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rememberwren · 2 days

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Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand her horizons, gets her first tattoo from Simon. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep.

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!”

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking.

“What guy I recommended?” she asks.

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?”

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.”

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.”

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day.

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life.

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.”

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?”

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all.

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it.

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him.

“Hello?”

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line.

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?”

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him.

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says.

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted?

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?”

“Five. Don’t be late.”

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in?

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost.

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize.

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek.

“The water is for you,” he says.

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.”

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.”

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.”

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question.

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair.

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing.

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book.

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?”

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer.

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.”

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him.

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again.

“Here.”

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean.

His thoughtfulness touches you.

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you.

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?”

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death.

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.”

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?”

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.”

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears.

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks.

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?

Masks are cute, you say.

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free.

You’re terrible.

You’re…thinking about it.

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST.

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness.

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one.

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another.

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.”

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed.

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.”

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions.

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’.

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary.

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that.

What is it?

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true.

But all he said back was: how can I help?

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working.

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better?

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better.

You bring the pasties anyway.

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass.

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs.

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free.

“Hi,” you squeak.

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t.

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more.

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.”

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing.

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years.

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length.

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas.

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you.

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way.

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.”

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face.

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.”

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax.

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass.

“Good?” He asks.

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.”

“I’m not backing out.”

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line.

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you squeak.

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs.

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it.

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up.

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats.

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through.

His thumb gently strokes your sternum.

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast.

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again.

He hushes you, surprisingly tender.

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain.

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.”

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again.

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again.

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow).

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length.

“Eager to be done?” you wonder.

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply.

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently.

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.”

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.”

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way.

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.”

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable.

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call.

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much?

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring.

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering.

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello.

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry.

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?”

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.”

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.”

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?”

“Twenty minutes from now?”

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye.

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop.

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow.

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes.

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.”

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands.

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks.

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit.

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.”

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one.

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?”

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.”

“Nosey.”

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out? “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt.

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off.

“Maybe you should look closer.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat.

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair.

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.”

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness.

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex.

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple.

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind.

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?”

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing.

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips.

“What else do you need?” he asks.

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly.

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure.

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth.

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh.

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola.

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite.

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.”

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?”

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps.

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art.

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.”

“Good,” you breathe.

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right.

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length.

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily.

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure.

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?”

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.”

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it.

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.”

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit.

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat.

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms.

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit.

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again.

He hums behind you, a smug sound.

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.”

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead.

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you.

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you.

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see.

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself.

“Regretting it already?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.”

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head.

He scoffs a little.

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.”

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly.

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.”

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #skin deep

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afterglowkatie · 13 hours

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hate that i love you (not really) | k.c.c.

kyra cooney-cross x reader | 2.7k | a night out with the arsenal girls. misunderstandings and jealousy leads to realisations and regrets

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pair of pests universe. thank you for being so patient with me. the ending to this went a lot different to how i originally planned it to go, but i like where it went and i hope you all like it too. i also kind of think this part is horrible but yeah enjoy and thank you :)

You hardly slept not being able to stop thinking about Kyra. Thoughts swirling around your head, wondering why she wouldn’t tell you. You thought you told each other everything. The only conclusion your mind would believe is that there was something going on between Kyra and Lia. There wasn’t any other possible reason that you could reason with being true.

You didn’t know how you felt about the thought of Kyra liking someone but you knew it didn’t feel great. It felt like you had swallowed a weight that was now just sitting in the bottom of your stomach. You could feel your face scrunch up in a look of disgust. These thoughts and feelings you hated having but you couldn’t get them out of your head.

It’s what kept you up almost the entire night, up until you couldn’t help but fall asleep from pure exhaustion. Though you didn’t end up sleeping much. Thankful that you had the next few days to just rest and you didn’t have to put your tired self through any training. Resting the whole day until you decide to pester Steph into getting ready for the night out together.

‘Stephy come on,’ You whined when Steph wouldn’t take another shot with you after the two you had already downed close together, ‘Kyra would do it,’

‘Well why aren’t you with her instead of bothering me,’ Steph joked around, continuing to do your makeup after you begged her until she finally agreed, ‘Really shouldn’t poke fun at someone who’s could make you look real stupid,’

‘You better not,’ Your smile dropped and you glared at your older sister, ‘If you somehow manage to mess up perfection, it’ll be the last thing you do,’ You tried to threaten her instead Steph laughed out loudly at you.

‘You don’t have an intimidating bone in your body, you’re too cute,’ Steph poked your nose with the brush she had in her hand making you scrunch your nose up and even further prove her point.

‘Older sister bias,’ You rolled your eyes, swatting her hand away from poking you on the nose with the brush again.

‘Nah the girls will agree with me, I’ll ask them tonight,’ Pushing Steph lightly you reached past her taking another shot of vodka.

‘Gonna need the whole bottle to put up with you,’ The two of you laughed even more, somehow managing to get yourselves ready between the constant back and forth banter you’d started.

Though you were the last two to arrive, Steph dragged you out of the house before you could change your outfit for the thousandth time while complaining about how you couldn’t bring Calvin to the club with you. Your already half drunk self trying to set up a solid plan on how you could create a dog friendly club.

Steph had no idea what you were going on about but was grateful to make it to the club and pass you off to Kyra, knowing she was one of the only people who could make sense of you. As soon as you entered you saw the rest of the girls, though your eyes scanned through looking for the one person you wanted to see the most.

The alcohol already flowing through your body didn’t help one bit when your eyes landed on Kyra, especially seeing her next to Lia. It felt like time had stopped and your body was frozen in place when you saw Kyra laugh at something she had said.

Taking a deep breath you tore your eyes away, pushed everything down, put the smile that had dropped slightly back on your face and walked yourself to the opposite end of the group, as far away from Kyra as you could.

Your sister furrowed her eyebrows watching you not greet your best friend and, instead, joining the group that she had joined moments before you. Something was a bit off but Steph couldn’t put her finger on it. Shaking her head she decided to let it go for tonight, letting herself not worry about you, tomorrow would be a different story.

‘My sister here, thinks she’s intimidating,’ Steph voiced out, not letting go to prove her point that the other girls would agree with her.

‘You’re joking?’ Katie laughed out raising her eyebrow turning to look at you, ‘Everyone would laugh if you tried to intimidate them,’

‘You’re the least intimidating person I know, mate,’ Leah joined in the conversation, handing you a drink then putting her arm around your shoulder, ‘Oh cheer up, you’re cute and endearing. You don’t need to look tough when you have that,’ Leah squeezed your arm, you rolled your eyes and a small smile formed on your lips.

‘When I’m back on the pitch I’ll show you,’ You mumbled into your drink, knowing no one at the table would ever find you intimidating. Thankfully the conversation naturally shifted away from you being the focus, allowing you to relax beside Leah.

If it wasn’t a night where everyone was allowed to completely let loose, the other girls would probably be concerned with how much you were drinking. Your behaviour wasn’t completely unusual, especially for a night out, but it was still slightly out of the ordinary.

Every time you heard her laugh, every time you looked up and saw how she was unaffected by your absence around her that she seemed, you drowned your feelings with even more alcohol. It wasn’t healthy but at least it could mute how much you were feeling, how much you were feeling towards Kyra.

Kyra could have other friends, you were never jealous over that. But the possibility of her liking someone, someone that wasn’t you, didn’t sit well with you. Dealing with your emotions could be done another day, it wasn’t your problem for today. You wanted to have fun and you knew you had to get further away from the group to properly ignore Kyra and Lia the rest of the night.

However, the moment you walked in, Kyra did notice that you were here. It was comical how Kyra visibly perked up at the sight of you. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, making sure to not be too noticeable in her happiness towards you finally showing up, ‘You can finally stop checking the door every few seconds,’ Lia leant in joking around quietly to Kyra causing her to take her eyes off of you and laugh at Lia’s teasing.

Just happened that the moment you spotted Kyra was the one time she wasn’t already looking at you and instead engaged in a conversation with Lia. Kyra expected you to come over to her and then you could’ve spent the night together, like you both had planned. She felt your presence disappear and saw that you had joined the group of girls that wasn’t with her.

Lia frowned watching Kyra visibly deflate, ‘She’ll come over, probably just saying hi to everyone first,’ Lia tried to cheer Kyra up. It worked for the most part until Kyra realised that you weren’t coming over to her. She didn’t know if she had done something wrong or something to upset you.

Before Kyra could get lost in her thoughts, Lia kept prompting her and engaging her within the conversation with the other girls around them. Trying to keep her away from thinking about you and your weird behaviour towards her, just wanting Kyra to enjoy her night.

No matter how much Lia tried to cheer Kyra up, it never fully worked. Kyra kept sneaking glances your way. She would watch the way you were interacting with others, mostly with Leah, any hopes that she had of you liking her the same way she liked you were quite low now. But even just as a friend, the way you were acting had Kyra overthinking. In the years you’ve known each other neither of you have fully ignored the other's presence. Kyra was mostly just worried about you instead of upset with you.

‘Le, come dance with me,’ You suddenly stood up and tugged at Leah’s arm trying to drag her to the dance floor with you.

‘You sure that’s a good idea?’ Leah noticed how much you were drinking and had stopped herself from drinking more so she could keep an eye on you. Leah also cared for you and your injury, overhearing within the locker room she knew how much being off the pitch and not playing had impacted you and didn’t want you to do something to keep you out longer.

‘Le,’ You whined, ‘I’m off crutches now, I can dance. Stop worrying,’ Glancing up towards Kyra’s direction, you made eye contact briefly before you successfully managed to get Leah up and moving with you, putting even more distance between you and Kyra.

It felt like Kyra spent most of the night watching you from afar. If she was more confident in herself she would’ve gone over to the dance floor and taken you away from Leah. In her mind that’s what she did, if it wasn’t a night out where everyone else would be watching her actions and the potential of outing her feelings for you and if it wasn’t with Leah then Kyra would’ve definitely taken you away and had you dance with her instead.

‘Let’s go get another drink,’ Lia’s voice brought Kyra back to reality. Taking a deep breath Kyra agreed and followed Lia towards the bar, ‘Leah doesn’t like her like that and I’m pretty sure they’re just having fun,’ They opted to sit at the bar and sip on their drinks there instead of going back to the others.

‘Why didn’t she come and see me though?’ Kyra glanced back your way, watching you dancing with Leah. Leah’s hands on your waist and your arms wrapped around her neck, Kyra wishing that it was her instead of Leah. But if anyone didn’t know, they would think you and Leah were together with the way you were dancing all over each other, well with the way you were dancing all over Leah trying to not think about anything other than getting lost in the music.

‘I think you need to talk to her. Not tonight, no. Another day. Tell her everything, communicate with her,’ Lia’s advice scared Kyra. Scared of the possibility of rejection. Scared to lose her friendship with you by saying the wrong things. You were a big part of Kyra’s life and to have the potential to ruin it all scared her more than anything else ever has. More than when she first moved away from home to play overseas.

‘There’s my favourite pest,’ The voice Kyra dreaded hearing tonight coming from Steph, ‘Everything all right?’ Steph’s head nodded in your direction while talking to Kyra.

‘Yeah, I just didn’t feel like dancing,’ Kyra sighed. Steph could tell that wasn’t the truth, she hadn’t seen her sister interact with Kyra all night. A stark difference from how you and Kyra were acting in the locker room just yesterday. The silent exchange between Lia and Steph had the older girl not pushing her friend any further. Instead, Steph put her arm around Kyra and pulled her in for a brief hug. Hoping to make her feel a little better, making a note to talk to you about everything tomorrow.

You saw Lia and Kyra head to the bar together and continued to get even more lost in the music. Pushing yourself further into Leah, though in the back of your mind you were pretending Leah was Kyra. But you convinced yourself Kyra was with Lia and she didn’t want or need you anymore. Your mind failing to keep the irrational thoughts pushed down, letting them all come to the surface and pushing down any rational line of thinking.

A mix of the alcohol, the endless thoughts and the music pumping through your ears, your head started spinning. Feeling uneasy and quite dizzy you ended up stumbling a few times. Luckily, Leah’s hands were already on your waist managing to keep you upright and not letting you make a fool of yourself.

‘Do you want me to take you home?’ Leah whispered in your ear, knowing you weren’t doing alright when she felt your head rest on her shoulder and your body stop moving. With a small nod, Leah had the two of you heading towards where Steph was, still at the bar with Kyra and Lia. As soon as you saw Kyra and Lia it felt like something inside of you took over and you tried to act more put together than you were feeling.

‘I’m gonna take her home,’ Leah semi shouted over the music to Steph. You weren’t focused on their brief conversation instead you looked towards the other two. Suddenly your arm was wrapped around Leah, pulling her closer to you while you had a slight smirk on your lips. Your other hand moved to rest on top of Leah’s that was resting on your waist, playing with her fingers a little bit.

Part of you wanted her to feel the same way you felt every time you saw those two together tonight. You were feeling so much you felt like you were going to burst. Everything felt confusing and you weren’t sure how to process exactly what you were feeling but you knew that you hated it. You hated it and you hated Kyra for making you feel like this. But you really didn’t hate her. You love Kyra and you hate yourself for only realising it now. You hate yourself for realising you love her when she’s clearly got someone else.

You hate how your head won’t stop spinning, how everything doesn’t make sense. Part of you hates that you caught feelings for your best friend. But you love the way Kyra always makes you feel. You love the way she makes you feel safe, the way you can be completely yourself and you’ll never feel judged. You hate yourself for making things messy in your own head. You hate that you’ll never be able to tell her, that you’ll have to go on pretending until these feelings stop.

You love Kyra. But you hate that you love her the way that you do. But you love that you love her. Nothing makes sense and everything feels wrong but right at the same time. You wish you could curl up in a ball under your covers until everything suddenly made sense, until everything felt completely right again.

Avoiding feelings, avoiding hard situations was what you did best. It was easier. Drinking was supposed to make it easier to forget everything for one night, instead it did the opposite and caused you to confront your feelings rather than hide from them.

You were too far gone in your head to realise that you had made it back to Steph’s apartment, the place you called home for now. It was only when you felt a lack of warmth from Leah that you noticed your surroundings. The feeling of the cold air sending chills through your body. You wrapped your arms around yourself, you didn’t want to be left by yourself. Not when all you’d do is torture yourself with your own thoughts.

‘Did you want me to-’ You cut Leah off, catching her and yourself off guard when you cupped her cheeks and pressed your lips against hers. You didn’t know why you did it, you just wanted to be close to someone. You want your mind to stop and you don't know how to do that. This was the first thing you thought of. Thinking before you act isn't your best quality.

Leah’s hands gently pushed at your shoulders, causing you to separate from her. You kept your eyes closed afraid she would be mad at you, afterall you did just push yourself onto her. You were overwhelmed with emotions when you opened your eyes and Leah was staring at you with concern etched on her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tears sprung to your eyes but you did your best to hold them back, not wanting to let what was inside you out.

‘Tiny, what’s going on? Are you okay?’ Leah instantly pulled you into a hug when the tears you tried to keep back came streaming down your face. Everything within you felt like it had exploded, everything around you felt like it was going to crumble away from you. You wanted it to stop.

‘I don’t know,’

#kyra cooney cross #fic: pair of pests #arsenal wfc #awfc #steph catley #arsenal women #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross imagine #kyra cooney cross x you #leah williamson #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #woso x reader #woso community

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peachhcs · 1 day

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she's not her.

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will thinks the combine will help him get his mind off samy, but that completely backfires when he realizes she's everywhere with him.

3.2k words

hiii here's the first (new) installment of the new breakup timeline of the au!! (also so long wow) i'm writing four of the major points of the breakup into fics, but if you guys wnat smaller blurbs about any of it, send them to the inbox. cassidy is a completely fake character here, but zeev and james are real people! (i don't know the other boys too well, sorry!!)

au masterlist

“yeah, mom. it’s going great,” will hummed as he shuffled around his room searching for his keycard despite him already being ten minutes late.

the boy could never keep his belongings straight whenever he stayed in a hotel room by himself. how did he even manage before? the answer hit will before he could even really think about it because you know who was always with him on these things?

he knew who and he was not going to say her name. will promised himself he’d use this week to just forget about all of his problems and just enjoy getting to know the other guys here and that meant he was not going to say—

“samy’s mom called me earlier. she asked about you,” damn it. whatever his mom was saying before didn’t process in his brain because he snapped right back into reality as soon as the name left his mom’s lips.

and why on earth was she referring to ellen as “samy’s mom.” will knew his mom always, always called her ellen. she probably read his mind or something knowing he was trying (and failing) to not think about her this week.

“oh. okay,” will didn’t know what to say, so he continued searching for the stupid keycard.

“i told her you were at the combine having fun. she told me samy’s at her sleepaway camp for the week too,” mrs. smith continued even though she knew will didn’t want to talk about samy at all.

“mom, can you not?” the boy mumbled.

“can i not what, will? she’s still a part of this family, so i am gonna ask about her and tell you because i know you still care,” colleen had a point and the blonde hated it because she was right.

he did care. of course, he cared no matter how much he didn’t want to. that was the hardest part about all of this.

“i gotta go. i’m already running a bit late. i’ll talk to you later, mom. love you,” they exchanged their goodbyes as soon as will found what he wanted under a pile of clothes in the corner.

“thank god,” the boy mumbled as raced out of his room to where some of the guys he met were waiting down in the lobby.

will felt so new to all of this—the media, the sudden popularity, the press. these guys seemed so used to it all yet he was so lost in it all still. he spotted his new friends in some of the chairs awaiting his presence, so he mustered up his best smile as he approached them.

“there you are, smitty. where were you?” zeev spots the blonde first, his legs hung over the armrest of the chair.

“sorry, i lost my keycard. i had to find it before i left,” will explained a bit embarrassingly. the other guys laughed him off though and that’s when the blonde noticed a few girls mixed into the group now. a few of them sent eyes his way, whispering things to one another which made will’s cheeks flush a slight pink color, but not in the blushing kind of way.

“come on, i’m starving. those lines got me wanting anything,” cole muttered as the group pushed themselves to the door. the five of them plus the three new girls walked down the sidewalk chatting about anything in hopes of taking their minds off food until they found something.

“hey, you’re will, right?” the new voice caught the blonde off guard.

to his right was one of the new girls in the group he didn’t really know. her name was along the lines of cassidy, but he wasn’t 100% sure. “yeah, that’s me,” he laughed lightly.

“nice to finally meet you. i’m cassidy, but everyone calls me cass,” she held her hand out with a big smile. will stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, his mind running in circles.

this could be his chance to finally forget about samy. he said he needed an distraction and this seemed like the perfect one. plus, what was the harm in a little flirting? he took her hand a moment later.

“nice to meet you, too. you play for minnesota, right?” will wondered, watching cass’s eyes light up that he even knew that about her.

“yeah, i do!”

“you guys had a real good season. i was impressed,” her smile continued growing with will’s words.

“yeah, we did. i mean, you guys were incredible, too. you dominated the ice,” she gushed a little making will flush. he knew people watched his games from all over the place, but he never paid much attention to all of that.

not when he was always thinking about samy watching the livestream from her dorm room while cheering him on. wait. no.

no. there was no samy.

“thanks. it wasn’t always easy, but the fans made it worth it,” the boy hummed. cass grinned again, letting their conversation die into comfortable silence as they followed their group into a restaurant someone chose.

the young hockey player spotted rutger and some of his buddies at a nearby table making him stop in his tracks for a second. he knew rut would be here, but he just hoped he’d manage to avoid him because he knew the older boy probably hated him knowing what happened between him and samy.

some of the guys behind him pushed will forward again. his eyes glued themselves to where rutger sat in a laughing fit over what someone at his table said. the older boy held his chest, violently shaking from laughter and finally looked in will’s direction. the two met each other’s gazes and in a surprise gesture, rutger nodded toward the younger boy.

that threw will off guard. he studied rut for a second longer until someone pushed him forward again and he landed in his seat.

“woah, careful smitty. you okay?” james laughed a little as he walked around to his seat. the others glanced will’s way.

“yeah, sorry. got a little distracted,” the blonde excused himself, eyes diverting to the menu to get the attention off of him. the others shrugged, returning to their conversation while will’s eyes stayed right on his menu.

“what’s your favorite food?” cass’s voice filled will’s ears again. he looked up, her eyes already on him where she sat in the seat next to his.

“anything, really. i tend to eat anything,” the boy mumbled with an awkward smile.

“hey, i’m the same way. i’ve never been too picky about my food,” she returned his smile.

“my sister’s a big picky eater. our mom was always making three different meals for the family because we were all eating different things,” the blonde chuckled as some of the nerves he had earlier started subsiding.

the two quickly hit it off, having their own little conversations throughout lunch. will’s smile was big when cass laughed at the things he said and he laughed right back at her own corny jokes. it felt refreshing for the blonde. he suddenly didn’t have this heavy feeling in his chest anymore that he’s had since the end of may. this felt really good.

but what did they say about good things? they never lasted long? something like that.

will’s gaze would bounce over to where rutger still was every so often. the older boy was never looking in his direction when will looked, too occupied with his own conversations, but rut did glance over at the younger blonde when he wasn’t looking too.

rut only heard bits and pieces about the breakup, but he knew samy was really hurt from all of it and while the older hockey player wasn’t one to involve himself in things that he wasn’t a part of, he couldn’t but watch what looked like will laugh a little too hard with that girl.

sure, will could do whatever he wanted and rutger didn’t care. the boy did care, however, about the fact that it looked like will was trying to talk up a new girl not even two weeks after breaking up with samy. that bothered rutger because he knew if ethan or mark were here, they wouldn’t be afraid to go over and bitch at will.

rutger’s subtle glances finally caught will’s. the blonde was in the middle of a conversation with cass when he caught the glance from the corner of his eye. rut was looking right a him with a look on his face that will knew wasn’t good.

“you good?” cass wondered when she noticed will’s attention shift.

the boy’s attention immediately snapped back to hers, “yeah, sorry. my bad. what was i saying?” his words rushed out together making him come off a bit nervous.

“something about…sumer on a boat or something?” cass reminded him.

“right, yes. yeah. so, as i was saying,” will’s mind couldn’t stop thinking about rutger’s look. it felt like a warning or..disapproval? disappointment?

why could he never escape samy no matter how hard he tried? it was like she was everywhere.

“every summer my family and i go to this lakehouse in michigan. my best friend and i—well, used to be best best friend would always stay up super late to see how many planets we could count. whoever counted the most by the end of the summer would buy one another something the other really wanted,” will hummed, somehow always finding ways to talk about samy without even realizing it. a small smile was on his lips at that memory because he was the one buying samy things by the end of the summer every time.

“huh, that sounds interesting. aren’t the same planets always coming out at night though so how does that work?” cass’s expression became puzzled.

will’s gaze snapped to hers, his face flushing again. “i mean, yeah, but different ones will come out and go away as the summer goes on. it was just some little thing..” the boy’s voice trailed off as he slowly realized that game only really made sense to him and samy because they were the ones who came up with it when they were younger.

cass didn’t look too impressed though. the blonde’s eyes swept over to rutger again who wasn’t looking at him this time, but will still couldn’t get that look out of his head nor the fact that he talked about samy without even trying after trying so hard to forget about her this week.

it seemed like everything will did or said led him straight back to samy. shit.

who was he kidding? he couldn’t flirt with someone. he didn’t even know how to flirt because he never really had to with samy.

cass’s attention drifted away from the boy and no one else was really looking at him, so will took that as his chance to excuse himself. he needed air or something to just get out of his fucking head. the boy scrambled out of his seat in a rushed goodbye, hurrying off to the bathroom before anyone could really bat an eye.

rutger’s gaze fell on the younger boy as he retreated further back into the restaurant. he saw will’s friends glancing around for a moment before letting him be. the older brunette gazed one more time before saying fuck it and going after will.

the blonde stumbled into the bathroom suddenly feeling hot. his hand clutched his chest where his heart wouldn’t stop pounding a bruise on the spot while his other hand grabbed ahold of the edge of the counter, bending over the sink as if he was going to puke. will squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would slow his heart rate down, but it only heightened as his breathing picked up into heavy pants.

“fuck, pull yourself together,” will mumbled to mostly himself.

she’s not her. she’s not her. she’s not her. the stupid phrase replayed itself over and over in will’s mind.

the bathroom door swung open with rutger rushing to will’s side when he saw the kid bent over the sink while panting. “jesus christ, will? are you okay?” the older brunette bent down to will’s level, trying to meet his eyes.

“i can’t breathe,” will managed through his hyperventilating.

rutger looked around, realizing no one else was in the bathroom with them. he wasn’t really an expert in this, never really having dealt with panic attacks before.

“hey, yes you can. it’s okay. i’m here,” rutger tried his best, his attention back on will.

“she’s not her,” now the blonde was crying.

“what are you talking about?” the older hockey player grew confused. the heavy pants and now tears didn’t make it easy for him to understand what was being said.

“she won’t ever be her. i fucked up, rut,” will got out a bit clearer this time.

rutger quickly understood.

“do you want me to call her? i can call her?” rut eased his tone, finishing for his phone in his pocket.

“no, no. don’t,” will shook his head. he couldn’t call samy like this. plus, she didn’t want to speak to him ever again, making it very clear after blocking him on nearly everything.

“will, i gotta call someone. you’re freaking me out,” the older boy said.

“call gabe or ryan. i need to talk to them,” so rutger listened and searched his contacts until he landed on ryan’s number first.

the phone rang three times until ryan finally answered. “rutger? what’s up?” the younger brunette sounded confused that the michigan hockey player was randomly calling him.

“hey, sorry for the call. i-i’m with will. he’s..he’s having a panic attack i think. he wanted to talk to you,” rutger explained the situation, eyes on will who’s breathing began slowing down.

“shit, is he okay?” ryan urged.

“i-i think so? i don’t know. i’m not an expert in this,” rut held the phone out for will to take.

the blonde’s shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear, “hey leno,” he managed weakly.

“will? are you okay?” ryan’s voice was laced with concern. he never called will by his first name unless there was something serious going on.

the guilt and shame quickly settled into will’s body. his eyes glanced to rutger standing beside him still and then his head fell. “i fucked up, ryan. i realize i fucked up now.”

“what are you talking about?” ryan didn’t get it.

“everything brings me back to her. no can be her no matter how hard i think they are or want them to be,” the blonde frowned deeply, especially because he was admitting this in front of one of samy’s closest guy friends.

ryan didn’t need to ask twice who his friend was talking about while a pause came from his end as he digested will’s admission. rutger realized this seemed like a conversation he wasn’t a part of, so he just squeezed the blonde’s shoulder and nodded towards the door saying to just find him when will was done with his phone.

“i’m gonna add gabe to the call, okay?” ryan finally said as will sunk down onto the ground. he didn’t care that the bathroom floor was incredibly disgusting because he could not go back out and face his friends out there without muttering some lame excuse about leaving.

“uh, hey?” gabe connected a moment later, confused about why he was on a call with ryan and rutger mcgroarty.

“hey, it’s me. will’s on the call with rutger’s phone,” ryan explained.

“oh. is everything okay?” gabe wondered, still confused on what was happening.

“i fucked up really bad. i know that now,” will said and gabe also didn’t have to ask twice about what his friend was talking about.

“what made you finally come to this conclusion?” ryan asked, trying not to sound bitter. he knew will was having a hard time, but he would not forget samy showing up to his house in tears after their breakup.

“i really, really thought i could just forget about her at the combine and just enjoy myself, but everytime i talk to someone, i always end up talking about her no matter how hard i try not to. she’s everywhere in my mind. i thought i could stupidly talk to this girl..be a distraction? i don’t know, but i think i just really wanted her to be samy instead,” will admitted sheepishly.

“yeah..that happens after having such a history with someone,” gabe said.

“i know i fucked up. you don’t need to keep telling me that. i feel like shit about it,” will scoffed, rolling his eyes a bit.

“as much as i hate you for doing what you did and never wanting to see samy that hurt again, maybe you should talk to her,” ryan finally said, tone softening out.

“i can’t talk to her even if i wanted to. she blocked me on everything almost immediately,” the blonde frowned.

“look, we all make mistakes. it’s human nature. are you an asshole for hurting her? yes. am i still mad at you for it? yes. do i think you fucked up completely though? no. maybe give it some more time and then reach out. things are still fresh, emotions are still high. we all know samy and we know she doesn’t hold a grudge for that long,” gabe gave his two cents about it as well.

“i wouldn’t blame her if she did hold a grudge for a while though,” ryan cut in.

“jesus, shut up, leno. i get it,” the blonde rolled his eyes.

“look, we’re always here for you, will. I’ll be in boston next, so i’ll see you and we can talk more, yeah?” gabe spoke again before ryan and will started fighting or something.

“yeah, thanks. sorry for bothering you guys,” will frowned a bit.

“don’t sweat it. love ya, smitty,” that made will smile again.

“yeah, love you i guess. just try to have a good time for the rest of the week,” ryan said and will nodded even though they couldn’t see him.

“thanks, love you guys too. talk later,” they hung up after that.

will pushed himself back to his feet, splashing water on his face to hopefully get rid of his red and flushed cheeks. he carefully pushed the bathroom door back open, surveying the restaurant for rutger’s table.

the boy made his way over, nudging rutger’s arm when he was closer. the older boy looked over, “thanks,” will said.

“of course. you okay, now?”

the blonde nodded. he glanced to his table where a few of the guys met his gaze, waving him over. he walked towards them, already having decided he wasn’t all that hungry anymore and just wanted to be alone for a bit.

“there you are! you good?” zeev asked seeing his friend.

“yeah, not feeling too well. i think i’m gonna head back. sorry,” will muttered out his excuse.

“oh, okay. feel better man. text me,” zeev said and will nodded before making his exit.

he didn’t even look cassidy’s way. the only girl on his mind was samy and it was gonna stay like that for a long time.

77 notes · View notes

fandomfucker · 2 days

Note

Hey bestie

I’ve loved you stuff for ages so I thought you would be a good writer for a lil idea I had!

Poly! Judgement Day x reader (or just Rhea Ripley ) where bubbly (but smart and snarky) reader gets moved to smackdown during the draft and only sees the rest of her partners one or two days a week.

She acts independently like it doesn’t bother her that she has to travel alone, and doesn’t tell her partners that she’s had trouble making friends at smackdown. But it’s taking a toll on her.

When she starts seeing them post more photos without her and all text her less she finally loses it.

After a long day of losing a championship match reader goes home to find out that her partners didn’t even know that she had a match that night and barely acknowledge her homecoming. Reader cries herself to sleep alone in their kingside bed.

Hurt/comfort ensues

- I hope this wasn’t too long 💕,

🟧Anon

Thank you so much for all your support!!🫶

Definitely get toxic relationship vibes with this so i kinda played into it a little. Also, this doesnt actually follow anything because I dont actually really watch Smackdown, pls dont kill me🙏

Some of the dialogue and resulting reactions/scenarios are from this list by @judgementdaysunshine and @romanthereigns

Word count: 4,473

Reader’s POV

It felt like my heart had been ripped in two and then thrown in a woodchipper.

Without any kind of warning or anything, I had just been removed from my partnership with the Judgment Day and put on Smackdown instead of Raw.

Backstage in our shared dressing room it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop as the five of us all stood around in stunned silence.

Dominik was the first to break it as he launched himself at me, cradling my head to his chest as the news began to sink in.

Tears began to well up in my eyes as I stared off over his shoulder at nothing. Our hug was jolted when Damian, Finn, and Rhea joined us, surrounding and enveloping us whole.

I blinked until the tears receded, refusing to cry over an unfortunate situation such as this.

I felt tears on my shoulder from one of my partners and heard the shaking sobs of the others, making it just that much harder to not cry myself.

Reluctantly, I pulled away from our group hug, wiping away any remaining strays.

I cleared my throat, "This isn't going to change anything, okay? We all still love each other and at the end of the day, we all go back to the same home. We'll be okay."

Dominik nodded, keeping a hand on my waist as he wiped away his own tears. Catching Damian also wiping away his tears I sent him a small smile, hugging into his waist.

"You're right, dove. It might be hard, but we'll make it work just like we always do." Rhea smiled as she cradled my face in her hands.

I nodded my head, smiling at her in return before removing myself from the boys' holds on me and crushing her body into mine, holding onto her waist tightly.

Finn stood to the side of her and took one of my hands in his, "Lass, this isn't goodbye, and it never will be. You're going to do great by yourself, really get the chance to show everyone just what all you're capable of."

Nodding my head again against Rhea's chest, I squeezed his hand in acknowledgment and comfort as I took in all my partners in the group locker room for what was possibly the last time.

"I'll make you guys proud."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two smackdowns later and I still had yet to make any of them even remotely proud.

Turns out, even if you leave a group, people still hold grudges against you for being in that group.

Rhea and I had obliterated the entire women's division both individually and as the occasional tag team so no one liked me or even so much as acknowledged I was there.

The ignoring was worse than any bullying or ambushes I could have anticipated.

The only woman in the locker room that would even look at me was the new girl from NXT, Blair Davenport but the others had warned her about me, so she too stayed away.

All the men wouldn't talk to me either more than a 'hello' in passing because my boys had swept through them too.

Apparently creating grudges left and right isn't as fun as I thought, once those I made the grudges with are no longer with me. I had burned all the bridges I now needed to keep from drowning.

We managed to work our schedules out enough so that we'd all be able to see each other once or twice a week, unless there was a PLE in which we'd be together that whole week.

I was given a newer design along with new beefs. Instead of my usual black and dark purple I wore more pastel colors. Baby blue, lilac, light yellows, etc. I was given extensions and my makeup was much less dramatic. My shorts were traded for skirts and my hand symbols for hearts.

I was told they were wanting to take some more creative liberties for me and I could either get on board with it or leave.

My first match on Smackdown was against the new girl, Blair Davenport who wanted to "show the world what she's made of" and decided to try and make me her example.

Long story short; I won. And that really didn't do me any favors, except to get me a match against Chelsea Green. The winner of which would be getting a shot at the Women's Championship title against Bayley.

Sitting in the locker room after winning my match against Chelsea I sat in the corner with my knees to my chest as I texted the Judgment Day group-chat.

Y/N: Guys!! I got a match against Bayley for the title next week!! We're about to have two womens champs in the JD!😁😁💪💪

With the different time zones I wasn't expecting an immediate reply so I just went ahead and began scrolling through Instagram until it was time for my promo.

Rhea's post came up first. It was just a picture of her dinner, at a fancy restaurant, and you could see Dominik's shirt and hands in the background.

Some of us go on dates with each other by ourselves all the time so I thought nothing of it, just liked it and kept scrolling.

Until I saw that Damian had uploaded a friends-only story. Clicking on it, it was a mirror selfie of him and Finn wearing tuxes, a peak of a flowy red dress just out of frame. The next slide was a full picture of Rhea in her dress. Her dress that I had given her.

My eyes stung a bit that my partners had all gone out on a really nice date without me, but I blinked it away because it didn't matter. It was one date and I'm on the other side of the country right now, they can go on one date without me. It's fine.

When it was time to do my promo, someone came and escorted me to the specific area where my favorite unbiased interviewer, Cathy Kelley, was waiting for me. Her face lit up when she saw me as I barreled towards her.

Crushing her into a hug, we both squealed with delight at finally seeing each other for the first time in forever.

We caught up and did my promo and decided to go out for a really late dinner together after the show. I told her about my struggles with the women on the roster while she spilled about her own personal problems.

"Oh! Let's take a cute little dinner date picture for Insta!" Cathy exclaimed pulling out her phone. I agreed and joked that we should hold hands across the table like a real date and she agreed.

She posted the photo and we watched as the comments rolled in from the fans. Some were loving it while others thought she might be dating both Rhea and me now. We laughed at some of the comments before going back to our conversation.

Wrapping up dinner, Cathy revealed to me that while she would be on Smackdown more often than before, she still wouldn't be there every week.

"It's okay, its not your fault," I forced a smile before we made our way to our separate hotel rooms. "I'll see you tomorrow though?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course! Sweet dreams, Y/N," She replied before we went our separate ways.

Two hours later, now laid in my hotel bed about to go to sleep, and the only response I'd gotten was a thumbs-up reaction from Finn. Secretly, I hoped my partners were just too busy planning something special for me when I got home and didn't want to accidentally ruin the surprise.

Deciding to just get over it, I went to bed, dreaming of finally being with all my partners again, going on a date with all of us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of my phone's notifications woke me up early the next morning. I reached out, aiming for the nightstand where I had left my phone to charge the night before. I blindly hit around the area until I felt my phone, bring it up to my half-open eyes, blinking rapidly at the burning brightness of the screen.

The screen was filled with angry texts from my partners.

Finn: What the hell were you doing with Cathy???

Rheas: Were you on a date last night???

Hello???

Y/N!

Damian: Answer us Y/n!!

Dominik: Y/n answer your fucking phone this is insane

My eyes teared up in fear at my partners' reactions. They seemed genuinely upset, especially with the combined 24 missed calls in a 4-hour time period.

I just texted back a simple, "We just went out to dinner and thought the picture would be cute. Nothing more." before getting up and going about my day. With my next flight leaving in just a few hours, I had a lot to do before I could even get to the airport.

After getting out of the shower, I checked my messages only to see no response from any of my partners. Clicking on the chat, I saw that I had been left on read by all four of them. I tried to push aside my feelings but lately it was getting harder and harder to do so.

But, I managed to pull myself together just enough to make it on my flight home just in time.

It was mid-Sunday by the time I made it to our shared house, and I knew I'd be alone for the next couple days since my partners' flight out for Raw had been around the same time as my flight in.

The rest of the day was spent self-loathing in the bathtub as I watched a few of Bayley's old matches, trying to give myself the upper-hand for our match by learning how she fights.

I fell asleep in bed that night, shoveling ice cream into my mouth as I watched old reruns of Full House on the TV.

The next morning was nice because I was finally able to sleep-in after so many early mornings. I was able to make myself a cup of coffee and make french toast (something I hadn't been able to have in forever) as I sat on the back porch watching the birds fly through the trees.

My nice little fantasy, however, was broken when I received an Instagram notification. This one was a picture Rhea had posted; a selfie of the four of them in the car they were driving.

I was too emotionally exhausted for my eye to even begin welling up. So, to save myself from anymore heartbreak and/or grievances, I blocked all four of them on both socials and messages and told myself I'd unblock them later that day.

Later that day turned into fifteen minutes later when I started feeling guilty, so I unblocked their messages and left their socials alone. I'd see the pictures eventually on my feed posted by fans, but hopefully it would take a little bit longer than if they weren't blocked. None of them ever bothered to text me individually or the group chat of all five of us the rest of that week, even after I texted them to congratulate them on their wins form Monday.

Brushing off the avoidances form them, I just went about my week. A few facetime interviews and a podcast. I answered emails and went to the gym. I cleaned the house and did laundry, wondering when on Earth my partners would get home.

I even called them to ask to no avail. But I saw the posts on Instagram of them a few states away hanging out, going on dates. They had decided to do a road-trip back home instead of a flight.

The uncomfortable lump in my throat increased with each swipe to the next picture. As I swiped through the pictures, my growing fury and heartache increasing in a swirl of mixed feelings, Dominik texted me, saying they'd be home Thursday night.

Around the same time as my flight out to the next city for Smackdown.

I sent a thumbs up in reply and threw my phone off to the side so I wouldn't have to think about it for the next little while.

I just went ahead and began packing all my stuff for Smackdown Friday night, making sure I had everything I needed for my new ring gear I was about to debut. It was a special occasion, after all. I was about to be the next women's champion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday night had arrived and I now stood in the guerilla bouncing around as I shook out my nerves. Onlookers shot me weird looks as I went through my warm-ups as well, they weren't your typical ones as I had learned them in high school doing theatre.

Bayley passed me, giving me a look I couldn't quite decipher as her music hit first and she walked out.

A minute later my own started playing and I walked out, swaggering my way down the aisle. When I was told to change my look, and my attitude as well, to make myself not apart of the Judgment Day anymore, I was finally given my own theme music, but I missed our group theme more than anything. My now long hair swung as I made my way up the stairs and into the ring to do my entrance against the ropes.

Stepping into the middle of the ring, I faced Bayley as our title match was announced and the title showcased to the audience. I caught her mouthing something at me, making me grin sadistically. You can take the girl out of the faction but you can't take the faction out of the girl.

"May the best woman win."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't win.

It was a long match that wound up being longer than anyone anticipated, ourselves included.

Bayley eventually got the best of me when my head hit the turnbuckle at just the right angle for me to black out for a second, leaving room for Bayley to pin me as I was too disoriented to kick out.

The ref had to help me backstage to the medics after the lights went out, signaling the commercial break. She even had to hand me a towel to catch the blood beginning to flow from the small cut.

The on-sight paramedic gave me some ice for my head as she checked my pupils. "Yeah, I think you got a minor concussion there, hon. I'll let Mr. Aldis know but you should sit down and rest until you can get an uber, you shouldn't be driving."

She left the room and I immediately started bawling my eyes out, making my headache worse. Not only did I now have a concussion which would cause me to be out for at least a few weeks, but I was lonely, my partners were ignoring me and probably didn't love me anymore, and I lost my one shot at the title that I had earned and fought for entirely by myself.

My cries attracted the attention of a few passerby but only one stopped and came in to check on me.

"Hey, Y/n, I'm really sorry. That was my fault, I totally botched that, I'm so sorry. If you want I can take you back to the hotel so you don't have to pay for an uber? I just have one more promo to do and then I'm all done."

I looked up to see Bayley standing there, her title nowhere in sight, looking so sincerely upset and apologetic it just sent another wave of tears down my already soaked cheeks.

"That'd be great, thank you," I laugh-cried as she helped me down from the table and back to the shared locker room.

All the other girls stared at me as I walked in, my face and eyes puffy and my forehead bandaged, as I continued to hold an ice pack to the top of said bandage. No one else seemed to have any sympathy for me and rightfully so. I hadn't actually done anything in the past 2 years to warrant any.

Bayley brought me over to my locker and began helping me get all my stuff together. "Why are you helping me?" I croaked pitifully.

She avoided eye contact, "Because I know what it's like. To lose your faction--the people who mean the most to you and are always supposed to be there for you, I mean."

A small laugh escaped me as well as another tear. I swiped it away before offering my hand to her. "Truce?"

"Truce," She nodded and shook my hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally getting home late the next day, I was relieved to find all four of my partners already at home. I was nervous to see them after all the ignored communications and their Instagram posts of dates I wasn't invited on, but I was tired and hurt and wanted my partners.

Unlocking the door, I stepped into the entryway, smiling softly as I heard my partners' rambunctious laughter coming from the living room. I left my suitcase by the door and made my way over to them.

They were playing the new WWE2k24 game with the new Xbox Rhea had gotten from being on the cover.

"Hey guys! I'm home!" I announced my presence from behind the couch as I walked in.

I received a chorus of "hey babe"s from all four of them, not one of them turning around to actually acknowledge me. And that stung worse than any failed title match or concussion.

It was like my heart had been ripped out and stabbed repeatedly with a knife before being set on fire. I tried to tough it out and managed to get all the way to our shared bedroom before I burst into tears again.

My pent up feelings, mixed with the concussion, my heavily drugged brain resulting from said concussion, and the overall exhaustion from everything all at once finally came to a head as I sobbed.

I collapsed to the floor, my knees being too weak to hold me up. Crawling up into the bed, I laid there and cried into my pillow as I cradled another to my chest. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe and snot ran down my face.

Eventually, I fell asleep, having not even bothered to change my clothes or take off the makeup that was now streaked down my face.

I just hoped that when I woke up it would've all been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV

The four members of the Judgment Day sat around the living room, playing what they agreed would be the last match before they made dinner.

"Alright," Damian spoke as he stood up and began stretching out his sore limbs, "Who wants what?"

"I want chicken tenders!" Dominik shouted excitedly.

Rhea laughed and ruffled his hair, sliding her fingers through his silky strands. "Okay, well while Dame and I get started on dinner how about you and Finn go pull Y/N out of the shower and she what she wants."

Dominik nodded like a happy little puppy before grabbing Finn's hand and dragging him upstairs to go find their girlfriend.

They went first to the master bathroom, noticing the light was still off and there was no trace of her having taken a shower. They continued on into the bedroom where they saw the curled-up figure of their girlfriend.

Finn went and turned the bedside lamp on, emitting a soft glow about the room.

The two of them rounded the bed to face Y/N and wake her up. Dominik saw her first and stopped dead in his tracks, the blood draining from his face causing Finn to rush over.

Before he could even ask what was wrong he looked at Y/N and no longer needed to ask.

Her face was puffy from tears, her makeup smeared and streaked down her face making it even more evident she had been crying. The pillow she held onto with a death grip had a wet stain on the top of it from previously fallen tears.

But the thing they were most concerned about, was the small bandage on the top of her forehead. Dried blood seeped out from underneath the bandage and was crusted around and in her hairline, the whole area swollen and red.

"What the hell happened?" Dominik asked Finn as they watched Y/N sleep.

"I dunno," Finn replied in the stunned silence. "We need to get Rhea and Damian, though."

Down in the kitchen, Rhea and Damian danced around each other grabbing various ingredients as well as silverware and dishes. They made idle chat and were laughing when Finn and Dominik bounded down the stairs.

"What'd Y/N say she wants for dinner?" Damian asked the two of them, his back turned to them as he fiddled with a dial on the stove.

"She's asleep, but you guys need to come see, something happened," Finn told the two of them.

They both looked up from what they were doing, Rhea grabbing a towel to dry her hands. "What's wrong?" She asked as she ran around the counter and up the stairs to their shared room.

"I'm not even sure," Finn replied.

The four of them raced up the stairs and down the hallway to their bedroom, Rhea leading the way.

She slowly rounded the corner to face Y/N and upon seeing her in the same state the other two had, threw her hand to her mouth in horror as she gasped at the sight before her.

Damian, right behind her, made it to her side to see what all the fuss was about and all the blood drained from his face when he did. "Oh my god."

"Should we wake her up?" Dominik asked, like a scared child.

Rhea, ever the caretaker of the group, chimed in. "No, let's just wait until she wakes up. You guys go back downstairs and finish making dinner and I'll stay here till she wakes up."

"If you're staying here then so am I," Finn argued, taking a seat on the small ottoman at the end of the bed. Rhea nodded reluctantly before looking at the other two.

They both nodded, knowing they wouldn't win any fight they picked. They both walked over and gave Y/N a small kiss on the forehead, the opposite side of where the bandage was, before shuffling out of the room and down the stairs. Now, all they had to do was wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't until an hour later that Y/N finally began to stir.

Rhea and Finn both shot up, kneeling beside the bed as Fin gently stroked Y/N's cheek as she awoke.

"What's going on?" Y/N asked groggily, thoroughly confused as hell and not knowing anything. After any normal nap, it takes a minute to even remember your own name, not to mention a nap after that kind of extreme emotional distress.

"We're just worried about you, sweetness," Rhea explained as gently as she could. If Y/N did actually have a concussion and didn't remember anything, she didn't want to freak her out any more than she possibly would already have.

"Why?" Y/N asked, gently pushing the two of them away form her to sit up and rub her eyes. In doing so, she felt the edge of her bandage and remembered everything. From losing the match, to making a truce with Bayley, to coming home and them not acknowledging her.

Rhea and Finn saw the look that overcame their girlfriend's face. Anger, betrayal, sadness.

She pushed them out of the way again, this time harder than any of them were expecting which sent the two flat on their asses as Y/N made a move to get out of bed.

"Woah, woah, woah. Where the hell do you think you're going?" Rhea immediately was on her feet and grabbed Y/N's arm to keep her from going any further. The look she received from Y/N before she pulled her arm out of her grip was scathing.

"Nowhere that concerns you." She began to move towards the closet, starting to grab new clothes, seemingly to change into before she grabbed a bag and began stuffing the clothes in there.

"Y/N! What the hell is going on? Please, just talk to us!" Finn tried to reason with her.

By now, the commotion had reached the ears of both Damian and Dominik downstairs and they raced up to the bedroom, just in time to hear their girlfriend's explanation.

"Talk to you? Talk to you?! I have been trying to talk to all four of you for weeks! And all I get in response is a thumbs up! Sometimes, not even every time!" She screamed, stepping out of the closet into full view of her partners. Clothes were left forgotten on the floor, and some half-hanging off their hangers as Y/N finally released all her pent-up emotions.

All four members of the Judgment Day stood in stunned silence as Y/N kept going, now unable to stop herself even if she tried.

"I was forcefully moved away from my partners, surrounded by people who hate me and then you four go out and have date nights without me. Constantly! I had a title match tonight against Bayley, we could've had two champions and you didn't even care! I lost because I hit my head and got a concussion and you don't care!" At this point, Y/N had started to grow emotional. Each word was a fight against the myriad of tears threatening to spill over.

The four of them felt awful, how could they have neglected their girl so badly for so long to get to this point?

"We're so sorry, cariño, we had no idea you even had a match last night-" Damian's attempts at an apology were cut off by Y/N.

"Of course you didn't! You never bother to talk to me anymore!" Her partners began to reach out for her as she started fully crying, the emotions winning this fight.

"I'm barely holding on," Y/N sobbed as she curled in on herself, rejecting any attempts at physical touch from her partners. "It's so bad, that my opponent had to come to my rescue after the match because no one else will even acknowledge me."

"Y/N," Dominik spoke, the sound of his heart breaking evident in his voice.

"No, just...don't," Y/N wrapped her arms around herself as she backed away from the four of them.

The five partners stood around in silence, each member processing their emotions.

Once Y/N's tears had slowed down, she wiped any remains off her face before facing her partners, who now surrounded her again. This time, however, they left a spot for her to escape.

"Hey, we're sorry, okay? But we promise to do better. This is new for all of us and we admittedly didn't handle it well but we're gonna fix that, alright?" Finn explained to her gently, so as not to scare her off.

"He's right, amor. We love you, so much. We'll do anything that you ask of us, please," Damian practically begged her.

Rhea and Dominik both clutched each other, tears streaming down their faces as they were both too choked up to speak, but they nodded in agreement to both of the boys' statements.

"Okay," Y/N broke down again, walking into the shared hug between the partners. They would make it up to her, just like they always did. Everything would be okay. They would be okay.

#the judgement day #the judgment day #tjd x reader #the judgement day x reader #the judgment day wwe #the judgment day x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio x reader #wwe #wwe raw #finn balor #finn balor x reader #damian priest x reader #damian priest

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burntheedges · 1 day

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Fandom resources intro & explainer (with a bit of history)

Hi! So I’ve been reading fic for like… 25 years (I’m 37). I’ve been around for a lot and seen a lot, but I only started writing last year, and I remember what it was like to feel like I wasn’t really involved in fandom in the past. Even though I was reading fic constantly and I wanted to be involved. And I remember the feeling of being new to something and not having any idea what people are talking about. So, I figured I’d share some resources. (If this helps just one person I will be happy.) Below you'll find more on how to figure out what people are talking about and some ideas for engaging actively with fandom. (Also, I'm not an expert, I'm just good at research.)

Fanlore, or how to figure out what the heck people are talking about

Have you ever been reading a post on tumblr and thought, ok, everyone seems to know what this thing is but I don’t? Maybe it’s “strikethrough,” maybe it’s a reference to the founding of ao3 (by fans), maybe it’s the ball pit. Well, I have a website for you: fanlore.org

Note: this is not to say that I think we should all necessarily be using the same slang from 20 years ago, or that everyone needs to be an expert on fandom history. I just know and remember the feeling of being left out because I didn't know what people were talking about, and I love to look things up. So this is how I do that. and similar to wikipedia, it's a great starting point for research... and then maybe you'll find a thread you want to tug on a bit more.

Fanlore is the wiki for fandom, in both a general and specific sense. It’s got pages on fandom history and slang and tropes and everything else. Here are some pages that may be of interest to get you started:

Strikethrough, or what happened to livejournal? And while we’re on the subject, why is everyone so nostalgic for LJ anyway?

What's the deal with the fanfiction.net purge?

The founding of ao3 (and see the "no direct advertising" section for more on why you can't talk about commissions or sales on ao3, and the section on racism for an overview of various discussions with links to more)

What’s a lemon?

A list of tropes, fun to explore

YKINMKATO (or, kink tomato)

What's the ball pit?

What’s up with people using the word slash?

A big list of fandom slang in the fandom glossary

What's a fandom challenge?

And they have a new visitor portal! and more!

Fandom and all the ways we engage with it

Something I often wondered as a fan before I started writing was, what is my role here? How do I engage with fandom? What do fans do if they don’t write or make art?

So I thought I’d make a list! I love lists. And maybe you’ll see something in my list that speaks to you and makes you feel like you have something for you where you didn’t before. That would make me so happy. Fanlore also has a whole category page for fan activities which is way more exhaustive than my list!

Writing (fic, poetry, meta, and more)

Making art - fanart, gifs, memes, so much more

Recording podfics

Making podcasts

Organizing fic archives/libraries/fic rec pages or tumblr accounts (the hours I spent exploring the Sterek library account, y’all...)

Creating and organizing character or media archives (think of all the possibilities - outfit compendiums, dialogue arhives, etc.)

Making fic rec lists (around themes, authors, etc.) and sharing them

Making playlists (around themes, fandoms, characters, relationships, more!) and sharing them - also called fanmixes

Making fanvids (videos) and sharing them

Contributing to a wiki

Cosplay

Crafts - knitting, crocheting, sewing, woodworking, and more!

Commenting and contributing to discussions

Creating and sharing polls

Interviewing fellow fans

Fan surveys

Creating moodboards and/or collages

Liveblogging as you watch or rewatch new episodes or movies (make sure to tag it)

Sending asks and comments

Leaving kudos and comments (on ao3) and commenting/reblogging (on tumblr)

Hosting viewing parties

Running fandom events (or helping with them), like challenges

Bookbinding (not for profit)

Making zines

How do I get started?

In my experience, when people say their inboxes are open, they mostly mean it. If you see someone who makes art you love, tell them you love it and ask them how they got started. Ask them what tools they use! If you see someone making amazing gifs, tell them you love them and ask for tips or resources. And share their work!

Fanlore also has resources, so the links and ideas are out there. And reaching out to someone on tumblr is often the easiest way in. Send an ask, write a comment, reblog with a comment. Explore the tags for your fandom. Tell someone you loved something or ask them a question. And on that topic, consider my asks and messages open if you want to chat! Or talk about any of this! Or share your ideas for more ways to do fandom!

Talking to people can be scary, I know, but just remember that we all have something in common - we're waaaaaaaay too into something (or a lot of things) and would love to talk about it. We're dying to talk about it. Please talk about it with us. And that is a foundation we can build on! Even if it’s just in comments or in reblogs or in tags - we love comments and reblogs and tags.

If talking to someone doesn’t go anywhere, that’s ok. Like in non-tumblr life, we all get along with some people more than others. We all have different types of connections all across this platform, some closer than others. Sometimes people are busy or life is happening or they just can’t engage right then. Sometimes you won’t click with someone. That’s all ok! Reaching out gets easier with practice.

If you do make or share something, tag it! Use fandom tags and broader tumblr tags (e.g., 'podfic') to help people find it.

I love fandom, and I always have, even when I was the lurkiest of lurkers. So I hope this helps. 🧡 My inbox, as I said, is open.

#fandom #fanfiction #fan art #fandom history #fandom things #fanlore #ways to be a fan #engaging with fandom #kate's thoughts #ppcu fandom

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koolades-world · 3 days

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Congrats on 2k followers!!!! 🥳🥳

Do you think you could do something for mammon using

16: "you love me and you know it"

17: “You’re a terrible liar”

Like maybe mammon pouting at a ball because MC keeps getting sucked into conversations or dancing with his brothers and he hasn’t had a chance to spend time with MC so he gets all pouty and annoyed eventually MC notices or Lucifer telling you. I can see the lines being said by either MC or mammon and it still work.

thank you!!

omg i was really hoping someone would make this combo! i actually put them next to each for that reason and i'm so so glad someone found it haha. also love the idea you proposed!

enjoy <3

prompts 16 and 17 w/ Mammon

Diavolo loved his parties, and found any excuse to throw one. It meant he got the day off of working and got to spend time with those he was close with. He’d also have to entertain some other nobility and such, but it was worth it to him. He greatly enjoyed coming up with excuses for these parties, and almost every time, Barbatos tried to stop him, but once Diavolo told him anything relating to Mc with this party, he was always on board. This time, it was a party to celebrate your half birthday.

The party was very extravagant and large, because Diavolo only wanted the best for you, even if it wasn’t actually your birthday. Barbatos went with you personally to get an outfit created and fitted. Everyone invited was required to bring a present, per Diavolo’s orders. You weren’t exactly sure what you were going to do with all that stuff, but you appreciated the thought behind it. You probably wouldn’t know even half of the people there despite the time you’d spent in the Devildom.

Naturally, since you were the guest of honor, all eyes were on you and the brothers were clambering for your attention more than usual. You were whisked from person to person all across the ballroom, not really given a single chance to rest. It was a lot, but you tell they all really cared and wanted to make the day special, despite that being something you’d never once celebrated in your life. Countless people came up to you and said happy birthday to you, and the conversations afterwards never lasted long because of whatever brother happened to be hogging your attention would be bound to drag you away sooner rather than later.

Asmo raved about your adorable outfit to everyone he had the chance to, and about how fabulous you looked in it. Satan had intellectual conversations with the other guests about humans and how great they were. Beel took every chance he got to show you a new food he’d gotten from the refreshments table. Belphie hung onto you like a koala to a tree and kept others from getting too close to you, and Lucifer watched over you like a proud father, telling various powerful demons invited who hung around him about your great prowess. Yet, in all the chaos, you’d only seen Mammon twice and neither time was spent specifically with him. You saw him when you arrived at the party, and then once attempting to pickpocket a demon. Every time you thought you saw him, you got excited, but almost every single time, it turned out not to be him.

Finally, you caught sight of him after finishing your second dance with Asmo. He told you he needed a drink and would be right back with one for you too. He vanished into the crowd and suddenly, you were alone again. Asmo would be upset with the fact that he couldn’t find you, but you hadn’t even had one dance with Mammon yet. It only seemed fair. You mentally forgave Asmo and made your way over to where you saw Mammon last.

“Mammon!” You stuck your arm in the air and waved at him, trying to make your way over to him. He perked up upon seeing you and met you half way. He pulled you closer to him and helped you get out of the throng. “I felt like I’ve barely seen you this evening,” you told him.

“You’ve spent all evening canoodling with my brothers.” He huffed, looking to the side.

“I’m really sorry. I kept getting passed from person to person and I only just now got away from them.” You clung to him, giving him a pouty, sad face.

“I don’t forgive ya. How could you do this to me?” He looked as if he was struggling to hold his ‘angry’ face.

“You’re a terrible liar. I can tell from your body language how happy you are. After all, would someone made at me be holding me this close?” You playfully rolled your eyes, gesturing to how his arms were encircling you and preventing you from going anywhere.

“I’m just doing this to… make sure you don’t fall. Yeah. That’s it.” He stumbled over his words.

“You love me and you know it. There’s no shame in hiding it. If you’re actually upset with me, you wouldn’t mind if I danced with Lucifer? He hasn’t gotten his second dance yet, not to mention Diavolo.” You knew this would work.

“Hey, hey. You don’t have to do that. That’s not funny. How can you say that when I haven’t even gotten one yet?” He moved his head so quick to look at you, you swore you heard a snapping noise.

“That’s what I thought.” You smugly smiled.

“When do I get my dance?” He eagerly asked.

“Now, if you’d like.” You offered.

“The sooner the better. What would yer birthday be without Mammon?” He began to tug you forward towards the dance floor.

“Half birthday.” You fought back laughter.

“Half birthday.” He quickly corrected himself.

No matter what, you knew you could depend on Mammon for anything, and that his love for you was unconditional. You felt the same about him and even if the both of you struggled to communicate that sometimes, you knew the feelings unspoken were something that you both understood.

#2k followers special #obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me mammon #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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apomaro-mellow · 2 days

Text

King and Prince 21

Part 20

Eddie had a fitful sleep that night, tormented by beautiful moans and a body moving against his. Every time he jolted awake, he was struck by the fact that he was alone. He felt like a wreck when the sun rose and wasn’t able to face Steve, who surely knew what he had done. So he hid.

He had his breakfast brought up to his room. He stayed there until he absolutely had to leave for a meeting and even then he went through the halls quietly, just so he could be sure he’d hear Steve if he was coming. When he did hear voices, he panicked and turned to a form Steve hadn’t seen yet, a medium sized black dog. He stood at attention in front of a door like he was keeping guard only for El and Dustin to come around the corner.

They gave him the customary pats on the head before continuing on their way. He slumped as he relaxed, transforming back and rounding the next corner only to run right into Steve. They stopped just short of something and Steve opened his mouth.

He might’ve just made a sound. He might’ve been beginning to say something. Either way, Eddie didn’t stick around long enough to hear it. In a blur of darkness, he turned into a rabbit and scurried off. Too quick for Steve to even think of following. He had to go the long way around to get to his study and despite his speed, he was late.

Nancy was sitting in front of his desk, but he went to the side where a couch was and draped himself across it with a heavy sigh. He was putting on for dramatics only a little bit.

“Am I going to be able to tell you my report or do we need to deal with your troubles first?”, Nancy asked, cutting straight to the point.

“I watched him last night”, Eddie said, arm covering his eyes. “He was getting fucked by another man.”

Nancy raised a brow. “‘Another man’. As opposed to who? You?”

He went from using his arm to covering his face with both hands. Then he stood up and paced about the room before stopping at the window behind his desk.

“Is it wrong to want him?”

“He’s attractive”, Nancy allowed herself to say. But that wasn’t what he was asking, she knew. “Can we go back to the part about you watching him have sex with someone. How did that happen?”

Eddie turned to face her fully and sat down in his chair. “I was following him because I was curious of the company he kept. I mean, you were the one all concerned…”

“Uh-huh..”

“And I just happened to…see…”

“And you got out of there immediately, didn’t you?”

Eddie sucked in a breath through his nose and Nancy’s eyes widened.

“Did he see you?!”

Eddie let out a groan as his head fell to his desk, hair spilling over his shoulders.

“Is that why you were late? You were talking to him about it?”, Nancy asked.

There was a muffled ‘no’ from Eddie before he stood up and paced about for around thirty seconds, then dropped onto the couch again, sitting up properly this time.

“I saw him just before coming here and I..I ran.”

“Wait, I don’t understand, you ran away? From him?”

Eddie nodded, head hanging low between his legs.

"I've never seen you run", Nancy said.

"Well, you didn't see me before all...", he gestured to his whole body and then the opulent room around them. "I used to run from my problems all the time." He still felt like that little foundling sometimes.

"And that prince made you do this?" Nancy had seen the power that resided inside of him. It was hard to believe he was afraid of facing anything.

"I can't very much just tear his throat out if he displeases me", Eddie said, lounging across the couch.

Nancy made a sound in the back of her throat that sounded like ‘you could but everyone knows you wouldn’t.’ Despite his great power, Eddie didn’t care much to throw it around or use it to hurt people unduly. She put her chin in her hand.

“You will need to talk to him eventually”, she said. “And I would do it today.”

“Wanna put money in how long I can play Keep-Away with myself?”, he smirked.

“He’s just a man. And you are a king”, Nancy said, voice firm. “Now if you’re not going to do that right now, let me get to my report.” She tapped the stack of papers on the desk.

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

Eddie walked out of his study about an hour later, looking for a way to decompress. He decided on the library. It had been some time since he’d been able to truly curl up with a book alone. His collection was vast enough that there were still books he hadn’t read yet. But there were also well-loved and worn books. Stories that he always put in the same place. He started to float over, already feeling lighter.

He got to the bookcase and then rose up to one of the top shelves, quite a ways up high. So he was caught off guard when he found the book, pulled it off the shelf, and met Steve’s face.

They both shouted out but as Eddie just flinched back slightly, Steve fell away from the shelf completely. Eddie flew across the top, reaching out and grabbing Steve from the air. Eddie held Steve to himself as he slowed them to a stop just an inch above the floor. Then he came down the rest of the way.

He relaxed his hold enough for Steve to pull his head back. It seemed to occur to them at the same time and they jumped away in unison. Eddie was clearing his throat and making all types of compensating noises while Steve fixed his clothing. He was turned halfway from the king, trying not to meet his gaze but unable to stop from looking out of the corner of his eye.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “You wanted to watch me?”

“You wanted me to watch you?”, Eddie shot back.

Steve frowned and then pushed some hair behind his ear. Eddie got the glimpse of a red mark just under his ear. Like someone had sucked on it, hoping to leave a mark and make Steve remember them.

“You won’t even tell me about yourself.”

“I’m sorry”, Eddie said. “I don’t-it’s not exactly a happy story. Humans…they took everything from me. I don’t find it easy to talk about.”

“I don’t need to know the dark details, not unless you want me to know. But I hardly know anything.” He knew some of the things Eddie liked, but he didn’t know him. “I feel like you know so much more about me. You’ve certainly seen more of me.”

Eddie withered under his gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone after you. Or overstayed my welcome.” He could make excuses about being trapped by Steve’s eyes or other lurid things. But that wasn’t fair to Steve in any way, shape, or form.

“Were you just checking up on me? I mean why were you following me? Do you not trust me?” Steve expected to hear that no, the king still didn’t trust him. A part of him wanted to hear… he didn’t even know what he wanted to hear. Just something… something warm.

“I was wondering why you never brought your lovers here”, Eddie said, falling back on the reason he gave Robin.

Steve let out a bark of laughter. “And tell them what? That I’m their enemy? That I’m the same prince they would have hanged? Do you think I could be with anyone here if they truly knew who I was?”

Eddie knew intellectually that he had to be hiding his identity. But he hadn’t taken the time to consider what that meant. What else was Steve hiding about himself? What else was Eddie keeping to himself?

“For crying out loud, I didn’t even know you could fly without being winged.” Steve had definitely braced himself for at least a sprained limb when hands, big and warm, wrapped around him.

Eddie felt something loosen within him. He wanted to reach out and touch Steve but didn’t feel as though he could without some sort of urgent pretense. While Steve didn’t wince and balk when they touched anymore, it wasn’t exactly welcome either. While they couldn’t quite close the gap physically right now, he could do other things.

“Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Part 22 coming soon

Taglist

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie

@goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble

@jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24

@justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void

@nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690 @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie

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darkwolf989 · 1 day

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Heyyy hope you are having a great day! Could I request a Valentino x daughter fic, where the reader had just arrived in hell and he helps her adjust? Thx

-🕯anon

HAPPY WEEKEND! The editing continues (in between adulting of course!)

Enjoy!

It was the smell she couldn’t get used to.

The scent of rotting garbage that filled her nose every time she stepped out of the V tower- every time she stepped out from under her fathers direct protection. The clangs and clamors, yellings and beepings of car horns surrounded her. It was almost like being home…except, maybe a touch more dangerous. She turned to walk away from the red limo that sat, waiting for her. She had made it this far, after all.

Her phone rang, adding to the noisy chaos that was the pride ring. Startled, she pulled it out of her pocket and scowled at the caller ID. Of course he knew the second she stepped out of the building.

“Uncle Vox? What’s up?”

“You left the tower without telling us, everything okay?” Vox’s voice floated through the line.

Reader rolled her eyes as she scanned the street. “I did tell you- this morning. I have an appointment to get my school uniform fitted, remember? Dad said I have to finish high school…there was a whole discussion…”

“Your appointment is at noon. It's eleven and it takes ten minutes for the limo to get there. You’re too early.”

On the other end of the line, she could hear what sounded like the ting of the elevator. Fuck. She was sure he was on his way down.

“Uncle Vox, I was going to walk to the shop. And maybe stop for a coffee on the way, I mapped my route with VoxQuest before I even walked out the door.”

“You can’t just leave the tower whenever you please sweetheart, it’s dangerous out there. This is a much different world than you’re used to.”

The dial tone buzzed in my ear and I turned around to see Vox walking towards me. I tried to hide my scowl. Three months. I had been in hell for three months and the lack of freedom felt like chains around me. On Earth I had the freedom to come and go throughout the world as I pleased. People feared me. No one messed with me. Partially because at the end of the day, I was a nobody- just another soul scraping my way to survive. But my arrival in hell shed light on exactly who I was- who my father was. And that made simply existing dangerous.

My father passed when I was five. My mother before that- in childbirth, or so I was told. I didn’ have very many memories of him when he was alive- and even less so of his two best friends, Velvette and Vox. And none of my mother. All I knew of them is that when they died, they left me alone in Earth’s version of hell.

I grew up fast, like most kids in my situation. So my early death wasn’t exactly a surprise. But what was a surprise was meeting my father within the first twenty four hours of my arrival in hell. Even more so to be thrust into a life of luxury- a stark contrast from fighting to survive.

“Ah. Not to mention you don’t know any of the good places in town. Also does your father know you drink coffee? You’re a little young- not that I’m judging.” He continued as he tucked his arm around me. “Come along now, let me escort you if you insist on walking.”

There was a part of me that chafed at the supervision. I was almost a sophomore in high school, and I had been on my own for years. But another part of me, a bigger part of me, relaxed ever so slightly, the pounding fear in my heart, the wonder if I would survive another day melted with each passing week.

The bell rang as we entered the coffee shop and I crossed my arms uneasily. As I studied the menu I scanned for the least expensive item. I hadn’t actually planned on buying anything. Even with the bright gold credit card I now carried in my wallet, it seemed like a waste of money- an unnecessary luxury- when the apartment never seemed to run out of coffee pods. It was more the warmth, brightness and safety of the shop that I craved. The memories of warming cold hands on hot water filled cups, scraping together pennies to save for an occasional teabag.

“What looks good to you?” Vox asked. “Their blueberry coffee is killer.”

The uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment settled in my gut. He wouldn’t understand, even if I tried to explain it.

“Just uhm, a small black coffee,” I replied as I shifted my weight uneasily.

He raised an eyebrow, “you take cream and sugar at home.”

“Yeah but that’s extra and I don’t want…”

He gave me an odd look but reached over and squeezed my shoulder comfortingly. “Why don’t you let me pick something for you? Go find us a spot to sit, your dad should be joining us in a few moments.”

Grateful to be free of the burden of ordering, of the anxiety I couldn’t kick that surrounded paying, I slid into a window seat and watched as the crowd passed by. A few moments later I heard the bell ring and looked up as the tall figure that was my father made his way into the room.

My memory of him alive was sparse, but in death, the man was larger than life. People moved when he walked, listened when he spoke and the fear they emitted around him was practically tangible. I watched as he scanned the room, and when his eyes met mine they practically lit up.

“Bebita, darling,” he cooed as he took the chair across from me, “Vox tells me you snuck out of the tower?”

I felt myself flush, “I’m sorry Dad I…”

“Forgot?”

He reached across the table and took my hand in his. To my surprise he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I understand, cariño. It must be tough, going from all the freedom in the world to being locked into a cage. Let’s try to be a bit better going forward, okay? Death in this world is far more permanent than on Earth.”

“Yes, Papi,” I muttered quietly as I looked down.

“It must be strange to you,” he continued. “It was for me, when I first entered hell. For you, it’s an even bigger change. An overnight princessa.”

I looked up at him to meet his gaze.

“I looked up where you lived- or at least, where they claimed you lived. The rest of my intel says you ran the streets on Earth. And at such a young age,” he continued. “So to find yourself here- thrust into the lap of luxury and comfort, no longer fighting just to put food in your tummy, that lack of adrenaline rush must leave you feeling as though something is missing.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I blurted out. “I have everything I ever dreamed of at my disposal. And I…and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Valentino studied me. A moment later, Vox joined the table and slid a steaming cup towards me.

“This is what I’d like to suggest,” Valentino continued, taking the proffered cup from Vox’s hands. “And what I think will help you adjust the best. Help to ease you into this new life, since what we have been doing just doesn’t seem to be helping.”

The familiar panic settled over me. Was he kicking me out? Was my lack of obedience, lack of adjustment too much for him to deal with?

“Hey, kiddo, take a breath,” Vox said quickly with a sharp look to Valentino. “There isn’t any reason to worry.”

“Not at all,” Valentino said with another squeeze to my hand, “I was going to suggest that when we get you fitted for your school uniform, we review the list of clubs and sports that you can partake in. I think getting you involved in something, and establishing a day to day routine will help you adjust.”

“We all have one,” Vox added as he took a sip from his mug. “A routine, I mean. And we well know those survival instincts don’t just go away overnight. Finding an alternate way to access that adrenaline will help you settle in.”

I considered as I took a sip of my coffee. Sweetness exploded on my tongue- sugar and chocolate and cream, all combined into one. It was a heavenly treat, and I almost couldn’t believe it was real. That this was real. I looked out the window for a moment.

“Bebita? Tell us, what is on your mind?” Valentino asked as he studied me, “Please. Speak.”

“I’d like to do something to help. Not everyone who ends up in hell ends up in the life I now can lead…right? There must be some way to give back, to help those who used to be in my..situation.” I said finally.

Vox and Valentino exchanged looks. Slowly, Vox nodded.

“We can look into that, sweetheart. That could be something we do…together, if you wish?” Valentino said slowly. “It isn’t something we…I…feel comfortable letting you go out and do by yourself.”

“We could even make it a family thing,” Vox added helpfully, “get Velvette involved.”

I could feel myself start to perk up. The more hands that helped, the better, right?

“Yeah, I would appreciate that. Thanks, Dad.”

I saw him smile and I took another drink from my cup, letting the warmth spread through me.

“We’ll get you settled in, sweetheart,” Valentino told me, “I promise.”

#vox hazbin hotel #the vees #hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #valentino x you #valentino #the vees x reader #vox x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel valentino #vees #voxvel #voxval

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stardustloki · 1 day

Text

Being Useful

When Wrecker is injured, the entire Batch agree that he needs time to rest and heal. This is why, when Shep asks the Batch for help with a task that will be sure to make his injuries worse, Omega is baffled when her brothers agree immediately.

The Batch know that they're safe on Pabu. However, they haven't quite understood that their safety doesn't rely on them always making themselves useful.

Tags: Gen, Omega and Wrecker POVs, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Found Family, Past Trauma (Kamino was NOT a good place), Non-Graphic Description of Minor Injuries

Read on Ao3 here.

Or under the cut...

“That should do it,” Echo said at last, securing the long bandage he’d wrapped around Wrecker’s torso. “It’ll heal up fine, but-” he fixed him with a stern look- “only if you rest and give the bacta time to do its job.”

Omega watched as Wrecker visibly deflated.

“You mean I’ve got to sit around doing nothing!”

“If you don’t put any strain on your muscles for the next rotation, the bacta will do its job and the tears in your trapezius will heal.” Echo folded his arms. “If you don’t rest them, if you go around lifting heavy things, they won’t heal, and you’ll be bored for much longer.”

Wrecker stared up at the ceiling, letting out a frustrated sigh. “ Fine. ”

“Lyana was going to teach me how to make sushi today,” Omega spoke up. “You could come with me, if you want. It should be interesting, and we’ll be eating a lot.”

As she waited, hoping her brother would say yes, she caught the grateful look Hunter was sending her out of the corner of her eye. Getting any of her brothers to take it slow after an injury in the field had always been a difficult task, and Wrecker, with his boundless energy and need to move, had always been the worst of them. If he said yes to this, at least she knew he wouldn’t put any strain on his back for the next hour or so.

Her brother looked thoughtful for a second, before smiling at her. “Yeah, okay. I guess that could be fun.”

“Awesome!” she replied, feeling the excitement swell within her, jumping up slightly on the balls of her feet.

She waited, hoping she seemed far more patient on the outside than she felt on the inside, as Hunter helped Wrecker get his shirt back on and Echo packed away the medical supplies. Crosshair was sitting on the bench near the door, chewing a toothpick and tinkering with the settings for his prosthetic hand.

Without warning, Hunter seemed to freeze, glancing at the wall of their home, moving his head slowly towards the door, as if tracking someone. A few seconds later, there was a knock. Omega shrugged and went to open it.

Shep was outside, grinning widely at her through the doorway. She couldn’t help but grin back at the man she was slowly coming to consider her uncle.

“Omega! How are you?” he asked.

“Great, thanks. Looking forward to hanging out with Lyana! What about you?”

“Eh, I’m alright. But there’s been a couple problems I’m hoping your brothers will be able to help out with. Can I come in?”

“Sure!”

She stepped aside to let him in, but as she turned back towards her brothers she found herself frowning, brain stuttering in alarm.

Hunter, Crosshair and Echo were all standing in between Shep and Wrecker. With the way they’d staggered themselves, the pattern appearing almost natural, perhaps to an outsider like Shep it wouldn’t look as if they’d placed themselves in a defensive formation, clearly attempting to shield Wrecker, but to Omega it couldn’t have been more obvious.

What wasn’t obvious, however, was why they were doing it. This was Shep. One of the nicest people they’d ever met. There was absolutely no need to protect Wrecker from him.

“Good morning, how are you boys today?” Shep’s voice was as welcoming as ever, but Hunter was far more guarded when he spoke.

“We’re all fine, thank you.” Omega frowned at Hunter’s words, she wouldn’t class Wrecker as ‘fine’. “How can we help?”

“There’s a house down near the coast, it got damaged real bad in the storm last night. I was hoping you’d help rebuild it. Wrecker would be a real help bringing up some of the building materials from one of the ships in the dock.”

“Sounds good,” Hunter replied. “Just tell us where the house is and we’ll be there.”

Wait, what?

She waited for Echo to speak up, to repeat what he’d told Wrecker just a few minutes before. Neither Echo nor Crosshair opened their mouths to speak. Instead, they watched Shep with neutral expressions, clearly waiting for him to carry on the conversation.

“Awesome, I’ll send you the address on my comm and-”

“Wait, stop,” Omega interrupted, because if everyone was gonna act like they’d lost their minds, at least she could be the voice of reason. “Wrecker can’t help you, he’s-”

“He’s fine, sir,” Hunter cut across her.

She could literally feel herself gaping at him, but he didn’t spare her a glance, keeping his steady gaze firmly on Shep, who surely must be realising this was weird, right? Hunter had just called him ‘sir’, for kriff’s sake. Hunter had never called him ‘sir’.

Thankfully for her sanity, Shep did seem to find this weird, because he was frowning at Hunter, his head tilted slightly.

“If Wrecker’s injured in some way…” he began.

“It’s nothing,” Wrecker said.

“Nothing serious,” Hunter added, the ‘s’ on serious a little too stuttered for Omega to believe that he hadn’t been about to call Shep ‘sir’ again before cutting himself off.

She stared at him incredulously. Not serious? Okay, it wasn’t serious like a blaster wound was serious, or like a chip in your brain was serious. But, even though he’d tried to hide it, she’d known that Wrecker had been in agony before Echo had applied the bacta, and he’d only stop the injury from healing, or even make it worse, if he started lifting things now.

Besides, Shep considered a small cut serious. She knew because of how he’d fussed over Lyana the last time they’d cooked together and Lyana had nicked herself when her knife had slipped. He’d also been way too concerned when Omega had fallen down the stairs during a game of tag with her friend - she’d only had a couple of bumps and grazes after all, they were basically routine on missions! There was absolutely no way he’d consider letting Wrecker hurt himself more by helping - so why weren’t the others telling him?

“If you’re sure,” he replied, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“No, he’s-”

Hunter made a clearly frantic but barely noticeable gesture in battlesign, with one of the hands he was keeping firmly by his side, telling her that she needed to stop, now. She cut herself off, scowling at him.

If Hunter was using battlesign that meant this was important, that his orders needed to be followed. She knew it also meant he must have an explanation for this, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be frustrated, even as she obeyed. It wasn’t her fault his orders made no sense.

“Omega’s upset because she invited Wrecker to make sushi with her and Lyana,” Echo said, eyes flickering down towards the floor as he struggled with the lie.

Shep fixed her with a kind smile. Omega did her best to look like it didn’t irritate the hell out of her at that moment. “I’m sure he’ll be able to help next time. So,” he addressed the others, “I’ll see you boys in half an hour or so. If anything changes, or you’re not able to help for any reason, just let me know.”

After he’d left, Omega let her brothers feel the full force of her glare.

“What the hell was that?”

She was surprised to hear Crosshair speaking those words, considering they were exactly what she’d been about to ask the four of them.

“I could ask you the same,” she snapped, folding her arms. “Have you forgotten that there are small tears in Wrecker’s back muscles. Do you want him to get hurt worse.”

Crosshair took a step towards her. Omega only narrowed her eyes further.

“Have you forgotten that they allow us to live here, that they protect us from the Empire even after it invaded their home, because we’re useful to them?” He replied. Omega felt her mouth drop open for the second time that day. “Have you thought about what happens when we stop being useful to them?”

“They invited us to live here because they like us, because they care about us!” Omega protested.

Crosshair scoffed, and, as she glanced at the others, hoping that they’d back her up on this, she could see they looked a mix of wary and uncomfortable.

“I’m sure they do, at least a bit,” Hunter told her, voice gentle, as if he was telling her something difficult to hear. Omega supposed it was difficult, if only because they were being so ridiculous. “But they’ll probably like us a whole lot less if we don’t help them.”

“He wouldn’t want Wrecker to be in pain.”

“I’m fine, Omega,” Wrecker said, walking over to wrap her in a hug, which she gracelessly accepted. “I’ve had to deal with worse, way worse. I’ll be back here recovering before you know it.”

“He probably wouldn’t want Wrecker to be in pain,” Echo agreed, “But-”

“There isn’t any ‘but’ to this!” Omega snapped. “He cares about us, he cares about Wrecker. That isn’t going to change because Wrecker can’t help out one time.”

“Sorry, kid,” Wrecker told her, gently ruffling her hair. “You aren’t going to win this one.”

She sighed, allowing her head to rest against his chest. “Fine,” she groaned. “Guess I’ll go make sushi with Lyana myself then.”

The frustration and anger remained within her throughout her walk along the sunny streets of Pabu. It hadn’t abated by the time she reached Lyana’s, not when she was aware that Wrecker should have been there beside her, not walking in the other direction, about to start doing an activity that was only going to hurt him and make his injuries worse.

Whatever Omega might think about Echo’s lying skills, hers weren’t much better, and Lyana could tell something was up almost as soon as she’d arrived. Well, Omega wanted to know the truth, and she didn’t much feel about hiding what had upset her anyway, so once they were both sitting in the comfortable wooden bench on Lyana’s patio, sipping on the smoothies her friend had prepared, she asked Lyana if her dad had ever stopped liking her because she hadn’t helped him.

Lyana was horrified. “No! Why would you even ask that, Omega?”

She shrugged, but felt her heart lighten at the answer. “Has he ever stopped liking someone else?”

“No! Omega-”

“Wrecker’s injured, he’s hurt his back really badly,” she explained, relieved that she’d been correct. “But my brothers think that if they don’t help your dad, then he’s gonna stop being kind to us or something.”

Lyana gaped at her. “But he’d never do that! He loves you guys, we both do!” She thought for a moment, eyes flickering from side to side. “I’ll comm him, let him know what’s going on. He’ll know what to do.”

For the first time in the last twenty minutes, Omega felt like the world was slowly starting to make sense again. And, as Lyana’s call connected to her dad, she let herself smile at that.

Wrecker walked down to the house near the coast, flanked by his brothers on both sides. He felt sad for Omega, for how upset she’d got on his behalf, but really, he’d be okay. Sure, this was going to be difficult, and it was going to hurt, but he pushed through pain on missions all the time. Besides, he knew with absolute certainty that it was going to be nothing compared to the tests the scientists and trainers had put him through back on Kamino. Sooner or later, his injuries would heal and he’d be fine again. It didn’t really matter that making sushi with Omega had sounded nice.

As they approached, Shep waved to them, and they waved back, before making their way down the steps towards him.

“Where do you want us?” Hunter asked.

Shep explained their tasks, one by one, until he got to Wrecker. He passed him the fishing rod he was carrying. “I’d like you to sit on the jetty and catch us some fish for lunch.”

Wrecker could tell by his brother’s reactions that he wasn’t the only one confused by that. “I thought you wanted me to carry building supplies?”

He shook his head. “Change of plans. I got some other guys who’re doing that.”

And, okay, maybe that made sense. But wouldn’t Wrecker’s strength be more useful helping with the rebuilding work instead of sitting around catching fish? He opened his mouth to ask why and was rewarded with a sharp elbow in his left side. Right, Crosshair had a point there, it would be stupid to get himself hurt worse when he was being given a way out.

About half an hour later, Wrecker sat by the sea, holding his fishing rod steady. As the minutes passed, he could feel the pain in his back lessen as his feeling of relaxation grew.

He looked across as Shep moved the bucket of fish backwards, before taking its place beside him.

“Looks like you’ve been doing good work,” he commented.

“I guess.”

“We’re repairing Nixret’s house,” Shep continued, as they both stared across the ocean. “Nix is old, he can’t see, he can barely walk anymore, he relies on the kindness of his neighbours to help him out everyday. But he’s one of the most interesting people I know. Do you think I don’t care about him because he can’t get around by himself?”

“No,” Wrecker replied, brow crinkling. It was obvious that Shep cared, he wouldn’t be organising all this if he didn’t. Then his brow creased further. “Omega told you what we talked about, didn’t she?”

Shep nodded, and Wrecker found himself tensing in a way that sent shocks of pain across his shoulder blades.

“She did, and I’m glad she did. And you should be glad you’ve got such a good sister.” Out of the corner of his eye, Wrecker could see that Shep was smiling at him, eyes full of concern. “You are a part of this community now Wrecker. And that won’t change if you can’t lift heavy objects. I like you because you’re you, not because of what you can do for me. And I’ve been told to tell you Lyana likes you because she thinks you’re her funniest uncle.”

“Oh,” Wrecker said, staring down at the water. He didn’t know what to say. It would probably have been easier to come up with something to say if he’d even known what to think.

“I don’t know what you boys have been through exactly,” Shep continued. “But I know whatever it was, it can’t have been easy. Even so, I’d appreciate it if you told me in the future when helping me out would hurt you.”

Wrecker nodded, still feeling blank.

“Alright then. Shall we get these fish back to the others?”

This right here was easily much firmer ground. “Sounds good,” he replied, managing a smile.

As they walked together, back towards the house his brothers were working on, Wrecker found himself thinking about what Omega had said earlier, and what Shep had said just then. It didn’t feel true, not exactly, and he knew that he’d have to discuss it with Hunter and the others later. But even if it didn’t feel true, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t true.

Maybe, they could be safe here, even when they weren’t useful?

#tbb #summerofbadbatch2024 #week 2: injuries #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #shep hazard #lyana hazard

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romanarose · 3 days

Text

About a Girl: Chapter 5

Beautiful header by my beloved @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel Miller x Trans!Fem!Reader (Nickname, Blue)

Series Masterlist : The Last of Us Masterlist : Full Masterlist

Summary: For week 3 of my pride event: Sex. Joel and Blue make everything official. Kayla ruins everything.

ADDITIONAL WARNING: Sorry ya'll this just happened with the story and it felt right for what was happening and the characters.. Warning for brief DV nothing extreme or detailed.

Warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter: 18+ ONLY!! I cannot warn against everything, but these are major themes. Joel is a lil ignorant but not out of hate. He just doesn't know. He's trying his best. There will be smut. Penetrative sex, all of the anal play, oral. There will be transphobia from other people. Addiction and alcoholism. QUICK child neglect not by Joel but I promise, Sarah is fine and is having a great time in life. Fetishization of women attracted to women by a shitty guy. Will update as needed. Again, this is adult content. Expect adult content.

Immersivity: Reader is transgender, AMAB female, reader has had gotten bottom surgery, not top, and is on hormones. reader has visible hair and a blue streak in hair, but not described. Could be braids, could be natural hair, whatever. Header is for aesthetics only. Reader is about Joel and Tommy's height. Let me know if i miss anything!

A/N: Not to sound like a 2012 wattpad writer but I cried writing this.

TRANS LIVES MATTER! TRANS YOUTH MATTER! TRANS ELDERLY MATTER! TRANS WOMEN MATTER! TRANS MEN MATTER! NON BINARY TRANS MATTER!

Things had been going well for weeks. Kayla had been taking Sarah on weekends consistently, which meant she didn’t have a man to distract her. This, however, meant she didn’t have a man to distract her away from Joel’s love life. Still, a little bit of boundary setting had done well for him, and Kayla had mostly been minding her business. Joel was able to see Blue every weekend, and was even able to spend more time with Tommy and Tess which was rare.

Tonight, he had just got done having dinner at your house and was cuddling on the couch with you in his arms, all wrapped up. He liked moments like this a lot. Don’t get him wrong, he’d gone to another show with you and had a good time, but he was definitely happy to just sit at home with you.

You’d seemed an unlikely pair, you and him. You liked leather and black and grunge. He liked country and jeans and… well he wasn’t really sure what he really ”liked”, honestly. He loved Sarah. He liked All That, he liked Arthur, he didn't like Barney, he liked Franklin… what did he watch when Sarah was in bed? Sleep. He mostly slept. Sometimes he watched King of the Hill… he listened to Clinton Black, Garth Brooks… Sarah liked Reba, which was nice. Things to do for fun? He liked to play the guitar for Sarah. He liked to go to the park with Sarah. He liked to go with Sarah and Tommy to the roller rink…

“I’d like yuh to meet Sarah.” Joel said against your ear, arms wrapped around your waste as he lay propped up against the arm rest. “Really meet her this time”

You paused, then sat up to turn and face him. You were smiling softly, eyes wide. “Really? I don’t want you to feel like you have to… but I’d love too…” Something hit you, making you bite your lip. “Introduce me as… what, exactly.” When you saw his eyes widen, you told him he didn’t have to pick a label right now, but he cut you off.

“My girlfriend. If you wanna.”

You squeal, returning to his arms for a hug and a kiss. “Yes!!!”

Joel returns the kiss, pulling you close, sliding a hand to the small of your back as you deepened the kiss, straddling his body. You and him had been making out, and of course the blow job outside the concert, but no sex. Not yet…

“Stay the night.” You whispered between kisses. “We don’t gotta do nothing you’re not ready for, but I’d love if you wanted to stay over”

Joel looked up at you, heart swelling faster than his cock in his pants. He reached up to touch your face. “I’m ready… only if you wanna”

You responded by grinding your cunt over his jeans, kissing him once more. You slide your tongue into his mouth, dominating the kiss and him. When you make it to the bedroom, Joel follows your lead, letting you press him up against the door as you fiddle with his belt. “Got any- mphhh- got any questions?”

His brow furrowed, looking a little confused and flushed. “With what? I don’t know if you know this, but I ain’t a virgin. Kid and all.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” You chuckle. “I meant with the whole ‘not born with a vagina’ thing.”

The look on his face told you he forgot about that. “Oh. Um… I guess… can you… um…”

“Orgasm?!?!” You bawked, in disbelief that at the prospect of having sex with a transwomen, something he barely knew existed before you, and he’s concerned if you’re going to have a good time. “Yes, I can orgasm Joel. I got a fucked ton of lube by my drawer too, so we’re covered there, baby. Just.” you sigh, guiding him to the bed as you pull down his pants. “Sweetie,” You coo, his big brown eyes gazing adoringly as you return to your rightful place above him. “Just let me take care of you tonight, ‘kay? I got you.”

Awestruck, you nodded. “Yes ma’am.” In his dark boxer briefs, his cock is straining, heavy.

You slowly pull his briefs down, Joel humps his hips up to help and you stare in aw as his cock strings free. He’s hung, absolutely packing and you can see why Tess came back for a few more rounds. Getting a chance to look at him, really look at him this time… Big dick, big eyes, big man… bigger heart. He’s soft, kind. He’s gentle in a way you’d never seen from a southern farmer, a body capable of total destruction if he wanted to, but no room in his heart for it. You couldn’t imagine your sweet, precious man hurting anyone.

When you took him in your mouth, you couldn’t make it all the way down. You’d practice on tat, vowing to be able to deep throat him, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was a mess already. When was the last time he fucked someone? It’d been a few years since Tess and she never mentioned Joel having a girl since Kayla… You wanted to make him feel good. But Joel had other plans.

“Wanna taste you.” He begs, tugging at your hair. “Really wanna taste you, Blue, please?” Joel is practically whimpering at you like a puppy and god, who are you to deny him?

“You ever had someone sit on your face, Joel?”

He nods. Good, you didn’t wanna freak him out. He’s not a virgin, but you didn’t think he was the most experienced either. “Stay there.”

You spread your legs over his face, carefully lowering yourself on him when he surprises you by grabbing your thighs and yanking you down. “Hungry boy” You chuckle, delighted with his excitement. He shows no interest in the slight scarring, if he was even paying enough attention to notice; he seemed preoccupied.

Joel devoured you whole, moving and working with your body as you ground yourself on his face. He felt good, he knew what he was doing, that was for sure. Even if he didn’t get out much, he certainly had the enthusiasm. “Fuck Joel, just like that… Just like that…” You’re sure to make sure he knows he’s doing good, you weren’t going to get wet on your own. His nose nudges along your fold as he sucks on your clit when you bend over, jacking him off. You’d love to 69 him -he deserved it- but you didn’t want him orgasming too soon, and the poor guy was already looking like he was just barely hanging on as it was. You cum in his mouth, shouting out his name as you grip his perfect cock tightly, so tight you can’t believe he didn’t spurt all over your hand but you would have forgiven him if he had with the feeling he gave you. Riding his nose and putty lower lip until you’re done taking all your pleasure.

When you flop over on the bed, Joel is on you in a second, lips sucking in yours desperately. He needs you, you can tell, but won’t ask for it. Joel isn’t the kind to take. He’s a giver. If you asked him to eat you out again he would, and would, and would until you’re ran dry and he’d just lay there, cock hard, cleaning you up. Because that was Joel.

But you weren’t going to do that to him. Because he deserved to know he was worthy of love, pleasure, happiness.

When you drop on top of him, encasing him in your lubed up, warm cunt. He opens you in a way you’ve never felt before, making you moan onto the stubbled jaw you were kissing, making you whimper in such a way he asked if you were okay. No one on this earth was a better man than Joel Miller.

You rode him, hands pressed against his firm pecs and stomach rubbing against his softness. All the lifting in the world wasn’t going to work his abs, and the man was living off junk and the real food Frank made for lunch. He’s soft around the edges. Joel is a whiny, moaning mess and you savor every single second of it. Breathing in his shuttered exhales, letting it be your breath of life no matter how your legs burned as you bounced. Thumbs to soft inner thighs, you gave until your heart burst.

“I love you.” You blurt out, voice shaking as you admit your feelings, perhaps too soon. You hold your breath, closing your eyes tight as your brace for rejection, or even more scary; his devotion. Upright and spearing yourself on his sweet dick, you continue your movements blindly.

Until you feel him rise up.

Joel surged towards you, wrapping your body up in one arm and gripping the back of your neck with the other hand. Chest to chest, lips to lips, body to warm, adoring body.

“I love you,” He fucks his hips up into your body, muttering against your lips and cheek. “I love you so much, Blue.” And you believe him.

Joel comes inside after you beg him for it. One orgasm is enough for you, you generally can’t twice but Joel does have you doubting that. He fills you up, clutching your ass and shoulders to him with fingers in your skin and face buried in your neck.

You wake up to your landline ringing.

“Hello?” You answer quietly, but Joel stirs anyway.

On the other side, you hear Tommy. “Hey Blue, Joel with you?”

“Yeah, everything okay?”

Joel is up, eyes wide recognizing his brother's voice. He likes the phone from you. “Tommy? You alright?”

“Jesus Joel, had me worried. Kayla called damn near every bar in town trying to get a hold of me.”

“Shit.” Joel mutters, sitting on the side of the bed. “Sarah okay?”

Tommy said he didn’t know, but Kayla had been trying to call him. Joel hung up, searching for his phone. After calling Sarah good night, it fell under the bed.

You watch him frantically call Kayla, being sure to keep quiet. You know his ex can get jealous and he doesn’t need more stress. He’s so clearly worried, and you are too. It’s 1:30 am, if Kayla is calling then something is wrong with Sarah. “Whats wrong? Where’s Sarah?”

“She won’t stop crying, Joel.” Kayla snaps at him. Is she just calling because Sarah’s crying?

Joel scrubs his face. “Kayla, did you try comforting her?”

“Of course I did, you fucking asshole” You didn’t like how she speak to Joel, and you seethed in your anger, mouth still shut. “She won’t stop screaming. You need to pick her up, I can’t fucking do this.”

Joel sighs, standing up. You begin gathering his things for him. He’s butt naked, dick swinging. “Jesus, okay, I’ll come get her. Just go hold her, okay? She gets scared at night.”

Kayla snapped at him, saying she’s aware.

He turns to you, apologetic. “I’m so-”

“Don’t you dare fucking apoligise, cowboy.” You toss him his briefs. “Sarah comes first, always. I’d do the same if I had a kid.”

He mumbles, redressing. “She always does this. Begs and cries about never seeing her, but sends her back early. Breaks Sarah’s little heart, you know? The uncertainty. She always dressed up so cute to see her mom, always brings her best art she makes at kindergarten, picture books she can read… even pretends to like Mariah Carey when she used to make me change the station. I can’t fucking take it.”

Your heart hurts for Sarah and Joel. Your own mom and dad never got you, even before coming out as trans or gay. You just were never right in their eyes. Years later, you start to think it was more about them than it was you. Who you are now is who you were always meant to be. You are happy. They are still miserable.

“Go get your daughter, Joel.” You kiss his cheek after he pulls his boots on. “Call me in the morning, or whenever you have time.”

He pauses, stopping to wrap his arms around you, strong and safe. “I meant every single word I said, Blue. I love you.”

“I know.” And you did.

After speeding on the empty roads, Joel makes it in record time, parking in front of some jacked up truck and knocking on the door. He didn’t want to ring in case Sarah fell back asleep. The door flung open to reveal and frazzled Kayla. “About time, she’s been screaming non stop!” She opened the door and Joel looked inside, not seeing her but hearing her scream frantically. Kayla was dressed in a flownsy night top and panties, makeup lightly on like she kept when she first started sleeping over at Joel’s parents.

“Where is she?” He follows the sound of her cries. She sounds absolutely batshit terrified, calling mommy, mommy, mommy. He’s unfamiliar with Kayla place. “Sarah? Where are you baby girl?”

The mommy’s switched to daddy’s with renewed vigor and Joel quickly found the room, running to it but finding the bedroom door locked. He jiggled it, hearing Sarah’s voice on the other end of sobbing for him. Something was wrong. “It’s okay, baby girl. I’m here. Daddy’s here.” He tried to sound calm but turned to Kayla, furious. “Why is the door locked.”

“Don’t raise your voice at-”

“KAYLA UNLOCK IT!”

Kayla grabbed the key from a table nearby, explaining as she unlocked it, Joel’s voice reassuring Sarah she was safe it was okay.

“She had a nightmare, said she saw you and Tommy die on that stupid fucking farm. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up when I tried to tell her you’re-”

As soon as it was unlocked Joel burst in, dropping to his knees to scoop up his baby and soothe her. Sarah continued to cry, but relief to it.

“I’m okay, my baby. I’m okay, so is uncle Tommy. I promise.” His hands felt her shampoo or conditioner soupy residue in there. Joel told her not to wash Sarah’s hair, that it was washed the night before but she didn’t listen. Kayla never took time with washing it, rinsing it properly.

After getting the number of the last bar that Kayla found Tommy at, he got a hold of his brother when Sarah was yet to be reassured her beloved uncle was alive.

“See Sare-Bear! I’m right as rain! I even promise to make you chocolate chip pancakes in the morning, even if your dad says no, okay?”

Sarah niffles, still clearly shook up and visible shaking in her barbie nightie, but better. “O-okay. You promise you’re not hurt?”

“Not one bit, never been better. Want me to come home?”

“No… no…” But she didn’t sound certain.

Once Sarah was reassured, Joel scooped her up. She clung to her dad, clutching his shirt in her little hands. Joel turned to Kayla with a glare. “You locked my daughter in her room when she thought her dad and uncle were D-E-A-D?” He spelled out, making Kayla roll her eyes.

“You cuddle her too much, you and Tommy both. She needs to learn to cry it out.”

“One, she’s 5 and had a horrible nightmare. Two, you literally called me!” Then, Joel heard a thump coming from another room and it made sense now. The truck, Kayla underwear and makeup. “Kayla. Do you have a man in the house right now?”

She looked like she was about to lie, then thought better of it. “What I do with my home is none of your business.”

He tried to keep calm, chest rising and falling in anger against Sarah, still gently sniffing. They had an agreement on this. “How long have you known this man.”

She crossed her arms defensively, “A few weeks.”

His jaw ticked. “You brought a man you barely know to sleep over while my daughter is here?” In anger, he turned around, walking to the door but Kayla shouted after him.

“Relax Joel! This ain’t even the first time! Sarah likes him, he’s nice, he-”

Whipping around, Joel took long footsteps towards Kayla, clutching Sarah who had begun crying again. Sarah knew when a fight was happening. “How long as this been going on? Do you leave her alone with him?” Then he realized… if Sarah met him, and never mentioned him… he took a deep breath. “Kayla. Did you tell my child not to tell her father about a man? Did you seriously tell her to keep a secret from me?”

Joel never ever said. “don’t tell mom.” Ever. His heart raced in fear about the potition she was put in. If Sarah didn’t think she could tell him about the man, if anything happened, she’d keep that a secret too.

“Joel, it’s not a -”

“Don’t! No more sleepovers Kayla! No more of this until you can stop doing stupid-”

Seeing the slap coming and bracing for it was the only thing keeping his face from rolling into Sarah’s head. His eyes remained closed, blurring with tears. Not of pain, but humiliation. Knowing Sarah just heard her mom hit her dad. He’d always managed to keep that shit away from her…

“What, are you gonna cry now?” She mocked, but Joel wouldn’t have it.

“Sarah, sweetie, say goodbye to mommy. We’re going home.”

Sarah waved goodbye, but didn’t speak. Joel took her into the car and buckled her safely in, pulling a blanket over her legs in her nightie. He’d send Tommy to get the rest of her things tomorrow. Right now, he needed to get Sarah home.

Joel laid in bed with her, holding Sarah close to him on the twin bed. He tried to lull her back to sleep, but she hadn’t stopped sniffling and gently crying the whole ride back, even as Joel tried to distract her.

“Why doesn’t mommy like me?” Sarah mumbled against Joel’s arm, her back to his chest.

“Oh baby…” He kissed her hair. “Your mommy loves you so, so much. She and I think you’re just the coolest kid ever.”

She thought on this for a while. “You know the bird I made in kindergarten? Where I glued the feathers?”

“Yes baby, I remember.”

“And the sheet where I wrote my name 5 times?”

“I remember, it looked so good.”

“I brought them… and last night I saw them in the trash.”

Joel’s eyes welled up with tear, tucking his face into her hair to hide it. “It must be an accident, Sarah. We get so many bills, it probably just got lost in the piles.”

“I put it on the fridge for her.”

“It must have fallen…” Joel hated lying to her, but… “You know, just the other day your mom called me to tell me how she’s so proud of you. How she thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the whole world and so, so smart.”

Sarah’s bedroom door cracked open, Tommy appearing.

“Hey Sare-bear” He spoke gently. “Got room for me?”

Joel scooched over and saw Sarah smiling for the first time. Daddy was comfort, but Uncle was joy. “Yes!!”

As Tommy took off his boots and jacket, Joel enlisted him to his lie. “Tommy, remember how her mom was telling us how proud she is of Sarah?”

Tommy got the jist. “Oh yeah, she’s always talk’n ‘bout you. Can’t get her to stop, really. Says you know more about dinosaurs than anyone else on the planet.”

“Yeah! Because I saw Jurassic Park!”

Joel shot Tommy a look but let it slide. At least Tommy doesn’t tell Sarah to keep secrets. “Yup. See baby? She loves you so much.”

“Good” Sarah yawned. “Because I love mommy. I wanna be just like her when I grow up.”

The three of them fell asleep like that on the twin bed. Sarah snuggled right up in her daddy’s arms, uncle Tommy on the other end holding her little hand.

In the morning, Tommy made them all chocolate chip pancakes.

Lets get on the fight Kayla club!!!!!

Tommy loves his neice....

Sarah is perfectly safe, I promise.

please lmk your thoughts!!!! Thanks for all the cool works with this pride event!!!

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judesmoonbeauty · 18 hours

Text

Fairytale Keeper's Final Assessment SE:

Ellis Twilight’s Epilogue ཐིཋྀ

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Highly suggestive. MDNI. Dividers: @/natimiles

Kate, I’ve heard of your work. Thank you for everything.

Now, I’d like you to assess something for me.

Whether or not, the curse Ellis, is a good fit for Crown.

Kate: So, I will observe you for the day and then advise you of my assessment, Ellis.

Ellis: Yay.

Kate: Yay? Don’t you hate it?

Ellis: Why?

Ellis: You’ll try to look for a lot of good points about me, won’t you? That makes me happy.

Ellis: Oh, are you going to try to get rid of me?

Kate: No way!

Ellis: Yeah, I know.

I was surprised when Ellis said that with a mischievous smile.

(….already.)

I have noticed that Ellis is a bit of troublemaker since we became lovers.

Ellis: Hey, Kate.

Ellis: I want to stay with you forever, so I’ll do my best to stay at Crown.

Kate: Then, I’ll do my best to record them as Fairytale Keeper.

Ellis: I love how hardworking you are today too. I love you.

Kate: I love you too.

The kiss dropped on my forehead signaled the start of Ellis’ assessment.

Ellis: Victor, are you carrying that to the armory? I’ll help you.

Victor: Ellis! You’re always so kind and dear to me, my dear cursed boy.

Ellis: Victor, let’s hug after we carry them.

(Yes, yes, Ellis you’re perfectly considerate.)

Jude: Ellis. I ordered you yesterday -

Ellis: If it’s about the picking up people who defaulted on a contract, it’s done.

Ellis: Here, the list.

Jude: You work so fast it’s creepy.

Ellis: Yeah?

(And a lot of work outside of Crown too!)

Roger: ……..Six heartbeats. Ellis, there are several targets behind those crates.

Ellis: Okay, I’ll lure them out first.

Ellis: Kate, close your eyes a moment.

Kate: Okay.

Ellis: I’ll be right back. Just give me a moment.

Then a few minutes later.

Ellis: Kate, it’s over.

Ellis: It’s done, let’s go home.

Kate: What, already?

Ellis: I told you, “I’ll be right back.”

Ellis: You watched me for the day, so how did I do?

With wet hair Ellis, who had just gotten out of the shower, looked me in the face.

Kate: I realized just how much Crown needs you, Ellis.

Ellis: Really? That’s good.

Kate: Oh, Ellis, you’ll catch a cold if you leave your hair wet.

Ellis: Can you dry it for me?

(……When I look up at him, cute.)

I dried Ellis’ soft hair with a towel.

(I thought about many things while observing Ellis today.)

Kate: Ellis, the reason you’re at Crown is because you just can’t leave evil alone.

Ellis: Yeah.

Ellis: You’re the one I want to make the happiest.

Ellis: But I think it would be good if fewer people had to suffer.

Ellis has a distorted view of love behind such gentle eyes.

But what flows through it is tremendous kindness.

Kate: With all that in mind, I feel like this job is your calling.

Ellis: ……Thank you, Kate.

Ellis: I tried to imagine it too.

Ellis: I wondered if I make a living off something other than Crown.

Ellis: I did a lot of different jobs before Crown……

Ellis: I prefer this now.

Kate: Now?

Ellis: I like Crown and Crown’s work.

Ellis: And you’re here. That’s the best part.

Kate: Hehe, yea it’s great.

Ellis looks at me with a ticklish smile.

I was so excited by the twilight-like eyes that I felt my body temperature suddenly rise.

(……..I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve been nervous around Ellis all day.)

(He always keeps me on the edge of my seat, but …..)

Ellis: Kate?

Kate: There’s one thing that bothers me……

Ellis: What?

Kate: I’m sorry, I’ve been nervous around you all day Ellis.

Kate: …..I’ve watched you all day Ellis, and I fell in love with you all over again.

Ellis: How much?

Kate: That’s….

Ellis: …..

Kate: I have to write a report right now, but I feel like abandoning it.

Ellis: I’ll help you with the report tomorrow.

Kate: Nn……ah. Ah…….

My vision flips I sink my back into the soft bedsheets.

Ellis: You’re making such a pretty face Kate….I couldn’t resist.

Ellis: And…..

Ellis: Kate, you look like you can’t take it anymore.

Kate: ……Ellis.

Ellis: Hey, Kate.

Ellis: Assess whether I’m satisfying you as your lover.

He looks at me wide-eyed and kisses me like he’s going to devour me whole.

I don’t need to assess you as a lover.

My heart is always filled with Ellis’ bottomless love.

Kate: …..Ellis, we’re going to be together forever.

Ellis: ……Even if I die. No, even after I die I won’t let you go.

He is like the twilight, mixture of both the dark colors of a sinful night and the warm sunlight of the day.

Every day with you is like twilight, and I hope it will continue.

As a Crown member and Fairytale Keeper.

[Master List]

#ikevil ellis #ellis twilight #ellis twilight translation #cybird translations #IkeVil #ikevil jp

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hiddenwritingsintheworld · 3 days

Text

Midnight Rain Ch. 3

Rich Mans World Series | Man After Midnight Series | Chapter 2 | Donations | Thoughts & Feelings

“It’s nice to meet you Steve,” you shook his hand before furrowing your brows. “Steve Rogers….I know that name….did you grow up around here?” you asked before smiling. “Im Y/N Y/L/N ...oh well Y/N Evans now…um, well….” you held a confused face before smiling. “It's complicated…” he grinned and nodded. “I did, I know your father, we actually grew up together, well kinda, I mean when we were younger we played together.” he smiled. You laughed a little, “Yeah, that's right you were scrawny,” he chuckled and nodded, a tint of red covering his cheeks, “sounds like I made an impression on you then.” You smiled and nodded, “You were pretty nice, how's life been treating you?” you asked as he shrugged, “alright, I uh, broke up with my girlfriend about a year ago, moved back here to start over in a more comfortable setting.” you nodded as he reached into his pocket. “You should call me sometime, we could go get coffee together, catch up,” he handed you a card.

You gently took it, before you could even realize what you were doing or saying you nodded, “Yeah, that sounds great actually.” you smiled softly as he grinned. “Great! Hey, I gotta head out but I’ll talk to you soon yeah?” you nodded “yeah, it was great seeing you,” you smiled as he leant down and pecked your cheek before winking at you and walking away. You watched him go, staring over every inch of him. “What the fuck was that?” Brooke asked, causing you to jump and look at her. “Brooke, Jesus you scared me…” you said, taking a breath before she started in. “So this morning, you’re cuddled up in bed with your husband and now this afternoon you’re getting kissed by men in a store?!” You glared at her. “I grew up with Steve, he’s an old friend.” you walked up tossing your basket into her cart, “and lets not forget what my “husband” did to me. Had he not been out screwing anything with two legs and a pussy, maybe my baby wouldn’t have died because my husband would have been there to protect me and her.” you glared at Brooke, something in you this morning had just...clicked back in place. Maybe it was Chris, maybe it was seeing him treating you so delicately, you didn’t know, but that mourning and grieving stage was over, you’d officially moved on to the anger stage of your grief.

See, that’s the thing about grief…there's 5 stages to it. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Everyone plays it off as if these 5 stages happen to you in some certain order. Like “oh! I’ve moved on from depression! Now I'm in acceptance.” But for you, that wasn’t the case. Your first stage was acceptance. When you woke up in the hospital you accepted what had happened to you and your baby. You knew it was some evil son of a bitch who was probably after Chris and wanted to hurt him. Your first stop would be the Irish, seeing how they wanted to ensure Chris felt some kind of pain for how Tristan was done. Your second stage was depression, you remained depressed for months and even now, you knew you were officially in the anger stage.

You turned, walking away from her and heading out of the store toward the car, Brooke watched after you, concern filling her features. What was going on with you? This sudden change in you had her nervous, were you diving off the official deep end?

You stood out by the car, pulling your phone out and dialing the number off Steve's card, “Hey! It’s Y/N, I was going to see if you wanted to get coffee tomorrow? If so, just either text or call me and we can set up a time.” you smiled and ended the call leaving him a voicemail. You looked around, watching people walk around the parking lot, coming and going to the store, you sighed. All you had wanted was a normal, simple life. You knew being with a mobster would never, ever, be a normal life, but you had hoped with Chris everything would be different.

Brooke came out a few minutes later and began to load the bags into the car. You held your hand out after helping her. She looked at you, raising an eyebrow. “What?” She asked with a slight attitude. “Keys.” you said, staring at her. “What? No, this is my car!” she looked shocked you’d even asked. You however, raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, whose car is this?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. Brooke cleared her throat, “Sorry it's technically your car, but I’ve been driving it for so long now it just feels like my car, but I think you shouldn’t drive yet.” she said as you shook your head. “Sorry Brooke, I’m back, now give me my keys so we can get our asses back to work.” she stared at you nervously as she handed you the keys.

Chris sat at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of coffee and wondering what switched in you, suddenly you were ready to get up and go to the store? Bucky had explained that since you’d come back to their apartment you hadn’t done anything regarding leaving the house. He wondered if you were feeling more like yourself since the two of you had reconnected on some level. He smiled softly, hoping to hear from you today. Maybe he’d invite you out for dinner one night this week. He’d have to see when he had a free night, he had several new clubs opening and needed to make an appearance at them.

Chris was beginning to have some hope that, maybe one day you’d be back in his arms, living here at home with him again. You’d be allowed to properly mourn the loss of your child and he’d be there to comfort you, while also mourning himself. He didn’t understand who would have done such a horrid thing. He called Anthony and Sebastian, telling them he wanted to meet with them whenever they were free that day. He began planning a security detail to watch over you. He then wanted to start looking into each and every person that had come into contact with the two of you since you’d married him.

Chris smiled to himself, so maybe you didn’t want to get divorced after all, maybe now you two would be a family again. He would find who had hurt you, who had hurt your baby, his sweet little girl, and he would make them pay. He would remind the world of who he was, what he was capable of. He would burn the entire world to the ground if that meant you would come back to him. All he wanted was for you to come back home.

You drove around, taking calls, making stops. Brooke was texting Sebastian, telling him every move you were making. “That’s fine, I can work with that. Tell him I want to meet face to face. I dont give a shit if he’s busy! I’m trying to find out who murdered my child!” you yelled. “Now text me with the god damn details or your head is next on my fucking platter!” you hung up the phone throwing it in the backseat with anger. “Maybe we should head home now Y/N, Sebastian wants to start on dinner and plus, it was a big day! You got back to your old self, maybe a nice hot bubble bath and a glass of wine? Sounds pretty good huh? And, we can even get into work mode for tomorrow.” Brooke said as you huffed. “Relax Brooke, I’m not crazy, I’ve just realized it's time to get back to work and get this shit figured out.” you said, glancing at her. Your phone buzzed in the back seat as you headed back toward Brooke and Sebastian's place.

Steve had texted you, telling you he was absolutely free to meet for coffee, and he wanted to meet up with you at 11am, which worked out perfect for you because you could get your life back on track. You stood in your bedroom staring at the sight before you. You began packing up boxes, labeling them as donations or keep before moving down the hallway to the door that hadn’t been opened in months.

You opened the door, revealing the stuffy and slightly dusty light pink nursery; boxes sat unmade against the wall with packing tape and bubble wrap sitting in front of them. You looked at the dresser, the small pink urn sat in the middle. You purse your lips looking around before taking a deep breath and stepping inside, closing the door gently behind you. It was time you started healing, and this was the first step.

Tag List:

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ladyazurith · 2 days

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Thoughts on and Headcanons for Rook Hunt

Rook is a very divisive character for me, and I’ve gone back and forth on how I feel about him. I absolutely hate how he treats the nonhuman students. I also hate the vin where he comments on Vil gaining weight when it wasn’t even noticeable to someone with normal eyes. That’s not a healthy mindset. Nor can I ignore the wall of hidden photos we see peaking out behind the wallpaper in his (canon) room.

I do not like how he handled the end of Chapter 5. The way he gushed about Neige and revealed his obsession, right in front of Vil, after everything that had just happened. I know people get upset over the fact he voted for RSA, and while I think it was a dick move for him to have revealed that it was his vote that cost them the show. It’s more that he hid something like that from Vil, and given how they talked about everything related to the theater together, and he knew Vil’s connection to Neige it just feels…really shitty that that's how it came out.

On the other hand, I really do think he cares about Vil. I have never truly shipped them together (the only time I’ve written them in a relationship together was in a poly with Cater) I do think he loves Vil in a brotherly fashion. And I think they’re important to each other. Vil especially I think values Rook’s friendship more than he wants to admit. (This is also kinda why I think his actions at the end of chapter 5 were so crappy)

At the same time, I think he suffered from character assassination at that point. They needed Rook to do what he did to thematically fit the narrative and his role as the royal Hunstman. And they cared about that more than if it was something Rook would truly do. As much as I love twist and the story, I find myself having this complaint often. They’re more concerned about the overall narrative than what actually makes sense for the various characters. I could write an entire essay on this especially where Cater is concerned, with him and his interaction with the other characters and his place in the overall narrative. (Again a subject for another time)

On a less serious note, as far as romance goes, I’m reminded of a line from a very old Christmas movie called “White Christmas” where one of the main characters goes. "I'm not the marrying kind or the engaging kind, I'm more the I don't mind pushing my best friend into it but I'm scared stiff when I get anywhere close to myself kind" I can see Rook endlessly encouraging Vil to pursue his heart (With me it's him insisting to Vil he does have feelings for Cater and should give him a chance) But the idea of his own actual love affair terrifies him. He’d rather just watch other people fall in love.

I do think he has several secret perches around campus that no one knows about.

I also think he and Cater would be absolutely great and chaotic friends, that would strike fear into Vil’s heart. They both share a love of photography and him. I can just imagine Vil having to endure the two of them talking about him while he’s sitting right there lol.

I also gave them an anonymous magicam account where they post pictures of student life on campus (Mostly taken by Rook, but some by Cater)

I developed Rook’s Family for a fanfic I wrote a while ago. So some of this comes from that. I know if we ever get to meet his family this will all be obsolete but its still fun to work with. I also won't go into to much detail here, because his Family could be an entire post on its own. (Just like Cater’s)

His father works directly for Leona’s brother (And previously their father) as head of Royal Wildlife Management in the Savanah, a position his family has inherited for generations after they made the move there. A position his eldest brother will inherit one day. His eldest Sister I made a traveling exotic vet.

Rook himself is a fraternal twin. Reinette (the name I gave her) also has magic but doesn’t attend NRC because it (appears) to be an all male school. But she acts much like Rook did in his Savanaclaw days. Longer hair, sunbaked skin, and loaded with freckles.

His younger brother I named Florent and idolizes his big brother, and is the only other Hunt child to have magic. He’s set to go to NRC as a first year when Rook is a 4th year.

His youngest sister and the baby of the family is Fleur, and shares Rook’s and their father’s love of theater, albeit for the more technical side, and also has more than a slight obsession with Vil.

At his core, I don’t think Rook really feels like he fits in anywhere. Pomefiore and Vil have come as close as it gets for him, but it’s still not right. He’s restless, and is still searching for his “home”.

As an adult, I’d given him the profession of a wildlife photographer (French Steve Irwin is how I described it) It’s something I think he’s well suited for.

That’s probably enough for now, thank you if you made it this far ^^

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #cater diamond #twst headcanons #twst thoughts

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drabbles-mc · 3 days

Text

Crunch-Time

Angel Reyes & EZ Reyes & OC Evangeline Reyes

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This exists in the same universe as Interruptions but can be read without having read that first. I have the next part of this universe written up already as well, so I'm hoping to post that over the next few days at some point. this piece and the next one are focused more on the three Reyes Siblings than Evangeline and Franky but i promise it is all gonna come back together haha. anyway! as always unedited and unbeta'd because the muse caught me by the jugular tonight lmao

The morning had been quiet so far. Mornings in the middle of the week didn’t tend to be busy times for most of the shops on the strip, and Evangeline’s was no exception. She took advantage of the lack of foot traffic, calling and emailing with the people on both sides of the border who sent her their clothes and jewelry to sell in her shop. She was far from a big name or a huge retailer, but she was good and fair to the artists and designers that she worked with. And for a lot of people who were just trying to make some extra money to get by, that was more than enough.

She was updating some of her order spreadsheets, getting to the bottom of her first coffee of the day, when the bells above her shop door chimed. Out of habit she smiled, turning her head slightly to the door even though her eyes were still on the computer screen in front of her as she spoke to the customer who had just come through the door.

“Bienvenidos! I’ll be with you in just one second.”

“Okay,” the woman responded, a twinge of uncertainty in her voice.

Her tone got Evangeline to look up and over at her, wondering what was going on that was making her sound like that. The woman was standing in the tiny little foyer area of the shop, right by the chair that her brothers usually occupied whenever they stopped by to bother her. She looked a little older, enough gray strands of hair mixed in with the brown to be prominent. She had dress bag draped over her arms. Despite the fact that the woman seemed to be trying to keep a neutral expression, Evangeline could see the worry in her eyes.

She got up and walked around the counter, stopping a few feet in front of her before asking, “How can I help you?”

The woman drew in a deep breath, and for a moment Evangeline wasn’t sure if she was trying to steady herself, or if she was about to let loose a tirade. She braced herself for both regardless. The woman locked eyes with her, lips curled into a small frown. “I’m so sorry,” she said, words tumbling out along with the deep breath she’d just taken, “just barging in like this. But I didn’t know…a friend of a friend recommended you and I just,” her shoulders slumped in defeat, “I’m in a bit of a tough spot.”

Evangeline nodded. “Okay. What kind of tough spot are we talking about?”

The woman gave a small lift of her arms, just enough to draw attention to the dress bag. “My son’s wedding is this weekend, and the dress that was supposed to be delivered a month ago isn’t going to be delivered until next week so I had to go out and buy another one but nothing fit off the rack and everywhere else is saying they can’t get it done in time,” she spoke like the sentence was never going to end, like she had been trying to pick certain bullet points to say and then just decided on all of them, “and I understand it’s short notice and it’s not their fault but I really need—”

Evangeline took a small step forward, just close enough so that she could rest her hand on the outside of the woman’s arm. “How about,” she spoke gently, “we get this on you and take a look. Let me know what you need done and I’ll see what I can do about having it ready for you before your son’s wedding.”

The woman’s eyes instantly glassed over with tears of relief as she nodded. “That would be great. Th-thank you.”

She nodded as she let her hand drop back to her side. She motioned for the woman to follow her towards the back of the store. “I’m Evangeline, by the way.”

The woman let out a shaky laugh. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even—” she shook her head, “April.”

“Nice to meet you, April.” She reached and opened up the door to the dressing room. “Let me know if you need help.”

It didn’t take long for the woman to re-emerge. Evangeline instantly smiled. The dress was beautiful—a deep purple floor length gown that was one-shoulder. From the first glance she could already tell that, unless April was planning on wearing heels high enough to snap her ankles walking down the aisle, the dress was at least going to be hemmed. If that’s all it was, she could get it done quickly, but she didn’t want to speak too soon.

“I know it’s not the dress you wanted,” she said as April stepped up onto the small platform in front of the trifold mirror, “but it looks amazing.”

She laughed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Evangeline was slipping on her wristlet that had a collection of pins and sewing needles jammed into it. “So, what are we looking to get done?”

She sighed. “I at least need it hemmed…”

Evangeline nodded as she looked at the flats the woman was wearing. “How short? Are you wearing heels or—”

She laughed and waved her off good-naturedly. “I’m too told to be worrying about heels and a dancefloor at this point. I’m just trying to make sure I don’t fall over and take my son down with me.”

Evangeline laughed. “I get it, I get it. Alright, so we’re hemming. What else?”

She motioned to the waistline. “If you could let this out a little bit maybe? Feels like I can barely breathe let alone eat.” She paused to laugh. “And I know they got a really good cake for the reception.”

Evangeline hummed in amusement. “Well, can’t have you missing out on that, can we?”

“I’d love not to.”

She nodded understandingly as they talked about a couple other small things that she was looking to have done to the dress. She made a quick lap around to get the full scope of it before giving her final verdict. “I should be able to have this ready for you by the time I close up shop on Friday.”

Shock completely absorbed her expression. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I got a couple jobs that can wait until next week. I can get this done for you as long as Friday isn’t too late.”

April’s laughter was coated in relief as she stepped down and wrapped Evangeline in a hug. “Thank you.”

She hugged her back, unable to stop herself from laughing as well. “Don’t thank me until it’s done,” she joked.

She had April step back up onto the platform so that she could start pinning her dress where it needed to be hemmed to. Now that the initial panic that caused her visit was mostly resolved, Evangeline noticed how much more relaxed they both were, but especially April. They made small talk as she walked around and placed her pins and marked where she needed to for later.

Getting the dress marked up was, surprisingly enough, the quickest part of their exchange. She understood why it was hard for April to find a place to take care of her last minute—it was prom season and the start of wedding season so most places were probably slammed. It wasn’t as though Evangeline’s schedule was painfully open, but she always tried to leave herself a little wiggle-room just in case.

The two of them were putting the dress back on the hanger after April had changed back into her regular clothes when Evangeline heard her brother’s bikes outside. Or rather, she assumed it was them—it wasn’t as though the other members of the club made a habit out of stopping by to visit her very often.

She was purposely ignoring it as she and April traded contact information. The roar of the engines stopped, moments later the door chimes rang, and Evangeline was still intent on ignoring it all. She noticed the way that April turned to look and see who had walked in, and she also noticed the momentary shift in her expression. It wasn’t a negative change, but she definitely hadn’t been expecting two men in club kuttes to walk through the door. Evangeline couldn’t blame her for the shock.

She walked with her back towards the front of the store, still not acknowledging her brothers. “I’ll give you a call first thing on Friday to let you know when you can come and pick it up.”

April had let out so many sighs of relief that she’d lost count, but she added another one to the tally. “Thank you so much. Really, I, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Of course. It was nice meeting you, April.”

She nodded. “You too.” She tucked the card that Evangeline had given her into her purse as she tried to slip past Angel and Ezekiel without getting in their way. She brushed by Angel, giving him a small nod and a kind, “Excuse me,” on the way.

There was a smirk on his face as he stepped out of her way. Hands tucked in his pockets he put on the most charming voice he had as he said, “You have a good day, Miss.”

Her smile stretched a little wider. “Thank you.”

Once the door shut behind her, Evangeline immediately rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I could kill you for how ridiculous you are. Sabes?” She gestured to EZ. “He wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Angel laughed as he held his hands up in surrender. “What? I was just bein’ n—”

“You weren’t bein’ anything good. Poor woman just trying to come in here to get a dress hemmed and she’s gotta…” she trailed off as she shook her head.

EZ was trying and failing at his attempts to stifle his laughter. He looked at Angel. “Told you we should’ve come later.”

Angel waved him off without even looking at him. “Nah, nah. This is breaking news. Can’t wait.” He focused on Evangeline. “Think I might have a job for you.”

She was shaking her head as she turned around and started returning to the back of the store. “I told you guys—I only stitch fabric. I’m not sewing up anyone in the club who—”

Angel sucked his teeth in annoyance. “No, Eva. I meant,” he huffed, thrown off his game. “Will you fuckin’ listen?”

EZ wasn’t even trying to hide his laughter anymore. Evangeline turned around and faced Angel, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing vaguely in the air. “Alright, alright. I’m listening. Dime.”

“Like I was fuckin’ saying,” Angel started again, “I think I got a job for you.” He reached dramatically into the pocket of his kutte. “Think you got time to maybe, I dunno,” he pulled out a small slip of fabric that Evangeline almost didn’t recognize for a moment, “stitch on your little brother’s Secretario patch?”

Evangeline’s smile was warm as she laughed. “Got a promotion?”

“Hell yeah,” Angel agreed.

She nodded as she folded her arms across her chest. “Congratulations, Angel.”

He gave a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. Please, don’t feel like you have to hold your fuckin’ applause.”

She laughed. “I think I still will.” She saw the way he was shaking his head at her and stepped in to hug him. “I’m happy for you, ‘manito.”

He kissed the side of her head. “Thanks.” Pulling back, he looked at the wristlet she was still wearing from her meeting with April. “Really, though. You think you could, uh, maybe stitch this—”

“Angel Ignacio. You’re not actually—”

“Just if you had some fuckin’ time, I don’t know!”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I don’t have time. Here,” she plucked a needle form her wristlet and quickly went back and grabbed a spool of thread that would be tough enough to stitch his patch on effectively and handed it to him, “This should do just fine. Won’t take you very long.” She heard and saw the way EZ was laughing and quickly turned her attention on him. “Don’t laugh too hard, Prospect. A title flash is easy—wait ‘til you need to stitch on your bottom rocker.”

It got EZ’s laughter to stop and Angel’s to pick up. He walked over, roughly shoving his shoulder against EZ’s. “Yeah, what she said. Shut the fuck—”

“That’s not what I said,” Evangeline cut him off with a laugh.

Angel waved her off. “Close enough.”

It took a few moments for all of them to stop laughing. Once they did, Evangeline asked, “You going next door to tell Pops now?”

Angel shook his head. “Nah.”

Evangeline sighed. “Angel—”

He knew where she was going next so he stopped her before she could start. Turning to look at EZ, he said, “We do gotta ask him about delivering to the clubhouse though. Cater the celebration.” He returned his attention back to his sister. “This one you actually gotta show up for. Since it’s for me.” He grinned.

EZ laughed. “It’s not just—”

Angel held his hand up. “Shut it, Prospect.” He raised his eyebrows. “You gonna come through?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s Friday! Not even a work night!”

She tilted her head in confusion. “That’s still a work night for me, you know.”

He let out the type of groan someone would expect from a petulant child not getting their way. “Come on, Eva. It’s gonna be a good time. Other charters coming through and shit.”

Normally she made it a habit not to hang around the clubhouse too often. She had no bad blood towards the club, not really. Everyone was just doing what they knew how to do in order to get from one day to the next. She was no different than them in that regard—her means were just different than theirs. She didn’t hold it against them but she also wasn’t going to let it upend the life she had been working very hard for years to create for herself.

Her guest appearances were rare. Every now and then if one of her brothers had needed something she would stop by. Sometimes she wouldn’t even go past the main office for the scrapyard, leaving whatever she’d brought with Chucky and a note. She could count on one hand the number of parties that she could say that she really went to. The look in Angel’s eyes had her thinking that that miniscule number was about to go up by one.

“I’m gonna be late,” she finally conceded after a few more seconds of silence, “’cause I’ve got some stuff I’ll need to catch up on but—”

Angel was already hugging her and laughing. “That’s what I thought!” He let her go and started to backpedal towards the door. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to work. Gonna go tell Pops we need him Friday too.” He looked at EZ and nodded towards the door. “C’mon, he ain’t gonna say yes unless you’re the one asking.”

EZ chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll catch up in a sec.”

Angel opened the door, calling back to his sister, “Love you!”

“You better!” Evangeline was still shaking her head at him even when he was out of sight. She walked the rest of the way back to take the purple dress off its hanger and put it on the dress form to start working. She was lowering herself down to the floor to get started when she said, “What’s on your mind, Ezekiel?”

He shrugged, hands holding the edges of his kutte as he walked back to her. “Nothin’. Now I’m just stressing about having to stitch on my rocker in a few months.”

Evangeline laughed. “If you’re really up a creek with it maybe I’ll help.” She paused, still not looking directly at him as she reiterated, “But really, what’s going on?”

He paused as he tried to figure out how to go about trying to start the conversation that he wanted to have. “If you don’t wanna go…”

She looked up at him for a moment. “Angel’s very excited. I don’t have a problem showing up for a little while for him. It’s fine—I don’t need you to give me a pass.”

“You’re not excited though.”

She allowed herself to fully plop down on the floor. She kept her legs bent so that she could drape her arms across her knees. “I…I’m glad that it’s going well for him. For both of you, actually. I know that this,” she made a vague gesture towards his kutte, “is what you’ve both chosen to do. And you’re apparently very good at it. I’m glad you found something together.”

“Yeah but you’d rather—”

“There’s no rather,” she cut him off but made sure to keep her tone calm. “We’re all grown, EZ. We’ve,” she chuckled, “we’ve been grown. You should know that better than…” she trailed off. “We’re all just doing what we have to do to be okay. I’m not going to start holding that against you or Angel now.”

“Really?”

Evangeline was too smart to take the bait that was packed into his tone. She gave a simple nod and a small smile. “Really.” Before he could try to push her farther, she gestured towards the door. “Angel was right—he’s gonna need your help getting Pop to agree to play caterer for you guys.”

He frowned for a moment, not expecting the dismissal. “Right.” He started to back up towards the door. “See you Friday then.”

She nodded, still offering a smile. “You will.” She watched as he turned and walked. “Ezekiel?”

He paused at the door, fingers wrapped around the handle but he didn’t push as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Love you.”

The frustration disappeared from his face, at least for the moment. “Love you.”

Mayans Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!):

@garbinge @withmyteeth @darqchilddaydreamz @artemiseamoon @proceduralpassion

@justreblogginfics @narcolini @cositapreciosa @fanfic-n-tabulous

#angel reyes #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #oc evangeline reyes #oc eva reyes #mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc fanfiction #angel reyes fanfiction #ez reyes fanfiction #ezekiel reyes fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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