“Talking to Sebastian.”

Fiona blinks at him. “You mean Everett hasn’t told you?” she asks.

“Told me what?”

Fiona catches Everett’s eye before the corners of her lips threaten to tug upward in a discreet smirk. “Oh, nothing,” she says quickly. “I just thought someone would’ve introduced you to our best officer.”

“Hey, what about me?” Everett demands, drawing an eyeroll from Fiona. 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” she says to Theo, who follows her in earnest toward Sebastian’s desk. “Oi, this is-”

“Theo,” Theo cuts in with far too much gusto, his hand extended toward you eagerly. You smile kindly and shake it, offering him your first name. Neither of you notice the scowl that has settled across Sebastian’s features as he gazes up at you. “I hear you’re the best officer here,” Theo continues. He beams at you, his tall frame exuding confidence, but you detect the desire glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t let Sebastian hear you say that,” you joke, sneaking a glance at Sebastian who narrows his eyes at you. 

“Ah, a little friendly competition is good,” Theo laughs much too loudly. “Best if we can all keep each other on our toes.” His eyes meet yours. “I’d love to give you a run for your money.”

“I bet you would,” you muse before Dennis interrupts to debrief your recent assignment.

By lunch time, Sebastian has sternly decided he doesn’t like Theo, who has spent the entire morning chatting you up in an attempt to impress you. He tells you about his time in America, where he “single-handedly shut down a notorious trafficking ring,” and he swears he was top of his class at Durmstrang, where he was also captain of his quidditch team. He even motions you over to his desk, where he has displayed a framed photo of himself holding a silver trophy. 

You can practically see a vein protruding from Sebastian’s neck in irritation. It makes you want to keel over with laughter. Instead, you wait until your colleagues prepare to head out to grab lunch.

“Aren’t you coming?” Theo asks when he notices you still at your desk.

“Not this time,” you answer apologetically. “Sebastian and I have some case logs to file. We’ve been neglecting them for weeks.”

Fiona shoots you a knowing smile, which you choose to ignore. Meanwhile, Theo continues to frown at you. 

“Oh, come on,” he pleads. “A department lunch outing wouldn’t be right without its best officer. Besides, isn’t the entire point for us all to get to know each other better? I’d like to get to know you.”

You can hear Sebastian crack his knuckles beneath his desk. 

“Next time, I promise,” you say. 

You and Sebastian watch as the group files out the door. Once it snaps shut, you turn to look at Sebastian, who sits at the desk next to yours. You snort at his miffed expression.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Seb,” you tease. It’s an outright lie. Because jealousy actually looks quite good on him, and it’s making you grateful to have the office to yourselves.

“I’m not jealous!” Sebastian insists, drawing another laugh from you. He leans back in his chair, his long legs outstretched while he pouts at you with crossed arms. “Besides, you’re the one indulging that prat’s pitiful attempts at flirting.”

“I am not indulging him!” you laugh incredulously. “Sebastian, I haven’t done anything to indicate any interest in him. Don’t be delusional.”

“You could have told him you’re married,” Sebastian points out. 

“It’s not my fault he made assumptions,” you retort. 

“No, but you could have shut him down the second he latched on to you.”

“Oh, come on,” you laugh. “What did you want me to do, Seb, introduce myself with, ‘Hello, nice to meet you. I’m married, so please piss off?’”

“No, but you could have mentioned you’re Mrs. Sallow. Or you could wear your ring.”

“You don’t wear yours.”

Sebastian huffs and you smirk in triumph. Though the two of you have been married for two years, you made a mutual agreement not to wear your wedding rings while on the job, for the sake of each other’s safety.

Sebastian’s annoyed state is comical above all else, but it’s also endearing. You get it. You can’t say you’ve never been triggered by the pretty girls who eye your husband in passing, the ones who giggle and blush in hopes of drawing his attention. You want to hex them all the way to Marunweem.

But deep down, you and your husband have a mutual understanding that the two of you will always be the same kindred spirits you’ve been since the day you met. 

Still, you can’t help but stoke the flames, just a little.

“Seb, relax. Remember our agreement? You can’t keep a level head at work when you’re jealous of the new hire,” you tease.

“I’m not jealous!” Sebastian insists again. “I just don’t want some prat thinking he can move in on my wife.”

“He’s harmless,” you assure. “Besides, he isn’t here right now, is he? No one is.”

Sebastian’s eyes don’t soften, but they change; shifting from dark aggravation to dark desire. It’s not the first time the two of you have taken advantage of an empty office.

Sebastian stands, his desk chair scraping audibly across the marble floor before he steps toward you. He spins your desk chair around so that you’re facing him, his tall frame looming over you. Placing one hand on each arm of the chair, he slowly leans forward, bending at the waist until his face is an inch from yours.

“I’m going to remind you of your last name… Mrs. Sallow,” he says with malicious eyes. 

You think he’s going to press a kiss to your lips but instead he finds the sensitive patch of your neck. Your eyes fall shut and your shoulders relax immediately. 

His lips apply more pressure to your flesh but his hands are gentle as they graze the curves of your waistline. You can feel goosebumps peppering your arms when Sebastian sinks to his knees in front of you. He holds your gaze as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Sebastian-” you start, but he’s already bunching your skirt up, his lips pressing a trail of kisses from the tops of your knees to your thighs. You shift in your seat.

Sebastian’s mouth ghosts over your covered entrance, choosing to instead kiss the crease of your thigh. You chew your bottom lip in anticipation.

“Still thinking about that oaf Theo?” Sebastian asks.

You huff in annoyance. “Sebastian, I only just met him. I couldn’t care less about him.”

“Seems like you enjoyed the attention from him.”

“Seems like you’re still mental.”

“I’ll show you mental.”

Sebastian edges a finger into the crotch of your panties to pull them aside and you hold your breath. It releases when you feel his tongue dart across your clit. He sucks gently against it until he holds his tongue there, applying wet pressure that forces a moan from you.

The chair creaks as you push your hips forward. Sebastian hums in approval.

“Any doubts of who your husband is now?” he asks.

“N-no,” you pant, desperate for more. Sebastian barks a laugh, his breath sending vibrations across your cunt that make your thigh muscles tense. 

“Like that?”

“Sebastian, please-”

His tongue flattens and rolls against your clit and you choke on a moan. Your hands end up in his hair, the pads of your fingertips pressing into his scalp in a subconscious plea for more, more, more.

Sebastian obliges you. His tongue drags, pulls, presses and prods until your back is arching and your hips are lifting off the chair. He uses one arm to hold you down, pinning your thigh to the chair as you squirm beneath him with labored breaths.

His tongue drags searing patterns over your clit until he uses it to spell out S-A-L-L-O-W. You're none the wiser, but he smirks against your glistening flesh.

When you finally break, you whimper. Sebastian’s tongue sends a jolt through your nerve endings. It folds you in half, doubling you over as the ripples pulse across your cunt. Sebastian continues, his hands holding you down as his tongue works you through your release until you finally crumple backward in the chair, breathless and flushed.

Sebastian sits back on his heels to admire his work. 

“That better be all for me,” he says as he eyes your soaked entrance. He presses one final swift kiss to your clit, forcing you to inhale sharply from the sensitivity, before he returns to his feet. “Doubt Theo would know what to do with all that anyway.”

“Sebastian, shut up about Theo and fuck me,” you snap. It draws a long, pitchy cackle from him.

“That’s better,” he coos, his eyes cloudy with arousal. He extends a hand to help you to your feet before his arms snake around your waist. “Ready to come again for me soon?” he murmurs in your ear as his erection presses against your stomach. Your core clenches as if it’s ready to welcome his cock.

“Please.”

Sebastian leans in for a long, slow kiss. It dredges up the filthiest thoughts inside your mind until you’re fisting the front of his shirt in desperation.

Your hands begin to unfasten his belt but he stops you, his eyes indicating he has something else in mind. He backs you away from your desk, guiding you backward until you realize he’s steering you to Theo’s.

“You’re evil,” you muse when your thighs meet the edge of the desk.

“It’s his own fault,” Sebastian notes. “This is as close as he’s getting to my wife.”

He lifts you onto the desk, your legs dangling from the ledge as he stands between them. He peels your panties down and pushes your skirt back up before he removes his own trousers. His cock is so hard, it looks damn near painful to you.

You reach for Sebastian to drape your arms around his neck as he steps closer to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his torso and you can feel his cock prodding against your thigh. Sebastian guides it to your folds and smirks at the anticipation in your eyes.

“What’s got you all wet, darling?” he teases. You narrow your eyes at him and he nudges the tip of his cock inside of you. He pauses to watch your arousal pool around his shaft until he sinks further inside to the hilt. You moan in his ear. He thrusts into you with a slow and steady rhythm first, holding you close until he can feel your walls squeezing around him.

“Lay back,” he orders. “I want to remember this sight.”

You obey, resting back on your elbows for support as you watch Sebastian pull back to glide the tip of his drenched cock over your clit. He teases you with it until his own resolve breaks and he pushes himself back inside your cunt. His hands snap to your hips to hold you in place while he rocks, his cock prodding through your plush walls until you can feel the familiar, delicious pressure swelling.

The desk scrapes over the floor and you’re grateful Theo has yet to add much to it, the framed photo of him and his trophy the only decor on the desktop. Sebastian slams into you until the frame topples over. The sound of its clatter is quickly replaced by the sounds of your slick union. 

“You’re so fucking good,” Sebastian groans. “Can’t believe I get to call you my wife.” He juts his hips for emphasis over the last word, his cock driving upward into the sensitive, spongy spot that makes your walls threaten to release. It feels so good your elbows give out, leaving you flat on your back, your legs hooked around Sebastian as he remains determined to ruin you.

You clench your cunt as you toe the edge of your peak, Sebastian’s name spilling from your lips amid a string of obscenities. Your nails dig into the top of the wood desk until the strain inside your walls snaps, igniting your hard climax. Your walls throb around Sebastian’s cock while you cry out, panting and gasping over the sensation rippling through your core. 

Sebastian swears loudly as the sight of you submitting to your orgasm consumes him, igniting a twitch across his cock until he’s spilling inside you. He continues to thrust through his groans and grunts until he can watch himself pour from your entrance. 

“Fucking hell,” he growls as he eyes the aftermath. Meanwhile, you remain on your back, your legs now swinging from the edge of the desktop as your husband admires your fucked out form.

The desktop suddenly feels cool and you sit up, your post-orgasm haze making your vision hazy until the room tilts into clear view.

“Alright?” Sebastian asks. You can’t help but shoot him a look and he smirks. “Thought so.”

You roll your eyes at him as you stand and fix your clothing while Sebastian fiddles with the buckle of his belt. 

“You’re blowing this Theo thing way out of proportion,” you note as you smooth the fabric of your skirt. 

“Maybe,” Sebastian says with a shrug, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets as he strides toward his desk. He leans against the edge of it, arms folded across his chest as he smirks. “But it was worth it.”

“Except now we’ve missed lunch,” you whine.

“We can get you something from the food cart in the lobby,” Sebastian says just as your colleagues return to the office, chatting animatedly and none the wiser to your activities – except Fiona, who wiggles her eyebrows at you in accusation. You shrug at her as Theo heads straight toward you.

“Get all your work done?” he asks.

“Definitely got some work done,” Sebastian quips from his chair. You shoot him a stern look and he flashes his canines at you.

“How was your lunch?” you ask Theo politely.

“Brilliant,” he replies. “Would have been better if you’d come along.”

You open your mouth to reply when Fiona calls, “Oi! Sallow!” from across the room.

“What?” you and Sebastian both answer in unison.

Theo blinks at you, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Sebastian in surprise.

“Wait,” he says. “Sallow? Your last name is Sallow too?”

“Aye, it is,” Sebastian answers for you. He rises slowly and deliberately to his feet, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife and I are going to grab something to eat.”

He takes your hand and leads you toward the door as Theo watches with wide eyes and an open jaw.

[pigeons4brains]

Chance x Reader Headcanons !!

Heyoo!!! Sorry for uh.. procrastinating on this LMFAO I've been busy with irl stuffs

Mainly tooth rotting fluff with sprinkles of angst

N E WAYS First batch of Headcanons are heeeree, as soon as this is posted, I'll be working on the Itrapped x reader headcanons, I also have been considering Two Time as well, but we'll see.

Cw// mentions of alcohol consumption & smoking, gambling (duh), Kissing, lots of it, Mentions of SH and burns, showering together??? Idk I felt like I had to tag this just in case, it's not NSFW, but it's there. And periods.

Reader is GN, and will be referred to as Partner, ect

Forgive me if I get anything incorrect about Chance, we have like...CRUMBS about them, so most of this is canon divergent??? I think that's the correct term I dunno.

He/they prns on Chance, but They're Afab, cause I said so come at me ☝️ reader is refered to as Partner, no pronouns are specifically stated. This is mainly pre-forsaken, so sorry if you wanted present Chance 😔

I lowkey wrote this while playing Limbus Company...I got a tad bit distracted

Like always, not beta read, and please feel free to remind me of anything+ let me know if I forgot to tag anything!

Had my oomf help me with some of these, thank you very much oomfieee🙏 , like the Telamon one, the ones they allowed me to steal(/j) will be colored differently!

Incredibly self indulgent 🤫

• Smells like a mixture of smoke and that one specific type of cologne that's stronger than you'd like.

• he'll swap the cologne for something easier on the nose occasionally, but the smell of cigarettes lingers

• they're not a heavy smoker, he does smoke (much to your annoyance), but rarely. the cigarette smell actually comes from the casino.

• occasionally does drink as well, but never really gets drunk, especially in public, even then he just sleeps it off if they're home. (A little bit on this later)

• Stupidly loyal, it's actually his downfall.

• If he IS drunk in public, he WILL hang onto you, definitely half asleep, but still sober enough to not fall on his face. If ANYONE , no matter who it is, friend, patron, ect, they Will immediately go "nooo I'm taken..." Or "noo I have a partner"

• loyal no matter what I'm jus sayin🤫

• hand and waist holding. Lots of it

• they are a SUCKER for physical touch, loves kissing you on the cheek, hand, neck ect.

• Has you close to him whenever he gambles, considers you their 'extra lucky charm', as if they don't have enough luck already.

• also wraps an arm around your shoulders

• big snuggler, while not the big spoon 60% of the time, they will not let you go once they pass out for the night.

• they're an incredibly heavy sleeper, good luck.

• mouth breather + drools in his sleep, snores, a long with talking in their sleep.

• but hey, for the price of a nice cuddle session...better hope you fall asleep before he does

• The most golden eyes ever holy shit please wear some brown contacts/j

• He doesn't realize it, but they love it when you in particular praise him, it feels more genuine, he's not stupid when other people do so, all that does is feed their confidence in their skill, but when you, his lovely partner, compliments them, he melts.

• 100% gets all giddy and giggly (grown ahh he/they bro/j).

• they are full of love but don't know how to show oughhh utterly pathetic in a really cute way for his partner.

• Chance burns himself with his cigarettes when especially stressed, or feeling extremely down.

• in my oomfs words "Not even my special interest can get me out of this one"

• you comfort them whenever you catch him doing this, it's a nasty habit he has.

• Chance, before meeting you, had plain old suits, but after meeting you, before you even got together he'd dress up in more lavish and colourful suits to impress you.

• basically, a bird, a really odd bird. Specifically a peakcock

• really cheesy with dates, so cheesy it's cute, he's a hopeless romantic without even knowing.

• loves you so much their chest hurts.

• LOSER....in a good and affectionate way.

• spoils you an unbelievable amount, even if you decline it, they're buying you a gift the money you show interest in something.

• Gift giving in general is another big love language (easily gets taken over by physical touch)

• Likes seeing you use/wear the gifts he gives you, makes him blush like an idiot.

• an awful kisser, inexperienced even.

• first kiss ended in giggles and jokes from both sides, he knows he's bad at kissing, but is willing to get better if it's with you

• god I hate this dude man/affectionate

• Is a surprisingly good cook, not 5 star chef level, but knows how to make a pretty good meal (he enjoys cooking as well)

• likes bell peppers. Yeah idk dawg he just likes em

• Will be the cook of the relationship, will cook anything available that you ask them to.

• wears a kiss the chef apron (oh I'm kissing that chef alright.)

• oomf adds on "the chef part is crossed out. Its kiss the GAMBLER"

• not a morning person, but likes waking up early to make themselves coffee (will prepare you some if you like coffee, if not, will most likely have some juice or water available for you if you don't want up with him)

• Kisses you good morning while holding onto you from behind, kissing your cheek.

• yes, sometimes you two shower together, but nothing really happens, it's just a really nice and relaxing shower.

• you're one of the few people they trust to watch over Spade

• that rabbit is his BABY and deserves the best

• spoils Spade just as much as he spoils you, and yes, the bunny does snuggle with you two. It's a cute sight.

• Help him do his tie in the morning and they will give you a big ol kiss

• the kiss doesn't last long, as he's a busy fella, but the kiss is sweet enough to give one a cavity.

• have I mentioned how much he loves you? Yeah? Well Theres a reminder hehe

• if your Afab, your periods are definitely synced, so you two help each other out with that, if you're amab, then they appreciate it when you help him out with his period.

• Now HE'S the one getting spoiled (he enjoys being pampered, they often don't allow themselves to indulge much)

[flyingbanananas]

What Pops Wants Is What He Gets (Marco x Reader)

It starts with Whitebeard making an offhand comment about wanting a grandchild. Most of the crew laughs it off, but you and Marco don’t. Turns out, you’re both more than willing to follow through.

If Pops wants a grandkid, you’ll give him one. Together.

_____

A/N: Special thanks to @hannahbarberra162 for proofreading and helping me adjust details related to the pregnancy. I’ve included nearly every idea you were willing to share with me. 💕

_____

~ 8.000 words I Part 3/3 << Previous Part

Every book you read about pregnancy tells you the second trimester would be easier with no more nausea, fewer mood swings, and a magical new glow to carry you through.

Yeah, right.

You’re still nauseous every morning. Still gagging at random smells. And with the extra weight settling in your hips and back, you feel less like yourself every day.

“I don’t want to be pregnant anymore,” you mutter, stabbing your fruit with unnecessary force.

Marco’s sitting beside you at the breakfast table, but it’s not just him who reacts. Thatch freezes mid-sip of his tea. Izou lifts a brow from across the table. Even Ace glances over, mid-chew, suddenly interested. Marco barely flinches. He just starts rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back, calm as ever. “You said that yesterday, yoi.”

You groan at his comment and swat his hand away from you. “You don’t get to say that to me. You’re the reason why I’m pregnant in the first place. So, this is all your fault.”

“Technically,” Marco hums, “you were pretty enthusiastic about the process.”

Your glare sharpens. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

He smiles into his coffee mug like he’s got all the time in the world. “I’m just saying, you didn’t exactly complain at the time.”

“Marco.”

His name comes out flat, warning, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just exhaustion. Then, your shoulders sag. “I’m tired. I’m tired all the time. And I don’t feel like me anymore.”

For a moment, you all just sit there in silence until you let out another low groan and finally push the plate of fruit away from you. The several slices of melon, apple, and banana have never looked more unappetizing to you, because you didn’t want fruit in the first place. Hell, you don’t want anything right now. But not eating? Not really an option and you know that.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Marco lifting a brow. His mouth starts to open probably to suggest you eat just a little more, but before he can say anything, Thatch abruptly shoves his chair back with a loud screech.

“I can’t look at you anymore,” he suddenly declares, throwing his hands in the air. “You look like you’re two seconds away from crying, and I swear if you cry, I’m gonna cry, and then we’re all gonna be a mess before nine in the morning.”

You blink, startled, as he points an accusing finger at your plate like it personally offended him.

“You feel terrible? Okay, I’m sorry but I can’t do anything to help you with that. You don’t like fruit for breakfast? Now, that’s something I can certainly change.” He scoffs and then grins at you like he knows he’ll be your hero. “Tell me what you really want. Something greasy? Fried? Oily and horrible for you?”

You hesitate, lips trembling, and for a second everyone goes quiet.

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes tearing up. “Please.”

Thatch softens immediately. “There we go,” he says, already walking toward the kitchen. “Finally, someone gets you, huh? Sit tight, Mama, I got you. I’m making the worst possible breakfast the galley’s got to offer. Deep fried and served with no judgment.”

You sniffle and nod, wiping your cheek with your sleeve. “Thank you, Thatch. I love you.”

He pauses for half a second, then grins like he just won something. His posture straightens, puffed up with pride, before he turns on his heel and heads to the kitchen with an exaggerated bounce in his step.

Not only you, but Ace too, still chewing the last bite of his breakfast, watches Thatch go. But compared to your grateful eyes he’s watching him go with a squint. Then his eyes slowly shift back to you. Then to Marco. Then to you again.

Suddenly something’s clearly clicking into place in his head.

“Wait a sec…,” he mutters and then sets his fork down, stands abruptly, and points between you and the kitchen. “So, we can just… do stuff? Help out? We don’t have to wait for Marco to handle everything because he’s the baby daddy?”

Marco raises a brow, amused. “No one’s stopping you, yoi.”

Ace blinks like that thought had never occurred to him.

“I’m getting cushions,” he announces suddenly. “You’ve been sitting like that for twenty minutes and no one’s even thought about your poor back.”

“Ace…” You try to protest, but before you can even get more than his name out, he’s already halfway across the room, somehow finding a few seat cushions and returning with an armful of a mismatched variety.

“C’mon,” he says, crouching beside you. “Lean forward a little, I’m making this throne-worthy. You’re practically royalty now. Is that good? Warm? Do you need a blanket too? A footrest?”

You laugh, startled and touched and kind of overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. It warms your chest, cracks something open in you that’s been tight all morning. The ache in your back eases. So does the pressure behind your eyes. Not just because you’re more comfortable, but because Ace is trying so hard.

“I love this,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “You’re all so—”

“Delivery!” Thatch announces proudly as he kicks the galley door open with his hip, arms full of plates piled high with fried, greasy goodness: fried potatoes, greasy eggs, and something that smells like bacon even if it doesn’t look like it. “I brought enough for a small army or just you, depending on how you're feelin’ today.”

Your mouth waters.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “I love you even more now.”

Thatch instantly beams. “I knew it!”

However, before you can reach for your fork, Ace is already sliding one into your hand. “You shouldn’t have to reach for things. You just point and we’ll bring it to you.”

“I’m pregnant, not royalty,” you mumble around a mouthful of fried potatoes.

You giggle again, your shoulders finally relaxing. For once, no one’s telling you to eat more fruit or get some air or lie down. No one’s giving you ‘that look’, the one that says you’re glowing, while you secretly want to scream.

No, this? This is exactly what you needed.

You’re humming, enjoying each bite of your food, not even realizing that Marco pulls out your usual vitamin drop to hand it to you. “Here, you should…”

“I got it!” Ace suddenly swoops in, snatching the little bottle before Marco can finish. “She shouldn’t have to interrupt her breakfast for that. I make sure she’s taking her vitamins once she’s done.”

“Okay,” Marco’s lips press together even so slightly, just for a second, but he lets it go. As long as you get what your body needs it doesn’t matter who provides it for you, right? Right?

So, he continues to watch you enjoying your breakfast until Marco eventually tries again, quietly refilling your glass of water and setting it down beside you, just in case. But Izou immediately nudges it aside and replaces it with a cup of ginger tea. “Here, drink this. It helps with nausea.”

Marco pauses, hand still hovering where the glass had been, then slowly pulls back. You, however, don’t even notice. Moreover, you’re glowing now, but not because of hormones, but because your brothers are surrounding you with more love than you know what to do with. You’re smiling, you’re laughing, you’re eating like a champion.

And Marco?

Well, Marco watches from his place beside you, hands shoved loosely in his pockets, smile soft but just slightly distant. You’re not clinging to his arm today. Not leaning into him with that exhausted sigh. You’re not curling into his chest with tears prickling your lashes like you have the past few mornings, complaining about nausea.

No… Now you’re held up by ten pillows and three brothers determined to out-care him.

And it stings a little.

Not because Marco wants the spotlight, but because he’s always been the one to soothe you. The one to hold you through the rough parts of pregnancy. The one you leaned on when it was too heavy and scary to carry alone.

But now? Now they’ve got you and it looks like you’re finally okay… like they managed to accomplish something in a few minutes what Marco hasn’t managed to do in over a month.

So, he exhales through his nose, the sound almost a sigh, but then your laughter rings out again, light and unburdened, and the sting in his chest dulls. Then Marco steps back, picks up his coffee, and lets himself fade into the background, leaving the table to head to his office.

If this is what it takes to make you smile again… then yeah. He’ll take it. Even if it means giving up center stage.

And just like that the morning passes in a blur of food, laughter, and too many napkins, but eventually, the whirlwind slows and the crew members drift back to their routines. The galley clears out and this is when you notice that Marco isn’t beside you anymore.

So, later that day, you find him in his office, seated behind his desk with a pen in hand and a stack of reports untouched in front of him. You didn’t even bother to knock before opening the door, leaning in the doorway next, arms crossed lightly over your belly.

“Do you have a moment? We have a check-up today,” you say, your voice soft. “Remember?”

Instantly Marco looks up, blinking like he’s been pulled out of deep thought. Then he nods and rises without question, setting the pen down. “Right. Of course.”

You’ve done this check-up more times than you can count always in the same little medbay in his office so that you don’t have to head to the infirmary and have some privacy while Marco makes sure you and the baby are doing okay.

Marco helps you onto the cushioned bench like he always does, his hands steady at your waist. Like always, you joke that you’re fine and don’t need help. And like always, he ignores that and does it anyway.

Then he runs through the basics first. Pulse. Blood pressure. Temperature. Then he presses two fingers to your wrist again, slower this time. This is how he notices that even though your heartbeat is steady, your breathing isn’t.

“You’re anxious again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing gently over your pulse point.

You nod. “I don’t know why. Everything’s fine, right?”

Marco moves to the side of the bench and picks up a small listening device amplified for low frequencies. He warms the end of it between his palms before placing it gently on your belly.

A few seconds of silence… but then there’s a steady, rhythmic thump. The baby’s heart, strong and clear.

“There,” he says softly, eyes still on you. “Everything’s okay, yoi.”

You nod again, but your hand drifts toward him on instinct, searching for that grounding moment you always share. Only this time… you hesitate, fingers hovering just short of his.

“Marco, can I ask you something?” you say quietly, not looking at him now. “Why did you leave breakfast earlier today?” Marco goes still beside you, so you continue. “You didn’t say anything. You just… left.”

His silence is calm, but it stretches too long before he finally answers. “I just figured everyone else had it covered. I didn’t want to get in the way, yoi.”

This causes your brows to knit, and your hand finally finds his, your fingers curling gently around his. “You’re never in the way, Marco.”

Marco exhales slowly, shoulders easing a little at your touch. “Well, you were laughing… You weren’t miserable for once, yoi. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You think you’d ruin it just by being there?” You ask surprised.

He, however, simply shrugs, but there’s no real indifference in the gesture. “It felt like they were doing a better job today.”

You frown, your grip on his hand tightening. “You do a better job every day. They’re just filling in the gaps and helping out. No one could replace you... I mean this is just as much your child as it is mine. You’re the baby’s dad and I’m so glad to have you by my side through all of this.”

His gaze finally meets yours. However, Marco doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you with that intensity you know so well. But then, softly, he says. “I must admit, yoi. I like being the one you lean on.”

You squeeze his hand. “You still are.”

For a moment longer Marco’s hand stays curled around yours, warm and steady. You’ve held it so many times by now, but today… It feels different. Not because he’s doing anything new, but because you are… because something’s shifted, and you feel it in the way your heart’s beating just a little too fast, not from nerves, however, or worry but… butterflies.

But then it happened… It happens so suddenly you almost yelp—a sharp, unexpected jab deep in your lower belly that makes you double over slightly. The breath punches out of you, and your hand instinctively presses to the spot.

Marco’s head snaps toward you, eyes going wide. “What? What’s wrong?”

You suck in air through your teeth, still half-wincing. “I… hang on…” Your brow furrows, trying to make sense of it. “That… that wasn’t like before. It wasn’t a cramp, it was…”

Another jolt, softer this time but still enough to make your eyes widen. Your mouth drops open. “Oh my god. Marco. I think the baby just kicked.”

He blinks at you like he’s making sure you’re not joking. “Kicked?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice a mix of shock and disbelief. “Like… actually kicked.” A laugh slips out, shaky and incredulous. “That’s so weird.”

You grab his hand before he can say anything, pressing his palm to your stomach. “Here. Wait, just… don’t move.”

For once, Marco is silent. He leans in slightly, brows drawn, every bit of him tuned to the feel of your skin under his hand. You can sense the restraint in him and the way his fingers twitch like he wants to rub soothing circles but is afraid to miss it.

And then… thump

You feel it. He feels it.

Marco blinks, lips parting just slightly as he processes it. His hand doesn’t flinch, but it tightens a little like he’s grounding himself in the moment. Then he glances at you, voice barely above a whisper. “That was them?”

You nod, smiling at him in a way you didn’t plan. “I guess they wanted to say hi.”

Marco lowers his gaze again, watching his hand on your stomach. He rubs slow, careful circles with his thumb, eyes soft. “I wasn’t sure I’d feel it like this,” he murmurs. “I thought it’d happen when you’re surrounded by the crew… or I’d miss it.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he leans in, brushing his forehead against yours, a small breath escaping him as the baby kicks again, gentler this time. “Their strong already… like their mama.”

You smile, eyes sparkling. “Mmm, I don’t know about that.”

Marco lifts an eyebrow, so you continue.

“Well, it’s the way they’re already fighting in there, kicking and punching and causing chaos,” You pause, a soft grin tugging at your lips. “That’s a clear sight that their just like their daddy.”

Marco huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as he leans down a little close enough that his lips are just above your stomach.

“Hey,” he whispers to the bump, voice low and fond. “Settle down in there, alright? Don’t go hurting your mama.” Another kick answers him, softer this time and more like a nudge. So, Marco chuckles. “Stubborn already, yoi.”

You thread your fingers through is hair, heart full. “Yeah… that’s definitely your kid.”

For a long moment, Marco stays like this, but eventually he sits down next to you, one hand still resting against your belly as he watches the spot where the baby last kicked. His expression is soft, eyes even a little distant now like something’s unfolding behind them.

You hesitate but then put your hand over his, still catching your breath from the moment. Everything feels warmer and lighter like some invisible weight has suddenly shifted. And then, after a pause, Marco speaks quietly like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask.

“Have you…” He trails off, then lifts his eyes to yours. “Have you thought about names yet?”

You blink, a little surprised by the question.

“I mean,” he continues, a little sheepishly. “It’s not urgent. I just figured maybe you had something in mind already. You’re good at that kind of thing.”

Your brows lift, amused. “Naming things?”

“You named your cactus ‘Commander Spikes’, yoi.”

You grin. “And he’s still alive. That’s a whole success story.”

Marco smiles at that, but his gaze flicks back down to your belly again, somehow more thoughtful now. So, you hesitate and then finally admit. “I’ve thought about it a little. Mostly late at night, when I can’t sleep and the baby’s doing somersaults.”

He hums. “Yeah?”

“Only a few,” you add. “And I haven’t settled on anything. I don’t know if I want something traditional or something… weird… pirate-y… something strong.”

Marco tilts his head slightly. “Or something soft… something meaningful”

You look at him and he promptly elaborates. “Doesn’t have to sound like a fighter,” he says, thumb brushing gently across your belly. “Just something that feels like them.”

You fall quiet, tilting your head and watching him. “You’ve already got a name in mind, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer at first. He just lets the silence settle for a moment, his thumb brushing slowly across your skin and then he speaks again. “I was thinking… It’s a boy…”

He hesitates.

Your smile softens. “Marco.”

He lifts his eyes to meet yours, and there’s something uncharacteristically unsure in them, even if his voice is calm when he finally says it: “… we could name him after Pops.”

You blink, stunned quiet for a second.

“Edward,” he adds gently. “Doesn’t have to be his full name. It could be a middle name or a variation… just something to keep a part of him with us.”

The words land heavy, but not in a bad way. They settle deep in your chest like a warm weight, like something sacred. You swallow, eyes stinging a little. “You never said you were thinking about that.”

Marco shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t want to push it. But… he means a lot to both of us. And I think…” He pauses. “I think because he started all of this… it would be nice to make sure he knows he’s always part of our family one way or another… no matter what the future holds.”

You’re quiet again, one hand sliding over your belly, the other holding his still.

“Edward,” you repeat softly. The name feels warm in your mouth. “I love that.”

Marco doesn’t say anything at first, but the way his eyes soften, says enough. Then he leans in, brushing a kiss against your temple. “And if it’s a girl… We’ll find the right name too, yoi.”

You chuckle, the sound light and full of warmth. “Before Ace calls dubs and names her little flamethrower.”

Marco huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “He would,” he mutters.

“He absolutely would.”

“He’s probably already got a list,” Marco adds next dryly. “All fire-related. Blaze, Ember, Scorch…”

“Something tells me that he’ll call our child one of those names no matter what their actual name will be.” You then laugh again, and the baby gives another soft nudge under Marco’s hand like they’re joining in on the joke.

Marco pauses instantly, eyes flicking down the where he feels the movement. Then, without thinking, he leans down and brushes a kiss right where the baby kicked.

“No matter what your name will be,” he says softly, barely above a whisper, “you’ve already got a whole crew waiting to spoil you rotten, yoi.”

For a moment, you and Marco stay like this, letting the soft moment wrap around you two. But eventually Marco eases his hand from your belly and straightens, his palm naturally finding your arm next.

“Let’s get you down, yoi,” he says softly. “Nice and easy.”

You nod, letting him guide you off the examination bench. Just like always his hands are sure and steady, not rushing you in any way or form, like he’s done this a thousand times already. And once your feet touch the floor, he lingers a moment longer, making certain you’re balanced before letting you move.

Then, together you step out into the corridor and soon up toward the deck. The warmth of the sun greets you first, warming your face instantly, followed by the briny sea air. However, you barely take five steps before chaos aka. your brothers finds you.

“Cold drink?” Thatch appears out of thin air with a glass of cold water, already handing it over to you without waiting for your answer. The cold and slightly wet glass is cooling your fingers and when you look into the bright smile of Thatch’s face you can’t bring yourself to deny the offered drink.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, even taking a small sip.

And while you take another small sip you suddenly see them – Ace, walking over with a blanket, Izou carrying a parachute, and Vista with more fruit. Hell no. This is already too much.

So, you glance over to Marco, who remains by your side but looks at his brothers with a disapproval in his eyes like he already knows that you appreciate the effort, but would rather have some time to yourself. Then his eyes find you. “You’re okay, yoi?”

“Yes,” you reply with a soft smile and put the water down on a nearby crate. “But I was thinking of spending the afternoon in a quieter place not surrounded by our brothers.”

Marco hums nodding like he knows just the right place. “I might have an idea…” You open your mouth to ask for more details, but then you see his gaze shift upwards. Naturally, you follow it and it lands on… the crow's nest.

“You’re sure?”

“No one would bother you there, yoi.”

For a beat, both of you just look at each other, but with each second passing the others are coming closer and closer with all their well-meaning words and actions that slowly threaten to suffocate you.

“Alright, let’s go up there,” you nod, but before you can take a step towards the mass, Marco crouches down beside you and gestures to you to get on his back.

“Jump on, sweetheart.”

Before you can question it, blue flames burst around him with a soft

whoosh

. His entire form changes in an instant, human legs stretching into talons, arms sweeping outwards into blue wings, but what remains his the smug glint in his eyes even in his complete phoenix form.

“Marco? Wait. You want me to… ride you?”

He makes a quiet cuffing sound that sounds like almost a laugh, and then he nudges you closer to him with his wind like he’s telling you to hop on and trust him.

“You’re insane,” you chuckle softly and shake your head, reaching out to take hold and preparing yourself to swing you on his back without bumping your pregnancy belly against him.

And that’s when you hear it.

“Oh my god, I think he’s gonna fly her!” Ace’s voice cracks like a teenager hitting puberty. “SOMEONE STOP HIM!!”

Okay, you should hurry up a bit. Carefully you climb onto Marco’s back, gripping the thick, warm feathers at the base of his neck. He’s hot but soft, his feathers surprisingly plush under your fingers.

“Marco,” you whisper, leaning low. “Just don’t fly too fast. If I fall –“

Fwoosh!

And as the world drops and grows smaller, the deck below explodes into screams.

“MARCOOO!” Ace bellows, sprinting across the deck like he is chasing you and Marco even though he can’t reach you. “SHE’S PREGNANT! SHE’S PREGNANT!!”

“Oh god… PUT HER BACK!” Thatch is spinning in place, waving his hands like a madman. “YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR GOD DAMN MIND!”

“Marco I swear –!” Izou’s voice is sharp, though his hand is already on his face in exasperation. “If she so much as slips, you’re a dead man!”

With each second the chorus of chaos rises below you, but all you can do is laugh bright and unrestrained. Meanwhile, the wind rushes against your face as Marco glides higher and higher. And this is when you notice that this is the first time in a very long time that you don’t have an aching back or suffocating exhaustion.

Still, below Ace’s voice carries over to you again. “IF YOU DROP HER, I’M TELLING POPS! FUCK IT! I’M TELLING HIM RIGHT NOW!!”

And then you feel how Marco tilts his wings, slowing into a careful, smooth glide toward the crow’s nest. Then he lands so gently it barely feels like a bump.

Next, you slide off his back with care, your legs a little shaky from excitement, and the moment your feet touch the wood, he transforms back into his human form, blue flames curling off his skin as he returns. He’s instantly steadying you putting one hand around your waist while the other instinctively slides to your belly.

You’re still laughing, slightly breathless. “That… was exactly what I needed.”

“I’m glad I could provide, yoi,” he says softly, his usual small, warm smile curving his lips.

This is when you face him fully, your heart light and bubbling over, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out. “You know, I’m really glad you’re the father.”

Marco freezes for just a heartbeat, eyes softening in the sunlight. Then his arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you closer. But eventually, you hear him murmur low and sincere into your ear. “I’m really glad too.”

You smile hearing that. “I’m glad to hear that. You know, with you I really think I can conquer this pregnancy just fine.”

__________________

Only a few months later things seem to not be the same anymore. The sun’s too bright, the ship’s moving too much, and someone’s laughing on deck makes you want to throw them overboard.

But instead of giving in to the urge you lean over the railing and throw up into the sea.

Pff, morning sickness… what a joke. This is more like a 24/7 sickness now and being on a god damn ship doesn’t help the situation one bit. Now you don’t even need a calendar to know that you truly are in third-trimester hell.

But through all of this, a warm hand rests between your shoulder blades, steady and rubbing slow circles. Moreover, Marco’s voice is low by your ear. “Breath, yoi.”

You, however, just grip the railing a bit tighter and spit down. “I am breathing.”

He hums like he’s heard this a hundred times, and he probably has. You’d bite the head off anyone else who tried to tell you to calm down, but he’s the only one you can stand right now.

Still, you take a deep breath because if you don’t you’ll probably fall over, but it comes out in short, shallow pulls. Your hair sticks to your face. Marco brushes it back, fingers careful not to tug, then keeps his hand there like he’s holding you together.

And this is when you hear footsteps approaching you from the side.

“Hey…” Ace’s voice. He’s been on the railing a few yards away, coiling a length of line, and now he’s edging closer, rope still looped in his hands. “You’re okay?”

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “Do I look okay?”

He hesitates, eyes flicking from you to Marco before returning to you. “…No.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Ace freezes for a beat, then wisely decides to walk away, muttering something under his breath as he hauls his rope to the opposite side of the deck.

The nausea fades enough for you to straighten. Marco shifts with you, one hand sliding to your arm like he’s ready if you stumble. You take the water skin he offers, swish, spit, and drink.

“This better be worth it,” you mutter, wiping your mouth.

His mouth tips at one corner. “Sure, sweetheart. Now, let’s get you in the shade before you throw up again, alright?”

“Okay,” you agree and allow him to guide you away from the railing. However, the deck somehow feels even more crowded now with too many people moving in every direction.

Your steps are slow, uneven. The skin around your ankles feels hot and tight, each step pulling a little throb up your calves. Marco adjusts his pace to match yours, steering you around a barrel without a word.

“Y’know,” he says finally, voice light but pointed, “you didn’t have to snap at Ace.”

You sigh through your nose, eyes fixed ahead. “I know.”

It’s not like you want to be mean to him. Or anyone else. But lately, it’s like there’s a fuse burning under your skin—you’re pissed at everything and nothing all at once, and it takes barely anything to light you up.

Thankfully Marco doesn’t push. Just keeps walking beside you, palm warm against your back, like he knows that right now, that’s all you really need.

He leads you into a patch of shade near the mainmast, where a couple of crates sit empty. You lower yourself onto one with a sound that’s half relief, half complaint. Your legs stretch out in front of you, swollen ankles glaring in the daylight.

And that’s when you notice one of your shoelaces has come undone.

You lean forward to tie it, but your bump pushes into your thighs, and your arms can’t quite reach without squeezing the air out of your lungs. You try a second time, grunting, but it’s useless.

Suddenly a low chuckle rumbles beside you. “Need a hand, yoi?”

You shoot him a look. “I’m fine.”

Another failed attempt later, Marco’s already crouched in front of you, fingers moving quickly to tie it for you.

“Damn you,” you mutter, “and your night for making a huge-ass baby.”

He smirks without looking up. “Didn’t hear you complaining that night.”

You huff, but the quip doesn’t land the same this time. The words “huge-ass baby” stick in your head, and suddenly you can’t stop picturing the actual process of getting them out. Your palms drift over your belly, a flicker of unease tightening your chest.

Marco finishes the knot and glances up, catching the shift in your expression. Marco’s eyes narrow as he watches you, quiet for a moment. Then he says, “You’ve got that look again.”

You snap your head up, surprised. “I don’t have a look.”

He tilts his head slightly, voice softer now, patient. “Yes, you do.”

You frown, trying to shake it off, but he doesn’t let up.

“It’s the look that tells me you’re thinking about something terrible,” he says carefully, his gaze locked on you. “And with your hands resting on your stomach like that… It’s probably about the baby.”

You groan, hating and loving in equal measure that he can read you so well. “Fine, okay… I was just thinking that the baby still needs to somehow get out. And I mean, look at the size of my bump! I swear I haven’t seen my feet in an eternity.”

Marco’s mouth curves slowly, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “What did you expect? I’m a big man, yoi.”

You blink at him. “…You did not just say that.

He shrugs, all smug. “Can’t grow a small one when you start with good stock.”

“Marco!”

He chuckles like you’ve just proven his point.

So, you point a warning finger at him. “Say one more thing and I’ll bite you.”

He tilts his head, grin widening. “I don’t mind some biting — you should know that, yoi.”

You groan, giving his shoulder a shove. “No. Stop. You don’t get to tease me when I’m carrying your child. I’m doing all the work. I deserve some princess treatment.”

“You’re getting the princess treatment,” Marco counters, utterly unbothered. “I hold your hair back when you throw up.”

You gape at him, then smack his thigh. “That’s the bare minimum. Step up.”

Marco exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head like he’s indulging a spoiled brat. “Okay… do you want some ice cream?”

You deadpan, crossing your arms over your bump. “I want my body back, mister know-it-all… but for the moment, ice cream will do. But let’s stop at the bathrooms first. I need to pee.”

Marco blinks as he stands, offering you his hand. You take it and let him pull you up. “You went a few minutes ago.”

You roll your eyes as you brush yourself off. “Well, I need to go again. The baby’s using my bladder as a trampoline.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, falling into step beside you as you start toward the nearest door.

“You know,” Marco says casually, “if the baby’s already practicing gymnastics in there, maybe they’ll be a natural fighter. Or a dancer. Guess we’ll see which side of the family wins out.”

You groan. “Stop. You make everything sound like your genetics are the gift that keeps on giving.”

He glances at you sidelong, smirk in place. “Aren’t they?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, yoi.”

And just like that the break’s cut short and you shuffle below deck, muttering under your breath about the ship’s planks being uneven, the sun being too hot, and the fact that your ankles feel like overstuffed bread dough. It is truly not surprising that nearly everyone is avoiding you these days and honestly, you prefer it that way.

You don’t think you could tolerate anyone else’s company besides Marco’s right now even though you’d never admit it out loud. There is no need to inflate the man’s ego even more. Marco’s smug enough already.

“Who even designed this ship?” You mutter barely below your breath as you step inside the bathroom, which is barely big enough to turn around in, which is a problem, because turning around now involves a three-point maneuver.

So, you grip the wall for balance, trying not to think about how much effort it takes just to get your pants down these days. And just like in most situations the baby isn’t helping at all, because they’re pressing down like they’re trying an early escape, and every shift sends another urgent jolt to your bladder.

From outside the door, Marco’s voice floats in. “You’re okay in there, yoi?”

“I’m peeing, Marco,” you call back, deadpan. “Do you want to come in and check for yourself?”

There’s a low chuckle. “I’m just making sure. Peeing usually doesn’t involve this much cursing… and it’s been five minutes already…”

“It does when you’re pregnant.” You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “I swear the next time you’re in here for ten minutes I’m going to bang on the door the whole time, asking if you’re okay, just to see how you like it.”

Before he can answer, however, you hear some shuffling like someone is squeezing past him. Then the other person knocks – no, bangs – at the door. “Come on… hurry up! Some of us gotta go too!”

That’s it. Your head snaps toward the door like you could burn a hole through it. “I’m literally growing a human being right now, Fossa! So, I take my god damn time and you can hold it for two minutes!”

Silence. Then the sound of Marco and a few more people talking in a hushed voice before the sound of retreating footsteps can he heard.

Good.

When you finally emerge, Marco’s leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly calm expression, arms folded like he’s been standing guard, and possibly warning anyone else not to even think about stepping closer and rather go and find another bathroom.

“What?” you demand.

“Nothing, yoi,” he pushes off the wall and takes your hand, steering you toward the galley. “Just… you’re terrifying when you’re like this.”

You smirk, rubbing your belly. “Good. I’m going to need that intimidation factor for labor.”

Marco laughs under his breath. “Remind me to warn the nurses.”

——————————

“Push!”

“Hnaaaaah! Fuuuck! Marco, I hate you so much!!”

Everything in the room seems to tilt as heat presses down from every direction. Moreover, the air in the delivery room is thick and heavy, and the voices around you blur together. Still, you do what the nurse told you and push, hoping this is the moment when you finally manage to push the baby out.

“Good… good… you’re almost there.”

Almost there. The nurses crowding you have told you that at least five times by now. You don’t believe them anymore. Gosh, you’ve been doing this forever by now!

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Marco tells you from your left, holding your hand in his, thumb brushing over your white knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “Only a little bit more, yoi.”

Suddenly your head whips towards him, eyes blazing. “Shut the fuck up!”

Marco doesn’t even flinch. His thumb keeps moving in slow circles over your knuckles, calm and unbothered, like he expected the outburst. “Alright, then just breathe with me. In…. Out…”

“I don’t want to breathe! I want this baby out!” You gasp between gritted teeth, every muscle in your body bracing against the pain. “This is all your fault! Why did I agree to this?!”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, not mocking, but familiar. “Do you want me to tell you the story about how Pops brought up the whole grandkid topic while we all hang out on deck? It could distract you a bit, yoi.”

The growl the tears from your throat is nearly primal, and you tighten your grip on his hand until your knuckles ache. “Say yoi one more time and I swear to god –!”

“Alright, here comes the next one, big push! The nurse cuts in, snapping you back into the moment.

Again the world narrows to the searing strain in your lower body, the relentless demand from every muscle, every nerve. You lush, throat-tearing with the growling sound you make, sweat sliding down your temple. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath for hours.

Then… release. The contraction ebbs just enough to let you drop back into the pillow, chest heaving, and skin damp with sweat.

Marco doesn’t move from your side. His hand is still in yours, his thumb still brushing over your white knuckles again. You let your head fall back, eyelids heavy. “I really want this baby out…”

“I know,” Marco murmurs, saying it like he really does know, like he can feel the weight of every second with you.

You glance up to him, taking in his calm expression and the smile he gives you like even though you’re red and sweaty you’ve never been more beautiful. You open your mouth to say something, but before a single word passes your lips, the door opens and Izou calmly steps in.

“I have the ice cubs you wanted,” he announces while stepping closer, his kimono swinging elegantly with each step.

The sight of him makes you light up instantly. “Izou, you’re an angel!”

He walks over with no rush, placing the container beside Marco. Marco instantly reaches for it, but Izou plunges one ice cube out himself and holds it against your lips. You open your mouth and let the ice melt on your tongue.

“You’re doing great, you know?” Izou says warmly. “The whole crew can’t wait to meet the newest member. How are you holding up?”

You close your eyes briefly at the words, savoring both the ice and his words, but then with a sigh you decide to answer his question. “How am I holding up? I’m telling you… I’ve been ‘almost there’ for hours. These nurses are liars and Marco can’t stop being so fucking calm with I’m in here getting ripped into half.”

Izou’s lips twitch like he’s fighting back a smile. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your damp hair. “So that you know, we’re all right outside if you need anything.”

“All of you?” You echo, a little disbelieving.

“Yes, all of us,” Izou confirms softly. “Ace, Thatch, Vista, Haruta, basically all the commanders and many more. Even Pops comes to check in every few minutes, but he can’t bear to hear you crying, so he’s in and out.”

That hits you in a place the pain hasn’t touched. Tears well instantly, hot and unsteady. “I love them,” you whisper thickly. “I love all of you so much.”

Izou smiles, his hand squeezing yours for a moment. Then one of the nurses leans in quickly. “Next contraction. Push!”

The moment shatters. You gasp as the pain crests again, both hands flying to grip the bed as your whole body bears down. Izou steps back toward the door, giving you space, and with one last warm look he slips outside, leaving you with Marco’s steady presence.

“Push!” the nurse urges again, her voice riding over the sound of your strained breathing.

You grip the edge of the bed with one hand and Marco’s hand with the other, every bit of strength in you channeling into the effort. Your fingers clamp around his so tight you’re amazed they don’t snap.

“Breathe, love. Push through it,” he says, low and even, leaning close enough that his forehead nearly brushes yours.

You grit your teeth, sweat sliding down your temple. “Don’t tell me to breathe. I am breathing! And pushing!”

“Almost there,” Marco murmurs next, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles again.

Your head snaps toward him. “Stop saying that! You’ve been saying that for an hour!”

His lips twitch, but his eyes stay calm, steady, fixed on you like you’re the only thing that exists. “Alright. Then I’ll say this… you’re stronger than you think.”

You let out a strained, half-broken laugh that turns into a groan. “I hate you.”

“I know,” he says softly, his tone so warm it almost breaks you. “I love you, too.”

The contraction peaks, white-hot and all-consuming, and you push with everything you have left. Every muscle in your lower body screams, your heart hammers in your chest, and the air tastes metallic from how hard you’re breathing.

Then, just as the burn feels like it’s too much, you hear the nurse’s voice rise with excitement. “That’s it! The head’s crowning!”

The final contraction rips through you like fire, pulling the air from your lungs. You squeeze Marco’s hand so tightly your nails dig into his skin, your other hand gripping the sheets like you might tear them apart.

“Push!” the nurse shouts.

You push with everything left in you, the sound that tears from your throat loud and raw… and then another sound joins it. A high, thin wail. Not yours. So, you freeze, your own voice faltering as the cry fills the room, piercing and new.

Your chest heaves. The heat, the pain. It all blurs as your gaze snaps to the nurse. She’s smiling, careful, hands steady as she lifts the tiny, wriggling shape into view.

“It’s a boy,” she says gently.

Your breath catches, and suddenly you feel Marco’s hand squeeze yours, not the steady, patient squeeze from before, but something firmer, full of quiet joy. You turn your head, and his eyes are on you, soft in a way you’ve never seen before.

A shaky laugh escapes you, wet with tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. Your free hand hovers uselessly toward the nurse as if you could reach him from here.

Then the baby cries again, smaller now, and Marco’s thumb presses over your knuckles like he’s anchoring you both in this exact second.

“Yoi,” he murmurs, voice low and rougher than usual. “He’s here.”

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper, tears sliding freely now. “He’s here.”

Finally, the nurse moves to clean and wrap him, but your eyes never leave the tiny, squirming bundle. And Marco’s hand never leaves yours as you both watch the nurse work quickly but carefully, wiping your baby down before wrapping him in a towel.

However, as your son’s cries soften into little hiccupping whimpers, each one is slowly making your chest ache in a way nothing else ever has. Like on instinct, your hand twitches toward him again before you even realize you’re moving.

“Alright,” the nurse says gently after a moment, stepping closer, “let’s meet your mama and papa.”

You shift instinctively, sitting up as much as your exhausted body will allow. The moment the weight settles into your arms, something inside you cracks wide open.

“He’s so small…” The words tumble out of you in a trembling whisper.

You stare down at him, taking in every tiny detail—the curve of his cheek, the soft puff of dark hair, the way his little mouth opens and closes like he’s testing out the air for the first time.

Marco leans in close, his shoulder brushing yours, one arm coming around your back. His other hand stays wrapped in yours, the connection never breaking. You feel the steady pressure of his palm, the warmth of him right beside you.

He doesn’t say much, but just watches quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his eyes locked on the baby like he’s trying to memorize him.

“Perfect,” he murmurs finally, the word almost swallowed by the quiet of the room.

You glance up at him through blurred vision, your voice catching. “Yeah. He is.”

The baby lets out a small sigh, his tiny fingers curling just enough to brush the edge of the towel. You adjust it gently, brushing the soft fabric over his shoulder, and Marco’s thumb strokes over the back of your hand.

And just like that, after all the screaming and cursing, the room is quiet, except for small sounds your son makes as he shifts in your arms. You and Marco are still staring at him, caught in that strange and beautiful haze, when you hear someone hesitantly knocking at the door.

You and Marco turn toward the door only to see it getting pushed open enough for Thatch to push his head inside. “Is it… Okay if we come in?”

Marco glances at you. You nod, still smiling down at the baby. “Come in. Here’s someone who we want you all to meet.”

Thatch slips in first, his usual grin muted, but still there. Izou follows, next Ace peeks in, eyes wide and curious, and just like that Vista, Haruta, and a few more commanders come inside until the room feels warmer, but not crowded.

For a change, no one’s yelling. Their voices are low, almost reverent. So, you tilt the towel slightly, so they can see your son’s little face. “Everyone… meet Edward Jr.”

“Edward Jr.?” Thatch repeats, his eyebrows climbing. His grin spreads wider, but there’s a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. “As in… Pops?”

Izou’s gaze softens, lips curving faintly. “How fitting.”

Ace, however, nearly falls forward. “Wait… you named him after Pops? Like… actually after Pops?!”

Marco shifts his weight slightly, his free hand resting protectively on your shoulder. “Yoi, it felt right.”

That’s all it takes. The room stirs with murmurs and quiet exclamations. Vista’s deep chuckle rumbles over the softer voices, Haruta grins wide enough to crinkle his eyes, and Fossa lets out a low whistle.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Thatch says, shaking his head, though his voice is warm. “The old man’s gonna—”

Before he could finish the sentence the door slowly opened again. It’s not loud or hurried, but the sudden shift in energy is enough for everyone to instantly fall quiet.

Whitebeard steps inside.

His sheer size fills the doorway, the light from the corridor framing him for a moment before he moves forward. The familiar weight of his presence seems to press against the walls, and yet… there’s something different in his expression tonight.

The commanders closest to your bed instinctively step aside, parting like a tide to give him a clear path.

He doesn’t speak right away. His eyes find you first, lingering on your tired face, the sheen of sweat on your brow, the small but certain smile that you give him in return. His gaze softens almost imperceptibly, the faintest crease at the corners deepening.

Only then does it drop to what you’re holding. Then Marco shifts slightly beside you, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “Pops,” he says quietly. “Meet Edward Jr.”

The words seem to hang in the air for a moment before they fully land. And when Pops stops at the foot of your bed. His head tilts a fraction, his eyes narrowing slightly, and not in suspicion, but in the way a man tries to focus on something precious.

“You two…” his voice is low, rumbling deep in his chest. “… gave him my name?”

“Yes,” Marco answers for both of you. “Family should carry family.”

And while those words leave his mouth the old man’s gaze stays on the tiny face swaddled in the towel. For a long moment, he just… looks. His breathing slows. His shoulders ease, just a little. The edges of his mouth begin to curve, slow and deliberate, into a smile that’s both proud and achingly gentle.

And when he speaks again, his voice shifts a little. It’s still deep and strong, but roughened at the edge.

“You’ve given me a lot to be proud of over the years…” His eyes flick briefly to you, then back to Marco. “…but this…” He lets the words trail off into a low exhale, almost a laugh. “…this means more than I can put into words.”

A flicker of light catches at the corner of his eye. It’s not much, just a single tear, gathering before it slides into his beard, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

No one comments on it, but you can feel the change ripple through the room. Izou’s lips press together as his gaze drops to the floor. Vista’s arms fold loosely, his eyes warmer than usual. Ace shifts his weight, looking everywhere but at Pops, as if avoiding the truth of his own stinging eyes.

Pops steps closer. He doesn’t try to take the baby, his hands are too big for that, but he lowers one massive palm to the edge of the bed. Carefully, he leans in, bringing the tip of one finger close enough for Edward Jr.’s tiny hand to brush against it.

The baby’s fingers curl instinctively, gripping that single fingertip like it’s all the world.

Pops’ smile deepens. “Welcome to the family, Edward Jr.,” he says, his voice low but carrying to every corner of the room. “You’ve got a whole ship waiting to love you.”

[wxwoobe]

I LOVE UR SMAUS!!!! Prospect on the idea of accents. Thoughts on the BLLK boys (specifically kaiser sae nagi and reo if thats ok) calling them for the first time with reader and they realise they have an australian/british accent….RUNS AWAY

HIII THANK YOU LOVE!! i giggled writing ts lmao. ALSO TS REMINDED ME OF A CONVO W MY AUSSIE FRIEND😭😭😭

ˋ°•*⁀➷ "sounds different on you"

ft. michael kaiser, sae itoshi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo

michael kaiser

you two probably text a lot more than you call, so the first time he hears your voice properly is either because he called without thinking or you sent a quick voice message.

he freezes the second you start speaking. like, for once, michael kaiser is actually silent.

you're in the middle of explaining something and he suddenly interrupts with,

"wait, wait, hold on. why do you sound like that?"

cue him immediately smirking when you go, "what do you mean?" in your natural accent.

if you're aussie, he's mimicking you on the spot, going "g'day mate" in the worst accent known to man.

if you're british, he instantly starts going "oi bruv, innit?" every chance he gets, even though you tell him you don't talk like that.

once the teasing dies down, he's actually fascinated by it. asks where you grew up, what other words you say differently.

will start sending you random sentences to "say out loud for him" so he can hear how you pronounce them.

itoshi sae

sae does not call often. so when he does, it's usually quick and to the point.

but the moment you answer and speak, there's this very noticeable pause.

"you didn't tell me you had an accent."

if you're aussie, he's caught off guard because he didn’t expect the slang—he'll make you repeat phrases, pretending it's because he doesn’t understand, but he's really just listening.

if you're british, there's a tiny smirk in his voice when he says, "figures. you sound like you're about to invite me for tea."

100% starts paying extra attention to how you pronounce his name.

he won't say it, but he thinks it's really attractive. it makes you stand out in his head, especially when you get emotional or excited and your accent thickens.

occasionally texts you with: "call me when you can." and when you ask why, it's just "want to hear your voice."

in person, he's more obvious. leans in when you talk, maybe smirks when you slip into slang without realising.

nagi seishiro

nagi’s first reaction is pure confusion:

"woah… your voice is, like… different. that's cool."

if you're aussie, he's instantly grinning and asking, "say shrimp on the barbie" while lying in bed.

if you're british, he laughs when you say "bottle of water" and makes you say it three more times.

not much gets nagi interested, but your voice is an instant hook. he'll call just to hear you talk.

literally has you on speaker while gaming and will just go, "keep talking, it's nice."

if you're ever tired and speaking softer, he gets so clingy:

"mm, don't hang up yet. i like it."

once he hears your accent, he associates it with comfort and warmth, so even if he teases you sometimes, he secretly loves it the most.

reo mikage

reo's reaction is pure excitement. he's loud about it from the start.

"WAIT. oh my god, you have an accent?? why didn't you tell me?!"

if you're aussie, he's instantly asking you to teach him slang and will attempt it horribly:

"arvo? what the hell is that? ohhh afternoon??"

if you're british, he's begging you to say posh things just so he can laugh:

"please, say 'would you like a spot of tea?'"

immediately brags to his friends. "you guys have to hear their voice, it's literally the cutest thing."

saves voice messages you send him and sets them as notification sounds.

if you say his name in your accent, he's GONE:

"say it again. just one more time. …okay, five more."

100% tries to copy your accent when you're together, but it's so bad you have to beg him to stop.

[eldritch-spouse]

Obie but his obsession has seen the queen of gluttony, how big she is regardless of gluttons anatomy, and thinks Obie obviously needs to eat more then. She ends up trying to feed him up, making sure he's healthy, constantly shoving food down his face, unaware this is the perfect courting maneuver.

The entire time Obie is blushing like a school girl

[Obie posting the meals you make with a caption saying he's blessed.]

This is very jarring to him, because your first two dates were pretty standard overall. It's only when you do your research on gluttons that things shift.

Obie doesn't really know what he did to deserve the feast you present him with when he walks into your dining area, but he's immediately orange in the face. It's uncharacteristic of him so far, but the glutton's voice almost seems to dim a little as he stutters in between absolutely pigging the fuck out at your table. You consider it to be a very successful date!

Even when Obie brings his own returning offering the next date, you keep effectively dwarving his portions.

It's absolutely the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for the glutton, and he can barely hold back the shriek of delight he wants to make. His tail ends up wagging so much it actually hurts him.

Obie becomes more... Sincere at the table.

After all, you're so bold, so flirtatious and openly devoted to him, so... So romantic. He figures he can be open with you too, in between large chomping and swallowing.

He dreams of your cooking when he's away from you, drools just thinking about how his loving bonbon is out there making something tasty just for him- Obie can't get enough of you. You're so sweet and so loving and he's literally never had anyone express any interest in him, much less be this brazen about it. You're the most perfect person to ever exist, he wants you to be his forever and ever and he's getting so wild because you're looking much tastier than the desserts-

It seems now you're the one blushing, hearing your date wax poetic while licking his chops, a very prominent growth tenting his sweat pants.

Should... Should you say anything or...?

[redsbookshelf]

The mystery that is Clark Kent

Distant Smallville!Clark Kent x Lover girl!reader

In which... Lover girl! reader is hopelessly in love with Clark, and it's not like she means to make it so obvious, but who can blame her? It's Clark Kent, the sweet farm boy next door. So why is he so distant when she's so loving?

This is an extension of these Distant Smallville!Clark Kent x Lover girl!reader head cannons

Word count: 3,148

Warnings: Angst, use of Y/n, Clark is kind of mean for a bit, but he has a redemption arch, hurt/no comfort, cursing, crying (Is that even a warning lmao). written in second person. (I honestly don't know if I prefer first, second, or third person with fanfics yet, so I'm just gonna figure it out as I go.)

I'm gonna make this into a mini-series I think!

All dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

Smallville, a small town in the middle of Kansas, with constant mysteries to be solved. Although the crazy things that occurred what seemed to be weekly, you were only interested in one mystery: The mystery that is Clark Kent, in other words, the boy next door that you've known since you were three.

Martha and Johnothan Kent were constants in your life since you were born, Johnothan is your dad's best friend and Martha used to babysit you. You didn't realize it at such a young age, but Martha always looked at you as the daughter she never had. So, it came to no surprise that you and the infamous Clark Kent grew up like best friends. Well, until your freshman year at Smallville High that is.

The last few weeks of middle school were like any other for you and Clark, family dinners with your parents, hang outs in the loft watching the sunset, walking together in the hallways at school, bus rides full of laughter, your never-ending yearning for your best friend. As summer arrived it was almost like a switch flipped in Clark. He rarely called you first, "Sorry, I'm just tired, maybe another night." when you would suggest watching the sunset from the loft after your family dinners, his absence was undeniable.

It didn't take long to figure out why when you popped in at the loft unexpected one night to hear Clark telling Pete about his most recent 3 second interaction with Ms. Lana Lang, which besides Clark, is your closest friend. You decided not to waste your time that night, quietly exiting the loft before either one of the boys could realize you were there.

You decided to just be grateful for what you had, he would still talk to you, answer your calls invite you to things, sit next to you at dinner. You knew the feelings you've kept hidden wouldn't ever be returned, you knew this would happen at some point, you just hoped it hadn't had happened so soon.

You're walking over to the Kents with your parents for your weekly Wednesday night dinners. You're excited to see Clark, this school year has been super busy with you getting your first job, looking for colleges, balancing your classes, and keeping up with your family's own farm. You've really only gotten to see Clark on family dinner nights and in the hallways at school.

As you walk in, you're immediately greeted with a hug from Martha. "Hi, Martha! How are you?" You ask, while returning the hug. "I'm good, Sweetheart! How are you?" She exclaims while pulling back, talking to Martha was always easy, almost easier than talking to your own mother. Before you're able to respond, Jonathan walks in and greets your father, you, and your mother. As much as you loved talking to them, you were really only worried about seeing one person.

Clark. He walks in causally with that easy smile on his face, the one that makes your stomach twist, cheeks light up, and damn near gives you heart palpations. Shaking your dad's hand and hugging your mother, while making small talk with the both of them, he's still managed to not look at you just yet.

Your eyes lock as he slowly walks over to you, hands in the pockets of his worn denim jeans. "Hey stranger." You tease with a sweet smile on your face. "Hey Y/n/n" He returns your smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You decide to just be straight forward, as always, "I've, uh, missed you all school year I feel like. Do you wanna maybe hang out, just us, after dinner tonight?" It came out a lot less confident than you expected, but it was genuine.

You saw Clark consider it for a moment and you prepared yourself to get rejected for the thousandth time since Freshman year. "I mean, yeah you're right. Sure, we can hang out, do you wanna go the Tavern?" The words just kind of fly out of his mouth, as he scratches the back of his neck. You beam, barely being able to contain your excitement. Not even because you're hanging out with the boy who you've been in love with your whole life, but because you're hanging out with Clark Kent, your best friend you've been trying to get back for almost 3 years.

"I was thinking we could just go up to your loft? If that's okay, the Tavern is fine too." You're smiling up at him like he literally hung the moon, despite your efforts to stay as nonchalant as possible. He lets out a small laugh, "Sure, that sounds fine." he begins to walk towards the dining room, you follow behind. Before you can reply to him, Martha walks in with Johnothan and your parents. "Well, how are you feeling about finishing your junior year? The big senior year is coming up on you guys quick." Jonothan asks, "Isn't? I wish you and Clark were still little kids playing in the yard together. You were having the time of your lives" Martha cuts in with a small laugh, her moment of reminiscing evident.

I smile, before letting out a breath, looking at Jonathan, "I'm feeling a little conflicted about it, I'm glad I'm coming up on my last year of high school, but I'm gonna miss it, I think." I give him a small smile before glancing over at Clark, who's talking to your mom. You wonder if life could look like this forever, You, Clark, your parents, Martha, and Jonathan. Your family. Maybe tonight will be the chance you need to break through the walls he's put up the last few years, maybe tonight could be the start of you and Clark again, even if it's just as friends.

Jonathan breaks you out of your trance of staring at Clark and your mom by standing beside you, "He'll come around soon, just don't give up him yet" he says low enough that Clark can't hear. you look up at him with wide eyes, "I, what? What do you mean?" You question. Jonathan takes a breath, turning towards you "You may be the only one who doesn't realize it, but let's just say you make it very obvious that your love and interest in Clark isn't exactly just friendly" He smiles like it's humorous. Your mouth is opening and closing like a fish, "Oh, oh." Jonathan gives you a pat on the shoulder before walking off to join the conversation between Clark and your mother.

As you're helping Martha clean up after dinner, all you can think about is how excited you are to finally be able to catch up with Clark. You hope he won't be so closed off as he has been, that'll be like old times.

You hear Clark walk in behind you, you turn your head, looking away from the sink of dishes you're currently working on. You smile warmly at him, subtly looking at the relaxed outfit he changed into: gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Who knew someone could look so good in such a plain outfit?

"Hey, are you almost ready to go up to the loft?" He asks casually, you go to answer but Martha beats you to it, "You can go ahead Sweetheart, I'll finish up." You bid her a thank you before drying your palms and manicured fingers.

Clark nods his head to signal you towards the front door to walk outside to the barn. "Thanks for letting me come up tonight." You lightly bump his arm with yours. He gives you a small smile, "No problem, it's been a while since we got to catch up by ourselves."

You enter the barn, Clark right behind you. As you walk up the stairs to his loft it's almost nostalgic, the smell of old wood and dirt, the creek of the 5th stair, the way the setting sun shines through the open window, it all takes you back.

You reach the top of the stairs, walking towards the spot you claimed on the old couch when you were 9. Clark leans against the railing as you sit down. It's quiet, not uncomfortable, not tense, but quiet. The kind of quiet when there's an unspoken answer to an unspoken question.

"Clark?" You start. He looks at you curiously, "I've missed you, a lot." You pause, waiting to see his reaction. He looks at you intently, waiting for you to continue, "You know, you've really gotten distant these past few years, feels like we're strangers sometimes... Are you okay, Clark?" You don't realize it, but you're holding your breath waiting for a response.

Clark visibly tenses, shoulders stiffening, jaw clenching, firmer grip on the edge of the window. He gives you a short, distant answer, "I'm fine, just had a lot on my mind, I've been busy." and you wish it were true, but you know he's lying. you know it's personal, you know there's a reason he rarely spends a free day with you.

So, you push. "Did I do something wrong?" The words come out quieter than you wanted them to, but you managed to keep your voice sturdy despite the lump slowly forming in your throat. You look down at your hands before continuing, trying to ground yourself. "Why do you keep pushing me away?"

You wait for a response. And wait and wait and wait. The dam breaks. no longer able to control the tears rolling down your cheeks, "You make it really hard to keep caring, Clark." You say, voice shaking, hiccupping at the end of your sentence.

"Then stop."

The cold sentence hit you like a ton of bricks. "What?" You managed to choke out.

"Stop showing up, stop looking at me like I'm it for you, I'm not that same kid you grew up with, Y/n. You don't know me like you think you do, I was never meant to be your person. You shouldn't wait around for me, I didn't ask you to." The words are cold, not meant to be cruel, just seemingly honest, although you know him better than that, like he's doing everything in his power to get it through your head that he's not yours.

Your head is pounding by now, shallow breaths coming out as quietly as possible. "I may not know you like I used to Clark, but I know you'd rather be alone than be honest with people." You take a deep breath, "And I know you didn't ask me to wait around on you, but I still did, 'cause you're worth that to me, Clark." You pause for a moment, recollecting your thoughts. You decide to respond to what truly stung the most, 'I was never meant to be your person.' it felt like he literally ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it. "You know the worst part is, is even while you weren't trying to be my person, you still were, you still are."

Clark finally turns to look at you, red eyes, mascara running down both sides of your face, arms crossed. you look so small, so vulnerable, and utterly heart broken. Clark feels a pang of pain straight to his heart, but he has to stand his ground, he's protecting you, right? "Listen, Y/n, I'm sorry, but" You cut him off, "But what Clark? I'm not Lana? I'm not interesting enough for you? Do I bore you or something? Get on your nerves? Seriously Clark, what did I ever do to you but love you? I never asked for you to be endlessly committed to me for the rest of your life, I just wanted my best friend." you're breathing heavily by the time you end your small rant.

He's silent, looking at the floor with guilty eyes. You wait and stare for about thirty seconds, praying for him to reply, but he doesn't. You get up from your spot on the couch before walking over to him one last time, deciding this would be it. You stop Infront of his towering figure, he always made you feel small, some ways worse than others now. "I love you, Clark." You whisper, standing on your toes to gently kiss his cheek. You feel him tense, but you know it's not because it's uncomfortable, it's because he's hurting too. With tears running down your face, you turn around and walk out of the loft just as the sun goes down completely, almost like it's signifying the end.

I hope I did a good job at lining these headcannons up with the story! next chapter should be out soon!! I really hope this does well lol

Xoxo - Scar💋

[nepher-forget]

The Lemon Tree Villa

Grace Clinton × Popstar!reader

Summary: Grace and you go on your first couples trip. Here are some snippets from your time together.

Warnings: None? Maybe cringy flirting.

Masterlist

The car ride along the cliffside road to Positano was equal parts awe-inspiring and mildly terrifying. One wrong turn and you'd be in the sea, you were sure of it, but somehow that only made it more thrilling. The road curled around mountains, hugging cliffs with zero effort and you slowly got closer to the Villa you two rented. The water below sparkled in the sun, a beautiful blue-turquoise and you just didn't get enough of it. Each wave caught the light in a different way. On the other side, towering rock walls were dotted with wildflowers and vines, occasionally interrupted by tiny roadside shrines and bursts of bougainvillea.

You were glued to the window, forehead nearly pressed to the glass. Every few seconds, your hand shot up to point at something new, an ancient stone wall clinging to the hillside, a lemon grove carved into impossible angles, or the pastel-colored houses stacked like a dream above the crashing waves. For you this vacation was everything. You hadn't taken a break in almost 4 years and now you were here at the Amalfi Coast with Grace, your girlfriend of almost 8 months.

“Look at that house!” you gasped, eyes wide. “How is it even staying up? It’s barely on anything!”

Grace barely glanced up from where she sat beside you, one arm casually slung over the back of your seat. “Gravity and magic,” she replied smoothly, her voice full of dry amusement.

The driver chuckled under his breath and muttered something in Italian, the rhythm of it melodic and warm. You couldn’t understand a word, but it felt like amused approval.

As the car curved through another hairpin bend, the view of Positano burst into full frame, layered houses in candy colors cascading down the cliffs toward the sea. It was absurdly beautiful. Like something from a postcard your grandmother would have kept on the fridge for years. “it's beautiful.” You whisper breathless and you can feel Grace nod, just as in awe as you are.

By the time you reached your villa, the sun was stretching low across the horizon, casting everything in molten gold. The building itself looked like something out of a dream, whitewashed walls kissed by flowering vines, bright blue shutters thrown open to let in the sea breeze. A lemon tree stood in the center of the courtyard, fat fruit dangling like ornaments. Terracotta pots overflowed with lavender and rosemary. The scent was overwhelming in the best way.

The second the car rolled to a stop, you were out, practically leaping from the door. You twirled under the archway with your arms thrown high, laughing as your sneakers crunched over the sun-warmed stone path. “This is insane. This is not real life.” You spun in a circle, eyes tilted to the sky, your hair catching the golden light like something out of a movie. For a moment, the whole world felt like it had stopped spinning just to let you shine.

Grace remained leaning against the car, watching you with a lazy, lopsided smile. “Is this you on vacation? Or are you going full ‘main character’ now?”

“Main character,” you said immediately, a bit breathless. “A hundred percent. This is main character behavior, Grace. Look at me. I just spun in a circle and didn’t fall over.”

She straightened up and sauntered over, hands in the pockets of her shorts, looking effortlessly cool even after hours of travel. “Alright then,” she said as she slid an arm around your waist. “I’ll be your charming love interest with too much shoulder muscle and a thing for beach wine.”

You tilted your face up to grin at her, heart doing a small somersault in your chest. “Oh my God, we’re a rom-com. We’re literally in one right now.”

Grace kissed your temple. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.” You leaned into her, letting yourself melt into the moment. “It’s the best thing.”

The two of you walked together through the villa’s archway, hand in hand, into the sun-drenched courtyard that already felt a little like magic. Somewhere in the distance and the future there'd be a girl playing guitar on stage. But right now as the sea shimmered beyond the white walls you were just you. And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel the hum of stage lights or the weight of being “on.” You were just a girl, on a cliff, in love with a footballer who called you “darling” and smelled like sunscreen and sea air. The girl who could steal all the words from your usually eloquent brain with one lopsided smile.

And in that perfect slice of golden hour, you thought, maybe this was what all the songs were trying to say.

Inside, the villa was exactly what you’d imagined, rustic but elegant, full of charm and sun-bleached history. The walls were rough stone, whitewashed and cool to the touch, with wide open windows that framed the sea. White linen curtains swayed gently in the breeze, and the entire place smelled faintly of lemons from the trees that dotted the terrace just outside.

Grace dropped her bag near the front door and made a beeline for the wine shelf in the corner, whistling low. “Okay, this is dangerously well-stocked.”

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stand still. You moved from room to room with childlike joy, fingers brushing over old wooden furniture, trailing along bookshelves, letting your voice carry in soft hums and half-sung lyrics. The acoustics were too good to resist.

It took you approximately five minutes to lose your shoes.

You padded back into the kitchen barefoot, arms lifted in a dramatic twirl across the cool tiled floor. “Is it even a real vacation if your feet don’t touch chilled tile and your hair smells like sea air?”

Grace didn’t even look up as she pulled a bottle off the rack. “You sound like a travel influencer,” she said, holding up a bottle with a bright yellow lemon on the label. “But this one has a lemon on it. That feels appropriate, right?”

You grinned and took it from her hands, popping it open with the little corkscrew you'd found in one of the drawers. The wine was crisp and light and chilled just enough to make you sigh when it hit your tongue.

“To eight months of not driving each other insane,” you declared, raising your glass with a wink.

Grace clinked hers against yours gently. “Low bar. But I’ll drink to that.”

The two of you drifted out onto the balcony, wine in hand, the sun still melting slowly into the horizon like honey. The view was the kind you didn’t even try to take a photo of, it would never capture it. Tiled rooftops in sun-faded terracotta, cliffs rising right next to the beach, and the sea stretching out into forever, dotted with tiny boats that bobbed like toys in the golden bay.

You leaned on the railing, letting the warm metal press into your forearms, and took a slow sip from your glass. “This is where I’m writing my retirement album,” you said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon. “I’ll stay here, get a cat, maybe two, and drink too much white wine on a daily basis.”

Grace turned toward you, leaning beside you against the railing. Her voice was light, but there was something fond and serious beneath it. “Can I be the reclusive girlfriend that no one believes exists? Just a silhouette in the background of all your Instagram posts?”

You turned to her, a slow smile growing across your face as you nodded. “You already are.”

She laughed, cheeks dimpled from the smile, and bumped her shoulder into yours. The sun caught her profile just right and for a moment you were convinced there wasn’t a place on Earth more perfect than this balcony. Nothing could be better than this. The sea breeze danced through your hair. Grace’s fingers brushed your hip.

The next morning, the sun filtered gently through the linen curtains, warming the stone floor and casting soft patterns on the bedspread. You woke slowly, wrapped in white sheets and the scent of salt, citrus, and Grace’s shampoo, a heady, perfect blend. She was already up, rummaging through her bag for a swimsuit, humming under her breath in a gravelly morning voice that made your stomach flip.

“You’re up,” she said with a grin, holding up a bikini like a trophy. “Come on. Sea’s not going to swim itself.”

After a quick breakfast of espresso and a handful of ripe apricots from the kitchen bowl, you both slipped into something vaguely beach-adjacent. Wide sun hats and oversized sunglasses did a decent job of disguising your identities, not that many people here seemed to care. You were just two girls walking down cobbled alleys, passing flowering balconies and sun-washed buildings on the way to the beach.

Still, the singer in you couldn’t help but hum as you walked, low and aimless, the rhythm matching the lazy swing of Grace’s hand in yours.

At the beach, Grace wasted no time. She stripped down to her bikini with exactly zero shame, dropping her linen button-down and sandals in the sand, flashing you a grin before jogging into the waves. You stayed back, adjusting your sunglasses and watching her dive in headfirst, powerful, graceful, and somehow still annoyingly elegant even as she emerged with soaked hair slicked back and water dripping down her tan skin.

You fiddled with your little film camera, pretending to mess with the settings as you stole a few shots of her in the surf. The moment felt too fleeting not to capture, sun catching the droplets on her shoulders, the pure, joyful curve of her smile as she called your name and waved you in. The longer you stared the more you were in awe that she was yours. She was just so beautiful.

When she finally returned to you, dripping and smug, you tossed her a towel with a theatrical sigh.

“Have fun?” you asked, already bringing the camera up again as she toweled off her hair.

She noticed. “You’re really trying to get me on the album cover, huh?” she teased, pulling her sunglasses back on and striking a dramatic pose.

You grinned. “No. Just... documenting how sun-kissed and smug you are. For personal use.”

Grace laughed and ruffled your hair with her damp fingers before flopping onto the beach towel beside you. “You’re ridiculous.”

Before you could respond, a young woman approached slowly, hesitation in every step. She had a soft, shy smile and an unmistakable Italian lilt in her voice. “Scusi… sei tu Y/N? The singer?”

Your heart gave a familiar jump, not nerves, not quite. Just the tiny ripple of surprise at being recognized, even here, surrounded by lemon trees and sea air. You nodded kindly, sliding your sunglasses down a little. “Yes.”

The girl beamed. She handed you a napkin, the only thing she had, and her phone. You signed it and took a quick selfie together, her hands trembling just slightly. She said thank you three times, eyes bright, and backed away quickly, clearly not wanting to intrude.

Grace tilted her sunglasses down and gave you a lazy smirk. “Famous in paradise. What’s that like?”

You shrugged and blushed, tracing circles in the sand with your fingers. “Still weird. But less weird with you here.”

She leaned over and kissed your shoulder, warm and salty from the sun. “I’ll scare off the crowds. With my aggressive midfield energy.”

You laughed, turning your face to hers. “You’re going to tackle a fan for asking for a selfie?”

“If they don’t approach politely,” she said, raising an eyebrow behind her lenses. “You’re a national treasure.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your smile curved, soft, involuntary, gave you away. “You're ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Grace said, reclining dramatically with both hands behind her head, “you’re the one taking stealthy thirst traps of me.”

“You’re not wrong,” you admitted, snapping one more photo before putting the camera down and laying beside her.

The sun moved overhead in slow, lazy arcs. Below you, the waves lapped the shore in rhythm. Grace hummed a tune, not yours, but something she must’ve heard from your playlist, and you hummed along until both your voices blended, the melody soft and nameless, like a secret only the two of you shared.

That evening, after a long day of sun, salt, and photos that would never make it online but would live forever in your camera roll, you both decided to stay in. The idea had come over gelato and lazy steps back up the winding hill to the villa, your sandals dangling from your fingers, Grace carrying two bulging canvas bags from the little local market, one on each shoulder like a very fashionable mule.

“You’re going to throw your back out,” you teased.

“I carry midfielders and defensive lines. I can carry lemons and pasta,” she said, grunting like a soldier.

Inside, with the last blush of the Amalfi sun bleeding over the horizon, you opened all the windows. The sea breeze curled through the rooms, lifting the gauzy curtains and carrying in the smell of citrus and saltwater. You set a playlist going, soft jazz, a little Italian pop, and pulled ingredients from the bags like you were hosting your own cooking show.

Grace popped open a bottle of local wine and poured two glasses. “To the chef,” she said with a lazy toast.

You clinked glasses and took a sip before adding teasingly. “To my beloved mule.”

She bowed.

The kitchen came alive quickly: garlic sizzling in olive oil, tomatoes chopped and scattered across a cutting board, the basil you’d flirted your way into getting at a discount resting proudly in a ceramic bowl. You danced in place in front of the stove, stirring the sauce and swaying your hips in rhythm to the music.

Grace was supposed to be slicing the rest of the tomatoes.

Instead, she’d taken up permanent residence behind you, arms around your waist, her chin tucked into your neck like she could melt into you. Her lips brushed your skin with every move, and her hands kept sneaking under the hem of your loose cotton shirt.

“Grace,” you warned through giggles, elbowing her gently. “You’re so useless right now. Go slice something.”

“I am slicing something,” she murmured into your ear. “Slicing... time in half. So this night lasts forever.”

You froze, your wooden spoon halfway to the pot. “Did you just… did you just try to flirt using a time joke?”

She leaned closer, undeterred. “Maybe. Did it work?”

You turned to look at her, trying to hold back your grin and failing. “You’re the worst.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, mouth already close enough to make resistance utterly ridiculous.

You did.

Sauce be damned.

The kiss was warm and lingering, infused with wine and laughter, the kind of kiss that curled into your bones and made you forget everything else, the heat of the kitchen, the flickering pan, the fact that you were halfway through making dinner. One of her hands cupped your cheek, the other pulled you even closer, and your fingers tangled in the front of her shirt as if anchoring yourself to the moment.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, you leaned your forehead against hers.

“You’re going to burn the pasta,” she murmured.

“Then we eat bread and wine like peasants,” you whispered back, smiling.

Grace grinned and stole one more kiss before grabbing the knife and finally starting to slice the tomatoes like she was supposed to.

Later that night, bellies full of pasta and wine, the two of you curled up on the outdoor lounge chair that faced the endless dark sea. The air was cool and still, cicadas humming somewhere in the lemon trees, the scent of salt and citrus heavy in every breath.

Your legs were tangled together, her bare feet brushing yours, and the thin white blanket you’d brought out was pooled at your waists. Grace had one arm tucked behind her head, eyes on the sky, and the other hand lazily resting on your knee, her thumb brushing back and forth in a steady rhythm.

You’d stopped talking a while ago, content to listen to the rhythm of waves crashing faintly below the cliffside and Graces breathing. The stars were just beginning to appear, one by one, scattered across the deep blue.

Then quietly Grace spoke.

“So,” she said, almost like she didn’t want to break the silence but needed to know. “What happens after this? When you go back to singing in stadiums and I go back to chasing trophies?”

You exhaled slowly, your hand finding hers. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “We make it work. We fly. We text. We annoy our managers with late-night time zone differences.”

Grace turned her head to look at you, her eyes soft and searching in the half-light. “I’d come to your shows forever, you know. Even the ones where you wear something unholy and glittery and sing into a wind machine.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped your lips. “I live for the wind machine.”

“I know,” she said, smirking, “and I fully support your dramatic tendencies.”

You turned onto your side to face her more fully, your hand now tracing idle shapes on her bare arm. She looked so relaxed out here, no press, no fans, no teammates or sponsors, nothing that expected either of you to be some way, just Grace, warm from the sun, soft from the wine, and beautiful in the kind of way you wanted to write a thousand verses about.

She reached for your hand again and held it tightly this time. “Just... don’t forget I’m not the heartbreak song. Okay?”

You froze, just slightly. Not because you didn’t believe her, because you did. But because you hadn’t expected her to say exactly what you’d been thinking.

You swallowed around the warmth rising in your chest and leaned in, resting your forehead against hers. “I already started writing one,” you said quietly.

Grace pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised in mock horror. “Excuse me?”

You grinned. “It’s not a heartbreak song,” you clarified quickly, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “It’s... something slower. Warmer. It’s about how you look in the sun when you’re trying to pretend you’re not watching me."

For a second, Grace just stared at you. Then she blinked, lips curving upward. “Damn,” she whispered. “That’s hot.”

You both burst out laughing, the kind of helpless, slightly wine-drenched laughter that only comes when you’re happy and safe and glowing from the inside out. You leaned into her again, pressing a gentle kiss to her jaw.

“I mean it,” you said, voice smaller this time, like you didn’t want the breeze to carry it too far. “This… whatever this is, it's mine. You’re mine. And I’m not letting go just because the real world is waiting.”

Grace kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then finally your lips, soft and slow and lingering like a promise.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “Even if I have to start carrying a glitter emergency kit and learn all the lyrics to your next album.”

You laughed again, holding her close.

On day four, the Amalfi Coast woke to a rainstorm, not violent or cold, but soft, steady, and silver, like the world had slipped into a dream. The sky was draped in pale fog, the lemon trees beaded with droplets. The sea, once glittering and full of light, now rolled in slow, muted shades of slate and steel.

You didn’t leave the villa.

Neither of you even pretended to try.

The wide shuttered windows were thrown open, letting in the scent of wet earth and sea salt. A record played quietly in the background, some old vinyl you’d found tucked in a cabinet, all scratchy strings and melancholy guitars.

Grace had claimed the bed early, sprawled beneath layers of linen and reading a paperback novel she’d bought at the airport. Occasionally, she’d read a line aloud in a ridiculous voice, and you’d giggle from the other room. Every few minutes, the rain tapped harder against the terrace roof, then softened again, like the clouds couldn’t make up their minds.

You sat outside under the overhang, curled up on a wicker chair in nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and underwear, your bare legs tucked beneath you. A notebook balanced on one knee, guitar in your lap, fingers searching for a melody you hadn’t quite found yet.

The rain was a rhythm, a backdrop. So was the occasional seagull cry and the faint sound of Grace turning a page indoors.

You were halfway through humming a new verse when you heard the door open behind you.

Grace stepped out onto the terrace, barefoot, hair slightly mussed, a mug of tea in each hand. She paused in the doorway.

“You look like a real songwriter right now,” she said, smiling as she took in the scene, you curled up against the gray morning, lost in thought, ink smudged on your wrist. “Like you should be in a documentary. All heartbreak and lemon trees.”

You looked up, smiling lazily. “I think I’m actually writing a happy song.”

“Oh no,” she said in mock horror, walking toward you. “A happy song? Are the critics ready for this kind of emotional stability?”

She leaned down and kissed your forehead before handing you one of the mugs. Her palm lingered against your cheek a second longer than necessary.

“God help the charts,” she added, settling beside you on the wicker lounge chair, legs stretched across yours.

You sipped the tea she had brought for you herbal, citrusy, still too hot and watched as her eyes traced the edges of the rain-swollen sea.

“You know,” you said after a moment, voice quiet, “you’re the reason I write differently now.”

Grace turned her head to look at you, brow raised.

“Before you,” you went on, brushing your thumb across her knee, “it was all drama. Longing. Running through airports. Candlelight and crying and bridges collapsing. Now it’s... softness. And beach days. And people who know how to make pasta without a recipe.”

Grace tilted her head, lips twitching. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“It’s true,” you said, honest and unguarded. “I didn’t know I could write love songs that didn’t ache. And now... they still ache a little. But it’s a good ache. Like missing someone even when they’re right beside you.”

She reached out and laced your fingers with hers.

“I feel that too,” she said, so quietly you barely heard it above the rain.

You stayed there like that for a while, warm mugs between your palms, the melody still humming somewhere in your mind, though now it had words. Grace. Softness. The sound of rain on stone.

Eventually, she tugged at your hand and stood.

“Come back to bed, songwriter,” she murmured, brushing her nose against yours. “It’s raining, and I need someone to read the steamy parts of this book out loud.”

You laughed, letting her pull you up, your tea forgotten on the little table. The guitar stayed behind, strings catching the mist, a half-written song waiting to become whole.

The villa was quiet that evening, not sad, not quite, just filled with the hush that comes when something perfect is about to end. The suitcases were still not packed, the wine bottle nearly empty, and the playlist that had become your Amalfi soundtrack played its final songs in the background.

You sat on the terrace, wrapped in Grace’s hoodie, feet curled beneath you as the last light of the Italian sun dipped behind the hills. The sea stretched endlessly below, calm and silver-blue, boats like tiny toys floating in a dream.

Grace stepped out from inside, hands tucked behind her back.

“Okay,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

You turned, giving her a skeptical look. “Are you about to throw something at me?”

“No. Just… trust me.”

You closed your eyes.

A second later, something small and soft was pressed into your hand a box, maybe two inches wide, wrapped in pale yellow paper and tied with a bit of twine.

“Okay, open.”

You peeled the twine loose and opened the lid. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, impossibly thin, elegant, and glinting faintly in the fading light. Hanging from the center was a tiny charm: a single, perfect lemon.

You blinked down at it, heart catching in your throat.

Grace sat beside you, her voice low. “For when you’re far away. So you can look down and remember sun. And pasta. And the fact that I know how to make you blush in two sentences.”

You stared at the bracelet for a moment longer before sliding it onto your wrist, fingers trembling slightly.

“Grace,” you whispered. “I’m going to wear this on stage. Every show.”

She smiled, slow and sure. “You better.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to hers. “This is the most romantic citrus-based gift I’ve ever received.”

She laughed, her breath warm against your lips. “You say that like there’s competition.”

You kissed her, soft and certain, the charm resting lightly against your wrist as if it had always been there.

The last stars were starting to prick the sky, and in the distance, a church bell rang somewhere high in the cliffs.

Tomorrow you’d go back to the madness, to sound checks and interviews, to airports and stadiums and lonely hotel rooms. You'd go back to missing Grace and clinging onto the hope that she loved you and held onto you as well.

But tonight?

Tonight was lemon trees and silver bracelets, sea air and a girl who knew how to completely make you speechless, who would curl up next to you just for physical affection and who looked so eager to never let you go you didn't even doubt her love.

You both delayed packing until the last possible minute. Neither of you felt ready to burst that bubble of lemons, each other and sea salt until you had to.

Suitcases sat open and half-stuffed, clothes draped over chairs, the remnants of last night’s pasta still drying in the sink. The villa felt like it was holding its breath, not quite ready to let you go.

Grace was standing in front of the window, balancing a coffee and zipping up her suitcase, squinting in concentration, when you lifted your camera one last time.

Click.

She looked up, coffee in one hand, the other resting on the balcony railing, golden morning light catching in her hair. She was barefoot, slightly sun-kissed, and wearing the sweatshirt you’d accidentally shrunk in the wash.

“Did you just take a picture of me mid-zip?” she asked.

“No,” you lied. “You were holding a coffee and my heart in equal measure. I had to capture it.” You tease gently. She looked so beautiful, the week in the sun had given her skin a nice blow and her blonde hair was glowing in the sun like spinned gold.

Grace rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, walking toward you and slipping her free hand into yours.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft.

You looked past her at the sea, the endless stretch of blue, the lemon trees you’d come to love, the tiny boats still bobbing below, and exhaled slowly.

“Only if we come back here again.”

Grace grinned. “Deal. But next time,” she added, leaning closer with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “I get to be the one writing the song.”

You let out a groan. “Please don’t. I heard you try to rhyme Amalfi with coffee yesterday.”

Before you could say more, she kissed you, hard, sure, smiling against your lips, and it was the kind of kiss that said shut up, I love you, and we’re definitely coming back here someday all at once.

When you finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against yours.

“Fine,” you whispered. “But I still get the bridge.”

Grace smirked. “Only if I get the chorus.”

And just like that, hand in hand and hearts a little heavier, you turned to face the day, full of suitcases, airport lines, and a return to the real world. But somewhere between your wrist and hers, between that lemon charm and a camera roll full of sunlit memories, the magic still lingered and she was yours.

[tagged-by-trauma]

After everything

After a shared past that turned out bad, you meet again decades later and finally realize what you both want. Pairing: Pedro Pascal x plus size!reader Warnings: friends to lovers, hurt comfort, language, mentions of bullying, Pedro fucking up in high school, guilt, tears, slight argument, happy ending, np proofreading Word count: 2.3k A/N: Thank you to the lovely @being-worthy for sending me this idea! And I'm just hoping things will turn on the brighter side for you!

The high school was loud with the chatter of other students, some discussing the nearby exams others talking out the teachers they hated. The halls were full of the ones who were new here, still trying to find their way and coordinate in the building, even though it was the end of the year already, the bullies looking at them with their piercing eyes.

You were there once. Completely new, the hallways unfamiliar, too much classroom, and definitely too much bully. Not the best stand-up for someone like you.

You were never that typically beautiful girl with a body that could look like a model. Your curves were more prominent, you didn’t have a flat stomach and your cheeks were fuller. You only used makeup to hide the imperfections on your face, the cheap products doing a poor job. Maybe that’s why they started bullying you one day. Because you were too out of the crowd. Too new.

Too big for the bullies to notice.

It started with words. Mostly about your looks or the fact that you were new. But these words soon turned harsher, spitting venom about your family and different threats. Luckily, none of these verbal actions turned into physical ones thanks to a saviour.

Well, he wasn’t a saviour, but you called him that way anyway.

He was just a normal boy, one year older than you. He happened to walk by when the words were yelled at your way and he stepped in, shielding you, giving some not so beautiful words for the famous boys and too spoiled girls. They walked away without giving you another look, their faces turned to the ground, hands in their pockets. He introduced himself not long after.

Pedro.

Well, he actually introduced himself as Peter, but when you started to hang out with him more and more, he told you his actual and full name, and the reason why he just says Peter to everyone who meets him for the first time. You talked about hobbies, interests, and he told you how he liked drama, films, and his dream was becoming a worldwide famous actor one day.

The years turned into friendship, but you felt more.

You started falling for him.

And you weren’t sure you could land without hurting yourself.

And when he invited you to the prom you didn’t hesitate to say yes, even though you were a year younger. You immediately started panicking, trying to look for a dress that would look good on you, trying on different makeups that would make your face slimmer or more beautiful. In the end, you settled for a dark blue velvet dress and a more natural look for your face. And during the preparations, you decided that you would tell him your feelings.

And soon the evening of prom came.

You were just getting ready, looking at yourself, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear when the knock came on your door. You picked up your purse before opening the door and glancing at him.

He was wearing a simple black suit, his dark hair combed back, and you caught the way his eyes travelled down your body before it met again with yours.

“You,” he stopped for a second. “You look really beautiful.”

You blushed at his compliment, your eyes flicking to the ground.

“You don’t look bad yourself either,” your voice was barely above a whisper, and you watched as he lifted his hand to the back of his neck nervously. He thanked you and held out his arm which you took and started walking to the school.

But you couldn’t prepare yourself for the turn the night would take.

Everything was going alright, you were dancing with him to almost every song, his dance moves surprising you, and when you needed a break you both went to the drink stand with sweat clinging to your bodies. Way into the night you excused yourself, the need to use the bathroom growing stronger with every passing minute.

Even though the prom was the biggest one in the history of the school, there was no one in the bathroom and you couldn’t be more grateful for that. You looked in the mirror, pulling your makeup from the purse to fix it, your hair falling over your eyes. You wanted to tell him your feelings, but you were too afraid. Too afraid of rejection, too afraid that he would laugh at you. But he wasn’t that type of guy, he wouldn’t do that to you.

With newly found energy, you left the room minutes later, the song getting louder and louder as you walked closer to the big hall. You bumped into some students who escaped the dance floor to talk to each other, and you apologized every single time when you saw their eyes piercing a hole in your skin.

You walked into the big hall, the music blasting from the speakers, your eyes glancing around to find Pedro in the crowd of students. But the cheerful expression fell from your face when you spotted him on the dance floor with a girl grinding on him, his suit jacket forgotten somewhere. And the most painful wasn’t this. He was kissing her. Hungry, desperate, his hands pulling her closer with every move.

The time seemed to freeze in that moment; the music fading and being replaced by the loud ringing of your ear. All thoughts flew out of your mind, only the image of him with her remaining. You felt the hot tears in your eyes, your vision blurring with every passing second.

You remembered the times he comforted you after a bad day, pulled you into the same arms that he was holding her. The times he calmed you down after a bad argument with your family, the shared cuddles on the couch, the hugs, the memories coming back to you suddenly.

You knew that you shouldn’t feel this way, not like you were together or anything. But you still felt betrayed, and you dismissed the idea of telling him your feelings.

For once in your life, you felt like you were enough for someone. You brough out the best of you, putting on the most beautiful dress you could find, but you felt like an idiot for trying to be someone that you’re clearly not.

In that moment the girl pulled back and leaned into his neck and he just smirked before his eyes scanned the hall and they fell on your body. His smile immediately faltered, and the dark brown orbs showed guilt and remorse. He quickly pushed away the girl and started walking towards you, but you just shook your head and left the hall as fast as you could.

Your steps were fast, the uncomfortable heels clicking loudly on the ground as you dodged the curious students, but you didn’t care. You heard his voice behind you as he called out, but you didn’t stop, instead you picked up your pace, your sobs and tears finally breaking out of you.

“Please, it wasn’t what it looked like,” his voice was desperate, and you finally came to a halt, the beat of your heart too quick and your breathing too heavy. You turned around, his form blurry a few feet away from you.

“You don’t have to explain anything, Pedro. It’s not like we’re together or anything,” you tried to calm yourself down, you voice sounding unfamiliar to your own ears. “You do want you want with whoever you want.”

“But you want to.”

“What?”

“You want to be together, right?” his question and the mention of a relationship with him pierced painfully through your heart, and you shook your head dismissively, pursing your lips.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” you murmured unsurely, and you saw how he stepped toward you even more, but you stopped him with one look. “Just… I need some time right now, please.”

He nodded slowly, his own eyes shining with tears too in the glow of the streetlamp. You turned away from him and started to walk away when his voice hit you and your whole body stiffened.

“Did I ruin our friendship?”

Your friendship. The friendship that you built with him since the very first day you met. The friendship that turned your world upside down. The friendship that turned to love on your side.

“No. I think I did,” you whispered loud enough so he could hear, and without waiting for his answer you continued to walk, never looking back at him. He was in disbelief behind you, trying to go after you, trying to explain that it wasn’t your fault, but he changed his mind and stared at the spot where you stood just minutes ago.

That was the moment he knew. The moment he realized what he really felt.

And the moment he really fucked up.

—-—

Months went by without talking. He eventually graduated; you stayed back for the last year. After high school you started studying law trying to block out that night you last saw him. Of course, you were walking with open eyes, curious about his career as an actor, but you never looked out for him.

And neither did he.

—-—

You watched the screen of the TV as he strode over in it, the mustard-colored cloak swishing behind him. Oberyn Martell. Game of Thrones. His first more serious role in his career.

You were proud of him, happy that he reached his goal, and you were hoping this was only the beginning. You really did, the memory of him living rent free in your mind, the glint of his eyes as he told you about his dream while holding you.

—-—

The corner café was almost empty at this time in the morning as you stepped inside. Just a few people were standing in a line in front of the counter, waiting for their usual morning coffee impatiently. You quickly stood behind the last person, your phone in hand, looking through your emails.

The que moved fast and within ten minutes you were standing in front of the barista who brought you your usual, too familiar with you and your order at this point. She placed the little cup before you, but a voice distracted you.

“The lady’s order is on me,” his voice was low and gravelly, too familiar. You turned around immediately to protest, but the words stuck in your throat as the same dark brown eyes stared into yours that looked at you guiltily that night. More exhausted, older, but the same glint was there.

“Pedro,” your voice came out as a whisper, the disbelief prominent in our tone.

“Hey,” he smiled at you, his lips slightly pursed.

“What—” you were cut off as he stepped beside you and picked up the cup after he put down a few bills. You just looked at him like he was a ghost and walked with him to one of the tables like it was natural, like you did it every day. Before you could pull out your chair, he did it, and you returned his smile as you sat down.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, it’s been quite some time,” you said, your voice quite in the even quieter place. “Decades.”

“Well… I wanted to look for you. Years after I left high school, I tried to reach out for you, but I was too afraid to do so. I just felt like I didn’t deserve it.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucked up that night. Like really fucked up and—” before he could finish, you cut him off.

“You don’t have to explain anything, Pedro. I told you that night too and I’m also telling you now. At least, you enjoyed yourself, that’s the important part,” your voice sounded sad, but you quickly composed yourself, taking a sip from the hot beverage.

“I didn’t.”

You raised your eyebrows at his short answer, the look in his eyes apologetic, the smile falling from his lips as he took on a more serious expression.

“I didn’t enjoy it, not when I saw how it made you feel,” he hesitated before he continued. “I was young, dumb, and confused. I did what I did because I thought I could forget you like that, but I didn’t. Instead, you haunted me with the hurt look in your eyes.”

“Pedro,” you tried to warn him, but he didn’t pay attention to it.

“I realized in that moment that you also had feelings, but I was a coward to not tell you back then. So, I’m telling you now. I’m not expecting you to forgive me or have the same feelings for me, but…”

“Yeah, it hurt me seeing you with someone else, but I think I never stopped loving you. I couldn’t stop. I just needed some time to think,” you smiled at him softly, and he looked at you with those puppy dog eyes that he did back in the comfort of the school library. “And when I saw that you achieved your dreams, I was too scared to reach out too. Too afraid that I would just be a burden for you after everything.”

“You could never be a burden to me, you hear me? Never,” he said with confidence, his hand finding yours on the table, enveloping it in his much bigger ones. “So, this means we could try?”

He was hopeful, and you were too. Maybe something in your life would turn out good.

“Yes, but just small steps at first, alright?”

He nodded, the boyish grin returning to his face, and he squeezed your hands. You didn’t really hear what he said after that, but it sounded like a thank you coming from his mouth.

And it felt like a new beginning for both of you.

[karisana]

I hear you want to do more headcanons!!

Maybe all four of the Beatles with a HUGE crush on an oblivious reader?

it's only love

a/n: so... i know i said i wouldnt post until next week but unfortunately i got dragged into family activities so i didnt get much done today so im gonna be taking monday off too so i figured id just post something now 😓 anyway i really loved this premise and writing these!!

paul

• paul always puts up an immediate gentleman act around any woman but he really ups the antics with you.

• initially he does it because he likes you but over time it turns more into him just wanting you to get the hint.

• he's always finding some way to be next to you or finding an excuse to touch you, carry your stuff, gift you things.

• he tries to pay attention and learn a lot of stuff about you. for example, he knows how to make your tea (or coffee) the way you like without you even having to tell him. he just notices.

• he leans in close when you're talking to him, stares at you from across the room, and still, nothing.

• might get upset if someone else tries to hit on you but of course you never understand that's what it is so nothing ever happens.

• paul thinks of your obliviousness as a blessing and a curse for this very reason.

• you'll never know how crushed he gets when after all this, you still refer to him as nothing but a "good friend."

john

• john thinks it's funny at first. every touch, every sly joke, every fliratious comment made in passing all fly over your head. "you're hopeless, you know that?" after something he said flies over your head once again.

• however when his feelings grow deeper, his frustration grows stronger.

• his jealousy is the strongest out of all the guys so even if he knows that you're not entertaining anyone who shows interest, he still gets upset, not just at the person but also at you.

• he's just irked at how you could possibly not already be together with how hard he's trying to show you he likes you

• i can see this anger and jealousy leading to an argument where he ends up just having to outright tell you and then well... you can decide where that goes.

• for the most part, the embitterment he feels likely comes from how he's constantly being fawned over by their fans + past issues of being rejected. even though thats not what you're doing, he's almost gotten an idea in his head that you fancy him too so when you don't react to his advances, it feels like you're rejecting him. and as we know, he has quite the ego... i don't doubt he would be thinking something like "well i've got half the population begging to just be in the same room as me, why wouldn't they feel the same?"

• he's so annoying

george

• george is a bit of a tricky one...

• on one hand i can see him being rather upfront about how he feels and just asking you out

• on the other hand, he could be silently pining over you...

• we're gonna go with that scenario because if i went with the first one, well there wouldnt be any headcanons for him would there?

• because he's not outright saying anything, I imagine this goes on for the longest out of all the guys.

• i dont think it would necessarily even process in his mind that you're oblivious to his crush, he just thinks its because he's not really doing anything, which isnt wrong of him to think either.

• his crush manifests as him doing sweet small things like making you a cup of tea when he makes some for himself, writing about you, giving you more hugs than to anyone else, that kind of stuff.

• the guys tease him for his crush, even doing so in front of you but of course you never really realize what they mean so it never goes anywhere.

• he'll end up eventually just confessing to you straight up because he does get a bit annoyed after a while lol

ringo

• ringo, for the most part, treats you just like he does with his other friends. though he does up it after a while of crushing on you. 

• most of what ringo says to you is just compliments. every single day without fail he'll find something new to point out and give you a flattering remark on it. 

• gets really giddy around you, especially if you're giving him all your attention or if you hug him. 

• i think he would find your obliviousness amusing honestly. like he really cant believe how clueless you are when he's making the biggest heart eyes at you.

• most mature about it, if he ever gets tired of it, he just tells you straight up. he doesnt get annoyed with you, nor does he really get jealous if someone else comes on to you because he knows nothing will happen.

• hes the best❤️

[dissociativewriter]

authors note: SNOWCROW YALL (i love them so much) this idea was kinda inspired by my animal love fic (you might have seen my little authors note at the end) although this isn’t super similar. i like it though i think its cute! also this isn’t proofread so i hope its alright lol. i hope you like it! <3

Zayne wondered just when he'd adopted a pet squirrel.

Maybe it was when he'd first fed him outside his office. Or maybe when he'd let him inside during a particularly bad storm. Either way, it might have been a mistake to name him.

Especially with a name like Clopidogrel.

Zayne had liked it, at first. In fact, he still did, in the privacy of his own thoughts. But he'd heard how Yvonne and Greyson had chuckled and snickered when they overheard him.

Of course, that might have been because Zayne was talking to Clopidogrel.

Still, the name proved to be annoying, mostly at times like these. "Yes, C-L-O-P-I-D-O-G-R-E-L," Zayne told the vet receptionist.

Behind him, a man gave a rich chuckle. "That's quite a mouthful," he drawled.

Zayne turned, trying and failing to hide his shock at the man before him. He matched his stances, though just a bit taller, with silvery, snowy hair falling over piercing crimson eyes. In the crook of his elbow, he cradled a trembling kitten.

"I suppose it might be," Zayne replied stiffly. "What would you call a suitable pet name?"

The man paused, considering. "I have a crow named Mephisto."

The sound escaped Zayne's lips before he could stop it, half-scoff and half-chuckle. "Then I don't think you have room to talk when it comes to naming conventions."

The man smirked. "Perhaps not."

Zayne moved to sit in the waiting room, and the man followed, sauntering over to the chair next to him.

"I'm Sylus." He tilted his head. "And you?"

"Zayne," he said.

Sylus nodded. "So, pray tell, how did you come up with such a name, Zayne?" He let the syllables roll over his tongue, as if he was savoring the taste of the name, unsure if he would be able to embrace its exciting flavor again.

"I'm a doctor," Zayne explained. "Clopidogrel is a type of medicine, specifically used to reduce risks of cardiovascular illnesses and problems. It's what I specialize in, I'm a cardiac surgeon."

"Ah, a doctor!" With the raised eyebrow and near mocking tone, Zayne couldn't tell if the man was genuine in his interest. "Aren't you a bit too young to be a surgeon? A bit too handsome, too." Sylus grinned, sharp and inviting like a well-loved kitchen knife. Dangerous if you handled it recklessly, and yet a comforting weight in the hand if you knew how to use it.

Zayne's ears flushed red. "Yes, well, I was fortunate enough to quickly advance through my studies and qualifications."

Sylus hummed. "You're quite talented, doctor. I'm liking you more and more."

"I suppose I'm glad, then." Zayne cleared his throat. "I like you, as well."

"Careful, doctor." Sylus leaned in closer, warm breath fanning over Zayne's lips. "Keep talking like that, and I might get a bit greedy."

Zayne gaped at him, scrambling for something to say, but he was spared the search when Clopidogrel slipped away from his hands. Looking down, it seemed Sylus's kitten had escaped his hold and was now chasing after the frightened squirrel.

Sylus and Zayne did not hesitate to move, immediately lunging after thier respective pets. Although they were slippery, evading both their grasps a few times, they couldn't beat Sylus. He held both of them in opposite hands, making sure they couldn't get each other.

"It seems they're not very fond of each other." Sylus frowned, handing Clopidogrel back to Zayne.

Zayne shrugged. "They might learn to like one another. First impressions are rarely accurate."

"True, but that first impression is what gains interest." Crimson eyes flicked over Zayne's form. "You've definitely captured mine, doctor."

"Zayne Li!" The receptionist announced. "If you could bring Clopidogrel back with us, that'd be great." She flashed a customer-service smile as Zayne rose to his feet.

Hesitantly, he turned back to Sylus. "I suppose this is goodbye." Zayne glanced down. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure was mine." Sylus smiled. "And I certainly intend to see you again."

With that, Zayne left the waiting room, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on his back.

The appointment with Clopidogrel was easy, for peace of mind more than anything. It was practically in and out, with Zayne clutched the squirrel in one hand and a vet's report in the other. It was getting to be squirrel flu season, though, so Zayne knew he needed to take certain precautions, like the ones the vet gave him.

The paper fell to the floor, however, as Zayne attempted to balance forms and medicines and a squirrel in his hands. Before he could reach down, a familiar mop of silver hair knelt in front of him, holding the paper up with an amused smirk.

"Seems you dropped something."

Zayne took the paper with a quiet thanks.

"You know, I read that carrots are good for squirrels. In moderation, of course. Maybe you could get some, or I could bring you some," Sylus offered.

Zayne grimaced, which did not go unnoticed by the man before him.

Sylus raised his eyebrows. "Not a fan?"

"Carrots are an abomination," Zayne muttered, moving towards the exit.

Another hearty chuckle from Sylus, and Zayne could feel it thawing the freezing ice in his chest, a reprieve he found himself craving again as the doors to the veterinarian shut behind him.

Glancing at the paper in his hand, Zayne's hazel eyes stopped over the messy yet elegant scrawl that looked hastily added.

That definitely wasn't there before.

Zayne stopped in the street, a blush and a smile growing on his face as he traced over the words.

Be sure to call me, doctor. If you don't, I'm afraid I'll have a broken heart, and you'd be the only one I trust to fix me.

Either way, I told you I would see you again.

— Sylus ###-###-####

Zayne grinned through the confusion. He didn't know when Sylus been able to write this note, but he did know that Sylus would be getting a call very soon.

The walk back to the Akso was much more pleasant now, with Zayne unable to hide his goofy smile. He may have felt a bit ridiculous, but, he supposed, he deserved it. After all, when was the last time he was this excited?

Back at the vet, Sylus watched the doctor through the window, smile faltering as he faded out of view. He wondered if he truly would call him back, if he really would see him again.

Sylus wondered if he would be able to find sanctuary from the tumultuous, fiery storm that is his life in this Zayne.

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

taglist (9/50): @dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgworl @angelkazusstuff @lamogliedizayne @cordidy

[yakjs]

One sided competition with Clark Kent

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* summary : As a reporter at the Daily Planet, you’ve never hidden your disdain for Clark Kent — too clean, too polished, too perfect. Always mild-mannered and annoyingly kind, can’t help but take your place as employee of the month which his extraordinary access to Superman newest interviews which you find boring. But it doesn’t explain why you keep thinking about him even out of office, when you’re both too clueless (and too stubborn) to notice what’s really brewing between interview sessions, lunch breaks, and way-too-good cups of coffee. Maybe, you’ll get your interview of Superman as well…and more ･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Content: Fluff with just a hint of emotional chaos, Clark Kent being an adorable loser (in a suit)c Superman being the same loser, just in spandex, Office crushes that are painfully obvious to everyone but the people involved, A love story built one awkward conversation at a time, Light teasing from Lois, Jimmy & co, Banter that slowly turns into confessions

_______________________________________________

I had found the best sources in the whole entire city. I had met Hawkgirl at a random bar downtown. She was around my age, probably younger if I was honest, and we had hit it off immediately. I had smiled and did my whole scenery with my long lashes and looking up and down before I actually realized who she was. Unlike Superman, she was very open with her identity, and before I realized it, she was telling me a whole bunch of stuff.

Now, I’m not the type of sneaky reporter who lies to their sources and, when they wake up the next morning, whatever they said to a pretended stranger is on the front page of the Daily Planet. Actually, I was the opposite. The second I realized whatever I’m listening to will be interesting for an article, I immediately warn the person and ask them if I can record them. Not because I was scared of being “sneaky,” but first because it felt awful to play pretend with someone and stab them behind their backs, even if a good check is at the end of it. But also because my uni friend, Gemma, did exactly this and was sued and shamed until she became a printer since nobody ever trusted her again. And I won’t be like Gemma.

I went, and the second she started talking to me about the “stupid Justice again,” I warned her. She was not only a literal hawk-woman and could tear me apart, but also because she seemed genuinely nice. And I liked her. She agreed to give me this kind of “small niche interview,” and it was so great. Now, I would be able to steal the spotlight from Kent for at least a day. I hoped. If he didn’t come up with an out-of-nowhere Superman interview, as if that man lives in his closet.

In excitement for my arrival to the office this morning, knowing for once I was not going to be under the huge and massive shadow of Kent, I was actually happy and couldn’t wait to get there. I wore my favorite boot heels – they were high, deep brown suede and they almost reached my knee. I let white socks stick out a little. I was so happy I wore a skirt to work. Of course, I didn’t forget to put on my favorite tights, which I bought for a fortune because they never rip. How can they be almost see-through and never break? The black skirt I wore was shorter than I usually go for, but it’s because if it reached my knee, it’d look ridiculous, and the black turtleneck balanced it out. Anyway, I couldn’t be more attention-grabbing than Cat. I bet she’ll like it.

I made my best ponytails, Barbie-looking. If Barbie had become a brunette—maybe I was more Raquelle anyway. She was more fiery and annoying. I loved that about her. I remember hating Barbie Dreamhouse, because of how boring she was. She was always so naive about everything, she never thought things through. In the movies, on the other hand, she was so passionate about whatever the movie was about. I wish they had made a journalist Barbie; I would have absolutely adored her.

As I took my coffee, with mostly milk and vanilla syrup rather than actual coffee, I remembered that piece I wrote maybe three months ago. It was about how, now that metahumans are a part of our everyday life, Superman is an alien from a whole other planet, and everyone seems so chill about it. Me too. But it made me think about how, if you told anyone a decade or two ago, they would’ve lost their shit about this. They wouldn’t believe it. Hell, they might even throw a war or something against them all. They’d see them as a threat. Maybe they did at the beginning. But now, it’s like everything is possible. We have a literal Hawkgirl. We have a man able to create everything that is possible with the sole power of a ring. We have the smartest man on Earth who is able to create and resolve absolutely everything. And then, there’s freaking Superman. Who is literally the ameliorated version of us, who heals thanks to the sun. What has become normal—our reality—is somehow so fantastic, straight out of sci-fi movies or comics. The article was a bunch of ideas from random people I had found on the street answering a single question: What else do you think could be real?

A lot of them said mermaids, others talked about humanoids, and a little girl said Barbie.

Now if Barbie appeared, I think I might have a stroke. But it’d be a heck of a front page, and I’d run myself to beg for an interview. But even in my imagination, Clark Kent got the exclusive. Maybe his friend Superman would allow him to. Maybe Superman would actually walk over my body to let Kent have the interview. I mean, at this point they may be brothers—or like cousins. The guy is huge. He could be a super-whatever.

Maybe he is.

Now that’s a lot of thought given to him. I’m aware of that. But he just gets under my skin. I used to own the Daily Planet. First day as an intern, I had the scoop of the month. I had taken down and highlighted a corruption scandal within the pharmaceutical industry that made hair transplants a nightmare. I had my picture on the wall of best interns. And then he walks in, and my picture gets taken down because the man gets a freaking interview with Superman on his first day. Ever since, he’s gotten one every other day.

With Cat, we even started to think he’s making them up. He’s lying to himself. But he’s so nice, it’s impossible to talk behind his back without feeling as guilty as ever. So to not make it look bad, I told him. In front of everybody, over a drink. And Cat, and Jimmy, and Lois tried to make it look like we weren’t insane. But I was serious. I was deadass mad.

I love to be on top of things. I give 100% of myself in that job. I don’t even think about anything else. And here he comes, and he seems so effortless at doing better than all of us. He’s like… awfully perfect. It drives me crazy.

On that note, I stood up, my back very much straight, and my smile added. If he comes up with a Superman interview—especially after the bomb he killed last night or whatever—I hate that guy now. It’s like he haunts my day at the Daily Planet. I miss when a scoop was about real-life people, even from our community, and not whatever Superman does and doesn’t. I miss old journalism.

I put on my headphones and blasted music. I’m losing my hearing because of this, but I can’t help it. I played “Rising the Moon” to start the day on a calm and chill note. For once, it wasn’t raining—the sun was even out. I rushed into the train, and before I knew it, I was greeting the security guy in front of the building. Joe, that’s his name. He’s so nice. Once he even lent me his umbrella.

“Hi Joe.”

“Hi Melissa.”

“Good start of the day.”

“Always,” he smiled.

I waved at him and pushed the door to the Daily Planet.

Everyone, as always, was buzzing around—rushing, pistols, coffee, papers flying everywhere. God, I love that place. Quickly, I found my way back to our corner and settled my bag next to Cat, who always arrives way earlier for some reason.

First thing I always do is get my story printed and take a coffee while it’s printing. Then, I run to Perry when he arrives.

As I drank yet another coffee full of sugar, I was catching up with Cat. I didn’t even have time to run to Perry because the second he arrived—perfect, tall, blue-eyed, smiley, broad-shouldered and good-looking Clark Kent had arrived late—yet again—and had, you guessed it, an amazing one-and-only interview with freaking Superman. I grabbed my papers and rushed to Perry. I was trying to keep up with the pace of the enormous guy next to me.

“Perfect Kent, you prepared me that one.”

“Wait,” I almost shouted in a voice way higher than usual. “I have an exclusive interview with the Hawkgirl, where she explains her dynamic with the Justices, and the functioning of missions, etc… She’s never done interviews officially before. It’s a one-and-only.

He stopped rushing through the hall and stopped to stare at both of us. He looked back and forth, at us and our papers.

“Sorry Lissa, we’ll publish yours tomorrow. What happened yesterday needs first page. People almost died. Better be great though.” He gave me an understanding look before turning to Kent. “I want that ready by 9 AM.”

And then he just disappeared back to his desk and let us hang there. Worst part, I could feel the pity and understanding look of Clark on me. I was boiling. I wore my best dress, I made the interview that any journal would have put front page, it was the first one ever made of Hawkgirl. And he throws it away, for a random and boring story of Superman.

“Melissa,” he starts with his deep voice that is too deep, actually. He should change that.

“Don’t even,” I sent him a death threat with my eyes. I walked back to my desk, and since he’s right next to me, he’s following me. How great!

He puts his bag on his desk and seems to hesitate before sitting on his own chair. Oh my God. It’s not like I’m going to crash out on him the second he sits down.

“Melissa,” he started, and I knew everybody was looking. “I know you hate when I do that, but I’m going to apologize for the front page. Again.”

“Again,” I peeked, trying to sound not as offended as I was. I knew everybody saw what happened because I nearly shouted. And now I’m humiliated and I worked for a delayed front line. I’m exhausted. No. Actually, I’m mad. And his stupid apologies, that he actually meant, are worse than if he was faking and I had an actual rival. I’m alive, fighting a guy who doesn’t even have to compete with me to get absolutely everything.

“I’m sure your interview is amazing, and tomorrow—”

“Mm, shouldn’t have said that,” Jimmy ticked.

I turned to Clark and set my eyes right into his. Even sitting down, I had to look up, and I hated that. I got closer to his face and said exactly what I thought. “You know what I think, Clark?” I bent my head a little to actually stare right into his eyes and steeled my arm in front of his on the desk we both share. “I think your interviews are useless. Who cares what Superman felt about any attack? What about the people, actually? The guy won’t die, he’s just going to be fine, and everybody saw what he did on TV already. And every single time, whatever thing you’re writing, it never brings insight on anything. It’s never about what people felt, what they even thought. It’s always ‘Oh, I’m Superman and I think that.’ And that’s it? No soul, no community. Just a single guy who does amazing things, yes. But that’s not journalism. That’s just reporting. You’re reporting over and over again the same point of view, about the same issues, and nothing is ever deep enough to be captivating. You’re a great writer, but you never write. You just transcribe. Like a robot. Like you don’t have any opinion whatsoever about this guy or what he’s doing.”

A little silence went on. I could tell he was flustered, and I regretted it immediately. He fixed his glasses and grinned. “Thank you for saying I’m a great writer. And thank you for your insight on my papers. I think you’re right.”

I exhaled. “You’re thanking me?”

“Well, yes. I think your critiques are right.”

“Right. Well, you’re welcome, Kent.” I tried to sound genuine.

I threw my printed interview in the bin and convinced myself not to throw my head into my arms like a toddler and cry. Perfect guy next to me who smells like aftershave and never sweats even though it looks like he’s always running somewhere. And he took way too much space. I regretted choosing the desk near the wall. I really did. I feel cornered. Like he was trapping me. Fortunately, he stood up to get whatever he’s always getting.

Lois and Jimmy went up in front of my desk, and Cat even brought me a chocolate bar.

“It’s okay. Maybe you’ll even get used to it,” Lois said. “Because I have. I almost went crazy.”

“I’m sure your interview is going to be amazing,” Cat said. “And then you’ll get more front pages.”

“I don’t know, I feel so disappointed. I was so excited. I wore a skirt to work. I ruined my dinner with my friends last night to get that interview,” I was whining, and I hated myself for that.

“And it looks great too!” Cat said.

“Well, you know you can still try to get a Superman interview. I guess you’ll be the next employee of the month. You know. An interview with insight,” Jimmy said.

To that idea, I raised my head. “Wait, you’re right, Jimmy.”

“Wow, that’s a sentence I never heard you say before.”

“No but really. If I beg enough, do you think Kent will tell me how to get an interview with Superman?”

“Mel, I have tried absolutely everything to get him to tell me. He just blushed and brushed it off,” Lois said. “I even tried begging. Like on my knees.”

I chuckled. “Well then, I hope it’s going to turn out better for me.”

I turned to his side. « Where is Kent, actually ? »

« Once again, a sentence never heard before. »

« Haha, » I sarcastically said.

« What? Sometimes it does feel like you hate him, » Jimmy shrugged his shoulders.

« And he feels bad about it too, » Lois said, taking a sip of her coffee while sitting back at her desk.

« Aww, poor guy. He’s so cute too, » Cait tapped my arm.

« Cait, » I turned to her, offended. « Why are you making me feel bad ? »

« I don’t know, ’Liss. You know I love Clark. He always remembers how to make my favorite coffee. »

« Right. Me too, » I sighed. « You think I went too hard on him? »

« I think you’re the only person who ever did. See that little surprised face? »

« Stop babying him, he’s a grown man. »

« Yeah. You sure noticed, » she jumped off my desk and went back to hers giggling.

I rolled my eyes. Well, it’s hard not to. The guy’s a freaking bear or something.

Of course, he came back and sat here like everything was normal. He put a coffee next to me — which is better than the one I make myself — took off his blazer, and usually we both start working quietly, then talk with the others when we miss a word, or anything, really. It’s really great to have a good work environment, and I actually sat back a little, thinking I might be taking that experience away from myself and Clark by being so grumpy.

I promised myself that at lunch break I’d actually force a nice conversation. And excuse myself.

I started typing back my interview and tried to put together an excellent article, trying to firmly believe it will be front page tomorrow.

We all worked for a few hours before it was finally lunch break. I started picking up my stuff while chatting with the others. We usually eat our lunch here, but sometimes we go take a dessert outside. As always, Kent volunteered to go.

And for once, I volunteered to go with him.

He looked at me like he thought I was lying. When he realized I wasn’t, he smiled a bit — but more like he was unsure than excited. I could never tell what was on his mind. He was either too nice to be true and an actual psycho, or he really was that nice and kind. And in a way, that was also terrifying.

The others, too, looked at me like I was lying. But I wasn’t.

I took my bag and looked up at Kent. « We’re going ? » I asked rhetorically. I was already walking.

I heard him trot a little next to me. When he reached my side, he walked slower. It felt like a normal pace to me, but it looked like he was slowing down. Then I realized — he was walking slower so I didn’t have to keep up with him.

Then he held the door for me.

For some reason, it pissed me off.

As we walked on the street, the silence didn’t even feel heavy. He looked like he was… normal.

Before I realized, we had bought everything we were asked for, and we were on our way back. I decided to grab my courage and force a conversation.

« Clark, » I started, and he turned to me, then looked down. At me.

« You never called me Clark before. »

« I didn’t ? »

« No, you never did. That’s okay, but it’s just surprising. »

He stared at me and I actually looked away. The blue of his eyes is pretty intense. It looks like he can scan me with X-ray vision or something.

« Well, I wanted to say… I’m sorry for this morning. I know I can be… bitter when I get competitive. »

« Competitive ? Are we in a competition ? »

My mouth fell open.

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