#bec sometimes words come to me

[astrolynnworld]

eiffle tower

pairing: matt & chris x reader

summary: chris sees the way you look at matt. so he gives you the opportunity to have both

warnings: smut! cheating, plot twist, exhibition, degradation, praise, language, oral, penetration, switch matt, dom chris, pig roast, little bit of aftercare.

a/n- the highly requested duo smut 😩

word count: 2,073

i love chris so much but .. sometimes i can’t help the idea of “what if i had chose matt instead”

he carries himself so well and despite the fact that they’re triplets.. i really do see him as another version of chris

the version that is more tame.

whenever he sits with us at dinner and he just looks so pretty and proper

just eating his meal, observing the conversation, sharing a joke here and there.

he’s not too loud or quiet, he’s the perfect middle ground of enjoyable.

and he’s so caring towards me when chris isn’t around

he’s cooking? he’ll serve me first. dropped my phone? he’ll pick it up for me. too anxious to speak up? he’ll talk for me, regardless of the fact that he also has anxiety.

maybe it’s because i’m his brothers girlfriend but i just sense the underlying message of care

often times then not, chris will catch me staring off into a haze at matt.

i always have to play it off as if i just got lost in thought.

i mean i did get lost in thought..

the thought of matt’s eyes rolled back as i strok-

“y/n??” matt snaps me back into focus

“mhm?” i question as i stand at the fridge door aimlessly

“i think you dozed off again” he laughs slightly, “did you hear what i said?”

i shake my head no softly as i take a seat on the chairs behind me

“you okay?” he asks while inching closer and putting a hand on my shoulder

i look up at him standing over me

“i’m fine” i mutter out

“you’ve been out of it a lot lately. wanna know what would help?” he asks rhetorically

you.

“what?” i say before chris walks into the kitchen

“a hot tub?” chris answers, acknowledging that he had heard a bit of our conversation

“you always wanna go to the hot tub” i laugh as i switch my gaze to him

“it’s not the worst idea chris has had” matt remarks

“i could be down for a hot tub” i reply enthusiastically now that matt is down

“i’ll go ask nick if he wants to come while you guys get ready” matt says

“wait im coming with” chris follows behind matt

i walk back into the bedroom and roam around for something to wear

shortly after, chris comes back into the room

“nicks not coming, he has a fever” he informs as he tries to grab his swim shorts

i nod my head and sit on the bed as i watch him change

“see something you like?” he flirts as he slowly approaches me

“a whole lot” i smile as i look up to him for a kiss

“alright love birds. we can go now” matt comes in fully dressed

i grab my bag and quickly follow behind matt

our go to hot tub spot was at the warehouse, which was only 10 minutes away from their house

once we get there, matt grabs his key card so he can unlock the gate to the pool

we trail around the side of the pool and make our way to the hot tub

they both take off their shirts before stepping into the hot tub

i could see the masculine structure lining in their backs

the broadness of their shoulders

the width of their arms as they lean back against the wall of the hot tub

i’m so lucky that i at least get to fuck one of them bec-

“wait! i forgot my headphones at the warehouse last time. i need to grab them before i forget again” chris says in a hurry as he gets out the hot tub and makes his way back to the house

“and bring some towels please” matt shouts after him

“watch him come back with none” i chuckle at his attempt

“no yeah for sure. kids gonna come back with a pepsi and forgot what he even went in for” he says as we share a laugh

“how do you even put up with him?” he says in a curious manner

“what do you mean?” i question

he starts to inch closer from the other side of the hot tub

“i see how you act, you’re not like him. you’re polite.. clean.. civil.. well mannered. how do you put up with him?” he says while fully towering me

“i- we- well because i love him” i nervously speak

“do you love him? because i see the way you look at me y/n”

i freeze in my spot

“you think i don’t notice but i do. you’d rather be with me huh? you’d rather it be me that you lay with every night right?” he taunts over me

“me who fucks you to sleep? every. single. night.” he whispers into my ear

“matt what are you doing..” i shyly whisper out

“say it baby. say you want me instead” he puts his nose to mine

i look into his eyes, “i want you instead”

he closes the gap between our lips with passion

sloppily pulling away and going back in for more as he wraps his hands around my waist

i feed into the passion, feeling a fire of energy ignite in me

“i KNEW it.”

i heard a voice speak from above us

i jump back from matt’s arms as i look up to see an angry chris standing outside the hot tub

matt starts to slowly back away as chris gets back in the hot tub and comes straight for me

he grabs my throat, “you’re such a slut. making out with my brother when i’m less than 30 feet away? you thought i wouldn’t find out or you just didn’t care?” he asks

i stay silent as i try to release his grip from my throat. only making him squeeze harder

“you know.. i had a feeling you were a slut. that’s why i put him up to this”

————————————————————

earlier:

“wait i’m coming with” i followed behind matt

after y/n walks back to my room i stop matt in his tracks

“i might need you to do a weird favor for me.” i speak hesitantly

matt was a great brother but i don’t know how deep that great would go for me

“what?” he asks

“i need you to tempt y/n into cheating on me”

“.. why the fuck would i do that?” he questions

“i’ve been seeing the way she looks at you recently. i need to know if she would or wouldn’t fold”

he can hear the genuineness in my voice. i wouldn’t ask him to do something like this if i wasn’t serious

i still love her..

i just needed to know if she likes him or not, how far she was willing to go about it.

“alright bro. i’ll try” he says before continuing to walk up to nick’s room

————————————————————

present:

i gasp as i start to find it hard to breathe.

he lets go of my throat and pulls my hair back so i can look him in the eyes

“you wanna fuck my brother so bad right?”

he pulls my head back to matt

“here. have him”

he turns me around and bend me over in front of matt

“bro.. i don’t know about-“ matt starts to speak

chris grabs my throat and shrinks down to my face, “tell him how much you want him baby. tell him how you want him to put it in. beg for it”

i silently stare at him in shock of his new aggression

“tell him.” he slaps my cheek

“please put it in matt.” i turn back and speak

“beg him for it” chris continues

“please matt, i beg you. just put your cock inside me”

matt slides my bathing suit to the side and slowly starts to align himself with my hole despite the water making it hard to see

“good girl” chris speaks before placing a kiss on the cheek he just slapped

matt lets out a heavy breath as he slides himself along my walls

i gasp as i feel the added pressure

“feels good doesn’t it baby? feels good to be a slut right?” chris speaks

i nod my head with my pout

“say it baby. say it feels good to be a slut” chris adds in

“it feels good to be a slut” i whimper out as i back into matts cock while he meets me halfway

chris traces his fingers against my lips, “who’s slut are you?”

“yours chris. i do whatever you say” i whine out as i squint my eyes from the feeling of matt’s cock hitting against my cervix

“mhmm. so good for me baby” chris says as he pushes his fingers in my mouth for me to suck

i can faintly hear matt trying to hold back his moans and whimpered pleasure as he feels my walls suck him in

the tightness of my walls clenching and pulling around him as he struggles to identify wether it’s the warm silky wetness is from me, or the hot tub.

shutting his eyes to focus on the pleasure

chris on the other hand, is so turned on by the idea of me getting slutted out for his pleasure

he likes the idea of another man being able to enjoy me like he does

i can see the bulge peering out through his swim shorts

i couldn’t let him go attentionless so i free his cock and start to jerk it under the water

he pulls away from me and slaps me once again

“did i give you permission to touch me slut?”

i pout and shake my head no

he places his cock on my cheek, “fuck. i could cover your whole face baby”

“please put it in my mouth daddy” i beg, tired of the teasing

“you want me to face fuck you baby? you wanna be a good girl and let daddy face fuck you?” he rhetorically questions

“yes please. please put your cock in my mouth and use me to your pleasure” i whine out before he shoves his cock in my mouth and starts to fuck into me

it’s like every time chris pulls out of my mouth, matt pushes into my hole. and when chris pushes back in, matt pulls out

it was a back and forth train of stimulation that sent my head into a spiral

i lost all my thoughts and all i could focus on was the whines and whimpers that poured out of my mouth into chris’s cock

“fuck keep moaning baby. it feels so good around my cock” chris whines out

“you’re squeezing- around my cock y/n.. fuck i don’t know how much longer i’m gonna last.” matt throws his head back as he starts to speed up the pace, sending me flying into chris’s dick

i know im gonna cum soon. i just feel so dirty, getting fucked and stuffed by two brothers in a public hot tub. it felt so nasty and so wrong, i couldn’t help but think of how hot that was

and imagining if someone caught us. how gross and nasty they would think i am. how much of a slut im being right now. fuck i’m gonna cum

i squeeze around matts cock as i let out my orgasm.

as soon as i finish i feel matt pull out of me, followed by trickles of warm liquid splatter all over my back.

“you’re such a fucking slut baby. you let guys cum all over you? you like when guys treat you like a fucking toy and use you to their liking?” chris continues to degrade

“fuck i’m gonna cum baby.” he finishes his final thrusts before coating my throat with his cum

he pulls out and i sit up in the hot tub with a fucked out expression, not being able to think for myself.

tears dry up against my face from not being able to breathe

matt starts to fix and play with my hair while chris wipes my eyes

“it’s okay baby, i still love you” chris says as kisses into my lips

i don’t respond. still trying to regain my sense

“we should probably get her back to the house” matt suggests

“yeah. let’s go” chris adds before he picks me up and carries me back to the car in a cradle position.

————————————————————

a/n- hope yall enjoyed 😘 i put my back into this one fr

taglist: @sturniologirlfriend @cutiepatootie36273 @secret-sturniolo @sturns-blog @sturniolo-2003 @mayaaatok @sturnswrites @mattsleftnipple03 @mattybswife @tropicasturn @princessbetsy123-blog <333

[periprose]

Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms. 

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you. 

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says. 

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him. 

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask. 

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one. 

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity. 

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.  

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs. 

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday. 

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

[earthtooz]

ik ur in ur reo phase BUT HEAR ME OUT EARTH ONLY YOU CAN DO THIS

rin ACCIDENTALLY publicizing ur relationship bec mf got jealous as hell when ur face appeared in the kiss cam IN HIS GAME??????? WITH A RANDOM GUY AND WAS HE FUMING??? YOU AND I KNOW HE WAS THROWIN HANDS

thats all

I'M HEARING YOU OUT. warning for unrealistic scenario, i wrote this in like 20 minutes so it's unedited :p apologies for any mistakes.

imagine being rin's secret partner, the one he keeps behind closed doors because he values you too much to let the invasive eyes of the internet see. he values your relationship too much to let it get tarnished by social media, so he hides any affiliation with you like his life depends on it, only to come home and shower you with the adoration and affection he wishes he could show to the rest of the world.

in the spotlight, he is itoshi rin, japan's prized striker, their golden player, but when he's out of the spotlight, he is your lover. the man who drapes himself over you when things get too rough and he needs a breather. he is yours to cherish, where you have to change your phone wallpaper every other week because there's so many good photos of you two. he is yours to love, he is yours to go to when you feel too lonely, he is yours.

but also imagine, itoshi rin's jealousy and possessiveness no longer being able to rest at bay. it'd been accumulating for the past few weeks, this desire to show you off and boast that it's him who gets to know you like no other.

then the cup overfills, his jealousy tearing him by the seams that he loosely stitched together to withhold this carnal beast resting within him.

all because of a damn kiss cam.

you had been sitting in the vip section of the stadium- where special members are granted tickets, and even though you tell rin that it's fine for you to just sit in the general area, he refuses and tells you that he's bought you the ticket anyway. leaving you with no room for arguments. well. not that there was any to begin with.

anyways, you'd just so happen to sit next to someone who bought vip tickets with no affiliation with any blue lock members. you think he's just a die hard fan, so when he asks you if you like them, you lie and say that you won these tickets at a raffle.

the guy wasn't the most favourable person ever, in fact, you found yourself awkwardly responding to what he was saying, sometimes giving him short and succinct replies because of how... weird... he was. not to be disrespectful but you did not like his vibes. you just hope these 90 minutes can be over quickly.

yeah well, how funny is it that the kiss cam lands on you and the insufferable guy beside you?

you're mortified when you see it on the screen but the person beside you doesn't warrant the same reaction. immediately, he turns to face you, anticipation heavy on his features. in fact, he looks rather... excited...

"no, no, i have a boyfriend, i-" you begin abruptly as he leans in and you have no choice but to helplessly lean back, evading his lips and delaying it as much as you can. you even try rejecting him by frantically waving your hands, panicked and unsure of what to do.

until you hear him.

"back. the. fuck. off!" comes a shout from the pitch; the voice very familiar to your ears that you can't help but instantly relax from hearing it.

your seat was relatively close to the field which meant that those around you could hear the distinct voice of itoshi rin ripping through the air, fury evident and baring its fangs as he all but punches the barrier with each word.

however, everyone in the stadium could see itoshi rin as all cameras pan to him, witnessing his wrath as he shouts from the top of his voice. everyone around you is silent and you don't know whether you want to shrivel up into the ground or run to him and embrace him as tightly as you can. to find sanctuary in his warmth, away from the pushy guy who can't wrap his head around the idea that no means no.

itoshi rin decides for you, effortlessly jumping over the (considerably high???) barrier and making a beeline for you, skipping some stairs. thank goodness for a side seat because he comes to a stop before you, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he looks at you with heated passion, huffing and puffing.

"rin?" you whisper. he doesn't hear it, looking up at the various stadium screens to see if the kiss cams were still on you. smirking in satisfaction when he realises they are, rin all but pulls you up from your seat and kisses you with so much intensity and fervour that you feel lightheaded. very much so.

the stadium is cheering but you can't focus on it, not when rin's holding you to him so closely, practically trying to meld you to him. not even trying to push him away is enough to snap him out of whatever primal instinct has taken over him, so you grab his face and jerk away from him, not wanting to get too carried away.

before you can utter a word, rin looks behind you, and the coldness in his expression says everything you need to know.

he doesn’t care about dignity at this point. he just needed the world to know that you were his.

"you're dead if you try that again, you lukewarm fuckface," he then turns to you. you shiver from the intensity of his gaze. "i'll kill him next time," he promises before hugging you close to him once again, practically glaring at the cameras. "i'll kill anyone who tries to get to close."

THANK YOU FOR THIS ANON would u believe me if i said i'd been waiting for an opportunity like this? well i'm speaking the truth and i'm so glad u gave me the opportunity i've been waiting for AYEEEEEEE COME BACK ANY TIME YOU ARE SO WELCOME ON THE EARTHTOOZ BLOG, PRETTY <33

—

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

Rindou x Reader

wc: 1200

angst, fluff

not edited

Rindou loves you. You know he does, but he has this annoying habit of not listening to you sometimes. Especially when it comes to recommendations. You recommend him food? Yeah, he'll try it. spoiler alert: he forgets. what about a movie you watched the other day and liked so much that you told him to watch it immediately? "Yeah, when I have time I will" is his answer. However, he'll only watch it if someone else recommends it too not even remembering you mentioning anything about it. And then he has the nerve to tell you all about it while you listen to him unimpressed. Sometimes it makes you feel like your opinion matters very little to him but you've never told him this. Part of you doesn't want to seem like an insecure girlfriend while the other part thinks there is no deep meaning to this.

This war in your mind ended when you entered your bedroom after having a bad day and saw Rindou sitting on the bed leaning his back on the headboard and "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" in his hands. You remember telling him how you cried reading it. However, you're surprised he's reading what you recommended. sensing your presence Rindou removed his glasses and looked at you.

"Tired?"

"Exhausted" you sit beside him "Do you like it?" you ask indicating the book.

He shrugs

"I've only read 20 pages yet. But Kakucho said it's really good"

You roll your eyes. thinking that you should've seen this coming you mumble "Of course he did" which wasn't as quiet as you expected because Rindou turned to you with a confused hum. You just shake your head as in "nothing" and try to get up but Rindou grips your arm and makes you sit back down. You sigh not having enough energy to deal with this.

"What is it?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Should I be?"

He closed the book setting it aside as he turned to me with narrowed his eyes as if sensing the trap.

"I... don't know. What did I do?"

"It's nothing Rindou, let me go"

Your words had the opposite effect as his grip tightened.

"That's not my name" His voice got low

"Uh it actually is"

"Not for you. Did I fuck up that badly?"

Now that you think about it no he didn't. It's probably you who's overreacting and creating a problem over nothing. You sound ridiculous even to you and you hate yourself.

"It's really nothing. I've just had a bad day so... I just wanna sleep"

After a moment of hesitation, Rindou let you go, his eyes following as you got changed and got in bed turning your back to him. As you lay in bed your overthinking got worse. The fact that he doesn't know what he's doing affects you this badly means that he's not doing it on purpose. But that's even worse. Does that mean that he doesn't even value your opinion enough to think about how neglecting it would affect you? Maybe he thinks you don't care about it so he doesn't too. Or maybe he just forgets. This also means he doesn't care. Every version you think about leads to you thinking he doesn't care and that feels really shitty.

On the other hand, Rindou was watching you lying silently with your back to him and he knew then he definitely did something wrong. You get in bed and do not snuggle up to him planting your head in his neck? Yes, something is terribly wrong.

"C'mon love, tell me what's wrong" he snaked his arm around your waist, and turns out this is all it took for your tears to run free. You bite your lip to stop it from trembling feeling so stupid for crying over something so trivial.

"And don't you dare to say it's nothing bec- are you crying?"

Rindou could swear he heard his heart crash. He turned you around to face him. tucking your hair behind your ear he quickly wiped your tears.

"Hey, don't cry, i- I'm sorry okay? Whatever I did, I didn't mean it just don't cry"

Even though he thought, and has told you this plenty of times, that you looked pretty when you cried, he hated when you cried. Even more, when he was the reason behind those tears.

"Talk to me please?"

Looking anywhere but at him, you opened your mouth to speak.

"It's really stupid"

"So stupid that you're crying over it? I don't care, tell me."

You don't want to.

"It's just... sometimes you don't listen to me"

Rindou was confused. You sound so crazy to him right now. He doesn't listen to you? You have him wrapped around your finger. Your word is a fucking law to him and you have the nerve to say that he doesn't listen to you? He only listens to you.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything I suggest you just forget until someone else suggests the same thing. Like-" You sniffle between speech "Like this book. You're reading it because Kakucho told you, but I told you to read it weeks ago"

The more you talk the more you want to shut up. Dreading seeing Rindou's expression you focus on your hands.

"It feels like you don't care about my opinion. It's so stupid I know..."

"I don- What?" Rindou couldn't help but exclaim. His mind processing thousands of thoughts right now. You think he doesn't care? How long have you been feeling like this? And you didn't tell him? Is there anything else you're not telling him because it's so "stupid"? "Listen, love, I'm so sorry, I didn't know- Of course, I care, Who do you think I listen to if not you? Ran? Fucker used to think Julius Caeser was named after the salad."

That made you chuckle and it was like a rainbow after the storm for Rindou. A sound he never wants to stop hearing. smiling at you he continued.

"I do listen to you okay? I remember every little detail you tell me. Starting with the shows you watch to the drama going on at your work. By the way, Rika got what she deserved, she was being the bitch first."

"That's what I'm saying" You exclaim and Rindou was so happy he could see you smiling again.

"I don't want you to doubt your value in my life okay? You're the best thing ever happened to me and I'd be a dumbass if I didn't appreciate you. And don't ever try to hide things from me again. No matter how stupid you think it is. Nothing is stupid to me when it comes to you. So no more tears, alright?"

You nod scooting closer.

"alright"

Rindou wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, kissing the crown of your head.

"By the way, I started reading this book because you suggested it. Kakuchou saw it in my car when I bought it and told me it was good"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Sleep now"

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight, love"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

got the idea from modern family's one episode

might delete this one too later, not sure. just felt like sharing

[leclsrc]

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

[dollyyun]

hi hi hi!! if it’s possible could you recommend some good smut writings with plot😫😫!! i feel like a lot of writing these days just goes straight to pound townnn which i don’t mind but i do love me a good plot (with a sprinkle of slow burn) too🥰🥰!!!! Also absolutely love your writing. It’s so captivating and sometimes i catch myself rereading your stories bc they’re just too good!!! love you lots <333

tbh i read and eat up anything and everything, and i also believe that every writing is good as long as it comes from the writer's hard work 🤍🤍ahhh thank you so much for your kind words :( and for reading my works! no worries, i can defo recommend you some, and also i haven't been reading since I was always busy with writing and irl stuffs since last week BUT here are the blogs/fics I've read before which i hope they're what you're looking for!

@ja3yun - since you're looking for a good plot, queen aj serves good plots and i'll always recommend her blog/fics because truly her writing is phenomenal😌🫶🏻

@heehoonies - i've only read the first few paragraphs of her jake 'under the table' fic but i can alr tell that it's gonna be good! do read my bby sara works and her upcoming ones as well🫶🏻

@hollyoongs - my girl, my love, my princess <333 my most fav are spidey jake and deadpool hee🤭

@yanwonnies - now if you're an OT7, especially if you're into those idol au and poly fics, i recommend this lovely writer! i've discovered their 'shared selfishness' fic weeks ago and i was hooked because heejaywon🧎🏻‍♀️

@taeghi - i admire ocean and her consistency in delivering long fics sm.

@yeonzzzn - lovely bec also has smut with plot fics!

Fallen Star | Jake Sim by @h5eavenly - a smau fic but has written chaps as well! love the writing!

World of Sinners | Jake Sim by @gyutopia - im hooked onto this series fr and it's mafia jake🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

to the rescue | heejake by @yvnempire - as a heejake girlie first, this is heaven🙏🏻im defo gonna check out their other fics!

i have more to recommend (i think) but rn my brain already ran out of juice and im feeling real sleepy so these are the fics/blogs i can think of as of now🙏🏻

[martiny0rk]

Trevor! What did you do?

Summary:Jamie leaves Brecken with Trevor unsupervised and something happens

Request: No

Word counter:702

Trevor never thought he would be in the situation where he would have his best friend's six year old child crying on the ice after getting a little to hard slap shot to his left eye.

Trevor was literally in a fight or flight response. He didn't know whether he should comfort the child and risk Jamie finding out what he did to Brecken or He could run off and leave the poor little sobbing drysdale on the ice where his dad would find him and be more pissed at his best friend.

Jamie had called Trevor to see if He wanted to come with him and Brecken to work on some hockey tactics and try different positions as Trevor is a center and Jamie is a defenseman.

Even though in Jamie's heart he wanted brecken to follow in his footsteps and be a defenseman but he just wanted to see what he would be like in different areas.

Jamie had just left a few minutes prior to the accident to go grab something from the car knowing he would feel okay with leave his son with the taller guy.

He has left Brecken with Trevor tons of times before, but never on the ice. This made Jamie a bit anxious as He knows how Trevor gets on the ice and he didn't know if his son was ready to face that.

Trevor skates over to the little boy guilt washing over him choosing the first options he thought of and get down on the ice.

"I'm sorry bud you know uncle trev didn't mean to. may i see your eye i promise i wont touch it" Trevor spoke calmly to the blue eyed blue he had injured.

Brecken looked so much like his father. He had his bright big blue eyes but had your nose which was covered in freckles just like his dad he was covered in freckles.

Trevor felt his heart hurt when he saw the little boy lift his head up seeing a bruise form around his left eye. He knew it would be a bad bruise as sometimes he doesn't know his own strength.

"Shit, Your dad is going to be so pissed at me for giving you that, but that does make you look pretty tuff" He wipes the little boys tears.

Breckon lets out one of those loud childish laughs that just brings warmth to a room like a freshly lit fireplace to which this is when Trevor joins in on the laughter.

Jamie walks in with the thing he needs to get from the car walking back into the rink hearing the laughter. He almost grins immediately because the sounds of his son laugh is music to his ears , because it sound like yours which he loves.

He starts putting his skates back on making his way on the ice onto the ice seeing his best friend laughing with his giggling son, but then he noticed the bruise forming around his left eye which made his smile fade.

Brecken notices his dad turning to his dad carefully standing up grinning big with a hit of pride saying " Look Daddy I got my first puck to the face! I didn't get a tooth knocked out but i got a bruise"

Jamie seeing his son's big smile about the whole thing made him smile knowing he was being very positive about it as he knew his son he noticed the tears in his eyes.

"I see that bec but how are we going to tell mama about this? you know how she is when daddy gets injured. what will she do when she finds out her little boy got hit" Jamie spoke softly ruffing his sons hair.

"do you see how happy he is? I don't think she will be that mad about it and it comes with the sport. All he needs is some ice and rest." Trevor spoke softly but still felt bad about what he did.

Jamie looks at him making complete eye contact with him saying "have fun telling my wife that". He already knew you would be somewhat calm about it as it was an accident and its trevor.

[sunshine-on-my-mind]

Hello Neighbour

Pairing: DILF!Neighbour!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Next Chapter: Part 2

warnings: fluff, Dilf!Bucky (yes he is definitely a warning)

a/n: hey so this is just a concept which came to my mind and if you would like to see more of them, maybe there will be more 👀 for now, meet Bucky Barnes, your neighbour.

"Becca wait!" the three year old Barnes was chasing Alpine across the corridor. The two finally came to a stop in front of an apartment and Bucky followed quickly. Before the three could go back and before Becca could explain her random urge to run after their cat, you opened the door.

"Oh- um- hi there." The three outside your door momentarily closed their eyes as they took in the delicious smell coming from your apartment. You smiled to yourself.

"S-sorry miss, my cat, then my daughter were running while I was trying to catch up and they stopped here, I guess Alpine could smell the delicious fish you're cooking. Sorry for disturbing you." Bucky cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head, standing up properly.

"That's alright" you chuckled. "Glad to know Alpine approves my cooking." the kitty cat purred softly, and the curious young girl looked at you with her bright blue eyes.

"Becca come on lets-"

"Did you all move in recently?" you asked the man.

"Yeah, this is more of a temporary adjustment before we find a better place." Bucky closed his eyes trying to realize why he would say that. "Not that I'm saying this isn't a good place, it's great, well maybe not great, but-"

"Daddy stop, you embawassing me" the kid announced and you couldn't help but laugh.

"It's alright, I get what you mean. Hope this place treats you nicely. Even if it's temporary."

Maybe the place wasn't so bad, had some good neigh- as in good qualities, Bucky thought.

"Would you all like to come in for lunch or dinner sometime?"

"Oh we don't wanna bother-"

"Yes pwease." Becca beat her father to it, and already made plans.

"Becs!!" she looked innocently at her father. "Gosh, you're such a smarty pants."

They were all so cute. The dad- okay control your emotions, and don't stare- you told yourself. You could see a small smirk on the man's face as he caught you staring.

"I'm Bucky, by the way. And this is Becca, and that's Alpine." You gave them your name with a smile.

"Lovely to meet you all." Becca waved at you as Alpine and her hurried back to their place. Bucky stood there a little longer. Not exchanging words, just looking at you with a charming smile. Becca got her eyes from her dad, you noticed.

"Well I guess I'll see you soon then, neighbour."

"You too, neighbour." With that Bucky made his way back as well. You couldn't help but look at him while he walked towards his apartment. He turned back and your cheeks heated up, being caught again. With another gorgeous smirk, and a barely there wink, the man went inside his flat, and so did you.

"You were right Becs, this is a nice place."

[cerisemerald]

One and only — Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: She has been loving Thomas for a while now, and it is heaving on her the fact she thinks he still is in love with Grace — she needs a confession, a affirmation that she is not just filling in a gap. It comes in a unexpected night, followed by an unusual morning, but everything with Thomas was like that.

MUSIC: One and only by Adele

A/N: this is the second fic I am reposting from my old account (I accidentally deleted it) and it was from one of my celebrations (200 followers I think) that consisted of fanfics inspired by Adele’s songs from the album 21, this one was requested by a dear friend and it is very dear to me!! It happens between s1-s2, Thomas meets (Y/N) after grace leaves. Feedback is always welcomed!

WARNINGS: English is not my first language.

WORD COUNT: 5,477

[MASTERLIST] [MOODBOARD]

(divider credit is for @cafekitsune)

“Thomas,” she calls, staring at his back, but he doesn't answer, he continues to look at the field in front of them instead. “Thomas?”

“Hm?” He still doesn't look at her.

(Y/N) decides to finally walk to him, she does not stop in front of him though, sensing something was wrong and not wanting to disturb or annoy him somehow. She stops right behind Thomas, a step of distance between them, from this close she can see the tension in his shoulders better, and as much as she wishes to touch him and try to tranquillise him, she waits. He doesn't do anything, however, not even looks at her, and she sighs.

She looks at the field, too, trying to understand what is possibly happening in his head. But she has a strong guess, one she does not like at all. (Y/N) hates when Thomas lives more in his past than in his present life, for her, it was his biggest flaw; the way he was constantly living for memories and not for life itself. And she feels that now he is probably thinking about what happened two years ago, Grace.

(Y/N) does not care he is thinking of her, that she can understand, after all he did fall in love with her, it would not be easy, especially for Thomas who protected himself with so many walls, to forget the woman. She doesn't expect him to just stop thinking about Grace overnight, but it did hurt, sometimes, how it felt, as if she was living in the shadows of someone bigger than her. It had been Grace's mistake, but she was the one paying for it, paying for the mistakes of a woman she hadn't even met.

She also knew, of course, that it would take Thomas time to trust again, to open himself like he had before. She knew everything that revolved around a broken heart, she did, but knowing did not make anything easier to deal with. It was still hard to face Tommy and see how, even in his most present moments, a piece of him was lost. Sometimes, she would ask herself why she even stayed, when it seemed like Thomas would never love her the same way. But she did, returned to him every single time, hope, maybe, tying her to him.

“Tom, why’d you bring me here?”

Thomas had showed up in her house last night, surprising (Y/N) in the middle of the week. It was not how their encounters usually went, Thomas would see her mostly on weekends. Sometimes he would spend the night, sleep with her to leave only on Sunday morning, sometimes stay up until four pm, these nights they would dance in her kitchen while drinking whiskey. It was all simple, but what mattered was that they talked, that they would sit down to talk and would sooth each other. Everything between them was simple, even love, when it came to their realisations that they were in love. There hadn't been a confession, not from her nor from him, they had just looked at each other differently, held each other for longer, kissed with more passion than ever, and that was enough to understand.

But yesterday was very different. She could not understand what was happening, neither read it on his face. As soon as she opened the door, he was tense, eyes haunted — not like tiredness from work or exhaustion because of all his problems, but as if he had just heard terrible news and saw his world crumbling. When she greeted him with a kiss, he had not held her waist or face, and had returned the kiss distantly. Still, she breathed and let him in, hoping that she might help somehow. He didn't talk much, short answers only, but it was like he needed the attention, needed her to listen to him, so she did. After sometime, she had run out of ideas to console him and offered for them to share a meal together, and for the first time since they had known each other, he ate something. Almost unnerving, but she was so relieved that she chose to see that as a good sign. After that, Thomas just sat in silence while she cleaned the plates.

When (Y/N) finished, she turned around to see he was sitting still at the table, eyes closed, breathing like he was trying to control himself. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back tears or a scream, whatever it was, it was consuming him, drowning him in anguish. (Y/N) moved slowly, getting closer to him and delicately grabbing his hand. Then she whispered his name like a secret, like she was afraid of being caught saying that, because, in truth, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Tommy to hear it or not.

But Thomas did, and he squeezed her hand like his life depended on it, returning the touch with such a force it took her aback. It was not like he never touched her, or that he didn’t show any sign of affection such as holding her hand, but that touch was different. It was acid, burning (Y/N)'s skin in seconds and leaving a million scars behind. Thomas touched her like she was the only one capable of saving him.

It was scary. It was exhilarating. It was a breath of heaven’s pure oxygen. It was suffocating as the smoke on a fire. And it was only a touch of hand.

But it said so many things, it said that he wanted her there, that he actually needed her there. And she was happy with being wanted, but being needed was something she could not even describe, it was overwhelming. It took (Y/N)’s breath away. It made her forget everything else she needed to do, because Thomas was there, all of him, in her kitchen, holding her hand and asking her to be there for him.

With care, she walked until she was behind him, her arms adjusting perfectly in his neck, allowing his head to find a rest in her belly, it was not often Thomas would let her be the one embracing him. Usually, he would be more vulnerable after they would have an entire night together, and he would lay down between her legs and relax on her chest while she caressed him. (Y/N) started to caress his hair, gently as she could, and she noticed that with time, Thomas was melting to her touch, a small smile grew on her lips, but she kept quiet. It was the first time she felt like she could have every single piece of him with her. He sighed as she took some strands of his face, inclining his head even more.

Thomas opened his eyes suddenly, and because of his moving, they were now staring right at each other. Her heart sank with what she could see, his eyes were dark and tired, hurt. Still, she didn't say anything, knowing it had to be him the one to initiate any type of conversation about what was happening, she only kept caressing his hair. After some seconds, he reached for her left hand and kissed it, making her smile again, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she understood that it was his way of saying thank you. And, in a way, showing that he liked being near her like that. Although he seemed more calm, it didn't look like he would talk, and it was obvious how tired he was, so instead of asking anything, (Y/N) offered for them to sleep. He nodded, and they were quick to go to bed, a simple, but genuine kiss as a good night.

In the morning, he had all of a sudden woken her up with kisses on her neck — like last night hadn’t been so different, saying he wanted to take her somewhere. And yet, even though it was his idea to bring her, he hadn’t spoken since they got in here.

“I haven't come here in a long time.” He finally says something, making (Y/N) stare at him again. “My father…” Thomas takes a time to complete his sentence, “my father used to bring us here, sometimes, I hunted with him one day.”

“Hunted what?”

“A deer,” Thomas smirks, finally directing his look at her.

“You still didn’t answer me.” Thomas smirks only grows bigger at her words. “Why did you bring me here, Thomas?”

He keeps staring at her, she can’t tell everything he is thinking, but that he wants to say something and the words are hard to say, she is sure.

“I don’t know.” He confesses, and (Y/N) could have believed it if it wasn't for the hint of doubt in his tone, as if he didn't want to tell all the truth, but at the same time, didn't know all of it too.

She breathes deeply, she is trying really hard to understand him, she has been for quite some time, but he never truly gives her the chance. “It's that so?”

Thomas and her stare at each other for long seconds, it's not a battle this time, it's not her trying to reach him and him running away, (Y/N) feels as if she is already inside, but can't see what it is, and how could she? When he showed nothing before. She is not sure how to navigate this, what to search, what to ask, not this time, and that scares and frustrates her in equal amounts.

Thomas has these eyes that always make her feel naked, confused and alive. He sometimes looks at her like she is precious, like he cannot go a second without touching her, and she believes it, because his eyes are true, raw even. And then, he could look at her the way he is doing now, like she has just stabbed him, as if she has his heart in her hands to do whatever she wanted, and she decided to make him suffer. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t fair, she didn’t have him like that, so why would he stare at her with all that devotion and agony?

She chuckles, lowly and dryly, and starts to walk, leaving him behind. (Y/N) doesn't know exactly what she is feeling at the moment, but everything is a little too much. She doesn't want to have to guess, it would be nice, for once, if he could finally say it out loud.

Stopping a few steps away from him, she finally takes a better look at everything in front of her, how beautiful that field is, how breathtaking the view of the sky is with no pollution from the city. The sun hadn’t completely risen yet, some shades of purple, pink, and orange decorated the sky. It looks just like a painting, she thinks, and it hurts a bit to realise that it would be a pretty day to feel good, for her and Tommy to be doing something enjoyable.

What bothers most is that it feels like there is just one last wall between them, and she had thought she would finally have him — but it's not simple, it never is. Thomas has to be the one to take that last step, he has to be the one to, at last, face what he is feeling. If she is the one to do it, to once again try to put pieces together to understand him, it will never change, he will only come home broken and expects mending. She wants more than that, she wants genuine words being said, wants to feel more than… a fragment.

She was afraid sometimes, what if the problem was not his past love, but her? Understanding that old feelings were hard to get rid of was easy, but to which point was Thomas protecting himself from any new feelings? Did it ever become a protection against her? (Y/N) would ask herself, what was he so afraid of? Afraid of having feelings for someone again? Or was he just afraid of… her? It scared her that maybe it wasn’t love and it’s disappointments that kept them apart, maybe it was her. And that she couldn’t fix.

She kicks some rocks by her feet and holds back another frustrated sigh, feeling like maybe she wasn't being fair, that her previous insecurities and frustrations might be influencing her. (Y/N) was trying so hard, to be seen, to be heard, to be loved. Because she loved him, honestly and easily, but had she not done this before? Tried to communicate, to understand? With others that now seem pale in comparison with Thomas, but still, love was a complicated thing. For her, it had always been, since the very beginning, since she had known what love was. It was not just Thomas, no, it would be unfair to say it was only him, perhaps she also needed time to deal with what was inside her. Yet she can't help to think it is different with him, there were others before, but he is the one that matters, he is the one she wants close at all times, the one she still stays close to even with all the hurt and words unsaid, waiting, wishing.

It was Tommy, after all, making her heart feel full and empty at the same time, occupying her thoughts, making her feel like things could get better someday.

If she just had the chance to properly talk to him… to cross all the bridges and understand, maybe then a conclusion would be made, one not based on assumptions she could not fully trust.

Nevertheless, here they are, turbulent thoughts clouding each one's mind. The surroundings are beautiful, the wind making leaves float in the air, both of them with their mouths clasped shut and minds running wild.

She can't see it, Thomas thinks, this time she doesn't seem to see the truth in his eyes. He notices the way she is shrinking inside herself, body almost crumbling, and he walks to her, he is tense when he hugs her from behind, arms keeping her in a tight embrace. Thomas knows she is fighting back tears by the way she lets herself go and relaxes her head against his chest as soon as he pulls her in. He can feel the way her body is fighting, half of her not willing to rest completely.

He never truly knows what to say, he did when he was with Grace, or almost always did, a clarity coming to him when he was about to do something stupid. With (Y/N) it is different, he knows how he feels, and she says the right thing, and he lets her read him, and they go on. Sometimes he has to say it, because she is tired, because she needs him to, or simply because he feels the urge to. But now it feels like they have reached a point that if Thomas keeps being silent, things will end.

Still, for a while they just stay in silence. Thomas keeps his touch steady, not entirely conscious that he is drawing patterns on her waist until she lets out a sigh that he recognises quickly by now, contentment, he can feel her relaxing a bit more. His hands wander a bit further, tracing her belly and up her chest, and as he remembers the night they met, his touch becomes heavier. For what felt like an eternity, he had wished to touch her. It was quick, she'd always say, how they met and how they ended up in a private room. She was not aware that for him, it had felt like a long waiting.

A party that he meant to go for business only, not even much interested in said business, at least not enough to try to do it in person, he had sent John to do it, but he got sick. Never before had Thomas been so happy with his brother being ill. Had he never gone to that party, he would not have met her. And it was a truth, even though he did not say it much, but a truth nonetheless, that since they met, she was constantly taking him out of his stupor. Since he had laid his eyes on her, he felt it, hands pulling him up, making him finally blink and wake up.

It was simple between them, it had been since the beginning, he had wanted her and there was no room for questioning if he would follow her, she had corresponded in the same intensity. Slowly their lives came in between, the days apart, the reality of each one, but even then, she only told Thomas she would be waiting, and there was no room for questioning if he would come back.

On the weeks with fewer visits from him, nothing changed, on the weeks he could see her more frequently, everything did.

Although his ghosts still haunted him, it was not the same as before, he could breathe now, push them away easier. But he had never been good with words when it came to this. To confess, he used words to get what he wanted, to conquer, long gone was the time words served as a way to connect and open himself. Grace had started to change that, easily as if she was a childhood love, she had picked up his heart on her hands. Thomas had not expected it, and when it hit him, he realised how truly in love he had been. For once his intuition had left him, after such a long time creating walls upon walls, they crumbled only to have to be raised again. He had also not expected it to change, to meet someone else, and yet, he did.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, head still resting against him.

“You.”

“You are thinking about me?” He can hear the small smile on her lips.

“Yes.”

“What about me?”

“The night we met.”

“Oh.” She chuckles, as if something suddenly made sense to her. “You were so pretty that night.”

Thomas holds back a smile, like he usually does when she says something like this. “I’d say you were more.”

(Y/N) laughs and turns to look at him, distancing herself enough so they could stare, he is relieved to see there are no tears in her eyes. “I was, but it didn’t last long after I met you.”

Her arms find a place on his shoulders as she hugs him, hiding her face on the crock of his neck. She radiates warmth, and Thomas welcomes it eagerly.

“It wasn’t all my fault.” Thomas says, dead serious, because sometimes she seems to forget they burn together, and she laughs again.

He feels when her body changes after a few moments, her breathing getting erratic, he prepares himself.

“Tom?” It's nothing more than a whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking, and…” something in him is begging for him to interrupt her, he knows what is coming, he can feel it. “I think we should, you know, stop seeing each other.”

He stays quiet, his arms never leave her body.

“Why?”

She takes a long time to answer, and Thomas starts to look for words he can say, things he can do to fix whatever needs to be fixed. He knows what it is, but as her silence stretches so much, he wonders if there is something more, if there is more he did and was unaware of it, that isn't hard to imagine. He feels, somehow, the moment she shivers, her arms seem to lose strength, her embrace weakening.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath before speaking,“because… because I feel like I’m Grace’s shadow. I feel like you met me when you were desperately needing someone to replace the emptiness that she left at your heart. It’s not that I’m the same as her, no…” she hides her face even more in his body, “it’s just you wanted someone to make you forget all the pain. And it happened that I was there to be your distraction. And at the beginning, I didn't care. But now, I do.”

She stops, Thomas knows she is fighting back tears, knows that she hates having to say all of this. Then she whispers, “I care because I’m in love with you, and being someone’s shadow for the man I love isn’t my biggest wish.”

What a treacherous path Thomas had walked them into. He could not deny it what he felt in the past was real, what he and Grace had shared was still haunting him, as his deceptions and frustrations always did. He never admitted, but for him, things like that never left his mind, he just pushed them away, kept them hidden. And still, things did not need to be like this, he did not have to act like that. He did… he liked (Y/N), not just that, he loved her even. A small and fragile thing at first, threatening to hurt him, not because it hurt, but because it made him finally move on. But now, a year later, it was not that small any more, he knew what he felt, knew that he searched for her when they were apart. And Thomas had no necessity in comparing what he felt before with what he felt now, he knew it would take time for something like that to happen again — to be true, he had not even thought it would happen again, but it did, it is happening.

Thomas blinks, watching as flowers and leaves were stirred by the wind, a hollow sound surrounding them. There is so much more he probably doesn't know, more things she thinks and has kept to herself.

“You’re not Grace’s shadow.” He says in a whisper, his voice betraying him. It sounds weak, and he wanted to convey how strong his affection is. Nonetheless, he hears her sighing in relief, distancing herself from him a bit, but still not looking at his eyes.

“You love her Tom,” (Y/N) states, “you’re still deeply in love with her and all you lived by her side. If I’m not her shadow, then I’m a mere ghost of what she was.” She raises her eyes to his face, he is already staring, always staring at her.

She looks at him with so much resignation that Thomas is almost convinced he cannot change her mind.

“I’m not angry or mad or upset about this. I’m just sad.” She says it then, voice low, Thomas knows it is because she is holding tears back. “And it doesn’t matter how much I love you, I don’t want to be sad, to feel miserable every time I don’t act like someone I don't even know. I just don’t want that life for me, even if that means losing you.”

He looks away, not being able to stare at her eyes at the moment, not when he doesn't have the right words to say. It was not his intention for it to reach this point, for her to think he wants a copy of Grace. He knows he has to say it, explain himself, but it is like being paralysed. It's the kiss on his cheek that makes him finally blink, it is the way her lips are so delicate against his skin, a goodbye. She leaves his arms, turning around to go back to the car, but he holds her wrist immediately, (Y/N) stops, looking at him with knitted eyebrows.

Thomas takes in all of her at that moment, the determination clear in her eyes, eyes he has grown so accustomed to, that do not search him unless he opens himself, eyes that love him, tender him. Eyes that he cannot forget even when she is not with him. He looks at her lips, lips that have said the words he needed to hear, the ones he did not want to hear, lips that have kissed him with so much passion that he was able to forget the world for some hours. She has, slowly, found a place inside of him, roots with her name overtaking his chest. Her hair flutters around her face, she seems tired, (Y/N) offers no more resistance on her face, only resignation, but she does not pull away either. He engraves every single detail of her in his mind.

The words are not helping him, he cannot think of anything good enough to say, it is like she wiped his mind, leaving nothing but thousands of pictures of her behind. Of every moment she has used her words not to pry him open, but to convince him to do so, every moment she has held him in place instead of insisting on dragging him somewhere else.

It was at the moment, the sun shining brightly, orange light taking over the sky, making her skin seem warm to the touch, that he finally realised. It had always been simple between them, he did not need to complicate it right now, there was no need for elaborate words, only the truth. She wanted something straight-forward, (Y/N) was just asking for it to be real.

“I don’t want her,” Thomas says, words finally appearing. “I don’t want her like I want you. Not any more.”

And it was true, he had loved Grace, had felt something he thought himself incapable of after the war, and yet, it passed. She had betrayed him, and he still felt it then, sometimes still feels it now, but it passed.

She gives a step forward, “but you still love her, right?”

He allows himself to remember Grace's face, her tender touch, it was involuntary, the care that comes with it. But there is also the pang of heartbreak, the understanding and the sense of finality, there is nothing he can do to go back in time, and now, he does not want it any more. He has (Y/N), she mended what was broken. He takes a step towards her as well, hand tightening even more around her wrist, he wants her now more than he ever did.

“Yes.” he admits, because it is also true that (Y/N) can wring secrets from him. “But she’s past.”

“Is she, Tom?” She gives in a deep breath, “if that’s so, you’re a man living your days in the past. You’re always with her, even when you try to be here with me.”

“No.” he denies, low and firm, “It’s not me living in the past, (Y/N).”

“What is it then?”

He wants to say it at that moment, to confess she haunts him, that his past always does — who he was before war, who he became during it. It is a part of him now. But that is not his nature any more, to confess this easily, it takes time, and he has said more today than he ever did before. Instead, he looks at her, knowing that when nothing comes out of his mouth, that it's what denounces him, his eyes.

She reads him again. Thomas knows, he always knows when she understands. Maybe it is the look on her face, he has never been able to identify what it was, but something changed when she could get him.

“I know it ain't easy,” (Y/N) says, getting closer to him, she puts a hand on his face, “it seems to haunt you, Thomas.”

She is close now, enough that he can feel the warmth of her body again. Thomas lets himself relax against her, his hand still on her wrist, he can feel her pulse now, slightly accelerated.

“I feel left out sometimes,” she whispers, “as if she is right behind me, and I am echoing her words, or at least the words you wanted her to say.”

Thomas nods, “you are not like her.”

(Y/N) seems surprised at that, “what was she like?”

But that is too much. “You are different,” he establishes, firm enough for her to understand he does not want to talk about Grace like that. It's easier to just forget, sharing this feels strange, describing how he loved her — because it would not be just an impartial view of how she was. “And your words too, you do not echo her in my mind.”

You fixed it. Erased what hurt was left on the surface.

(Y/N) squint her eyes at him, he lets her stare into his eyes, lets her understand.

“If we…” she cleans her throat, “if you try, could this work?”

He bites his tongue to say that is already working, because yes, for him, it is, but she is opening herself to him and saying she is hurting.

“What do you want?” He asks, instead.

“You.” (Y/N) shrugs, “I know we can't be each other one and only. But it would be good if you opened yourself more, I cannot always read your mind.”

He must've frowned at that, because she immediately completes, “I know it's different for you, how you open up. I sometimes wish for words, it's true, but it is not what you can give me and I know that.” And although she understood it wrong — he was just surprised when she said she could not always read him —, he was happy to hear that.

Thomas puts a hand on her waist, pulling her and closing the distance that was left, he can feel her now, that smell that calms him every time they sleep together, he tightens his grip. There is not a world where he would refuse this, it is surprising, sometimes even slightly scary and annoying, how she managed to awaken him when he fought so much to numb himself. But he always comes back to her, always knocks on her door, because it is stupidity to refuse her, push her away, only a mad man would do that. He consumes her instead, goes to her house, drinks from her lips with such thirst it is as if he is famished, and it is never enough. Whatever she wants, he thinks, whatever she wants to stay.

She is looking at him with an indecipherable expression, but he cares not at the moment, he will have plenty of time to reflect on everything she said today, to understand her even more. Now, he searches for her lips, brushing his own against her, wanting to feel her before making the real move. He is not one for teasing, every time he does this, it is because the waiting feel as good as the actual kiss, the way he can feel her skin shivering, the way she whimpers slightly — because they are the same when it comes to this, she also has an insatiable hunger. They finally kiss, then, desperate to feel each other, it always feels like they are one at this moment, and nothing else matters.

She is the one to break the kiss, only to look at him and whisper, “I love you.”

Before Thomas can think of answering, her lips are crashing against his again, demanding, taking, and he answers it. He almost chuckles when one of her hands find her way to get under his shirt, but his own body leans into it in such a fast manner he knows he would be laughing at himself too.

Since the first time she touched him like this, he knew he had cursed himself. He knew he would be damned, growing hunger for that, fonder for her. She had scared him, and yet, proved herself to be exactly what he needed.

He broke the kiss this time, not being able to contain the smirk when he saw her drunk eyes, even though he was for sure laughing at himself too.

“I love you.”

She melts against him, smiles brightly. He does not know why he waited so long to say it, but he is usually like this, takes too long to say something important.

“You’re not her.” He finds himself saying, surprising the both of them, “you’re not her shadow.”

She nods, Thomas sees her blooming right in front of him. He feels something settling in his chest, his mind getting quieter, a miracle for its own, but even more special when he feels it because of her.

Please. He thinks as he gives a peck on her lips. Don’t ever say you’re a mere ghost, when I love you this much.

The wind was still stirring the flowers and leaves of the field, and the field was still the same, same as the sun shining in the sky. But somehow, everything seemed more right.

[dolyx]

cw hospitalization, medical malpractice

(that does make me wonder how school li's would be as nurses tho.

kylar is def the most questionable. gets scolded a lot by both the head nurse and the doctors, usually bc (1) the patients find them offputting and (2) they do not (always) follow proper health standards (has their hair unkempt most of the time, carries items that can be used as a weapon). jealousy is easy to raise. u just have to share ur room with another patient and u'd get the | + Jealousy stat everytime kylar go in and out of ur room. even more so when they catch u talking to someone else, be it a fellow patient, another nurse, a guest, etc. would def try to isolate u. move u to a more private room, tell ur visitors ur unavailable. if at high enough love/jealousy, would start interfering with your healing process. gives u the wrong drugs, throws away your prescribed drugs, might even make people believe that ur not taking ur meds properly so you get to stay longer. u cant leave them if you dont get discharged.

robin also gets scolded a lot, but less than kylar, and mostly due to their clumsiness and… clumsiness. lack of confidence, maybe? but patients love them. the other nurse and staff love them. they do tend to get a bit closer to the patients than ideal and let it interfere with their work sometimes, but everyone knows it's coming from a good intention. i don't think they'd be very problematic, tho at high love and confidence will take more night shifts bec :) somno. takes a break by sneaking into ur room and napping while cuddling u. robin can just say they're checking up on u/the other patients in the room once they're done anyway. sometimes sexual shit ensues, but they clean u up before anyone else notice.

sydney is the most normal™. kinda. im drawing up a blank for them atm but they'd be the nicest… the kindest… the goodest… and honestly the most decent nurse out of the 4 lol. very normal. acts like a typical nurse. everyone loves them. has ideal patient-nurse relationship with their patients. next in line for the head nurse. but if harper's your doctor, u bet ur ass they will try to sneak u out of the hospital as soon as possible. high corruption, they'll just bust u out. if the hospital isn't managed with someone of particular importance to syd, they'll resign and get you out of here. wherever hospital u go next, they go. if the hospital is managed by jordan/sirris though… they won't resign just yet. they'll try to reason with them first to transfer u to a different hospital/be assigned to a different doctor. if that doesn't work, will sneak you out, but will also stay for a few more days/weeks before handing in their resignation to avoid suspicion.

whitney is most popular for the wrong reasons. at low love, skips frequently. loud as FUCK. u can't really tell if they got in the field purely bc it's their passion or if it's smth pushed onto them. treats u like shit. not enough to, let's say, cause some serious damage. but he will not care abt ur comfort, only cares abt getting u out of here so they'll have less ppl to tend to. at high love, will be "nicer". scolds u out of affection, not out of wanting u to get ur ass out of here. will indirectly tell u to visit them (or share their contact info w u?) if u get discharged. if at high lust will be a little shit. expect a lot of teasing. edges the fuck out of you by his words alone. if ur in a priv room, much worse. but if you ask them nicely, maybe they'll oblige. just maybe.)

[moonspirit]

Armin is basically your guide to leaving the forest. He is what Humanity needs to retain its Humanity.

Armin is hated on so much after S4 for being "useless" and "not living up to Erwin" but people forget, Erwin was so good because he had YEARS of experience. When Erwin died, he was what, 40-ish? At 15-19, Erwin was much the same as any ordinary cadet, you can see in the flashbacks in S3 Part2, a very young Erwin crying with a wounded/dead soldier and trying to fend off a Titan.

Armin is the embodiment of what the survey corps stands for - "Understanding". He is a pacifist and optimist but not naive, he knows that he has to kill when push comes to shove. He doesn't like violence but agrees that it is necessary sometimes. There is nothing wrong with that. He's a very relatable character. Don't forget that Erwin recognised his potential. He literally looked shocked when Armin theorised Reiner to be hiding inside the walls in RTS arc. Armin is the first character in the whole show to internalize his enemies thoughts and actions and try to understand it from their pov. He always tries to talk first and when that doesn't work, he pulls the trigger. You can tell me "his talking doesn't work!" but that doesn't mean you don't try. He's convinced and manipulated people plenty of times. If your only option is always to kill first before anything else, then you're not in your right mind.

A character is not weak simply for wanting peace. Armin doesn't run from his conflicts, he always faces them head on whether he likes it or not. His yearning to choose the method with the least bloodshed is actually admirable - it's easier to just pull the trigger in a world like SnK where people hate you, no? Why go through all the effort of trying to make people understand? He's a very strong character because he stands by his convictions.

It's unfair to burden him with Erwin's legacy at this age. He's also selfless to a fault. While Erwin did care for his soldiers, he never hesitated to use them as bait. Armin lacks that trait - being ruthless. Instead he has shown time and time again that he'd rather sacrifice himself so others can go unharmed. Despite the lack of experience, he still came up with some of the best plans, strategies and deductions in the show, some of them conjured up within seconds, and all that when he was even younger than he is now. Reiner was sweating and shitting his pants when Armin figured out the Female Titan's intentions in under 30 sec. At 15, Armin secured the collosal Titan for the scouts with just 1 casualty - himself. Just a few examples. He lacks Erwin's experience and deals with a severe lack of confidence, but for his age, possesses a lethal brain and outstanding intellect.

One of his most forgotten contributions is during the Scouts vs Kenny's squad. It was his analysis of the anti-personnel ODM gear, and following strategy, that allowed the scouts to exploit the weaknesses of their opponents' weapons. They wouldn't have won those fights with such success otherwise. He's extremely perceptive. Notice that when he fucked with Bert's mind back in S2, it was bec apart from Reiner (who knew from long ago), only he had noticed Bertie boi had a thing for Annie. He pays attention to his surroundings. He picks up on every little detail. He knows where to hit where it hurts. His 'Annie' strategy with Bert in S3P2 fails because he didn't realize Bert was a different person, someone who had stopped Annie from being his weakness. That was a crucial lesson Armin had to learn, but he learned it. He's very good with his words. People don't want him to open his mouth and change their minds (eg, Connie with Falco, Daz & Samuel). He's a genius strategist and war tactician in the making, give him a few years and see what he becomes.

One of my most favourite moments is during the table scene with Eren before getting beaten up, the only psychological attack Eren fired at Armin ("You're only visiting Annie cuz of Bert"), did not sting Armin at all, it only shocked him that Eren would try to bullshit him into that false logic when clearly Armin knew better. So Eren chose to beat him up, but Armin still had the final word. "You're the slave Eren" absolutely got under Eren's skin.

He isn't dumbed down post S4, it's just that the stakes are infinitely higher.

There's a lot of blame on him for "not doing anything in those 4 years despite having a genius brain" etc etc. Armin wasn't commander. They were dealing with a hostile world which they were desperately trying to understand for the first time in a 100-year history of being isolated inside the walls. It is one thing to understand people inside the walls and fuck them up (like Erwin did multiple times) but another entirely to deal with several countries in a world you discovered overnight. Politics and diplomacy is hard af. I doubt Armin would have been able come up with some 20/20 vision plan at that point to end the whole conflict anyway. Pixis didnt. Hange also didn't. Nobody did! The island had other intelligent people too!

Regarding Erwin, the whole point of his death was to show that he was put to rest from his suffering. It is the end of Erwin's story.

I dare say that if Armin had become Erwin 2.0, the haters would have said "Oh, he's just a copy of Erwin, he's not his own person!" So, conclusion: he's not supposed to be Erwin. He's his own person with his own methods and he's 19, leave him alone and please compare people with comparable experience.

Dude also went through a ton of issues as a young kid and has a severe inferiority complex, guilt at being revived instead of Erwin and the constant pressure of living in Erwin's shadow. Add to that his best friend of 19 years disappears, forces him to nuke a port and kill people against his desires, then pushes him away, doesn't explain shit, snaps and goes on a mass murder spree - you have a guy under extreme duress and he's still thinking of the big picture on Paradis, that genocide is wrong even though it's his best friend doing it. He has already subconsciously realised that they cannot stop Eren without joining hands with the same enemies they tried to kill a while ago. So despite having a mental breakdown, he still goes to get Falco back, because as a person, he values humanity and understanding above everything and can't watch another one of his comrades lose his shit and feed a lil kid to a Titan.

I also believe that Armin knew Falco was a decent kid, considering what he was taught in Marley, and choosing to save him was symbolic in that Armin wants to save the one kid who sees through the fucked up hate. In this moment he was the closest he'd ever been to Erwin (since Erwin's death) with that calculated risk, but also very true to being *himself* , very Armin, because he jumped to his death, aka, selfless. Rescuing Falco was a v good call, not only because the kid is a shifter and therefore necessary to form the alliance, but also cuz if you are a manga reader, well, you know why. He slapped sense into Connie, rescued Falco, showed a young Gabi what compassion meant and won her trust , and laid down the foundation for the Alliance before even knowing Hange and Levi were alive. He always sees the bigger picture.

And don't even start with the whole AruAni hate, they had a thing going on right from S1 during training years. If anything, Bert's memories of Marley only reinforced his already existing feelings for Annie and he "understood" her. He didn't forgive her. He "understood" her. See what I'm getting at? AruAni only further supports the fact that children of war are just children in the end, and love can permeate even that imaginary barrier of being on "opposite sides". It's a beautiful ship and I'm fucking glad it's canon. Something to smile about in this depressing show T_T

Kenny's ideology of "everyone being a slave to something" applies to nearly everyone on the show. But not Armin. From his birth, he has only been motivated by one thing - curiosity to see, curiosity to understand, curiosity to experience. There is nothing that ties him down so much that he can't die and give up. He is arguably the most "free" character in the whole of SnK.

Eren sets out to achieve freedom at the cost of freedom itself. But for Armin, freedom is simply the beauty of simple, little things. They are the two sides of the same coin.

I'm not being aggressive in any way, my comment is only to throw some light on Armin's character. I respect everybody's opinions at the end of the day and I'm not engaging in any wars.

[not-without-my-oreos]

Request from: @superficial-ly

Title: Actions

Pairings: Jemily (Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau)

Genre: Hurt/Romance

Summary: Emily is a little jealous of just how much JJ is talking to Hotch.

Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em.

Comments: This was fun but also difficult to write. I don’t write jealousy well, but I hope you enjoy!

Send me fic ideas, cute stuff, and requests here

Words often fell short, it was usually actions that spoke loudest. The way she would tuck her hair behind her ear with that schoolgirl grin. She used to give Emily that same smile. The way her sparkling blue eyes would only light up more with him around made her blood boil. They were close, standing next to each other while JJ delivered the brief. He placed his hand on the small of her back when she was done and he started giving orders. JJ was always standing next to Emily - always within touching distance. It was always that way. Was it something she said? Something she did? Was it the perfume she was wearing? She hated him with his GI-Joe physique and Indiana Jones haircut. The stoic look on his face but then he smiles - when she tracks his eyes - he’s smiling at the blonde. Emily felt like her world was starting to spin, she could feel her cheeks flushing and her chest starting to heave. Why was she feeling this way?

Their relationship had been nothing more than a way to scratch an itch. Time away, time home, they barely had time to date - never mind form a meaningful relationship with someone who wasn’t on the team. JJ and Emily were inevitable, and Emily loved it. She loved the rush of them maybe getting caught, the sneaking from one room to another, secret note exchanges, and smiles. They only intertwined when on a case and this was the first one in a couple of weeks worthwhile. One that required the whole team and not just Gideon going to consult. She missed how her skin felt, her scent and the way her back would arch when Emily hit that perfect spot. She felt like she was missing a piece of her throughout the case lull. JJ didn’t text her as often as she used to, didn’t call her to talk about the Bachelor, or even see if she wanted her to meet outside of work. The secret notes shared had stopped and Emily didn’t know why. She looked back at the file, desperate for something to take her mind off the blonde but nothing worked. She’s spiralling she’s-

“Emily?” A voice breaks through the haze.

Her head snaps up, the room is empty. Everyone had parted to get their go-bags and finalise anything before they departed for Arizona. Her eyes fixate on where the voice comes from. Mistake not yet made. She forces a smile looking at Spencer Reid. The tall, scruffy-looking profiler with the top button of his shirt open and crooked tie. If he was shorter - he’d be mistaken for a British schoolboy. Concern itched his brow as if he’d seen this look before and he had many times. A room full of profilers and it had to be Spencer to notice. He noticed everything. Emily could wear her hair differently and Spencer Reid would notice. He had a big heart and was always concerned for his friends and sometimes, that was a fault. Emily wasn’t in the mood to answer prodding questions or dodge interview tactics. He’d been working with Gideon on how to get an unsub to say exactly what the profiler wants - within reason. She didn’t need to be a hamster for practice.

“You okay?” He asked.

Another forced smile.

“Yeah,” Emily replied. “Did everyone…”

“Hotch said we’re going to Arizona.”

“Oh, right!” She started to gather herself faking another smile but a blush creeping her cheeks. How could she let herself float away like that?

“You were watching Hotch and JJ… then you disassociated.”

Fucking mind reader.

“I just got a little headache.” She smiled holding the file close to her chest.

“Is it bec-“

“Leave it alone, Spence.” She said as she turned to walk away from him. She had no idea what he was about to say - and she wasn’t going to find out.

The team didn’t know, the FBI couldn’t know. There were so many channels, so much paperwork and usually transfers. The last thing Emily wanted was to be transferred away from JJ. Her biggest fear was losing the blonde. They kept everything a secret, not that there was anything to truly hide. They weren’t in a relationship, no matter how much Emily wanted to be. They didn’t go on dates, hold hands, or even grab coffee. At most, they would tease each other on the jet, stroking thighs and calves under the table. Emily didn’t exactly know when their little meetings started. It was a way to relieve the stress of the cases. A small moment to relax.

She tried to hide her head in a book, she tried to focus on something that wasn’t JJ’s voice piercing through Spencer and Morgan talking behind her. When she looked up, watching them in conversation on the other side of the jet - she felt her stomach drop. He smiled - he doesn’t fucking smile but he smiled at her. It’s hard not to. JJ was beautiful. She was flawless in every way. He placed his hand on hers and Emily felt her blood boil. She knew her temple vein was popping. She swallowed as Gideon sat opposite her. Fuck. Insanity rolled into a single person in cargo pants. The fuck did uncle want now? She watched him for a moment, settle into his seat and pull out a book. He was just getting comfortable - her head was clogged. How can she do her job when she can’t stop thinking about JJ and Hotch? He doesn’t laugh, why was he laughing? He doesn’t smile? Why was he smiling? He doesn’t fucking talk, why is he talking!? Why? She laughed again - he laughed, and they were both laughing.

She stood from her seat and walked towards the part of the jet where sat refreshments. Hidden from everyone else as she leaned against the wall - her heart thumping in her ears over and over again and then… her head shot up when she smelled that perfume when she heard that little laugh. Emily’s pupils dilated looking at the beautiful blonde as she made coffee. JJ’s eyes glanced up with a sparkle as she picked up a paper cup.

“You’ve not spoken to me this whole flight,” JJ commented as she poured out hospital-grade coffee. “Usually you’re sitting opposite me with your foot dancing on my shin.” She smirked. When she heard no response she looked up with a frown. “Em?”

She was frozen. Was this a panic attack over the thought of losing JJ to Hotch? She could feel her palms becoming warm as she tried to fight off that feeling of dread washing over her. God, she didn’t want to be in the air anymore. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She hated this feeling, she hated that she had them for JJ. She ignored her. Instead, she pushed everything aside and dropped a tea bag into a paper cup.

“What?” She replied coldly.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked.

“Would you care if I was?” Emily looked up.

JJ frowned. “Did I do something wrong?” She asked.

“I dunno? Did you?” Her eyes shot to Hotch, sitting there reading over the file.

JJ followed her gaze. “Are you having a childish tantrum because I’m sat next to Hotch?” She frowned even more in disbelief.

“Sat? You’ve been looking at him like a gooey teenager! You haven’t spoken to me at all in the last week - then suddenly you’re all over Barbie’s recalled Ken!” She kept her voice at a hushed whisper.

She stuck the cup under the hot water tap and pressed the small red button to cover her teabag. Barbie’s recalled Ken? Great insult, that shouldn’t get back to him at all. She didn’t have a right to be angry, they weren’t a couple and why was JJ even questioning why Emily wasn’t sitting opposite her? Did she want her to?

“Wow, that’s a cute insult,” JJ replied. “You sit up all night thinking that one up, Prentiss?” She asked picking up her coffee.

“Fuck you…” Emily muttered under her breath. “You haven’t talked to me, called me, wanted to hang out - anything then suddenly you’re on Hotch.”

“Because we’re going over the case, Emily. We are not a couple.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you? Because you’re acting like a jealous fucking teenager.”

JJ rolled her eyes and picked up her coffee. “I’m going back to my seat.” She mumbled. “If you want something, fucking take it.”

Before she could step away from the brunette, Emily grabbed her wrist. JJ turned, looking at the agent with a perplexed expression, but suddenly that changed into pure shock as she was pushed against the wall of the jet. Emily captured her lips in a passionate kiss, her hands settled on the blonde’s waist, rising upwards with JJ’s shirt. Emily’s fingers danced on pale skin as the kiss deepened. She felt lithe fingers tangle in her hair tugging and pulling as she stifled a moan. Emily’s skin was on fire, and JJ’s fingers danced along her neck running down her chest.

“I’ve been waiting for this…” JJ’s voice laced with a passionate husk as their kiss broke.

“I’m gonna be as monosyllabic as possible - I don’t give a fuck, as soon as your ass is on this jet - it’s mine.” She pushed her back even further against the wall. JJ struggled to keep her coffee up. “And then as soon as you get off this jet - you’re whoever you wanna be. But here - during a case, you’re mine.”

She likes this side to Emily - it was playful and possessive and a side she’s never seen before. She stepped away with her coffee. Looking back at Emily as she walked back to her seat. All the brunette could do was smirk as she stirred her tea.

[winstonsns]

Hiii I was wondering if you can do the Curtis gang with a platonic little Curtis sister who’s like Lucy loud from the loud house?

the gang and child lucy loud!reader (request)

authors note: please bear with me guys i have 16 requests in my inbox rn LMAO. this was fun to write, i hope you enjoy 💗 TUMBLR ISNT LETTING ME POST THIS HOLY SHIT

includes ponyboy, johnny, soda, darry, dally, two-bit and steve

word count: 1.5k

warnings: cussing, mentions of being jumped and made fun of

PONYBOY CURTIS

because you’re pony’s sister and so close in age, you’re extremely close to each other

you and pony feel like you can tell each other anything even though you’re naturally pretty closed off

the two of you are academically smart and love reading and poems, both of you talking around once a week about a new poem you’ve read and how you felt about it

he began to read edgar allan poe poems, pony giving you a book filled with all of poe’s creations so you could talk about it more

both of you are quiet, sometimes enough to hear a pin drop because you’d rather listen in on conversations rather than interact in them

you prefer to talk to one another in private, both of you being next to each other in several settings but no one seeing you talk to each other

if anyone tried to mess with you or if he hears someone talking shit about you, he’ll ask, “you talkin’ ‘bout my sister?” and give them a sharp glare, a warning not to do it again

JOHNNY CADE

like you, johnny’s very skeptical of things and is always alert of what’s around him

he really enjoys being around you and pony, the three of you aren’t necessarily the closest in age all together but you’re all so different but so alike

he always tries to take care of you like how the gang takes care of him, wanting you to have a better life than he does

he doesn’t necessarily like fighting but will defend you if you get into trouble

the two of you are very aware of everything that is around you, always skeptical of people and not fully trusting others

you’ll talk to one another on whether or not you feel like you should trust a specific person or go to a certain event, knowing some socs might try to jump you

he thinks you’re unsettling at times though, you’ll sleep in the same position the whole night and won’t move in the morning, you basically normally stay still all the time

it also freaks him out that you can be in another room, far away from him then he’ll call your name and you’ll be right next to him

he loves being around you, you’re different from anyone he’s ever met and he really enjoys that

SODAPOP CURTIS

soda protects you all the time and is always with you, the both of you notice nearly everything and hardly miss a detail

even though you and soda aren’t the closest in age, he feels like he can talk to you about anything

he helped you become a little more social and persuaded you to open up to others

the two of you are basically opposites, people will see a handsome guy who’s bubbly and smiling at nearly everyone he sees, then next to him is a girl wearing gothic clothes, quietly observing her surroundings

most of the time, soda picks you up from school and will sometimes drop you off at the DX with him so you can talk together while he’s working

if anyone tries messing with you or makes fun of you, soda sticks up for you and even beats someone up if they try to hurt you

his main goal is for you to know that you aren’t alone, you can talk to him if you feel the need to or just to talk about your problems

you voice your concerns and tell him he can always come to you too if he needs to, being with him makes you feel full and happy inside even though others don’t see it

DARRY CURTIS

although you were like neither of your parents, darry feels the most obligated to take care of you

because you are the only girl in the family, he takes extra precautions to make sure you’re safe wherever you go

you’re his favorite sibling because i said so

since you know he has a lot of weight on his shoulders because he feels the need to take care of you and your siblings, you try to listen to him so his job can be easier

he gets a bit frustrated sometimes because you don’t show emotions as often as others, it causes him to wonder if you are actually mentally okay

but one day, darry asks you if you’d like to help out with the cake even though he was expecting you to say no

but you say yes, the two of you begin to make the cake and by the time it’s in the oven, there’s flour on the countertops and you thank him, “thanks for asking me to help you, darry.” not even directly looking at him but the appreciation was visible

he then realized you were capable of emotion, as was he although the two of you were viewed as people who never showed their feelings

DALLAS WINSTON

dally thinks your style is so cool, he occasionally swipes something from your favorite clothing store and gives it to you

the two of you actually really get along because it’s hard to tell if you care about him and if he cares about you

the both of you show it in small ways though like when you speak about how much you appreciate the time you have with him

or when he notices and points out a new shirt or accessory you’re wearing, knowing you like to be noticed in that way

you’re one of the kids he can actually tolerate and get along with

if he hears someone talking bad about you then they end up going home with a broken rib

he taught you how to fight, giving you a switchblade with good qualities and looks to your liking

he honestly gets really freaked out when you appear out of nowhere, he’ll be talking to johnny then will turn around to see you looking up at him

you always wear some type of covering over your eyes, whether it’s bangs or sunglasses, dally will let you borrow his sometimes

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

keith likes how you feel free to act however with no shame, socs stay away from you because you’re a little kid and they believe you know too much

basically, they just don’t beat you up or anything because they think you can do way more than others are aware of

sometimes you’ll go over to keith’s house so you can play with his sister, he loves how the two of you get along well

you’ve also protected her from getting hurt, her brother really appreciates that

he thinks your style is pretty cool because you’ll dress sort of gothic, he wonders where you get those clothes and sometimes steals some for you

once, he asked the gang if they wanted to go to a pool where it was mostly socs, all of the others were busy but you went with him

he expected you to just put your feet in but you came out with a full on swimsuit

he didn’t know you were capable of having fun, but you later confessed you just wanted to spend time with him

he also tries to make you laugh with his jokes, most of the time you only smile at them though

STEVE RANDLE

when steve first met you he fucking hated you, then he grew to appreciate you

he never really had a reason to dislike you, but gave in and started to get closer with you when soda had told him you were cool

steve finds your monotone voice pretty calming, he likes having full on conversations with you and talking about cars

probably thought you were a sociopath up until you researched more about cars so you could talk about it with him, you told him about it

he then realized you actually cared about the friendship and begins to appreciate you more

he’s surprised when you tell him you listen to death metal, he expected you to listen to angsty music

although he dislikes ponyboy, he enjoys being around you and wants you to hang out with the gang as a group

he gets really pissed off when people make fun of you, always defending your name and getting all up in their faces if something bad is connected to you

[gugugagacodons]

MANIFESTATION IS EASY!!!

i had someone ask me, “what if i wish to manifest X because if X doesn’t manifest only bad things will happen"

yst i came across this post and this is literally my fav post ever because even tho i always think this, i’ve never found the words to articulate it this well.

and then i realised, that if you can manifest anything, you can manifest coming out of the desperate state, get rid of overthinking and anxiety, do away w negative thoughts etc.

MANIFESTATION IS NOT MAGIC. MANIFESTATION IS REAL. YOU ARE CONSTANTLY MANIFESTING. INTROSPECT AND YOU'LL REALISE THAT EVERYTHING IS A CONSEQUENCE OF YOUR MANIFESTATIONS I.E. THINKING.

here are some things i do for better and anxiety free manifestation:-

dr = desire reality cr = current reality

detach from your dr (desired reality): sometimes we get so obsessed w our dr that in order to manifest it, we start looking at it from the perspective of lack and since manifestation is ultimately bringing your state of mind to life, the only thing that gets strengthened as a fact is that you LACK it. (check the link in the intro of this post) to be able to manifest it freely, you need to detach. set a timestamp of maybe a week or two where you swear you won’t think ANYTHING related to dr. i did this once where i wanted person X to reach out to me, and then for a week of no contact and no thinking about them, boom they reached out to me exactly how i imagined it.

tell yourself you deserve your dr: in Roxie Nafousi’s book “Manifest”, she clearly states that you only manifest what you think you deserve. think of the times you have manifested some things and you haven’t. now compare the self concepts you had while manifesting each of them. i’m sure you’ll feel a stark difference of self worth in both scenarios. while having a good self concept is not absolutely necessary to manifest, it is better to have a good self concept in order to feel you deserve everyth bec really, you DO deserve everyth. in all, wtv you are desiring, you first need to tell yourself that it’s absolutely not a big deal that it happens to you, and you do deserve your dr. (you can try badmouthing/pointing flaws in your dr so that it doesn’t feel unachievable to you).

accept the situation as it if first: okay i need y’alls to HEAR ME CAREFULLY. so, you wish to change your cr (current reality) bec you are not happy/satisfied w it. but do you feel comfortable w being in it? have you accepted the situ as it is? ofc if you wish to manifest your life outside of your current life, you do not like your cr. but if you absolutely do not accept it or make terms w your cr, it will only make you more miserable, it will increase your desperation. and we don’t want that. when i wish to manifest smth i do not have in my cr, i firstly accept my cr and come to terms w it.

find a motive: i move thinking that i wish to manifest bec i wish to change this, cr is not making me happy. this gives you the MOTIVE to manifest. embrace the change from cr to dr and implement that. having a clear, defined motive escalates it several folds.

accept that you already have it: okay i know it’s hard to simple live like it, but when you are detached from your goal, it is easier for you to live the way you would when you already have your dr. distract yourself. don't dwell on thoughts of dr. your present needs your more. when you live in the present, it's easier for your to forget about the dr.

you're the absolute maker of your life: this fact used to give me so much anxiety before, bec it used to feel burdensome. but now it makes me powerful. always remember that since you are maker of your reality, you can NEVER NOT MANIFEST. you can NEVER MANIFEST INCORRECTLY. so stop w your intrusive thoughts.

makes fake POVs: okay this technique helps me a lot to keep myself from wavering. so quantum mechanically, since everything is energy, i picture that every time i affirm, the energy of my affirmations is helping to convert that energy into 3d mass. so whenever i check the 3d for my manifestations, i tell myself that the characters of the dr are working right now to make dr come true in the best way possible.

do not react to the 3d: what i have seen is that even when there are things going super wrong in 3d right this very moment, but when i don't react to them, the 3d IMMEDIATELY rewards me and turns it into my favour. not reacting to your 3d and having control on your emotions is the best manifestation gift you can give to yourself. as a very emotional person i did that and my manifestation journey changed wonders. do not think realistically. ever.

lastly, intro-fkn-spect: i'm so sorry for the cuss, but i cannot cannot CANNOT emphasize enough on how much introspection helps me personally to manifest. one thing abt introspection that helps me is to remember the times i was able to manifest. bec we are CONSTANTLY manifesting, it's literally not difficult to not manifest dr w/i days or even hours. and this makes me feel so powerful, and the fact that it doesn't matter what i do, i just need to stay true and committed to my dr. that is literally all.

always, always remember. you attract what you are. you manifest what you think you deserve. you keep what you resonate with.

[lostfirefly]

'Cause honey your soul can never grow old, it's evergreen, baby your smile's forever in my mind and memory

It's Friday night! We're going to celebrate Catherine's birthday! Woohoo! Buggy wants to give her a fun day.

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Warnings: Hint of fingering at the beginning (not described), fluff (unicorns say hi!), Catherine is too emotional (because she loves her silly clown so much), small references to the original story.

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Masterlist

Words: 3975

The title is taken from "Thinking Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran.

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots

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“I’ll never ever ever bring you sandwiches to your fucking circus again in my life.” Catherine sat on Buggy's lap wearing only a T-shirt and tried to regain her breath.

“I told you, cotton candy, it's not my fault! You're the one who came here.” 

“You always have the same answer “it's not my fault”. Could you please remove your..?” Catherine looked down between her legs where his hand was. "Don't say “one more round” again, you'll kill me.”

Buggy grinned evilly and took his hand away. “But that was good, right? I love seeing you like this. Destroyed and pleading.” 

“Oh, screw you and your chop chop abilities, Buggy. You've ruined me in every possible way. I was just a simple, humble librarian who occasionally went on dates with decent men.” Catherine climbed off his lap onto the couch and began pulling on her underwear and jeans.

"Oh, come on, Cathie-pie! I’m more than sure that you’ve always been like this. You've just met the wrong men!” He wiped his hand on a wet towel. 

"I wasn't! I was just a regular girl...” Catherine put on her sneakers, sat on Buggy's lap again and wrapped her hands around his neck. ”Who sometimes even went on double dates just to support my sister. I thought I could meet a good guy. But I didn't think one day I would meet the best guy ever. That jerk was drinking whiskey at the bar. You see? The universe has been so favorable to me”

"It pisses me off to think that you were seeing someone.” Buggy made an angry face, put one arm around her waist and with the other he began stroking her arm. “Listen. Can I ask a question?

“I think after what you've just done, you don't need to ask permission.” She pecked him on the lips. “Hi, asshole!” 

“Hey, my little shit. So.. My question. Well..  Don't.. Don’t you regret staying here with me?" 

"What? Of course not! What kind of stupid thoughts are going through your blue-haired head again?” Catherine playfully tapped his head and looked at his eyes. He was worried.

“I don't know.. You had your own life there. Family. Handsome, rich and sucessfull men with normal noses were hovering around you. What can I offer you? All I have is circus. A pathetic clown with circus. Sometimes I think..” He started mumbling.

“Hey! Shush!" She grabbed his chin and turned his face towards her. "Even though the weather in Cairo is hot and you are always hot…”

Buggy looked at her surprisingly.

“Don't look at me like that. You know what I mean. I love my life here with you. I love the way you spoil me, the way you pamper me and how you cheer me up. I love that we're going on our new little adventure soon. I also love you and your big red nose. I know it's...well...your sore subject and it took me a while to figure out how not to piss you off with my touch. And I love to look at your dissatisfied and frightened face every time I do this…” She barely touched her lips to his nose. “And this…” She playfully touched his nose with her finger. 

“My face isn't dissatisfied and frightened! Grown men don't get frightened!”

“Grown men don't, but you do. And hey! I’m not finished with romance yet, clown. Don't interrupt me and don't scare off my pink ponies, they just started running on the rainbow.” Catherine kissed him on his cheek. “I also know that I love when you hug me, because your hands are the safest place in the world. And I also know that even though you're afraid someone will take me away from you, you won't let that happen. You will chop chop them all using your chop chop thing." She showed scissors movements with her fingers.

“I’ll never ever let anyone take you away.” He kissed her on her lips. “At least I’ll try. Hey! By the way, my Cathie-pie! Don't forget! Tomorrow is my favorite day of the year! Your birthday!!”

“What? We've only been dating for a few months and my birthday is already your favorite day of the year?” She ran her fingers through his hair. 

“Yes! Since the moment I fell in love with you!”

"By the way, you never told me when it happened."

“Don't change the subject, please.” Buggy was embarrassed. He blushed and squinted his eyes. “So.. How do you want to spend your day? Any requests?”

“I don't know. I don't like my birthday. Let's just stay home, under a blanket with pizza, wine and stupid movies.” She moved her hand and started running her fingers along his neck. 

“Geeez!” He rolled his eyes. “Nursing homes are more fun on birthdays. What about the party? Let's throw a party in honor of my baby! I wanna show my girl to the whole world! And I wanna see your smile!”

“I don't know, Buggy. I'm always sad on that day and I usually don't want to see anyone. But don't worry, you are invited!” She kissed him on his cheek. 

“Even though we live under the same roof, I'm still honored and happy to accept the invitation. But no! You're dating me! Buggy the Clown. Buggy the Clown cancels sadness on your birthday.”

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Catherine opened her eyes early in the morning and at first she didn't realize what had happened. The room was completely silent and Buggy's side of the bed was empty. Every night he practically squeezed her in his arms and snored loudly right in her ear. At one time Catherine carried his head and arms to another room but the body parts always found their owner. In time she got used to it and couldn't imagine sleeping without Buggy lying next to her, clinging to her body with a dead grip. And snoring. Loudly.

Catherine got out of bed, dressed in her pajama pants with duckies and wide t-shirt (it was Buggy's, of course), and carefully opened the bedroom door leading to the living room.

“Is anyone there? Buggy? Do I need to be scared? Can I come out of the bedroom?" 

There was only silence in response. She stepped out into the living room. No one. Catherine heard some noise in the kitchen and swearing. She walked quietly to the door and knocked. 

"My beloved clown, are you...?" Catherine started to open it.  

"No, no, no! You can't come in here!!!" He slammed the door.

"Ouch! What the fuck, Buggy?!!" Catherine held her nose.

"What happened?" Buggy's head peeked out from behind the door. 

"What happened?! You hit my nose with the door!"

"Fuck! Let me see!" He quickly examined her face. "I'm sorry about that, my Cathie-pie."

"And you should be! " She said in a goonish voice.

"But there's good news! No injuries and blood. You're still beautiful, even though you're wearing those stupid duck pajamas." Buggy checked her nose again. "Everything is fine. And by the way, happy birthday, baby girl!" He put his arm around her waist and lifted her slightly above the floor. Catherine quickly wrapped her legs around him and hugged his neck with her arms. 

"Thank you, jackass. If you kiss me, maybe I'll forgive you." 

He smashed his lips into hers. 

"I hate you." 

“Damn! You’re too early with your “I hate you” today.” Buggy laughed and kissed her neck. 

Catherine gently pushed his face away with a strong "no" and looked toward the kitchen. "What are you doing in there? And why are you covered in flour?" 

"Actually, I was going to make you your favorite pancakes but as I understood I'm not a good cook." 

"Pancakes? For me? Thank you!" Catherine pecked him on his lips. "Let's check it out.”

“B-but…”

“Sh! Don't deprive me of the joy of judging you." She jumped to the floor and walked into the kitchen. 

"Good Lord, a hurricane named Buggy has clearly swept through this room. Have you been fighting with Godzilla here? All the tables are covered in flour, shells, I even see broken egg marks. I'm not cleaning that up!" She laughed loudly. 

"Don’t mock me! Give me five minutes and it'll be fine. In the meantime, hold your coffee and go to the living room." Buggy gave her a mug of coffee and carefully led her out of the kitchen.

Catherine had been sitting on the couch for about thirty minutes when another rumble and swearing came from their kitchen. She got up and walked toward the sound. 

"Buggy, is everything okay? Do you need any help?" 

"No! Fuck!" The sound of a chair being kicked came from behind the door.

She opened the door and saw a tray of burnt brownies and Buggy holding onto his arm. "What happened? What's wrong with your arm?" 

"I'm fine. But these fucking brownies are not. They are burnt, I think." He said in an irritated voice.

"Let me see your hand." 

"NO! I told you, I’m fine!" Buggy pulled back his hand.

"Stop being a drama queen, let me check." She gently took his hand, muttered something to herself, pulled a first aid kit out of a drawer and sprayed his palm with the spray. "That's it. You'll live!" 

She looked at his distraught face and pressed herself to his chest. "Ooh, my silly clown, don't be upset. I'm more than sure the pancakes and brownies are delicious. Better pour me some wine and let's try them." 

He grudgingly, grumbling and pouting, shuffled his feet toward the wine cabinet. Catherine smilingly sat down in a chair. One floating hand brought her wine, the other placed the burnt pancakes on the table. They were, of course, soggy in places but she didn't want to upset Buggy so she kept silent. "It's really good. I'm even thinking of passing the cooking torch to you!"

"Don't lie to me, they're disgusting." He sat next to her and angrily pushed the plate away. 

"I never lie to you. They taste good to me." She finished the pancakes and Buggy set the brownies on the table. 

"My favorites! Thank you!" She cautiously stuck a fork into the brownie and tasted a piece. "Wow! Delicious! Seriously! It's delicious! Taste it yourself!" She brought the fork up to his mouth. Buggy ate a piece and visibly cheered up. 

"See! You were worried for nothing." 

She took a second brownie, put her feet on a chair and kept her eyes on Buggy while she was eating the desert. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He visibly tensed. 

"Me? I just.. You made me a delicious breakfast, even though you're covered in flour," She brushed the flour residue out of his hair. "Thank you so much, my pancake hero! No one's ever done that for me before."

"Not even these former suitors of yours and that fucking Jamba Bamba?" Buggy leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and looked at Catherine with a look of a mixture of jealousy and pride.

"Someone's jealous! Admit it!" She smiled wryly and ate another bite of brownie.

“I’m not!!” Buggy was red-faced. 

Catherine started laughing. "You're such a fool. I love you."

Buggy said they were going for a walk after breakfast. Catherine quickly went to the bathroom to tidy up and then went to the bedroom. She decided to wear a light blue calf-length dress with long thin sleeves that perfectly matched with the hair color of her beloved clown and white sneakers. 

"Are you ready?" Buggy's voice came from behind the closet door. 

"Give me thirty s.... Wow!" Catherine was speechless. "Well, hello, handsome! Why are you all dressed up?" 

She couldn't take her eyes off Buggy. Catherine had never seen Buggy like this. In addition to fresh make up, he was wearing a light pink shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, in a black vest and pants, and a black tie. He tied his hair into a ponytail, knowing she would like it.

"Just wow!" She watched him blush under his makeup. "You see? I don't even have words!" 

Buggy reddened instantly. Catherine closed the closet door, took two steps forward, took his hands and stood on tiptoe. "I love you so much, my blue-haired asshole!". She kissed him on his lips. 

"I can't blame you for that, cotton candy."

As he promised, Buggy entertained Catherine all day. He tried so hard to keep the smile on her face (although it didn’t always work). He took her to the amusement park because he couldn't forgive Jumba Bumba for not being able to arrange a proper date. Catherine joked about his jealousy. Buggy kept saying “no, I’m not jealous, someone just needs to show Jemba Bemba how real man organizes dates.” She kept saying she loved him, he would endlessly guffaw and avoid answering.

It amused her though knowing his story, she was already more aware of how difficult it was for him to express his feelings and emotions. He showed his love through gifts and deeds, though the words she liked to hear so much also slipped into his conversations. 

“A-a-nd this is cotton candy for my cotton candy!” He held out a pink fluffy sugar ball on a stick to her hand. 

“You stole it again?” 

He shrugged and smiled. “Who knows?”

“I know! What am I gonna do if you get caught and put in jail, huh? Here, try this." She tore off a piece of cotton candy, put it in his mouth and licked her fingers. 

Buggy's face changed. "Don't do that again."

"Don't do what?" Catherine gazed at him with round eyes. 

"That's what you just did, baby. Please don't do that again. It's very dangerous." He narrowed his eyes slightly and clenched his teeth. 

Catherine stared at him for a split second. "Oh my god! You're disgusting sometimes." She started laughing mockingly. “I bet, you're probably dying now!” 

“I’m not! I can control myself!” He blushed under his makeup. 

"Yeah-yeah! This is said by the man who yesterday did what… well, what you did.” She ruffled his hair. “Thank you so much for this day, Buggy! And for this little plushie octopus you won at the shooting gallery. I guess I'll name it after you.” Catherine waved a small pink toy in front of his nose and put it in her bag. “This is probably the most fun birthday ever!” 

“Anything for you, my amazing red-haired pie. So! Our next step isn't far away from this place. And you know it perfectly. Let's go!” He took her hand and led her to the next place.

They reached the bar soon.

“At Arlong’s?” She glanced at him blankly. 

“This is where we met, right?” He led her inside and escorted her to the bar counter. “And at this place one beautiful girl began to grumble at me.”

“I didn’t grumble, don't lie!"

“Oh, come on. You were ready to strangle me with your hands."

"Because you poked me with a slobber bottle and you seemed like a narcissistic asshole to me!" 

"I’m still a narcissistic asshole!" He kissed her hand. "But luckily for my pie, one night on our adventure changed everything and I wasn't so eager to leave you in the desert anymore. Wait. Why are you...?" He looked at her eyes, wet with tears. 

"I'm sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. Either because you arranged such an amazing day for me, or because you didn't leave me in the desert, or because you remember some little things about how we met. It’s all your fault!” She lightly hit him on the shoulder. "But these are tears of happiness, don't worry, please."

He wiped her tears, kissed her forehead and snapped his fingers. At that same second, musicians, led by a skeleton conductor, ran out onto a small stage. 

"Cairo never ceases to amaze me." Catherine sniffed and giggled again. 

They sat down on chairs at the bar. His friends, whom she knew well, were invited to the party too. Buggy apologized for not being able to bring her sister, since she had gone somewhere with her boyfriend. But she gave her a gift. Catherine was on the verge of tears again.

"Did I do something wrong again?" He asked with concern in his voice and took her hand. 

"No-o-o! Everything is ok! I can't believe you organized all this for me. That you even wanted to invite my sister. And the music band with a skeleton in a suit. They're playing my favorite songs!" She chuckled and wiped her tears. “I’m fine. Sorry. I won't cry again. I promise!” 

Buggy kissed her forehead one more time and snapped his fingers again. The fish-faced waiter brought a bottle of wine and a cheese plate for Catherine and a bottle of whiskey for Buggy.

“I told you, I'll throw a party in your honor! Because my girlfriend deserves the best birthday ever!”

He took the bottle and began to pour wine into a glass. Catherine stood up from her seat, walked over to Buggy, stood between his legs, hugged him and looked intently into his eyes. 

He embraced and held her close, drilling her with his eyes. "Why are you with me? I don't deserve you. You're kind, beautiful and you always take care of me. I.. I'm just a loser clown."

"Shut up and don't ruin the moment. Imagine that we are under your favorite fucking spotlights." Catherine smiled, tilted her head so as not to hit his nose and kissed him on the lips. She really tried to control herself. Catherine broke the kiss, moved her head back a little and said quietly. "I'm really glad I took that fucking ticket then. I love you so so much, Buggy the Clown. And you're not a loser. Fix it in your blue-haired head, okay?"

Buggy only nodded silently and wiped her lips with his finger. "You're all covered in my lipstick again.” He answered back quietly, cleared his throat and pretended to be cheerful at the same second. “By the way, my Cathie-pie, I have a present for you!"

"What? Isn't that the whole gift? You've already done enough. The park, the party at the bar." She sat on his lap, took a sip of wine and looked at him wide-eyed. Buggy immediately put one arm around her waist. 

"I'm insulted to the core, baby. Nah, there's another one coming. I know you rarely wear jewelry, but I hope you like this." He detached his other hand and sent it somewhere behind the bar. 

He attached his hand back and held out a velvet black box to her. "Here you go. Happy birthday, my baby girl!"

Catherine tensed but tried not to show it. She carefully took the box and opened it. There was a bracelet with two lines of red and blue stones intertwined with each other. The pattern resembled a braid. 

"There's an inscription on the other side in the spirit of your favorite Egyptian things." He inspected her face intently, trying to understand her reaction. 

Catherine turned the bracelet over and began to read. "Just as water has no beginning and no end, so my love for you has no end." She glanced at him and burst into tears. 

"What happened? Have.. Have I offended you in some way? Is there some wrong translation there? If so, I'll go and tear that green-haired scowling fellow's head off tomorrow! Moro… Zoro or whatever his name is." Buggy was nervous and angry at the same time. 

"No, no! You don't have to kill anyone." She laughed through her tears. Catherine wiped her eyes, sniffed and hugged him tightly again. "Sorry, please. I told you, no one has ever thrown me a birthday party like this. And your gift is amazing. Thank you so much!” She gave him a peck on his lips and started carefully examining the bracelet. “Colors, shape, meaning.. It's like.." 

"Actually,” Buggy took the gift from her hands and placed the bracelet on Catherine's wrist. “I thought about giving you a ring but I was afraid you'd take it the wrong way and you would run away from me into the desert. But maybe.. someday." 

"I'll wait patiently." She stroked his cheek with her hand. 

"But you will say yes to me, won't you?" Buggy looked into her eyes as if expecting an answer.

She shrugged, smiled and drank her wine.

There were a lot of drinks, food, fun, dancing and a big cake, of course. Towards the end of the evening, Buggy took Catherine's hands. 

"We have one more item on our birthday program, my Cathie-pie!"

“What? You spoiled me today. Or rather, first you almost broke my nose and then you spoiled me. What's on the program?"

"I won't tell you! It's a surprise, let's go!" With a slight movement Buggy put Catherine on his back and carried her out of the bar, inviting all the other guests in the bar with a gesture.

They came to the backyard of the bar next to the lake. Catherine jumped off him and kissed him on his cheek.

"Thank you, my hero! So what? What are we doing here?" She looked around, not knowing what to expect.

“We're waiting for the grand finale! You know, if I was a pirate and the captain of a ship, I would definitely arrange something like this for my girl...” Buggy snapped his fingers and smiled widely.

Nothing happened.

"Wow, I'm impressed. Snapping during the whole evening is your best gift! I won't forget it until my death!” She laughed out loud.

"Oh, shut up! Dammit! One moment, I'll be back." Muttering under his breath he stepped away somewhere. Catherine could hear the sounds of swearing and couldn't stop laughing. Buggy’s finally back. He stood behind her, put his arms around her waist and put his chin on the top of her head.  

“Ok! Attempt number two!” He snapped his fingers one more time.

The lights in the sky began to come on one by one. Red, yellow, blue, green... Different colors and shapes. 

"Fireworks?" Catherine glanced at Buggy with admiration.

"Yep. My baby girl loves fireworks, right? You told me that you and your sister always went to see them."

"Stunning!" Catherine snuggled closer to him. “You know, If you were a pirate, I’m sure you would be the best captain among all the pirates. I bet everyone around the world would be afraid of you and they would put a lot of money on your head. And girls would fall in love with you. And you would leave me.”

“Leave you? No way! I’d take you with me to my ship, don’t worry.” He kissed her in the temple. 

"Of course you would take me with you. Someone would have to put up with your whining."

"I never whine!"

“You're always whining for no reason. Don't argue with me, you won't win anyway." Catherine stroked his hands. "Best birthday ever. Thank you so much, my silly clown! But do you realize you're gonna have to throw me a birthday party like this every year from now on, right?”

“Like you once said, I love difficulties.” Buggy turned Catherine towards him, hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. 

"You're doing it again. In front of everyone." She said quietly.

"Doing what? I do nothing. I'm just standing there."

“You're grabbing my ass!” Catherine laughed and moved his hands to her waist. 

“Why did you do that? My hands were so happy there.” Buggy looked upset.

She grinned, hugged his neck again and couldn't take her eyes off him. “I love you, my Buggy Bear.”

“I have to admit that I love you too, my cotton candy.”

[ikemenomegas]

Omega!Fukuzawa x Alpha!Reader

Maybe Every After

For the record Fukuzawa is a zaddy and I don't think anyone is going to argue with me on that. But he wasn't always a zaddy! You have to grow up a lot to earn the title and Fukuzawa had a lot of growing up to do even in his thirties.

Meet cute?-

Fukuzawa met the person who would become his Alpha at some stuffy local function he attended because of his status as one of the five greatest swordsmen.

While they hit it off well, commiserating over the oppressive self-congratulatory nature of these kinds of events, it was not love at first sight. Fukuzawa was able to carry on pleasant, engaging conversation with them

Fukuzawa was by turns a little awkward, eccentric, curious, and the sense of duty, justice and good judgment that characterizes his throughout his life permeated the conversation, leaving a lasting impression on you

Fukuzawa's work and his superiors are all top secret, but despite that, he does not try to make himself come off as an enigma and his intentions and ideology are largely transparent, which in the time of the Great War, the first ability war, and with Fukuzawa's position being what it was, was surprising and refreshing

You meet with him a few times as new friends in between whatever it is he does when he's not with you

Some time after those meetings begin would be around the time that he is ordered to begin assassinating war-hawk ministers

You see him change as those assassinations pile up and see him apparently lose the feeling of rightness that was in him when you first met at that party

He disappears soon after resigning his position in this mission, cutting himself off from the world that had descended into the misery and chaos of war, from the deaths he had caused, and from you, the person who had become important when he was still young and full of naive idealism

Meet again-

It's by chance you meet again when he is spending his work hours as a bodyguard.

Or maybe it's not chance. It's a certain circle of people that can afford the services of someone as skilled as Fukuzawa, as much as he tries to keep apart from those kinds of people. His reputation took a hit after he left his government position, although you don't know the circumstances around his departure, but people say it's because he isn't a patriot. The word makes you disappointed. The are parts of every war that are not about patriotism, where blood is no longer spilled for the love of one's country but because there are those who have lost their way.

Reconnecting is hard but maybe because you understand the rumors this way, it is not as hard as it might have been. Fukuzawa Yukichi is loyal, that you have known almost since you met him. He is loyal to the people who walk down the street and do not know him, he is loyal to all the people of the nation who make their way slowly through life alongside him, he is loyal to some ideal of justice that you don't necessarily understand but that you believe in too. You see sometimes the pain that the rumors cause him, but you believe in him, whatever that might mean, and so he lets the pain wash over him and away in the truth of his intact honor

It comes up at some point that you are still not a mated Alpha. There is no one else waiting for you as your tea times meeting with Fukuzawa continue. It just hadn't felt right, somehow, to try and make that kind of connection in the years that have passed. The great war turned everything upside down, including something inside of your good and most principled friend.

One day, he'll tell you about it, about what turned his heart inside out, but that is many years in the future

For now, you're the one who asks him if he wants to meet and restart first

He seems tired and you're surprised that he accepts, but he does. Once. And then twice. And then a third time. And it's almost like it used to be, even though you're both older and a bit more jaded, maybe with a few more hard edges. The meetings extend longer, and become more frequent. It is no longer tea on his days off or when he has time between jobs. There are late night meals after his employer dismisses him and lunches on the occasions he is released early. On one memorable occasion, you find yourself taking an early morning walk through a dew studded garden watching the sun rise pink and cold after a night on which you could not sleep

One thing led to another-

Eventually, Fukuzawa asks you to be his heat partner. It's a bit of a surprise and something that makes you nervous since Fukuzawa effectively ignored you for years.

You had once slept together in what was essentially a platonic way, or perhaps some kind of experiment. It was fine, oddly peaceful, especially at the end when you just passed a bottle of water back and forth, but you'd sort of wordlessly agreed to not do it again

He tells you he's sure though. His heats aren't frequent because he's on suppressants, but they do happen, and this is one of the different things. Fukuzawa seems to want, to have a restlessness that is more apparent to you, lingering beneath the surface

You already suspect it's the loss of purpose, the loss of public reputation somehow which had carried with it its own sense of purpose. He's a famous swordsman, one of the best in the country. Even a tame wolf desires to hunt.

So you spend his breakthrough heats together.

And you remember why the two of you never had sex after the first time. It makes you wonder if you remember the "silent agreement" wrong, or if he remembers it differently, and reminds you why you didn't dwell on it.

It's not earth shattering, the sex that is. It's just heat sex, just making sure he gets off so that he can sleep through the intervals between his body temperature spiking. Except you're in his home, the gauzy curtains drawn, scent patches off, and it's disturbing how clear the memory of the last time overlaps with this one, even after so many years.

It's like being in the middle of a monsoon storm, pressure and torn leaves, and summer heat and all. And while you thrust into his wanting body, he watches you. The heat-haze is obvious and his eyes are half-lidded in the associated exhaustion, but he tracks you when you lean back to swipe the back of your hand over your forehead and there's something hungry in his gaze when he looks down to where you're connected

You remember the first time and how intrigued you'd been by this particular mannerism of his, how he keeps his eyes open. He had been watchful and curious even as you'd laughed with him over your shared fumblings. His gaze had been heavy and consuming when he'd shown his aikido skills, at your request, and tumbled you from over him to pin you to the floor.

This time there's a lot more kissing because if you're close to his face, you don't have to see his eyes, but the way Fukuzawa opens his mouth for you with trust like you've been doing this for years makes the strategy nearly futile.

You have to work right after that first heat tapers off so he's still in his nest when you're putting on your shoes, weekend duffel in your hands.

It's late afternoon going on evening so the apartment is dark. His hair is splayed out on a pillow. You're satisfied though that he has pre-made meals in the fridge and you've changed out most of his nest bedding so he can rest in a clean spot after you've gone. Fukuzawa's not saying anything, watching while you rub a sore spot on your neck, which makes him smirk. You're convinced this will be another scenario just like last time where you don't talk about it, when he speaks up, stopping your hand on the doorknob. "Same in three months?" he asked instead. Despite the stab of apprehension, you smiled. "Same in three months," and left to catch a flight.

You don't let it get quite that long before you contact him again. You don't see him, but you text him and he texts back, which is at least a relief that he's not going to vanish again into whatever new twilight he inhabits.

It's the same in three months, apart from the weather outside. His eyes, blue like steel and watching you while you bring him over the edge, the sense of being in the eye of a summer storm, that feeling of trusting familiarity when you lick into his mouth and catch the sound he makes when you crook your fingers inside him. It's the same how it's only his response that changes when you kiss him later and are more gentle about it, running your teeth against his jaw before going to cradling his head and kissing the corner of his mouth.

There's laundry in the machine and porridge on the stove. Fukuzawa's heat had settled sometime in the very early hours of the morning and the two of you were more or less clothed for the first time in days. Fukuzawa was however leaning in the door, watching you put shredded seaweed, pickled plums, and katsuo tronçons on small plates already laid out on a tray. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching him almost lazily watch you. But, you paused in using a pair of chopsticks to pluck out a single ginko nut from a narrow jar. There was something almost tense in his posture. He was barely out of the thick of heat and you could see the faint tremble in his wrist before he folded his arms to hide it. You checked the pot with the still yet-to-boil rice and then ducked under his jaw to brush your nose against the scent gland there. The way he shivered, still sensitive, was almost enough to make you feel bad. "You should go lie down," you murmured, smiling in apology, "I'll bring the tray over." He hesitated, but then nodded. Something pulled at you behind your navel, similar to that familiar sensation when you had worked him through the heat. Only this time, out of the haze, you followed it and followed Fukuzawa to his nest. Its fresh linens were soft and sweet smelling as you guided him into it. He sighed when he was lying down again, a long exhale that gave nothing away. He was just watching. You tucked a blanket over his hips and let your hand linger a touch too long, feeling like you were falling into his eyes. He made no sound when you pulled away and did not return until the meal was ready. Although you did stand in the doorway he had just vacated, leaning so you could see Fukuzawa, loosely tied deep blue and light grey layers of his yukata falling half open as he rolled over to keep you within line of sight. He ate every bite of food, still maintaining that tense, anticipatory silence. You didn't remember this from the first time. His gaze only flickered from the tray and your hands to your eyes when you accidentally let out an encouraging rumble as he ate and immediately felt heat flash up your neck, mortified. The corner of his mouth twitched as he brought his chopsticks to his lips and nibbled at a bit of fish. You've read romance books, once or twice, seen the pervasive tropes pop up in just about every drama, imported or otherwise. People talk about finding someone that you feel you've known your whole life as something magical. No one talks about how unsettling it can be, how it could get all consuming all too quickly. It's disturbing in some way, the way you can sense the ease with which that could push into entitlement, envy, or just an endless fall. That is why after the first time you and Fukuzawa Yukichi had slept together, passing a bottle of water back and forth after and watching the rim indent into one another's lips when you took a mouthful, throats flexing to swallow, you had never spoken of the event again. You had never invited it happening again, and up until now neither had he. There's something at the bottom of that drop. There's always a hard landing. Somewhere. It felt too easy, being with him. You had fallen in as friends harder than this, feeling out the edges of one anothers' code and ethics, where you could push boundaries into asking about personal and professional interests. Although you never touch them, you knew where one anothers' cracks were.

Just as you never asked him directly about the things he had done in the war, about his suddenly cold reception among the circle you'd met in, he never asked you how you really felt about those people. He never asked if your heart too had broken somewhere during the Great Ability War. The stifling feeling of knowing both too much and too little about someone who trusted you far too much for what you knew suddenly stole all the moisture from your throat. A sip of tea helped, but Fukuzawa's posture had gone back to that waiting. Master swordsman: master at reading any opponent. You told yourself heavily that you were perfectly willing to continue being his heat partner, at least until the way you two distinctly did not push boundaries bored him. He had a competitive spirit to a point. There were goalposts that only he could see, standards to which others were not often held. Stagnancy had never quite suited him. Stillness did. Was that what was at the bottom? Was it the stagnant life of saying nothing and doing nothing and keeping a status quo? Or was it blissful stillness, knowing nothing would catch you and nothing needed to?

It takes almost a year for either of you to bring it up and it's only at the cusp of realizing this is becoming an unhealthy new normal that it happens. It is still incredibly difficult to broach the fact that the physical intimacy makes you feel like strangers but every conversation in between makes you feel like you could get to know him forever.

It's around this time you finally start to really talk. You know how you can know someone for ages, and even be really close to them, but there are long stretches of time where you don't talk about anything important because you're afraid of making the other person do emotional labor for you, and you don't know if they'll mind? That's the first year Fukuzawa and his Alpha have after he comes back.

He acknowledges that you've done things rather in reverse order, as far as the typical trajectory of reconnecting with friends goes. You start to date, more or less, making time to see one another every week or every other week as your schedules allow.

It's a bit strange, to suddenly realize the ways in which you both have changed. Fukuzawa is as principled as ever, but he's unmoored now, without the ties he severed to the military police and the mission it brought. You are somewhat more stable, older and more settled into your own career, but heavier in your soul, sadder. Yokohama is reviving, black towers and tidy apartment buildings rising on the horizon, but it took too much to get here, too much blood before the nation sickened of it.

Fukuzawa won't let you court him.

You're in one of the old cafes that survived all the conscriptions. The owner's son moves around with a tray and a flour dusted apron and the atmosphere is oddly cheerful, despite the recently terrible weather. The last of the summer storms are making a good showing this year and it's limited the places you and Fukuzawa can go. Museums, restaurants, the occasional wander around a particularly well constructed public part of an office building - usually places near your work or his.

You'd tried other things, shopping for food or clothes and paying maybe too much attention to his preferences. You'd tried things like flower viewing or afternoons trying wagashi in specialty shops. While Fukuzawa had seemed to enjoy them and settled easily into the traditional etiquette sometimes called for in these places, he never acknowledged that these might be early attempts at courting.

When you spent time in his apartment he let you scent items in his nest while lounging around or before his heats. If he was at the little rooftop house you were living in, he would sometimes choose one pillow or blanket to curl around and carefully leave it on your spot on the couch when he left.

You looked at him over the rim of your mug and one of his brows went up. When you said nothing, he looked away, tracking the movements of people on the street.

You still partner him when his heat hits, but the sex is worse, as far as that unsettlingly settled intimacy goes. It's wonderful, he's wonderful. Sex itself is not that interesting as a rule, and you're both too aware of the delicacy of the situation to attempt anything like adding toys during his heat or a simple scene to the build up or cool down. But every time after, you want to stay longer.

Fukuzawa shifts his nest, ever so slightly because he is picky about it, but enough so that he can always see you as you move about his home when you need to get food or nesting materials for him, so that you don't have to anxiously flit between the stove and the door in order to sate the need to know that he is safe and comfortable in the aftermath.

You think it's going to end, that the pained distance Fukuzawa now puts between himself and the world is going to pull taught against the growing need to be around one another, to care beyond the dedication of a close intimate friendship.

Everyone can see it-

And then he accidentally adopts a super genius.

This is one of the funnier things that's ever happened to your friend since you've known him and you make sure he knows you think so once or twice.

Once Ranpo is secure in his place as Fukuzawa's ward a few years later, you come up with a way to let Ranpo know he's the best thing to ever happen to your mate and also that you will never ever get tired of imagining the look of shock you know took over Fukuzawa's face when all four and a half feet of teenage whoop-ass came banging through the door of that office.

But that's years from now.

Ranpo peers up at you when you meet Fukuzawa for lunch and a film a week after he's started tagging along with your friend

The boy isn't very tall, but he's got a maturity to his features that you chalk up to either the orphan thing or the child genius thing. He had taken one look at you, seated at the back of the restaurant away from the windows, and it felt like someone crowding into your space even while he touched neither you nor Fukuzawa. You are perhaps overly sensitive of other people's attention. It's another thing that makes being with Fukuzawa comfortable somehow. He's observant, but not oppressive with what he does with that information. Only the second time you'd met he'd helped extricate you from an incredibly uncomfortable conversation with a junior minister in the local commerce department. Now the kid looks at you and at Fukuzawa and pouts impressively. "You're single." He says it like an accusation and an assignment and you could almost laugh at Fukuzawa's wide eyed expression if it weren't for everyone three tables deep around you staring. You raise an eyebrow at him. "He's allowed to be single," you chide, reminding yourself that you are talking to a child still. It's a bit funny, you admit, smiling when the boy glares at you. The waitress comes over when you beckon, bringing tea for Fukuzawa and a sweet layered sort of beverage for the kid. Fukuzawa had told you about the boy's obvious sweet tooth and even though he huffs at you, he takes the tall glass eagerly, poking a straw through the layers. "Does it bother you?" You can't help it. Fukuzawa had said the child was a genius, observant to the point of misunderstanding, his incredible intelligence looping in on itself and making the rest of the world occasionally incomprehensible. It seems unlikely for a child to hold the kind of incredibly conservative prejudice that says omegas should be mated, but he seems put out. Ranpo sulks behind a menu before saying, "I'm never wrong." The meal is quiet, and gradually people stop looking at your table. Fukuzawa excuses himself on the walk to the theater to purchase something from a convenience store. It's there you lean up against the mouth of an alley and look down at the kid. He's really short, you worry someone isn't feeding him enough and the realize that Fukuzawa is going to be that someone. "We're not together," you said. Ranpo looks up at you, clearly still sulking. "You don't have to lie to me," he says, but he sounds a little uncertain. "We're not together in the way you would understand it," you say, "or the way most people understand." Ranpo sees your emotions in your eyes, and suddenly wishes he didn't understand. Your gaze is filled with longing, but he doesn't know how you can't see it's for something you already have. Almost. "He's ashamed of something," Ranpo says quietly. You hunched over a little. "I know. Adults are often ashamed of a lot of things though." He looks at you and wonders what you're ashamed of. "You should probably ask him about this one. He's not very good at saying what he means, but most adults aren't." You're laughing when Fukuzawa reappears.

To everyone's surprise, he actually sits through the movie, happily demolishing the little fortune you'd bought him in caramel popcorn and boxed candies, even if he complains about figuring out the plot five minutes in when you leave

Ranpo doesn't parent trap you two exactly, he doesn't have quite that level of interest in involving himself, but Fukuzawa is good to him, and he sees you often and you are good to him too. Neither of you always understand what he understands, but you show him kindness without ulterior motive, you try and show him how to safely exist around other people.

Fukuzawa is asked to be a bodyguard for Mori Ougai and something about engaging with that man, even though he can't tell you about the job itself, makes him tell you, in a desperate whisper under the moonlight, that it was him who assassinated the war hawk ministers during the peace debates. It's him who is bloodying his blade for something he hopes will be better, even if it turns his stomach, even if it means he doesn't know who he is anymore.

"I know who you are." Fukuzawa tenses in your arms, and you think frantically that you have certainly made a mistake. But you don't take it back. You don't want to. You do know who he is, your friend. You know how lonely what he's done has made him. Only you didn't know what he had done. Now that you know, it doesn't seem to matter. It's distant, the way all bloody things are distant when you don't see them. You've never had all that fond a feeling towards the wealthy people that profit from the abject misery of others. All the hunger and desperation in the world are distant, abstract concepts to them. Why should their deaths not mean the same to you? Of course, you can't say this to your friend, your sometimes lover, lying in your arms. The moonlight drops over his cheeks, turning them pale. His eyes are closed for once, his face turned into your neck, as though he is afraid of what he will see in your eyes. You understand it was not simply one or two storybook villains. There is no human in the world who has done only bad their entire life. Fukuzawa was not prone to exaggeration, even if drama appealed to him. It seems likely he meant it literally when he speaks of wading through blood to put an end to those who whipped up the populace into a frenzy, who wanted for the death never to end. "I know." You stroke your thumb near the corner of his eye, brushing your cheek to his brow, pressing a chaste kiss to the curve of his cheek. "Honor doesn't always mean doing the honorable thing," you say softly. "It means making difficult choices. You regret having to make it, but do you regret the outcome?" He is quiet for a long time. You know he hasn't fallen back asleep, despite the languid warmth between your bodies. He's quiet for long enough that your heart rate returns to normal and you rub your knuckles up and down his back. An occasional burst of deep, faint purring lets you know this is at least appreciated, if not necessarily something he thinks he deserves. You've taken to sleeping together at this point. The mounting danger as different organizations wage new war across the city drives you both to it. Besides, it is simply easier to manage an antsy teenager if you're in the same place, wherever that might be, rather than passing him back and forth like the result of some amicable divorce as you both work to keep him safe and out of the hands of those who would use his intelligence. "No," he says, as you knew he would. "There is nothing to be attained in the way of peace by letting war simply continue until each side is beaten into exhaustion. Withdrawing with our strength intact is the only thing that would save the nation and its people." He says it like he's said it to himself many times. He goes nearly limp in your embrace, pliant as he nudges against you until your forehead is pressed to his. You wonder though- "Is this the first time you've said it out loud?" "What I did is a secret few are aware of." "But the investigations..." "They won't find me," he said, but you felt a shiver go through him, felt gooseflesh rise on his arms. If they did, it could open the possibility for those people to be made martyrs. It was natural for him to be afraid. "They won't," you said lightly. You didn't know what you could do to make that true, but some things needed to be said aloud. "If they catch me, I'll face whatever is decided," he said quietly. "But I won't get caught." "You saved a lot of lives." He sighed. "I know." You rubbed slow circles over the middle of his back. "The sword isn't meant to be used like that. They had lives, families, I-" he swallowed "-I ended that. I enjoyed it. And I have to live with that." His eyelashes too were silvered in the moonlight. "You have to live with it," you agreed, even as he flinched, "but you don't have to punish yourself for it every time you live." You pretend not to feel the wetness on your clothing as Fukuzawa shudders into your collar.

Forever love-

You're truly together and officially courting by the time the Agency is three years old, which is the first more calm year since the Agency opened. Turns out opening a business is a huge pain in the behind and that an ability user Agency with less than half a dozen workers, two of whom are genius teenagers who have totally reasonable problems with authority, is an even bigger pain.

By the time the Agency is four years old, you're mated to Fukuzawa, your mark on his shoulder and his on yours. Ranpo grouches something terrible that the two of you could only get your shit together before he turned eighteen, but he's not a legal adult yet, so you get to officially be one of his guardians for at least a few years. Yosano thinks Ranpo is being ridiculous, but she gives you the biggest bouquet of flowers for your and Fukuzawa's home and insists on choosing the restaurant where you all celebrate.

It's been a very long road. You've known Fukuzawa Yukichi for almost thirteen years, an unexpected friend you made in your adult years now your mate. Now someone who you feel, finally, you've started to earn the feeling you've know them all your life, even though you're still learning about him.

He takes you to his home near Osaka, to his family home on Kyushu. He meets your parents, who consider him a bit quiet, but very dutiful. You meet Natsume-sensei, once, and receive his very feline brand of approval and a quiet gift after your official mating. Fukuzawa takes you back to places he particularly enjoyed during those failed months of courting him. You spend season after season getting to know him, pushing boundaries, debating over philosophies, arguing over interior decorating, agreeing over meals.

Your mate, your partner, a soulmate if you have ever believed such a thing, let alone that it would come to you. You're watching white strands of hair like starlight shoot through his natural grey. The wrinkles around his eyes are deepening. It takes him longer to get up from bed than it used to. His silences are longer, but so are the times when he just looks at you, looks and looks like he can never get his fill. His voice is still strong, but you can feel that layer of age crackling under it. And you love him.

You love the man he has grown into, the one who can bear the weight of hard choices placed upon his shoulders, the one who can bear happily having people who work alongside him. You love his patience with Ranpo and his encouragement of Akiko. You love how he holds his hand out for you if you fall behind on your walks, or how he comes to you and stands close enough for his scent to wrap around you while you point out some small natural beauty.

Love can be horribly consuming, it can stagnate where it was once immediately comfortable or grow jealous at its own ease, unsure if it is charm or affection that ties you together. It can grow desperate and possessive. There are still things that can be so hard to say, old things that left old wounds that are still hard to talk about, but there's something to be said for age and wisdom.

Things aren't perfect, love should not be perfect, and something in you delights in knowing that with Fukuzawa it will always be incomplete. Things will not grow still, there will never be a moment there is nothing to know about him. You have grown into yourselves, the both of you, and this is the love you will grow old with.