#*drops why did that correct to stops what

[houseofaegon]

YOU TASTE LIKE HEAVEN ╱  BOB REYNOLDS X FEM!READER

let me make it up to you

+18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪  oral (f receiving), bob eating pussy for the first time, praise kink, begging, overstimulation.

author's note: bob eating you out for the first time. that's it that's the tweet. me next me next me next!!!!!! i know for a fact bob reynolds loves eating pussy!!!!!!!!! and i volunteer as tribute!!!

The mission was over, but your mind and your entire body were still buzzing with adrenaline. It had gone way better than you'd expected. And Bob? He did so well. After all your training, the barked orders, the sharp corrections—you’d seen every bit of it click into place out there. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just raw, controlled power. He’d finally stopped doubting himself.

And you were so fucking proud of him.

You were about to go find him and tell him that when he came into your room, closed the door behind him and turned to look at you like he hadn't taken his eyes off you since you all go tback.

“Hey, you,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Hi,” he breathed, barely more than a whisper.

He stood there like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to come closer. Like he wanted to kneel but hadn’t figured out why yet.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just… I needed to see you.”

You crossed the room toward him, fingertips brushing his chest. “You did good today, Bob.”

His breath hitched at that.

“Really good,” you murmured. “I saw the way you moved. The way you didn’t hesitate.”

His eyes fluttered closed. “That’s ‘cause of you.”

You tilted your head. “No, that’s you finally believing in yourself.”

He opened his eyes again—and this time, they were shining. Hot. Intent.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said. “What you did for me last time.”

You arched a brow, feigning innocence. “Hmm? You’ll have to be more specific, Bob.”

His cheeks flushed, but his voice stayed steady. “When you had my dick in your mouth.”

You smirked. “Ah. That.”

He swallowed, hands curling into fists at his sides. “You made me feel… like I was the only thing that mattered. Like you wanted to ruin me. And you did.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You liked it?”

“I fucking loved it,” he whispered, shaking. “And I—I want to do that for you now. Please. I’ve never done it before, but I need to. I wanna taste you. I wanna make you feel everything I felt—and more.”

You pulled back and looked into his eyes—blown wide, glassy, starved.

“You really wanna go down on me, Bob?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

You smiled. “Then get on your knees, baby. And show me.”

Bob dropped like gravity pulled him down. No hesitation. No nerves now—just need. He settled between your thighs like it’s where he belongs, hands warm and a little shaky as they skim your hips, sliding your pants down slow.

When he saw you—slick and flushed and soaked—he let out this wrecked little moan, like just the sight of your pussy nearly knocked him out.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked in like he can’t look away. “You’re so—Jesus, you’re perfect.”

You laughed softly, breathless already. “You gonna just stare or are you gonna do something about it?”

“I wanna,” he said, like it’s killing him. “I’ve just never—fuck—I didn’t know it could look this pretty. I didn’t know I’d want it this bad.”

He leaned in. Breath ghosting over your skin. And then—finally—his tongue drags one slow, tentative stripe through your folds.

You gasp.

Bob groans, like he just tasted something divine. “Holy shit. Why didn’t anyone tell me—fuck—this is insane.”

Then he licks again. And again. Bolder. Firmer. He’s already messy—spit and slick all over his chin, tongue moving like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fucking hell,” you moan, one hand flying into his hair. “Bob—shit—you’re actually good at this—”

He whimpers. “I need to be,” he mumbles against your clit. “I want you to feel everything. I wanna make you come, baby. Please—let me.”

You don’t get a chance to answer—his mouth locks onto your clit and sucks and you nearly come off the fucking bed.

“Fuck—fuck, Bob, yes! Don’t stop, right there—oh my god—”

He groans into you. Arms sliding under your thighs, pulling you closer, holding you open. His tongue works in filthy, perfect circles. He’s obsessed. Like he’s dying to make you fall apart.

“You taste so good,” he pants. “So fucking good—I could stay here forever.”

You're already trembling. Your hips can’t stay still. “Bob—fuck—don’t stop, please—just like that, yes—”

And when you come? You scream. Legs shaking, hand yanking at his hair, body writhing under the weight of it. He moans with your orgasm like it feeds him. Like he’s addicted to it.

But he doesn’t stop.

Your thighs are trembling. You can barely think. Your body’s still shuddering from the orgasm he just dragged out of you—and Bob is still down there. Still licking. Still moaning like he’s been possessed.

You try to push at his head, weakly. “B-Bob—fuck, wait—I need a second—”

But he growls. A low, desperate, hungry sound against your cunt that makes your spine arch right off the bed.

“No,” he pants. “You’re not done. I need another one. Give it to me, baby—please. I know you can.”

He sounds wild. His voice has gone wrecked and hoarse, his mouth slick with you, eyes glazed like a man who hasn’t tasted water in years.

“Let me make you come again,” he begs, voice shaking. “Let me wreck you like you wrecked me. Please—I can take it—you can take it. Just one more. Please, baby, come on—”

And then he goes right back in.

Tongue fucking you. Sucking your clit like he’s gone mad. He’s not gentle anymore—he’s starving, messy and frantic and relentless. The sounds echoing off the walls are filthy—his moans, your gasps, the slick of his mouth on your cunt like he’s drowning in it.

You’re already spiraling. Overstimulated, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Bob— I—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, gripping your thighs tighter. “You’re doing so good—fuck, you’re perfect. Let go for me. Wanna taste you again, wanna feel you come all over my mouth. Come on, baby—come again.”

You fall apart.

It crashes over you like a fucking wave—sharp and overwhelming. You scream, legs clamping around his head, body spasming while Bob groans and keeps going, licking you through every pulse and twitch until you’re begging, sobbing, gasping for breath.

“Please— Bob—please—stop, it’s too much—”

He finally pulls back, face flushed and soaked, pupils blown wide like he just touched god.

He looks up at you with a wrecked smile.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispers.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @menrsluts (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[kendallroydefender]

Blood & Honey - Part 3 (Jax Teller x Reader)

Summary: When you take a teaching job in the quiet town of Charming, the last thing you expect is to cross paths with Jax Teller - outlaw, single father, and the leader behind the town's most infamous motorcycle club.

Authors Note: thank you to everyone for so much love for this series! There will be 5 Parts in total🤍

Gemma sat at the table drinking coffee with Abel next to her.

”Did you have fun with Daddy last night, baby?“ she asked the child.

Abel, completely unaware of the bomb he was about to drop, nodded excitedly.

”Yeah,“ he grinned ”Miss Y/n made pancakes!“

Gemma paused mid sip.

”Miss Y/n, huh?“

Abel nodded again ”She had a sleepover with Daddy again.“

Gemma stared at him for a second. Then with a amused smirk she leaned back in her chair.

”Well, well, well…“

Later she caught Jax alone, and didn’t waste any time.

”So you’re gonna tell me why Abel just told me why his teacher is havin‘ sleepovers at your place?“

Jax groaned.

”Don’t-”

”Just sayin', you could do worse.“ She patted his cheek, mockingly sweet. ”Hell, you have done worse.“

"Glad you think it's funny," he muttered, running a hand down his face.

"I think it's interesting," she corrected, exhaling smoke. "You really think I wasn't gonna find out?“

Jax smirked despite himself, leaning back against the counter.

"She's been helping with Abel, and we've been spending time together.“ he shrugged.

"You let a woman sleep over around Abel, and she's makin' pancakes in your kitchen?" she echoed. "Please.

I gave birth to you, Jackson. I know what it looks like when you're gone on someone."

Jax didn't answer at first. He just looked toward the hallway where Abel had wandered off to play with his toy cars.

"Is this serious?" Gemma asked then.

He hesitated, then nodded once.

"Yeah," he said. "It is."

Gemma gave a small, satistied nod and stubbed her cigarette out.

"Then don't screw it up." She grabbed her bag.

"And maybe tell her to stop leavin' shoes by the door if you're tryna keep it subtle. I tripped over a sandal this morning."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your eyes fluttered open. It was light out. You furrowed your brows, confused for a moment about your whereabouts. Then the last night came rushing back to you.

You and Jax, you had dinner at his place. Afterwards you talked for hours later lazily making out on his couch like horny teenagers. You had planned to leave but then Jax had said ”Just stay, baby. It’s getting late.“

And you didn’t really protested. Your car was at your place anyway so you had no intention to walk. Even though you knew Jax would have driven you if you’d really wanted to leave.

You glanced at the clock, that’s when your peaceful morning ended. 7:40.

”Shit! Jax! Wake up!“ you jumped up

He groaned from the couch where you two had fallen asleep.

”What’s wrong?“ he said, rubbing his eyes.

”We overslept and I- Fuck! My car is at my place.“

He was way too calm about it, pulling you close again.

”Guess, you’re ridin‘ with me then.“

You stopped for a second.

You looked through his kitchen drawers, still in his shirt.

You found Poptarts, because of course he had those, putting them in the toaster while scrambling into your jeans.

”You’re really makin‘ breakfast now?“ he teased as he walked back into the kitchen.

”Well, excuse me for trying to provide some nutrition in this lawless household.“

Jax smirked, stepping behind you, hands on your hips

”Lawless, huh?“

”Completely.“ you grinned at him taking the poptarts out of the toaster.

Abel walked into the kitchen.

”Good morning, honey“ you smiled at him

He mumbled a little sleepy Good morning back.

”Here’s your breakfast. You ready?“

He nodded.

”Jax, do you have a spare toothbrush?“ you asked brushing your hair with his brush.

”Uhh, what do you think?“ he shouted back

”Really?“ you looked back into the kitchen

”Lawless, remember?“ he grinned making you roll your eyes with a smile.

You all piled into the car. It was slightly beat up. Some stuff laying around in it. A plastic dinosaur toy, a empty juicebox, a old SAMCRO Hoodie.

The drive was domestic in a way you didn’t wanted to think about. Abel in the backseat looking out the window, still tired after being woken so abruptly.

You watched them for a moment. Jax pried his eyes off the street, blue eyes finding yours. A smile appeared on his face and you couldn’t stop the same look on your face. And you didn’t wanted to stop it anyway. You genuinely felt happy. A warm feeling spreading through your whole body. This was right,

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were sitting on the couch next to Jax, a few evenings later. Not really concentrating on anything that was going on on tv.

"Alright, darlin. Spit it out," he said, nudging you lightly.

You let out a small breath, shifting to face him.

"I have to talk to my headmaster about us."

His brows furrowed slightly. "Why?"

"Because I don't want them finding out from someone else. Small town like this, people talk. And I'd rather they hear it from me than from some gossipy parent who thinks I'm making bad choices."

Jax smirked a little. "Bad choices, huh?

That what I am?"

You rolled your eyes but smiled, nudging his arm. "You know what I mean. You're a parent at my school, Abel’s in my class."

The smirk faded slightly. "You think they'll have a problem with it?"

You hesitated. "I don't know. I hope not. But I can't pretend it's not a risk."

Jax was quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing over your knee.

"You want me to come with you? Talk to them myself?"

You smiled softly, shaking your head. "No, I can handle it. I just... needed to say it out loud. And if they do have a problem with it, we'll figure it out."

Jax's hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing over your skin. "We will," he promised. "Ain't lettin' anyone decide this for us."

You sat across from your headmaster the next morning, hands folded in your lap, keeping your posture composed even though your stomach was twisting with nerves.

"I just wanted to be upfront with you about my relationship with Jax Teller," you said, keeping your voice steady. "I understand the situation, and I wanted to bring it to your attention myself rather than letting it become gossip around town."

The headmaster, an older woman with a sharp but kind gaze, nodded slowly. "We appreciate your honesty. And to be clear, we don't have any rules against teachers dating parents. That's not the issue."

You swallowed. "But Jax is?"

She didn't answer right away. "His history does give us some concern, yes. We have to consider the reputation of the school, as well as the safety of our staff and students."

Your stomach clenched, but you kept your tone even. "I understand your concerns.

But I also know Jax. And the man he is with Abel is not the man people assume he is."

The headmaster studied you for a long moment before sighing. "We're not taking any action against you. Your personal life is your business. But I will say: be careful.

Small towns don't forget, and people will always have their opinions."

You nodded. "I know."

”I Appreciate you coming forward about this.“

You left the office with your heart beating hard but a weight lifted off your shoulders.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You had debated telling him the whole evening. You didn’t want him to hear small town gossip about Brad asking you out.

”So.. something happened at work today.“ you started

You were sitting next to him on the couch, legs over his lap, his hands rubbing your calves.

Jax glanced at you

”Yeah?“

”One of the teachers asked me out.“

You felt his hand stopping.

”That so?“

You nodded

”I told him no, obviously.“ you told him, gesturing between you.

”Just wanted you to hear it from me before someone tells you some twisted story about it.“

”You didn’t have to tell me.“ his voice was softer now.

”I know.“ you murmured, a hand running over his arm ”But I wanted to.“

”Guess I’ll have to make sure he gets the message then.“ he said, slight smirk coming back.

You rolled your eyes, smiling

”You don’t have to fight everyone, Jax.“

He grinned now, pulling you closer

”Nah, sometimes just a look does the trick.“

And sure enough the next morning he insisted on driving you to school. Abel was with Gemma so it was just you two.

”That him?“ Jax asked nodding to the teacher standing near the entrance.

”Yeah,“ you told him.

The guys clean cut, probably the 'safe' option for someone like you. The kind of guy you probably should be with. But you’re not. You were with him.

Jax couldn’t help it, when the guy looked over something primal kicked in.

As you unbuckled Jax stopped you with a hand on your thigh.

”Hey.“ he said, his voice lower now

You knew what he’s about to do. Having seen Brad watching you.

A slow smile tugged at your lips ”Jax…“

There was amusement in your tone, but also something soft.

He leaned in close.

”Just makin‘ sure there’s no confusion, darlin‘“

Then he kissed you, not just a quick goodbye peck. It was slow and deep, his hand coming up to rest on your neck, keeping you close. Your fingers curling against his jaw, instinctively.

When you parted, you were a little breathless. A little huff left your lips ”Subtle.“

Jax just smirked, his thumb running over your bottom lip, before pulling back.

”Have good day, baby.“

You don’t even tried to hide the smile on your face as you walked up to the building, passing Brad.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The evening was getting late. Opie had come over earlier. It was the first time you’ve met Jax’s best childhood friend.

Abel was building Lego on the floor when you noticed him getting tired, small eyes blinking hard to concentrate.

”Ready for Bed, bud?“ Jax asked, his son nodding.

”Can you read me a story?“ he asked then looking at you. You smiled ”Of course.“

Jax felt flooded by warmth then. The way Abel asked as if it was natural that you were here. And he supposed it was, you had spent a lot time with both of them the last months.

You took Abel’s hand walking away with the boy. Just before you disappeared they could hear you say

”How about a pirate story tonight?“

The second you were gone Opie let out a low chuckle

”What?“ Jax asked, glancing over

Opie watched him, amused

”It’s gettin‘ real, huh?“

Jax didn’t answer right away, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

”Yeah.“ he admitted after a moment, a small smile spreading on his face as he looked down the hall where you had disappeared into.

”Good for you, brother.“ Opie said. He left soon afterwards, wanting to go back to Lyla and the kids. Jax went to find you as soon as his friend left.

You laid next to Abel, the boy getting more tired by the minute. You looked at him for a moment. You had always wanted children but you hadn’t had your own yet. No boyfriend of yours had wanted kids or didn’t wanted them with you.

But now you let yourself imagine what it could be like. You had already grown to love this little boy in such a short time, just like his father. It felt good. To have people you could imagine being your family. A feeling you never had before, not like this.

Jax was standing in the doorway. Looking at you and Abel, in bed, reading in a soft tone. The way Abel shifted closer, trusting, he felt safe. He couldn’t help but notice how you fit there, like you had always meant to be here.

And he let himself imagine what it could be like. If you’d be here every night, living with them, reading to Abel every night, reading to your kid too, maybe.

You looked up at him then, catching him in the doorway. A smile spread on your face, soft and warm.

”He’s out.“ you whispered

And Jax could only nod, not trusting himself to speak because if he did he might said something he can’t take back, something that’s been on the tip of his tongue the last weeks more and more.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were over at the clubhouse to drop something off for Jax he’d left at yours. Part of it just an excuse to see him. Even if this wasn’t your world you liked to see him in his element from time to time. And Jax liked it, you definitely wouldn’t come here if he had a problem with it.

Chibs walked past you, clapping Jax shoulder.

”Jackie boy, you got a minute?“

That made your ears perk up. Jackie Boy.

You turned your head slightly, hiding the amused smile. Jax gave Chibs a nod before glancing back at you.

”Jackie boy, huh?“ you said, voice full of mischief.

He let out a groan, shaking his head

”Don’t start.“

”No, no, I like it. It’s cute.“ you grinned, stepping closer ”Why didn’t you tell me that’s what your friends call you?“

”Because I knew you’d do this.“ he grinned.

You gasped, asking with fake innocence ”Do what, Jackie Boy?“

Jax narrowed his eyes but the grin told you he wasn’t actually mad.

He reached out, curling an arm around your waist pulling you into him.

”Careful, darlin‘“ he murmured, voice low and teasing

”You don’t wanna start something you can’t handle.“

You bit your lip, tilting you head

”Oh, I can handle it.“

Jax chuckled, pressing a short kiss to your lips before he walked into the direction Chibs had disappeared to.

It was later that night, when you two were curled up onto his couch. Abel already in bed. It was quiet, he drew slow circles against your skin.

Neither of you had spoken in quiet some time. He was tired but you could tell that his mind was still running.

You shifted onto your stomach, leaning on your arm, looking at him. Lifting a hand, fingers softly brushing over his scruff. He met your gaze, blue eyes now soft in the dim light.

”Jackie Boy.“ you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Something in his expression shifted. The way you had said it, none of the teasing, the playfulness from before. It made him feel some way.

”You never let me call you that.“ you said your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. ”But I like it.“

Jax leaned into your touch, letting out a slow breath

”Yeah?“

You nodded and he didn’t told you to knock it off this time. Just pulled you closer, pressing his lips against yours.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was late when Jax came home. The house was quiet, the only light coming from the kitchen lamp, you had left on for him.

He shrugged off his Kutte, blood drying stiff on his knuckles, on his sweater.

It wasn’t his blood, but that didn’t make things better.

He rolled his shoulders, pushing away the weight of the night, of the things he had to do, things he would have to do again.

He walked down the hall, stopping by Abel’s room. Cracking the door just enough to see him sleeping soundly in his bed, stuffed lion clutched in his arms.

He moved towards the bedroom, knowing you were inside.

The door cracked open and you looked up.

”Hey.“ you murmured, tiredly

”Hey.“ he exhaled

Your eyes flicked down, catching the dark stains on his clothes, red streaks on his hands and neck.

Jax swallowed

”I need to clean up.“

You nodded and he set in motion again, turning when he heard the sheets ruffling

”What are you doing?“ he asked, a feeling rising in his throat, was that the moment where you would leave?

”Helping.“ you just answered.

”You don’t-“ he started ”You shouldn’t have to see this.“

You stepped closer, tugging on the hem of his hoodie.

”Jax.“ you said, voice steady ”I want to see every part of you.“

He took a breath, half a mind to argue but he was too exhausted.

"I knew who you were from the beginning." Your voice was soft but firm, filled with something sure.

"I knew, and I still wanted you. I still want you."

Jax took a breath.

”I’m not gonna run.“ you told him firmly but still soft

He looked at you, he wanted to believe you. That you were ready for it. And when you looked at him like that, he did.

He helped you get his Hoodie off.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.

Jax exhaled tilting his head back. You know you should probably feel more taken aback by knowing about the Club business, about your boyfriend coming home in the middle of the night with blood on him. But you had made your peace with that. You knew about him before you started anything with him. There was no big reveal, no shock. This was something you had to accept the moment you let him in your life.

Jax watches her as you kneeled in front of him, his fingers flexing against his knee.

You started with his knuckles, bruised and split from whatever fight he'd been in.

Her touch is careful, gentle, and when you glanced up, you found him already watching, something unreadable in his expression.

Cleaning the dried blood from his face, pressing the ice pack to his ribs, your fingers brushing against his skin so delicately it makes something inside him clench.

"You're good at this."

You huffed a quiet laugh, not looking away from his wound. "I'm an elementary school teacher. Patching up rowdy boys is part of my job."

That made him laugh, though it quickly turned into a wince as his ribs ached in protest. You immediately pulled back, brow furrowing.

"Jesus, Jax," you murmured, softer this time.

"How bad is it?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

You pressed your lips together, clearly unhappy with his answer, but didn’t push. Instead, you focused on cleaning his knuckles, carefully wiping away the dried blood. Your hands are so gentle it made his chest tighten.

Jax watched you, his eyes tracing the way your lips press together in concentration, the way your fingers ghost over his skin.

"You mad?" he asks after a moment.

"I don't like seeing you hurt." You sighed.

”But no, I’m not.“ your voice was softer, your hand tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear.

”Come on, let’s go to bed.“

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Ok, this is from a Rafayel x Reader. However, the focus in this scene is on Sylus (are we surprised? No, I just like bestie Sylus vibes. The banter is fantastic). I think I do a good job of showcasing that Reader and Sylus are best friends rather than dating. Here it is!

Warning: Cursing

You reload your handgun in Sylus’s car.

“I don’t know why they aren’t aiming for your tires,” you mutter.

The owner chuckles. “Not everyone’s as smart as you, kitten.”

You roll your eyes, pop your head out of the sunroof, and lock onto their wheels. You put several of them out before your phone rings. You drop back down to look at it, but Sylus is already holding it up.

“Painter guy?” he questions.

“Yep,” you confirm.

“Put him on speaker,” the light-haired male requests.

You arch your eyebrow but agree. “Alright.”

You pick up the call, clicking the speaker icon.

“Hey, pearl, what’s up?” you ask.

“I found a cool seashell and I’m also—” he starts before hearing the background noise. “Are you in another Wanderer fight?”

Sylus speaks.

“Nope, car chase,” he corrects.

The line is silent as wind and bullets rush past the car.

Rafayel changes his tone.

A silky smooth voice comes out. “And you are?”

“Sylus, Leader of Onychinus. Nice to finally meet you. Kitten’s been talking about you recently,” he comments.

Your jaw drops as you give your best friend a scandalous look.

“You did that on pur—!”

He puts a hand over your mouth, trying to keep in his laughter.

“I’m trying to help you,” Sylus murmurs, amused.

You shove his big hand away.

“More like sabotaging my plan for a healthy relationship,” you mutter.

The big boss rolls his eyes and smirks, noticing your voice isn’t loud enough for the speaker to pick up.

You deadpan point your gun at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he answers, grinning. “I’m sure that’ll get him fired up, sweetie.”

Before you can say anything back, the back windshield shatters. You spin around.

“You distracted me again, (affectionately) fucker,” you accuse, moving to your original position.

“I beg to differ,” Sylus retorts. “I think it was your painter boy.”

“Don’t dump your faults onto someone else. It’s rude and looks bad. If your reputation wasn’t so poor, I would tell it to people,” you reply.

“Damn.” You hear him breathe out.

You focus fire on the black SUV behind you. You vaguely hear the boys talking about something from below you. You can’t hear their voices over everything else. Something wet sprinkles across your arms. You glance up and the moon is blocked by clouds.

You duck back into the vehicle.

“Rafayel, can you check the weather? We’re on Highway 47 going eastbound,” you request. “We’re about to get some rain and I wanna know how much.”

The white-haired male glances at you before saying in a saccharin-sweet voice, “I’ll be careful, sweetie.”

Your face drops, and your gun fires. He laughs, stopping the bullet from hitting him.

“Feisty kitty,” Sylus teases.

Another gunshot to his face.

“I hate you,” you reply.

Your best friend raises an eyebrow, humming. “Last time I heard, you loved me.”

You intentionally raise your voice super loud as you turn to start firing at the enemies.

“You need hearing aids, old man,” you yell.

“Old?” Sylus protests.

You look back and smirk.

“You’re halfway there. You got the white hair. Now you just need wrinkles and you’re all ready to go, grandpa,” you answer.

The side mirror next to you shatters.

“Oh shit, back to work,” you comment.

“You’re going straight into a thunderstorm, [Y/N],” Rafayel informs. “There’s a warning for flash flooding.”

Your finger pauses and you glance at Sylus.

He grins at you. “You know the drill, baby.”

“(Lovingly) Asshole, you almost killed us last time,” you answer.

He points out, “You’re still alive.”

“Pretty sure you skimmed off 10 years of my life. Dr. Zayne said my heart rate was off the charts after that incident,” you claim.

Your best friend gives you a concerned eyebrow.

“Exaggerating,” you clarify, rolling your eyes.

“Better safe than sorry. I know you have a heart condition.”

You hum. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Then, Sylus smirks and nods to the phone.

Your jaw drops, knowing he brought up your medical concerns on purpose. You purse your lips and flip him off. You haven’t told Rafayel about it yet. He grins.

Without warning, the red-eyed man pulls a U-turn. You screech, holding on for dear life. He uses his Evol to flick your phone out of the car. Your eyes widen, as true offense and hurt gleam in your eyes.

Despite the insane speed he’s going at, Sylus softens.

“Trust me. He’ll come looking for you. I want to test him. I wanna see how long it takes him to get here. Can he figure out where we are? I want to make sure he’s good enough for you,” he explains. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

You frown, still slightly upset, but his reasoning makes sense. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, so you let it go. It’s a good idea to gain his approval anyway.

“You have to get me a better one,” you stipulate.

“Obviously,” the tall man replies. “Now, focus up. Let’s knock them out.”

You gain a bit of life back, sitting up in your seat. “More like knocking them out for eternity.”

Sylus smiles, glad you're feeling a little better after his stunt.

(This hasn’t been super edited but it’s good enough lol. I’m sure multiple people will like it lol)

[fierceawakening]

Oh, yeah, I do think that culture pressures people to lose weight, and that that’s bad. I steer away from the term “diet culture” though because I see a lot of things described as it or as related to it that I don’t think are necessarily The Thinness Illuminati.

Like, my experience. I wasn’t very overweight at all! And yet a slight change profoundly improved matters for me.

Because I had internalized the idea that weight loss was about “diets” and “diets” mean you’re brainwashed, I worked out. A LOT. An hour at a time, minimum. Almost every day.

And I got strong. It was good! I liked it for various reasons! But it did not solve the problems I was trying to solve, and it took up a MASSIVE amount of time.

What solved them? Calorie counting, which people call “restricting,” and tell you will absolutely give you an eating disorder, and fast.

I work out less now, and yet I have less problems. When I’ve let my portions get large, the problems come back.

So… do I tell other people to lose weight? Dude, no, why would I do that! But if someone asks me, “does weight loss improve health?” My answer is “yes, it did for me, and while I do think bodies and what they need vary, I don’t honestly think what I used to hear a lot, which is that only a very tiny subgroup of people experience improvements when they make slow diet changes that they’re able to tolerate. I think it’s likely that helps most people, actually. But I think whether someone wants to do it is another matter, as is whether they have history or even trauma that means they’re not likely to tolerate it without harming their mental health.”

So yeah, if someone came along and said (and please understand that I am not saying people talk like this), “wow I really like you and if you gained I’d just fucking cum all over the place,” my answer would be “I’m flattered, and happy that I turn you on, and maybe I even like you back, but *I am going to have problems if I do that,* this I already know. So emphatically, very much, not a judgment of your fantasy or of you putting me in it, hell no.”

But more than that, if a friend said, “I really like this feeder and I want to get involved,” I would probably say, “from my own experience, it’s difficult for me not to think that’s likely a bad idea. I’d never stop you, or say you’re stupid for liking this person or wanting this thing. But if you decided you wanted to ask me of all people for some odd reason, I’d advise against it. My experience is that very slight weight gain can do unexpected levels of harm, and I am not you and thus don’t know if it will for you, so that colors my advice.”

(This is why I don’t do breath play. It seems to me the people who say here’s no way of being sure your bottom might not be the unlucky one in however many who just fucking drops dead are most likely correct, and I’d rather not deal with that. So I pretend but don’t do.)

And that’s what I don’t see in the descriptions of these early guys. Which leads me to think they’re not sweethearts being unfairly maligned but people who most likely DIDN’T ask, “hey, you in pain?”

Which doesn’t make everybody evil! But there’s a lot of people out there who use the idea of RACK as like, “oh, it’s fine, im doing RACK, not like those pansies over there” and then you talk to their partners and they’re like “I did one scene with that guy and never again.” Like one of the MOST hardcore masochists I have ever met volunteered to be the demo dummy for this guy who made his reputation on how RACK he was, and I don’t know exactly what went down, but my friend told me later, “I thought I could take anything, but he treated me so badly it still upsets me. Never let him teach here again.”

So when people start looking at someone saying “that looks messed up in the name of kink, I have concerns” and someone says “you sound like a radfem,” it sets me off.

I’m not a fucking radfem, I’m “huh, do you think I can flag black left or not yet?” “Fierce, there was a black hanky hanging out of the left side of your diaper as a baby, wtf.”

So yeah I was pretty enraged.

…wasn’t it though? Every deep dive I’ve seen says that men who fancy fat women were a big part of the movement’s beginning.

Am I looking at biased sources?

(Please note thst “the origin of this movement was people with kinks” does not mean “this is mostly people with kinks now.” Kinky people are very often driven out of movements they helped start. Pride would be another one.)

[marciliedonato]

Dandadan girl summerrr 💅👽🏃🏼‍♀️💨🐈

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

and you are alight in perfect clarity

(shuddering headwound notwithstanding)

[medicinemane]

Ah... I've figured it out!

My brain's been treating Caucasus and Carpathian as the same word and that's why it's been so confusing why this mountain range seems to jump around by a pretty wide margin

Dyslexia did the same thing with Austria and Australia where just like here I knew they were different, but just didn't quite process it, which ended up with me thinking things like "Wow, I wonder why Falco's German is so spot on, like that's pretty impressive for an Australian"

Like my dyslexia just says "These two words are similar size and shape... I think they're probably more or less the same word, I'll file them away in the same spot, especially cause they're the same type of thing"

But I finally caught it seeing Carpathians mentioned being in Ukraine, and me being like "I really did think they were more over towards Georgia... maybe they go under the black se... wait a minute, I finally figured out why I'm confused"

Also see the Balkans and the Baltic where I 100% know the difference and know which one I'm talking about but very much may say the wrong one (and my dad's been like "oh you see, you just need to remember that..." and it's like dude it's dyslexia... also with GK Chesterton I'll often say "J" and my dad'll say similar stuff and it's like dude... there's no mnemonic here, J and G just sound and look similar enough my brain sometimes swaps them in behind my back)

Anyway, finally caught it in the act, finally understand why it seemed like these mountains jumped across a large body of water and no one ever commented on it... it's cause it was my dyslexia filing them away as both mountain ranges starting with C so... basically the same thing... yeah... yeah that's the same thing

[bywons]

LET ME BE YOUR HERO ★ spiderman!enha

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖬𝖩

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1400wc 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗎 ──𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 贅沢 ／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOGPLEASE

LEE HEESEUNG

“hey baby,” heeseung’s voice startles you, causing you to almost fall out of your study desk. you whip your head towards the balcony, to see your boyfriend hanging upside down by his spiderwebs.

“what are you doing here?” you hiss, striding towards the balcony. you pull his spider mask down, revealing his charming face which always gave you butterflies. “god forbid a man wants to visit his girl,” he grins lazily, winking at you when he knows this is an ungodly hour to visit you.

his cover could be blown. “my parents are literally in the next room, hee. can you please get out—” “just a kiss,” heeseung pleads, tilting his head with that mischievous smile of his, still dangling upside down like it’s the most casual thing in the world, “just a kiss and i’ll go.”

and you eventually give in, rolling your eyes as you cup his face and lean in for a kiss. heeseung smiles into the kiss, his lips soft and tender against yours, moving in sync as your teeth graze against his top lip. his breath hitches, falling to the threshold of the balcony with a thud.

“are you okay? you’re gonna wake up my parents,” you whimper, looking down at him. but heeseung only chuckles, looking up at you, “sorry, babe. i get nervous around you.”

PARK JONGSEONG

you became famous overnight all around your college when your face hit the news headline— “college girl saved from local monsters by the city's superhero, spiderman.”

“so, how was the experience?” you get startled by the sudden voice beside you, almost dropping the books in your hand. shutting your locker close, you meet the eyes of park jongseong aka jay— leaning against his own locker, wearing one of those oversized hoodies with a cocky grin.

“nothing special,” you shrug, leaning against your locker too as you scoff, “not big of a fan.” “really?” jay scoffs, inching closer until he towers above you easily. his dark hair locks fall gently over his forehead, making your mouth gape.

“you say spiderman is not all that,” he angles his head sideways, cupping your face between his hands— leaning in just enough for his hot breath to fan over your face, “then why were you so clingy to him last night? you sure didn't want to let go, doll.”

you could feel blood rush up to your face, making it flush before jay. you chuckle, whispering, “but how did you know that?” just like that, jay realises he messed up, his spider-suit peeking under his hoodie.

SIM JAEYUN

“—and the correct option is c,” jake pushes his thick rimmed glasses up his nose bridge, “did you get it?”

“yeah, i got it,” you sigh, your attention nowhere but your boyfriend, who’s neck is still damp from swinging around the city, saving people.

“does spiderman help other girls with their homework too?” you sigh, cocking your head to one side. “no?” jake is caught off guard, his eyes widened as he pulls you on his lap, “only you, i promise.”

before you can stop yourself, you grab the collar of his hoodie and pull him in. jakes eyes widen behind his glasses, but he soon eases into the kiss, one hand cups your cheeks as he leans into you. your stomach flips as he giggles into the kiss, caressing your cheeks.

you back just a little, your forehead pressed to his. “does he kiss other girls too?”

jake laughs, his glasses fogged, “only if she’s you.”

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon quickly pulls you into the janitors closet, banging it shut as he pushes you against the wall. “shut up,” he pleads, all sweaty and out of breathe in his spider-suit, “please just everybody can hear you—”

“i wasn’t even going to say anything,” you lie, gripping onto his biceps as they brace next to your head, bodies too close to each other in the cramped place, “why did you think revealing yourself as spiderman to me was okay?”

sunghoon sighs, he knew that changing into civilian clothes right before college was risky. and of course, out of all people, you happened to see him in the hallways. “just—promise me,” he huffs, leaning in to see your face better in the dark, “you won’t tell anyone, alright?”

“and why do you think i wouldn’t?” you smirk, eyes glinting with mischief as they meet sunghoon’s confused ones.

“seriously?” he hisses, his patience running thin as he grits his teeth, “y/n you better—” “park sunghoon is spi—!”

he doesn’t let you finish the sentence, he leans forward and slams his lips on yours, pulling you into a hurried, angry yet a soft and delicate kiss. he cradles your head with his hand, the other sliding down to your waist. “shut up,” he breathes as he pulls away, chuckling at your flushed face which he loves.

KIM SUNOO

as you’re about to circle around the block towards the alleys to reach your apartment, a fwip sound interrupts you— and suddenly you’re being held up in the air by your waist.

“what the— sunoo?” you almost scream as sunoo only laughs, swinging you onto a building’s rooftop like it’s nothing.

“you almost screamed,” sunoo laughs, pulling up his mask just up to his nose, “you’re so cute.”

“you almost gave me a heart attack,” you complain, smacking his arm playfully as he laughs. “i missed you,” he says, slowly pulling you closer on the rooftop, slow and cool wind caressing you both, “it’s so hard to not see you all the time.”

you giggle in his arms, and sunoo pushes a strand of your hair behind your ears, “can i kiss you?”

“you don’t have to ask,” you finally give him his much needed permission, and sunoo leans in for a kiss amidst the busy night life he secretly watches over.

YANG JUNGWON

you quickly shut the door to your room behind you, facing your boyfriend who’s busy changing into civilian clothes.

“look away!” jungwon blushes as his eyes meet yours. he’s halfway through a plain white shirt, his abdomen exposed.

“what did i tell you about barging into my family gatherings?” you almost shout, slapping jungwon's forearm. “ouch,” jungwon whispers, “but did you see your messages? you told me to save you—”

“not when i said my whole family is here!” you sigh, plopping down flat on your bed and jungwon quickly wears his shirt. before you can say anything, jungwon hovers above you, pressing soft pecks on your lips and neck.

“i need to make sure you're alright,” he smiles in the most gentle way which makes your heart melt, and pull him closer by his collar. “i love you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing it slow.

“i love you more,” you chuckle. “no, i do!” he protests, pulling back to see your face. “no jungwon, you know that i love you more—”

“is somebody there?” a familiar voice floats in from outside your door, probably a relative. “i saw someone in there.” jungwon's face cringes as he looks at your furious one.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki winces as you press a feathery kiss just above the bruise blooming on his cheek. “does it hurt?” you ask.

“not when you're kissing them,” riki teases, pulling you closer on his lap as he wraps his arms around you, “i want you to kiss all my bruises—”

“i told you not to mess with them,” you complain, an irritated pout forming on your face as you caress riki’s cheek. “you’re spiderman, not a fighter, they are stronger than you.”

“you hurt me more, doll,” riki leans into your touch, smirking as he mumbles, “i still took all of them down though.”

“that's not the point riki,” you sigh, retracting your hand from his cheek, at which he winces again, “i don't want you to get hurt all the time.” riki sighs into your palm, using both of them to cup his own face, “you’re so hot when you’re angry,” he snorts, biting his lip.

“can you please stop—” riki doesn't waste a second listening to your lectures as he pulls you in by your wrist, lips clashing into a heated kiss, which slows down eventually. you pull back first, an unsure and strict expression on your face.

“if it means getting hurt everyday because of you,” riki kisses your wrist, “then so be it.”

스루 ܃ for @flwrstqr ! love ya so much, mwah 💌

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[digi-diareis]

"We need to talk" Prank

with the LaDS love interests, implied that the LI's are already in a relationship w you

Xavier

Oh he's pulling out the puppy dog eyes immediately, lower lip jutting out and ready to start crying.

"I'm sorry." "What? Do you even know what you're apologizing for? Also, why are you apologizing?"

This guy is ready to admit to any and all the faults he's made the past week, from cooking without permission, eating her secret stash of snacks, forgetting to feed the cat on time, etc.

"Please don't break up with me, please please please please-" "Xavi, baby, calm down, I'm not breaking up with you"

Anyways, the prank doesn't even last a minute because you break the moment he pulls out the kicked puppy look and he starts begging for you.

You guys end up cuddling the entire day because he won't stop sulking and being worried that you're tired of him so you can't really leave him alone because this is your fault.

We love a loser like Xavi <3

Rafayel

Dramatic ass man and pranks like these are like perfect tiktok material.

"Oh, you are NOT breaking up with me. I don't give you permission to." "I don't recall breaking up having to need permission from both parties." "Well, now you know."

Anyways, you're both just bickering over stupid shit now. You've strayed from the "we need to talk" to now pointing fingers at who's the bigger drama queen between the two of you.

Zayne

Oh sweet summer child, takes you very seriously.

"What is it, love? Did I do something to upset you?"

Oh, you just know how guilty you'll end up feeling when you keep up with the prank. You last a solid 3 sentences before you slowly turn quiet because he's listening so patiently and looks like he's truly reflecting on everything you've said.

"Okay, I'm sorry it was a stupid prank but I can't stand looking at you this guilty. You've been nothing but an absolute sweetheart, I could never ask for more."

Zayne sighs, relieved that it wasn't actually something major.

"Please, try not to do pranks like these again. I love you but the way my heart dropped when you said those words is not healthy."

You give him a big hug and lots of smooches to make it up to him, vowing never to do pranks like these on him again.

Sylus

Oh, you are looking forward to this. There's a power trip of sorts when you remember how much power you actually hold over this man. And this is perfect.

Some say this might be a red flag of yours but you're dating a wholeass criminal big boss so it's not really that big of a deal.

When you start the prank, he raises an eyebrow. Feeling like it might be a prank since he did spoil you and didn't do anything to piss you off recently.

"And what is it this time, sweetheart?"

Okay ngl, I think this prank goes way too far because he would correct / contradict / defend every single reason and excuse you come up with. That it just becomes a wholeass debate of whether you even have an actual reason to be unsatisfied with your relationship.

At the end of it all, you are breathless and out of excuses. So you just glare at him. Sylus simply smirks knowing he won this 'argument'.

"I'll get you someday, look forward to the day that you're begging for me on your knees." "Oh sweetheart, I'd get on my knees for you anytime, if you just asked."

Caleb

You feel like this might be the worst idea you've ever had, knowing full well how possessive Caleb can get but anything for the gram or whatever the kids say.

"Say that again, buttercup? I think I misheard you."

Oh, the way his voice dropped an entire octave got you both nervous and also maybe turned on?

You try to be strong and push through, repeating what you said.

"Sure, we can talk. Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you? Did you find out about the hidden cameras? Is it the new guy at work, did he give you any ideas? I knew I shouldn't have stopped at a few broken ribs-" "CALEB WHAT THE FUCK"

Prank is forgotten, you are now giving him an hour long sermon about hidden cameras and not beating up every man who has any interaction with you.

What you say is definitely passing through the other ear for him, he's just pleased he managed to distract you from the original topic. Its better that you feel responsible for correcting him and being stuck with him rather than you getting sick and tired of him.

Caleb - 1 : You - 0

(i tried my best but i feel like these are very ooc aaaaaaa)

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Serial Killer(s)

Your mother always warned you to never give rides to strangers, but the hitchhiker you run into seems harmless. What's the worst that can happen? Tags: implied noncon

Things originally start well. You and your buddies piled into your roommate's Jeep, roof down, pop music blasting. You're the driver - always the responsible one - hair tied back and sunglasses on the edge of your nose. You're all dressed for summer. Bikini tops and board shorts, smeared with sunscreen - the picture of college fun.

It starts well and keeps going even better. You're all in high spirits. Flushed and happy and young. Picking up the hitchhiker seems like a good idea. You see that he's handsome and around your age, that he's got an easy smile and a guitar on his back. You see that and nothing else. Not the too quick eyes, not the surprisingly light backback. Nothing.

He ends up riding shotgun, talking to you about classes and shitty professors. Smiling just a little every time you shift gears and your hand brushes his thigh.

You like him. You're the only single in the car so it's natural that he spends the most time talking to you. Lord knows it's hard to keep a conversation going with a couple when they look like they'd rather be tonsil deep in each other's throats.

You like him and you get the feeling he likes you too. When you stop at a sleazy motel for the night, he invites you to eat dinner with him outside his room. All your friends are off doing what couples do best - getting cosy in the hot tub, testing the speeds on the vibrating bed, finding new and interesting ways to use the ice machine. So you're glad for the company.

Mostly.

You're almost done eating when he pops the question.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

You look away from him. Take in the greasy boxes of takeout on the concrete, the neon red wash of the vacancy sign spelling across the parking lot. It's not an easy question. It brings up ugly memories.

"I used to have one. Things ended...badly. He's in Cook County Corrections now. Serving fifty to life."

He gives a low whistle.

"That bad huh? You ever go to see him?"

"No. Never."

He stretches out, folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the dull scattering of stars.

"You should. It gets lonely in there. A guy could use the pick me up, especially if the visitor is a pretty thing like you."

You shiver despite the balmy summer air.

"I'd rather not. I'll be happy to never see his face again."

Thankfully, he drops the subject. You go back to talking about awful first dates and the best dishes to order at a Chinese restaurant. He's a complete gentleman but you can't help the slight relief you feel when he stands to leave.

" 'Night gorgeous."

"Good night, stranger."

In the morning you walk out to see him reading the early paper. He crumples and tosses it before you can catch the headline.

" 'Morning. How did you sleep?"

You shrug. "Not the best. I swear these kinds of places all get their beds from the same supplier. Lumpy Mattresses Inc."

He grins. "Don't forget their trusty partner Damp and Musty Carpets LTD."

Your friends are slow to wake up and groggy when they do. Most of them nursing nasty hangovers. You and the hitchhiker have most of the morning to eat breakfast and shoot the breeze together. When it's time to leave, he takes his place in the passenger seat like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I couldn't find any newspapers," one of your friends complains when you're back on the road.  

"I wanted to see the football results."

"Eagles beats the Rams in the final playoff," the hitchhiker says.

"Aww man. Where'd you get a paper from?"

"I must have gotten lucky. Staff is 'sposed to leave the local paper at reception. Guess they must not have the budget anymore."

You stay quiet but something doesn't feel quite right about that statement.

The day passes fast. Your playlist is a lot more mellow, on account of the many lingering headaches. Still, you think there's nothing quite as fine as the open road. It's only near evening when the trouble starts.

"Shit. I can't find our reservations."

You look at your friends in the rear view mirror. They've already pulled apart two backpacks trying to find the papers. You can't help feeling irritated. The one thing you asked them to take care of...

You pull over and search the Jeep from top to bottom. Unpack almost everything. Check and then recheck your pockets. Nothing.

"I'm really sorry y/n. On the phone they said we needed the copies to check in. Maybe we can still stop by and get it sorted with the front desk but..."

You can here the unspoken thought in their words. You're all thinking the same thing - that hotels can get so uptight when their potential guests are rowdy students with still bloodshot eyes. You worry at your nail, thinking. You paid the fees in advance so maybe if you showed them your credit card...

"My friend has a cabin not far from here," the hitchhiker says. "Pretty big place. He'd be happy to let us crash there for the night."

You bite your lip. It's a two hour drive to the hotel. And if they turn you away you'll be off the beaten path with almost no cash, on a near empty petrol tank.

"You think he'd mind letting us sleep on his couch?" you ask. "We'll be well-behaved and I can pay."

He smiles at you, totally easy going about the whole thing.

"Sure we'll just have to call ahead."

You manage to track down a payphone and you wait with the rest of your crew while he calls. You can't make out what he's saying but every once in a while his eyes drift to you. No one else. Just you.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was talking about you.

When he puts the receiver down, he's all smiles.

"Got it all sorted. It's out of the way though, so I reckon we grab some chow first."

Your friends are quick to agree. What self respecting kid on spring break is going to say no to fast food and cold beer? It's only you that lingers, brow furrowed. It all feels too convenient. Your reservations go missing and the stranger you picked up just happens to have a place nearby? No way. The more you think about, it the stranger it seems.

You're still lost in thought when the hitchhiker swings an arm around your shoulders and half drags you along behind your friends.

"What's you got you so worried gorgeous?"

It's hard to be suspicious of him when he smile so easy, his shaggy brown hair dancing across his forehead.

"Nothing. I just hate to intrude on your friend."

He laughs, squeezing your shoulders before letting go.

"Trust me he'll be very glad for the company. He doesn't get out much."

He pulls the diner door open for you. Your friends have already claimed a booth and a single harried waitress is struggling to jot down their long list of requests. The hitchhiker grabs your hand before you can join them.

"My friend is a great guy. I think you'll like him."

He smiles, crooked and amused, like he's laughing at a joke only he understands.

"Hell, I know for a fact that he'll like you. You're just his type."

Your smile is tight. The last guy who said you were just his type... well, you and the district attorney both know how that ended.

You take a seat and smile at the waitress. She looks beyond overwhelmed and you silently promise to tip her as well as your half drained credit card can manage.

"I'll take a steak. Rare. Bloody as you can make it," the hitchhiker says.

You raise your brows. Not exactly the typical order for an out of the way little diner. He sees your look and grins.

"Been a while without good meat. You have no idea the craving I've had this past few days."

The booth is packed tight and his thigh is flush against yours. Warm, even though his jeans.

"We all get cravings now and again. I get it."

He tilts his head at you and it must be a trick of the light, because his pupils are blown out wide. It looks like you're staring into oil. Just... emptier somehow. You wouldn't go so far as to say he feels soulless, but if it's not in the same street it sure as hell is in the same neighbourhood. Like oil, it leaves you feeling dirty in a way that doesn't easily scrub off.

"Do you?" he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of I'm only human and of course I do but his eyes stop you. He isn't talking about food or meat. No. It feels like he's asking about flesh.

One of your friends cracks a joke and you turn away from him in a hurry, pretending to laugh at something you only half heard. You don't talk to him for the rest of the meal. Try to avoid looking him even. But you can't avoid the feel of his leg against yours. Warm and solid. Can't ignore the way your heart jumps when he reaches for his wallet and his fingers accidentally scrape you inner thigh.

You're the last one out of the diner. You throw away the dirty napkins and, true to your word, tip the waitress as well as you can manage. You're half afraid that he might wait for you, but when the door clicks shut behind you, you see him with the rest of your friends. Joking around with some of the boys.

The second you start towards them, his eyes fix on yours. You aren't sure how he does it - always narrowing in on you like you have your own gravitational pull. Like he's aware of your every move.

"Ready to go?"

Are you? You aren't sure. Some dull instinct is making you want to turn tail and run. You try and talk yourself out of it. What concrete evidence do you have? What has he done wrong, besides be a little intense? Folk do that all the time and it doesn't bother you. And it's not like you'll be alone. Your whole pack of friends will be right next to you.

"Yeah, let's go. Time doesn't wait for anyone."

It's a long drive. The highway splitting off into a main road and then splintering into a half-dozen country tracks. By the time you arrive, you're beyond grateful for choosing the Jeep. Heaven alone knows how much more jostling and bouncing your teeth could take.

It's a nice place. A big cabin out in a clearing, the trees thick for miles around. Much nicer than the crummy hotel you'd otherwise have to settle for. You can't even hear the traffic.

Your friends grab their bags and the hitchhiker holds the front door open as you all file in. The entryway is clean and bright, and besides the lingering tang of bleach, there's nothing to set your suspicions racing. Honestly, you feel a little silly for being so paranoid. Must be the bad memories. They make you jumpy regardless of actual circumstances.

"Where's your friend?"

You turn just in time to see the hitchhiker slipping something small and metallic into his pocket.

"Is that the key for the -"

"My friend will be here soon," he talks over you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "I'll show you guys your rooms and once you get settled, we can grab some beers and hit the hot tub."

He brushes past you and ignores your half-hearted grab for his arm. Your friends are already pounding up the stairs, too hyped to notice your expression. He pauses on the landing and looks back at you - the only one still standing by the door. His eyes are bright and almost hard.

"You coming?"

Nothing to be scared of, right? It's a common habit to lock the front door, especially out in the woods.

"Yep. Right behind you."

But no matter what you tell yourself, your feet still drag along when you follow him deeper into the cabin. Further and further from escape.

You're the only one who gets a room of their own. Everyone else is piled two and three deep in the guest rooms, half your buddies on couches more than beds.

You're also the last to get a room, so by the time he shows you your bed, it's only you and him. You wonder if he planned it on purpose.

"Quiet out here."

He hums in agreement, standing at your window and watching the woods. He stays silent while you unpack. Whatever he's watching for takes all his attention.

It's only when you hear your friends start splashing around in the hot tub that he speaks.

"You should probably take a shower before anyone else. The water is unreliable out here."

You silently agree. It's s been a long day, and while a quick dip in the jacuzzi sounds good, a hot shower and a cool bed sound even better. He pauses at your bedroom door to say good night. You're already heading to the bathroom and you only half hear the rest of his sentence.

"Sleep tight. And don't worry too much about any noises you hear. There's mountain lions around and the sound carries funny sometimes."

He closes your door softly behind him. Your en-suite is echoey, and when you turn on the water, you don't hear the quiet click of him locking you in.

After your shower, you're totally exhausted. You don't even bother leaving your room to check on your friends. You just curl up under your borrowed duvet and drift off. When you half wake at three in the morning to the dying echo of a scream, you mutter something about mountain lions and fall right back to sleep.

You don't see it but the figure in the corner of your room smiles. Moonlight catching for a split second on the butcher's knife in his hand.

"You always were a deep sleeper, baby. Can never remember your dreams."

Morning comes fast after that. When you wake, the only evidence of your midnight visitor is a slightly misplaced pair of sneakers that you're too drowsy to notice.

Your room door opens easily and you're half way down the stairs before you even start to wonder where your friends are.

Still sleeping probably. Had a late night.

The only sign that someone else is awake is a half empty pot of coffee and a dirty mug in the sink. You don't really feel comfortable rooting around in someone else's kitchen, but the hitchhiker did say to help yourself... You end up snatching a small Greek yogurt from the fridge and taking it out to the porch.

The forest is alive with bird song, dew still melting in the grass. It's peaceful. Tranquil. For the first time, you're entirely happy that you accepted the hitchhiker's offer.

The only thing that disrupts the picture perfect scene is a single discarded sneaker, thick with mud and left right in the middle of the yard.

You sigh. Did one of your friends really lose a whole shoe and not notice? You pick it up and knock the worst of the mud off.

So much for being well-behaved. You'll have to check over the whole place before you leave, make sure they haven't somehow tanked to the property value. The edges of the laces are stained a rusty red but you chalk it up to spilled wine or something.

You drop the shoe at the door and make your way back into the kitchen. It takes some searching but you finally find the dustbin, half hidden in a cupboard. Ugh, why do rich people always have to hide the trash away in the most obscure places?

Yesterday's paper is shoved under some tea bags, the edges of the front page barely visible.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY

You frown, you gut suddenly nauseous and rolling. You dig the newspaper out of the trash. Slowly. Hesitantly. Amost afraid that the reality will be twice as bad as your suspicions. There's a massive stain on the front but you can still read the print clearly.

CONVICTS ESCAPE COOK COUNTY CORRECTIONS. MANHUNT UNDERWAY.

You don't bother to read the article. The pictures alone tell you everything. You feel sick enough to faint.

You didn't think you'd ever see his face again, but here it is. Mugshot slightly blurry and the ink starting to run. Scowling at the camera like he's more pissed at being caught than anything else.

Your ex boyfriend.

You might have been fine if it was just him. Might have called the DA and the lead homicide detective, begged for witness protection. But trouble never visits without company. There's another mugshot under his, this one captioned Serial Arsonist & Convicted Killer.

The hitchhiker wasn't smiling when the cops lined him up for his red carpet shoot. His eyes are as black and empty in his mugshot as they were last night. When he looked at you and said he was craving meat. Meat.

You might have laughed if you didn't think you were about to vomit. Yeah, he was probably craving meat alright. The roasted and still screaming kind.

You drop the newspaper, hands shaking so bad you can't hold onto it even if you wanted to.

"I told him to take out the trash. But does he listen?"

You whirl around. The hitchhiker is blocking the back door and holding your friend's lost sneaker, rolling the stained laces between his fingers.

"Thanks for grabbing this, gorgeous. If we missed it, the pigs would be back on our asses in no time."

You run.

You don't bother hearing him out or rationalising. You turn away from him and bolt straight for the front door.

You almost make it.

Your fingers just brush the metal of the doorknob before someone grabs a handful of your hair and yanks you towards them, hard enough that you end up on your back. Winded. Your scalp burning.

"Gonna leave without even saying hello? C'mon baby, is that how you greet your man?"

Your boyfriend is standing above you, smirking like this is all a game. He's still in his prison jumpsuit, the sleeves knotted around his waist. He's wearing a white tank and one glance is enough to tell you that prison has been great for his gym journey. His muscles - always toned to begin with - are positively huge.

He's always been strong, but the sight of him like this has your heart racing. How much harder can he hit, with all that extra bulk to back him up?

He slams you back onto the floor when you move to get up, his boot pressing into your sternum so hard you can almost hear your bones creaking.

"Aww, don't get up baby. Let's just talk. We've got so much to catch up on."

He presses his heel into you. Hard enough that you can't breathe out it hurting.

"Where to start... Oh, I know! Have you fucked anyone else while I've been gone? Gotten yourself a new man? Who's been between your legs while I've. Been. Rotting. Away?"

He punctuates his sentence with sharp jabs of his boot.

"No one," you managed to choke out. "Didn't have anybody."

He takes his boot off your chest and you suck in a painful breath, your lungs and ribs on fire. You roll onto you hands and knees, coughing.

Shit. Fuck.

He squats down so he's level with you, voice a sickly sweet drawl.

"You promise?"

"I-" Another painful coughing fit. "I swear. No one else."

"I don't know if I can believe you, baby. You said you loved me, and then you ratted on me to the cops. Not the best record."

He grabs your hair and hauls you to your feet, totally unbothered that you still can't breathe right.

You shriek and try to pull away, only for him to wrap a hand around your throat and pin you against his chest.

He squeezes hard enough that your larynx feels like it's going to collapse.

"What do you think I should do?"

You think he's asking you, but it's the hitchhiker that answers. He's leaning against the kitchen door, arms crossed like he's watching two kittens at play rather than seeing your boyfriend almost choke the life out of you.

"I reckon we should check. Her cunt should be all tight and wet after months without cock. And if it isn't...well, there's your answer."

"You hear that baby? We're gonna make sure you've been well behaved."

We?

You start fighting all the harder. One murderer is enough. You don't want both their hands on you. You'll never be able to scrub yourself clean again.

The hitchhiker smirks and pushes himself away from the wall. His pupils are all wide again, twin blackholes hungry enough to swallow you, your friends, the whole damn world.

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing but you're up against two convicted killers who've had nothing but time to get stronger. Who've had the world's hardest lessons in cruelty.

Your boyfriend lets go of your hair and grabs one flailing wrist. He bends your arm up your back until you heads tucked under his chin and you're standing on your tiptoes to alleviate the pressure.

The hitchhiker twists one ankle behind yours so you can't kick out of him. It feels like a move cops and wardens might use. He must have had it done to him plenty, if he can so easily put you in the same position.

"I'll scream."

That makes them laugh.

"Go on then gorgeous. Scream. No one heard your friends last night. What makes you think they'll hear you?"

Your friends... You were panicking so bad you hadn't even considered them. The hitchhiker sees your eyes go wide and grins that easy, friendly grin of his. The one that made you trust him enough to give him a ride.

"Oh, we took good care of them. I'll spare you the grisly details but there's no one left out here but us."

It's too awful to consider. Too visceral. Too unreal. Your mind blocks it out and changes your whole train of thought to focus on escaping.

You focus on your boyfriend. He isn't acting like himself. The same man who put his hand on the bible and swore before the court that he killed all those people because of you - that man - was suddenly willing to share? Was inviting someone else to enjoy your body?

"You're going to let him touch me? You killed my lab partner because you said he would jerk off to pictures of me. What the hell changed?"

Your boyfriend hums.

"A whole lot. He's my cellmate."

Like that explains anything!

The hitchhiker slips his fingers under the hem of your top, nails running along your waistband.

"He wouldn't shut up about you. Had your pictures pinned up above his bed and everything. It was so fucking annoying at first. My girl this, my baby that. But after a few months..."

He pops open the button of your jeans with a flick of his thumb. You jerk away but your boyfriend twists your arm even harder and you're forced to hold still.

"After a few months, I started to understand the appeal. Could see why he was so into you. And hell, I wanted a taste myself. Wanted to see if you lived up to the hype."

Your boyfriend is smiling. You can tell from his voice.

"And is she worth all the hard work we put in?"

The hitchhiker's hands are cold. You flinch when he slips his fingers past your panties. He rubs his thumb against your slit, savouring every inch.

"For her? I'd kill twice as many as we did last night."

He sighs as he feels your slick starting to collect around his knuckles. Without warning, he slides two fingers inside you. Cold, uncomfortably cold.

He has a guitarist's hands and you can feel the callouses on his fingertips scraping against your walls. Too rough. Too much.

"Just like I thought. Tight and wet. Your girls loyal to a fault."

Your boyfriend practically purrs.

"Been so good while I was gone, baby. You deserve a reward, dontcha?"

He leans down and nips your cheek. You feel sick. His teeth so close...

"Don't worry. We'll fill you up so good that you'll never try running again."

Your spring break road trip starts well and gets better. But the end? Well, it ends with a cock down your throat in and another in your cunt. It ends with a hand around your neck and teeth marks on your thighs. It ends with a reminder to always trust your instincts and to never, ever give rides to strangers.

[ofdinosanddais1]

Me @ uber support: hey the driver did nothing wrong. There is an error in your system telling people to drop me off in the wrong location.

Uber support: omg we're so sorry he did something wrong. We're going to steal the money he made on that trip for something that was wrong with our system.

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | sharing the cookie

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1 boyfriend agrees to try the viral cookie challenge with your toddler… only to be hilariously betrayed (inspo: tiktok - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1792

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this tiktok trend had me dying and then lawson and hadjar did it with their reserve driver im hollering T-T - also i am so so so sorry for missing my update for friday rip... but its okay ill be back on schedule fr (also the first part will now include lando and oscar because in part two i will be adding isack hadjar and liam lawson cus they were requested to be added and i just cant say no considering they are also on the grid >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

"come on," you said, holding up the phone. "it's just a tiktok. she gets two cookies, you act like you didn’t get any, and we see if she shares.”

max crossed his arms. "she’s two. she doesn’t even share her toys with me."

"exactly," you grinned. "that’s why it’s funny."

he sighed dramatically. "fine. but if she betrays me, i’m eating both next time."

you set up the camera. max sat cross-legged on the living room floor, your daughter bouncing excitedly in front of him. you handed her two cookies. max? none.

"papa doesn’t get one?" she asked, blinking up at him.

max pouted like he was a contestant on survivor. "nope. they only gave you cookies."

she blinked again. looked at both cookies. looked at him.

and then.

she. ate. both.

BACK TO BACK.

max’s jaw dropped. "are you serious?!"

your daughter just licked the crumbs from her fingers and smiled. "yummy!"

you couldn’t stop laughing behind the camera.

max dramatically flopped back onto the carpet like he'd just lost a world championship.

"i gave her life. and she gave me nothing."

“she’s literally two,” you laughed.

"two ruthless," he corrected.

later that night, he snuck her another cookie while she sat in his lap, still chewing like she ran the place.

“you gonna share this one?” he asked hopefully.

she nodded, broke it in half… and gave both pieces to the dog.

max gasped. “this is targeted.”

you? filming from the corner, crying laughing.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

"just act like you don’t have any,” you whispered as you handed your daughter two cookies and lewis none.

he raised an eyebrow. "she always shares with me."

"alright then, let’s put that to the test," you grinned, hitting record.

lewis sat cross-legged on the rug, smiling softly at his daughter as she waddled over with a cookie in each tiny hand. she plopped down in front of him, cradling her cookies like they were ancient treasures.

“oh wow,” lewis said, peering at her plate. “they didn’t give me any…”

she blinked. then blinked again. the gears in her brain visibly turned.

and then—she took the biggest bite possible from one cookie, stared him down, and said through a full mouth, “that sucks.”

your hand flew to your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. lewis sat there, stunned.

“did you just—”

she held up a tiny finger. “i need both. for balance.” (balance. you nearly dropped the phone.)

lewis tried not to laugh, but it cracked out of him anyway. “wow. that’s cold, little miss.”

“like you when i take your hoodie,” you chimed in from behind the camera.

“she’s my daughter alright,” lewis muttered, dramatically falling back into the pillows like he’d just been betrayed by his own bloodline. “i’m retiring from parenting,” lewis sighed.

ʚ・george russell

george was suspicious from the moment you handed him zero cookies.

“it’s a tiktok trend,” you whispered. “just pretend it’s normal. let’s see what he does.”

your son plopped down next to george, cradling his two little cookies like they were made of gold. he blinked at his dad. george gave him a soft smile and the most tragic sigh you’d ever heard.

“wow. i didn’t get one,” george said, all british melancholy. “guess i’ll just sit here… cookieless.”

his son looked at him.

then looked at the cookies.

then looked back at him.

and took a very slow bite, still holding eye contact.

george blinked. “right. okay. that’s… noted.”

he cleared his throat, visibly trying to stay composed. “are you sure you don’t want to share one with your dear father? the man who changes your nappies?”

another bite.

then your son tilted his head and said, “you can have one… if you say please.”

george’s jaw dropped. “are you—? i taught you that word!”

you had to cover your mouth to keep from snorting. george held his hand out, now looking genuinely betrayed.

“please,” he said slowly, dramatically. “may i have one cookie?”

your son stared at the remaining half of his cookie… and shoved it in his own mouth. then nodded. “you said please!”

george looked directly at the camera like he was on the office. “this is a test. i’m being tested.”

five minutes later, george was spotted making a second batch of cookies with your son sitting proudly on the counter beside him.

“because we believe in manners and equality in this household,” he muttered, flour on his shirt.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos sat on the rug as your daughter waddled in with two chocolate chip cookies and the world’s biggest smile. her curls bounced with every step, and carlos was already melting before the challenge even began.

“hola, princesa,” he cooed, arms out.

she plopped down next to him and immediately held both cookies to her chest.

“oh, you got two?” he asked, pretending to pout. “they didn’t give any to papa.”

your daughter paused.

she stared at the cookies.

then stared at him.

then without a single ounce of hesitation, she picked up the bigger cookie and gently placed it in carlos’ hand.

“here, papa,” she said sweetly. “you can have mine.”

carlos blinked. like, literally stunned into silence.

“you’re giving me this one?” he asked, glancing down at the cookie like it was made of diamonds. “but it’s the bigger one.”

she just nodded and leaned into his chest with the other cookie in her hand. “because i love you big.”

you gasped behind the camera.

carlos’s entire soul left his body. “ay dios mío. you’re going to make me cry on tiktok.”

he immediately scooped her into his lap and kissed her cheek a thousand times while she giggled into her cookie.

“te amo, mi corazón,” he whispered. “you’re the best part of my life.”

then he looked at the camera and pointed. “you owe her a bakery.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was already sitting on the rug, legs crossed, smiling like he had no idea what was coming. (he did. you prepped him. but he was ready to be dramatic.)

when she walked over and sat down with her cookies, he gasped.

“they gave you two?!” he said, eyes wide. “and none for me?” he held his hands up like he was being robbed. “nothing? pas un seul?”

your daughter blinked, looked down at her plate… then back up at him. then she frowned.

“…that’s not fair,” she whispered, clearly distressed.

you could almost hear the little gears turning in her brain. she looked between the cookies like she was about to do intense mathematical calculations.

charles tilted his head, still acting sad. “it’s okay. you don’t have to share. i’ll just… starve.”

“papa,” she gasped. “no starving!” then — and this was the most leclerc moment — she picked up one cookie and broke it perfectly in half like it was a fine art.

she handed him one full cookie… and then added half of the other one.

“there,” she said seriously. “now you have un et demi.”

charles looked at the cookie halves in his hands like he’d just been gifted the crown jewels.

“you gave me more than one?” he asked, visibly moved. “are you sure?”

she nodded proudly. “because i’m smart.”

you nearly dropped the phone from trying not to wheeze.

charles pulled her into his lap and kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “you are so smart, mon amour. and kind. i will never forget this act of generosity.”

she grinned. “you owe me a cookie later.”

charles blinked. “…fair.”

ʚ・lando norris

“this is going to be so easy,” lando whispered as you handed his child two cookies and him none.

you raised a brow. “confident.”

he flashed you a grin. “they’re obsessed with me. i’m definitely getting one.”

you pressed record.

lando sat down on the floor, stretching his legs out, watching as your toddler toddled over like they were on a very serious cookie delivery mission. two chocolate chip cookies, one in each fist. determined eyes. crumbs already forming and not a bite had been taken.

“those look so good,” lando said, dramatically clutching his chest. “but… they didn’t give me any. that’s a bit sad, huh?”

your child blinked at him. looked at the cookies. then back at him.

then smiled.

“oh, dada,” they said sweetly, holding up one cookie… only to immediately lick it and take the tiniest nibble ever.

lando stared. “did you just—?”

they held out the now-slightly-soggy cookie. “you can have this one.” big proud grin.

lando, who would’ve accepted literal dirt from this kid, took it with wide eyes. “wow… thank you… so much.”

then, as he brought it to his mouth, they shrieked:

“WAIT! NOT THAT ONE! THAT WAS MINE!”

they snatched it back. both cookies now secured.

lando looked into the camera like he was betrayed by his own flesh and blood. “what just happened to me?”

you nearly dropped the phone from laughing. “you got hustled by a toddler.”

“she literally baited me,” he muttered. “i respect it.”

later, he brought out a secret third cookie from the kitchen.

your toddler gasped. “dada! where’d you get that?!”

he winked. “the real cookie challenge is knowing where we hide the backups.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

“i really don’t think they’ll give me one,” oscar whispered as you handed your toddler two cookies and him none.

you raised an eyebrow. “why?”

he shrugged. “they like sharing with you more. they say i’m too quiet.”

you stifled a laugh and hit record.

oscar sat down on the rug, legs folded neatly, as your toddler waddled over proudly — one cookie in each chubby hand, already taking careful little bites out of the edges.

“oh,” oscar said softly. “they gave you two cookies?”

his kid blinked, wide-eyed. “yeah!”

oscar smiled. “wow. i didn’t get any…”

there was a beat of silence. your toddler looked at their cookies. then at oscar.

then back at the cookies.

then very slowly, they scooted closer, placed one cookie in his lap… and gently patted his knee.

“you can have this one. because i love you and i don’t want you to feel sad.”

oscar literally froze. like system shut down. the only movement was the slow widening of his eyes.

“wait,” he whispered, “are you trying to make me cry?”

your toddler beamed. “don’t cry! eat!”

you had to hide behind the kitchen counter to keep from audibly sobbing.

oscar looked straight at the camera, voice half-choked. “i wasn’t emotionally prepared for this challenge.”

he reached over, pulled them gently into his lap, and kissed the top of their head. “you’re too good for this world.”

later, you found the uneaten cookie in the fridge with a note (scribbled by oscar) taped to it:

“for my favourite teammate.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Small Touches and Simple Gestures

Summary: Javier Peña x Fe!Reader -> For years you've pretended to be married to avoid unwanted attention. But what happens when the lie you've been living, suddenly becomes true. Well, at least a part of it.

Disclaimer: Swearing, fluff, one of the agents making a move on Reader though nothing happens (Javi stops it). Fake dating, falling in love, embarrassing mothers, office romance. Heavy smut towards the end, so 18+. Happy ending. A lot of smaller intimate moments between Javi and Reader away from the smut, too. Kinda a long one. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you that three years into working with Agent Javier Peña you’d be wearing a wedding band, marrying you to him for at the very least, the foreseeable future…you wouldn’t have believed them. 

And you would be right not to. Because that, technically, wasn’t what it was for. 

And it had all started with a question that Peña asked you one day as you sat at your desk. 

“Was he real?”

You slowly tore your attention away from the case file in front of you. “What?”

“Your husband.”

For a moment you forgot all about how you’d first come to interact with Peña. He had asked you out. Well, flirted heavily then asked you out. 

“What husband?”

Javi stood as he talked, walking towards your desk and sitting down on the edge of it closest to you. “One day you’re wearing a wedding ring telling me you’re married, the next it’s gone.”

You looked at your hand. “Oh. Yeah.” You decided to admit the truth. “I made him up.”

Despite his constant theories, he was still shocked. “What?”

“I made him up.”

You said it as if you were asking him how his day was. Like it was nothing new. 

“You made him up?”

“You try and be a single woman in this office who doesn’t like getting hit on by every guy who thinks with his dick,” you told him. “See how quickly you make up a fake family.”

He had to laugh. “But I hit on you.”

You looked at him, suppressing an already knowing smirk on your face. “My point exactly.”

“Think I got something.” From the door, Steve came sweeping inside and threw a couple of files down on Javi’s desk. The previous topic was dropped for now but you took a moment to revel in the shock graced on Peña’s face. 

However, a few hours later, it was brought back up again. 

You’d been standing in the evidence locker, looking for yet another misplaced case file. Could people not read in this office? Had they lost all sense of the alphabet? You sighed heavily. 

“How long have you been doing it?”

You jumped and found Peña standing behind you. “Jesus, Peña. Make a noise or something. Fuck.” You turned back to the messy shelf in front of you. 

“So?”

You sighed. “Doing what? This? Feels like hours.”

He shook his head and rounded you before leaning against the side of the shelves. “Not the files. You being married.”

“Oh, uh…” You pulled a few hefty files and handed them over to him before reaching down onto the lower shelf and pulling those files up. “Couple years, I guess. Since before the Academy.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier, or do I need to repeat myself, Peña?”

He shook his head again and put the files down. “No, I heard you. But that’s here. Why did it start?”

You sighed and stopped what you were doing to look at him. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

He let out a small chuckle. “What? Come on, you’re one of the first Agents here to reject me not once, but three different times.”

You raised a subtle eyebrow. “I was married when you did that.”

“The first time, yes.” Javi corrected. “But that was an honest mistake. The second and third time, there was no ring on your finger. And, after this morning, you technically weren’t married at all. Look, just answer my questions and then I’ll drop it forever.”

“You promise?”

He held up his hand. “Scouts honour.”

You gave a questioned hum. “It’s difficult to imagine you as a Scout.”

“Y/l/n.”

You groaned. “Fine. It started because I got asked out a couple of times by this guy. He seemed nice and all but I wasn’t interested. So, when he asked why I kept saying no, I told him I was married. Swapped my rings over under the bar top before showing it to him. He took it well, apologised and said my husband was a lucky fella.”

Peña continued to listen. 

“Then I moved away. The second time I was with someone but this guy just kept hitting on my friend. She went to the bathroom and then he started on me. Told him I was with someone. He didn’t believe me. So, I showed him my wedding band. Said my friend was married, too. He,” you sighed. “Eventually backed-off. After that it just kinda became my go-to. People I interviewed preferred to see a married woman than a single woman being a cop. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t start out my job as married. But the minute the compliments, and the touching and the dates being pre-arranged because they expected me to say yes…once they all started, I started wearing my wedding ring.”

“So why take it off?”

You shrugged. “Guess I must have forgotten. Besides, nobody has tried anything in the last couple of years. We’ve all been too busy.”

For a moment, Peña’s demeanour seemed to shift. “But I’ve flirted with you.”

You smiled a tired smile and stepped back from the files for a moment. “I work with you, Peña. I like you but I think I’m immune.”

“That hurts.” He deadpanned before placing a hand over his heart. “That…wow.”

You laughed. “I think you’ll bounce back.”

And he did. That night he walked out telling Murphy he had a date with the stall girl he’d met a few days ago. 

The following weeks were hectic as different cases made their way across your desk, all with connections to Peña and Murphy’s biggest case; Pablo Escobar. 

From interviewing victim’s families, to interrogations, to the crappy coffee in the break room. Your days and nights were spent looking over files and dealing with your case loads. Until one afternoon in the breakroom led to something you never had expected. 

There was another Agent working at the Embassy. You’d seen him around a few times, shared a conversation or two. But most importantly, he had seen your wedding ring. You hadn’t missed his behaviour over the last couple of days. It started with smiles in the hallway – innocent enough. Then you found him in your breakroom more. Apparently the coffee was better. Then he was sitting at your table during lunch – apparently his partner was out for the day and he felt like some company. You didn’t miss his eyes clocking your hand. 

“Your wedding band. It’s gone.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but the lie fell from your lips. “Oh, yeah, It’s in for a cleaning. It had a couple dark patches and scuffs on it.”

More things started creeping up. Like how he always stood just that little bit closer and not in a comforting way, when you were both talking. Or how his eyes looked you up and down before you got to speaking distance from each other. 

Then in the breakroom, the ‘compliments’ started. How your hair looked – how it always looked. How you always made ‘women’s clothes look so much better’. How he enjoyed spending time with you because you actually talked to him. 

“You know,” he trailed a finger up your arm and you were three seconds away from breaking it and running to take a scalding hot shower. “I was thinking we could get away for a while. After all, we both deserve a break. Maybe take these lunches outside of the office.”

You stepped back. “I’m married.”

“Oh, come on, we both know that’s a sham.” He told you, taking a step closer as you took another one back. “You never bring him to office parties, there’s no pictures on your desk-”

“I don’t need to prove to you or to anyone else that I’m married.”

He laughed. He actually laughed. “You’re not about to tell me he lives in Canada are you?”

“No. He-”

“He’s right here.”

It was safe to say you were shocked, but the agent didn’t seem to notice as he turned round and found Javi standing in the hallway. 

“Peña. I was just-”

“Scaring my wife?”

The guy was turning paler by the second and yet somehow his ego carried him through. “You mean work-wife, because I have to say Javi, that doesn’t really count.”

“How about a marriage certificate? Does that count for you?” Peña finally found you by his side before he whispered to you.

“You okay, cariño?” All you could do was nod, the shock of him pretending to be your husband still settling over you. 

He looked back to the agent who had been hitting on you. “I’m gonna tell you this once and only once. Hit on my wife or scare her again, and I’ll kill you.”

“Javi-”

“I don’t think Messina would be happy to learn one of her best Agents was being sexually harassed.”

He nodded, backing away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Javi shook his head. “Not to me. To her.”

Awkwardly, the guy looked from Javi, around the room, back to Javi and then to you. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. Peña’s your husband?

“You can go.” 

Taking Javi’s instructions, he left. Peña then waited a minute before turning towards you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But you shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” He asked, holding the coffee pot in one hand and your mug in the other. 

“Javi…” You looked around the room before looking back at him. “This is gonna spread around the office. You and I -- married.”

He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Now you’ve got a physical person to pretend to be your husband.”

“Javi.” He handed you your cup of coffee before pouring his own. “Please tell me you are aware of your own reputation? And the fact that we are colleagues? And the fact that I have been making a husband up for god knows how long? People are going to know this is fake and then I’ll be judged – heavily – for it.”

“Why would you be judged?”

You rested a hand on your hip. “This is gonna look like I’ve used you to be my pretend husband and everyone will just feel sorry for me and make a big joke about it with you.”

“Except I’m the one that told him.” Peña pointed out. “If anything, that’s what’s going to spread around the office.”

“Ah yes, I can see the headlines now; ‘Agent Javier ‘slut’ Peña finally ties himself down with a female colleague.’.”

He shrugged. “We don’t have to be tied down if you don’t want to.”

You hit him on the arm. “Be serious.”

“Look,” he set his coffee cup down and took you by the shoulders. “If it becomes anything then we just fake it. We already spend most of our time together anyway, and who hasn’t had an office romance once in their life?”

“I haven’t.”

Peña paused for a second before nodding. “Congratulations. You’ve just lost your office romance virginity.”

“Peña.”

He shook it off. “All I’m saying is, if it becomes a thing, we just…roll with it.”

“Roll with it?”

He nodded. “Roll with it.”

“There’s a chance our careers hang in the balance because I’m pretty sure this breaks at least three rules in HR. And your grand solution is to…’roll…with it.’.”

Javi nodded once more. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

It was not fine. Neither of you were fine. Especially considering two days later you were both forced into Messina’s office where, before you could spit out the truth, Messina interrupted and said she didn’t want to know. Just that you both had to remain completely professional and that if someone ever caught either of you, you’d both be suspended. 

So, things remained somewhat neutral. You both received a couple of looks from other co-workers. Murphy teased both of you relentlessly, despite being the only one to know the truth since you stopped the elevator when all three of you were inside to tell him as much. 

But then the loud rumours started and people didn’t even try to hide them. 

Whilst pouring you and Peña a cup of coffee each – something you had done almost everyday for three years, you could hear people gossiping. 

“Maybe he knocked her up. Shotgun wedding, you know?”

“I don’t think they’re even a couple. I mean, they never show any kind of affection to each other.”

One disagreed with that statement. “No, I’ve seen him with her a few times. Little touches here and there. Must be their love language. Small touches and simple gestures.”

“That’s cute, I guess. But I kinda expected more from Javi. He was always so…you know.”

The woman beside her sighed, “Yeah.”

You walked away more confused about life than you had been since before you started highschool. 

It was clear the rest of the office ‘knew’ about ‘you and Javi’. And that they each had a different opinion on the matter. And some of them you didn’t even know about, but Javi did. 

He’d heard everything from your marriage to him being a sham because he got you pregnant, to both male and female staff asking him “why y/n?”. Except, it was never in a friendly manner. To the men, it was either because they thought “Javi could have any choice he wanted, and he went for her?”, or because he’d gone for one of the women they had wanted “a shot at” themselves. And to the women it was…much of the same thing, with an added jealous streak wondering why he went for “the one woman who didn’t want” him, when most of the other women who’d worked with him “actually wanted” him. 

Javi’s eyes trailed your every move from the coffee station, back to your desk and then towards him. “You okay?”

You zoned back into reality and handed him his coffee. “Yeah. Fine. What have you got?”

Turning the case file around, he told you. 

Around a month or so later, not much had changed. People were still gossiping about your marriage to Peña, the case was gathering little evidence so the constant reviewing of previous case loads was underway. Between keeping up the lie of your marriage to Javi – despite neither of you having to do much out of your normal routine – and the case work and the constant heart attack you got when Messina would stop walking when stood directly between your desk and Peña’s before humming and moving along, you were running out of energy. 

“Come to mine after work.”

You looked around. People were looking but they were too far out of earshot to hear. 

You took the paper from Javi. 

“Why?”

“You’re tired, and I’m tired watching you eat that shitty stuff from the cafeteria. I’m cooking dinner.”

You looked up at him, shocked. “You can cook?”

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. After work. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

Javi tapped your desk twice before walking away and looking around the office. Everyone who had been looking quickly looked away before looking back at you. Once they found you looking, they turned back to their work. 

For a moment, you looked at the half stale coffee on your desk. It would be nice to have a decent meal considering you’d been eating left-overs for about a week and half. 

And he kept his promise. 

Javi had left work an hour before you were supposed to. He’d grabbed his jacked off the hook behind your desk, bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, your body too tired to fight off leaning into him when he did so. You had meant to clock out of work an hour later but staring at words, losing concentration and trying to focus back in meant when you finally looked at the clock, you were getting close to being forty minutes late. 

“Shit.”

Not bothering to drop your stuff off in your apartment two floors up, you found Javi’s door unlocked like he’d said and you walked inside. 

It smelt like heaven. Good, hot food. And Javi. 

It was quiet as you walked down his hallway and eventually found him relaxing on the sofa, his legs thrown across the rest of it. He was watching reruns. 

“Relax,” you could hear the smile in his voice despite not being able to see his face. “Figured you’d be late. Food’ll be ready soon.”

With a relieved sigh, you dropped your bag by the steps and walked around. He moved his legs for you to sit down and he watched you for a moment as you pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes and leaned back. 

“Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you admitted. 

“Come ‘ere.” His voice was soft and quiet as he reached out for you by the shoulder. Looking at him for a moment before silently agreeing, you let him pull you down until eventually you were laying beside him, your head on his chest, his legs tangled with yours. 

It took him a moment, but Javi removed your hair-tie letting your hair loose before running his fingers through it. You relaxed almost immediately, feeling the once growing headache slowly melt away with each touch of his hand. 

You could have fallen asleep but he didn’t let you. “You’ve gotta eat. I didn’t slave over a hot stove for nothing.”

You groaned a little and buried yourself deeper into his side. “How are you this calming?”

“It’s my natural touch.” Javi told you before kissing the top of your head and sitting up. “Come on. Dinner’s ready. Then I promise, you can fall asleep.”

“Hallelujah.” 

It took you a moment but your head eventually stopped spinning long enough for you to sit up and walk over to the table where Javi had set down both of your meals. And it was one of the best you’d ever had; either because he was a great cook, or you were starving enough that any food that wasn’t cafeteria left-overs would taste like heaven at that moment. Though, you had a feeling it was the first one. 

In silence, you both washed and dried. Until you spoke out the pressing question on your mind. 

“What happens if we meet ‘the one’?”

“What ‘one’?” Javi handed you another freshly washed plate. 

“I mean,” you spun it through the dish towel. “To everyone else, we’re married. But what if we end up meeting the person we actually want to date and marry? What do we do then?”

Javi shrugged. “Guess we get divorced.”

“But we’re not actually married.”

“Then we play it by ear. They say when you know you know…maybe when we know, we just…tell them the truth. But I doubt that’s gonna happen.” Javi nearly crapped himself. “For me, not you. I doubt that’ll happen for me.”

You looked at him. “Why?”

For a moment, he was quiet. Thinking. Deliberating. “Back in Texas, I was gonna get married. Lorraine. She was a wonderful woman but…I don't know. I was driving to the church and I just stopped.”

“You left her at the altar?”

“I never made it to the church,” he admitted. “I don’t know. I suppose at some point I’d settle down but…” Javi shrugged. “I can see it happening for you though, so, whenever you do meet him, I can be there to help explain this whole…situation we’ve got going on.”

You laughed a little at that. “Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, you were half asleep before Javi pulled you over to him once more. The last thing you could remember was you taking a deep breath in, the scent of him, his home and his cooking fill your senses. 

When you woke up, you found yourself still on the sofa, the news playing on the TV and Javi cooking in the kitchen. It took you a while before your brain registered you weren’t still dreaming and you’d fallen asleep not only at Peña’s, but also on him. 

“Hey,” Peña shook you back awake. “Breakfast is ready.”

You placed your hand over his and nodded. “Okay.”

Neither of you said anything when you ate, just listened to the news that passed over the speakers of the TV. 

“Who taught you to cook?” You asked, turning to look at him as he drove you both to work. 

“My dad. My mom helped, but dad was the one who burnt less stuff.”

After eating, you’d run to your apartment to get a fresh change of clothes and run a brush through your hair, only to be greeted by your husband at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll drive us to work.”

So, now you were driving to work with Javi before hopping out of his car and being led with a warm hand at the bottom of your back through the hallways of work before you both finally reached your desks. 

And for the first time in weeks, you finally had the energy to get through your work day. And so did Javi. 

Although things started to change when you got a surprise visit from your mother.

You’d been working for weeks on the same case and in between all of the case work, the fake marriage and the few months that followed, you’d forgotten to write to your mother. 

It was her one agreement with you moving to Columbia. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop you – it was your job and you were good at it, plus, despite all of the gear grinding you had to do every now and again, you loved it. But knowing she didn’t accept your decision to work as DEA in Columbia would have slowly killed you – and her, too. 

Any time she called, you’d either been dead asleep – either at yours or Javi’s – or at work. So, she took the notion to come and see you. 

So when you walked down the hall towards your office and heard your mother’s voice ask you a question, you felt your entire body crash to a screaming halt before realising what and why she was asking. 

“You’re married?” 

“Mom.”

Your mom called your full name and walked towards you. “What this lovely woman just told me better not be true, or else that means I’ve missed my daughter’s wedding.”

You tried your best to remain calm and relaxed. Two emotions you were desperately clinging onto for dear life. “She tells me his name is Javier Pen…”

For a moment, she looked back to the secretary who nodded and whispered his name again for your mother to repeat with full confidence to you. “Javier Peña.”

“Mom, maybe it’s best we-”

Then the secretary spoke up in excitement. “Oh, there he is. Javi!”

Looking up from his own case file, about to turn down the hallway, he found who was calling him before seeing who was standing in front of them. You and, from what he could guess, your mother. 

Shit. Your mother? No. She was back in the States. Maybe he’d remembered her face wrong from the picture behind your desk. 

Walking over, Javi’s hand came to your lower back before he quickly brushed a kiss against your cheek. “Cariño, you okay?”

You tried to remain calm as you said the next sentence. “Javi, this is my mother. Mom, this is my..husband..Javi.”

Then something you hadn’t expected to happen, happened. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Y/l/n. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” But she still shook his hand and allowed him to press a light kiss to the back of it. 

Carefully, Javi stepped back and pulled you closer towards him, your mother’s eyes never once stopping to not examine the couple that stood in front of her. 

Javi nodded. “We are sorry about that. But, maybe we can make it up to you.”

You looked at Javi a little panicked. But your mother was already interested. “Oh?”

“I’m guessing you’re staying here for a few days? Come and stay with us. I can make us dinner and we can all get to know each other.”

Then your mom smiled. Apparently Javi already had her approval. “Well…I think that would be lovely. But don’t think either of you are getting off lightly. I missed my daughter’s wedding that I didn’t even know about.”

“Honey, give your mother our address, I’ll ask-”

She shook her head. “No, no. You all seem busy. I can take myself there. And I’d like to see what’s around the market stalls. Is there anything I can bring for dinner?”

Javi shook his head. “No, not at all.”

You smiled. “He’s got it covered, mom. Just bring yourself.”

“Alright then. Well, I look forward to seeing you both for dinner.”

In the space of five minutes you’d all said your goodbye’s and you had ever so sweetly pulled your husband towards your office before closing the door and blinds and turning back to your partner. 

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Javi shrugged. “She’s come down here to see you. We might as well make the effort.”

“We? Javi. We don’t live together. She’s gonna take one look around my apartment and realise I still live there. She’s gonna take one more look at my face and realise everything that’s happened is a complete sham and then she’s gonna parade it around town that I’m still single. She won’t mean it harshly, but she will.”

“So, we don’t tell her and just say we haven’t had a chance to move things since getting married. We’ll be okay.”

You let out a panicked laugh before you started pacing. “I knew this was a bad idea. It’s bad enough we’re lying to people here.”

“You’re the one that started it before I got roped in.”

“Hey! You roped yourself into this. You were the one that said you were my husband.”

“Would you have preferred for Agent Dickbag to keep pushing?!”

You took a breath. “Javi…I don’t know if I can lie to her. What…what do I tell my family when they find out? This was just meant to keep people like Agent Dickbag away…”

Reading the panic all over your body, Javi stood and walked towards you until you were wrapped in his arms. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll keep the secret up long enough to make sure nobody else finds out the truth, and then you can just say we rushed into things. We got a quick divorce and moved on, civilly.”

“I think you missed your calling in Acting.” You told him. “I think my mom already has your seal of approval.”

“Really?” He pulled back a little and smiled. “That’s a first.”

“We’ll be okay?”

He nodded. “We’ll be okay.”

And you believed him. 

Because it was true. 

In the space of about fifteen minutes, you and Javi managed to move some things from your apartment, into his to make it seem more…homely. Like two people actually lived there. Especially since your mom would be living in your apartment for the next couple of days until she flew back home to the rest of your family. 

“Will she really check the bedroom?” Javi called from the kitchen. 

You’d moved some things to the second bedside table. One or two books, a couple of hair-ties, plasters, “stray” pens. You tried your best to make it look believable as possible. 

“You don’t know her like I do. This woman is Jessica Fletcher. Unsuspecting to the world, but in fact sees everything. Trust me, you do not want to end up in interrogation with my mother. Happened to a perp once. She came in to visit my dad but he was wrangling a couple of the officers so she walked around, found the perp sitting in holding and she actually got a confession out of him. Cops had been trying all day and nothing. A five minute conversation with my mother and they got a full written confession out of him.”

Javi gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah. So, trust me, what I’m doing? It’s gonna, hopefully, save us some grief.”

Javi was still cooking by the time your mom knocked on his door and you brought her inside. Immediately her eyes scanned the place picking up on the pictures, books and music. 

“It smells delicious.”

“He’s a good cook.”

And for the first couple of minutes everything ran smoothly. Your mother did everything you’d expected her to do. She even passed Javi in the kitchen to look into your bedroom. 

“She really did it.” Javi mouthed. 

“Told you so,” you mouthed back. 

“Mom, do you wanna come and sit down? I can get you a drink.”

“I’ll have a soda if you have it, please.”

You got your mom a soda and poured it into a glass with ice, handing it to her as she stood still examining your home. 

“So, how is he in bed?” She whispered a little too loud to you. 

You felt yourself go bright red. Redder still when you heard Javi chuckle from the kitchen. “Mom!”

“What? I’m allowed to ask my daughter these questions. I need to know you’re being satisfied in every aspect of your marriage.”

You groaned and covered your eyes. “Mom.”

“You’re being careful? Using condoms? You know pulling out doesn’t work as birth control.”

You could have died. “Mom, please. Stop.”

Javi let out a small laugh as he walked from the kitchen and handed you a drink. “Mrs Y/l/n, if you really want to know-”

“Oh no. No, Javi, please. Please don’t encourage her.”

“We’re being safe. Having a family right now probably wouldn’t be the best move for either of us.”

Your mother just graced him with a soft smile. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m not,” you groaned a little. “Can we please change the conversation?”

“You know, she’s always been like this.” Your mom told Javi who only seemed to revel in your terror. 

“Really? This isn’t a new thing?”

“No,” you mom told him. “She went just as red when I gave her the birds and the bees talk.”

“That’s because you decided to tell me in the middle of my middle school hallway during a Parent’s Evening.”

“And when I took her to the doctors to get her on the pill.”

You covered your face. “I’m in hell.”

Javi’s hand reached for your shoulder and shook you lightly as he sat on the arm of the chair beside you. You leaned into him. 

“I’d finally got it out of her that she’d had sex and next-”

“And next thing I’m being wrangled into an office chair with the doctor having my mother shout from the rooftops her daughter was no longer a virgin.”

Your mom gasped. “It wasn’t like that,”

You leaned into your husband who’d just let out a small laugh. “Please make it stop.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m glad to know you’re being satisfied. Your face tells me more than you think.”

“Okay!” You stood up quickly and tried to run away, only to feel Javi’s hand reach out and pull you back, spinning you to stand by him. From the light red in his cheeks, he felt a little embarrassed, too, but he seemed to handle it a lot better than you. 

He was chuckling. “Don’t think you’re able to run from this. I wanna know more about you from your mom.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be here for it.” You tried to make a break for it again, but Javi caught you and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to slowly disappear from sight as you found yourself trapped in his hands and arms, and his gaze on you, just as yours was on his. And for a moment, you wondered what it would be like if you kissed him. 

Little did you know, he’d been thinking the exact same thing. 

Then a timer went off. 

“That’ll be the food.” Javi kissed a quick peck to your temple before standing and walking towards the kitchen, leaving your gaze to trail after him. 

“You really do love each other,” your mom pointed out from her spot on the sofa. “I can see why you got married. You both need to tell me what your wedding was like!”

And so you did over dinner. With the added linger of whatever had happened when he’d pulled you closer to him. 

You caught Javi looking at you a few times, and subsequently, he’d caught you, too. And, without rehearsal, you’d both managed to bullshit your way through explaining why you’d both decided to get married so quickly. 

From you and Javi, your mother had learned you’d both met when you started in Columbia and you were both ‘friends’ for a while. Not much had to be lied about in that department. Javi’s reputation. Your “ability” to make every man that asked you out believe you were taken. How you’d worked together for a long time before becoming actual friends. Then the lies started…right?

About how you and Javi made a true friendship of sorts over the late nights working, swapping smaller stories until something changed. 

“It was like…my heart had stopped and rebooted itself. Suddenly, everything felt like it had shifted and changed somehow.” Peña explained to your mom. “Nothing had ever been more…clearer and more daunting than ever.”

Then Javi looked at you, and you found a mirrored expression. Sadness? Confusion? Desperation? Fear? Realisation? You didn’t know what to call it, but whatever it was, you felt it. For some unknown reason, everything he’d just said rang true in your ears, your head and even your heart. 

Nothing had ever been more clearer and more daunting than ever.

By the time your mom decided she was ready for bed, you were already fast asleep against Javi. At some point in the evening when he’d sat beside you, he’d slung his arm behind you and between the warmth and familiarity of him, you’d let yourself truly relax. 

“I’ll walk you up.”

Your mom shook her head as Javi led her towards the door. “I know my way and you’re both tired. I’ll be okay. Get her to bed.”

Javi looked back at you for a moment and smiled.

“You really do love her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Your mom smiled at her supposed son-in-law. “I understand why she fell for you, but I hope you know, just because you’re the first one of her boyfriends, well, husband now. But just because you’re the first I approve of, doesn’t mean I won’t be judging you. You look after her, and you look after her well. Love her everyday. It’s not every day someone gets to spend the rest of their lives with my daughter. I hope you see that as a privilege.”

Javi nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Javi was telling the truth and your mom nodded. “Good. And thank you for dinner. Sleep well.”

“You, too, Mrs Y/l/n.”

Javi waited until he heard your apartment door lock before he shut his own, locked it and kicked off his shoes.

His socks padding his footsteps as he walked back to you, he was careful to pick you up before carrying you to bed and covering you up. You were still fast asleep by the time he climbed into bed beside you, but either way, you naturally rolled towards the slight dip in the bed before reaching out for him like you did almost every time he’d carried you to his bed because you’d fallen asleep in his apartment. 

The only times he didn’t was when he fell asleep with you and woke up as the sun peeked through his blinds in his living room. 

With a contented sigh, you slipped into a dreamless sleep beside him and for a few minutes, he laid awake, listening to your breathing. Then he let his mind slip back through the evening. If the funny feeling in his stomach and chest wasn’t what he hoped it was, but rather was what he suspected it to be, then he would have to soak up your actions as a married couple over the next couple of days before everything went back to semi-normal. 

Because if he was right, and he was growing feelings for you, then these days would have to be enough. Your marriage with him and his marriage to you was meant to be for appearances, only. Nothing real was meant to come out of it, was it? 

Because the feeling in his chest as he looked down at you, asleep by his side and in his arms…that feeling sure felt real. 

Waking up in the morning, you felt more comfortable than usual. No creaky mattress spring giving you a sneak attack from beneath your sofa and into your back, no blinding light coming through curtains you’d forgotten to shut, no cold side to your bed as you turned over. 

Instead, you felt warm. You found warmth. 

Asleep on his front but his arm still across you, you found Javi. Fast asleep, seeming as though not even a gunshot would wake him. 

And rather than jump out of bed or rollaway like you usually would when you found yourself in this position with any man, or even him going off the last couple of months. 

You’d found yourself falling asleep countless times at Javi’s and the majority of the time, you woke up in his bed. 

But waking that morning, especially after the night before, had something feeling different. So you took your time. 

For the first time you…studied him. 

You’d found yourself doing it more and more in recent months. How he sat in a chair, the look on his face when he was annoyed, amused, sometimes even scared. 

And for the first time, maybe ever. He looked…

Peaceful. 

As if it was a Sunday morning and neither of you had to get up for work. Like when he’d wake, you’d both spend the morning in bed before relaxing in your home. 

And for a moment, you let yourself dream about that life. A life where there was no fear of maybe never coming home. A life where you could both…be peaceful. Happy. 

Together, maybe?

After a few moments, you felt a gentle touch against your cheek, and slowly opening your eyes, you found Javi’s hand cupping your cheek, his fingers brushing soft patterns into your skin. 

“Cariño…”

You smiled, finding comfort in the common nickname. “Hey.”

“You been awake long?”

You shook your head, softly. “Not long.”

“Good.” Javi then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here.”

Granting yourself permission to do as he said, Javi rolled over onto his back and pulled you into his side before he decided to ultimately face you. 

Down your back, he traced a singular line back and forth as you both synced calming breaths and listened to the comfortable silence of the room. 

“We could call in sick.” Javi said after ten minutes. “We’ve built up enough time to take the day off. You could show your mom ‘round.”

“We can’t,” you pointed out. “What about the case?”

“The case will still be there tomorrow. And besides, if something changes, they’ll call us in-”

Then you both heard the front door lock open. 

“Javi-”

Pressing a finger to his lips, he sat up and so did you. Quietly, he moved over towards his bedside table and pulled out his gun before checking the bullets. 

You both heard the door open and just as Javi was about to leap out of bed, you both heard your mother’s voice. 

“Y/n? Javier? You two sleepy heads awake yet?!”

You let out a huge sigh of relief and sat back against Javi’s headboard. “Jesus Christ.”

“Your mom has a key?” Javi put his gun back and closed the draw as he looked back at you. 

“I told you. Jessica Fletcher.” Then you called out to her. “Mom! We’re in here.”

Letting out a breath, Javi sat himself back beside you just as your mom walked into your bedroom. “Mom, you can’t just break in,” you told her, tiredly. 

“I didn’t break in. I had a key.”

“Both of us could have shot you.”

Your mom looked over both of you and gave a coy smile. “Then it’s a good thing I called out then. You both look…well rested.”

It was too early to even pretend what she thought had happened, had happened. So, tearing your eyes from Javi, you looked to your mom. “Why are you here?”

“Because I have made breakfast for both of you since Javi cooked us such a wonderful dinner last night.”

“Mrs Y/l/n, you really didn’t-”

“Hush now. I was happy to do it. Now, chop chop.” Your mom clapped her hands. “There’s plenty of time for this,” she gestured to you, Javi and the bed, “later. Come on. Before the day is gone.”

And as she walked out, you felt yourself collapse into Javi’s sheets, already feeling your face go hot. 

“She really doesn’t hold back, does she?”

“No.” Your voice was muffled through the sheets. 

Ultimately, Javi convinced you to take the day off with him and after a homemade breakfast, yet another awkward conversation surrounding love-making in the shower – to which Javi nearly choked on his toast. Both you and Javi had showered (separately) before getting changed and deciding to show your mom around the different places in town. 

And despite the stories shared by your mother; thankfully not all of them made you want a hole in the ground to open up the floor. 

You also found spending the day with Javi, outside of work talk, to be more than pleasurable. With his hand in yours, or his arm around you, holding your own across your stomach, you’d both walked side by side for most of the day. He told your mom some things about Columbia even you didn’t know before, easily sharing some stories of his own childhood when your mom asked. 

And you felt…glad, maybe? Like for the first time since moving to Columbia you were home. And it wasn’t just because your mom was there, but rather because of the person who stuck by your side all day, letting you see behind the personal walls he had up at work. The ones that, if you didn’t look closely, you wouldn’t know were even there. 

Yet, despite the entire day feeling like one giant butterfly in your stomach at every touch, look  and graze you felt from Javi, nothing made it feel like the tornado it was when your mom asked if she could film your ‘first dance’. 

Dinner had been long over and the TV had shut down. In the background, a few different records played until one came on and your mother gasped. 

“Oh, please. Please let me see your first dance. I love this song, and I’ve always imagined seeing you dance to it the way me and your dad do.”

From your side, Javi lifted his hand. It was up to you. 

Looking at your mom’s face, you couldn’t say no. So, you nodded and both stood. Javi started the song from the beginning and turned back to face you. In a matter of moments, you were in his arms, your hand in his whilst your other lay on his arm. You could feel his firm hand at the bottom of your back, holding you up steadily. 

Finally, leaning into each other, you could feel his moustache at the shell of your ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

That was when you found out Javi could dance. At the very least, much better than you could. He led you around the small section of the floor, your temple’s still touching and for a small moment, you closed your eyes. 

You’d also both forgotten anybody else was in the room other than you two. Breathing, heartbeats, pulse, chemistry. It all became one. 

And just as the song slowed, Javi lifted his head to look at you. It was like there was a new light to you in the fading sunlight. New features he’d never noticed before. The small freckles dotted across your face, probably having surfaced after a day in the sun. The soft streaks of baby hairs framing your face. The arch and bow of your cupid’s bow and lips. The light flush in your cheeks as for a moment, he caught your eyes doing the same thing he was. 

Looking. Gazing. Studying. All to commit it to memory. 

Javier Peña, for as best as he’d known, he’d never been so scared in all of his life. But there was one final thing he wanted to commit to memory, whether it be good or bad. And if he didn’t do it then, he was afraid he never would. So, for the first time with you, he did what he wanted to do because, and he hoped, by the look on your face, you wanted it, too. 

With the final few notes of the song, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was firm, steady, strong and then softer. The kind of kiss that you feel long after it’s over. Silence washed over the room as the record came to an end and you and Javi found yourselves looking at each other, only realising you weren’t alone when your mom gasped. 

“Oh, that was just beautiful.” She stopped the recording. “Thank you so much for doing that for me.”

You and Javi seemed to step away from each other despite it being the last thing either of you wanted to do in that moment. It wasn’t long after that your mom decided to go upstairs to bed. And once Javi heard the door lock upstairs, he locked his own and took a moment before turning back around to find you. 

But you were already trying to avoid the conversation that came next. 

Javi took his time. You both needed a moment to find clarity. After the faucet had been running for a few minutes, only to be switched off by you as you washed the plates in the bowl of soapy water, Javi stood at the kitchen door. 

He watched you for a moment, wondering what to say. What just happened? I’m sorry? He didn’t mean for it to…be that way? Did you feel it, too? Did you want it, too? Did he cross a line?

Then he realised he didn’t have to say anything at all. 

You felt him before you heard him walk slowly across the kitchen floor and stand by your side. With a gentle hand guiding your arm, he spun you to face him and in the silence, your faces shared a thousand words between each other. 

Javi brushed your hair from your face before gently cupping your face. It took enough time between each of his movements to let you object if you wanted to. You stepped closer into him. 

Then he kissed you. 

Having dropped the sponge into the sink, you felt yourself tumble against him as your own hands came to pull him closer towards you. Things seemed to move slightly quicker than before. His hands moving down your body to eventually lift you up and move you onto the counter top, his fingers pushing their way through your hair as your own pulled him in by his collar to kiss you once more. 

With your legs wrapping around his waist, securing him against you, you let out a small sigh behind your kiss. Javi only chased those small noises more after you made your first one. 

“J-Javi.” You managed to find your voice in between his kisses. “Wait.”

He stopped, forcing himself to pull his lips from yours. And for a moment, all you could hear was his breathing and your heartbeat. Both rapid. Both unsteady. 

“We…we shouldn’t…”

His hands still tangled in your hair and his forehead against yours, he shook his head in agreement. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

All either of you could do was breathe. Slowly. Trying to catch some form of air that was at least a close equivalent to the others. 

Kissing you was like a lifeline, and without you he was dying. 

His eyes finally gazing into yours, he found your own tracing his face, already reminiscing on the kiss, wanting more. 

Kissing him was like life was finally being pushed back into your lungs, letting you breathe clearly for the first time and without him, nothing was in focus. 

“Fuck it.”

His lips on yours again, he began to devour you and your taste. He could feel your hands pulling him closer to you, like if you’d let go of him, you’d drown. 

He needed you more than he wanted to admit. 

But you didn’t want him to hold back. So leaning away from his kiss for a moment, you made sure he focused on you. 

“Bedroom.”

He was still drunk on your kiss. “Javi, I’m not fucking you on the kitchen counter. Bedroom.”

His lips curved onto a smirk as he pulled you towards the edge and lifted you up. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you we’re married? Cariño, it’s called making love.”

You laughed and so did he before it was muffled out by another kiss. 

By the time morning rolled around, you found yourself wrapped in Javi’s arms, his scent swirling around your senses, locking it into a memory you’d never forget. Even if you wanted to move, you couldn’t. From the arms wrapped around you, to the soreness in your legs, your body was too happily exhausted to move. 

For the next few moments, you watched as he slept peacefully. His mouth parted slightly, simply looking at his mustache made you blush at the memories from barely a few hours previous. Tracing the curves of his face, you leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. 

His arms twitched around you. “Javi, I need to use the bathroom.”

Still half asleep, he returned the next kiss you pressed to his lips before mumbling; “Come back.”

“I will,” you kissed him once more before climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. 

Whilst in the bathroom, you picked up the long forgotten towels on the floor and picked up the tossed body washes and shampoo bottles from Javi and your haphazard entry into the bathroom after the first two orgasms before the third. 

However, you must have taken too long because as you stood at the bathroom skin, a newly familiar pair of arms made their way from holding your hips, to cradling around your waist. 

You could feel the hair from his moustache as he kissed your bare shoulder, making his way towards your neck where you leaned back against his chest and placed a hand behind his own neck to hold you steady. 

“Javi.”

One of his hands slowly made its way under your top before running his fingers from the top of your chest, across your breast and down below the waistband of your shorts. 

“I missed you.” His tongue dampened the graze of his teeth against your neck. 

“Javi.”

“Is this okay, baby?”

You bit your lip, your hips bucking against his fingers, chasing the pressure he was beginning to swirl around your clit. You hummed a response. 

“I need your words, baby. Is this okay? Do you want this? Because I can stop.”

You shook your head quickly and wrapped your hand around his wrist before he pulled away any further. “No. Don’t stop.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

With his fingers circling your clit and his mouth having free range of your neck, you felt your knees grow weak. “Want me to stop?”

Again, you shook your head. “I need…I need more, Javi.”

“How many, baby?”

“Two, ohh…” Your mouth opened and you threw your head back against his shoulder, reveling in his fingers slipping inside your cunt and his thumb applied pressure to your clit. Then you heard him chuckle. 

“Asshole.”

“You fucking love it, baby.”

You did. You really did. It wasn’t long before Javi could feel your walls pulsing against his fingers, growing tighter for him. And his dick hadn’t even left his pants yet. 

“You’re so fucking wet, cariño. This for me?”

You found the strength to nod. “Just for you, Javi baby.”

But whatever strength or control you had left disappeared as the wave began to crash over you and you chased Javi’s fingers as they pumped deeper and faster inside of you. “Ride ‘em, baby. Take what you want.”

You moaned his name, almost chanting it as you came over his fingers. “Fuck,” Javi growled. “You’re so fucking hot when you come.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, you felt the ache in your legs, still leaning against Javi. 

“Then maybe you should do it again.”

Sharing a look with Javi, he smirked before biting down on your bottom lip, then kissing it better. Pulling his fingers from inside of you, he slowly spun you around by your hips until you faced him. Once he’d tasted everything he could from your mouth, he teasingly made his way across your jaw, down the length of your neck, under your clothing before pulling your soaked shorts down your legs, leaving your glistening and sensitive cunt for him to see. 

Then he tasted the rest of you. 

Pushing you onto the edge of the sink counter, you white-knuckled the edges in fear of gripping his hair too tight to pull him closer to where you needed him. 

You could feel the burn of his moustache against your inner thighs, panty-line before finally his tongue circled your already sensitive clit. 

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, “Fuck. Yeah.”

“Want more?”

“Y…yes. Javi, please.” Your hips bucked as you chased the feeling of his tongue licking your pussy. “Fuck, Javi.” You let out a gasp as his tongue dipped inside of you for a moment. “Fuck, right…right there.” With one of your hands tangled in his hair, you pushed him closer in order to taste all of you. 

And just as you leaned back to grant him more access, he pulled back. You whimpered, wanting him back. “Touch yourself.” 

“Javi-”

“I want to see how long you can hold it before I fuck you. Touch yourself.”

So you did. All the while watching him take his sweet time watching you as he pulled down his own underwear and pulled a condom on, pumping himself a couple of times before finally settling closer to you. 

“I want to watch you cum again.” And so he did. 

Filling you with his dick, inch by inch, he felt you stretch around him, swearing as you took him in. And then he took his time with you. Reveling in every needy buck of your hips, chasing his dick before he couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed you just as much as you were begging for him. 

Moaning his name over and over as your orgasm hit you, Javi watched as you came over his dick, him finishing not long after you did. 

Sweaty and covered in sex, Javi pushed the fallen hair from your face and kissed your lips after the silence had settled away from heavy breathing and racing hearts. “We should get cleaned up.”

Pulling his cock from inside of you, he disposed of the condom before walking towards the shower and turning it on. And over the next forty minutes, Javi’s hands were all over your naked body before his fingers tugged at your hair as the tiles of the floor made indents in your knees. By the time you’d both finished, gotten washed and finally dressed, Javi was changing the sheets as you placed the ones from the night before inside his washer. 

For the rest of the day, Javi rarely left your side.

Going back out to the markets with your mom, his hands were constantly finding ways to touch you. His hand pinching onto the skirt of your summer dress, his fingers grazing against your hip and lower back as he changed from standing on one side of you to the other. Holding your hand around you, his arm across your shoulders, his lips in your hair, on the shell of your ear as he talked to you. And when you’d stopped inside a cafe, he sat next to you, his arm across the back of your chair which practically was sitting in between his legs as his body was constantly turned towards you. 

And when you’d both finally gotten home, your mom saying she was going for a nap, the moment Javi’s door shut, the bags were dropped and your back was against the wall of his hallway, his lips on yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“So have I.”

Then a question fell from your lips. “How are we going to keep this up? At work, I mean.”

“They already think we’re married.” He kissed your neck. 

“I’m being serious, Javi.”

“So am I.”

“Javi, Messina already warned us what would happen if she ever caught us. And that was before we were even…”  A couple? Fucking? Dating? Married?

Javi smiled. “So we keep it a secret.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his hands off me for more than two seconds. You’ll never be able to keep it a secret.”

“Says the woman whose been eye-fucking me all day. Are you sure you can keep a secret?”

“I can keep a secret.” Then Javi noticed your coy smile. “In fact, I’ve been keeping one all day.”

Taking his hand in yours, you pressed his hand to the dip of your hips. He couldn’t feel anything but fabric. Then it hit him. With his chest flaring and his dick hardening, he stepped closer towards you. 

“Mrs Peña…have you been naked under that dress all day?”

You bit your lip. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

His eyes flicking to the hem of your dress, he looked back up at you before slowly dragging the fabric of its skirt up and bunching it in his hand until he could slip his hand under it. And when he was met with bare skin, he swore. 

“Fuck.”

“I’ve been hoping you’d fuck me all day,” you admitted. “I wanted to be ready.”

“Since you walked out of that fucking bedroom in this dress…I’ve wanted to fuck you in it.”

Pulling him closer to you, your voice turned into a low whisper. “Then you better get on with it, Agent Peña. Before I do it myself.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Capturing your lips on his, his finger coaxed at your pussy, already feeling your wetness build for him. As his fingers began to curl inside of you, you let out a moan before your fingers deftly unbuckled his belt and jeans. Javi let out a small whimper as your fingers stroked down his cock, wiping the pre-cum away with your thumb before finally pumping him a few times. 

“Take it easy, baby. Otherwise I’m not gonna- fuck.”

With one hand, Javi picked you up where you stood, his fingers digging into your ass before he guided his tip in. Letting out a moan by his ear, you told him to start moving. 

“Fill me up, baby.” 

And he did. 

Fucking you against the wall in his hallway, Javi pulled the top of your summer dress down and began leaving his mark across your collarbone and down the bow of your breast, all the while his cock pumped in and out of you before filling you up with him cum. 

“That’s it baby,” Javi told you as you screamed his name as you rode his dick. Then he watched you come. He’d never get sick of that sight. It seemed to get hotter each time. You begging him for more, your moans, his name falling from your lips as he makes you unravel completely. 

But he wasn’t done with you yet. Pulling out from you, he moved you both down the hallway and towards the sofa where he made you come again before moving into the kitchen where he finally fucked you senseless on the kitchen counter. 

Both of you wished it could have continued like that forever, but sadly after your shower, both you and Javi were interrupted by the jingle of keys in the door as your mom let herself in before you and Javi could continue your heavy make-out session on the sofa. 

But that was something you both had to get used to. 

Interruptions. 

From people banging on the copier room door thinking it was jammed, to people walking back into the office after their lunch breaks. But despite the ever growing need to constantly be touching him, or him touching you, you’d both found subtler ways to show how much you not only wanted each other, but also needed each other. 

From the smaller touches when he always found an excuse to stand beside you, to the ever longing looks you both gave to each other as the other one walked away from the desks. There were crappy cups of coffee always being poured, lunches being made and shared, blankets being used to cover up the one that fell asleep first, the knowing looks when a case load became too much, the soft moments spent after a long day of work just laying together on the sofa watching crappy TV and falling asleep, dancing to slower records on down-days, quick kisses goodbye during lunch or during a stakeout for cases, jealous and warning glares being given to those who tried to flirt with the other, and finally slow Sunday mornings that were spent inside the apartment, neither of you leaving unless for a dire emergency. 

And somewhere between all of that, you and Javi had taken a flight to your home where your family and his watched as you both swore actual wedding vows to each other; your wedding party not realising it was the first time for both of you. 

Maybe it had taken a while for you both to come together, and maybe it wasn’t the most conventional of get-togethers. But it was yours and Javi’s story. One that, the more you thought about it, started off with those softer moments. One that always had, and always would, contain those smaller touches and simple gestures. 

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was in third grade I got Weird with writing. It makes sense in hindsight. Oppressed people find their own ways of carving out space for themselves.

The first bit I did landed me in trouble more immediately. I was given, god knows by who, one of those enormous giant pencils. I loved it. My tiny nine year old body was consumed with love of this pencil that was roughly 1/3 of my height. I insisted that I would only use this pencil in school.

It was an unlucky year to be stricken with whimsy. My third grade teacher was a tyrannical Japanese woman fueled by her dislike of children. I suspect the cultural divide between how she expected children to behave and the reality of American children broke her.

She was three foot nothing and getting berated by her was the first time I’d ever looked down at an adult. I also saw her once standing next to her white 6’ behemoth of a husband and tried to conceptualize how two such disparate people had sex. I never could.

If you think I’m exaggerating her wrath it’s worth noting that my best friend at the time developed a stress disorder from this woman and I fell into a bizarre stutter that cleared up the moment I was out of class. In her classroom breaking down crying was a weekly occurrence.

But despite the frigid conditions, I persevered. I stayed silly. I brought my enormous novelty pencil to class every day. It was an act of rebellion that I sank my teeth into and refused to let go. I could barely sharpen it because its girth defied standard sharpeners the way I defied my teacher. This was my pencil.

When she attempted to confiscate my giant pencil I rose an unholy ruckus. This would not turn into the confiscated holographic Charizard, my tamagotchi, or my little pop frogs that she never returned to me. No. This was my goddamn pencil. There was no rules against enormous novelty pencils and after a heated week of debate she finally conceded I could use the hated thing.

It was stolen by my kleptomaniac friend a week or so after that a fact I’d only discover at the end of the year. But my tiny mind was convinced the evil teacher had stolen it.

In retaliation, instead of resuming normal behavior I decided that I would do all my writing upside down and backwards. No one, least of all myself, could explain why I felt this was necessary. Maybe I felt I’d be cool like a spy, maybe I just needed to buck the teachers hateful authority, or maybe I was just a little autistic kid.

When taking notes or writing essays I’d arrange the paper to be upside down. It may surprise you to know that my penmanship was actually quite decent, albeit I wrote a little more slowly than my classmates. That’s why it took the teacher a while to realize what was going on. There wasn’t a drop in the quality of my writing.

Unsurprisingly she hated it when she found out. She lambasted me both privately and in front of the class to write normally. I asked if my writing was illegible. She had to admit that no, it was not. I shrugged. I did not see a problem.

Like the pencil my new writing fixation was cited as being a distraction to the other children. But similarly she didn’t have an easy way to make me stop. She marked me down, gave me several talking tos, and generally bullied me into writing like everyone else.

All attempts at correcting me simply ran off my back. I had found a way to cope with how miserable she made all of us, by inflicting misery back upon her. I was unswayed for the rest of the year.

When I graduated up into fourth grade and had a teacher I adored it suddenly stopped. I looked at the paper and thought, Well that’s silly, and flipped it the right way round.

I can still write upside down, though, a testament to my worst year in public school.