#angsty little oneshot

[edgeray]

Arlecchino is a cold person.

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

It's no suprise to anyone. It is simply an objective fact of the matter. She is aware of this. The House of the Hearth is aware of this. The Fatui are aware of this. It's ironic given the nature of her vision, but it nonetheless rings true despite the fire she possesses on her blackened fingertips. She is callous and curt, and underneath her skin there is nothing except frigid ice that envelopes her being like a fitted coat. She speaks with no warmth, acts with the absence of heat, exists in a constant state of cold emptiness--a state in which there is a void inside of her, as if sucking all that is human of her.

Years ago, when she was just a child of the same orphanage she headed, she had naive thoughts of finding companionship, someone who would provide the warmth she sought on lonesome nights. She was barely just an adolescent who dreamed of lying in someone's arms, feel the heartbeat of another so surely, it would remind her that she was indeed alive. For even the briefest of moments, she yearned for someone who would, if not shield, then distract her from the cruelties of this world. She had shed those foolish wishes aside. In the House of the Heart that she was raised in, such notions were admonished, in fact, the wishful thinking was one of the reasons she had nearly lost her life. Never again, she had promised to herself, when she mercilessly beat the backstabber. It was then that she believed when the time came, her tale would end the same way as it began for her: alone. As the years of being a Fatui, then becoming a Fatui Harbinger, hardened her, there was comfort in that view.

That is what she believed in. Until you came.

Iciness wraps her being. It is present in her expression, in her words, in her touch. But that is exactly why she finds solace in your being. Her vision could only grant her a synthetic flame, but, you, you're an everlasting hearth. She melts in your embrace every time she slots herself in your arms, as it feels like a kindling ignited in her heart. It is only with you, that she learns how warmth can be found in.

Arlecchino is a cold person.

It is why you, as a warm one, is perfect for her. You whisk away the most depraved thoughts, ease her of any emotional and mental turmoil, and you do not treat her with the same coldness as the world seems so fond of doing to her. You are her flame, the one that sparks her being and reminds her that she is alive because her heart beats with you, beats for you.

Except you are cold now. It is unfathomable to her how you can be this way when your entire being exists to warm her, but when she touches your skin, you are unbearably frozen. Your body does not tremble like it does when her clawed fingers ever so gently trace your skin. The corner of your lips doesn't quirk up into the usual small smile of yours when she appears in your sight, but they remain ever rigid like the rest of you. Uncharacteristically, your expression doesn't soften with her presence.

You are cold, just like her. And that makes her afraid. Her hand searches for it, prodding your skin for a familiar thumping that is nowhere to be found. You continue to stare at her, unblinking. Here would be the moment where you give her a beaming smirk and you'd cup her face tenderly as if she was glass. And she would let you, because you are her beloved, who has watched her shatter so many times before and wordlessly each shard back together, and it is for that reason that she would lean closer towards your touch.

Because you lie broken in her arms and her hands are stained again with the familiar color of red. Your eyes are glossy and gaze unblinkingly at her. Frozen. Even when you are covered in your blood, you are beautiful, she notes, but oh, so cold that it makes her doubt if you were warm to begin with.

She misses your warmth. Where has it gone? Or has it died along with you?

Her hearth is gone. And as she clings onto your form, her body wracking with a fear and desperation she's never known before, two revelations come to her: that there is no such thing as an everlasting fire, and even after so many years ago, she was right along.

Arlecchino is a cold person. And she will remain always cold.

[becauseplot]

So assuming that other characters do end up finding/freeing qphil and phil doesn't end up breaking himself out of the birdhouse, I'm personally in the camp that they're not going to find him curled up in a corner comatose, sobbing, etc. No, instead they're gonna open that door and immediately get a ball of furious, half-feral birdman flying at their faces because yeah, he's upset, of course he is, but:

1. birds become not just self-destructive but also aggressive after long periods of being caged.

2. at this point, he's likely been in there for so long that he has come to the conclusion that no one is going to come looking for him or no one is going to be able to find him, and the only person who knows where he is is cucurucho, so the math says that cucurucho is the only person who could possibly be walking through that door. And you know. Understandably. He wants that bear's head on a pike at the moment.

So really, if people-brain and bird-brain both want whoever's walking through that door to be dead, whoever's walking through that door is gonna be dead.

Whether or not he's in good enough physical condition to do any actual damage before they calm him down (or before he succumbs to weakness/overexertion) is entirely up in the air, though.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

A gift for Mother | The Shinazugawas !

Theme: Fluff+Angst (50/50? sorta)

Note: I was going to say happy belated mother's day but this isnt supposed to be happy

anyway, writing this bc the shinazugawa ep was released on mother's day

the Shinazugawas (im taking this off some video so it might not be accurate):

Shizu(30 smth-), Sanemi(13?), Genya(8?), Teiko (7?), Sumi (6), Hiroshi(5), Shuya (4), Koto(2).

×××

For a couple months now, they had been doing small things in order to get a little money. Since their father had died, though it had been quite a relief, it also brought about a lot more pressure on their mother. Shizu had to work a lot more often and barely saw them anymore. Sanemi and Genya were doing their best to care for the younger children while their mother acquire money for the family. Shizu appreciated them greatly, more than she could express. But she made sure to leave them small things when she was able to get a little extra money—and though it wasn't often since she was getting less money than a man would've, it was her own way of showing her love.

Sanemi and Genya tried to get her to stop buying the excess things but she said she just wanted them to be happy. She would buy them books or toys, especially for the others so they could be entertained during the day.

Because of this, however, it only drove all of the children's desire to help her in a way. The younger children admired Sanemi and Genya especially since the two had managed to get a little money from helping around the town here and there. So they all made sure to behave well as much as they could will themselves to so it would be easier on everyone.

It did help a lot and Sanemi made sure to show he was grateful for it. Eventually he brought up the topic of Mother's Day as May approached. 

"We're supposed to get her something?" Shuya had asked, confused. "Mother has a day for her?"

Sanemi nodded. "There's a day where we specifically have to show allll our appreciation towards her and all she's doing for us."

"What appre-ation?" Koto asked curiously, crawling over to nestle himself in Genya's lap.

"Ehm... Like giving her presents or telling her we love her and telling her thank you for being our mother," Genya suggested. 

Sanemi agreed. "Exactly. And you know how we have been saving up the money and not buying other things?"

"Are we gonna buy Mother something?" Sumi asked, eyes lighting up when Sanemi nodded. "We can buy her a new house!"

"...we don't have quite enough money. But I saw a kimono on sale somewhere while getting food," Sanemi said with a gentle laugh. "Tomorrow we can go through the town and look for something to buy for her after breakfast."

"Mochiiii!" Hiroshi said. "The sweet ones!"

"For breakfast or for Mother?" Sanemi asked, a smile curving his mouth.

"Mother! And breakfast!" Hiroshi said enthusiastically.

Sanemi shook his head. "Mochi takes too long to make and I don't think we have the right ingredients. Besides, it's not long lasting. We should buy Mother something that would be more helpful."

"...fine." Hiroshi huffed but didn't push it further.

Koto had fallen asleep somehow and Genya stood, cradling his brother carefully as he stumbled to one of the futons. 

"I have money tooo," Teiko said. She rummaged in the obi of her kimono where she'd apparently hidden a couple coins. She held them up proudly. "I can help buy too!"

Sanemi smiled. "Yes, you can. We'll put the money in a jar to keep it safe, alright?"

Teiko nodded and Sanemi produced a jar which he'd already put his and Genya's money in that they would use for their Mother. Teiko dropped the coins in, giving a satisfied smile at the clinking sound they made as they hit the other coins.

"Where did you get money from?" Sumi asked, eyeing Teiko suspiciously. 

"Uh... Not from a bet!" Teiko said cheerfully with a clap.

Sanemi narrowed his eyes. "Don't do that, Teiko. It's not good for habits either."

"...well I won!"

"Doesn't make it any better," Sanemi said with a sigh. "But alright. Just don't do it again."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Teiko conceded with a frown.

The night continued onto their normal routine and they awoke the next morning with newfound energy. They were all enthusiastic at the idea of getting their Mother something as the chance was rare and all wanted to please their Mother.

They set out about town in a peculiar line as they strolled through the streets holding hands so none would get lost. Sanemi was carrying Koto in one arm and holding Shuya's hand in the other—wanting to keep track of the youngest two himself. Genya, Teiko, Sumi, and Hiroshi were in a string of children with Genya in the middle as they marched along the houses, the two at the end waving at random people as they walked. They felt particularily proud of themselves for going about and buying something for their Mother, as if they were all grown up.

They arrived, finally, at a market square which had people opening their own stalls almost every day, selling what they could. Sanemi and Genya would come here now and then to buy the necessities for the family so some of the stall owners were familiar with them and greeted them with friendly smiles—most of them, at least. 

Though the other children were tempted to go straight to the food stalls, an occasional glint of jewlery sparking their attention, but Sanemi guided them to where the clothing tended to be, searching through the early morning crowds for the kimono he'd seen a couple days prior. 

Finally finding it, he tried pushing his way through the small crowd. The stall owner greeted them as a couple people parted to let the strange parade of children through. Sanemi glanced over the clothing, barely grazing over some of them as he gazed at the racks. 

Then Teiko pointed excitedly at one stack of kimono's. "Look! That one looks like Mother's!!" she said, breaking free from Genya's hand grasped around hers to grab the top one.

Sanemi sighed but followed her. "We have to stay together, Teiko," he lectured. Then he looked at the folded kimono in her hand. It was a shade of bright yellow with printed flowers along the hem and on the obi. It looked similar to the one their mother already had—though considerably newer and in better shape. 

"Can we buy this one?" Teiko asked.

Genya, who had followed them with the other children in hand, said, "It looks nice. Mother will like a new dress, right?"

They all turned to Sanemi who, being the eldest, was apparently in charge. To be fair, he had also suggested this in the first place.

"Ah... How much does it cost?" he said doubtfully. Surely they couldn't afford such a nice dress.

The stall owner, who had been watching them was mild curiousity, leaned over then. "Buying something for your mother, then? How gracious of you. I'm sure your parents are quite proud to have such children like you," he said with a smile.

Hiroshi frowned. "Father used to hit us, though," he said uncertainly.

Sanemi shushed him, giving the stunned stall owner an apologetic look. "Sorry. I hope our mother's happy with us. Our father died so she has to work more so we're buying her something," he explained. "Can I know how much this costs?"

"Hmm, how much money do you have?" the owner asked in response.

Sanemi ratted out the number, having counted the money in the jar several times the night before. Sumi held the money jar tightly, not wanting it to drop or break and risk losing any of their so hard-worked for money.

The owner smiled. "Take the kimono for half of it."

All of the children's eyes widened—although some were mostly surprised because Sanemi was surprised. 

"But"—Sanemi glanced at the price which sat on a folded paper in front of the clothing, which he had noticed a moment before—"it costs double the amount we have in total...!"

"So? You..." the man paused, scanning them, "seven? You seven are angels, I'm sure, doing your best to help your mother. You know, there aren't a lot of children like you out in the world. Please take this a quarter of the price. Consider it like a hope that your family will fare well in the near and far future. You need not pay more than what I've said."

Sanemi was hesitant but the other children were already becoming restless with all the talk and no action so he accepted it after some seconds of consideration. "Thank you," he mumbled, handing over the money.

The man only smiled, waving to them as they left.

Teiko held the kimono tightly to her chest, skipping along the road as they went home.

"She's going to be so happy!" she said giddily, twirling around.

"Be careful," Sanemi warned. "Don't drop it or you'll get it dirty."

"When do we give it to her?" Genya asked, making sure he had a tight grip on Sumi and Hiroshi's hands as they walked.

Sanemi hummed, shifting Koto on his hip. Shuya was becoming tired from all the walking and was slowing their way home. 

"In a couple weeks," Sanemi said. "Do you think we can hide it from her till then?"

Teiko nodded. "I'm good at hiding things."

Sanemi frowned. "Are you hiding something from us?"

"...no." 

Sanemi sighed but didn't press the topic. "I'll use the rest of this money for our food if Mother doesn't come home tonight."

×××

The days came and went and the children made sure to both keep the kimono a secret from their mother and have it ready in perfect condition. Mother's day had finally come and they were vibrating with excitement.

Shizu had already gone to work when Sanemi woke up first but she had left a note promising she'd be back by night. However the day rolled by and still no sign of their mother. Sanemi made them their dinner and later told them off to bed. Only, none of them wanted to sleep, wanting to present their gift to their mother today. 

So they stayed up.

The night continued without a sign from her. Eventually, Sanemi heard something from outside. It was coming past midnight and he wondered if Shizu had finally come back home. However it was late and the streets were dangerous at night. Therefore, he ordered Genya to make sure the others would stay inside as he went to investigate himself. The youngest of the children had fallen asleep hours before and the others were close to drifting off, drowsy and only barely awake with anticipation.

Sanemi crept outside, closing the door behind him. The night air was cold and he shivered, scanning his surroundings. His eyes had yet to adjust to the dark and he blinked several times. There was a scuttle of footsteps somewhere far off and he froze, listening. More footsteps, closer now. They seemed quick, however. As if someone was running towards him. His eyes had adjusted by now and he stepped forward, out into the street. Then a sudden flash hit him and he felt a streak of pain on his face. It blinded him for a moment and he staggered. Then he heard a crash and realized that whatever had attacked him had burst into the house.

A surge of panic hit him as he saw a dark figure dart through the broken doors, right towards his siblings. The lights inside the house abruptly cut out and he stumbled forward. Was it a wolf? Its eyes glowed slightly and he could make them out in the darkness of the room.

There was a cry of terror and he spotted the wolf, which was clinging onto the cealing. It lunged at what seemed like Genya and, in a split second decision, Sanemi propelled himself towards the wolf, ignoring the pain as it slashed at him. No doubt he was a mess now, his clothing ripped and blood dripping from his wounds.

He grabbed an axe which he had used to cut wood for the fire a couple nights ago. It had stood on its head by the doorway and had fallen down. The wooden handle splintered his hand—it was an old axe, unfit to be of use but the only one they had. He lifted it above his head, trying to hit the wolf.

The animal moved from under him and Sanemi almost fell forward, his weapon clutched in his hands. He saw it run forward a bit, its sillhouette dark from the dim light of the sun which had begun to rise. It was a strange wolf, its figure oddly distorted. 

He lunged at it, hacking at what he thought was its leg. If he let it go, it might go back to his house or to the village. He vaguely recalled his siblings' bodies laying on the floor and it froze him for a moment. The wolf was on top of him, getting the upperhand as he was caught in a moment of realization. There was something about the wolf that struck him familiar. But there was nothing of it.

A drop of his own blood fell into his eye and he blinked quickly, ignoring the tears that spilled over. He struggled to move his arms, closing his fist to attack again. To his surprise, the wolf offered little resistence, seemingly moving slower now. He took it to his advantage, pushing the axe into its neck. He rolled over on top of the wolf as the sunlight hit them both. Then he froze.

The light shone on the wolf's face. Only it wasn't a wolf. It was his mother. For a moment, he thought she would attack him again. But she simply fell back down, the sun somehow burning her skin. He scrambled back, shaking as he got to his feet. His eyes were wide and he felt lightheaded, gazing blankly into the closing eyes of Shizu.

There was a moment here when he didn't hear anything but a strange ringing in his head, his focus spinning, eyes unblinking. When he thought about it later on, he probably had heard but not registered footsteps as Genya ran towards him. Only he didn't know, then, that his brother was there until he saw him, cradling their mother's body in his arms.

"Why did you do it?! Why? Aniki! You killed her! You murderer!" Genya screamed, tears drawing shaky streaks down his blood-stained cheeks. He was trembling as he held their mother. Shizu seemed to be turning to dust, disintegrating in front of their eyes. And all Sanemi could do was stand, feeling as if all his muscles had gone limp yet he had to stay up.

His hand holding the axe had gone lax and the weapon dropped to the ground, only an inch from his foot. Then his legs gave out and he slumped to his knees, unable to process what had happened.

"MOTHER!!" Genya was sobbing. But his words were only a dim outline in Sanemi's memories as he felt his whole world crash down upon his shoulders and break into a thousand pieces.

He looked up and found that all of his mother except her kimono was gone. Her kimono. God. For one, stupid moment, all he could think of was that they had never gotten to show her what they had bought for her. The irony of the situation hit him and he forced down a bitter laugh. What the hell had happened? 

But then Genya was shouting at Sanemi again. Moving away from him. "It's your fault!" Genya cried. "You're a murderer! Murderer!! You killed her!"

Sanemi swallowed. He had, hadn't he? Yet it wasn't fair! It wasn't! He hadn't known—it wasn't his fault. It wasn't, it wasn't. It was, wasn't it? 

He drew himself up to his feet slowly. He felt numb, the pain in his face fading. Only that made it worse.

"Genya," he mumbled, starting towards his brother.

"Get away from me!" Genya snapped, terror lacing his voice. "Go away!"

The words were like a stab to the chest. Sanemi stumbled back as if he had been physically hit. He was at loss for words. Somehow, the reality of the situation had barely sunk in. But now it cut into him deeper than a blade could. His heart stung and he moved away from Genya. Then he ran. Towards his house, however. He had to see if any of them were still alive. He sincerely doubted it as he figured Genya would've stayed if they'd been alive. But he needed to confirm it. Maybe some of them could be saved.

He entered. There was no need to knock, not when the door was broken and on the floor. The lamps had been put out but they were no longer needed as the sun broke over the horizon. 

He knelt by each of his siblings in turn but there was no need to confirm anything. They were all dead. Blood was spilling from their wounds and onto the futons. All of them were gone. He turned to leave, no wanting to see their bodies anymore. Then something caught his eye. Under Teiko was the bright yellow kimono, the flower pattern sticking out from under her pale hand.

He stepped forward, nudging her aside to pick it up. He stared at it, his face blank. A drop of water splashed onto it, sinking in. He realized he was crying. The tears came out freely now and he hugged the dress to his chest, a sob breaking through his throat and into the air. 

Why? Why had this happened?

He wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sleep forever. But he couldn't. He turned from his house, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He would have to stop crying now. He drew in a shaky breath, then let it out. The morning air was cold in his lungs but he barely noticed the sting as he started into a slow run down the street. His pace increased until he didn't know anything more except the ache in his legs and the kimono pressed flush against his chest. As he fled, he thought he caught a glimpse of Genya, still slumped down by their mother's tattered kimono. And then he was gone.

×××

The Hashira were having some sort of party. Sanemi never bothered to attend the meetings like this. They were a waste of time. He was better off training then getting drunk and fucking around. However Tengen was quite insistent this time, though he knew not if it were for a real reason or nought. 

Tengen was in his house now, bugging him and chasing him through the halls.

"C'mon, it's only a couple hours! Besides, Oyakata-sama always says that as much as we should be working hard, that we're still human and should let our bodies enough rest. I'm slowly being convinced that you're not human, what with all your apathy and inability to be normal for once," Tengen said, poking Sanemi ceaselessly. God, he was so much like Shinobu sometimes.

"Go away, Uzui," Sanemi sighed. "I already told you that I'm not going to your useless parties."

"Don't be such a killjoy," Tengen chastised, crossing his arms. "Here—let's get you something to wear!"

He entered Sanemi's room without permission and rummaged through the closet. Sanemi growled. 

"Stop it," he ordered, trying to pull Tengen away.

Tengen jerked away from him and almost fell into the closet. When he stood, he was holding a dusty kimono. It unfolded as he held it up and for a moment the two were lost in coughs as the dust flew into the air. Then Tengen waved it away, inspecting it. It was a yellow, dull from time, small pink flowers embedded in a wavy pattern along the edges of the sleeves and obi. 

"Interesting. Is this some past girlfriend's clothes you forgot to give back?" Tengen asked, peering at it. "Or are you secretly into crossdressing?"

When he got no response, he glanced down at Sanemi. To his surprise, the man was standing stifly, eyeing the kimono with a look he couldn't distinguish. 

"Shinazugawa?" Tengen said uncertainly, waving a hand over Sanemi's face. "Should I have not touched this?"

Sanemi snapped out of his trance, blinking. He snatched it from Tengen. "That's... that's mine," he said, his voice tender. He sounded vulnerable and it caught Tengen with surprise.

"So... you are crossdressing?" Tengen asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"No. It's not mine. No—yes, it is. It... was my mother's," Sanemi mumbled, staring at the fabric distantly. Then he gasped, startling Tengen. He glanced up at him, throwing the kimono in the closet and slamming the door shut. "Nevermind. It's nothing. Fine, I'll go to your stupid party. Just go now, okay?"

Tengen frowned. He was still stuck on the first part about Sanemi's mother and it took him a moment to responded. "You don't have to go," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I went through your things."

Sanemi crossed his arms, not quite meeting his eyes. "It's fine, I said. Just go and I'll be there."

Tengen shook his head. "You don't want to be there, though, right? I won't go either, it's alright."

"...you don't have to do that," Sanemi said. He seemed quite out of it, not shouting. It unnerved Tengen.

"Well I will. Why don't we make some tea? We can just... enjoy some silence," Tengen prompted, guiding Sanemi out of the bedroom door.

"Fine," Sanemi grumbled. "Fine."

Tengen nodded, giving him an encouraging smile. "Right. Why don't you go get some tea leaves? I'll start a fire to boil the water."

"Okay," Sanemi conceded and they walked to the kitchen silently.

The kimono would be dusted and folded later and appear with a note at Gyomei's place later, in the room Genya was residing in temporarily. It would be held up to the light as memories resurfaced for another's brother. Then it would be tucked away once more, sent back to the original sender with another envelope containing paragraphs of apologies that went back years in time.

×××

« Word count: 3645 »

tell me you can never to end a writing piece without telling me you can't end one:

ANYWAY I LOVE YOU ALL AND I LOVED WRITING THIS AND I HOPE YOU CRY (/hj i'll give you a hug tho)

[xhanisai]

"Just because you've become a Death Scythe doesn't mean you're allowed to be all chummy and close with my precious, innocent, angelic, little Maka!"

Usually, Soul would have rolled his eyes and either walked off without a word or thrown the insults back at the stupid father till the man was crying out his daughter's name pathetically on the floor where he belonged. However, the ruby-eyed teen was just completely exhausted and tired from having to deal with all these dangerous missions, dealing with Black☆Star's and Kid's dramatics, dealing with HOMEWORK of all things and even dealing with his stubborn Maka— Meister from constantly squirming and being a bit of a brat every time he patches her up after said dangerous missions and just so much more.

So he decided to finish off Maka's clown-of-a-father with the killing blow.

[kmgkmg]

FAVORITE - LEE SEOKMIN

word count: 1.3k...

pairing: seokmin x gn!reader

synopsis: seokmin's on tour and a little lost without you, how does he fix this?

genre/s: fluff, idol!seokmin, non-idol!reader, bf!seokmin, ldr, established relationship

warnings: none!

rating: pg

a/n: was i craving bagels while finding the cover for this fic? maybe so...anyways the fic title is based off favorite by kim ji-su. :P

The faint scent of Seokmin’s cologne still lingered on the pillow next to you. It had been five excruciatingly long months since he left for tour with the rest of Seventeen, but it felt closer to seven thousand years. You had been dating for four years, but every time he left it was still as hard as the first. He was still extremely attentive and would FaceTime you nearly everyday. If he couldn't videocall you, he would spam your phone with sorrys until his phone overheated. You understood his schedule though, telling him to never apologize for working hard. 

He wasn’t the only one putting effort into your long distance relationship though. You would set alarms throughout the day, trying your best to align with a reasonable time for him when he wouldn’t be practicing or on schedule somewhere. Most of the alarms when he’s across the globe were set to wake you up in the dead of the night, but you loved him so much that it didn’t bother you. Hearing his voice instantly washed away any fatigue you had. He’s your energizer. 

Still, nothing could beat the small things you two would do together. Who knew that you would miss taking out the trash together on trash collection days and then going grocery shopping to check out new deals? Breaking your habits such as making two cups of coffee in the morning, or sitting on the left side of the couch since he always sat on the right, were virtually impossible. The empty space due to the lack of his presence is without a doubt noticeable. 

When Seungkwan texted you that Seokmin was looking down lately, you knew you had to take it into your own hands. 

“Let’s go for more drinks!” Soonyoung shouted to the group as he stumbled in the hotel hallways, oblivious to the rest of the members’ desire to sleep. 

“We have practice tomorrow, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol reminds him, watching Soonyoung trip over his own feet. 

“But look at how sad Dokyeom is! We, as members of Seventeen, have an obligation to make sure we’re all happy!” Soonyoung’s comment makes the members’ attention shift to Seokmin. 

Seokmin was unaware, checking his phone to see if he got any texts from you. You usually responded to his messages within a day, but it’s been three days since you last replied and his worry only grew more by the second. Maybe you were busy with work? Even so, you would react to his messages or would text and explain that you would reply later. He tried to call you earlier and was only met with the busy dial tone. 

After a couple seconds of the members still looking at the oblivious Seokmin, Seungkwan nodded his head signaling that he would talk to him. 

The other members headed to their rooms, dragging the intoxicated Soonyoung. Seungcheol had a grateful expression on his face, as if saying I’m leaving him to you. Seungkwan nodded again, slinging his arm over Seokmin’s shoulders. 

Seokmin finally looked up, “What’s up?” He finally noticed the absence of the other members, “Oh, where’d the other members go?” 

“They went to bed…but I want you to stay calm for what is about to happen,” Seungkwan warns, stopping Seokmin at his hotel room’s door. 

Seokmin raised his eyebrow in curiosity, “What’s going to happen?”

You could hear Seokmin talking to Seokmin outside. Only a door separates you from your love. Your favorite person in the entire world. No, in the entire universe. It’s too much to bear and soon enough you flung the door open, to see Seokmin’s utterly surprised and overjoyed face. 

“Kyeomie!” You hugged him so tight that he got the wind knocked out of him. 

“Y/N, you’re here!” He hugs you back.

“I swear, I can’t be on my own without you. Saying I’m a little bit lost without you would be an understatement, Y/N,” Seokmin confesses, nuzzling his head into your neck. 

“Always so dramatic, Kyeom,” You tried to act aloof, but in actuality his words were melting into your soul the moment they left his lips. He did have a knack for that. A specialty in making you fall in love with him over and over again. 

Seungkwan quietly made his way back to his room, satisfied with his participation in reuniting the two of you. 

Seokmin cursed himself at drinking so much coffee the day before, needing to use the bathroom. He could feel your arm around his waist, with the rest of your body cozied up against him. He smiled softly to himself before carefully sliding his arm out from under your head. When was the last time he was able to be your human pillow? He missed this. Seokmin missed you. 

Wiping his hands with the hotel towel, he opened the bathroom door once again, trying to tippy toe back to bed.

 You were already rustling underneath the comforter, sleepily noticing the absence of your boyfriend. Did you dream that you went to visit him? Worry came over you as you jolted up, calling out for Seokmin.

“Kyeom?” You called out sleepily.

“Sorry babe, did I wake you up?” He apologized, stopping mid tip-toe. 

“Mm, no! I just thought I dreamt that I came here. I’m just so scared you’re going to disappear if I close my eyes again. I don’t think…I can’t-I can’t sleep anymore,” You explain. 

“Baby, I won’t disappear,” Seokmin climbs back into bed with you, facing you and cupping your face with his hands, “See? I’m really here with you.”

You nodded, relaxing with his touch. Why was he awake? 

“Can’t sleep either?” 

He decided to agree with your inference about him, “Yeah, I wanna stay up with you! Did you eat on the plane though? I realized we were too excited to order food earlier tonight.”

You panic internally, if Seokmin knew you hadn’t eaten since the morning of your departure he would scold you incessantly. 

“I did eat on the plane! They were serving some dinosaur chicken nuggets, so you know I had to eat them!” You lied effortlessly. I’ll eat breakfast as soon as the hotel’s dining room opens, you reasoned to yourself. Yet, your body had other plans. A large grumbling arose from your stomach. You could only look down at your stomach as Seokmin did, before meekly making eye contact with him. 

“You should always be eating well, Y/N! Let’s go out early in the morning for some bagels. Joshua and Soonyoung found a place two days ago and now I have a reason to check it out,” Seokmin beams at you, determined to make sure you’re well-fed. 

“Okay, baby!” You beamed back, still not over the high of being with him again. 

Both of you entered the bagel place, but to your surprise there was already a decent amount of people. Seven in the morning is the time most people are up to get ready for their commute to work so it makes sense they would eat bagels to recharge. Yet, in front of your eyes the line accumulated much more than you expected. 

“What are you thinking about getting?” You ask, although you had a rough idea about which bagels he would pick.

“I definitely want to try the cinnamon cranberry one, Joshua let me try a bite and it was amazing,” He answers, “How about you, Y/N?”

“They don’t have the flavor you wanted,” You frown in revelation, looking up at your boyfriend who was still looking at the menu.

“It’s okay! My favorite dessert is your lips,” He smirks while not taking his eyes off the menu.

You lean your head back onto his chest, with Seokmin silently stroking your hair. 

“Is it crazy to say I even missed your cringey pickup lines?” You say quiet enough for only him to hear. 

“Not crazy at all,” He smirked, booping your nose softly with his index finger. 

You looked at the display case to check out the daily special, Chicago Pizza. Your eyes lit up, “Min, look!” 

His eyes followed the aggressive head bobbing you were doing to direct his attention to the display case. Once he saw what you were so excited about, he reciprocated your excitement. 

“We chose the perfect day to come!” 

With your turn quickly approaching, you admired your boyfriend’s face once more. You missed this. You missed him. 

“Next in line!”

[pokimoko]

The One-Way Waltz of the Moth and the Wild Flame (and the Incident of the Authorial Intrusion) - A Good Omens Fic

Written by pokimoko

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: ~25K

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Muriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Nina (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Character(s)

Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens), Muriel (Good Omens), Original Characters, (who is technically not an original character but I've got to keep some secrets ;) ), Nina (Good Omens), Background & Cameo Characters

Summary: A story in which Crowley does not prevent forest fires, a radio sends out thoughts and prayers, an angel misuses the emergency contact, the local duck population invents socialism, trees are threatened to varying degrees of success, a waltz is indeed played, and an author considers the nature of tragedies.

Tags: Ineffable Divorce | Aziraphale and Crowley Break Up (Good Omens), Post-Break Up, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt, He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Muriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Muriel Friendship (Good Omens), Angst and Humor, Crowley-centric (Good Omens), Canon Continuation, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Episode: s02e06 Every Day (Good Omens), Pre-Season/Series 03, No Aziraphale Slander Here but it is also Crowley's POV so expect at least some Thoughts, Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Running Away, Both in the Emotional and Literal Sense, Because You Don't Have to Deal with Your Romantic and Personal Issues in Washington State. Obviously, (incorrect: you very much do), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), (even if he won't admit it), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), (another thing he won't admit), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), They're just being stupid, Not A Fix-It, References to God(s), Romantic Angst, America, United States, Fire Lookout, Remember Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires (Unless You Are Anthony J. Crowley), hey is it healthy to repeatedly relive a past trauma to deal with a breakup? asking for a friend, Scene: The Bookshop Fire (Good Omens), Fire, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Isolation, When You're Trying to Cope Badly in the American Wilderness but People Keep Talking to You, Radio, Inspired by Firewatch (Video Game), Character Study, Crowley and the Woes of Being In a Narrative That Won't Let You Go, (Fleabag voice) This is a Tragedy, But oh? What's this?, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Deep Regret: Dante x Male Reader

Summary: Younger Dante was a much different man than he is now; things that are forever burned into your mind. Things that bubble back up to the surface and you tried to suppress; but this time, you are unable to quell your inner turmoil.

Beginning Notes: Originally this was a Nero fic. but the further I got the more I felt this fit Dante better. Minor blood warning; it's only for the first paragraph. 🌦️🍃🌦️ Male reader x Dante Unestablished relationship; however, there is talk of being friends with benefits--although it is not mentioned, it was during the time between DMC 2 and 4.* Angry fluff? Dante is a fucking idiot; seriously. Minor internalized homophobia (Dante)

==

     Today’s contract had been long and grueling; not only were you out of bullets, but you were also running out of patience.

     With a swift kick, you knocked a Hell Cania to the ground and kneeled on its back. A loud growling shout left your lips as you pulled back on the demon’s neck, followed by the sound of tearing flesh and tendons. Blood spurted from the demon as you yanked harder; ripping its head from its body. With a slight twitch of irritation on your lips, you tossed the disembodied head from the corpse and stood up. 

     Dante watched with a wide-eyed confused expression at your sudden animalistic aggression. If you had been in a better mood, the red devil would have made a playful remark about how that was semi-arousing; but the two of you just continued forwards in an uncomfortable powder keg of silence. 

     Generally speaking, you didn’t consider yourself an angry person but you’d reached your breaking point. The worst part was, you didn’t even have the right to be this pissed off with the legendary hunter; only making your annoyance worsen.

     Not being able to stand the silence any longer, Dante finally spoke, “So… You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or..?”

     With gritted teeth, you clenched your fists in a vain attempt to stay calm, “No.”

     Dante pursed his lips, “Then what’s wrong?”

     “Nothing,” you answered him curtly.

     “Come on,” he sighed and walked faster to catch up to you, “I know something’s up--Did Verge say something rude again?”

     “No,” with an audible swallow, you grumbled, “Just leave it be.”

     “Nope, sorry I can’t do that,” with a bright laugh, he playfully shoved your shoulder. 

     Without thinking, you turned and socked him right in the nose; breaking it.

     “Hey!” the red devil yanked his nose back in place as it healed quickly, “What the fuck is your problem?!” he threw his hands up in frustration.

      “My problem?” your tone was angry enough that it had circled back around and become an uncanny calm.

     “Yeah, your problem!” Dante’s lip twitched as he scowled. 

     With violently angry steps, you turned to approach your partner, “You-!” you jabbed your pointer finger harshly into his chest, “You are my fucking problem, Dante!”

     “The fuck did I do?” he hit your hand away from him.

     “Don’t play stupid,” you shoved him harshly, making him stumble back a bit, “You know exactly what I am talking about!”

     Silence had re-emerged as the two of you stood staring at one another Dante had a confused hardened glare and you had a large enraged scowl. That’s when you fully allowed yourself to snap; taking him by surprise. 

     You tackled him by the hips to the ground and pinned him down. Dante squirmed a bit before shoving you off him. Using the momentum from the shove, you stood back upright. Still unsure of what was going on, Dante stood back up as well. The two of you got into a small scuff; which only confused Dante more. The red devil did his best to not hurt you (since he could quite easily break your bones or worse) while you didn't hold back in the slightest. Seeing an opening, you used a Muay Thai sweep and knocked him back onto the ground. Then you pinned him underneath you, harshly digging your elbow into his throat--staring deeply into his turquoise eyes. 

     He put his hands up in defeat, “Alright- Alright, I yield,” it was then that he noticed your pained stare and decided to take a calmer tone with you, “Just tell me what I did.”

     A tremble found its way to your lip as you dug harder into him before removing yourself from his neck. You stood up and moved your jaw side to side in thought. With a purse of your lips, you shook your head and turned from him; not only ashamed of what you just instigated but of why your mood was soured in the first place. 

     However, the red devil wasn’t having that nonsense and he bolted upright. Quickly, he grabbed your shoulder and turned you to him, “No- we are talking about this; right here, right now. I want to understand so I can make it bet--”

     “There is no making this better,” you hissed at him and scowled, doing your best to hold in your tears.

     “Just tell me,” Dante���s grip tightened as he frowned slightly, “please..?”

     You just stared back at him in silence, not knowing where to start or even if you should tell him.

==

     This feeling started to grow out of control around a month ago.

     The two of you were finishing up an evacuation job; nothing new. Except, today one of the civilians decided to personally thank Dante.

     When evacuating, you had watched her interact with the red devil. She was a petite young lady--maybe in her late twenties--and she had long pearl-beige hair with deep brown eyes. Along with that, she was very soft-spoken and seemed very sweet; a perfect woman for a brash man like Dante. 

     You didn’t quite hear everything that was said but when you looked over at your partner, the young lady was kissing his cheek and handed him a slip of paper. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be overly grateful and friendly with the two of you--especially Dante--but this was a whole new ballpark. 

     With a confused but happy smile, Dante waltzed over to you, “Hey, you’ll never guess what just--”

     “You finally experienced the touch of a woman?” a grin decorated your face, despite the slightly sad feeling stirring in your gut. 

     “How did you..?” he furrowed his brow.

     “I saw you,” you knelt and tightened your bootlaces, trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat, “She seems nice; you got her number too, right?”

     The red devil gave you a toothy grin, not realizing your discomfort,  “Yep! I think I’m gonna call her and go out on a date.”

     “Ah,” you stood back up and slapped his shoulder lightly, “The 40-year-old virgin is finally getting some action, good for you man.”

     The two of you shared a small laugh; knowing that was far from the truth. No, in reality, being his first was something that you had the privilege of taking--as he did yours. Although you’d never tell him, it still hurt you that Dante didn’t want to pursue an established relationship with you; unable to get over the fact that you were both men sharing long intimate nights with one another. 

     Thankfully, that horrible mindset had been long abandoned, nowadays, Dante was completely straightforward with his universal attraction. 

     The occurrence with the young lady turned out to be nothing special; hell, you weren’t even sure if Dante ever went out with her, but it still bothered you. Things only got worse as this kept happening. 

     At first, it was only after jobs where the two of you would save civilians or run into other non-DMC hunters. Then it was every time the two of you went anywhere; out to eat, shopping, or even hanging out--people just kept hitting on Dante. 

     After a while, he started to hit on them back, blatantly flirting with them right in front of you with no regard for how much it hurt you. It drove you nuts. All you have ever wanted was to have just a chance with the red devil, and now, you were watching dozens of others shoot their shot and Dante was enjoying it.

     You never said anything to him. What could you even say? The two of you had discussed the fact that Dante was only into you because of the sex; that’s it. So why had you allowed yourself to grow attached to your long-time friend in that kind of way? 

     It ate you up inside and out as the month went on, slowly turning you into the bitter person you are now. 🍃🌦️🍃      Your face was expressionless as you let a few stray tears fall, finally coming up with some sort of answer. You whispered with a slightly strained voice, “I think that I am going to switch partners…” a pit formed in your gut at the thought, however, you couldn’t keep bringing up the past to him; not like this. 

     “What?” Dante’s eyes went wide, “No, hey-- We can talk about this--”

     Without saying anything, you pushed his hands from your shoulders and turned from him; not wanting to let him see that you weren’t able to keep your eyes from weeping any longer. 

     His voice was soft as he went to reach out for you again, “Baby, I--”

     You whipped your head around fast enough that it made you lightheaded, “That! Right fucking there! That’s the goddamned problem, Dante!” you balled your hand up into a fist and shoved him; a mix of red-hot anger and tears adorning your face.

     He shook his head a bit with a furrowed brow in confusion, “Wha-” that’s when it clicked, “That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

     Once more, you didn’t say anything and turned away. In the past, Dante had blamed you for loving him; that it was your fault for growing attached to him. You stood stiffly and braced for the same unbridled angry lecture you had gotten all those years ago; however, it never came.

     Softly, Dante sighed through his nose and quietly spoke, “I’m sorry.”

     You tensed your shoulders upward in confusion.

     Using one of his hands, Dante gently grabbed your wrist, “Look, I know that I have said some… pretty bad shit to you about… us,” he leaned his forehead on your shoulder blades, “I am sorry.”

     Your body shook as you let out a shuddering breath, not believing what you were hearing.

     He moved down to your hand, holding it as if it would break from the slightest of breezes, “I shouldn’t have treated you like that,” his voice cracked a bit as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say, “and I know that it hurt you… and I,” Dante furrowed his brow and spoke quieter with every word, “I didn’t mean any of it… I know that we are- that I,” his voice trailed off before he sighed again and returned to an audible whisper, “I love you, please don’t go.” 

     With a whimper, you looked up at the sky in hopes that he wasn’t just lying to you. A tremble formed in your lips and jaw as you took heavy slow breaths through your mouth; unsure what to say.

     “I know that you probably don’t believe me,” he leaned harder into you, “but if it is any consolation… I never did call any of those people.”

     You stuttered out a croak of a response, “Bullshit,” you barely could speak through the lump of mixed emotions in your throat.

     “No,” Dante removed himself from your back with a shake of his head, “No, I am serious. I didn’t go out with anyone, there was no point.”

     A small noise of disbelief is all you could manage in response. 

     The red devil let go of your hand and moved to stand in front of you. Although you did your best, you couldn’t help but look down from the heavens at the less-than-angelic devil in front of you. Dante's expression was a mixture of pained and pleading; one that you had never seen before. 

     He slowly moved closer to you and pulled you into a tight hug, setting the side of his face against your neck, “I’m sorry.”

     Your hands wrapped around him and grasped his coat as you cried. Although you know he wouldn’t admit it, you could feel Dante let loose a few stray tears against your neck. The two of you just stood together and forgot about the world for a moment.

     With a gentle whisper, Dante buried his face into the crook of your neck, “I can’t lose you, please.”

     At this point, you weren’t sure if you wanted to kick him in the nuts or kiss him, giving your tone a slight sound of frustration, “How do I know that you aren’t-?” your voice cracked which left your thought half-spoken.

     Dante pulled back out of the hug and grabbed your hands, “All I can offer is my word; which I know probably doesn’t mean much…” he sighed, “but I really do care about you--I always have. I was just,” Dante looked downwards with a small amount of shame on his face, “ afraid .”

     You broke eye contact and shook your head as you moved your jaw around in thought, “You’re an asshole, you know that?” despite your expression, your voice sounded disingenuous.

     With a whisper and nod, Dante smiled slightly, “Yeah, I know.”

     Your lips were still trembling when you turned back to face him, “Why didn’t you say anything-?” because of your crying, your voice was muddled and thick; which sent a sharp stabbing sadness through Dante’s heart.

     “I thought that after what I did--what I said--that you didn’t,” he moved one shoulder in a shrug, “didn’t have feelings for me anymore; figured it was for the best, ya know?”

     You shook your head slightly, “If you pull the same bullshit as before…” you moved your jaw to the side, “ I will kick your ass; you got that Dante?”

     The red devil chuckled lightly, “If that’s all then there’s nothing to be concerned about,” he moved closer to you, leaving only a few inches between you both, “Cause it’ll never happen.”

     Despite your upset nature, you couldn’t help but laugh at his out-of-character actions from him. 

     “What?” Dante gave you a confused tilt and a small smirk.

     “Just weird hearing you be so,” you shook your head, “nice.”

     “Well, you’d better get used to it,” the red devil leaned down so he was at eye level with you, “cause I am gonna be so nice to ya that you won’t even remember all those bad things.”

     “Oh god,” you laughed, “That feels like a threat.”

     Dante smirked, “In a way,” he moved to place his lips right above yours, resting the side of his nose against yours, “it kind of is.”

     “Mn, how scary,” you gently smiled. 

     It wasn’t clear who moved first, but the two of you interconnected lips. Dante’s hands moved to your sides and grabbed you tightly; using that to help pour every ounce of how much he loved you and will love you within that single moment. The kiss was fervourous and passionate, and yet, it was somehow sweet and innocent all that the same time. Long languid slow movements of his firey lips made you tremble; forgetting how much you missed his burning touch. Your hands moved his chest and grabbed his shirt tightly, making him smirk. Dante decided to knead into your sides with his fingers, deeply massaging your muscles; making you moan quietly. 

     The legendary hunter devoured those sweet melodic noises as he pushed his tongue very cautiously into your mouth; not wanting to overstep his bounds. However, you gladly welcomed him with your own. Feeling your passion, Dante’s grip tightened harder into your sides and made you groan more. Using one of your hands, you gently ran your fingers through his silken locks, making him shudder and moan loudly. 

     Slowly, the two of you parted lips and stayed with foreheads touching, a small faint purring could be heard through each of Dante’s breaths. Both of you just stood together, holding one another; enjoying the warming comfort of a flame long since tended to. One which you never wanted to leave again and neither did he.

     However, all good things must come to an end. A loud shuffling noise accompanied by distorted growling quickly reminded you both that you were still on a job. With a smirk and one long last look into your eyes, Dante parted from your grasp and took care of the mini-horde that had appeared. Leaving you to process what happened. To process that Dante was finally yours. 

==

Ending Notes: *Just to clear things up a bit: because Dante only wants a physical relationship with you, the pair of you did not become a mated set. 🍃🌦️🍃 He's a little OOC; but whatever lmao. I might do a follow-up on this one (or maybe an angsty prequel about the time between 2 and 4). == What to expect next: "Tainted Purity" Vergil x Male Reader "What Do You Call Me?" Vergil x Male reader "Uncontrolled Instincts" Vergil x Male Reader "Stubborn and Old" Vergil x Reader "You Can't Leave Me Here" Nero x Reader "A Part of Me" ??? x Reader (it's a surprise) (These are all in my WIP folder; I don't know what will be done first or if there will be others that will come before these)

==

Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[pencilofawesomeness]

question would the battle of fairy tail be called the fairy King festival for extra angst?

Lmao that arc really was like a Dragon King Festival, wasn't it? Lots of fighting and the underlying challenge of leadership, and all that jazz. Not that any of the characters knew enough for the comparison to be angsty to them, at the time.

[mo-nmage]

making myself consume happy romance media instead of angsty books and movies because i keep writing angsty rayllum drabbles and it's about time i let them smile

[crossdressingdeath]

I will say, the version of the "I will never trust you" thing with the Emperor that exists in my head in Kyvir's world state is a lot more dramatic now that I've decided that the Emperor's sex scene takes place in the middle of Kyvir's breakdown over the "I was Bhaal's Chosen and one of the founders of the Absolute hoax and now all my friends hate me for it" situation. There's a lot of shouting. Kyvir is not happy about being manipulated like that now that he's in a headspace when he can think back on it clearly. And I feel like the party would be equally Not Happy to learn about the Emperor taking advantage of their friend being in such a vulnerable state of mind like that.

[mlink64]

I Love You - Kai

WC ~800

Genre: fluff, fluffy fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, some angst too ig

TW: mentions of insecurity

You turned the page in your book before you resume brushing through your sweet boyfriend’s dark hair. You were slumped against the armrest of the couch reading while Kai lay between your legs, his face snuggled into your stomach. But something felt off. Every so often you would notice Kai looking up at you and then quickly looking back down. The first few times you shrugged it off, but as it kept happening you started to become self-conscious. 

Normally you weren’t bothered by stuff like this but you had been feeling crummy and emotional all day long. You didn’t have any makeup on and you were in baggy sweatpants and one of Kai’s hoodies because you just wanted to be comfy. As you felt Kai look up and down again you looked at him with a half-assed glare

“I know, I know! I look like shit, I get it!” you huffed in annoyance. 

He propped himself up on his forearms, his eyes widening at your small outburst. 

“What are you going on about baby?” he asked, genuinely confused at what you had said. 

“You won’t look at me because I’m all frumpy and messy and I look like shit; not that I can blame you, I wouldn’t want to look at me either” you murmured, looking away as you felt tears start to well up in your eyes. 

What you didn’t see was Kai’s own eyes starting to fill with tears as he listened to you talk bad about yourself like that. His heart dropped at the fact that he had made you feel like that without even realizing it. 

“Jagi, jagi! I’m so sorry that I made you feel like that, it was never my intention. If it’s any consolation, I can confidently say that I’ve never thought that about you ever” he sniffed, ignoring his tears in favor of brushing yours away. 

“Really?” you question, turning back to him with those huge doe eyes that he loved so much.

“Of course jagi! Especially now! I think you look beautiful in your comfy clothes without any makeup hiding your pretty face” he replied, more serious than you had ever seen him before. 

You felt your heart flutter as more tears rolled down your cheeks, this time out of happiness. 

“I did want to say something though, but I was too nervous so I kept looking away…” he continued. 

“Kai?” you questioned, furrowing your brows.

You could feel so much emotion in his voice but you couldn’t tell what emotion it was on his lips. 

“I-I don’t really know how to say it so I’ll just come out with it…” he said, his voice so soft you could barely hear it. 

“Y/N…? I, I love you” he stammers; hiding his face back in your stomach so you couldn’t see how red his cheeks were.

Now it was his turn to miss it as your face mirrored his. 

“I’m sorry, I just really wanted to say it” he murmurs, his voice muffled from his face still being squished into you. 

It took you a moment to process what he had said but once you did all of your previous worries flew out the window, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of pure joy as more happy tears rolled down your cheeks. You sniffed and Kai's head shot back up out of instinct, his hand immediately brushing against your face to wipe away your tears. The two of you made eye contact for a heated moment before he looked back down out of embarrassment. 

“I love you too”

The words were out of your mouth ahead of your brain, your heart winning over your head for the first time in what felt like ages. His eyes light up tenfold and he practically tackles you in a tight embrace, more of his tears soaking into your shirt as you continue crying into his hair. A few minutes later you both pull away and start to laugh at how blotchy and puffy your faces were from crying. 

“And you still look beautiful…my love” he grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek and wiping away some more tears. 

You felt yourself relax into his touch, not realizing how much of a physical toll these emotions could bring about; but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sliding down the armrest of the couch you bury your face into his hair as he once again circles his arms about your waist, laying his head against your chest and listening to your heartbeat. After a few minutes, you were completely knocked out, your soft breaths lulling Kai to sleep as well. Looking up at you, he places another soft kiss on your cheek before drifting off…but not before texting his hyungs 🥰 

"HYUNGS I SAID THE THING AND SHE SAID IT BACK AND I’M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW I MIGHT START CRYING AGAIN!!! "

[coffeebanana]

the good thing is that so far i'm using my writing break to outline things. the bad thing is that i'm only two days in and outlining things is already making me want to write them 😂

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[ghost-recs]

CAN I ASK FOR A SUNA REC? (preferably timeskip)

YES YOU SURE CAN !! i may have gone down a small rabbit hole but most of them are oneshots. hopefully you'll find something that fits your fancy :)

Suna Timeskip Recs

love sick by @idlerin

synopsis: you are the campus "cupid" and give out love advice to the other students on campus as a hobby. but what happens when suna asks you to fake date him as a way to fend off the girls you're encouraging?

smau, college au - fun dynamics between characters and i'm obsessed with seeing where this goes [ongoing...]

bet on stones by @animatedrapture

synopsis: suna lost a bet, but for you he'd do it all over again.

a pure fluff oneshot with your pro-player boyfriend!

once in a lifetime by @moonswolfie

synopsis: this may be your once in a lifetime opportunity to talk with ejp raijin's suna rintaro, who could blame you for indulging in your small celebrity crush?

cute oneshot, flirting, i love this scenario

Lame Jokes by hurtbycanonthoughts [ao3]

synopsis: the same grumpy customer comes in every morning. you swear you'll get him to smile somehow.

oneshot! full of bad puns and fluff

clair de lune by MyAUIsAMess [ao3]

synopsis: it's been years since you've seen suna, since he made his promise. you're not sure if seeing him again was worth it.

angsty oneshot, right person wrong time that put me in my sad hours.

untitled scenario by @emmyrosee

synopsis: suna misses you while away for volleyball...

it's just cute, okay? he deserves it!

cameral roll by @haijmei

synopsis: suna is known for not being super expressive with his emotions. so how can you tell if he loves something? easy! look through his camera roll

short little oneshot of suna going through his camera roll

don't smile at me by @atzuums

synopsis: model suna is a real jerk, a hot one, but a jerk nonetheless. you just had to fall for him anyways.

smau, this is a bit cheesy, started off with a lot of good potential, but felt rushed at the end

it's a match! by shittyshima [ao3]

synopsis: matching on tinder with suna made your day. him messaging you was the cherry on top!

college au; i'm not gonna lie i feel like this is ooc, but the idea is cute!

i'm just gonna leave this one here again tho - you're not the one (ik it's not a timeskip but it's so good)

[httpsserene]

hey can I request something that’s angsty to fluff and then smut for Oscar where reader gets a ton of hate for dating Oscar so she kind of ghosts him for a bit and they figure things out

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐰/𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: oscar really just wants to hear you laugh again. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. angst. fluff. happy ending. reader is exhausted physically and mentally. reader's internal monologue is not not nice. bad eating habits. bad sleeping habit. self-deprecation. don't worry she's back on her bs at the end. reader neglects herself (?) and her relationship. implied self-sabotage. people are mean. don't worry oscar is meaner. oscar piastri is a good boyfriend. emotional hurt/comfort. tenderness. intimacy. baths and pampering. crying (non-sexy). implied sex. implied bath sex. logan and lando as plot devices. no beta we die like my will to live during finals. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.1k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot w/ blurbs. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: best i ever had • drake

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: sorry it took me so long, i've changed this fic like multiple times :/ hope it fulfills you request properly :))) this is not my favorite thing in the world, i feel like if i went on a smaller scale i would've enjoyed this more but what can you do. this is also not very black reader coded? idk but feel like it's lacking there. i also apologize for my inability to write an oscar fic without including lando, he's such a willing plot device though even if he's a little ooc. i also couldn't find the mental space to write smut but there's smth for you at the end. dedicated to us women in stem! i hope you have fun reading this because i didn't have fun writing it :)

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oscar is worried. you haven’t responded to his texts for a week, he hasn’t seen your face for two weeks, and he hasn’t heard your voice for three weeks. four weeks ago, you told him you wouldn’t be able to fly out to see him at the austin grand prix, like you promised. you sounded exhausted and incredibly guilty when you explained that your course load this semester is extreme, and finals are rapidly approaching. oscar understood; he won’t ask you to sacrifice your education for one of his races, there will be plenty you can come to in the future. what he doesn’t understand is how you’re still functioning. it’s your senior year of university at an american ivy league school, you're pursuing an engineering degree, and you’re also working nearly five days a week as a barista. oscar thinks the last time he’s seen you relaxed is before your fall semester started, you spent your entire summer break with him, making appearances at the only three races you’ve been to this season (silverstone, hungary, and spa). the last time he recalls seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is in august—it’s the end of october now. 

you’ve been ghosting him. oscar wants to believe that it’s unintentional, that it’s just a side effect of the amount of work and pressure on your shoulders—but he can’t accept that. if you were unintentionally missing his calls, facetimes, and texts, you’d spam respond to all of them with a voice message or paragraphs of texts before you went to bed or class. you would send him daily or weekly recap videos of how life is treating you, like you used to do. you would send him stupid videos of you messing around on your shifts during a pause of customers. you would send him thirty reels a day on instagram of brain dead shenanigans with little captions of how you reacted, or if you thought it would make him smile. you would send him fit checks every morning before you went to class, even though your outfit consists of a hoodie and sweatpants. you would send him tiktok edits of himself and tell him that he needs to stop being ‘so hot’ because you almost barked in the middle of class. you would ask him how he’s doing, you would respond to his texts the minute you could even if it's hours late, you would leave him voicemails if he doesn’t pick up, you would make an attempt to communicate. 

except, you haven’t. so, he knows that you ignoring him is intentional, and that your lifestyle right now makes it easier for you to disguise your avoidance of him as accidental. 

you didn’t say ‘i love you’ back. 

“mate, what are you frowning for?” oscar jumps, eyes flying up from the phone screen and meeting lando’s. the brit is staring at him in confusion, the two of them are still in their race suits, tied around their waists. the sprint race ended an hour ago, and they’ve just finished celebrating oscar’s win.

“you’ve won a race, oscar—what could possibly make you sad after that?” lando says teasingly. but, the smile on his face is quick to fade as he must see oscar’s dejected mood.

the australian debates his next move for a moment, before deciding that telling lando isn’t a bad idea; they’ve been getting closer—they’re friends, oscar would say. he sighs, and hands his phone to lando, maybe he’ll tell oscar he’s worrying over nothing.

“oh,” lando says, eyes widening, “i’m sorry, mate.”

oscar brushes off lando’s words, and buries his face in his hands, “she’s pulling away from me. that was five days ago, and she hasn’t answered any of my calls. she’s only responded to my texts since then with one word answers or very dryly. she’s ghosting me.”

oscar feels lando fumbling for words, not needing to look at him to know that the older man has no idea how to go about reassuring oscar.

“look, mate, if it were me i’d go see her anyways.”

oscar huffs, “she literally said she doesn’t have time.”

“oscar,” lando stares at him in disbelief, “she hasn’t seen you in two months. i guarantee she’s probably dying to see you again, fuck whatever time she doesn’t have. she also can’t ghost you, if you see her face to face. you should go and try to fix whatever’s wrong, before you let her slip away.”

“maybe…maybe she’s just burnt out,” oscar suggests shakily, “i’ll go see her after the triple header–i’m probably just overreacting about this. she’ll be back to her usual self in time.”

oscar is enraged. he’s pissed off at his fans for attacking you in a sick twist of ‘defending him,’ ‘protecting him’ and the supposed ‘ownership’ they think they have over him. he’s pissed off at you deciding to ghost him instead of confiding in him about the hate you receive. he’s pissed off that his flight to you has been delayed for four hours. he’s pissed off at his race in brazil, if you can even call what happened a race. he’s pissed off at the fact that you can’t make time to see him before vegas. he’s pissed off that you lied to him about picking up extra shifts at the cafe.

he stalked through your instagram the minute after he was allowed to escape debrief, hunting down your roomates accounts from where you’ve tagged them in an older post. he innocently made a group message to the two girls, figuring it would be kind and proper to inform them of his impending arrival to surprise you. and the two girls you shared an apartment with responded eagerly to his message telling him that you’ve been extremely stressed and almost depressed this semester, and that hopefully his appearance will break through to you in a way they are unable to. oscar asked them if they knew your work schedule for the week, since you never told him when you're working–and learned that you lied. you didn’t accept any extra shifts, matter of fact, you got all of your shifts covered for the next two weeks. apparently, all you have been doing is going to class, working, studying furiously, and crying. when he asks if there’s any reason besides the stress from work and school that has you crying, the girls decline to speak for you, and strongly suggest that he asks you himself when he arrives. 

oscar’s no longer pissed at you for lying to him or for ghosting him–he’s hurt, but, he already understands your motive. you don’t want to worry him, so you bottle it up and distance yourself to not make him aware of how you're struggling. he won’t let you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore, he’s going to see you and he’s going to take care of you, and then he’ll sort out the ignorant people on the internet.

when he’s at your apartment, you’ll be coming home from your last shift before your time off. and then, once he has you in his arms, he can make everything right again.

your hands are shaking; a result from the mix of stress and exhaustion that has been plaguing you for a few weeks. it takes you four and a half attempts to unlock the front door to your apartment—this is an improvement, yesterday it took you six times. a trembling sigh of relief exits your lungs as you shut the front door, triple checking that you lock the door properly. you remove all of your outerwear and slip out of your shoes, half-heartedly making an attempt to neatly place them in the organizer you have by the door. (you fail to register how there’s only two pairs of shoes stored away; yours and a pair of shoes that look too big to be one of the girls you live with—the usual sneakers the girls wear are nowhere to be seen.) you grunt as you tenderly put on your backpack and slowly make your way into the kitchen, off-handedly murmuring a “hi,” in the direction of the living room since you can hear the tv playing, but you don’t even spare a glance to see which roommate it is—you can’t stomach anymore human interaction today.

your walk is more of a waddle; your legs and feet are sore from working nine-hour shifts five days in a row, and also from going to class four out of those five days. you place your backpack on the small island, and continue to gently meander towards the fridge. your stomach aches at the thought of food—which is unfortunate, considering you’ve only had one meal today. regardless, you will shove a sandwich down your throat, you need the energy if you’re going to study for three hours before you go to bed. 

you pause before you open the fridge, a note is stuck on the door with a magnet. your roommates are gone; the two girls have spontaneously decided to go spend the weekend with their boyfriends—you’re not going to complain, you have the apartment to yourself. a brief wave of loneliness washes over you, you were kind of looking forward to venting about the week you had to the girls in the morning, and also, couldn’t they have texted you this earlier today? who leaves old-fashioned notes on the fridge anymore? you pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat wishing them a nice weekend, and see that they did, in fact, text you that they would be gone—three days ago. and, you never responded, because you never saw it. you shrug, and send the text anyways, you’ve been incredibly busy and you’re bound to miss a few texts (especially the eighteen texts from oscar that remain unopened). 

you're just going through a little bit of a slump, and you’ve had a bad day. you accidentally messed up three orders today (out of the hundred you fulfilled, so three isn’t really terrible), your running off of four hours of sleep (you’re more energized when you sleep less, anyways), and a customer accidentally bumped into you as you were walking to bring coffee to a table, causing the hot liquid to spill and burn a little spot on the back of your hand by your thumb. well, you know it wasn’t purely accidental, as the girl giggled to the group of friends she was with after she “bumped” into you. based on the way she was wearing a mclaren hoodie, you can make several guesses as to why she did it—you’re kind of shocked that she noticed you even though you wear a mask at work (you have for about a month, too many fans have noticed who you are), her hate for a relationship that’s not hers should be studied for science. 

incidents like these have made your coworkers start to…dislike you. the decrease in tips when you’re assigned to the register causes you to be forced to be hidden behind coffee machines the entire shift, only making drinks the entire nine hours you’re there. it’s better for you though, at least you can have a physical barrier blocking the prying eyes you feel are judging you the entire time. if anything, the recent atmosphere at work made you want to put in your two weeks—but, you have bills to pay. you’re just glad you managed to find a way to get two weeks off so you can focus on school and prepare for your exams—you can’t afford to fail, it’ll cost your scholarship and then you’ll need more than the job you have right now to finish school.

the buzzing of your phone pulls you back to the present—oscar’s calling. you squeeze your eyes shut for a few seconds, before you blink and silence the ringer. if you speak to him, you won’t be able to hide your troubles from him any longer; he reads you as easily as a kid’s picture book. he definitely doesn’t need to deal with your problems after whatever the hell happened in brazil. the noise of your phone startled you into a new thought, however. if the girls aren’t in the apartment, why the fuck is the tv on? who did you greet when you walked past the main room without a glance?

“i was calling to tell you that i’ve got takeout from the asian restaurant you like, if you’re looking for something to eat,” oscar says gently.

it’s a testament to how extremely exhausted you are: you don’t scream, you don’t fight, you don’t run—you just flinch slightly, and turn around slowly to face your boyfriend…the man you’ve been avoiding for nearly a month. at the sight of him (his fluffy hair, his soft sweater, the confused and concerned glint in his eyes) your lip starts quivering, and your eyes start watering. oscar’s gaze softens into something sweet yet empathic, and he says, “i know it’s been a while since we’ve last talked, but i didn’t think you’d cry at the sight of me.”

you burst into tears with a sob, and in a second oscar’s got you wrapped up in his arms, one hand soothingly massaging your back, while the other cradles your head on his shoulder. your borderline hyperventilating, your tears have started to soak his sweater, and you’re sniffling every two seconds to avoid getting snot on him too. oscar doesn’t try to quiet your tears, he doesn’t ask about what’s making you cry, he doesn’t even try to tell you that everything will be fine—he just holds you as you cry it out and presses kisses into your hair. eventually, the flow of tears dries and you focus on pulling in shaky breaths of air to calm down. oscar switches to holding you to his chest with one arm while he uses the free one to reach across the counter and grab a tissue. wordlessly, he wipes the wetness off your cheeks and under-eyes, he even uses another tissue to wipe your nose, clearing away the snot that managed to escape. you almost start crying again at the tender treatment and the matching look in his eyes, but you muster enough strength to keep the happy tears from falling over the waterline. 

oscar nods once, deeming his cleanup complete, and clears his throat, “i’m going to heat up the food. then, we’ll eat and you’ll tell me what’s wrong and if that has anything to do with why you’re ignoring me.”

there’s no attempt from you to keep the façade up any longer, all you do is nod and step to the side so he can grab the food from the fridge.

oscar has already cleared his plate and you’re still picking through half of yours. the two of you are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, teen wolf is playing on a low volume, and your eyes are tunneled on the screen even though oscar can see that you’re not paying attention at all. one of the characters is screaming about having to get his arm cut off (stiles, probably) and suddenly you start talking to oscar.

“it’s been a shit semester. if i wasn’t graduating in spring, i honestly think i would’ve dropped out or taken a gap-year. and, i knew what i signed up for as an engineering major, and i knew that working was only going to add more on my plate—but, it’s not like i can quit my job, i have bills to pay. so, juggling school and work is difficult, and i was managing fine. but, i guess i made the mistake of scrolling through twitter—which is truly my fault i think—and everyone on the internet was calling me a ‘terrible girlfriend’,” oscar watches you scoff out a choked laugh, “and, i obviously didn’t believe i was. in the beginning, at least. i mean, it’s like they expected me to be at every race by your side, like i’m not working my way through a hellscape of a degree. i watched every practice session, qualifying, and race—they’re literally the only hours i don’t spend studying or working. i brag about you to everybody who would listen, i missed hours of sleep just to speak to you on the phone for five minutes, i work as hard as i can so i can finish this degree early so i can be with you as early as possible, and they say that you deserve a better girlfriend.”

you pause and rub at your eyes furiously, mouth opening and closing as you take time to find the words to continue. oscar quiets the flare of anger at your distress, and stays silent, not wanting to interrupt your speech, this is the most you’ve said to him in a month.

“the thing is: i-i i let their words get to me. i think it’s because i was being kicked while i was down—or whatever the phrase is. i was already mentally exhausted, and i already believe that i’m not doing my best this year, i’m disappointing everybody who knows me, i’m a shit student—and just seeing everybody agree, even though they’re just randoms on the internet, tore me down. i even deleted all of the apps off my phone,” your voice has shifted into something desperate, “so i couldn’t see what they were saying about me anymore, but it’s like once i saw it, it never left my mind. i feel like everybody is staring at me with condescending eyes, like they all think i’m terrible. and, logically, i know that’s probably not true. but, this semester has pushed me past the point of being able to rationalize properly. so as a result, i have become a ‘terrible girlfriend’ to you; like a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.

“i avoid your calls, i leave you on delivered for days, i respond with one word, i lie to my friends and say i was up all night talking to you on the phone when i was really crying and studying at the same time, i hold back from bursting into tears in the middle of my shifts when one of your ‘fangirls’ spills their drink over me for the third time. and while doing all of this, i was hoping you’d do the hard part and just break up with me,” your voice rings out sharply and you refuse to look at your boyfriend, afraid to see the look on his face.

“because…” you whimper slightly, tongue flicking out to lick at your lips anxiously, “you do deserve a better girlfriend.”

oscar is lost for words at your conclusion; seeing you, one of the strongest women he knows break down, is a sight he never imagined. a sense of guilt builds within him, knowing that he’s added to the deprecating thoughts in your brain by postponing this intervention for weeks. you may think that he deserves someone better, but he hasn’t been the best to you either recently. if oscar was half the man you think he is, he would’ve never allowed you to avoid him in the first place. oscar stands up, collects your plate and his, and places them on the coffee table. he turns and drops to his knees in front of you, resting his hands on your thighs, and squeezes them gently to grab your attention. it takes a minute, but eventually you allow your eyes to fall to meet his, and oscar breaks further at the lack of light in your eyes.

“i think,” oscar starts quietly, “that you expect me to break up with you and leave—am i guessing correctly?”

you blink down at him and shrug, biting your lip to prevent it from quivering.

“i also think, that if i flew all this way to see you, and that if i listened to your heartbreaking recollection of how this semester and how the world has been incredibly unkind to you, and that if i sat here and still broke up you—it’s not me that deserves a better girlfriend; it’s you that deserves a better boyfriend.”

stunned, you stumble over your disagreement, but oscar steadfastly continues.

“you did the right thing by deleting your socials—and that would explain why all three hundred of the reels i’ve sent you have gone unseen,” he laughs lightly, “and even if their words took root, you prevented yourself from being able to see more of it every time you used your phone; so even if my pride is not needed, i am proud of you for doing that. i’m even more proud that you sat here and told me that you aren’t doing well, that you didn’t make an attempt to lie, and that i didn’t have to force you to tell me,” oscar says seriously, holding steady eye contact with you to make sure you're hearing him.

“i wish that you would have mentioned the hate you’re receiving as soon as it started, and that you would have told me your mental health was suffering too. you know i do everything in my power to avoid reading anything with my name in it unless it’s a credible article—so imagine my surprise, when i learned about what people were saying about you through a twitter thread logan, of all people texted me about,” you snort out a laugh at the feigned disdain in oscar’s voice when he mentions the american driver. 

“you know i have no issues embarrassing people on the internet for their incorrect claims—and i’d especially tear them to shreds for trying to drag you down. we’ve been together too long for you not to come to me about things like this, even if it’s something that mildly upsets you—i want to know, because then i can make it better, or i can at least try to. you haven’t complained to me about the grueling lifestyle once, as i worked my way up to f1; if anybody could be perfect, it would be you. so, let me try to be as perfect as you, and support you properly and thoroughly as you finish up this degree, baby.

“we’re soulmates, aren’t we?” it’s a question, but oscar states it like a fact, “and i know i can’t magically make the self-loathing disappear with one conversation, but i'll tell you that you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had countless times, until you believe me unquestionably.”

oscar watches your nose scrunch cutely as you sniffle, unable to stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes. sweetly, he catches them with his thumb before they fall. he stands up and tugs you to your feet, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. 

“i love you, kanga,” oscar coos as he kisses your forehead.

“i love you the most, roo,” you answer back, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“i’ve bought some lavender epsom salt and an embarrassing amount of bath bombs. will you let me take care of you tonight?” oscar asks quietly.

he sees the mix of awed-disbelief and confusion as you stare up at him, like you can’t imagine why he’d want to love you tenderly tonight, and that hurts him more—the words of his ‘fans’ online have done enough damage to cause you to doubt him. maybe he can convince you to come to vegas with him so he can keep you close, but first, he needs to focus on caring for you here and now.

oscar grabs his duffle bag and smiles as you hold his hand to lead him to your room and the attached bathroom (rent is ridiculously expensive, but at least you don’t have to share a bathroom with your roommates.) oscar sends you to grab pajamas while he starts filling the tub, epsom salt already poured in. he fiddles with the temperature for a while before it’s set to the boiling-your-skin-off hot you enjoy. by the time you join him in the bathroom, he’s added the salts and soap in the water and has placed the bath bombs out for you to choose one. oscar can’t help the small smile that rises to his face at the sight of the serious furrow of your brow as you pick out your favorite from the bunch. 

oscar hums as you hand him the jade-infused bath bomb, and asks, “can i wash your hair too? or will it mess up your schedule?”

“i actually really need to wash it,” you murmur with a humorless chuckle, “i’ve been so busy that i haven’t been taking care of my hair properly.”

oscar blinks and continues non-judgmentally, “i’ll give you an extra scalp massage to make up for that—you can start getting undressed now, the water’s nearly ready.”

he turns around awkwardly, he’s seen you naked before but he feels like it would be slightly perverse to watch you while you’re clearly in a more sensitive state tonight. he fumbles with the faucet for a few seconds before turning it off, and drops the bath bomb into the water so it can start dispersing. oscar faces you again carefully making sure he avoids staring at your body and locks eyes with you, he beckons you forward with an outstretched hand and holds your hand as you submerge yourself in the water. once you’re settled comfortably, oscar grabs your hair products (he holds up any bottle he thinks you may not want to use tonight, and you give him a thumbs up or down to decide), and then kneels at your side.

he starts to roll up the sleeves of the hoodie but your hand halts his motions, the water splashing loudly at the quickness of your movement, “you’re not getting in with me?”

“uh,” oscar stutters, “i-i wasn’t planning on it. i just wanted to give you a nice bath.”

oscar pinkens as you stare at him wordlessly and when your unimpressed gaze shifts to a slight glare, he finds himself shedding his clothes and sinking in behind you at an impressive speed. 

his heart began to race as the two of you shifted into as comfortable of a position you could achieve in a too-small tub, but calmed at your pleased hum as you settled between his legs with your back resting on his chest. this may be the most romantic experience oscar has ever indulged in. sure, it’s not a candlelit dinner at an obnoxiously expensive restaurant but, it’s him detangling your hair, it’s him massaging shampoo into your crown, it’s him scratching softly along your scalp as the deep conditioner sits, it’s you playing with the water innocently, it’s you whispering every detail of your life that he’s missed out on, it’s you gently directing him through braiding your hair, and it’s him pressing kisses to your shoulder when he finishes. there isn’t a single moment where the two of you become unsettled during lapses of silence; the intimacy of his actions is loud enough to fill the gaps. oscar can’t imagine ever being this comfortable with anybody besides you, he hates that he almost allowed you to pull completely away from him. moments like these, where you allow yourself to be thoughtlessly vulnerable with him, are exactly why he’s completely enamored with you.

your body has loosened against him, muscles syrupy and lax from the effects of a toe-curling scalp massage, and oscar gently guides you to sit upright while steadying most of your weight with a single hand splayed against your abdomen. the sound of the cap of your body wash clicking open startles you into the present, and you shift around to straddle his lap. it’s amusing; he inaudibly chuckles at the sight of you struggling to complete your change of position without sending water over the edge. you make a triumphant noise when you’ve managed to turn around to face him, and oscar’s hands cradle your hips when you rest on his lap. 

“can i–”

“shouldn’t you–”

oscar bursts into laughter and you into giggles, at the interruption of each other's sentences. it’s definitely not that funny, but oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound of your laugh–he hasn’t heard that sweet noise in what feels like forever. he motions for you to speak, ever the gentleman, and eagerly awaits for our question with a smile still stretched across his lips.

“shouldn’t you fuck me before we wash up? so we don’t have to clean up twice?”

oscar chokes on his breath, his grip on you tightening in surprise, and he babbles, “what? no-i mean, yes, i mean—wait. i didn’t do all of this just to have sex with you, you know that right? i genuinely just wanted to pamper you–”

“oscar,” you cut him off, intentionally this time around, “after the semester i’ve had, and the less than kind words i’ve heard and thoughts i’ve had describing myself–i really do appreciate the bath, i feel reminded that you love me. however, i really think that having sex would help…solidify your devotion for me.”

oscar blinks up at you, he wasn’t quite expecting you to return to your normal sassy behavior as quickly as you did. but, he is thankful that you’ve opened up to him with no further hesitation–it’s actually incredibly attractive of you, how you’ve resumed complete comfortability in expressing exactly what you want to him. at least, that’s the excuse he’s telling himself to cope with being half-hard already.

“...at least let me take you to bed, then?”

“no,” you whine down at him, your hips sneakily twitching forward, oscar moans lightly at the light grind, “too far! saves time later if we don’t have to come back to shower.”

“you’re right,” oscar hums distractedly, moving his right hand off your waist to slip between your thighs and brush along your cunt, “i’ll fuck you here as long as you let me do all of the work.”

oscar’s blood heats at the sound of your whimpering moan and he takes his other hand off your waist to grab at your chin and he pulls you down for a kiss.

oscar groans when you pause before your lips touch his, and he feels the breath of your giggle ghost over his mouth, “mmm, i’ll never say no to that—and, didn’t i agree to let you take care of me tonight?” 

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

© httpsserene2023

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J-Hope Fic Recommendations (18+)

If you are already following me for quite some time then you should know that I am a massive masochist and I like to torture myself by reading and writing angsty stories. So, most of the stories that I recommended are angsty as well (might as well have sad endings). So please carefully read the warnings before proceeding. Have a happy reading.

And please don't expect much from me. There are several other rec lists far better than mine. The only motive I had behind creating this list to promote some of the stories, which I think are very underrated. especially angsty ones. These stories are beautifully written so.. I just wanted to let the authors know how phenomenal of a job they have done (As a writer myself I know how much this actually means). Thanks to these amazing writers and I am grateful that they decided to share their work here with us.

[Minors please stay away from my blog!]

Key: F - Fluff, A- Angst, S- Smut, Y- Yandere, *- Personal Favorite

Oneshots

1. Ash from his fire by @filmcrystal - A, implied S, cheating au

It will break your heart so please proceed with caution.

2. Forbidden Fruit by @deepdarkdelights - A, Y

This one deals with several triggering topics. Hence, read the warnings carefully. But I can say that you will love this twisted mafia Hoseok way too much!

3. Shadows by @borathae - A, exes au

One of the most underrated stories I have ever read! Yeah, it is very angsty and Hoseok is so cruel but... we all are masochist here. lmao!

4. Heaven sent by @aquagustd - A, F, S, f2l au

Sexy soccer player Hoseok is just another name for perfection.

5. Bound by @explicit-tae - S, kinda f2l

Talk abut BDSM! GOOOD Sweet Lord!!!

6. Jigsaw by @sunshinejunghoseokie - A *

I remembered crying after reading this one. So damn underrated that it physically hurts me!!

7. Delta Disorder by @bangtanintotheroom Y, S, Supernatural au

I don't usually read supernatural stuff but this demon Hoseok is way too sexy to skip!

8. Systems of Touch by @yeoldontknow - S, F, tiny A, S2l au

Beautifully written! The author used 100% of their capabilities to write this one. Perfectly drawn Professor Hoseok with a very attractive character of reader. Certainly a treat to read.

9. 2:00 AM by @likeastarstar - A, fuckbuddy Hoseok

Part of a series but can be read as a standalone. and Hoseok is a dick in this.

10. Love Quarrels by @mirahuyooo - A, F, mafia au

A cold yet soft mafia husband Hoseok chases behind his angry wife... could there be anything better than that?

11. The Hook Up ft. JK by @minisugakoobies - S

A little bit of a triangle.. but not love? if that makes sense.

12. Entelechy by @drmflm - suggestive (I believe)

Can't call this one angst and neither is this about Hoseok (he is there, don't worry). This one is more about the reader and her growth and it's beautiful.

13. Orgasms on the verge of a nervous breakdown by @sluttyandere - S, Y *

This is very dark and quite triggering, so please don't read unless you can handle those stuff.

14. For the night by @aseaofyoongi - A, S

I cried. that's all.

15. We Shouldn't by @beahae - S **

Hands down to one of my most favourite Hoseok smuts ever!!! This one has a Jimin follow-up so make sure to read that too.

16. Real or not real by @nmjoo-n - A, S, F **

Again one of the most exquisite Hoseok fics I have ever read!

17. Checkmate by @sunshinejoon - A, S

This was supposed to have a sequel but it is perfect regardless.

18. Do I wanna know - @yoongiphoria - A, f2? ****

Now, MJ knows how much I love this one. I often read this story and I never ever get bored of it! I love this to the core and you should too!

19. Scrap - @silv3rswirls - A, Y, S

Dark and sexy. Read the warnings carefully please.

20. It's a Promise by @sahmfanficbts - S, A, Arranged marriage au

Just read it.

21. Three by @hamsterclaw - S

Again.. VERY UNDERRATED!

22. Wonderwall by @kiara-ish - A with an open ending

Might not be for the faint hearted.

23. Infatuated by @bangtanfancamp - F

If you like high school love au then this one is for you.

24. Constellations of You by @persphonesorchid - S, F, established relationship au

This is so domestic that my heart almost exploded while reading!!

25. Burning flames or paradise by @/yoongiphoria - A, tiny f ****

MJ does magic.... that's all I can say.

26. Alone again by @archivedkookie - A, F

I loooove these kinds of stories. Just the right amount of despair with the right amount of hope... beautiful.

27. Feeling Good by @bonvoyagenoona - A, S

Everything I write about this will fall short.. so I will just shut up and let you enjoy the goodness.

28. Distracted by @dilfhoseokie - S

Ahem..

29. Drink Champaign in my airplane by @/bangtanintotheroom - F, S, F2l

Perfectly embodies a rich hot CEO friend Hoseok... a fun read.

30. Keynote by @missgeniality - S **********

MY MOST FAVORITE HOSEOK ONESHOT TO EXIST IN THE PLANET. yeah.. (this has a follow-up but I like this one better)

Series

The thing is that I don't usually read series. I just don't have that patience. So this list is pretty small and forgive me for that.

1. Transference by @dark-muse-iris - A, S, F, S2l *********************

[Completed]

I wasn't the same after reading this. I can't talk about this trantric therapist Hoseok, 'cause I will never shut up if I start.

2. Kanalia by @xjoonchildx - A, S, f (?) *********************

[Ongoing]

Honestly, who isn't a sucker for Lord Jung? You must be sick if you are not. (On a side note.. Kanalia is keeping me alive from jumping off trains on tough days)

3. Guarded by @/xjoonchildx - A, S, F, S2l

[Completed]

Mafia Hoseok with dogtags. I think that's enough of an introduction.

If you want to read the Hoseok stories I write, you can checkout my Masterlist.