#try and communicate with the fireflies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cipheress-to-k-pop · 4 months ago

Text

ephemeral pt.2

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k words

A/N: I'm pretty sure I tagged everyone who asked, really sorry if I missed yours if I did

part 1

Six months ago, when you awoke in the hospital after an attack on Gotham by the Witch Boy, Klarion, the nurses informed you that you had given birth to a beautiful baby boy. The only problem was: you couldn’t remember ever being pregnant.

After multiple rigorous tests, you were told that you’d sustained amnesia from a head injury during the chaos. It sounded insane—you couldn’t even remember the baby’s father.

You carried your newborn through the hospital halls, lost and overwhelmed. You had no idea what was about to become of the two of you—you didn’t even know where you lived, and the building where you’d been found had been reduced to rubble.

On your way out, you had the misfortune of passing a specific corridor, clutching Thomas—you didn’t know why you picked that name, it just felt right—to your chest. You watched strangers cry over the loss of their children, their partners, their parents.

You soothed Thomas' soft whimpers into the wisps of hair on his head, covered by a cap one of the nurses had kindly lent you. You didn’t know who you were. You couldn’t remember anything. But Thomas was your son, and regardless of everything, you loved him. You were grateful for him.

At least… you didn’t have to know the pain of losing a child.

And yet—for some reason—you felt like you had lost a child...

That hollow ache in your chest returned as you stood frozen, watching the Bats fight on the rooftop across from you. Killer Moth and Firefly, wreaking havoc with their signature chaos and flames. You were stuck on the roof, having barely escaped with Thomas in your arms when the lobby of your building had caught fire, trapping you above the inferno.

You watched as Red Hood tried to subdue him, cowering at the edge of the rooftop, holding Thomas so tightly that he began to squirm in discomfort but you didn't yield your grip.

The flames were slowly crawling up the building and you were beginning to sweat, feeling tears well in your eyes and a punch to your stomach every time you watched Red Hood receive a punch from Killer Moth.

And then—everything happened—all at once.

Red Robin landed on the rooftop in a blur of red and black, his voice sharp yet calm as he called out to you, “I’m here to get you both out of this. Stay with me.”

But before you could even process his words, Killer Moth lunged—his grotesque figure diving straight for you and Thomas.

It happened in slow motion.

A sharp intake of breath. The weight of Thomas in your trembling arms. The sickening realization that you couldn’t move fast enough.

But then, a streak of leather and metal crashed into Killer Moth mid-air. Red Hood tackled him with brutal force, the two of them colliding before tumbling over the edge of the building.

A scream left your mouth before you had any idea what was going on—

"JASON!"

You wanted to scream and cry in Red Robin's grasp as he carried you off to another building, grappling away. You needed to see if Red Hood was okay—you didn’t know why, but you had to make sure he was unhurt. You couldn't lose him—not again.

If it wasn’t for the crying baby in your arms, you would’ve kicked and wailed.

You don't know what happened in the next couple minutes, it felt like you had been blown in every direction by the wind until you found yourself in the Batcave surrounded by the remaining bats.

Even though they were trying to be subtle, you could still hear their whispered discussions. You weren’t supposed to—after all, they were the Bats, trained in the art of silent communication—but somehow, you could pick up on their words with ease. It was almost like you had been trained for it yourself.

Batman was asking Red Robin how he could bring you here, and Red Robin responded without hesitation, How could I not?

You clutched your baby closer to your chest, seeking comfort in his warmth as an odd sense of familiarity settled over you. The Batcave, with its cold metal and dim lighting, should have felt foreign, but instead, it gnawed at the edges of your mind like a memory just out of reach.

Your eyes flickered around the cavernous space, noting little details that made your stomach twist with unease.

Someone had moved the giant coin. It was supposed to be behind the dinosaur.

Wait.

How did you know there was a coin there?

You looked around, your gaze bouncing between faces, between artifacts, between things that all felt like pieces of a puzzle—except you had no idea what the completed picture was supposed to be. You could only sense when two pieces fit together.

Then, Robin stepped forward.

“Ummi?”

Your brows furrowed. That word—Ummi—why did it feel like you had heard it so recently? Your mind waded through the fog, and behind the haze, a vision emerged. A small figure in green, no taller than the boy standing before you. Sharp eyes. Determined stance.

Where had you seen him before?

Your gaze drifted again, sweeping over the others.

Nightwing. Red Hood. Red Robin. Robin.

Four boys.

Four Robins.

Why did that feel so familiar?

Robin hesitated, his usual sharp confidence laced with something vulnerable.

“Ummi… do you recognize me?”

Your mouth opened—then closed.

Your lips trembled as your heart pounded against your ribs.

You wanted to say yes.

But the words wouldn’t come.

"Ummi! It's me!" He stepped forward again, grabbing your hand and this time it was Red Hood that stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Robin, stop it, we shouldn't force mo—her."

"Damian." You whispered and the cave fell silent. All of the boys—your boys—turned to you with expressions of shock. Damian had frozen in his place, watching you with stinging eyes that had widened behind the domino.

"You were—" You gasped, "You were the boy at the park."

He took a step closer to you and it was like all your memories had began to flow back into your brain, like something had finally been unlocked after so long.

Damian reached for you but stopped himself short, almost like he was afraid that you would evaporate into thin air if he touched you.

"I knew it," You gasped, choking on tears, "I knew I had known you from somewhere. My soul knew my baby's precious face anywhere."

His expression that had been so full of longing that day, looking painfully at the person that he wanted but could not have.

You remembered not that long ago, he had been staring up at you with a very different expression...

"Ummi!" Damian ran up to you, a photo frame clutched in his arms. Before you had gotten pregnant, he would have collided with you like a rocket, giggling if you managed to catch and lift him in time or breaking into peals of laughter if he ended up knocking you off your feet.

Since your bump had become noticeable, he had been extremely gentle, refusing even to hug you too tightly. As he neared you, he slowed his sprint in the last few feet, his smile bright with excitement as he clutched his gift to his chest.

"I have a gift for the baby." He announced.

You smiled down at him, gently running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. He leaned into your touch, standing on his tiptoes as you bent down to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Oh, really? May I see it?"

He handed you the picture frame, revealing a beautiful watercolor painting of a group of robins perched on a branch. At first glance, they looked nearly identical, but upon closer inspection, each one was unique. The largest of the four had a lone white feather on the top of its head. Another had soft yellow shading on its wings. A third, with a faint blue tint in its shadow, gazed at the others as if watching over them. And finally, the smallest robin, speckled with green, soared through the air, as if looking down on the remaining three.

Your fingers gently traced over each robin, and in them, you saw the faces of your sons superimposed. Turning to your youngest with a grin, you said, "It's beautiful, Dami."

His smile turned a little shy, "I was hoping you'd hang it in the nursery, so the baby always has his brothers looking over him."

Your eyes misted, and while Damian might have blamed it on the hormones, his thoughtful gesture was what truly moved you beyond words. You hugged and kissed him once again.

"Why don't we find the perfect place to hang it right now?" You suggested.

Hand in hand, he followed you to the nursery, his excitement matching your own.

It felt like you were underwater, body feeling weightless all of a sudden that you couldn't control your shaky legs and you tumbled to the ground.

Luckily, Jason was there to catch both you and Thomas, always there as a reliable shadow your you and your youngest to rely on. You looked up at him, realizing how painful it must have been for him to stand back and watch you walk away that day in the rain.

A memory trickled back to your head...

"I'm sorry I couldn't attend the baby shower, Ma." Jason apologized, sitting beside you on the couch. Your hands were neatly folded over your bump and you gave him a gentle smile, running your hands through the cute little white streak in his hair. Jason insisted he had them before the viral 'money pieces' began making waves on social media and that he was the 'OG'—whatever that meant.

"It's okay, baby. It was just for PR anyway. I know you wouldn't have had fun around all those fuddy-duddies."

Jason gave you a half-grimace, half-chuckle. Ever since you had found out you were pregnant, you had insisted on avoiding bad language, claiming that the baby could hear you—or at least pick up on the bad vibes. Alfred had taken to this with great pleasure, always the promoter of the idea that "swearing shows you have poor verbal skills."

"I'm just lucky I was able to play the pregnancy card and turn in early. Your poor father is still entertaining them."

"Oh, yeah I was wondering where he was; he's usually stuck to you like a barnacle unless he's on patrol."

You chuckled at this; he wasn't wrong. Ever since you found out you were expecting both father and sons have been following every single step of yours. You'd be heavily disturbed if you didn't know this was their way of showing you their love and devotion. In fact, the only reason Damian wasn't currently beside you was because it was past his bedtime.

"Anyway, I just came here to give you this." Jason placed his gift onto your lap and you glowed at the sight of the adorable baby blanket. It was grey and patterned with bats. You chuckled, looking it over and feeling the soft material, wondering if he had tried and failed to find one with his own logo on it.

"It's wonderful, Jace, thank you. We love it." You smiled, patting your belly. Jason returned your grin, pecking your forehead instead of reaching for a hug to prevent you from moving. He knew just how long it would've taken you to find a comfortable position.

"I monogrammed it too." He revealed, unfolding the blanket and showing you the corner of the blanket that had a neat 'T.W.' embroidered into it. Your fingers daintily traced over the letters. Currently, only family knew that you were having a yet another son and that you had already picked out his name. 'Thomas Wayne' after Bruce's father, of course.

"I did it myself." He admitted bashfully, scratching his hot cheeks and you simpered, holding it to your chest.

"I love it."

A fresh wave of tears came to your eyes as you realized the blanket was probably burned to ash along with your other belongings. Thomas began crying in your embrace but your hands were shaking too much for you to soothe him.

"I've got him, mom." Dick lulled, taking the baby from your arms. Usually, you wouldn't have handed over your baby to just anyone. But this was your son, your oldest.

He held him to his chest, rocking his baby brother in his arms, "Hi, Thomas. I'm Dick, your biggest brother. It's so great to finally meet you."

Dick released a shaky breath, pressing his nose to his chubby cheek. Thomas didn't fret or fuss, holding onto the pocket of Dick's shirt in a tight fist, staring up at his big brother with wide, curious eyes.

Your heart clenched at the sight of his muscles subtly flexing as he fought the instinct to hold Thomas too tightly. It saddened you that he was only meeting Thomas now, especially when you remembered just how excited he had been to meet his little brother...

Dick stared at you and Bruce apprehensively as you both gave him nervous grins.

“Dickie, we have something we want to tell you, and since you’re the oldest, we wanted to let you know first.”

Before you could get another word out, Dick was already interrupting.

“Oh my god, tell me you guys aren’t getting a divorce. I know I don’t live with either of you, but I couldn’t stand it.”

Your brows furrowed. What on earth gave him that impression?

“What? No, baby, we’re not getting a divorce.”

Dick let out a dramatic breath of relief, placing a hand over his chest—only for his expression to shift into horror a second later.

“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re inviting a third into your marriage. I know I don’t live with either of you, but I really couldn’t stand that either.”

“What on earth—no! Nothing of the sort is happening,” you said, exasperated.

Bruce sighed beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Richard.”

You pointed at Dick before he could launch into another wild theory. “Richard Grayson Wayne, let us finish what we have to say.”

Bruce finally spoke up, “You’re getting another younger sibling.”

Dick blinked. His mouth opened, then closed as his brain processed the words.

“You’re adopting another kid?!”

“Not quite,” You replied.

His eyes narrowed as he turned to Bruce, suspicion laced in his voice, “Someone else stole your DNA and made another bio kid?”

Bruce gave him a flat look, but before he could answer, you smirked, “I wouldn’t say stole it… more like he gave it to me.”

You watched as the gears turned in Dick’s mind. His sharp blue eyes drifted downward, finally noticing the way your hand rested on your stomach.

The realization hit him like a truck.

His expression morphed from confusion to absolute bewilderment, “Ew! You both have sex?!”

You and Bruce gaped at him.

“Richard!”

Bruce groaned, running a hand down his face, while you sputtered out a laugh.

Dick’s horrified expression held for only a second longer before it cracked, melting into a wide grin. He let out a laugh, shoulders shaking.

“I’m just messing with you guys.” His voice softened as he stepped forward, pulling you into a hug, “I’m so happy for you! Congratulations, Mom.”

You hugged him tightly, your fingers running soothingly through his hair as you kissed the top of his head.

“You’re such a great big brother already. I just know this baby is going to love you.”

You caught a glance of Timmy standing beside him, waiting patiently for his turn with the newest member of the family and you sobbed into your hand recalling the way he watched you through the rear view mirror of your car that day at the grocery store.

He was always left on the sidelines, just waiting.

"Why didn't you tell me then, my baby? Why didn't you bring us home?" You cried, pulling him into your arms and running your hands through his hair.

"We thought you'd be safer this way." Tim explained, "Klarion was going to stop at nothing to get to us. We didn't want to push you away, but when you woke up with no your memory of us, we thought—we thought—"

Your poor baby, always thinking of others, always thinking of what was best for you...

You should have known.

The one day your husband and sons were given a rare, mandatory day off—to relax, take care of themselves, and maybe catch up on much-needed sleep—you should have known Tim would go the other way.

With the Batcave under strict lock and key for the night unless there was an emergency, it was only a matter of time before he got restless. Which was precisely why he stormed into the theater room, tablet in hand, while you were curled up against Bruce’s chest.

“Okay, so I did my research, and I’ve optimized the most optimal hospital bag for when you go into labor.”

You lifted your head off Bruce’s chest in surprise, barely registering the way he paused the movie. If you were being honest, you weren’t really watching it anyway. You had been too focused on the steady rhythm of your husband’s heartbeat, the warmth of his arms around you, and the quiet intimacy of just existing together.

“Tim, honey,” You said gently, “we don’t need a hospital bag yet. I’m only four months along.”

“You can never be too prepared,” He countered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Now, experts recommend having a detailed but brief birth plan so any emergency doctor can read it and get caught up quickly. We should probably discuss what we’re going to do.”

You shared a glance with Bruce, amusement flickering between you.

Then, turning back to your third son, you opened your arms invitingly, “Come here, Timmy. Let’s look at it together.”

Tim made no qualms about settling into your lap, angling the tablet toward you as he began scrolling through his meticulously compiled notes. You hummed softly, your fingers carding through his hair, rubbing gentle circles against his scalp.

At first, he kept talking, rattling off statistics, expert recommendations, and contingency plans—but soon, his words began to slow. His blinks stretched longer, and before you knew it, he had completely passed out, his breathing deep and even against you.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, looking at Bruce, whose lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“I hope the new baby is as easy as him,” You whispered.

Bruce pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice low and amused, “Not a chance.”

Tim swallowed painfully and you brought him back into the hug, patting his back gently as he inhaled deep breaths. Despite everything, you still wore the same perfume, even though your clothes and hair held onto the smell of smoke, underneath it all was the scent of his mother.

Damian joined you on your place on the floor, sliding to his knees in front of you to join in on the hug, the three of you enveloped by Jason's towering figure. You peppered kisses and apologies to their faces, wiping each of their tears dutifully but letting your own skate down your cheeks.

Finally, your gaze turned to the last man standing in the room.

Bruce.

Your breath hitched as you took a shaky step forward. Then another. And another.

You had missed him. You hadn’t even realized how much until this moment. Bruce, your boys—your family—had filled a hole inside you that you never knew was there. And now, standing before him, the father of your children, the love of your life, that emptiness was suddenly unbearable.

The second you reached him, your hand lifted to cup his face, desperate to feel his skin. Then, just as quickly, you smacked him.

Hard.

The sharp crack echoed through the room, snapping him out of his stupor.

“How could you?” You choked out, your voice thick with emotion, “How could you let our boys go without their mother? How could you let me have Thomas alone? How long were you planning to let this go on? You inconsiderate, horrible, stubborn oaf!”

Each word was punctuated by a fist against his chest—not truly meant to hurt him, just a desperate attempt to make him feel everything you had endured.

Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t defend himself. He only stared, his blue eyes wide, as if he was afraid that if he blinked, you would disappear.

You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward, crashing your lips against his. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, making the kiss taste of salt and sweet.

“I missed you.” You sobbed against his mouth, “I missed you so much.”

A broken sound rumbled deep in his chest as he kissed you back, fiercely, desperately. His arms wrapped around you like he was afraid to let go, like if he held you tightly enough, he could make up for all the lost time. You squeezed your eyes shut, reveling in the feeling of being held after so long.

Then Thomas’s babbles grew louder, turning into a full-blown whine. His tiny arms flailed as he struggled against Dick, demanding attention.

You pulled away, breathless, as you turned to your baby, scooping him up into your arms. He fussed, wriggling, still unsatisfied with even your touch.

With a teary laugh, you turned back to Bruce, your smile wobbly but bright.

“Bruce,” You whispered, voice full of love, “Meet your son. Thomas Wayne.”

Bruce’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you stepped into the room, his mask cracked. His hands trembled slightly as he reached forward, brushing his fingertips across Thomas’s chubby cheek.

Thomas grinned up at him, giving him a gummy smile as he began kicking his feet in joy. You were barely able to keep your hold steady on him when Bruce held out his arms and you readily passed his son to him.

He looked down at the baby in his arms, every bit his father's son and Bruce felt the dam break.

His family was whole again.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@el-hrts

ephemeral pt.2 taglist:

@jsprien213

@fanfics4ever

@anonomous-chick

@thegirlwiththeyarn

@kore-of-the-underworld

@sofiafantasies

@pansyitcanton

@hayleym1234

@mikajack9273

@of-poetry-and-dreams

@noone-here111

@jellystar-star

@randomnamedmira

1K notes · View notes

sun-is-a-square · 2 years ago

Text

It’s especially gross when people blame Mojang’s “poor turnout” on them. NOT forcing their developers into unhealthy crunch times? Saying the devs are lazy and greedy for wanting a reasonable amount of time to introduce features as well as the occasional break and holiday to spend with family?

Pretty frustrating amount of anti-workers’ rights ideology getting thrown around because people are disappointed by the contents of a completely free update.

to everyone pretending to somehow be supporting modders by complaining about vanilla minecraft:

#altho i do have a lot of frustrations with how the mob votes are handled #i kinda suspect mojang couldn’t end that if they wanted too. its become a surprisingly big marketing tool #i doubt microsoft would b okay with ending it despite the community’s frustrations #also i feel like a lot of ppl underestimate how much WORK went into the terrain overhaul #my only criticism is that they were too optimistic by promising more mountains + caves in one update #and altho i am disappointed and annoyed abt the firefly debacle some ppl try to make it out to be a much bigger thing than it is #compared to game developers of a similar scale mojang is basically the BEST out there imo

2K notes · View notes

joequiinn · 1 month ago

Text

The Ache Inside the Hate | m.a. x reader

Summary | When a blizzard hits and the group gets separated, you and Manny are stuck waiting out the storm together.

Warnings, Tropes | 18+, fem firefly!reader, possibly ooc manny (idk dude has like 5 mins of screen time), smut, forced proximity, acquaintances-to-lovers, requited-unrequited, oral (f receiving), dry humping, some dirty talk, unprotected p in v

Author's Note | Danny Ramirez is haunting me so now I have to write fanfics for all his characters 🤷‍♀️

WC | 12.6k

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

Harsh, howling winds rattled the windows of the resort, glacial air seeping in through cracked glass and walls eaten away by time. You could hear the building creaking with the severity of the storm, shingles flapping on the roof over your head, wayward doors swaying opened and closed somewhere on the floors below. As you sat bundled up in moth-eaten blankets, a stained and ripped paperback folded in your hands, Manny stood at the window facing the road, his shoulders rigid and foot tapping with impatience.

You had known a storm was coming as the team trekked through the Payette Forest - the temperatures were frigid, even by mountain standards, winds blowing crisp through the pines and woodland. For days, you encouraged Abby and the rest of the group to make camp in any of the nearby towns, as this had been a harsh winter already, but she kept putting it off, determined to make it to Jackson as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t until snow began to first fall delicately that you raised the matter again - after all, you were the pseudo-meteorologist of the group, for lack of a better title, so you knew how to predict the calm before the storm. And finally, they relented, hiking out of the forest and into the nearby cookie-cutter town of McCall.

The resort made the most sense for you to set up a base. Along the north side was a lake that had filled more and more through the years, flooding parts of the lower floor in a couple inches of icy water; the building was set back from the main roadway, allowing some isolation, and you could see for miles from the suite on the top floor, making it the ideal high ground.

Once the building was checked and secured, you all set out for a supply run, hoping to make it back before the storm hit. Knowing that time was limited, you decided to split up to cover more ground - you and Manny went south, Abby and Nora west, Owen and Mel south.

You’d gotten used to being paired off with Manny, as that had always been the case over the course of the past five years. For lack of a better word, you two were more akin to acquaintances than friends despite all your time together, the both of you not terribly interested in getting too close to anyone on the Firefly crew.

That shared attitude of detachment made you and Manny a good team - you could read one another and predict the next move, you could communicate easily through glances or gestures. Ironically, that also meant that you knew more about each other than anyone else, which wasn’t saying much in the grand scheme of things, but it bonded you nonetheless. Sure, he could annoy the hell out of you half the time, but if you had to pick someone to trust, at the end of the day it could only be Manny.

So, your partnership made the McCall supply run easy - the two of you rummaged through abandoned homes and a local game store, trying to find any possible provisions that you may need for the last leg on your trip to Jackson. Despite not finding much, you held out hope that perhaps the rest of the group may find things of more use.

But, as you’d come to learn, nothing was ever as easy as you expected. Considering your limited resources, your weather predictions weren’t an exact science - one moment, the snow was slow and beautiful, and then the next you couldn’t see more than five feet in front of you. You and Manny managed to make it back to the lodge, but now - some six or seven hours later - the rest of your group had yet to show up, and he was getting antsy, worrying over the lowering sun and the promise of nightfall.

“We should go looking for them.” Manny finally spoke for the first time in well over an hour. You took a deep breath through your nose, mouth tightening with agitation, though he couldn’t see the look with his back turned.

“We’re waiting.” You answered plainly without looking up from your book.

Manny turned to stare you down; you didn’t have to see his face to know that he was glowering at your seemingly nonchalant answer, “Something bad could’ve happened, and you sound bored?”

Here we go. Sometimes, you absolutely hated being left alone with him for more than an hour because it always ended up in some bullshit squabble over your attitude or Manny’s temper or something else completely irrelevant. Effective teamwork be damned, the two of you were nonetheless very different types of people.

Sighing, you dog-eared your page and dropped the book into your lap, matching Manny’s sour look with one of your own, “I’m not bored, asshole. I’m just following the rules that we made as a group. Or did you forget those already?”

The golden rules amidst the last remaining faction of Fireflies was simple: have a base to return to, wait there for each other when separated, and don’t go searching for anyone until twelve hours have passed. It stemmed from some kind of scout or camp guidebook, with a few tweaks, and it suited you all thus far. Everyone was more than capable of fending for themselves if need be, so it was better to avoid putting the whole group in danger whenever possible.

Manny’s eyes darkened a little as you stared at one another, neither wanting to be the first to look away, “By that time there’ll be no light left.”

“They know how to take care of themselves.” You countered, crossing your arms to retain a bit of warmth, “Abby said--”

“Doesn’t matter what Abby said.” He cut you off quickly, “None of us considered a goddamn blizzard when we set those rules up. Anything could happen to them out there - you just don’t care.”

An unamused laugh escaped you, rolling your eyes as sarcasm laced each of your words, “Wow, Manny, you’re so right, I never would’ve figured it out; I don’t care at all, that’s why I’m here and have been here all these years.”

“Stop with the attitude.” His jaw clenched as he took a step toward you, though he seemed hesitant to move too far from the window; he’d been practically glued to it since you got back, waiting for any sign of the rest of your team, “If you cared we’d be out there looking for them right now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to continue mocking him the way you desperately wanted to right now. Eyes blazing, you stood, dropping your blankets and paperback carelessly while marching across the room towards Manny. You jabbed him firmly in the chest, but refrained from matching his temper; you were never one for arguments and confrontation, and nothing was ever resolved from your spats with Manny in the past.

“You really think I’m not worried out of my mind right now?” You asked through your teeth, “I’ve been stressed this entire trip just waiting for something bad to happen. Sure, I don’t feel good about sitting here reading a goddamn harlequin novel to pass the time, but it’s safer that we stay put, got it?”

Manny shook his head judgmentally, stepping back from you with a faint scoff, “You’re unbelievable. Why you’re still here is beyond me.”

Your brows shot up in stunned vexation at his hostility, “I’m still here because I give a shit, contrary to what you think.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fucking asshole.” You hissed under your breath while turning away from him, “We’re on the same side, so why do you keep fighting with me?”

“Because you’re willing to let them die out there!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Isn’t it!?” Manny grabbed your elbow, spinning you around to face him again, “I know we have rules, and I know why. But the storm isn’t letting up, and they could be in serious trouble out there. And we’re doing nothing.”

“And what about us?” You hadn’t intended to raise your voice, yet your words came out in a strained yell nonetheless, “What happens if we go out there looking for them? Stop trying to be a hero and think about all the variables involved. What if we get lost out there, or we get attacked, or our own friends accidentally shoot us because they can’t see through all this fucking snow? Have you thought about any of that?”

You shook off Manny’s hand, continuing before he got the chance to intervene, “If we go out there, we could be putting ourselves at greater risk than any of them are in. We’re smart, that’s why this group works. Owen will do literally anything to keep Mel safe, Nora and Abby are the best survivalists I’ve ever seen. And we should stay put because we’re supposed to have enough confidence in their ability to stay alive.”

Manny looked between your eyes with a harsh glare, working his jaw as your words sank in. After a long beat, a scornful grin spread across his lips as he leaned towards you, voice low, “I guess you do care.”

You scowled up at Manny through your lashes, turning away again to go scoop up your book and blankets, intentionally keeping your back to him, “You’re not going out there, got it? We need to stick together. So, why don’t you cool off a little.”

Heading for the door, you had to resist the urge to turn and look at him; considering you were trying to make a point, you had to be more stubborn than usual.

“Where are you going?” You paused, hand resting on the doorknob.

“Anywhere to get away from you.” You answered harshly before throwing open the door and walking out into the hall.

It was pushing nine hours since the blizzard started. And no one was back yet.

You holed yourself up in what was once a game room, arcade cabinets with cracked screens and broken buttons lining one wall, billiards and foosball tables covered in dust and cobwebs lining the floor-to-ceiling windows. Miraculously, this half of the building wasn’t puddling with water, which couldn’t be said for some of the other rooms you wandered through.

All things considered, the furniture was in half-decent shape; you’d been curled in the corner of a couch since you found your way down here, trying and failing to focus on your contrived, though somehow charming, paperback’s narrative. Once night fell, you pulled out your flashlight in a half-assed attempt to try to read, but eventually you gave up, staring blankly at the pages for god knows how long.

Manny always assumed you didn’t care; he always assumed nothing mattered to you. Since the massacre at the hospital five years ago, when you all came together, the two of you were always pushing each other’s buttons in such little, inane ways.

You, who liked to have a plan and to keep a level-head, were so opposite to Manny’s action and emotion-driven attitude, that you were bound to have your disagreements. He was a soldier, ready to throw himself at anything he had to, willing to get his hands dirty; you were made for the backlines, planning and mapping and researching before you’d ever think to pick up a weapon. With the group all together, it was easy to balance out your personalities, easy to maintain order. The two of you had never been left alone together for this long, though.

Despite what Manny might think, you didn’t hate him. You never did. He was irksome and frustrating, but at the end of the day you respected him - his skills, his loyalty, his drive. Perhaps in another life - one in which you all weren’t forced to grow up in a dying world - things could have been different, you two could have been… well, something.

You thought about it from time-to-time, what life would be like if the last of the Fireflies could live those ‘normal’ lives you’d read about in books or seen in movies. You figured that your personalities clashed enough that maybe none of you would have befriended each other, considering that you came together as a means of survival rather than out of kinship.

But then you’d think about the good moments you shared. When you would stumble across something strange in an old magazine and immediately show Nora. When Mel would bring back little odds-and-ends that she thought were interesting. When you and Manny would actually laugh together at a joke one of you said that the others didn’t find quite so funny.

Maybe normal wouldn’t have been so bad.

Somewhere nearby, a door creaked on its hinges, startling you out of your reverie. You shot up in your seat, eyes wide as you looked left and right and behind; forgetting about your book, you clicked off your flashlight and reached for the knife strapped to your thigh, just in case the noise wasn’t friendly.

Heart beating rapidly, you prayed that it was everyone else managing to make their way back despite the dark of night. You carefully stood, taking light steps towards the door, ducking behind furniture and posts as you went.

And then you heard Manny’s voice calling your name, his tone frustrated; your chest deflated with ease as you sheathed your knife. You flicked your light back on and wrenched open the heavy door, drawing his attention from across the expansive lobby; you weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but it looked as if he let out a sigh of relief.

He lifted his arms, indicating the building around him, the beam from his own flashlight dancing aimlessly across the wall, “Had me searching this whole damn place for you.”

Manny’s mood seemed to have calmed, if his easy tone was anything to go on; maybe you wouldn’t have to take anymore attitude with him. One of the nearby windows, though still mostly intact, was missing a corner of glass, the bleak night air making you tug your collar up as if that could protect you from the cold.

You shrugged ruefully, “That was kinda the intention.”

Manny studied you, eyes searching your face and looking you up and down; it made you wonder what the hell was going on in his head. His jaw flexed as he nodded, accepting your reasoning, while looking about the lobby - toppled over furniture, icy floors from where water flooded in, shelves layered in cobwebs and dust.

“We stick together,” he said simply, echoing what you’d said to him a couple of hours ago, “you’re right about that. So long as it’s just the two of us here, we aren’t splitting up again.”

You nodded in agreement, chewing at the inside of your lip thoughtfully as your gaze dropped to the floor. There was a part of you that wanted to discuss your earlier argument, but neither you nor Manny were the type of people to apologize, so you refrained.

“Any sight of them yet?” You asked as your eyes trailed to the wall of windows facing the lake - endless darkness, no lights for miles and miles. Not even the shine of the stars and reflection of the moon was visible through the heavy snowfall, which caused a wave of stress to roll up your spine; the weather hadn’t let up in the slightest.

“No.” You looked back at Manny, studying his face as best you could with the harsh light and shadows obscuring it. A sigh left you as he slowly crossed the room, “They’ll be okay.”

His tone wasn’t terribly convincing, but you were under the impression that he was saying it in an attempt to reassure the both of you. As he drew closer, you held his gaze, realizing that - despite everything - his deep brown eyes were a comforting sight right now. So, you straightened your shoulders, bolstering yourself to the best of your ability.

“They’ll be okay.” You repeated with far more conviction than Manny had, though you were still trying to make yourself believe it. For a long, tense moment, the two of you stood there in silence until Manny dropped his gaze in consideration.

“Let’s go back upstairs,” he instructed simply. You knew without him saying so that the high ground made him feel safer - from there he could see anyone coming, friend or foe. So, you nodded in agreement, following after him until the two of you were back in the top floor suite that was your temporary camp.

The two small flashlights you had were barely useful with how heavy the blizzard had gotten outside, beams illuminating your respective supply bags, shifted furniture, a small stack of shockingly pristine blankets sat atop a chair. You raised a brow at Manny, but he didn’t notice the look.

“Where the hell did you find those?” You questioned, because they definitely weren’t here earlier.

Manny knelt over his bag, steadying his flashlight between his shoulder and cheek as he dug through his belongings, “Searched some of the other rooms. Guess hotels used to keep them in plastic, so they were covered all this time.”

“Plastic?” You muttered to yourself, before determining that maybe it was a cleanliness thing and moving on; you had been far too young to remember what the world was like before it collapsed. Walking up behind Manny, you peered over his shoulder; he was digging out what food you two managed to find before the storm hit, which wasn’t much - mixed nuts, some kind of canned meat that you didn’t quite trust.

He held the bag of nuts up to you, “Hungry?”

Honestly, you weren’t. You probably should have been, but considering the stress that had been gnawing at you for hours, it didn’t seem possible for you to have an appetite right now. Glancing at your face, Manny must have read as much, shrugging as he closed his bag and situated himself in one of the chairs that he’d moved to face the window. Ripping open the bag, he scooped a handful into his mouth while gazing out into the haze of snow.

You stared at the back of Manny’s head, mindlessly studying his silhouette; there was strain in his shoulders, a slump to his posture. Was it because of his worrying over the rest of the crew, was it your fight earlier, was it something else entirely? You ruled it was most likely a combination of all the above.

Glancing towards your own bag, you began to make a mental list of all the stock you had between the two of you - the food, batteries, some scarce hygienic supplies, knives and guns and bullets. Did you still have fresh water? Would you run out of food while waiting out the weather? A surge of panic shot through you at all the variables that you simply couldn’t predict.

As if it would help anything, you clicked off your flashlight - at the very least, you could control how many batteries you blew through. So, you might be stumbling around in the dark for a while? There were far worse things than that. Manny either didn’t notice or care about the absence of an additional light, his own resting upon a table and shining into the room, casting harsh shadows across walls and furniture. You were nearly surprised that he wasn’t using it as a beacon for the others, but then again, it could just as easily be a beacon for less than desirable guests.

Swallowing down the anxious lump in your throat, you approached Manny, dragging over another heavy chair to sit beside him. Plopping down into it, you glanced over, but his gaze remained forward. You took the opportunity to study his profile - brow furrowed like it always seemed to be, jaw clenched, eyes intently staring into the dark night. Since you met him, Manny always seemed to have a wealth of tension in his body, like an animal ready to pounce if he ever had to.

Your gaze trailed down the length of his body studiously, his elbows rusting atop his knees, fingers knotted tightly together, heel tapping with that usual impatience you’d come to associate with him. Sympathetically, your brow turned down, as if you could suddenly see all his years of agitation and restlessness and irritation.

“Stop doing that.” Manny’s low voice surprised you; he still had yet to pull his eyes away from the flurry of snow.

Your expression knotted slightly, “Doing what?”

Did the corner of his mouth upturn ever so slightly? Maybe you were just seeing things. He sighed faintly through his nose, “Doing that thing you do.”

The confused furrow of your brow deepened. Sensing your confusion, a small huff left Manny as he finally swiveled his gaze towards you, straightening in his seat just a little.

“The way you watch people.” He said as if it were obvious, “It’s like you’re… seeing right through them, digging around in their heads until you figure them out.”

You could see, now that you were staring at each other, something akin to amusement in Manny’s eyes as he continued, “I’ve watched you do it dozens of times, but it’s different knowing that you’re doing it to me. I don’t like the idea of you seeing something that others aren’t supposed to.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you dropped your gaze, biting your lip, “I didn’t realize it was that… intense.”

“It’s why you’re good at what you do; you're observant. We wouldn’t be here without it.” He said almost dismissively, as if it pained him to give you anything even resembling a compliment. Despite your nerves, you smiled faintly to yourself, glancing back up at Manny through your lashes.

“I didn’t think anyone noticed. That I watch people, I mean.”

Manny worked his jaw in consideration, as if he had a response on his tongue but was hesitant to share it. Though, a moment later, he caved to his thoughts, “Not sure if anyone else has. Just me, far as we both know.”

That smile of yours grew just a little bigger, eyes narrowing slightly. Really, you wanted to ask him why and when he ever noticed it in the first place. Considering just how much he disliked you, you’d figured through the years that he’d want as little to do with you as possible.

As if reading your mind, Manny turned his gaze back out towards the sky; you could see the tightness in his expression even better now that he was looking away.

“So, what are we gonna do?” He asked firmly; he almost turned his eyes back towards you - you could see it in the faint twitch of his head - but he refrained.

You took a deep breath as you mulled it over. It’s probably been ten hours now without any sign of the crew, and the both of you were well beyond concerned about it. Per the rules, if they weren’t back in another two hours, then you and Manny should technically go looking for them. But considering the weather was only growing meaner and uglier, that seemed like the worst thing you could do right now.

You followed Manny’s lead, staring out at the heavy snow, listening to the harsh wind blasting against the building, rattling windows and paneling. You always seemed to run cold, but just the sound of the storm’s severity made you shiver.

“We wait out the night.” You finally said. You only briefly considered how strange it was that Manny was allowing you to make the calls, but then you figured it was his soldier mentality - he wasn’t the decision maker, though he was a devoted follower, “There’s nothing we can do with the weather like this. We rest, we prep, we head out once the sun’s up, and we find them. Storm can’t last forever.”

For a long stretch, the two of you sat in agreeable silence, watching the snow fall for lack of anything better to do. Briefly, you wished you hadn’t forgotten that paperback downstairs - didn’t matter how bad it was, it would have at least given you something to do.

You tried not to let your gaze drift back towards Manny, wary of making him feel uneasy under your eyes again, but you couldn’t help stealing glances. From his hard set brow to his lips, down to his tense hands and bouncing knee; if anything, he could use something to keep him preoccupied even more than you could.

“When you searched the rooms,” you started simply for the sake of creating conversation again, “did you find anything else? Anything we can use?”

Manny shrugged as if none of it mattered, “Couple bars of soap, bottle of water, half a dozen bibles.”

The both of you huffed out a faint laugh, “Well, if I’m feeling really desperate for something to read, I guess I know where to look.”

Manny glanced back towards you, looking you up and down once, “What, already finish that stupid book you’ve been carrying around?”

You gave him a teasing glare, “Forgot it downstairs.”

He hummed quietly, “Must not have been that good… If you want, we can go back and get it.”

A surprised smile graced your lips at Manny’s offer; you weren’t expecting such a simple kindness from him. Though you considered it for a moment, you shook your head, “We should stay put.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, making a measly attempt at relaxing in his seat. Another beat of silence passed between you, “What was it about?”

Your brow furrowed, another half-assed laugh leaving you, “Oh, you must be bored if you’re asking about some romance novel.”

Manny laughed as well, “What else are we gonna talk about? The weather?”

You gave him a faux affronted look, though you appreciated his ability to joke about the one thing causing you both intense stress. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place, almost companionship or admiration or something else you couldn't name. Grinning, you, too, settled into your seat, curling up to keep your body heat in; if it got any colder, you’d be bundling up in every single blanket the two of you had.

“It was some old-timey story,” You started, trying to find the right word, “not, uh, Victorian, but something else like it. The guy’s a lord or a duke, butting heads with his love interest the entire book. The tension was pretty good, all things considered.”

You looked back towards Manny, chewing at your lower lip as you recalled the plot. Remembering what was next, you diverted your gaze bashfully, “I got distracted somewhere after the wedding - hard to focus on it while being worried outta my mind over everyone else. Things were just about to get sexy, too.”

Manny snorted slightly, “I thought those books were all sex.”

You shrugged with an amused grin, “Guess not this one. Maybe that’s what the second half is gonna be. Might have to grab it before we leave tomorrow, and let you know how filthy things get.”

“Looking forward to it.” He joked, laughing smally in his chest, “Might just have to borrow it once you’re done.”

“Oh, you’ll love it.” You continued to jest, finding ease in the calm between you two, your anxieties briefly lifted as you laughed together.

A huge gust of wind blew against the building, causing the windows to rattle again; from another room, you heard glass break, shards tinkling to the floor, and with it the suite was suddenly colder. You and Manny both straightened in your seats as a door creaked, swaying back and forth with the draft.

Cursing under your breath, you rose to your feet, feeling Manny a step behind you, following the sound of groaning hinges till you found the culprit. One of the bedroom windows had already been cracked, and it finally gave in under the strain of the storm.

You peered into the room, eyes having adjusted to the dark just enough to make out the shine of snowfall and glass littering the floor. Backing up, you bumped into Manny’s chest, not realizing how close he’d been behind you; muttering a quick apology, you yanked the door closed, hoping that the latch was still intact enough that you wouldn’t have to worry. Again, you shivered - were you actually cold, or was it simply because you knew the harsh weather had gained one more small way to seep into the building?

You and Manny were still practically standing on top of each other, so he must have noticed the tremble of your shoulders or the clatter of your teeth. He tugged up the collar of your jacket again, checking that it was zipped up all the way; you would have thought it intimate if it weren’t for the harsh, instinctive way that he did it.

“You can’t be that cold all the time; been shivering like a wet cat since we left Seattle.” His tone seemed mildly jesting, yet there still seemed to be something mean about it.

“Shut up, I’m fine.” You bit back, brushing past him, “We should check the other bedrooms; probably best to just close everything up in case any more windows decide to give up on us.”

You didn’t know what hotels or resorts were supposed to be like, but you knew this suite was big, considering it’s four bedrooms and full kitchen; you’d read somewhere about deluxe rooms, or something like that, so now you knew what the hell that was describing.

Splitting up, you both checked the rooms, closing each of the doors as you went. This place seemed sturdy, but it was still nonetheless worn away by time. Returning to the front hall, you checked the front door seal on the off chance that maybe the lock still somehow worked, though you were soon let down, as it was jammed and unable to be secured. You made a mental note that you two needed to be extra mindful before you turned your attention back towards Manny.

He’d left his flashlight atop a table, so you could only make out his silhouette; you had the feeling he was staring back at you, too. With a faint sigh, you tried to find the pile of blankets he’d set aside earlier.

“We should try to get some sleep.” You instructed, despite the fact that you were wide awake. Though, curling up in all those blankets sounded nice, and maybe you’d finally be warm.

“You rest.” Manny answered with a small shake of his head, “I’ll take first watch just in case; wake you up in a few hours.”

He had a point - considering there were only two of you, it wouldn’t be wise for you both to drop your guard. But you nonetheless protested, “I can take watch, I’m wide fucking awake as it is.”

You heard him sigh, probably irritated with you yet again, “Then I guess we’re not sleeping at all tonight.”

“Manny--”

“I’ll sleep when I’m tired.” He interrupted, returning back to that damn chair of his, “Do whatever you want.”

You stared as he settled back into his seat, squaring his shoulders; you couldn’t help but roll your eyes while crossing your arms at him. For a long stretch, the both of you were silent, though you were unable to hold back the question that you’d been wanting to ask since the two of you made it to the resort, “What’s your problem with me, honestly?”

You heard Manny laugh without humor. Turning his head, you could vaguely make out his profile, that familiar sharp nose and strong jaw. Suddenly, you didn’t like that you’d asked the question, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. Silence stretched out between you, longer than you would have liked - Manny wasn’t the type to hold his tongue.

Finally, he took a breath, his voice less assertive than you were expecting, “I don’t have a problem with you…”

Now, it was your turn to give a deriding laugh, “You sure?”

Manny shook his head and sighed, returning his attention back to the storm outside, much to your annoyance. You continued to stare at the back of his head for a few long moments, before giving up; guess you’d let him take the first watch after all. Considering that your two options right now were to either sleep or sit around stressing out, you may as well sleep.

So, you began to arrange some kind of make-shift bed out of the blankets and a couple pillows that weren’t completely moth-eaten. You pushed the tattered couch, using it as a barrier between you and the door, with Manny and the window opposite of it.

You worked quietly, settling into the blankets, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it was to be wrapped up while fully clothed and on the hard floor. By now, you should have been used to this kind of sleeping arrangement, but maybe the stress and tension were just causing every little thing to bother you.

“Hey,” Manny urged in a hushed whisper. You knew for a fact you hadn’t been sleeping long because you could feel the groggy discomfort in your head. Groaning, you stirred, realizing that you could feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, “You good?”

Your expression knotted as you came back to consciousness. The darkness was the same now as it had been when you lied down, though at some point Manny had clicked off his flashlight. As your eyes adjusted to the dark, you tried to find him in the shadows, tugging at the blankets as the cold somehow seemed to penetrate right to your core. Your voice came out hoarse and whiny, “What?”

“You were moaning in your sleep.” He explained, fingers squeezing your shoulder faintly as you shuddered from the cold, “Jesus, you still cold under all that?”

“Shut up…” You groaned, already wide awake again. That was the nature of living like this, always moving and on high alert - rest and relaxation were an impossibility, “I’m fine.”

Manny sighed before clicking his tongue decisively. He took his hand back, and you could make out the way he brushed it across his forehead and eyes as if he was already feeling peeved at you all over again.

“Scooch.” He instructed.

“Huh?”

Another irked sigh left him, “Make room. You’ll do better with some body heat.”

You scoffed, “Don’t, it’s fine--”

“Just do it.”

With an exasperated huff, you shuffled over, tugging and shifting the blankets around yourself as Manny sat beside you. Under your breath, you grumbled incoherently, growing tense at the feel of his body settling in right there next to yours, shoulder bumping against yours. He rested his back upon the uncomfortable floor, laying like a board as you continued fussing with the blankets as some measly form of distraction.

But you knew you couldn’t be avoidant forever, so you eventually forced yourself to lie back, body just as rigid as Manny’s beside you. Your arm brushed his, and you attempted to shuffle away.

“Will you stop moving?” He urged, pushing closer to you intentionally, “Defeats the purpose, I’m trying to help regulate your temperature.”

“I told you I was fine.”

“You’ve been chattering all damn night,” Manny pressed his arm against yours, knee nudging you as he grumbled in irritation, “Be thankful I didn’t suggest skin-to-skin…”

Much to your chagrin, you felt a small jolt through you at the idea, your imagination too vivid for your own good sometimes. Picturing - even if just for a brief moment - the feel of Manny’s bare skin on top of yours, warm hands and tangled legs, mouth exploring every inch…

“Gross.” You spat out despite that obnoxious little sensation that stirred in your stomach. No, you were not about to picture Manny, of all people, in a compromising position like that. Maybe that stupid paperback had gotten to your head - after all, you didn’t read quite far enough to get to the good stuff, leaving you hungry to know what happened next.

It was like you could feel the way Manny’s eyes rolled at you as he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. You did the same, glowering up at the ceiling as if it had personally offended you.

For a long couple of minutes, the two of you stayed put, like two stubborn children unwilling to come to an agreement. Not that you would admit it, but having him there next to you did help warm you up, though you may also have your own dirty mind to blame for the flesh of heat through your body.

As the wind picked up even more aggressively outside, the creaking and rattling of the building around you sent another shudder through your body. Dutifully and without hesitation, Manny inched closer to you in response; you hoped the way you leaned towards his touch was subtle enough for him not to notice.

“We cool?” Manny asked in a low tone, causing your brows to raise.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because it sorta seems like we never are.” He countered instantly, as if he had guessed exactly how you would respond. In your periphery, you could feel the way he turned his head to gaze at your profile, which caused you to tense up even more. An unamused laugh passed through his lips, faintly fluttering against your cheek; you had to refrain from sighing at its warmth, “You never really liked me. Sometimes it seems like you can barely tolerate me.”

Surprised, you turned your head as well, trying to make out his expression in the dark, “Says the guy who hates me.”

This time, you shivered with nerves, though Manny couldn’t have known the difference, as he tried to press closer to you again. He didn’t answer for a brief moment, mulling over his response before muttering dismissively, “Hate you? No mames…”

“Oh, come on,” feeling wide awake now, you rolled onto your side, propping your head in the palm of your head, “for five years we’ve argued over stupid shit, poking at each other all the time. What else am I supposed to think?”

You could vaguely see Manny’s lips turn down in consideration before he teased, “Maybe I just like arguing with you? Keeps things interesting.”

“Yeah right,” you laughed while shaking your head, “Why you so worried about it all of a sudden?”

This time, the pause between you was different, hesitant and strained. Though you couldn’t quite discern Manny’s expression in the dark, his head turned down slightly, jaw flexing. Something about it made you uneasy.

His voice was just above a whisper, serious and contemplative, “Well, on the off chance that something bad happened out there…”

He briefly stalled, as if he didn’t want to finish the sentence. It gave you just enough time to let the words sink in, the weight of them heavy upon you. Yes, for all you knew, all of your companions could be dead or sick or buried in snow out there. For all you knew--

“--you might be all I have left.” Manny’s confession had a somber quality to it, causing a pressure in your chest that was a confused mess of dismay and want and unease. You sucked in a breath, trying to maintain your calm.

Because Manny was right. You might be all he has left, just as much as he might be all you have left. The past few years aside, what would you two do if it were only you? Despite being able to keep a level-head, despite being rational, you couldn’t help but entertain those fears; in order to stay sane, you also had to be able to look into the mouth of the beast, so to speak.

In all this time, your group had never been separated this long unless it had been planned - for five long years, the last of the Fireflies had become the closest thing you had to family.

“Manny,” you whispered reassuringly, leaning towards him to make your point, chest lightly pressing against his shoulder and arm, “everyone’s okay. You and me, we’re good together; if they can’t find us, we’ll find them. And if for some fucking reason it is just you and me now, we’ll take care of each other.”

He faintly laughed, the sound uncertain, his warm breath tickling your cheeks again, “Like we always do…”

“I haven’t let you die yet,” you teased, hoping a bit of levity might put him at ease.

“I’m sure you thought about it at least once.” He quipped.

“Well, only when you were being really annoying.” You smiled contently, appreciating the sincerity between you two. With Manny, you’d always put up fronts or used jokes against one another - really, you’d never had much of a serious one-on-one conversation, even after all this time. There was another charged pause between you.

“I never hated you, you know.” Manny’s tone was so frank and warm and… perhaps affectionate, strange as that seemed.

You startled as his hand brushed your shoulder - you were so focused on his face that you hadn’t realized he moved. His fingers slid carefully along your collarbone, hesitating at the base of your neck; your body became tense, taken aback by the knot in your chest, by the tenderness of his touch. What the hell was this about?

With a sharp, sad breath, you leaned back, hoping Manny would allow his hand to fall away from you. Instead, he gently pressed his palm to the side of your neck, keeping you close, “Don’t.”

You could feel the intensity of his eyes staring at you, fingers lightly flexing against your skin, “Don’t what?”

Shaking your head, you tried to calm the skip of your heart, the spike of nerves that swelled in your body. It was like a surge of heat from head to toe, a part of you aching for it while another part wishing to get away from it.

“We’re not doing the ‘all hope is lost’ thing. Don’t project feelings onto me that aren’t there, it isn’t fair to either of us.” You managed to sound more assured than you felt, your resolve already wavering.

You never ever hated Manny, either. Of course you never hated him; you wouldn’t have tolerated his bullshit otherwise. Yes, the two of you bickered and poked fun at each other, threatening to trade foraging partners when one of you was particularly irksome to the other. But neither of you ever followed through with it, because at the end of the day, neither of you would ever want to work with anyone else.

You and Manny fit together. He was resourceful, you were knowledgeable; he knew when to act first, and you knew when to plan ahead. You’d learned to read each other without speaking a single word; how to fight together seamlessly when shit went south. So what, you’d never had a serious, heartfelt conversation, even after years working side-by-side? Didn’t the knowing glances and elbow jabs and shared laughs make up for that? Hell, you knew for a fact that no one understood you like Manny did, and vice versa.

And, fuck, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

“I’m not doing that.” Manny insisted in that tone you knew so well - earnest and cross, adamant because he didn’t want to be brushed off. Allowing his hand to fall, he propped himself up, resting his elbows on the floor to be eye level with you.

“Aren’t you, though?” You argued, though your tone had no conviction to it, “All this time and you wait till now to, what, make a move?”

Manny scoffed and shook his head, but it seemed a measly attempt to protect himself rather than a reflection of any upset he felt. He took a deep breath, his attentive eyes searching your face candidly, “You ever think that maybe I’ve liked you this whole time, nena?”

The question caused you to inhale sharply, an anxious jolt shooting through your chest. Your mouth hung slightly ajar as you tried to believe him before you swallowed your nerves, asking quietly, “This whole time?”

Manny shifted before reaching towards you again, thumb brushing along your jaw before his hand tentatively returned to the back of your neck; a very faint, unamused laugh escaped him, “Think about it?”

And you were. You tried to recall all the times you two argued, only for you to realize he had a charmed glint in his eyes; all the times he was the first person you looked to whenever things went bad. When being in each other’s space went from being a necessity to being a comforting familiarity; when Nora started mocking the two of you for acting like an old married couple.

Those times you’d catch Manny staring at you, only for him to look away. How he’d whisper a stupid joke in your ear that he didn’t want anyone else to hear. Those little unnecessary touches - a hand at the small of your back, knees brushing when you sat side-by-side despite there being more than enough room for you both. You’d wake up sometimes in the middle of the night with an extra blanket draped over you. Or on foraging hunts when Manny would bring you a little something just because he thought you might like it.

Fuck, you were an idiot. How was it all so painfully obvious, yet managed to go completely over your head all this time?

A laugh of realization and disbelief escaped you, yet it was also a laugh of relief - like some weight you weren’t even aware of had finally been lifted from your shoulders.

“I’m so stupid…” You muttered, shaking your head at yourself.

Sensing your shift in attitude, your walls coming down, Manny jested quietly, drawing just that little bit closer to you, “Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…”

You giggled again nervously, rolling your eyes and biting your lip. Your nerves were like an electric current, static through your limbs, heart pounding in your chest. Hesitantly, you reached towards Manny, gently resting your hand to his chest, fingers splaying over his collarbone. To your relief, he leaned into the touch, resting his forehead carefully against yours while taking in a deep breath.

“For the record, I never hated you, either.” You murmured. Manny’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the back of your neck.

“I know.”

His mouth found yours urgently, a surprised hum rising in your throat; he tasted bitter and sharp, utterly intoxicating as you savored him. You could feel Manny’s smile against your lips, charmed by your reaction as his fingers flexed eagerly on your skin. Pressing closer, you wound your arms around his neck, kissing him as if you’d been starved and he was the only thing that could satiate you.

The two of you were in-sync just as you always were, hands groping, mouths insistent, bodies slotting together as Manny laid you back on the pile of blankets, his weight atop you warm and comforting like he belonged there. Just like all your silent glances, it was as if you knew what the other was thinking, moving together as his tongue slid across your lower lip, your hands tugging desirously at his curls.

Shamelessly, you opened your mouth to him, tongues swirling together as you moaned; Manny’s grip on you grew tighter, incited by the sound. He blindly groped around, fingers brushing over your breast and collarbone till he found the zipper of your coat, yanking it down in one fluid motion before sliding both hands inside it. You arched into the touch, tugging faintly at his hair as a searing coil knotted in your stomach.

Manny groaned salaciously, pushing up the hem of your layered shirts, his touch a scorching fire on your skin. Your hips bucked, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Gliding your hands down his neck and chest, you fumbled with his coat as well, causing him to laugh into your mouth as you struggled with it. His breath hot against your face as he pulled back, sitting up on his heels to rip the layer away, your chest heaving as you watched. Manny’s hands were on you again in a flash, swooping in to capture your lips again.

Propping up on your elbows, you hastily pulled off your own winter coat, not willing to break away from the kiss again so soon. Once your hands were free, you slid them over Manny’s firm torso, humming contently at the feel of him.Sliding your hands beneath his shirts, your body tightened at the guttural sound in his throat, your fingernails grazing over his abs and sides amorously. His hips twitched against yours, causing you to sigh with want.

Manny’s hands traveled down your neck and chest and waist, grabbing as if desperate to feel every part of you all at once. He kissed you ardently before withdrawing his lips, blazing a hot trail along your jaw and neck, sucking at the sweet spot just above your collarbone; the mewl that left you was downright sinful, causing Manny’s faint laugh to vibrate against your skin.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh?” He teased in a growl that made your body clench wantonly, back arching into his touch, “Should’ve done this years ago…”

Fuck yes he should have. You should have, instead of letting all this want and desire pent up inside you. You were ravenous for Manny’s touch, finally having tasted the forbidden fruit, nails digging into his sides just enough to draw a sigh from him, mouth continuing to nip along the expanse of your neck. You pushed his shirts up higher, desperate to feel every inch of his soft skin, to memorize each curve and blemish with your fingertips.

As Manny rolled his hips far too alluringly against yours, you keened and scratched your nails along his sides, spreading your legs so he could slot between them more easily. The press of him against your center was maddening, making you realize just how long it had been since anyone aside from yourself had touched you. Your pussy clenched with anticipation, Manny’s body making your head spin as you imagined all the things he could do to you.

You groaned incoherently as his teeth gently bit your skin; Manny went rigid for just a moment, enthralled by the sound before he continued ravishing your neck.

You insistently began to tug at his clothes, deciding there were far too many layers between you. It should not have been this erotic to help someone strip, yet his hot breath on your skin and the feel of his body flexing beneath your fingers was dizzying. When finally his chest was bare, Manny leaned back, allowing your hands to explore, although you quickly knotted your fingers in his hair again and drew his mouth back to yours. He smiled against your lips, hips grinding longingly in response.

Manny pulled back after one more sweet kiss, mouth dragging down your neck and chest, hands sliding your shirt up to your breasts to expose your abs to his frenzied lips. His teeth grazed over your stomach, kissing along the curves of your body as your hands tangled in his hair.

Reaching between you, Manny undid your pants swiftly, hooking his fingers into the waistband as his lips hungrily nipped at your skin, biting and sucking feverishly. Your eyes crossed, feeling just how bad that hickey would be later.

Manny gave your pants a quick tug down to your knees, finally breaking his lips away from your skin with an audible pop. Breathing deeply, he shuffled lower, nose grazing over your panties as he pulled at your pants again, helping you out of them before they were tossed carelessly aside. You inhaled sharply at his warm breath so very close to your center, wet and needy and waiting for him.

“Shit…” He muttered, lips brushing over the thin fabric of your panties, your hips rolling instinctively, “Not fair that you smell that good.”

The compliment made you whine hungrily, nails scratching through his hair. He pressed a kiss to the fabric between you, causing you to buck again with a gasp. Resting his hands firmly on your thighs, he trailed down that little bit further, breath hot and moist along your slit, causing your eyes to roll back. His fingers dug faintly into your flesh as he took in the smell of your desire, making you squirm with anticipation.

And then he pressed his tongue flat to your pussy, spit soaking through your already damp panties as you moaned unabashedly, causing Manny’s own hum to rock against you. Your grip on his hair tightened as he began to lap at you slowly, tip of his tongue flicking over your clit over and over, making your toes curl.

“Oh, fuck…” You muttered, grinding your hips against Manny’s mouth in time with the strokes of his tongue. Another growl sounded in his throat as he held your thighs firmly as if to keep the both of you at a slow, steady pace. Your body jolted when he teased at your entrance, the measly layer of fabric the only thing keeping you two apart and causing you frustration.

As if he could read your mind, Manny slid a hand up your leg, hooking a finger around the fabric of your panties and pulling them out of the way, his mouth pulling back a mere inch. His hot breath teased along your slit, making you ache for him.

A desirous sound of approval rumbled in his chest before Manny pressed his mouth to your pussy, causing you to yelp at the feel of his wet tongue bare against you. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip as he hungrily ate you out, mouth ravenously sucking on your clit, tongue diving between your folds insatiably. You threw your head back with a vulgar cry, already seeing stars as you rolled your hips greedily, causing Manny to splay his hand across your pelvis in an effort to hold you in place.

“Slow down, baby…” He groaned into your pussy, the roughness of his tone doing nothing to make you any less wet and desperate, especially when he went back to devouring you in the same breath. Your legs were already shaking on either side of his head, five long years making it damn near impossible to keep yourself from coming undone.

It was like an electric spark each time his tongue teased at your clit, your whimpers growing only more desperate and carnal. Your legs began to clench around him, forcing Manny to firmly grip both your thighs, fingers digging into your skin to keep you from tightening around his head. You trembled in his strong hold, rutting desperately against his mouth, the both of you moaning with a drunken pleasure.

“Oh god--!” You stuttered with a gasp, Manny’s mouth unrelenting on your clit, eating you out like you were his goddamn last meal, “Manny--!”

You felt him tense before his mouth grew even more frenzied, the sound of his name on your tongue sinful and encouraging. Your breath came out short and gasping and desperate, head swirling with bliss, body trembling as you rode his tongue closer and closer to your release.

And then you spiralled abruptly, cumming hard and intense as your body tightened, moans spilling from your lips like prayer. Manny lapped at your desire, taking another deep breath of you as his hands held so tight to your trembling thighs that you knew it would bruise. You shook in his hands, body melting as he continued to cruelly tease at your clit with his tongue, incoherent words of pleasure falling from your mouth.

When your hands finally untangled from his hair, Manny relented, pulling back to catch his breath as you rode the high of your orgasm, eyes crossed and head fuzzy. His nose brushed along your inner thigh, causing you to twitch; an airy laugh tickled against your skin in response.

“God…” He grumbled, resting his forehead against your leg for a moment. The distinct smell of sex reached you, sweaty and sweet and musky, as your chest heaved with steady breaths. Though your limbs felt weak, you gently brushed your hand over Manny’s curls, staring up at the ceiling as you composed yourself.

Manny began a slow crawl up your body, lips grazing over your skin wantonly until you were nose-to-nose, tasting your own sex in the air between you two. He firmly pressed his groin against your sensitive core, drawing a faint whimper from your lips, which he captured in a deep, impassioned kiss.

Your hands explored his body, delighting in the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin. His tongue slid into your mouth zealously, tasting you with a deep moan. For the first time in days, you finally felt warm, sweat dampening the small of your back. Without breaking away from Manny’s lips, you began to tug your shirts up, only splitting for half a second so you could yank them over your head.

Manny cupped your breasts, squeezing eagerly and groaning as your nipples hardened under his touch. He drew his lips away, kissing down your neck until he could tenderly bite the soft flesh of your chest; your toes curled as he sucked another hickey to your skin, hooking your heels on the backside of his legs while rutting your hips again.

Satisfied with the bruise he left, Manny captured your lips fiercely, rolling his hips, his erection strained and beguiling within his pants. Your legs tightened either side of him, using the leverage to move with him, grinding against his cock slowly, drawing an illicit groan from his lips.

Manny grabbed firm hold of you, flipping your bodies around in one fluid motion to put you on top. Sitting up, he practically devoured your lips, the kiss sloppy and salacious. In his lap, you continued grinding your hips, arching your back as the friction caused you to whine, your sex dampening through your panties to his jeans.

God, the feel of him swollen and hard against your clit was mouthwatering, your pace growing more urgent and needy as Manny groped at you with feverish hands, squeezing and rubbing and scratching like he was afraid someone might steal you away from him. He reached around your back, unclipping your bra and tossing it away; prying his lips from yours, he took one of your peaked nipples into his hot mouth, tongue swirling and teeth grazing. You cried out, head falling back as you leaned into his touch, your pussy slick with want as your hips stuttered.

You muttered achingly as Manny fondled your breasts, his hips bucking needily beneath you as he growled with impatience. Your fingers knotted in his hair again, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss as you rut against him.

Feeling like a tightly wound coil again, you pried yourself off Manny, much to his protest, shuffling down his legs just enough to undo his jeans, pulling them away before crawling back to him. You cupped his erection through his boxers, sighing sharply at his size and girth; you gave him a gentle squeeze, causing him to groan while grinding himself into your hand. You began to stroke him through the underwear, hand slow and firm as it teased along his length, thumb running over his tip, hitting a spot he must have loved given the way he twitched and groaned.

You grabbed the waistband of the boxers and drew them down, the head of Manny’s cock bouncing against his stomach with a dull thump. You stroked him again, lightly squeezing as you went from head to hilt at a cruel pace, teasing along the vein on the underside of his length. As your hand began to bounce at a steady rhythm, Manny lied back, mouth ajar and eyes closed.

“Baby…” He grumbled, hips bucking up to meet your hand, causing his thigh muscle to tighten beneath your pussy, making you moan right along with him.

Giving into your impatience, you yanked off your panties, crawling over Manny so you could press a fierce kiss to his lips. As you tried to pull away, he cupped the back of your neck, tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you like you were the air he breathed, moaning desperately in his throat. His opposite hand slid between you, fingertips swirling your swollen clit and causing you to shiver.

When finally your lips broke apart, you were gasping for air, Manny’s cock twitching against your inner thighs, your knees slightly trembling thanks to the lazy winding of his fingers on your sex. The glint in his hooded eyes caused you to smile affectionately, repositioning yourself till you were centered over his erection, his hands gliding along your thighs and hips and waist like you were something coveted.

Manny dug his fingers into your hip, grinding your wet pussy along the length of his cock, whispering endearments so low that you could barely make them out. Steadying your hands upon his firm chest, the friction between you nearly made you whine. Manny took a deep breath as he shifted you so that he was lined up with your entrance, the two of you lingering for a moment as you stared into each other’s faces.

And then you slowly lowered yourself onto him, groaning in unison as you stretched around his girth. You were so wet already, taking him hilt deep with a shudder at the feel of him inside you. Manny held still, composing himself as you adjusted to his size - five years without dick make you feel like a damn virgin all over again, the twitch inside you causing a yelp of pleasure to jump from your lips.

You stayed like this a moment longer before you unhurriedly rut against Manny’s hips, another raptured cry escaping you at the pressure against your clit. Manny’s grip became even more firm against your skin, deep breaths inflating his chest as he ground up into you, finding that sweet spot deep inside you far, far too easily. Your hips moved together, jerky and uncoordinated, desperately chasing the delectable sensation coursing between your bodies.

Manny’s hands drift around to your ass, squeezing encouragingly as he rolled his hips, your name hot on his tongue. He lifted you just a couple inches off of him, cupping your rear so he could thrust up into you, skin clapping together while your nails dug into his pecs. He hit you nice and deep over and over again, the thrust of his hips growing more unyielding with each mewl and cry that slurred from your mouth. Fuck, his dick was intoxicating, the way it stretched you out and filled you up, making your eyes cross and your limbs trembled.

Hungry for more, you began to bounce on your knees, stuttering until you matched Manny’s rhythm, bracing your hands either side of his head to get a deeper angle. You exhaled sharply as he buried himself inside you, thrusts growing feverish, skin slick with sweat. A growl rose deep in his chest, craning his neck to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling. You moaned into his mouth, rolling your hips erratically.

Manny’s greedy hands trailed back up your body, fondling your tits, tweaking your nipples between his fingers. A fierce little “come here” rumbled in his throat, drawing your chest towards him so he could bite at your flesh again. The new angle of your hips caused pressure on your clit that made you cry out, body shuddering with pleasure as Manny drove his cock deep inside you over and over again.

“Fu-uck--!” You whined loudly, grinding your hips as Manny became more frantic, thrusts hard and lecherous and like a drug. His breath was hot against your breasts, your back arching as his hands explored your body, gripping firmly at your waist as he pushed just that little bit deeper.

Manny drew his knees up to press against your back, using the angle to bury himself in you, hand trailing down to massage your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your hips faltered with a yelp as you groped at his arms to keep yourself steady.

He rut his hips hard into you, the slick sound of your skin slapping together causing your pussy to clench tight around him, drawing another hiss from between his teeth. Your body became frenzied, hips rolling and toes curling, a string of gasps spilling from your mouth as his thumb returned to swirling your clit, sending jolts of desire through your body.

“Fuck, you’re falling apart, huh?” Manny growled with a dazzling grin, enthralled by the sight of you as he fought not to come undone himself, “Taking me so good…”

God, his voice made you squirm and moan, riding his cock with a hungry zeal, bouncing on shaky legs as your pussy tightened around him. Drool began to pool under your tongue, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your pace grew sloppy and graceless.

“That’s right, baby…” Manny breathed out, applying more pressure to your clit, stilling the upward thrusts of his hips so you could ride him until you fell apart. You bounced and rutted, chasing the cusp of another orgasm, nails racking harshly along his body before digging into his thighs, which still pressed firmly into your back, using him as leverage for your rapacious grinding.

You managed to find Manny’s intense gaze in the dark, the two of you staring intensely at one another, eyes hooded and mouths hanging open. Under his breath, he murmured a string of “come on, come on” like a mantra, thumb continuing its unrelenting pattern on your clit as your legs began to shake, nails scratching at his skin forcefully enough that you dared to draw blood.

And then it was like a white hot flash of lightning, an obscene cry leaping from your mouth as you clenched tight around Manny’s cock, throwing your head back as everything within you trembled, your release frenzied and wild.

You shook while bracing yourself, orgasm rocking your body, stars behind your eyes as a weak string of moans fell from your tongue. Manny held you tight, squeezing your skin in his hands, watching you with utter awe and ecstasy, the clench of your soaked pussy drawing guttural moans from his chest. His cock twitched inside you, desperate for release, but he resisted the urge so he could focus on how goddamn incredible you looked cumming all over his dick.

When you finally floated down from cloud nine, your body racked with pleasure. Manny’s cock was still buried inside you, rock hard and twitching, sending shocks of euphoria through your body. The tension accompanying your orgasm melted away, legs like pudding as you balanced your hands atop his chest again.

“Fucking hell…” Manny murmured, enthralled by you. A goofy smile graced your lips as you slowly lowered your lips back towards his, moaning into his mouth at the way his full cock shifted inside you. The kiss was deep and sloppy, breathing each other in with such ardent want, molding together as if you were made for it.

Manny gave a slow roll of his hips, hands exploring your hot skin as you continued to whimper against his lips. Slowly, he pushed up inside you, delighting in your gasps and spasms, his tongue delving into your mouth again with desperate desire. You held his jaw tenderly, pulsing around his thrusts; eventually, he pulled back, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

“Got one more in you, cariño?” He whispered wickedly, smiling triumphantly as you moaned, walls clenching around him again. He was so close, feeling how desperately his body wanted release. When you nodded, nose bumping gently with his, Manny’s arms encircled you, flipping you onto your back faster than you could blink, the motion and accompanying friction making you gasp sinfully.

Manny sat back on his heels, hands stroking down your legs, cock still buried inside you as he positioned your bodies. He spread your legs, pushing them up either side of you, hands holding your knees as he bottomed out, moaning huskily at the feel of you. He rolled his hips steadily, hitting deep inside your wet pussy, fingers digging into your skin. You grasped at the mess of blankets beneath you, body curving up to meet Manny’s thrusts as skin slapped skin, hair sticking to your sweaty neck and forehead.

Manny grunted praises through his teeth, slamming deep into you with rapid strikes. Already so sensitive after your orgasms, you moaned wildly at the way he slid in and out of you, body starting to tremble again. Manny pushed your legs even higher and wider, eyes closed and brow furrowed as he used your body, burying into you with a hungry fervor.

You threw your head back as your thighs tried to clench either side of Manny’s torso, but his grip was firm and strong, holding you in place as your entire body shook with intense pleasure. His thrusts grew even more insistent, fast and deep and mouthwatering.

“That’s right, baby--” He hissed as he slammed into you, “so fucking good--”

His words made you whine delectably, pussy clenching around him, rhythm unrelenting. His breath began to come out in deep shudder, hips stuttering on the edge of release as he stole a few more deep thrusts before abruptly pulling out of you.

It was a shock to be so empty all of a sudden, a loud cry leaving you; in the next moment, Manny was spilling warm seed onto your stomach, his groans overlapping with yours. His hands shook as he clung tight to your legs, his head lulling forward as the last of him pooled on your hot skin, sweat gliding down his taunt muscles.

For a long beat, neither of you moved as you caught your breath. Eventually, you lowered your legs either side of him, reaching trembling hands up to cup Manny’s jaw as he balanced above you, swooping in to steal a needy kiss. The both of you moaned at the taste of each other, your body still yearning for him despite the three orgasms he already gave you. Pulling back, he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, breathing you in deeply for a minute.

“Be right back.” Manny whispered roughly, grunting as he pushed back on his heels before rising to his feet, legs still shaky. You hummed in acknowledgement, watching his silhouette move through the dark, listening as he rummaged in his bag and opened a canteen. He returned moments later, kneeling beside you and pressing a damp cloth to your stomach, causing you to faintly gasp at the chill of it cleaning your skin of his mess.

“Thanks,” You giggled, cock-drunk and giddy, once Manny was done. He sat down beside you again, huddling himself in the blankets as a sweet laugh met your ears.

“For what - the mindblowing sex?” He teased, to which you gave him a half-assed punch in the arm, which only made him laugh again.

“Shut up, asshole.” You smiled fondly, eyes fluttering shut contently.

Your body had finally relaxed, a thin layer of sweat glistening over your skin, which finally allowed for the blizzard outside to chill you to the bone again, your teeth chattering. Looking about in the dark, it was hard to tell where exactly any of your clothes had ended up, but before you could even crawl away from the comfort of your blankets, Manny gently grabbed your arm.

He tugged you into him, muttering against your hair, “Worry about it in the morning.”

“And freeze in the middle of the night?” You countered, though being curled in his side and huddled together was doing wonders for your temperature. It reminded you of what he said earlier, which already felt lifetimes away, causing you to huff out a small laugh, “Guess we’re doing the skin-to-skin thing after all, huh?”

Manny laughed, too, arms tightening around you as he grumbled again, echoing your words back at you, “Shut up, asshole.”

“Sheesh, look at these two.”

A voice and accompanying snickers pierced through your unconscious, causing you to start abruptly, instinctively reaching for your knife that was nowhere to be found. The warm body beside you shot up with a gasp, seemingly fumbling around for something as well, which caused even more raucous laughter.

And then, of course, your mind caught up with you as you recalled last night, eyes straining to open against the harsh sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“So, this is what you were doing instead of searching for us?” Nora’s familiar voice taunted, your vision still heavy with sleep. Mortification shot through you like a bullet, feeling your neck and ears grow hot as you slumped under the blankets as if to hide your shame.

Manny’s body was warm beside you, his morning voice gravelly; despite yourself, it caused a faint stirring in your stomach, “Fuck off.”

The sheet over your head was tugged away, Owen’s teasing face there to greet you as you shivered at the cold, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.”

“Stop…” You whined sleepily, crossing your arms over your chest on the off-chance that you may end up more exposed than you would like.

Eyes adjusted to the light, you looked from one face to the next - everyone seemed to be amused, even Abby, who tried to hide that behind a glare. Fuck, this is just what you needed first thing in the morning.

Manny clicked his tongue, pulling a blanket around his bare shoulders and torso, “We were gonna look for you today.”

“Just had to get some first?” Mel asked with a laugh, rolling her eyes before shooting you a wink.

“Get dressed.” Abby chimed in before either of you could rise to the bait. Curling into yourself, you pressed closer to Manny to steal some of his body heat, “We gotta make some progress before another storm hits. Right?”

She looked at you with raised brows, as if you could simply predict the weather like some kind of magician. You sighed while weakly nodding, attempting to stifle a yawn.

“Yeah, yup, before another storm.” You answered roughly, raising your hand to wave it in the direction of the door, “Will you all go please?”

“Oh, she wants some privacy.” Nora continued to tease, even as she began to slowly back up towards the door, the others following suit.

“Five minutes.” Abby instructed, still fighting to hold in her own mirth at your predicament, “Any longer and we’ll drag you out.”

You and Manny watched as they trickled out of the room. Nora stopped to shoot you a big thumbs up, causing another wave of laughter through the group as they closed the door behind them.

Alone again, Manny looked down at you, dark stare taking in your disheveled appearance with a faint smirk. Sighing heavily, you sat up, shivering as the cold air hit your bare back, shoulders shrugging up to your ears.

“Fuck!” You chattered, catching the mischievous glint in Manny’s eyes, your brow knotting, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I mean,” he leaned towards you as if to whisper a secret, “we can do a lot in five minutes…”

You laughed abruptly at his insinuation, rolling your eyes as you leaned in as well, lips lingering just out of reach, “Shut up and put your clothes on.”

. .

Taglist | @flaneurpastel

#manny alvarez x reader #manny alvarez x you #manny alvarez x y/n #manny alvarez #danny ramirez x reader #danny ramirez x you #danny ramirez #tlou #the last of us #danny ramirez smut #danny ramirez fic #a fics*

624 notes · View notes

valeisaslut · 3 months ago

Note

do either of them have beef with anyone else in the industry either secretly or very publicly lol

oh you want drama. buckle up.

COLLIDE POPSTAR!READER X ROCKSTAR!ELLIE BEEFS LMAO

you and ellie? you’re literally drama magnets. two beautiful, very deranged celestial bodies orbiting the same flaming sun of pettiness. you can try to be normal. you try to play nice. but it’s in your blood.

ellie’s public beefs:

⭑.ᐟ first of all. donald trump. legendary. iconic. HISTORIC beef. back when the fireflies were first exploding, trump randomly decided to tweet, “i don’t get this ‘ellie williams’ noise. very sad!” and ellie, from her green room mid-tour, tweeted:

“damn. didn’t know hell had wifi. eat my mf strap.”

32.3 million likes. someone screen-printed it onto a shirt. "eat my mf strap" became an iconic quote for the lesbian community. the white house official account blocked her. she framed the tweet and hung it in her LA apartment above some grammys.

⭑.ᐟ then there’s machine gun kelly. he tried to flirt with her once at a fashion week afterparty, and she looked him dead in the eye and said, “i'd rather fuck a broken amp.” he blocked her immediately. she’s still proud. she brings it up unprompted at least once a month.

⭑.ᐟ she also has serious beef with shawn mendes. no one knows why. literally no one. she just refuses to be in the same room as him. if you ask her why, she’ll shrug and say: "his aura is suspicious." dina thinks it’s hilarious. jesse once laughed so hard ellie threatened to kick him out of the band.

⭑.ᐟ with spotify....? they removed her from one curated playlist. she mailed them a written letter that said, simply: "eat shit." they framed it and hung it in the New York office. she's now technically "banned" from the headquarters but still uses her premium account like a menace.

⭑.ᐟ adam levine. he once said that "bands are dead" in an interview and she just responded with a photo of the Fireflies headlining Lollapalooza in front of 80k people. captioned it "damn. missed the funeral."

⭑.ᐟ kanye west. listen. she never said anything directly. but once during a show in chicago, she did a rock cover of Gold Digger and changed the lyrics to: "i ain’t messin’ with no nazi bitch.". went extremely viral. never mentioned it again.

⭑.ᐟ sometimes she will just randomly unfollow and refollow people to cause chaos. in 2023 she unfollowed like half of the Grammy performers and then posted "just had to cleanse my aura real quick" on her story. so mf uncalled for.

your (reader’s) beefs:

you? oh, you are so scary when you want to be. the QUEEN of passive aggressive beef.

⭑.ᐟ you once had a fake-nice beef with a former disney star turned influencer who kept posting those “some of us don’t need features to chart 🧘‍♀️” captions. you responded by dropping a deluxe edition of your album featuring three collabs and an orchestral version and a remix and charted every single one. captioned your post: “thankful for my friends 💕.”people caught on immediately. there were think pieces.

⭑.ᐟ you once got asked to collab with a rapper known for being homophobic (da baby) and you very publicly turned it down by posting an instagram story that said: "i’d rather eat thumbtacks. respectfully."

⭑.ᐟ katy perry said something vaguely homophobic ab you on a podcast once, and when asked about it in an interview, you smiled so sweetly and said, “i thought she was opening a shoe store? i support small businesses tho.” the interviewer had to excuse themselves to laugh.

⭑.ᐟ you hate perez hilton. it’s no secret. once he tried to bait you into drama by tweeting “pop princess y/n getting a little too wild lately?” and you quote-tweeted him with: "who let you out of the nursing home."

⭑.ᐟ your most lowkey beef is with a famous country singer who said “i don’t think pop stars are real musicians.” you have never once acknowledged it publicly. but at your next show you covered Jolene and changed the lyrics to make it about stealing his girlfriend. people understood.

⭑.ᐟ you once got kinda shaded by an "edgy" alt-pop girl for your tour costumes being "too theatrical," so at your next show, you entered the stage in a 40-pound diamond-studded corset on a chariot. you didn’t break character once. the videos are still trending on stan twitter.

⭑.ᐟ GQ photoshopped your waist in a cover shoot without telling you. so you, being the legend you are, posted the raw, unedited pics on instagram with the caption: "i like my waist the way it fucking is. thanks." simple. lethal. a cultural reset.

ellie, naturally, saw it and went absolutely feral in the gq comment section. no emojis. no punctuation. just pure threat: "touch her again and i’m burning your mf offices down"

and privately? you both absolutely despise a HANDFUL of people. yall even keep a list. it’s literally like a famous people burn book. you’re planning to leak it someday just for the drama.

but yeah. despite the occasional beef, the truth is: you two are untouchable. you're the biggest thing in music right now. everyone either wants to collab with you or be you. labels want you, fans worship you. and when you do get hated on, it's so clearly jealousy that you don't even have to respond. you just post a blurry pic kissing ellie backstage and it gets 20M likes overnight.

503 notes · View notes

mrs-elsie-barnes · 10 months ago

Text

Back To Work | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader | Drabble - 800 words

Retirement, a new house, a romantic evening planned, Bucky just knew that life was all going too well . Especially when he starts being hounded to return to his superhero life.

Warnings: language, fluff, a little angsty at the end. Featuring domestic thunderbolts Bucky.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Bucky, are you ready to go baby?” Your voice carried through from the living room as he clicked his arm back into place, shrugging his shoulder to get the fit right.

You'd been excited all day, buzzing around the new house and opening boxes, trying to unpack at the same time as finding the perfect outfit. Bucky was only half regretting making plans so soon after moving, sure it was stressful trying to dig out his nice shoes from the piles of boxes and bags, but seeing you so happy was completely worth it and knowing you’d be coming home to your house, together, was just the icing on the cake.

Now the sun was setting and you had turned on the downlighters in the kitchen, void of your usual clutter it looked lonely.

“Just checking my phone, Doll.” He called back picking the offending item up from the counter - so many missed messages, he sighed.

He'd been better recently, replying to Sam and catching up with him every week or so. He'd even managed to facetime Steve in his retirement home. He quite enjoyed the easy freedom of digital communication. But today, of all days, it had been pinging non-stop all driving him crazy during the drive and ruining the relaxing and, he hoped, romantic atmosphere he was trying to create.

“Come on, baby, I don't want to be late.” You strolled into the kitchen and he dropped the phone again to focus his attention on you instead, taking in your dress and heels, your lipstick perfectly done. How could he worry about a stupid phone when you were together.

“C’mere,” he pulled you close, tucking you under his chin and planting a kiss to the top of your head.

He smelt lovely, fresh from the shower but with the hint of cut wood from building furniture. His vest revealed the hint of his dog tags, outlined under the fabric, as well as his tanned skin from a summer well spent outside, your traced your fingers over the chain and up his neck. Tangling your fingers in his long hair you tugged him down for a kiss.

“Love you, Buck.” You whispered against his lips, heat surging through you just at his presence.

“Love you too.” His lips tickled your cheek, behind your ear, and then he was swinging you up onto the counter.

“Don't make us late!”

“If you don't like it, stop giggling.” His fingers tickled up your bare legs, eyes twinkling with desire.

Ping

“That fucking phone,” Bucky growled, grabbing it again. More messages, more missed calls.

“You should see what they want,” wrapping your arms and legs around him as you tugged Bucky closer, every line and curve fitting against him perfectly. He was sun warmed and cuddly, still ridiculously strong, but the hard lines and plains had softened since his retirement and you couldn’t get enough.

“Fine, for you, then we're going to go and have a nice dinner and I'm leaving this stupid thing here.” He grumbled, chin on top of your head.

You giggled again, leaving kisses on his chest. Bucky was so attached to that thing you didn't believe it for a second. Until his breathing went funny, heartbeat speeding up beneath your cheek.

“What is it?”

His eyes had lost their sparkle, looking sad and serious.

“I might have to rearrange dinner.”

“What? Why?” You couldn’t see the phone, but his eyes raced across whatever he’d been sent.

“Where did we pack the gear?”

“The what? Oh - uh,it's in the trunk, in the garage but -”

Bucky slid away, eyes glazed, focussed, intent and you were suddenly so cold without his presence.Your heart sank listening to the movement in the garage on the other side of the wall.

He emerged ten minutes later, his smart trousers and vest discarded in favour of leather, the dirty t-shirt he'd been wearing while you were unpacking was back and he’d at least grabbed his soft leather jacket for protection.

You threw yourself into his arms, tears springing to your eyes. “Are you needed?”

“I think so,” his voice was low, sinking into the headspace required to take on whatever danger was lurking.

“Come back to me in one piece, okay?” Your voice cracked, arms squeezing him impossibly tight.

“Of course, doll.” He looked at you then, tears welling in his own eyes, his lips so soft against your own.

“You're my hero, you know that? You don't have to do anything else?”

He nodded, letting you slide back to the floor, heels clicking on the tile in a sad reminder of your ruined evening.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, lock the door behind me, okay? Don’t let anyone, anyone, in.”

It was your turn to nod, you knew the protocols, the rules that reassured him.

His bike roared to life, then he was gone, and you were alone in the echo of your home.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #Bucky Barnes x female!Reader #Bucky Barnes/female reader #bucky x female reader #Bucky fluff #bucky #Thunderbolts!Bucky #thunderbolts #domestic bucky #domestic fluff #Marvel

1K notes · View notes

anika-ann · 1 year ago

Text

The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8k

Summary:

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons. With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head. “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down?

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

#CT 2024 raffle entry #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #soulmate au #soulmate steve rogers #the unexpected #anika ann

2K notes · View notes

pillowfort-social · 1 year ago

Text

Generative AI Policy (February 9, 2024)

As of February 9, 2024, we are updating our Terms of Service to prohibit the following content:

Images created through the use of generative AI programs such as Stable Diffusion, Midjourney, and Dall-E.

This post explains what that means for you. We know it’s impossible to remove all images created by Generative AI on Pillowfort. The goal of this new policy, however, is to send a clear message that we are against the normalization of commercializing and distributing images created by Generative AI. Pillowfort stands in full support of all creatives who make Pillowfort their home. Disclaimer: The following policy was shaped in collaboration with Pillowfort Staff and international university researchers. We are aware that Artificial Intelligence is a rapidly evolving environment. This policy may require revisions in the future to adapt to the changing landscape of Generative AI.

Why is Generative AI Banned on Pillowfort?

Our Terms of Service already prohibits copyright violations, which includes reposting other people’s artwork to Pillowfort without the artist’s permission; and because of how Generative AI draws on a database of images and text that were taken without consent from artists or writers, all Generative AI content can be considered in violation of this rule. We also had an overwhelming response from our user base urging us to take action on prohibiting Generative AI on our platform.

How does Pillowfort define Generative AI?

As of February 9, 2024 we define Generative AI as online tools for producing material based on large data collection that is often gathered without consent or notification from the original creators.

Generative AI tools do not require skill on behalf of the user and effectively replace them in the creative process (ie - little direction or decision making taken directly from the user). Tools that assist creativity don't replace the user. This means the user can still improve their skills and refine over time.

For example: If you ask a Generative AI tool to add a lighthouse to an image, the image of a lighthouse appears in a completed state. Whereas if you used an assistive drawing tool to add a lighthouse to an image, the user decides the tools used to contribute to the creation process and how to apply them.

Examples of Tools Not Allowed on Pillowfort: Adobe Firefly* Dall-E GPT-4 Jasper Chat Lensa Midjourney Stable Diffusion Synthesia

Example of Tools Still Allowed on Pillowfort:

AI Assistant Tools (ie: Google Translate, Grammarly) VTuber Tools (ie: Live3D, Restream, VRChat) Digital Audio Editors (ie: Audacity, Garage Band) Poser & Reference Tools (ie: Poser, Blender) Graphic & Image Editors (ie: Canva, Adobe Photoshop*, Procreate, Medibang, automatic filters from phone cameras)

*While Adobe software such as Adobe Photoshop is not considered Generative AI, Adobe Firefly is fully integrated in various Adobe software and falls under our definition of Generative AI. The use of Adobe Photoshop is allowed on Pillowfort. The creation of an image in Adobe Photoshop using Adobe Firefly would be prohibited on Pillowfort.

Can I use ethical generators?

Due to the evolving nature of Generative AI, ethical generators are not an exception.

Can I still talk about AI?

Yes! Posts, Comments, and User Communities discussing AI are still allowed on Pillowfort.

Can I link to or embed websites, articles, or social media posts containing Generative AI?

Yes. We do ask that you properly tag your post as “AI” and “Artificial Intelligence.”

Can I advertise the sale of digital or virtual goods containing Generative AI?

No. Offsite Advertising of the sale of goods (digital and physical) containing Generative AI on Pillowfort is prohibited.

How can I tell if a software I use contains Generative AI?

A general rule of thumb as a first step is you can try testing the software by turning off internet access and seeing if the tool still works. If the software says it needs to be online there’s a chance it’s using Generative AI and needs to be explored further.

You are also always welcome to contact us at [email protected] if you’re still unsure.

How will this policy be enforced/detected?

Our Team has decided we are NOT using AI-based automated detection tools due to how often they provide false positives and other issues. We are applying a suite of methods sourced from international universities responding to moderating material potentially sourced from Generative AI instead.

How do I report content containing Generative AI Material?

If you are concerned about post(s) featuring Generative AI material, please flag the post for our Site Moderation Team to conduct a thorough investigation. As a reminder, Pillowfort’s existing policy regarding callout posts applies here and harassment / brigading / etc will not be tolerated.

Any questions or clarifications regarding our Generative AI Policy can be sent to [email protected].

#pillowfort.social #pifo #pillowfort.soc #pfstaffalert #tos #policy #ai #please share #february 2024

2K notes · View notes

neonovember · 9 months ago

Note

I have a sort of angsty hurt to comfort idea for Carmy 😈 Okay but Claire coming back into his life and obviously you’re both dating, but maybe sort of feeling a little bit left out and feeling guilty for feeling a little insecure because you know Carmen’s loyal and Claire seems like a lovely person. Not saying anything because you obviously want him to be happy and you know there’s a part of you that’s being irrational. But THEN, maybe for whatever you also personally know Luca! Perhaps from something work related or had mutual friends and then maybe getting back into contact with him through Marcus and really hitting it off with him and having a respectable normal healthy friendship with him, but Carmy’s on the side going “What the cinnamon toast FUCK is this”. And it culminates in an argument which ultimately leads the both of you to opening up and discussing boundaries and airing out insecurities, and just being super vulnerable and communicating with one another

Love and War (I)

warnings; claire, arguing, threats of violence, anxiety, my writing

i had like 4 different versions of how this story was supposed to go, hope you enjoy the one i finally let see the sun

a/n: yeah...so shit hit the fan and kind of derailed my life for 6 months. I hope you will forgive me, i feel like an absentee father. (part two will be posting right after i swear!)

divider by @firefly-graphics

You aren't jealous.

You have never experienced the slimy green devil in any of your past relationships, so you shouldn't feel it now.

Your mind isn't fond of what it should feel however, and instead, you feel a burning ache begin to burst through your chest as you watch Carmen nod excitedly at Claire in the Beef’s front dining space. It disgusts you, how this feeling wraps around your heart like sludge. You've been trying to focus on prepping for the new menu, gathering different ensembles of compotes and sauces, but your eyes always finds it’s way back to them.

And her.

Claire had burst into Carmen’s life seemingly out of nowhere, and it took one exchange between you both to know it was different. Claire had something you didn't with Carmen, a past, and the discomforting feeling of being on the outside looking in was all that blared in your mind the past few weeks since her appearance.

It wasn’t like Claire was rude, no that would have made this feeling easier to bear. She was nice, for god sake. The only person in Chicago who it seemed had not yet gotten all their goodness sucked out, and she had to have been Carmen's old friend. And a friend was all she was, so why did you- why are you jealous?

She knows him better than you do.

You shake the thought out of your mind so furiously the container in your hand spills onto the cutting board. You weren't going to go there, not when Carmen hadn't done anything wrong.

You wanted him to have friends, to broaden his circle from beyond just the Beef and Sugar, who you made sure to point out didn't exactly count. So you should be happy, ecstatic even, that he was able to reconnect with someone that had known him for so long.

But she had known him for so long.

And you know you're being irrational and hypocritical and you know you can’t own someone else, but maybe there was a part of you that liked that you had him all to yourself.

Carmen was different. To your other relationships, your other friendships, everything. You and Carmen danced around your feelings for so long that when it exploded into heated kisses and confessions of love one night after a dazzling dinner service, it had already felt like you had been with him for years.

And Carmen was devoted to you, he sang it into your skin every chance he got. It was just that those chances had begun to dwindle day after day the more Claire came around, until you had begun to detest the sound of her name leaving his mouth.

Steeping your fingers in cold water, you wipe them hastily no your aprosn before making your way over to them both. Fixing your face from quivering lips into a tight smile.

You wipe your messy hands in your apron, steeping your fingers before making your way over to them both. Fixing your face, you pull your quivering lips into a tight smile.

“Hey, Claire. How are you doing?”

“Oh hey! Good good, Carmen was just telling me about this cool hole in the wall down 85th.”

“Ruth’s Bar?”

“Yes! That’s the one. They really do saffron popcorn there?” Claire replies, eyes bulging.

“Yep, mix it in with a little alcohol and then pour it into the butter. Entertainment is almost too good that you forgot about how amazing it smells though”

“We should go out some time!”

“Definitely. Carmen, were you alright with Thai tonight?”

“Oh” Carmen replies, scratching the back of his head

He forgot.

“Yeah, sorry hun I promised to take Claire to-”

“This new fusion place! I saw it online and Carmen offered to take me.

You voice pitter and curls as you gulp down the innate urge to reply with a deadpan ‘What?”.

“Oh. Ah- okay. What’s the place?” You reply, your voice on the verge of shaky as you blink through Claire, watching to see if there was any semblance of guilt in Carmen.

There wasn't, he was taking her out on a night reserved for you to. As if they hadn't spent nearly everyday together, as if Claire hadn’t imprinted her ass on the bar chair’s sharing pieces of things you never could with him.

“It’s called Route Creale?” Claire replies, excitedly, obviously to the sour expression on your face as she butchers the name of the restaurant.

“La Route Créole” You correct, almost unconsciously.

Practiced from the amount of times you had excitedly to Carmen about the Trinidan-French fusion place, looking through the menu together, huddled over your cracked phone screen in the early morning in your bed. Listing of dishes and dishes that made you squeal in delight.

You had told Carmen how bad you wanted to go, how bad you wanted both of you to try it together, and instead, instead he takes her.

He takes her.

“Easy, not everyone has spent months as the head Poissonnier in Port Of Spain” Carmen jokes, head tilting as you stammer, eyes focused on the floor.

“What the hell is a Poissonnier” Claire replies giggling

And as Carmen clarified to her, gripping her arm as he rambles on the importance of the distribution of fucking cooking stations your mind kind of skips.

It falls over itself like a misshapen piece of the sidewalk. Your eyebrows are screwed and you're looking at Carmen looking at Claire. For a second you are confused, wholeheartedly and entirely confused to the very marrow of your being. Who was this person in front of you? It couldn’t have been your Carmen.

Your Carmen who wrote you letters left on food packages and stuffed in your locker. Your Carmen who would follow you around like a lost puppy, enthralled by your every move. Your Carmen who sung you to sleep in horrible drunken renditions of “Livin on a prayer”.

Jesus he knew every part of you, every inch of yourself like a road map, forks and branched roots across your skin. You hug your mid section tightly, fingers digging through the cotton of your button chef shirt.

No, no. Someone must have come in and taken his face, his clothes, his mouth.

But he smells like him, the same deep scent of cocoa and burnt cigarettes. You could press your lips to his, but you don’t know if he’d like that anymore.

You know when someone is slipping away, you’re not one to guard your food like a stray dog. And no matter how hard you want to sink your teeth into him and not let go, you don’t have a choice.

The squealed sound of Claire rips you from your reverie, and your eyes shoot up to catch her grip Carmen's shoulder, her head tilted back and eyes squirmed shut in laughter. The ripple of jealous rage that bursts through every limb in your body causes you to subtly turn on your heel, rushing out of the suffocating stench of betrayal.

Fingers digging to unlace your apron that feels as if like a vice around your chest, unheard to the inquisitive shouts of Richie and Syd, until you hear the slam of the backdoor behind you.

Your leg jitters as you walk around in circles, grinding your jaw as visions of Claire and Carmen flash in your mind. Fisting the washcloth in your hand till your knuckles turn white, you stuff your face into it, masking the scream of festered anger that rips from your throat.

You’re pathetic, you don't get to feel jealous. Carmen would never even think of it, of betraying you. But he also wouldn't have taken the very restaurant you had been gawking at for the past month and taken someone else to it. Right in your face.

You don’t know if he even noticed your abrupt disappearance, your eyes shift to the door, waiting, hoping. Ears perked up at any sound of rushing footsteps to come find you.

Angry tears gather at the waterline when all you hear is the rumbling traffic behind you and the flutter of shrikes above.

You’re not jealous, you’re fuming

You hate it, no, you hate him. You seethe as you're forced to sit in it pushing the adoration and love you have for him to make room for it in your mind. It takes over, overcrowding your brain till you can't hear anything else, where even the buzzing of your phone is unregistered till your thigh begins to itch.

Oh god you told him about those times before, you told him. And he had wiped your tears and kissed your eyelids, damning your past boyfriend who had left you forsaken.

Wiping a hand across your face, you reach down to grasp the metallic slick edges. And the image of Luca flashing across the screen stumps you frozen till it rings out. You hadn't seen him since Denmark, in fact it had been years.

The ping of a text shakes you from the memories of spending months on boats and pastry kitchens in Copenhagen, the gray bubbles appearing on your screen.

“Gonna be in Chicago for a bit, wanna test out if your Mille-Feuille is still up to standard?”

You want to say that you answered Lucas' text in that brief moment out of genuine curiosity. That you would have wanted to see him whether Clair had uprooted your life with Carmen either way.

But you’d be lying to yourself.

The slight drizzle drips down your screen phone, muddying and blurring the Lucas texts till you have to wipe your shirt across it. You hesitate though, you think the blurred messages between you both absolves you of guilt. That it was as if you were lookin through pane fogged glass. But you slide your hand across the screen and it brightens to your eyes, defying every word between you both. You want to see Luca, Carmen had no hesitation when it came to Claire, oh no, he wouldn't think twice before spending the day with her.

Days like today, where you would usually be posted up in Carmens old beaten leather couch, the cushions weaning under your weight as you ate rice steeped in coconut milk and kung pao on plates.

It’s tradition, or it once was. So much of what you held close to your heart had been left to ruins, maimed and disfigured. Pulled from under you when you had thought it sacred, you should have expected this, it was too good. You’ve stewed in your deprecation look enough till it turned bitter, outpouring harsh streaks of anger from your heart instead.

You helped Sydney finish up the last of the next evening's desserts, waving her off with a smile when she had asked about your sudden departure earlier. She ignored the way your hands shook, and you reached for your things and rushed home before she could prod further.

You felt dirty.

Like Carmen was replacing you slowly, out from under you. Did he think you were too stupid to realise? You don’t want to imagine the things shared between them, and yet you do. Scrubbing your skin raw in the shower does little to scratch the memory of them out of your mind.

You’re resting on the edge of your bed, clutching your towel as you look towards your closet. Phone in hand at Lucas' text inviting you to dinner at his place, you turn Carmen’s picture on the dresser face down before reaching into your closet, and pulling out a dress you had forgotten existed.

When you slide the silk fabric onto your body, it feels anew. Like you were a different skin. It flutters at the edges of your calf, long and rich in colour in elegance.

Your hair is left in its natural state, running some products through with your fingers till the sticky crème is gone from between your knuckles. Carmen always loved your hair this way.

So did Luca.

Your time spent in Copenhagen didn't necessarily involve Luca, not at the start anyways. You were reviewing foods around Denmark, a long awaited food tour you had begun saving for before culinary school, and had made a pit stop at a weathered bakery.

It wasn't on your repertoire for your trip, in fact you had thought nothing of it, a transitional spot to grab an espresso and maybe a danish. It had seen better days. The wooden doors stained and creaking as you passed through, inside though, inside was as if you had entered the warmth of someone's heart and soul. Delicate paintings and familial photographs hang on the walls, low lamp lighting, a built-in fireplace that defrosts your fingers wedged in your coat pocket.

The most strange and endearing thing, however, was the bar attached on the same counter as the paned glass display of baked goods. In all your time in food, you had never seen a bakery that doubled as a..brewery? Distilled barrels hitched atop the caramel coloured walls, jugs and glasses perched atop the counter. You weren't necessarily a drinker per se, but the thought of filling your stomach with liquid heat pushed you to shut the door behind you and set your things on the bar counter.

“Now what makes someone as sunny as you walk into the most haggard bakery in all of Copenhagen?” A Brooklyn lilt voice calls from the small entryway into the back kitchen, a tall blonde man wipes his hand on a dishcloth, the tired features of cooking for hours you know to well etched on his face.

You stand right in surprise, you half heartedly expect the embodiment of Hagrid to walk out, and instead New York came bustling through.

“You sure you aren't lost sweetheart? Lookin’ for Noma?”

“I’m told I can get a pint of something hard and dry with my croissant” You murmur, cockling your head to the side “Or does this fine establishment not know how to laminate dough?”

From that moment on, you had spent almost every day in Denmark being guided to the “actually” good food spot in the city. You wanted to deny it, holding your list of restaurants and bakeries you had died to try since your trip to your chest like a rare jewel.

But God did those alleyway Frikadeller’s taste like religion. You wanted to fall to your knees and pledge your devotion.

Still, after you had draine the last of your savings on cider and meatballs your craft was calling to you from the States. Luca had told you things you had not even read in the mountain of textbooks and ‘Pastry 2’ tutorials you were assigned as a student, marveling at the intricacy of pastry and the world of dough.

He had mentioned a Chef he admired, one he wanted you to meet yourself. You wondered all those months who could have bested Luca.

And then you met Carmen.

Time and distance had feathered the brief but all consuming intimacy you and Luca shared. It wasn't like you had shared a bed together, no, it was far more deeper than that. You both shared the unraveling layers of your joint obsession;

Food.

It tethered you to each other so finely that even now, after years of no contact, you knew you would fall back into the same rhythmic dance you once had those years before.

It shakes the nerves from your body when you finally rack your knuckles against Luca’s restaurant door.

“Comin, comin, don’t break down the door” Luca’s silky voice laments from deep within the restaurant, before the iron door opens and you’re met with golden streaked hair and a wine stained apron.

“Why is it that every time I see you, you've got something stained on your face” You smile

“It’s the Lucas charm, what can I say” or “Oh please, you eat whatever caused those stains.”

“You say this now, but you’ll be praying to these stains when you taste you’re menu tonight” Lucas smirks

You chuckle shaking your head, before Lucas pulls you into a hug

“4 years and you still smell the same”

“You know I'm a women of routine, like the same bottle of perfume and my eggs-”

“Over easy, yeah yeah.”

“You know me so well!”

“No I just can’t get the smell of sunflowers from out my nose even years later”

“I paid a pretty penny for it, it should be fucking ever lasting”

Lucas shakes his head in a smile, and flashes of stomach pained laughter in pebbled alleyways and chef’s kitchens lights up your mind.

“What are you doing over here Luca?”

“A friend who works in restaurant business asked me to help get one of his locations up and runnin’ in Chicago” Luca replies

You follow him through drywall and scaffolding poles, catching the beginnings of the seating area as you observe the paint swatches on walls . The menu does always comes first.

“And this is you up and running? Conducting mini-master classes for old friends” You joke

“Mhm, don’t think we can classify ourselves as old friends just yet. It was just yesterday the last I saw you.” Luca replies in ponder

“Right, that must be all the gas fumes from looming over sauce pans for eons going to your brain. You do know nobody forced you to make that 36 hour long creme brulee right?” You tease

Lucas fights a giggle as he remembers the dish he had slaved over two nights, “And that sauce earned me a damn near Michelin Star.”

“Yeah, you probably should've been awarded a Nobel Prize for that” You admit, leaning against the stainless steel table counter of the central kitchen.

“Heard you started working with Carmen, he's good isn't he?”

The brick that had begun to dislodge from your throat slips back in, gulping down an uneasy breath as you give him a tight smile.

“It’s wonderful, he's really something” You murmur, thanking the gods that Lucas was too busy rummaging around the fridge to notice your features melting into malice.

“I wanted to keep this a secret, but who am I kidding. Come, I wanna show you something”

Lucas comes over, rolling your eyes as he makes you take off your coat. Hes eyes skim down your figure fast enough for you not to notice, but you feel him linger gently grasping the cotton of you fleece before hooking it onto a door handle.

To your surprise he pulls out a crisp chef apron, nodding with wide eyes as you stare at him baffled.

“Do you think my text was a joke? C’mon I know you, you would've been sitting there working yourself up not being able to get your hands dirty”

You chuckle sheepishly as you agree, cooking was your life. Even if you had gotten out of a 24 hour day you’d still sore your bones over a good meal. Especially with Luca.

You walk over to him, noting the papers scattered on the table counter and a laptop opened, the light streaming in. It’s opened to a leasing site, a run down appliance store who’s store wide sale had begun peeling off the windows.

“What's this?” You murmur, confusion in your voice as your eyes jump over the listing description quickly

“This is a home furniture store”

"Yes I gathered that from the block letters Luca, what does it mean?” You look over Luca whos grinning widely at you

“You know this used to be an old mill factory? The ones they'd make 7 year old work 20 hour shifts on?” Luca continues

“Have you turned into an anthropologist? Is this what this is? You takin’ a career change this late in the game old man?” You tease.

Luca doesn't laugh, he doesn't even roll his eyes, he just continues grinning ear to ear. You’re suddenly afraid he’s body has been tossed in a dumpster in Frederiksberg and this is his body double.

“It was practically a bakery, sweets. Who better than me to bring it back to its roots?” Luca replies finally as you were considering the best option to escape through the fire exit

You’re stumped before it dawns on you, Luca is gonna open his own bakery? Restaurant? You weren't clear as to what it was going to be exactly but you knew by the look of excitement on his face that it was his.

“You and goddamn rundown buildings” You shake your head, as Luca looks at you with a stupid smile, you can't help but let out a laugh.

“Tis only right I tell the person who saw me sweating in that furnace heated bakery in Denmark daring. It’s fate, and you know it” Luca replies

You chuckle, before bursting in excited laughter, oh you were so happy. You were, it had been his dream, to bring back some of heart that had been left in that flour room when he had come back to the States

You grab his hands, holding them tightly, reaching for his face and jaw and bringing him to your chest with adoration.

“Oh Luca, really? You did it?” You grin and he gazes down at you in sheepish resignation.

“Already put down the payment. Drained half my bank account so I’m going to have to DIY the architecture, and just engineer structure of the place but I dont care.” He chuckles

“Who cares about structural support when they taste that 36 hour creme bulee huh?” You chime, teasing.

You let go of his face but he grabs your wrist tightly,

“I want you to join me.”

You heart stills for a second, and you don't know if its the rush of nostalgia or the anger over Carmen that fights over your tongue to say

“Yes”

“I know you've got a good thing going with Carmen, and it won't interfere with that-”

Luca stammers before stopping abruptly, raising his eyebrows in confusion at your reply. He cocks his head to the side

“It’s fine, I can leave the Beef and help open it up with you”

“Woah woah wait a second, I didn't say leave Carmen-”

“That DIY job isn't going to be a one man job, besides I’m not that valuable there really, just help around here and there. Carmen could do without me to be honest, one less person to pay ya know? It's fine really” It your turn to ramble incessantly, slipping the resentment against Carmen and Calire through your jumbled reply

“Yeah? Is that why you're balling your fists?”

You look to Luca, whose eyes zero in on your shaking hands. You put them behind you quickly, self conscious as you bite your lip.

“You and I both know when you’re runnin’ from something. You really think you can hide things from me of all people?

“You don't want me working for you Luca? I just said I’d leave what I'm doing to do this with you”

“And I want you too, but I also know it's been a dream to work with someone as talented as Carmen”

“Yeah real fucking talented”

Luca looks at you, squinting his eyes

“I’ve talked to him you know” He murmurs softly, eyes still strained on you

“What?” You scoff, shaking your head

“And the way he gushes about you tells me enough. He damn near sounded like he was going to jump through the phone and ring my neck after I had told him I knew you before. The way he says your name? Tell me you're not just an employee, and the menu I’m hearing all around the city? Lavender and hazelnut? Lime and pistachios? That's all you. Even if you don't know it, you've imprinted yourself into that place and every dish Chicago is raving about” Luca replies, and his voice is low and his eyes are wide as he looks at you can’t not ignore him.

“I know you don't give up easily, and I’m not trying to play mediator, but just- think on it okay? You're going to be a part of this, that is certain. But you're a part of a lot okay? Being the head sous chef is nothing to what they’d make us do back in New York and you know it.”

You're about to bite back a reply before Luca raises his eyebrows, as if he's already as an onslaught of resorts to everything you have to say. You resign yourself to the fact; Luca knows you damn near better than yourself.

“Okay, I’ll think on it. Having you suffer a little without me is a nice image anyways” You reply, rolling your eyes as you tighten your apron.

Luca chuckles as he shakes his head, motioning you to help start making your dinner.

The sounds of sizzling pans and braised meat left your stomach full and your heart heavy hours later. The heated argument you had with Luca seemed hours ago when you both had let the food bring you back into synchronization.

You both sat criss cross on the unfurnished dining room floor, a plastic tarp underneath you both as you gorged yourself on duck, potatoes and cheap wine. You regret ever hesitating meeting with Luca, and you suppose you should thank Carmen for that.

Luca knows it's weighing heavy on your mind as he eyes you across the kitchen, wrapping up some leftovers for you. You shake your head as you gaze at him, giving him a reassuring smile that you know he doesn't believe.

“If it all goes wrong you know you can come to me, anytime anywhere” Luca whispers into your ear as you fall into a tight embrace.

“Getting pretty tired of running my whole life Luca, god I just want to rest.”

“Then let yourself”

The uber comes and you kiss Luca goodbye as he bundles you into the backseat, the shower earlier has now filtered into a slight drizzle and you watch the slow rain drops glide down the window languidly.

You didn’t want Carmen to be home when you arrived, but the thought of him being out with her this late had you gritting your teeth. You didn't know what you wanted.

taglist

@hansfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @parmforcarm @nolita-fairytale

#neonovember #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #angst #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy #neowrites #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear season 3 #requests

423 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 7 months ago

Note

Hi my love 🤭

I'm pretty sure that Christmas doesn't exist in the Arcane universe so maybe a NYE event of sorts featuring Ekko and Reader?

They're either decorating or preparing some fireflies-fireworks. And while Ekko tries to hide his feelings for you, the fireflies around him keep turning into hearts behind his back! They aren't helping at all!

The end is up to you! I know you'll rock it 🥳

Thank you for the request, pookie!! I hope you like it ☺️❤️❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), R has nicknames, cw food mentions, cw alcohol mention, cw injury mention, established relationship, best friends to lovers (speed run edition), love confession, lovestruck! Ekko, firelight! Reader, fluff!

Navigation

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The entire hideout is busy, firelights running around, trying to get everything together before the sun sets. But it's not for some operation to bust a shimmer delivery or to keep some chem barons out of their territory— no, it's for something more festive. An occasion that's more happy that entails some alcohol, twinkling lights, greasy food and most of all great company. Ekko stares fondly at you from across the hideout as he thinks that your presence is his favourite. But Ekko doesn't let it show, or he hopes it's not noticeable.

His hands busy themselves with the wires needed to light up the lanterns. Fingers mindlessly twist around the red wires, but his eyes are nowhere near it. He looks at you as the orange glow of the sun bathes you in its light. Skin shining under it, smile blindingly bright as you grin at a fellow firelight who's helping you hang the rainbow streamers. It was your idea to celebrate the new year all without using loud fireworks since it would give away the hideout's position. In place of the traditional firework celebration, you've suggested sparklers and lanterns that people would tuck their wishes in before letting the paper lanterns go. The lanterns’ hot air would stop just before it reaches the top of the tree so that it doesn't escape the hideout.

With the help of Ekko's genius, and your expert pyrotechnics, the firelights can finally celebrate the festivities properly all without being worried of giving their location away. And with the help of the entire commune, preparing food, putting up decorations and setting up the table, it's all going according to plan.

Ekko thinks that you two make a great team. He can't help but smile at your back as you stand on your tiptoe to reach a tree branch. His oversized jacket looks great on you. He draped it over you this morning after he saw you walk out with a flimsy jacket when the chill in the air has turned into the negatives. You haven't shoved it off, he even pretended not to see you cuddle close to it whenever a breeze passes by.

You stand precariously on a ladder, body stretched up high. He sighs, looking like a lovelorn schoolboy. All the years of knowing you and having feelings for you, he has never felt like this, as if his heart is about to burst out of his chest and jump away towards your hands. He blames all the quiet nights you two have spent together planning the celebration. His mind keeps going back to the small moments where your knee would nudge his own, shoulders kissing his, and eyes aglow under his work lamp as you stare softly at him.

He jumps when he suddenly felt a spark on his fingertips. Following the electric shock, there's loud laughter around him.

With narrowed eyes, he finds the source. “What was that for?” Ekko asks Scar, nose scrunching up at his right hand man, whose finger was just pressing on the on switch. The others are holding in their laughter when Ekko glances at them.

“You were ogling.” Scar says with a teasing smirk.

“I wasn't.” Ekko goes back to connecting the wires, realising that he has forgotten to put on his gloves before working because he was staring at you from the get go. “I was making sure she doesn't fall.”

“From all the way over here?” Scar raises a pierced brow, eyes glinting with playfulness. Ekko blames Scar's light heartedness to the sweet mocktails a firelight concocted for the occasion.

“Shut up.” Ekko clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he pretends to finish up the wires.

“Sure.” Scar hums whilst there's snickering around him. Some even make kissing noises behind his back. They're lucky he's in a good mood or he'll send them to patrol the area instead.

“This one's done.” Ekko practically shoves the lantern in Scar's arms. He was caught in the act, but he'll be damned if he shows his flustered state.

“The next batch is near her by the way.” Scar leans to whisper, “you're within catching distance if she falls.”

Ekko's in a forgiving mood, and he can't keep hiding his clammy hands from everyone. So with a slight shove at Scar and quickly snatching his gloves, he makes his way towards you.

You heard his almost silent footfalls that's oh so familiar before you could even take a peek at him. “Hey, bossman, how're the lanterns?”

“Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that?” He looks up at you, hand stabilizing the ladder while you stretch yourself further up.

“The meaning of the nickname was lost on me years ago, Ekko.” You glance down, smiling sweetly at him. Unbeknownst to you, the sun shines directly behind you, giving you a heavenly aura as he sighs and grips the ladder tightly from the sight. “Besides, I'm used to it. It's a cute nickname.”

“Yeah, suits you, bossman.” Scar adds from way across the hideout. Ekko almost throws a light bulb at him, it would've hit him dead on.

Scar and those big ass ears of his. With a roll of Ekko's eyes, he turns back towards a giggling you, and his brown eyes immediately turn soft.

“Aren't you supposed to be making the sparklers?” Ekko can't help but give you a gentle smile as you tilt your head at him.

“Ah, now I remember why I call you bossman.” You take a few steps down to level with him. Leaning on a step, chin pressed atop your elbow, you meet with his brown eyes. “Finished it a few hours ago with some help from Vi.” Your eyes dart down at his hands, blinking at his slightly singed fingertips. You take his hand worryingly as his eyes zero in on your hand bracelet around his wrist. “What happened?” The pad of your thumb ghost over it carefully.

“I'm surprised Vi didn't set anything on fire.” He looks at your face while you stare with concern at his minor injury. “The thing suddenly turned on.” He's hoping that you can't feel his rapid pulse under your hand.

“What?” You almost break your neck at how fast you look at him. “We made the right calculations—”

“It's fine.” Ekko turns the table, hand reaching up to your elbow, cupping it gently. Your breath hitches in your throat, he notices, making him gulp down his nerves. His hand moves away in case you're uncomfortable from the touch, but you take his hand before he could fully leave your side. His heart leaps in his chest, anymore movement and it'll finally escape into your hands.

“I'm fine, trouble.” He squeezes your hand once, eyes darting quickly at your intertwined hands to remember it by.

“You sure?” Thumb running along the inside of his wrist, you can feel his pulse hammering wildly against his skin. “Alright, just check the damn thing before touching it, okay?”

“Yeah.” Ekko nods, mind telling him to press a kiss on each of your knuckles that he refuses to indulge himself in. “Now who's being the boss, hm?”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes as you reluctantly release him. His touch lingers for a moment longer, fingers grazing down your palms before you climb back up. “Go back to work or we'll be stuck preparing here until midnight.”

“On it, boss.” He mockingly says, walking away and towards the unfinished string of lanterns.

The sound of the ladder creaks as you step up, it has Ekko's worry knocking behind his back. And just as when the creaking turns into splitting wood, he's already turning around, bolting towards you at a speed he didn't even know he could manage.

The next thing you know, you're in his arms. “Holy shit!” You screech whilst firelights circle around you in a hurry. You can hear their sigh of relief when they see you and Ekko alright. He has fallen on the dusty ground with you on his lap, but you both got out of the fall without a scratch. Noticing him being under you, you grasp at his face, eyes wildly checking him for injuries. “Shit, are you alright, Ekko?!”

He groans, face falling atop your clavicle, arms still wrapped around you protectively. In truth, he's hiding his face from everyone else, knowing that they're snickering amongst themselves. His behind aches, but he's glad that he caught you in time. He can't begin to imagine if he didn't.

“Ekko?!” You call for him when he still doesn't respond. “Medic—!”

“I'm okay.” Grasping your bicep, he takes a deep breath before leaning away from you. “No medic needed—!”

Your sudden embrace has his face buried in your chest. Cheeks warm, his arms hovers around you in surprise for a second before hugging you back.

“I thought I killed you!”

“Mmfmfmmhmf.” His muffled voice has you moving away quickly lest he dies of suffocation instead. He takes in a deep breath to stabilize his staggered breathing while you still cradle his face. Pupils blown out, he refuses to look at the circle of firelights who are certainly making kissy faces at him or giggling amongst each other. “I said I'm fine, trouble. Are you okay?” Hands over your back, he sees your eyes glimmer under the light, lip jutting out into a frown.

Your arms unconsciously wrap around his neck, relief evident on your face. You're the one who fell from twelve feet, and yet you're worried about him. You could only nod, moving to embrace him again. Gentler and softer this time as you hide the tears clinging to your lashes against the crook of his neck. You'll never forgive yourself if you hurt him.

Ekko's hand rubs along your back, hugging you against him as he quietly shoo away his people. Scar helps disperse the crowd, but not without sending a quick wink at him.

The air around him seems to lull him to sleep, or was it your comfort that has him relaxing in place? He could stay that way with you forever, if you asked, he would gladly grant it.

“At this rate we'd be here until midnight.” He whispers against the shell of your ear. Chin placed atop your shoulder, he looks at the shattered pile of wood that used to be a ladder.

“I'm sorry.” You suddenly move away, subtly wiping away at your eyes. “Thank you for catching me.”

His heart wretches out of his chest. “I didn't say you should go.” Hand around your own, he stops you from standing up, but gives you enough space to leave.

You stay, squeezing his hand as you fall back into his lap. “You sure? We're right in the middle of the hideout.”

“I figured you weren't ready to leave just yet.”

Your hand reaches towards his cheek, staying there to rub affectionately away the dust sticking to his skin. “I thought I hurt you. Please tell me you're alright.”

“Better than.” He leans against your hand. Giving you a minute, he takes you in. From the curve of your lips, to how your cool hand feels on his warm skin, and to your frostbitten nose. He laments under you. Eyes darting around, it finally occurs to him that you two are right in the middle of everything. For what he plans next, he wants it to just be you and him. “C’mon, let's get you some water, yeah?”

Inhaling, you rub away the tears and stand up. You help him up with a hand, and he doesn't let go until you're both inside the tree house all alone. He knows that he should wait for the countdown, but he can't wait for a second more. Not when you look at him like how he looks at you. With longing and unequivocal love.

So when he spills his guts to you, all the soft and gentle words he has scrawled in his mind over the years, all with the thought of you— you didn't waste time crashing your lips against his own.

Ekko staggers forwards, hand bracing so you don't hit the wall. But you'd be too busy to notice anyway whilst you're kissing him fervently.

When he couldn't breathe anymore from the air stealing kiss, he leans his forehead against yours. Irisis blown out, hands cupping your cheeks as he inhales your scent and memorizes how you hold him close with your arms wrapped around his waist— he can't help but chuckle.

“Should I have waited for midnight?” He breathlessly asks, affection dripping from his words as he leans away to fully savour in your besotted state.

“Ekko, I've been waiting since you kissed my cheek when we were kids after I saved your ass from an enforcer.” You giggle as he mirrors your smile. “No, you shouldn't have waited. A kiss and a confession at midnight is cliché anyway.” Joking, you wipe away the sheen off his kiss bitten lips while you admire his lovestruck gaze that you're awfully fond of.

“We can still do it, kiss under the lanterns but this time without our teeth clashing and you almost tripping when you pounced on me.”

“I didn't pounce!” You feign an offended gasp, hand on your chest as he laughs and chases your lips. Kissing you with every breath you take. “Oh a very happy new year to us.”

Ekko takes it as a big yes for another kiss when the clock strikes twelve. Hopefully more in the new year, and for years to come.

272 notes · View notes

swe3theart-succubus · 15 days ago

Text

community service- rafe cameron smau

PT. 9

the ride is quiet.

jj doesn’t push. just taps the steering wheel with his ringed fingers and lets the radio fill the space—some old southern rock song that sounds like a hangover.

you chew angrily on a gas station burrito, mostly out of spite. it’s stale. you deserve that.

your eyes drift down to the sweatshirt.

folded.

taunting.

like it didn’t belong to rafe fucking cameron. like it didn’t smell like smugness and expensive detergent. like it didn’t matter that you still had it. that you didn't give it back when you should've.

jj side-eyes you, "you okay?"

you glare at the windshield. “don’t talk to me.”

jj nods sagely and cranks the volume up one notch.

your bag sits in your lap, and the neatly folded sweatshirt inside feels like it’s mocking you.

you sigh. shift in your seat. shove the bag off your lap and onto the floorboard. “it’s stupid,” you mutter.

“which part?”

you exhale sharply through your nose. “all of it. him. me. whatever the fuck that was yesterday. like—I don’t even like him.”

jj shrugs. “sure.”

“he’s a literal cautionary tale.”

“yep.”

you sigh again, slouching against the seat and closing your eyes. "i hate this."

jj laughs softly, turning the music down again. "for the record? being confused doesn’t make you stupid.”

you cross your arms. look at him with narrowed eyes. “i’m not confused.”

he hums. “then why’d you make me put my swamp boots back on just to avoid getting a ride from him?”

you stiffen.

last night, rafe had sent another text.

you get in okay?

and then again this morning.

need me to swing by for you?

you didn't respond to either. but you did make jj put those ugly waders back on to fetch his truck and drive you.

jj's grin widens. your frown deepens.

"shut the fuck up."

"shut the fuck up." jj parrots, voice high and mocking.

the song changes. something twangy, mellow, full of longing. jj hums along.

you crack the window, just a little. let the air cut through the thick mess of your thoughts. it doesn't help.

the wind tugs at your hair, cool and sharp. you close your eyes again. pretend the breeze can scrape the memory off your skin.

it doesn’t.

"he’s not even that funny,” you mutter after a minute.

jj hums again. “mm. but you laugh at his jokes.”

“no i don’t.”

“you giggled, bro.”

your head snaps toward him. “i did not.”

jj raises a brow. “you did, baby girl."

you let your glower speak for itself.

jj just grins, turning back toward the road like he didn’t just strike a nerve and enjoy it.

the truck hits a pothole. your bag shifts on the floorboard, the stupid hoodie threatening to tumble out and make its presence known again.

jj catches it out of the corner of his eye. nudges it back with his foot, gentle. like it’s a bomb you’re trying not to acknowledge.

jj lets the silence stretch for a bit. rolls past a stop sign on the back road. the windows are fogged slightly, and the sky’s that soft grey that makes everything feel slower.

finally, he says, “you could’ve kissed him.”

you say nothing.

“but you didn’t,” he adds.

you still say nothing.

“so what’s the problem?”

“i wanted to,” you blurt, sharper than intended. “that’s the problem.” you shift in your seat now, turning to face him and ignoring the way the seat belt cuts into your skin.

"i wanted to," a bit quieter this time. "i just-" deep sigh. you sink further into your seat, running a hand down your face. "he's not- he's- he's rafe. the same rafe that kicked your ass for driving past his house too fast."

jj’s fingers drum quietly on the steering wheel, so you continue.

"i mean- he's only in my vicinity because he assaulted someone and his dad paid hush money to keep him out of jail."

he doesn’t argue. doesn’t say anything for a second.

just lets you sit there, tangled up in your own guilt and contradiction, while the radio hums some sad little tune about regret and fireflies or whatever the fuck southern men write about.

and just as you open your mouth to keep your rant going-

“so?”

you blink. “so?”

“so what?” he shrugs.

you blink again. “so, he’s... him.”

jj glances at you. then back to the road.

“yeah. and you’re you.”

you stare. “what the hell does that mean?”

he scratches at his jaw, taps the wheel again. “means… you’ve been through worse. means maybe he’s different with you. or maybe he’s not. but acting like you’re stupid for feeling something doesn’t actually make it go away.”

you open your mouth. close it again.

outside, the trees blur past. spanish moss hanging low and heavy like it's listening in on your spiraling.

jj leans forward a little, brow furrowed now—not teasing. not smug. just honest.

“look, i’m not saying make a scrapbook or write his name in your diary or whatever. i’m just saying… you wanted to kiss him. so what? maybe you wanted to feel something. maybe you wanted to see if he meant it when he looked at you like that.”

you glance away. your fingers twist in your lap.

he exhales, shifts in his seat.

“i’ve done worse for less.”

you huff out a laugh, just barely. “you almost went to county for a girl who sold handmade vape juice out of her car.”

jj grins, sharp and shameless. “and i regret nothing.”

you laugh again—real, small, tired—and he looks at you for a beat longer before turning back to the road.

the song ends. the radio cuts to static for half a second before another melancholy guitar twang drifts in.

you look down at your hands. start picking at your cuticles like you always do when you're overthinking.

“…he didn’t try anything,” you murmur. “last night. even when it got weird.”

jj nods. doesn’t speak.

you glance at him. “i think that’s what fucked me up most.”

his knuckles flex on the wheel.

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say softly. “he flirted and shit, but he pulled back. gave me the choice."

jj hums, low. thoughtful. like he’s letting your words settle before he cracks them open.

“guess that’s the problem, huh?” he says eventually.

you squint at him. “what?”

he glances your way. “you thought you were in control of how you felt. then he gave you actual control, and you didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.”

your mouth opens. closes.

damn him for being right.

“…shut up,” you mutter, too quietly to land with bite.

“nah,” jj replies, soft and smug. “this is progress. you’re spiraling, but like... introspectively.”

you roll your eyes. dig your thumbnail into a loose thread on your sleeve. "spell 'introspectively'."

“i-n—shut the fuck up.”

you smile. just barely. eyes still on your lap.

he lets the moment stretch—no teasing now. no taunts. just a quiet kind of presence. like he knows you’ll talk again if he gives you space to breathe first.

outside, the truck hums along the slick road. puddles flash silver under the tires. the air’s heavy and quiet, like the sky’s still waiting for something.

he pulls into the rec center lot without another word. the building looks the same as it always does—peeling paint, crooked sign, hope stitched into broken corners.

but it feels different.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*

it wasn’t that you were ignoring him.

not exactly.

you’d said hi. given him the folded sweatshirt without being asked, without making a face, without throwing it in his chest and calling him a dumbass like you usually would.

just… handed it over.

murmured “thanks,” real soft. no eye contact. no smirk. no nothing.

and maybe that’s what fucked him up most.

because if you were mad, he’d get it. if you were being weird on purpose, he could work with that. could poke, prod, say something reckless and watch you bristle until you cracked and shoved him or called him out or gave him something—anything—to work with.

and rafe could handle a lot of things. he’d been punched, arrested, blacked out and come to in weirder places than he could count. but this? this careful distance? this maybe-i-don’t-matter energy?

it made his chest feel too tight.

he leaned against the counter near the sign-in sheets, arms crossed, trying not to look like he was waiting for you to come back.

his phone stayed in his pocket. burned a hole through it.

no response to either of his texts.

you’d read them, though.

he was trying not to think about that.

trying not to think about any of it. not the way your face had scrunched when the power cut out, or the sound of your laugh in the dark, or how you looked curled up in his passenger seat, legs tucked under you like you didn’t hate being there.

but he was thinking about it.

a lot, actually.

more than he wanted to admit.

he kept replaying every second of that ride—your voice in the dark, the shape of you in the passenger seat, the way your knees were pulled up and your fingers tapped against the window like you didn’t want to fidget but couldn’t help it.

the way you looked at him when you said his name. soft. confused. like you weren’t sure if you wanted to hit him or kiss him.

like maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you were supposed to.

and that meant something. it had to mean something.

except now you wouldn’t look at him.

and the silence between you wasn’t charged anymore. it wasn’t tension. it wasn’t anticipation.

it just felt… empty.

he’d rather you scream at him, honestly.

he checked the time. again. watched the seconds change on the wall clock like it was personal.

you were still in the back room. with that clipboard. with your headphones in.

fine.

cool.

whatever.

he scratched at the back of his neck, shifted his weight again, cracked his knuckles just for something to do.

then—like a dumbass—he pulled his phone out again.

nothing.

still nothing.

he thumbed open the last text. stared at it. reread it like maybe there was a hidden typo in “need me to swing by for you?” that explained why you hadn’t answered.

there wasn’t.

he locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket.

he wasn’t gonna ask again.

because if he asked again, that’d mean he cared. and if he cared, that’d mean you could hurt him. and he wasn’t fucking doing that.

he pushed off the counter, headed toward the storage closet like he suddenly had something important to do.

he didn’t.

he was just avoiding not being avoided.

fuck, he was losing it.

he was halfway through fake-organizing dodgeballs when he heard it. that stupid laugh. the one that made his stomach pull tight for no good reason.

he peeked around the corner of the equipment cage just in time to see you kneeling beside one of the little kids, holding out a crayon like it was treasure.

"no way, purple sparkles? that's serious artist business," you gasped dramatically, all bright eyes and fake scandal. the kid giggled. you grinned. and when one of the teen counselors walked by, you tossed him a casual, “hey, matt! good job earlier with the twins.”

you were smiling. friendly. doing your whole sunshine and patience act like nothing was wrong.

like you weren’t singlehandedly unraveling his fucking nervous system.

he gritted his teeth.

because you seemed fine. normal. with everyone else.

and it wasn’t just that you weren’t talking to him—it was that you were clearly choosing not to. like he was the exception.

like he didn’t deserve whatever soft tone you just used on some bratty toddler who spilled glue in their hair.

it was driving him fucking insane.

because what the fuck?

what had he done? not kissed you?

was that it? you wanted him to, and now you were pissed because he didn’t?

no. no, that didn’t make sense.

you’d almost kissed him. he knew that. he saw the way you’d look at him when he stopped you at his truck.

but now you were smiling at brent from the front desk like you weren’t actively ignoring rafe to his face.

and rafe was going to lose it. actually go feral in the art room. he was two seconds from slashing all the glue sticks and blaming it on the toddlers.

he didn’t know what this was—this performance, this frost—but it was eating him alive.

and the worst part?

you were still being nice.

not cold. not rude.

just… nothing.

like he was background noise.

like he hadn’t mattered in the dark.

and for a guy who used to live off people pretending he did matter—even when he didn’t—that shit hit harder than he’d admit.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

he doesn’t even realize you’re walking over until you’re there—clipboard in hand, a polite smile fixed on you face like it’s superglued.

“hey,” you say.

short. clipped. no warmth. not even a little bit of that playful edge you usually hit him with.

he straightens, reflexive. like his body clocked you before his brain did. “hey.”

you don’t acknowledge it.

just scan the clipboard, flip a page, and say, “we’re putting together supplies for the fundraiser next week. if you’re not busy, i could use someone to sort through the donation bins.”

if you’re not busy. if.

like he isn’t literally court-ordered to be here.

he blinks. “uh, yeah. sure.”

“great.” you check something off. don’t look up. “arts and crafts closet. it’s mostly paint, glue, poster board. organize what you can, toss what’s expired. just leave the glitter alone—we’re restocking that later.”

he nods, slow. “cool.”

“cool.” and then you turn.

like that’s it.

no sarcastic jab. no half-grin. no eye roll. not even a smirk.

just business.

he stares after you. watches the way your ponytail sways when you walk off. how you crouch again to help a kid tie their shoe. how you laugh softly at something someone says—someone else.

and rafe?

he feels like he’s just been handed a restraining order in the form of a task list.

because you talked to him. finally. gave him a job.

but it wasn’t you.

not really.

and if you think he’s just gonna sit there and be politely iced out until this whole thing fades away, you got him fucked up.

he’s organizing those goddamn donation bins, yeah.

but he’s gonna figure out what the hell that folded “thanks” really meant.

even if he has to drown in expired finger paint to do it.

---

the closet smells like dried glue and mildew.

rafe is three glitter jars and one unidentifiable puffball away from losing his mind.

he’s been in here for like... fifteen minutes. maybe twenty. organizing. stacking. pretending the ancient off-brand markers aren’t mocking him with their crusty little caps.

his fingers are tacky from something he does not want to identify, and there’s glitter on his pants, and he’s pretty sure one of these poster boards has a dead bug stuck to it.

still, he’s focused. kinda. angry-organizing. telling himself this doesn’t matter, that you don’t matter, that he’s only doing this so he doesn’t look like a jackass on whatever checklist you’re working through.

he keeps picturing that clipboard. that tight little smile. that “if you’re not busy” like he wasn’t literally court-ordered to worship the ground this rec center is built on.

he mutters under his breath as he slams a dried-out paint bottle into the discard pile. “if you're not busy.”

another slam. “i’m here for you, you dramatic little—”

"hey."

he jerks upright like he got caught stealing.

your voice is casual, like you didn’t just sneak up on him mid-muttering. you're standing a few feet away, one hand resting against the doorframe, the other tucked into the front pocket of your shorts.

“how’s it going in here?” you ask, glancing at the mountain of discarded supplies and semi-neat piles he’s created.

he shrugs. “depends. you want honest answers or ones that make me look competent?”

your mouth almost twitches. not a smile, but close.

“somewhere in the middle,” you say, stepping fully into the closet.

he watches you scan the room. watches your eyes catch on the sticky note he left labeled ‘don’t touch — death trap’ above a bag of mystery yarn. watches you crouch to inspect the cracked paint tubes he organized by color just to be petty.

“not bad,” you murmur.

his chest does a stupid little swell. “not bad” is basically a compliment, right?

you stand again, brushing your palms off on your thighs.

“just wanted to check,” you say. “you can stop in a bit. i’ve got some flyers to prep if you wanna help.”

he nods, slow. “sure. yeah.”

“okay. cool.” you start to turn, pause, then add—almost like an afterthought—“thanks. for doing this.”

and just like that, the air shifts again.

not dramatically. not like thunder. more like… the weight of a pause. a truce forming in the middle of all the unsaid things.

he watches you, eyes sharp. “you mad at me?”

you stop. don't answer right away.

“i’m not mad,” you say eventually, and it’s not convincing.

his jaw ticks. “you’re something.”

you don't answer. just give him a look—guarded, tired, layered. one that makes him want to punch a wall and write you an apology letter in the same breath.

“…you should finish up soon,” you say finally, like that’s all there is to say. “we’ve got a lot to do.”

he stays in the closet for a few minutes after that. like he’s waiting for you to come back. for the silence to mean something again. for the next excuse you’ll give him to be near you.

but you don't.

and when he finds you again, you’re in the rec room, back turned, hunched over a folding table with a stack of flyers and a glue stick. you don’t look up when he walks in. just gesture toward the open chair across from you like he’s another intern and not the guy you almost kissed in the dark.

he sits.

it’s quiet. again. but not like before. before, it had felt like tension. like maybe. now it feels like a locked door.

you slide him a pile. say, “cut these.” simple. flat.

so he takes the scissors. starts cutting.

you don’t talk. don’t joke. don’t tease. not even a fake sigh or an “oh my god, rafe, not like that.”

just… silence.

and he should let it be. should ride it out. finish cutting, finish folding, finish whatever the hell this is until he can clock out and pretend he doesn’t care.

but he does care.

and it’s pissing him off.

so he throws the scissors down with a little more force than necessary.

“what the fuck did i do?”

your eyes snap to his. sharp. wide.

“i mean, seriously,” he says, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. "what. the fuck. did i do?"

you glare. “jesus, rafe—”

“because one second you’re laughing in my car and the next it’s like i’m radioactive. what changed?”

you open your mouth. close it again.

he waits. breath tight.

and when you don’t answer, he says quieter, “did i get it wrong?”

a beat.

then—

“no,” you say. soft. but not kind. not reassuring.

just… true.

“you didn’t get it wrong.”

and that, somehow, makes it worse.

because if he didn’t misread it, if the almost-kiss was real, if she wanted it too—

then what the fuck is this?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

his jaw tics. his eyes flick over your face, like he’s trying to find the catch. the out. the reason you’re doing this.

but there isn’t one.

you set the flyer down. finally meet his stare.

“you didn’t get it wrong, rafe. you got it right. and that’s the problem.”

he blinks. “the fuck does that mean?”

“it means—” your voice cuts off. you swallow. start again. “it means you were supposed to be easy to hate.”

it comes out sharper than you intended. truer than you wanted.

his brows draw together, confusion hardening into something uglier. “so you’re mad because… what? i didn’t act like a dick?”

“i’m mad,” you snap, “because you made me like you.”

the words sit there, loud and horrible and irreversible.

his lips part, stunned. you keep going.

“i’m mad because i was fine. i was fine, rafe. i had rules. boundaries. lines you were never supposed to get close to. and then you—” you exhale, shaking your head, “you drove me home. and made me laugh. and didn’t try to kiss me when i wanted you to, and i don’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean.”

his mouth opens again, but you keep going, voice cracking like something else underneath it is trying to crawl out.

“you were supposed to be temporary. annoying. a fucking community service case file. not someone i think about after they leave.”

the room is dead quiet now.

your hands are clenched in your lap. your throat burns. you hate this. you hate him.

you hate that you don’t.

rafe is staring at you like you just rewrote every law of gravity. like you kicked the floor out from under him and now he’s just… floating. aimless. shocked.

he doesn’t say anything.

not right away.

just sits there, too still. too quiet. like he’s trying to recalibrate—like he’s figuring out what the hell he’s supposed to do now that you’ve torn the script up in front of him.

and that silence?

it’s the worst fucking part.

because you already feel like an idiot. already feel like you cracked open your chest just to let him look—and now he’s staring at the mess and saying nothing.

you scoff under your breath. stand too quickly, your chair scraping loud against the tile.

“forget it,” you mutter, turning like you’re gonna walk it off, run it off, outrun it—

but his voice stops you cold.

“i think about you too.”

you freeze.

slowly, you look back over your shoulder.

he’s still there. still stunned-looking. but his jaw’s tight now. his fingers flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“i think about you,” he says again, firmer this time. “all the time.”

your stomach flips. it’s stupid. annoying. unfair.

“then why didn’t you—”

“because you’re not some dumb fucking girl i can just hook up with and forget.”

he says it like it hurts. like he’s been holding it in, chewing on it for days.

you stare.

“you think i didn’t want to kiss you?” he asks, stepping forward. “you think i didn’t replay every second of that night like a goddamn psychopath?”

you blink. then squint.

“why didn’t you?”

he shrugs, jaw clenched. “because you matter. because for the first time in a long time, someone saw me and didn’t flinch. and i didn’t want to fuck that up by being me.”

the words hit something low and shaky in your chest.

because rafe cameron doesn’t do that. he doesn’t get nervous. doesn’t confess things. doesn’t admit that you could mean something.

but now?

now he’s just standing there, raw and wide open, practically daring you to flinch.

you don’t.

you can’t.

you swallow. shift your weight like it’ll ground you, like it’ll stop the floor from tilting beneath your feet.

“…you didn’t fuck it up,” you say, quieter than you mean to.

he lifts his eyes to yours.

your throat works around the lump there. “you didn’t fuck it up, rafe. i just… i didn’t know what to do with it.”

he exhales slowly, like the fight is bleeding out of his shoulders. like that admission settles something deep in him.

you step forward. just a little. just enough to feel the static between you catch.

“i’m still mad,” you mutter.

he nods. “i figured.”

“you made me like you,” you add, deadpan.

“yeah,” he says, mouth twitching like he wants to smile but knows better. “i heard.”

a beat.

you chew your lip.

he takes another step closer.

"so now what?"

you glance up at him, startled by how soft his voice is. how careful. like he’s scared of asking but can’t keep it in.

you don’t really know the answer to that.

you just know your heart is still pounding. that his presence still messes with your gravity. that this still feels impossible and terrifying and so, so stupid—

“…i don’t want you to stop,” you say, barely above a whisper.

his brows pull together. “stop what?”

you meet his eyes.

“whatever this is.”

and there it is again. that shift. like the room just exhaled.

like the distance between you is no longer some punishment, but a dare.

his voice is low, a little breathless. “you sure?”

you shake your head. “not even a little.”

but you’re still here. still facing him. still choosing this.

and that? that’s something.

he steps close enough to brush your hand, doesn’t take it, just lets the edge of his knuckles skim yours.

"okay," he nods. "then i won’t stop."

your breath hitches.

because he’s close now. too close and not close enough.

your fingers brush again—just barely—and it’s electric.

stupid. like every nerve ending in your body just stood up and paid attention.

his gaze drops to your mouth, then flicks back to your eyes. “can i—”

you don’t let him finish.

you surge forward, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt, and crash your mouth against his like it’s the only way to get the words out.

he stumbles back half a step, stunned—but then he’s kissing you back. all teeth and heat and weeks of unresolved tension pulled taut and snapping all at once.

his hands find your waist, your jaw, your hair. like he doesn’t know where to touch first. like he wants all of you, all at once.

and god, he tastes like mint gum and regret and something you’ve been aching for since that stupid car ride.

you let yourself lean into it. into him. into the warmth of his chest, the grip of his hands, the way he sighs against your lips like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

it’s messy. greedy. too much.

it’s perfect.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless. flushed. his forehead rests against yours, his fingers still tangled in the hem of your shirt like he doesn’t want to let go.

you laugh, a little dazed. “we’re so fucked.”

he grins, crooked and real. “yeah. definitely.”

but he kisses you again anyway.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

next part!

107 notes · View notes

taelortot · 4 months ago

Text

Lemonade

Choso Kamo x y/n au

Synopsis: Y/n gets a new neighbor and he's really cute. Contents: Smooching, sad Choso past, cursing, flirty banter, not smut at all really just like leading up to it, cute ending,and fluff

Honestly it's like 12-13k words I think

July is probably one of the best months out of the year.

The summer heat, pool parties, long days, fireflies, icey pops, fireworks, late night concerts, and ice-cold lemonade. There are lots of things to love about July, so many things to enjoy about the summer month.

July has always been Y/ns favorite month, since she was a little kid. It seemed like everything great happened in the month of July for y/n. She met her best friend in July of '09. She had her first kiss with her best friend in July of 2013. Three years later almost to the date, she lost her virginity to him. The next, he asked her to be his girlfriend and told her he loved her.

But the year after, the fun of July stopped, a break screeching halt.

Turns out her best friend of 8 years, boyfriend of 1 broke up with her. In y/ns 18 year old mind. her life was over. she would never ever find love again. July fucking sucks.

and it did. for the next 4 years it sucked.

That was until y/n finally moved out of her bumfuck small southern town. Y/n finally got away, when it seemed everyone in that shitty town lived there until they died.

Y/n was finally doing it, making her own way of life. Sure, it wasn't a great living, but it was an honest living. Y/n worked her ass off to make the little income she did, spending it frugally. Y/n now lives about 3 states away from where she was born... In another small town. But this one is up north, where the residents know everyone and all the gossip. Y/n got most of her gossip from her clients at the hair salon, and man... those older women know EVERYTHING about everyone.

"You didn't hear it from me, but Janice is having an affair. I saw her at the motel off 15 with a man way too young for her. She was dressed like some sort of hooker in clothes way too small for her body."

Old women are brutal.

The community seemed to welcome y/n with open arms when she moved in earlier last year. Y/n has always had a charm about her, enchanting others with her smile and of course that cute southern accent she has. Adjusting to this new way of life was hard, but so freeing. Y/n had it mostly figured out by this point.

A pink little camper trailer sits on a small lot in the trailer park on the outskirts of town. It's quiet there, mostly older people who go to bed at 7pm. Y/n likes it here, no one knows her backstory, or really anything about her. They just know she's a 21 year old girl trying to make her way through life. They didn't need to know anything else, other than she makes the best lemonade in the whole world, taking it to every single cook out they have.

You know what y/n liked the most about living in the back of the trailer park? There was an empty lot next to hers, one that had the perfect amount of sun and shade. Y/n found herself taking a pool lounge chair (one she stole from the towns community pool) and spending most of her time sunbathing.

That was until someone purchased the lot July 1st.

Imagine the look on y/ns face when she walked out in her pretty blue bikini, sunnies perched on the bridge of her nose, and saw a single wide grey and white mobile home sitting smack dab in the middle of the lot. Yeah, it wasn't a pretty look. Walking across her small lawn, bare feet sinking into the overgrown grass, she opened the chain link gate that connected the two properties.

A curious little thing she is, good thing this isn't a horror movie.

Pushing her black sunglasses to the top of her head, she knocked on the door. What was the plan? To tell them to move? To ask them if she could still use their lawn to suntan? Y/n didn't know. Especially when the front door swung open.

"Hi there" oh fuck me.

Taking up most of the doorway, stood a man.

No.

Not just a man, a god of some sort.

He lifts his arms up, grabbing the top of the door frame, flexing his triceps as he leans down a little. His black tee raises a little, exposing delicious pale skin with a trail of dark hair leading down the center of his stomach. His hair dark brown, styled in loose spiky topknots with strands perfectly framing his chiseled face. His dark eyes look serious in their slightly narrowed manner.

"Uhm hi" y/n takes a step back, her voice uneven and slightly squeaky. Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear, she speaks again, more clearly this time. "i-im y/n. your neighbor" Turning slightly to point towards her lot. "I just wanted to say hi"

"You always say hi to your neighbors in tiny bikinis?" his brow raises and a sly smirk pulls at his lips.

"No, I was actually coming over to tan. I bring my own chair and everythin'"

"in my yard?"

"well, you see, I always tan right over there, you see where that tree is? but when I came out today.. you were just here"

"here i am" He says stating the obvious.

"so I guess, I'll just be on my way then" y/n took the steps off his porch and made it about 10 feet away from the new man in the neighborhood before she heard him speak again.

"I never said you couldn't lay in my yard"

Turning around with that charming smile on her face, she jumped up and down. "Really? Thank you thank you!"

"Choso." was all he said with a slight nod.

"Cho-what?"

"Thats my name, darlin" and now he was making fun of her, saying 'darlin' with a twang that's so very exaggerated.

"hah hah very funny"

As a thanks, y/n knew she had to make him some of her famous lemonade. Taking a big pitcher straight to his door. Choso thought it was weird, taking homemade things to your neighbors seemed so 20 years ago. That wasn't something you did in this day of age, especially for people you just met.

And how good could lemonade even get?

Apparently it could get really fucking good. Choso was sure she put drugs in the yellow drink, it had to have gmos in it or something. He didn't know and he didn't care, she sure as hell can make the best lemonade anyone has ever had. Choso drank the whole pitcher in one day, passing the empty (still dirty) glassware back to y/n who was still laying in his yard.

There was something about this Choso guy that intrigued y/n, just from the little conversation they had she could tell he was confident with who he was and could tell he would never be anyone but himself.

And boy was he a looker.

Inky black hair that was pulled into cute little buns on the back of his head, creamy white skin, muscular arms that are thick and biteable. The way he smirks is not for the weak, any girl would fold if he even looked at her. Not y/n though. Sure, at first his striking looks took her by surprise, but after getting to know Choso a little, he was a challenge for her.

And y/n never backs down from a challenge.

It was almost like a ritual at this point. Every day for the past few weeks, y/n gets off of work around 4pm and heads to change into a bikini (today is red, because Choso stares the most when she's in red) and drags her pool chair over to the Kamo lawn. Blasting music from her small little speaker, she waits. Waits for Choso to get out of work and speed his way home, blowing through all the stops signs. Just so he has a few extra seconds to chat with (and stare at) y/n while she's soaking in the sun's rays.

And as if on cue, the sound of gravel crunching under tires and screeching breaks assault y/ns ears. Peaking over her sunnies, she watches with amusement as Choso rushes out of his Hellcat. Fumbling with several things in his hands as he tries to shut the door with his foot.

"Slow down Kamo, youre gonna hurt ya self"

“Hey pretty thing” he says as smoothly as possible, learning up against the side of his coup, crossing his ankles. "me? hurting myself? never" he laughs pushing himself off, taking heavy steps towards y/n.

"why you in a rush to get home? work couldn't have been that bad"

"to see you of course" Choso grins, tossing his keys onto the small patio table next to y/n.

"I'm not going anywhere, coulda took your time"

"Well i gotta get over here before someone sees a doll like you and snatches you up" He winks, crouching down, bouncing on the balls of he feet. Over the past two weeks, the two have been oh so flirty. Never once moving past the invisible line drawn in the sand. But there was a lot of winks, flirty banter, and eyes wondering where they shouldn't. It was just fun for them. Especially for Choso since he has never met anyone who could keep up with his flirting, let alone be a bigger flirt than him... which y/n was.

"Yeah yeah. no one wants little ole me" She shakes her head, closing her eyes to keep the sun from burning them. "Yeah whatever. Listen, imma work on my honey here in a minute, and I was wonderin' if you could hold my flashlight for me"

"It's day time, Choso. You don't need me to hold your flashlight" This guy was always trying to get y/n to hold his flash light. And at this point, y/n was 87percent sure he wasn't talking about an actual flashlight.

"Alright alright, you enjoy the sun" Choso stood up, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

"Oh wait wait" y/n swung her legs off the chair "Let me get you something to drink for while you work" Y/n loves to watch Choso work on his car. He gets all hot and sweaty, shirt covered in various types of car gunk with his hair held back in those cute little buns. What a sight. She would even set up a lawn chair in his driveway just to watch him, not that Choso minded, the boy loved to show off his vast knowledge to y/n. "Sure thing, sugar. Always looking out for me, huh?" The man smiled wide, showing off his pretty teeth.

Y/n ran inside to grab a glass of ice cold lemonade, with a pretty straw as well. Choso couldnt help but watch as y/n hips moved while she walked. Her ass perfectly plump and round, so pretty he wanted to sink his teeth into it.. or her hips, or tummy,, or literally anywhere he could. Leave teeth marks deep enough to scar, so everyone would know she's spoken for.

"For you, my good sir" Y/ns soft voice rang in his ears, pulling him out of his perverted thoughts. "Thank you, sweets" Choso leaned forward to not only grab the glass but to also press a small kiss on the side of y/ns cheek. "Aye cho! don't want the other neighbors to think I'm taken" y/n joked swatting at his shoulder playfully. "No, I do want them to think you're taken"

Y/n learned a lot about choso in just a few weeks. Of course, the first few times speaking was just small talk or y/n taking cookies and lemonade over. Y/n honestly had no idea he would soon come to beg for them every single day. It's not like y/n minded, this opened up room for them to talk casually about anything and everything. And Choso said a lot of weird things.

The guy was very talkative, telling y/n of his past. How he grew up with like 5 younger brothers, how he always had a passion for music but was always shut down by his dad. He misses his mom a lot, but there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Y/ns heart hurt for him, hearing how his father killed his mom during a drunken fit of rage when he was 12. How there was nothing he could do other than try to protect his brothers.

Choso protected his baby siblings as much as he could, often taking most of the beatings. But within those harsh moments, he became who he is now. Music was all he had to protect himself, seeking clarity and freedom in the form of melodies.

If it weren't or his youngest brother, called Yuji, Choso would have never left. Yuji was all he has left of his family. Drugs and violence are what tore his family apart, taking most of his brothers away from him as well. Yuji only ever spoke highly of his eldest brother, telling him how he has the talent to make it big in this world. How Choso wishes he could have brought his younger brother with him but ultimately opting to leave his brother back home to finish out high school. Yuji swore he would be okay; his teacher and mentor Satoru Gojo would look after him until he graduates.

Now that hoso works at the mechanic shop and somehow landed a gig down at the shitty bar downtown, life was looking up. He found a drummer and a bassist through local ads and now has his very own band. Things were finally falling into place and he's only been in town for a little over a month now. He knew he would be able to bring his brother to town permanently as soon as he graduates.

It was a weird feeling, knowing someone else had just as bad as an upbringing as her. But maybe that's where they found common ground? A space to feel safe opening up about past traumas. Other than that, it was practically oil and water with the two, but those are always the best friendships.

Something about the smell of barbecue cookouts always made the summer heat tolerable. The smoke passed through the air for what seemed like miles, always finding it's way to y/n. It made her miss back home (where the barbeque is actually good) but something about a simple cookout always made y/n wish she had friends to share it with. Sure, she had work friends here and there, but nothing that stuck. Choso would be the closest thing she had to a friend.

"Choso!!" Y/n yelled as her fist pound against the Kamo door. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the inside as she continued to bang against the wood. "Relax sweets" Choso flung the door open. Today, y/nis wearing a jean mini skirt and a yellow bikini top. Her hips look so perfect as the skirt hung low on her hipbones, creating the most feminine figure.

"You know how to light a grill?" Y/n asked batting her eyelashes. "Only if you feed me too" he leaned against the door frame, his arms long enough to reach the top of the framing while he puffed his chest out slightly. He looked so good in a black wife beater, the color always looked so pretty against his skin. Especially with the way he was holding onto the doorframe, accentuating his muscular arms.

"What kind of person would I be if I didn't feed my favorite neighbor?" Y/n asked already turning around to head back to her home. "I'll be out there in a minute, sugar" Choso chuckled watching as y/n padded bare foot across his lawn.

The two sat outside on the little fold out chairs y/n had purchased from an estate sale months ago, eating almost burnt hotdogs smothered in mustard and sharing a bag of potato chips. Two now almost empty glasses of lemonade occupied the little space left on the small table, the bendy straws were always such a cute touch, something Choso thoroughly enjoyed. Listening to the crickets' chirp and the howling of the wind as it hit the trees, taking in the cool breeze the atmosphere had to offer on such a warm day like today. It was moments like this they both cherished. Something so sweet and thoughtless, always seemed the have the most meaning.

"Stay for a movie?" Y/n spoke after she took a sip of her freshly made lemonade. "Dinner and a show!? You must like me" Choso teased with as smile, then took a sip of his lemonade. "Ehh I guess you could say that"

They never sat too close, but it was hard not sitting right next to each other. Y/n didn't even own a couch.. well she couldn't fit one inside of her tiny camper. It was just her bed, so the two would lay next to each other as they watched the movie. Movie nights were not a common occurrence for the two young adults, but it was something that has now happened a few times in the past 2 months.

When it did happen, they would wake up tangled together in the early morning. Faces burrowed into necks, legs intertwining, arms wrapped snugly around each other, and nothing but a— "good morning, sweetheart" And a — "did I say you could spend the night?"

A coffee and a bagel was the normal send off for Choso during mornings like this. A quick kiss on the cheek before he went to work always left y/n a blushing mess. Whatever the two had was something special, it was rare. How many people can make you feel extraordinary? Y/n knew choso was the only person in the world who could make her feel that way. Something about this type of friendship was hard to come across, but when it did happen, it always grew into something beautiful.

"Teach me how to play" y/n said as choso was walking up the steps of his trailer. His guitar case in one hand and his keys in the other. "Oh shit!" Choso jumped from the sound of y/ns voice, hair flying about in the air as he whipped around to see y/n peaking from around his front porch. It was like she was waiting for the most opportune moment to say something, hiding in the shadows of the bushes and all. "Sorry" a giggle came from y/ns lips as it wasn't her intention to scare the tall man. "God, sweets. Can't be jumping up on me like that" Choso relaxed as he flipped through his key ring to find the one to his front door. "I didn't mean to, just wanted to see you tonight" y/n shrugged as she followed him up his steps. She wore a blue tank top with lace trimmings around the edges paired with some cute care bear pajama shorts, a big cashmere cardigan and fluffy house shoes. "Is that so?" Choso smirked as he pushed the door open, moving to the side so y/n could walk first.

"It is. Since I couldn't make it to your show tonight, but had to see you" slipping in past him, y/n made herself comfortable on the metal heads small sectional couch, kicking off her shoes and sitting criss cross. "You want a drink?" The sweaty man asked as he closed the front door, locking it shut. "Whatcha got?" Y/n perked up, instantly feeling so much better now that she was in Choso's space. "I got coke, beer, and the last bit of your lemonade you brought over the other day" He threw his keys in a large bowl by the door and set his guitar down. The way his muscles moved as he pulled of his leather jacket; wet is what y/n became. His hips in those tight fucking jeans—oh fuck yeah y/n was definitely wet. Something about Choso being all sweaty made y/n go absolutely wild, the way he smelled, the way his skin glistened, the way it made her want to drop her panties and spread her legs.

"Cho! I brought you that lemonade this morning! It was a full pitcher!" Y/n laughed trying to cover up her obvious stares. "What can I say, sweetheart? You make the best lemonade in the state— maybe the world" "Coming from a southern gal like me.. it's not the best. But it makes due up here" "You're from the south? Is that why you talk all funny and say iron and oil all weird?" Choso winked with a teasing smile just before turning to head to the kitchen. "Hey! You said you would stop making fun of me for saying iron and oil all funky" y/n shot up. "Oh I did say that, huh?" choso mocked y/ns voice with a smile on his face. There was nothing he loved more than riling y/n up. "I don't talk like that!" Y/n walked up to him, standing up on her tip toes to seem more intimidating. "You do sweets." —"but it's to die for!" Choso took a fake jab at his chest with his fist and stumbled back dramatically. "Youre annoying" y/n faked a scowl. "Go sit down so I can get you a drink" choso shooed y/n back to the living room.

"You'll teach me to play tonight?" Y/ns voice called from the living room as she plopped herself back on the couch, shuffling through the several magazines Choso had lying about. "Sure thing, sugar" Choso set down two glasses on the coffee table, one with lemonade and one with coke from a two liter. "Take your pick" "Coke, I know you like the lemonade so much" "So considerate of me always, huh?" A wink from him was enough to fluster y/n all over again. One thing Choso enjoyed, was watching y/ns cheeks heat up in the prettiest shade of pink he'd ever seen

Late nights were always so pretty at the trailer park, even more so when Choso had y/n in his lap, showing her different cords on his first true love. It wasn't that y/n really wanted to learn to play the guitar, it was for her to spend time with Choso. Although he would have spent time with her no matter what time of day and without a lousy excuse. But she did look so pretty with her hair over one shoulder while Chosos chin sat gently on the other, looking over to watch as their fingers played together. "M'gonna need a lot more practice if I want to be as good as you" "My door is always open for you" Choso whispered with a soft kiss to her shoulder.

The night continued until about 2:30am, taking breaks from playing the guitar— badly— to sitting and talking about their day, talking about Choso friends back home, how one would effectively rob a bank, and how old they were when they had their first kiss. Y/n being 13 and Choso being 17.

"You were a total slut back then huh?" Choso teased, which earned a shove to his shoulder from the girl sitting across from him on the couch. "Don't be an ass! He wasn't even cute and it was after lunch— his breath totally smelled like cheeseburger and milk" y/n shuddered at the memory of the kiss that haunts her. "he was my best friend at the time" "Go on, tell me his name" "Beau Cooper, he was about two inches shorter than me and was the running back on our schools football team" "That name just screams backwoods hick" Choso laughed taking his final sip of his lemonade. "Hey! That's all I had to work with, and it wasn't worth it" y/n laughed along with Choso. "he totally broke my heart when i was 18, but that was years ago"

"Go on tell me yours now, Kamo" Y/n wiggled her eyebrows, needing to know the details of chosos first kiss.

"Her name was Shelby Chase, she had pretty red hair and played the drums, I met her at this bar back home—She asked me to meet her backstage and I don't know we kind of kissed. It was so lame, y/n. I turned into a mumbling mess and just left" Choso shook his head in embarrassment.

And for some odd reason, y/n felt a surge of jealousy rip through her body. It was silly, of course choso has kissed many girls since then. y/n has kissed many boys since her first kiss, so it didnt make sense why she felt so jealous.

Well, she wasnt jealous that choso has kissed girls that werent y/n. it was the fact that he kissed girls that looked nothing like her.

Of course, Choso would want someone who's like him, not someone who looked like y/n. A girl with piercings and who wore dark clothes and likes the same music as him. not y/n who wears bright clothes and only has one tattoo and who listens to harry styles.

"Thats very embarrassing Cho" y/n forced a laugh that Choso didn't seem to notice was fake. "it was so embarrassing. Just happy i never saw her again after" Choso was still laughing as he relived the memory.

"Do you think you're a good kisser?" Choso asked after their laughter died down.

Again y/n wasn't really laughing. It was more like a fake laugh fueled by the rage of fire igniting in her person from the jealousy. AND what was there to be jealous about to begin with? Absolutely nothing at all! She had kissed plenty of guys and Choso has surely kissed plenty of girls since then, so no reason to be upset over something so little. But maybe all the girls Choso has kissed and liked were metal heads and liked 'The Metallics' or 'Maids of Iron' or whatever they were called.

Oh god! Should y/n put more effort to liking what Choso does? Maybe that will get his attention in a romantic way.

"I mean, I hope I'm good. No one has ever complained. What about you?" y/n finally answered. "I've been told I kiss like a princess— i don't know if that's good or bad" "That probably means you kiss really soft and pretty." Y/n nodded, oh god to kiss those lips and see how pretty he kisses. "So is that good? Or bad?" He was curious, how can a guy kiss like a princess? Did he need to put more pressure? Did he need to use his tongue more? It was killing him and he hasn't kissed anyone in months. What if he got worse in his time lost?

"I don't know, I've never kissed someone that kisses like a pretty pink princess" y/n laughs leaning forward to play with a loose strand of hair next to his face. "No one said pretty pink princess, just princess" "Are you going to show me or what... princess?" Y/n smiled leaning a little closer, enough for Choso to feel her breath on his face.

He almost choked.. a breath caught in the back of his throat, not expecting y/n to ask. Sure he wanted to kiss her, hence why he asked her if she was good at kissing or not. But he didn't think she would actually be okay with it. "I mean, not if it'll change anything between us" Choso answered honestly, he would hate to lose y/n over a stupid kiss. "It's just a kiss Cho, means nothing" a lie. A fucking lie. That kiss was going to mean so much to y/n. "Y-yeah yeah of course. Just a kiss" it kind of stung a little to hear that it wasn't going to mean anything to y/n, because since day one he just wanted to kiss her and take good care of her.. like a good man does. "You have to show me what you got though, not a little peck, I want to feel your princess power" she whispers, eyes dropping down to his lips then back up to those molten chocolate eyes. "Lay back then, sweetheart" he whispered back, voice barely audible.

Dripping.

That's what y/n was.

His voice so soft yet had so much assertiveness to it. It was dark and rich, like molasses, but so smooth like warmed up syrup.

Nodding, y/n moved back, laying on her back. Head laid on the arm rest of the couch, waiting for Choso to climb on top of her. It was agonizing, having him crawl over her body felt like it was taking too long. His arms holding his upper body steady, caging y/ns head between his forearms, one knee resting between her thighs and the other smushed between her and the back of the couch. His breath heavy, matching y/ns, both of their hearts felt like they were going to explode. The anticipation was killing them.

Leaning further down, y/n could smell what was left of his cologne before it was sweated off, still smelling so delicious. Choso could smell y/ns body wash, like sugar cookies.. so fucking sweet. Noses bumping together before their lips could actually touch, making y/n giggle softly.

"Kiss me" y/n whispers, she needed it.

The feeling of Chosos lips was like something else, on her bare skin it made her legs wobbly, but in her lips.. fuck she would have collapsed if she were standing up.

Like a fucking princess is right.

Chosos lips were so soft and slow in movement, taking his time exploring y/n. Their lips slotting together slowly in a mix of changing directions and who's bottom lip was between the others. Soon enough, Chosos tongue was taking languid swipes across y/ns bottom lip, begging for a taste of her own tongue.

His hips resting more weight on y/ns body as he wanted to feel more of her person. It was so soft and pretty, their tongues touching ever so gently together. Sucking on y/ns tongue tenderly before continuing to kiss her lips was making her want to rip his clothes off.

Y/ns hands went from Chosos hips to his neck, holding him as close as possible, slotting her fingers through his hair. Tugging gently on his hair at the nape of his neck was enough to pull a moan out of him, slipping into y/ns partially open mouth.

"Fuck- I'm- I'm sorry" Choso pulled back to look at y/ns eyes. "It's okay. I'm sorry" y/n apologized for taking what was happening too far. "No, don't be" Choso pushed himself back, so he was no longer on top of y/n, holding his hand out to her to help her sit up as well.

"You definitely kiss like a princess" y/n laughed while adjusting her tank top to properly cover her chest. "Yeah?" Choso let out a low chuckle closing his eyes. God what does that even mean? "It's a good thing. Its good— great actually. You're very soft and kind. Like you want to take your time and not rush anything"—"And your tongue too, a lot of guys don't know how to make them not pointy, yours was soft and flat but still knew direction"

"Well, that's a lot more helpful than when I asked the girl who originally said that I kiss like a princess, she just said, 'i don't know you just do' so thank you" Choso blushed softly, now knowing he probably does kiss really well. "Oh and you sucking my tongue, god I've never done that before" y/n blushed, eyes flashing to his lips quickly. "You like that, yeah?" Choso got a boost of confidence.

Sitting before him is the most beautiful, confident, and intimidating girl he has ever met... and he's making her blush. "Yeah, it was new and fun. I liked it a lot actually." "Want to do it again?" Choso teased, an actual question but one he could play off as a joke. "Cho! No— okay yeah, can you just go slow though" putty in his hands. "Anything you want, sweetheart" Choso cupped y/ns face pulling her closer to him.

Fuck.

That second kiss was better than the first. Not fireworks or movie magic or anything like that. But fucking amazing.

Choso took his time once again. The man is slow and methodical in the way he kisses. "Stick your tongue out, sweets— yeah just like that pretty girl.. yeah just like that" his voice rugged in a low calm whisper sent y/n reeling.

"mmm taste so good" Choso mumbled against y/ns tongue before going back in for more.

Fuck you Choso.

Gentle sucks from Chosos lips on y/ns tongue has her clenching her thighs together, trying to suppress the feeling that was happening between her thighs. "Such a pretty tongue" Choso groaned pulling back for just a second, still holding y/ns face between his calloused hands.

"Again" y/n whispered. "Again? You like it that much?" His voice smooth like the coffee y/n gives him in the mornings. "Mmhmm please" She squeaked with her eyes still closed, waiting for Chosos lips to touch hers again.

"Want me to kiss your neck too, sweets?" Choso asked letting his right hand slip from her face down to her neck. His thick fingers tracing over her pulse point while he waited for an answer. "Yes please" y/n let out a shaky breath.

"You'll never be able to mow that lawn with the choke you got on that" Choso called leaning over the fence that separated the two yards. "Hah hah very funny, if you don't think I can do it, how bout you come and do it for me?" Y/n stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side.

That's how she got him every time, pretending she didn't know how to start up the lawn mower. She got him, every single time, wearing those daisy dukes, a bikini top, hair in a messy ponytail, with hands on her hips. the silly boy didnt know any better. that and he couldn't resist her.

"What's in it for me this time, sweetheart?" Choso questioned making his way to the gate that separated the yards. The weeds in the small yard were substantially overgrown, blossoming into an eyesore.

"Lemonade? Maybe a sandwich"

"Oh you know I could never pass up your famous sandwiches and lemonade" Choso chuckled walking into the yard. He had just gotten back from his day shift at the shop. He was already pulling off his work shirt, leaving him in just his dark wash jeans.

How is this man so ripped?

What a sight.

Tattoos littered his arms and chest, something about the contrast of his pale skin and the dark ink was so pretty. Something y/n could never seem to take her eyes off of. Y/n has mentioned time and time again how pretty he'd look with some sort of face tattoo. What y/n didn't know was he had finally made the appointment for this coming Friday.

"Get to work then, handsome" Y/n smiled stepping away from the beat up lawn mower she purchased from a neighbor down the way. "Play some music for me sweets" Choso nodded towards the small radio y/n always had sitting outside the camper.

It was a week after their kiss.. well kisses. Y/n was littered with hickeys from her jawline to her shoulders for days. Even now choso could still see the faint markings on her chest.

Choso was even gentle giving hickeys, again taking his time, making sure they were in the perfect spots. Nothing happened passed that. Other than y/n going home to finish herself off after what Choso had started. When she got home her panties were completely soaked through, wanting—no— needing any sort of relief.

"Wow you really outdid yourself today" y/n smiled at chosos handiwork. While Choso was outside, y/n was cleaning up her home, Sundays were always deep cleaning day. Scrubbing top to bottom, every nook and cranny. She held onto a small laundry basket with one arm, propping it on the side of her hips as she walked down the small steps of the camper. "I washed your shirt. I'm just gonna to hang it up to dry" y/n set the basket down and began to clip up various articles of clothing on the small wire set up she had going for her.

"What did I deserve to have someone as perfect as you?" Chosos sweaty front pressed to the back of y/ns body, arms circling her waist and a wet kiss to the side of her neck. "Gross!"— "now I'm all sweaty, Cho!" "Guess you'll have to shower, maybe we can save some water and do it together" Choso continued to press gentle kisses to the side of y/ns neck.

Y/n felt butterflies fluttering in her tummy as Chosos lips traced a line from her ear to her shoulder, retracing where his hickeys were just a few days ago. "In your dreams Kamo. Go shower and I'll make you that sandwich" y/n pulled his arms from off of her, earning a whine from the boy. "Fine! Continue to play hard to get. But jokes on you baby, the more you push is the harder I try"

Baby

That was new. It was normally 'sweets' 'sweetheart' or 'sugar' that Choso called her.

Y/n called it the three S's, it was the holy trinity of Choso Kamo.

'Baby' definitely had an effect on y/n, one that was subtle, but still noticed. He didn't even mean to call her baby, honest, it just slipped.

Now that Choso was all fresh and clean, he smelt of a dreamy pine tree— if that was even possible— and his hair always smelled of lavender, he was now ready for his late lunch.

"For you, cut just how you like it" y/n smiled as the ceramic plate hit the small wooden table. Choso preferred his sandwiches cut down the middle, not diagonally, very controversial to many who prefer triangles. Before y/n could even finish filling up a fresh glass with his lemonade she heard a deep moan come from the man in her dining area.

"God damn y/n you seriously make the best sandwich in the whole world, what do you do to it?" Choso mumbled with his mouth full of food.

Turning around she set down the lemonade and places a bendy straw inside. Y/n smiled as she reached for a napkin and wiped the edges of his mouth before answering.

"It's a secret." "You can tell me" Choso pushed, he didn't want to really know, he just knew y/n made the best sandwiches.

"No can do. You'll go off and make them yourself and then who would I make my sandwiches for?" Y/n sat down in the seat across from him, reaching over to take the other half of the sandwich.

"I would never do that to you, I know you love to make me food, like a little housewife"

"Watch your mouth Choso, I am nobody's housewife" y/n said before taking a bite of the turkey sandwich. A comfortable silence consumed them as they ate, once finished y/n began to make Choso another sandwich. Only because y/n knew this man can eat. (Once, for scientific purposes, they found out Choso can eat 8 full sandwiches before feeling completely full)

"Sooo... my brother and a few friends are flying in this weekend. They were able to get a week out here. I really want you to meet them. They think I made up that we are friends"—"Actually one of them said there was no way someone so hot would even talk to me" Choso rolled his eyes.

Y/n wondered how they even knew what she looked like. It totally was because Choso sent a picture of y/n sunbathing in his yard to the group chat. (And the smart mouth was Toge.) Pretty mouthy for a guy who didn't actually speak with his words.

"Well now we have to keep them guessing, keep me your little secret" Y/n threw a wink over her shoulder. "Please please please, I'll do anything!" Choso fake whined, standing up. "You want me to get on my knees and beg? I will" Choso began to kneel down.

"Choso no" yn giggled grabbing his wrists and pulling him back up. "you know I'd love to meet your brother, but whats in it for me if i also meet those losers you call friends?"

"I will do anything you want! Whenever you want!" Again, the large man began to lower himself to his knees, and a part of y/n wanted to watch him beg pathetically.

"You have to be more specific than that, Cho" Y/n shook her head, pushing him to sit at the small dining table.

"I'll buy you those pretty sunglasses you told me about" Choso was hoping that would be enough, he once listened to y/n rant about some sunnies she saw in a magazine, telling him how badly she needed them in her life.

"And a new bikini, your pick" y/n continued to bargain.

"Deal, oh and can you bring some lemonade, they also say that lemonade can't be that good"

"I'm gonna have to throw in a new lipstick to the deal if you want lemonade"

"Whatever you want, baby"

Baby.

There it was again.

That one little word that had y/ns insides a scrambled mess. Sure, she had her fair share of flings throughout her life, but not once had a man made her weak in the knees the way Choso does. This sort of feeling has never happened to her before. She was one to walk with a purpose, plump lips, hips swinging, perfectly shaved long legs, the embodiment of divine femininity, a goddess in Chosos eyes. But with the way Choso is making her feel, she no longer felt like the girl she used to be.

"Okay, I'll meet your friends when they come down"

They fall back into a comfortable silence, enjoying the sandwich they shared, taking turns sipping that perfectly flavored lemonade, playing footsie under the table.

Don't get Choso wrong, he loved to try to make y/n crumble, but her rubbing her pretty foot along his shin, working her way up to his thighs— fuck it made him so weak. Her perfectly manicured toes with those silver toe rings and anklet made him almost lose his mind. And on top of that, she was able to have a perfectly normal conversation as if she wasn't just grazing his inner thigh with her foot.

Y/n had many questions on how Yuji and the others were able to come down to visit while school was still in session. And for the most part Choso answered.

"I just don't understand how the absences will be excused?"

"Gojo will take care of that, so there's no need to worry"

"yeah, but like.. won't they be missing out on some of their education?"

"it's just a week, plus they will probably have a trip right when they get back"

"what kind of trip?"

"I don't think I can disclose that information"

"and one of the little ones can talk but chooses not to?"

"he says things like 'salmon tuna' and 'mustard leaf'"

"is he autistic?"

"no"

"i don't understand any of this"

"it's better if you just don't ask questions"

"are they like secret agents?"

"sorta but not really"

"so they are your brothers' friends, not yours?"

"My brothers friends are my friends, plus their teacher will come with them"

"do you know this teacher?"

"he's a good friend of mine"

"This is really weird. How many of them are coming?"

"Just 4, they can't bring the panda"

"there's a guy named panda?"

"no, he's an actual panda"

"an actual panda? And the teacher guy had a son that's not really his son?"

"yeah Gojo kinda like adopted him after his real dad abandoned him. Then the dad tried to kill Gojo"

"thats insane"

"yeah Gojos rich, like filthy rich."

"and he's just happy being a teacher?"

"yeah the dudes like super happy and energetic all the time"

"I'm gonna go to bed. This is exhausting"

The week flew by, and y/n was getting nervous about meeting Chosos brother. This was a big step in their relationship... well it wasn't even a relationship. The two shared several more kisses throughout the week.. again, nothing went past sloppy kisses and some heavy dry humping.

Friday came around and Choso didn't come home when he normally does. Y/n figured he was out drinking, or he had a gig she didn't know about. So, she chose to lounge around watching whatever movies she had on DVD.

Until she heard a knock at her door. Grinning, y/n stood up and softly padded her way to the camper door.

"it's about time you- CHOSO!!!" Y/n screamed seeing the fresh markings on Chosos perfectly smooth skin. "Oh my god oh my god" She immediately pulled him in her camper, not caring if the door was shut or not. The whole structure shaking and rocking from her frantically shoving the bulky man down on her bed.

Nothing but giggles came from Chosos lips as y/n inspected his face. Holding his cheeks in her hands, she turned his head from side to side, eyes scanning the tattoo.

"Do you like it? It's a little splotchy since it's got the wrap on it and all my plasma is leaking out of my body"

"Did the parts on your eyes hurt?" Y/n wanted to touch it, to trace the line across his nose and the ones falling down his cheeks that resembled tear marks.

"Yeah a little. But I'm a big boy"

"Jesus Christ you look so fucking hot"

That night ended in a pretty hot and heavy make out session.. just letting you guys know that now.

and choso may or may not have came in his pants from y/n grinding on him.

It was kind of cute. Seeing this big man all tatted up becoming a whimpering mess under y/ns touch. Him begging for more. The way he panted into y/ns open mouth. His little "please pl-please please" And the guttural moan that escaped his throat as he bit down on y/ns shoulder as he came.

"Hey Cho!" Y/n walked into Chosos home, now filled with his friends sprawled all out in the living room.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm glad you could make it" Choso sprung up from the couch, walking over to y/n and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Everyone this is y/n, y/n this is everyone" Choso turned around to see everyone with wide eyes, surprised that y/n actually showed up and to see that she allowed him to kiss her.

"Hi, nice to meet y'all" y/n waved with a pretty smile, goddamn that smile made every person in the room feel some sort of way.

Something about y/n was that she was the most confident person in the room, she radiates it. She knows she is that girl, the one that gets the guy, the one who could steal anyones man, the one who got asked to prom by many potential suitors, the one who was captain of the cheer team, the one who had it all.

"I'm Gojo!" The boy with a white hair blurted out unprompted.

"That was so cool of you" another one said holding a thumbs up to the guy. This one was lanky and had black hair that looked like he just ran his fingers through it in the morning and called it a day. Y/n could tell from the banter that he was Megumi, Gojos kinda son.

Y/n couldn't help but think they all had weird names.

"Come on sweets, I saved you a spot next to me" Choso held his hand out for y/n to take, walking her to the couch. "Here put the lemonade down first" y/n held out the pitcher full of—"the best drink in the whole world"— as Choso would put it. "Sure thing" He smiled taking the pitcher, pouring himself a glass in the process.

"You smell so pretty" one of the smaller ones said as y/n sat down on the couch. He has pink hair and y/n instantly recognized him as Yuji.

"Yuji, shut it" Choso snapped as he stepped back into the living room.

"Thank you cutie" y/n smiled down at the boy who sat on the floor with his back resting on the couch.

"You do" Choso whispered in y/ns ear as he sat down. "It's the perfume you like" y/n smiled while crossing her legs. She smelt of marshmallows and warm white chocolate, so sweet, just how Choso likes it.

Everyone wanted to know more about y/n, where she came from, why she's friends with Choso, literally everything. She them how she grew up, information Choso already knew, how she used to get into fights all the time, how she has learned to make a living for her own.

"Did Choso pay you to come over?" The one called Gojo asked cocking his head to the side. "What? No of course he didn't, Cho is a dear friend of mine" Choso silently thanked God for y/n not mentioning that he did have to beg her to come as well as the new things he had to buy for her.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

"No, Choso is just a friend, although he is such a flirt" "Hey! You are the flirt not me" Choso defended himself. "Yeah yeah Kamo, didn't you ask me to shower with you last night?" y/n smirked making everyone's eyes go to Choso. "Hey! Is nothing sacred between us?"

"Choso you can't just ask hot girls to shower with you" Gojo said with a head shake. "Gojo you can't just call hot girls hot!" Megumi added in along with a "tuna tuna" From the quiet one. "Stop calling her hot!" Choso yelled with his hands in fists, glaring at all the friends with a look of warning. "And you might not be able to say shit, but you too Inumaki"

He didn't think this get together would be a bad idea at first, but now seeing as they were all basically star struck with y/n, he wished he could have just kept her his little secret. But now they know about her lemonade, and how amazing it tastes, now they won't be able to resist her.

"Real quick, Choso said it would be better if I didn't ask questions... but like, why are you wearing a blindfold, and why do you keep saying fish things?" Y/n had been dying to say something since she first laid eyes on the weird bunch. "oh and what about this panda guy? Choso said he's an actual panda? Like a stuffed animal or what?

"You didn't tell her?" Gojo laughed loudly, bellied over trying to catch his breath. Honestly no one else laughed, for some reason the eldest of the group found things funny when they shouldn't have been.

"Tell me what?" y/n looked over to Choso with puppy dog eyes.

"Don't look at me with those eyes baby. You know what they do to me" Choso said in a low voice.

"You really didn't tell her?" Yuji cut in.

"someone better tell me or im gonna kick someones ass"

"like you'd be able to fight us off" Megumi scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Okay Edward shut up" Yuji laughed (his girlfriend made him watch twilight a few days ago and has been waiting to bring it up nonchalantly) which earned a glare from Megumi, that had Yuji cowering.

"Oh I love twilight" y/n high fived Yuji "but really what hasn't Choso told me?"

"Other than that dude is like a master sorcerer, which is a life he's choosing to leave behind to become some sort of rocker guy, I'm sure he's told you everything"

Now it was y/ns turn to laugh.. alone. Because for whatever reason no one else found what Gojo just said funny. There was a long string of silence that followed. No one said anything, just staring at y/n and then back at Choso.

"oh shit you really didn't tell her"

"I've known her for like 4 months, how do I just bring up the fact that I'm not completely normal and have a super sick blood manipulation technique?!"

The conversation that followed took a few hours. Y/n had so many questions, so many fucking questions. By the end of it her head hurt and she felt sick. But at the same time, she understood a little bit why chosos was a little off from the start.

It was also super cool going outside and watching all the boys show off. Especially the little bunnies Megumi has shoved up his sleeves, like some sort of magician.

Choso walked y/n back to her camper once she said her goodbyes, stepping in for a minute while y/n got her pajamas ready.

"That was a lot" y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in.

"you dont think of me any differently do you?" Choso frowned, expecting the worst.

"No you're still Choso" y/n shook her head with a smile, trying to reassure him. He let out a sigh of relief as he sat down on y/ns bed, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

"you okay?" y/n asked softly standing infront of him between his spread thighs.

"yeah just a little embarrassing, I guess. I dunno, I just thought I could keep that part of me a secret"

"Don't embarrassed" y/n whispered slowly making her way into Chosos lap, straddling him. Her shorts riding up even more, exposing more of her deliciously soft thighs, if that was even possible. "It's pretty cool" "Sugar— what are you doing?" Choso craned his neck back to look at y/n, his hands gripping her hips, ignoring the last part of what she said, only because he wanted to forget that part of his life. "Just sitting, you seem frustrated" y/n batted her eyelashes in the most innocent manner. "I mean I guess, just wish I could have told you on my own terms and they all just wanted to talk to you and Gojo had no shame trying to flirt with you" Choso whispers as he looks over y/ns body, not being secretive at all with the way he stares at her chest and her thick thighs.

"So you were jealous?" y/n giggled wiggling her eyebrows at him in a teasing way.

"Maybe... just want you to myself" Choso whispered, making sure not to look y/n in the eye, quite literally looking at anything but her face.

"You can have me all to yourself" y/ns voice low and gentle taking her hand to cup the bottom of chosos chiseled jaw, raising his head to look in his pretty brown eyes. "I can?" Choses voice hoarse with the anticipation of whatever was happening between them in this moment. "All you had to do was ask, Cho" "Can I take you on a date?" A burst of confidence surged through Chosos body, tightening his gripping y/ns hips, making sure her bum was grounded to his crotch. "No"

thud

Choso could hear his blood rushing to his ears, he could barely hear y/n turning into a giggling mess. That was until y/n pepper kisses all over his face and cheeks, avoiding the parts that have been freshly inked.

"You are the meanest person I've ever met" Choso broke the kiss, pushing y/n off his lap, tossing her on the bed, making her bounce on the mattress. "It was just a joke Cho, of course we can go on a date" "Well you just teased me and got me all going and then told me no to the date" Choso groaned throwing his whole body weight on top of y/n, nuzzling his face in y/ns neck. "Don't be such a cry baby. I had to tease you just a little. So we going next weekend after your friends leave? "Course baby"

The drive in was the best option for Choso, it's cheap and intimate. The two talked for most of the movie facing each other, with y/ns legs across the middle console and in Choso's lap. His warm hands rubbed her thighs, pushing his limit to see how far she would let him touch.

"Keep those grubby little paws to yourself, Kamo" y/n swatted at his ring clad fingers as they pushed a little under the hem of her shorts. "Can't resist, your skin is so soft" Choso almost moaned, rubbing his thumbs into the fat of her upper thighs. "You wanna touch something else?" Y/n raised her eyebrows at her best friend who looked stunned. It was her turn to now tease him. Normally.. as showed before, they take turns teasing each other, pushing each other to their absolute limits.

Y/ns fingers danced on her collarbones, reaching for the straps of her tank top tugging them softly down her shoulders. The look on her face was so innocent, teasing Choso's dick driven emotions.

"Y-yeah yeah" he nearly drooled nodding his head rapidly.

"Maybe you can start with just a look, yeah?" Y/n nodded softly, encouraging him that a look was all he needed for right now.

"Sweetheart, anything you wanna give me I'll take with pleasure"

"Real quick, yeah baby?" The way this man was drooling over y/ns words, over her soft lotioned skin, he was putty in her hand. Choso gulped as y/n pulled her top down a little, teasing him with her cleavage. Palms sweaty with excitement, his fingers digging into her thighs, waiting to see the most perfect set of tits he was ever going to see. "You liked Pierced nipples Cho?" Y/n asked with the top of her shirt barely covering her nipples. A verbal response from him wasn't needed, his head nodding with his heart shaped pupils was enough. "I just got them done yesterday actually, on my lunch break, so they are still tender" y/n said in a low voice, almost like she was trying to hide how nervous she was.

What if he didn't like them?

It was like slow motion for Choso, taking in every inch of skin y/n showed him, her pretty nipples pierced with a silver bar, on the end were little hearts that just matched her personality so much. Her skin looked so soft from where Choso was sitting, wanting nothing more than to reach out and massage her breast in the most intimate way. It was only a few moments of y/n exposing herself to him before she pulled her tank top back up.

"So what do you think?"

"They- yeah- so pretty" Chosos face full of flush and almost embarrassment from how flustered he got. Sure the guy had seen many tits in his life, but none so perfect.

"You think?" Y/n smiled at his words.

"Yeah baby, so fuckin pretty" Choso had to adjust the way he was sitting to hide the evident hard on he was rocking.

"Now you have to show me yours" y/n smirked, nudging her foot against the zipper of his jeans. "What?" "I showed you mine, now you're gonna show me yours" "My nipples?" Choso almost choked on his spit. "No your cock Cho, I can feel it. Come on now"

Now Choso has the prettiest cock y/n has ever seen.

But we already knew that.

Thick and just the perfect size, it curved to the left just a little with a silver piercing at the tip. Choso fucking Kamo has a dick piercing. The tip of his angry head dribbling out precum just from y/n looking at it.

"You like it?" Choso dragged his thick fingers along the vein on the underside with a cocky grin. "I do, he's so pretty. God I want my mouth on it" she was actually drooling! A pool of saliva in y/ns mouth took over, as if her body knew she needed it to suck him off. "Yeah?" "Yeah." y/n nodded her head, trying to move in a better position to wrap her lips around him. "I want that so bad.. but I think we shouldn't just yet"

Choso cock blocked himself. Not wanting to ruin what they had, he stopped them from doing anything else that night. Sure y/n was a little disappointed, but she understood why he did it. But damn that night was filled with moans and sticky fingers from both of them. Just it was done separately, in their own rooms.. all alone. Both of them moaning out each other's names into the empty air, wishing they were with each other.

They felt like teenagers for the next following weeks. Late night runs to the liquor store and gas stations, kissing at stop light, and sharing cigarettes. Sharing secrets and past memories with one another, sharing very intimate details of their lives. The beginning of a blossoming relationship.

"You're so fucking perfect" Choso told her after almost every kiss they shared.

And she felt like it too with Choso constantly telling her and praising her every move.

The first time they had sex was so special, it was slow and passionate. Choso still whispering into y/ns ear- "you are fucking perfect baby"

the very next time they had sex was a little different... okay very different. sweet and soft choso was long gone the second y/n asked him to choke her.

"ha-harder" y/n barely got out. there was something so pretty about the way her face got all purple and the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head, how could he say no? Especially with the way she was so pliant when she was knocked out for a few seconds every time.

"Such a fucking good little slut" Choso growled removing both his hands from around y/ns neck.

Life was fucking good.

Sex literally every single day (sometimes multiple times)

Chosos band was finally getting somewhere!

Y/n went to every single one of his shows and watch ow the crowd grew and grew every single time. Everything was finally falling into place for these two young adults.

It wasn't until July the following year that Chosos band got picked up by a record label.

The next year they went on tour, and everyone knew Choso Kamos name.

July of 2025 Choso proposed to y/n.

The next year they became Mr. and Mrs. Kamo on July 15th.

And on July 28th, 2027, y/n gave birth to two healthy baby girls.

July had always been the best moth out of the year, y/n already knew this, and now Choso understood y/ns love for July.

Thank God for July.

I think I'm bad at ending stories. sorry.

Pls tell me if this was good?

Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @vellichor01 @loveyislost @koreluvsspring @gradmacoco @ersharyzst @emlient @orikixx @namjooningera

203 notes · View notes