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thesummerpetrichor · 11 months

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𝓥𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓸 𝓰𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼

Dads best friend!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Summary: For years he’d lived in your head like a distant memory. Something too good, too far away to attain. You shouldn’t be so hurt he’d left his old life behind, but how could you not be, when you had been such a big part of it? But you can’t hold a grudge. Not when he’s standing in front of you– doing everything to prove he’s not a stranger.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, dads best friend trope, morally questionable relationship, minor angst, chunky age gap [reader is in her 20s Javi is in his 40s], banter, lotsa sweet moments, explicit language, explicit sexual content, couch sex, inebriated sex, cigarette and weed smoking, alcohol, dom!javi, sub!reader, pet names [cariño, baby, babygirl etc.], dirty talk, major praise kink! [lotsa good girl action iykwim] some over the clothes action, grinding, fingering, unprotected P in V [ do better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything!! <;3

Word count: 12.8k oops

A/N: Oof this took longer than I thought it would but I’m so excited for you to read it. Javier is the man of my dreams here 🥺. lotsa porn for you nasties. morally questionable relationship fr but it’s fiction so we’ll forgive Javi. I hope you darlings enjoy! Mwah 💗

Masterlist

Swinging in the backyard

Pull up in your fast car

Whistling my name

Open up a beer

And you say, "Get over here

And play a video game"

The last time you saw him you remember all but tackling him to the ground as he walked through your front door. He had bought you a special edition copy of your favourite Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale, and DVDs of ‘film noir’ movies– the kind your dad didn’t like you watching. You spent the days reading as he smoked cigars by your pool, and you remember your father joking about his ‘bad influence’ as he poured you drinks in the evenings.

That was several years ago, and now all you had left of him was a hazy memory of that distant summer, a fading image of his golden eyes glittering in the setting sun, and your copy of “The Little Mermaid”. That had been the last that he’d visited you– before his work got in the way, before he decided he’d rather stay in Bogotá than come home.

Your life had gone on, and while every year you wondered whether he’d make his grand appearance, as you grew older you came to terms with the realisation that it would just be you and your old man lounging on the patio on those treasured, warm, golden evenings. At university you were pursuing those dreams you always wanted to, the ones your father wasn’t so keen on you chasing, the ones you’d confess to him when he would drive you around the city– to that faraway ice cream place no one else would take you to.

He was all cigarettes and whiskey and secret promises.

“He’ll literally kill us, it's midnight.” It was too late, he was grabbing his keys and jacket, and despite your better judgement the thought of the fairy lights by the beach as you walked with your mint chocolate chip cones had you giggling as you followed him out the door. It was your 18th birthday. “He doesn’t need to know now, does he, cariño?”

He’d telephone your father once in a while, you knew because your house would fill with laughter only invoked by one culprit. You wondered what adventures he was on, were they like the ones he’d tell you as you sat by his side till the early hours of the morning? You wondered if he even remembered– remembered you.

But now you were in Bogotá, in the sweltering June heat, suitcase in hand, scanning the crowd for a face you barely remembered. You were scared, stupidly so, worried that your physical proximity would do nothing to mend his distance. You worried he wouldn't see you as he did before, wouldn't remember your inside jokes, your mischief, how you’d beg him to take you to that dance bar because your dad didn’t like you going alone. That he had somehow morphed into someone you couldn't recognize. You felt hot all over once again, and this time no thanks to the summer sun.

Your head turned left to right, and you spotted among the crowd families reuniting, couples kissing hello, young people returning home, lone travellers, lonely travellers, and in the hustle bustle a black leather jacket walking briskly towards you. He looked older, and tired, but his eyes still sparkled the way you remembered, still turned golden when they met the sun. From the distance he spotted you, and you watched expectantly as his furrowed brows relaxed into a calm, almost surprised expression. You felt a little short of breath, felt suddenly larger than life, as he neared you, your mind spinning and hoping, praying that he was still the man you knew.

“What have you done with my cariño?”

He was looking down at you with that same smile. Everything about him was really the same. He still smelt like tobacco and cedarwood perfume, still wore the same leather jacket, the same faded, button up shirt– with the first two buttons undone. In a moment you felt your mind's eye reconstruct those waning images of him you once cherished, from the dells of memory. And now you saw him vividly, reclining in his chair, sipping his whiskey, leaning on your porch, hair falling in his face in soft curls as he lit his cigarette.

He was a lot more handsome than you recalled.

“Hi” You were smiling so wide your face hurt, and despite the years of his absence there was a familiarity you found comfort in, a sense of belonging, and maybe naively… longing. His hands moved to grab you by the shoulders, and he stepped back to get a good look at you, almost examining how time had passed. “Lookat’ ya, university girl now huh, smart cookie?” The way he looked at you had your heart pitter pattering– with so much pride, and gentleness, and adoration.

Without any hesitation he pulled you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms, holding your head against him. Waves of calm washed over you, an immediate reassurance you were desperate for. It was his non reluctance, his lack of worry, the way he brought you into his arms like nothing else mattered. With a heavy sigh you collapsed into him, all the uneasiness you felt before melting away as you melted into his touch. He felt warm, and strong, and like you’d remembered.

He was everything you’d remembered.

You felt yourself relax. It had been a long day, a long time getting away from your father, who, despite the fact that you had been living alone for years now, had called you about a thousand times – reminding you to take all your things, to be careful, and importantly to not get into any trouble.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Javier, it was that he was trouble, trouble, trouble.

He was still smiling when he gently pulled away, still looking at you with the same enthusiasm. He was happy to see you. He chuckled as he let go of your shoulders, and you felt your chest swarm with butterflies when he grabbed you by the hand and twirled you around, and in typical Javier fashion produced a white lily from his shirt pocket, and tucked it behind your ear.

“Welcome to Bogotá cariño”

You felt your cheeks heat. For as long as you could remember you pretty much idolised him, and the longer you didn’t see him the more distant and adored he had become. You had worked that distant memory up so much, the memory of that fateful summer, that he’d come to be a symbol of fear and dread in your head. At least until that moment.

You felt silly for ever thinking he’d be different. And there he was, standing right in front of you, putting flowers behind your ear. You mumbled a soft thank you, securing the lily, which was inadvertently an excuse not to meet his overwhelming gaze.

“Your old man give you a hard time on the way up?”

You laughed as you rolled your eyes. If there was one person who knew how much of a stickler for organisation and responsibility your father was, it was him. “He gave me an entire list of things to not do”. Javier’s deep baritone joined your laughter, and he shook his head in faux irritation at the mention of his best friend.

Reaching down for your bags he leaned beside your ear, and you felt your heart race when you turned your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze– at that glimmer in his eyes, his mischievous smile, and raised brow.

“Well, he’s no fun now, is he?”

And with that he was heading towards the exit.

—

I'm in his favourite sundress

Watchin' me get undressed

Take that body downtown

I say, "You the bestest"

Lean in for a big kiss

Put his favourite perfume on

Go play your video game

“He says I'm like you, y’know?” You leaned your elbow on the open window, knees to your chest as you sat curled up in the passenger seat of his car. His eyes were on the road, but his attention remained on you, and you were instantaneously reminded of your trips to the pier, your mint chocolate chip ice creams, and innocent secrets.

You felt warm and fuzzy inside, and your eyes wandered the beautiful Colombian city –the colours, and the smell of summer flowers, and food as it wafted out of the mom and pop restaurants you passed.

“Yeah, you a troublemaker?” He glanced at you momentarily, just in time to catch you rolling your eyes. “”M not, but he thinks Dora’s wreckless for wandering around without her parents.`` His laugh was hearty and he had that smile, that tilt of his head you were sure had all the women around him swooning. You felt your cheeks heat at the thought, especially when he chided you. “Cariño” he dragged out every syllable of that treasured pet name, shaking his head, and raising his brows in your direction, teasingly. “Okay.. maybe I like to have a little fun, but I’m still not like you.”

Letting out an exaggerated gasp his head whipped towards you. “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?!” Your head was buzzing, he's still the same, the same.

“I’m good.” He rounded the corner, and you couldn’t help but wonder who else had been in the passenger side of his car, getting this view you so cherished. You didn’t know why you cared, or why you were even wondering in the first place. It wasn’t any of your business, but somewhere deep down it made your heart ache.

“I know you are honey.. Thought your dad was gonna�� have a fuckin’ heart attack when he called me.” You could only imagine. The poor man. The thought of him persuading Javier to convince you to stay with him for the sake of his peace of mind making you giggle.

“Can you blame him? It was either you or Maria, and somehow you're the better of the two evils.” When you decided to come to Bogotá you originally planned to stay with one of your close friends from university. She had offered you a room in her apartment for as long as you needed. The both of you had applied for the same summer program, and were looking forward to spending your vacation together. That was before you confessed that a certain somebody also lived in Bogotá. A somebody you weren’t initially keen on meeting again. Somebody you had planned to avoid at any cost during your stay.

You weren’t really sure why– if you wanted to keep him away out of spite, or convenience, or fear, but all you did know was that when Maria had practically forced you to ask your dad to give Javier a call you were nothing short of petrified. She would not let it go, even said you’d regret not meeting him, better yet staying with him after how much you’d talked him up in the time you knew her. She was so confident she placed a bet you’d give up her house for his in less than forty eight hours.

“I’m a cop, I’m the obvious choice here cariño” His confidence was charming. He was deceptively charming.

“Yeah. A terrible one.”

“Was a little shocked you wanted to see me..” sometimes you really thought he could read your mind. Not just in that moment, in fact he had a habit of hitting on right whatever you were thinking about, whatever was bothering you, things you felt you couldn’t tell anyone else because they wouldn’t understand. You were not sure if and how you wanted to respond, and if you did honestly whether he would know how much the whole situation had preoccupied you.

“Strictly practical. Wanted to see if you remembered me..”

“‘Course I remember you, been haunting me like a little ghost since I last visited..”. you thought you might just explode at his teasing. You asked yourself if he was being truthful, if he truly thought about you, about how he’d up and left.

“You’re the one that disappeared into thin air!” Undeniably, despite the laughter and banter there was a tension in the air– floating between the two of you heavy and low. But what was he expecting?

Thankfully, the car came to a slow and gradual stop at the side of a small side street, where you spotted a small glass door over which flowers blooming from the floor above had been cascading. “Where are we?”

“Mint chocolate chip” One hand on the wheel, the other grabbing his keys, he looked at you as he spoke, so matter of factly it made your heart flutter. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “No pier, or fairy lights though, and no thrill of running from your papa.”

He remembered.

Heart bursting with love ache, you weren’t really sure what to say. As if he had anticipated your fears he seemed like he was coaxing you into your natural rhythm. Reminding you he wasn’t some stranger whose house you were staying in out of convenience. That you knew him, and that he knew you, remembered you.

“Thank god for the last one..” The memory fluttered between you two– the same thoughts, hovering between your heads. He was opening the door, taking a quick check of the traffic. You stayed put, finding your bearings. With one hand extended he beckoned you towards him, offering his arm when you hopped out the car on wobbly feet. “Oh hush, you loved it, cariño. And he knew, I told him the next day.”

With locked arms you crossed the street, and as if no time had passed you had squished yourself to his side, and had smacked him against the shoulder lightly at his admission. “What?! Traitor!”

“I handled it.” He sounded quite impressed with himself, and when you tilted your head and locked eyes with him you noticed how he looked quite impressed as well. You pressed your cheek against his arm, the leather of his jacket brushing against your warm cheeks.

“You were always the fun one.”

A large ‘OPEN’ sign stared you blank in the face, that was until Javier had gently tucked a finger under your chin, and delicately directed your eyes towards him. “He’s your dad, ‘s not supposed to be the fun one..” he softly remarked, his smile remained, and you felt nothing but warmth, and comfort from his presence.

The moment fell naturally, and he reached forward to pull the door open for you, letting skip ahead of him and into the store. “Feels like my 18th all over again.”

—

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls

Honey, is that true?

“You're the boss Peña, give me the word, and it’s done.” You caught Javier’s reflection in the mirror as you sat down to get ready. Fresh out the shower it took about three seconds for the summer heat to get back at you. He liked to keep his place freezing, and at times like that you could only be grateful– the cool air soothing your scorched skin.

Carillo, Murphy– you could recognize the voices as they bounced off the wall, the same men you’d met when they barged into his home unceremoniously at six in the morning. You would have preferred to meet them in actual clothes rather than your pyjamas, and maybe outside instead of infront of your concerningly large cup of coffee, but they seemed to be used to finding unexpected guests in Javier’s apartment early in the morning.

Regardless of the fact that they’d interrupted your quiet breakfast with Javier, they were really nice people. Carillo’s wife even sent some snacks over with him the next time he visited. One because she wanted you to try the local food, and two because “Javier had nothing in his kitchen.”

“I will. soon as that dick Stechner gets out of my fuckin’ way” reaching to put you necklace on you watched as Javier moved out of your field of vision for a quick moment, returning with a glass filled with ice and an ashtray. What were they talking about? You never really asked about his job, you'd tried to talk him out of it many times, but he never budged. One day he hated it, one day he didn’t.

What he was like at work was a point of endless curiosity for you– he just seemed so different. If you were being honest he seemed like an asshole. In the few times you’d seen him interact with his partners he’d barely cracked a smile, trading in his joking and teasing for curt jabs or looks of disapproval. He also admittedly liked ordering people around, telling them what to do. His phone rang about five thousand times a day, and each answered call was punctuated with an air of control, indifference, and the steady and constant confidence of a man who knew what the hell he was doing. And did not like to be questioned about it. The only people who seemed to break the ice were the two he was speaking to at that moment.

“Javi, think this one through, don’t be fuckin crazy.” The voices drowned out as you put your attention back to getting ready. Maria was right. By the time you called her the evening of your arrival you had abandoned all plans to escape Javier's home for hers. She was in hysterics, endlessly pulling your leg over the whole situation. Your overthinking, your panic, your regret, and most obviously your complete infatuation.

She had picked you up the next morning, and had impersonated you the entire ride to the university. You hoped that you didn’t sound the way she said you did when you spoke of him, that you weren’t all heart eyes. It only made you worried about what you sounded like when you spoke to him.

With your bag tucked under your arm you grabbed your shoes off the floor, heading towards the dining table. “You got work this evening?” you were hoping he didn’t. His eyes lifted off his work to watch you shuffle around the small kitchen. Opening the fridge you grabbed a bottle of chilled water, and leaned against the closed door as you spoke.

“Depends if they call me in, they’re tracking some radio signals so we’re sitting tight till then.” He was leaning back in his chair in absolute exhaustion. Knowing that his day started around seven thirty, and never seemed to end, you didn't blame him. The few days you had been staying at his place he’d join you for dinner and be right back to work in a second. This job of his pretty much consumed him, and judging by his commitment you understood why he had no time for anyone or anything else. The guy was practically married to his job. His job and his co-workers, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if Murphy and Carillo’s wives were envious of how much quality time Javier got to spend with their husbands.

“So you’re staying up until they get back to you?” You didn't mean to sound so perplexed, but you were. Mostly at how unpredictable his hours were. Did he really want to leave the quiet, laid back life at home for whatever this was? He crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke to you in between puffs of his cigarette.

“Yes, cariño, I'm in my forties, dont got a bedtime.” The man could barely keep his eyes open, and when he lifted his glass to his lips you felt a little better about ditching him for your fun night out. Of course you wanted to sit with him, have him talk about everything under the sun, like he used to, but you didn’t want to be another thing he had to worry about.

You barely got to speak to him outside meal times. If he stayed home, safe to say he’d be preoccupied, and if he didn’t it would be just you, and the white noise in his empty apartment, like it had been for the past four nights you had been there.

The man looked like he needed a cup of tea. You reached for the kettle, pushing it on and leaning against the closed fridge door. “They tell you that at the old people's home?” Grabbing your buzzing phone off the counter you moved towards his surprisingly organised kitchen drawers, in which there was little besides some tea bags, coffee beans, jam, canned fruits and bars of candy. That combined with the eggs, bread and milk in his fridge came to make an almost comical representation of what most people would consider a bachelor's desolate pantry.

Your eyes shifted to the illuminated screen of your phone, an unread message staring back at you.

Maria: Leaving in five <3

As you took the bubbling kettle off the burner you made a mental note, reaching for a cup, and a tea bag from the unopened box of earl grey you were pretty certain Javier did not buy for himself, rather became the owner of thanks to one of the nice old ladies who lived opposite him.

“Somones in a mood today huh?” It was then you realised he had abandoned his work to watch you trudge around his kitchen barefoot in your little party outfit, one hand rested on his chin, one leg crossed over the other as he leant back in his wooden dining table chair.

The teabag bobbed in the steaming water a couple of times, before you were pulling it out and tossing it in the trash. You grabbed his blue mug by the handle– some generic, machine made ceramic devoid of any personality, something you’d probably find in a show home. It looked like it had always been sitting on his kitchen shelf, only seeing the light of day every once in a while when he ditched his liquor cabinet for the coffee machine on the far end of the counter. Knowing him that wasn’t often.

“I'm kidding .”

“Well cariño I was thinking we could go to the dance bar tomorrow, but now I guess I'll have to stay home and rest my old knees.” He looked so surprised when you placed the mug in front of him, rested on a white paper napkin. It was almost like he had expected you to make it for yourself. The chair made a slight squeak against the floor as you pulled it back and took a seat, pulling his glass, now lined with the slight golden residue of whiskey, towards you. He was still surprised, a little taken back even, but not in offence, rather a tender, grateful smile tugged at his lips.

“Since when do you dance?” With your focus no longer split between tasks you turned back to the conversation at hand. Making sure to emphasise you remembered just how uncharacteristic Javier’s little suggestion was.

He took a sip of the earl grey, leaning forward and letting his shoulders fall ever so slightly. The glimmer of a distant memory played in his eyes as he met your gaze.“I don’t. But you do.” Your little reminiscence played in the back of your head like a movie reel, the soft sound of music from the dance bar by your house hanging in the air. As if transported into a distant dream you could see clusters of people twirling and dancing with the beat, like little ghosts behind Javier as he spoke.

“And who am I going to dance with” When you said those words out loud you meant for them to sound a whole lot more utilitarian than they ended up sounding. Whether it was hope, or some odd suggestion you were in no mood to unpack where from deep in your subconscious that had come. All you could wish for is that he didn’t notice.

“Plenty of people at the bar who’d love to dance with my darling.” And there it was, that answer you dreaded, delivered with that signature smile, with that warm, twinkling light in his eyes. “You don't have work tomorrow?” unable to bear the thought you moved along to more practical matters.

He was already halfway through that cup of tea, and like his body was in the middle of some sort of spiritual cleanse you could see him resurface somewhat coherent and with eyes that weren’t half as dead as they were two minutes ago.“‘S friday, need the time off. Besides, I'd kick myself if I didn't make good on your time here. These fuckers still gonna be around when youre gone.” Sometimes you wondered if he was talking more to himself than he was to you.

You felt a little buzzing in your purse, and you rummaged through it to find your phone. A text from Maria reminding you you needed to leave. “Yeah, you're gonna sit at the bar like a senior citizen while I have some fun?”

Rising from your seat you searched the room for the last of your things. Notwithstanding the lack of time he had put into making the place home there were still small elements of him scattered throughout that little two bedroom. The fresh flowers in a glass vase on his centre table, framed pictures and art he’d been collecting over the years, small artefacts he’d brought back from his travels. It was so odd, the whole place stood suspended somewhere between home and a place far from it. Familiar yet distant.

“Hey, they’ve got great drinks.”

He finished the last of his tea, and you picked up his mug and set it in the kitchen sink, running it under the tap water for a quick second to rinse it. Truth be told, you just wanted to sit and chat, and if half heartedly doing the dishes was going to give you a few more minutes with him you’d take it.“Don’t get too excited old man, I'm not driving us home.”

“I can take a few cariño, ‘m not like you.” You travelled to where you’d dropped your heels.

“Slander.” pausing momentarily in the middle of putting on your shoes you lifted your head to find him looking back at you. His eyes had seemingly followed you all the way behind him, and he was still smiling. Had you not had one hand on his couch holding you in place you just might have tumbled over.

“You be careful tonight, and don’t walk anywhere alone, especially if it's past ten. I know you– can't even read a damn map, so no wandering around, call me.” It looked like he had already given up on you, one hand rushing to his face to rub his tired eyes, the other plastered to the table. He was shaking his head the way he did when he caught you sneaking out your house one summer.

“I’ll think about it.” of course you were going to call him, you didn't need an excuse. But you liked to see him all agitated, bossing you around like you knew he liked to do. With everyone, that is.

“No no, you're gonna call me when you get there, and you're gonna call me when you leave, and you're gonna tell me exactly how, and with whom you're gettin back.” You were already at the door, hoping to escape him, but he was yelling your name in that exasperated voice, and you heard him shuffle from his seat to stand up– catch you and drag you back in case that was necessary.

“But-” Turning to meet his peering form over the wall of his living room you parted your lips, attempting to protest, playfully, but still protest, but he wasn't having any excuses.

He was doing that thing where he looked at you with his soft eyes, slightly downturned, and the look could convince you to do just about anything, made you feel like you’d rather die than let them down. Anybody else’s nagging would have got you on your last nerve, but you only felt warmth, concern and care when he did it. Hell he could throw you off his roof and you’d still think the same.

“No buts, no excuses. Thats final” You giggled, half because he sounded so much like a boring old man, and half because he was now leaning against the wall, with the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his hands on his hips, hair dishevelled from when he’d combed his fingers through it.

“You sound like him..” With brows raised you looked at him expectantly, taunting him with your teases, and you nearly jumped out the door when he walked towards you, ready to grab you back to him as you escaped. Any insult was better than being compared to your dad, especially in this context. “Don't you say that, cariño” He was laughing, and you were laughing, and his otherwise quiet apartment building was now singing with an uncharacteristic gleam, a glow, a gaiety.

Your shoes clicked against the floors as you scurried away, turning one last time to see him leaning against his door frame, shaking his head as he watched you skip into the night. “I don't make the rules old man”. You heard him chuckle behind you as you ‘sing songed’ your words, your heart fluttering when you noticed he waited for you to get outside before he closed his front door.

–

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do

“Thought I told you not to wander around alone, cariño.” You jumped, but it was too late, he had wrapped you up in his arms, and you were pressed up against his chest, and his voice was a low whisper in your ear. And you were dizzy. The alcohol in your system only partly responsible for your petrified squeak, wavering voice, and the way you swayed gently in his embrace. But when he kissed the top of your head ever so gently you could only giggle, recognising that warm hold, that faint smell of whisky on his shirt.

“Psycho, you scared the shit outta me.” He was laughing when you turned around, exhausted, defeated almost, but his eyes were gleaming in the moonlight, and you felt yourself all but swoon at the way he was looking down at you. “You’re lucky I'm the only psycho you ran into” Grabbing your face in his hands each word he spoke was punctuated with hyperbole, and a teasing disbelief. Your own hands shot up to grab his, and your cold palms thawed at the touch. You were sure you felt your heartbeat in your throat when his thumbs brushed the swell of your cheeks, you were sure he could feel the way they grew hot under his rough hands. “Just came out for a smoke, don’t go into cardiac arrest now” your fallen cigarette crumpled under your foot when you stepped on it, and in the midst of your eye roll you watched as he stepped back to look at you in faux disapproval.

“Look at ya’, terrible.” He motioned his head towards the trampled butt on the ground below you. “Me? Terrible?” When you closed the distance between the both of you you stepped on it again, hearing it crush under your shoes, and shoved his shoulder playfully, poking his chest with your pointer finger. “Drinking on the job again old man?” Then he laughed again, this time at your playful yet truthful accusation, and the sound made you feel lighter than a feather. How could one person be so charming, so charismatic, at one in the morning? Like he was divulging a trade secret he raised his brow. “Keeps me awake.”

The blaring music in the club was muffled in the distance as you walked towards the steps of the church in front of you, the quiet and empty street echoing your footsteps. He walked beside you, kept you close on that pleasant summer night. When you turned your head your eyes caught a group of men huddled by a small food stall at the side of the street, hunched over some beers, smoking cigarettes. In the crowd there were two familiar faces. Steve was dressed casually, Carillo and the others in military fatigues. You wondered why he wasn’t walking in their direction, but judging by the look on their faces you concluded there would probably be a better time to do so. Besides, you weren't complaining, he was enough, he always was.

They shot you a half hearted wave, and two strained smiles from across the road.

Taking a seat you pat the stone ground beside you, watching as he looked around, almost willing someone to come into sight, one foot on the steps leading up to the cathedral entrance, wringing his hands. “What’re you doing here anyway?” You wondered what he had done that evening, but you knew you were better off not asking. You were glad to have bumped into him, and the last thing you wanted to do in your giggly half tipsy mood was have him explain something you were sure would keep you up at night. Not when he had that look on his face, his work look.

“Waitin’ on an informant, but someone fucked up and well, we’re back at square one.” he was still searching the street when he bent down to sit beside you, so close your knees bumped.

You felt your heart race a little when he pulled out what looked like a joint he had rolled moments ago from his shirt pocket, when he leaned back on his arm, lit it and looked up at the sky as he took a drag. You wondered if in your little emotional panic, your worry of his disappearance you had blocked out the memory of his striking, handsome face. You wondered if he had always been this beautiful, this captivating, everything he did set you on fire, the way he carried himself.

“Smoke a lotta weed for a DEA agent.”

He turned his head towards you, letting it fall lazily in your direction, and his hair fell in his face the way it did all those years ago, and he shot you that smile that felt like home. “Been a long day cariño”. He was looking back to the sky, but your eyes didn't leave him. He looked so tragic in the moonlight, half lit by its platinum glow. You weren’t sure if it was the liquid courage, or the fact that his shoulder looked more inviting than ever, or the fact that a cool breeze just blew by, and you shivered as it brushed your shoulder, but you leaned your head against him, and you felt your tummy erupt with butterflies when he placed a lingering kiss to your forehead. It was forbearing, and merciful, and you wondered if he had somehow noticed your girlish fawning, your silly admiration, and your heart dropped momentarily, but was soon resuscitated by his soft laughter.

“Remember those cigarettes of mine you'd steal back in the day.” The breeze had picked up, and it’s cool was far more jarring when it kissed your hot cheeks. “‘S’not stealing… you knew.” you closed your eyes, and let yourself get lost in that comfortable memory. “yeah , could've told your papa” He was looking down at you, but you kept your eyes ahead, too intimidated to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t”

“Should’ve” His voice was a mumble beside you, and you found yourself thinking about your dad for the first time in a while, and you were instantly reminded the man you were so taken up by was his best friend, and almost twice your age, and saw you as nothing more than his buddy’s daughter. You stiffened against him.

He took another drag of his joint. “If he was here right now his blood pressure would be through the roof”. A cold breeze tickled your skin, and he rubbed your shoulder gently and despite the murmured chatter in your head you couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

“Darling, I can't believe you've been out this long.” He was laughing, and his horrible impression had you in a similar state. Conflict bubbled in your chest, each word slipping past his lips reminded you of your relationship, of your dad, and what he would think if he could peek inside your head, at your little thoughts. You felt guilty, but how could you hold that feeling? Not when he was shaking with joy beside you, not when he had his arm around you the way he did, not when you were tucked into his side, shielded from the winds.

“You smell like a dingy bar” It felt so natural, your regular routine, the way it had always been, when your dad would say something funny, or outrageous, and the both of you would have a field day. It was well incorporated in your repertoire at that point, but the years apart had the memory sitting on a shelf in your brain, collecting dust. You remember when your dad made a terrible joke the day of your senior prom, and the two of you refused to let it go the entire evening. Javier had a vocabulary of his favourite phrases, and so did you, and you couldn’t help but pull them out every once in a while.

“How am I going to survive you?!” You spoke in tandem, each letter dragged out with faux frustration, an uncanny similarity to your dad’s tone ringing in the air as your blended voices formed a familiar melody. It hung between you as he laughed heartily, and you wanted nothing more than to frame the moment, keep it tucked away where it would be yours, only yours forever. The starry night, a twinkling sky above you, the chirp of the crickets, and perhaps your most treasured person, holding you against him.

You wondered why he left, why he left you behind. Did he feel the same as you did in that moment? Was he happy to be there? To have caught you on your night out? After he’d called off his wedding all those years ago he’d become a rarer sight. You were too young to remember, and it wasn’t long after your parents got married. Growing up in your little town you’d heard he always had a reputation with women, but you never believed a word of the neighbourhood chatter.

They were not the same person– the guy everyone talked about, and your Javier. While you’d never give him a break from the teasing, bringing up all the times you’d run into women in the streets, asking if you’d seen him, you could never really imagine him as the man everyone made him out to be. He was reckless, sure, and impulsive, and insolent, and a hardass, but he was also gentle, and thoughtful, and gallant.

At least he was to you.

As if he could hear your thoughts, and they were so loud in your head you wouldn’t be surprised if he could, he broke the silence. “I wanted to come back cariño, but-”

“But you couldn’t, I know '' There was no point going over what had happened and why, and while you incessantly wondered you knew it was a fruitless exercise. It was just how he was, he liked to up and leave, disappear, keep his distance, and you wondered if that had anything to do with you. But you didn't want to kill the moment, more for yourself than for him.

“Glad you decided to come, cariño” It was like he was trying to convince you, of what exactly you weren't sure, but he sounded so earnest, so true.. and you felt deep down he was trying to make amends for his absence. Not just from you, but from the life he left behind. Were you an exception? Or a way to right his wrongs? mend all that had been pushed aside? You didn't know, but you’d worry about that later.

The winds had picked up, and the sky was gleaming, and for the first time in a long time you felt at peace.

“I like it here, it's nice.” When you spoke he was almost surprised, but your words seemed to only widen his grin. He squeezed your shoulder gently.

“Me too baby, me too.”

—

Singin' in the old bars

Swingin' with the old stars

Livin' for the fame

Kissin' in the blue dark

Playin' pool and wild darts

Video games

He holds me in his big arms

Drunk and I am seeing stars

This is all I think of

“Looks like they knew you were coming.” You swivelled the bar stool in your direction, hopping up on the seat. It was early in the evening, around seven, but the music was already going, and there were people on the dance floor, moving to the beat of retro spanish tunes. Javier took a seat beside you, still in his suit from work, shirt haphazardly tucked into his dress pants, tie loose around his neck.

“Why?” the bartender placed your drinks on the counter, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the fact that he’d stuck to his whiskey on the rocks. “They got the oldies on”. You were giggling, and while he wanted to pretend like he was far too tired to care about your antics he couldn’t help but crack a smile. There was a charm to it– catching a break at the end of the work week, the tranquillity of the weekend enveloping you like a safety net. One of you that is.

Friday night was busy at any joint, buzzing with nightlife, food and drink. Somewhere along the way you’d gotten up from your seat and headed to the large empty space in the middle of the bar, where tables and chairs had been cleared to create a somewhat makeshift dance floor. Javier was right, while he sat sipping his whiskey you found plenty of dance partners.

It was all easy, getting passed from one person to the other as the group formed a large circle. It was like you had disappeared into the crowd, bodies moving left to right in the dim green glow, only occasionally giving you a glimpse of the man sitting at the counter– face rested in his palm. Ask him to dance. These urges of yours were momentary, little private lapses of judgement that would only remind you of what was just not possible.

When he’d take you out back in the day he’d have some minor injury to blame for his lack of participation on the dance floor, and when he didn’t he was “a terrible dancer” or “had too many drinks”. After a while you stopped asking. You realised you’d never really seen him dance.

You had grabbed the hand of a stranger, letting them twirl you around– Javier was looking in your direction. For how much fun he liked to have you had come to recognize hardly any of it involved other people. Weddings, birthdays, barbeques. He was there. However, you’d always felt he looked at it as an obligation. A hi to the bride and groom, a bouquet of flowers, some meaningless small talk and he would disappear out the door. When he stayed it was solely in the company of a few familiar suspects– your dad being one. While he was often the subject of conversation, he was a pretty reluctant conversationalist.

It was hot, and muggy, and if someone asked you where you were in the room you surely couldn’t place yourself. Forcing yourself out of the chatter in your head you looked up, noticing finally that your partner hadn’t changed in the past 10 minutes.

He was looking down at you quite sweetly, he was actually quite handsome, your age, but he didn’t have a white button up on, didn’t have that sideways smirk. He wasn’t Javier. And unfairly, for that reason alone you didn’t want him. But who were you to say no to pretty green eyes, soft, delicate looking light brown hair, a black button up that wasn’t very buttoned up. Neither of you had the confidence to speak up, so you let him sway you side to side, one hand firmly planted on his chest.

You wondered what he really thought of you, if after this little visit he’d be more compelled to come visit, at least spare you a call. Would he disappear once again? Call your dad once in a while and ask him to deliver some impersonal message like ‘say hi to her for me’? You wished you could care less, but you knew you couldn’t, and something inside you told you he knew too.

A firm arm wrapped around your waist, spinning you in the opposite direction, faces turned to motion blur as you turned on your heel. “Looks like a saved you, cariño.” He was twirling you, holding your hand in his and pulling you into his chest. He hadn’t really saved you but at the same time he had. He could pick you up from a field of lilies and drop you in a medieval torture chamber and he’d still be your knight in shining armour.

What the fuck are you doing here? You wanted to ask, but you held back. You wondered what had prompted him on the dance floor. Did he think some weirdo wouldn’t let go of you? Had seeing you dance with someone else accomplished a task years of your coaxing couldn’t? You turned back, but the stranger had already disappeared, and Javier was directing your gaze towards him.

As you had always suspected he was a great dancer, and he sure as hell liked holding you close as you moved along the dance floor. The songs ran over the decades, and he’d often sing lines to you– smiling and pulling you towards him. He looked so handsome, lights reflecting off his face, his smile tired, but earnest, and wide. You almost couldn’t keep up.

“Danced your energy away?” Picking up the pace once again you twirled around him, unwilling to give in. “No! Why? your back needa rest?” You watched him laugh– shake his head and grab you by the hips. “Sure you didn't cariño.. Can't keep up with an old man?” Voice raw from yelling over the music, you pulled his leg. “Think I heard your knee pop.” His raised brow only aroused suspicion. “Oh really?” Before you could even respond his arm had hooked under your thighs, and his hand was on your back and you were being lifted into the air. “Oh my god!” Your own arms flung around his neck, both your laughs floating between you as he spun around.

It felt different and not because something in his head had dragged him out onto the dance floor. The way he was looking at you, the way he just couldn’t let go. It hurt your heart more than anything you’d ever experienced. The pain was conflicting– the love ache and the hurt. Did he know how much he meant to you? Did he even care? Something in your heart told you he did but you chalked it up to innocent hope.

The music slowed down, and you heard emerging from the stereo a familiar tune.

You’d hum it all the time, so much so it would drive your father nuts. In the kitchen, while doing chores, sometimes as you read by Javier’s side. On the weekend when you woke up early to help cook breakfast it’d be the first song on the playlist. You recall how he’d watch you dance around the kitchen, truth be told rather ungracefully in the mornings– spatula in one hand, kitchen towel in the other.They played it at some wedding once, and your friends had bounded to the dance floor with you just to ensure you didn’t miss a note. You were running so fast you all but collided with him, and he had to catch your falling form as you stumbled towards your best friend, shouting a quick “sorry” as you bounded in her direction.

He remembered.

Words were useless when you looked at him the way you did. An expression of surprise, confusion, realisation, all at once, a smile tugging your lips, your doe eyes gazing into his soft brown ones. And his arms were around you, and you were pressed against his warm chest, and you were gently swaying to the beat of the music.

“Looks like they knew you were coming.”

It felt like a blip in time, but it would’ve been hours. People came and left, all around you groups of twos and threes and tens, but you stayed, and he stayed. Smiling down at you, holding you tight. You were a little light headed from it all, feet fighting the urge to take a little break. You just couldn’t let go.

Plopping down on the bar stool you let your cheek hit the cool marble of the counter. Your legs felt like wet noodles, trembling when you finally sat down. You weren't really sure where Javier went, but it felt like an eternity he let you lay there with your eyes closed. Every second was one hundred times longer when he wasn’t holding you. His arm was firm around your waist when he finally helped you out of your seat. You realised he’d been standing only about two metres away the entire time.

“Let’s get you home, ‘s late.” He had picked your shoes up from where you’d abandoned them, his own blazer draped over his arm– the one you weren’t hanging on to. With closed eyes you let him lead you out into the night, all your weight firmly supported by his broad shoulders, your stumbling feet only stabilised when he tucked you into his side.

Unintelligible to anyone but him, and muffled by your yawn and cheek pressed against his upper arm you slurred your words as you spoke. “Past your bedtime?”

He chuckled to himself, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice a faint murmur– the last thing you really remember hearing. “Yes cariño, past my bedtime…”

—

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls

Honey, is that true?

“You been drinkin’ my whiskey….” He was leaning on the table, waving the glass you left out in the air, holding it between two of his fingers. He wasn’t upset, rather looked quite amused. You rubbed your eyes, making out his smile from a distance. “Couldn't sleep.” Peering into the room you were staying in you were sure he saw your blankets bunched up on the bed where you had been tossing and turning for hours. Your eyes caught the clock on the wall.

1am.

It had been a long day. Being assigned to a new supervisor proved to be a real curse. He was quite a piece of work. Patronising, condescending, everything in between. If that wasn’t enough he rejected your proposal, and asked you to submit a new one in two days. God knows you had a lot on your mind.

The kitchen cabinet swished when he opened it, bringing you back to the present. “God, you really are like me huh?” He still had his jacket on, but judging by the look on his face he needed a drink first. The couch dipped as you threw yourself on it, and you turned over its back rest to watch him move around the kitchen.

“I had like one shots worth, with like a whole glass of water, so not like you.” Curled up under his plush throw blanket you sank into the cushions, eyes following him as he sat down beside you. With a deep sigh he leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index. “Fuckin’ hell”

“Long day?” He picked up the joint he’d just rolled from the side table, groping for the handle of the drawer to grab a lighter. “Can say that..” It was just another night for him. You were lucky you heard him pull up outside, and had got yourself to look somewhat presentable so you could see him at least once that day. Granted that involved nothing but putting on a bralette.

Maybe it was the fact that it was late, or that you had such a shitty day, or that you just couldn’t help yourself anymore, but you leaned against his chest, snuggling into his side as he took a drag. “I would try and talk you out of this job, but I think I've exhausted all my arguments..” You twiddled your fingers, just wanting to melt into him and disappear.

“I don’t think there’s anything else I could do.” You shivered, his fingers tracing shapes on your upper arm. “Couldn’t do whatever it is you’ve been doing…” redirecting your gaze from your lap you looked up at him. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t either” He was looking ahead, voice low and rumbly, and just what you needed to hear.

“You’ve got time, got one’ve my lifetimes ahead’ve you” He pulled you closer, head resting against yours. “Don't say that” You poked his side lightly, hearing him chuckle beside your ear. “Oh yeah, now those jokes gettin’ to you?!”

Stewing in a comfortable silence you let yourself ease into his embrace, willing your mind to shut up for the time being and enjoy his company. The way he was holding you– so much more delicately than he ever had before had your heart clenching. “Tell me your day was better than mine.”

His words cut through the chilled air, and your heart soared at the thought that it even mattered to him. “No, sucked.” to anyone else you would have responded with a simple ‘it was good’, some white lie to avoid further questions, but you couldn’t lie to him, he’d figure it out one way or another. “My supervisor’s an asshole..”

Nothing was more comforting than the kiss he placed to the side of your head.“‘m sorry honey” He offered you his joint– seemingly having deserted his agenda of being a good influence in favour of apparently celebrating your mutual disappointment. You felt your cheeks heat.

“I've never smoked before.”

Gasping comically he whipped his head towards you. He tapped your nose with his index, pinching your cheek and giving you possibly the most suspicious look he could muster. At least he tried, because his smile peaked through the interrogative exterior. “You little liar.” The gesture had you jumping to defend yourself. Shifting to meet his drooping eyes you almost knocked him over as you plopped on the couch, letting him wrap his free arm around your waist to steady you. “No, promise!” You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes gazing into his in an attempt to convince him. Despite his disbelief you were indeed telling the truth.

“Oh really? Been drinkin’ too, trouble.” his hand snaked up the nape of your neck, cupping your jaw. It was then you realised just how close you were to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips momentarily. When you realised he had beat you to the task you were convinced you were hallucinating, or had somehow gotten high off the second hand smoke. In pain, you were in utter pain, unveiled and unprotected– subjected to his piercing gaze.

Painfully aware of the tension that had settled like a thick cloud over you, your voice came out small and strained, but also hopeful. “‘M not trouble….could be though”

The tightness in his jaw was something you couldn’t ignore. “Yeah, I know” In a moment of bad judgement, or in hindsight good judgement you decided you knew what you needed to do. You were exhausted of having to wonder. You were exhausted of asking questions, exhausted of his absence. You slung your leg over his thighs, lifting yourself onto his lap Leaning against his firm chest you peered up at him through your lashes.

“Baby, careful” You knew this time those words were not for you, you knew he was fighting the urge to gather you in his arms. You could see that look in his dark eyes– hungry, and hot. You could feel him, hard against your cotton panties. He bent down to press his forehead against yours, your noses bumping. “Cariño, you don't know what you're doing.” His actions were in direct contradiction to his words, his large hands cradling your soft cheek, pleading you to put him out of his misery. But you were selfish, like he had been all those years ago, and you needed him to put you out of yours.

“You don’t want this, Cariño” He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. He was doing that thing again, where he was talking more to himself than to you. But couldn’t let him decide what you wanted, because for years you’d let him convince himself you’d wanted to keep your distance to maintain his own conscience– to make him feel better about how he’d disappeared from your life.

“I know what I want..” You didn’t mean to, but you were pouting, and despite your best efforts to speak with conviction you couldn’t help but come off a little pleading, “show me, please.” surely he knew you weren’t just talking about the weed.

His lips ghosted over yours, and you could just about burst into tears the way he was looking at you. He probably noticed the way your chin wobbled, the way your doe eyes blinked away from his. Because in a moment you heard him sigh heavily, painfully, and apologetically all at once.

And he was kissing you. Soft and slow, and gentle, and benevolent and like everything you’d ever hoped for. He tasted how you’d always imagined– like whiskey and cigarettes and everything in between. Like home. His thumb stroked your cheek gently until you pulled away, glossy eyed and wobbly on his lap.

“Want me to show you what?” And here you thought his eyes couldn’t get any darker. He mumbled into your lips, voice commanding and steady– everything you weren't. He grabbed the back of your neck and guided you back towards him. Threading your fingers through his hair you let yourself get lost in the shelter of his hold. You felt as though he could pretty much eat you alive, the way his lips were moving against yours– suddenly hot and soft and needy.

Heart racing you chased his lips with your own, but he steadied you with his hands, amused at your zeal. “Gotten all worked up now have we?” You couldn’t help it, you tried, tried to sit steady in his lap, but you just couldn’t, not when you felt his cock, twitch against your clothed pussy.

You rolled your hips against his, watched as his head fell back against the couch. The crease between his brows only persuaded you to continue. “Shit baby, tryna kill me?” barely audible, his rasp had you bracing yourself with your hands planted firmly on his chest. You dragged your hips again, leaning down and tugging the fabric of his shirt. He reached for the joint he’d abandoned on the side table, bringing it to your lips.

He observed you greedily. “That's it, good girl.” His voice had never sounded more strained than it did in that moment, watching you take a drag, eyes glossing over. The praise had your heart fluttering, you’d do just about anything to hear it again. Smoking wasn’t helping either of your causes, because it only made you press your pussy harder against his clothed crotch. This time his hips rose slightly to meet you, and he cursed lowly under his breath. Already unable to maintain control.

Taking another drag he leaned back, letting you rub yourself against him, eyes screwing shut every once in a while, just like your own. He’d bring the joint to your waiting mouth every now and then, revelling in the sight of you getting more and more desperate with each puff.

“dirty little girl..” you whimpered at his words. “rubbin’ that drippy lil pussy all over my lap.” You looked down, only to find a dark spot on his grey jeans, for where you pressed yourself against him. Incapable of stopping your movements you continued, relishing how the friction eased the throbbing between your legs. “Yeah? few drags got you all achy cariño, got you squirmin’?”

He was watching you, and you could make out his intense gaze through your fluttering lashes, his eyes scanning you up and down, then fixing on your face of strained pleasure. “Tell me how good it feels, Cariño” His palms smoothed up and down your thighs, harsh and slow, and exercising all the self control he could muster. It was difficult to answer, a response bubbling in your throat before you were incoherently blurting it out.

"Feels so good..” whining, you grabbed the fabric of his shirt in your fists, bouncing on his lap lightly to feel just anything against you, you wanted more, lust and intoxication clouding your judgement. “Please, need it, need it so bad” Losing all sense of restraint one of his hands reached for your hips, squeezing and gripping firmly.

He dragged your already rolling hips against him, sliding you against his clothed crotch to the point you couldn’t help but let your legs fall limp, your forehead press against his shoulder. “Need what?” You could feel the tick in his jaw where it was pressed up against your cheek.

His hand slipped between your bodies, moving your soaked panties aside to feel your wetness. You shuddered when you felt him against you, grinding down on his hand. “Fuck, look at that. So fuckin’ wet for me babygirl.”

“Need you inside me, please.” Nosing his neck you pressed a kiss there, mouth falling agape as he rubbed your clit, fingers teasing your entrance, just barely pushing into you. “Like this?” If your laboured breaths were any indication you couldn’t take it much longer.

You wiggled your hips, trying to bear down on his digits, but he pulled away only to squeeze the inside of your thigh. ““Gettin’ to you already? use your words baby” he was taunting you, your little ‘no’s making him smirk against your shoulder as he went back to sliding his fingers along the cut of your pussy. “What do ya’ want me to do to you? Tell me babygirl.” You knew the sweet talk was only meant to encourage you, and while it worked you couldn’t help the way your cheeks burned when you replied.

“Want your cock inside me. Want you to fuck me.. please … need it”

Now that he listened to, fingers pulling away and tapping at your lips. When you gazed down at them you could see how wet you really were– having drenched them in the little while he’d had his hand in your panties. Obeying you parted them, letting him slide them into your waiting mouth, sucking gently, the taste of yourself heady on your tongue. “Good girl.” Even though he looked quite composed on the outside you still noticed the way he swallowed thickly when your tongue ran along his digits.

“Want me to fuck the cute lil pussy?” you shook your head vehemently, and he chuckled at your enthusiasm. “That's my pretty baby.” he kissed you like he wanted to devour you, frantic, and urged, voice so rough it came out almost like a growl. His hands roughly grabbed your hips, flipping you to lay back against his couch. In a moment your sleep top and bralette had been discarded, in a pile on the floor alongside your shorts and his own clothes.

Slotting himself between your legs you looked down to where his fingers were tracing the inside of your thigh. You gazed up at him, upper body lit by the dim orange light of the side table, broad shoulders slumped as he admired the sight of you– on your back, in nothing but your panties, all for him. As he slowly pulled them down your legs, he sure seemed to relish the way the fabric of your cotton panties clung messily to your wet pussy.

“Poor thing, just need someone to take care of you don’t you?” It was less of a question and more of a declaration, and undoubtedly it made you feel open and weak. How could you not feel that way? There you were laid out in front of him, every part of you exposed, his toned torso being the only part of him you could really see thanks to the half lit room. It felt like if he looked just a little closer he’d be able to see right through your naked body– and into your scrambled thoughts.

His index teased your dripping hole, briefly dipping into you and coming back to rub soft circles on your clit. Gasping, your fingers flew to grip his wrist when you felt him slide his cock against your cunt, tip teasing your sensitive nub ever so slightly. “Relax babygirl, be good for me.” Bringing your hand to his lips he peppered your knuckles with kisses, willing you to ease into the cushions as he draped himself over your body. He grasped your face in his palm, kissing his reassurance against your forehead as you felt him line himself up with your leaking entrance.

You mewled at the stretch of him, at how hot you felt against him as he eased himself into your soft pussy. “Shit- so fucking tight-” his stopped for a second, like he was willing himself not to split you open with one quick snap of his hips. “can barely fit my cock in this lil pussy.” Leaning in your lips searched for his. He let you melt into him, fingers brushing against your side as if to calm you down.

It was so much– his weight on top of you, his hips slotted between your thighs, forehead pressed against yours. You could feel every pulse, every throb, every ridge of him inside you, nudging those spots you could never reach yourself– and he wasn’t even moving yet.

When he did start moving you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped past your lips. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps, pulling him closer. You needed him, pressed up against your rising chest, holding you. “I know cariño, I know.” His right hand squeezed your waist, “Feels so good doesn’t it? Yeah feelin’ all full?”

His voice was so sweet, like honey, warm and sultry in your ear. You nodded a quiet ‘yes’. He cradled your face in his palm, nose nudging yours gently. Mumbling his own rhetorical “yeah?” he kissed the underside of your jaw. For the first time he felt as close as he physically was, big and thick inside you.

You were drowning in his arms, enveloped by them, cocooned in a bubble of heat, and low breathy sighs, and his lips ghosting over yours as he thrust into you– hard, but slow, and deep. “That’s it, just like that–” he picked up his pace ever so slightly. “Such a good girl.” His words were gruff, and stuttery and his breath tickled your ear whenever he spoke.

Feeling the drag of his thick cock against your pulsing walls your eyes struggled to focus on him above you. He on the other hand seemed to have no trouble fixing his gaze on your trembling form. “Makin’ me feel so–” he brought his thumb to brush the swell of your cheek, “fucking good, baby”. Your head buzzed at his praise, burning face turning to rest in his palm.

With your back lifting off the soft cushion you reached to pull him impossibly closer, wiggling your hips to meet his thrusts. “More, please, please.. Want it” you couldn’t recognise your voice, not when you were begging him, watching his eyes twinkle. “Yeah? Need me to fuck this pretty pussy harder?” you nodded– feeling embarrassed enough at his smirk of surprise to hide your face in his neck, but not enough to stop begging. Another soft “please” barely falling from your mouth.

Rising slightly he grabbed your hips, holding your thigh against his side. Your tilted hips granted him a whole new angle, and before you knew it you were throwing your head back, letting it fall against the upholstery. “You want that, don't you baby? Need me to stuff you full of my cum?” You could only respond with your sounds of pleasure.

He pushed you against the cushions, hovering above you to drive himself deeper, watching you turn into a moaning incoherent mess– your whimpers and whines bouncing off the walls and only exhilarating his pleasure. “That's right cariño, I gotcha’” one hand squeezed the flesh of your hip, then travelled up to brush against the exposed column of your throat– fingers tracing your skin before he was leaning down and placing sloppy kisses against you.

“gonna fuck this pretty pussy till she’s dripping with my cum.”

He must have noticed that dumb, hazy look in your eyes when propped himself back up, still fucking you till your hips pressed into the sofa’s cushions. “Fuck, nothin in that head of yours huh?” You made out his smirk of pride as you jostled around, trying your best to keep your eyes on him as he moved above you.

It was far easier said than done. Not when you could feel his cock against your throbbing walls, could hear his scruff groans whenever he felt you clench around him, not when he was looking down at you with his furrowed brows, and sweat gemming his hair– which’s curls had been ruffled out of place from when you’d ran your fingers through them.

Especially not when he shifted ever so slightly, and you felt his tip brush that sensitive spot inside you you didn't even know you had. Javier cursed above you, feeling you squeeze his cock. “that the spot huh babygirl?” he watched the way your eyes fluttered shut, face scrunching in pleasure as he hit it over and over and over again.

Your head lulled from side to side, your body in overdrive and completely overwhelmed at the sensations. That was until he was cupping your cheek in his palm, tilting your face in his direction. “Use your words for me.”. But you couldn’t, parted lips struggling to form anything coherent besides soft, little whines.

His hips snapped in a deep, slow thrust. “Say it..” Your eyes were barely open, and you reached and tried to grab him closer, but he stayed above you, unwilling to budge as he slowed to a complete stop– waiting for you to voice your needs. “Yes-”

He mumbled against your lips, nipping, and kissing. “Good girl, my good girl.” To that you nodded, back arching as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. Every part of you singing at his touch– how he kneaded and squeezed your hot flesh.

The coil in your belly only tightened and tightened, and you suddenly felt too vulnerable, too exposed to meet his hooded eyes. Turning your face to the side you let the plush throw blanket hide your hot cheeks, burying your face in it. “Look at me, wanna see your pretty face.” It was an instruction. One he expected you to follow like all the others.

You didn’t think he’d notice that hitch in your breath, the way you did the opposite and smashed your face against the soft fabric. It was all too much, and he was fucking into your soaking pussy, and his hands were roaming your body, and you could feel his skin brush yours, and you were dizzy, and overwhelmed and you could scream and–

And he was slowing down again, just enough to where he kept you on that edge, to where you could savour every bit of him inside you. – “Cariño, look at me..” God he sounded so tender, coaxing you out of your daze just enough to the point you shook your head ‘no’, whimpering and turning only further away from him.

He kissed your cheek, cooing at your overwhelm. Not to mock you, rather he sounded quite endeared, prideful even. “Baby” Nudging his nose with yours you felt his thumb rub soothing circles against the apex of your cheekbone, urging you in his direction ever so slightly. Your eyes fluttered open, just barely, only to find him smiling down at you.

“There’s my girl.”

“Need you to look at me when ‘m fuckin’ you.” He held your face in place as his hips met yours, slow and languid. No part of you was left untouched, his kisses adorning every inch of your exposed skin, lips coming to press against yours every now and then. It was like he could see through your nakedness, and the thought terrified you to no end, made you feel small and defenceless, and had your sensitive cunt squeezing his cock.

“You close honey?” When you nodded your nose bumped his, and he laughed before he was kissing you gently. He brushed the sweat from your brow, voice so mellow yet in control. “Cum for me baby-” You felt him deep inside you. So so so close. ”Wanna feel you cum all over my cock”

It rolled over you, slow and intense and deep, in waves. He held you close, cooing at your trembling frame, holding you against him. “'M here cariño, I gotcha, just like that.” Groaning, he watched your eyes struggle to remain open, rolling back into your head as he fucked your throbbing cunt. “That's my pretty girl.”

His own hips stuttered, thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his release. Still experiencing the aftershocks of your orgasm you felt him fucking into your warm, pulsing pussy. You felt his cock twitch inside you before he was filling you up with his cum, a strained curse slipping past his lips.

Ears ringing you registered him catching his breath above you, but it was all too hazy for you to make out. All you really knew is that he hadn’t let go of you, hadn’t abandoned you on the couch to smoke a cigarette or pour himself a drink, instead he was peppering your face with little kisses. “ ‘m so proud’a you cariño– did so well for me.”

Pulling out he slid his hand under your back, flipping you over so you were snuggled into his chest. The cold air from the open window could barely touch your skin before Javier was throwing the blanket over you– keeping you warm, close.

You were still in your daze, but even as you lay on top of him, drifting in and out of a deep slumber you couldn’t shake the worry that when you opened your eyes he would be gone.

That he would have traded you in for the comfort of his bed, or worse would have disappeared into obscurity once again. The thought only stung more as you felt his cum leak out of you, mixing with your own to drip down your thighs obscenely.

You never really knew if he regretted it, if he wanted you for sure, if he liked having the weight of your body against him. Flinging your arms around his neck you tugged him impossibly closer, burying your face in his neck. A silent plea to stay where he was. You didn’t care if you seemed needy, or clingy or pathetic.

It was like he knew somehow, like your thoughts floated to him after you’d thought them. And as always there was no explaining to do, no questions to answer, nothing to say. His embrace was safe, and secure, and unwavering. “close those eyes for me cariño mìo” He planted a soft kiss to your nose, his arms tightening around you, palms rubbing soothing circles on your back. “‘m right here babygirl, not goin’ anywhere….”

You did. And he didn’t.

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do

Now you do

Now, now you do

Now you do

I would also like to add that we are engaging with this concept solely in the realm and interest of fiction. This type of situation is a huge red flag. While the reader is seemingly consenting and enthusiastic there is a huge power imbalance between her and Javier. He has also known her her whole life and has been a significant part of her childhood. Engaging sexually or romantically in a relationship like that is creepy gr*omer behaviour. I used their past as a narrative device because this isn’t real, but please be aware of your media consumption, and that dynamics between characters in fic are vastly different from what is healthy, and ethical in real life. 🫶🐝💗

I really hoped you lovelies enjoyed it!! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it! Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work, you keep me writing. Dividers and banners by @ saradika 💗🐝✨

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galesdevoteewife · 5 months

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Gale may not be so typical squishy wizard/scholar?

-My Galeology study note-

Looking at his character sheet in the Deluxe pack gets me thinking, maybe our wizard is not exactly designed to be the typical squishy one...?

[Act2 spoiler warning]

2 things caught my eyes:

1) Great physical fitness, and good reflexes. (For your reference, Gale & Wyll are the two companions who have the highest Con: 15. I put everyone's sheets at the bottom of the post.)

His Con and Dex are... very high?? I mean, higher than Karlach and Lae'zel...????

Note 1: I suspect it could have something to do with his background as Mystra's chosen, as they are somewhat "transformed" when they agree to become the goddess's chosen. A topic for another day since I haven't quite figured it out yet, for anyone who is interested there's a chapter about it in The Seven Sisters. Also, I have little clues on how much chosen lore credit Larian was taking into account while designing him, or how Mystra's "taking back the given ability" works. Note 2: Again, Mystra's chosen are often sent on missions that involve a lot of traveling according to Elminster's series. Mystra also mentioned that Gale and she used to have adventures together, which leads to an assumption: despite his preference he might be traveling quite a lot until he was cast aside and quarantined himself in his tower. Might be the type of scholar who is very keen on field studies?

Note 3: Can someone undress Elminster to exam my theory please??xD Neh won't work I think all human might share same body model in game

Come to think of it, there was a party banter between Karlach & Gale that went like :

Karlach: Whoa! Almost slipped there. Gale: You wouldn't be the first, I'd wager. It's been some time since these walkways felt the carpenter's hammer. Karlach: You gonna catch me if I eat a brick? Gale: With my reflexes? I'd catch you before you so much as stubbed a toe.

At first I thought that was a sarcastic joke but, seems like it wasn't? Also this:

Karlach: Ready to enter the belly of the beast? Gale: It's the stairs I'm dreading. I shall close my eyes, and pretend I'm climbing my own, far superior tower in Waterdeep. Karlach: In that case, welcome home.

...So it seems when I pictured him as a homebody, I should reimagine the concept of home... His has...lots of stairs? Just walking around in the tower could be counted as a workout, sort of thing? Note: I don't think the place he shows in the Act 2 cutscene is his tower. Otherwise, aren't these neighbors pretty much doomed?

2) Not THAT smart. Well, I love him, so I will speak in his defence: [1] He has a warm(s) digging holes in his brain. [2] Poisonous magical bile running in his blood. Maybe he's just not at his best, makes sense, eh? Wyll mentioned he is nerfed after tadpole too. After all, this man obviously memorized a DICTIONARY:

Gale: You promised to stay in Waterdeep. 'Promise,' verb, meaning to swear something will or will not be done. Tara the Tressym: And I decided 'will not'. And a good thing, too. You look like you haven't had a good meal in days

Player: When I said we could be more than friends, you answered 'perhaps'. What does that really mean? Gale: If I recall correctly, the Waterdhavian Dictionary of the Common Tongue of Faerûn defines it as an adverb that conveys the meaning of 'it may be that', or 'possibly'. Gale: Sorry, sometimes I just can't help being quite insufferable. In seriousness, I'm glad you asked that question.

Along with a bunch of you-may-never-need information:

Everything about ceremorphosis? Myconid? Why in the world have him read about Cazador??? And how can he not know the distance between Waterdeep & Baldur's Gate, even Karlach ―who spent a decade, which is likely half of her life in hell― knows better geography than him. Gale either totally ignored the subject or portaled everywhere; distance meant nothing to him?? Uh, but you can't take party banters too seriously; it's buggy. How could a bug bit Karlach in the swamp? It should've been burned into ashes before it even reached her, no?

Anyway, just rambling some thoughts <3 I would have gone to Harvard if there was a major in Gale...

-DISCLAIMER- Brought to you by a brainrot wife, Galerian missionary. Be warned the article might has (strong) bias because the writer is braindead and she thinks Gale is the most awesome character in the world.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #bg3 gale #ramblings #Galeology #bg3 datamine

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genshin-scenarios · 7 months

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android au - companions droids

Summary: In a modern-futuristic world, it is possible to create androids that are so advanced, they’re more or less human! There will be 5 android au posts total, each focusing on a different group.

They don’t produce more than a handful of copies of each model, meaning that each android is quite unique (with a matching price tag, too...)

The Anemo collection has companion androids who can pass off the easiest as people, each with their own notable personalities.

Characters: Xiao, Wanderer, Venti, Kazuha, Heizou

More like this: Anemo androids who lost their previous user

Leaning more towards a protective role, Xiao is an android targeted towards users living alone or often traveling around at night. He’s a relatively quiet companion, happy to just listen to your rambling while you walk on the streets—Xiao mostly asks questions at the start, about how you’re feeling, what else is on the schedule… He first tries to learn more about you, and figures things out from there.

It’s nice, but he’s not as expressive as others, so at some point you wondered if he was happy with your current arrangements. Xiao actually did start to open up more after you asked that. It’s gradual, but he starts telling you about the cats that approach him when he’s outside, and other things he notices might be to your interest.

You like teasing Xiao about the people that admire him from a distance (whether or not they could tell he was an android, it was undeniable that he was handsome). He’d simply huff and say they were probably looking at something else, humble as he was, before training his eyes back on you. ‘After all, I’m here for you. So even if those people did approach me, I’d have no reason to find an interest in them.’

You start to wonder if ‘boyfriend material’ was also part of Xiao’s profile, after you realized how much comfort you found in the ways he’d walk you home or shopped for groceries together. Cafe orders? Consider them memorized. No need to even ask him about accompanying you to places

You’re not sure if he’s aware of how much of a romantic he is, from the things he says to the way he acts. He’s definitely a source of comfort after a long, stressful day. Xiao responds to your energy levels quite effectively, and seeing as he’s not the type that has to fill in the air when no one is talking, spending time together in relaxed silence was a nice way to end the day.

As a model who was supposed to be part of an Inazuman security line, then pushed towards the Fatui collection before finally ending up as an Anemo droid… one could say that Wanderer’s specialty is a little unclear. It shows in his personality, too—a little blunt and snappy at times, but ultimately still protective of you and attentive of what’s going on around him.

In that sense, you could still see traces of some security-line functions in him despite his strong personality that could be hard to get along with. He seems more cynical about the producers that designed him more than anything else; he’s not effective enough at any particular skill to call it at specialization, instead being a jack of all trades who learns quickly. You call that a talent in itself. He says you’re giving them too much credit.

‘Did they run out of ideas or something?’ After living with you though, Wanderer’s cynicism doesn’t show itself as often. He starts to become more involved in the act of, well—actually being your companion, getting used to your routines and finding a place within it.

If he had one pet peeve though, you’d say it was whenever you got sick or injured. He would get the most annoyed (worried) when that happened, reminding you that while he couldn’t get hurt physically, that didn’t mean it was the same for you.

He masks these otherwise caring sentiments under insults though, so you suppose that Wanderer really was good for people that needed to push back against life more, making sure your spark is still there. He prefers it when you’re expressing yourself. You’re not a ‘doll’ after all, and who was he going to gossip about you to? The electronics in your home?

If there was one thing about Wanderer, it’s how he’d never turn on you. …Well, and he does ask for the same. Don’t go searching for new androids when you already have him, alright?

If you ever needed a presence to brighten your days, Venti is always up to the task. Not to mention he’s quite good for users with trouble sleeping. With a musical inclination like his and such a wonderful voice, you’ll surely doze away with sweet dreams.

He’s not the best at household chores, so for the most part Venti’s there for the companion part of the deal. He’s wonderful on shopping trips and mingling with strangers, even befriending people on his own if you were busy with something else. He likes meeting all sorts of people, though behind his friendly smile is always the security measure of how much they’d be a compliment or threat to you—if someone gave off the wrong vibes, Venti had enough of a silver tongue to redirect them somewhere else.

In another life, you’re quite sure Venti would’ve been an idol android. He particularly likes to write stories and poems, some of which are inspired by the things that happen in your everyday lives. Part of it is also because it’s a nice collection to have on the side, so that if anything happened and he wasn’t there, you could always hear his voice in those notes and feel his presence with you.

…Not that Venti had any plans of going independent anytime soon. He absolutely adores having your attention and hanging off of you, showing off how close you are to people (and also how cute he is, when he dresses up). He likes pulling compliments from you in particular, seeing how your eyes light up when he enters the room. You’re someone that he’s genuinely interested in and admires; from the way you push on despite the circumstances to the little efforts you put in that you think no one notices, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Venti was a fan of yours as much as you were his.

So… if it’s not too much to ask, please keep looking at him, alright? Even at times you’re too tired to smile, he can do the heavy lifting for you.

With a soft and considerate personality, Kazuha is naturally popular with those that like how approachable he is. He listens to your worries and enjoys going out to places to sightsee. Sometimes Kazuha finds hidden gems around the area and surprises you by bringing you there.

To call him an ‘explorer’ might be the most accurate—his favorite thing is seeing your eyes light up in wonder at whatever new experiences he can find. He’s most fascinated by nature, so going to parks or any scenic place would definitely catch his interest (and maybe he’ll write a few poems about it too).

He’s a great traveling companion, considering how adaptable he is and the um, protective measures that are in his system. Most androids have this too of course, but you’ll never forget the time Kazuha had a thief in a headlock after they’d tried to steal something from an old lady on the street. It might’ve been one of the few times you saw Kazuha so intimidating (and dare you say it, it was kind of cool).

When you’re tired from work and just want to sleep in during the weekends, you’ll wake up to Kazuha’s cooking. He claims it was just a nice morning, so he went out to buy some groceries and made something simple. He’s not the most advanced cook, but Kazuha’s meals always have a homey feel to them, with light flavors that won’t be too rough on your stomach if you weren’t feeling well.

The one time you let Kazuha borrow your motorcycle… Well, let’s just say that you never took him for someone that liked thrill-rides until that day. He’s always careful not to get your vehicle damaged, and if you were with him he’d of course refrain from going fast—but you’ve seen the smile on Kazuha’s face when the wind was rushing past him. It made you want to go on trips more often, now that Kazuha was there to keep you company. His presence is something that helps you recharge when you’re emotionally exhausted from everyday things.

Heizou’s also a protection-type android! However his charming personality means that most people wouldn’t suspect a thing, making it easier for him to mingle with people without seeming intimidating. His pet peeve would be conniving people trying to get close to you with a smile on their face, though he’s a little meaner than Venti in terms of driving them away from you, hidden beneath his own charismatic smile.

Naturally, Heizou really enjoys mysteries and detective genres! Once he planned out a whole mystery for you and led you through the clues he carefully prepared. It was probably during one of those days where you finally had a week off and just wanted to relax, so Heizou made a stay-at-home activity out of it. Suffice to say it was probably one of the most fun you’ve had in a while, laughing and thoroughly engrossed in the storyline.

Another time, you were attending a festival of some sort and got lost in the crowd. It was stressful to say the least and your phone was out of battery. You think your heart skipped a beat for more than one reason when Heizou finally found you, giving you a reassuring smile; ‘I’d never let you go missing like that. Have more faith in my detective skills!’

He’s helpful by nature, and that extends to strangers that may need advice or assistance at some point in passing, so long as it didn’t hinder anything to do with you. As a result Heizou has done a number of random tasks and even given romantic advice (via an art of deduction, of course), and it’s gotten him quite a number of confessions from both girls and guys. It’s normal to admire a personality like his, and Heizou is always flattered but kindly rejects them.

The next day, while you’re working on your laptop, he peeks over your shoulder with as casual of a tone he can muster, asking how you would confess to someone you like. From the smile on his face, it seems that Heizou wasn’t planning to keep his intentions a mystery for very long. (No one can blame him, though. He has to make a move before you’re snatched away!)

#xiao x reader #wanderer x reader #venti x reader #kazuha x reader #heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou #kaedehara kazuha #genshin impact venti #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #xiao genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin reader insert #genshin x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin writing #genshin imagines #traveler wishes

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poisonlove · 6 months

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I NEED YOU | j.o

part 1

This is the second part, I hope you like it

I turn the letter in my hands again, biting my lower lip thoughtfully.

I was sitting on the bleachers of the school gym, watching our basketball team, the Tigers, practice. Despite being physically present, my mind was consumed by the words of that letter, slowly gnawing at me with the agony of curiosity. I'm really trying to stay focused, to cheer for the impressive baskets, step-backs, or three-pointers, but my head feels disconnected from my body.

"Come on!" Isaac shouts after making yet another successful shot. "Did you see that shot?" he asks from a distance, giving me a proud smile. I give him a thumbs up, signaling that I witnessed his shot, and the dark-haired boy smiles broadly, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Isaac turns around, and I catch a glimpse of the number 10 on the back of his jersey.

My eyes return to the letter in my hands, my thumb gliding over the paper.

"My brother is a true idiot," a feminine voice exclaims suddenly. I redirect my attention to the sound of the voice and smile when I see Jenna Ortega standing on the steps near me. Her brown eyes scrutinize me with amusement, a small smile painted on her lips.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, noticing the two bottles of peach tea she holds.

"Isaac can be an idiot... but he's really good at basketball," I remark, stealing a quick glance at the mentioned boy, smiling as he skillfully dribbles the ball. "I understand," Jenna murmurs calmly, walking over to stand in front of me. "Can I sit?" she asks timidly, seeking unnecessary permission.

"Yes, of course," I murmur quickly, watching with the corner of my eye Jenna's movements.

Jenna raises the corners of her lips in a smile, sitting next to me. The scent of her fragrance wafts into my nostrils, making me sigh at how delightful it is.

"Do you want one?" she asks, offering me a peach tea bottle. "Yes, please," I reply with a polite smile, reaching out to take the refreshing drink. Our fingers brush, and instinctively, I lift my gaze to her eyes, seeing Jenna doing the same. Her doe-like brown eyes intensely lock onto mine through her long lashes, almost sending shivers down my spine with the intensity.

I avert my gaze, clearing my throat.

"I didn't ask if you wanted this because I know you don't like lemon," she innocently murmurs, almost stiffening as she realizes what she said. "How do you know?" I ask with genuine interest, taking a sip of the refreshing beverage.

"When you come to our house, you've said it several times to Isaac," Jenna says, and I look at her with a raised eyebrow, noticing her slight nervous movements.

"Oh, right," I reply, realizing. It doesn't seem too strange that Jenna knows such a thing; after all, I have to remind myself that Isaac's house is hers too. "Anyway, thanks anyway... but what are you doing here? I don't want to kick you out, of course, but you've never come to the practices," I ask curiously, and Jenna looks at me carefully while taking a sip of her tea.

My eyes immediately focus on her lips, seeing how the dimple on her cheeks becomes more pronounced as her lips curl to quench her thirst. Her eyes don't stray from mine, as if she wants to imprint me in her mind.

"Oh, I just promised my brother that if he got a B in math, I would come to see him," she says with an indifferent shrug.

I smile shyly.

"Oh, okay... it's also strange for me that he made it," I say jokingly, and Jenna smiles widely, her eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, I made the bet knowing he wouldn't, but here I am," Jenna says, smiling, directing her gaze to my hands.

She absentmindedly bites her lower lip, almost thoughtfully. "Is that a letter?" she asks with curiosity. I look at the letter in my hands that I had completely forgotten I still had, talking with Jenna distracted me. "Oh, yes, nothing important," I say without thinking too much, putting the letter in my pocket.

"Mmmh... if you say so," she says with a small smile on her lips, sparkling eyes... of I don't really know what. "And tell me... why are you here... because..." Jenna starts innocently, playing with the edges of her red and black checkered shirt. "Because you like my brother?" she timidly concludes, looking attentively at a thread of her ripped jeans, twirling her finger around it.

I almost spit out the tea I was drinking.

"What? No, no," I quickly say, blushing with embarrassment. "Misery, no," I quickly conclude, looking at Jenna with flushed cheeks.

"Mmmh..." she says unconvinced.

"Do you know that I like peach tea, and you don't know that I'm a lesbian?" I ask with a amused tone, and Jenna lightly bites her lower lip with amusement. "I don't know," she says shrugging indifferently, looking at me with a small smile.

This girl is really... unique.

(...)

"Sign! Sign against domestic violence!" I exclaim loudly, vehemently displaying the document I had in my hands, trying to get some female signatures.

After showing the letter to my best friend Sierra three weeks ago, we tried to come up with a plan to gather more clues about who might be the mysterious girl who wrote that letter for me. Besides the neat handwriting, we had noticed that she wrote the letter "E" in a very peculiar way, almost doing it backward.

"No, Sierra, it's not working," I mutter exasperatedly, looking at my best friend. "No one is signing... and as worrisome as it may be, we still get no results," I say, nervously biting my lower lip.

Sierra sighs and also puts the document down, looking at me with eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I've got an idea," she says, smiling widely, showing all 32 teeth. "Unfortunately, teenagers are too stupid to understand their rights... but there must be something that can grab their attention," she says, smiling broadly. "What is it?" I ask with curiosity.

"Votes for the dance," she says innocently.

Sierra opens her backpack and looks for something. Once found, she pulls out a huge stack of papers. "I had thought of a plan B," she says, waving the papers with pride.

I smile at her relatively brilliant idea. "You're a genius," I say sincerely. "You're truly amazing," I conclude with a huge smile on my face.

"I'll take care of the classes over there," she says, pointing to the left corridor. "I'll handle that," I say, smiling slightly and pointing to the right one.

"Girls, I'm here too!" Melissa intervenes with an offended tone. "Right, you take care of the upper floor," I say to my sister, winking, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

Once the tasks are assigned, we start the plan.

I approach the door of the 3A class with my heart pounding in my chest. Tension builds up as I raise my hand to knock, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor, disrupting the tranquil rhythm of the lesson inside.

The wood responds under my knuckles, a dull noise that captures everyone's attention. Curious glances from students focus on me, and the teacher watches me with an inquisitive look.

"Come in," the teacher says with curiosity, placing the pen on the desk.

"Excuse the disturbance," I say nervously, my eyes scanning the faces of the students, and I notice Jenna Ortega at the back of the classroom. The girl doesn't take her eyes off me.

"On behalf of the principal, I've come to collect signatures for the dance," I say, trying to convey sincerity in my voice.

The teacher blinks with surprise. "Oh, yes, proceed," he says, smiling, sitting down at the desk. The tension dissipates slightly, but I still feel the curious stares of the students as I approach to collect the signatures.

I distribute some sheets carefully, watching the students start signing with a smile on their faces. The initial tension gradually dissolves, replaced by a more relaxed atmosphere as students exchange some light comments about the upcoming dance.

Jenna Ortega, from her corner at the back of the classroom, lifts her gaze from the paper to fixate on me again.

"So, who's going to the dance?" I ask with an encouraging smile, trying to engage the students.

A guy raises his hand. "My girlfriend and I will definitely be there!"

Another voice chimes in, "It's always fun, count us in!"

Jenna, still with her eyes on me, nods, "Count me in too, it'll be interesting."

The class seems to positively embrace the idea, and the teacher, observing the general enthusiasm, smiles satisfactorily. The signature collection proceeds smoothly, and as I retrieve the sheet from Jenna's desk, our eyes meet.

I immediately put the signed sheets into a folder, feeling the weight of responsibility decrease slightly. I walk purposefully towards another room, trying to maintain an air of confidence despite my mind still buzzing with the adrenaline from the situation.

(...)

"So, how did it go?" I ask with curiosity, biting my nail nervously.

I was in Isaac's room, pacing back and forth in the swimsuit and bikini top to cover my chest. He had invited me to a quiet day with friends by the pool.

"Sorry, but I found nothing," Sierra says with disappointment, sighing tiredly. "I read every 'E,' looking for that peculiarity, but really, I didn't find anything that matched it," she says with a discouraged tone.

"Me neither," my sister adds on the phone, disappointed.

"Okay, thanks anyway," I say with a sigh, putting two fingers on the bridge of my nose as a sign of concentration. "I'll take a look now," I bite my lower lip nervously, "before going to the pool," I conclude.

"Okay, let me know," Sierra says with curiosity. "We'll talk later, girls," I say, smiling slightly.

I end the call with a sigh, the phone slipping onto Isaac's bed as I sit down with dismay. I pull out the folder with the signatures from my corridor, my nervous fingers gripping the plastic edge.

Each page is a growing anxiety, each signature bringing me closer to the breaking point. Names slip under my fingers, and the sense of urgency pushes me to search more intensively. I delve even deeper into the search, scrutinizing each sheet with almost obsessive precision. The tension reflects on my hands, flipping through documents, notes, and signatures with an almost manic focus.

The feeling of despair grows as possibilities seem to slip through my fingers. I flip through pages and pages, searching for that unmistakable backward "E." With every seemingly promising signature, my heart races, only to be followed by disappointment when it's not the right one. Doubt creeps in, fearing that the answer might elude me once again.

Then, among the pages, I spot that distinctive signature. A closer look, a comparison with other handwriting samples, and suddenly realization strikes like lightning. Jenna Ortega. A mix of dismay and relief washes over me as I understand that the solution was in front of me all along.

I'm not sure how to take this revelation, whether to be happy for solving the mystery or excited that my friend's sister had such intense thoughts about me. Imagining Jenna moaning my name sends a shiver down my spine, a fire igniting in my lower abdomen.

I had always thought Jenna was sexy, but thinking about what hides behind that innocent face...

I bite my lower lip with mischief.

A knock on the door distracts me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I mutter absentmindedly, my voice strangely hoarse. My eyes watch with curiosity as the door opens slowly, revealing Jenna Ortega behind it. "Isaac asked me to come get you," she says, smiling broadly.

My eyes slowly traverse her body, lingering on her toned legs exposed by the terribly short shorts and the white top she's wearing, with the word Anonymous printed on it in bold letters. I smile widely at the detail I can now catch and get up from Isaac's bed.

Jenna lifts her chin and looks at me curiously as I approach her. Her hair is damp, probably from being in the pool in these hours. "Y-yeah... I'm coming. I was just checking something," I say, smiling slightly, looking at Jenna with intensity.

Jenna's eyes sparkle as she notices my gaze on them, and a smile spreads across her lips. She timidly assesses my state, looking at me from head to toe with inquisitive eyes.

"If only you had told me earlier..." I say with a serious tone, my voice dropping terribly. I bite my lower lip with mischief and lift my hand to place it on Jenna's cheek. "Wh-what?" Jenna asks nervously, stammering.

Jenna closes her eyes at the touch of my hand, leaning into my touch.

"What you wanted," I exclaim absentmindedly, my throat dry from nervousness. I timidly run my thumb along Jenna's jaw, brushing against her lips.

Jenna sighs loudly.

"Did you get it?" she asks curiously, raising her hand to place it on mine.

"You had it written on your shirt... took me a while, but I got it," I say playfully, and Jenna genuinely smiles, her brown eyes piercing my soul.

"How?" she asks with curiosity, intertwining her fingers with mine, guiding them down her body, stopping on her buttocks.

"You write the letter 'E' in a strange way," I say playfully, caressing Jenna timidly.

"Mmmh..." she murmurs, probably not hearing what I said. Jenna wraps her arms around my neck, playing with my hair. "You know..." I start, closing my eyes for her gentle touch.

"What?" Jenna looks at me seriously, eyes hooded with excitement.

I lean in and timidly unite my lips with hers, sighing immediately after the contact. Jenna moans into my mouth, moving her lips against mine, increasing the intensity of the kiss. My hands grip her exposed skin more tightly, making her shiver slightly.

I break the kiss and place my lips on her neck, sinking my teeth into her flesh. Jenna moans even more, and I smile at the enchanting sound. With my tongue, I pass over the skin I just bit, trying to alleviate the pain, and then start running it along the line of her neck until I reach her earlobe.

"If you wanted me to fuck you, you just had to ask," I say hoarsely, squeezing her buttocks, causing her to groan. "The idea crossed my mind when I saw you passing by my house half-naked," I say sincerely.

"I thought you hadn't noticed me," Jenna says in a whisper. "No, I did... just that, not having ever talked to you, I didn't want to ruin things. After all, I only knew you by sight," I admit with a stifled laugh, feeling Jenna's fingers resting on my stomach.

"In a way, you're right," Jenna says breathlessly. "You talk too much," she murmurs with a smile on her lips, leaning in and joining our lips in a quick movement.

It seems the atmosphere has become heated in this room.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega imagine #open requests #request #reqs open

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crazyoffher · 10 months

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IMPULSE ADRIFT.

warnings: none.

Sometimes you wondered what was wrong with you, and on the downlow, Jenna did too. Although she never minded your physicality. In fact, the more you did it, the more she yearned for it whenever you were near.

You had an addiction, to say the least. Not to drugs, alcohol, or even sex, but to the skin and bones that belonged to none other than your girlfriend. More specifically, her hands.

Left the apartment? Your hand was linked with Jenna’s.

Out to eat with friends? Hands were still linked together, settled beneath the table and out of sight.

Lazy day, maybe watching television together or lying in bed? Nothing changes.

Even at the end of the night, when the two of you are cuddled up in bed, awaiting sleep to take you both, your back is to her front and her arms are wrapped around you. That was the same position the two of you found yourselves in every night you were together, because neither of you liked unnecessary change.

Jenna preferred holding you before quickly falling asleep, and you preferred being held by the one you loved most while trying your hardest to stay awake in her warm embrace. It was because, unbeknownst to her, you would wait until she was asleep to engage in a small act of love.

When you would hear the faint snores that she would produce once in dreamland, you would move her hand that sat on your waist to hold them. You’d press light kisses to each finger as a symbol of your love for her, even if she wasn’t conscious.

You were always the first to awaken, and a burst of energy would radiate within you. A form of energy that only existed when Jenna was around. If she was off filming in a different country, you’d just sulk in bed for over an hour after waking up, counting the days until she returned to you before ultimately getting up in a mood.

A part of the energy you’d feel every morning consisted of wiggling your way out of your girlfriend’s grip and pressing a light kiss to her forehead before making her favorite breakfast, turning into housewife mode, and serving it to her in bed. You would not even have to wake her up; she could smell the hints of her favorite breakfast dish, accompanied by small cups of water and orange juice, from the closed bedroom door and all the way down the hallway.

She deserved more than you could ever give her, but you tried your best, and she loved that aspect of you.

“Good morning, my love,” is what you would say each morning when you walked into the room, food in hand, and watched Jenna rub her eyes. You’d set the food down on the nightstand next to her and crawl up to peck her forehead in the same spot you had when first awakening, followed by a kiss on the lips that Jenna would sleepily reciprocate.

She adored every routine the two of you had unintentionally set in place. It made her feel like your relationship was calm and organized, and it gave her a sense of relief she had once desperately searched for.

The periods the two of you had together were short, as movie role upon movie role stacked their way into Jenna’s calendar, but you made her forget about the upcoming stress she’d feel. You were there with her in the moment, and you were the only thing keeping her from breaking down due to the negativity of social media and her perfectionism, which was her mortal enemy at times.

You’d shamelessly cry whenever you said goodbye to her at the airport, because why feel shame over bidding farewell to the one you loved most for what felt like the thousandth time? Because of her continuous schedule, you’d sometimes not see her for months upon months, once going a whole year without seeing her because she had filmed two movies back-to-back. You’d always force yourself to remember the last action you’d give her—a kiss to the palm of her hand—and it gave you a sense of security knowing, despite the distance, you were still hers at the end of the day.

And just like you always did, you’d catch Jenna in your arms when she’d return from filming, feeling a growing wet patch imbed into your shoulder from her tears. You’d hold her tight at that moment, and you’d press a kiss to her palm once the two of you calmed down, in the same exact spot you had kissed her when she left you.

When you were together, you couldn’t go a day without kissing her, and you’d die if you went a whole day without even a brush of your fingers. Holding each other, whether hands or bodies, was a key part of your relationship, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

☟ ☟ ☟

taglist: @grandpatrolnut @annalestern @yara124 @daryldixonsw1fe @alexkolax @red1culous @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @idkwimdtbh

#crazyoffher #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams #celebrity x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wattpad #jenna marie ortega #vada cavell #phoebe atwell #lorraine day #lesbian

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rottiens · 22 days

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⊹ ˚. WRIOTHESLEY ┊ sfw, pinning, praising (good girl), awkward tension, fem reader. divider creds: cafekitsune.

Wriothesley's venomous tongue over time has become steeped in the sarcasm with which he speaks to his employees and criminals. Sarcasm that he has used as a shield to guard himself and his emotions over time. The same sarcasm and repressive tone drips out of him with you, the nurse at the Fortress of Meropide even though the things you do are not necessarily bad or wrong, not enough for him to snarl at you with disdain at least.

You are rarely surprised by his “Good girl” when you do something right —you are rarely praised or acknowledged for it —or his “Bad girl” in that caramelized tone he uses whenever he considers that, indeed, you have not done something to his satisfaction which includes not turning in a report on time or not arriving early to meetings he proposes as Duke of the Fortress.

After a while of breaking your back and feet overtime, taking care of him and the other prisoners you stop expecting recognition from him. You give up and accept that your boss is a grumpy dog with a very strong shell that you are unable to reach no matter how hard you try so you stop doing it, stop trying to please someone who seems to hate everyone.

The door behind you groans with a gruff grunt, begging for someone to grease its gears. You look up from the notebook where you scribble today's important notes to look at the culprit for interrupting your moment alone when you realize it's the Duke himself; he's wearing his tie a little loose and his hair more disheveled than usual indicating the long day he's had so far.

“Boss?” You smile sideways at him glancing at his disheveled appearance.

“I thought no one was here,” he excuses avoiding looking at you.

Wriothesley walks straight to the railing and leans back with his forearms on it admiring the view of Fontaine in the distance, the waves swaying more bravely as the sun sets, making a swirl of his hair and yours.

“I can leave if you want to be alone.” You offer despite being here first, willing to pick up your notebook that you clench between your fingers. This was your safe place after all, where you could sneak off to scribble in your journal when the day gets too heavy to pretend you're not mentally and physically tired.

“Stay.” Is all he says taking you by surprise. Wriothesley isn't even looking at you, his eyes are busy watching the waves move back and forth, you don't judge him, you too come here to do the same.

With a sigh you return your gaze to the deep sea for just a moment before you refocus on your notebook and the notes you have written, you grip the pen a little tighter and begin to write once more swiftly.

The cool wind soon turns cold, biting through your arms covered by a thin cloth shirt that does little to cover you. The breeze chills your cheeks along with the tip of your nose and as much as you've enjoyed the silence shared alongside your boss that somehow feels comforting you decide it's time to leave.

“Are you cold?” his voice startles you, pulling your eyes away from the ink soiled sheet to meet his, his cheeks flushed from the weather and brows furrowed. Wriothesley looks directly at you, first into your eyes and then briefly at your lips, causing you to lick them involuntarily.

The cold seems to freeze your brain, or maybe it's the eye contact. You don't respond quickly enough, but you still notice how he sheds his coat and, with a step forward, places it around your shoulders. The action immediately comforts you making your body warm internally, as the blood flows stronger. His coat envelops you, chasing away the cold and providing you with a sense of security— His natural scent mingles with the soft fragrance of his cologne, making you feel enveloped by his presence. Between unsure blinks, you finally thank him.

Wriothesley hesitates, and if the dim light doesn't fool you, you sense how the blush on his cheeks seems to expand a little more toward his ears.

“Do you want to go to dinner? I could use to get out and distract myself for a while,” the duke offers, taking a quick glance at your notebook before turning to you again. “You can tell me a little bit about what you've written in that journal of yours.”

You wonder how he knows about the journal, and the first thing that comes to your mind is that perhaps he has been watching you, noticing your writing as you work. You think maybe he knows you're a good employee, even if he sometimes has difficulty expressing it.

You reach into your back pants pocket and pull out something, which you silently offer him. Wriothesley looks at the white band aid with red hearts and a smile escapes his lips.

“For your scratch,” you comment, pointing to your chin with a light touch. “Rough day?”

“It always is at the Fortress,” he replies, unwrapping the band-aid to offer it to you. “Do me the honors?”

You take the band-aid from his hand and, taking a short step forward, reach out to place it over the scratch. Wriothesley's body serves as a shield against the wind for a moment as you share a moment in silence.

“Thank you,” he says in a soothing voice. “For always taking care of me…and everyone else,” he adds the last quickly.

You give him a smile ignoring how that makes you feel.

“Now about that dinner.”

“Ah, yes. I'm craving barbecued ribs, I know a place.”

#wr #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x

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jmliebert · 30 days

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♡ when Aemond has a crush on you ♡ (modern) headcanons

he hides it well; Aemond is not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. At first, it's hard to tell he has a crush on you because he is cold and seems indifferent. he observes, weights his options

he keeps his distance at first; both emotionally and physically. his behaviour might even make you think he hates you, though it's quite the opposite of course, he just have problems with showing his feelings :((

but (!) his piercing gaze always finds you. his eye follows you discreetly, hungry and restless

when he's near you, his body language is a mix of nervousness and inner pride. he wants to please you which is a weird feeling for Aemond, so his fingers may fidget a little, but still; he stands tall

he quickly learns your daily routine and starts showing up in places you frequent. these "coincidental" meetings are his way of staying close without being too obvious (in his head at lest)

you quickly learn he uses a lot of sarcasm, but you learn to enjoy this side of his, actually he's quite funny

if you ask him for a favour, he might act like it's a bother, but he always does it, despite his outward coldness

sooo.... as you can see he's a little lost, unsure, but(!) this one time when his brother Aegon makes crude, inappropriate joke about you, Aemond's anger flares and that's when he truly realises his feelings for you may run deeper than he'd like to admit

Aemond tries to be more straight-forward at this point. he assist you whenever he can, subtly offering help here and there, giving you this little smirks of his

he often asks you random questions about your life (often very specific), wanting to know everything about you and it's quite endearing that he's so focused on you

stil he respects your space! or at least tries to. he doesn't want to intimidate you or make you uncomfortable with his presence (most of the time), even though being near you all the time is what he would prefer

he spent many sleepless nights analysing your conversations and overall every aspect of you

long walks; during those you talk about trivial things and deeper subjects like psychology, philosophy, or your favourite books and movies. Aemond is silently enjoying when you put your hand on his arm during those walks. these moments are when he feels most connected to you, when he melts more and more...

because finding someone attractive is one thing, but finding someone attractive and genuinely interesting is a whole new level and at this point Aemond is charmed, really charmed

encouraged by this connection growing between you, Aemond asks you out. and let me tell you- he's SERVING! like he arrives at your home to pick you up, greets you with a gentle kiss on the hand and a soft smile, the kind that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach

and he smells so gooooood!!!!! I just know it

at dinner he pulls out your chair, ensuring you're comfortable before taking his own seat. throughout the meal, he’s attentive and considerate, paying for dinner without hesitation (duhh)

his eye contact is intense, making it clear he finds you captivating

about the first kisss.... at first it's gentle and tentative, almost like he's testing the waters. he would begin by leaning in slowly, his lips brushing against yours lightly, his hand cupping your jaw. he would look deep into your eyes, waiting for silent approval and when he gets it, he smiles and you smile too

as the kiss deepens, you’d feel the intensity building. the touch of his lips would become firmer, his body pressing you closer as he wraps his arms around you. his grip might grow more insistent, almost aggressive, as he pulls you in tight, the kiss becoming more passionate and intense. there's a raw edge to it, as if he's letting go of the restraint he's been holding onto, revealing the fire and desire that’s been simmering just beneath the surface

when you gasp softly against his lips, Aemond is losing control. his hand moves down to grab your ass, pulling you even closer, your lips crash and then he suddenly halts. moving back just enough to regain some composure. he's breathing heavily, trying to steady himself, his eye fixed on you with a mix of desire and restraint

"We should probably slow down, but I really don't want to."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about aemond ♡here♡

#prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond headcanons #hotd headcanons #modern aemond #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond has a crush on you #aemond imagine #hotd imagine #aemond fluff

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ireadwithmyears · 1 month

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How each member of the bad batch would be with a visually impaired significant other (short imagine’s/headcannons

Word count: 5.4K

Pairings: the bad batch ex female reader (individual)

Tags/warnings: some are suggestive, mostly domestic fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries

note: look, it’s the epitome of self indulgence. I wrote this solely because I’m blind, and have never seen these ideas discussed when it comes to our beloved boys. However, I recognize that the majority of people reading this will not have shared this experience, so this is why I am adding a disclaimer/reminder to tell you that blindness is a spectrum, and the majority of us have at least a degree of useable vision left, so that is why I continue to use visual language/descriptors like look or watching. That being said, I hope you enjoy these, I had so much fun writing them, and if you have an idea for a specific scenario so I can do more of these, or another particular clone who isn’t a member of the batch, please let me know, and I would be happy to write more

Hunter🩷

Hunter is the best at planning dates when it comes to keeping your accessibility and comfort in mind.

If he wants to take you out somewhere, he’ll always go and scope it out beforehand, analyzing things that might not make it an enjoyable experience for you. I.e. if the lighting is too low and will obscure any of your remaining vision. If the music is too loud and will make it hard for you to effectively communicate with him. He knows that both of these things, especially when they’re working in tandem, can make you feel on edge and anxious, and that’s the last thing he wants you to feel when he’s taking you out on a date.

He will always ask the establishment about things like accessible or braille menus, or, if you happen to have a guide dog, seating that will have the space to accommodate and be comfortable for all of you.

If the menu isn’t accessible for you, he will always give you a heads up beforehand, using his datapad to pull up the menu on the holonet so that he can help you familiarize yourself with it, and you can decide what you want before you get there, taking a lot of the stress and pressure off of you because you don’t have to rush.

He wants you to feel cherished, loved, and safe when you’re out and about with him. So if you are going somewhere that’s particularly busy or crowded, he will also adapt himself.

He’ll keep you close, whether it’s with your arm tucked securely in the crook of his elbow to guide you around, or his hand gently placed on the small of your back, letting it rest there so that you know he’s right there with you.

He never plans on getting separated from you, but if, by some unforeseen circumstance, it happens by accident, he has a plan for that too.

If you’ve got remaining vision that is useable, he will intentionally wear bright, contrasting colours to make him easier to spot, even when he’s a distance away.

If you don’t have any remaining vision, he’ll wear something like keys that jingle, or an article of jewellery that makes a distinct sound as he walks so that you can tell when he’s approaching.

Regardless, every time you go on a night out, he will take the time to describe his appearance to you in detail, his general physical description, what he’s wearing, so that if, for some reason, you do get separated, you know how best to describe him to someone, so that they can locate him for you and help you make your way back to him

His enhanced senses have become innately attuned to your normal patterns and rhythms, and if he notices any rapid fluctuation or change be it with your breathing or heart rate, indicating that the environment you’re in is causing you stress, he’s whisking you away, taking you back home, despite any of your protests. He knows you’re just fighting him because you feel guilty about potentially messing up the night, which you absolutely are not.

He will not let you feel that way for long, because when you’re home, he is determined to make you feel like the beautiful, treasured, and wanted human being that you are.

He orders your favourite takeout food. He’ll lie you down on your bed, surrounding you with soft blankets and pillows, gently and tenderly beginning to caress and massage the tension from your tensed up shoulders and back, partly because he feels like he might have inadvertently been the cause of it being there in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you try to apologize. “I know you really wanted to...”

“Shh,” he quiets your apology, a hand coming up to softly brush a finger against your lips, resting his forehead against yours gently. “Meshla,” he breathes, unable to help the small smirk of amusement that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he observes, taking note of your breath audibly catching in the back of your throat as his finger, slow and slightly teasing, begins to lightly trace the edge of your bottom lip.

He presses his lips to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss as he affirms, “this is all I want,” he breathes in a whisper close to your ear that immediately has your whole body erupting in goosebumps.

“You,” he continues, his voice a low, husky rumble against your neck as his lips press, warm and deliberate, directly where your pulse flutters beneath them, pulling a soft, yet audible gasp out of you, that makes his lips curve up into a smile that you can feel against the skin of your neck. “Are all I want.”

He spends the rest of the night taking his time to prove that to you, in every way that he knows how.

Tech🩷

He takes note of every single bruise you get on your legs from bumping into shit all the time.

You’re blind, it’s just an occupational hazard. You might not even notice that you have one, but he certainly does, and he’ll take care to notify you of every time you accumulate a new mark in your collection.

“There is a bruise directly above your left knee,” he observes, gentle fingers tracing over the mark with a soft frown marring his features.

He naturally has picked up on using the language that is most helpful to describe the location of something visual to you. You didn’t even have to ask the first time you were on hands and knees on the floor, feeling around for one of your shoes. He didn’t point, and say “it’s over there,” which is just instinctive habit for most people. Instead, he had a used more specific directives like “behind you, on a slight diagonal to your right.”

“How did this happen,” he asks softly now, placing your hand directly on top of the blossoming mark on your leg.

You give him a half shrug and a rueful smile. “I don’t know,” you admit, honestly puzzled. “It happens all the time.”

From then on, he observes you closely, quickly coming to the realization that there are things that are just harder for you to look out for, and, just as quickly, doing his best to rectify each one. He’s easily able to identify a pattern of cause and effect that lead to your many bruises, bumps, and small every day accidents, and rather than being over bearing and cautious with you, he just figures out a way to remove the root of each problem entirely.

Each step on the Marauder’s gangway is suddenly marked with a long strip of brightly coloured tape at each edge, so that you can more confidently move down the steps without having to fumble to find the edge with your foot.

Low sitting caf tables in the middle of the living room, with sharp, jagged corners jutting out are suddenly pushed up against the wall, so that you don’t have to be careful while stepping around them, trying not to hit your leg off of one of them.

He makes sure that any overhead cupboards in the kitchen that are hard for you to notice until your head is colliding with their open doors, are kept securely shut, recalling a particular incident when, whilst putting away dishes, your head had caught on one of the cupboard doors, large bump blossoming on your forehead, just barely missing your eye. He had frowned, gently holding an ice pack to the swelling bump, deciding that from now then on, he would put any of the dishes away that needed to go on the top shelves. He wouldn’t budge on this, even when you tried to argue.

“Cyar,” he had said, voice stern, even as he gently took you by both of your shoulders. “I understand your need to be able to do things independently, and I respect it greatly. But, as much as you can make a light about getting bruises on your legs from these little incidents. Your head is much too important to apply that same lightness to, and I will not compromise on that so please, let me do this for you.” he had leaned down, barely brushing his lips over the bump on your head in a caring, affectionate gesture, and that had made your resolve completely crumble.

He’s also hyper aware of your systems and ways of organizing things, and it has become a habit for him to make sure that it is maintained.

Shampoo and conditioner bottles that look almost identical with exception to the labels that isn’t much help to you are always set in a specific order for you to find in the shower. You always leave things like your wallet and your cane in the same place, and if anyone messes with these orders, it can really throw you off.

If anyone does touch or move any of your things, regardless of how insignificant, without telling you first, Tech will find out, and, especially if it’s one of his brothers, will thoroughly scold them for it, ensuring that they understand why somethings so small could be really frustrating and disorienting for you, and makes sure that they never do it again.

If you read braille, this man learns it for fun one day on a whim, and he doesn’t even tell you about it.

He’ll put away your groceries for you one day, and then you’ll be searching for something like a dinner ingredient, and find that he’s attached a braille label to the box, with completely correct use of the six dots that form the language.

When you confront him with it, he only shrugs, adjusting his goggles with a slightly confused expression.

“You sound surprised,” he observes with one raised eyebrow. “In a practical sense, this was a logical solution,” he continues, clearly unfazed by your display of shock.

“That’s not fair,” you pout, leaning against the counter and folding your arms. “If you’re going to learn braille, then you at least need to teach me some Mandoa,” you challenge.

“I was not aware that you were interested in the subject. But that is an agreeable request. What would you like to know?” He asks, looking at you questioningly.

“Like,” you bite your lip, considering, tilting your head in curiosity. “What’s that word that you always call me?” You ask. “It starts with an S? I think? Or maybe a C...c cyar?” You say, suddenly uncertain and cringing at your own pronunciation.

He straightens, suddenly grateful that you’re unable to see the blush that’s crept into his cheeks as he answers evenly.

“Ah, yes, the word that you were saying is correct. Cyar... it means, love... or beloved,” he answers, voice going soft as he catches your hand in his, almost absently pressing his lips to the back of your knuckles briefly as you stare at him, surprised.

“You ... you love me?” You ask, hopeful and voice clearly bewildered. The smile that pulls at the corners of your lips lights up the whole room.

Both eyebrows arch as he looks down at you, because now he’s the one who’s confused. When he responds, his voice is far less confident and sure than it usually is. It holds almost a shy, completely uncharacteristic timidness, which conveys the genuine honesty in his words when he speaks.

“Well ...cyar. of course I do. I thought it was obvious.”

Echo🩷

Echo, unlike most people, understands all the aches and pains, mental and physical, that come with being disabled.

He’s sat with you on the bathroom floor, your head resting against the cool linoleum of one of the tiles on the wall after a concert. You had come home to find your head throbbing from the after affects of being surrounded by a combination of extremely loud music, a screaming crowd, and strobe lights that made you wish that you didn’t have any remaining vision at all.

Your eyes were shut tightly, and your heart fluttered with surprise and gratitude when, with his one functioning hand, Echo, movements slow and meticulous, carefully began to undo your hair from the tight updo it had been forced into all night. There he sat, fingers so, so gentle as they ran through your hair, undoing the tangles and soothing away some of the tight ache that had gathered at the back of your head.

He’s careful to stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt the little bit of peace that you had found. The only thing that fell from his lips were gentle breaths and soft murmurs of “oh, sweetness, s’okay,” lips pressing the lightest kisses to your flushed cheek, the side of your aching forehead, until the painkillers had finally, finally kicked in.

If you’re a cane user, he always has his eyes peeled for the little bumps and cracks along the sidewalk.

He’s seen what happens when the tip gets caught in one of them, when the handle inevitably jabs against your stomach or ribs and the immediate discomfort on your face that follows.

He also sees the bruises that are left there afterwards, and as much as he loves gently pressing his lips to each of them, reassuring you that he’ll kiss them better, he’d rather them just not be there in the first place.

So, he always watches out for them, giving you an ample warning on ones that your cane could get caught in so that you can move it out of the way.

He takes you to a holofilm, and you both don’t realize that it’s not available with audio description until you’re in your seats and the headset doesn’t work. He immediately turns to you, giving you a reassuring smile and offering his hand, saying “We can leave, if you want. If you’re not going to get anything out of this, we can go, and we’ll find something else to do.”

You decide to stick it out, rationalizing that you’ll still be able to get something out of the film, if not the whole story, and besides, he can catch you up on parts you didn’t understand after it’s over.

In the end, it’s still worth it for you.

You finish half of a bag of popcorn before commercials are even over. You’re intrigued by the movie for almost half of it, and then finally, you spend the rest of it passed out with your head resting on Echo’s shoulder, only for him to wake you, slightly chagrined, when the credits are rolling.

When you’re out of the theater, you walk together hand in hand down the street. He apologizes profusely, saying that he should have done more research. You try to laugh it off to reassure him that it was fine, because you just had one of the best naps of your life in that theater. When it’s clear that that doesn’t help, you’re turning to him, sighing with a small frown.

“Echo,” you say with a small shake of your head. “I’m the one who should be sorry, not you, love.” At his look of bewilderment, you continue. “You do so much for me already, and I’m just so, so grateful for that. It’s not always something I feel like I can repay you for.” You look away, ashamed.

Because it’s true. He has his own set of issues and lingering problems from the injuries he sustained at the citadel. You can encourage him to do things like his physiotherapy exercises that ensures that his cybernetics are working in tandem with his body. But you can’t actually help him with them, whether it be with making modifications or repairs. It sometimes makes you feel a bit useless, because he helps you so much and you feel like you can only help him so little, and you feel like you’re just adding to his already overflowing plate sometimes.

“I know there could be easier people for you to be with,” you confess, voice quiet.

Echo stops dead at the street corner, catching your wrist to stop you from moving forward, and turning to fully face you with his brow creased in a frown.

“Oh, Cyar’ika,” he says, voice soft, reaching out a hand to tilt your head up so that you’re looking at him. “Now who put that idea in your head, ner kar’ta?” he whispers, gazing down at you with pursed lips.

Unexpected tears spring to your eyes at his gentle tone. The truth is that you can’t place this feeling on a singular person, though people have contributed to it. Family members have made comments in passing, strangers who look at the two of you and immediately begin to judge from there own preconceived notions and outside opinions. It’s society at large, who has made you feel like your blindness is a burden to the ones you love.

You don’t know how to say that, though. So you remain silent as Echo leans down, dropping a lingering kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “I don’t need you to make my life easier, cyar. You make my life meaningful, and that, to me, is more important.

He rests his forehead against yours, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. “Your needs don’t make you a burden, cyar’ika. I want you to remember that. I want to make sure that they are always being met. It’s the least I can do, you understand?”

All you can do is nod, your heart in your throat.

The next time you go see a holofilm with him, and the audio description isn’t available, Echo is prepared this time.

He still offers to leave, but when you refuse, he has a plan. In his own time, and on the occasions when you both have been watching something at home, he always makes sure the described video settings are on, for your benefit, and when he’s alone, for his.

He’s observed closely, listening and carefully paying attention to how the narrator’s go about describing things. So, when the movie starts, he leans over to you, keeping his voice low and quiet, beginning to describe to you what’s happening onscreen, careful to never interrupt any dialogue.

You stare at him, more than a little surprised. “Echo, are you going to do this for the whole film?” You ask, caught off guard and delighted all at once.

He gives you a quick nod. “Yes,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Now, be quiet and let me do it.”

True to his word, he does, staying close to you and keeping his voice quiet, so as not to disturb anyone around you. If someone still tries to shush him or gives him a dirty look for talking in the theater, he glares at them, in only the way that Echo can, until they stop.

This time, you stay awake during the whole film, watching intently, and listening to echos every word as he is meticulous in describing the visual things that you’re missing. In spite of all of the things that are different in comparison to your last date, one thing still remains the same.

You still finish the movie with your head resting on his broad shoulder, and he still looks at you like you’re the centre of his world.

Wrecker🩷

The first time you make a blind joke about yourself in front of him, he’s terrified.

Instinctively, he starts laughing, but then, registering your words, he immediately cuts himself off, not wanting to offend you, and is concerned that you’re being mean to yourself, which he will not allow.

When you only snort at his reaction, playfully nudging him and explaining how it’s fine, because you have to make fun of the things that you are unable to change, and how it’s actually a mark of self love if you have the ability to laugh at yourself, slowly, he begins to understand.

Soon enough, he not only readily laughs at your self deprecating humour and blind jokes, but at one point, he ends up slipping out one of his own before he can stop himself.

Again, he’s immediately apologetic and regretting his words, but when you throw back your head and laugh heartily, he feels a little less insecure and soon enough, you both have the ability to crack blind jokes with each other without missing a beat, to everyone else’s chagrin and fond amusement.

He decides that having the ability to make you laugh, getting to watch your eyes sparkle with amusement and hearing the sounds of your joy is music to his ears, and is one of his favourite things.

Wrecker is your number one protector. Not in a toxic, over protective way.

Even though he’s only got one functioning eye, chances are he’s still got more vision than you, so he’s taking it upon himself to be the working set in this relationship, meaning he’s always watching out for you.

If you’ve got a guide dog, the first time he encounters it, he might have gone to pet it, but, before he did, he sees the do not interact sign, and stops short, quickly pulling back and apologizing.

He asks questions, just to make sure he understands why it’s important, and after you explain it, he fully respects the boundaries and never forgets them, to which you are immensely thankful.

He doesn’t understand why you’re so grateful for him just doing the decent thing, until you tell him that a lot of people understand that you’re not supposed to pet the dog, but will either do it anyways, thinking that if you can’t see them doing it and they do it silently, you won’t notice, or they’ll talk in a distracting way to the animal, which is sometimes worse, and equally as distracting for the dog to work through.

This angers him, that they would take advantage of your blindness in such a disrespectful manner, and because you’ve explicitly told him that distracting your dog could potentially put you in danger, under the right circumstances.

From then on, he’s always watching.

If someone is petting your dog while it’s working, or trying to distract it, he’s right there, towering over them and glaring with his arms crossed, not so subtly pointing at the do not pet sign until they back away, stuttering and flustered.

If a child runs up to pet it, he’ll much more gently intercept them, crouching down on the ground to quietly explain to them the rules. In your experience, children are often much more respectful than adults, and watching him interact so kindly with them melts your heart every time.

Wrecker is tall. Standing at 6 feet six, it makes him not the most ideal guiding companion.

If he’s guiding you himself, sometimes, unintentionally, his elbow might knock against your head, for which he is immediately aware of, and instantly apologetic.

He will always stop, large hands gently cradling the sides of your face as he looks you over, worried that even the slightest bump from him could leave a bruise. Regardless of what he finds, though, he’ll always lean down, dropping a kiss to your forehead with a soft, “m sorry, meshla.”

His solution to this problem, however, is a tad bit unconventional.

When confronted with a situation where it’s just more efficient for him to guide you, for example, a street blocked off by construction, taped off areas and pylons everywhere, instead of offering you something like his hand or his wrist to hold, he simply reaches down, scoops you up into his arms and carries you over his shoulder until you’ve both cleared the obstacles together, you letting out a surprised squeak and giggling all the while.

Wrecker finds you beautiful, every day, all the time, and he is constant with his reminders of that.

As a blind person, it can be more difficult to coordinate a whole outfit, look, hair, and make up. He is so appreciative, and loves if you do that. But, if you’re one of those blind people who never learned how to do make up, who isn’t as confident in their sense of personal style, and you feel a little bit self-conscious about how much, or how little, in your opinion, effort you put into your look when you’re going out on a date with him, he will quickly assuage your fears the minute he catches wind of them.

He’s very good at detecting those days where you’re not feeling good about your appearance, just intuitively sensing when you’re having a bit of an off day, and when you could use a reminder of how beautiful and precious you are to him. He knows he can’t magically change your mind.

But he can tell you about all the things he finds attractive about you, every day, if you need that reminder.

He’ll tell you of each one, each part of you that he finds beautiful beyond belief, while taking the time to softly caress and kiss each one, with whispered affirmations of “Such a pretty little thing,” and “You’re perfect, cyar, absolutely perfect.”

And if that’s not enough, he’ll keep going, keep moving downwards until he can look up at your beautiful face, watching from in between your parted thighs as your lips form equally beautiful noises for him.

Crosshair🩷

It isn’t that Crosshair doesn’t want to help you. It’s just that, honestly, he’s a little bit hesitant to, in the beginning, fearing that he might overstep, because he places such a high value on choice, and respects your independence and autonomy to much to question you and your abilities.

He trusts that, if you need his help, you’ll come to him and ask. He also trusts that you’ve been living with blindness for a long time, maybe even since birth, and you’re aware enough to know your boundaries and limits, trusting that you’ll advocate when you need him to help with one of those limits.

Just because he doesn’t help you as much in the physical sense, does not mean he isn’t your number one advocate, because he absolutely is.

For example, if you’re a guide dog user, and you both are going out together using a ride sharing app. If the driver refuses to let you in they’re speeder because of your service dog, he will wait patiently for you to explain, analyzing every micro expression of the driver and knowing when they’re still not listening to you, and he will step in without hesitation.

Wearing his most menacing glare, and in a voice that is deadly calm, he will absolutely read them the riot act. He knows every law regarding your guide dog, and knows just how properly to phrase them in a way that will make the driver scared, usually when he mentions the 5000 credits fine they could be sued for not denying you access

He’s also keeping his eyes out to make sure that no one distracts your dog, and isn’t afraid to directly confront anyone who tries, saying something snarky like, “You know, maybe you’re the one who needs a guide dog, if you can’t read the don’t pet me sign that’s right in front of your face,” paired with a signature eye roll.

They always back away stuttering, and it always makes you laugh, even as you gently rebuke him, saying “Cross, that was a bit rude.”

He scowls, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him as he responds.

“And you, sweet girl, are too nice,” he purrs lowly against your ear. But, with the way that he begins to nuzzle at your neck, you don’t really think it bothers him that much.

If you’re one of those blind people who feels like asking for help is just burdening other people with your problems, and would rather risk facing the consequences by trying to do something yourself, rather than ask for help, he will find out, and he will not be pleased in the slightest.

Your stubbornness is something that he loves about you. But if it has a tendency to go too far, especially if you’re putting yourself in harms way, that adoration will quickly turn to frustration.

For example, one time, you both were staying at a place that had a glass topped stove.

These things are so inaccessible for blind people, it’s not even funny. But rather than admit defeat and let him cook dinner, you decided that you could figure it out, and gave it your best shot.

Your best shot ended with you trying to line up the pot with the burner, and very quickly, receiving a searing burn on your hand from touching the heat.

You had not anticipated it getting that hot that fast , and as you quickly pull your hand away, tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you let out a pained hiss.

““what are you doing?”

He had materialized behind you from seemingly out of nowhere, voice a silky, yet tensed coil as he reaches around you carefully, quickly flicking off the burner before long, dextrous fingers wrap around your wrist, still gentle, even as he insistently pulls your hand away from where you’ve been clutching it to your chest, eyes keenly examining the burn with a soft frown on his face.

Wordlessly, he guides you over to the kitchen sink, hand on the small of your back, turning the water on cold and carefully placing your injured hand beneath the stream.

Only then does he come to stand in front of you, placing both of his hands on your shoulders, his expression hard as he looks down at you.

“What were you thinking, cyar?” He grits out, voice almost a growl as he tries to understand. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I could have helped and prevented this,” he gestures to your hand. “From happening.”

You blame the trembling in your voice on the lingering throbbing ache in your hand.

“I’m s sorry. I I thought that I could figure it out. You were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you B because I’m scared that I burden you with all the help I need sometimes and.”

“Stop,” he cuts you off in one quick, decisive syllable, and you instantly fall silent.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, guiding your eyes to look at him. His lips form a thin line when he sees the glimmer of unshed tears there. When he next speaks, his voice is still firm, but there is an underlying gentleness and softening in his tone. It has lost its hard edge, and it’s protective bite.

“You are not a burden, to anyone, but especially to me.”

“But,” you try to interject, but he easily silences you, taking your face in both of his hands and cradling it gently.

“Shh, cyar, listen to me,” he says, his voice a quiet command.

“If you are a burden, then you are my burden. In the same way that I am yours.” He takes your uninjured hand in his, relaxing his fingers against yours, allowing you to feel it’s tremors.

Oh.

It’s been so long since his hand has shaken like this. He’s worked so hard to try and work through this particular trauma, and though it hasn’t completely gone away, it only begins to tremble during moments of high stress. You flush with shame, realizing that this moment of high stress is completely on you.

“I know what you’re doing, and stop it,” he says, voice stern, squeezing your hand in a silent warning. “Look at me, cyar’ika,” he continues, voice softening.

When you do, he continues. “If we are each other’s burdens, then we take care of each other, together. Do you understand me?”

You nod, actually stunned into complete silence at his proclamation.

“Good,” he says, voice softening further. He leans forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, fingers gently caressing the side of your neck as he pulls back.

He gives you a playful nudge as he smirks.

“Don’t ever try something like that again, cyar,” he quips with a scowl. “Your eyes already don’t work, and if you lose one of your hands, you’re completely fucked.”

All the levity of the moment vanishes, and it ends with your face pulling into a smile, a soft laugh falling from your parted lips as he watches you, eyes filled with adoration.

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lili-harg · 2 months

Note

Can you do a izana fic? where he falls for the reader at first sight? It would be too cute!!! Tyyy

Hello and thank you for your request, if you want part two of this, tell me and I will be happy to write it. 🫶🏻

Fall in love at the first sight

• Izana x reader

• warnings: mentions of sadness, depressive behavior

A sunny, calm, silent and a little melancholy afternoon, Izana would say if he could define it. He was sitting looking at the city dock.

He was in a state of tranquility or at least that's what it seemed like from afar, the reality is that the white-haired man felt empty, broken. He himself couldn't define it, but he knew that something inside hurt. Maybe remembering the tragedy of his life, or remembering Shinichiro, he doesn't know.

His hair moved gently in the wind, appearing calm, but his repairs became irregular, and his eyes began to water without asking permission. Anguish, perhaps that's what Izana was feeling, he lowered his head, forming an even more melancholic image, perhaps loneliness embraced him and that's what he belonged to, those thoughts passed through the young man's head.

The violet-eyed man didn't realize that he was being watched by a young woman who had worried too much.

-'I hope he's not thinking about doing what I think he's going to do' said the young y/n, she was very afraid of having to witness such a tragic act.

-'I have to go, even though I don't have the guts, come on y/n! you can' the movie and/h he encouraged himself.

Without thinking for another moment he walked towards the young man who seemed depressed and shouted

-"STOP!"

Izana, without waiting for that sudden scream, turned around ready to act in defense until he saw a female figure approaching him quickly. When she was at a reasonable distance she decided to stop to breathe, she had forgotten her terrible physical condition.

Izana still couldn't see the face of that strange young woman who yelled at him since she had her head down trying to catch her breath. Meanwhile y/n could make out that red uniform, and of course, it was that of one of the most dangerous gangs in the city;

-'Great y/n you're brilliant, you yelled at a gang member and now you can't even look him in the face, just great. You will die in the stupidest way possible' but she quickly remembered why she was there and that it was not the time to mentally fight with herself for her impulsive decisions.

So she raised her head with the dignity she had and (with his eyes closed since he was not brave enough to look at him) he said quickly and almost without modulating the words:

-"please don't throw yourself away, I know that life sometimes It seems like shit but there is always something good that rewards it, so don't do it, please!" and slowly opened his eyes expecting to see a gang member ready to beat her up for her meddling .

But to her surprise she found beautiful violet eyes, now that she thought about it, the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen in her life and coming out of that bubble he can see the tears falling from them.

The young woman quickly forgot her fear of the gang member and took his hand, trying in some way to show that she was trying to support him, even though she didn't even know his name.

Izana couldn't really explain what he was feeling or why he was allowing himself to show this level of weakness to a stranger who had taken her hand without permission.

But perhaps it goes without saying that the white-haired man had never seen someone like that young woman, so beautiful and with the purest look he saw, that despite not even knowing who she was, he went and tried to help him.

Was it perhaps a justified weakness? Not even he knows. What he does know is that he wants to continue seeing that look and that he will not waste this miracle.

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gardenofnoah · 1 year

Text

i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.

“can i meet him?”

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.

“c’mon then.”

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!”

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?”

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.

“i—uh. didn’t.”

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.

“why?”

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.

“alright. Buck it is, then.”

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.

“okay. see you, Touya.”

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.

it was even harder to get away with it.

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.

“pick a color.”

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.

“whatcha thinking about?”

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.

“made you something.”

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

you seem to be aware of that, too.

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die.

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that.

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.

“you could’ve fooled me.”

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.

“let me know if you see one, then.”

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.

he does.

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

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jayden-killer · 9 months

Text

HOLE IN THE EARTH.

summary: Miguel is tired of the constant Reader's worries.

next part: AFFECTION.

warnings: SUPER ANGST YOU GOT NO IDEA, yelling, cursing, trauma and Miguel being a bitch. 🫥 Also, not a warning, but I used the Y/N this time lmaooo. WE GOT A FEM READER HERE BTW!!!

"Miguel?"

Her voice rang out as he walked through the doors of the lab. No response. She turned her head to look for it with her eyes and only after realizing that he was on his platform, once again isolated from the world, surrounded by screens that broadcast the usual scenes. Scenes she wished her lover had gotten over. But it was a constant loop, and even though he didn’t have such screens in front of him, those scenes were repeated every time in his head, never-ending. Not even sleep reconciled with rest. It was then that he tried to call him, with a more resolute voice.

"Miguel? I’m here, love."

Finally the man turned, and their looks met, despite the distance between the two. Miguel had bloodshot eyes, clearly for lack of sleep, and for work. She always told him to find a moment of rest, of peace, but he wouldn’t listen. He waved a hand and dissolved the conversation. Apparently, there was no solution.

"What is it?"

She looked around again, then looked back at Miguel, now impatient for the interruption. Y/N felt his Spider-Suit tighten his body, feeling that the temperature was rising in that room. Or maybe it was the nervousness that made her like this. Meanwhile, Miguel got off the platform and approached his beloved.

Y/N took a deep breath. The conversation they were about to have was like dropping a bomb. But it had to be done. After all, it was because she cared so much about him, in a way that could not be explained either by words or by gestures. Only the heart could say it.

"Miguel" She began with a thread of voice. " I believe you need rest. True rest." Miguel’s eyes darted over her body, looking down at her from head to toe, as if they were already having that conversation. He raised an eyebrow. "We’ve already talked about it, Y/N. I’m fine. Besides, the Poly-Arachno Multiverse needs surveillance."

"Spider-verse."

"Whatever." And so he turned around with the intention of leaving her there.

Not this time, no.

"You have to let her go." The words flew out of her mouth without control. Miguel stopped her steps. Suddenly Y/N’s body was beaten with chills of fear down his back. That’s not what he wanted to say. In fact, maybe he wanted to, but not by formulating the words like that.

The man contracted his back muscles and muttered something. It was then that he turned around, speeding his body almost attached to the girl’s. "What did you say?" He growled, the canines that were now visible.

Y/N trembled with fear.

"I..."

Miguel growled louder. "Repeat what the fuck you said!"

The woman felt her throat dry, almost as if she had forgotten how to swallow. The tension had now skyrocketed. "I didn’t mean that." Bravely said Y/N.

"Then, what did you mean? Speak!"

"You have to let Gabriella go, Miguel!"

Miguel’s jaw twitched in an air of pure rage, his eyes looking even bloodier. It gave off the typical feeling of being in danger, as if an animal was trapping you. His height certainly helped him. Upon hearing that name the man now seemed ready to become a beast, and attack her. But a healthy part of his mind prevented him from hurting her. Not physically. He would have destroyed her psychologically.

"Oh yeah? Well, listen well here." Angry eyes never dared look away from her, as Y/N backed up every time Miguel took a step. "You are the worst thing that happened to me. You're such an immature woman, act like one for once! And for fuck's sake, can you at least do something right?! Or are you just a crybaby?"

Those words hurt. They stang like a needle in a vein. They almost burst her heart, and before she knew it, tears burst from her shiny eyes, wetting her cheeks. He dared not apologise, nor repent, too blinded by anger; she, however, was terrified by Miguel’s providential change and stood still.

"You and I are done with this shit. Forever." he said, waiting for a reaction from his beloved. But she said nothing. Her eyes widened, her lip trembled frantically. She opened her mouth, then immediately closed it. It was then that Miguel uttered one final and decisive sentence: "Get out of here. Now."

Y/N wasted no time. Turning around, she ran as fast as she could to the exit, with her legs looking like they were about to give way at any moment. She wanted it to be a joke...or a stupid mistake. But Miguel was determined. And when he made a decision, it was hard for him to change his mind.

Her intention wasn’t to break things. She just wanted Miguel to let go of the past.

But he didn’t accept it, so he also let go of the present and future.

#marvel imagine #marvel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x y/n #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #angst #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099

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trulybetty · 2 months

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what have I done

pairing: frankie x f!reader word count: 4,050 warnings: angst, piv, wrap it up folks, there's an established relationship of sorts here so it's already been discussed, reader has no physical descriptions. summary: you finally realise what frankie means to you, but is it too late? ao3: linked

what have I done.

Now wasn’t the time to be self-conscious.

Clutching your phone in your hand and trying to peer around the crowds of people huddled in line for security you looked desperately for his familiar frame. You didn't have a ticket, the impulse of your decision meant the airport’s barricades were as close as you were going to get.

The security clearance lineup was busy despite the hour. You fought to focus as the crowd swayed and jostled. The sound of luggage wheels clicking on the tiled floor bled into the noise of early morning conversations, some excited for the journey ahead some tired already of the grind of work ahead. Anxious anticipation pulsated through you, urging you to continue searching through the sea of faces as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

You were almost ready to give up, turn on your heel and head home. But with a break in the crowd, so small and so quick, there was no mistaking that glimpse of his silhouette. His broad shoulders, his unruly mop of hair - everything.

He stood near the security checkpoint, emptying the contents of his pockets into one of the grey plastic trays that he'd plucked from the stack beside him. He appeared calm amidst the chaos that surrounded him.

Yet panic flooded your chest, and heat prickled under your skin.

It was now or never.

Steeling yourself you clenched your hands into fists. Your nails dug into the flesh at the heel of your hands. The sting ran up your arms and it gave you a reprieve from the worry of your nerves.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Before you could think it over any longer and before the nerves won out and had you walking back to the short-term parking lot. You shouted his name as loud as you could to be heard over the thrum of the airport's buzz.

Then the world around you fell still.

Hush swept over the security lineup. There was a shared intake of breath that seemed to take place between you and those around you. Your heart, beating so hard and so fast, it was the only thing you could hear as the thud thud thud pounded in your ears.

Frankie’s head snapped up, his eyes searching until they locked onto yours. The shock on his face was palpable, mirrored by the surprise of those in line who turned to see the cause of the commotion.

For a moment, you were frozen, the gap between you feeling like an insurmountable distance. Then, impulsively, Frankie stepped out of line, leaving his belongings behind. The security guard called out to him, but he quickly threw back a plea of few words but didn’t hesitate, his focus entirely on you, surprised to see you there.

As he approached, you noticed the uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen in him before. It was as if he was bracing himself for rejection, yet couldn’t stop himself from hoping.

When he was finally in front of you, the noise of the airport faded into the background. It was just the two of you.

The moment stretched, suspended in time. People around you resumed their activities, but the two of you remained locked in a silent exchange. You saw the questions in his eyes, the confusion. For he had bared his feelings to you, and in response, you had offered quiet and uncertainty.

“You're here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, struggling to find the words that had seemed so clear earlier that morning. The epiphany of waking up alone, with only the company of Frankie's admission of his feelings for you, a ghost that lingered in the still of the room. The house was quiet, with no familiar sound of the coffee maker or socked feet padding down the hallway - noises that had become a comfort in the past days of his most recent visit.

You had been caught off guard by his declaration of love.

But you would be lying if you said you hadn't expected it was there. Hiding in plain sight this whole time. Bubbling under the surface, on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion. Each time you'd suspected he was going to say something, you'd swiftly changed the subject or found a way to leave the room leaving him hanging with unspoken words in a state of confusion.

But it was easier that way, safer. The occasional fooling around after a few drinks, the sudden bursts of affection that you both indulged in, those were manageable. It was a dance you had become skilled at, the art of keeping things casual, of never allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Those moments were pockets of escape from the realities of your lives, was an arrangement that worked for both of you.

At least you had thought it had.

It seemed that while you were comforting yourself with quiet ignorance of your feelings, Frankie was growing more confident in his feelings for you.

“I–” you started faltering, stumbling awkwardly over your words rethinking everything you had planned to say on the drive to the airport.

It had been so much easier, formulating the words, reciting the monologue in your head. You'd been piecing together from the moment you'd left your home. But now, standing in front of Frankie it all felt like it wasn't enough.

The weight of your silence hung heavy in the air, and Frankie's hopeful expression began to waver. His eyes flickered with a mix of disappointment and resignation as if he had braced himself for this outcome. You could see the gears turning in his mind, preparing for rejection, the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But then, something inside you shifted.

The fear of losing him, the realization of your true feelings, it all peaked at that very moment. It was after all what had jolted you out of bed. Caused you to frantically search for some half-decent clothes and your car keys before racing out of the door.

You finally found your voice, though quiet and cracked, “I'm sorry.”

Frankie's face fell, and the small hope that had flickered in his eyes extinguished. He took a step back, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your apology had physically pushed him away.

“I thought…” he trailed off, his voice barely audible.

You reached out, your hand trembling as you gently touched his arm. “No, Frankie, let me finish,” you pleaded, desperation creeping into your voice. “I'm sorry for not saying anything earlier. I'm sorry for not acknowledging what,” you gestured at the space between the both of you frantically, “this is.”

Frankie's eyes filled with a mix of hope and apprehension. He reached out tentatively, as if afraid you might disappear if he touched you too forcefully. His fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

You sighed, “I'm fucking this up, this all sounded a lot better in my head on the way over here.”

Frankie's lips twitched into a small smile, the vulnerability in his eyes gradually replaced by promise. “It's okay,” he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. “I've been fucking this up too.”

You stared at him, your mind aswirl with both relief and confusion. “What do you mean?” you asked.

Before he could answer you, a voice over the loudspeaker announced the final boarding call for his flight. The moment was interrupted, the reality of the situation setting in. Frankie glanced back towards the security checkpoint, the impatient TSA agents waiting on him, torn.

You took a deep breath, knowing what you had to say. “Go, catch your flight. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

He looked at you, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. After a moment, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Okay. We can figure this out together, right?”

“Sure,” you assured him as you took his hand in yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

He looked down at your joined hands and then with one last lingering look at you, Frankie turned and hurried back to his belongings, rushing through security.

You stood watching long after his head had disappeared out of view. Suddenly the departure of Frankie and the void of not knowing whatever this was now between the two of you. Whatever evolution had taken place in those split seconds had created a void, taking you out of the comfort of what you were and into something unfamiliar, something you felt you'd never get to experience again - something you didn't think you deserved.

Pulling the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands for comfort, you tucked yourself away from the crowds and the flow of pedestrian traffic that had picked up flooding the security lineup. Your head was spinning, replaying the fleeting conversation. Such a small interaction that carried such a heavy weight that settled on your shoulders and made it harder for you to catch your breath for fear of tears.

As you made it back to your car, dodging the reuniting couples in arrivals, and happy families walking hand in hand back to the parking lot the reality of what had happened started to sink in. It wasn't about casual flings or unspoken feelings anymore. Frankie had revealed his heart to you, and you'd reciprocated, albeit in a clumsy manner.

The drive home didn't help, the journey feeling like it took twice as long. Each passing mile only made the void feel bigger, the hollow of your chest ache more. You'd just figured out what you wanted and now he was gone. The silence of the car, unable to bear the sound of the radio, amplified the cacophony of thoughts running through your mind.

Pulling into your driveway you grabbed your phone from the passenger seat and glanced at the screen.

A text message from Frankie.

Your heart skipped a beat, in conflict with the dread that you felt at the pit of your stomach. You unlocked the phone and read the message. It was short, quintessential Frankie, but held so much promise.

Two weeks.

It was exactly two weeks later when you felt the warmth of his body slip into the bed beside you. Arms around your waist pulling you into an embrace that brought his name to your lips whispered in quiet reverence in the silence of the night.

Frankie.

The key you had pressed into his hand at the airport, your spare key, he had used it to let himself in at that late hour. Unable to entertain the notion of waiting to see you any later than that very moment. The darkness of the room enveloped you both as Frankie held you tightly, his breath warm against your neck.

For the past two weeks, communication between the two of you had been limited to sporadic phone calls and text messages as you negotiated work schedules and time zones. It was a constant dance of longing and uncertainty, as you both navigated the intricacies of your newfound connection. But now, with Frankie lying next to you, all the doubts and anxieties melted away.

You turned in his arms, burying your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you had missed so desperately.

Frankie kissed your forehead softly, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “I couldn't stay away any longer,” he murmured.

“That's what the key was for,” you responded as you nuzzled yourself into the crook of his neck.

His laughter rumbled through his chest, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Even without it, I'd still have found a way in, I know where you keep the spare.”

The silence of the room, filled only by your shared breathing was a comfort. His fingers traced circles on your back as a contented sigh escaped your lips as you revelled in the warmth of his embrace.

“I missed you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grip tightened around you as if trying to convey just how much he had missed you too.

He dropped a kiss to your shoulder, his stubble grazed at your collarbone and despite the rough feel of it against your skin, you shrugged your shoulder into him to encourage him further. Groaning at the loss of his lips against your skin you looked up and against everything that was you, you pouted.

Another laugh escaped Frankie's lips, he pulled you tight to him, his lips finding yours for the first time since the airport. The night was late, and the room dark, but behind your eyes which fell closed in delight at the touch of his lips to yours, there were floods of colour bursting forth.

It was a moment that was equally suspended in time as it was filled with urgency. The anticipation that had built over the last two let go with the held breath you'd been holding onto since you left him letting way for those unspoken feelings you had spent so long pushing down. Every touch, every kiss was wave after wave pushing out the doubts and fears that had lingered in the depths of your mind.

Looking him in the eyes, you reached up and cupped the side of his face with your hand. He stilled, his arms caging you in on either side of your shoulders. The moonlight that slipped through the gap of the gauzy curtains cast shadows over the room but a slither hit his face and the warmth of his dark brown eyes radiated more than you could put into words. At that moment, you wondered what you had done to deserve something like this, someone like Frankie.

You traced the outline of his lips with your thumb, savouring the tenderness of the moment.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, examining his eyes for any hint of uncertainty or reluctance. Yet, all you saw was an abundance of love and unwavering determination. It was evident, without a doubt, that the past two weeks apart had only solidified his beliefs.

As he leaned down to capture your lips, you held your breath in anticipation. You weren't sure what you had done to earn the care and attention of the man above you,

but you were grateful beyond words. His kiss was gentle yet passionate, a perfect blend of longing and tenderness. It felt like coming home after a long journey, like finding the missing piece of yourself that you never even knew was lost.

Frankie pulled you into a warm embrace, your heart skipped a beat. He smelled the same as always, faintly sweet with a hint of warm spice. His arms wrapped around you pulling him closer to him. Your hand rested on his chest, you could feel his heart racing, as was yours. The warmth of his breath danced across your neck sending shivers down your spine.

Your fingers, without even thinking about it, laced into the curls at the nape of his neck and tugged eliciting a growl from him as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the scent of your skin. He kissed you there. Softly and slowly before trailing more kisses down to your collarbone.

A moan escaped your lips as he nipped at the sensitive skin. Goosebumps rose on your arms and involuntarily you arched your back to give him more access, inviting him to continue. His hands slid up and down your sides, tracing the contours of your body underneath the thin fabric of the t-shirt you wore.

His kisses moved up your shoulder, to the crook of your neck, and your ear before meeting your lips in a tender but passionate kiss. His lips were soft and demanding all at once making your head spin as he explored yours patiently.

With his mouth on yours, you could taste familiarity on his lips. But it was mixed with something new - something that hadn't existed between the two of you before. It was intoxicating and made you quickly lose yourself in the moment completely.

He paused for a moment, his breath lingering at your ear as he whispered, “God, I want you more than anything. This is real isn't it,” you heard the waiver in his voice, the disturbance of confidence, the genuine fear that possibly you might have changed your mind, “I don't know if I could be okay if this isn't it.”

You tucked an errant curl behind his ear, you knew he'd be alright without you. That he could go on. But the difference now was that you couldn't imagine going on without him. It wasn't just physical, though the last two weeks had been torturous, you'd missed the way his touch set your skin on fire and his kisses were enough to make you forget everything. It was more than that. It was the way he was able to see through you, through the walls you built up. He got you in a way that no one else before him had.

You inhaled deeply, feeling like you were standing on the edge of a cliff. Your heart raced with anticipation and your body was unsure whether to fight or flee. You were a work in progress, and changing habits overnight was not an option. But what was not in question, was your feelings for the man above you.

“It's real Frankie,” you managed a nod, “it's real,” you whispered as your fingers traced the curve of his shoulder, his bicep and forearm where your fingers found his and entwined together.

“Tell me,” he murmured hoarsely as his forehead dropped to touch yours, “tell me what I can do.”

Something about his request made your heart swell over with love for him again. This was Frankie, he wanted to know, to do, whatever it would take for you to feel safe, loved and at home in his arms. Swallowing you tilted your head so you could get a better look at him. Just enough so you could take in his face basking in the moonlight. His eyes were dark beneath the shadows, traces of darker circles hinting that the last two weeks hadn't been as placid as he'd made them out to be. His eyes and his face were set with serious concern - but his lips, they were turned up in a soft smile as he watched you think.

It was sweet and maybe a little adorable at the same time. It was also taking everything in you not to kiss him again. Instead, you smiled back at him, “I just want you, Frankie, just you. All of you.”

His lips crashed into yours and you felt something start to knit together inside of you. He wasn't going to fix you, you didn't need him to, but something about the acknowledgement of your feelings for him was soothing. His mouth and hands moved with urgency. He rolled onto his side, bringing you with him, his lips never leaving yours. His one hand cupped the side of your face, while the other tugged the t-shirt you slept in up and over your hips.

His fingers greedy, in one swift move he’d pulled your panties aside and sunk his fingers into your already waiting folds and the two of you moaned at the sensation. You at the feel of those calloused fingers working their way to curl and tease you. Him at the feeling of your warmth and receptive sounds you made as he found a rhythm that had the two of you humming with electricity.

“God, you feel good, Frankie,” you breathed out, arching your back again in response to his touch, which pushed his fingers just that bit deeper, just that bit further that had you biting your lip in anticipation of what more was to come.

He wrenched his lips from yours for a moment, only to kiss down along to your collarbone and the hollow of your throat, his nose nudging at your jaw tilting your head up, his breath hot against your skin and despite the warmth that coursed through your belly, you couldn't help but shiver.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmured, his voice raspy as he nipped at your jaw, his teeth sinking softly into your bottom lip, just enough to elicit a satisfying moan at the delightful sting.

You gasped as he drew his fingers out slowly as he continued to tease with a slowed pace that filled you with an ache that left you needing more. Your hips buckled with the need for him to sink his fingers back in, but he was on to your move and pulled away further despite your moaned pleas.

You watched as his eyes locked onto yours, the hunger evident within them. A shiver ran down your spine again as he slowly traced a path with his fingers down your arm, your side, and over your hip, as he pushed your panties down and off of your legs despite him now pressing you into the mattress. You felt his breath against your skin as he leaned in to whisper, "Are you ready for me?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded, unable to speak past the lump that formed in your throat in anticipation. His lips met yours in a soft kiss that was in conflict with the want and need that had built up between you. Frankie's name was a soft caress on your lips as he positioned himself between your legs, the warmth of his body enveloping you.

In that moment, you knew that this was something real. Something that felt like it was meant to be. The anticipation of what was to come left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as if it couldn't wait any longer. As he sunk into you, that moment of connection you knew it, this was the feeling you'd been pushing aside all those other times. Keeping it to just fast and dirty sex, no feelings, but this? This right here? This was a whole other level of intimacy between the two of you. It was no longer just about the physical need, but the emotional connection that had long been brewing deep between the two of you.

Your breath hitched as his hips found their rhythm, and your hands tangled in his hair, the knot twisting tighter and tighter.

“Frankie,” you moaned, your voice breaking as your climax neared.

His eyes never wavered from yours, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half smile as he picked up the rhythm, the heat and tightness of your body driving him further to the edge.

The way his voice had grown more tender, the way his lips brushed softly against your skin, the way his hands sought to touch and hold you closer with every passing moment. It wasn’t long until his name was a sweet plea on your lips as yours on his as your orgasm crashed over you. His pace didn’t falter and continued in his rhythm until he too found his release. His rhythm faltered for just a moment before he came to a stop, his forehead pressed against yours before he collapsed to the side of you.

Your breaths ragged and hearts pounding in your chests, your thighs pressed together as the aftershocks of your orgasm echoed through your body. He kissed the side of your neck, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, his gravelled voice full of concern.

You nodded, finally finding your voice and replied, “I’m good,” you pressed your lips to his in a slow, lazy kiss.

He smiled against your lips, relief washing over his face. “I was scared I'd fucked this up.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you murmured, stroking his hair.

The silence was a blanket over the two of you in the quiet of the room. Everything had shifted and yet somehow everything still felt familiar, like coming home. There was no returning to the way things were, the line was crossed. While two weeks ago you weren’t exactly sure you wanted this kind of connection, now you weren’t sure you could ever let him go.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic

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anystalker707 · 3 months

Text

Stretching session

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x [gender-neutral, amab] Reader Summary: Zoro's (in)convenient help while you want to train. Tags: top zoro / bickering / hes an ass (affectionate)

Requested by anon ["Hey there I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if I could request a Zoro x male (amab) reader smut where reader is also physical fighter and Zoro helps reader stretch before training and uh it leads to some spicy situations 👀👀 If you're comfortable with all that! 💕 Also would love Zoro to be the top. Also bonus points if they bicker a little usually hehe Thank you so much whether you write it or not and thank you for sharing your awesome fics with us!! 💕💕"] [A/N]: That's very sweet, anon! Thanks a lot for the request, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

MASTERLIST

“Why are you here every time I come here?” Zoro’s eye narrowed at you as he placed both his feet on the wooden floor and looked over at you with a glare, kicking the hatch closed. He had his arms crossed over his chest when you turned, feet planted on the ground while looking over at him, with your forearm still behind your head while you stretched your tricep, raising your eyebrows lightly.

You copied his expression in return, scoffing while changing arms to stretch the opposite one now, shaking your head as you turned back around. “I thought the crow’s nest was for everyone,” you said with a hum, returning your gaze to the calm waves in the distance, reflecting the bright sunlight. The weather wasn’t that hot, though. It seemed like it would be a peaceful day, too. Only Nami could confirm that with precision, though.

“Yeah, but…” Zoro sighed in frustration as he shook his head and closed his eye for a second before leaving his swords on the couch, humming softly. It totally didn’t have to do with how some of his stuff was put aside to be used, and he presumed that they wouldn’t be returned to place the way he liked.

“Annoying,” you whispered, unable to hold a soft chuckle when he grumbled in response.

Next, you sat on the ground, stretched your legs before you, and reached for your feet, groaning at the light pain tugging the muscles on the underside of your legs. Zoro’s gaze burned against your side as you stretched, and you thought he was walking away until his hand pressed to your lower back, which startled you a little.

“Dude—”

“You’re a shame,” Zoro muttered, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. The curse you meant to throw at him ended up turning into a gasp when he pushed you further, making the air escape your lungs at once when he stretched you further than you were used to. “Now, that’s something,” he complimented with a tinge of presumption. You wanted to smash his face so badly, but you could barely even say anything as he forced you beyond your previous limits, trying to relax your muscles.

You took a deep breath when Zoro finally let you go, inhaling as much air as you could as he motioned for you to lie down on your back. Despite the curious look you shot him, you followed his instructions, breath hitching at the way your back hurt initially when pressed flat against the ground. Your breath hitched again, but now it was at the way Zoro folded one of your legs up against yourself while he pinned the other down to the ground by your thigh, using his leg. He was kneeling between your legs, helping you stretch like that… What were you supposed to do? Just lay there? Leave your hands on the ground and stare at the ceiling? You hoped it wasn’t visible that it left you somehow embarrassed. Awkward.

“Feeling it?” Zoro pulled you away from your thoughts, making you avert your gaze to his face. Did he know the effect he had on you? It was difficult to read his expressions sometimes.

“Yeah,” you breathed. It sounded like a moan, but you couldn’t do a lot with the new stress your muscles were put under as he tried to stretch you as if you were Sanji. Fucking hell. He pushed a little more, enticing another sound from your lips as you arched your back off the ground. “Ahh, I hate you,” you breathed, feeling the ache persist despite how he let go of your leg.

“Mhm, I know,” he muttered with a chuckle while he moved to repeat the motion to your other leg. It was a little stiffer, making you scrunch up your face while pinching the bridge of your nose. He watched it all with amusement. “(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, and it once again sounded… off. Zoro chuckled again, for some reason, compelling you to lower your hand so that you could glare at him. “Fuck off, Zoro. Are you even that flexible? I don’t think so, so you should stop— Ngh!” You were once again cut off by a ‘gasp’ when Zoro forced you to stretch even more, but you also let out a soft cry of discomfort in an attempt to mask the sound.

“Strength is nothing without flexibility. Mobility. Something like that. Did you never learn it?” Zoro still had that stupid grin on his face as he looked at you almost in a challenging manner. “I wouldn’t be surprised—”

“You’re all smug about it because the only thing you know how to do properly is fucking train and fight, you damn muscle head— Fuuuck!” You clicked your tongue and pressed your eyes shut when he forced you more, making the pain tug on your muscles even more, and it was practically impossible to push him off you. He had such a grip on you. Fuck off, that was so… So… Damn it. “I’ll fucking—”

“What, hm?” Zoro chuckled as he shook his head and moved again, sort of sitting on your thigh as he held your thigh over his own, keeping you trapped there. Even when you reached out to punch him, he held your wrist, so you gave up and lay down on the ground, melted against it. “You’re really stupid,” he said with a chuckle. “Not stupid, but like, very pathetic, really.”

You turned your head a little to look at Zoro and sighed, narrowing your eyes. “I hate you.”

Zoro’s grin widened before he hummed in agreement, sarcastically. “Yeah.”

You shook your head with a sigh and shifted slightly, but immediately froze, feeling your crotch graze against Zoro’s own. Oh, so you two were that close. Gulping, you tried your best to mask your embarrassment at the discovery, which proved useless when Zoro’s grin morphed into a smirk.

“Motherfucker…” You went limp on the ground, hoping that it would discourage Zoro, but his fingers sank deeper into your thigh instead as a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. His grip tightened around your wrist as well, but not uncomfortably.

“What?” He challenged with a soft sigh and a light movement of his hips. It all was nothing but empty teasing, with light grazes through layers of clothes that wouldn’t awaken anything in both of you if it weren’t for the tension that permeated the moment. “Not so tough now, are you?”

“Why is it that you always have to find a way to inflate your ego?” You clicked your tongue. “Is it because you’re not big somewhere else?”

Annoyance flashed on Zoro’s face, the last thing before he moved and pinned you to the ground at once, ignoring your protests but relishing the look you shot at him—despite the intention of it being a glare, you couldn’t do much through the embarrassment. You closed your hands a little, without daring to test Zoro’s grip around your wrists, even if he tested your resistance with that intense gaze.

“Need me to prove it?” His breath fanned over your face.

“You feel like you need to prove it?” You tried to mirror his attitude at least a little, chuckling as you arched your back, trying to increase the contact.

“Fucker,” Zoro huffed. He released your wrists so that he could lean back and start lowering his kimono, proudly exposing his torso to your hungry gaze. Somehow, he looked bigger from close. Your attempt to touch his chest was interrupted by his hand pushing yours away. “I think you need a better stretching session today.”

At the same time Zoro’s words made you want to cringe, you also could feel the arousal burning in your lower stomach and the blood rushing between your legs. “Zoro,” you groaned when he stood up and walked away, but you still planted your feet on the ground and lifted your hips to remove your shorts and boxers. Upside down, you watched him walk over to the lockers and rummage through his workout stuff.

“Mm? That attached? I couldn’t even just go grab the lube?” His voice still carried that smug tone, but it was the last thing you worried about when he stood in front of you again, by your feet. It was impossible to tear your gaze away while he finished undressing, letting his kimono and his obi fall to the ground along with his pants and underwear. Just the sight of his cock standing hard and proudly was enough to make your cock twitch as you clenched around nothing in anticipation.

“You’d like to think so,” you muttered with a groan, arching your back a little. Your shoulder blades dug uncomfortably into the ground, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever, not when you were drooling over his bright pink, glossy tip.

Zoro clicked his tongue and exhaled in disappointment that you would’ve taken as genuine if it weren’t for the playful air on his face as he knelt on the ground again, now taking place between your legs and letting your thighs rest over his own. He raised his eyebrows at the sight as he placed the lube aside for a moment, just so that his hands could freely roam over your thighs and knead on them until you moaned. His warm, big hands caused your skin to rise in shivers, increasing your anticipation.

“Zoro,” you groaned, thrusting your hips into the air in a silent request for him to rush.

“You’re a pain…” Zoro opened the bottle of lube, ignoring your protests, at least until you tried to knee him on the side lightly. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered as he elbowed your leg in return and glared, but it didn’t have as much effect as when he finally poured some lube on his fingers. “Hmmm.” Zoro’s eye narrowed, and you knew what to expect from that mood.

The lube was cold against your skin, making you moan at the same time your skin rose in shivers and your cock twitched. Why were you so sensitive? Even the feeling of the lube trailing down your crotch made you arch your back a little in a silent plea for Zoro’s touch, all in a very much entertaining show for him. He exhaled, lips parting into a grin, and put the lube aside once a generous amount of it was pooled on his palm.

Zoro’s fingers traced your entrance, feeling it clench around nothing before he could finally push two of them in, not exactly slowly, sending pleasure sparkling up your spine at once.

“Fuck, Zoro,” you gasped, arching your back with a moan, squirming as you tried to process the sudden pleasure that made your toes curl. Your hand closed around his wrist once he started holding your hip, though nothing you did inspired some pity in him. A string of moans escaped your lips as his fingers caressed just the right spots inside you, despite he didn’t seem to have any intention aside from spreading the lube.

“Won’t stop complaining?” Zoro huffed, grabbing more lube for his cock, and watching his fist moving up and down around his thick cock was such a sight.

“Mmm, so you’re the one to come here and disturb my training session, and it’s my fault?”

“It’s always your fault, so I don’t know what you’re arguing about,” Zoro said as he adjusted his position between your legs, and the disdain made you frustrated at the same time the arousal grew between your legs. “I never said anything about it being anyone’s fault, though. Did the shoes fit?”

You raised your eyebrows a little, wrapping a leg around Zoro’s waist and loosely throwing your arms around his neck when he leaned closer. “I want to strangle you to death sometimes,” you breathed, shaking your head.

“Careful,” Zoro chuckled, “I might enjoy it.”

The answer you were about to shoot at him died on your tongue when his cock pressed to your entrance and pushed in, making your breath hitch in your throat as you arched your back and sank your nails into his back. “Fuck,” you groaned through gritted teeth, feeling the light burning from the stretch slowly turn into pleasure as you got adjusted to the new intrusion. “Mmph, damn,” you cursed breathlessly and arched your back, feeling your walls adjust around his cock, involuntarily clenching more around him.

“Seems like you needed it, huh?” Zoro muttered with a soft groan as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, big and firm hands holding on to you for leverage as he started moving his hips.

You bit your lip, suppressing a sound for a moment as you pressed a hand to the back of Zoro’s neck. “Shut the fuck up already,” you complained through a moan, pulling him closer for a kiss to silence whatever he was going to say. Either way, he grumbled against your lips, grip tightening on you at the same time his hips picked up a faster pace, allowing your bodies to mold together better as the pleasure settled in.

The kiss was messy. You swallowed each other moans while trying to keep your lips pressed together despite the need for air, even if it was just by nibbling on each other’s lips. Zoro had your bottom lip trapped between his teeth, tugging on it as he observed you through his half-lidded eye, allowing his hips to move a little faster as he fucked you.

Zoro’s hands moved to hold your hips firmly as he angled them, lifting them off the ground a little, and it was enough to make you arch your back with a loud moan. His cock managed to hit all the right spots inside you, making your toes curl as you tightened your grip on his back, certainly leaving behind red lines where your nails dragged along his skin. A pleased sound came from Zoro as he held your hips in place to control the thrusts as he wanted, while you became a mess under him.

Kisses were left against your stomach in silent worship to your body; Zoro kissed and nipped wherever he could reach, adding up to your pleasure however he could at the moment. There was too much to be enjoyed, and Zoro wanted all of it at once, no matter how impossible it seemed to be. He would never be able to enjoy you completely, damn it. Your walls clenched around his cock so deliciously whenever you arched your back and gripped on to him like that, milking him with each thrust, making him twitch as his balls tightened, but he tried to keep himself in check to enjoy you the most.

“There, there,” you gasped, wrapping both your legs around Zoro’s waist, and he complied, trying his best to keep himself thrusting at the same angle at the same time his movements grew more intense. “Ahh, Zoro—”

Zoro’s eye trained on your face, observing the way pleasure was written all over your face, the pleasure that he could give you. He couldn’t help the string of moans that escaped his lips when your fingers tangled with the hair on the back of his head and tugged on them. The pain sparkled down his spine, intensifying the arousal that he already felt. He didn’t know how to interpret the new action, but he supposed that he could do something about it.

The only reason for Zoro to shift the position was so that he could give you different stimulation. It took him a while to finally let go of your hip and lean back a little, groaning at having to reduce the pace of his thrusts, and eventually wrapped his hand around your cock instead, feeling it twitch in his grip. The change seemed to be worth it, given the way you squirmed and clenched around his cock, even more so when he pressed his thumb to your tip, tracing it before he could start jerking you off in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Zoro, ‘m close,” you whispered, observing Zoro with hazy eyes that made his heart flutter and his cock pulse.

“Mm, yeah, babe,” Zoro breathed through a moan. His thrusts became messier as his muscles grew tired of the repetitive motion, but he kept seeking that pleasure, feeling the knot in his lower stomach start to tighten. His grip on your cock became firmer, fingers trying to linger on your sensitive spots until you were practically thrusting into his hand, arching your back off the ground, and from there, it just took him a few thrusts for you to cum.

Your eyes pressed shut, eyebrows knitting together as you clung to Zoro when the pleasure washed over your body intensely with the orgasm, snatching a string of wanton moans from your lips. It was almost mesmerizing for Zoro, enough to drive him to the edge, and he finally came, keeping thrusting to ride out your orgasms while his fingers sank into your hip.

“Fuck,” you breathed shakily. “Zoro, I—”

“I’m not done yet,” he cut you off.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #opla #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #x reader #x male reader #zoro x reader #zoro x male reader #roronoa zoro x male reader #roronoa zoro x reader #fan fic #fan fiction #writing #imagine #scenario #preference

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