#/three out of three i'm never doing these again

[crisuhaa]

all in the name of a glance . . ! ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚

.・゜゜・ amphoreus men x gn!reader . . !

sypnosis things amphoreus men—(anaxagoras, mydeimos, phainon) do to gain your sweet attention!

warnings;; slight ooc chars(??), them being a little stupid (TT), slightly dense reader :3 semi pre-established relationships <3

౨ৎ— anaxagoras . . !

Anaxagoras had always been a direct person, he thrived on being straightforward and catching his students off guard.

So, why—why? Does that not apply with you? Why does he hesitate on making a move to have you talking again?

“ehem..” he coughed out, holding his papers whilst he sat in his desk—with you sitting on the couch across the room doing who knows what.

“cough.. eurghh.. EHEM..” he gargled out, a concerning noise actually—looking up from his papers to look at you, you must've noticed by now, right? Right..?

“oh for the love of cerces..” he grumbled out in frustration, the Titan of Reasons name leaving his lips, now that got your attention.

“naxa? you okay?” they *finally* looked up at him, letting go of the random object they were fiddling with.

He deadpanned, letting go of the papers he was grading “are you serious? Like actually?”

“what?.” they tilted their head, confused as to what went into his head THIS time. “after all my attempts of..”

“attempts of?.” they blinked, standing up to walk to his desk. “attempts of drifting your.. gaze towards me.. Cerces is what gains your attention?” he grumbled out, earning a soft chuckle from you.

“ah? You wanted my attention didn't you?” they laughed once more, cupping his cheeks. “mhh.. I'm paying attention now, naxa.”

“good, see it that you do all the time.”

౨ৎ — mydeimos . . !

Mydei wasn't one to ask of anything involving you doing something—not when he could do it himself while you just sit there all relaxed for him.

Cleaning? He's doing it for you to the point where the house is sparkling. Running errands? He already got your schedule down to a T just to do your errands. Cooking? He's already ready to wake you up with breakfast.

In summary, he'd never ask anything of you—never, even if he wanted one thing. Your attention, of course. But how does he ask for it? Well.

“one, two.. three, four.” he mumbled, doing push ups on the floor, right in front of you while you read your book.

He slightly grumbled, in the middle aged women he talked to (for advice), they say a way to a loved ones heart was strenght.

What better way to show strenght than to do as many push ups as he could to prove himself to you? Was it a good idea? Probably not!

“twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five..” he continued, pushing his body upward and downward in inhumane speed, pushing his body to its limits.

“three hundred and fifty two, three hundred and fifty three, three hundred and—” he collapsed on the floor, out of exhaustion. Yet it STILL didn't get your attention, what more do you want?!

Instead, he gave up, standing up to sit next to you—hair messy with sweat sticking onto him. “finally done, de?” they smiled, looking at him.

“done with what?.” he blinked, looking a little more than happy to have your attention, finally. “your exercise, I've been wanting to hang out with you.”

They say a way to a loved ones heart is by strength, but his loved one only wanted his attention, much like he did with them.

౨ৎ — phainon . . !

Phainon adored healers, not just any healer—his (self-proclaimed) healer that he met through Hyacine.

The moment Hyacine introduced them since she was too busy to heal him at the moment—he was WHIPPED.

Who knew Amphoreus had someone this adorable? He didn't, and he should've! And now that he does know, what does he do?

Operation make-pretty-nurse-fall-for-phainon plan is on the go! And how does he plan on doing it? Simple! Get hurt as many times as possible!

“(name)..” he whined out, walking to their office like a kicked puppy “phainon? again?” they let out a soft sigh, gesturing to the seat for him.

“being a hero isn't easy, huh? haha..” he smiled, showing his barely scraped arm

“it's not that bad, you could've done this yourself.” they hummed, taking out the needed supplies—oblivious to the betrayal on his face

“and risk getting an Infection? I'm wounded!” he huffed, looking at them with soft eyes. “mhh.. Yeah, yeah. Stay still.”

And so he did, he kept silent, staring at them whilst they work on his wound—they're so close, right where he adored it.

“if I didn't know any better, I would've thought you're doing this on purpose to have my attention.” they laughed softly, meeting his eyes—expecting him to chuckle and look away.

But he didn't, instead he looked at them dead in the eye with a serious tone “and if I was, is it working?” he mumbled out.

“just a little.” they smiled in amusement, finishing up the bandage and pulling away. “are you?”

He smiled softly, standing up to face them once more—“I am.”

Safe to say operation make-pretty-nurse-fall-for-phainon was a huge success.

authors note;; i think ts was OKAY. I think,?? TT BUTTTT it's clear I love amphoreus men but I'll make ones of the women as well!! :33

౨ৎ — crisuhaa works . . !

[kxsagi]

heyyy u should most definetely write abt reader taking the bllk boys shopping with them against their will and forcing them to watch their fashion show and they try on a bunch of outfits (pls include Nagi and and rin if u could) love u pookie 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

“𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧”

a/n: love you too bae, i just know your fashion style would melt hearts 🙈

ft. nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, mikage reo, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, chigiri hyoma, bachira meguru, ness alexis, aiku oliver

nagi seishiro

the audacity of this man. he brought a neck pillow and an energy drink to the mall. 

he tried to lay down on the plushy display bench in the middle of the boutique. a worker politely asked him to move. 

he now sits on the floor, hoodie up, watching tik toks at 2% volume. 

you peek out of the curtain. “seishiro. look alive.” 

he grunts. “looking.” 

“i’m wearing the short dress you liked last time.” 

he looks up and immediately sits straighter. “whoa.” 

“see? worth it.” 

he hums. “you should just wear that every day. like, all the time. never take it off.” 

you smirk. “so now you’re paying attention?” 

“it’s not my fault you look like a final boss.” 

you go back in to change. he lies back down. 

“tell me when you’re hot again,” he calls. 

“you mean when i come out again?” 

“same thing.” 

itoshi rin

he walked in already scowling. you tried to hold his hand, but his aura said no thoughts, only suffering. 

"you promised me ochazuke," he muttered. 

"after this!" you said, smiling sweetly, dragging him toward your fashion playground like a human doll. 

now he’s slumped in a golden chair, surrounded by glitter and pastel and mannequins with sassier waistlines than him. 

you pop your head out. “rin! this one’s red. you’ll like it.” 

he sighs. “does it mean we can go home?” 

“nope!” 

you come out in a lacy mini-dress and he visibly short-circuits. 

he coughs. “that’s… short.” 

“too short?” 

“… not if you never leave the house in it.” 

you laugh and twirl. he watches, ears pink. 

“rin, should i try the sparkly jumpsuit next or the angelic white one?” 

“do you have one that comes with a built-in invisibility cloak?” 

“nope. just a built-in hotness overload.” 

he covers his face. “kill me.” 

but when you turn to change again, he sneaks a picture on his phone. caption: the love of my life, even if she shops for five hours straight. 

isagi yoichi

you told him it was "just a quick run to the mall." he naively thought you meant, like... for socks. or toothpaste. 

now he's sitting in the barbie dream chair of your favorite boutique, surrounded by velvet, frills, and three other boyfriends who all look equally dead inside. 

he's holding your purse. your water bottle. and a half-eaten pretzel. he looks like a medieval servant waiting for the queen to reemerge from her dressing chamber. 

“yoichi,” you call sweetly from behind the curtain, “this next one is dangerous. try not to faint.” 

he straightens up like he's about to see god. 

you strut out in a sleek black dress, one leg exposed. 

his eyes go wide. “oh.” 

“just oh?” 

he opens his mouth to say more but accidentally drops the pretzel. 

“babe, i need you to breathe.” 

he fans himself with a coupon. “okay. um. that one’s not even fashion anymore. that’s… illegal.” 

you wink and go back in. he blinks at the curtain like it wronged him. 

every time you come out, he claps a little harder. by outfit #6, he's on the verge of proposing. 

"i can't take this much slay. i'm just a man." 

itoshi sae

he swore up and down he wasn't coming. he even fake-coughed and said he was sick. 

you literally dragged him by the sleeve into the store while he sighed like he was being marched into battle. 

"you know i hate malls," he said. 

"and i hate when you leave your socks all over the house, but here we are." 

he sits like royalty – legs crossed, phone out, face bored. 

but when you walk out in a silky green dress, he lifts his eyes and stares. 

“well?” 

he exhales slowly. “you look like you’d ruin someone’s life in that.” 

“yours?” 

“depends. are you buying it?” 

“maybe. rate it out of ten.” 

“i’m not rating your looks,” he scoffs. “i’m just trying to survive.” 

but five outfits in, he’s mysteriously invested. “that one’s too much. that one’s not enough. wear the blazer again. with the boots.” 

you blink. “sae… are you styling me?” 

he shrugs. “if i’m gonna suffer, at least suffer in high fashion.” 

also, he takes you out to dinner right after, since “you're already dressed to kill." 

mikage reo

you asked for a ride to the mall. he showed up in a chauffeur suit and opened the door like a whole butler. you laughed. he wasn’t joking. 

he took your hand and said, “today, i am your royal assistant of fashion.” he meant it. 

he holds your bags, gives outfit scores, compliments you like he’s on project runway. "this one screams 'wealthy heiress who poisoned her husband but got away with it.' i love it." 

you snort. “what about the pink one?” 

“coastal granddaughter who owns a bookstore and flirts in french. also love it.” 

by outfit #7, he’s got your sunglasses on and is fake-interviewing you. 

“mrs. mikage, how does it feel to have no fashion flops?” 

“pretty powerful,” you say. 

he bows dramatically. “as your humble stylist, i shall now escort you to boba.” 

he’s too good. 10/10. would shop with again. 

kaiser michael

you promised it’d be “just one store.” liar. he’s been here 47 minutes and 13 seconds. 

you come out in a leather corset dress. he adjusts his sunglasses like he’s seeing a hallucination. 

“what the hell is that?” 

“you hate it?” 

“i didn’t say that. i just… do you want to kill me? is that what this is?” 

you twirl and he literally puts a hand over his heart. “i feel unsafe.” 

you grin. “good.” 

he leans back and starts rating each look out loud in full german. “NEUN! ACHT! ZEHN!” 

you don’t know what it means, but his tone is passionate. 

when you try something soft and dreamy, he gets quiet. “you look like a fairytale.” 

“you okay?” 

“no. i think i’m in love again. and again. and again.” 

shidou ryusei

this man is banned from three stores in this mall. so you made him promise to behave. he lasts ten seconds. 

you walk out in a backless dress. he gasps so loud a toddler cries. 

“DAMN, BABY, IS THAT LEG?!?” 

“ryu–” 

“IS THAT A KNEECAP?! I’M IN LOVE.” 

he starts clapping every time you step out. “walk it, strut it, turn around– YESSSSSS.” 

the sales lady tries to kick him out. you beg for one more outfit. 

he whispers, “do the one with glitter. i’m gonna pass out when i see it.” 

you do. he pretends to faint on the floor. “i’ve died. bury me in this dressing room.” 

you step over him to go change again. 

“do a slutty one next!” 

“you’re the worst.” 

“you love me.” 

chigiri hyoma

he says he hates shopping. says it’s a waste of time. 

but then you try on one soft pink outfit and he goes, “wait... that’s really cute.” 

then another one and he goes, “holy sh– okay, yeah, that’s cute, too.” 

next thing you know he’s zipping up dresses for you and analyzing necklines. “you need heels with this one. and earrings.” 

“are you having fun?” 

he pauses. “… no?” 

you arch an eyebrow. 

“okay yes. shut up.” 

he starts taking selfies with you in the mirror. 

sends them to his sister like, “look at her. look at my girl. we win.” 

bachira meguru

he turns the shopping trip into a musical. starts singing “she’s beauty, she’s grace” every time you exit the changing room. 

he claps, dances, even spins around himself like he’s your backup dancer. 

“how do i look?” 

“like you walked out of my dreams and into a magazine.” 

he finds a hat and puts it on sideways. “i’m your fashion manager now. try the sparkles.” 

you oblige. he gasps so loud it echoes. 

“OH MY GOSH SHE SPARKLES IRL.” 

you two almost get kicked out for laughing too hard. 

he buys you a silly hat to match his. “now we’re a couple. but stylish.” 

ness alexis

he wasn’t even mad about going. in fact, he brought his own fashion sunglasses. 

“don’t worry, love,” he said with a dramatic hand on your shoulder, “i’ll make sure you don’t commit any fashion crimes.” 

you thought he was joking. he wasn’t. he has a tiny notebook and rates your outfits with actual commentary. 

“hmm, this one is giving ‘sweetheart on the outside, dangerous in court.’” “ooh, i like the cut on this. very revenge at your ex’s wedding.” “no, no, that one’s a no. it’s giving 2012 mall goth. and not in the cute way.” 

he sits with one leg crossed over the other, sipping a matcha latte and judging every passerby. 

you come out in a red dress and he gasp-claps. “GIRL, IS THAT BLOOD RED? YOU’RE KILLING THE ENTIRE MALE SPECIES.” 

he then follows you into the accessory section like a personal stylist. “gold hoops with that. trust me. i was born with taste.” 

one of the workers asks if he works there. he smiles politely. “no, but if i did, our stock would be ten times hotter.” 

at the end he whispers: “you looked so good, i almost fell in love with you all over again.” 

“almost?”  

“shhh, baby. don’t ruin the drama.” 

aiku oliver

you told him it’d be fun. he raised a brow like, define fun. twenty minutes later, he’s sitting like a mafia boss on a couch that’s way too small for his ego. arms spread, legs open, surrounded by your shopping bags and glaring at every guy that so much as blinks at your changing room curtain. 

“what’s taking so long?” he grumbles. 

you call out, “patience! i’m making an entrance.” 

he rolls his eyes. “you better be walking out in a full oscar gown with fireworks and backup dancers.” 

you come out in a backless jumpsuit. he goes silent. visibly exhales through his nose. 

leans forward, elbows on knees. “damn.” 

you smirk. “that’s it? no commentary?” 

he gestures vaguely. “i mean. how am i supposed to comment when my brain’s melted?” 

every time you go back to change, he leans back again like he’s at a fashion show but too cool to clap. 

he does start lowkey live texting sendou though: bro. she’s hot. like criminally hot. she tried on a leather skirt. i blacked out. i’m buying her the whole store. she’s not stopping me. help. 

you come out in a dress with a slit and he just stands up. “okay. that’s it. we’re going straight to dinner. you’re not wasting that outfit on the food court.” 

“but i’m not done shopping.” 

“we are. i’ve been defeated. the hotness bar is shattered. let’s go.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[plethorawrites]

can I request Damian x reader but reader is like the opposite she’s clumsy and messy (NOT DIRTY SHES JUST NOT REALLY ORGANIZED) and at first Damian is like no way I could ever like someone like that but then he’s like oh shit I think I like her you don’t have to do it but it was just an idea

(A/N- This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit because people are STILL calling me racist, so I've seriously considered wiping Damian from my page completely. But I love him as a character way too much to do that, so here we are!) (Requests are open again, btw!)

---

Despite being rather pretentious because of his upbringing, I think anytime Damian Wayne is assigned to do a group project, he'd want to go to someone else's house. They usually live in squalor (Middle class) but he deals with it for a few hours because it beats having his classmates fawning over his older brother's or asking his dad if he really used to date Harvey Dent or if that's just a rumor.

Usually, despite the condition of the house (Aka having a dish rack on the counter.) the room they'd work in was pretty clean. But you? Oh, no, no, no. He almost had a heart attack when he saw the state of catastrophe your study room was in.

Books on the ground instead of on the shelves, chair pulled out from the desk instead of tucked in, tons of sticky notes scattered on the walls and reminders pinned up. No one could have that short of a memory, could they? You seemed to.

The number of loose papers on the desk, the open notebooks with illegible writing, fidget toys to relieve stress or increase your focus, cups from when you needed coffee for a late-night study session that hadn't made it all the way to the dishwasher yet. (But it was on the sticky note! Right under the reminder to check your email.

Was that a thing people needed to remember to do?

He was utterly perplexed by the chaos you seemed so comfortable in. What he found most odd though, was how you never made any effort to fix it. He had been to your house three times thus far, trying to make a dent in the project that would take at least another week and each time, your room was the same. He even offered to help you organize (For his own sanity) but you turned him down, claiming you liked it how it was.

"How could anyone possibly like studying like this?" he questioned.

You shrugged. "I find having a pristine desk makes me uncomfortable, like I'm not actually doing work in a space I can relax in," you explained. "Plus, research shows environments like this increase brain productivity."

Damian wasn't sure if he believed that for a single second. But you clearly seemed to.

"But it's so messy," he muttered, motioning to your desk, so covered in God knows what that he couldn't even see what color the wood was.

"It's disorganized, not messy," you retorted. "And I know where everything is. Pencil sharper is by the white out because I use both rarely, erasers are where all the pencils are because I stab the led into them when I'm bored, highlighters are the ruler, which is.... under the syllabus I printed at the start of the year."

You pointed at everything as you said it and he slowly came to the realization that you weren't lying when you said you weren't messy. You kind of, in some weird way, had a system that worked.

Still, it felt uncomfortable for him. For a while. He'd watch you chew on your pencil and reach for tape that came from he didn't even know where, seemingly materializing things out of thin air. You barely even sat in the chair, he realized. He was always the one sitting in it, watching you sit or lay on the floor.

The only time Damian was ever on the floor was when Titus knocked him down or he got beat by his brothers during sparring. (Not that it ever happened..psh, no, don't be absurd.)

He slowly got a bit more accustomed to your room, even starting to find a bit of comfort whenever he stepped into it. It was welcoming, in a way, he'd come to think. When had that happened?

"Aren't you supposed to leave by eight?" you asked him, stretching your arms over your head as you sat on the floor across from him.

Damian frowned, looking at the time. He realized it was already 7:55. Had it already been four hours? It seemed like he just sat down on your rug, which, was surprisingly comfortable.

He hated to admit how much more productive he felt sitting on the floor than at a desk. "Uh, yes, right," he nodded, standing up and stretching as well. "I think we can probably get this finished by Tuesday," he added, feeling a weird pang of disappointment by the thought.

You nodded. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at four, then," you told him, watching as he packed up his books neatly, the pages fitting back in the nice folder perfectly. "Unless you wanna stay," you suddenly found yourself offering. "For dinner, I mean. If...if you want to. No pressure."

Damian paused, caught off guard by invitation. He stared at you for a few minutes, lips parting but words not leaving his mouth. Dinner? That was probably going to last at least an hour or two. Longer if your parents were the kind to serve dessert or chat a lot. He might not get home until ten or later.

"Sure," he agreed abruptly, though logically he knew he should refuse. He was supposed to be asleep by nine so he could get some rest before patrol. "I'd love to stay for dinner," he remarked, setting his bag back down for what wasn't one or two hours like planned, but four and a half.

How he would explain getting home past midnight to his father, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd find a reasonable excuse. After all, his dad was the one who told him to find normal friends and he was just doing what he asked.

...You were just his friend, right?

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or being under the stars with him.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ posting this one hour early because i need to sleep !!

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

the ache in your head caused by the one too many drinks you'd had the night before was so strong you were sure even half a bottle of aspirin wouldn't be enough to help, but what was worse, was the case of hangxiety looming over you as the night's events came back to you.

you hid your head in your hands; you couldn't believe you'd ranted to some random guy about your issues, your anxieties. even worse, you'd probably annoyed the hell out of MalachiConstant with your drunken messages. you grabbed your pillow and pressed it to your face in it, screaming into the soft fabric.

meanwhile, rafe had spent most of the night rolling in bed. he stared down at his phone screen, before running a hand through his hair and letting out a sigh. no matter how much time he'd spent thinking about you, about how he could finally put a face to the girl he'd spent weeks talking to. he didn't know what he was supposed to do next.

fuck.

the whole point of your… thing was to be anonymous. he had no idea how you'd react if you knew who rafe was. he wasn't an idiot, he knew the kind of reputation he had around the college. he knew what people thought about him. entitled, rich fuckboy.

you were the first person who hadn't judged him, the first person who saw rafe as he was. but if you found out who he really was… he doesn't think you'd see him the way youb

he let himself crash back into bed. rafe took one more glance at his phone, before turning it off and staring up at the wooden ceiling; the boy needed to figure out what to do.

is he going to keep it a tell you that he knows who you are and risk you never talking to him again, or is he going to keep hiding it just to hold onto you a little bit longer? it was too early and rafe was too damn hungover to think about these kinds of things.

his slippers made a soft, rhythmic noise against the hardwood floors as he lazily made his way down into the kitchen. rafe pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed an energy drink, the tab letting out a hiss as he opened it and took a large chug.

"hungover much?"

rafe's eyes widened when he heard the voice coming behind him, turning around to see a familiar pink-haired girl standing there, an oversized shirt on her frame he immediately recognized as belonging to topper. "not really." he shrugged, "you guys fuckin' again?"

"you make it sound so crude." vivian rolled her eyes yet grinned as she made her way to the coffee maker, "it's just a bit of drunken fooling out. nothing huge. i am surprised about one thing, though."

"and what's that?"

"that in the few days we've been here i haven't seen any half-naked girls leaving your room." vivian narrowed her eyes as she poured coffee into a cup, "do you have a secret girlfriend or something?"

"no." rafe snorted, "i can go a few days without sleeping with someone. i'm not that big of a fuckboy."

"uh, yeah you are." vivian said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "every time i've slept over in topper's room, the next morning i'd see at least one girl come out of your room and do the walk of shame. so, what gives? you have a crush or something?"

rafe snorted as if the girl had said something absurd, taking another chug out of the can, "i'm not talking to you about crushes." "so you admit that you have a crush." vivian grinned. "not admitting shit." rafe grumbled, before clearing his throat, "you seen your friend?"

"emilia's probably—" "not emilia." rafe interrupted the girl before she could finish her sentence, making vivian narrow her eyes in suspicion, "why are you curious about her?"

rafe shrugged his shoulders, slightly defensively, "just askin'." "i thought you were into emilia." "i never said that." vivian crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side, "if you try to play one of my friends, especially my best friend, i will feed little rafe to pigs before you have enough time to beg for forgiveness." vivian's threat only made rafe roll his eyes, but the girl continued, "i'm not kidding. she's a fragile person, and i'm not gonna allow someone who thinks with their dick take advantage of her and ghost her once he gets laid."

"jesus, do you really think that little of me?"

"i know guys like you. hell, i am a guy like you, rafe." vivian took a tentative sip of her coffee, "i refuse to watch her get hurt. so if i were you, i'd seriously think about what i do."

you didn't receive a single message from MalachiConstant for the rest of the break. it was now the night before you were bound to go back to school, your hair flowing in the cool night wind as you leaned on the balcony railing, looking up at the few dim stars up on the sky.

you felt so stupid for being emotional over a random guy online ignoring you; for allowing him to have such an impact. you sighed, about to push yourself away from the railing, before you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

when you turned your head, you saw rafe standing at the doorway, "oh. it's you." you mumbled quietly, before facing forward again. the boy let out a snort of laughter, and you could hear him approach you, "don't sound so disappointed."

"sorry." you said with a tight-lipped smile, drawing patterns on the wooden railing with the tip of your finger, "i just have a lot on my mind." "yeah? like what?" "you wouldn't get it."

"won't know until you try." rafe said, making you roll your eyes, "i don't know. it's stupid." you shrugged. "there was someone i was starting to like, but suddenly he just cut me off out of nowhere."

"oh." rafe took a moment. he'd needed time to think about things, needed time to decide what to do next. he hadn't even considered that his absence could affect you.

"i bet that's never happened to you." you said with a quiet, slightly self-conscious laugh, "i bet you've done that to people." rafe looked down at his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. you weren't wrong, and he couldn't help the slight pang of guilt in his chest at the thought. "but, uh, that happened to me. and i've never been great with people, so finally connecting with someone and then have this happen feels like crap."

"maybe… maybe he's just been busy." rafe scratched the back of his neck, his words making you let out a humorless huff of laughter, "i love the optimism. unfortunately i'm more of a hopeless realist. but i'll be okay. at least i can focus more on studying."

"come on. give the poor guy a break. i happen to be an expert on how the male brain works and sometimes, we can be a little dumb." "only sometimes?" you asked with raised brows, making rafe shake his head and smile. "most of the time."

you straightened up and look up at the half-crescent moon and the stars on the sky, "is it bad that i'm excited to go back to college?" "you seem the type to be." rafe said quietly, making you snort, "way to kick a girl while she's down." you nudged his side. "what? i feel like half the time i've seen you, your head's been buried in a book."

"you been watching me?" you raise your brows inquiringly, only for him to give you a small, slightly flirtatious smile, leaning into you. "what if i have?" you shake your head even as warmth slowly creeps up your neck.

you let out a small sigh, tracing the constellations above, tracing them with your finger, "god, i love the stars." "i know." the boy's statement made you furrow your brows, only for him to let out a soft chuckle, "you told me that the night we first met. and you did that whole finger thing."

rafe's hand moved to take hold of the back of your hand, the feel of his warm hand holding onto your cold one causing a shiver to run down your chest spine, your breath momentarily knocked out of you. he was looking up at the sky, but you couldn't help but stare at him.

but when he finally looked at you, there was a smile on his lips, "the night we met, your eyes were pretty much twinkling with stars." as you listened to his words, you couldn't help but glance down at his lips before looking back up into his icy blue eyes. your heart was pounding against your chest so hard you could've sworn it might burst out, "i need to tell-"

"goodnight, rafe." you say abruptly, pulling away from him unable to resist the need to put some distance between you and him, rafe's lips twisting into a slight frown before the boy cleared his throat, "goodnight, shooting star."

you rushed back into the room you shared with emilia and vivian; the former already asleep and the latter gone from her bed, as expected. you laid down on your own bed, placing your hand on your chest to hopefully calm your racing heart, only for your phone to let out a ping!

when you opened your phone, your eyes widened slightly in surprise.

MalachiConstant: sorry i haven't been texting MalachiConstant: i'm thinking about you tho MalachiConstant: and i miss you

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[fic-girlie]

I need more of baby number three 🥹🥹 wonder if it's a boy or a girl? Maybe Mateo and Lucia picking out a name? Maybe Pedro feeling bad for not being with reader that much during this pregnancy because of all the shooting and press conferences. (It doesn't have to be all in one fic, I'm just throwing a few ideas lol)

Quiet arrival

Pairing: dad!Pedro Pascal x actress!mom!reader Summary: You welcome your baby at home, with Pedro there, while Mateo and Lucia pick her name. Warnings: established relationship, fluff, home birth, cuteness, slight angst

The morning your third child decides to make her debut begins softly, deceptively.

The light outside your bedroom window is barely beginning to stretch across the hardwood floor when you sit upright, eyes wide, hand clenching the bedsheet. Pedro stirs beside you, tangled in the sheets, his breathing soft and steady—so unlike yours.

You nudge him once. Then again, harder. “Pedro.”

His eyes open slowly. “Hmm?”

“I think… I think it’s happening.”

It takes him a second, and then the words hit. He bolts upright, hair wild and eyes wide. “Wait, now? Like now now?”

You grit your teeth through a tightening wave, nodding as sweat beads at your temple. “Yes, now now.”

Pedro blinks, then leaps from bed. “Okay. Alright. I’ll call Juno. And the doula. And—wait, where’s the—do we have towels?”

“Do not forget the damn tub,” you mutter as he sprints into the hall.

You’d planned this. Carefully. No sterile rooms, no fluorescent lights—just home. Just peace. And chaos, apparently.

By the time the inflatable birthing tub is filled and the doula, Juno, arrives, you’re gripping the sides of the bed, growling things at your husband you’ll pretend later were said out of love.

“If you ever want to touch me again, you try carrying a watermelon in your pelvis for nine months and see how you feel.”

Pedro kneels beside you, wide-eyed but gentle, brushing back your hair. “Sweetheart, you specifically said you wanted me to catch the baby this time.”

“I also said I wanted tacos and you came back with a quinoa salad. You are not to be trusted.”

You hear Juno stifle a laugh behind you. Pedro leans in and kisses your shoulder, his voice tender against the tension of your skin. “I’m here. I’m not moving. You’re so strong, mi amor. So strong.”

Hours pass.

There’s sweat and water and pain. But there’s also his hands holding yours, whispering praise and soft encouragement. At some point, your hand grips his arm with a strength that leaves marks and you lock eyes, breathless.

“You did this to me,” you pant.

“I know. And I’d do it again,” he whispers, laughing, forehead to yours.

Then, finally—after an eternity and a blink—she’s there.

Tiny. Damp. Perfect. Her cry is more of a breath than a scream, like she’s just as stunned as you are. Pedro’s hands are shaking when he lifts her gently out of the water and into your arms. You’re crying before she’s even against your chest.

Pedro kneels beside the tub, utterly wrecked and smiling like he’s never smiled before. “Mi amor... you did it. We did it.”

You both sit there in awe, until your daughter squeaks again—just the softest sound—and Pedro cups her head as though he’s holding the whole world in his palm.

——

It takes a few hours before the house feels calm again. The midwives clean up quietly, your doula makes tea. Pedro runs back and forth making sure the kids haven’t destroyed the living room while the world was shifting inside the walls of your bedroom.

Mateo and Lucia are standing outside the door, bouncing on their toes, when he cracks it open.

“She’s here?” Mateo whispers, eyes wide.

“She’s here,” Pedro says, voice thick. “Come meet your sister.”

Lucia’s hands are clasped in front of her chest like she’s praying. Mateo bolts forward first and Pedro barely catches him before he face-plants into the room. “Careful, buddy. She’s small.”

You’re in bed, propped up on pillows, skin warm and flushed. Your daughter is nestled at your chest, bundled in a soft yellow blanket. Pedro walks them in slowly, one hand on each shoulder.

Lucia gasps. “She’s so tiny.”

Mateo inches closer, eyes scanning every inch of her face. “She kinda looks like a potato.”

Pedro grins. “A beautiful potato.”

“She looks like you, Mama,” Lucia says softly, and your throat closes around tears.

Pedro settles beside you on the bed, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. “Want to hold her?”

They nod furiously.

You shift gently, easing your daughter into Mateo’s arms first, helping him cradle her securely. His expression changes instantly—every trace of goofiness gone. He’s struck quiet. Reverent. His sister leans in, tucking her cheek close to the baby’s head.

“What’s her name?” Lucia asks, voice just above a whisper.

You and Pedro look at each other. He nods.

“Well…” you begin, “we wanted you two to help us pick.”

Their jaws drop in unison. “Really?!”

“Really,” Pedro confirms. “We’ve got a few ideas but we wanna hear yours first.”

Lucia’s brow furrows immediately, deep in thought. Mateo’s already rattling off options like he’s on a game show. “Ava. Sofia. Paloma. Hermione.”

Lucia blinks. “You can’t name her Hermione. She’s not a wizard.”

You laugh softly. Pedro leans forward, brushing a finger along the baby’s cheek. “What do you think, mi sol? Any names you feel in your heart?”

Lucia suddenly gasps. “What about Isla?”

You and Pedro glance at each other. The name curls in your chest like warmth. Your baby coos as if in agreement.

“Isla,” you repeat. “It’s beautiful.”

Mateo shrugs with a grin. “Okay, fine. But her middle name should be something epic. Like… Luna.”

“Isla Luna Pascal,” Pedro whispers.

Your hand finds his. “Perfect.”

——

That night, the kids are finally in bed after endless lullabies and dramatic retellings of the day’s events (Mateo claims he felt her being born from downstairs).

The house is still. Quiet. You’re in bed again, propped up, Isla asleep beside you in her bassinet. Pedro moves slowly around the room, dimming lights, folding blankets—anything to keep his hands busy.

Then he turns to you.

His voice is low. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You nod, already knowing the weight he’s carrying.

He sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand in both of his. You can feel it before he says anything—the guilt. The longing. The apology.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here enough,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “With the filming in Toronto and the press tour… I missed too much. I missed you. And I hate that.”

Your eyes soften. “Pedro…”

“I know I was working, I know it’s what I had to do—but watching you today… seeing how strong you were—how you carried this whole family while I was gone—I just…” He swallows hard. “You’re everything. And I never want you to feel like you’re doing this alone.”

You lean forward and cup his face gently. “You came home. You always come home.”

“I should’ve been here more.”

You kiss him. Slow and soft. “You were here when she came into the world. That’s what she’ll remember. That’s what I’ll remember.”

He pulls you into a careful embrace, mindful of your body but needing to feel you. “Thank you for our children,” he whispers. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, hand curled over his heart. “Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“No more quinoa salads during labor.”

He laughs—quiet and full of love. “Done. No quinoa. Only tacos from now on.”

You smile, breathing in the peaceful silence of your family’s newest chapter. Your husband. Your children. Your home.

Your little Isla Luna, sleeping softly in the cradle of your love.

[resplendent-ragamuffin]

It's the "Jews were horrified but NOT SURPRISED" that hits hardest for me. Because yeah, it's absolutely right--I'm almost never surprised by violence against us these days. I'm not sure if I ever have been, really.

For my goyische followers, let me try to explain:

I went to a Jewish day school, K-12. One year during our chanukah party I found a package delivered by the gym door instead of the front door, and my immediate thought was "is this a bomb?" It wasn't, thank God, but the fact that that was my immediate thought should tell you something.

We had lockdown drills. It never even occurred to me that a student might be a shooter--100% it was a threat of terrorism. Heck, one year the seniors even made a joke about it in the Purim shpiel--they had a whole video with the premise of how different "teachers" (or rather the students playing them) would react to being told terrorists had entered the building.

(It was a very funny sketch, but there was a reason they thought of it.)

My mom tells stories about the people at her shul growing up going out to the policeman on duty outside on the High Holidays (because of course you have a policeman guarding the building, just in case) to ask for the baseball scores.

I had nightmares for YEARS about my synagogue or my school being attacked. I had what I call "the nazi nightmare--you know, the one where you're in your actual hometown in the modern day and nazis are trying to kill you."

"Oh yeah, of course, the nazi nightmare," said my Jewish friends when this came up.

"The what?!" said my non-Jewish friends.

And my closest relative who went through the Holocaust is a 3rd cousin several times removed. Thank God, we were mostly already in the US. (My great-grandmother fled Russia through potato fields "with bullets flying overhead" and could never eat potatoes again. My great-grandfather remembered hiding under the bed with his mother during the Odessa pogrom. But at least they weren't in the Holocaust.)

(Another great-grandmother fled the Armenian Genocide and the Sayfo, though. We joke that we come from not one but two or three different groups everyone hates. We laugh about it at parties.)

Do you know how early we start pondering the hypothetical of "if it's not safe for me in this country, where would I go?" I don't, because it was so early I don't remember it. When my non-Jewish friends started thinking about it in 2016 I remember thinking something like "now you know how we feel."

I don't know where I'd flee these days. Everywhere's pretty antisemitic these days. Do I want to flee to somewhere I might have to immediately flee from again, or to an active warzone?

I went to the Holocaust museum in DC on a school trip. On the way back home the next day my mother called me to ask where I was. Why? Because there had just been a shooting there, and she was pretty sure we'd been scheduled to go the day before, but wanted to be sure.

A security guard was killed. I'd been there about 24 hours before.

I was horrified and terrified, but...I don't remember if I was surprised.

If I was, it was probably just for a little while, before I went "of course it happened."

Most archivists don't look at university jobs and wonder, "is someone going to attack me or harrass me for being who I am?"

I'm giving a talk in a few days at my synagogue for Shavuot. Last year I almost couldn't get in because the door was locked (so someone couldn't easily walk in and start shooting) and everyone was already upstairs for the talk before mine.

I worked at a Judaica store when the Tree of Life shooting happened. I went over in my head a hundred times what I might do if someone attacked the store, where I might run and hide. Was the basement enough of a labyrinth? Should I try to get to the back door, or was that too much of a straight shot?

I want to work at a Jewish library, museum, or archive. Most archivists don't wonder, "is someone going to try to kill me at work?"

I do.

I am terrified. All the time. I want to talk about it with my friends, to get their comfort and support--

But one of my dearest friends, who I relied on when I faced antisemitism in college, who was a huge part of my support system, says "Zionist" like she says "Trump supporter." And she doesn't want to continue the conversation I tried to have about it because she "doesn't think either of us will get anything out of having the conversation." If I try to vent, I'm terrified it'll start something. I'm terrified I'll find out she's gone farther down that "antizionism isn't antisemitism" pipeline than I can pull her back from. I've already lost friends. I don't want to lose her.

One of my friends gives her children the WASPiest legal names she can think of, so if they need to flee the country they can hide that they can hide it. Her daughter's real Hebrew name is a family name they can trace back to before the Inquisition.

Someone shoots people leaving a Jewish event at a Jewish museum. Someone attacks a visibly Jewish person walking home from synagogue. Someone gang-rapes a little girl because she's Jewish. Someone shouts blood libel, someone says Hitler should have finished the job. Someone plans a pogrom. Someone plans a pogrom. Someone plans a pogrom.

I'm tired. I'm terrified. I'm heartbroken.

But surprised?

No. No, I'm very rarely surprised.

Only disappointed.

when are jews allowed to be scared?

when jewish hospitals are protested? when jewish children are harassed on the way to school? when we’re chased through the streets of amsterdam in the year fucking 2024?

when our homes are being firebombed on the first night of passover? when we’re gunned down in front of a jewish museum? when 11 of us are gunned down during shabbat services?

when 1,200 of us are murdered? when 6 million of us are murdered?

what needs to happen that’s finally enough for the well-meaning people of the world to believe us and give a shit?

[stellaspectral]

I'm gonna come in anonymously eith a bayverse request and ask if maybe you'd be willing to do something where April has this very dorky, emotional, and sweet friend that doesn't know about the turtles. And one day she's supposed to be gone for the night on a date, so the guy's come to hang out and just as Donnie goes to throw his shoes by the door he runs chest to nose with her? Turns out her date was awful, she's giving up on dating, being dramatic about going into a convent. And now there's these guys in her's and April's apartment, and oh god the Purple one is cute, and they have matching glasses- maybe she won't give up entirely!

If this isn't up your ally that's fine! I've really been enjoying your stuff though!

A/N: Ohmigosh, this is such a cute request! 😍

I set this roughly between the first and second movies, since the turtles’ existence is common knowledge to the public by the time Out of the Shadows is over. Enjoy! 💖

Shell Shocked and Smitten (fluff)

💜 Bayverse Donatello/Female Reader 💜

CWs: Bad date aftermath, mild angst, fluff, brief emotional upset, some swearing, unexpected guests, dorks with crushes who flirt, light brotherly teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You trudge up the stairs to your shared apartment.

Your date had been, to put it mildly, a dumpster fire. Chad (of course his name is Chad!) spent an hour talking about his cutting-edge crypto portfolio, then his CrossFit routine. And finally, when the bill arrived, he’d patted his pockets with performative dismay, claiming he forgot his wallet. So you were stuck paying an amount you couldn’t afford.

And on top of it all, you lost one of your contacts in the taxi on the way home. Thankfully, you had your glasses in your purse. But your eyes had watered. And the cheap drugstore mascara—the one you bought on a whim because the packaging was sparkly—is definitely running.

You arrive at the door and fish your keys out from your coat pocket. “Never again,” you say out loud, fumbling with the stubborn lock. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m officially retiring from the dating scene. Maybe I’ll join a convent. Do they still have those?”

You finally win your fight with the door, shoving it open with more force than necessary, the strap of your purse digging into your shoulder. You’re already picturing yourself face-planting onto the couch and eating ice cream as you walk partially through the entryway and further into the apartment. “April, you’re not gonna BELIEVE the total unmitigated disaster that was—”

You don’t even get the full sentence out.

Because your dramatic pronouncement is cut short when you barrel right into a solid wall of … something. Your nose is pressed against a hard, subtly ridged surface. You tilt your head back, and your gaze travels up, up, up to a face that’s, well … green. And reptilian.

He’s currently looking down at you with wide, intelligent hazel eyes behind a pair of very familiar-looking glasses. In his hands, he has what one can only describe as an enormous pair of custom shoes. Looking like he was just going to toss them by the door, you realize dimly, like any normal person. Except he isn’t just any normal person.

“W-what …? Who …?” you stammer as you take a step backward, staring at the shoes before your gaze snaps back up to the towering green man in front of you.

His massive, three-fingered hand is still outstretched, holding the shoes. He’s wearing, well, not much. Aside from a purple bandanna tied around his head and pants with suspenders over his broad back. Wait, you think, squinting at him—before realizing that isn’t his back so much as it is a shell.

“Uh,” he says, hesitant, seeming just as startled by your sudden appearance as you are by his.

It takes a moment to click once you, again, look at the glasses perched on his snout. His reptilian snout. Your brain, already overloaded from your terrible date night, attempts to reboot before it short-circuits. Giant. Green. Person. A turtle? In your apartment. Holding shoes.

Your thoughts grind to a halt after stuttering, unable to process what the hell you’re seeing.

“You’re home early,” April says, appearing from the living room, a nervous smile plastered on her face.

Purple Bandanna looks like a deer caught in headlights. Behind him and April, you register other large, green men. Each of them are wearing different colored bandannas. The one in red, arms crossed, is radiating ‘are you kidding me?’ energy. Orange is practically vibrating with suppressed laughter, while the one in blue sighs and shakes his head.

“Early?” you echo, your voice a squeak. Your gaze flits from April’s strained smile to the towering, purple-clad turtle, then to the other three equally impossible beings. “April, there are giant, sentient turtles in our living room!”

The one in orange finally loses his battle and bursts into a snorting laugh, which is quickly stifled by an elbow from the blue one. The red one rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck.

“And if you must know,” you continue, the sheer weirdness of the situation temporarily bulldozed by your need to vent, “I’m home because my date was a catastrophic failure of epic proportions. He mansplained the blockchain to me. The blockchain, April. What the hell is a blockchain, anyway?!” You gesture wildly with one hand, knowing you look like a crazy raccoon who’s lost a bar fight.

Purple guy blinks. The blue one takes a hesitant step forward. The red one actually snorts.

“A convent, huh?” Red says, a smirk playing on his lips. “Dramatic much?”

You realize he heard you talking to yourself outside the apartment, and you blush in embarrassment. “It’s a valid life choice!” you retort, though your voice breaks a little. Then, the full weight of the situation crashes back down. “Wait a minute. Who are you guys? And why do you look like … very large anthropomorphic turtles?”

The purple one pushes his glasses up his nose. Again, you notice how his frames match yours. “It’s a … rather convoluted narrative,” he says, his voice still calm, though he shifts his weight again. “We’re friends of April. She lets us hang out here sometimes when … well, when you’re out.”

“Friends she has never, ever, not once in the history of our friendship, mentioned,” you counter, narrowing your mascara-smudged eyes at April, who winces and mumbles a ‘sorry.’

Your gaze, however, can’t help but drift back to the purple-clad turtle. Again, he pushes his glasses further up his nose. There’s a faint flush of a darker green spreading under his skin that you suspect might be the reptilian equivalent of a blush. It’s unexpectedly endearing.

Maybe it’s the way his intelligent hazel eyes, magnified slightly by the lenses, look apologetic and gentle. Or perhaps it’s the novelty of someone so otherworldly looking at you with an expression that isn’t pity, or worse, the glazed-over boredom Chad had projected. He also seems genuinely concerned about your disastrous date, even though you’ve just barged in on whatever secret turtle-hangout was happening.

“Well,” you say, your voice a little shaky but losing some of its earlier despairing edge. “This is certainly a development. April is friends with tall, apparently very polite turtles who have excellent taste in eyewear.” You glance pointedly at Purple’s glasses, then touch your own.

You’ve always had a ridiculous soft spot for guys in glasses. It’s your kryptonite, second only to a well-curated bookshelf.

A smile quirks the corner of his mouth. “Donatello,” he offers, finally lowering the hand still holding his footwear. “But, uh, Donnie is fine.”

“Donnie,” you repeat, testing the name. It suits him. The blush on his cheeks seems to deepen a fraction.

“Look, I was going to tell you,” April says truthfully. “Eventually. It’s just … a lot.”

“Understatement of the year, April,” you mutter, but your eyes are drawn back to Donnie. He’s set his shoes down now, his posture a little less like a startled woodland creature and more relaxed. He steals another glimpse of you, and there’s a definite spark of interest there in his gaze.

A tiny thrill zips through you. Dating humans hasn’t exactly panned out. It’s been a veritable parade of Chads, Brendans, and a Kevin who thought taxidermy was an appropriate first-date conversation topic. But perhaps the universe has always had other options for you in mind.

“So,” you say, taking a deep breath and trying to gather the scattered remnants of your composure. “Donnie. And, uh …” You gesture vaguely at the other three, who are watching with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation.

“Leonardo, but Leo’s good,” Blue says with a polite nod.

“Raphael. Raph,” the red one grunts, still leaning against the doorframe, though his arms are no longer crossed.

“And I’m Michelangelo! Mikey for short!” Orange says. “We’re brothers, by the way.”

“Right,” you say. “Leo, Raph, Mikey. And Donnie.” You look at Donnie again, and he offers another one of those small, shy smiles that does strange things to your insides.

“So, about that blockchain,” Donnie begins, then seems to catch himself, a flicker of self-consciousness in his eyes. “I mean, if you’re still curious. It’s essentially a decentralized, distributed ledger, which can be quite fascinating from a cryptographic and data structure perspective, though I can see how it might not be an optimal first-date conversation.”

You can’t help it; a laugh escapes you. A real one, not the polite, strained kind you fake with most of your dates. “You know, that’s actually the most sense anyone’s made of it all night.”

Donnie’s blush deepens again, and this time, there’s definitely a pleased glint in his eyes. April lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like relief. Even Raph cracks a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

“So,” you say, feeling a bit more like yourself now, “do you guys hang out here often?”

“We try not to impose,” Leo replies. “But April’s hospitality is generous.”

“Generous enough to harbor four secret turtles,” you muse, then look at April. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

She throws her hands up in mock surrender. “What can I say? They’re good company. Mostly.” She shoots a pointed look at Raph, who just shrugs.

Donnie clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. He’s fidgeting with the strap of some kind of tech-y satchel you hadn’t noticed before, slung across his shell. “Actually,” he says, “we were just about to order pizza. If … if you’re not too traumatized by your recent culinary experience to partake?”

Pizza. The universal comfort food. The thought of sharing it with Donnie and his equally extraordinary brothers suddenly sounds infinitely more appealing than a solitary tub of ice cream and a vow of celibacy.

“Traumatized? Donnie, I think tonight significantly recalibrated my trauma threshold.” You shoot him a smile. “And pizza sounds amazing. Especially if its intricacies are not explained via a PowerPoint on its market liquidity.” You still can’t believe one of your dates actually brought a laptop with him to show you a damn PowerPoint, of all things.

Sometimes, you still think romance is dead.

Donnie laughs, a full, rumbling sound that vibrates pleasantly in the entryway. “No PowerPoints, I promise. Though I do have some interesting data on optimal cheese-to-sauce ratios, if you’re interested.”

“Save it for the second date, Don,” Raph calls out, earning a frown from Donnie and a snicker from Mikey.

Your cheeks flush again. It’s a pleasant sensation this time, a far cry from the humiliated heat brought on by Chad’s cheapness or your own dramatic pronouncements outside the door. “I think I could handle some data on cheese-to-sauce ratios,” you say, your voice a little breathless.

Mikey whoops. “Alright! Pizza party! I call dibs on the first slice with extra pepperoni!”

April, looking significantly less stressed now that the initial shock has worn off, claps her hands together. “Okay, then! Pizza it is. My treat. Consider it an apology for the delayed introductions. And for all the Chads.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the evening’s tension drain away, which is replaced by an almost giddy sense of excitement. Giving up on dating? You must have gone temporarily insane. Again, you look at Donnie.

No way you’re giving up now.

Especially if it involves matching glasses and a brilliant, kind-eyed turtle.

[karikarasuno]

part twelve | part thirteen | part fourteen

"i've been thinking," you say as you walk into the kitchen. law is making himself a coffee. he doesn't work today (for once) so he’s lounging about the house in your favorite look. a naked torso and low slung sweats, you told him so yourself. and he takes advantage of that little tidbit every chance he gets.

"congratulations?" he replies, the edge of the mug slipping between his lips as he takes a quick sip. still hot.

"ok, don't be an ass." your shoulders slump as you stand in the center of the kitchen just a few feet shy of him. "we practically live together."

he doesn't respond. mostly because he assumes you'll continue. except you don't. "are you trying to let me know or is this you telling me to leave?"

"i'm obviously not kicking you out," you say with a disbelieving shake of your head. "i'm saying you should just move in. completely."

"i live next door." you're right though. he spends most of his time here. he wakes up here most mornings. goes to bed here most nights. he's even started pulling into your driveway when he gets home instead of his. because whether he likes it or not home has nothing to do with where he lives and everything to do with you.

"that's true," you nod slowly. thoughtfully. "and while it's nice not having to share a closet with you, i think it would be nice to make it official."

law has been thinking of making things official with you for a very long time. 'months worth of planning' official. but your impatience always seems to catch up to him. whenever he has an idea you always seem to get to it first. at this rate he fully expects you to bend down on one knee and propose to him. especially considering he's already bought you a ring. one that he's currently hiding in a cereal box on the top shelf of your pantry.

when you're at his house, you're nosey. with a tendency to snoop. but that cereal box has been in your pantry for months now and you've seemingly forgotten about it. so it's the perfect hiding spot. but only if you don't jump the gun and ask him to marry you first.

"so moving in makes us official?" he takes another sip of his coffee. still too fucking hot. he sets the mug down so he's not tempted to burn his tongue again.

"well as close to it without a ring," you say casually, with a slight shrug. and there it is. exactly what he was expecting so he can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips in a hiccupped breath.

"what's so funny?" you say with all the seriousness in the world, but instead of answering you he walks over to said pantry and opens the door. "what are you doing?"

you're always questioning him too. usually questions bother him. but not from you. he'd answer a lifetime of your questions if it meant you'd be his forever.

"how long have we been together?" he asks as he reaches for the box of cereal pushed in a dark corner of your pantry right next to a large container of oatmeal you've also seemed to have forgotten was here.

"a year and two months," you answer without a lick of hesitation. he swears you count the days. smiles are easy around you. he's not sure he even stops smiling when he's in your presence. "why?"

"and three weeks." he sticks his hand in the box. empty except for a small velvet box containing your ring.

"what?" you tilt your head to the side in confusion. the temptation to kiss you never fades.

"a year. two months. and three weeks," he corrects. admitting that he also counts the days. not on purpose though. he's just good at math.

"ok." you roll your eyes at him, but you couldn't hide your smile even if you tried.

he pulls out the box. it's not how he originally planned to propose, but he realized that with you planning is essentially useless. not when your plans rival his every time. without fail.

"wait," you say suddenly, holding out your hands in front of you. realization dawns on you before he can even kneel. "i just woke up."

he kneels anyway. too far in to take it back. "wait!" you shout before running in to the bedroom. "let me at least attempt to look presentable."

"as if i do," he says with another laugh as he hears you rummage around the bedroom.

"don't even start with me," you yell from wherever you are. "you know damn well how good you look right now."

he smirks because he does know. he just likes hearing you say it.

"i have bad knees," he calls out to you. "i can't stay down here forever."

"oh, love, we both know you've been on your knees for much longer than this," you say with a giddy little grin as you finally emerge from the bedroom. your hair is loose now and instead of the pajamas you were just in, you slipped on his shirt. and as you get closer he sees you also put on lip gloss. because you're ridiculous. and perfect.

"alright, i feel better about this now." you return to your spot in front of him. radiating an excitement that he feels build in his chest.

"as opposed to..."

"five seconds ago when my hair was sticking out of my head like a spider."

law folds over with a laugh. his head rests against your stomach when he does and he feels the way you laugh in return. the two of you have been living in your own bubble for the last year. and law believed that one day he'd feel it pop. but it hasn't happened yet. and with the way you always keep him on his toes, he doesn't think it'll ever happen. not when you give him new reasons to fall in love with you every day.

he says your name low, like a secret, when he returns his gaze to your face. you're already beaming at him.

"yes?" you're practically bouncing on your toes. but you contain yourself as much as you can. for his sake, he's sure.

he lifts the top of the small box to reveal your ring. your eyes light up. and then they immediately water.

"will you-"

"yes," you interrupt him.

"will you let me finish my question?"

"sorry, yes," you nod, your hands reaching out to grab his shoulders for stability. your mood is infectious. he's starting to feel the same dizzying anticipation light through him.

"baby," he pauses just to see if you'll interrupt him again. but you don't, even though he can tell you so badly want to. "will you marry me?"

"yes," you rush out, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing all of your weight into him. he barely catches himself to keep the two of you from falling to the floor. not that you would care either way. since you're sniffling and giggling into his shoulder. lost somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

it takes him a second to untangle you from his body. when he finally manages to stand again, he's able to slide the ring onto your finger. and even though he knows your ring size (he took three of your rings to a jeweler to confirm it), he's still relieved when it fits you perfectly.

"it's perfect," you say watery, voice thick with emotion. you look up at him with bright eyes and love, real and true and raw, shines in them. and law isn't a crier, but he feels the emotion tug at his throat.

"so does this mean you'll move in?" you ask suddenly, and the tears that were welling up behind his eyes are immediately replaced with a deep laugh that shakes through him.

"yes," he answers, "i'll move in."

[writing-girlie]

Pieces that fit • Part 1

Pairing: Joaquin x Bob x Fem!reader

Blurb: The first morning goes better than you imagine but a few things still weigh heavy on your mind.

WC: 1k

Warnings: None

Notes: The three of them will eventually be in a relationship and there will be smut.

Intro is here

You don't remember falling asleep but you wake with a jolt. Your heart is pounding and a thin layer of sweat sticks to your face. Your eyes dart around the room that is still unfamiliar. It takes a second to breathe through it and remind yourself: You’re not there anymore.

The floor is hard beneath you, obviously never making it to the bed. Your back aches, same as it has every morning for the last couple of months. You drag yourself up, stretching, rolling your shoulders to release some of the pain. For the first time in months you have the freedom for a normal start, to do things as you please. You go into the bathroom, you clean your teeth and do your hair, it's well set up, they put everything you need at your disposal. You then find more clothes in the wardrobe, slipping into them before stepping out into the hallway. When you get halfway down the stairs the smell of coffee fills you, it's warm and familiar. Your footsteps echo against the wooden steps. It makes you stop. You're being too loud. But nothing happens, no one comes looking, and no alarms go off. You take a deep breath and slowly descend the rest of the stairs. 

In the kitchen, Joaquin is sitting up on the counter, a mug in his hand. 

“Morning” he says, casually, like you didn’t almost kill an entire unit of agents less than 12 hours ago.

“Hi” you give him a tight lipped smile. He gestures to his mug. 

“Want one? Not to brag but I make a mean cup of coffee” You nod. 

He pours you a cup and slides it over to you before sitting back up on the counter. You take it, hands shaking slightly, still unsure. You sit diagonally across from him on the island. Both of you sit in silence for a moment. 

“Bob's still asleep. He doesn't do mornings” He lets out a short laugh. “or eye contact, or decisions but he makes a great omelette so we let it slide.” Your lips twitch slightly. 

“Oh, was that a smile?” Joaquin grins, tilting his head like he’s trying to get a better look. He swings his legs a little, boot heels tapping against the cabinet. You look away, trying to hide it. You clear your throat and shake your head. 

“It was a muscle spasm.” You say flatly.

“Ah!” He nods seriously. “Of course. I'll have to monitor that closely” You glance at him from the corner of your eyes.

“I think sarcasm makes it worse”  

“Damn” He sips his coffee. “There goes my whole personality” You let out a short breath – almost a laugh. He grins over the rim of his mug. “Wow, Two spasms in under a minute. Should I call someone?” You shake your head, feigning annoyance.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Ouch and here I was thinking we were bonding” He puts his coffee down beside him. 

“This is bonding?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Did you wanna try trust falls next?” Once again you're stuck trying not to smile. “Three! At this rate I'll have you laughing by midday” Your eyes narrow at him slightly, playfully.

“Unlikely”

“Challenge accepted” He hums. 

Just then, footsteps patter down from the hallway. Both you and Joaquin look toward the sound. 

“Look who's up!” Joaquin says, a little excitable. Bob squints his eyes, the light too bright for him this early. 

“You're loud” He mutters, as he heads for the coffee machine. 

“Good Morning to you too!” Joaquin says in a sing-song tune. Bob looks over his shoulder at him, unamused but not unkind. He then looks at you, offering a nod. 

“Hi” He says quietly. You acknowledge him with a brief greeting and a smile. Neither of you expand on it any further. Joaquin gently kicks his foot across the benches, tapping against your leg. 

“He's friendlier after food. Like a stray cat.” Bob turns fully, looking at him strangely.

“I'm right here.” He mutters. Joaquin raises his hands in surrender. 

“And I’m acknowledging your presence with a sprinkle of honesty.” Bob lets out a short but amused laugh. 

“You're lucky this coffee's decent or you'd be wearing it.” He threatens, jokingly.

“See, that right there?” Joaquin gestures at the other man. “That's warmth” Bob shakes his head. 

“I said decent, not good.” You watch both of them, how easy mornings seem to be. He takes another sip. 

“Woah, you can't diss my coffee then drink it.” Joaquin raises his brow. 

“Keep pushing your luck and I'll add a surprise in your omelette.” Joaquin leant back with an amused grin, then made a mock bite in the air in Bob's direction.

“I've survived worse. Remember Mexico?”

“We don't talk about that.” Bob looks at him, deadpan. Joaquin looks over at you.

“He got food poisoning from a street vendor. Wouldn't stop crying.”

“I swear to-” He shakes his head then looks at you. “I didn't cry. I was hallucinating” A sudden laugh escapes you and you try to hide it, sipping your coffee.

“HA! That was laughter.” Joaquin points with triumph. “Don't deny it” You smile at him shaking your head in defeat. 

“You two are ridiculous.”

“Guilty” Joaquin says, hopping down from the counter. “Alright Bob, you're up. Breakfast time” He messes up Bob's hair as he walks past him. Joaquin’s already got a pan heating when you speak again

“What happens next?” You stare down into your coffee. Joaquin looks over and Bob glances up. “I mean, what happens to me?” You clarify. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. No family. My apartment probably has someone else living in it. There’s no life I’m going back to. So what happens now?”

“You stay here.”

“Until when?” you ask, quietly.

“Until you don't want to” he says. You blink at him, taken aback by how easily he says it. 

“And if I decided I never want to?” He gives a small, crooked smile.

“Then I guess you better start pulling your weight with breakfast.” Joaquin shrugs, like it was obvious.

[yoiisa]

Hello! It’s my first time requesting, so it’s gonna be a bit awkward and off but can I request windbreaker boys suo, nirei, sakura + anyone you want to add with a crush who’s like yuki itose from a sign of affection? Where reader is deaf but is pretty much content with her life and she really enjoys everything despite not being able to hear? And shes really delicate and sweet yet also honest whenever she needs to be? Thank you!!?

this was one of the animes i watched recently as i was getting super back into it, and yuki is iconic, i love her sm!!

➜ suo hayato is super accommodating for you in every respect ➜ he's a lot like itsuomi in that respect. he will learn sign for you and enjoys having a language that only the two of you can understand ➜ he's a little shit sometimes though, and will probably use it to talk shit a lot, in front of other people ➜ he's also very likely to be protective over you because your deaf, but not in the way oushi is where he is just "stay inside, never go into the world, it's dangerous" ➜ rather, he'll be in the background, looming ominously, and threatening anyone who tries shit with you ➜ suo is protective bf #1, and wears it like a badge of honor

The two of you went to an anime exhibition at a nearby museum for your date. Suo kept you close the entire time, his hand interlocked with yours. He loves the way your eyes sparkle as you take in exclusive drawings for this exhibition, and the life size models of all your favorite characters. Your face is glowy and your lips are pulled in a perpetual smile. You did your makeup extra nice today and used a different type of perfume. Your hands are also really soft to the touch. He squeezes your hand three times, a way of telling you I love you. His smile widens as you squeeze back. However, as the two of you reach the merch section, and you're immersed in file folders and acrylic stands, Suo hears some snickering from a few feet away. He glances over to see another group of boys eyeing the two of you. His eyes drift down to you again, to see the neck of your shirt is hanging a bit low. Suo gives your shirt's neck a gentle tug and you straighten up. You stare up at him, silently asking what's wrong. "Nothing, I was just fixing your shirt a bit," he explains. You smile, nod, and continue perusing the merchandise. However, on your way out from the venue, Suo spots those boys again. Their gazes land on you and Suo feels a type of revulsion he never has before. Suo tugs at your hand and says, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick. Wait here for me, okay?" As you nod, he hurries off. When he gets in the bathroom, the boys from earlier are huddled in the corner, laughing with each other. The sound is enough to make Suo sick. He approaches the two of them and they fall silent. They look as if they're about to ask him what he wants, but Suo slams his fist against the stall door next to them. "You're pathetic. You're immature scum that shouldn't be allowed to roam the Earth," he says, his voice low and threatening. "If I ever see you again, leering at anyone like that, especially a woman, you'll pay hell? Understand?" They give meek nods, and with that, Suo leaves them trembling in the bathroom to rejoin you for the rest of your date.

➜ nirei akihiko sometimes worries about how the two of your relationship will pan out ➜ after all, to live in a world without sound means that you're experiencing everything in a very different way than he is ➜ that being said, once he realizes that despite your different situations, you're just like him, and he couldn't be happier as your boyfriend ➜ he privately makes his own sign language guides in his notebook, and memorizes the alphabet so he can spell words out for you ➜ he also takes your deafness into account with everything you guys do, so you end up doing things like going to aquariums and museums a lot since those are more visual than auditory

Nirei hands you your ticket for the aquarium, and you take it, beaming up at him. Your face is bright and cheery, the sun making you glow. You look like an angel, fit with a halo and all. He links his elbow with yours and asks, "Ready?" At your nod, he returns your smile with an equally bright one and leads you into the aquarium. The blue hue of the tanks is everything. Unlike the sun, this light makes you look cool and refreshing, and he spends the whole day snapping candid photos of you. At one point, he captures a moment your bent over the touch tank, your hand gliding over the backs of sting rays. Your fingers graze the textured spokes of the starfish and your rub some sand between your fingers. Nirei lowers his phone for a moment, taking in the look on you face as you explore this tactile wonderland. You look so inspired by it all, your mouth split into a wide grin. Momentarily, Nirei wonders if you're gonna go home and draw some moments from today in your sketchbook. As the day continues to go by, the two of you spot some otters floating on their backs. Nirei's phone vibrates and he glances down. It's a message from you. you: id like to pet one one day ^_^ Nirei chuckles and nods, "Hopefully one day. They're cute aren't they?" As you nod, Nirei can't help but notice the way your cheeks puff up as you grin. Almost against his will, he reaches up and pinches your face. You startle and your smile falls. Nirei blusters and pulls back, spouting apologies like a running faucet. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me, please ignore that-" You giggle, the sound breaking through the fog of his panic. You shake your head and pinch his cheek back, before placing a tiny peck on the area your hand had been on. He looks like a tomato for the rest of the day.

➜ sakura haruka is a lot like oushi if i'm being completely honest ToT ➜ when you first meet/start dating, he treats you like you're fine china and the entire world is a garbage disposal ready to grind you into a fine powder and dump you into an incinerator ➜ on top of everything, you're so nice to everyone. sakura is a mistrusting person, and he always thinks there's an underlying motive to anything, so he's also very protective of you. it's more overt than suo's is though ➜ he'll get into people's face a lot if they so much as glance at you the wrong way ➜ it takes a lot of convincing on your part to get him to relax, but once he understands that you're not fragile, he lays off

His phone pings again. you: harukaaaa i can take care of myself Sakura runs a hand through his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes narrowed in concern. "I know you can, but still," he sighs. you: still what? "[name], you almost got run over! You might've if I hadn't been there, and-" his voice dies as he sees the stormy expression on your face. you: youre not some savior or my keeper whatever. im leaving. You turn on your heel to leave, but startle as Sakura's hand grasps your wrist. You whip your head around and your eyes widen as you see Sakura's expression. You're not sure there's a word to describe that expression. It's something between frustration, guilt, and desperation. "I," he pauses and takes a deep breath. He starts again, but slower this time, so you can really read his lips and get the gravity of everything he's trying to say. "I know I'm not some savior or anything. I never said I was. I- I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. I'm just worried. "I get that you've been living like this for your whole life and you're used to it by now, but . . . but I'm not. I hate the fact that these kinds of experiences are like second nature to you, but for me, they're not. I hate that I can't protect you from stuff like this." Sakura sighs and relaxes his body a bit, before finally finishing off with, "I just don't want you to get hurt." You stare up at him, noting the way the light bounces differently between his two eyes. Eventually, you take out your phone and type out another message. you: i get it everyone i meet is like this at first i hope you can get used to caring about me He pauses and shakes his head. "I don't need to get used to it. I care about you, that's all there is to it," he mutters as he pats your head. Sakura sighs before saying, "I'll try to not be as condescending in the future, and tell me whenever I am, okay?"

➜ if suo is protective bf #1, then umemiya hajime is supportive bf #1 ➜ this man will have whole dates with you where he does nothing but learn sign language with you ➜ you ask multiple times if he wants to do something else, like go shopping, but no. he's perfectly (and genuinely) happy just like this ➜ you end up teaching him a lot of vocabulary related to gardening ➜ additionally, he'll buy you hand creams a lot. he loves your hands, playing with them and feeling them pat him. sometimes, he worries that your hands might be getting sore from how much they move ➜ so around once a month, he stops by a department store and brings you a bunch of tiny tubes of lavender, rose, and daisy scented lotions

As you step out onto the roof, the first thing you notice is a tiny table set up on top of a picnic blanket. The table has a few pens and notebooks on it, and you recognize Umemiya's handwriting. A tiny marble rolls towards your feet and you look up to see him standing a few feet away, holding a basket with peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers in it. "You're early," he says. You nod and he sets the produce down next to the compositions. You walk towards him and he continues, "I got some new notebooks! Already labeled them all though, so don't worry about that." You nod, and move your hands to say I noticed. You sit next to him and he pours you some iced tea. As you drink, Umemiya opens the notebook to the first page, the crips white paper reflecting the sunlight back to both of you. You pick up a pen as he jots down the date in the corner of the page. 06-07-2016. The next hour is filled with you writing to each other about sign language. You draw diagrams for him to follow, and make notes of how he can improve in the notebooks. Once your guys' time is up, Umemiya has mostly mastered vocabulary about outings. "Alright, lemme give it a go," Umemiya says, stretching his fingers out a little. His hands move in quick succession, making the message Will you go on a date with me? You clap and smile, before quickly jotting down Good job! Umemiya blinks down at the scrawl before shaking his head and trying again. No, no, [name], you give him your full attention and he tries again, putting more emphasis on the questions. Will you go on a date with me? You stare at him in silence for a hot second, before turning redder than his tomatoes. You nod your head vigorously, and Umemiya laughs. "Don't give yourself whiplash," he says, gently holding your head and making it still. You stare at him wide eyed and he signs Thank you.

➜ togame jo initially doesn't think much of you. he thinks you're cute and stuff, but he doesn't pay you much mind otherwise ➜ however, that changes when he notices small things about you that differs from the rest of the hearing world. you never have headphones in to listen to music, you always watch movies/TV shows with subtitles on, and you spend a lot of time reading the signs in the subway rather than just listening to the announcements ➜ he can't say for sure when or how, but naturally he starts to gravitate towards you, and helps you out with some day to day tasks that are more difficult since you can't hear. he falls for you shortly thereafter ➜ he never treats you any different for your deafness however. he starts learning sign language, but it's a bit more difficult for him than it is for nirei or suo, so he sticks to notebooks for the most part ➜ he writes love letters to you, and is on top of it when it comes to texting you regularly

"Hey, she got another one!" one of your friends say excitedly. In her hands is another white envelope, the contents no doubt from Togame. You're sitting at your desk, your head on the wood as you take a nap. However, you rouse at the feeling of someone tapping against it. You raise your head to see your friend standing in front of you, the letter in her hands. "From that boy you're close with," she teases. The tone is lost on you, although the expression she wears isn't. You take the envelope and peel back the flap. You take out the letter and unfold the paper, before your eyes set to work. Togame's handwriting when you first started dating was like chicken scratch- you could hardly make out the letters. Not now though, he must've been practicing. You giggle as the image flashes through your mind, someone all tough like Togame praticing his handwriting to make it all pretty. Once you finish the letter, your friend looks at you expectantly, her eyes wide and anxious to know everything. "Well, what'd it say?" she asks, bouncing on her feet a little. You take your phone out and open your notes app. You begin typing out a message to her. Just him saying he misses me and stuff. The usual :x "The usual?" your friend asks incredulously. "That reminds, me, how often exactly are you getting these kinds of letters from him?" You shrug. He's starting to do it more nowadays. Before it used to be mostly through messages. Idk why he switched. When you first started dating Togame, he was pretty reserved and chill. You kinda felt out of place, sometimes wondering if he really did like you all that much. However, these letters and constant texts put those doubts to bed real fast. "You should ask," your friend suggests, but you shake your head. She's silent for a brief moment before sighing dreamily, "Maybe he wants something permanent for you to remember him by?" She smirks as you blush at the prospect. Just because you'd accepted that he really liked you doesn't mean it'd fully set in. You couldn't wait for it to though. You were more than ready for someone as loving as Togame in your life.

[pennyserenade]

Pls make a fanfic with a dark Tommy + misogynistic themes!

and who by fire? | tommy shelby x you

rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | pre-established relationship, toxic relationship, misogyny, unprotected sex, pinv sex, dubcon, dirty talk (a little), tommy being a dick, a little exhibitionistic word count | 1.7k+ a/n | i wrote this kind of quick, so if there's any typos i'm sorry. also sorry it took so long, and i know this isn't entirely a dark tommy in a traditional sense, but i hope you still like it.

“Thought you were an actress, not, uh—a whore." Tommy cinched the thin fabric of your dressing gown around your waist, accentuating your scantily clothed body beneath it. His blue eyes flashed dark beneath the dim light, and you were eternally grateful for the fact that the narrow hallway that you'd led him down was abandoned, save for the two. of you He smoldered. “Or what? Has it finally become all the same to you?”

Placing your hand on his chest, you created distance between your bodies. "Don't be silly, Tommy," you said. "It's only a costume and you know that. If you'll step out of the way, I'll put on my regular clothes and we can leave."

"I don't want to leave. Not yet." He stepped forward, boxing you more securely in, and ignoring the hand you placed between you. There was an earthy scent to him -- as if he'd been digging in the mud or caught in the rain, but he was dry and clean. Cleaner than you'd seen him in a long time, in fact.

With your shoulders pressed squarely against the wall, you let out a huff. "This is why I don't invite you to these things."

"Mm," he considered, dropping his head to your neck. He nudged the tip of his cold nose against your skin while his hand bunched up the bottom of your gown. "I think it's more than that. I think it's because you're worried what your fuckin' artsy theater people will think of me."

"Tommy--"'

He killed your words with his tongue, lavxing it knowingly over the column of your throat. As you reached up to grab him, you knocked his hat off of his head. He left it there, pushing his body into your own. The skirt of your gown was pressed between you, held up by the pressure he'd created between you

He killed your words with his warm tongue, swiping it knowingly over the column of your throat. As you reached up to grab him, half startled by the suddenness of his action, you knocked his hat off of his head. Tommy abandoned it in favor of pressing his body further into yours, now freed by your hand.

“Bet you didn’t have to reach very far in yourself to play that character.” His fingers snaked up the inside of your thighs, and you let out a quiet sigh against his shoulder. You pressed your eyes shut and focused on the slow movements of his hand as it rose, higher and higher. “Did you tell them how good you are on your back, or did they just assume?”

He was such a wicked bastard, and if you knew any better, you wouldn’t take it so personally—but you didn’t. You shoved at his chest, once, twice, three times, before he curled his fingers around your wrists and shoved them down between your bodies. “Let go of me,” you growled, shifting beneath him.

“You never did like to be told the truth.”

“Let fuckin go of me!”

He cupped a hand over your mouth. “Just gonna get yourself in trouble yelling like that, and then what?” His voice was low, full of grit, but not mean. He leaned forward and brushed his nose against your cheek, whispering, “They don’t really want to know what a dirty whore you are—they just think they do. S’not like me, not like the people from where you come from. These ones wouldn’t understand.”

Tommy unwrapped his hand from yours when you stopped wrestling frantically against him and he began pulling up your gown again. Holding the cloth up with one hand while his other one moved your underwear to the side, he chuckled lowly. The angry mass that formed in your chest was still there, but it was too violent, too bright, to allow you to speak softly as you needed. So you didn’t.

A part of you — a deep, rational part — knew that none of this was personal. This was just Tommy. If there had once been anything kinder in him, you barely remembered it now, because these days it was all just different shades of dark. Some part of you hated him for it, probably. It just hadn’t grown as strong as you needed it to to resist him.

“I’m not your whore,” you managed to spit out, just as he undid his belt buckle.

Tommy looked up. “That’s the thing with whores—“ he unzipped his pants and took himself out. You could feel the tip of his cock nudge against your stomach as he leaned closer to your face. He hovered over your lips, licking his own as he measured out his words. “—they don’t belong to anyone. Only a fool would think that—and I’m no fool.”

He kissed you then, hard, and with such intensity you were sure your lips would bruise.

Tommy halted your leg up around his hip while his tongue pushed past your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, mentally bracing for the stretch of him as his cock rubbed against your entrance. You weren’t nearly wet enough, but you were sure you’d soon be. Truthfully, you didn’t even care anymore. So much of life with Tommy now seemed to be a matter of bearing and waiting until the bad passed.

If you were stupider, he could trick you into thinking it was cruelty that drove him to it, but like him, you were no fool; you were a piece of his pack he had let slip away, and he felt a strange inclination, primal like an animal, to track you down whenever you were near and claim you all over again. Humans offered rings, gave devotion. But not Tommy. He smelt of soil and rain and fucked.

He pushed inside of you, emitting a soft grunt against your lips as he did. Your body tensed beneath him, the ache of his cock stretching unbearable. “God,” you winced, your fingers digging into the thick fabric of his coat. “That fuckin’ hurts.”

“Yeah,” he said, less a question than a statement. “Bet you fuckin’ like it, too.”

You refused to justify that with an answer, and he didn’t wait for one; Tommy rutted up into you, again and again and again. Every goddamnit thing he would never say to you, you felt when he did this: a tidal wave of all his silence rolled into you, loud, echoey, too much until your body made more room for it.

You cradled the back of his neck with your hand and his lips twisted up, his whole body focused on the force of his thrusts. Pressing your eyes shut, you focused too: on the warmth of his body, on the desperation of his want; on the sound of his huffing, on the hot air he emitted against your sensitive skin. Eventually, all the focusing turned to desire, and added into the mix was the sound of your bodies coming together, two things in desperate need of each other.

Tommy fucked you, disregarding any and everything besides the simple rut of his hips into yours, and you let him—because that’s what you always did. It’s what you always would do.

“You’re such a cunt,” you told him, gritting your teeth together as he rammed into you, “fuck. Can’t stand you.”

“Mm,” he hummed, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuckin’ hate—“ Tommy groped your ass, pulling you down on to him, making you match his rhythm, “—you. Hate everything about you.”

He lifted his head, meeting your eyes as he arched up into you again. Tommy was hitting a place inside of you with his cock that you felt he had no right to be in. You were struggling to keep silent—especially when he looked at you like that. His eyes burned with a quiet intensity, a thing you could register plainly as hunger.

You felt yourself clench around him and he held you closer, his thrusts shortening. “Feels like you hate me, yeah,” he mumbled wickedly, his mouth grazing yours. You moaned into his mouth and he nodded. “What would they think of you now?”

“Tommy—“

“Think someone’s coming—“ He smiled. Sure enough, you could hear it too; the heavy shuffle of feet somewhere close. You panicked.

“Tommy, please.” You pushed at his shoulder, pleading.

“Ah, ah, finish what you started,” he said, wedging his hand between your bodies. His fingers trailed down your stomach and into your underwear.

As he grazed against your neglected clit for the first time, you bit your lip to stifle your moan and darted your eyes down the hall. The footsteps were getting louder and louder, and you knew Tommy was just fucking wreckless enough to not stop until you both came.

“Tommy,” you whispered, “please. Please” You could hardly tell what it was you were begging for.

“Yeah.” He sounded so smug, so fucking sure of himself. He rubbed his fingers against you in circular motions as his hips drove up. It felt incredible, as all things you shouldn’t want to do. You gripped helplessly onto any part of him you could as your orgasm began to form inside of you.

It wasn’t right how easily your body betrayed you for him—for his touch. As he panted in your ear, you knew he was getting close, too. The footsteps were nearly there—

“Oh,” you gasped, warmth rushing from your head to your toes as he rubbed faster at your clit. It felt like a wave of sunshine, something entirely too nice to come from something as fucking mean as Tommy. But it did. You kissed him because you couldn’t remember how else to be—couldn’t remember what anger felt and tasted like.

He pulsed inside of you but got wise, pulling out just in time to get it all over your fucking costume.

“Hello? Sir–? Sir, no one is meant to be down here,” a man called. Tommy pushed you quickly in front of him, shielding you with his coat.

“We’re fucking busy here, can’t you see?” Tommy shouted, still struggling to catch his breath. “Get the fuck out of here!”

“Oh—uh, sorry,” the person stuttered. You listened as they padded away frantically, somewhat mortified at what they might’ve seen, before pushing Tommy away from you. He smirked at you, not at all ashamed.

“Fuck you,” you spat, frowning.

“Ah, and the character just started growing on me too,” he clicked his tongue.

[calebsdog]

Would the Lads guys leave a tip?

Xavier walks past the man holding the sign without noticing him at first. It's only when you stop walking in step with him does he turn back to take a look. After reading the sign, his gaze shifts between you, the man, and the words written in bold, colorful letters. His hands fumble around in his hoodie's pocket.

"I have some cash," Xavier murmurs, holding out crumbled bills and some spare change. "But I was gonna use it to buy us ice cream..."

Xavier leaves the choice to you whether you'd rather he leave the tip or let him treat you to some ice cream. But after that encounter he grows a little concerned he may not be telling you how gorgeous you are enough.

Soon after, he's brushing away a messy trail of ice cream dripping from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He lingers there, cupping your cheek, face inches away from yours, studying your every expression.

"You are prettier than every star in the sky. Than any field of Wavyleaf sea flowers. I don't mind saying that as often as you need."

Rafayel scoffs when his eyes first land on the sign. He's more familiar with the concept of beauty than this man ever could be. He doesn't need this stranger's approval to know you were the most ethereal being he's laid eyes on.

The entire sea is reflected inside of your dazzling eyes. He should know, having spent days of his life hunched over a canvas. He has labored in an attempt to capture your radiance with each stroke of his paintbrush. Years ago, he came to understand no painting, no matter how long he dedicated himself to the task, could properly immortalize your image.

Your beauty was beyond the understanding of man. Even his own.

He tries to walk away, not wanting to bother with this while the two of you were on a date together. Makes it about three steps away before he's pausing in his tracks.

"Psssh. I'm not gonna let anyone dare think I don't find you hot. 'Hot' doesn't begin to describe you." He grumbles as he digs through his wallet, tossing a handful of bills into the man's collection of cash. No one was forcing him but he couldn't walk away without acknowledging how lovely you are to his artistic eye.

"Should we visit my art gallery on the way, cutie? It's been a while since you've visited the section dedicated to you. I've been meaning to get your thoughts on my newest additions."

Zayne, being honest, finds it a little absurd. The man holding the sign was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, making himself a mild inconvenience, for an easy cash grab. He feels no need to prove himself to someone he's unlikely to ever cross paths with again.

He shuffles past the man without giving him an acknowledgement, intent on going about your date without interruption, making sure your shoulders don't bump against the man's intruding figure. But, when he feels you start to slow down, your laced hands preventing him from walking away, a soft sigh escapes his lips.

He doesn't ask why you stopped, already knowing what it is you were after. His hand, warmed by your body heat, gives you a lingering squeeze before regretfully pulling away. It's not you he finds ridiculous. It's more the idea of what he's doing.

It felt incredibly shallow to base your attractiveness over how much money he was willing to spare to this stranger. Spending money on you isn't the issue, it never has been. But he's never used money to show he loves you before.

"You know very well I think you are beautiful," he reminds you, pulling out his wallet anyways.

"I would prefer not to defend your beauty through money. But, if it will make you happy..." Despite his reluctance, he takes out a decent amount of cash to toss into the man's tip jar. He doesn't stick around for longer than necessary, already reclaiming your hand in his, continuing on the path of your previous destination.

"I don't mind proving how alluring you are to me in front of others. However, next time, may I use my words and actions instead of a handful of bills?"

Sylus also recognizes the man holding a sign is playing a cheeky little trick in hopes of getting some quick cash from men. Even knowing this, he still takes it as a challenge. Well, challenge wasn't the perfect word for it. More like a window of opportunity laid at his feet.

He's the one who stops walking. His towering height combined with the annoyed expression he wears whenever his eyes aren't locked onto you quickly intimidate the man holding the sign. It's clear he's starting to regret his scheme under the intense weight of Sylus' red eyes.

Lucky for him, Sylus wasn't here for a fight. It was boring to pick battles he was certain to win. Taking out his wallet, he doesn't bother starting out with a humble chunk of cash. In his hand is a hundred dollar bill, plopping it into the man's tip jar without second thought. It's double the cash the man has managed to earn so far.

"That is just the beginning." Looking over his shoulder, Sylus' eyes finally soften as his gaze lands on you. How absolutely enchanting you are. You must know it too.

"It's a shame I can't use my card. I only have so much cash on me." But you know Sylus' perception of money was warped. He could have a thousand dollars stuffed in his heavy pockets and still claim he doesn't have much cash.

"I'll keep going until you're satisfied. Just say when." He sounds like a waiter asking you to say stop while they're grating cheese. He drops another hundred dollar bill into the man's tip jar.

Caleb's sharp eyes catch sight of the sign way sooner than yours do, able to over the heads of people passing by. Squeezing your hand, reluctant to let go, he jogs ahead without you. His tall body maneuvers through the crowd of people walking through the sidewalk, managing to not bump into anyone on the way.

Picking up the pace of your strides you catch up with him after a minute of struggle. Caleb has already reached his destination. Standing in front of the tip jar, Caleb holds the wallet you crafted for him out of duct tape during your highschool years. He's never replaced the cheap gift, despite its age and the wear down of use.

"Here we go." Caleb pulls out a fifty, the bill fluttering down to land on top of the spare change left by others. Smiling bright, Caleb wraps an arm over your shoulders, guiding you through the crowd. Like a protective barrier sheltering you, the crowd splits apart for you and Caleb.

"Did you think I was just going to walk past him?" Even being this close together Caleb has to crane his neck to look down at you. His voice is low, ensuring his words reach your ears alone.

"Hmph. Silly girl." Bending to your height, Caleb nuzzles his chin over the top of your head. His eyes squint half shut, like a dog savoring pets, enjoying the feel of your hair against the underside of his jaw. A warm kiss gets pressed to your temple.

"This ruined world is only beautiful because you're in it. Without you... Well, it'd be like someone snatched the Sun right out of the sky. I don't know who, what, or where I would be without my Sun."

[lokisprettygirl]

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read Chapter 9 here / Series Masterlist

Chapter 10

Summary : After getting your heart broken you lose your way again.

Warning: Fat shaming, body shaming, manipulation, domestic violence, child abuse, cheating, reader lacks bit of a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

As Eric walked home, he glanced at the bobblehead every few steps, its head bouncing in rhythm with his stride, drawing a smile from him. But the smile faded as a nagging feeling crept in. He pulled out his phone, took a deeper breath, and dialed Regina’s number.

She didn't pick up on the first try so he called again, this time she did .

“Hey can we meet? I need to talk -”

He said to her, his tone was urgent, she was silent for a moment.

“Is it about the competition?” she finally asked. He wished it was but it wasn't her absence that bothered him today.

“So you did remember it huh?” He asked her.

“Of Course I did, I'd never forget anything that's important to you baby”

He sighed at her words. Deep down, he’d always known he and Regina had nothing in common. They were completely different people. He never intended to start anything with her but she was persistent with him, and eventually, he gave in, partly in an attempt to move on. Still, the unresolved emotions that had recently resurfaced left him feeling uneasy, almost as if he were betraying her emotionally. And that wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be.

He couldn't be that person and disappoint his mama who thought the world of him.

“I'll come to your place” he said to her and before she could even deny it, he hung up.

And it went exactly how he thought it would, She cried, she then began to hit him for breaking her trust and her heart so he grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her subdued.

“You're nothing without me Eric-” She said to him as she pushed him away crossed her arms and began to smile between her tears.

“You think just because you qualified this stupid round, you'll win this competition? Have fame and women falling at your feet? You're wrong-” his jaw clenched but he controlled himself.

“Look Regina..i never wanted to hurt you but you know this relationship isn't good for us.. I'm not even a good boyfriend-”

“Ohhh it was good for you when you wanted to fuck me-” she scoffed “Now that you're done using me, you're leaving huh” he looked at her surprised as she went there.

“It's not about that” he paused before he spoke again “Do you think I don't know about it? You're not in love with me, and I'm not the only one you're seeing, am i?”

Her eyes widened as he said that.

“Wait..no that's not true…whatever she said to you..she's lying -” she said, panic rising beginning to build up in her chest.

“Who's lying?’ he asked just to confirm.

“Y/n.. she said something to you didn't she..he's just a friend, she saw something and found an opportunity to make up a lie-”

“She didn't say anything..Chance did..he saw you this evening with someone else-”

Her mouth hung open as he said that. That's when she began to cry again, she suddenly stepped closer to him and clutched onto him, asking him to forgive her but he had already checked out, he'd rather be alone than be with someone that stressed him out the way she did. A relationship without love was like a suffocating sickness, one he had witnessed half of his life, he saw his mama suffer through it and he didn't want to become the man his father was.

Ruining lives in his wake without a single thought and care.

**********

It's been three days..three days since the night you caught her text on Jake's phone. Three days of you staring at the ceiling, your heart felt as if it would cease to beat any moment.

You couldn't believe it, where had you gone wrong? You tried your best, then why did he cheat? He told you that it was just a mistake, that he was drunk at the Gala and he missed you and she was there and it just happened.

But now you knew that was another lie, his whole demeanor changed when you refused to forgive him, his ego came up, he told you how you'd never find anyone again, certainly not anyone of his calibre..he called you fat and ugly and how you embarassed him, he told you how it wasn't him losing anything here and probably he was right. Because your whole world had turned upside down.

Your phone was filled with messages and missed calls from Eric, also Chance. Your mother had sent a long paragraph of how disappointed she was in you, Jake probably called her and told her you were overreacting like always.

That night your door finally buzzed, you didn't want to move but it kept buzzing so you finally got up and let whoever it was in..you opened the door before stepping into the kitchen, pouring yourself another glass of wine.

When Eric entered your door finally, he saw the condition you were in, your hair was uncombed, you hadn't showered since that night, your eyes were swollen from all the crying. He should have come here when you missed the first session.

He saw the boxes of takeouts scattered all over the coffee table.

“What happened?” He asked so you chuckled in response.

“Do you want some wine…it's a good wine”

“Y/n..talk to me” your eyes welled up as he said that. How were you supposed to talk about it, everytime you even thought of that text, that picture, your heart broke in pieces all over again.

“Turns out Maura isn't just a work friend.. who'd have known right?” you chuckled dryly.

“You're allowed to grieve. But you can't shut everyone out like this-” you cut him off for once as you didn't want to hear an uplifting speech.

“What's the point anymore? Eric? What's the point? If the man I love doesn't love me, if he cheats on me, if I'm not good enough..then what's the point?”

“He doesn't deserve you, she's not the only one in his life” he said to you, your eyes widened, but not in surprise. In shame, of course she wasn't the only one. A part of you knew that already.

“What?”

“I saw him with someone else a few weeks ago” your mouth hung open as he said that “I should have told you…I just didn't know how-”

You wanted to be upset, you wanted to yell and scream but then you felt like a hypocrite because you have been doing the same to him

“Well Your girlfriend is cheating on you too you know -”

“I know..we broke up” he said nonchalantly.

“Great..you are doing alot better than me it seems-”

“Look just come to the gym..work up a sweat, you'll feel better-” you couldn't help but scoff as he said that.

“Are you kidding me right now? The only reason I wanted to do it was because of him, because I didn't want to embarass him anymore, there is no point in making myself suffer through your torture if nobody cares about it..not one person..not Jake..not my parents..no one cares”

His eyes teared up as you said that but he knew you were hurting and lashing, it wasn't personal. He didn't want to take it to heart.

“I care…does that not mean something?”

You scoffed again between your tears as he said that.

“I pay you 1200 a month to care..”

Eric’s jaw tightened at your words.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, for once you saw different emotions flickering in his eyes, ones you had never seen before or cared to notice. You knew you had said something completely out of line to him but at this point you were too far gone to care.

“Right, that's all it is to you isn't it?” he said softly. He turned around to leave but paused at the door.

You opened your mouth, maybe to take it back, maybe to say you didn’t mean it because you didn't, you were just angry and hurt and you were taking it out on the wrong person, you wanted to apologise but the words didn't come. He paused with his hand on the knob.

“The day you will stop feeling sorry for yourself will be the day you'll realise that you're worth so much more than what your boyfriend or anyone else think of you.. and when you do, come back, the door to The Crow will always be open for you”

And then he was gone, leaving you to sulk in self pity, it was as if your world revolved around Jake, he was the Sun and now he was out of your sphere, and you didn't know who else to turn to, a part of you wanted him to come back, maybe beg for your forgiveness, you might have forgiven him too but would you ever feel the way you used to? Would you trust him? Would you ever look at him and not wonder if he was sleeping with someone else? Would you ever be able to look at yourself in the mirror again?

You stopped going to the gym after that, completely quit it. Fitting into that red dress was your motivation, the dress that you wanted to wear when you'd finally meet his parents. What was the point now, anyway? The motivation that once kept you dragging yourself out of bed for 6 a.m workouts had evaporated, along with your appetite for self-discipline. So you barely slept, ate whatever was easy and that involved cheeseburgers everyday. Days turned into weeks and then months.

The mirror became something you avoided entirely.

You stopped checking your phone, too. Messages from Chance eventually slowed, then they stopped. He gave up too. Who could help you if you didn't want to help yourself? Jake, of course, had moved on quickly, he didn't have to hide anymore, he did send you a few messages, asking you to reconsider, when you didn't respond he stopped too.

The ten pounds you’d worked so hard to lose in seven weeks? You gained them back and some more. The sweats you lived in now clung tighter. Your face looked rounder in the few reflections you couldn't avoid because you had to get ready for work.

********

It was a Sunday afternoon when you finally left the apartment for anything other than work. You wandered the grocery store aisles like a ghost , feeling disconnected, going through motions. You hadn’t been back in weeks as you had been eating junk only. You grabbed frozen meals you didn’t care about, snacks you didn’t need, and found yourself in the cereal aisle, staring blankly at shelves.

That’s when you saw her.

A woman in a motorized wheelchair…she seemed to be in her fifties, she was beautiful and had long brown hair. She was reaching toward the top shelf, trying to knock down a box with the string of her purse so you stepped towards her.

“Let me uhhh …just” you said softly, taking the box down she was looking at and offering it to her.

She gave you a grateful smile, her eyes bright despite the lines around them.

“You’re a lifesaver for shorties like me”

You smiled as she said that. She seemed positive about her condition.

“No problem at all” you murmured, unsure why her sweetness made your throat tighten.

“Having a rough week?” she asked so you chuckled.

“That obvious?”

“Comes with age.. whatever it is I'm sure you're strong enough to overcome it”

You gave a nod but before you could respond, another woman came jogging around the corner.

“There you are! I told you not to leave the produce section” She said to her, you could see she was worried.

“Oh, hush, Stella,” another woman chided with a roll of her eyes “I wasn’t lost, I was making conversation with this beautiful young lady” she paused and turned to look at you. “I'm Patricia by the way, this is Stella..my friend and caretaker”

“Hi…I'm y/n” you introduced yourself too. Her expression changed..just for a second. Something flickered behind her eyes as if a doubt she had was confirmed now.

She continued to talk to you as you all moved from aisle to aisle, there was a certain ease about her, a part of you thought you had seen her somewhere but then you figured you must have run by each other since you shared a locality.

For reasons unknown even to you, you ended up at her apartment for a cup of coffee and the promise of the best cookies in the world. That's what her son tells her.

The apartment building was in a fancy posh area a few streets down, unlike yours, it was well kept, and had gated security. Her apartment was on the ground floor.

“My son looked for ages until he found this one-” Patricia said to you as Stella unlocked the door.

“Thoughtful of him” you smiled politely.

As soon as you entered, the place smelled like cinnamon and tea leaves, the kind of comforting scent that made you ache unexpectedly. You stepped inside, removing your shoes.

“Make yourself at home” she mumbled politely so you nodded “Stella help me with the snacks..I'll make tea” She said as she wheeled herself into the kitchen.

You sat down on the couch but then your eyes fell on the photographs hanging on the walls and the dressers.

Pictures of Patricia, Some with Stella, some along with a boy with sharp cheekbones and a crooked smile.

Your heart caught in your throat.

You recognised that boy.

It was Eric.

You stepped closer to the wall, staring at a photo of him with Patricia, it was taken recently because he still had the same haircut unlike his teen years when he had full hair, he was sitting on the floor..she was oiling his hair or giving him a massage, there was a smile on his face, the kind you had never seen before.

“That's my son Eric..he has his own gym at the 5th block in the west.. The Crow…heard of it?” Patricia said from behind you, gently placing the tea tray down. Stella accompanied him. Her son. She was the woman he was speaking to on the phone that day wasn't she? The one who adopted him.

“Yeah I used to go there..” you gulped, eyes tearing up as the memory of that night kicked in. What you had said to him. How you had taken his kindness, his support for granted and turned it ugly.

Later that night when you reached home, You finally built the courage and stepped on the scale.

155.9

You stepped off the scale and then did it again, as if that would change how much you weighed. Same number. Then you took your clothes off. It barely moved 155.4.

Your stomach twisted.. not just from the number, but from what it represented. How far you had let yourself fall.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall.

You stepped off the scale, tied your hair up, and stared at your naked body in the mirror, you seemed worse than from where you had started this journey, you felt bloated, tired, and still hurting. But beneath all that.. something sparked... A flash of the woman you wanted to be, a woman you could be if you just worked hard at taking care of yourself.

You were getting better and stronger, he made you stronger, and then you gave up on it, on all of it. You wiped your tears and dressed up, the only legging that used to fit didn't even fit anymore. You didn't want to cut off your blood supply so you opted to wear a trouser instead.

Then you grabbed your old gym bag from under the bed and began stuffing it with your water bottle, your wallet and shoes.

Took ten minutes to brisk walk to the gym and you were breathless by the end of it.

As you entered you realised he was in the process of closing up. Your fingers clutched around the strap of the bag, a part of you wanted to turn around and leave but another knew it was now or never.

The moment he saw you from the glass door, he paused, then he entered the front desk area.

“Ummm I'd like a membership” you said to him, acting as if you didn't know him. You felt just the way you did the first time but somehow worse. You surely were 5lbs heavier.

“You're already registered, just pay the monthly fee” he said to you so you pulled out your wallet and passed a hundred dollars bill to him.

“Ummmm I need a trainer.. Do you have a slot open?” Your eyes teared up, lips almost trembling, fearing that he'd reject you. He walked around the desk and then he did something unexpected, something you didn't know you needed so badly.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he hugged you. He wasn't your trainer anymore, not for another few minutes so he needed a moment of levity to let you know that you weren't alone in this.

After a moment of shock your arms wrapped around his waist. And then you cried, you cried for minutes until you couldn't anymore.

“You said to come when I stop feeling sorry, but I still feel it..I still feel awful and I pity myself” you mumbled, Your tears soaking his shirt.

“I know you do..but it takes time. It's not magic, it won't happen overnight, you need to be patient. One step at a time okay? And you took one tonight so you have already begun” he mumbled softly, his voice kind and gentle..

Then he slowly pulled away.

“Help me Eric..fix me” you mumbled as you wiped your tears, determined to not give up this time “And I’m so sorry”

“For what exactly?” he asked you.

“For saying what I said that night. For… lashing out at you when you were just trying to help me. For taking everything you did for me and throwing it back at you like it didn’t matter at all when it meant everything. It did. You're the only person who has ever believed in me”

Your voice choked on your tears, he teared up too.

Meeting his mother today, you knew now, he wasn't just kind to you, or his clients, he was a good man, working tirelessly so he could spoil his mother, offer her luxury she never had before. That's why he needed to win that competition.

“You don't need fixing, you just need reminding, I'll help you, I'll train you. But you don't pay me this time, let me be here, as a friend okay? Is that okay?”

He asked softly and you nodded immediately.

“Next time you feel like quitting you come to me before and not after”

He wiped your tears from your cheeks before he stepped away from you and went behind the desk. He had a way about himself, a certain ease, he never made you feel embarrassed or conscious. You could see where he learned that trait from.

“I heard you made it to the finals.. congratulations” you said to him, you had seen a post on Instagram from NPC's official account.

“Thanks..it's next month”

“I'll be there this time” you gave him a small smile so he returned it. He had been waiting for this day, for you to wake up and choose yourself for once. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest but he didn't show, didn't show how happy he felt to see you walk through these doors again.

You watched as he pulled out your file from the drawer.

“Tomorrow 6 then?” you asked so he shook his head.

“Mmmm no… you're already here, we can start now”

“You were going to close-”

“Friend privilege” he said to you so you smiled, a genuine hearty smile that came naturally after three months.

That night as you finally laid down in bed, your muscles ached but in a good way. When he saw 155 on the scale, he simply noted it down, didn't make a comment, assured you that some of it was just water weight that you'll lose in two weeks.

Eric : No cheeseburgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner from tomorrow.

You smiled as you read the message before you began to type.

You : Yes Sir. I guess another grocery trip is required

Eric : Thanks for helping my mom today by the way. I appreciate that alot.

And you smiled again.

Your heart was still broken, still wondering why you weren't enough but for once when you closed your eyes that night you didn't think about Jake or who he was spending his nights with, you thought about Eric and how amazing how kind, how remarkable he truly was.

And how warm and safe you had felt when he had his arms around you.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr @muchwita @mariaenchanted @a-differentbrandof-beans @kikibit @venuslayla23-blog @somedayimagines @sn0wybowie-blog

[ask-the-royal-scientis]

I can't stop thinking about it now. I actually like the idea of Remmick holding Sammie up, like without even trying.

Sammie's feet starts to drag, he thinks his knees are buckling but Remmick ain't letting him go, doesn't want to be separated and lose this intimacy for a minute. After all, the groom and bride are supposed to have the first dance, and he gon finish this dance alright, before the damn sun comes up.

Just holds Sammie tightly, so tightly you'd think the boy have bruises the size and shape of Remmick's hands. That his vampirc healing would have to first heal the gouges from Remmick's claws, claws that have dug in into Sammie's skin, threatened more fatal injuries to his organs.

Remmick's just singing away, all raspy whispers in Sammie's ear, nosing at his temple, ducking his head quickly to swipe his tongue against his bleeding neck. Sammie just going limp at this point, feet not having the circulation and strength to move, being held up by the very devil that's killed a good chunk of his community and even his cousin.

Chin hooked over Remmick's shoulder, not actively crying but there are tears sliding down his cheek, breath hitching, sucking down his last lung full of air. He watches the hive, his people, the one he saw everyday at the Plantation, shared laughs with, celebrated with, played with. Their soulless, moonstruck eyes, gleaming right back at him as they danced.

It really was like a wedding. He's been to a few of them, watched as his people, his folk, his friends and neighbors danced circles around the couple of the newlyweds. Like they were doing now.

Stack and Mary laughing, giggling, having a good time as they danced. The way they'd never be able to, back there, back where seeing a white woman (to the rest of the world who didn't know her or her mouth) with a black man would have gotten his cousin lynched.

The world grows dimmer, the sounds muffled. He's dying, he knows he is. That devil done switched or trapped his soul with his craft. Maybe he could still stabb a stake through his heart. If the devil don't see it coming five miles away.

But yes, he's dying. The world seemed to stop, at least to Sammie. An unknowable amount of time passed before he was looking up to the sky. His senses, heightened to a frightening level, came back one by one. He could see further, see clearer. Pick out the leaves from the trees one by one.

He could hear Remmick, does that man, that creature, ever stop talking? "Sammie, Sammie." Crooned over and over in his ear, the vowels drawled out like the vampire wanted to savor it like a fine wine. Remmick took in a deep breath, inhaling although Sammie now knew it was rather useless when your lungs don't even need to expand anymore.

"Sammie, Sammie, Sammie, Sammie, Sammie."

Over and over, chanted and savored like the words of a desperately needed prayer. The devil, his devil, the term coined with amused affection, nosed at his temple again, trying to coax those beautiful brown eyes to turn to him. Let him see the moon reflected into those beautiful brown eyes. "Suga'"

The circle was closing in now. The hive thruming with echoed anticipation, Sammie could feel it in the back of his mind. His skin slowly knitted back together, healing scars and wounds, patched up the fangs that had sunked into his shoulder, purposefully avoiding his neck or anywhere near his vocal cords. 'I want your songs, I want your stories, and you gon have mine.'

(I'm sorry, but I'm stuck on the idea that Sammie was like snatched away by the hive and the wedding happening the next night. The water baptism scene still happened, but before the sun could rise over the trees, everyone like rushed Sammie and carried him away to like a secluded barn to hide for the day. Sammie just laying under a puppy pile of Vampires, Remmick on one side, Stack on the other, Pearline and Mary lying on top of the three of them, and then all the other vampires on top of them. Only those four can be near Sammie. Imagine how difficult it would be. Like they're not coma sleeping, just sleeping. So escaping from a man who's been in the war and therefore calculates the slightest of shifts. And then an age old Vampire to boot, yeah, Sammie is not going anywhere.)

Remmick and Sammie slow dancing 🙂‍↕️

GGGGAAARRHGGGFFFHGJD

imagine a bad ending route tho... Remmick with blood smared all over his face, grinning and high from the taste of victory he's about to have, slow dancing with clearly shaken injured and exhausted Sammie.. under the pale moon they dance, both surrounded by Remmick's vampires who sing and dance around them in unison. A mockery of intimacy and marriage party!!!!!!

Remmick gently bites and turning Sammie bc the poor boy was crying and he empathizes with that fear to an extent, but welp. there's no turning back. he finally have Sammie now :)))

[mvst4far]

SUNSHINE GIRL IS SLEEPING

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ─ Falling back into bad habits.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ─ angst. mentions of sh, bad relationship with food, cursing, mentions of throwing up, and slight fluff at the end. please read at your own risks, due to there being a lot of sensitive subjects implied.

a/n ─ this is purely based on my own experiences, which was extremely difficult to write about. remember, opening up about your own personal life experiences doesn't make you appear weak or any less. caging things in is unhealthy, and this post is to spread awareness. you are loved.

divider creds: @enchanthings

── .✦ Endless weeks of being at Mount Horizon turned into months. The doubt of hopefully getting better only got worse as you continued to fall back into your bad habits just as you believed you were healing.

The constant reminders of your past and what you did just to be loved replaying in your mind like world war three. It haunted you. These thoughts led to bad dreams, trust issues with anyone who attempts to get close to you, and self sabotage.

But, there was one person who never gave up on you.

Scott.

Though he was dealing with his own problems, you mattered more. The troubles you went through, and the bullshit you dealt with, all he wanted to do was go back in time and make sure none of that ever occurred. He'd much rather have it happen to him.

Stuck within your own thoughts during English class, your pen tapping against your notebook, Scott took notice of your zoning out.

"Hey," He whispers and nudges you with his elbow, bringing you back to reality. "Everythin' okay?"

You clear your throat and nod, adjusting in your seat. "Yeah, I'm fine.." You murmur out a lie.

Scott was smart enough to see through your nonchalant brushing off, but he didn't dare to inquire. So, he just gave you one last glance over before returning his gaze to the teacher.

If you were being honest, you definitely weren't fine. The sudden change of wearing long sleeves after wearing tank-tops and short sleeves all week? Yeah, that wasn't normal. It wasn't even cold outside, either.

Last night, you relapsed.

To you, using a hair-tie to slap against your skin wasn't helping one bit. Though you knew it was bad to slit your wrists, it was a way of coping with what happened. Something you would never dare to speak about.

Scott knew that you weren't comfortable with sharing, so he never pressured you. That was something you didn't like. Sure, you should feel comfortable and at ease knowing that he wasn't going to force you, but, being peer pressured was all you knew.

How your entire family would make fun of you for eating or even stepping foot into the kitchen. Those constant insults and words replying over and over until you couldn't think straight anymore.

"Eating again?"

"Go barf some more, skank."

"Didn't you just have dinner?"

All of this led to cutting back on any form of junk food. Checking the back of the packets to see the fat totals, sugars, and calories. Constantly checking your weight, and having your head buried in the toilet bowl.

It was like you were stuck. Stuck in this cycle forever and never getting better.

The fireplaces' flames danced powerfully within the sight of your eyes, finding a small comfort and fondness of the calming ribbons of light.

Everyone had headed back to their cabins by now, but you couldn't help but get a few moments of peace and quiet before heading off to bed as well.

"Y/n?" That raspy, quiet voice snaps you out of your trance.

You look over your shoulder, eyes glassy. One singular tear fell onto your cheek, the feeling all too familiar.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Scott's voice came out a little more panicked, rushing down to your side on the floor.

You shake your head, pursing your lips together, and shifting away from him. "Nothing, I'm okay."

"No, you aren't." His voice was firm.

"Scott, I'm─" Another tear fell. "Fuck. I'm fine."

Just as you attempted to stand up from your spot on the floor, Scott's fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you, causing you to let out a cry in pain. He blinks. Eyes flashing with fear as he lets you go, realizing what this meant.

"You─you relapsed?" He couldn't even get the words out without choking on his own spit.

You sniff, nodding. It was obvious you were ashamed. Everyone thought you were getting better, but clearly, they thought wrong.

Scott gulped, standing up as well. He looks down at your vulnerable state, watching your body tremble, cheeks puffy and tinted pink, your eyes red, and bottom lip quivering.

"I thought you were getting better," He whispers, sounding disappointed. Not at you, but at himself. He should've known. He should've looked through all the signs. He felt completely at failure.

You couldn't even bring yourself to respond. There was nothing left to say. Silence filled the room for a few moments, letting you both sink in everything.

Then, Scott's fingers slipped over your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace. His face nuzzles into your hair, pressing a kiss there. "I'm so sorry," He mumbles, "I should've known."

Your face buries into his clothed chest, feeling content with the warmth of his body as you completely broke down into violent tears.

He continues to whisper gentle words to you, hoping to get you to calm down a little. And when your tears eased a little, he pulled back and cupped your cheeks with his hands.

"I'm not leaving you, okay? We'll go through this together. No matter how long it takes." He reassures, icy blue eyes flickering between yours.

"Everything's going to be okay."

not proofread 😓

taglist: @alealuvshayden @anakinstwinklebunny @divineani @estranged-girl @fredswrite @aritcfsr @amiratheangel { lmk if you would like to be added or removed }

[daemyra-fire]

The answer to this question is getting worse and worse.

"As if unfortunately we will never be able to see if she forgives him or not "(Also, what exactly did she have to forgive him for? That he survived? That he avoided telling Wharton that it was her who was there? How stupid), that was precisely what we wanted from the series, to show us a minimal conversation that was real between them, and you were the writers and directors and you could do what you wanted with the story. "unfortunately" is not the word I should use for this.

"I would like to believe that one day she would do it." I insist exactly that you had to forgive the person who once and again rescued June from being murdered? That every time she needed help he was there, this is incredible, she got him into trouble and not even she has the capacity to accept that it was June's fault that Nick made the mistake!

"The reason she forgave Serena was because of Noah" — EXCUSE ME, WHAT? Say that again? She forgave Serena because of Noah? Nick had two children!!! And one of them was with June! So he didn’t have the chance to raise his children … why? Because he’s a man? Because he didn’t die in June’s name when she wanted him to? This is insane. You can’t tell me that Nick had less to live for than Serena — Nick was the one who helped get her daughter out multiple times, and helped her too!!

"There was no way to stop that plane"? I can give you at least three ways to warn him without anyone noticing, and I guarantee you Nick wouldn’t betray June not even for a minute. The Commanders weren’t even expecting him — the car had already left, and she had the choice to let him die or not. That simple.

"I'm sure she didn't want that to happen, she didn't want him to die — even if she didn't want to be with him, even if she didn’t forgive him, she had no choice." But if she really didn’t want to see him die, she hid it very well. She didn’t even pretend to try and save him. She didn’t try to contact him, and after that? She didn’t even mourn him. She showed no respect for his death or his memory, and didn’t acknowledge everything he did to help her. In fact, every other character speaks better of Nick than she does in the end.

So this idea that "June had no other choice" feels incredibly forced and senseless.

Call me a hopeless romantic, but if someone I love is about to die, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to try and stop it. Yes, there were risks — but there were ways to fix it.

If the Commanders had been killed, I’m sure Nick would’ve chosen to go with June — he never questioned it, not for one second. And if the roles were reversed, he would have died to save her. But June? She never once returned that favor, despite everything he did for her. And now the actress refuses to admit that June had other choices — and that she let him die, just because she wanted to. Not to mention, the writers had plenty of other ways to end Nick’s story — and they chose to put him on that plane.

There’s no “unfortunately” that justifies this. You made that choice. You messed it up. And now you're trying to say “there was no other way” — when there’s a book with a different ending and the whole story seemed to be heading in a completely different direction. This was a deliberate move and now you all have to live with the story you decided to tell.

A ‘we wish we hadn’t done it’ or ‘we wish it had gone differently’ doesn't hold any weight anymore — when they had the choice all along.