#it's hard to know when to take her out sometimes

[simonbrain]

giving simon a blowjob for your own comfort because today was stressful and you were two seconds away from swerving off the road into a tree on your way home, and all you want is something in your mouth to distract you from your prick of a boss.

you're sitting between his legs, a large hand threaded through your hair and a pillow shoved beneath your knees. he's so thick, your lips stretched thin around his cock as it sits limp and heavy in your mouth. it always starts like this: you taking simon in soft and gradually feeling him fill out on your tongue. he tastes so simon, a little salty and sweaty, but he also smells faintly of body wash, and the musk of him completely overwhelms your senses and lulls you into a deep sense of security.

simon thinks you look so pretty like this. adores his girl on her knees, sucking him in so good, mouth warm and wet. your soft tongue rests beneath his cock, occasionally twitching and rubbing up against him before stilling again. your eyes have slipped shut now, and usually he would coo at you to open them because he loves seeing how teary they get when he's filling you up like this, but he's feeling a little nice. it won't last long, but he'll let you have this moment.

he chuckles fondly when you rest your head against his thigh, a content look on your face. you look so sweet, and he feels a little bad for thinking of all the things he wants to do to you right now.

but something in his eyes flickers, and whatever little amount of guilt he was feeling has been snuffed out because when he notices saliva escaping out the corners of your mouth and running down your chin, he bucks his hips up, a sick part of him buzzing in approval when he hears you choke a little and sees your eyes open, staring up at him in question. there's a furrow in your eyebrows and he pets your head, settling back down against the couch.

"sorry," simon rumbles quietly, huffing in amusement when you roll your eyes a little but ultimately accept his apology and flutter them closed again. he mumbles an affectionate brat but lets you get away with it.

he's fully hard now, and he's struggling to not just slip in a little further until the tip presses against the back of your throat. he knows that this is more for you than him; you're doing this for yourself because you like to decompress this way. it eases your mind and sends you away to a little place where the only thing you're thinking about is simon. it would be selfish of him to take that away from you.

yet he does anyway. he wouldn't be yours if he wasn't a dick sometimes. he'll earn your forgiveness later.

your eyes shoot open when you feel fingers pinch your nose shut; whatever sound was about to come out of your mouth is muffled by simon easing more of his meaty cock down your throat. suddenly it feels like too much, and your wet eyes dart up to simon, but he only strokes your cheek with his thumb, a warm look on his face.

"there are those bright eyes of yours," simon murmurs, his gaze so soft and loving as he slowly begins to work your head down on him, letting his fingers slip from your nose and instead rest on his knee. "good girl, doing so well f'me, pet. breathe—tha's it."

the change in pace has you whimpering, saliva spluttering out onto his lap and running down your neck. he's not going too rough, not as rough as you know he wants to be, but it still has you going limp as he uses your mouth.

"tight little throat," he groans quietly to himself, his cock pulsing on your tongue, so fucking fat that you almost can't breathe. you have no choice but to take it, whines getting stuck in your throat. the taste of pre-cum swirls around your mouth, mixing with your saliva, and it has you keening for more.

"gonna cum righ' here, baby," he croons, a hand going down to rest on your throat, rough fingers rubbing gently to feel himself filling you up, making you accommodate for his length. "so fuckin' good to me."

simon groans deeply when he cums, his hand keeping a firm grip on your head as you take it all in, unable to stop yourself from choking. he stays like that for a few seconds longer after his orgasm before finally relenting to give you a break, pulling himself out to examine your ruined state.

you're a right mess—a mixture of tears, saliva and cum all over your face. he shushes you when you cough and whimper a little and leans down, inspecting you closer. your mouth parts open slightly, and—fuck, there it is. his cum pooling in your sweet little mouth.

"sorry, sweet'art. overdid it a bit, didn't i?" he hums quietly, petting your hair apologetically when you whine in response. "it's alright, come here lovie. i'll make it up to ya."

you moan softly when he begins to lick into your mouth, mopping up the cum you couldn't swallow with his tongue until he's kissing you, wet and sloppy and much too disgusting, but you don't care. he's nasty with the eye contact too; eyes cracked open as he stares down at you, his still hard cock twitching in his grasp.

when he parts, a thick string of saliva drips between you, the sight stirring heat in your belly. it's a filthy mess of fluids covering the both of you, but simon only cares about returning the favour.

"on the sofa, love," he murmurs, patting your cheek gently and spreading his legs to allow you to get up. he rids himself of his shorts and tucks his cock back into his briefs before sliding between your legs, peeling off your pants and soaked underwear.

your cunt sits pretty on display for him to salivate over, his eyes focused on the wet mess between your thighs before he's leaning in and pressing a kiss on your clit, then on your hole. he's fucking kissing your pussy as if it were a person, and you think you're going to combust, and then he looks up, his dark brown eyes warm and dilated. yeah, you're definitely going to burn up and sizzle away if your heated face is any indication.

"let me apologise properly, sweet girl."

[tittiesnhrtz]

prisoner!ellie hcs

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ mostly keeps to herself and spends most of her time reading or drawing in the shabby prison library, or jogging and working out in the yard, trying to stay out of trouble. but, she ends up making enemies anyway because of her snarky mouth.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she either got in for selling drugs or murder, there's no in between. if it's the latter, she cries herself to sleep some nights, too sorrow-stricken—even if she believes they deserved it—to care about waking up other prisoners.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ who’s trying (keyword: trying) so hard to not get a shot from the prison guards everyday. but her stubbornness and temper know better.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she tries to ignore you when she finds out you’re her new cell mate. but let’s be honest, who doesn’t get lonely in that shithole? so she eventually warms up to you and even offers her commissary sometimes.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she finds herself growing attached to you; like a wasp to the saccharine nectar of an entrancing flower. she goes wherever you go and the whole prison knows you both are inseparable.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ it isn’t long until she’s catching feelings for you, trying so hard to not look or blush when you’re taking a shower in the communal bathroom, and she’s waiting outside, holding the towel for you.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she would never make the first move. she’s too busy overthinking and trying not to read between the lines, that the whole prison realises you're flirting with her before she does.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ when the prison lights are off and the other prisoners are out like light, she makes space for you in her bottom bunk so you can lie down next to her and have your daily deep conversations. she’d find herself transfixed, listening to you ramble about the most random things, drawing deeper meanings even from the ridiculous, the only source of light being the moonlight spilling through the tiny window. she’s truly grateful for having found someone like you when she’d lost hope and succumbed to the darkness.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she broke out into a fight with one of the prisoners who was calling you names, punching the other girl in the eye and what not. the prison broke into a commotion and poor girl got sent to shu (solitary confinement) for a week. when she returned to your worried face and puffy red eyes, her heart ached and she swore she’d never let her temper get the best of her again. but she had to admit, she was in cloud nine seeing you cared about her just as much as she did for you.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she fumbles over her words and blushes so hard when you call her your prison wife jokingly. she mumbles a 'shut up' though she's not opposed to the idea, not even a bit.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ you finally make a move when you realize she's never going to and she'd go as far as to learn how to live with her feelings suppressed.

she's walking back from her work that pays less than a dollar, after having helped fix some broken pipes, when she sees you waiting for her.

“you waitin’ on me?” she questions after approaching you in long strides. she was sweaty, covered in dirt and grime and in desperate need of a shower.

but that didn’t stop you from leaning in and kissing her. after being in a prison for months, hygiene was the least of your concerns.

a surprised noise leaves her lips, but soon she’s fluttering her eyes close and relishing the moment. she smelt like a mix of the mango sorbet scented soap you both shared and sweat. when the kiss starts to deepen, she pulls away, conscious of her state.

“i’m pretty nasty.” she laughs awkwardly, her cheeks flushed.

“do you wanna be my prison wife?”

her eyes widen at the question, you sound serious and you’re not joking this time. she stares at you for a whole minute, processing your words before she breaks out into a giggle. she gives you that smile, her dimples on display.

“i’ll consider it.” she says, although, internally she’s screaming ‘yes’ and fighting the urge to hug you.

kinda nsfw

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ a lot of quickies in the bathroom or behind the secluded cabin in the yard. head buried in each other’s shoulders or hand clamping the mouth of the other’s to not get caught by the creepy guards or other prisoners.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ when you finally get some privacy, she makes sure she can hear every sound you make, watching your reactions closely like she’s trying to memorise it and hold onto it for thinking about it when she’s away from you.

“you like that, baby?” her words vibrate against your clit, eliciting a moan from you.

“yeah, you like that.” she giggles as she looks up at you through her eyelashes, making eye contact, before she goes back to devouring your pussy.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she’s not satisfied until she’s pulled four orgasms from you on most days. she just loves seeing you all fucked out, knowing she was the one who caused it.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ always groping your ass in public or smacking it when she thinks the guards aren’t looking. when you’re in the prison cafeteria feeding her her meal—because to her the slop they serve is bearable only when it’s your fingers wrapping around the spoon and bringing the food up to her mouth—she’ll slide a hand up your thigh and rest it awfully close to your cunt, drawing stars near the area, as she looks at you with an innocent smile.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she’s extremely needy some days. especially after a tiresome day at work and not being able to see you as the officers piled extra work on her. not even two minutes into kissing and she’s already humping your thigh, her slick sticking to her underwear. she’ll whine pathetically, all the while complaining about how tired she is and how much she missed you, making you just give in instead of teasing her.

bonus

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ when she finds out you’re getting released, her heart feels heavy, like someone just squeezed lemon juice on her open wounds. she sucks it up and pretends to be happy for you nonetheless, knowing you’ll finally get to take a proper shower, eat normal food and sleep on a bed that doesn’t give you neck pain every single day.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ but, what if she mattered to you only in the confined grounds of prison? what if you’ll forget her the minute you step outside? you’ll just walk out into the world, make new friends, new experiences, and a life that will no longer include her. these thoughts gnaw at her but she never asks you about it.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she doesn’t do a very good job at hiding her worries though. you see right through her facade and assure her you’ll be waiting for her on the other side. and you stick true to your words, sending her letters, calling her during ‘phone time’ and visiting her almost everyday during visitation hours. you tell her about your life and how the parole officer is still a pain in the ass while she tells you about the prison gossip and how lonely it feels without you.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ she’s on her best behaviour all the time, her main motive being to serve her time and get out so she can be with you, properly. so when she finally gets released, the first thing she does is ask joel to buy a diamond ring, saying she’ll lend him the money back, and meet her outside the prison. she knows you’d be waiting for her in the car to pick her up from the prison. after bidding joel goodbye, she jogs over to your car and throws herself in the passenger seat.

“hey, baby.” she grins, buzzing with excitement, anticipation and anxiousness. she was finally free and it took all her self control to not fling herself onto you and make love to you right here after yearning for the warmth of your touch for so long.

“hey.” you manage a smile, feeling overwhelmed by seeing her, and this time without a guard monitoring interactions between an inmate and a visitor.

“fuck, that was the longest five years of my life.” she leaned back in her seat and let out a soft sigh. her hand reaches over the centre console, coming to rest on your thigh. her fingers tap a nervous rhythm as she looks at you. she’d been planning this moment for months, but now that it was happening, she felt nervous as hell.

she pulled her clammy hand away from your thigh, inhaling sharply as she averted her gaze. her fingers fiddled with the small ring box before pulling it out. “uh..do you want to be my prison wife, but without the ‘prison’?”

[hellodropbear]

17520 hours.

mapi leon x ingrid engen x daughter (ish)

angst. part of the 'it's time.' series

mapi struggles on the two year anniversary of her best friend's death. Ingrid is right there to help her but she doesn't know how to let her in.

this is a lot more angst than i'm used to posting but i hope you like it.

it was hard to write and partially based on personal experiences so i apologise if it's not very good.

also decided to put it all in one part because i couldn't find a good place to split it!

i hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~

Two years is a long time. 

Two years is 104 weeks, two years is 730 days. Two birthdays, two christmases, two easters. Two summers and two winters, two new years and two anniversaries. 

Two years is a long time to miss someone. It should be enough time to have moved on. 

But when their daughter is in your care, that seems almost impossible. 

It was everyday that Mapi thought about her best friend, sometimes looking at her daughter and only seeing his eyes staring right back at her. 

The day was one that the Spaniard dreaded, the days becoming quicker and quicker in the lead up, the night before slowing right down as she crawled into bed, tossing and turning as she tried to sleep. 

Isabel was almost two. Still too young to understand that there was anything out of the ordinary in her life, anything that raised any questions. Even if Mapi tried explaining, she was sure that her daughter wouldn’t have the first idea what anything meant. 

She wouldn’t understand that Mapi wasn’t supposed to have her even though she gave birth. She wouldn’t understand that her parents had died because her Mami was right there in front of her. 

It was just a part of parenthood that Mapi had no idea how to conquer. She knew everything else, having spent hours and hours with her head buried in countless baby books, countless books that discussed grief and sadness in children. 

But Isabel wasn’t sad, she wasn’t grieving because she never knew Luis or Isabel. 

There were no books about how to tell a kid about her dead parents. It was a taboo topic, of sorts, one that many stand-in parents were reluctant to discuss with their child, hoping that they would just believe that they were their real parents. It was a bridge most people decided to cross when they had to, not at any point earlier than completely necessary. 

Mapi didn’t want that, she wanted her daughter to know who Luis was, who Isabel was. 

She just didn’t know when or how she should introduce the idea of them. 

But the second anniversary of their death left Mapi in a numb state, entirely torn up on the inside as she tried to decide whether she would take her daughter with her on her annual graveyard visit. It was Mapi’s time to chat to Luis alone, no interruptions, no distractions. 

Because while Isabel lost her parents, Mapi lost her lifelong best friend. 

She lost Luis, who meant everything and more to her. Luis who had moved to Barcelona a few months after her, Luis who watched every single one of her games, the first person to text her after a hard loss or an impressive win. 

She still hadn’t got out of the habit of checking her phone after a match, pain settling deep in her chest as her screen remained bare, his notification forever absent. 

It wasn’t a question of where she would be on the second anniversary. She knew exactly where she would be sat and exactly how she would feel as she stared at that obnoxiously large gravestone, big bold carvings of his name, his date of birth and date of death. 

‘Loving husband, son and friend.’ it read. Not father. ‘A man who lit up the lives of everyone he met.’ It was an understatement, Mapi had thought.

She had spent hours there when Isabel was a newborn, cradling her tiny body in her arms as she sat and silently stared at those few words. Loneliness ate her up, wishing for nothing other than her best friend. 

But her daughter had lit up her world as everything else was crumbling down, single handedly keeping the two of them afloat as Mapi grew tired, the sheer weight of her emotions almost drowning them. 

Isabel was an infant, too young to know anything was different. She was completely enraptured by her mother, smiling and laughing everyday they spent together in their small and stuffy apartment, completely unaware of the anguish that her mother was going through. 

It seemed fitting on the second anniversary of their death, only a couple months before her second birthday that Isabel would finally visit their gravestones. 

Even the thought of the graveyard made her feel uncomfortable, Mapi’s skin crawling at the thought of her best friend beneath her, cold and still. Someone she loved, such a warm and constant presence in her life, lying right there in the ground. 

It made her feel sick. Sick with anger because he was gone too soon. With grief because she never got to say goodbye. With guilt because she got to have the one thing he had always wanted. But mostly sick with the heartbreaking realisation that he was down there, in the flesh. 

Luis was dead. 

~~~~~~

It wasn’t a cold day, but she shivered as she stepped out of the car, the cool breeze prickling her skin as she unclipped a groggy Isabel from the back seat. 

“Where are we, Mami?” 

She looked around at her unfamiliar surroundings in confusion, probably expecting to have woken up in her bed. 

Mapi just hugged her, not trusting her voice to not break if she tried to respond. 

Despite only visiting twice before, the graveyard was familiar, she knew exactly how to get to Luis’ plot. She walked with purpose, not looking at the grave as she laid down the rug, only facing her best friend’s name once she was sat down. 

“This is your Papi, Is.”

Saying it out loud, her daughter in her arms. His daughter in her arms. It felt unusual, it felt uncomfortable. She could feel Isabel looking up at her, the confusion that radiated from the toddler’s body. 

She loosened her arms as Isabel wriggled herself free, waddling towards the stone and placing her hand on it. 

“Papi?”

She looked back at Mapi, a question in her eyes. She was met with tears slipping down her Mami’s face. 

“Mami.”

In an instant, she was back in Mapi’s arms, reaching up and wiping away the tears. 

“No sad, Mami. Brave like lion.”

Mapi nodded, a watery chuckle falling from her mouth. 

“I’m going to talk to your Papi, Is. Is that ok?”

Isabel nodded, settling herself on the rug with her lion toy as Mapi stood up, walking closer to the stone and placing her hand on his name, crouching down so it was at eye level. 

“Meet your daughter, Lu. She has your eyes, you know. She’s funny and smart and entirely the light of my life. I love her so much. More than I ever loved you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone, really. I promise. I promise I’ve tried my best and I hope you’re proud of her. I hope you’re proud of me.”

She bit her lip, unsuccessfully biting back her own tears. 

“It’s been two years, Lu. I don’t know how I have made it through two whole years without you, really. It’s been so… hard. I still expect to see you, to hear from you. Sometimes I think I do, only to realise that it’s not possible. Because you’re dead. You weren’t supposed to die, not so soon. You were supposed to watch your daughter grow, I was supposed to be her really cool aunt that she would go to when you argued, to give her that tattoo when you said no. ”

She let out a strangled chuckle, trying to alleviate some of the pain she felt. They had discussed Mapi’s relationship with the child at length, knowing that the centre back would love the child as her own because she was always with Luis, she would always be around the couple as they raised their child. That wouldn’t have changed if she wasn’t biologically Mapi’s. 

Back then, Mapi had thought she would have been fine with the situation. She knew the baby wasn’t really hers, she knew that she would still be able to watch the baby grow up, that she would still be able to love her. 

It wasn’t a problem that had actually materialised, but they hadn’t expected both Isabel and Luis to die right before she was born. 

“Now I have to discipline her, Luis, which is the one thing I didn’t want to have to do. But she’s such a good girl, she is so intelligent. Like you, really. She knows how I feel all the time, she definitely inherited your emotional intelligence. She loves everyone too, just like you. I was never supposed to be a mother, was I? You were always the paternal one out of the two of us, you were the one who deserved a child. But I am the one that got her.”

She swallows roughly, biting her lip. 

“Oh Luis, you would have loved her so much.”

Very quickly, she is overcome by her tears, collapsing down into herself in sobs. 

It’s all too much, it’s all too hard. 

It’s unfair that her best friend left her, that she was left alone to grow up. Growing up was something they had discussed at length when they were younger. Obviously they were never going to be married, they’d never live together. 

They had dreamt of adjoining houses, doors that connected their backyards. They were going to grow up together, the two of them. Luis would have his wife and a gaggle of kids, Mapi would have her wife and a pack of cats. They’d have their own families but their lives would be so closely connected because they loved each other in the purest way possible. 

A childhood connection, one that grew and grew into adulthood. 

One that was supposed to last a lifetime. 

It did last a lifetime, it lasted Luis’ lifetime. Just not Mapi’s. 

She calmed herself down after a couple minutes, Isabel unsurprisingly noticing her mother’s sadness and crawling into her arms as a source of comfort. 

They sat there for hours, an easy silence settling upon the pair. Mapi was deep in thought, Isabel knew it wasn’t the time for play, it wasn’t the time for her mindless babbling. 

It had been a couple hours when she heard the footsteps, people approaching silently. 

She hadn’t expected to see anyone there, but upon reflection she realised she had been naive - it was the anniversary after all. 

“Maria?”

She hadn’t heard Ane’s voice in two years. The last conversation they had was full of empty promises, of visits to Zaragoza that Mapi knew she would not go on. Promises that they would get to know the child that was growing in Mapi’s stomach, promises that they wouldn’t lose touch. 

They had lost touch, Mapi unable to visit Luis’ home whenever she returned to her parents. Ane and Mikel were in too much pain to see the child, not sure how they could face it. 

“Ane.” She stood up, facing the older woman and allowing herself to be enveloped in her arms. 

“It’s so good to see you, Maria.”

Mapi could only nod, her eyes still watery and her face still red. It had been a long morning. 

She turned to face Mikel, who was staring straight forward, his eyes only softening as Mapi grabbed his hand and kissed it. 

“I have missed you both.” She smiled softly. It was a sad smile, but a real one. 

They were Luis’ parents, of course, but they were her pseudo parents whenever she needed them. They were so close, especially when Mapi and Luis were in their teenage years. 

“Is this… is that her?”

Ane looked down at the curly headed girl, her eyes softening as she watched her play with her toys. 

“Isabel Luisa.” Mapi nodded. “I thought today would be a good day for her to come visit.”

The older woman looked down at the child adoringly, smiling as she looked up at the unfamiliar adults. 

It was a bit awkward for a few moments, as Mapi, Mikel and Ane sat in an uncomfortable silence. 

Mapi excused herself, moving away to the bathrooms but leaving her belongings by the grave. She knew she wanted to talk to them, that they wanted to talk to her. 

She also knew they needed some time alone before they would be able to. 

But she did return, sitting down on her rug right beside the older couple. 

And Ane spoke, her voice soft, her voice sad. 

She told Mapi how grateful she is, how glad she is that she took Isabel in, that she didn’t even question it. How grateful she is that Mapi did everything to make her son happy all throughout his life, from buying him an extra chocolate bar when they were children to carrying his baby for him when he and his wife were unable to do it. 

Ane told her that she had given him his one dream, fatherhood. It was just unlucky that he wasn’t alive to live it. 

There were tears in her eyes as she told her how grateful Luis would be. How much he loved her. How happy he would be that his daughter ended up with the Spaniard, the person he probably trusted the most in the world. 

Mapi nodded her appreciation, sitting with the two adults for a while longer before Isabel grew tired, the sun falling down, the afternoon turning into evening. 

She said a tearful goodbye, collecting her things and standing, Mikel standing up as well and walking her to her car. 

“She looks just like him.” His words were soft, softer than Mapi had ever heard him. “I have thought about you every day, Maria. You and her. I am so relieved to see you here because I worried so much about you. I worried that you wouldn’t be ok, that you’d not be able to raise her. Not because I doubted you, but because I know how hard it is to lose people.”

Mapi nodded softly, looking up at the man. 

“I don’t doubt that you have had a hard time, but I also don’t doubt that you’re a good Mami. A great Mami to this little girl.”

“Thanks, Mikel.”

He nodded, that was all he needed to say. 

It was all he needed to say for Mapi to tear up again, picking Isabel up and holding her in his space. He looked at the Spaniard, who nodded, before placing a soft kiss on her head. 

“Come visit, Maria. When you come home. Bring the little one too.”

Mapi nodded, a smile on her face. 

This time, it wasn’t an empty promise. 

~~~~~~

She got home to an empty apartment. Quiet, dark. She could have texted Ingrid, the Norwegian likely would have come over in an instant, her warm arms right there for endless comfort. 

But she couldn’t bring herself to open her phone, couldn’t bring herself to stand up and walk over to the kitchen table where it was sitting. Instead, she stayed seated, relaxed back on the sofa with tears tracking down her face as she stared blankly at the wall. 

It wasn’t often that she was left alone with her thoughts. Not when she had a chatty toddler to look after, a loving girlfriend who spent every day trying to make Mapi happy. It worked, because Ingrid did make her happy, happier than she’d ever been. 

And Isabel also made her happy, she was the best thing in the Spaniard’s life. 

So why did she feel so sad? Why was Luis’ death still so hard for her to process?

Two years felt like too long to still be so upset about it all. She wondered when it would go away. If it would ever go away. 

His death was something that Mapi didn’t think she would ever be able to comprehend. She was able to live her life as normal again, plastering a smile to cover up the mess that she was on the inside. But it had taken such a long time to even get to that point, despite her daughter’s positive presence.  

Everyone knew how long it had taken. Mapi didn’t think anyone really knew how broken up she still felt about it. A part of her was embarrassed, embarrassed that she still hadn’t gotten over it. Was still yet to move on. 

Even as she thought it over, progress seemed so impossible. The thought of moving on like so many people had told her to do made her feel sick, because how was she supposed to move on when he was everything to her?

She didn’t sleep that night, barely able to smile as she fed Isabel and put her to bed. The toddler knew something was wrong, of course, a frown on her face as Mapi put her down for the evening. 

Isabel had seen Mapi sad before. Lots of times, really, but her mother usually tried her best to hide it from her. She would push the emotions down and far away as she interacted with her kid but Isabel was so perceptive, so in tune with Mapi’s emotions. 

She knew whenever Mapi was sad. It made her feel sad too. 

But Isabel never would have known that her mother was sitting in the same spot on the sofa all night, her mind a rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions, resisting any rest that tried to fall upon her. 

She wasn’t sure if she regretted telling Ingrid that she wanted to be alone for the day, that her girlfriend shouldn’t come over like she usually did. The Spaniard just didn’t know if it would make it better or worse. She didn’t know how to alleviate herself from some of the pain she felt. 

She realised she didn’t know much at all. 

Mapi watched as the sun rose outside, the night becoming morning. The new day arriving along with the sounds of birds chirping, the city happily waking up as the clouds had gone away and the sun had finally come out. 

Two years and one day. 

Her daughter’s whining was audible from her spot in the main room as she woke up. Her daughter’s whining was probably the only thing that would have successfully moved her from her seat. 

“Mami!” Isabel frowned at the sight of her mother as her door opened, dark bags beneath her red and puffy eyes. 

“Good morning, my girl.”

She smiled weakly, kneeling beside her toddler and raking her hand through her hair as Isabel became more aware of her surroundings. 

It was a slow morning; a slow rise from bed and a slow breakfast. The toddler was still in her pyjamas by 10, her hair and teeth remained unbrushed. 

It was no surprise that Ingrid was on the other side of the door at 11, Isabel opening the door when she heard the knocks. The Norwegian had a bright smile on her face as she scooped Isabel up into her arms and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. 

“Mami, Ingrid.” She pointed over at where Mapi was standing, and it was one glance at the Spaniard that told Ingrid that despite her promise that she’d be alright, her girlfriend was definitely not ok. Her smile faded and she frowned slightly, concern etched deep into her features, 

Her steps towards Mapi were tentative, unsure how to approach the situation. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t know Mapi, of course she knew her. She just didn’t know about Mapi’s grief. She had heard from teammates that she hadn’t dealt with the death well, that she had locked herself up in her house for months, over a year. But it was one topic that the Spaniard avoided at all costs, a master of changing the subject whenever it would come up. 

Ingrid never felt like it was her place to pry. 

But now, seeing her girlfriend so… broken, so depleted, it made her regret not being more insistent in those times. Because maybe if they spoke about it then, she would know how to help. 

But in that moment, she had no idea what to do. 

“Maria…” Her voice was quiet. “I’ve missed you.”

Mapi didn’t reply, but she could feel Ingrid’s free arm wrapping around her and she immediately clung onto her girlfriend. She was desperate and Ingrid was a lifeline. 

“Alright. Isabel, do you want to go play with Bagheera for a minute?”

The child nodded as she was placed back on the floor, walking out of the kitchen and into the lounge where the cat was likely waking up from her nap. 

Mapi, still clinging onto the Norwegian’s arm, frowned slightly, still not willing herself to make eye contact with Ingrid. 

“You’re not ok, Mapi, are you?”

She didn’t nod, she didn’t shake her head. Her mouth remained completely sealed. 

But Ingrid knew her well enough to recognise the tears that filled up her eyes, the way her hand trembled against the Norwegian’s skin. 

The brunette softened, her worries confirmed; leaving Mapi alone for the entire previous day was probably one of the worst promises she had ever made. She shouldn’t have agreed to it, not when she knew that Mapi would need her. 

“Ok. It’s ok. You’ll be ok, Maria. I just want you to sit down for me.”

She led her around to the other side of the kitchen bench, sitting down in a seat right beside her and wrapping her arm around the Spaniard’s shoulders. 

The Norwegian could feel herself becoming more and more anxious at Mapi’s almost catatonic state, entirely unequipped and unsure how to deal with it. 

It took half an hour of speaking to Mapi with no response for Ingrid to realise that she couldn’t do anything. A heartbreaking realisation of sorts, but one that she needed to have in order to help her.  

She knew she should be able to do this herself, she wished that it didn’t have to be so hard. But Alexia had been there before Ingrid, Alexia had been there for Mapi during Isabel’s infancy, right after she lost Luis. 

So she sent the Spanish midfielder a quick text, alerting her of the centre back’s state.

She felt guilty as the relief surged through her, Alexia assuring her that she would be there soon. 

However, neither the Spaniard nor the Norwegian could see the toddler’s tears, her quiet whimpers of anxiety and upset. 

Isabel didn’t like seeing Mapi upset, not at all. She was a happy person, usually, a permanent smile on her face, energetic as she played with the toddler. 

But she sat and stroked Bagheera, silent tears streaming down her little face with one thought on her mind. Why was Mami so sad all of a sudden? And why did it make her feel so miserable too?

Alexia arrived in a flurry, her heart dropping at the sight of her friend as she rushed towards her, immediately pulling her into a suffocating hug. 

“Maria, Maria. Come on, please. Say something.” Her voice sounded urgent and Ingrid could only watch, worry and confusion clear on her face. 

With no response, Alexia leaned back, staring straight into Mapi’s eyes. She could read the centre back like a book and her eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

“Ale.”

She frowned, tilting her head at the blonde in front of her. 

“Mapi, breathe. Take a deep breath in.”

Ingrid slipped out of the room as Mapi followed Alexia, breathing in and out slowly until she collapsed into Alexia’s arms, the tears spilling from her eyes easily as she reconnected with reality. 

It was her reaction to sadness, Mapi had realised a few months ago. Disconnecting from the world around her, unable to move, speak. She could barely hear anything, see anything until it was right in front of her face. 

She couldn’t feel anything either, but that was a more common response, something that she couldn’t be pulled out of so easily. 

She hated it, more than anything. Because when she was pulled from her state of disconnect, she felt nothing but terror, an overwhelming sadness that came rushing back as soon as that trap door opened. 

It was like her body was trying to protect her from feeling, the emotions just too much. It would just shut down until she was numb, not really registering that at some point she just had to feel it because there was no way of getting away from those emotions. 

Alexia had seen it all before and she was usually the one to grab Mapi, to shake her out of her headspace and bring her back to reality. 

It was terrifying for her too, especially the first time she witnessed it. 

“Ale.”

Mapi’s sobs had been reduced to quiet whimpers into Alexia’s shoulder after a while, her mind throwing itself through all her thoughts, all her emotions. Luis was gone, Luis had been gone for two years. She has his daughter, her Isabel who she loves so much. Ingrid was here but now she is not, where has Ingrid gone? Alexia, right in front of her, fear visible in the midfielder’s eyes no matter how hard she tried to hide it. 

Luis was gone, Isabel was hers. Ingrid was gone, Alexia was here.

Luis, Isabel, Ingrid, Alexia.

Her four people. 

She felt her breath hitch, Alexia’s arms tightening around her. 

She felt the tears dripping down from her eyes, saturating the fabric of Alexia’s shirt, the wet fabric now uncomfortable to rest her face on. 

She could hear Alexia’s breathing, the sound of her heart racing. 

Feel Alexia’s arms around her, the floor beneath her feet and the chair that she was sitting on. 

Taste the salty tears. Tears of grief, fear, confusion. 

Luis, Isabel, Ingrid, Alexia. 

“Ale, where is Isabel?”

~~~~~~

Ingrid slipped out of the room easily, not needed as Alexia dealt with Mapi’s overwhelming emotions. 

Mapi’s cries were audible from the main room she found herself in, wincing as she walked towards Isabel who was still stroking Bagheera, her movements fluid and repetitive, a consistent cycle that easily could have rubbed a groove into the cat’s black fur. 

The Norwegian couldn’t see the tears that had stained the little girl's face, still spilling from her eyes no matter how hard she tried to blink them away. 

But her shoulders shook unnaturally, a shuddering inhale that had Ingrid picking up her pace and sitting down right beside Isabel and pulling her into her arms as soon as she noticed how upset she was. 

Silently, she placed a thoughtful kiss on the crown of her head, her heart breaking at the silent tears, at Isabel's defeated demeanour. 

No toddler should know how to cry silently. 

"What's wrong, Is?"

At her words, Isabel promptly spun around in Ingrid's arms, collapsing into her and crying audibly, her entire body weight relying on the Norwegian to be held.

"Mami sad, Ingrid. I'm sad too!"

Her voice was broken and Ingrid’s heart dropped at the sound of it. 

It wasn’t hard to leave, understanding that Isabel needed to get out of the apartment, that she needed to be away from the inconsolable Mapi who could still be heard crying in the kitchen. 

So she left, slipping out the front door and carrying Isabel down to the street, holding her tight as she cried, walking over to the park. 

By the time they reached their familiar bench, her cries had weakened, only releasing quiet puffs of air every few moments as she relished in the comfort of Ingrid’s arms. 

The Norwegian sat down, loosening her grip on the toddler and manoeuvring her so that they were looking right at each other. Ingrid’s frown was light and her hands were soft as she reached out and wiped the tears away from Isabel’s wet cheeks, cupping her face when she was done. 

Words failed the defender as she looked at the toddler, her uncanny resemblance to Mapi heightened in her upset state. 

She matched her mother perfectly, Ingrid thought, trying to avoid that voice in the back of her head that she would never be enough. Their smiles were identical and their laughs sounded the same. They both carried the same exasperated sigh, the confused frown and those doe eyes that were impossible to say no to. But they carried the same tears, the same cries. 

Mapi’s emotions were often reflected in her daughter, whether it was happiness, excitement, fear, sadness. Isabel was smart - emotionally intelligent. It was like she always knew exactly how her Mami was feeling, even if she wasn’t old enough to understand why, to understand what those feelings were. 

This was one of those times when she had no idea what this sadness meant. She could clearly feel the sadness, feel her mother was sad. But she wasn’t even two yet, how could she possibly be expected to process those emotions like someone years older?

Ingrid wasn’t bad with kids either. There were heaps of children in her family; cousins, nieces, nephews. She’d been there throughout all of their childhoods, able to comfort them and soothe them enough until their parents came back. 

But Isabel’s sadness was completely new territory, there was no waiting for Mapi to arrive because Ingrid knew she wouldn’t. It was up to her to calm down the child but for the first time, she was completely stumped. 

She didn’t know what she could say to calm her down. She didn’t know how Isabel felt, she was too young to be able to express her emotions, to talk through what she was feeling. 

But this wasn’t a tantrum or a small cry over a minor convenience. This was a meltdown, caused by her overwhelming emotions that she couldn’t quite comprehend. 

“Ingrid…” 

She spoke quietly, leaning into the comfort of the Norwegian’s hands on her face. 

Ingrid nodded, encouraging the child to continue. 

“Why my Papi a rock?” 

The Norwegian’s face softened, her heart sinking as she tried to subtly release an exhale that she had been holding in. 

Unsure what she was going to say, she opened her mouth. But Isabel was too quick, raising her voice another time. 

“Why Mami sad at rock?”

“Is…” 

The child looked up at her, eyes shining with unshed tears, pure innocence reflected in her eyes, her features. 

“Isabel. Your Papi, he’s not a rock. Your Papi was a person, a very good person.”

The child frowned, confusion etched deep into her features. Ingrid thought she seemed entirely too concerned for a not quite two year old. 

“He died before you were born though, Is. Mami is sad today because she misses him. She misses your Papi.”

She doubted Isabel would even understand what she was trying to say. She didn’t know when children were supposed to understand the concept of death, the concept of life. 

Definitely not before the age of two. 

So Ingrid decided to try to move away from the topic, her new goal just to bring a smile back onto Isabel’s face. It was the least she could do, really. 

“But it’s ok, Is, because you have Mami and you have me and you have Alexia and you have Leila and Patri and Pina! You love all of those people don’t you?”

Isabel nodded easily, a smile creeping onto her face. 

“I love them so much. Especially Mami. And you, Ingrid!” 

Ingrid chuckled, her laughs a superficial cover of the anxieties and concern she felt. Because Isabel was right here calming down in her arms, but she had no idea of the state of Mapi, she had no idea how long this happiness would last. 

“And everyone I just mentioned loves you too. And your Papi, he loves you as well but he loves you from somewhere else. You have people everywhere loving you!” 

Ingrid beamed, trying to make the conversation feel more lighthearted. It was a successful attempt, apparently, because Isabel replicated her smile and turned herself around, sitting back down in Ingrid’s lap and leaning into her chest. 

“I love you Ingrid.”

The Norwegian could only smile sadly, planting a thoughtful kiss on Isabel’s head. 

~~~~~~

Mapi’s head was a mess, Alexia had realised. Her emotions all over the place, her priorities set in a weird and confusing line. 

The tears had eventually ran out and she was clearly exhausted, her head in Alexia’s lap as the blonde spoke softly. The familiar Spanish was a comfort to Mapi’s ears, the words meaningful, flooded with emotion.

“You need to worry about what is important right now,” Alexia had murmured, her hands combing through Mapi’s hair. It was reminiscent of how the centre back calmed her own daughter, soft hands and quiet words. 

It was reminiscent of how Mapi’s own mother used to soothe her, nostalgic and comforting. 

“Luis is important, of course he is. But he’s gone, Maria. If you’re going to worry about anything it has to be yourself, it has to be Isabel. You have to think about Ingrid, how to prioritise your relationship on top of everything else.”

Alexia shook her head at that, sighing almost silently. 

“Ingrid will try not to let you focus on her, but you have to try. You have to show her how much you love her like I know you do. That she’s your person.”

Mapi looked up at Alexia, her forehead wrinkling as she frowned. 

“She… she doesn’t know that?”

“She does know that, of course she does. But sometimes you need to put her first. Sometimes she needs you the most. Sometimes, she needs you more than Isabel does. She wants to know all of you, Mapi, even this part. She wants to understand your grief, to know what to do when you are having a hard time. She wants me to look after Isabel while she comforts you because she loves you. You are her person, just like she is yours.”

Mapi frowned again, swallowing back the tears that threatened to fill up her eyes. Because Ingrid was everything to her, of course she was. She was the person that Mapi loved more than anyone, the first person she had ever really and truly fallen in love with. But Alexia was right. More often than not, her attention was pulled away from Ingrid, Isabel making an appearance. Maybe she was hungry, thirsty, tired. She could have been bored or overexcited or maybe she just couldn’t sleep. 

Because Isabel was her baby girl, her last connection to Luis; her last connection to her person before Ingrid. 

It was somewhat painful for Mapi to consider how these small things would have hurt the Norwegian, how they would have all built up over time, building Ingrid’s thick skin, the impenetrable strength and sometimes superficial happiness that the Spaniard wished to break down.

“What do I do, Ale?”

Her voice broke and Alexia pulled her upwards, straight into a hug. 

“You talk to her.”

Mapi nodded, falling back down to her lying position on the sofa, the exhaustion of the day overcoming her despite it only being 12pm. 

Alexia could tell the exact moment she fell asleep, her breathing evening out and her body finally relaxing. 

The midfielder had expected something like this to happen today. She knew that Luis’ death was a date engraved in her friend’s mind, one that could never pass without any upset, any thought. 

It was only the second anniversary so of course it would bring up all of the emotions that were left and ignored two years ago, Mapi’s grief pushed away by the little baby Isabel. The same thing had happened a year ago and the midfielder knew it would happen again in another year. 

Only she hoped she wouldn’t be needed in a years time, similar to how she had hoped that she wasn’t required this year. 

She had been somewhat surprised and just a little bit disappointed when she received Ingrid’s text, having hoped that Mapi finally would have spoken to her girlfriend about it, that Ingrid would have expected it and known exactly what she needed to do. It was abundantly clear, however, that it was not the case. 

Ingrid’s terrified and bewildered facial expression was one piece of evidence, but so was Mapi’s silence, her heavy breathing and her complete refusal to speak while the Norwegian was in the room. 

She was disappointed, really. She felt guilt overcome her as she watched Ingrid slip out of the room, a look of pure defeat written all over her face as she accepted that there was nothing she could do to help Mapi. 

Mapi who was an emotional wreck, who needed support and who just needed to let everything out for once. 

Mapi, who needed her girlfriend’s comfort but didn’t know how to ask for it, couldn’t bring herself to ask for it. 

Alexia knew that the Norwegian would have given it to her without a second thought. 

It was all she could think about as Ingrid walked back through the door, Isabel’s hand tight in hers as her eyes scanned the room and landed on the sleeping Mapi in Alexia’s lap. 

Isabel inspected her quietly, satisfied with her sleeping body on the sofa. She was with Alexia and Alexia made people happy. She was sure Mapi would be happy now, so she scampered out of the lounge and into the laundry where she knew Bagheera would be waiting. 

Ingrid was less convinced, sitting beside Alexia with concern written all over her face. 

“She’ll be alright.” Alexia whispered her words softly, an attempt to make the Norwegian feel better. She didn’t expect Ingrid’s eyes to fill up with tears, her head falling into her hands. 

“Why doesn’t she talk to me about any of this?”

Her voice sounded defeated, frustrated. Her watery eyes looked back up towards Alexia and the midfielder could easily see the anguish in her eyes. 

“She’s bad at talking about it, embarrassed by it. She doesn’t like to feel all these emotions so she just pushes them away. But they come back every now and again and she has no idea how to deal with it. I try telling her that it’s normal, she shouldn’t feel embarrassed but she doesn’t listen. It makes her feel weak, she said. You saw her earlier too, she just shuts down. I think it’s because she just doesn’t know what else she can do so she turns into a robot of sorts, on autopilot to get things done. And then someone will come and see straight through her and it’s like she breaks.”

Alexia’s eyes were watering, her hand coming to rest on Mapi’s head. 

“But she loves you so much, Ingrid. More than I’ve ever seen her love anyone before. I know she wants to talk to you about all this, she wishes she could just let it all out. We’ve discussed it before, what she could say, how she could say it. She’ll call me the next day and say she chickened out, she couldn’t bring herself to go through it all. It’s mentally exhausting, I think.  She used to be so confident in herself, she didn’t care about anything but her happiness and the happiness of the people around her. She was the person who would cheer everyone else up, make us smile and laugh. She’s still that person, that’s the one that we see everyday. But she never learnt how to grieve or how to let other people cheer her up and this is what happened because of it.”

Ingrid was quiet for a few moments, her eyes focussed on Mapi’s sleeping figure. She looked so peaceful, her golden brown hair falling over her face, completely covering her tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes. 

“Why didn’t you help her?”

She knew it wasn’t Alexia’s fault; she knew that the midfielder beside her would have done whatever she thought was right. But part of the Norwegian thought that if she had learned what to do with her emotions two years ago when Luis died, everything would be easier now. Everything would be easier for everyone. 

“She just wouldn’t let us. I regret it every day, Ingrid. ”

~~~~~~

It wasn’t long before Alexia left, leaving Ingrid with a sleeping Mapi and taking the almost two year old back to her house with her. 

They didn’t want Isabel to be able to understand what was going on, they didn’t want her to feel those sad emotions when she was entirely incapable of understanding why she suddenly felt so sad. 

So it was Ingrid’s face that Mapi woke up to, the familiar green piercing straight through her, a sad expression all over her face. 

“Ingrid.”

Her voice was hoarse, her words scratchy and her eyes swollen. It had been a difficult few hours and she felt entirely incapable of having the conversation that she knew Ingrid wanted to have. 

“I don’t know how… how do I even start?”

But it seemed she was wrong as Ingrid shook her head, her arms wrapping the Spaniard up in a tight hug as she sat up from her horizontal position. 

“No, you don’t need to. Not right now. You’re exhausted, physically and emotionally and I don’t want to talk now. I want you to be ok, I want to make you feel ok.”

Mapi didn’t know it, but the Norwegian’s words were exactly what she needed. Ingrid was exactly what she needed. 

Her emotional perception, the unique ability she had to be so aware of how everyone felt at any given time. It was one of her qualities that Mapi loved the most, one of the things that was so intriguing, so alluring about the defender. 

“What can I do to make you feel ok?”

Mapi smiled weakly, trying to bite back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. It wasn’t just sadness this time, but gratitude, love. Because Ingrid was perfect even when the centre back knew she had been the opposite of that. And despite all of Mapi’s own personal flaws, Ingrid still loved her. 

And if everything else fell apart, Mapi knew that her love would be more than enough. 

“You being here makes me feel ok.”

Ingrid smiled into the embrace, only releasing the hug when Mapi’s grip on her loosened. 

“Isabel is at Alexia’s and she will be there all night. She shouldn’t be in this environment when you are so upset, not when she’s so young. So it’s just you and me, whatever you want to do.”

Mapi nodded easily, somewhat relieved that her daughter was away from all this. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”

The evening was a slow one, relaxed and quiet in the calm apartment. They weaved around each other in the kitchen as they cooked with a practised ease, dinner cooked and plated up seamlessly. 

Conversation as they ate was minimal, the Spaniard clearly distracted and the Norwegian happy to focus on her own food. 

“I… I need to talk to you, Ingrid. Not right now, but soon. Maybe tomorrow. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say in a way that makes sense. It’s… hard for me, hard to talk about… it.”

The Norwegian’s attention was captured at the sound of Mapi’s voice, instantly nodding with a comforting smile on her face. 

“I know it’s hard. I don’t want you to feel any pressure to tell me anything.”

But the Spaniard disagreed, shaking her head quickly. 

“It’s not pressure, I want you to know everything.”

Ingrid’s forehead creased, her eyebrows drawing together as she frowned. 

“But why? Why do you want to go through it all again with yet another person if you don’t have to?”

It was Mapi’s turn to frown, her head shaking as she let out a quiet exhale. 

“I haven’t ever gone through everything with anyone. Alexia knows a lot, sure. I know she’s told you what she knows. I want you to know everything. Because I love you more than anything and for you to love me like that you have to know everything, you have to see all my faults, everything that I’m ashamed of.”

Ingrid stopped the tears from forming before they had a chance to materialise in her eyes, but Mapi could tell she was stopping herself from crying by the way her eyes blinked away the invisible tears. 

“What’s wrong?”

Her voice was incredibly soft, her Spanish lilt calming, comforting.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would change the way I love you. I couldn’t love you any more than I do and there’s nothing that will ever make me love you any less. I wish you would understand that sadness and grief isn’t a weakness or a fault, it’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s natural yet it takes a completely different path in every single person. You’re not different, Maria. You’re not weak. The opposite of weak, really. I love you for who you are, because you are funny, you’re kind, you’re caring. You look after people and you’re an incredible mother. I love you because you are strong, one of the strongest people I have ever met. The love I have for you is not… despite anything, there’s nothing that I would change because you’re perfect. So sure, tell me everything because I will listen but it will not change a single thing. Don’t tell me that I can’t love you before I know because I do, so much.”

“Thank you.” Mapi sniffled, her voice thready as she nodded at Ingrid, her eyes dropping back down to her plate in front of her. 

It was exactly what she needed to hear. 

~~~~~~

“Mami!” 

Despite Ingrid’s protests in the kitchen, Isabel bounded into their bedroom, bouncing up onto the bed right beside a sleeping Mapi. 

“Isabel! I said not to wake her up!” 

Ingrid frowned from her spot at the bedroom door, her forehead creasing further at Isabel’s defiant expression. The toddler turned back towards Mapi, shaking her shoulder rapidly. 

“Mami! Mami!” 

Ingrid rolled her eyes, releasing a loud sigh and shaking her head as the Spaniard rolled over, groaning as she opened her eyes. 

The past few days had been rough and Ingrid was sure Mapi hadn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep each day. The Norwegian was awoken constantly by the sound of her cries or her restless movements in the bed, but had stopped asking if she was ok after seeing the guilt on Mapi’s face at waking her up. 

It was an obvious question anyway, Mapi clearly was not ok.

She had been distant, often unfocused. The Norwegian had to take over the parenting ropes and she hadn’t left the Spaniard’s apartment, helping with cooking and cleaning and the other mundane housework that Mapi just didn’t have the energy to do. 

She would say a few words over meals, and quiet murmurs of gratitude throughout the day. Ingrid didn’t know how rapidly her notes app was filling up, full of dot points about how and what she would say to Ingrid. When she could bring up that conversation that she was so desperate yet so hesitant to have. 

“Morning Is.” The Spaniard rolled over, opening her arms up for the toddler as she fell into them, snuggling easily into her mother. 

“Mornin’ Mami!” 

Mapi smiled, looking over at Ingrid in the doorway and motioning for her to come and join them on the bed. Naturally, the Norwegian moved towards them, sitting up beside Mapi and resting her head on the centre back’s shoulder. 

“We were awake very early this morning, weren’t we Is?’

She rolled her eyes as the child nodded and Mapi bit back a laugh, squeezing Isabel softly. 

“You should have woken me.” Mapi smiled, planting a kiss on the side of Ingrid’s head, ignoring her scoff. 

“Ingrid said don’t wake you up, Mami!” Isabel interjected again, looking up at her mother. “But I missed you!” 

Mapi could only chuckle, planting a kiss on her child’s head. “I missed you too, my Is!”

It was a slow day, but one full of quiet laughter and happiness. The small family of three spent the late morning hours in bed, before getting up and heading down to the park and tiring the toddler out. She was exhausted by the time they got back, passing out on the sofa as Ingrid took off her shoes and Mapi scrubbed the mud out of her jacket. 

The girl had been put to bed by the time Mapi had returned from the laundry, Ingrid sat on the sofa with the remote in her hand. 

“What do you want to watch?”

She had heard Mapi walking towards the lounge room, apparently. The Spaniard didn’t enter immediately, instead steadying herself on the doorframe and taking a deep breath. 

The time had come, she realised. She couldn’t justify pushing this conversation away any longer, pretending that she wasn’t thinking about it when truthfully it was at the top of her mind at all times. 

She knew it wasn’t an easy conversation to have and she knew that it was going to be hard to bring it up. But that difficulty won’t ever go away, no matter how long she leaves it. If anything it will get harder over time because time gives her fears and anxieties an opportunity to grow, an opportunity to overcome her. 

And she was completely adamant that that would not happen. She would not be overcome by those terrors ever again. 

She realised she had paused in the doorway for too long when Ingrid turned around, a small frown settling on her face. 

“Are you ok?”

Mapi nodded, forcing a stressed smile onto her face and finally taking those steps inside, sitting herself on the sofa beside Ingrid and taking the remote from her hands. 

“Yes. No, but.. Yeah.” 

“Talk to me.”

And she did. She started at the beginning, all the way back when she was a small child and meeting Luis for the first time. She told Ingrid how they had been glued to each other’s sides forever, how they grew up and nothing ever changed. How grateful she was when Luis followed her to Barcelona, moving into his own apartment just a five minute walk away. 

The Spaniard reminisced on times where they would eat dinner on the floor of his unfinished apartment, takeaway boxes empty but the room still full of happiness and laughter. She showed Ingrid her tattoo, the little girl and boy on the playground that she had gotten to match with Luis. 

It was his first and only tattoo and he had only trusted Mapi to give it to him. She knew she had to get one the same and it was something they had treasured. A secret of sorts, a little thing that almost nobody knew about. 

The centre back explained how he had always been a paternal person, all the way back when they were those little kids on the playground. He would look out for everyone, act all big and strong to protect his friends even when he felt equally as terrified. He was the person that everyone went to as they got a bit older, his emotional nature and calm demeanour always popular among their peers. 

She told Ingrid that she always felt so lucky that even though he was so popular, she was still his best friend. She was always his number one and that only ever changed when Isabel came along. 

Isabel who was just as lovely as her boyfriend, another person that Mapi learned to love. 

Another person who proved time and time again that she was a mother. 

So she lamented on the heartbreak that the young couple experienced when they realised they couldn’t have a child, that parenthood seemed almost impossible. 

She explained her entire thought process to the Norwegian, how she debated with herself whether it was worth it to miss so much football during what could have been her peak years. Whether she would ever feel comfortable around a child that was half of her DNA, a child that she carried for nine months but technically didn’t belong to her. 

But Luis’ happiness was always the most important thing and when he rang her up for the 10th night in a row in tears, her decision was made for her. 

She told Ingrid how long it took to convince the couple to let her carry their child, having to go through the same arguments that she had with herself only weeks earlier, having to come up with rebuttals to their incredibly valid points. 

But it had only taken an emotional monologue from the Spaniard to convince them, all three of them sat in tears as they finally agreed to it. 

She talked her through the IVF process, every high and every low that she experienced. How easy the pregnancy was at the beginning, the only symptom her small bump and minor cravings. 

But she had Luis and she had Isabel at that point, both of them so incredibly grateful that they practically waited on the centre back’s hand and foot. It annoyed her, really, so she had kicked them out of her apartment, told them to only come over if she called them. 

For the most part, they respected that, only visiting once a week unless Mapi called them for the company. 

She admitted how much she regretted that deal, how she wished that she made them sit with her all day every day. 

Maybe then they wouldn’t have been in the car that day, maybe they would have been safe and sound in Mapi’s apartment. 

She couldn’t have known that their trip to Madrid would be fatal, there was no way of being able to foresee that and to stop them from going. 

Tears started to slip down her cheeks as she recalled what they told her over the phone, how both Isabel and Luis had been killed on impact. A drunk driver, it was, a drunk driver who was miraculously left unscathed. 

She talked Ingrid through her thoughts that followed the phone call, after she had sobbed and screamed. Once the tears had finally ceased and an unsettling silence fell upon her apartment. 

She felt lost, she felt alone. She wanted to call Luis because he was the person that made her feel better in these times, he was her company when it felt like her entire world was falling apart. 

But of course she couldn’t call Luis. She should have called someone else, her mother, her brother. Alexia, even. But that would be replacing her best friend, something she couldn’t bring herself to do. Not so soon after he had died. Not when the wound was so fresh, not before she even got the chance to process it. 

She admitted to her girlfriend that she still hadn’t really processed it, that it was still a work in progress. His death was one she would never understand, she didn’t think she ever would fully process the idea that he was gone. 

Ingrid let tears spill from her eyes as Mapi remembered how lonely she was for the next few weeks, how she realised that now she had this child that she was just supposed to be able to raise. How she felt entirely unprepared, unfit to be a mother, unequipped to be able to raise a child to a standard that Luis would be happy with. 

How she doubted herself even before Isabel was born.

When she gave birth it got so much harder, everything seemed so impossible and she couldn’t think about anything else other than that little life in her arms. 

She had fallen in love with the baby immediately, guilt overcoming her at her selfish gratitude that Isabel was a living reminder of Luis, she was someone that Mapi would always have. A living being that literally carried her father around with her. 

She told Ingrid how she saw his eyes as soon as they opened, the tape over her shattered heart doing little to protect it when it was forcefully thrown back on the ground at the reminder of everything she had lost. 

But as she spent more and more time with Isabel, as she watched the little girl grow up she could feel her heart building itself back together, little pieces at a time supergluing themselves together, creating an indestructible structure. 

Isabel had been the reason her heart was being fixed, the reason that she felt like she could finally breathe again, finally reunited with the organ that pumped the blood around her body, the organ that made her feel alive. 

She smiled through the tears as she recalled how alive she felt when Isabel took her first steps, when her first words tumbled right out of her mouth. As the child laughed, as she played with the cat. As she grew up into a child, something for Mapi to love, to be so incredibly proud of. 

Because Luis was gone and that was something that Mapi would never be ok with. 

But he left her the greatest gift of all time, like he knew that his best friend wouldn’t be ok without him. 

And similar to everything else he had done for Mapi through their lives, this gift, his daughter, had made sure that the blood never stopped pumping, that every single fragment of her shattered heart was still there, ready and waiting for its turn to be glued back into place. 

Isabel had done a good job of orchestrating the reconstruction, even if she had no idea what she was doing. 

“But then you came along, Ingrid, and you fixed my heart too.”

~~~~~~

alright this was very long

i've proofread a couple times and kinda hate this but it's as good as it will get :)

please let me know what you think! send me anything else you would like to see as well.

and i apologise for this taking so long, i have been very busy with uni (as usual) but on top of that i had surgery on my knee almost a week ago so am very tired and in a fair amount of pain at the minute

have a good day

[authorhjk1]

Lewd thought of snsd otp 9 with mommy femdom kinks please

Taeyeon

Taeyeon is a gentle mommy. As long as you do your best to satisfy her, there aren't really any downsides to it. She can get a bit demanding sometimes, but she cares about you as well. She makes sure that you cum inside, everytime she fucks you. When she only lets you eat her pussy, she always gives positive encouragement, sometimes a compliment here and there. Taeyeon doesn't like to punish you, but when she feels it's necessary, be prepared for her to ride and drain you, until you're a whimpering mess, unable to move, while she keeps going.

Jessica

Jessica is similar to Taeyeon. Or at least that's what she wants you to think. She gaslights you into believing all sorts of stuff. As long as you satisfy her, she won't be mad. And she always tells you it feels way better when she has an orgasm. For the both of you. Your release isn't as important. Whenever Jessica just uses you, until you break, she cups your cheek with one hand, while she rides you, her tone soothing and caring.

Sunny

"Don't listen to your mind, baby. You can take more, trust me. Just make mommy cum and you'll know how good it really can feel."

While Sunny acts cold most of the time, she still like to be worshipped. She enjoys it so much, when you start to beg for sex. She makes you wait, until she herself can't hold back anymore. But once she starts, everyone will see whom you belong to. The day after, your neck, is marked with hickies. Your cheek is still slightly red from where she slapped you a little too hard. And your lip finally stopped bleeding after she bit down on it too hard, while she was climaxing.

Sunny liked to use you and she doesn't really care if she brakes you in the process.

Tiffany

Despite popular belief, Tiffany isn't soft or caring at all. She always looks sweet and innocent, not able to hurt a fly. And often, you're the one in charge in and outside the bedroom. But when Tiffany comes back home after traveling, or when another woman looks at you a little too long, she turns bad. She keeps you awake the whole night, reminding you of whom you really belong to. Tiffany often likes to tie you up. To the bedposts, or the table, or the chair. And then she rides you, plays with you, hurts you, until only her name leaves your lips.

Hyoyeon

Hyoyeon likes to toy with you, when you're blind. A blindfold, a tie, or even just putting a pillow on your face. Whatever it is that makes you vulnerable. You flinch whenever she suddenly touches you, not knowing what's going to happen next. Sometimes she just lets her fingers roam your body, or she uses ice cubes. Occasionally she even uses candles. Everytime she puts something over your eyes, your as excited as you're scared. She might suck your cock in one moment and let hot wax fall on your naked skin in the next.

Yuri

Yuri likes to watch you. She makes you sit on the bed, while she sits in a chair in front of you.

"Cum for me."

She would look at you with a cold gaze, watching how you admire her fully clothed body. You're not aloud to see her naked yet. When you finally cum, chest heaving heavily, Yuri stands up. She walks up to you and sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Again."

She makes you cum, until she is satisfied. Once you're completely drained, she strips in front of you.

"Now, make me cum as often as you just came."

Sooyoung

Sooyoung likes to put you in your place. Usually with words, even in public. But with with actions as well. Sometimes it's just something casual. When the two of you leave a restaurant: "Let's go, boy toy." Or when she is horny in the morning and already straddled you, before you're even fully awake: "Good morning, hot stuff."

But Sooyoung likes to make use of the saying "actions speak louder than words". That's why calling you names isn't enough for her. Sooyoung is a squirter. And she loves to cum all over your face, showing you that you're hers and your place is at her pussy, eating her out, until her juices drench your face.

Yoona

Yoona can switch it up really fast. One moment she is loving and caring. And the next she wraps her hands around your throat, ordering you to make her cum right then, on the spot. And there is no middle ground either. She likes it when you get a little rough too, but usually, you pay the price for that later.

Most of your days start with gentle kisses. A smile here, a laugh there. And then Yoona rolls herself on top of you. Giving you even more kisses. Eventually she reaches your crotch. Your eyes fall shut again, when she works your cock. But before you can cum, Yoona is suddenly sitting on top of you. Both hands on your throat as she lowers herself onto you.

"Be a good toy. Don't cum until I give you permission."

Seohyun

Seohyun likes to show you off, while acting cute and innocent and loving in public. Whenever someone points out a hicky, she acts all shy, embarrassed that someone might think she isn't all that innocent.

But as soon as the two of you are alone, Seohyun let's go of the good girl facade. She tells you how it turns her on that people think she is innocent, but in reality, she is making you scream her name every day. In public, she always gives you the sweetest smiles. And in the bedroom, her smiles are dark and drenched with lust.

[harksness]

A/N: i was so feral over detective harkness i wrote a quick lil smut fic (thanx to the rings anon who gave me an idea for this lol <3)

also I KNOW SHES TECHNICALLY AGNES HERE SHHHH JUST GO WITH IT

Warnings: SMUT, oral, Agatha receiving, hair pulling, degradation and praise. Dom! Agatha as per usual. Sub! Reader as per usual.

WC: 2.1k

Carefully, you push the door to Agatha’s office closed behind you and twist the lock. She doesn’t even notice that you entered, hunched over her desk with papers and files sprawled out beneath her, pen clenched in her left hand as she bends over the mess. Strands of hair had slipped out of her ponytail, hanging along the sides of her face.

Once in a while you’ll surprise her at work like this. She’s been so stressed lately that she hasn’t been sleeping through the night. That's not abnormal for your wife, she is a bit of a workaholic afterall, but sometimes she just needs you to drag her back into reality. And that's been hard to do with your conflicting work schedules and her long days lately.

Slowly, so you don't startle her, you walk over to Agatha’s desk. Her eyes glance up to you but don’t seem to process you right away as the flick back down to her work, before landing back on you again. As the realization finally sinks in, a smile grows on her features.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the way she shoots you a wide grin, legs spreading as she leans back in her office chair to look up at you.

“Hey, even hotter stuff.”

She snorts at your flirting, throwing her pen down onto her desk. It makes you feel a little too smug that it's so easy for her to forget her work when you're around.

“You don’t look in the mirror as much as you should. You’re obviously the hotter stuff.”

She argues lightheartedly as you turn and lean against the desk next to her, the plush of your ass digging into the edge of the tabletop as you smile down at her.

“Well I could say the same thing to you.”

Again, she snorts.

“I’ve barely slept the last few days, my eye bags are huge, my hair is a mess and I’ve got stains all down the front of my frumpy flannel. I’m not hot right now.”

Agatha's eyes are tired and her words make your heart ache in your chest. She's always the most beautiful thing in the world, the details don't matter. She's just always stunning.

You lean in towards her and take her face in your hands, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans into your touch.

“You’re always hot, baby.. It doesn’t matter the circumstances.”

You coo at her, a little laugh escaping her lips as you lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. You decide to speak up before she can continue arguing you, knowing her stubbornness wouldn't let this go unless you changed the subject.

“You look stressed, my love..”

Agatha groans at your words, frustrated.

“There’s just a lot going on right now.. Yknow?”

You nod your head in understanding. When you married her, you knew this is what you were signing up for. She’s obsessed with her job, gone for long periods of time and unable to take her mind off of her work. And that dedication is something you love about her regardless. You’re okay with being her anchor, tethering her and bringing her back to reality. She always floats back to you when you pull her back down to Earth, and that’s all you could ever ask for. 

You’ll happily keep doing this for the rest of your life.

Leaning down, you press your lips against her cheek in a lingering kiss, lips ghosting against her skin as you speak.

“Why don’t you let me help you take your mind off of things for a bit..”

You whisper against her soft skin, and she lets out an amused noise as you continue to kiss her, your lips moving to trace along her jawline as you guide her head to tilt to the side.

“Baby… Fuck.. We can’t-”

As she says that her hands are reaching for you, grabbing you and pulling you closer. You smile against her skin.

“Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you really want me to..”

She doesn't answer, torn between doing what she wants and the responsible thing.

You pull back, admiring her beautiful, tired features for a moment. She looks up at you with love pooling in her eyes as you trace your thumb affectionately along her cheek, under the deep purple bags creasing under her pretty bright eyes before placing a lingering kiss on her lips.

Then, you quickly glance behind you at the door you locked on the way in, ensuring it’s still secure before you drop to your knees in front of her, right below her desk and between her spread legs. The firm carpet is rough on your knees but you don't care, the woman before you is more important. She groans and lets out a louder curse at the sight of you before her.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this..”

She breathes the words out and you smile up at her, leaning forward and running your hands up her clothed thighs.

“Then let me make your fantasy come true, baby.. Please?”

You beg sweetly, batting your eyelashes up at her. She digs her teeth into her bottom lip, eyes flickering greedily over you as she contemplates what to do. 

“Fuck, you’re worth getting fired over.”

You’re grinning ear to ear as you lean forward, running your hands from her knees all the way up her thighs and to the waist of her pants. She watches you with eager eyes, greedy smile etched into her pretty pink lips as she raises her hips off the chair.

Quickly, your hands scramble to undo her pants before grabbing the hem and pulling them down and off her legs, underwear and all, leaving her bare for you as more and more of her soft, pale skin is exposed.

She laughs softly at your eagerness, raising a hand to card sweetly through your locks.

“You begged for this, sweet girl.. Now, you better do a good job if you’re willing to risk my career over it.”

She teases and you lean in, holding her gaze as you press a lingering, open mouth kiss to the inside of her knee. You’re a bit insulted by her words.

“I would never leave you unsatisfied..”

You mumble against her plush skin, taking your time as you softly, firmly press your open mouth against her thigh over and over again as you trail kisses further up her legs.

Here and there you bite softly, dragging your teeth across the sensitive flesh. You feel yourself turning into putty beneath her at every soft gasp that slips past her lips, one of her hands mindlessly toying with your hair.

You start to repeat the actions on her other thigh, wanting to lavish her with sweet kisses and worship her when she lets out a frustrated sigh. Agatha winds her fingers into your hair, slumping down even further and spreading her legs wider as she pushes your mouth against her waiting cunt. You groan, immediately parting your lips as you breathe her in eagerly.

“No teasing, sweetheart… You’re gonna be a good girl and give me exactly what I want, aren’t you?”

She coos down at you, soothingly rubbing her fingers against your scalp. Immediately you let out a needy noise against her and nod your head, desperate to please.

“Good fuckin girl.”

Her voice is low as you drag your tongue through her wet folds. She lets out a controlled, quiet noise, only loud enough for you to hear as you lick up her sweetness. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the taste of her heavy on your tongue.

You begin toying with her clit, first using your tongue to ghost over it in experimental patterns as you try to wind her up. Her chair creaks as she shifts a bit, hand tightening in your hair. 

You can’t get enough of the taste of her. Heavy and metallic and so good, you don't think it could ever be enough. You’d live between her thighs, eating and surviving off of nothing but her pussy for the rest of your life if you could. You make out to kiss the little bud, puckering your lips as you drag them over it before opening your mouth and sucking it between your lips. 

She groans at that, throwing her head back against the back of her seat as you flick your tongue along her clit in quick passes, groaning against her wet cunt as you do. You feel her arousal soaking your lips, and you want to lick up every sweet drop.

“Fuck, baby..”

Agatha curses, heavy breaths dropping from her lips as she looks down at you with lidded eyes. You look back up at her, squirming desperately from your place between her legs.

“You’re such a slut, just for me, hm? So desperate for me to fuck your mouth that you had to crawl under my desk and beg for it, hm?”

Agatha's voice is breathy and erratic as she rests one arm against her chair, canting her hips up against your waiting mouth, her hand buried in your hair and forcing you down and against her with each thrust. You groan against her cunt, breathing heavily as she grinds herself against your tongue. 

You just hold your tongue out for her, letting her guide you however she needs as she fucks herself against your mouth.

“Say it, say you’re my slut with your mouth full of my pussy..”

You groan at her words, nails biting into her calves as you gargle out the words that are muffled by her cunt. She laughs softly, dropping her hips back down onto the chair for a moment and pulling your head back. You heave for air, a stupid smile on your lips as you feel her wetness soaking your lips and chin.

“Say it again.”

Agatha demands, a sadistic grin on her features as she sharply pulls your head back by the fistfull of your hair. You can’t control the moan that bursts past your lips as the delicious sting settles across your scalp.

“I’m your slut, Agatha.. Just yours.. I belong to you..”

You manage to heave the words between breaths and she grins down at you with a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Good girl. Now, get back to work, slut..”

She demands, leaning back into her chair once again and you’re eagerly diving back between her soft thighs, warm and dewey with a thin layer of sweat. Her moans are more frequent now, soft and quiet and deep as they escape her lips. You suck her clit between your teeth gently, flicking your tongue over the nub as quickly as you can.

“Ooooh.. Yes..”

Agatha breathes out, jolting a bit as she raises her hips off of her seat, pressing your needy mouth harder against her wet cunt as she begins to rut against your tongue desperately. You moan into her, meeting each thrust, making sure each movement of your tongue on her clit is calculated and precise.

She gasps sharply, freezing and desperately smushing your face harder against her. You know she’s close, and with that you harshly suck on her clit, hands desperately pawing at her soft thighs as they squeeze around your head, her mouth hung open in a silent moan as she curls in on you, curses dropping from her lips.

Your whole world stops and she’s the only thing that exists as she seizes up, sharp gasps escaping her lips as her eyes pinch shut, body tensing all around you as she cums against your waiting mouth. You watch her with wide eyes, drinking in every little reaction.

A strand of her lovely brown hair sticks to the side of her face, her long, pale neck exposed. You just want to pepper kisses along every inch of her skin. The way her fingers are tightly gripping your hair burns your scalp, but you revel in the sting because it’s just an expression of her pleasure as she cums for you.

With one last relieved gasp her grip on your head loosens and she collapses into her chair, the wheels clanking as she throws her weight back down onto it. She starts breathily laughing, raising one hand to push her stray hairs behind her ears while she rubs soothing circles against your scalp with the other. 

“Ahh.. You’re right.. You never leave me unsatisfied. You’re so good for me, sweet girl..”

She coos, smiling lazily down at you before she leans forward, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You hum happily, a lovesick grin on your lips.

“I’m always happy to be good for you.."

You smile up at her, resting a cheek on her soft, warm thigh. But the sweet moment is short lived, because your features drop and panic sets in when a firm knocking sounds from her office door.

[boowritess]

i love love love the headcanon of the 141 not having kids and babies and ewey.

i think that john price is still very relevant to that. kinda. i don't really seeing him having a pet honestly. unless you wanted one... sure... but nah y'know... he's old tired af. maybe a cat. probably definitely a cat.

but it's been you and john for as long as you can remember.

happy to be in each other's presence from morning to night, or simply just exist in a shared life that means you two don't have to always be around each other.

you could be shopping and he could be sleeping. he's outside tending to the stuff he had supposed to finish before he left deployment while you're reading on the couch inside. he's on a long deployment again, and you're at work.

plus the prospect of kids just never seemed to work into the schedule. "nah," john says to one of your friends, "can handle kids fine, but when i'm home, this old mans bones are good for sleep and not much else. i mean the breeding kink can get me goi-" john grunts when you elbow into his side.

"crude." you huff with an eyeroll.

"but true." he says into his beer as he takes a sip, eyes sparking with mischief.

your friend turns to you. "but doesn't it get lonely?" they asks. "wouldn't you want a little one running around?"

and well sometimes the days may be lonely for you when he's gone...

but that's become impossibly hard to focus on when your phone is being constantly blown up - not by price though. by the 141.

it's never really anything outrages or civil conversation. it's gaz asking which tie he should wear at an event because price said the black one but gaz doesn't really like the black one. then it's johnny sending you a video of him besting his previous time on a training course. though it doesn't stop there. ghost is messaging late nights for him but mid-day for you, asking about how to deal with insomnia. ghost is asking you because he knows you're awake and the others are asleep, he doesn't want to bother them.

you answer every single one, with so much care and attentiveness. you save every picture, every video and boost about their achievements to other people as if they were your own. however, people always assume you're talking about little kids not grown ass men.

yet on days when you're at home or you've come home from work. you're hardly surprised to find one of them had invited themselves into yours and johns home as if it was their own.

sometimes it's gaz crashed out on the couch who's in a desperate need of a shower but definitely needs sleep more.

or the sounds of soap in your fridge, raking around to find something to eat. "lass, ye out of cheese-" he ate the cheese. the whole newly bought block of it.

gaz and soap like to hover around you when they're home. whereas ghost helps price around the house.

but when it's just you and ghost, the oldest boy. it's quiet. there's no forced conversations but probably a few shitty jokes. it's you or him making food and the other doing the dishes. yet ghost opens up and the conversations turn into some of the most randomist, boyish, silly conversations.

when everyone's at home, it can actually be pretty hectic. so you go do the grocery shopping, but you take ghost along cause he's a little like you in regard for a need of quiet time.

oh and can't forget the days you go out by yourself only to come home with a few other things. socks for john - socks for all of them. you bought johnny a new pair of jeans and gaz a couple of shirts. and simon some more sweaters.

christmas, easter, new years - every single holiday is always hosted at yours and price. where everyone comes. farah, alex, laswell and her wife. rudy and alejandro making their way- then of course your boys...

and it's there where you've kinda realized.

you and john do have kids.

just in the form of grown men.

which both you and john don't seem to mind.

you end up shrugging your shoulders as you look at your friend, "honestly i have my hands full when they're all home. so... i'm good." you say with a hum, sipping from your own drink with a small smile as john just chuckles softly.

a/n: realized I never posted this. oh well. the no baby saga continues with john price. drink water be well ya'll xx

[tealottie]

What are your headcanons about Della?

I have so many, but tbh my favorite headcanons have to do with her having PTSD - so i can't promise this will be a fun post

MASTERLIST OF DELLA HEADCANONS BELOW:

Appearance:

Scars from the Moon

One across her beak on left side

Scars on her arms and legs

Other markings

Stretch marks especially on her tummy and butt

A few stretch marks on her chest and thighs

Freckles on her beak (because she had triplets and ducks IRL sometimes get freckles after pregnancy)

Other

Chubby pear shape

DD cup size

Squishy belly

Big eyes

Fluffy unkempt feathers (she's bad at preening)

Thin hair (also bad at taking care of it)

Short beak

Queer Headcanons:

Homoromantic

Bisexual

Prefers to just call herself a lesbian

Ciswoman (doesn't mind they/them pronouns and probably finds it entertaining if she's referred to as he/him)

Supports all of her queer babies

She also does not actively seek out romance, but she isn't offput by the idea entirely

Mental Health and Neurodiverse Headcanons:

PTSD

Hates being alone at any given moment and had to ask Donald if she could room with him in the houseboat for a few months

Genuinely cannot look at her reflection and will be needing exposure therapy

Does not like the feeling of movement underwater because it reminds her of the moon's gravity

Terrified that she'll never be fully capable of being a mom because of the 10 years she missed

Cringes at any moon or space themed items now - sometimes triggers her on a bad day or if she looks at them for too long

Her hair being too long is a trigger for her, so she always keeps it shoulder length or above

She ALWAYS feels cold even if her body temperature is normal and sometimes it drives her crazy

Lots of nightmares about what-ifs - what if it was my kids instead of me, what if it was my brother instead of me, what if i didnt have oxychew, what if i never met the Moonlanders, etc etc etc

The taste of black licorice will genuinely send her spiraling, and because it lingers - it wrecks her for days (she hates similar flavors such as rootbeer)

Finds a lot of joy in warm places so she now loves to be out in the sun

Had a period of time where she wasn't really talking with Penumbra because of the severity of her triggers/ptsd

Both finds peace in dead silence, but it also brings her back to the moon as well - she has a very complex relationship with isolation

Prefers silver over gold (even though she doesn't wear jewelry, she likes silver on others and silver on things such as zippers and buttons)

Spent quite a few years terrified of flying after the horror of her own trauma set in, but it threw her into a big depression since piloting is her passion

Hates taking care of her stump because she doesn't like taking her prosthetic leg off - she sees it as her own, so she hates taking it off even though she knows she needs to when sleeping or showering

She has a hard time looking at her stump and scars because on one hand; sick as hell battle wounds, but on the other; damn was that the worst time in my entire life

Depression and Anxiety

Even before crashlanding on the moon, she dealt with depression and social anxiety

She has a bit of a hard time keeping her room tidy and taking care of herself, but she's phenomenal at putting other people first

Feels as though she's not attractive enough

Wants to be a ray of sunshine in other peoples' lives

She's very scared that she won't be enough for people and therefore she must put 110% into everything she does for others

ADHD and Autism

Her sensory issues tend to directly conflict with her PTSD issues - like she hates silence because of the moon, but sometimes she gets overstimulated by noise and needs the silence or alone time

She does not sleep until her body physically passes out because the change in activity is hard for her to deal with

Goes insane if she feels understimulated because her brain begins to shut down and she dissociates

Many, many stims (sometimes doubles as grounding with PTSD): bouncing her leg, various hand motions, feeling the fabric of her clothes, physical affection with her loved ones, playing with the tightness of her prosthetic (loosening and then tightening it over and over), shaking her head to feel her hair around her shoulders (and solidifying that what she's feeling is earth gravity)

Really hard time understanding social cues that makes her come across as rather ditzy

Special interest in aircraft technology and was a top student at her flight school

Love/Hate relationship with reading because if she enjoys what she's reading she gets invested, but if she's understimulated, the words jumble together in her mind

Not good at math for a similar reason

Fish are a huge sensory nightmare for her; the scales, the smell, the taste, etc

Is generally pretty sensory-seeking, but has a few Hard Nos on textures (such as slimy scales)

Other:

I headcanon Della having compulsive sexual behavior disorder, and her libido especially spiked after being on the moon for 10 years, and it makes her feel really gross at times

Due to said hypersexuality, she gets intrusive thoughts that piss her off

Because of the moon not really having a clear indicator of night and day, Della lost her circadian rhythm and struggles with a Hell combination of non-24 and ADHD insomnia

The lack of general sleep makes it hard for her to lose weight and so she's insecure about that

Physical Disabilities:

Because she was on the moon for so long, the zero gravity and lack of proper breathable oxygen took a huge toll on her, physically

She developed really bad asthma and will likely be recovering from it for the rest of her life

Her lungs can only intake so much oxygen at a time, so she also struggles with shortness of breath

Upon returning to earth, her body was really broken down from the cold atmosphere - causing her to not be able to regulate her body temperature properly

Her bones were weakened upon arrival, so she has to spend years recovering physically from it

Her stump is irritated a lot because she doesn't like taking care of it properly

She owns crutches for when she needs to take breaks from her prosthetic just because of the discomfort when wearing it

She is not afraid to hit Donald with a crutch BTW

IF THERE ARE ANY OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS THAT YOU ARE CURIOUS ABOUT, SHOOT ME AN ASK! <3

[cosmicconversations]

Thoughts On Libra (Sun, Moon, Rising) 😍

LIBRA SUN

Those with the Sun in Libra are interesting people. They have complex personalities but tend to hide that behind some sort of veneer they think is acceptable. But, they are generally not phony people. In fact, they are the least likely to fit the stereotypical “fake nice” Libra mold. Many of them are quite assertive and have no issue fighting back or standing their ground. However, they will default to whatever they think is fair. But, fairness can mean convicting a criminal and sending them to prison. Libra Suns are like judges. They make objective and impartial assessments and they know how to get people to listen to them. If they are ever harsh, it is usually warranted. But, they can also become overly fixated on the idea of “justice”, which can make them a bitter enemy to have or bring out a vindictive streak. Relationships matter a lot to them but largely because they feel like others need them. Kind of like Cancer, they need to be needed; not so much emotionally but more so to give feedback, validation, and encouragement. When they are younger or not so self-aware, they may project this role on to others, feeling like they are the ones who need other people to thrive. But, no. They are the ones who keep their loved ones balanced. In a romantic context, they are the strong man/woman behind their partner. (But, they deserve the same support in return!) Their famous flaky or noncommittal streak can stem from insecurities regarding the pressure of being that support system. If they don’t see the value of their partnership or presence in others’ lives, they can become avoidant in response.

LIBRA MOON

Libra Moons have a hard time telling the difference between their need to keep the peace and their insecurities. An essential insecurity of theirs is being disliked or having someone else reject them. At the same time, it is hard for them to be fully honest with themselves about their emotions or motives. So, they may convince themselves that they are being thoughtful or kind when they are really just avoiding conflict or suppressing their needs or ignoring deeper feelings. It might seem like it doesn’t take much to make them happy. But, sometimes, they don’t actually know what makes them happy. Moon in Libra people tend to kiss the ground their mom/mother figure walks on. They put this parent on a pedestal and can struggle to acknowledge their actual issues with her. Doing so can give them major inner child healing they didn’t know they needed. They have to realize their needs matter, too! Many people with this Moon sign are very, very sweet and thoughtful. They feel very fulfilled by acts of kindness toward others and will go out of their way to make their family or friends or significant other feel special and loved. They are sensitive but in a more intellectual way. As Air Moons, it can be harder for them to grasp the emotional nuances of situations. Yet, they will always be there with a comforting word or a listening ear. But, less evolved or mature people with this placement could expect others to always be there for them or see their point of view while failing to realize they don’t give them the same consideration or support. Avoiding accountability can be their way of avoiding possible rejection.

LIBRA RISING

So, I agree. I think Libra Risings are really pretty. But, it is not just a physical thing, although it can be for many. With Venus influencing their Rising sign, a lot of them are blessed with a facial harmony and lovely features that go beyond genetics. Your energy and aura affect your appearance. So, since Libra Rising has such a lovely aura and energy, it is like they were just meant to be pleasing to look at. But, their overall vibe is highly attractive, as well. Without even trying, they charm and endear and win people over in any given situation. Most Libra Risings are never single, either always jumping from one relationship to the next or spending most of their life in a major connection, for better or worse. Select people with this placement may spend long periods single but still live their lives in ways that put others at the center, like being of service or always being there for the people they love. A fixation on fashion or passion for art can be other ways they strive to bring beauty or happiness to others. Let’s be honest, though. Some people with this placement can be horrifically fake. Not all of them, though. I feel like there are three types of Libra Risings. The first type has a “niceness” that is largely a facade, smiling in your face but then talking shit behind your back or being secretly manipulative. The second kind is genuinely super-sweet and caring, to the point where they either need to get better at asserting themselves or making sure others don’t take advantage of them. The first kind can often present themselves as the second but their true colors are eventually revealed. And the third type can be a little blunt and “tell it like it is” but only because they want others to do the same for them. So, they are treating them how they wanted to be treated. This is part of their charm and, in spite of their potential harshness, they are very likable and kindhearted.

[periprose]

Can I have a Logan Howlett x Angel!Fem!Reader where Logan sees the reader in the kitchen having a bit of a meltdown and uncomfortable feeling over holding a knife (for like, cooking reasons or smth) and he calms her down because the reader just doesn’t want to hurt anyone :(? I’d appreciate it thanks! (I’ve seen you wanted more Angel reader, so im here to reciprocate :3)

AHhhh this fits so well Anon (maybe unintentionally so, the previous fic had a little snippet about Angel's mom trying to stab her when she was young...) but I love your brain. I made it a bit longer and added some stuff and it's set before the previous Logan Gains a Guardian Angel fic (LGGA for short) so they're not together yet.

Knives Drip Chocolate (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild traumatic flashback stuff (but no violence)

LGGA Masterlist

Logan is always ready for a late-night snack.

It’s hard for him to feel full, a lot of the time– he didn’t always have the easiest access to food, and he’s known for a while, if there’s a brief period in his immortal-like life where he can just relax about food and supplies, he shouldn’t take that for granted. 

Plus with an accelerated healing factor, sometimes his body starts digesting food too quickly, leading to faster body repair, but nothing to feel satisfied about.

So he’s got tons of cravings. Something that you are constantly bothered about, even now, as Logan knocks on your door, asking yet again if you’d accompany him to the kitchen.

Not that you actually mind. Sometimes you think you’d follow Logan into hell if he asked nicely enough, despite your occasionally evasive attitude keeping him on his toes.

“Angel, please. I’m starving.” Logan’s grumpy complaints are muffled behind your door, and you wonder why a nearly 200 year old man needs you so badly, to be by his side, when he’s spent so long being a loner.

“I’m coming.” You yawn, pulling yourself out of your bed– Storm is your roommate, and she’s passed out, stone cold. You quickly finger comb your hair, and fix your giant t-shirt, so your shoulder isn’t so exposed.

Silly, because you know Logan doesn’t care.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad, because you don’t want to get attached to Logan, not when he’s sure to toss you aside like he’s done with the rest of them eventually. But you can’t help yourself– Logan is easy to be around, he knows your fears and little quirks, and he has never treated you like you’re so different for being a little quiet, like him. 

You know everyone has noticed. When you open your bedroom door, and Logan stares at you for a moment– an unreadable, soft glance in his eyes, one that you could choose to ignore, but don’t, as you stare back at him– you know all the other X-Men see it. Some silly crush you have on him, that clearly confuses Logan himself as he shakes his head, and pulls you by the arm out of your room, your PJs and hair askew.

Logan himself looks good, you have to admit– wearing lazy sweatpants and a white tank-top, his arm muscles looking especially defined tonight– and you pull your arm away, embarrassed that you give into these feelings so easily.

He’s only ever going to be your best friend. Even now, there’s nothing romantic about the way Logan asks if you want a ham and cheddar sandwich, too. He’s just looking out for you. 

Jean, Scott, and Storm have literally asked you, more than once, if you and Logan had maybe slept together, or kissed, or anything that would be a culmination of some supposed lust, in which case you always laugh awkwardly and deny everything. 

Your excuse is that it’s deeper than that, and it’s one-sided. What would be the point of bringing it up if it would just end in heartbreak?

“Earth to Angel.” Logan shakes your arm, breaking your stride. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, isn’t it? You’re always up in Heaven. Daydreaming about who the hell knows what.”

“Haha, Logan.” You mockingly say in a deadpan voice. “What is it?”

“Your wings are flexing a little bit, again, like they’re about to open. They’re kind of pulsing.” He says it in a soft tone, ushering in some concern he has, and you find yourself wishing that you were someone normal, someone that Logan didn’t have to care so much about. 

It’s not that you’re not happy to have his concern, it’s just that you don’t know what to do with it. Thank him for it? You have never been used to people looking out for you.

“It’s fine. Sometimes I get muscle spasms, it’s nothing to worry about.” You mutter, knowing it has to do with anxiety, but Logan looks a bit unconvinced.

“Okay. But if you keep having weird tremors, I’m taking you to the hospital wing so you can get diagnosed.” Logan states, and you open your mouth to argue, but he tuts. “No arguing about this. Last thing we need is for you to die from stress or cancer or something.”

Your heartbeat quickens, not at the mention of cancer, but because Logan used we and now you’re just thinking about how you’re always together.

Not like that, though.

“Okay, Logan. I get it.” You shake your head. “I won’t die.” 

“Not yet. We got snacks to eat.” Logan agrees, as he leads you into the kitchen.

/

Logan’s got you working on making hot chocolate as he makes the sandwiches, pan-frying them till the cheese is hot and melty. 

It’s not really a common mix, you think, but you’re just happy to be helping.

“Careful. Milk boils over fast.” Logan comments from next to you, mostly focused on his own side of the stove, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that.” You retort, but as you look away from the stove for one second, the pot of milk nearly does boil over, and you swear, reducing the heat quickly.

Logan starts laughing. “Told you.”

You shove him lightly, and he has a stupid grin on his face, one where you know Logan takes such joy in teasing you at times. Like this is one of the greatest pleasures in life.

You move the milk over to the counter, to let it cool, and then remember something semi-important. 

“Logan? Don’t forget, Scott wanted extra ham for the Hawaiian pizza they’re making tomorrow–” As you’re reminding him, Logan wordlessly shows you the empty ham package, telling you that he used all of it for the sandwiches.

“You snooze, you lose.” Logan shrugs, and you close your eyes in partial defeat, trying not to laugh at his antics.

“I guess, but you never seem to lose, and Scott’s always chewing me out for your ‘mistakes.’” You point at yourself, tongue poking through the side of your mouth, and Logan raises his eyebrows. “Tell me: Am I snoozing, or are you just lucky that I take the blame?”

“Ah, Angel… you’re obviously asleep.” Logan smirks, and you scoff at his audacity, having expected a semi-apology from him. “No one ever said you had to take the blame for my snacks. You could’ve just told him it was Jean, and he wouldn’t have asked any questions.”

You blink at him. “Lying to our team’s leader aside, why Jean?”

“C’mon. Scott’s crazy over her, they’ve been together for however long, and he can never say no to her. It’s the perfect excuse– he wouldn’t even ask her about missing food, so not to offend his sweetheart.” Logan pauses, a thoughtful look taking over his features, and he scratches his chin. “I guess love really is blind.”

“Wow. You had that takeaway based on gaslighting both Scott and Jean? You really are an unfeeling old man.” You giggle, and Logan glances over at you, his face heating up at your laugh, a sweet sound that always pushes a warmth into his chest.

If Logan was honest, he understands Scott perfectly. Sure, he could play the part of the curmudgeonly old man, and lie to you– but in truth, he was doing that because he likes you.

Just like Scott. Logan likes you so much, that he would honestly lie to you just to protect your relationship– whether that be about missing food, or if you talk about some other dude someday, and he has to pretend he’s all ecstatic for you, as he often worries about. 

He knows it’s bad. And he doesn’t like it, either. Logan insists to himself, in pure self denial, that this love he has for you doesn’t exist, because he would rather be given even a little bit of your presence as a friend, than to be entirely shut out by you upon imminent rejection.

But even he knows he protests too much. Of course he loves you, how could he not?

Logan thinks of you as his personal guardian Angel. It’s silly, of course– but you’re the one who helps him make better choices, doing the right thing more often than not. He’s an idiot– you’re a beautiful genius of a woman, and it bothers him so deeply that you keep to yourself.

He looks over at you. You’re chopping up a bar of dark chocolate, and your gaze is intensely focused– Logan has seen the same expression on you when you’re beating up a bad guy. You’re thinking, murmuring something to yourself, probably thinking about hot chocolate.

Your eyes turn wide, glassy, and you inhale sharply.

Logan immediately comes to your side. “Angel?”

Logan’s voice doesn’t fully register to you.

The knife gleams in the low lighting of the kitchen, as you turn it over and over in your hand, dark brown chocolate smudging the blade, and then you look down to your palms.

Where your hands are covered in dark, melted chocolate, after you’ve been holding the chocolate bar to chop it up– the liquid is almost amber in hue. 

“...blood.” You whisper something unintelligible, but Logan catches the last word.

You retch to yourself, hyperventilating over the counter, back hunched over, the knife still clenched in your palm.

“Angel, hey–” Logan squeezes his way between the counter and your right arm, where your hand is holding the knife, and he firmly pulls it away from you, grabbing it blade-first without even thinking about it, and you gasp, shouting at him to get away.

Logan stops, at a loss for words. You’re trembling, you’re no longer holding the knife, but you can’t stop looking at your hands.

He grabs your arms a bit more gently, turning you towards him, and you’re lost in some train of thought that Logan can’t stop.

Mom sliced up one of my hands once… it’s been years, but it looked just like this.

Then I got her back, by accident… it was an accident, Angel.

“What’s wrong?” Logan looks down at you in fear, worry that something may actually be very wrong, and you haven’t told him a thing.

He thinks he shouldn’t have assumed you were always alright. He knows you aren’t– he just finds it difficult to surpass your avoidant attitude. He’s never seen you have a full blown panic attack like this before.

Your wings are subtly twitching again, folded against your back, but threatening to open up to full expanse, and you shake your head, lip quivering, as you look down at the floor.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You utter so softly, so heartbreakingly tiny, and Logan feels himself turning cold at your words, wondering if you’d really done something that terrible.

With a kitchen knife, of all things. He wants to hug you firmly now.

He knows even if it was true– there’s no way that was your fault, no way Logan wouldn’t have sussed that out based on instinct. 

“It isn’t…” Logan starts, wanting to say it wasn’t your fault, but he doesn’t know how that will go over with you. “You’re not going to hurt anyone. Where is that coming from?”

“Just a bad memory.” You say with a shaky breath, the most information you’re willing to give him at this moment, and you know– you know– Logan is never going to be satisfied with that answer.

You don’t want to scare him off. This is the first time you could even say you have a best friend, and you don’t want Logan to pity you or feel like you were incapable of taking care of yourself. You don’t want him to see you like your mother did.

Logan frowns. Then, instead of asking you a question, he traces the back of your wings, which causes a shiver in your body.

You close your eyes, expecting to feel tense, scared, and horrified, but instead you feel calm, almost placid. Being touched by Logan makes you feel like everything is going to be alright.

Your wings stop shaking, and Logan hands you a wet paper towel. You wipe your chocolatey hands, which puts you at ease, seeing your clean hands again. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you my caretaker.” You whisper, always worried about others’ perception of you, and Logan shakes his head.

“I don’t mind, Angel. As long as you’re alright.” Logan has a tentative look on his face, and you’re almost embarrassed, that you like being taken care of so badly, and he hugs you tightly, arms wrapped around your back, a near bone crushing hug that has you nestled in his chest, fit under his jaw as he places his head on top of yours.

Your heartbeat slows down. You’re not panicking any more, but it seems like Logan, too, is reaping some sort of benefit by being so close to you. He inhales deeply, and the sigh rumbles through his chest into you.

You could almost cry. You spent so much of your childhood never being close to anyone, and being held is cathartic in a way you can’t even describe.

Logan doesn’t let go until you do. Then he has the audacity to look a little sheepish, like he had done something un-Logan and uncool, and you almost feel pained, like you should push him away, and go to sleep on your own.

It’s such an odd feeling, to both want his concern, and to wish you never needed to do so.

You stare up at him, and Logan smiles, a soft smile that he hopes reads as comforting rather than a snarl, and you can’t help yourself for what you ask next.

“Could I sleep in your room?” You ask, biting back the immediate disclaimers of it’s okay if you don’t want to. “I’m just better when I’m around you.”

There’s also the thing of waking up Storm if you enter back in now, and explaining that you had yet another panic attack. She’ll be mad.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.” Logan murmurs, wondering if you meant to make that sound so devotedly sweet, something that causes his insides to seize a little.

He feels better around you, too.

You’re usually good at hiding this side of yourself from him– it’s another step deeper, another step too far into your relationship to take back– and now you worry you’ll never really be able to separate.

Logan ruffles your hair, and all is right again.

/

He makes you eat at least a bite of the sandwich, and sip a little hot chocolate– the rest is placed in the fridge for some other mutant to eat.

Logan won’t let you go to sleep without a meal, or in this case a few nibbles, if he can help it.

“Moods are worse on an empty stomach.” Logan grins, and you smile, feeling a little more at ease.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You joke, and Logan rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, save that for when we’re pilfering Kurt’s Snickers bars.” He snorts. 

Logan leads you to his room, oddly silent the entire time. It’s not that Logan isn’t typically quiet, it’s that it feels more tense. He’s keeping to himself, and he doesn’t seem to have anything against you– he has only a kind expression for you, when you meet his eyes.

Finally, you both arrive to his bedroom door. Logan is lucky– he doesn’t have to room with anyone– and you’ve been in here plenty of times.

Still, that doesn’t explain why it takes him a second to enter in the room, as you follow him in.

It’s sparsely decorated in here– one poster of the Calgary Flames is on Logan’s wall, and there’s a mug with random, assorted pens on his desk. His bed has never been filled with loads of stuffed animals and pillows like other X-Men (read: Jubilee) would have. There’s a pile of assorted flannels, jackets, and scarves hanging off a coat rack.

It’s comforting, though. Logan is a simple man, and you like being close enough to understand him, to see the small remnants of things he likes.

“Well. The bed’s there, if you’d like. Don’t let me stop you.” Logan points to the bed, and he starts walking towards the leather recliner next to the window.

“Logan. Stop.” You grab him by the arm, and he pauses, slightly scared, mostly enthused by what you’ll say next. “It’s okay with me if we sleep next to each other.”

“...Okay.” Logan watches as you climb into his bed, hoping it’s comfortable, and doing a weird thing of personally memorizing the way you lay and snuggle down, in case you never do this again.

You’re next to the wall, so Logan stays on his side, lying down close to the edge of the bed. And you’re keeping your distance– so is he.

You turn, and Logan is already looking at you. He glances away.

“Good night, Angel.” Logan utters softly, and with that, you turn to your side, to fall asleep.

/

When Logan wakes up, he freezes, so not to move you. Somehow, through out the night, you ended up snuggled around him, sprawled against his chest, your arms lightly wrapping around him.

He loves it. He’s glad to see he’s been useful for once– he gave you a good night’s sleep.

[sturnsdarling]

gloves off

Hockeyplayer!Matt is on the ice, and a guy from the other team says something about his girl, so Matt deals with him

vibe check: based of this edit, violence, fighting descriptions, blood, fluff at the end, lowkey pick me vibes from reader but i don't actually care i love being cringe

1.7k words

A/N: I got a req for hockey matt and didn't see it until i saw that edit... I know some people don't like it but angry!matt makes my coochie tingle

love and cigs, merc

It was weekly occurrence, coming to watch Matt play hockey. Sometimes you were just watching him practice, others you were watching actual games. Today was the latter, his team was playing against the rival college, a game everyone had been waiting for for months.

They had spent weeks working their way up the leagues to finally get into the final stretch against each other, the school rivalry going back decades and either side being riddled with personal beef, some petty, some slightly more serious.

It was half way through the match, Matt had already been given multiple penalties for violent behaviour, slamming kids into the ice and barriers, sometimes because they deserved it, mostly because it was fun.

There was one specific kid on the other team, Josh Anderson, and Matt fucking hated him. They went through all of school together, playing hockey against each other since they could hold a stick. Anderson had always been bigger than Matt, until he had his growth spurt, and he made it his personal mission to make Matts life a living hell purely because he could. They hadn't played against each other in nearly three years, and Matt knew he had to come down hard on him.

They spent the whole first half of the game tormenting each other, pissing each other off in every way possible. Matt had already broken a stick, whacking his first one off the barrier after Anderson got him a penalty for something ridiculous. He was by the sidelines, standing with you as you taped his new stick for him, a tradition you had started even before you started dating.

"I'm gonna fuckin' bury him" Matt said, eyes trained on Anderson as he rubbed small circles on your arm.

You were taping the stick with green tape, your favourite colour, and just letting Matt rant, "he's irrelevant, my love, don't let him get under your skin" you cooed, knowing it would go in one ear and out the other.

"I dunno who he thinks he is, fuckin' pussy always coming after me like I wont break his jaw" Matt wasn't listening to you, but you didn't mind, you knew what he was like when he got in the zone for hockey, especially when he was pissed off.

You finished taping up his stick, scanning it with a satisfied hum and handing it to him, catching his attention. He looked to you with a clenched jaw that relaxed the moment he looked in your soft eyes.

"thanks, baby" Matt smiled, leaning over the barriers slightly to kiss you before pulling his helmet over his head properly and putting in his mouth guard.

He pushed away, skating across the ice to take his place, waiting for the second half buzzer to go off. As it did, he pointed to you, followed by a double tap on his chest plate, one for every year you'd been together.

The game began, and they didn't hold back at all. Matt was angrier than ever, and knowing that only made Anderson more eager to piss him off. They played for about ten minutes before the score shifted in the other teams favour. Anderson skated across the ice, celebrating a goal he didn't even score and b-lined for Matt, skating past him and maintaining eye contact through their helmets.

"Yo, Sturniolo, when we win, tell your girl I want her on her knees for me in the locker rooms as my trophy" Anderson said, his tone smug as a sly grin formed on his face.

A hot rage flooded through Matt, every once of anger boiling to the surface as he watched Anderson skate around him, taunting him to do something. His jaw clenched tight, and he saw red.

Matt threw his stick on the ice, bounding over to Anderson and pushing him backwards, sending him flying back onto the ice. Everyone in the stadium gasped in sync, and you immediately stood to your feet.

"you wanna say shit about my girl? huh? say it again, I fuckin' dare you" Matt spat, pulling out his mouth guard and standing over Anderson on the ice.

Anderson just laughed, pushing himself to his feet and pulling his mouth guard out.

"still that same angry little kid, aren't you Sturniolo?" He grinned, pressing his tongue to his teeth.

"yeah, I am, and you're still the same fuckin' loser you were back then, so come on, Anderson, say something about my girl again" Matt said, squaring up to the boy, who was once double his height, that he was now eye to eye with.

Everyone in the stadium had stopped, time standing still as the whole room watched the disaster in front of them unfold, not even the ref was getting involved, knowing from the events of the first half that the boys clearly had something to sort out.

"ion' want your bum ass girl, Sturns, she's probably been passed around the whole team" Anderson chuckled, looking to the boys all standing round in anticipation.

That was all it took, before Anderson could look back, Matts gloves were off, and his fist was connected with the plastic of Andersons helmet, sending it flying across the ice as Matts knuckles connected with Andersons jaw.

Matt sent him flying onto the ice, crawling on top of him and pummelling into him relentlessly. The whole room erupted, people screaming to get Matt off him, Matts team cheering him on and Andersons team berating the ref for not stopping it. No one even tried to get involved, all slightly terrified by the sight of Matt denting the ice with the back of Andersons skull. You on the other hand, were begging security to let you on the ice, moving in a flash the moment you saw Matt take his gloves off

Matt was relentless, and Anderson was just as bad, hitting Matt back the best he could. There was a split second where Anderson was on top of Matt, laying into him and cracking the plastic face shield off the bridge of his nose. Matt simply smiled with blood covered teeth, just before cocking his head forward, head butting Anderson with the plastic of his helmet, and the next thing you knew, Matt was back on top of him, punching him over and over again.

You finally got onto the ice, struggling to walk straight as you screamed Matts name over and over again. He couldn't hear you, he was in a world of his own, laying into the nearly unconscious boy beneath him.

"Matt!" You screamed, grabbing his arm as he raised it once more to hit Anderson with a final blow.

Your touch brought Matt back to reality, his attention snapping to you immediately. His eyes were bloodshot, a bruise already forming on his definitely broken nose as bright red blood began to dry on the lower half of his face. The look of pleading on your face, the tears pricking in your eyes and your grip on Matts wrist, made all the muscles in his body relax.

"stop, please" you said, softly.

Matt looked up at you, brows flinching slightly before he looked down to Andersons groaning, stuttering body on the ice, and then back to you. You lowered your head slightly, looking at Matt through your lashes with pleading eyes. He couldn't help but crumble, getting up off the ice and near enough melting into your arms.

Your hands round his shoulders, his arms round your waist and head buried in your neck, you just stood their on the ice for what felt like forever, rubbing Matts back with slow touches as everyone began to tend to Anderson.

"lets go, yeah?" you muttered to Matt, and he nodded into your neck.

In the locker rooms,

Matt sat on the bench opposite you, his broken helmet next to him as you perched on the bench, patting the blood from his face with a damp, warm towel. He hissed with every touch, and you apologised softly nearly every time.

"that was really fucking stupid, Matt" You said, looking at his bloodied features intently.

Matt sighed, "I know" He scanned over your face as you gently cared for him.

"you could get kicked from the team" You said, shaking your head slightly

Matt hissed as you brushed his bruised and blooded nose with the towel, "I know" he repeated.

"so then why did you do it?" You asked, only a small once of judgement in your tone.

"he said shit about you" Matt admitted

You stopped your movements, pulling your eyes from Matts nose to lock eyes with him. He was already looking at you, eyes sad like a puppy. You sighed, shaking your head as an uncontrollable half smile formed on your face.

Matts bloodied hand came to your jaw, cupping your cheek in his big hand as his thumb rubbed the soft skin there.

"he started speaking about you, and - and I just lost it" Matt said, his tone soft.

You leaned into his touch, brows furrowed slightly as your eyes poured into his bright blue ones, flitting between them.

"the kid has basically bullied me my whole life, and now I'm finally just as big as he is, I jus-" Matt sighed, "I needed a reason to batter him, and he gave me one"

"me?" you questioned with tight knit brows

Matt nodded, pressing his thumb into your skin with more pressure, "you're the most important thing in my life, more than any stupid place on the team or petty childhood beef, n' I can handle him comin' for me, I don't give a fuck, but he came for you and-" frustrated tears started to form in his eyes, so he stopped talking.

You practically melted at the sight, pressing a long kiss into Matts palm,

"I love you" you said, softly.

Matt smiled slightly, despite the pain it caused him and brought your head to his lips, pressing a short kiss onto your forehead.

"I love you more" Matt replied.

Normally, you would have gotten into a twenty minute long back and forth about who loved who more, but today, Matt had earned rights to that title, and even though the way he handled the situation wasn't ideal, at least you knew you never had to doubt his love for you.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy

[wooahaee]

woozi bf headcanons sample

a/n: i wanted to put my whole heart into this, but figured i may want to want to incorporate these into possible one-shots or series i may produce! feel free to send any requests ♡

to start, THE woozi never appreciated the idea of hiding your relationship.

he is a very private person, as we all know, but he also made no grand gesture to reveal your relationship. he carried on with you, as a normal couple would do and when the media picked it up, he never cared to acknowledge it. jihoon would be spotted with you, the famous soloist who soon was titled his girlfriend. they wouldn’t. be wrong!

woozi loves to give you massages.

he knows you work hard. jihoon is known for not being affectionate, but you’re an idol too and he knows the strain it puts on your body. sometimes if you’re just sitting there, tilting your head to stretch a muscle, he’d instantly move to stand behind you, and his hands were on your shoulders. he’d look around the room, noticing how some of the members would notice but not say anything or immediately look away. they knew he’d stop once there was attention called to him. you’d hum in pleasure, leaning into his touch as his thumb would massage and rub against the knots in your shoulder. “it’s because of your posture,” he said quietly, making you grimace at his gentle scolding. “it’s because my mattress sucks.” you’d reply, and he’d smile, knowing that wasn’t even the truth.

jihoon brings food to you in free time.

if you’re at practice, expect for a boy dressed in black with a hat to slip inside with the most enticing scent of your favorite food. he’d sit there and watch you, nodding his head and giving subtle gestures of encouragement until you finished up. your backup dancers would be leaving you both alone, while jihoon would be having a steady back and forth conversation with you. he never opens up much, but when it’s just you two, hes begging for every detail of your day. and you’d answer him, eyelashes fluttering when you came to a certain realization or a detail you left out. he noticed it all, chewing with the slightest smile on his lips as he listened and gave short replies.

he isn’t big on pda, but loves to be close to you.

in public or outtings, he’s seen walking next to you but never giving much space. a simple brush against your arm or taking your hand to redirect you in pedestrian traffic is enough for him. he’s also always looking for you when you both get separated, even when you travel with them for concerts or tours. he pretends to do a headcount, when in actuality he was making sure you were still amongst them. once found, jihoon’s body would inconspicuously be right next to yours or standing behind you.

he mentions you in interviews briefly and subtly.

he’d mention how his biggest inspiration for his concept was an instance that happened between him and his girlfriend. “your lyrics hold a new sounding taste of poetry. did she help you with the songs on this album?” woozi would grow flustered, but in an attempt to keep it from getting mushy, he came back with a witty response of “all she had to do was sit there and let me look at her,” he’d stifle a laugh, “it would just come to me.”

it often caused the members to tease and push him playfully, the flustered and giggly look on his face causing them to all to appreciate jihoon’s girlfriend more and more. he needs you.

he is the first to notice when you don’t feel comfortable in a situation.

when you found yourself in a situation where there’s people you don’t seem happy to be around, or you’re feeling anxious in a large crowd or award show, he’s the one who notices before anybody and is placing a gentle hand on your back. “are you feeling okay?” he’d ask you, moving his head to meet your eyes. if you said no, he’d do what he could to make sure this rush goes away quickly. offering you to step outside, or walking you to the restroom. if you swore you’d be okay, he’d have his hand easily accessible for you to squeeze if you think it gets too much.

he wears your scrunchy on stage every. time.

you’d go so far as to even purchase new colorful ones to match his uniforms on the stage. his favorite was your dark red one, that went with almost everything he had. it was velvety, and his favorite pass-time was spotting fans catching the same scrunchies in an all-famous soloist’s hair was the same that he sported a week later at an award show. it was a simple flex, but he enjoyed showing everything off of yours that he could get his hands on. sometimes it’s your girly little bracelets or a ring he purposely flashes the camera when he gets a zoom-in.

[multi-fandoms-posts]

The Heat of the Moment

X Men Masterlist

Paddy x reader SMUT

Y/N sits with Paddy in an old country house, hidden deep in the woods. It’s autumn; the leaves are orange and red, and the wind lashes against the windows. The movie they’re watching plays softly in the background while the two of them sit on the sofa. The television flickers, but they pay it little attention.

Paddy sits close beside her, his arm casually draped over her shoulders. The atmosphere in the room is tense, almost palpable, but Y/N feels comfortable in his presence. She knows that Paddy can be rough, that he sometimes struggles to control himself. But she loves him, and he loves her, and that’s all that matters.

“Why do you always do this?” she suddenly asks, looking directly into his eyes. Paddy gives a crooked grin.

“What do you mean?” His voice is deep, almost a growl, as he pulls her closer to him.

“You’re... so rough. You know I’d do anything for you. But sometimes...” She breaks off, unsure if she should voice her thoughts.

“Sometimes what?” His eyes flash, and his hand slowly glides down her arm. He grips her tightly, almost painfully, but Y/N doesn’t flinch. She has grown accustomed to this part of him.

“Nothing.” Y/N shakes her head. She knows that Paddy loves her in his own way. He just shows it differently, more intensely. Sometimes too intensely.

Paddy grins, his lips near her ear. “You like it when I’m like this. Admit it.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, but her heart races. She knows he’s right. She loves his passion, even when it hurts. It’s like a game between them—one they both know all too well.

Suddenly, Paddy turns her face to him and presses his lips against hers. The kiss is demanding, rough. He holds her head firmly, his fingers digging into her hair. Without warning, he bites into her neck, hard enough that she lets out a sharp gasp. The pain mingles with a strange pleasure.

“Paddy!” she gasps, but she doesn’t push him away. She feels him grasping her skin with his teeth, the blood rushing in her ears. When he finally pulls back, he leaves a deep red hickey that slowly begins to turn blue.

“Do you like that?” he asks with a dark smile.

Y/N looks at him, her eyes filled with heat and desire. She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she grips his hair tightly, pulls his head back, and exposes his neck. Without hesitation, she bites down harder than he had on her.

Paddy growls low in his throat, surprised by her reaction, but he allows it. Y/N feels his body tremble under her touch. She holds him firmly, feeling his pulse under her tongue as she sinks her teeth into his skin. His growl grows louder, mingling with a deep moan that fills him completely.

“Damn it, Y/N...” he murmurs, his hand gripping her hip, fingers pressing deeply into her flesh. The pain and pleasure dance between them, a mixture of violence and passion.

When Y/N finally lets go, she sees the imprint of her teeth on his skin. His neck is flushed, and she knows it will look worse tomorrow. But she regrets nothing. It’s her way of showing him that she is his equal. That she understands him in her own way.

“You’re crazy,” Paddy says, his breath heavy. But in his eyes, something else glimmers—something that draws Y/N in even more.

“You started it,” she replies calmly, a faint smile on her lips.

Paddy suddenly pulls her back to him, his lips finding hers again, this time softer. For a moment, he’s not rough, not demanding, but tender. But Y/N knows that this tenderness won’t last long. That’s never been his way.

“I can’t help it,” he whispers as his fingers gently trace over her neck, right where he had bitten her before. “You drive me insane.”

“And you drive me insane,” she responds, her voice barely more than a whisper.

There are no more words. A deep understanding lies between them, one that transcends mere words. They need no explanations, no apologies. They take each other as they are—raw, passionate, and sometimes painful.

She stands up, and Paddy looks at Y/N, his eyes burning with desire. Without warning, he stands up too, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her with a quick, controlled thrust against the wall of the old country house. The wooden floorboards creak behind her, and the cool surface of the wall presses firmly against her back.

Y/N gasps softly, surprised by the sudden movement but also by the familiar feeling that rises within her. Her breath quickens as Paddy presses close to her, his body firm against hers. She feels his arousal pressing unmistakably against her thigh. The sensation sends waves of heat through her body, and her hands instinctively find his back, her fingers digging into his shirt.

“Paddy...” she whispers, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and excitement. She looks into his eyes, and what she sees there makes her forget everything else around her. There’s no restraint in his gaze, only pure desire and the wild, bubbling passion that has gripped them both in this moment.

“You know you drive me crazy,” he murmurs roughly, pressing even closer to her, his face mere millimeters from hers. His breath brushes her lips, hot and demanding. “You feel that, don’t you?”

Y/N nods, unable to say anything more. Her hands glide into his neck, pulling him down to her until their lips meet again. The kiss is demanding, hungry, and they lose themselves in the heat of the moment. Paddy’s hands roam over her body, firm and possessive, as if he wants to feel every part of her, to claim every inch.

He breaks the kiss just to look at her again. His gaze travels from her eyes to her lips, then to her neck, where the dark hickey is still visible. He gently strokes his fingers over it, as if admiring his handiwork, before diving back into her, this time with more urgency.

Y/N feels his hands sliding to her waist, lifting her, pressing her against the wall more firmly, more dominantly. Her legs instinctively wrap around his hips, and the feeling of his arousal pressing against her makes her breathe deeply. Her whole body vibrates with tension and desire.

“I... feel it,” Y/N finally whispers, her lips against his ear. “Everything.”

Paddy growls softly, his grip on her hips tightening as he pulls her even closer. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough with desire. “Because this... this belongs to us.”

His mouth finds her neck again, this time gentler yet still possessive, as he lightly sinks his teeth into her skin, just enough to draw another moan from her. Y/N feels her world spinning around him, around this raw desire that connects them both.

He presses her harder against the wall, and she can’t help but fully enjoy his closeness, his dominance, and the burning fire in his touches.

Paddy holds Y/N firmly against the wall, her legs still wrapped around his hips. His breath is ragged, his eyes dark with longing. Without a word, his hand suddenly glides down her belly, skillfully undoing the button of her jeans and pulling the zipper down with a swift, decisive motion.

Y/N gasps softly as she feels her pants slowly sliding over her hips. Paddy pulls them down with a mix of urgency and impatience until they fall to the floor, her bare skin feeling cool in the otherwise hot air around them.

He says nothing, but his movements speak volumes. His hands move to his own pants, undoing his belt and button. With a firm tug, he pulls them down, his arousal unmistakably evident.

Y/N feels her heart racing, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The anticipation and desire building within her almost drive her to madness. Her hands grasp his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his skin, as if she knows what comes next.

Paddy lifts her gaze to meet his, his eyes locked onto hers. Without warning, without another word, he pushes into her, hard and deep. A sharp moan escapes Y/N's lips as her body surrenders to him. The sudden pressure, the raw intensity of his thrust, makes her senses explode.

“Paddy…” she moans, unable to say anything else. Her head leans against the cold wall, her body entwined with his as she tries to stay in this moment, processing the electrifying pain and pleasure.

Paddy growls softly as he presses her harder against the wall, his hands gripping her hips, holding her in place while he continues to thrust into her. Each of his thrusts is deep and hungry, as if he can’t get enough of her. His body is hot, his breath heavy, and his movements demanding.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs roughly, his mouth near her ear as he drives deeper into her. “So damn good.”

Y/N can’t respond; her thoughts have blurred into a single chaos of lust and longing. All she feels is Paddy—every movement of his, the intensity of his body, the rhythm he sets. She clings to him, her nails digging into his back as her body instinctively adapts to him.

The heat between them rises, the room seems to dissolve around them, and all that remains is the raw intensity of this moment.

Y/N clings tighter to Paddy, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs still firmly around his hips. Each thrust, each deep push from him brings her closer to the edge, and she feels the heat building in her belly, growing more intense until she can barely stand it.

“Paddy…” she gasps between deep breaths. Her voice trembles, a barely suppressed moan breaking free as she digs her fingers into his shoulders. “I... I’m almost there...”

Her words seem to trigger something within him. His hands grip her even tighter, his movements becoming harder, faster, as if he wants to push her over the edge, past the point where she can still hold on. The pressure between them mounts; each of his thrusts makes her body quiver.

“Come for me,” Paddy murmurs hoarsely, his breath hot against her ear. “Let it out.”

Y/N’s head falls against the wall behind her, and she can hardly delay the moment any longer. Her entire body vibrates with tension; the waves of her impending climax are inevitable. She feels herself losing control, and just as Paddy thrusts into her even harder and deeper, it overwhelms her.

With a sharp moan, her body arches against his, her back pressing against the wall as she instinctively bites into his neck, deep and firm, as pleasure consumes her completely. The bite is hard, almost possessive, and she feels Paddy growl beneath her, his body trembling under her grip.

That’s enough to send him over the edge as well. With a deep, hoarse groan, he comes inside her, his body tensing against hers, surrendering to the moment just as she does. His breath is ragged and heavy, his movements slowing, but the intensity in his gaze remains.

Their bodies press tighter against each other, their hearts beating in the same erratic rhythm, and the heat of the moment envelops them both until there is only them—alone, lost in the ecstasy they have created together.

Slowly, Y/N relaxes her grip on Paddy’s neck, and her lips leave a mark on his skin, right where she had bitten him. She gasps softly, her forehead resting against his as they both try to catch their breath.

“You're incredible,” Paddy finally whispers, his voice rough and filled with satisfaction as he pulls her body close to him once more.

[innerfare]

Angsty Sabo Headcanons 

Summary: A collection of angsty Sabo headcanons

Genre: Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

Sometimes, Sabo can’t stand the sight of his scars, especially the one on his face. It’s actually the reason he has a little skincare routine. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t overcome his early childhood education, which taught him that men like him are such horrible monsters. He thinks he looks like a monster.  

Sometimes when he gets undressed and turns the shower on, he stares in the mirror while he’s waiting for the water to heat up. He ends up focusing on his scars and wondering if he deserves them. A small part of Sabo thinks he does deserve them. Despite fighting to abolish the system that teaches kids they were born wrong and recognizing it is, in fact, the system that is wrong, Sabo just can’t escape the feeling that he was born wrong. 

Sabo didn’t attack Dragon that day because he wanted to take a shot at the strongest guy on the field, he did it because on some level, he sensed something paternal coming from the man, and it made Sabo lash out; he wanted to kill Dragon like Ace wanted to kill Whitebeard.

“I’m sorry he died, but at least he didn’t die in handcuffs.” This is the only thing that Dragon said to Sabo about Ace, and Sabo latched onto it. At least he didn’t die in handcuffs. He repeats the phrase over and over in his head, a mantra he chants internally every day. He keeps hoping it will make him feel better, but it doesn’t. It makes him feel worse to know the best his brother could have hoped for was to die like a man and not a dog; he shouldn’t have died at all. 

Sabo knows Ace died thinking Sabo would be waiting for him on the other side. He tries to comfort himself with the thought that Ace will be waiting for him, but it doesn’t help. It makes him feel selfish to think Ace died first. It should have been me. 

Sabo doesn’t feel good about having cheated death. He feels like a fraud, a phony, a mistake. He feels like he should be dead. And no matter how many battles he fights and wins, no matter how many enemies he defeats, no matter how many adventures he goes on, he can’t escape the feeling he’s wasting his second chance. Ace wouldn’t waste it the way I am, he tells himself. 

Sabo has nightmares about Ace’s death. The worst part about them is that he has no idea if they’re accurate. Is that how it happened? Is that what it looked like? Is that what adult Ace’s voice sounded like? Is that what Luffy’s scream sounded like? He has no fucking clue, and it tears him up inside. 

A doctor gave Sabo some pills to help him sleep dreamlessly through the night, but taking them makes him feel guilty, as if he’s escaping the punishment he rightfully deserves for not saving Ace. 

Sabo hates sleeping alone. He grew so accustomed to sharing with Luffy and Ace, and even after suffering amnesia, never got used to being alone in bed. Sabo will show up at Koala’s door sometimes at two in the morning and ask if he can sleep with her because being alone reinforces the feeling that he somehow abandoned his family.

When he gets his memories back, Sabo starts sending a little bit of money every month to Dadan. He views it as recompense for the pain he’s certain he caused her by not protecting the boy she raised from the cradle. He won’t go visit her because he’s terrified she’ll scorn him for Ace’s death and turn him away from her doorstep. 

Sabo has a page at the back of his journal where he writes down all the jokes he thinks would make Ace laugh, in addition to other things he wishes he could tell his brother.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[fgumi]

ꕥ maybe this time; — taesan one shot, wc: 1.7k, genre: angst, fluff

the schoolyard is filled with the usual noise of after-class chatter, but taesan hears none of it. his focus is solely on her—the girl with the easy smile and the kind eyes that always seem to be looking somewhere else. she’s sitting on the low stone wall, surrounded by friends, her laughter ringing out like a melody he can’t quite reach. he stands a few feet away, hidden in the crowd, blending in as he always does. it’s safer that way, quieter, less painful. but today, there’s a dull ache in his chest, sharper than usual, reminding him of all the times he’s let the moment pass.

they’ve been in the same class for years, sharing the same space but never really meeting. taesan knows her name, her favorite subjects, and the way she twists her hair when she’s nervous. he knows she loves the first snow of winter and that she always picks strawberries out of her lunch. he knows these things, but she doesn’t know him—not really. not beyond the occasional smile in the hallway or a polite nod when their paths cross.

he’s told himself it’s fine, that admiring her from a distance is enough. but today, something’s different. maybe it’s the way the sun is setting, casting a warm glow on her face, or how she throws her head back in laughter, carefree and radiant. maybe it’s the way his friends nudge him, teasingly whispering that he should finally make a move. whatever it is, taesan feels the urge to cross the invisible line he’s drawn for himself. his heart pounds, loud and insistent, urging him to take a step, just one.

but fear is a stubborn thing. he’s too aware of his flaws—too quiet, too awkward, too much of everything he wishes he wasn’t. she’s surrounded by people who fit seamlessly into her world, and taesan feels like an outsider looking in. he watches as she glances his way, just for a second, her gaze brushing past him like he’s invisible. it’s a tiny moment, a fleeting glance, but it’s enough to send his hopes crashing down.

he turns on his heel, biting back the frustration that wells up inside him. why is it so hard to just say something? anything? he imagines a thousand scenarios in his head—what he would say if he weren’t so scared, how she might smile back, how they could walk home together talking about nothing and everything. but reality is cruel, and those daydreams crumble under the weight of his insecurities.

taesan stops at the school gate, leaning against the cold metal as he watches her from a distance. the shadows are growing longer, the sun dipping lower, and with it, the last threads of his courage unravel. he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling the sting of another missed chance.

maybe next time, he tells himself. maybe tomorrow, or the day after that. but deep down, he knows that the next time might be just as elusive, just as unreachable as today.

the sky darkens, and taesan walks away, the sound of her laughter fading into the background. he doesn’t look back, but the memory of her stays with him, lingering like a half-finished song.

the laughter of your friends fills the space around you, light and carefree, but your mind drifts elsewhere. there’s a familiar weight on your shoulders today, a sense of something just out of reach. you glance around, your gaze sweeping over the schoolyard, half-listening to the conversation but not really hearing it. it’s then that you catch sight of him—taesan, standing alone near the school gate. he’s always been quiet, blending into the background, and you wonder, not for the first time, what’s on his mind.

you’ve seen him around, of course. the quiet boy with soft eyes who always seems to be on the periphery. he’s in your classes, sometimes sitting just a few desks away, scribbling in his notebook or staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. you’ve never spoken much, just polite exchanges here and there, but there’s something about him that draws your attention, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

today, though, he looks different—tense, like he’s carrying a secret too heavy to keep. you watch as he hesitates, his shoulders stiff, hands shoved deep into his pockets. he seems on the verge of doing something, but then he turns away, his expression shuttered and distant. you don’t know why, but the sight of him walking away stirs something inside you, a flicker of disappointment you weren’t expecting.

you wonder what he was thinking, standing there alone while everyone else was caught up in the moment. you want to call out to him, ask him if he’s okay or maybe just say hi, but the words stick in your throat. it feels silly, reaching out when you’ve barely exchanged more than a few words before. but still, you can’t help but feel like you’ve missed something important, something that passed between you in a heartbeat without either of you saying a word.

the sun is setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, and you know you should be focusing on your friends, on the carefree chatter and the plans for the weekend. but your gaze keeps drifting back to the spot where taesan stood, now empty and shadowed. you wonder if he ever feels as out of place as you do sometimes, if he’s ever caught between wanting to be seen and fearing what might happen if he is.

for a brief moment, you imagine calling out to him. maybe you could catch up, ask him why he looked so lost, or just walk home together in the fading light. but the moment slips away, and you let it, too unsure of what you’d even say. instead, you turn back to your friends, forcing a smile as if nothing’s changed.

but you know something has. you can’t quite shake the feeling that there was something unsaid between you and taesan, something that could have been different if either of you had the courage to speak. you steal one last glance toward the gate, hoping he’ll turn around, but he’s already gone, swallowed up by the city streets.

maybe next time, you think to yourself. maybe next time, you’ll say something before it’s too late.

the sun dips below the horizon, and you try to forget the quiet boy with the faraway look in his eyes. but as you walk home, you find yourself wishing that, just once, he would come back. that maybe, this time, neither of you would walk away.

years pass...

the engagement party is lively, a swirl of laughter, clinking glasses, and old friends reuniting. taesan didn’t plan on coming; he never liked these kinds of gatherings, but something compelled him tonight. as he navigates through the room, feeling slightly out of place, his eyes catch a familiar figure near the corner.

it’s you. the sight of you sends a rush of emotions through him—memories of school, missed chances, and all the times he watched you from afar but never said a word. you’re standing with a group of friends, your laughter a soft melody that cuts through the noise. for a moment, taesan hesitates. it’s been years, and so much has changed, but something deeper than nostalgia pushes him forward.

you notice him just as he approaches, the surprise clear in your eyes. “taesan?” you say, your voice tinged with disbelief and warmth.

he nods, smiling in that soft, familiar way. “yeah, it’s been a long time.”

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” you admit, still processing the unexpected reunion.

“yeah, me neither,” he says, a hint of nervous laughter in his voice. “i almost didn’t come.”

there’s a brief, shared silence, filled with the weight of years and all the things left unsaid. but then, as if no time has passed, the conversation starts to flow. you talk about the mutual friend whose engagement you’re celebrating, the twists and turns your lives have taken, and the quiet nostalgia of school days that feel both close and distant. it’s easy, effortless, and taesan finds himself smiling more than he has in a long time.

as the evening drifts on, the two of you gravitate away from the crowd, finding a quiet spot on the balcony. the city sprawls out before you, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sounds. taesan leans against the railing, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“you know,” he finally says, breaking the comfortable quiet, “i always wanted to talk to you back then, but i never had the guts.”

you turn to face him, surprised but not entirely. “i noticed you too,” you confess, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i always wondered why you never said anything.”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “i guess i was scared. scared of what you’d think. scared of not being enough.”

there’s a vulnerability in his words that pulls at something deep inside you, a sense of recognition that goes beyond just old high school memories. you’ve always wondered about him—the quiet boy with the faraway look in his eyes, the one who never quite stepped out of the shadows. and now, standing here with him, it feels like a missing piece of your past is finally falling into place.

“why didn’t we do this sooner?” you ask, half-serious, half-joking, but the question hangs between you, heavy with what could have been.

taesan meets your gaze, his eyes filled with a quiet determination that wasn’t there before. “i don’t know,” he admits, voice low but certain. “but i’m glad we’re doing it now.”

he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, and you don’t pull away. the touch is gentle, yet it carries all the weight of your shared history, all the missed moments that led you to this one. you intertwine your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin, and suddenly, the years of distance between you don’t seem to matter anymore.

the city lights dance around you, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right. taesan’s arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you lean into him, content in the quiet certainty of his presence. the past is behind you, and the future feels wide open, filled with all the possibilities you were too afraid to reach for before.

this time, there’s no hesitation, no fear. just the quiet promise of a new beginning, shared between two hearts that finally found their way back to each other.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. a/n: "maybe this time" has been stuck in my head more than usual... ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!

taglist: @en-dream ｡･ﾟﾟ･ @onedoornet

[gottawhump]

Examination

Mercy

CW/TW: begging, vaguely medical, BBU/WRU, coughing

“May I examine you?”

The new one’s eyes widen. “You’re a doctor?”

“No. I’m the house medic.” She watches him absorb that.

“Will it-will it hurt?”

“No. But I will need to touch you. Is that okay?”

He hesitates, then nods. She warns him what she will do before she does it, but he still follows her hands and her few instruments.

Underweight.

Blood pressure barely hanging onto low-normal.

She can’t mistake the crackle in his chest.

“You have trouble breathing? Sometimes?”

“No. No, I’m fine.” He takes a few deep inhales and exhales, to show her. Then he starts coughing, hard, bending over with the force of it.

When it passes, he looks panicked.

“Does that happen often?”

“N-no.”

“How often does that happen?”

He looks down. “Once, maybe twice a week.”

“More often than it used to?”

He nods.

She knows a few palliative measures, but, “You need to see a doctor.”

“No, please, no, I’ll do better, I can be useful, please,” he babbles until another fit of coughing cuts off his words. When it passes, he gasps out, “Please.”

He’s trembling. He’s not well. The condition worsens with stress, she notes.

“No doctor, for now,” she promises. “But I have to tell Moth.”

He nods, unhappily.

Forgive and Forget taglist: @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds @justplainwhump @bluetheautisticrat @i-eat-worlds @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @risk606 @taterswhump

[littlemisscantloveyouback]

Hii! I just found your works and I am IN LOVEEEE OMGGG 🫶🫶

I’m not too good at requesting these things, but could I ask for a Logan Howlett x short! AFAB reader?

I’m 4’11 and haven’t grown since sophomore year of high school, and everyone I know comments on it in every sort of way, and usually in a demeaning, teasing kind of way. (Like, going out of their way to make fun of me and stuff I can’t do, or how they can’t take me seriously). And no one listens to me when I tell them that it’s starting to hurt my feelings or be annoying lol

It can be a full fic or just a couple HC’s, up to you!!! Please take your time and don’t forget to take care of yourself 🫶

YES OFC I wish I got more asks bru

Anyway thank you

Tw ⚠ : short reader, afab reader, sexual tension, sexual talking, protective logan, masturbation (f),

You lay in you bed not wanting to go downstairs, logan had been gone for days on a mission for Xavier to find another mutant and she had to sub for Storm because because there both gone.

Logan was supposed to call you after class so you reluctantly got up got dressed and went downstairs to the classroom, you always hated leaving your room without Logan he was practically your bodyguard because of how some of the other girls treated you because of your hight you are 4'11 after all and they always told you she looked like a kid but when logan stepped in they left you alone.

There was even a time when you almost threw the girl into the fountain for bullying her but logan put a stop to it ever since then he always took a liking to you.

You made it to the classroom with no run-ins land waited for your students to show up for class you were teaching how to control your powers with mind, body and soul.

Storm is better then me with children

You thought to yourself as the kids started walking in, you waved at them as they took there seats and began your lesson.

After you were done you got a call from logan.

"Hey bub." He talked into the phone, you looked down at the floor wishing he was here instead.

"I'm really hungry,but the kids were fine," you walked back to your room. "And I miss you when will you be back?"

He looked around the hotel. "Me and the others should be back tomorrow afternoon." You laid in bed and looked at his side.

"I want you so bad loagn I wish you were here with me," he regretted taking this mission knowing it would be stressful for you. "Touching me, and telling me I'm yours." You moaned into the phone.

His pants tightened thinking of you laying on your bed waiting for him.

"Trust me honey I'll be there soon enough, now sit and be a good girl for me when I get back I love you." He hung up the phone after your goodbyes

And you sat there trying to fall asleep but after three hours you just gave up, you couldn't stop thinking about Logan and the way he would have gotten you to sleep, rubbing your back and your thighs.

I wonder what he would do to me right now ?

You thought to yourself as you rubbed your inner thigh, your hand had other plans when it started rubbing your clit thinking about him

You picked up your phone to call him and see if he's awake, turns out he was

"Logan." You moaned, he could here the wet sounds from the other end of the line.

"Y/n you need to go to bed, I can't talk there gonna here you." He quietly yelled at you.

"No please I need you now loagn I can't wait any longer." You mewled.

"Y/n please you need to wait So i can actually fuck you." Logan couldn't lie the thought of you playing with yourself was making him hard but he had to control himself or he was gonna wake up Storm.

Your orgasm was coming, and he knew it. "Baby, I want you inside me, please." You begged as you came over the phone.

He hated when you did this sometimes you always got what you wanted when you called him like this and he wasn't gonna just let you tease him he wants to touch you but your not here and he's gonna put a stop to it.

"Y/n stop calling me horny when you know I can't touch you like I want, your teasing me your gonne be the death of me." He hung up the phone.

You gasped not believing he just hung up the phone on you like that.

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Ok how do we feel about me writing logan I love hugh jackman and I was waiting for something like this should I make a part two?