zephyrchama · 6 months ago
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[Thoughts about an MC who gets periods]
Getting periods in the Devildom must be pretty rough. Demons probably don’t get them, and the number of humans freely wandering around has to be incredibly low. If MC takes the form of a sheep then they likely don't have to deal with it immediately, but eventually that's going to wear off and they'll revert back to a human. Does the Devildom even have pads and tampons for sale?
MC might have to sheepishly ask Barbatos if he can acquire some in bulk from the human world. Barbatos would remain professional as always when inquiring about the use of these products and their role in daily life. He'd have to report it to the prince. They're both aware of what periods are, but only in a vague "oh yeah, humans do that" kind of way. (Perhaps in the future, Lucifer could use his secret Akuzon account to order more?)
There's surely some plant or potion that prevents them, but they're not meant for long term use. Probably tastes nasty over time and covers human skin in a weird oozing rash if consumed too often.
A month or two into the exchange program, MC might have to call up Solomon for aid.
---
“Can you help me with something?”
Solomon, not too interested in MC yet, agrees just to be amicable with his fellow human exchange student. They must be scared! They must be missing humans! “Is something on your mind?”
“You know how to do magic, right?”
What a silly question. It’s almost refreshing to hear. “I do.”
“Do you know… like, uh, smell…? Reducing magic? Something to cover up smells? Without being obvious, I mean. I feel like I stink and I was really hoping you could help me figure something out.”
How cute, he thinks. He can’t quite remember the time when he smelled fully human anymore, and he can’t really smell the distinct odor on people that demons can, but he knows demons can easily sniff out a human from afar. “Oh, don’t worry about that. It should go away on its own as you spend time here.”
MC isn’t convinced. “I don’t think it will…”
“Trust me. How are you finding Devildom cuisine? I know you’re not used to it, but eating more will help you adjust. I can whip up a few simpler dishes for you to try if you need help.”
MC is silent for a bit. Solomon thinks his job is done until they say quietly, “that’s not the problem.”
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure the brothers I live with can smell, uh, my cycle.” No use being coy about it, better get straight to the point. “They stare at me when I’m on my period. I think - no, I know - they can smell the blood. I’ve seen them sniff the air when I’m around. It's weird. And I can’t exactly stop it from happening every month.”
“Oh.” Now it’s Solomon’s turn to be quiet. He’s embarrassed and surprised, a little humbled, and also really interested in this problem. It’s not something he’s ever thought about before.
MC continues, “I think they can tell when I’m ovulating too, Asmo started lingering around more often, and Lucifer looked scarier than usual, and they all stare more, and-”
“I think I get it.” Solomon can’t stop his face from turning pink. Despite his usual grin, he doesn't think he’s ready to listen to the rest of MC’s sentence.
There should be an easy solution, but it’s something that warrants testing if MC doesn’t want the brothers noticing a sudden spell cast upon them. It could get mistaken for something malicious. Solomon says, “I might be able to help. Can you come over today?”
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zippyhands · 1 month ago
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i clicked on the original tweet just to see if anyone else felt as weird about it as i did because at this point i’m just tired of seeing people going on and on about trans men dating cishet men who try to convince them not to transition as if it’s a funny joke about a trans man doing something silly and not a manipulative and generally very unhealthy relationship dynamic that can hurt the trans man involved really deeply (as forcing someone back into the closet tends to do.)
did i find anyone else feeling that way? no. there were a few people pointing out that it was weird in general, and plenty saying it’s a weird thing to say about a cis woman, but nothing expressing any sort of concern about the tired stereotype it’s perpetuating.
but you know what i did find? replies like the one in the second screenshot, using the tweet as their chance to tell the world how much they hate trans men and how repulsive they find the idea of ever being compared to us. and replies like the third one, shaming trans men in relationships like that as if the fact that they’ve found themselves in an unhealthy relationship makes them deserving of public shaming, as if their relationship is hurting anyone other than them.
stereotypes like this just feel like yet another way of indirectly calling us stupid little girls who don’t know what’s good for us, and the fact that a picture of a woman is being used (even jokingly!) as an example of what trans men “like that” look like should make the implications of rhetoric like this all the more obvious.
it’s relationships like these that keep us miserable in the closet for so long and drive up our sexual assault rates even more. they’re not funny and if anyone is going to be making jokes about them, it certainly shouldn’t be people who have never been in that situation. if you actually cared about us you’d be looking for ways to support the trans men you know who are in relationships like that instead of hopping on twitter to joke about how stupid they must be.
i don’t care if it’s a joke. if it victim blames trans men for the transphobia we face in our personal relationships, adds to the common idea that we can’t be trusted to make decisions about our own lives, and invites even more blatant transphobia against us by people who unabashedly admit they see all trans men as “disgusting and phony”, it’s not fucking funny.
(i also want to note that the people making these jokes never like to mention that this also happens to trans men in relationships with queer women. they also hate those trans men, of course, and are happy to express that when they get into fights about trans men who date lesbians, but they’ll never talk about it in the context of this particular stereotype. it’s always a man being manipulative in a relationship and pressuring trans men to not transition, as if a woman would never be capable of such a thing.
they also like to conveniently ignore the existence of older trans men who transitioned after already being in a committed relationship with a cishet man and were able to make that relationship work despite their transition, because acknowledging that would require recognizing that trans men can be in seemingly contradictory relationships and genuinely be happy with their partner. who needs nuance when you can simply choose to judge all trans men for our relationships regardless of what they’re actually like?)
do you think they also would call me “a trans man being purposefully misgendered” with this kind of vitriol because i’m still living with parents who don’t recognize my gender instead of moving out before i’m ready to be financially independent? at this point, i’m starting to feel like they might, with the way every decision a trans man ever makes is the subject of a public debate and people have decided that trans men are secretly using being misgendered as a weapon to somehow hurt other trans people.
as a general rule, i’d say the only people who should be making “X looks like a trans man” jokes about literally anyone/anything are trans men, and posts like this show exactly why those jokes being made by anyone else (even by other trans people) just isn’t a good idea.
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sargeant-bxrnes · 14 days ago
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you’re how i pray.
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summary: reluctantly, you found yourself reaching out to the church for guidance, to better your “wrongs.” only to meet father charlie and realize there was a whole world of sins you’ve yet to indulge in. [REQUESTED.]
pairings: charlie mayhew x fem!reader
warnings: conversations about religion and moral, blasphemy (?), charlie is a manipulative freak!. SMUT: this is DIRTYYYY, fingering (fem), oral (fem), unprotected sex, manhandling, dirty talk.
WC: 3.6K (sorry, i got into it)
my masterlist! ��                   requests are OPEN!
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Your steps echoed against the cold stone floors of the church. The towering figure of your aunt walked ahead, moving with self-righteous purpose. You rolled your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to stifle the irritation that boiled beneath your skin.
Of course, therapy had been a good start. You had actually been making progress, learning to manage your anger, to quiet the voice inside you that urged you to rebel against every rule, every boundary. But your family… they believed therapy wasn’t enough. They had another solution.
Father Charlie. You had heard of him. A young priest, charismatic and well-liked by the community.
Your aunt wasted no time, walking straight up to the office where Father Charlie stood. His presence was larger than life, draped in his priestly robes, and yet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes—held a spark that didn’t quite match the image of a humble servant of God.
“Father Charlie, thank you for meeting with us,” your aunt began, already launching into a tirade about you. Words like rebellious, problematic, and sinful spilled out as though they had been rehearsed. You stood there, arms crossed, glaring at the rows of candles flickering on the altar.
Father Charlie nodded sympathetically but his gaze never left you. He didn’t interrupt your aunt’s sermon, though, and once the woman was satisfied that she had delivered enough holy condemnation, she patted you on the shoulder.
“Father Charlie will talk to you, sweetie. He’ll help you.”
With that, your aunt left, leaving behind a cloud of forced piety. The silence settled in as Father Charlie waited until the doors shut behind her.
“Guessing by your expression, I’m sure this wasn’t your first option, coming to me.” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.
You shrugged, leaning back against one of the wooden furnitures of his office. “Yeah. My family has unfortunately convinced themselves that I’m a lost cause, and that only God can save me. Or so.”
Father Charlie smiled, and something about it made you feel more cautious than comforted. “Why do you think people see you that way?”
The question took you by surprise. Not the usual condescending lecture, not yet, anyway. “Because I don’t see the point in all these rules they’re obsessed with. I do whatever I want, and that annoys people. We’re born into this world, and instead of living the lives we want, we’re told what to do from the moment we can speak. Doesn’t that sound a little… cruel to you?”
“Rules are there to keep the community together. Without them, society would fall apart.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Maybe. But what’s the point if those rules only help some people? The rich keep getting richer, while the rest of us… we’re always at the bottom. And that’s okay as long as we obey, right?”
“So, you think life is about doing whatever you want? No restrictions at all?”
“Not exactly,” you said. “I just think people should be free to make their own choices. To live without constant guilt and fear hanging over them. This whole idea that we’re supposed to follow blindly or be damned… it doesn’t sit right with me.”
The priest studied you for a moment, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze. “Do you believe in God?”
Your lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s something out there, something bigger than us. But the people in this community? The hypocrisy. The way they use their faith to control others. It’s toxic.”
Father Charlie nodded slowly. “You’re not the first to feel that way. But you’re not as alone as you think, either.”
“What do you mean?”
His smile was back, but this time, it held something else. Something darker. “Let’s just say… not everyone in this church follows the rules as strictly as you might think.”
A shiver crept down your spine, but you couldn’t tell if it was fear or something else. His words, his tone—they didn’t match the image of the holy man you had been expecting. You sat down on the couch, to keep some distance.
“Let’s talk more,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m curious about your thoughts on freedom. On life… on sin.”
Your pulse quickened as he took a seat next to you, far too close for comfort, but you didn’t move. There was something magnetic about him. Dangerous, but magnetic.
“You know,” Charlie began, his fingers lightly tracing the soft edge of the couch beneath both, “a lot of people in your position feel trapped by expectations. You said it yourself: you don’t like the way rules seem to be designed to keep some people down.”
You nodded slowly, unsure where this was leading, but already feeling a shift in the atmosphere.
He tilted his head, his gaze holding yours, and there was a glimmer of amusement—something almost wicked—in his eyes. “You’re not wrong to want freedom. To want more. But what you have to understand is that most people… they’re too afraid to admit it.”
“Too afraid?”
“Yes. They bury their desires under obedience, hoping it will make them feel whole. But deep down, they crave… more. They want to push against those boundaries.” He leaned in closer, his tone growing silkier. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” you said, though you did know. It just didn’t feel safe to admit it—not to yourself, and definitely not to him. “I mean, I get frustrated, but… it’s not like I’m going to rebel against everything.”
“What if you did? What if, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to explore that side of you? The one that questions. The one that craves freedom… and maybe, other things?” Charlie’s eyes sparkled with something that felt far more dangerous than faith.
Other things. The way he said it, as if it were an invitation, hung heavily between both. You could feel the tension building, the heat.
“I think…” you started, your voice shaky, “I think people would lose their minds if I did something like that.”
His lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “Maybe that’s exactly what they need.”
He let the words sink in before continuing, his voice dipping into something darker, more seductive. “You don’t need to live your life based on what others expect of you. There’s power in choosing for yourself.“
This conversation wasn’t going the way you’d imagined. You had expected judgment, correction—but instead, he was… encouraging you.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper now.
You looked away, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “I don’t know.”
“You’re lying,” Charlie said softly, his voice dipping even lower. “I think you know exactly what you want. You just haven’t allowed yourself to feel it fully.”
Your heart pounded against your ribs, and you couldn’t ignore the way his words wrapped around you like a dark temptation. There was a part of you that did want something—something wild, something free, something dangerous. But this? Here? With him?
“It’s okay to admit it,” Charlie said, leaning closer, his lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Sometimes… surrendering to what you really desire is more powerful than fighting it.”
Your breath caught, and for a second, you leaned into him, drawn by the magnetism of his words. It was intoxicating—the way he seemed to know exactly what to say. But you pulled back, confusion warring with the strange attraction that was blooming inside you.
“You’re a priest,” you said, as though reminding him—and yourself—would somehow break the spell.
Charlie chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand temptation. Sin is… fascinating, isn’t it? Especially the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”
There was something so wrong about this conversation, and yet, you couldn’t deny the pull. The way he was making you feel—seen, understood, even desired—was something you hadn’t expected to find in this place.
He held your gaze, his confidence palpable. “You crave connection. An escape from the chains of expectation. You want to live life on your terms, even if that means stepping outside the lines drawn by those who think they know better. I admire that.”
“You really don’t know what you’re getting into,” you said, trying to regain some control.
“Perhaps,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly charming way. “But what if I’m willing to take that risk? To explore those uncharted waters with you?”
“Is that what you do with all the girls who come in here, Father?” you shot back, trying to mask the way your pulse quickened at the thought.
“Most don’t provoke me the way you do,” he said, his voice low and velvety. “They’re afraid to stray too far from the righteous path. But you… you have a light about you that beckons me closer. It’s intoxicating.”
Your cheeks warmed under his intense scrutiny, but you quickly shook your head, refusing to be swayed. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You’re a priest.”
“Ah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he replied smoothly, his gaze unflinching. “What does that really mean? I wear the collar, sure, but I’m also a man—one who understands the darker desires that lie beneath the surface. You’re drawn to them, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I’m just curious,” you replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.
“Curiosity is a dangerous game,” he said, his voice a seductive whisper. “Especially when it leads you to someone like me. You could explore all the answers to your questions, and perhaps even find the absolution you didn’t know you were seeking—if you dare to take that step.”
“And what’s the price for that?” you challenged, not ready to give in but undeniably intrigued.
“Just your trust,” he said, his gaze piercing through your defenses. “Let me guide you. Allow me to show you that the rules can bend, that the lines can blur. And in return, you’ll discover a side of yourself you never knew existed. It’s a fair exchange, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” you finally replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I’m not so easily led.”
He leaned in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He ran his thumb delicately along your lower lip. “Lose yourself in me. Let me be your forbidden pleasure, your dark indulgence. Together, we can create a sin so divine, it will set your soul free.”
You feel his thumb diving inside your mouth. He pressed his thumb deeper, exploring the warm, wet cavern of your mouth as if mapping your innermost terrain.
“Mmmm, so eager to please," he purred, his other hand sliding down your side to grip your hip, holding you steady. "Your mouth was made for sin." With a subtle twist, he coaxed your tongue to swirl around the intrusion, a sinful game of give-and-take that left you breathless and wanting more. "Such a willing little temptress,"
And before you can process, he’s kissing you. And things gets heated, fast. It doesn’t seem to matter that you both were sitting on the couch from his office, inside the church. He claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging in to dance with yours in a primal, urgent rhythm. The scent of your arousal mingled with the musky undertones of his cologne, fogging the air with a heady, addictive haze. His hands roamed your body, possessive and demanding, as he pulled you closer, his own arousal throbbing against the confines of his trousers.
“So sweet," he growled against your lips, breaking the kiss only to nip and suck his way down your neck, leaving a trail of heated, open-mouthed kisses. "Such a delicious little sin."
His fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of your blouse, revealing the lacy bra beneath and the creamy swells of your breasts. You gasped, feeling his lips on your skin. Desperate and wanton, hungry.
He kissed and licked a path downward, pausing to toy with the lacy edge of your bra before tugging the delicate fabric aside with his teeth. His hot mouth closed over the swell of your breast, his tongue swirling to coax forth a responsive moan. His lips slid lower, fixating on your nipple. He suckled, the rhythmic pull of his lips and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through your sensitive flesh.
“Mmmm, you taste so divine," he purred, his free hand sliding up your thigh to brush against the damp fabric of your panties. "Every inch of you is made for sin."
You could foresee his intentions even before he started to move. His lips went lower down your chest, over your stomach, to the waistband of your skirt. With practiced ease, he slid his hands down your curves, peeling away the last of your garments with a hunger that bordered on reverence.
Your skirt and panties joined the discarded heap of your blouse and bra on the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny. His eyes raked over you, drinking in every inch of exposed flesh as if committing it to memory. The sight of you, spread out before him, was a feast for his sinful appetites.
“Exquisite," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. "You're a vision of decadence. I'm going to indulge in every moment of our encounter, savoring every morsel of pleasure you offer me."
With that, he sank to his knees before you, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs as he gazed up at you with a wicked promise in his eyes. He leaned in, his breath a hot whisper against your most intimate flesh.
And he went at it, eager to devour. He started off with a long, languid lick with the flat of his tongue, licking from the edge of your slit all the way to the clit. It was utterly sinful, erotic.
He lapped at you, his long, dexterous tongue swirling and delving with a sinful expertise that made you gasp and squirm. The flat of his tongue glided along your slit, gathering your sweet essence before he darted the tip to tease the sensitive bump of your clit. He licked and suckled, alternating between long, languid strokes and fast, frantic jabs of his tongue, each one designed to drive you a little crazier with need.
“You taste so good,," he purred, his words muffled against your pulsing flesh. "I could eat this sweet cunt all day and never tire of it."
Two fingers slipped inside you, stretching and filling you as his tongue continued its relentless assault. He pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue's movements as he brought you closer to the edge. His fingers curled, seeking that special spot that would send you plummeting into ecstasy. With each pass, his touch grew firmer, more insistent, as if trying to coax the very essence of your being from your depths. His lips and tongue never ceased their worship of your clit, suckling and flicking against the throbbing nub in a maddening dance of pleasure and desperation.
He could feel you teetering on the brink, your sweet cum flooding his fingers as your hips bucked and writhed in mindless need. His tongue worked frantically against your clit, a dizzying whirl of licks and suckles that left you breathless and begging for more. One last, long lick, and you were sent hurtling over the edge, your orgasm ripping through like a thunderclap.
“Yes," he hummed, his voice a reverent whisper. "Let it happen. Let me feel you cum for me." And as the waves of your climax crashed over you, he remained, drinking in every last drop of your release like a man dying of thirst.
And you thought that would be it, but no. He rearranged you, laying you down as he stripped off his cassock in a hurried tug. The garment joined the pile of your clothes, and he wasted no time unfastening his belt and shucking off his trousers. His massive cock sprang free, the thick, pulsing length already flushed and throbbing with need.
He loomed over you, his thick, throbbing cock jutting out before him like a red-hot brand, burning with the need for release. With a knee, he pushed your legs apart, spreading you in blatant invitation, before positioning himself between your thighs. One hand tipped your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze as he lined himself up with your most intimate entrance.
“Last chance to turn back," he growled, the tip of his cock notched against your aching flesh. "Once I sink into you, there's no going back. You'll be mine, body and soul." He paused, his expression almost wistful. "But I know you won't refuse me. You want this, as much as I do."
With that, he surged forward, burying himself in your warmth with a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
He filled you slowly, deliberately, each inch a decadent slide into heaven as he stretched you impossibly wide around his girth. The sensation was overwhelming, the burn of his intrusion mixing with the sweet, tingling pleasure that only he could evoke. When he finally bottomed out, he paused, savoring the feeling of being completely sheathed within you. He was huge, and you could feel every throbbing inch of him as he pulsed and twitched inside you.
“So perfect," he breathed, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. He took a deep breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he fought to regain his composure. "You were made for me. Every curve, every hollow, every inch of your sweet cunt is tailor-made to take my cock."
He began to move, slow and deep at first, withdrawing until only the thick head remained before plunging back in, his strokes growing firmer, more insistent as he lost himself in the mindless pleasure of the joining. — He took you like a man possessed, his pace growing faster, more erratic as he chased his release. The couch creaked in protest beneath both, the sound mingling with the ragged breathing and the obscene squelch of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy. Your back arched, pushing your pert breasts toward his devouring mouth as he feasted on one while still pounding into you. He growled against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the maelstrom of pleasure wracking your body.
Your eyes rolled back, feeling him pounding deep into your cunt as he suckled your tit. Wary, you used a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sound.
His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he sealed his lips over yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue invaded, claiming yours in a sensual dance that left both breathless. All the while, he continued his relentless pace, his cock pistoning in and out of you with brutal efficiency. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your sweet cream coating his shaft as you teetered on the brink of another orgasm. With a groan, he broke the kiss, his eyes blazing with a primal intensity as he prepared to unleash his own release.
“Cum for me," he commanded, his voice a raw, desperate snarl. "Take my cock, just like that. Fuck- come for me. Come on my cock.”
The mix of the sensations and the sheer desperation on his voice, how needy it suddenly sounded did it for you. As your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamped down around him like a vice, cum gushing out to coat his cock and balls. The sensation was enough to tip him over the edge, and with a hoarse bellow, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his thick seed pulsing deep inside you as his body shuddered and spasmed.
“Fuck!" he gasped, his hands gripping your hips like an anchor as he rode out the waves of his climax. "Yes... oh, god... yes..." He collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the couch as he struggled to catch his breath.
As you recovered, you started to process. Thinking to yourself. Did you- did you just fuck a priest? Maybe you ARE as troublesome as people claim.
He slowly pulled out of you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet plop. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't overthink it, my sweet," he murmured against your mouth. "Just enjoy the afterglow."
He leaned on his elbow, his free hand gently brushing the hair from your face as he took in your flushed, sated features.
"We've both crossed lines. Lines we can't simply erase. But perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps this is the key to setting you free." A sly smile played on his lips as he stood, his naked form glistening with sweat in the dim light. "Now, how about we continue this little sin of ours in the bed, hmm?"
And as that idea enticed you… you realized that perhaps you ARE a lost cause.
1K notes · View notes
fastandcarlos · 1 month ago
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Baby Perez Is Mine : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen
summary: after getting to know your brother’s team mate max, you soon find that it’s more than just a friendship that’s struck between the two of you
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
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liked by schecoperez, lilymhe and 179,583 others
ynperez: always a joy to pay a visit to red bull and make sure everyone knows that mexicans obviously do it best ❤️💙
27,058 comments
username1: I just love how supportive yn is of sergio and his whole career!
schecoperez: thanks for always making sure there’s at least one sergio fan in the crowd 😘
ynperez: @/schecoperez always got your back brother 🫶🏻
username2: it’s nice to see someone in a red bull hat with two 1s on it for a change
maxverstappen1: tell that to the driver’s standings loser 😂
ynperez: @/maxverstappen1 we don’t accept any perez slander in this house thank you!!
username3: it’s the way she just pops up at all these random races for me 😂
carlossainz55: want me to show you the spanish way? 🇪🇸
ynperez: @/carlossainz55 can assure you no one is as smooth as a perez 😏
username4: thank you yn for always being sergio’s number one fan 🥺
username5: ngl max gives me annoying middle sibling vibes when he’s with these two 😂
lilymhe: sorry you were at the race and didn’t think to come and see me 😤
ynperez: @/lilymhe sorryyyyy it was just too busy, I promise next time I’m yours 🥺
username6: the way that most of the drivers and wags love yn more than anyone else speaks volumes 🔊
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liked by lancestroll, redbullracing and 582,048 others
schecoperez: such a proud weekend to be racing at home with so much support. thank you to everyone in mexico for all the love 🇲🇽🏎️
37,048 comments
maxverstappen1: super race and lots of points, let’s push on to the end of the season 💪🏻
username7: no one can convince me that these two aren’t secretly the cutest pairing on the grid
ynperez: most of that love was from me btw, loudest in the grandstand by far 🥲
schecoperez: @/ynperez have I mentioned your the best baby sister ever 🤔
username8: I hope you heard us nice and loud whilst you were driving around today sergio 🫶🏻
username9: thank you for always bringing the party to the podium ❤️
estebanocon: you should race at home more often if you perform like that
username10: such an incredible weekend, we’re all so proud of you sergio!!
landonorris: idk where that hat came from but I need one asap 😂
schecoperez: @/landonorris we don’t just give these out to any random guy you know
username11: I’m not ready for this weekend to be over already…
danielricciardo: huge race buddy, congrats on some super points 💪🏻
username12: not me not wondering when we’ll next get to see yn and sergio together again 💔
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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 2,859,261 others
maxverstappen1: no better way to spend a week off than exploring the world with my favourite person 🥺 (who also bribes me with beer to take selfies so it’s worth it 😭🍺)
274,261 comments
charles_leclerc: fancy telling us who the lucky girl is that’s taken the max verstappen off the market!?!?
username13: I was not prepared for max to drop this bomb on us today
alex_albon: look at you being all mysterious and secretive on instagram 😂
redbullracing: all we needed to do was buy a beer to stop you giving admin a breakdown with your shocking social posts…
maxverstappen1: @/redbullracing admin can comment when you’ve got more followers than me ☺️
username14: whoever this girl is, she must make max incredibly weak for him to agree to take a selfie 😂
landonorris: congrats on being able to finally take a half decent photo 👏🏻
username15: boyfriend era max can be welcomed with open arms!!
schecoperez: we work together every week and fail to mention you’ve got a girlfriend 🙄
maxverstappen1: @/schecoperez you have to promise not to kill me if I share…
schecoperez: @/maxverstappen1 you can’t tell me something like that and not elaborate!!
danielricciardo: if I knew beer was all it took I’d have got you social media trained years ago 🤦🏻‍♂️
username16: who is this favourite person and how can I take their place???
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
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liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 193,747 others
ynperez: turns out the dutch just as good as the mexicans 🥺🏎️
38,372 comments
username17: wtf this is the plot twist that I did not see coming 😱
schecoperez: still getting over this absolute betrayal btw 😭
ynperez: @/schecoperez I promise you’re still secretly my number one 🫶🏻
landonorris: wasn’t happy with f1 driver in your life so decided to pull another too ☺️
username18: and now I remember why yn is so popular with all the other drivers 😂
danielricciardo: last time I checked max was mine and now you come along and stolen him 😭
carmenmmundt: why do i feel like I’ve blinked and missed a whole load of chapters here???
ynperez: @/carmenmmundt answer your damn phone and I’ll fill you in!!
username19: why do I feel like I’ve missed out on so many chapters in the story here
alex_albon: I hope you’re only making reference to their driving in that caption 🤔
ynperez: @/alex_albon @/lilymhe come get your man and his head out the gutter please!!
username20: rip sergio 😭 he must be a ruined man right now
username21: how did none of us actually see this coming with how close they are??
flavy.barla: emergency date night for all the details is pending…
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liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri and 327,509 others
ynperez: for all the red bull girlies terrified I had ruined the team forever, here’s the three of us are playing a game of padel to remind you that red bull are gonna win the championship again this year! ❤️💙
52,927 comments
username22: if there’s one person who always believes in red bull it’s yn 🤩
maxverstappen1: you nearly ruined the relationship by picking to play with sergio instead of me 😭
ynperez: @/maxverstappen1 you were better than the two of us combined anyway 😂
username23: why do I feel like yn was more there to be cheerleader than actually player??
landonorris: wondering where my invite to this game was??
danielricciardo: @/landonorris funnily enough the text didn’t arrive on my phone either
oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo @/landonorris I thought it was just me who’d been forgotten 💔
ynperez: @/oscarpiastri that’s because you’re so bad you make me look good at padel 😂
username24: I also want to be part of these padel games fyi 🙌🏻
schecoperez: that’s what we call a fake smile trying to not be sick watching the two of you together 🤮
ynperez: @/schecoperez you love us both really 💙
lancestroll: when they said red bull was a happy family, I didn’t realise quite how close that family was 😂
username25: these photos summarise the team perfectly, sergio just happy to be here whilst max is super focused and competitive!
georgerussell63: next time we’ll have to play a game together
carmenmmundt: @/georgerussell63 @/ynperez we can sit and gossip whilst the boys play more like 😂
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
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liked by schecoperez, charles_leclerc and 3,842,162 others
maxverstappen1: so proud to win another world title and do it with my best friend right by my side. thank you for all the incredible support this year, red bull fans really are the best ❤️🏆💙
482,172 comments
ynperez: couldn’t be happier to be there by your side today, congratulations on an incredible season darling 💞
maxverstappen1: @/ynperez you’re the best prize to come out of this season still 💞
username26: were all so proud of you max, yet another incredible season ����
landonorris: next year I’m coming for your ass just so you know 😉
username27: this thread of photos must have sergio raging in his driver’s room somewhere
schecoperez: don’t remember my sister being the one to race alongside you all season 🤷🏻‍♂️
username28: never in doubt, we all always knew you’d do it max!!
danielricciardo: I always knew you’d do it all those years ago…and look where we are now!
username29: best friend 🥺 if you listen closely you can hear sergio’s heart breaking…
charles_leclerc: it’s been an honour as always to race alongside you this season! 👏🏻
username30: it can’t be denied that these two are just the cutest!
username31: who knew a dutch and a mexican could be so well suited 🤩
redbullracing: our champion and our driver, we couldn’t be happier to have you with us max ❤️💙
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liked by ynperez, schecoperez and 3,117,058 others
maxverstappen1: turns out I forgot to mention the other perez in my life, so shout out to sergio for being the best teammate ever and introducing me to his smoking hot sister 🔥
317,028 comments
schecoperez: this was almost a cute caption until I read that last sentence…and now I want to knock you out 🥊
maxverstappen1: @/schecoperez just remember the bit where I told you you were the best teammate ever 😘
username32: how have I only just noticed how chaotic this duo is 😂
username33: admin hurry up and bring us more content from these two asap!
username34: max better start running whilst sergio hunts down his ass
username35: I wonder if yn realises what she’s started with these two now 🤔
username36: how has it taken me this long to realise how good of a team these two are 😂
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liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 328,018 others
ynperez: best date ever to watch my best friend get married 🥂 so happy to spend your special day with you sergio and carolina 💞
38,472 comments
username37: you two look incredible…congratulations sergio and carolina 💞
schecoperez: hopefully it’ll be you guys next and we’ll be welcoming max into the family 🥺
maxverstappen1: @/schecoperez is this you saying you want to be brothers in law??? 🥹
schecoperez: @/maxverstappen1: let’s not get too ahead of ourselves now…
landonorris: @/schecoperez I agree, hurry up and put a ring on it verstappen 😂
username38: I can’t get over how adorable the two of you are together 😭
landonorris: who knew you two scrubbed up so well!?
ynperez: @/landonorris we just hide it well 😇
username39: is this extended invite sergio finally accepting of max!?
estebanocon: I’ve never heard a sister of the groom speech before, but you really set quite the high standard 😂
username40: can’t wait for these three to keep annoying each other forever 😂
danielricciardo: damn yn idk what you’ve done to max but he’s never looked hotter 🔥
ynperez: @/danielricciardo careful otherwise people might think it’s you two who are dating…
username41: this feels like a competition to pick which is the cuter couple…
oscarpiastri: looks like you guys all had the most magical day 🥂
username42: you know I secretly think sergio is thrilled that they’re together, he just hides it well 😂
maxverstappen1: feeling pretty lucky to have the most beautiful date in the world, my stunning girl 💞
ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 it’s easy to look good with you by my side 🥺
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
1K notes · View notes
taeyongdoyoung · 2 months ago
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wolf and bunny
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summary: you ask your best friend to fuck you in your sleep but your bottled up feelings come out to the surface... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to lovers warnings: cnc/somnophilia, discussion of boundaries, eating out, touching, groping, unprotected sex, spanking, stranger+wolf/bunny roleplay, little red riding hood references, face-slapping (once), size kink, cockwarming, multiple rounds, feelings (ew), pet names, discussion of future scenario 👀 (i know i said this is the end but...we'll see) author's note: hii everyone, this is the third and final part of my wolf and bunny series, thank you so much for going on this nasty journey with me 🤍 part one & part two word count: 2k
You and Chan are having a bit of a disagreement in connection with the circumstances surrounding your next game.
“But I want to know exactly which night you’ll do it.”
“If you know, you won’t be able to fall asleep,” Chan reasons with you. “Kinda like Santa Claus. Kids stay up all night waiting for him and then he never comes.”
“Please, even if the kids were asleep, he’d still never come ‘cause the parents are putting the presents under the tree!”
“It was just a metaphor.”
“A bad one. You’re gonna have to work harder to convince me.”
“Hey, wasn’t this your idea in the first place?” Chan reminds you teasingly. “You’re the one who wants me to fuck her in her sleep.”
“Ey, don’t pretend you won’t be into it,” you shake your head.
You are both so stubborn you don’t see this ending unless one of you retreats. Then, after a brief consideration, you speak again.
“Fine. You can keep the secret of the exact night you’ll do this. On one condition.”
“Sure, bunny, let’s hear it,” Chan listens eagerly.
“If I wake up, you won’t stop. I’ll just pretend I’m still sleepy and we keep going.”
“Is that even possible? I mean, for you to not wake up?”
“It is if you drug me or something,” you shrug.
“Ugh, don’t give me such evil ideas. You never know when I might take advantage of you.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it, wolfie.”
“But are you sure the sleep thing is a great idea? I mean, you wouldn't be able to say a safeword...” Chan can't help but worry, always putting your needs first and planning every scenario in great detail to make sure you're alright. Damnit, could he get any more perfect? He's so sweet and considerate you wish you could just tell him how you feel. But what if that scares him away? What if you lose not only your wicked game buddy but your best friend in the entire world? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself.
“Yes, I'm positive, Chris,” you place your hand on top of his. “I trust you 100% and know that you'll look after me. The question is, do you trust my judgement?”
“I mean, I do trust you. It's just that last time you didn't communicate your discomfort clearly and I wouldn't want to risk messing up to the point of accidentally hurting you,” Chan verbalizes his anxieties.
“I get what you're saying but it's not like I'm open to doing this with a stranger. It's you we're talking about. You've always been great at taking care of people so I know you wouldn't go too far. But at the same time, I wouldn't mind if you went loose. If anyone can take it and accept you fully, it would be me.”
“Yeah, I know. You're right. But just in case, I want you to know beforehand that I care about you and respect you like a lot. So, even if I get carried away, I still want you to feel safe.”
“Aww, Chris, ya old softie! I always feel safe with you, it goes without saying!” you insist.
“Well, I like hearing you say it.”
You gulp nervously. His voice is so commanding and yet so reassuring that your words have never rung truer. He's more to you than a safety net and you hope he knows it. He's incredibly thoughtful and infinitely kinder than the first impression. He's a riddle in the way he keeps surprising you and yet you wanna keep learning more about him. He's hundreds of the loveliest words in the dictionary multiplied. He's more comforting than your favourite blanket. He's warmth personified and you would be an idiot to let him go.
“I'll try to say it more often, then,” you promise. “When I'm with you, I know no harm will come my way. But here's the thing...you're the only one I'd willingly let hurt me.”
“I don't want to hurt you, though.”
“You don't?” you pout, suddenly feeling guilty. Then, what have you been doing? Was he forcing himself to act out these fantasies for your sake alone? You genuinely thought he was enjoying them as much as you were.
“Sorry, that came out wrong,” Chan is quick to explain. “I like our games. I meant that I don't want to hurt you emotionally. Ever.”
“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” you chuckle, feeling a little stupid. “Well, you don't need to worry about that. Glad we had this talk.”
“Me too,” Chan gazes at you fondly.
“So, which night are you fucking me while I'm asleep?” you attempt to find out while he has this dazed look in his eye.
“Next- Hey, nice try! I'm not telling you, you impatient devil.”
“Aw, man, I was so close,” you bemoan the uncertainty of your future.
“You wish.”
The long-awaited night finally arrives. Chan has a key to your place so entering it is too easy. He makes sure he picks a night when you’ve complained about being exhausted and sleepy all day long. And he is certain that you’re passed out in your room, not suspecting a thing. Well, a part of you is always anticipating what could happen, but still.
He’s beyond glad to find you sound asleep. You’re wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some flimsy panties. Chan admires your sleeping form for a couple of brief moments before he gets down to business.
He wonders where to start. Should he tear them up? Or maybe push them to the side? Should he grope your boobs through your shirt? Or perhaps slide his hands beneath it, stroking your nipples directly? So many opportunities. He wants to do everything, he decides.
Chan starts by moving your panties to the side and licking your tiny pussy. He touches you with his fingers, gently prodding your entrance but not exactly sticking them inside yet. Then, he sneaks his hand underneath your shirt, teasing your nipples. Fuck, you’re so soft.
He marvels at the knowledge that you’d trust him with something like that. Though the previous scenarios were hot and intense as fuck, this one hits different for him. Maybe because last time you were awake, you were still in control because you could say the safeword whenever. Maybe because you want him at your most vulnerable even in your sleep. Or maybe because he’s slowly falling for you, but he doesn’t know how to say it.
It’s okay. Chan’ll show you, instead. He pinches your nipples lightly and continues to make out with your pussy. You are so wet already it’s adorable. He wonders if you’re dreaming of him, as you shift slightly in your sleep. He wants to drag this out. But how?
He uses his nails to trace circles on your skin, which causes goosebumps to appear. Are you cold? He wants to keep you warm and full at all times. Chan can’t take it any longer and takes his cock out, sliding in so perfectly. As if you were made for him. Made to take his cock and let him do crazy things to you. His sweet little bunny…
You moan desperately and the spell is broken. You’re awake. He wanders if you’ll speak or he’ll have to make you. Both options sound quite appealing. But he wants to hear your voice more than anything.
“Shhh, go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Chan whispers gently.
“W-who are you?” you cry out.
Aw, you’re gonna pretend not to know him? That hurts. But it can be fun, he thinks.
“Just the big bad wolf,” he chuckles at the irony of it.
“Please, don't do this,” you fake not wanting it, even though you've never wanted anything so badly in your life.
“Oh, bunny, but I already am,” Chan replies, spanking your ass a couple of times in the meantime.
“G-gonna split me in h-half,” you mumble, voice muffled against your pillow.
“Yeah? G'na ruin my sweet girl?” he speaks to you so softly you want to melt right there and then.
“Feel so full 'n so s'eepy,” you slur helplessly.
“Aw, tiny, go back to sleep, then,” Chan pats your head soothingly.
“Can't. What a deep voice you have!” you play along too well.
“All the better to degrade you with, my slutty bun,” Chan laughs, while still continuing to fuck you.
“What big hands you have!” you keep saying.
“All the better to grab your tits with,” Chan chuckles and makes good on his promise by playing with your boobs.
“And slap me with!” you remind him playfully.
“As you wish, princess,” Chan growls and slaps you across the face harshly but not harsh enough to actually leave a mark.
“What big eyes you have,” you sigh wistfully.
“All the better to stare at you fall apart,” Chan responds cleverly.
“And what big cock you have!” you scream, barely resisting the urge to laugh. Are you a silly little bunny or Little Red Riding Hood? At this point, you don't care, but it feels too good regardless.
“All the better to fuck you with,” he grunts loudly, spilling inside of you.
You follow rightaway and urge him to stay like this for a while. Maybe round two is in order?
“You know what else is big?” Chan teases you.
“Oh, shut up, Bigfoot!” you reply and are no longer able to hold it in, breaking into laughter. Chan also finds the interaction hilarious and buries his head in the nook of your shoulder. You stroke his hair without realizing. Shit, he's so adorable you almost say the three words. Is it too risky? Too soon? You need a distraction. You need... “Fuck me again.”
“Already? Aren't you tired?” Chan wants to make sure.
“Fuck me till I fall asleep again,” you ask him.
“Um, okay, sure,” Chan looks a bit confused but does as you ask.
This time there is less talking and more fucking but no matter how many rounds you go, sleep doesn't come again. You both orgasm more times than you could count, but somehow, it isn't nearly enough to distract you from the inevitable. You love him. Your heart knows it, your pussy knows it, even your brain knows it but is stubborny telling you not to confess for fear of somehow ruining things.
Once Chan decides he's completely spent for the night, he pulls out of you and rips off the bandaid.
“Are you alright? Something suddenly shifted but I can't quite place it,” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and nudges you softly with his shoulder.
“Do you want the truth that might mess up everything or do you want me to lie to you and say I'm fine?” you ask, even though you're already on the verge to tell the truth.
“With you? Always the truth, please,” Chan clearly states his preference.
You sigh deeply and tilt to the side so you're facing him properly.
“I think...no, I know I love you.”
“I love you, too, babybun,” Chan responds fondly and kisses you on the nose.
“In a non-friendly way. And I don't mean just sexually, either. I mean, the friendly way and the sexual way haven't diminished, of course. But I also love you in a...I want to be yours, your girlfriend, your lover, your romantic partner, your everything.”
Chan is taken aback by your words. You...feel the same?
“You already are,” he confesses genuinely.
“Huh?” you blink in shock.
“I mean...you are already my everything. But, if you'd like me to officially ask you, then...will you be my girlfriend, angel?”
“You...you'll have me?” you are still in disbelief.
“I thought I already had ya,” Chan pinches your cheeks lightly.
“Damn right you do, Mr. Wolf,” you giggle and pull him into a kiss.
He smells like autumn, his embrace exudes warmth and his lips taste like home.
“You have no idea how badly I've wanted to tell you about my feelings,” Chan confesses. “When I found that story of yours in your drafts, I just couldn't resist the opportunity. I hoped that if I turned your fantasies into reality that you'd eventually fall for me.”
“Oh, Channie...I've been falling for you for longer than you realize,” you admit shyly. “How could I not? You're everything I've ever wanted.”
So, this is what it feels like to have the world in your hands. Huh. You could get used to it.
Bonus:
“No, I'm not kidnapping you!” Chan is adamant as you two sit in a nice restaurant.
“But Chriiiis,” you whine. “You said you'd do anything for my birthday.”
“Anything but that!” Chan shakes his head in amusement.
“Why not? It can be fun!”
“Fun? What if something goes wrong, what if someone sees us and thinks I'm actually kidnapping you, what if...hear me out, here, I go to prison for it?”
“Well, duh, then I'd bail you out!”
“As if you could afford it,” Chan rolls his eyes.
“Hey! But seriously, I'll just tell the cops that I asked you to kidnap me.”
“What if they don't believe you and think you have a Stockholm syndrome?”
“I'll...think of something. Come on, we're going too far with the what-ifs.”
“You gotta be prepared for any situation. You'd know that if you carried the heavy burden of being a dom,” Chan tsks at you.
“I'd know that if you let me,” you give him a wink.
“That will only happen the day I agree to fake-kidnap you.”
“So, tomorrow? It's a date!” you grin excitedly.
“Keep dreaming, darling.”
“Oh, I will.”
The End
2K notes · View notes
luveline · 6 months ago
Note
hotch sister idea-- convincing hotch to take you out to dinner with the whole team because you "want to properly meet his friends" (i'm a sucker for team dynamics) but then being shy and cute with spencer the entire time to the point that hotch notices and gets a tad protective...but ends with spencer getting her number or something
thank you for requesting 💌 —you attend a party with your older brother in a not so secret plight to see Dr. Reid. You fawn, Spencer flusters, and Hotch drinks a tad more than usual. fem, 2.3k
cw for mentions of past child abuse
The car is quiet besides the tread of the tires on asphalt. You click and unclick the clasp of your shoulder bag, checking for your purse, getting worried your purse isn’t in there, and checking again.
“If there’s something you want to ask me, you can ask me.”
You move your gaze to your brother. His quietness can make you nervous, a reflection of your father but with none of the cruelty. “I don’t want you to get mad at me if it’s stupid.”
“Well, I won’t. I promise.”
You know he won’t, but sometimes the fear remains. Even when you’re far from being a kid. “Do you remember when I got suspended for, um, disrespectful behaviour? My senior year?”
Aaron turns the wheel with care. “I do.”
“And we went for ice cream.”
“Yeah, honey, I remember.”
That’s the point you’re trying to make, maybe. That tenderness sewn into the middle of his sentence. If your dad knew you’d been suspended again he would’ve made you feel it. You remember the sinking sensation in your chest waiting for him to pick you up, having written the speech he’d give you in the car ride home in your head ten times over, the sting of his palm grazing your cheek before you’d even seen his hand. So you waited in a total violent panic, head rush, wondering if anything was worth anything, when Aaron arrived to pick you up.
How did you know? you’d asked.
I changed your emergency contact. I hope that’s okay.
“You asked me what I wanted and…”
What flavour did you want, honey? he’d asked. Honey, like he loved you, the only person in the whole world who’d bother asking. The only man who’d take you for ice cream at seventeen years old to cure a bad day.
“And you burst into tears,” Aaron says.
He’d sat down opposite you in his suit, torn from one of his trials, and you can’t remember anymore if he was an attorney or already in the FBI, but you can’t forget how he’d taken your wrists into his hands and asked you not to cry.
“When you took me home, Haley asked me if you’d upset me, and I didn’t know how to explain it so you said yes. And she shouted at you for a whole half hour.”
“Why are you thinking about this now?” he asks.
Maybe because college is over and you’re forced to move on. Aaron asked you to try hard and you have, but now you have your degree and you don’t know what to do with it, you’ll get a job, and then what?
“I’ve been thinking about… my love life.”
“Oh. And you have to talk about this with me?” he jokes.
“I don’t have anybody else.”
He tears his gaze from the windshield. “That’s not true.”
“But…”
He turns into the parking lot outside of Dan’s Fine Wine Bar and pulls into a tight space with ease. He hesitates before he flicks off the engine, turning to you with a smile. “You’ll always have me,” he says, “and we can talk about your love life. I want to. God knows you’ve heard enough about mine this last year.” You both grimace. “But if I have to listen one more time to you talking about Spencer–”
“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”
“Honey.” He takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. “I’m not mad. But imagine your younger sibling comes to you one day to tell you they have feelings for your employee and try to find some sympathy for me!”
He clambers out of the car. You rush after him, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly smashing your door into the car next to you. The air outside is cold, and you didn’t bring a jacket even though Aaron told you to twice, so you can’t mention it aloud. “I don’t have feelings for him.”
“You have a crush. You’re too old for it.”
“I am not.”
He gestures for you to walk in front of him as he clicks the fob for the car and the doors lock automatically. “I don’t understand what this has to do with your suspension.”
You chew on your cheek. Neon from the wine bar mottles your skin as you pass under it and through the door, air quickly turned from cold to temperate, the smell of old rain replaced by carpeting and beer. When you lift your head to his gaze, he’s still waiting for your answer. “You told me things wouldn’t be that hard forever. I was just wondering when it’s safe to say you were right.”
He grins at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to give you a rough hug. “Right now. Be happy right now, honey.”
“There they are!” Penelope calls from a table near the back. Suddenly, Aaron’s entire team of work colleagues stand up where they’ve dominated a whole row of tables and booths alike to greet you. “Oh my gosh, I missed you!”
You met Penelope a long long time ago, and JJ and Derek around the same time, but everybody else is basically new. College was busy and Aaron busier —there was hardly ever time to visit, and when you did it was to see him and Haley. Meeting his friends was somehow put off.
You were introduced to Emily and Spencer, so Aaron directs you to David Rossi first. That’s the main team done quickly. But then he has to introduce you to Anderson, Sweeney, Kelly, Cory, Davidson, etc. So many agents for one man’s birthday. Anyone would think Derek Morgan was a celebrity.
“Happy birthday!” you say, when you finally get a moment to speak.
Derek reaches over the table to hug you quickly. “Thank you, gorgeous. We’re thrilled you’re here.” He pulls back, elbowing Penelope lovingly. “Aren’t we, mama?”
Penelope squeals and jumps for you. “So thrilled!”
Aaron touches your back, as if to say, I’m here, before taking a seat opposite Rossi. You hear snippets of a conversation about whiskey and when, but you’re distracted, because suddenly Penelope’s forcing you to sit down in her vacated seat, smack bang between Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid.
Dr. Spencer Reid. “Hi,” you say quietly. Can’t help it. You remember how you’d reacted when you met him the week before last and wonder if it’s too late to pretend you’re cool —you’d gotten so worked up about him. He wrote a bunch of papers you had to read for your degree, some of the most sophisticated theory on elliptical math you’d ever read, and you’re supposed to act like he’s just a normal guy?
It doesn’t help that he’s model pretty. You’d never have thought of him as he is now over email, his huge brown eyes, pale skin, the flicking curl of his hair behind his ears. When he turns his head, he has indents on his nose from a pair of glasses you wish you’d seen. You clear your throat.
“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” Spencer asks.
“I’m gonna go get a drink now,” Aaron says. “What do you want?” he asks you.
“Um, anything. I don’t really wanna drink.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says with deliberateness.
You feel heat like a rash on your neck. He’s embarrassing you doing his dad routine.
“You look pretty,” Spencer says.
You hide your hands under your thighs. “You think so?”
“You look beautiful,” Penelope says from across the table.
“Didn’t inherit that Hotchner scowl,” Derek says with a grin, “I thought it came with the name.”
“I learned how to do it the day they signed the adoption certificate,” you nudge in, “I just keep it to myself. I think Aaron has it down.”
Everybody within hearing distance laughs at you, to your relief. To your left, Spencer’s shoe hits your heel.
“So weird to hear his real name,” Emily says, tipping her drink to the side, ice and sugar on the surface. “I thought for sure you’d have to call him Hotch too.”
You look around in surprise. “He can’t be that bad. Does he really frown so much?”
You’re told vehemently that your brother is a grump, which is something you were aware of, just not experienced in. Sure, he’s had his unhappy moments, no one can smile every second of the day, but if everyone is to be believed he’s the sternest man alive. Eventually things drift into storytelling. Aaron brings you your drink with a straw and a napkin wrapped around the base, and you find yourself listening to a graphic rehash of Derek’s first case with the BAU.
Spencer’s leg is a coal at your side.
Your self preservation runs out. “You don’t drink?” you ask, nodding to his glass bottle of coke.
“I– I never did. I never had the opportunity. I’ve never even been to a party.” He pauses. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”
“I didn’t go to parties either,” you say, overjoyed to find common ground so quickly.
“I mean, I was never invited, but highschool parties didn’t seem like my thing. And, you know, I was twelve.”
“You were twelve in highschool?”
He’s doing that thing you noticed the day you met, where his lips move before he’s ready to talk, his emotion clear. “You weren’t?” he asks, not quite smooth but enough to make you laugh suddenly.
“I wish! I could’ve been done with college years ago.” Your brows pinch together. “Wait, so did you go to college as a kid?”
“I mean, sort of.”
“What? No wonder you didn’t go to any parties, that must’ve been insane. When I was twelve I was still setting my Barbie’s up for dance parties. Aaron has a photo of me dressed up in mom’s old clothes.” You lean forward for a sip of your drink.
“Oh, don’t worry, there’s a photo of me just like that when I was twelve, too.”
You laugh so hard you almost choke.
A cup comes down hard somewhere behind your turned head.
“You okay?” Emily asks.
She wears a smirk you don’t understand, a joke you’ve missed. You peer past her to look to Aaron for advice and find him rather sullen, hand curled tightly around his drink. You try to give him a signal to ask if he’s alright, but it’s to no avail.
“I’m fine, sorry, just a joke.” You turn back to Spencer. “That’s adorable.”
You’re breathless talking to him. He must notice, but Spencer doesn’t say a word.
If someone asked you why he caught your attention, you’re not sure you know the answer. He’s pretty, undeniably, and it’s fascinating that you used his theory while you were in school, but fascination isn’t endless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. No ones ever given such a clear sense of awe; he gets stuck on you, his eyes tracing your cheek and your nose and your lips. It’s noticeable, but it isn’t unwanted. You keep coming back to his smile as he talks, the flash of his teeth.
“I honestly didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Spencer says.
“He was keeping us apart for a reason,” you say insistently, “I just don’t know what that reason is yet. He must’ve known you were the Dr. Reid I’d been reading.”
“It makes it sound like you’re reading me,” Spencer laughs. “Like, my hands.”
“Do you want me to?”
“Do I want you to what?”
“To read your palm?”
“You know how?”
“No parties, remember?”
Spencer gives you his hand. He has nice hands, big but slim-fingered like a pianist’s, though if he plays isn’t something you know. You angle it flat careful, your thumbs to either side of his open palm. “What do you want to know?” you ask.
“What can you tell me?”
You hum gently. “You have your life line, your head line, your heart line– your love line.”
“What does that– that mean for me?”
You press your thumb to his mount Jupiter, a soft hill of his hand under one of his fingers where the heart line begins. “Your desire for love, and your capacity for it. See how deeply curved it is?” you ask, drawing along his heart line gently. “It means you’re warm, and loving. That you could have a great love.”
You look up, his hand held gently between yours. “But I could be really wrong. I haven’t done this in so long, I might just be making stuff up.”
You sound insecure to your own ears, cringing away from his hand, but Spencer ducks his head just a little to keep your gaze, and he smiles at you softly. “It’s okay. I like your reading, even if it’s wrong. Where did you learn how to do that?”
“Aaron would buy me any book I asked for growing up, he…”
Your brother, sitting only a few seats away, can’t find it in himself to regret that particular generosity even if the sight of you holding Spencer’s hand isn’t one he wants to see. It’s odd. You’re fully grown up, and it’s not like Aaron thinks Spencer would ever hurt you purposefully, but it’s hard to see anyways. He can admit to feeling like a father watching his daughter finding a first love; he can’t keep you forever and he doesn’t want to, but it’s still hard to watch as you descend into giggles that border on dizziness.
“This is a good thing,” Rossi says. “You’ll never have to worry about her being out past curfew.”
Aaron laughs, it’s funny, and then he knocks back his drink.
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tremendouscreationperson · 3 months ago
Text
Logan x Reader pt.1
Again spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine
Many of y'all liked my little DP/W idea so here is more, I tried to keep it GN so there isn't smut but it does sorta allude to it
Part 2 >> Masterlist
Wade has just woke up, he yet again sees Logan drinking and asks 'where they are and how they got here'. Logan vaguely points to the door and three people walk through. It's Elektra, Blade and Gambit. There are some not-so-pleasantries and eventually Laura makes herself known.
"We're missing Johnny and Y/N." Gambit drawls.
Wade makes a joke and turns back to Logan who looks like he's shat himself. "Peanut?"
"You said Y/N?" Logan settles his drink onto the first available surface and runs a hand through his hair. "We saw Johnny but not Y/N."
~~
Later on he had slumped down and made a fire. He didn't want to be part of the heroics, he couldn't be. He wasn't worth it. Laura had tried to convince him in her unique way. He could see himself in her, see why he'd fight for her.
Logan took another swig and stared off into the treeline. It was unclear how long he just sat but eventually he noticed movement.
Wolverine stood, ready to protect the others. Why was he ready to protect the others?
Then he saw you.
You were wide eyed. Your suit was practically undamaged except for a little cut on your thigh. Not a hair out of place. There was dirt on your face and body but you were beautiful.
"Y/N." He involuntarily took a step towards you.
You stayed completely still. Wary. Why were you wary of him? “Logan.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it. Would always hear you. You were the main voice rattling around his adamantium skull.
“Y/N.” He took another step forward and tried to erase his frown, tried to ease his expression into something you wouldn't be wary of. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
Your eyes scanned him and the trees behind before you gave a nod and slowly approached, favouring your right leg.
“It's been a while.” The fire light bounced gloriously off your skin, illuminating your very being as though you were an angel. Well you were. You were perfect. Are perfect.
“For me as well.” He nodded too enthusiastically, too eager to be speaking to you. He didn't deserve this.
You lowered yourself onto a patch of grass, crossing your legs to the best of your ability, pupils glued to the flames. They danced along and lit up your eyes. Surely, you couldn't be more beautiful. Logan hadn't even realised but he had sat himself back down on his perch across from you. “I’m sorry.”
He couldn't help it, his frown was back in full force. What could you possibly have to apologise for? “I don-”
“You're not the first Wolverine to come sniffing me out.” You explained. “There's been others and they've- they've not all been friendly.”
What the fuck had he done? “I swear, I am not here to hurt you.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I promise.”
“I know. I just- it's not often you see your husband's-” Husband? “- face and he doesn't know you or is feral or-” You took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. “You at least recognise me.”
“Of course I do.”
“Okay, that's good.” You nod mostly to yourself before asking, “what happened in your world?”
“My world?”
You nod again.
“We're X-Men. I'm shitty. You're perfect. Scott nags me. Storm married a king and moved away, visits every so often. Jean was in the process of taking over from Charles…” If he didn't tell you they all died, maybe they didn't. Maybe they could live in your head. Maybe he wasn't a monster. “Yours?”
“Much the same really.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “‘cept you weren't shitty. You were just you. Sabertooth was the shitty Howlett.”
Logan chuckled at that.
“Did you have a Laura? Or a Gabby?”
He shook his head. “Uh, no. But I've met Laura. She's nice. Fierce.”
“She's your DNA spliced with some poor unfortunate ladies. Essentially your offspring.” You informed. “Gabby is a clone of a clone. She's lovely though. Friends with Wa-Deadpool.”
“He's here.” Logan scratched his chin. “He's the reason I am.”
“Oh, you're friends as well?”
“God, no.” He shook his head. “Kinda just thrust together.”
“He always wanted to hang with you but usually just ended up with Spidey.”
Logan had heard of Spidey -Spiderman- but he hadn't met the guy, yet. If he hung out with Wade he was probably just as mad.
You both fell into a fairly comfortable silence but he didn't like that. You were here. He could actually talk to you. Actually be around you. “What happened to your leg?” He motioned to it as you carefully repositioned yourself.
“Angel.” You whispered darkly.
“Warren?”
“Yeah. Sometimes your friends aren't your friends. He had metal wings and weird tattoos. I called out to him and he just attacked. He was so quick I couldn't put up a forcefield in time.”
“I'm sorry.” It was a lame response but he had nothing else. You merely sat there, watching him, scanning his reactions. “I don't know how to convince you I am your friend. But I am. I won't harm you.”
You gave him a small lopsided smile. And he remembered.
“Wait. I do know how.” Logan rummaged around his very tiny suit pockets. He knew it was somewhere. He made sure it was always on him. Hidden away where no one would find it. Tucked into a sleeve that he kept safe by his ankle, usually people hit his torso, they don't always go for feet so he felt secure in it's position. Well, he did until he fought Wade in that fucking Honda.
Logan found it. It was scrappy and definitely worse for wear but the picture was clear. He stood and slowly walked around the fire to your side. You didn't back away but he caught your involuntary shoulder flinch.
“Here.”
You delicately took the piece of paper from his hands. It felt glossy, like magazine print. It was folded and on the visible side was a photo of you smiling wide, proud, in front of the X mansion. You unfolded it to see Logan standing next to you with a barely-there smirk. He looked almost bored but you knew him. Knew he was smiling, it was in his eyes, the softness in his face.
You were confused because he was smiling yet it was clear that he folded it to hide himself.
“Why have you folded it like that?”
Because I look awful. Because you are perfect and happy and brilliant and I pretended I didn't want the photo. Because it's the only faculty photo of me they ever took. Because they all knew I was sweet on you when you stopped me for a photo and I agreed. Because I had to take this from a yearbook after the school was raided. Because it's the only photo of us that I have and I hate that I'm in it. “Easier to fit the little pocket.”
“I have a similar one.” You confessed, knowing he was lying but that's okay. You all had secrets. “It's with my other bits, in the base.”
He felt his cheeks warm so looked away to the base. “Speaking of, it's late and you're hurt. They were planning on leaving at sun up, but I'm not sure that's still happening.”
“Why are we leaving?”
“We're storming Cassandra Nova’s lair.”
You let out a full body laugh. The noise was heavenly. “Fuck off, you come here and suddenly talk them into a full frontal assault? Brilliant.”
He rolled his eyes at you but extended a hand. “Come on, bub, let's get you updated and checked out.”
It wasn't much really, not to a bystander, but you actually accepting his hand meant the world to him and you. Both for similar and completely different reasons.
He definitely didn't need to but insisted on helping you to the base. It was hardly worth it but being back in his arms was lovely. It felt like home. He was maybe a few inches taller and definitely a little older looking than you recalled but he was your Logan. And a helpful one. He wasn't chasing you like a wild dog because you smelt nice. He was helping you limp back.
“Y/N.” Elektra spoke as soon as you entered the threshold.
“El.” You smiled widely.
She gave you a subtle look - raising her eyebrows a fraction and flickering her eyes at Logan - before taking your hand and leading you out of his arms. “We were worried.”
“You shouldn't have worried.” Rolling your eyes. “You know me.”
“That is why I was worried.”
She gave you a quick hug and assessed your leg. You had known her for five years. She had been here longer than you, travelling with Blade, and quickly intervened when she saw a Ghost Rider trying to lasso you. You three had met Johnny, who had been here a while too, and eventually met Laura. She was the only familiar face to you, it was a breath of fresh air to see her. It was a shame she didn't know you but you explained who you were and where she was and she slowly came around to trusting you. Gambit was the newest addition to your ragtag gang. He, bless him, tried to be as useful as possible and you're sure he was but there were times when you had no idea what went on in his mind. He was his own enigma.
The cut wasn't awful, a fact you had said multiple times, but Elektra still insisted on using alcohol to clean and one of the rags you recycled from an old duvet to wrap it, explaining the idiotic plan that you were all taking part of as she went.
“Oh!” Wade loudly exclaimed as Elektra tightened the makeshift bandage. “The self insert! I can't believe it, the movie’s been out like three days!”
You exchanged a glance with El and gave him an odd look as you greeted the man. “Hiya Wade.”
“Y/N.” He bowed. “I'm a little star struck.”
“Why?” Elektra stood to her full height and quickly made an exit, this wasn't the first Deadpool she had seen but this was one of the high energy ones.
“Well, you're Logan's thing.” The man behind perked up, his shoulders tense. He had been watching you the whole time and clearly wasn't a fan of DP rambling. “You're his reason to keep on. One of the reasons my Logan saved Laura. To keep his promise to you or something like that, I don't know the writing is a bit clunky.”
“Right.” You nodded, not quite understanding. But it was funny to see the mortified expression Logan was wearing. “So I'm Logan's ‘thing’.”
“Well, duh-”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” Logan ordered.
“Gosh, was he always this snappy?” Wade chirped.
“I dunno, Lo always had a soft spot for me so..”
“Awwwww.” He clasped his hands and held them at his heart. “Did you hear that she said ‘Lo’?” Wade had just turned to see the man in question but Wolverine was behind him and quickly dragging the Merc away, not quite whispering another ‘shut your fucking mouth’.
Blade, who was one to skulk hidden in corners before making himself known, had watched the interaction and gave you a fright as he stepped from the shadows. “So that's him, huh?”
“Jesus!” You whisper-yelled. “How many times have I asked you to not do that?”
“Daywalker, can't help it.” He shrugged and sat next to you on the sofa. It was old and ugly but so so comfortable.
You gave a sigh, holding your hammering heart. “Yes. He's Logan. A version of him. That actually doesn't wanna kill me.”
“Maybe you should let it play out.”
“And maybe I shouldn't.” You counter. “We'll all be dead tomorrow anyway.”
“All the more reason to."
He was correct of course. You had missed Logan so much and this one clearly had missed you. It would be folly to not spend the last night you may be alive together. In whatever way you were both comfortable with. But you didnt want to give him the satisfaction of being right, so merely huffed in response.
"Elektra told you the plan?”
“Well, Laura hardly speaks and I can't understand Gambit.”
Blade let out a low laugh. He was one of the coolest people you'd ever met, even his chuckle was cool. You were so envious.
Logan came back with red cheeks and quickly apologised. “I'm sorry, he talks so much and I don't think he actually hears himself.”
You waved him off. “It's fine.”
“No, he embarrassed you.” Logan sighed, his jaw set like he was biting the inside of his cheek.
“Logan, really. Don't worry.” You could see that he wasn't going to 'not worry' so decided to just remove yourself from the situation. Clapping Blade’s leg you stood. “Right, bed time. Big day tomorrow.”
“You aren't coming.” Logan replied immediately.
“Uhm. Pretty sure I am.”
“No, you're injured.” He stated as though that was obvious.
“This is literally the smallest injury I've had out here.”
“But you are hurt.”
“Logan.”
“Y/N.”
Blade watched the back and forth with a smirk, you were both clearly a married couple.
“I think you two should take this to Y/N’s room.” Your eyes widened dramatically. “You can argue all night when the door is shut and no one else can hear you.” The sly bastard.
“Okay.” Logan agreed. “I'll convince you to stay, where's your room?”
You let out a few noises, dying arguments, and then the biggest sigh. “Fuck my life. This way.”
The base was an old temple. You had wondered who it belonged to. The statues of her were beautiful. You had yet to see a variant of whoever this was, maybe that was a good thing. She might not take lightly to you guys using her sacred temple as a hotel. There were a few corridors you had to walk down to get to your room. You'd dragged an old mattress into it and made sure to keep the room dust free. There weren't a lot of luxuries in this world but you had an orb that when touched lit up delicately. There were a few sets of clothes you'd scavenged so you kept yourself clean and had a set of ‘pjs’. Your room was covered in marks where you had flung a knife or practised a forcefield. He assumed there weren't that many guns here, or if there were ammo was rare.
“You can't fight.” Logan started.
Oh. You were actually going to argue. “Logan, I could fight you right now.”
“Go on then.” He called your bluff.
You gave him a playful smirk. “You really wanna fight? It could be our last day alive and you wanna spend it fighting?”
“I know you can't fight with that leg.” He was so sure of himself. You couldn't wait to prove him wrong.
With a twitch of your hand you flung him towards you with a forcefield, side stepping out of his way. It took him by surprise how strong you had gotten and he had to catch himself before he hit the wall.
Logan twisted around to find you at his throat with a small blade in your hand. Your chest pressed into his, causing his back to hit the wall. “That was over pretty quick, Lo.”
Logan was in awe of your swift moves. You were tenfold who he knew. God could you get more attractive? He felt himself get warm and not from embarrassment. You were making him hot, you holding a knife to his throat was making him horny. What did that say about him?
Your eyebrows pinched minutely as you observed him swallow. “You like this, don't you?”
Was there a point in lying? “Maybe.”
“Well... Maybe I do, too.”
God he was ruined.
You were literally amazing.
How could he be so lucky? He really didn't deserve this.
Logan glanced down to your lips and you smirked. "Go on." He didn't need any other invitations. He captured your lips and kissed you with the full force of his years of loneliness.
He loved you, by god, he did.
Logan's left hand found your nape whilst his right landed on your ass. He growled as you pushed into him a fraction more.
Your leg moved by itself, wrapping around his waist as you took advantage of his growl. Kissing the exposed areas of his neck. You'd missed this. You'd missed him.
Logan hoisted you the rest of the way up and gazed into your eyes. You were looking down at him, lips plump and cheeks hot, you panted a little and fuck. He was going to fuck you. He wasn't sure he could actually pull himself away from you. You both should be sleeping, preparing for the fight tomorrow. No, you shouldn't be fighting. You should be safe. Somewhere safe and warm, waiting for him to return.
"Come with me." He begged.
"I'm sure I will." You winked.
"No, tomorrow, after the fight. Come with me, wherever I end up." He didn't want to go back but he would if you followed. If you came with him he could do it. Go anywhere. Be anyone.
"So you agree I'm fighting fit." You pecked his nose, playfully.
He huffed but found your lips again, leading you both to the mattress you called a bed.
He'd buy you a bed, a grand one. One worthy of you. He hated that you only had this. He needed to provide for you. Keep you warm, safe, loved, full. Keep you.
Logan was going to keep you and he didn't care how.
.
.
Part 2
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peterman-spideyparker · 6 months ago
Text
Stolen Glances (College!Matt Murdock x College!Fem!Reader)
Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been on a writing hiatus after feeling uninspired after a long while, and I think it's kind of helped reset my creative juices. I'm entering my busy season at work, so I don't know how much time I'll have for writing in the future, but I'm back to feeling more like myself. I figured one of the best ways to return to writing was with some College Matt! Enjoy! :)
Summary: Your best friend convinces you to go out with her to a bar to celebrate the start of spring break, and to your surprise, the night takes an unexpected turn for the better when your friend calls over two people she knows from her law classes—one of whom you just so happen to have a huge crush on.
Warnings: Flirting, swearing, reader nickname (not-name specific) drinking, kissing, getting caught in the rain, smut (oral-f!receiving, Matt's mouth being a menace, praise kink, Matt being a lil' tiny touch possessive, Matt lightly biting at Reader's shoulder, p in v protected sex, aftercare)
Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, OFCs
Word Count: 6,084
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“Stop staring,” Amy says as she sips her drink. 
“I’m not,” you murmur as you roll your beer bottle absentmindedly on the sticky bar counter of Josie’s. How Amy even got you out tonight is beyond you. You don’t go to bars. You’re not even a big fan of going out in general. But tonight, you caved, and followed her in the rain to a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen for cheep beer, gossip, and people watching. And it’s people watching that lead your eyes to land on one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. Matt Murdock—enter frantically smitten swoon here. He’s a law student with a voice like honey, a smile that could light up a room, and the best ass in the entire world.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to stumble into the one that he was in.
“You are,” Amy counters. 
“Not.”
“Are.” 
“Fine,” you sigh. “Glancing. Let me have this.”
“He’s single, you know. Broke up with the girl he was dating all last year.”
“Which means he’s not looking for anyone.”
“Or he rebounds fast and wants to get under someone. Er, have someone get under him. Hell, I don’t know what he’s in to.”
“Ames.”
“What? I’m just speculating. Just like you are ogling him.”
“Again, not ogling. Glancing. Besides, he’s way out of my league. And you know what? This, right here, is a perfect situation for me—it’s a crowded bar, he’s blind, no one here knows me or cares about me and won’t think twice of me looking in that direction. This is the only time I can pine after someone and not get flustered and weird if he looks in my direction or watch Cindy from my Brontë’s class try to show off her cleavage to get his attention. And she totally would, event to the one guy that literally can’t see it. Which brings me back exactly to my point—he can’t see us here or the undoubtedly big heart shapes my eyes are in.”
“What if his friend does?”
“He has his back to us, he won’t—.”
“FOGGY!”
“You are a major asshole, you know that?” you hiss as you whip your head around to scowl at her.
“Well, now, you can glance up close, see the finer details. Maybe accidentally touch his big arms?” she says with an innocent smile and delightfully raised eyebrows. “Or something else big.”
“Be nice.”
“I’m always nice. Besides, they’re my friends. You survive Professor Murphy’s class together, you’re blood brothers for life—Hey, Fog! Murdock!”
“I didn’t know you guys came to Josie’s,” Foggy smiles as they get close enough to where the two of you sit. “If I had, I would’ve invited you to some of our post-test outings.”
“Well, Kitty here is a lightweight, so it’s not often I get to bring her to bars. I think I finally convinced her because it’s the Friday before spring break and she doesn’t have to do homework right this moment,” Amy hums. She so knows what she is doing, and you don’t know if you should kick her in the shins or be eternally grateful for how Matt turns his head to you next. 
“Kitty?” Matt smiles, and it makes your cheeks burn. He wets his lips lightly as he turns his body toward you, and you can’t help but duck your gaze and shrink in on yourself a bit. 
“An unfortunate nickname that has followed me since I was four and can’t seem to shake,” you explain. “Now that I’m not four, (Y/N) just fine.”
“It’s cute, though. Maybe you’ll tell me the story.”
Fuck, why’d he have to say it like that? You’d tell him absolutely anything he’d want if he spoke to you like that again.
“Maybe,” you breathe. “Maybe not.”
The smile he flashes you is soft, dreamy, and alluring. “Someday it is, then.”
“Why don’t you two take a seat with us?” Amy asks as she swallows the last of her drink. “Have a few rounds with us. I mean, you guys know me, but let’s include (Y/N) into the fold. Probably good that you two legal goobers befriend an English major. Help you guys avoid being duped in a contract or something because of semantics or syntax or something.”
“Offense,” Foggy scoffs.
“(Y/N)’s worst is still better than your best, and you know it.”
“Down, Ames,” you chuckle, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I said about being nice?”
“Amy? Nice?” Matt smirks. “I’m afraid we haven’t earned that privilege.”
“So, how long have you known Amy?” Foggy asks as he waves Josie over for another round. 
“Too long,” you chuckle, earning you a playful kick under the bar.
“Harsh,” Matt hums.
“For someone who’s basically my sister? Nah. We’ve been friends since we could toddle around,” Amy shrugs. “You two should understand that one—I mean, roommates for two years and essentially an identical course load? You’re as good as brothers.”
“Very true,” Foggy smiles as he opens his next beer. “I mean, sure, Matt got all the good looks, but I have the boyish wit and knack for sarcastic comments.”
“Seems like a pretty perfect pairing to me,” you add. 
Foggy claps Matt’s back with a big smile. “See that, pal? Even the people that just meet us can see we’re a perfect match! Murdock and Nelson, taking New York City law by storm! Rolling in the money, the biggest of the bigs wanting us on retainer!”
“A real life Harvey Spector and Mike Ross,” Amy says with a playful roll of her eyes.
“Take it from a blind man, Nelson and Murdock has a better ring to it,” Matt hums as he sips his beer. “And while money is nice, there’s still something really nice about saving the world.“
“Matty the Martyr,” he sighs. “You know, (Y/N), my parents wanted me to be a butcher.”
“Fog, please, not the butcher story!” Matt begs. 
“Yeah, please,” Amy seconds. “(Y/N) doesn’t need to hear it.”
“Ugh, tough crowd tonight,” he sighs. “You’ll hear about it, (Y/N) . . . someday.”
“Mildly ominous. Definitely non-threatening,” you grin before everyone starts to laugh. “So, what brings you guys out? Is this a post-test outing?”
“Nah, just a Friday night,” Matt smiles. 
“Well,” Amy says, holding up her new drink. “To just a Friday night.”
You all clink the necks of the bottles together before you drink, chatting briefly before Amy playfully insults Foggy’s pool playing skills. The two of them down their drinks before they make their way to the pool table to prove one another wrong.
“I don’t know how those two are friends, sometimes,” Matt chuckles. 
“Well, Amy has three brothers,” you hum. “She loves pushing people’s buttons like that.”
“And Foggy doesn’t back down from challenges like that. Although, I agree that Amy could wipe the floor with Fog at pool.”
You laugh, biting your lip from laughing too loud in the bar. “I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Eh,” he squeaks. “I think he knows where I stand on his pool skills. I mean, a blind guy can beat him.”
You feel your face grow hot with the attention he’s giving you, but it’s all very welcome as you both begin to chat about whatever comes to your minds. For how pretty he is and how flustered you get talking into to people you find attractive, conversation comes so easily with Matt. You feel like you could tell him anything. But that’s the dangerous thing—there’s no way this could work, as a friend or for whatever your brain could dream up. He’s too . . . magnetic. You’d misread something, and in the end, you’d be the one getting hurt. Besides, if you’ve learned anything from Amy, part of being an attorney is learning how to charm the pants off of whomever you’re talking to. And unfortunately for you, you’re just the girl at the bar he’s trying to schmooze only to never see again.
“(Y/N)?” he asks, trying to catch your attention.
“Hm?” you hum, snapping out of it. 
His face is soft, but definitely concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “I was just thinking of something.” 
He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you want to talk about it, but a small pang in your chest makes you want to run away and hide in a corner. 
“I don’t think pool is supposed to take that long,” you say, changing the subject and craning your neck around the bar to try and spot your friends. “I have absolutely no idea where Amy went. It looks like Foggy’s gone, too.”
Matt lets out a small, breathy laugh with a knowing grin.
“Do you want to share the joke with the class?”
“Fog’s been on my case lately about meeting new people. I wouldn’t be surprised if he conspired with Amy.”
“You know, I’d say that’s impossible, but Amy is always trying to set me up and calling me Hermit Homebody.”
“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like 'Kitty'.”
“It’s more alliterative, though.”
“So,” he hums, turning his body toward yours. “What’s the story behind Kitty?”
“You’re gonna judge.”
He holds out his pinky to you. “No judgement. Promise.”
You lick your lips before you move your hand to lock your pinky with his. 
“I really loved Hello Kitty when I was little. I basically wanted to be Hello Kitty. Like, absolutely obsessed—alarm clock, bedsheets, plushies, the whole shebang. I even dressed like Hello Kitty. Yellow shirt, blue overalls or an overall dress, and a red bow in my hair, and I had Hello Kitty socks to wear with my sneakers or little Mary Jane’s. It made getting dressed easy, but it definitely annoyed my mom after a bit.”
“That’s really cute.”
“It’s really not,” you chuckle.
“It is, trust me. And, if it makes you feel any better, a lot of free public domain braille texts were legal documents; after the accident that blinded me, that’s all my dad could really get me between hospital bills, trauma therapy and recovery, and our regular bills. I read a lot of Frederick Douglas while he did boxing practice. Between reading those and my dad’s hope for me to get a good job and use my brain instead of my fists, that’s what drove me to be a lawyer. I’m not sure I would have applied to law school if not for that.”
“Wow. That’s . . . amazing. Honestly.”
His brows furrow slightly as he tilts his head down slightly. “I like to think that I’m making him proud. But I’m afraid that I’ll end up letting him down eventually. He . . . He gave me so much, he gave up so much. For me.”
You place your hand on his that’s resting atop of the bar, giving it a squeeze. “The fact that you know the extent of your dad’s sacrifices and you’re worried about letting him down means that you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.”
Matt nods and you see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard. You could swear that you see a tear roll down his cheek, but you’re distracted when he turns his hand over to hold onto yours better, lacing his fingers in yours. 
“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking a deep breath. “Hearing that . . . it means a lot.”
“It’s just the truth as I see it.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” Matt hums as he turns his head toward you. “We could grab a bite, just walk around.”
“No ulterior motives?”
“Not unless you want me to have ulterior motives.”
You look at him, your heart beating so loudly in your chest, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Then no ulterior motives.”
“I’m not opposed to stopping at the soft pretzel cart that’s a few blocks over, though.”
He gives you a small smile.
“Something funny?”
“Beer and pretzels,” he hums. 
“Har har.”
“C’mon,” he says with a little jerk of his head. “Lead the way.”
Putting some money on the counter to cover your drinks, you slide off of the barstool, your hand still in Matt’s as he mimics your movement before unfurling his cane. You both walk in comfortable silence, recalling little anecdotes from your childhoods as you stroll along the route. 
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you laugh.
“I’m not,” he says with a big smile. “I got so much hell from the nuns for it. Father Lantom put on a little show and was a little mad about it, yeah, but the ‘talking to’ that he gave me was about the Yankees game. In fairness, I honestly did worse when I was younger—probably took years off of all of their lives. Probably still do, when they think too hard about it.”
“Gosh,” you say with another laugh. “You’re such a daredevil.”
“Hey, I’ve turned out just fine. For the most part.” 
“Yeah, you’ve got a point. You seem pretty alright.”
“Pretty alright?” he croons. “I’ll take it. Any pointers for how I can increase my ranking, though?”
“Well, if I told you, it’d be too easy,” you smirk as you approach your destination. “Heya, Boyd.”
“Kitty!” he beams. “Long time no see! You’re usual?”
“That’d be great. School’s been busy.”
“You know she’s in Columbia?” he starts to tell Matt. “Smartest girl I know.”
“She is amazing,” Matt says, and you feel your cheeks burn hot.
“Matt’s one of my classmates,” you explain. 
“Ah, so you’re a smart one, too. Kitty here is one of a kind—don’t do anything stupid to loose this one.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” he smiles.
“D’you want anything with yours?”
“Mustard, please.”
Boyd hands Matt his pretzel, but puts his hand up when you try to pay. 
“Not tonight, Kitty,” he says. “My treat.”
“Don’t be silly, Boyd,” you counter. “You know our rule, only on birthdays.”
“Yeah, but you included me on your date. I feel real special. All warm and fuzzy like.”
Your cheeks burn even hotter when he says “date”— you appreciate that Boyd thinks you’re in the same league. 
“Please?” you try.
“Alright. But you’re getting your change back. This one, she always tries to scurry away before I can give her her change back!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t escape,” Matt chuckles, his hand resting on your waist, the gentle touch sending goosebumps up your spine.
“Atta boy. You know, I like this one. He ain’t that bad. Here, Kitty. Have a nice night, you two!”
“Night, Boyd!” you smile. 
“Nice to meet you,” Matt adds. Once you’re out of earshot, he asks, “How come he can call you Kitty?”
“Because Boyd has known me since I was six,” I chuckle before I take another bite of my pretzel. “You’ve gotta earn it.”
“Oh, so now you’ll let me earn the chance to call you Kitty?”
“If you play your cards right.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“You seem like the kind of guy that likes challenges.”
He grins and raises his eyebrows as if conceding to your point before taking a bite of is pretzel, licking up the mustard at the corner of his mouth. The absolutely obscene thoughts that cross your mind when he does that would even make a sinner in church blush—but also appreciate the sentiment. You finish your pretzels quickly, continue to walk aimlessly around and talk about whatever comes to your mind.
“Wow,” you hum as you look at a clock on the other side of the park we’re walking through.
“What?” he hums. 
“It’s almost three.”
“Seriously? No.” You feel Matt’s arms shift, and you watch his fingers slide over the face of his watch. “Shit. It’s almost three. I didn’t think we were talking for that long.”
“Me either. Not that I’m complaining about it.”
“Neither am I.”
“Maybe we’re just really slow walkers?”
Matt laughs. “It is a really nice night.”
There’s a comfortable silence before you speak next. “I don’t do this, normally. Go out—go out to a bar, no less—walk with guys aimlessly around the city.”
“Tell people the story of your nickname? Or bring them to meet your pretzel godfather?” he teases gently, and you chuckle softly and nod. 
“Definitely not either of those.” You take in a deep breath before you continue. “Something feels different tonight, though, and I like it. And I only started liking it when you and Foggy joined us at our table.”
“Yeah?” he says so softly you almost don’t hear it.
“Yeah,” you confirm. 
“If it makes you feel any better, I like it, too.”
Your gaits slow before Matt turns into you, a relaxed, dreamy look on his face. It’s not a face you’ve seen him flash the girls on campus—the cocky, over-confident swagger that’s usually there replaced with something almost dreamy and entirely genuine. Your heart starts to race as he leans in, but you both freeze in place when the sky opens up and you get caught in a sudden downpour. You squeak and he lets out a soft grunt before Matt hand grabs yours, and you rush toward the sidewalk. You raise your hand to wave down an oncoming taxi, and as you both slide in, Matt gives his address to the cabbie. 
The ride is short, but it’s definitely better than making the trip in the pouring rain. When the cabbie pulls to the curb, Matt hands him the fare and the tip, opening the door and sliding out first, waiting for you to follow. He uses his large frame to try and shield you from the rain as you run into the lobby of his dorm, tracking in puddles into the elevator. 
“Would Foggy mind if I crash here for the night? I mean, what’s left of it,” you ask, your arms hugging yourself as you shiver in front of his door. 
“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s staying with his family for the first half of break,” Matt says as he slides the key into the lock, leading you into the very nice dorm apartment. “It’s just us here.”
“Ah,” you hum softly, looking around the space. “I wish my dorm looked like this. I think I chose the wrong major.”
Matt chuckles softly as he moves about the space. “Well, each year we get better housing choices, and the ADA complaint dorms were updated a few years ago. Foggy just reaps the rewards of being my friend.”
“Well, it is very nice. Definitely decorated by boys, though.”
Matt chuckles softly, walking into what you assume is his room before coming back out in pajamas, a folded set of clothes in his extended hand. 
“Thanks,” you smile as you take the sweatshirt and sweatpants out of his hands.
“Can’t have you be chilly,” he hums. “Let’s face it—Amy would kill me if I let you catch a cold.”
“You, Foggy, and then me. In that order,” you laugh. “You know, I honestly thought it was done raining for the night.”
“I’m just glad we caught a cab. And that you let me pay.”
“Well, you gave them the address to your dorm. Seemed right that you foot the bill.”
Matt chuckles as you turn to side off your wet clothes and put on his fluffy sweater and sweats. Yes, it feels a little odd to change in front of him, but it’s not like he can see you in your underwear, and you need to get these wet clothes off. And if tonight has taught you anything, Matt is someone you feel comfortable and safe around.
“Let’s hope these dry by the morning,” you say, folding your soaked clothes and putting them over the stool in the kitchen area. 
“You can keep them as long as you need. Something tells me I’ll get them back eventually.”
You blush deeply. “In a timely manner. Promise.”
“I’m not gonna force you out when the sun comes up, you know,” Matt continues. “We can go down and throw your clothes into the dryer in the morning. Maybe go grab breakfast after they’re out.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Want to go to the living room?”
“No ulterior motives?” you smirk. 
He laughs, and you swear you just made him to blush. “No. Not unless you want there to be,” he responds. 
“I don’t think I’d be opposed to some.”
Matt slides off his glasses, placing them on the kitchen table. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight coming through the window, taking a half step forward and placing his hands on your waist. You lean in to help close the space between your bodies, and when his lips finally meet yours, you feel your heart skip a beat as electricity shoots through your veins. You slide your hands up his body to cradle is face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss is passionate, tender, and everything that a kiss should be. When he pulls back, you’re breathless and dizzy in all the best ways. His forehead rests on yours, and you desperately wish he’d lean in for another kiss. 
“Are those acceptable motives?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.
“Mm,” you hum. “Very.”
He smiles, leaning in for another kiss, the force of the embrace knocking the back of your legs against the sofa. You pull him into you, knocking the pair of you down on the couch, his body crushing yours in the most glorious of ways for a moment until he can position himself better on the furniture. His hands have a firm grip on your body, sending wave after wave of chills up your spine as you chase his lips for more kisses. One of his large hands cradles the back of your head, holding you closer so he can gain better access to the kiss, and you realize his glasses aren’t perched on his face anymore. You don’t even know when he would’ve have a chance to take them off. But do you really care? 
No. No you don’t.
As you make out, Matt slides you onto his lap, giving you a bit more leverage as you embrace. You lips mirror one another’s, curving up into smiles. You take in a sharp breath as you feel his hands slide under the sweater and up your back, the simple action sending goosebumps up your spine. You moan into the embrace and lean forward to deepen it, accidentally nipping his lower lip between yours. It elicits a strong response from Matt, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave little bruises as souvenirs before moving up to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. His fingers should have their own insurance policy, because wherever they trace on your body feels like a million dollars—the warmth, the strength, the grip—goes straight to the apex of your thighs. Firm, relaxing, and downright sinful.
You pull back from the kiss, Matt’s swollen lips chasing yours as you lean away, turning your head to yawn. 
“Am I putting you to sleep, sweetheart?” he smirks, softly kissing your neck before moving so his face points toward yours. 
“You’re definitely relaxing me, that’s for sure,” you tell him as you look back at his face. “It’s just been a really long week.”
“We can stop if you want.”
“You stop, and I’m telling Amy and Foggy.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that.”
“No, we can’t.”
With more smiles, you lean back into the kiss. Matt’s grip is firm on your waist before sliding his hands down and over the globes of your ass, moving to your upper thighs before lifting you up. You’re too focused on his lips to try and watch where he’s taking you, even though you have a good idea. You moan into his mouth as you feel Matt lay you down on his mattress.
“At least if you get a little too tired to keep going, you can fall asleep in a bed,” he whispers before he starts to kiss your neck.
“So kind of you.”
“I try.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Can I keep going?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
Matt flashes you a devilish grin before leaning back in, his hands sliding up under the borrowed sweatshirt tracing the curves of your body.
“You can take it off, you know,” you murmur against his lips. “It’s your shirt, after all.”
He hums in delight, doing as you ask and ridding the fabric from your body and pushing it to the side. “You’re chilly now,” he hums kissing all over the exposed skin, pulling soft moans from your throat. 
It’s your turn to slither your hands up against his rock-hard body under his clothes, lightly raking your fingernails along his skin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Then show me.”
Matt’s lips slot back over yours, tasting every ounce of your mouth that he can. He pulls back, whipping his shirt off. You’re unable to prevent your jaw from dropping when you see his exposed chest, a little wooden cross hanging from a cord around his neck a strong contrast from his fair skin and rippling muscles. It doesn’t hang too long, the space between the two of you closed just as swiftly as it was created before his hands deftly undoes your bra. Matt’s hands slide the straps down your arms, tossing it to the side before his large hands palm at the fleshy mounds, his hips inadvertently beginning to roll against your legs. 
“Mm,” you hum as you start to mark his neck. “I’d say we’re moving fast, but, I like where we’re moving. Seems like you do, too.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Let me lay you down and make you feel good, angel.”
“Mm, ‘angel’,” you smirk as you pull him on top of you. “Sounds better than ‘Kitty’. Better not be calling any other girls that.”
“It’ll be just for you. Swear.”
“Good.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna try and stop earning the right to call you Kitty, though.”
“Consider it earned. Can even call me Kitten. Now, please tell me you have some condoms here.”
“Mm, I do. But, the thing is, that pretzel left me hungry, angel. I need to eat a little more.”
Your brows furrow before Matt holds your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. He trails his kisses down the column of your neck, moving lower with each embrace, down your chest and torso until his lips reach where your skin and his sweatpants meet. 
“Is it okay if I pull these down, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing feather-soft kisses on your stomach. “Can I kiss you there? Can I taste you, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” you breathe a little too quickly, moving your fingers into his soft hair. “Please.”
He smiles, kissing your belly button before curling his fingers round the waistband of the sweats and underwear and sliding them down your legs. His strong hands gently part your legs, exposing yourself to him, his soft, pouty lips kissing back and forth along your inner thighs until his nose brushes the slick folds. A soft moan escapes your throat, so quiet that you almost don’t hear it. As soon as it leaves your lips, you swear you hear Matt growl a little before diving in between your legs. This time, you moan louder, your back arching off of the bed and your fingers clutching the sheets. 
“Matt!” you squeak. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping his face buried in your core, tasting and savoring you like you’re the sweetest of desserts. Your chest heaves as you squirm against him, but each movement of your body only spurs him on to hold you tighter. He hums into your pussy, the vibrations working all the way up your body. 
“M-Matt,” you stutter, feeling yourself get wound tightly as he works diligently between your legs. “Matt, I—oh, fuck!”
Matt just hums, keeping pace and enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. You continue to whimper, whine, and squirm, biting your lip harder as you get closer to your release. You suck in a sharp breath when you feel Matt pull away from you, his face in your direction, his mouth and chin shiny with your slick.
“Don’t hold back, angel. I’ve got you,” he pants. “Make those pretty noises for me. It’s just you and me, okay? Don’t worry about if anyone else can hear. It’s just you and me.”
“Okay,” you say breathily with a frantic nod. “Okay.”
“Good girl.”
You could cum with those two words, and the quick twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me that he knows it, too. With a lick of his lips, he dives back down without missing a beat, sliding two thick fingers into you, gently pumping them and curling his fingers to squish against the perfect spot that makes your vision go spotty. You let out your loudest cry of the night, the sheer volume hurting your throat a little. It elicits a deep growl from Matt, and with one more lick, you’re quaking and unraveling on his face. Little tremors continue to jolt through your body as Matt works to lick up every last drop of you before pressing a soft kiss on your swollen nub and kissing his way back up your body. 
You lean up and crash your lips into his, desperate for him. Matt eagerly kisses you back, letting you taste yourself, exploring how you mix with him. 
“Are you up for more?” he pants as he pulls back, trying to smooth down your tousled hair. 
“Please,” you say, the faintest hint of a whine in your voice. “I’m ready.”
Matt smiles, pecking your lips quickly before leaning back and taking his sweats off. Your eyes involuntarily widen when you see just how big he is. If tonight with Matt hasn’t ruined other men for you yet, the feeling of him inside you and how it will undoubtedly linger for days will.
“You okay?” he pants as he works to slide on the condom.
“I’m doing great,” you swallow, trying to remain coherent through the bliss. 
His laugh is like warm tea with honey.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
With the condom firmly on, he leans forward to kiss you slowly. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Matt kisses you again, adjusting the pillows behind you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He places his hands on you gently, forehead resting on yours, before carefully starting to slide in. You bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, your head suddenly becoming too heavy as you let it roll to the side and rest against his neck. 
“Matt,” you breathe.
“Prefect,” he pants as he slowly pushes forward. “Perfect.”
“M-Matt,” you whimper as you stretch around him. “Big.”
“Do you need me to stop?” he whispers. “Does it hurt?”
“N-No. ’s great. So great.”
“Say the word if you need me to stop, okay? If it’s too much?”
“Okay.”
Your faces turn toward one another, and for the briefest of moments, Matt’s eyes lock onto yours. You feel your heart skip a beat and jump up right into your throat. This is ridiculous—tonight is the first time you’ve actually met him rather than stare at him and wish from a distance, and it’s like your entire universe is on its head. Matt tenderly leans forward, his lips on yours, fueled with a softer passion than what has dictated your embraces for the night. The roll of his hips is slow, and you feel everything ten times over. You hold onto Matt as if your life depends on it, and you let him work as he marks up your neck and shoulder with little bites. 
“Don’t stop,” you plea. “Don’t stop. Matt, please don’t stop!”
Your pleas and whimpers spur Matt to pick up his pace. As he does so, his own soft moans grow louder in your ear, and it drives you wild. The springs of the mattress move from a quiet creak to an all consuming squeak, perfectly punctuated by the headboard hitting the wall.
“Matt!” you cry out, pulling probably harder than you should at his hair. 
“Such a good pussy,” he grunts. “All for me. You’re so good for me, angel. Feel so perfect.”
“Please!”
“Hm?”
“Fuck, Matt! You’re—oooohhhh!”
“Perfect f’me, angel. Such a good girl. My good girl.”
The sound of your slapping skin adds to the erotic symphony in the room, sweat quickly lining your bodies. You whimper as you nuzzle into him, muttering incoherent sentences as his pelvis rubs against your sensitive core, building you up to knock you over with intense pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and pull a deep growl from the back of his throat. He nips at the sensitive skin behind your ear before slotting his lips over yours.
“Matt,” you whimper, really drawing out the vowel in his name. “Matt, ‘m gonna cum.”
“Let it out,” he encourages. “Cum for me. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good. Let me hear you, angel.”
Matt kisses the sweet spot on your neck and pulls a needy whine from you. A stuttered whine pulls from your lips as your eyes pinch shut and you claw your fingers into Matt’s back. You cry out at the top of your lungs as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. With Matt in you, dragging against every right spot, it feels so much better than with his mouth. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out in pleasure even louder. The pace of Matt’s hips move even faster, albeit at a more unsteady rhythm with an increased sense of urgency as he tries to soothe the sting of his teeth. His moans turn into grunts, a delight to your ears. 
“Harder,” you beg. “Harder, Matt.”
You feel Matt nod his head against yours, doing as you ask, his lips brushing faint kisses against your cheek. You cry out once more, Matt’s hips pulling one more orgasm from you as he hits his high, spilling into his condom with punctuated thrusts.
Your breathing is heavy as your bodies still, sweat clinging to your skin and soaking the sheets. You chuckle softly as Matt places gentle kisses along your neck, his nose tickling you just so before pulling himself off of you and sliding out. He does it slowly, and you moan softly from the sensitivity and the loss of him. He ties off the condom, shuffling out of bed to throw it away. Matt briefly rounds the corner, coming back with a towel in hand. Without a single word, he carefully spreads your legs, gently cleaning the mess between your thighs. His lips softly kiss your knees and thighs has he works, and you can’t help but smile. He tosses the cloth to the side, it landing perfectly on the edge of his hamper. Matt slides back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and letting you adjust in his hold, kissing your forehead.
“What?” he whispers so softly you want to melt.
“You have freckles,” you whisper back just as quietly as you look up at him. “They’re a little hard to see, but they’re there.”
“Yeah?” he says with a tender smile.
“Mm.” Carefully, you move your fingers against the skin on his cheek, tracing over the faint constellation on his fair skin. 
“What?” he whispers again with a little smirk. 
“How do you know I’m thinking?”
“Call it a hunch.”
You smile softly. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight. I don’t go out. I don’t go to bars. I don’t do this. Any of this.”
“I think you mentioned that earlier,” he hums with a cheeky smile. God, his voice is like a warm blanket that you just want to snuggle up in. 
“It just felt right, with you. I’m really glad I came out tonight.”
“Can I let you in on a secret?” You give him a hum in response. He pulls you closer and presses a long, slow kiss to your lips. “I’m really, really glad you came out, too.”
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saetoru · 1 year ago
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ i’m afraid that’s just the way the world works (but i think that it could work for you and me)
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synopsis. suguru stumbles across two girls that need a home. somehow, one step at a time, you both find yourselves navigating parenthood
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word count. 5.4k (sigh...this was supposed to be a drabble)
contents. not canon compliant at all—there are still curses, but it's literally an au where everything turns out happy LMAO, teacher! suguru, husband! suguru, fem! reader, reader is referred to as "wife" and "mommy," hints at child neglect/abuse (nanako and mimiko's backstory), yuji, nobara and megumi are the ones that save nanako and mimiko—the timeline is inaccurate bc the twins are still kids when megumi and co. are teens, single dad! satoru who raised megs and tsumiki (tsumiki is ALIVE and NOT CURSED) <3, it's just fluff tbh, it's overall healing and happy i promise
notes. yeah i am telling u i literally shoved every fix-it fic idea for jjk into one fic okay and u will all nod along and agree with it. this was supposed to be a drabble but i literally just could not shut up so now its a fic
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“there are these two girls,” suguru says quietly at dinner one night, pulling you from the comfortable silence. you look up as you swallow, eyeing him as you nod carefully—nothing is ever a normal conversation when your husband is a jujutsu teacher. nothing is ever a normal conversation when you’re capable of jujutsu in general, you’ve learned that well by now.
“okay…” you say slowly, “and are they your students?” 
they must be new, if they are. you know all of suguru’s students; you know them well enough to pick birthday presents and bring what they each like from the bakery. you don’t think you know of these two—they must be new.
“no,” he breathes, “no, they’re too young for that. maybe someday,” he adds hopefully.
“maybe someday,” you agree thoughtfully.
suguru loves teaching. it’s not something he ever saw himself doing—but life is dark at one point, a constant cloud looming over his head as it screams it’s over! your youth is over.
sometimes it hits him all at once—no one was there to protect suguru’s youth, no one was there for satoru’s or nanami’s, and certainly not haibara’s. no one was there to make sure they could be kids, that the sun could still shine and chase the clouds away. 
so suguru becomes a teacher. he’s fond of the kids—and they like him too. geto sensei, they call, geto sensei, look! and then he pauses in the hall, holds back an amused chuckle before turning to face an overly enthusiastic yuji and nobara. megumi is not far behind, that disgruntled look on his face as always, but if you look closely, his eyes are soft and laced with something close to fondness.
geto sensei is a favorite—much more of a favorite than gojo sensei is, to satoru’s utter dismay. you can’t help but watch proudly sometimes, can’t help but watch how much suguru has grown as he interacts with those kids, how much he’s allowed himself to grow, how much he’s let himself try to chase the sun instead of letting the clouds convince him the light no longer exists. 
“they’re five,” suguru continues, poking the soba in front of him as he doesn’t meet your gaze. “the kids found them on a mission. in a cage.”
you know what that means instantly. you look at suguru, watching as his eyes stare numbly at the food in front of him—sometimes, you worry that suguru will once more fall victim to those bone-chilling thoughts he shares with you one night. sometimes you worry he’ll slip and fall once more and you won’t notice this time, won’t reach your fingers and grasp him at the last second. 
but he blinks, looks up and meets your eyes this time, stares into them and searches them for what he needs. he finds it, you think, because there’s light returning to them once more. 
maybe it’s hope, maybe it’s acceptance. maybe it’s neither, and he’s just happy to have you to come back to when the world gets too burdensome. you’re not sure, but you do know you’ll always be there, right where he needs you.
“what happened to them?” you ask gently, “was it their parents?”
“no,” he shakes his head, “the villagers. their parents are dead.”
it’s not new—you’ve seen it before too. children tend to notice their techniques at this age. it’s not new to hear about children with no family history of sorcerers being labeled as some type of other in the family, in the community, or in the village. 
suguru is lucky in that way—his mother and father see him as something special, something worth celebrating, something greater than they could ever hope to be. you meet them once every year, just for a few days. they love you, greeting you with kind smiles and warm hugs, pulling you inside as they get dinner ready. you visit his old room and smile as you rake your fingers over the figures on his desk and the cd’s he used to collect. his mother keeps his room in perfect condition, even after all these years. 
you remind him to call more. sometimes, he tries—just for you, he tries. it’s hard for him, you realize. sometimes suguru is guilty; sometimes, he’s haunted by what he almost did but thankfully didn’t. it’s hard to face his parents ever since, even if they’re blissfully unaware. it’s easier to love them from afar, he thinks. but you insist he calls more, so he does. sometimes hearing his mother’s voice is what he needs, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.
“so…what’ll happen to them?” you ask quietly. 
“they’re at the school for tonight,” he mumbles, “there’s enough bedrooms, anyway. but…”
but they can’t stay there forever, is what he wants to say, you know that. staying at jujutsu high is hardly enough for children so young. they need a proper home, a proper family. you can’t help but stare down at your own bowl of soba. it’s hard to watch children suffer like this. it’s especially hard on suguru—he chose to teach to help those kids, to be there. somethings, however, cannot be fixed by simply being there.
“and then what will happen after?”
“they need a home,” he says quietly, “and…listen, i know we never really…we’ve never discussed something like this. but…maybe for a while, just until something better is decided, we could…”
you know what he’s trying to say before he can even say it—you and suguru have never discussed children. you don’t think you ever really want to, and you’re fairly certain he feels the same. it’s hard to lose haibara when you’re just a young kid, hard to live with the fact that someone so young and hopeful about the world is here one second and then gone the next. you see nanami sometimes—he’s kind to you, greets you politely, and asks how you are. but nothing about him has ever been the same since that day.
will your children meet the same fate? will you have them one second and lose them the next? will you patiently wait for them to come to visit the next chance they get from school, only to get a phone call no parent deserves to hear? they’re common in the jujutsu world. it’s a risk every parent has to take. some are selfish—rightfully so. some don’t care to let their children master their techniques, arguing it’s better to have a child that’s incapable and alive than gifted and dead. what if your children end up like nanami? the one who manages to live but can never accept the fact, not when someone else is dead. how will you be a pillar of strength? how can you tell them it’s okay to live as long as it’s not them who’s dead? how can you help them grieve when you are always grieving yourself?
you don’t think you ever want children, and you think you’re right in your assumption that suguru agrees. 
but those girls need a home, and you know the look on suguru’s face means options are limited—scarily so. you look at him for a while, look at him and see the way he’s got his heart set on these two girls—suguru has lost more than you ever could, and if this is something he thinks he should do, you think it might be worth a chance.
“bring them for dinner tomorrow,” you say finally, bringing soba to your lips, “i’d like to meet them.”
it’s not a straight answer, but it’s a start. suguru nods, smiling gently at you before he continues with his own dinner. it’s silent after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. he still steals your last bite of soba at the end, and you still roll your eyes and let him. you wash the dishes together after that, argue over whose turn it is to rinse and whose turn it is to dry—it’s routine, and you’re grateful you have something to look forward to in this cruel world, something you can count on regularly.
—————
hasaba nanako and hasaba mimiko. 
those are their names. megumi says so when he first brings them to suguru. nanako is blonde, a bit bolder than mimiko, who’s brunette. nanako is older by five minutes, and she likes to remind everyone when she can. mimiko holds nanako’s hand when she’s nervous, and nanako squeezes tightly with a smile. they’re a mellow pair, despite it all. a little distrusting and a little nervous when too many people are in a room at once.
they take a liking to suguru, however. satoru is a bit too loud and boisterous for them, but suguru is kind and soft and gives them gentle head pats when they cooperate and answer his questions. on the way home, he asks them if they’d like something from the bakery.
it leaves them a bit quiet, right until he looks over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow as he awaits their answer.
“we’ve never been to one,” nanako answers quietly, the first to speak between the two, as always.
“is that so?” suguru asks gently. they nod, still holding hands.
children of five summers, and they have never picked out a cake for even a birthday—he wonders why that is. they shouldn't have shown signs of having cursed techniques so young, there should be no reason to mistreat them so early on—the conclusion he comes to makes him even unhappier. parents should never have children if they aren’t willing to love them, he thinks bitterly.
“it’s alright,” mimiko says finally, “we don’t need—”
“come on then,” suguru grabs nanako’s free hand, gently pulling them both along the busy streets of tokyo, “my wife’s favorite bakery is around the corner. we’ve tried everything they have by now, so you’ll have to tell us what’s your favorite, yeah?”
it’s nanako who answers again first, nodding slowly before she smiles hopefully. “okay,” she murmurs. 
from the corner of his eyes, suguru notices mimiko gently pull her hand from her sister’s, quickly taking a few steps as she walks across in front of him before promptly finding herself on his other side. her hand reaches for his—it’s slow, a bit unsure, so he grabs it delicately, giving a small squeeze as he grins down at her.
“wait until you try the strawberry cake,” he hums, “that’s my favorite.”
—————
suguru comes home with two small girls on either side of him and more bags than you can count from the bakery just five minutes from your apartment. you blink before rushing over and taking a few bags from his hands.
“did you just buy one of everything or something?” you ask incredulously, staring at all the boxes of goods within the bags. 
he grins that closed-eye smile of his, crinkles forming in the corners as he says, “well, of course,” like it’s the most normal thing ever to buy one of every item in a large bakery in the heart of tokyo. “the girls have never been to a bakery before so i thought we could let them try everything and rank them.”
you look down at the girls, who stare at you nervously as they cling to each other. instantly, as soon as you meet their eyes, you can’t help but drop down to your knees to meet their level as you smile softly. 
“why hello there,” you murmur, ruffling each head gently. they like that—suguru texted you that earlier, that they seem to brighten considerably when he offers them a gentle pat on the head in affection. “what are your names?”
“i’m nanako,” the blonde one answers instantly—suguru is equal parts shocked and equal parts pleased by her new air of confidence. he wonders if she’d be a bright and energetic child right about now, if the world hadn’t crushed her under and forced her to live meekly. “and i’m older by five minutes.”
“hello nanako, the eldest by five minutes,” you answer seriously, nodding as though it’s a crucial fact to her identity, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. and what about you?” 
the brunette clutches her sister’s hand a little tighter—but nanako seems to have deemed you as safe. anyone geto sensei (as the other kids seem to call him) trusts is someone they don’t have to be on guard around. she nudges mimiko gently, encouraging her to tell you her name.
“i’m mimiko,” she says quietly. she seems to be holding a small, pink stuffed toy. it’s seen better days, you think, but a nice wash and a few stitches to the top of its head should have it looking quite a lot better. 
“and hello to you too, mimiko,” you smile, “are you younger by five minutes, then?”
she giggles a little at that before nodding, “i am,” she assures, “but i’m smarter.”
“are not!” nanako says instantly, gasping. you and suguru share a look, amused and fond and relieved all at once.
“what a lovely toy,” you murmur, tracing the eyes with your finger. she droops a little at that—like being reminded of its condition is something that breaks her spirit.
“it’s ripped,” she mumbles, “it wasn’t before.”
“i can fix it,” you offer, “suguru is always ripping his uniforms, but lucky for him, his sweet little wife here is a fixer-upper.”
“really?” she brightens. you nod, chuckling as you ruffle her hair, doing the same to nanako, too, when she eyes you hopefully from the side. 
“that sounds great,” suguru interrupts, “but i believe i have cakes that need to be tried and mouths that are not trying.”
you rise, rolling your eyes and standing next to him, and his hand gently grabs yours. thank you, he squeezes. always, you squeeze back.
“well, come on, girls,” you usher. mimiko grabs your free hand, and suguru grabs nanako’s—you all make your way to the dinner table. it feels oddly natural, you think. “we have desserts to try. the chocolate one will definitely be your favorite, i can feel it.”
“it’ll be strawberry,” suguru says confidently. 
you meet his gaze, grinning at him as he stares at you hopelessly in love. it’s always been enough, you and suguru—it’s always been more than enough with just the two of you. so enough, that you never wanted more. but this is nice too, you think. this is something you could get used to, even if it breaks the routine you’ve learned to love just a bit.
—————
nanako and mimiko stay at your house that night, and somehow, that turns into a week. sometimes, suguru takes them with him to school, just to handle a few things that are still to be taken care of regarding their case. you find you miss three instead of one while you’re home alone for the day. 
they return cheery each time, bags of deserts in hand and a newfound glow in their eyes. mimiko’s toy is much cleaner now, and the small rips have been carefully sewn shut by you from the first night they spend. she clutches it everywhere she goes, hugs it in her sleep too. it’s hopelessly endearing. 
nanako takes a liking to suguru’s phone—he’s a bit too giving with her, you think. she’s managed to figure out his passcode rather quickly, and he lets her get away with it, watching her small fingers work the buttons of whatever game she's downloaded with a gentle look of affection over his features. 
on the days that suguru goes to school alone, the girls are left in your care for the day—you don’t usually have someone to keep you company while you’re at home. you’ve quit being a sorcerer long ago, deciding that it’s not worth the constant back-and-forth tug of war with life and death. 
perhaps it's selfish—people are dying every day, and you sit and let it happen, but you can’t help it. it’s too much, sometimes. suguru has always supported it, though, has always murmured that you’re doing the right thing and that sorcerers deserve quiet, peaceful lives, too, if they wish. so you do just that, stay home and learn a new dish or two through the day, watch a few shitty sitcoms on the television, leave and do some grocery shopping for the week, and return home to your quiet little apartment (as quiet as an apartment can get in tokyo, that is) and wait for your husband to come home. 
suguru comes home by seven pm every day and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead as he says, hello, wife, to which you giggle and murmur, hi there, husband. you have dinner after that and share details about your days with each other. yuji and nobara are arguing again, suguru will tell you sometimes, i think nobara will cave and talk first this time, though. i brought fresh strawberries from the season’s harvest, you murmur behind a glass of water to your lips, got them just for you, sugu.
it’s been a routine like that ever since your marriage. you marry suguru quietly when you barely turn twenty, just a room full of the few people you dare let yourself love and the two of you as you sign the papers and share a kiss. there’s an extravagant meal waiting for you after, though, courtesy of gojo satoru, a man with more money than he could hope to use on himself. satoru is happy that day—happier than you’ve ever seen him in a long, long while. he takes his bandages off, sits and watches everything, and takes it all in even if it’ll bite him back in the ass later with a long, pounding migraine. 
today, however, is a saturday—school is out, and anyone who doesn’t have a mission is free to have the day to themselves. suguru hasn’t taken a large mission in ages, years, even. he accepts small ones here and there, and if it really calls for it, he joins a tough one with his students—but it’s for their sake more than anything. but the big ones are too much for him to handle regularly anymore. the higher-ups aren’t happy—special-grade sorcerers are hard to come by, and it’s unfair that the lower-grade ones are busting their necks out there more than he is. but suguru deserves a semblance of control over his well-being, and with satoru on his side, there isn’t much of anything the higher-ups can really do.
he sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone as you click the remote, finding something to watch. 
“you know, we should really talk about this,” suguru mumbles from the side. it’s early, still. barely eight am, and the girls are still sleeping. they’ll be up soon—and with that, will be gone any moment for you and suguru to share a private moment.
they didn’t warn you about that part of kids—you knew it was a busy job, watching over them, but you figured leaving them to play for a bit would grant you some peace. you and suguru quickly learn that children, no matter how well-behaved and disciplined, always need a watchful eye on them. 
“talk about what?” you yawn, “it’s too early for you to speak in codes.”
“the girls,” he says, unimpressed. oh. right.
“what about them?” you say, dancing around the edge of the real issue. he sees right through you—you know he will. still, you’re petulant enough to try and dodge the topic anyway.
“it’s been a week,” he says seriously, “those kids think this is their new home. it’s cruel to make them think that any longer if we don’t…”
keep them. let them stay. let them become a part of this home and, by extension, this family that has always just been you and suguru. raise them. take them in. take responsibility over them. love them. 
can you love? like that, at least? are you meant to be a mother? you’re too selfish, you think—you couldn’t even stay fighting curses for long, too weak to care about those who need you, and too focused on needing yourself. can you handle two children? if you do this, you can’t do anything else but do it right—it’s what they deserve. but you don’t know if you can give them what they deserve.
but there aren’t many better options either, you remind yourself. 
suguru seems to know what you’re thinking because he murmurs, “i think it’s easier to raise children than be a sorcerer,” he says quietly. 
you raise an eyebrow skeptically. “you can walk away from being a sorcerer, suguru. being a parent is for life.”
“being a parent means you get to love,” he reasons, “unconditionally. without regrets. without a contract, you know? loving a sorcerer is just betting how long someone has left to live, at the end of the day.”
“how morbid of you,” you snort.
“they’re good kids,” he says quietly, “great, even.”
“they’re lovely,” you agree. and then, quieter this time, “i…i would miss them. more than i care to admit.”
“me too,” he nods. 
your head falls to his chest, and he presses a kiss to your head, wrapping his arms around you. suguru has always loved you—when the world was not worth loving, and the people were not worth saving, suguru had loved you. he still does. and the way you love him is enough to make all of those things change. the world has a little more hope, and the people are a little less ugly when you’re there to prove not everything is bad. that even where the bad exists, the good can follow. as long as he has you, suguru is complete—but he thinks more is not always so bad.
“suguru?” you ask gently. he hums, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he squeezes your hand, “we won’t force them,” you say firmly, “to do anything. they should exist as themselves if they want to. cursed techniques or not.”
he smiles. you don’t see it, and you don’t have to. you know it’s that deep, eye-crinkling smile that’s heartfelt and real. 
“no, we won’t force them,” he agrees, “they’re perfect as is.”
—————
the girls are given the option to each get the two spare rooms you and suguru have in your apartment. that leaves ultimately no guest room, but you think they deserve to have their own space and be their own people after everything. but, as you and he had expected, they choose to share a room and stay together.
you’ll never forget the looks on their faces when they realize they’re staying here permanently, the look of pure excitement and the slightest hints of shock—you never realized how fulfilling it could be to make two children smile like that. 
“we can’t paint the walls,” you hum, “we don’t own this place. but we can still decorate,” you offer. 
they don’t seem all that disappointed about not being able to paint their walls—instead, they’re too excited about their beds, giggling as they jump on the mattress. suguru wants to tell them that jumping on mattresses is bad for the springs, but you stop him—they deserve to be kids for a bit. after that, you’ll teach them. but for now, they deserve to just be kids.
“can we get lights?” nanako asks—now that you and suguru are guardians to two children (parents seems…a bit too overwhelming to use right now), spontaneous dates don’t happen one on one anymore. evidently, it’s hard to find babysitters on the spot, and leaving them home alone is not an option, so you decide to simply bring them along on your weekly sunday afternoon cafe visit. nanako takes a liking to the lights on the walls, and mimiko eats three slices of cake. 
you can’t wait to bring them next week, too. 
“you sure can,” suguru hums, chuckling. 
“and a mirror?”
“of course,” you nod, “you’ll certainly need one to make sure the beauty sleep works.”
nanako giggles, flopping onto the bed, and mimiko sits not long after, still hugging that toy to her chest as she looks around the room in wonder. they’ve been sleeping in it for over a week now, but now that they can officially call it their own, they seem to be much more attached.
“i want pink sheets,” nanako hums.
“i want blue,” mimiko mumbles, looking at you shyly. 
“well,” suguru murmurs so that only you can hear, “maybe we can get them two beds. smaller one—they’ll fit on either side.”
“and what do we do with this one, then?” you raise a brow.
“we…sell it?”
“suguru, are you trying to drain every last bit of our savings?”
“we have plenty,” he chuckles, “we don’t ever do anything.” 
that much is true—you and suguru hardly leave tokyo let alone japan, and though you let yourselves splurge on nice things, there isn’t much to spend on between two people. but the last few days have really put into perspective how…expensive raising children can be. clothing and school supplies (they’ll attend a normal school) and room decor and snacks, and anything else children require to be children is quite denting to bank accounts. 
but you and suguru can’t say you mind—and if nanako and mimiko want pink and blue sheets, well…you think you can make that happen.
“i think we’re spoiling them,” you mumble, “should we be doing that?”
he wraps an arm around you and pulls you against his chest as his nose presses to the top of your head when he kisses it. he’s warm, just like he always is—maybe warmer now, in fact. 
“nah,” he grins, “i think we’re doing great.”
—————
the girls take their time to warm up to satoru, but when they finally do, he seems to be a favorite. satoru is very proud of this fact—he’s not a lot of children’s favorite…well, maybe yuji’s perhaps, but you don’t think yuji has a single bone in his body that could really dislike anyone. or rank them, to be quite honest—you don’t think he prefers satoru or suguru over the other.
“oh, kids,” satoru calls, stepping into your apartment and letting himself in. you and suguru are in the middle of making dinner, looking back in shock from the kitchen as satoru waves enthusiastically at you both.
“satoru, how did you even get in?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. he grins, practically giggling as he points to your husband.
“suguru gave me a key.”
“what?” suguru sputters, “no, i didn’t!”
“you let me borrow them,” satoru concedes—that’s still not even anywhere near the truth.
“i left them at your place and kindly asked you to bring them to me at work the next day,” suguru corrects, crossing his arms and looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“yes, and i did what you should have done a long time ago and made myself a copy,” satoru huffs, “i’m the best friend! i deserve a key—”
“gojo sensei!” the girls call. 
as most kids do, they pick up what they hear around them. everyone seems to refer to satoru and suguru as gojo sensei and geto sensei. they’re not students, but nanako and mimiko both pick up on the habit too—and it’s helplessly adorable, you can’t deny.
sometimes, you want to correct them, but they seem excited to see satoru, so you let the moment pass.
“there they are!” satoru beams, taking his blindfold off and crouching down to meet them in the eye—nanako and mimiko seem to find satoru infinitely more approachable when his eyes are out and easy to look into. you can’t imagine why—he looks like a creep. “i brought dessert! because what’s life without something sweet, right? are these two feeding you girls the sugar you need to grow into tall, healthy young women?”
“this is why you should never be allowed near children,” you say flatly. 
satoru looks at you with a pointed look, “i practically raised megumi and tsumiki, y’know. saving young siblings and giving them a nice home life is old news, i already did that. be more original, please.”
what a jackass—you scowl at him, throwing the wooden spoon in your hand at his head and watching as it doesn’t even touch him and falls to the floor. curse his infinity.
“okay, now,” suguru chuckles, “i don’t want to spend the evening looking after four children instead of two—”
“geto sensei! thanks for having us over for dinner,” yuji interrupts, stepping through the door that satoru took such great care not to close, “fushiguro was a bit of a hassle to convince, though.”
suguru throws a sharp glare at satoru as soon as three of their students step into your home—you’re going to have to forget the dinner you’re making and order takeout, you think. satoru will pay.
“this is why you didn’t get a key,” suguru hisses, “because then you act like you own the place.”
“i wanted a family gathering,” satoru gasps, “tsumiki is coming too! wait for her.”
despite the way suguru grabs satoru’s hair—and satoru, for some reason, turns off his infinity and lets him—you notice the corners of your husband’s mouth twitching into a gentle smile, and you know he’s thinking the same thing as you. family—nanako and mimiko are here, and so are yuji, and nobara, and megumi, and satoru (the biggest headache), and soon, tsumiki too. 
family—yes, this is family, you think.
—————
“daddy, i’m hungry,” mimiko tugs on suguru’s sleeve.
“i know, pumpkin, just give me a second and—”
“daddy, look! i beat the high score on my game and—”
“daddy is looking, sweetie, just give me one minute, nanako, yeah? daddy will look and—”
“wow,” satoru chuckles, grinning amused, “you’re really worn thin.”
“satoru,” suguru grumbles, “if you’re not going to help, then please leave.”
nanako and mimiko are seven now. in two years, their personalities have really blossomed—something which you and suguru are very grateful for. the world should not crush children so young that they don’t get to be the children they are meant to be. you and suguru take great care to make sure they know they can be kids. 
and they are—they whine about bedtime and pick at their vegetables and point at everything in the store and plead for something new. they’re children—your children, and you can’t help but love them unconditionally so.
“well, welcome to fatherhood,” suguru snaps, trying his best to make lunch and entertain the two girls waiting for his attention. 
suguru is a good father—a gentle one, in fact. he comes home every day from work and grins, asking in that smooth voice of his, where are my ladies? and just like that, you and your two girls meet him with excited grins. you peck his lips before he crouches down and pulls two small bodies against his chest, letting their tiny arms wrap around his neck as he hoists them up.
it’s a perfect little routine, one you cherish greatly. but the girls are getting older, and soon, they’ll be too heavy to carry like this. it makes you a little sad to think about—but if there’s one thing you’ve learned, breaking routine isn’t always so bad. soon there will be a new one, and when you outgrow that, another new one, and so on.
what won’t ever change is the way you love suguru, and he loves you, and you both love your daughters, and they love you both too. 
“daddy,” nanako calls, “where’s mommy?”
“at the store, nanako,” he says patiently, sighing. this is the fifth time she’s asked.
“when will she be back?”
“soon, nanako,” he smiles assuringly, “at least, i hope so,” he adds quietly, under his breath.
satoru hears, though—and he cackles, heinously loud, too, as he watches the scene unfold in amusement. but satoru is suguru’s best friend, and yours too. and the girls love him. he’s family—and so are their students. 
it’s nice, suguru thinks, it’s nice to have something worth smiling for.
“i’m home!” you call, “is satoru here? because the door was unlocked—”
“mommy!” the girls call, cutting you off with the pitter-patter of small, excited little feet hitting the ground and greeting you. 
“why hello,” you gasp excitedly, laughing as they tackle you in a hug.
you and suguru share a smile as he looks back—family, it’s what you’ve both built here. it’s slow at first, and sometimes it wasn’t easy. at one point, it was just the two of you, just you and suguru, and that was okay. you didn’t think you would ever be capable of letting it be more—but it’s nice when it grows, you think. maybe one day, you can dare to hope to grow it some more.
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the scene were they got 2 beds—that was me and my sister when we first moved into our weeeee lil apartment back when i was in middle school !! we were bummed bc we couldn't paint the walls but our parents let us have 2 beds so we could pick our sheets !! it was a fond memory LOL but now i DO have a room where i painted the color except i HATE the color now bc i was still in middle school when we moved into our house and got to pick colors and middle school me and adult me are soooo different so now i have a teal bedroom that haunts me
3K notes · View notes
chahnniesroom · 4 months ago
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some loves
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pairing: bang chan x female reader
summary: some loves are too hard to bear. years after being trainees together, chan still thinks of you all the time. he has no idea that a collaboration would lead him back to you.
word count: 6.9k
tags/warnings: reader is an independent singer/songwriter, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of past injuries, a little bit of jealousy, i am still in denial that chan doesn't do lives anymore, hongjoong from ateez is in this fic
read it on ao3 | masterlist
a/n: once again, sorry for the long time between posts. disclaimer that i do not know much about how the music/idol industry works and i did not really do much research. also i'm not an atiny so sorry if my portrayal of hongjoong is not realistic at all. also also i did a lot of the writing on a new tablet doing handwriting with a stylus to text so please forgive any typos or weird formatting! i didn't have a chance to edit much so i may have missed some things.
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Chan’s in his studio when he gets the call. At first, he doesn’t even realise his phone is ringing. It’s 2am on a weekday and he’s been working away for a few hours so the rest of the world has just about faded into the background.
He’s both surprised and intrigued when he looks at the caller ID and sees Hongjoong’s name. Chan would consider Hongjoong to be a friend, but they’re not particularly close and he can’t think of a reason that would warrant this late night call.
“Hey hyung,” Hongjoong greets him briefly before getting straight to the point. “What’s your schedule like in the next few months?”
“It’s actually not too bad,” Chan replies after a moment of thought. “We’re just finalising all the music for the next album so it’ll be a bit of time before we get busy with recording and filming for the comeback. What’s up?”
“You don’t have the answer now and I don’t want you to feel any pressure at all, but would you be interested in doing a collab together?”
“A collab?” Chan repeats. “Like, ATEEZ and Stray Kids?”
“We could,” Hongjoong says reluctantly. “But actually, if you’re up for it then I was thinking more like just you and me. I have a couple tracks that we could work off of and I’ve roped in someone to help me with recording, engineering, and production.”
“Who?” Chan asks, interest piqued.
“Not sure if you’ve heard of them, they go by the name HALLA.”
Chan recognises the name instantly. When Chan had first stumbled upon HALLA one late night scrolling and listening to different independent artists, they seemed relatively unknown. However, a little research revealed that they had KOMCA credits on a number of songs for idol groups, some of which had become widely popular. Their personal work was a variety of genres and a majority of the tracks didn’t have vocals, but the ones that did had clever or thoughtful lyrics. There were a couple of different voices featured in the original songs, both of which were smooth and melodic. HALLA has a style that Chan thinks would complement Stray Kids and he’s considered reaching out to them a few times, but was always held back by something.
There was little about HALLA posted on the internet and while Chan definitely appreciates their privacy, he’s curious to meet the person behind all the songs that he enjoyed. There’s just something familiar about all their music that he can’t quite place, something that he wants more of.
“I’m in,” Chan agrees.
“You can take some time to think about it, talk to JYPE to see what their thoughts are too.”
“No need, I’m interested and I know I can convince management to support this.”
“Well that was easy,” Hongjoong says and Chan can basically hear him grinning through the phone. “And for my own pride, I’m going to pretend that you said yes the second I suggested the collab instead of when I mentioned HALLA-ssi.” Chan instantly flushes and is glad that Hongjoong can’t see him over the phone.
“It wasn’t-” Chan begins to protest.
“It’s okay,” Hongjoong interrupts. “I’m also pretty thrilled to get to work with them, so I understand. Didn’t realise you were familiar with their work, but I guess a hidden gem like them can’t stay hidden for long. I’ll send some files over to you and we can organise a time to work.”
Chan finds it easy to work with Hongjoong and they make quick progress on the song, writing lyrics and creating a guide within a couple of weeks. Before he knows it, they’ve scheduled a time for Chan to visit KQ Entertainment to record vocals. Hongjoong knows that Chan is keen to be involved in the production and arrangement of the song too, so they also have a couple sessions booked for that, although Hongjoong teases him relentlessly about just wanting to work with HALLA. The worst part is that Chan can’t even deny it.
Hongjoong meets him at the entrance of KQ Entertainment and quickly takes him through security.
“HALLA-ssi is already in the studio,” Hongjoong explains as they wait for the elevator to arrive. “I was getting input on a track that’s been killing me for the past few days.”
“Did they help?” Chan asks, a little surprised that HALLA is involved in more than just this collaboration. He still hasn't had a chance to connect with them other than quick introductions through text a couple of days ago and he's just as excited to meet them as initially.
“Yeah!” Hongjoong grins, eyes curving into little crescents. “HALLA-ssi is amazing. She only had listen to it a couple times before she came up with suggestions on a few different ways to fix the part that I hated. I left her to finish cleaning the song up and then it’s basically ready for review.”
“How did you start working with HALLA-ssi? I’ve been meaning to try to connect with her.”
“It was actually a friend that suggested working with her. For someone who isn’t signed with a label- which I don’t know how nobody has signed her yet- she’s surprisingly well connected within the industry. I’m sure that KQ would be more than happy to have her work with us, but when I hinted at that, she didn’t seem interested.”
“Really?” Although KQ Entertainment is still one of the smaller companies in the industry, most unsigned artists would still jump at the chance to work there since they have a good reputation, especially due to ATEEZ’s popularity.
“I haven’t poked too much, it’s not really my business. I thought I might as well try. I just know that she’s amazing at her job and I’m grateful that I get to work with her at all.”
They turn the corner to the hallway that leads to the recording studio. The door is ajar and Hongjoong opens it, waving his arm forward to allow Chan to walk through first, before following closely behind.
HALLA’s sitting at the desk and the second Chan sees her face, he stops in his tracks.
“Y/n,” Chan breathes.
You look up, startled, and your eyes connect for a split second before Hongjoong crashes into Chan, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
“Hyung,” Hongjoong complains, unaware of Chan’s inner turmoil. “Why’d you stop?”
Chan lets out an apologetic wheeze from where he’s now trapped under Hongjoong, before resting his forehead against the ground. He needs a second to recover.
It feels like a punch to the gut to see you in front of the recording studio’s computer, fiddling with a track. You look different, but somehow it feels like Chan has been transported right back to his trainee days and all that time that the two of you had spent side by side.
It has been years since Chan last saw you. He had found out that you had left JYPE just months after Stray Kids officially debuted, but all efforts to track you down had been futile. You had changed your number and broken contact with all the other trainees. He had asked around a little bit, but everyone he talked to had been unusually cagey about the subject.
Suddenly, everything makes more sense, especially the little that he knows about HALLA.
As trainees, Chan’s favourite moments had been when you had regaled him with stories of growing up on Jeju Island. The two of you had connected early on through your shared love of the ocean. You had promised him that if he ever went to visit in his free time, you would take him on the best trails up to the Hallasan, the shield volcano, and show him incredible views from the highest point on the island. Occasionally, your parents would send you care packages and the two of you would open them hidden away in one of the vocal practice rooms, the sweet citrus of hallabong exploding in your mouths.
You had always spoken about Jeju Island so fondly, of course you would find a way to indirectly pay homage through the stage name that you chose.
“Oppa,” your voice rings out in the silence of the room. Now, Chan knows why the female voice on some of HALLA’s songs had always seemed hauntingly familiar. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” both Chan and Hongjoong say at the same time, then make eye contact with identical confused expressions.
“Hongjoong-ssi, you didn’t mention that the person you wanted to feature on the track was Channie-oppa,” you say, making it clear who you were addressing your concern to earlier.
“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Hongjoong gets up slowly, dusting off his clothes and scratching at the back of his head, still looking bewildered. “I had no idea that you two knew each other, hyung mentioned he hadn’t worked with you before.”
Chan stays quiet, not sure how much you’re willing to share. Hongjoong must not know about your time with JYPE if he can’t piece together how the two of you could have met.
“Oh- I used to- We trained together back in the day,” you explain sheepishly. “I was with JYPE for a little while and all the trainees knew who Channie-oppa was. That was a long time ago though, I didn’t use the name HALLA back then.”
The five years that you trained at JYPE are more than a little while, but Chan forces himself to bite his tongue at your deliberate understatement. You don’t elaborate further and while it’s obvious that Hongjoong isn’t satisfied with your answer, he’s willing to drop the topic for now. You look relieved when he switches the subject to the song.
The three of you finish recording quickly. It shouldn’t be a surprise, the work so far with Hongjoong has been smooth so adding you to the mix has just made things easier, but Chan knows he’s a perfectionist and it often takes him an almost embarrassing number of takes before he’s satisfied. The only delay comes when Hongjoong decides he wants you to sing some of the backing vocals and resorts to actually getting on his knees and begging. Chan doesn’t go so far, but he can’t help but agree that your voice blends with the song perfectly. Of course, he also just wants to hear you sing.
You relent when Chan quietly voices his agreement and it really shouldn't make Chan feel as smug as it does.
It’s not even early enough for dinner when things are wrapped up. Chan is usually eager to finish a schedule early, but he’s reluctant to leave, taking his time packing up his belongings.
Finally, he doesn’t have a reason to stay any longer so he musters up the courage to ask.
“Do you guys want to go grab some coffee or something to eat?”
You and Hongjoong make eye contact before turning to look at Chan guiltily. His stomach churns for some reason.
“I’m sorry,” you wince. “I actually promised to help Hongjoong-ssi with an ATEEZ song and we need to go over the edits that I made before his meeting with the company later today.”
“Oh,” Chan replies, feeling a little relieved. “Right, no yeah I get it. Hongjoong actually mentioned that earlier, but I forgot. My bad.”
You offer an apologetic smile before turning to the computer, opening up a file.
“I’ll see you guys next time, then,” Chan says, starting to back out of the room.
“Of course! Thank you for your hard work and good job today!” you say brightly. Looking distracted, Hongjoong mumbles an agreement and waves goodbye. Unlike you, he’s not staring at the computer monitor though. Instead, his focus is solely on you. Even from his side profile, Chan can tell that he’s enamoured.
Honestly, Chan can’t really blame him, you look comfortable and confident, swallowed up in an oversized hoodie as you start explaining the alterations that you made to the track. Your voice is calm, but warm and you’re careful to start off by complimenting the work that Hongjoong had done previously.
Chan leaves, resolutely ignoring the twisted feeling that’s back with a vengeance and any thoughts of what the cause might be.
Chan can’t sleep. His thoughts are all about you, what you’ve been doing the past few years, what happened to you at JYPE that made you leave, and mostly trying to remember how and why your relationship with him slowly fell apart.
That’s the hardest part. In the darkest time of his life, when Chan had been discouraged and disheartened, you had joined JYPE with a brightness and enthusiasm that gave Chan the motivation to continue being a trainee. He had adored you. He still does.
In those last few months before the survival show had been filmed, Chan’s relationship with you had gone from being everything to nothing. It happened in the blink of an eye, and Chan had never understood what caused you to withdraw so quickly and thoroughly. The two of you had gone from spending almost all of your free time together to you avoiding him at the company, pretending not to hear when he called out your name or tried to get your attention.
The regret of letting you slip away has always eaten away at him, but now more than ever.
Of course, at the time it hadn’t felt so simple. The survival show was Chan’s first serious chance to debut, and not just that, but the weight of having eight other people’s careers depending on his leadership took a toll on all his other relationships. Your absence in his life still hurt, but Chan had lots of practice losing people. He had coped in the way that worked best in the past, throwing himself headlong into producing, training, anything to keep himself from wallowing in his feelings.
Chan doesn’t have any schedules for today, but he still heads to the company. He knows this isn’t the healthiest way to deal with things, but he doesn’t know anything else.
When he arrives, Chan just barely manages to catch a glimpse of a few familiar faces. He calls out before he can think better of it, jogging slightly to catch up. Sana, Momo, and Mina watch curiously as he approaches. He knows that Twice also aren’t in a busy period of the year, so he doesn’t feel guilty delaying them.
“Sorry to bother you all. Sana-noona, I was just wondering if we could chat?”
Sana makes brief eye contact with the rest of the girls before agreeing and waving them to go ahead of her. She follows behind Chan as he leads them into his studio, clearly interested in determining the reason behind this atypical meet up.
“What’s up, Channie?” she asks once the door is closed behind them.
Chan tries to think of the best way to start, not wanting to just outright ask, but not knowing how to subtly steer the conversation into the right direction. Finally, he abandons trying to be casual and just blurts out, “Do you remember Y/n?”
“Of course I do,” Sana says, sounding amused at the sudden mention of you. “You both had reputations for being veteran trainees. I mean, other than Jihyo.”
“I was always surprised that she never debuted,” Chan admits. “I just thought it would happen eventually and I was so shocked to find out that she had left. I didn’t- I don’t understand why she gave up on something she wanted so badly.”
“Give up?” Sana asks, sounding like she’s offended on your behalf. “Why would you say it like that?”
“What do you mean? It was like she was there one day and gone the next, I just assumed that she had enough and quit. Nobody seemed to know anything about it. I never found out why and it’s been kind of killing me.”
“You didn’t hear what happened?”
“What- something happened? To her?” Chan swallows hard, suddenly feeling unwell.
“It- I thought that you of all people would know-”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, but- you never talked to her about it? You knew her better than any of us.”
“Noona, I didn’t know that she was gone until months later. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it to me, I never reached out at first. When I finally did, her number had been changed. What was I supposed to do?”
“I- It’s better if you were to hear it from her. I don’t know the full story and you know how things can be distorted through gossip. And you especially must know how dangerous that can be.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You really have no clue? The two of you were inseparable…”
“Please,” Chan pleads.
“You know how it is in the industry, you were so close, of course there were rumours…”
It suddenly clicks.
“But we were just friends! And the dating ban-”
“Chan, you know nobody actually sticks to those, right?”
“But really, we were never-”
“I believe you,” Sana says, carefully. “But you know that to management that it doesn’t really matter whether or not anything was actually going on. To them it’s all about the optics. A perceived relationship is just as dangerous as an actual one.”
“Management…” Chan repeats, his mind racing. “They never mentioned anything to me though.”
“You never found it suspicious? You two are extremely close and out of the blue she suddenly stops talking to you, then right after the two of you stop hanging out, you’re chosen for the survival show? Someone must have talked to her at some point. Maybe not management, but for sure someone.”
“You think that’s why it took so long for me to debut?” Chan asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“It was a liability,” Sana explains. “To have a dating scandal so early on? Neither of your careers would survive. It’s painful and a terrible part of the industry but it’s true.”
“And.. Why she left, you know about that too?” Chan pleads.
“I think I’ve said too much already. I know that it’s hard, but some things are really personal.” She pauses for a moment. “What brought this on, anyway? You haven’t mentioned Y/nnie in years.”
“I can’t say much, but I- I saw her today, got to talk to her, found out what she’s been up to.” Sana gasps. Chan continues. “It was so weird to see her after so long. In the back of my mind, I had always wondered, but…”
“I’m glad that you two got to reconnect,” Sana says gently. “The two of you cared about each other a lot, that much was obvious. Talk to her, I think at the very least you’ll be able to find peace about what happened.”
“Noona-” Chan reaches out and pulls Sana into a tight hug. “Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.”
“Of course. I’m sorry that it took so long for you to find out.”
A few days later, Hongjoong schedules another session to work on the song. Leading up to it, Chan is both looking forward to it and nervous, not sure what to expect. Although he still really wants to know what happened to you all those years ago, he’s scared about what he might learn and any part he might have had in it.
After a sleepless night, he ends up arriving almost 15 minutes early. This time, Hongjoong isn’t waiting at the building’s entrance. Instead he had let him know a few days before that Chan could just sign himself in and had sent him the name and location of the studio that was booked. When Chan reaches it, he can make out conversation from inside.
“HALLA,” Hongjoong can be heard through the studio doors, which aren’t fully shut. His tone is petulant and much more casual than it was previously. Chan wonders how much time the two of you have spent together between then and now and he almost misses the next thing that Hongjoong says. “You never told me that you were a trainee before.”
That stops Chan in his tracks, interested in how you’ll respond.
“It was a long time ago.” Your voice is faint. You’re still nice, but Chan can tell that your voice is stiffer than usual. “It doesn’t really matter now.”
This time, Hongjoong doesn’t let it go.
“What happened?” he prods.
“Just drop it,” you warn him. “It’s the past, forget I told you in the first place. Nothing ever came of it anyway.”
“Y/n-” Hongjoong changes tactics, the nagging tone replaced with a quieter, more serious one. You sigh.
“It didn’t work out. Obviously. I’m just not idol material.”
“Oh come on, I don’t believe that for a second. Your producing is good enough that I know for sure you’ve been getting offers to work with more companies than just KQ. When you direct during recording, you can hit every note without any warm up or practice. And I’ve heard your original songs, you must have been considered for both the position of lead rapper and lead singer as a trainee because there’s no way that anybody would let your talent go to waste.” Hongjoong is breathing hard by the end of his rant and Chan can see that this is something that has been bothering him for a while.
“It’s okay, Hongjoong-oppa.” Your voice is gentle, like you’re trying to comfort him. “I’m happy with what I have right now. Really. I’m grateful for all the freedom I have. Getting to work on any project I want and experiment with my music without having to deal with the bureaucracy and politics of the industry? Having that independence is precious to me. I wanted to be an idol for a long long time. But even though that specific plan I had didn’t work out, it doesn’t mean I’m not happy with what I’m doing.”
Hongjoong stays quiet for a while.
“Do you think that if you had the opportunity to debut as an idol now, you would?” he finally asks.
“Oppa, it’s not possible. I can’t dance, I’m too old-” you protest.
“No no, just hypothetically. Like if someone walked into the room and handed you a contract and said that if you signed it in an hour then you’d be able to debut.”
“I- I don’t know.”
“What’s your gut feeling?”
“I think I left that dream behind, I don’t know if I want to go down that path again. I don’t think I have it in me.”
“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong says after another pause. “I shouldn’t have questioned you so much, you shouldn’t have to justify your decisions to me.”
“No, it’s fine. It seems strange, right? For me to be an artist in Seoul and not want to get signed, it's only natural for you to be curious. But I learned a lot when I was a trainee and I learned even more after that and I can say with certainty that this is what I want.”
Chan takes that opportunity to knock on the studio door and push it open.
“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, as if he wasn’t just eavesdropping on their conversation and purposely chose when to cut in. “Sorry, I’m a little bit late.”
“Hey, no problem man,” Hongjoong says. “We haven’t had a chance to do anything yet, so you’re right on time.”
“Good to see you,” you chime in. “I think this should be pretty quick so let’s get started!”
As you predicted, it doesn’t take long before a majority of the song is finished. Normally, Chan would be keen to stay involved until the very last detail is finalised, but he trusts you and at the end of this day, it’s Hongjoong’s song so he’s happy to give him the final say.
At the end of the session, Chan once again uses the opportunity to try to catch you alone. The two of you are side by side, packing your bags and Chan asks if you have any plans for the rest of the day. You confirm that you're available and Chan is about to suggest that the two of you take the time to catch up when Hongjoong interrupts.
“Oh, Y/n-ah,” he says. “I was actually hoping to get your input on something and I didn’t have a chance to ask you earlier. Can you please stick around for a bit? Sorry, hyung.”
Hongjoong sounds so sincere that Chan almost doesn’t feel annoyed that he’s stealing all of your time and attention. Almost, because at the end of the day, Chan’s only human. Even though he knows he has no right to feel possessive over you, he can’t stop the petty jealousy that bubbles up inside of him. At this point, there’s no denying the emotion.
Just like the previous session, he leaves alone, heading directly to the studio. Hours later, his breath catches when he checks his phone and sees that you’ve texted him.
[Received - 8:04pm]
Channie-oppa~
[Received - 8:04pm]
This is Y/nnie
[Received - 8:05pm]
Sorry about earlier, I have a contract with KQ Entertainment and work comes first :/
[Received - 8:09pm]
But I’m free now! You still interested in catching up?
Chan stares at the messages until it feels like they’re burned into his retinas. Logically, he knew that you had his number, the two of you were in a group chat that Hongjoong had set up, but this was your first time messaging him privately. The first time you had reached out in years. A precious opportunity that he never thought that he would have. He doesn’t want to mess this up.
He’s also shocked to see you texting so casually. Although the two of you have been comfortable in person, he wasn’t sure that it would translate to one-on-one conversation.
[Sent - 8:10pm]
Hey Y/n!
[Sent - 8:11pm]
No worries at all, I understand. I’m the same way too
[Sent - 8:13pm]
I still wanna meet up… but I’m all the way back in Gangdong-gu 😅 It’d be a bit of a trek for you if you're still at KQ
[Received - 8:13pm]
Gangdong-gu?
[Received - 8:14pm]
Ohh JYPE
[Received - 8:14pm]
My bad, forgot that you guys moved
[Sent - 8:15pm]
Yeahhh
[Sent - 8:15pm]
Headed straight back to the company after we were done, sorry
[Received - 8:18pm]
Well… If you’re willing to wait then I don’t mind. KQ is close to a metro station anyway
[Sent - 8:18pm]
Wait, really?
[Sent - 8:18pm]
No no no, don’t take the subway
[Sent - 8:18pm]
I’ll send a driver. They’re gonna pick you up in 20 min
[Received - 8:19pm]
Wowow
[Received - 8:19pm]
Private driver?
[Received - 8:20pm]
You’re a real superstar now haha
[Sent - 8:21pm]
alsfjshkafs noooooooo
[Sent - 8:21pm]
It’s just faster
[Sent - 8:21pm]
and safer
[Received - 8:22pm]
I’m not complaining
[Received - 8:22pm]
but I’m going to get your autograph when I see you
[Received - 8:23pm]
If I sell it then I can probably afford my own private driver 🤭
[Sent - 8:24pm]
Knew it
[Sent - 8:25pm]
You’re just using me for my fame
[Received - 8:26pm]
Ah you got me this time
[Received - 8:26pm]
*Your fame, your talent, and your good looks
[Received - 8:27pm]
Even tho you were the one that said you wanted to meet up
[Received - 8:27pm]
Hmmm maybe you’re the one using me?
Chan listens to his phone as it continues to vibrate from where it’s lodged in between two of the couch cushions after he threw it across to the opposite side of the room. His face is buried in his hands and flaming red. He feels both giddy and terribly embarrassed.
Chan’s no stranger to flirting, he’s experienced his fair share being on either side through interactions with the members and with Stay, but he forgot how flustered he was being on the receiving end of your teasing. The part he never understood is that your playful tone always gave way to sincerity. Even when the two of you would joke around, he could always tell that you meant every comment that you made about Chan being talented or attractive and that flattered him almost as much as it baffled him.
[Received - 8:32pm]
?? Speechless that I caught on?
[Received - 8:36pm]
I think your driver has arrived… Otherwise I’m being kidnapped
[Received - 8:40pm]
Don’t think I would survive a horror film… I got into the car with no questions asked
[Received - 8:42pm]
It was nice knowing you I guess
When he realises how much time has passed, Chan grabs his phone and runs down to the back entrance of the company. Luckily you haven’t arrived yet and he takes the time to reply to your messages.
[Sent - 8:53pm]
Sorry, lost track of time
[Sent - 8:53pm]
They’ll drop you off at the back door, I’ll meet you there so you don’t have to get signed in or anything
[Received - 8:54pm]
Don’t think you’re getting away with ignoring my other texts
[Received - 8:55pm]
But thanks
[Received - 8:55pm]
Is this back door, the famous one that only allows in authorised people?
[Received - 8:55pm]
I’m honoured
Chan rolls his eyes at your cheesy reference and is in the middle of typing up a response when he sees the car pull up. You step out cautiously, then brighten when you see where Chan’s propping up the door.
“Hey,” Chan greets you. “Glad that you made it safely.”
“Thanks for the ride,” you say, looking around curiously as Chan leads you to an elevator that takes you to the rest of the building. “So this is the new and improved JYP Entertainment. I’d say that it looks the same as before, but I never got the chance to come in.”
“Yeah,” Chan says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as he walks. “I mean it’s pretty nice, but at the end of the day a practice room is a practice room and that’s where we spend most of our time.”
“Hmm I think we might have to agree to disagree on that one. You have your own studio don’t you?”
“Ah, kind of. It’s technically a shared one, but practically I’m the only one that uses it unless we’re out of the country for a long time,” Chan confirms.
“Seems a lot better than what we used to have! Do you remember when we used to cram ourselves into that tiny room that barely even fit two chairs and a table?”
“I almost forgot about that, it was so terrible! In the summer it would get so hot that we’d keep the door open-”
“And then someone would come yell at us because we’d be playing music too loud-”
“I remember begging management to install a portable air conditioner on multiple occasions, but they always refused.”
“Of course! Even if they weren’t so stingy, there weren’t any windows leading outside in there, how could they install it?”
“Is that why? I always thought they just wanted us to suffer.”
“That too,” you giggle for a moment, before your smile fades. “But they weren’t totally unreasonable. Management has a different perspective than us, sometimes they know better than us because of their understanding of the industry. They can see things that we don’t.”
It’s clear that you’re no longer talking about air conditioning anymore. A lump seems to have formed in Chan’s throat when he recalls his conversation with Sana. Luckily, the two of you have just arrived and Chan forces himself to smile.
“We’re here,” he says, opening the door and motioning for you to enter ahead of him. “Welcome to Channie’s Room!”
“It’s cute!” you say as you step in. “Very… neat. It’s actually more spacious than it looks.”
“Oh,” Chan says, faltering in his steps for a second. “You- you’ve seen my studio?”
“In case you didn’t realise, you go live every week from said studio. I think at this point everyone in the K-pop industry and every K-pop fan has seen it,” you tease.
“Right, yeah. I didn’t- I wasn’t sure how much you kept up with that kind of stuff,” Chan stammers.
“K-pop or do you mean specifically Stray Kids?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.
“Either I guess," Chan shrugs.
"I will admit that it took me a while to get back into it," you say slowly. "I wasn't... in the best mindset after I left." Chan stays quiet, sensing that you're not quite finished. "I know that I disappeared and I am sorry for not reaching out. I wanted to, but I also didn't know how. I know that I hurt you. That it was cruel to avoid you, not reply to your messages, ignore your calls. I had my reasons why, but it doesn't excuse the pain that I caused, and I'm sorry for that too."
“I think,” Chan swallows hard. “I think that the most difficult part was that for the longest time, I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I did wrong. I asked Sana about it finally, after I saw you again. And I just felt so stupid to realise that it was obvious to everyone except me."
“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wanted to tell you, of course I wanted to. But I also knew you. If I had told you that us being together was preventing your debut-”
“I wouldn’t have cared,” Chan finishes your sentence for you, starting to understand. “I would have done anything to keep you by my side.”
"Even if it meant throwing away your career," you say softly. "I couldn't let you do that to yourself. You worked so hard, how could I live with being the reason that you were stuck in the training rooms? You belong on stage, making music.”
"The part that I still don’t get though is why you left? You should have been able to debut as well, I know it."
“Ah,” you say wistfully. You look around and grab onto the pillow that’s on the couch beside you, fidgeting with it as you figure out what to say next. “You know, I actually was supposed to debut.”
“What? How come I never heard about it?” Chan feels a pang in his chest. All these years ago, the two of you had promised that the other would be the first person that they would tell if they ever found out that they had the chance to debut. It seemed that neither of them had kept their promise.
“It was supposed to be a secret project. JYP wanted to see how successful a surprise debut announcement would be. You should have seen the NDAs that they made us sign.” You shake your head, letting out a huff of air. “It turned out to be a good decision because it meant they could cancel it without anyone knowing that we existed in the first place.”
"Who was in the group?" Chan asks.
"There were five of us. I think you know all of them, Sumin, Ryujin, Sojin, and Hyowon," you list. You're right, Chan is either familiar with or has heard of all the girls that you mention. It doesn't make sense though, the group was filled with talented individuals and Chan can't think of any reason strong enough to lead to disbandment. Even more baffling is that of the five of you, only Ryujin ended up staying at the company long enough to join the lineup for another group.
"And they just cancelled it out of nowhere?"
“No... It was- I know that for any idol, preparing for debut is tough, but I think that in some ways, it’s especially brutal for the girl groups," you say instead. Chan doesn't question you further, knowing that you must have a point that you're trying to make.
“How so?” Chan has an idea, he’s seen what the female trainees went through, the differences in how they were evaluated and criticised. But he wants to hear it from you, wants to understand what you’ve been through.
“The visual aspect feels like it’s more heavily emphasised than our talent or skills. We were measured for our music video outfits the second they finalised the concept. It was really early on, but at the time I thought it was so exciting and fun that I didn’t question it. I think that all of us were so thrilled by the thought of debuting that we didn't think anything of it. We did our final fittings for it a few weeks before filming and they had made them all a size too small, everything was just a little bit too tight. They didn’t outright say it, but it was implied that they weren’t going to alter them. It was a choice to lose weight or our chance to debut was gone. We were devastated and angry and eventually just resigned. If that's what it took then I would do it. We dieted like crazy for the time leading up to filming,” you laugh, but it's in disbelief, the sound is hollow.
Paired with what you’re saying, it makes Chan want to burn the whole world down. He doesn't say anything, not sure if he can even open his mouth without letting his rage escape, something that you don't deserve.
“We were practising, like always," you continue. "There was a tricky step that needed to be fixed by the next day when we’d be recording, a flip that we hadn't quite mastered. I was the smallest one on the team, so I was the one being flipped. It must have been like 3 or 4 in the morning, we were all tired, hungry, and nervous about filming. Honestly, I don't quite remember what happened, it was all a blur. There was just this feeling that something went wrong and then pain."
You roll up the pants on your left leg and show off the skin there. Chan has to hold back a gasp at the sight. Even though it’s long healed, the scarring is extensive and obvious. Chan can't imagine how much it must have hurt.
“I broke my ankle in two places and sprained my wrist. I couldn't believe it, five years of my life just gone in an instant. It took months before I could walk and even longer before I could dance again. Even now, I can't dance anywhere close to the way that I used to," you say with a watery smile. “Sojinnie had a concussion from the fall and Suminnie dislocated her shoulder, I must have knocked into them or fallen onto them or something. What could we do? Three out of the five of us were out of commission, there was no time and no budget for a group that hadn’t even debuted to find replacements or re-record and re-film everything. I woke up after surgery and they told me that they were sorry, but my contract with the company was over. That someone had helped me pack up all my things in the dorm. I went back to Jeju-do as soon as I was released from the hospital.”
"I- I'm sorry that I didn't know," Chan says, clearing his throat roughly when his voice breaks partway through the sentence. " I wish that I could have been there, to help or comfort you. I should have-"
"Oppa," you respond gently. "It's okay. I didn't tell anybody what happened and the company also kept things quiet. I'm glad you didn't find out at the time. You had other, more important things to focus on, I didn't want to distract you from that."
"You're not a distraction," Chan says incredulously. "You're important to me, I would have dropped everything to be with you in such a difficult time."
"And that's exactly why I couldn't tell you. You've always been too good to me, Channie-oppa," you sniffle. "Look at you now! I'm so always proud when I think of how far you've come."
Chan lifts a trembling hand and carefully cups your face, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that has started making its way down your cheek. He hears your breathing hitch, but you don't object to his touch. If anything, you melt into it.
Chan takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, bringing you close. The gesture breaks the dam of tears that you must have been holding back. Chan rocks the two of you back and forth gently, just letting you cry and trying to surreptitiously wipe away his own tears. It takes a few minutes before you calm, taking huge shuddering breaths that break Chan's heart almost as much as your sobs had.
"I'm sorry," you say with a voice thick with emotion.
"Hey, no," Chan reassures you. "There's no need to apologise. Are you feeling better now?"
You nod slowly, head still pressed against Chan's chest.
"I think- I think I just missed you. I always thought it would get easier, not having you in my life, but it never did."
At your words, Chan can't help his arms from tightening, squeezing you close.
"I finally found you again," he says. "And this time, I promise that I won't ever let you go."
read it on ao3 | masterlist
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theshift · 21 days ago
Text
The Accident
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There I was, floating above my body on Halloween night. It was supposed to be just another night out, but a deer darted in front of my car on the way home from the party. I swerved—too hard. My car rolled into a ditch, and just like that, my 22-year-old life ended.
But instead of the peaceful walk toward the light, I found myself staring at my broken body from above, my mind reeling. I expected angels, a tunnel, something comforting to guide me into whatever came next. Instead, there was a raspy chuckle from behind me.
“Man, you’ve really done it now.”
I turned, and there he was—the Grim Reaper. He didn’t look all that intimidating, just tired, like he was running late for a shift at a soul-harvesting factory. His black robe was wrinkled, and his scythe looked more ceremonial than functional.
“Uh, shouldn’t I be… judged or something? What’s going on?” I asked, gesturing to my body below, panic rising in my chest.
The Reaper sighed, clearly bored. “Well, see, I’d love to shuffle you off to the afterlife, but there’s a small issue. Some ancestor of yours made a deal with a witch a long time ago, and now you’re cursed. You’ve still got ten years left in you.”
“Wait, what? I’m dead!” I waved my hands through the air, trying to grasp something, anything that made sense.
“Yeah, but you’re not done living. Not yet. So, here’s the deal: every year, on Halloween at 3:33 AM, you’re gonna possess someone’s body for a year. Your soul is bound to this book”—he pulled out an old orange book with frayed edges—“and whoever reads it, you’ll get to hijack for a while. Ten bodies, ten lives. After that, you can move on.”
I stared at him, my head spinning. “What the hell? That sounds awful. What if no one reads the book?”
The Reaper shrugged. “Then you wait around. Could be hours, could be years. Guess you’ll have to get good at convincing people to read it. Anyway, your ride’s about to start.” He pointed ahead.
A man in his forties was standing near my wrecked car, speaking urgently into his phone. “Yeah, I’ve got a body here. I think he’s gone. I need help right away.”
“That’s Diego. He’s your ticket for the next year,” the Reaper said, his grin widening. “Good luck, kid.”
Before I could protest, Diego found the book. He flipped it open, scanning the first page. I felt it immediately—an invisible force pulling me toward him. With a rush, I was flung into his body, and everything went black.
When I came to, I was in Diego’s body. At first, it was like wearing a suit that didn’t fit quite right. My fingers were longer, my limbs more slender. The world felt different through his eyes, sharper, more aware.
I was still standing next to my wrecked car, but now I was him.
“Hello? Sir, are you still there?” The 911 operator’s voice crackled through the phone in my hand. “Uh, yeah, I’m here. His name’s Jacob,” I said, my voice sounding foreign and unfamiliar. I hung up and glanced down, checking Diego’s pockets for ID. His wallet had the name Diego Hernandez, and a quick glance at his phone showed him as some high-up exec. There was also a picture of him and another man, smiling at a beach. Diego’s partner, I assumed.
---
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The next year wasn’t just about pretending to be Diego; it became a delicate balancing act of reshaping him. Diego had been a meticulous, sharp-minded executive, always composed and polished. But I wasn’t Diego—I was Jacob, a 22-year-old who had no idea how to lead a high-powered life. Instead of trying to mirror his every move, I leaned into changing him, slowly but surely.
People started to notice. Diego had once been all about spreadsheets and efficiency, but under my influence, he loosened up. I made him more laid-back, the kind of guy who’d crack a joke in meetings instead of keeping things strictly business. He started eating lunch with the lower-level employees, not just his tight-knit executive circle, and he’d leave work earlier instead of burning the midnight oil. There was more swagger to the way he walked, a more casual confidence in his approach to work.
Some people liked the change; others weren’t so sure. I could tell by the sideways glances during meetings and the hushed conversations in the hallways. Carlos, though, seemed to love it. He said I—I mean Diego—was more fun, more present. That always made me pause.
Carlos. That was a whole other challenge. I wasn’t gay in my past life, so the idea of being in a relationship with a man like Carlos was something I hadn’t been prepared for. But the craziest part? Diego’s body responded to him—automatically. Even if I felt awkward in my head, my body didn’t hesitate when Carlos touched me, kissed me, or pulled me into his arms.
At first, it freaked me out. I wasn’t used to the physical chemistry that sparked between us, but I had to play along. I’d catch myself wondering what the hell was happening to me, feeling Carlos’s hand on my shoulder or his lips on mine and sensing the warmth that flooded Diego’s body in response. It was like Diego’s attraction to him was embedded in the body itself, like muscle memory. And I couldn’t stop it.
Over time, I grew more comfortable playing the role, though the constant reminders of who I was versus who Diego had been messed with my head. Was I just pretending, or was I actually starting to like Carlos in some way? It didn’t matter—I couldn’t let it. I reminded myself that I was Jacob, just a guy stuck in someone else’s life for the year.
Still, there were moments where I found myself almost... enjoying it. I learned to navigate their routines, whether it was cooking dinner together or cuddling on the couch watching old movies. I got used to how my body relaxed around Carlos, even though I tried to keep some distance mentally.
But by the time Halloween rolled around again, I knew I couldn’t keep it up much longer. I wanted to move on, to something younger, more exciting. Someone who could relive the youth I’d lost. I had my sights set on Chris, the fresh-faced 24-year-old at the office. He was everything Diego wasn’t—youthful, carefree, with a sharp wit and a charm that seemed to come effortlessly. I was done playing Diego’s role.
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I was ready to live again—my way.
It was a Friday afternoon, the office buzzing with pre-weekend energy. Chris was leaning against the wall by Diego’s desk, casually flipping through some papers. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off toned forearms that I couldn’t help but notice. "So, Diego," Chris said with that easy smile, "you going to the Halloween party tonight? I hear it’s going to be a good one."
I smirked inwardly. Perfect. Tonight would be the night. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said, nodding, “What about you? You’ve got a costume ready?”
Chris chuckled, “You’ll just have to wait and see. Let’s just say I’m going for something classic.” He winked, and I felt a twinge of anticipation. I’d planned everything down to the minute. Tonight, Chris would get his hands on that book, and by 3:33 AM, I’d be out of Diego’s body and into his.
But as Chris and I continued to chat, I couldn’t help but notice Jason in the background. He was seated at his desk across the room, hunched over in his usual gray polo that stretched a little too tight across his broad shoulders. Jason was the office gym bro—always talking about his latest workout routine, always finding ways to make the most mundane tasks a little goofy.
“Yo, Diego!” Jason called from his desk, spinning around in his chair with a wide grin. “You gonna see me crush it in my costume tonight? It’s gonna be epic, man!”
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I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling at his antics. Jason, mid-30s and built like a linebacker, was always full of energy—probably too much energy for most people. He was the kind of guy who’d slap you on the back a little too hard and make awkward jokes at the wrong time, but he was harmless. Loud, goofy, and always the life of the party, even if people didn’t always take him seriously.
Chris shook his head, grinning at Jason’s enthusiasm. “Let me guess, you’re going as a superhero?”
“Nah, man! I’m mixing it up this year,” Jason said with a mock-serious expression, then cracked into a laugh. “You’ll just have to wait and see, too. But let’s just say it’s gonna be swole!”
I laughed, playing along, though in the back of my mind, I kept my focus on Chris. Jason was just noise in the background, a distraction. Tonight wasn’t about him. Tonight was my night to take control of Chris’s life, to finally move on from Diego’s world and slip into something fresher and younger.
But as I glanced back at Jason, still chuckling to himself at his desk, a small voice in the back of my mind wondered if things could go off track. After all, nothing in this bizarre afterlife had gone exactly as planned. And Jason’s loud, over-the-top presence seemed to have a way of crashing into situations he wasn’t invited to.
Shaking the thought off, I turned back to Chris, locking in on the real target. Everything was going to go right tonight—I was sure of it.
Or so I thought.
--
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The morning of Halloween, I woke up earlier than usual. The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow on Diego’s room. I sat up in bed, running my hands over his chest, his skin smooth and warm beneath my fingers. It was strange—this would be my last few hours in this body.
Leaving Carlos sleeping in bed I headed to the backyard with a coffee in hand to go sit outside. On impulse, I opened my camera app. A quick snap—Diego’s reflection staring back at me from the screen. He looked good, I had to admit. Diego had the kind of face that turned heads—a strong jawline, neatly trimmed beard, piercing eyes. Not too bad for my first possession. I’d gotten lucky landing in a body like his, a handsome stud who could command attention just by walking into a room.
But as I stared at the photo, a wave of conflicted feelings hit me. I was ready to move on, yes—ready for a new life, a younger body, someone with more energy. But at the same time, there was something unsettling about leaving. Diego had become part of me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. The routines, the habits, the life I’d built over the past year—it wasn’t just Diego’s anymore. It was mine, too. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to let it go.
I set the phone down, exhaling slowly. Time was running out. By the end of the night, I’d be gone from this body, and Diego would go back to being himself. No memory of me, no sign that I’d ever been here. A part of me wondered if he’d even notice any change at all.
But that was the deal. Ten bodies, ten years. And Diego had been just the start.
---
The bar was nearly empty now, with just a few lingering colleagues laughing loudly in the corner. The company Halloween party had been a success—most people had already stumbled out, but the dim lighting and half-empty drinks left behind gave the place a lazy, comfortable atmosphere. It was late, and I only had one thing on my mind: getting Chris to read the damn book.
I spotted him at the bar, chatting with a coworker before they said their goodbyes. He was the last person I needed here tonight. Chris—young, in shape, and full of potential. Exactly the kind of person I would’ve been had I not died at 22. He was everything I wanted now: his youth, his confidence, his energy.
I approached him, holding the orange book in my hand like a harmless accessory. I’d spent the last few weeks preparing, figuring out how to make this moment happen without raising suspicion.
“Hey, Chris,” I said, sliding onto the barstool next to him. “That was a great party, huh?”
He smiled, that easy, charming grin that made people like him immediately. “Yeah, it was. You know, I don’t usually stick around this late, but it’s Halloween, so why not?”
I laughed. “Exactly. Speaking of Halloween, I’ve been meaning to ask—you ever read this?” I casually placed the book on the bar between us, the title catching the dim light.
Chris glanced at it, intrigued. “Can’t say I have. What is it?”
“Just something spooky, thought it was perfect for tonight. It’s one of those weird, old books you’d expect to find in a haunted house. Gives you chills just reading it.” I pushed it a little closer to him, watching his reaction. I needed him to take the bait. “You should check it out.”
He reached for it, fingers brushing the cover, and I felt a surge of anticipation. I glanced at my watch—3:25. The window was coming up. I just needed to keep him engaged for a few more minutes and—
“Diego! Man, there you are!” A booming voice interrupted my thoughts.
Jason.
I turned around to see Jason approaching, drink in hand, as loud and boisterous as always. He clapped me on the back with a little too much force and leaned against the bar.
“Hey, Jason,” I said, trying to hide my irritation.
“Chris, my man! You still here too?” Jason grinned, turning to us both. Then his eyes landed on the book. “Whoa, what’s this?”
I could feel my plan slipping away. “Oh, nothing, just a spooky read I was showing Chris. Kind of an old Halloween thing.”
Jason’s eyes lit up. “I love that kind of stuff! Is it one of those cursed books or something?” He snatched it off the bar before I could react.
“No, Jason, it’s really not for—”
But he was already flipping it open, his eyes scanning the pages. “Dude, I love this kind of creepy shit. Let’s see what it says…”
I felt the familiar tug in my chest, the sudden, overwhelming force that signaled the beginning of the transfer. No, no, no—this wasn’t supposed to happen! My plan had been foolproof. Chris was supposed to read the book, not Jason.
I tried to fight it, to stay grounded in Diego’s body, but it was useless. The pull was too strong. I felt myself being yanked away from Diego, ripped from his life, from his relationship with Carlos, from everything I’d built over the last year.
With a final, helpless glance at Chris, I was hurtling through the air, straight toward Jason. My ghostly form slammed into him from behind, and everything went dark.
When I blinked back into awareness, I was no longer in Diego’s slim, precise body. Instead, I felt bulkier, heavier, muscles straining against my clothes. I looked down and saw Jason’s hands—large, calloused, a far cry from Diego’s delicate fingers.
I’d missed my target.
Jason looked up from the book, blinking as if in a daze. I could feel his mind reeling from the brief possession, trying to make sense of the sudden flood of my consciousness. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, adjusting to the deeper voice that now came out of Jason’s mouth.
“Chris, man,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “you should really check out that book sometime.”
Chris, completely oblivious to what had just happened, gave me a puzzled smile. “Maybe next time, Diego—uh, Jason?”
I forced a grin, feeling the weight of Jason’s body settle around me. This was not how it was supposed to go. But I wasn’t done yet.
The transfer was jarring. Jason’s body was completely different from Diego’s lean frame. He was heavy, muscular, and I immediately felt the strain of his bulk. I blinked, adjusting to the new weight, the tightness of his clothes, and the strange sense of power that came with his physique.
I looked down at my new hands—massive, calloused, and strong. Jason’s body was like a machine, perfectly sculpted from hours at the gym. I flexed, feeling the muscle ripple under the skin, a grin creeping across my face despite the frustration of my failed plan.
I stumbled into the bathroom, needing a moment to adjust. The reflection that stared back at me in the mirror was foreign yet strangely exhilarating. Jason’s chiseled face, his broad shoulders—this was a body that commanded attention, and I could see why he was always the center of the office gym culture.
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“Damn you know what…,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders and smirking at the reflection. “Not exactly what I planned, but I can work with this.”
---
As I left the bathroom of the bar, adjusting to the weight of Jason’s body, I spotted Diego by the exit. He was leaning against the wall, looking a bit off-balance. He rubbed his temples as if he were trying to shake off a hangover, though I knew better. That woozy feeling wasn’t the alcohol—it was the lingering aftermath of having someone else control your body for a year.
Diego glanced up and caught my eye. "Man, I think I had too much to drink," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He was disoriented, confused—but completely unaware of the truth. Part of me wondered if some fragment of our time together would eventually surface in his mind, a fleeting déjà vu that would never make sense to him.
Chris, still chatting by the bar, noticed Diego’s state and waved him over. “Hey, Diego! You okay, man? You’re looking kinda pale.”
Diego chuckled weakly and gave a dismissive wave. “Yeah, just… probably need to get home. Been a long night.”
I—Jason now—watched from a few feet away, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. It was surreal, seeing Diego like this, so unaware that I had been him for an entire year. I hadn’t realized how much I’d grown used to his body until now, standing in Jason’s much bulkier form. And Carlos… God, I would miss him. The way Diego’s body responded to him was like nothing I’d ever experienced. The closeness, the warmth—it was something I hadn’t anticipated, and now it was gone. The thought gnawed at me, but I shoved it down.
I approached them casually, adopting Jason’s confident stride. “Diego, you heading out already?” My voice—Jason’s voice—sounded deeper, rougher, and it still felt foreign on my tongue.
Diego nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, think I’ve had enough for tonight. You guys sticking around?”
Chris shrugged. “I might hang for a bit longer. Jason, you?”
I glanced at Diego one last time, a strange sense of finality washing over me. “Yeah, I’ll stick around.” I couldn’t say goodbye, not in any real sense, but watching Diego walk out that door felt like the closing of a chapter I wasn’t entirely ready to end.
Diego gave a tired smile and a wave as he headed toward the exit. As he left, I felt something shift in the air—a realization that I’d never be a part of his life again. And Carlos... part of me almost wanted to follow Diego just to see Carlos one more time, but what was the point? That chapter was over. I had to focus on what was ahead.
I turned back to the bar, Jason’s broad shoulders carrying me with ease as I slid onto a stool. The male bartender looked up from wiping glasses, his eyes flicking to mine. There was a spark of interest in his gaze that made me pause. The guy was rugged, with stubble that framed a sharp jawline, and he held my stare for a moment too long before smirking.
“Another drink?” he asked, his voice low.
I leaned forward, matching his energy. “Yeah, sure. What do you recommend?”
As he poured, I couldn’t help but smirk to myself. Maybe missing my target wasn’t such a bad turn of events after all. Jason’s life was already starting to look interesting in ways I hadn’t expected.
---
Jason’s life was a far cry from Diego’s rigid routine, but in a way, it was exactly what I had been craving—freedom, excitement, and a lot less pressure. I wasn’t waking up at 6 AM anymore to go over emails or prepping for another mind-numbing executive meeting. Now, I was hitting the gym early, flexing in the mirror with every rep, and enjoying the newfound strength that came with Jason’s bulk.
The office was different, too. Jason wasn’t tied down with endless responsibilities like Diego had been. He wasn’t the serious type, and that gave me room to breathe. I could joke with coworkers, mess around without people raising their eyebrows. And surprisingly, people liked Jason—a lot. His goofy charm, the way he could lighten the mood, made him well-liked around the office. It was almost the opposite of what I had with Diego, where I had to constantly maintain an image of perfection.
I’d even started to develop a routine at the gym that Jason had frequented. His body craved the weight of the dumbbells, and I found a strange satisfaction in pushing it to its limits. Each rep felt like a reminder that I was in control, molding Jason’s life however I saw fit.
But there was more to it than just working out. Jason had a social circle that was open and inviting. I could walk into a bar, crack a joke, and people would laugh, slap me on the back, and offer me a drink. I was the center of attention—whether at work, at the gym, or on a night out with the guys. It was a rush.
Of course, there were parts of Jason’s life that were chaotic, but it was the kind of chaos I could handle. He wasn’t perfect—his apartment was a mess, his dating life was all over the place, and his diet consisted mostly of protein shakes and fast food—but it didn’t bother me. This was my playground now, and I could shape it however I wanted.
Jason’s life was simple—lift, laugh, and live.
One afternoon, Jason’s muscles taut from a workout, I caught myself smirking at my phones reflection in my car. I flexed in his tight blue gym shirt, feeling the definition in his arms, his chest. The life I had now? It wasn’t the one I had planned for, but it felt good. Real good.
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---
Really enjoyed writing this one. Here's another halloween story for the month. Let me know what y'all think. Would you be upset with being Jason or did you want the main character to end up in Chris? Let me know - The Shift
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pitchsidestories · 2 months ago
Text
lovers II Keira Walsh x Williamson!Reader
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masterlist I word count: 2468
a/n: Hi, we realized that it's our 100th oneshot which sounds absolutely wild, so enjoy. For the readers who wait for the Emily Fox fanfic it will come out next. <3
You were in love with Ibiza.
In love with the beaches and the sunshine, the palm trees and the blue of the ocean.
You were in love with the clubs and bars, your sister and her friends took you to.
But above all, you were in love with your sister’s best friend.
The afternoon sun painted the hotel room in soft golden light as you slipped into a short dress. You could still feel the salty air and the sun from earlier that day on your skin as you began applying mascara to your eyelashes. Except for a bit of hunger, you felt fully content.
“Ready for dinner? You look gorgeous by the way.“, Keiras voice said from behind you.
You hadn’t noticed her coming in.
You flinched, almost stabbing yourself in the eye with the mascara wand.
Keira smiled apologetically at your reflection in the mirror.
You watched as her gaze started to travel down your body, taking in every curve in your tight-fitting dress.
With a smile you turned towards her and bridged the gap between the two of you.
“Are you kidding? Look at you… Your curls are so pretty and soft.“, you whispered, gently running her fingers through her reddish brown hair.
You loved the way the salt water had restored Keiras natural hair texture.
“My curls? I just didn’t straighten my hair.“, she laughed.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, barely visible through the light sunburn on her skin.
Completely enamoured, you beamed at her: “I love it.“
You were about to lean forward to kiss her when someone cleared their throat behind you.
Your heart stopped while you pulled apart. You ran through possible explanations for this situation in your head, just in case you would turn around to face your sister.
Instead, Alex Scott watched the two of you with a knowing grin.
“You do? Oh hi, Alex.“, Keira greeted the former football player.
“Little Williamson is right though. She could have done something with fashion but…“, Alex said without finishing her thought.
You rolled your eyes, she had always tried to convince you to work in the fashion industry but you wouldn’t trade your job as an English teacher in Barcelona for anything in the world.
“She chose to teach people English in Spain and honestly, it was the best decision ever.“, you finished for Alex.
Keira laughed: “I agree with that.“
Leah appeared next to Alex in the doorway. Subconsciously, you tried to put more distance between yourself and Keira.
“Of course, you do, Kei. Because that way you can talk to someone in your mother tongue almost every day. How did the Catalan interview go again?“, your sister teased.
Her best friend released a tired groan: “Don’t remind me.“
Alex changed the subject, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder: “Now that everyone’s dressed up, let’s get some dinner in before we go clubbing.“
“Sounds like a good idea.”, you agreed in a good mood, the sea air made you hungry.
At the restaurant Keira studied the menu thoroughly before looking at you with an innocent smile on her lips.
“Everything here sounds so good, do you want to share?”, she asked.
“Sure.”, you replied happily. Above your heads the fairy lights were switched on and you could hear the waves crashing on to the shore in the background.
The romantic atmosphere was quickly disturbed by your older sister.
“Excuse me? I thought you’d share with me!”, she pouted, sending glances at the Barca player which could kill.
“What about your girlfriend? Doesn’t she want to share with you?”, Keira asked in return, cheeks flushed.
“Yes, Lee, no need to be that dramatic about it.”, Alex Greenwood intervened laughing.
“I’m not dramatic.”, Leah countered smirking.
“That’s just how she’s.”, you explained cheekily.
“Why don’t we order food for the table so we can all share?”, your girlfriend suggested hoping this would calm the Blonde Arsenal defender down.
“Yes, that’s perfect. I’m in.”, the two Alex’s declared grinning.
“Same, you too, Leah?”, you turned around to investigate your sister’s face, waiting for her reaction.
“Sure.”, she nodded, sounding much calmer already.
 “What about a first round of cocktails?”, Jess wanted to know.
“Please.”, Leah answered.
A few minutes later the drinks arrived at your table, beaming you toasted with her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.”, she responded grinning.  
The sweetness and the alcohol sparked the desire in you to touch your lover’s curly hair again.
“Stop it.”, Keira demanded giggling.
“I’m not doing anything.”, you remarked in a not guilty tone.
“Yes, you’re. Stop it.”, she bit her lip nervously.
“Fine.”, you sighed defeated, quickly finishing your cocktail.
After the last sip you stood up smiling delighted at the other girls. “Girls, are we ready for the club now?”
“Let’s go.”, Alex Greenwood chirmed.
The sun was long gone now, the moon and the stars shown brightly as you and your sister former and current teammates joined the Ibizan night life.
Something your sister and you both shared was the passion for music. While Leah preferred to sing you would take every chance you could get to dance. Before Keira your first love has been rhythm and beats.
“Come on, Kei.”, Alex nudged the red-haired woman who admired you from the distance.
“I don’t dance. I’m here for the drinks.”, she waved the sports journalist off.
“But I do. Come on, Alex.”, Leah remarked cheerfully.
“Coming.“, Alex laughed and let the defender pull her into the direction of the dance floor.
The other Alex jumped up as well, following closely behind: “Hey, wait for me.“
You caught Keiras eye from across the room and danced your way over to her. You were not ready to stop yet but you also didn’t want to leave her alone.
Keira reached for your wrist with a laugh: “Stop twirling around, y/n.“
“Why?“, you asked, spinning out of her grasp.
“Just because.“
You stopped for a moment, studying her face. There was something serious and pleading in her eyes that you didn’t understand. You only wanted to continue dancing with your friends. “Keira…“
You interrupted yourself, taking in a sharp breath in surprise as two hands laid on your hips and spun you around.
A man in his mid-thirties and clearly drunk grinned at you. His gaze traveled down to your neckline while he asked you something that your brain didn’t seem to comprehend. Apparently he wanted you to dance with him but everything about him made clear that he had other things in mind than just dancing.
You froze in place, not sure if you felt disgusted or disgusting.
Just when you were about to say something, your sister squeezed between him and you and pushed him back: “Sorry, no. That’s my sister!“
“And she’s already taken.“, Keira added. You hadn’t noticed that Keira had gotten up from her seat as well.
Leahs head whipped towards her best friend: “What?“
“Uhm…“, you mumbled as you watched the man retreat with his hands raised in surrender.
You desperately tried to find a good reason to change the subject but you just couldn’t come up with one.
“Who is it, y/n? One of your colleagues or one of the Barca girlies?“, Leah asked, her voice tinted with anger.
“It’s…uhm…“, you started and forced yourself not to look at Keira. Lying would be so easy right now. But did you actually want to keep hiding?
Your sister got impatient: “Just tell me.“
“Keira.“, was all you could get out and prayed that you made the right choice.
The two best friends looked at each other. Keira nodded slowly: “It’s me.“
“Wait, you?! When? How? She’s my little sister!“ Leahs eyebrows furrowed in anger.
Keira shrugged, trying to keep her voice calm: “In Barcelona… it just happened.“
Your sister turned towards you with her jaw set: “We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning!“
She stormed off without waiting for an answer and you quietly wondered where she would go.
Keira and you ended the night there and went back to your hotel room.
You walked out on the balcony overlooking the ocean, Keira followed right behind you.
“She’s really mad.“, you said nervously into the night sky.
The midfielder wrapped her arms around you and rolled her eyes: “She can’t be mad about this.“
You knew she had a point.
“No, Lee is more upset about the fact that we didn’t tell her.“
“Still. I can talk with her if you want me to.”, Keira offered while you kept watching the waves come and go which was scarily similar to your older sister’s temper. Deep down you knew she would eventually calm down.
“No, I’ll do it, it’s fine.”, you assured the Barcelona player before kissing her temple softly.
For a moment she closed her eyes under your touch. “She’ll be fine.”, the midfielder whispered in a convinced tone as her lips touched yours in a heartfelt kiss.
“What was the kiss for?”, you raised an eyebrow at her curiously.
“For good luck.”, Keira replied smirking.
“But she said tomorrow so maybe we could just go inside and..”, you begun rambling.
“You think that’s a good idea?”, your girlfriend interrupted you with a doubtful look on her face.
“No, I’ll do it now.”, you sighed, knowing fully well that some things shouldn’t be put on hold. Although you’d miss the comforting hug of the midfielder who pretended to hate them but always made an exception for you.
Cautiously you stood at the entry of the hotel room your sister and her girlfriend were staying in. “Lee, can we chat outside?”
Without a word the older blonde got up and put on her shoes, signalling that she was ready to talk to you outside.
For a while the two of you walked silently on the sand which felt still warm under your naked feet.
“So, you and Keira, huh?”, Leah broke the silence, sounding more curious than mad this time.
“Yeah.”, you answered timidly.
“Since when?” the defender continued asking.
“We got closer when she came to Barcelona.”, you confessed.
“That was forever ago.”, she noted slightly hurt by your reply.
“Yes, but we just started dating a few months ago.”, you added quickly. This much was true. Undoubtedly, you always had a soft spot for your sister’s best friend. The more time you two spend together, the more it became obvious that there was more than just friendship.
“And you didn’t tell me.”, Leah swallowed hard through that realization.
“You didn’t ask me.”, you reminded her.
“If you’re dating my best friend? How was I supposed to know.”, she retorted.
“No, in general, it’s mostly about you when you call me.”, you countered.
“I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry. But I thought you’d tell me such things.”, the defender apologized, her skin despite the tan turned pale.
“It’s okay. I guess we weren’t great sisters for each other recently.”, you admitted guiltily.
Leah nodded in reluctant agreement: “I guess we weren’t.“
There was a moment of silence between the two of you, not uncomfortable but thoughtful.
“But we could do better now.“, you said determinedly,
Your sister stopped walking. You only realized that wasn’t on your side anymore after a few more steps.
You turned towards her and caught her staring at you.
“Y/n?“, she asked.
“Yes?“
“Are you happy?“
You smiled at her: “Very.“
“With Kei?“
“Yes.“, you confirmed again.
Leah studied your face for a moment, searching for any indication of a lie before she finally nodded once: “Okay.“
“Okay?“, you echoed with hopefulness in your voice. You didn’t want to fight with your sister. You wanted her and Keira in your life.
Leah kicked up some sand with her shoe: “Yes, okay. I think I can live with that.“
“Good.“, you beamed and slowly continued your walk, waiting for your sister to take her place by your side again.
You thought your talk was over when your sister suddenly spoke up again: “Y/n?“
You looked at her, signalling her to continue.
“Just because you live a life outside of the public eye doesn’t mean I’m not interested in your life or I’m not proud of you.“
Her words caught you by surprise. You frowned at her in confusion. “Wait, you’re proud of me?“
“Why do you sound so surprised? Obviously I’m proud of you.“
You stared down at the fine sand under your feet: “Sorry.“
Another break in your conversation arose. Apparently, struggling to express your emotions properly ran in your family.
“Not everyone has the bravery to go abroad for work… I would not.“, Leah continued.
You looked back up at her: “Really?“
She nodded slowly: “You know how much I love home. And Arsenal. I just couldn’t.“
Hearing this filled you with pride but at the same time, you had to suppress a smile because you really couldn’t imagine your sister anywhere else.
“True, you’re such a homebody.“, you laughed.
Your sister smirked and gave you a small shrug: “See, we’re just very different.“
“Yes, but that’s okay.“, you assured her. You could feel the tension dissolve slowly.
Leah raised an eyebrow: “I will still have to talk to Keira though.“
You let out a groan: “Oh no, not the big sister talk.“
“Oh yes, even for my best friend.“
“Fine, but try and be nice, okay?“, you asked innocently.
“Of course.“
“Thank you.“
She reached over and ruffled through your blonde hair: “Anything for my little sister.“
You tried to get revenge. You two were laughing like children while you chased her down the beach.
You never heard anything about their talk. Both Keira and Leah refused to tell you anything and stubbornly maintained their silence. You didn’t care anyway. They seemed closer than ever and that was all that mattered to you.
The next days were spend at the beach, enjoying the sun and the refreshing coolness of the sea.
“No. I’m not going into the water.“ Keira shook her head determinedly. She had spend the morning straightening her hair but to you, that was not a reason to miss out on swimming.
“Come on.“ You impatiently pulled at her arm.
Leah appeared on Keiras other side, pushing her forward. “You better go now.“
Together you barrelled towards the sea, falling over each as soon as you reached the water. The rest of your friend group burst out laughing,
Keira pushed her now wet hair back. It started to curl at the ends already.
“I hate you Williamsons!“, she laughed.
You kissed her cheek: “No, you don’t.“
“Not really, no.“, Keira admitted and pulled you towards her by your waist to kiss you.
Leah grimaced in disgust: “Okay, but you don’t have to kiss in front of me.“
“Stop complaining.“, you rolled your eyes.
Keira grinned at her: “You better get used to it, Lee.“
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skeltnwrites · 25 days ago
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The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉
As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / part one masterlist
part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k
a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here
── .✦
Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed. 
The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing. 
You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless. 
You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones. 
Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.
He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone. 
Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday. 
“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.” 
You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin. 
“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.” 
You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.” 
“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits. 
“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.” 
He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.” 
You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.” 
“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.” 
Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own. 
It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 
It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center. 
Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk. 
A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope. 
She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off. 
Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem. 
The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse. 
“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.
Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.” 
Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips. 
“From The Wizard of Oz?” 
“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth. 
“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?” 
She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.” 
Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people. 
You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”
“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.” 
“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.” 
He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.” 
“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.” 
Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one. 
“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.  
“You did?” 
She nods, shining with pride. 
“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world. 
“Are you dressing up?” You ask him. 
He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.” 
A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”
You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face. 
He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?” 
“Cinderella!”
“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?” 
“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.” 
You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.” 
Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that. 
Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back. 
Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk. 
“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.” 
“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.” 
“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly. 
Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.” 
“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.” 
Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?” 
Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too. 
But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”
“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”
Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no. 
“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.” 
“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”
Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm. 
“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?” 
“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run. 
Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him. 
“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.” 
He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.” 
“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.” 
“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back. 
“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.
Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe. 
“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.” 
You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue. 
He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off. 
He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult. 
You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?” 
Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”
“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”
“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?” 
“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin. 
“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things. 
You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.” 
“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.” 
You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?” 
He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how. 
“Steve.”
“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.” 
“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it. 
Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”
Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.” 
“I’m like Cinderella.”
“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits. 
Her long lashes flutter questioningly. 
“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?” 
She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation. 
“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely. 
Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you. 
“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline. 
“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums. 
The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup. 
He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around. 
ᯓ★
Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new. 
There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.  
Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval. 
You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking. 
She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?” 
“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.
The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve. 
“Where’s your dad?” 
“Umm. Cleaning?” 
“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”
“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.
“Do you want me to help you look?” 
She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”
Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in. 
It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor. 
“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.” 
“I looked in the window.”
You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier. 
“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips. 
You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.” 
His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand. 
“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh. 
You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.” 
He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?” 
You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be. 
Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.” 
“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell. 
“You kill someone?” 
He stiffens. “What?” 
You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.” 
“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.” 
You hum gaily. “I like your house.” 
“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.” 
“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”
Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve. 
“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?” 
“I was but I had to find my costume first.” 
“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing. 
“I’m not sneaky!” 
“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.” 
“Then trick-or-treat?” 
“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.” 
Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes. 
You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor. 
“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors. 
You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.” 
She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another. 
It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?” 
She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face. 
“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you. 
“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on. 
She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy. 
“They look stunning! You painted these?” 
“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore. 
“You’re a talented artist.” 
“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.” 
“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.” 
She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on. 
After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy. 
The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list. 
“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!” 
“What?” Steve calls, muffled. 
“Let us in!”
“I can’t hear you– hold on!” 
Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail. 
“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it. 
“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines. 
“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite. 
“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”
You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.” 
And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s. 
In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection. 
Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly. 
“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it. 
But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail. 
You gasp and recoil, “Shit.” 
Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror. 
“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?” 
“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.” 
You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently. 
He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about. 
Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention. 
Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular. 
You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.” 
The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.” 
“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?” 
She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out. 
“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger. 
You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt. 
He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing. 
“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib. 
You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask. 
“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges. 
He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”
Perfect is definitely a stretch. 
Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances. 
But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all. 
The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.  
“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair. 
“Now it’s perfect.” 
He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”
“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.” 
Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about. 
“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things. 
“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks. 
Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too. 
“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak. 
Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”
“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.” 
There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time. 
“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails. 
Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.” 
“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny. 
“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.” 
“Do they have tails?”
“Mhmm.”
“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.” 
Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.” 
And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured. 
Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.” 
“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile. 
“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct. 
She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?” 
Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer. 
“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen. 
You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared. 
When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.” 
“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.” 
“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.” 
She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?” 
“Go and look– get the treats.” 
She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand. 
“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things. 
“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.” 
He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”
“I don’t need it.”
“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.” 
“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.” 
“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.” 
Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand. 
“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.” 
Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.” 
“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?” 
Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket. 
“Can I take your picture now?”
“Why, Daddy?” 
“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.” 
A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his. 
Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.” 
Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces. 
“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder. 
She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.
You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice. 
You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile. 
“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?” 
She nods. 
“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?” 
She nods again, equally jaded. 
You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make. 
Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you. 
You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.   
Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking. 
“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies. 
But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way. 
As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?” 
He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway. 
Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?” 
“Ew! Daddy!” 
You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing. 
“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.” 
You gasp. “Penelope!” 
“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!” 
“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles. 
She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!” 
He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk. 
Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer. 
“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask. 
She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.
“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.” 
She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy. 
“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says. 
He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.” 
Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day. 
The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation. 
“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!” 
Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?” 
“I was?” 
“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet. 
“Oh. Am I still little?” 
He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.” 
“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him. 
“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around. 
Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one. 
At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction. 
At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind. 
You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house. 
“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask. 
“She likes princesses’.” 
“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.” 
“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?” 
“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?” 
She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.
“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?” 
“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.” 
“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?” 
You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share. 
“Daddy, how many houses are left?” 
“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?” 
“No. Can I see? I want to count.” 
She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.
Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six. 
Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.
A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway. 
Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints. 
“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before. 
“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.” 
She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him. 
And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides. 
The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl. 
She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?” 
The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her. 
Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert. 
You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry. 
“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home. 
“No, baby. That’s for big kids.” 
She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass. 
“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown. 
But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them. 
Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long. 
“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car. 
“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.
But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”
Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you. 
“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.
You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house. 
Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.” 
“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.” 
“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.” 
You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.” 
Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway. 
“Daddy?” 
Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips. 
“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”
He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”
“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow. 
“Don’t you have enough candy?”
“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”
“You’re gonna give them to me?”
“Only some. I like them too.” 
“That’s kind of you.” 
Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home. 
No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient. 
“You can have five more pieces tonight.” 
Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?” 
“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.” 
“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up. 
“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart. 
“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.” 
“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.” 
“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time. 
“No?” Penelope giggles. 
His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”
Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines. 
He pretends to check his watch, “It is.” 
It’s not but she can’t tell time yet. 
“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”
“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?” 
Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too? 
“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath. 
Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway. 
“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”
She shouts and whizzes upstairs. 
Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.” 
Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave. 
“Are you sure?” 
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.” 
They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go. 
Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet. 
“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?” 
Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.” 
Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 
Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest. 
His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay. 
“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.
She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything. 
“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV. 
“No, I didn’t finish looking.”
“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open. 
Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too. 
You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face. 
“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells. 
“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?” 
“Is that when we got pizza?” 
“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”  
You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.  
“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”
“Did I eat cake?” 
“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”
“I like bananas.”
“You didn’t used to.” 
Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now. 
Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake. 
Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance. 
“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t. 
“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not. 
“Very much. You?” 
“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”
He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep. 
“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.” 
His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.” 
You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white. 
“Addams family?” 
“Who’s who?” 
“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”
Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers. 
“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.” 
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.” 
You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve. 
“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. 
“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty. 
He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.” 
You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”
“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.” 
You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.
“Are you close with your parents?”
He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”
“Sorry.” 
“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”  
“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.” 
“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.” 
“Already?” You laugh.
“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.” 
“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.” 
“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.” 
“You held it?” 
“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”
“Aww. You’re a good dad.” 
Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.” 
Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out. 
You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest. 
Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.” 
You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.” 
“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”
You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it. 
Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.  
You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you. 
He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table. 
The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma. 
He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it. 
“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door. 
“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.” 
“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?” 
“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car. 
“Whatever, boss-man.”
You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours? 
You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same. 
“See you Friday?” He asks. 
“See you then.” 
Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house. 
He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out? 
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sweetfushi · 4 months ago
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HIS LOVE HABITS PT 1.
fluff, slight angst | giyu tomioka, obanai iguro, sanemi shinaguzawa x reader, mentions of guilt, crying, mentions of death | word count. 1.1k ◦ notes. watching the new season is making me feel nostalgic about the start of the anime :(
GIYU TOMIOKA.
Giyu shows his passion for you by spending most of what would be his alone time with you. He doesn’t always talk much during the times he’s around you, but he isn’t opposed to you talking. Giyu doesn’t mind where he is, as long as he’s with you and knows you’re safe - despite his underlying feeling of perhaps being incapable of protecting you completely. Thus, he sometimes feels guilty for wanting to spend time with you, but he compensates for that by allowing you to guide him - choosing where to hang out, leading most conversations.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like his alone time. You out of all people know best how much he indulges in silent reflection and meditation, but you’ve also noticed that he’d consult you for those things. He’d start using some of his silent reflection time to ask you questions riddled with guilt. He finds that you’re much like Tanjiro in your overwhelming ability to comfort people.
“You know,” you start as you’re walking alongside him, making your way to the noodle house, “I’m really thinking we need to change our plans. The owners know our orders at this point,” you grin, stretching your arms out.
“Supporting a small business doesn’t sound like a bad thing,” he retorts, plopping his hand on your head and ruffling your hair slightly. “Besides, that makes ordering our food quicker, does it not?”
You roll your eyes but are forced to agree.
Following that brief conversation, the two of you spend the next half an hour eating to your hearts’ desires. Giyu will pause every few minutes to remove the food items from your plate that you don’t like and add them to his with a small smile, both at your sweet voice thanking him and the sight of more food on his plate.
You’ll always require a sweet treat after your meal, whether that be a drink or more food, so you either head into town to survey the sweet stands or drop by Mitsuri to see if she has any stored - she typically does and you’re forever grateful for that.
All the while, Giyu will let you ask him question upon question, start conversation after conversation, all without complaints just to lengthen the time he gets to spend with his beloved.
OBANAI IGURO.
Obanai expresses his love through promises. They’re never empty ones and he makes sure you know that, sometimes even goes as far as gently pulling your ear to discipline your ignorance towards such. Sometimes the promises are of small value, such as promising to not eat your food or not start training without you. Other times, they mean the entire world, where he’ll promise that he’ll return from a dangerous mission or that he’ll not get injured because he couldn’t ever be so weak as to let a demon injure him fatally.
Every time he promises you something, the eye contact with him is almost intimidating. Obanai feels as though averting his gaze from you connotes distrust and uncertainty, so he always ensures to gaze into your apprehensive eyes when he speaks his truth. In moments of vulnerability, when you’re crying late at night because you’re certain tonight awaits his death, he’ll emerge from the Master’s room determined to fulfil his assignment and not evoke worry.
When he sees you in such a state, sniffling and averting your gaze, he’s convinced that you’re stuck in a cycle of paranoia and fear.
“Are you really so sceptical of my return? Don’t be so foolish,” he says, narrowing his eyes at your despondent state. “I promise I’ll return to you.”
You hear Kaburamaru hiss before feeling him graze your cheek with his face. You whimper and allow him to do so, only until you motion for Obanai to sit beside you. He does so without question and cranes his neck to look into your eyes, to which you turn away from.
“Have I ever broken a promise made to you?”
You swallow thickly. “No.”
He huffs. “So what is your concern?”
You shrug but, in reality, know what is bothering you. Instead of telling him, however, you lift your head to look at him and pout in an attempt to satiate your tears. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t come back, Iguro. I swear.”
You can’t see his mouth, but you know he’s smiling as he nods and presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA.
Sanemi shows his love for you through acts of service. Initially, you hadn’t noticed it, but you start questioning him when your katana appears sharper and cleaner, your uniform neatly pressed, and your food managed to suit your tastes.
“Have you only just noticed? I’m almost insulted,” he scoffs, gently smacking the back of your head only for you to groan and swat his hand away. “The swordsmiths are practically sick of me,” he grumbles, watching you admire the shine on your katana.
You grin and elbow his side, making him wince and shove you. “You’re so in love with me.”
“I don’t know where you got that idea from,” he teases, flashing you his canines as the two of you lean closer to each other, faces inches apart as your childish squabbling continues. Sanemi snickers as you attempt to maintain your scowl but inevitably fail at the close proximity, turning into loud laughter when you slump over and rest your head on his chest.
As a Hashira, the Kakushi already know you, but recently have appeared in near fear of your presence (despite being aware of your empathetic personality). At one point, you explicitly ask why the change in treatment, to which they respond: “Shinazugawa-san isn’t forgiving if your uniform is anything but perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“As in washed, pressed and perfumed.”
You pause, shock evident in your expression. “Uh,” you almost break into laughter, “you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll… have a talk with him, make sure he’s not bullying you.”
The Kakushi give you a pointed look, to which you nod and purse your lips. You mumble, “well, he’s getting slapped.”
Sanemi always ensures that the menu provided to the cooks that cater to you suits your tastes. However, you’re highly concerned with the fact that Sanemi thinks anything is obtainable through an arbitrary expression of power, but you have the advantage of being able to discipline him for thinking such without consequence.
“The Kakushi help us, not serve us!”
“That’s a very liberal way of looking at it– ow!”Sanemi groans at the punches you land to his chest, making him double over and eventually lay down on the grass with no attempt of fighting back. “Okay, okay, I’ll be nicer.”
sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post. all that is included in this post, aside from the photos, fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).
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hurlingdown · 4 months ago
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HUNGRY WORK — TOP MALE READER X RORONOA ZORO
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synopsis. these days, making love to zoro feels different. it always leaves a part of you so complex and insatiable, like you're always hungry for more. or: you come into terms with the raw hunger that has wormed itself into your every living thought. wc. 2.1k
tags. sub! zoro, dom! reader. religious sex, porn with feelings, by that i mean so so much feelings, body worship, metaphorical womb-fucking, breeding kink, mentions of vore, unhinged religious dirty talk lol. title taken from a hozier song.
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There are many shapes that want can take form in. For you, there’s only one. 
Zoro lies underneath you, basking in the glow of the tender sunrays, stretching lazily like a cat. The corners of his lips are lifted, and there’s something quietly smug about the way he’s looking at you, watching as you sit back on your haunches and roll your hips against him. 
“Mmm. Feels good.” 
“Yeah?” you whisper. You didn’t mean for it to come out like a whisper, but it just did. The sight of him so sweetly unfurled by your touch, the way he would part his thighs a little more without having you coax them apart, being so comfortably unguarded around you, so carelessly vulnerable. It left you breathless. 
“Yeah,” he says. His lidded gaze never leaves you, not even once, silently waiting. For what, you think, is the question. A flip of the coin could bring about maelstrom and thunder and Zoro—Zoro would follow. It was the fun part of him, in the thick of all the pieces you want to consume within you: keep him inside, away from the rest of the world, in a picture of a locket hung on a throbbing heart. 
You wish it were that easy. 
“Something’s—mm.” He parts his lips to let out a soft, guttural moan as the tip of your cock crushes against his sweet spot. “Something’s on your mind.” 
It was always, always like that. The way he reads you as though he were deciphering text, and the funny thing about all of it was that Zoro does not read, but he reads you still. You feel your heart squeeze at his small, concerned frown, dark grey turning silver under shallow light. 
You want to crawl into him, or swallow him whole, it doesn’t matter. You would resort to begging if you could, you would drain the sea and burn every gritty bit of this vile world into cinder and offer him its remains in the shape of a heart on a platter, if you could. 
Death was far too light of a promise. 
“It’s alright,” you tell him, because you’re not alright, but it doesn’t matter. 
He gives you a look, one that tells you to try harder, not convinced. His hands skid up your forearms, resting in the crook of your elbow, thumbs pressing into the tender meat there. Then he takes one and guides it to palm the sharp jowl of his cheek, and nestles his face into it. 
You seize a shaky breath. You're not sure why it happens at first, but it does.
“Move,” he murmurs, nudging his hips against the base of your cock, as though he doesn’t see the way your eyes burn with the water of tears, doesn’t feel the stutter of your heart in the way his lips press into your pulse. 
“No. You don’t,” you choke, throat tightening, “you don’t understand.” 
Do I have to? is what you think he would say, but he doesn’t, only sighs. 
“You don’t know how I feel about you,” you say, feeling oddly defensive. “You’d feel sick to your stomach if you did.” 
His eyelid flutters close until there you can barely, barely see the tint of grey beneath, unwilling to acknowledge you, but he’s listening. 
“You would hate me,” you continue, almost rambling at this point, baffled as to why it feels so hard to breathe all of a sudden, like you’re drowning in your own false words. “Sure, you would pretend not to, because you’re good at that stuff, and I’m not. You would pretend to love me. You wouldn’t even mention it to the crew—and—and everything’s going to be fine, but in reality it wouldn’t be because you’d hate me.” 
You want him to see you. Both sides of you. The one he fell in love with—the sinless, pristine one on the surface; and the one who wanted to carve yourself into him, take him apart and devour him wholly. 
Zoro’s quiet, and you’re seized with a sudden fear that maybe he did fall asleep, and you were talking your heart bare to nobody. But then he opens his good eye, and there’s almost nothing, nothing within, except for a warmth so potent and all-consuming, so tender and selfless, that it sends sweet bile rising in your throat, makes you want to kiss and take and love so much, all because he is willing. 
The words come out all wrong. 
“I can’t stay,” you tell him, weakly. “Not if it’s like this.” Not if it feels as though I’m hiding myself from you, constantly, always. I want you to love me. The whole of me. Please. 
There’s too little to fill the silence, each moment pressing new bruises into skin, branding a new kind of ache into you. “Say something. Zoro.” You’re desperate, even for a goodbye. A profanity. Anything.
It takes him a while to respond. But then all he says is, low and unwavering, as though none of this is affecting him, none of this matters to him as it does to you—
“I won’t keep you if you leave.” 
The words sink in for half a second, before your eyes snap to his—in hurt, bewilderment, both, you don’t know. You suppose you are deserving of his harsh words, but it still tears into you like a jagged, unsharpened blade, an ugly tool only meant for breaking. You prepare yourself for the next. 
“—but I want to.” 
It drowns you like a tidal wave. 
You would’ve thought you were dreaming, if not for the tightening of his fingers wound around your wrist, as though to forbid themselves from trembling. A strong, firm grip, heavy warmth oozing from underneath. Zoro’s hands have always been the steadiest part of him, if not his heart. 
“Do you understand?” he asks, almost pleading, and the sound trickles into every crook of your soul. 
“Okay,” you whisper. You find that you can breathe, finally. “Okay.” 
“I won’t keep you,” he continues, “because you are free. I don’t own you. But I want to. Gods, I want to.” 
Zoro does not believe in god, but he will pray to a religion of your name. 
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, stifling any noise, but your vision blurs and all of a sudden there’s wetness spilling down your cheeks and dribbling onto the face of your lover. You wipe them away with your thumb, sucking in a wobbly breath, but they keep coming and coming, trying to submerge you in a sea where everything will drown. 
“Fuck—shit, ’m sorry. Give me a sec.” 
It's no longer fresh pain, but to have him here, his touch surrounding you, telling you that what you feel for him—this carnal hunger that has wormed its way into your every living thought—is the truth, is the surviving, that you aren’t insane, and it makes you ache so impossibly sweet. Because he wants you too, wants to own you in a way that he knows he shouldn’t, can’t. It grounds you to reality. 
You feel his hand on your cheek, a soundless comfort in return, and you lean against it. 
But then all of a sudden, in a twist of events far too brisk for your liking, there’s a sharp glint to his smile, and he coos in a disgusting voice, “Aww, crybaby,” because of course he would. Frustrated, you snap up and thrust your hips against him, and he yelps, letting go of your face to fist the sheets, surprised. 
This is the fun part of Zoro, you recall. Always. Maelstrom and thunder. 
“You’re a bastard,” you hiss. “We were having a moment!” 
“Were we?” He tosses you a dirty smirk, legs locking around your waist so casually and innately that makes something inside you churn. “You were the one, ah, fucking into me so suddenly, if I recall.” 
He has no cover, as usual, vulgar and to the point, and you begin to think that somewhere within him dwells a part as hideous and self-seeking as yours. 
“I don’t plan on stopping,” you mutter, fingers pressing bruises into his hips as you ram back into his hole. “Zoro. I want—I want to do so many things to you. With you. You have no idea.” 
The drop in tone makes his demeanour shift. Slightly, but you see it. These things do not escape you easily.
“I know,” is his breathless reply. “Please.” 
“I want you so much it drives me mad,” you breathe, “I don’t just—want this, and I am happy if this is all you want to give, but I want all of you. Every inch. Every scar. I want to read your body like a book. The insides and the outsides. All of it.” 
He lets out a soft almost-whine at your words, head tilting to the side to expose his neck. “Please,” he repeats, with a little more meaning. 
“I want to—to break you apart and seal you back together because that would mean I created you. This version of you, not some dirty god out there, not some nameless devil. Zoro, do you understand? Zoro.” 
“Yeah,” he pants. “Yeah, please. Do it. I want it.” 
“I want to carve you, bone and marrow. I want to make your womb swollen with me, they're gonna think someone's knocked you up. Make you all mine. Fuck, I want to eat you,” you groan, “want it so much I think about it every day—want to bite you, sink my teeth into you, drink in your blood.” 
Zoro’s pupils are blown wide with lust, and he clenches around you, gasping. “Fuck. Yeah, do whatever you want, I want it all, so please, already—” 
That’s his answer enough, and you bend down to kiss his exposed neck, nipping and biting carelessly, leaving a trail of raw purple wherever your teeth go. You pound into him harder, and he moans, snaking a hand to grip the back of your head, pressing you against him, as though you weren’t close enough, still. 
“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, and it feels like a truth’s been pulled out from you. “So divine. I want to ruin you.” 
Zoro shudders in your arms, and he gives a shaky nod, strong arms compressing you from above, keeping his thundering chest pressed to yours. “Ruin me,” he rasps, “and leave a scar, so everyone would know you did it.” 
Then he’s seizing a sharp breath, pulling you into a kiss as sweet moans needier than the last spill into your mouth like sour wine, and you vaguely hear the wet splatter of his come against skin before his hole grips you wickedly tight.  
How ironic.
These are the words that you last register when you finally spill out all of your sin into him, and he locks up around you tight to keep it all inside his filthy, tarnished womb, and it takes you straight to heaven. 
You cry out in pleasure, or maybe it’s him who does. Holy light pours into you from above, and you part your lips to drink in it. 
It might have taken a minute, or two—maybe more, but you feel so blissed out and high that it takes you a moment to notice that you’re almost sinking, all the strength leaving your body. You realise that the thing beneath you is the only thing that belongs to you. It is solid, and warm, and you hold it to your chest to feel it breathe. 
“Y’okay?” your thing asks you between heavy breaths, and you shake your head, far too dizzy. 
There’s a low chuckle, one that resonates in the entirety of it. And as the vibrations seep into you wave by wave, tremor after tremor, there’s a slow, heavy bubbling in your chest. It begins in small fizzes, like the ones that froth when billows collide, but then it starts to grow larger, and larger, like hot, gurgling lava in the midst of a volcano. It feels tight, hard to breathe, almost. 
“Zoro?” you ask, unsure, and the hand on the nape of your neck squeezes. 
“I’m here,” he answers, tiredly. Always here. 
“I feel weird," you tell him, truthfully.
“Is it a good kind of weird?” 
You take a second to think, that he must be right. “... yeah. Maybe.” 
“Then it’s fine,” he sighs, arms wounding around your shoulders to shift your weight to the side. “You deserve to feel good.” 
He presses the side of your face to his chest, your ear right above his heart, before slowly drifting into slumber. 
The bubbling within you simmers, gradually, over time, and you close your eyes. You deserve to feel good, his words echo in the dark. 
It hits you, the belated apprehension, that this—whatever you’re feeling—is happiness. 
It breathes life into you.  masterlist! # feeding the zoro lovers. repost of my old work btw - fav thing i've ever written for him so far. zoro canonically has a complicated relationship with god and religion so it was fun to explore how he views religion in carnal desire
now all i need is to write something filthy for his asura form
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jiniretracha · 30 days ago
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ꕤ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟒 - 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟏 ꕤ
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Lee Minho x fem!reader: hate sex
summary: Lee Minho was your number one enemy and you were sure you were his as well, only for you to figure out he just wanted a little bit of your attention
warnings: smut, angst, teeny tiny bit of fluff (?)
word count: 2.1k
kinktober masterlist // masterlist // ko-fi
Felix sighed. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll try to do something, just don’t go. Okay?” he pleaded. “I feel like we got so comfortable with you and you’re so nice to us. It won’t be the same with another choreographer. You know us so well, you know what makes us uncomfortable, what we like to do, what we don’t… you’re special”
You smiled at the freckled boy and chuckled. “Well, thank you. At least someone makes me feel like it” 
“Because you are. Minho can be an asshole at times, but I can promise you he’s not a bad person” 
One thing you were sure of, is that you absolutely hated Lee Minho’s guts. You hated him so much it made you sick. 
He was always finding ways to be the worst part of your day, week, month and year.
You had been appointed as Stray Kids main choreographer, the job that you had dreamed of since you were little. They were one of the biggest bands in the world and you were the one creating the moves and ideas for the choreographies that were praised by millions of people. Your job was perfect and satisfied every single member and staff from the company… except for him. 
Minho was always pointing out your mistakes, embarrassing you in front of other people and making you feel out of place. It got to a point where you wanted to quit your job but Felix, being the sunshine he had always been, convinced you not to. 
“He’s making me feel like shit on a daily basis, Lix. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you cried to him, your mascara running down your cheeks. 
Felix handed you a tissue and you thanked him quietly, wiping the tears with it. “Don’t worry, Y/N. It’ll be okay, I can talk to him” he tried reassuring you.
“Oh please, like that’s gonna do anything” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. “That man won’t change being an asshole to me because you said something. Chan tried already and failed miserably”
“Okay…” you said, not wanting to argue with him about it because you knew he always tried to see the best in people, even if there wasn’t anything. 
Felix patted your back and left the studio, leaving you there with the tissue as you tried to regain your composure. 
With a sniffle, you stood up from the floor and went to the couch to grab your stuff, putting your phone inside your bag. 
The door of the studio opened with a screech and your head turned around. Your heart fell to your stomach when you locked eyes with the bane of your existence, Lee Minho. 
Your eyes instinctively rolled and you continued focusing on the task in hand: getting the hell out of there. 
“So, a little bird told me you were gonna quit” he said like it was something normal. Like he didn’t know that he was the cause of it. “I didn’t think you were that pathetic”
You snorted and shoved your jacket inside your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. “No, I’m not gonna quit. I wouldn’t dream of giving you the satisfaction” you said, walking over to the door that unfortunately was next to where he was standing. 
Before you could open the door, Minho grabbed your arm, pulling you back, making you scoff.
“Don’t touch me” you told him.
“Or what? You’re gonna cry to Felix again? Or to Chan?” he mocked you.
You could fill the rage firing up inside your veins as he spat word after word. 
Minho chuckled evilly at you. “You’re gonna go to Hyunjin, maybe? Or Changbin?” he asked. “Tell me, who are you gonna cry for attention now?” 
You slapped him with all the anger that you felt at the moment. He grabbed his cheek, staring at the side with his eyes wide, clearly not expecting that slap. 
“Shut the fuck up, you hear me? You don’t get to treat me like a slut just because you hate my guts without an apparent reason” you said. Minho turned his head and looked at you, his cheeks flushed red. You hated to admit, but he looked really cute with his eyes blown wide and his mouth slightly opened. You would’ve thought about it if you weren’t so livid. “Get out of my way and stay the hell away from me, Minho. I don’t wanna see you, talk to you or even be near you. Let’s do our job professionally by keeping things civil, it won’t require interacting with each other” you finished and your chest was heaving with uneven breaths. 
Suddenly, you felt yourself being slammed against the wall and someone grabbing you by the throat. Not hard enough to prevent you from breathing, but the pressure was there. Minho was staring at you with his nostrils heavying along with his breath. 
“You’re so fucking infuriating” he spat in your face and you could only stare at him, feeling embarrassed at how your core clenched at his tone. “You always talk back and try to be so smart with me, but you don’t fucking notice me”
“W-what?” you stammered.
Minho laughed at you and the hand that was on your throat fell down to your waist, framing it with his other one as well. He gripped your hips and pushed his against you, making you gasp as you felt his erection. 
“You don’t fucking notice me, Y/N” he whispered against your neck, and then you felt the tip of his tongue brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck. “You always try to grab the attention of Chan and Felix… but not mine” he said and then pulled away to look at your face. 
Your eyes were teary from the sudden action, but you were so aroused you could barely think.
Because the truth was that, even if Lee Minho was the person you hated the most, it wasn’t 100% only because of the unnecessary and irritating banter going on with you and him. It was because even after all the words spat in between you, you still found him incredibly handsome. 
“So why’s that, kitten?” he asked you, nose rubbing over your cheek.
You couldn’t really focus about answering, instead, your brain turned into complete mush.
“Hmm?”
“I- I don’t- I don’t know” you answered.
Minho chuckled evily and bit his lip. “Dumb baby, maybe if I put that cunt to use, you’ll start speaking. Shall we try?” he asked you.
You blinked rapidly and Minho grinned at the way you weren’t denying him at all. 
Soon, you found yourself inside the studio’s bathroom, your body pressed against the cool wall next to the door while Lee Minho, your sworn enemy, was devouring your mouth in a fiery kiss. Your arms were wrapped around his neck while you pressed your hips against his. His hands were gripping your hips trying to keep you in place while he rolled them over yours. 
“Fuck” you whispered against his lips. 
You knew you were gonna regret this later, but at that moment, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. 
His mouth moved to your neck while his hands drifted to your leggings, gripping your ass cheeks tightly in his hands. 
You gripped his hair and panted next to his ear. “Min-Minho” you stammered.
“What, babe?” he asked, lifting his head and looking at your eyes. He then bit your lip, pulling it and releasing it. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already fucked out…”
He then gripped the leggings you were using, making you gasp as you felt the teared clothes falling from your legs. 
“Kick off your shoes” he demanded and you obeyed, kicking them close to the sink. 
He suddenly dropped to his knees and pressed his nose against your clothed core. 
Minho sniffed and licked over your panties. “You’re soaked, kitten” he whispered, and grabbed the hem of your panties, pulling them down your long legs. 
He threw them away, without a care and draped a leg over his shoulder, exposing you to him. 
You felt your cheeks burn at the heaviness of his stare over your core. His fingers opened you and you stared at him as you saw his tongue poke out. He started licking over you, making you let out a long moan.
You squealed and jumped when you felt a sharp sting over your thigh. You looked down, finding Minho staring at you. “Don’t be too loud, we wouldn’t want anyone hearing those pretty moans” he said and then sucked on your clit. “Those are only reserved for me” he whispered and continued his assault on your pussy.
You pressed your head against the wall as he circled your hole with his tongue and played with it, inserting his tongue in and out of it while his nose was pressed tightly against your clit. 
He then groaned and stood up, pulling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. “I swear I’ll make you come later, I need to be inside you, fuck” he said through gritted teeth. 
He took out his cock and your eyes jumped out as you stared at it. Your mouth watered as you stared at the veiny girth and how he was stroking it with desire. His hands grabbed your hips and turned you around, pressing you against the wall hardly. 
You jumped when you felt him slap your ass. His hand dove into your hair and gripped it, pulling your head back so he could stare at your face as he played with your hole with his cock. 
“Who’s taking you right now?” he asked and pushed himself inside of you, making you cry out as you adjusted to his length. You felt him slap your cheek and grip your hair more tightly in his hand. “I asked you a fucking question, kitten” 
“You… you, Minho” you answered. 
“Yeah, not Chan… not Felix” he shook his head as he pushed out, only leaving the tip and then pushing back again, hard, making the tip hit the spot. “Me…” he growled.
You could only hold on to the wall as he punished your spot with his thrusts. He slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans that started getting louder by the second. 
His hand that gripped your thigh, pushed your back, making you arch even more as his foot came to rest on the lid of the toilet, finding the perfect angle that made you shut your eyes with force and bite on his hand to refrain from screaming. 
The hand that was holding your hair left to rub tight circles over your clit. “Come all over my cock, kitten, come on” he groaned, hitting the spot even harder with his thrusts. 
“Minho…” you sighed, your nails scraping against the wall. 
You gripped him tightly and exploded around him, moaning against your arm to keep the volume down. He growled as he felt your orgasm crash against his length and when he knew he wasn’t going to last any longer, he pulled out and quickly jerked himself off, his come spurting all over your ass cheeks. 
You gasped as you felt the liquid hit your skin and squeezed your thighs, feeling the action very hot. 
His hands came to brush over your body, and you felt his caresses as a pang on your chest. 
You stayed silent as you watched him grab some tissues from the corner of your eye to help you clean yourself up. 
“Um, I don’t have leggings” you told him.
“Oh, shit, right. Wait right here, I’ll be right back” he told you and left the bathroom. 
With a sigh you slumped yourself against the wall and cursed yourself for giving in to him. A few minutes passed and you decided that he had left and he wasn’t coming back. You grabbed your panties and pulled them up your legs, then sighed, decided to get out of the studio and make a fool of yourself in front of the cameras to grab your phone and ask some of the guys to bring you something to wear.
But before you could do any of those things, the door opened and Minho walked inside the bathroom, holding one of his jogging pants. 
“Here” he said, holding them out for you. 
You took them out and put them on.
“What? No thank you?” he smirked at you.
You glared at him and tied the knot over your belly. “I still hate you, you know”
Minho grabbed your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him and planted a kiss over your lips.
“We’ll see about that”
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i hope you liked it, bc i hated it tbh
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taglist: @annhearttihaehe // @frequentlykit // @alexisfeliz // @jeonginsleftcheek // @minghaosimp // @lixies-favorite-cookie // @yn-x-them // @chrizrizz // @madkati // @starzystay // @pancake-freckle
i apologize if i can't tag u :(
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