#a whole day has passed and I did nothing but to write this text

[moonstruckme]

hi mae you mentioned new girl au asks and so i have arrived!

i've lived alone most of my adult life and while i'm content pretty much all of the time, there is a specific situation where i've wished i had roommates.

it's those days where i've fucked up at work or a friend is mad at me and I miss the bus and have to wait in the rain without an umbrella, and I get home to a completely empty and cold apartment and just start sobbing as soon as i get through the door. during those days i feel like the most pathetic girl in the world and really just wish i could text my roommates to make extra food or turn on a heated blanket or just like, offer a hug lol.

i would love to see how the marauders would react to their new roommate on a shitty day like that, if you feel like writing it <3

Thank you lovely <3

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s all you can do to make it inside. Your throat has been tight the entire last two blocks to your building; your eyes start to burn in the elevator, small puddles of rainwater forming beneath your shoes. By the time you’re fitting your key into the lock, you know you won’t make it to your room. You only hope that no one is home to witness your upset. 

Of course, with three flatmates who all have incredibly varying schedules, that is never the case. 

“Hey!” says James, not immediately visible but evidently having heard the door. “Do you wanna come say something to Mr. Palmer? We’re trying to make him believe in ghosts.” 

You look into his room as you pass by. James is lying stomach-down on his bed above a heating vent situated low in the wall. His smile is all mischievous anticipation. When he looks up at your approach, it falters. 

“You alright?” 

“Who’s Mr. Palmer?” you ask. 

“He’s…” James blinks, sitting up. “He lives below us. Hey, are you okay?” 

You shrug pathetically, pressing your lips together as your eyes burn even more furiously. You take a step back, retreating automatically to your room, but James frowns and opens his arms, beckoning you towards him. It’s too tempting an offer to pass up. 

“What happened?” he asks, rubbing your back. He hugs you like you’ve known each other for years, unreserved in his touching. “You’re soaked, babe.” 

You give a little laugh. “I know.” 

“Did you walk in the rain the whole way to your interview?” 

“I got kinda wet on the way there, then bombed it, then missed the bus coming home.” 

James makes a sympathetic noise. “Why didn’t you just get the tube? Or call one of us to come get you?” 

Your heart warms at the thought that one of your flatmates would have left the flat and taken their own public transportation just to bring you home. “My phone died.” 

“Oh.” James rubs your back again. “I’m sorry, babe. That’s tough luck.” 

You sniffle. You feel bad for crying into the shoulder of this boy who you really only met recently, but the hug actually is helping. You feel half as anxious as you had when you came in, though nothing really has changed. James must just give really good hugs. 

You look over your shoulder when you hear footsteps approaching. Like James, the impishness in Sirius’ expression dies when he sees you. “Good god.” He lowers the plastic recorder he’s carrying. “What happened to you? You’re soaked.” 

What is it with these boys and stating the obvious?

“I know,” you say, using the butt of your palm to wipe your face, “thanks.” 

“James, what’ve you done to her?”

“It wasn’t me!” James holds up his hands. “It was the weather. And the TfL.” 

“Well get the poor thing a towel!” Sirius tosses the recorder onto the bed, stalking from the room. “Christ, I have to do everything around here.” 

You eye the recorder. “Why did he bring…?” 

“We were trying to make Mr. Palmer think he’s hearing ghosts,” James explains. “Thought woodwinds might add to the effect. Do you want tea?” 

Tea, you’ve learned, is how your flatmates sometimes refer to dinner. Most of the time this sounds far preferable to you than the actual beverage. 

“I could eat,” you say. 

“Can’t believe you didn’t leave a trail of water from the door,” says Sirius, returning with a towel. “Here.” 

You take it, not keen on admitting how you wrung the moisture from the ends of your hair before entering the building. Too humiliating. 

You allow James to shepherd you into the kitchen, where Remus is busy with something on the stove. His brow creases with concern at the state of you. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“She missed the bus,” James explains succinctly. 

Remus frowns. “Oh, that’s shit. How did your interview go?” 

Your throat contracts all over again. You try to keep your mouth from wobbling. “Not very good,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sure it was better than you thought,” says James. 

Remus hums his agreement. “I’m making pasta. Would you like any?” 

“But I…” You clear your throat, trying not to seem too pathetic. “I didn’t pay for any of the groceries.” 

He tsks. “Don’t worry about that. Would you like some?” 

James nudges you towards a chair beside the one Sirius has already taken. “Um,” you hesitate, “sure, please. Thank you.” 

Sirius smirks. “And people say the English are overly polite.” 

You don’t speak much. You aren’t in a mood for talking, and Sirius and James do well enough to fill the silence anyways. They don’t seem to mind letting you mope, though after a while their chatter does lighten your mood some. They’re just so at home with each other, it’s difficult to be around them and not feel like you’re home too. 

“Thanks,” you murmur when Remus brings you a plate. 

He sets a hand on top of your head, a brief solace. “Don’t mention it.” 

The more familiar you become with English accents, the more distinct Remus’ sounds to you. You can hear it in his vowels sometimes, the way he says news or orange, the soft lilt when you try to help him in the kitchen and he tells you to sit down, love. You wonder if he’s from a different area than James and Sirius. You’ll have to ask him sometime. 

“Can I ask for something ridiculous?” you say. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re always being some degree of ridiculous,” he drawls, in the sort of tone you’ve only recently learned to recognize as teasing, “so why stop now.” 

“Is it, like, treasonous to ask to have actual tea with your tea?” 

James looks delighted. “You want tea?” 

You squirm, oddly sheepish. “It sounds sort of comforting, I guess.” 

He hops up, kissing the top of your head enthusiastically as he goes for the kettle. “We’ll make a Brit out of you yet.” 

[spicyspiders]

with different eyes and no shame

Mark Grayson variant x male reader smut

3.8k words

Stay inside, the text from Mark said.

This had a lot more angst than I expected to write. Warning for smut, bottom male reader, slight bloodplay, slight cum inflation, and the Mark variant being overall rough with the reader. I didn't really have a variant in mind when I was writing this, so any could be thought of when reading :)

Stay inside

The text was only two words, but still managed to send a chill down your spine. An hour later when nothing has happened, you can feel your body slowly relax. Still, you can’t help but look out your window one last time to make sure whatever Mark wanted you to stay inside and avoid has passed. 

A part of you felt hysterical as you looked out the window. You weren’t sure if being friends with a superhero and everything that came with that was now catching up with you, or if it was from your brain trying to focus on everything your eyes outside were trying to track. 

You hear the sound of a thump in your bedroom, signaling that Mark is here. It was a habit he developed over time you thought was silly, reminding you so much of when you were younger. You hoped Mark would grow out of it, but maybe it was a superhero rule he had that he could only fly through windows when entering homes. 

“I have a front door, you know,” you say, swinging your bedroom door open. The sun had gone down by the time Mark had texted and you managed to calm down, making the walk to your bedroom dark, and the state of your bedroom wasn’t any better. 

Mark almost looked ominous standing in what little light was left from the day, his back facing the window. Your first clue should have been the color of his suit, but you were too stupid to realize. 

“Mark?” You asked, “is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” He questioned back with a chuckle.

“You told me to stay inside,” you answered in confusion, “and is that a new suit?” You asked as Mark slowly turned around, your eyes glued to his seemingly new suit, “did something happen to the one you just got?”

“You worry too much,” Mark responded, still shrouded in the shadows. He stepped out of the darkness slowly, making it known that this wasn’t your Mark, “you both did,” he said, his voice low. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, growing faster and faster as Mark came closer, “who are you?” You whispered, backing up slowly. 

“I’m Mark,” he responds with a smile. 

You continue inching backward, shaking your head, “who are you?” You repeat, your back coming into contact with your wall. 

Mark’s smile turns sinister, “I’m Mark,” he says again, “and I already know what you’re thinking, and yes, I’m not your Mark,” he backs you further into the wall, making you hope that you would somehow fall through. But if this Mark was anything like yours, he’d easily be able to follow. “I also know that you’re thinking about running,” he lets out a laugh before he continues, “but I’ll break your fucking legs if you try.”

“Please,” you whisper, turning your face away when Mark’s hands reach out, “don’t hurt me,” you say, closing your hands when you feel his fingers on your face. 

“I’d never hurt you,” Mark says, forcefully turning your head to face him. 

After moments of tense silence, you open your eyes slowly to look at Mark, his gaze fixed upon you with an unreadable expression. 

“I’d never hurt you,” he repeats, “I finally have you again,” he says, his tone matching his soft words, but it doesn’t last. “I won’t lose you,” he growls, his voice dark and full of promise. And with those words, he seals that promise with a kiss. 

You weren’t even sure if kiss was the right word to call it, it felt like Mark– this version of Mark was trying to devour you whole. Though he looked and sounded like Mark, you knew this version wasn’t yours, but that didn’t stop the overwhelming rush of emotions. 

There was a longing for Mark that had gotten to the point where you didn’t remember when it started, and had gone on for so long, that you didn’t know if it would ever. You had just managed to somehow get it to the point that you were happy. 

You loved Mark, and Eve nearly as long as you’d known her, so you wanted them to be happy. There were moments where it could feel bittersweet not only to see the man you had feelings for get with someone else, but to see that other person be someone you also cared about. There were also moments though, ones that had come up much more frequently where you felt hopeful. Hopeful that you were moving on, and hopeful for the future. 

You just didn’t think that who you would be moving on with would be another version of who you originally fell for. If moving on was even what you could call it, you weren’t sure if the phrase could be used in situations where it was being forced onto you. 

Though you knew this one wasn’t your Mark, your treacherous body still responded like it was. You shuddered at the feel of Mark's tongue pushing its way past your lips, an idea popping into your brain when in his conquest to dominate your mouth, it ran over your teeth. You squash the idea of biting Mark’s tongue seconds after it’s hatched, the image of him doing more than breaking your legs like he promised if you tried to run flashing through your mind.

Tears fall from your eyes when Mark finally pulls away, his eyes opening to then quickly filling with concern. You had spent what felt like hours, maybe even days imagining what your first kiss with Mark would be like, and in moments where you were thinking with your dick and not your brain, it would think of what kisses would be like that were filled with more passion and energy. And though your body was already responding to just the one kiss, the rational part of you was still there to remind you that this wasn’t your Mark.

“It’s okay,” Mark whispered, wiping your tears away, and then kissing up the tracks they left. “I have you,” he said, resting his cheek against yours, the words sounding like he wasn’t just saying them to you, but saying them to himself like he hadn’t quite come to the realization. 

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, your eyes slipping shut, thinking that if you closed your eyes to it, it would be easier to ignore, “what happened to the me from your universe?” You forced your eyes open, waiting for Mark to respond. 

Mark’s face goes stormy and full of emotion before he breaks eye contact, “gone,” he says, his eyes flicking back up. He steps closer, his hands moving down to your shoulders, “taken from me before I realized how I felt,” he said before he pulled your body into his chest in a tight embrace, “I won’t let that happen again.”

You have to force yourself to breathe, trying to calm your racing heart. What takes longer is getting your arms to move. A part of you thinks that if you just give in and give this Mark what he wants, then he’ll leave, but another part of you, bigger than you wanted to admit, responded to the fact that this was probably the closest to getting something you always wanted. 

You wrap your arms slowly around Mark, trying to not feel the way your heart broke at the small, wounded noise Mark made. You hated the way you could relate to this Mark, knowing that you could find comfort in each other based on the things you lost and couldn’t have. 

Mark pulls you closer, his head going into the space between your neck and shoulder. His nose went beneath the collar of your shirt as he nuzzled the skin he could find. His hands ran up and down your back as his lips came into contact with your skin, much softer than you expected. 

You shiver at the feel of his lips on your skin, your body seemingly moving on its own to give Mark more room as you let your head fall back onto the wall. You gasp when his lips kiss softly up your neck and along your jaw, your eyes opening once more when you feel the puff of Mark’s breath on your face. 

As Mark’s face slowly inches closer, his eyes flick between yours and your lips. The kiss he pressed to your lips was the complete opposite of the last, but you’re still slow to respond. Once you do, Mark’s hands are on your face to angle the kiss into how he wants it. 

Mark’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip, asking for entrance. It pushes in slowly when you open up seconds later, and this time, you both let out noises of pleasure when his tongue brushes against yours. 

Mark lets you pull away from the kiss, his head falling onto your shoulder as you gasp for air. He runs his hands back down your body, going lower than you expect them to when they grab your lower thighs. 

He hoists you up, your legs going to wrap around his waist as you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“I have you,” Mark says, his voice light, almost teasingly so. And if this Mark had powers that were anything like your Mark’s, he was completely right. No, you’ve never been flying like William had to know if Mark was able to hold you, but you had seen Mark on the news using his powers, so you had no doubt in your mind that he was able to lift you. 

“C’mon!” William had said in the parking lot to the restaurant you had dinner at on your last birthday, “it’s his birthday! You’ve got to take him flying!”

“I don’t want to go flying,” you said to William, “and besides,” you said with a laugh, “I don’t need you asking for me,” you said with another laugh as William pouted. 

“Then can you ask him to take me flying?” William asked, you and Mark looking at each other. 

“Why would Mark take you flying for his birthday?” Eve asked between laughter. 

“Because,” William started, his face going red as he tried to think of a response, and once he did, his eyes lit up, “he told me that for his birthday he wanted Mark to take me flying,” he finished, crossing his arms.

“Did you,” Eve asked, elbowing you softly. 

“Yeah,” Mark chimed in, “did you?” He asked as he rolled his eyes.

You looked between the three of them, Eve smiling at you, Mark looking unimpressed, and William staring at you with both brows raised as he nodded. “Oh yeah! I did forget that I promised William that I would ask.”

Eve nearly doubled over with laughter, his face nearly going as bright as her hair as Mark swooped William up. 

“Where are they going?” Amber asked after she walked up, to-go cup in hand. 

It was like this Mark was able to read your mind to know yours had never taken you flying as he floats you the few feet to your bed. You weren’t sure if it counted, but your arms and legs still tightened around him nonetheless.

You landed softly onto the bed, Mark murmuring a soft I’ve got you before his lips were against yours once again. Your legs loosened around Mark, and even as he let out a noise of protest, your feet came to rest on the bed. 

Your arms loosened just enough to get one of your hands in Mark’s hair, which was just as soft as you imagined your Mark’s would be. You moaned into Mark’s mouth when he rocked his hips down into yours, your fingers tightening around the strands between your fingers. 

Mark pulled away with a growl before he started wrestling his suit off. You had fantasized about this moment more times than you could count after you found out Mark was Invincible. If you were honest, since before then, too. There was just something about skin-tight costumes that got you going. Most of them, of course, being you helping him out of his suit, but now, with how fervently he was going at it, you kept your hands to yourself. 

It was almost funny watching him get the top portion off, but you could blame that on the hysterical feeling of this situation feeling as unreal as it did. 

You had seen Mark shirtless only a few times before, but this was completely different from the shy glances you managed to peek at. 

Mark gave you no choice but to touch his body as he ducked back down into another kiss, your fingers meeting hot skin. There was something dark and powerful underneath Mark’s skin, something that felt so much more different from the other men you’d had in your bed. 

You ran your hands up his body, starting from his abs to his upper chest, Mark letting out a soft groan when your hands brushed his nipples. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he growled after he pulled away from the kiss. Ducking back down, he instead went lower to get his mouth against your neck. 

I think I have an idea, you opened your mouth to say, but all that came out was a moan when Mark’s teeth sank into your skin. The sound only spurs Mark on as he moves to another spot to leave a trace. 

“Mark,” you hiss, unable to contain the next noise you let out as Mark’s teeth sink in deep, breaking the skin.

Mark moans around the skin between his teeth, his tongue running over the skin seconds later. As he laps at the skin, Mark rolls his hips into yours, outright humping you. He pulls back from your neck, meeting your eye as he licks his lips. 

You tremble under the dark look he fixes you with, watching as he gets off the bed to get the bottom of his suit down, “take that off,” he commands, “unless you want me to tear it off,” he smirks as he continues on, “I’m fine with either one.”

“Good boy,” he murmurs as you start pulling your clothes off. Once you are fully naked and your clothes are in a pile beside the bed, Mark steps back up to the bed. “Let me look at you,” he says, wrapping a hand around his cock. 

You watch the almost hypnotic motion of Mark slowly stroking his cock, licking your lips when you see a pearly bead of precum fall from the head and down onto your floor. You feel your cock give a twitch of interest as it grows hard between your spread legs. 

You look back up to Mark watching you, and you quickly look away, knowing you’ve been caught. The look on his face didn’t look angry, though, it was smug and full of heat. “You can look,” he says, “it’s all yours.”

Your head snaps up at the declaration, your cock giving another twitch. Your throat suddenly feels dry when you try and swallow, “does that mean I’m yours?” You croak, your gaze falling from Mark. 

Mark lets out a proud laugh, and when you look back up at the sound, you’re met with a faceful of cock. Strong fingers move under your chin to tilt your head up so you meet his eye, “you’ve been mine since I found out you were here, sweetheart,” he says, “now,” he lets go of your face to look around, “where’s your lube?”

You roll over to crawl up the bed, reaching out to grab the handle of your nightstand. Mark chooses the moment you’re balanced on one hand to lay a smack to your ass, catching you off guard. 

You’re proud of yourself for not falling face-first into your comforter, and pause from digging through your drawer to turn and glare at Mark. 

“Sorry,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest, not looking or sounding sorry at all, “couldn’t help it.”

You toss the lube in Mark’s general direction and try your best not to slam the drawer closed. You laid your head down on your pillows, biting your lip as you most certainly weren’t waiting for Mark to spank you again. 

Instead, Mark runs his hands slowly over the globes of your ass, “I mean,” he says as he lifts your hips and gets you onto your knees. “Can you blame me?” He asks as he spreads you open. 

He catches you off guard once more as he dives in, licking a broad over your hole. The shock of it punches a sound of surprise from your open mouth as your cock throbs between your legs. 

Mark lays a few more broad strokes, occasionally licking over your balls and taint on the way to your hole. You groan when he zeros in, licking over your hole until it’s relaxed enough that his tongue can lick inside.

You moan into your pillow as Mark fucks his tongue inside, his tongue coating your walls with his spit. Mark answers with a moan of his own, the vibration going straight to your now hard cock. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Mark says as he pulls back, but not before smacking your ass one last time. He bites into the other untouched cheek, his hands coming to grip your hips in an iron-tight grasp. You whimper into the pillow, having no choice but to let Mark bite you. 

With a kiss pressed to the spot, Mark finally pulls back. You’re left with an aching spot that you were sure was going to look like the one he made earlier on your neck. 

The sound of the lube opening is loud in your ears before it goes quiet once more. Though you were anticipating it, you still jump when the pad of Mark’s lubed fingers runs over your hole. What you always thought would be slow and soft was instead fast and hard, giving you no room to breathe as two of Mark’s fingers sank inside. 

You hissed around the burn deep inside, but of course, Mark gave you no time to focus on that either as his fingers found your prostate. 

“There we go,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear how smug he sounded, “gonna break my fingers, baby,” he said, already adding a third finger. “So fuckin’ tight,” he groans as he pushes his fingers deep. 

Feeling full already, it’s hard to imagine how his cock was going to feel, but when after a few moments Mark pulled his fingers free, you knew you needed what little time you had to mentally prepare.

Vulgarly, Mark smacks the head of his cock against your stretched hole. You gasp when Mark grabs your ass in his hands, his fingers digging into the bruise he left on one of your cheeks. He takes the time to continue teasing you, this time by squeezing your ass cheeks together and fucking his cock between the tight space. 

You turn your head to look back at Mark, “the condom,” you said, whimpering through the pain as Mark squeezed the globes of your ass tighter. 

Mark leaned down to lay his body along your back, “thanks for reminding me to throw those away,” he whispered into your ear, feeling his smile on the shell of your ear, “you won’t be needing those anymore,” he said darkly. 

With that statement, Mark brought his hips up and pressed the head of his slick cock to your hole. In one steady thrust, Mark bottoms out. His hands lock around your hips, keeping your body tightly pressed to his as his moans of pleasure go from his chest and vibrate through your back. 

You turn your head back into the pillow to muffle the sound you made, unknown to your ears whether it was of pleasure or pain. You clench down around the intrusion, the burn of it lighting up your entire body. 

You gasp into the pillow, making it hard to respond to the kiss Mark initiates. You weren’t all too sure about the other half that Mark was, but if the way this Mark kissed you taught you anything, it was that he didn’t need to breathe in the same way did. 

Maybe it will get better over time. The thought made your cock twitch thinking about already going at it again when the round you were in now hadn’t even really begun. 

Mark didn’t seem to mind though as he licked inside your mouth. On his tongue, you tasted the slight remnants of musk, lighting up your tastebuds. Mark pulled back at the same time as his hips did, his head falling onto your shoulder on the thrust back in. 

The only space Mark left between your bodies was just enough for him to fuck in and out of your body, your hole soon becoming accustomed to his cock. There was no question as to if your moans were of pleasure or pain minutes later as Mark’s cock rammed into your prostate on each thrust in. 

There was no time to chase the pleasure as it left when Mark pulled out, because it was there again and again, shooting sparks across your body. It was building to the end that you quickly felt approaching, feeling as if you weren’t going there, but instead, it was forcing its way to you. 

You reached between your legs to wrap your hand around your leaky cock, “that’s it, baby,” Mark said, his lips dragging along your shoulder as he spoke. His pace going too fast to try and match, you stroked your cock to your own messy pace, only taking a few pulls for your body to seize up as you came. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head, the pleasure too intense for your body to seemingly handle before blacking out. You came to on your side, Mark’s body spooned against yours. 

“Relax,” he hissed, and if he was trying to help, his arms tightening around your body sure didn’t assist as he held you in a nearly too-tight embrace. “That’s it,” he murmured as he felt your body relax.   

Mark’s cock still buried inside you, you clenched down around his cock, your own giving a pathetic throb of interest. “How’re you still,” you began to ask, but when Mark’s cock brushed your prostate, you gasped. 

“It takes a little while,” he said, pressing his smile into the back of your neck, “can you feel it?” He asked as he ran his hand across your stomach. 

You shivered as Mark ran his hand over your stomach. You felt full, but not uncomfortably so. 

“Is this what it’s always going to be like?” You asked, grimacing as you felt his cum slip free past Mark’s still-hard cock. 

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” he said as he kissed along the back of your neck, but something told you he already knew the answer. 

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which this is the end

She drives you home with one hand on the wheel and the other never letting go of yours.

You’re quiet in the car—not because there’s nothing to say, but because everything has already been said.

You’re engaged.

And somehow the world hasn’t stopped turning.

The first call is to your closest friend.

You barely say hello before you hear, “Did she do it?!”

You laugh through tears. “She did.”

Screams. Actual screams. You hold the phone away from your ear as Paige grins behind the wheel.

The second call is Paige’s.

She FaceTimes Nika, KK and Azzi from the couch while you’re curled into her side, your head on her shoulder, ring catching the afternoon light.

Azzi starts sobbing immediately.

Nika just nods like she knew.

“You guys are gross,” she says.

But her smile doesn’t fade for hours.

The texts come in waves.

Your people.

Her teammates.

The group chat explodes.

KK sends confetti emojis. Geno sends a picture of a bottle of wine with the caption finally. Your aunt texts, I’m crying at work. Your old chef mentor just replies, She better deserve you.

She does.

God, she does.

You keep the engagement offline.

Not because it’s a secret.

Because it’s sacred.

It’s just for now.

Just for you.

The world can wait.

You start planning that same night.

Not for a big ceremony.

Not for a hundred guests or a designer gown.

You want intimacy.

You want to hear her vows without a microphone.

You want to feel her hand in yours without a spotlight.

You want a wedding that feels like an exhale.

Paige offers to plan the whole thing.

You say no.

“I want to plan it with you,” you tell her. “Because I want us to build it together. Even this.”

She nods.

And from then on, every spare moment is yours.

You tour a small vineyard just outside the city.

Paige squeezes your hand as you walk the rows of vines, golden light falling over everything.

“This,” you say.

She doesn’t even ask why.

Because she feels it too.

She picks a suit.

Cream-colored. Soft lapels. No tie.

You run your hands along her collar the moment she tries it on.

“Damn,” you whisper. “I’m in trouble.”

She smirks. “You’re the one marrying me.”

You grin. “That’s exactly why I’m in trouble.”

Your dress is simple.

Light fabric. No corset. No lace.

Just something that breathes with you.

That lets you dance.

That lets you feel like yourself.

You cry when you put it on.

Not because it’s perfect.

But because it’s right.

One night, two weeks before the wedding, you sit on the floor together writing your vows.

You don't share them.

But she looks at you, pen in hand, and says, “You know... every time I think I couldn’t love you more, you prove me wrong.”

You reach over, brush your fingers through her hair.

“Then I’m going to keep trying. Every day we get.”

She kisses your wrist, right where the pulse beats strong.

And you both write the rest of your hearts onto paper.

Together.

The vineyard sleeps under a silver sky.

You’re staying in a tiny guesthouse tucked between the vines. The walls smell like lavender and old books. The windows creak softly in the wind.

The wedding is tomorrow.

And Paige is sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing one of your hoodies and a look you’ve never seen before.

A mix of nerves and awe.

“You okay?” you ask, brushing a hand down her leg as you pass by.

She doesn’t answer immediately.

Just watches you set down two mugs of tea on the nightstand. Honey chamomile. The same kind you made her the first time she stayed the night, long before either of you called this love.

You sit beside her.

She leans in.

“I keep thinking,” she says softly, “what if I forget to say the right thing?”

You smile. “You won’t.”

“But what if I cry in the middle? Or trip? Or say your middle name wrong?”

“You definitely will.”

She laughs. “You're not helping.”

You take her hand.

“Hey.”

She looks at you.

“You could stand there and read me the ingredients on a cereal box and I’d still marry you.”

She exhales. Shaky. Grateful.

You lean in, rest your forehead against hers.

“Tomorrow isn’t about being perfect,” you whisper. “It’s about being real. And I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am about you.”

She wraps her arms around you then.

And holds you like she’s saying thank you without words.

Later, you both lie on the floor.

Backs pressed against the rug. Lights off. Only the glow of the moon washing through the windows.

“Do you remember the night I asked you if you wanted company?” she asks.

You smile in the dark. “Your famous Thai food and chaos text.”

“I was scared,” she says. “You didn’t know that. But I was terrified I was too late. That someone else had already seen you the way I had.”

You turn your head toward her. “You weren’t late.”

“I was just in time.”

You nod. “You were exactly in time.”

Silence again.

But full.

Brimming.

You reach for her hand.

She laces your fingers together without a word.

At some point, she whispers, “Can I tell you something I’ve never said out loud?”

You nod, even though she can’t see you.

“Sometimes I still wake up thinking this is temporary. That you’ll be gone. That I imagined you.”

Your chest tightens.

“Then I reach out,” she continues, “and there you are. Real. Warm. Breathing. And every time, I promise myself I won’t take another second for granted.”

You squeeze her hand.

“You don’t,” you whisper.

“I try not to.”

“You don’t have to try,” you say. “You already love me like time is made of glass.”

You feel her breath catch.

And then she turns toward you.

Pulls you into her chest.

And for a long time, neither of you speak.

You just hold each other.

Letting the night be quiet.

Letting it hold you both before the morning opens everything.

You wake before the sun.

The light hasn’t touched the sky yet, but you’re wide awake, heart pounding like it’s running toward something. Your room is quiet. Paige isn’t here—by choice. You decided the night before to sleep separately, not out of superstition but to feel the moment when you see her again. Fresh. New. Yours.

You roll over and stare at the ceiling.

Today, you marry her.

Today, you promise everything—with no timeline, no guarantees, just love.

You exhale slowly.

And begin.

By 8:00 a.m., your people arrive.

Your best friend brings coffee. Another friend brings a small speaker and plays your “soft mornings” playlist while doing your hair. Your cousin quietly unpacks your dress and steams it, hands trembling just a little because she can’t stop crying every time she looks at you.

You sit by the window while someone curls strands of your hair around their fingers.

No one talks about the illness today.

No one talks about time.

They just talk about love.

About how they knew it would be her.

About how you started glowing the moment she walked into your life.

You laugh.

You cry.

You sip too-hot coffee from a chipped mug and say, “I feel like I’m floating.”

Your best friend smiles. “Then we’ll hold you down until she lifts you higher.”

Across the vineyard, Paige is getting ready too.

Azzi is tying her tie—yes, she changed her mind and went with a soft beige tie after all.

Nika is ironing the hem of her suit jacket.

KK keeps pacing.

“She’s going to pass out,” she mumbles.

“She’s going to cry,” Azzi mutters back.

“I’m already crying,” Paige says, holding her phone in one hand, reading a note she saved weeks ago.

Things I’ll say if I can’t get through my vows without sobbing.

1. I love you more than your banana bread. 2. You are the only one who makes me want forever—even if forever is shorter than it should be. 3. You are the bravest thing that ever happened to me. 4. Yes. Always, yes.

She snaps it shut and stands.

Hands shaking.

Voice steady.

“Let’s do this,” she whispers.

Back in your room, you stand in front of the mirror.

Your dress hangs soft and light around your body.

Your heart feels like it’s beating against your ribs, like it’s trying to get to her before your feet do.

Your friend steps forward and gently clips your necklace.

The same one Paige gave you the night she said “I love you” for the first time.

You look at yourself.

Eyes wide. Lips trembling. Chest full of everything.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

Your friend smiles through her tears.

“That’s how you know it’s real.”

You nod.

And then the knock comes.

Soft. Intentional.

The coordinator opens the door.

“They’re ready for you.”

You step outside.

The wind is gentle.

The light is gold.

Your hands are cold, but your heart is burning.

And somewhere, just beyond the vineyard rows—

She’s waiting.

You step out from behind the vineyard trellis, and for a second—just a second—everything stops.

The sky has turned that exact shade of honey it only holds right before sunset. The rows of grapevines stretch out like open arms, and the soft hum of strings plays from somewhere hidden behind the altar.

But none of that matters.

Because you see her.

And she sees you.

Paige stands at the end of the aisle, under the arch you both chose, her suit kissed by golden light, hands clasped tight in front of her, like she’s praying and shaking and flying all at once.

When her eyes land on you, they don’t blink.

Her breath catches.

You see her whisper something to herself.

There she is.

You take one step forward.

Your knees are trembling.

Your heartbeat is too loud in your ears, and for a terrifying moment, you don’t know if you’ll make it the whole way without falling apart.

But then she smiles.

Soft. Disbelieving. Like she’s never seen anything so holy.

And you forget fear.

You walk.

Not fast. Not slow.

You walk like time has bent itself around this moment.

Like nothing before and nothing after could possibly compare.

The breeze picks up as you pass the first row of chairs—your friends, your people, all of them rising to their feet. Some are already crying. Some are smiling through tears. One of your friends whispers, “Oh my God,” like she’s seeing something divine.

But you don’t look at any of them.

You only look at her.

Paige’s eyes never leave yours.

You see it all in them.

The memory of your first conversation over curry.

The quiet nights.

The broken plate.

The diagnosis.

The fear.

The yes.

The yes.

She swallows hard as you near.

One hand lifts—like she’s reaching without thinking.

You reach back.

The moment your fingers touch, the crowd disappears.

There’s only her.

Only you.

Only this.

“You came,” she whispers.

You laugh through your tears.

“I always was.”

She takes your hand fully now, steps forward, gently presses her forehead to yours.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hi,” you breathe back.

And together, with fingers laced and tears already falling, you turn to face the one person standing at the arch—your officiant, your friend—who says, voice steady, “Are we ready?”

You and Paige look at each other.

Smiling.

Breaking.

Becoming.

And you both say, together,

“We are.”

The wind quiets.

The crowd stills.

Even the sun seems to pause, lingering in the golden sky like it knows this moment matters.

You and Paige stand beneath the arch—hands still joined, eyes full of what words could never contain.

The officiant speaks softly.

“We are gathered here not just to witness a marriage, but to honor a choice. A choice to love boldly, presently, completely—regardless of how many days are ahead. This is not about forever in time, but forever in devotion. In choosing. In staying.”

You squeeze Paige’s hand.

She squeezes back.

Then the officiant nods toward her.

“Paige,” they say. “Your vows.”

She turns to you.

And for a second, she doesn’t speak.

She just stares—eyes glistening, jaw trembling.

And then, in a voice that breaks halfway through the first word.

“I never expected it to be you.”

She smiles through the tears.

“Not because I didn’t believe in love. But because I didn’t believe love could look like this. So quiet. So steady. So brave.”

You bite your lip.

“I thought I knew what strength was,” she continues. “I thought it was scoring in the fourth quarter, pushing through pain, carrying the weight of pressure. But then I met you.”

She steps a little closer.

“And strength became something else entirely. It became waking up with a diagnosis and still smiling at me. It became letting me see you on the hard days. It became writing letters you thought I’d never read. Loving me even when you were scared. Letting me love you even when I was.”

Her voice cracks.

She breathes.

And keeps going.

“I don’t know how much time we have. But I do know this—every second with you has already been a lifetime I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

She reaches for your cheek, brushes away a tear.

“I vow to make joy louder than fear. I vow to make coffee, even if I burn it. I vow to remind you every day that you are not your illness, and you never will be.”

You’re sobbing now.

So is she.

“I vow to stay. As long as I’m allowed. And then longer still—in photos, in stories, in every recipe you taught me, and every breath that carries your name.”

She lets out a shaking breath.

“I love you. And I always will. Still.”

There is no applause.

Just silence.

And then the officiant turns to you.

You nod.

And begin.

“You were supposed to be a customer.”

The crowd chuckles softly.

Paige smiles, crying.

“You sat at my counter and asked for comfort food. I didn’t know then that you’d become it. That you’d sit across from me for so many days that you’d start to feel like home.”

You pause. Blink away the tears.

“I never thought I’d fall in love with someone like you—so focused, so public, so big. But then you laughed at my burnt cookies, cried when you read poetry badly, and showed up with Thai food and hope on the night I couldn’t move.”

Your voice shakes.

“I didn’t know how to let someone stay. But you made it feel safe.”

She’s sobbing.

You step closer, hands shaking in hers.

“I don’t have forever to give you. I wish I did. But what I do have is this. I vow to live every moment with you like it’s the only one that matters. I vow to kiss you like time is folding around us. I vow to let you carry the weight with me—even when I pretend I’m fine. I vow to say ‘I love you’ every morning, even if one day I can’t say much else. And when I can’t say anything anymore…”

You take a trembling breath.

“…I vow that my love will still be here. In the songs you hum. In the recipes we wrote. In the way you breathe in the sunlight and remember that we chose each other.”

A pause.

“I choose you. Still. Always. Yes.”

The officiant steps back, eyes full.

And simply says…

“With these vows, you are already bound. But if your hearts are ready—go ahead and seal it with a kiss.”

You don’t wait.

Neither does she.

You crash into each other with the softest, fiercest kiss—tears on your cheeks, laughter in your mouths, promises on your lips.

Your people cheer.

The sun sinks behind you.

And just like that—

You are wives.

The crowd fades.

The music swells.

But all you feel is her hand in yours.

You and Paige walk back up the aisle to cheers and flower petals and laughter—but it all blurs. She squeezes your hand so tightly, you think maybe it’s the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

When you reach the edge of the vineyard, just past the last row of chairs, she tugs you aside.

Around the corner.

Away from everyone.

Just for a minute.

And then she wraps her arms around your waist, lifts you off the ground, and spins.

You laugh into her neck, still crying, still stunned.

“We did it,” you whisper.

“We did,” she murmurs back. “And you—you were…”

You pull back slightly.

“What?” you ask, smiling.

She cups your face.

“You were the most beautiful thing this world has ever seen.”

You laugh, lips trembling.

“So were you.”

The sun sinks low.

Dinner is soft and loud all at once—clinking glasses, candlelight, warm food, warm eyes.

Toasts are made.

Nika starts hers by saying, “You both are a disaster. But you’re our disaster.”

Your friend reads a line from your favorite poem.

Azzi just raises her glass and says, “To the both of you.”

You look at Paige.

She’s already looking at you.

You reach for her hand under the table.

Later, long after the cake is cut, someone plays your song—the one she danced to in your kitchen the first time she tried to cook for you. The one that makes you cry in the car when it rains.

She stands, holds out her hand.

“May I?”

You nod.

She leads you into the grass, just past the lights, where the shadows are soft and the stars are just beginning to breathe.

You dance barefoot.

Slowly.

No one else joins.

It’s yours.

Only yours.

She rests her forehead to yours.

“I think the universe made you out of everything I needed,” she whispers.

You close your eyes.

“I think the universe gave me you right on time.”

You both cry, swaying under the sky.

Not from sadness.

From fullness.

From wonder.

That night, she carries you over the threshold of the guesthouse, even though you laugh and say she’ll hurt her back.

She says, “I’ll carry you forever if I have to.”

You believe her.

You change into soft clothes—nothing fancy, just you and her, bare feet and quiet sighs.

You brush your teeth beside her and keep catching her looking at you in the mirror like she still can’t believe you said yes.

She wraps her arms around you from behind and whispers, “I love my wife.”

You breathe out a laugh.

You whisper it back.

And when you lie down beside her, pressed together beneath the sheets, legs tangled and fingers tracing rings you haven’t taken off since the ceremony—

You whisper one more thing into the stillness.

“Thank you.”

She pulls you closer.

“For what?” she asks.

“For choosing me,” you whisper. “Even when time doesn’t.”

She kisses your knuckles.

“No matter how much time we get,” she says, “this night will live forever in me.”

And then she kisses you like the vow still lives on her tongue.

And you fall asleep in her arms.

Married.

Still.

It’s been months.

The world hasn’t stopped.

It’s just… slower now.

You and Paige live in rhythms now. Not plans.

You take mornings as they come—some with sunshine, some with numb hands and aching joints, some with tears before coffee.

She never flinches.

She just holds you like the world is still good.

Because with her—it is.

Your body betrays you more often now.

Some days you can’t button your own shirt.

Some days your legs tremble too long after standing.

But Paige learns with you.

She learns how to tie your laces.

She learns how to hold your arm without making it feel like pity.

She learns how to look at you like you’re still you.

And she says, almost daily, “You’re more you now than ever.”

You cook less now.

She tries more.

Sometimes it’s beautiful. Sometimes it’s chaos.

Once, she confused salt and sugar and served you the saltiest pancakes known to mankind.

You ate every bite.

She cried when you told her they were “aggressively unique.”

Then you both laughed until you forgot what pain even felt like.

You still take pictures.

Every morning, just like she asked.

Hair a mess, eyes tired, sun sometimes not even up yet.

She says every photo looks like a love letter.

You say she’s biased.

But maybe she’s right.

Some days, you write.

When your fingers let you.

You keep a journal on the windowsill.

One line a day. No pressure.

She danced with me in the kitchen again.

Today the pain wasn’t louder than her laugh.

She still looks at me like I hung the stars.

You never talked about the countdown again.

Not in numbers.

You just talk about today.

And sometimes tomorrow.

But mostly just now.

It’s been a year.

The doctor calls it progression.

You call it redefining.

You walk slower. Rest more. Your speech has softened, slurred on long days.

But you’re still here.

You’re still.

Paige learns new ways to care for you without making it feel like sacrifice.

She reads to you when your voice gives out.

She paints your nails on days when your hands ache.

She kisses your scars like they’re sacred.

Like they’re proof you’re still fighting.

You don’t go out as much.

But friends come over.

They bring food and flowers and sit on the floor like they always have.

They cry less now.

You all laugh more.

Once, someone said, “You’re teaching us how to live.”

You said, “I’m just learning how to stay.”

And every night, before bed, Paige tucks you in.

Sometimes with a kiss.

Sometimes with silence.

Sometimes with tears.

But always with love.

You rest your head on her chest and whisper, “Another day.”

She holds you tighter.

“Another day,” she repeats. “Still.”

You haven’t been to a game in months.

Not since the symptoms worsened.

Not since travel started taking more from you than it gave.

But when Paige comes home with that look in her eyes—wide, teary, stubborn—you know she’s already decided.

“We’re going to the arena,” she says softly, kneeling beside your chair. “Just one more time.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she shakes her head.

“I want to give you this.”

You press your forehead to hers.

She’s trembling.

So are you.

But you nod.

Because this love has always been about the one more.

The team pulls every string.

The Wings staff reserves a private suite just for you. No cameras. No crowd. Just glass windows and soft lighting and space for Paige to come to you when it’s over.

Your friends help you dress.

A soft jersey over your shoulders. The one with her number on it. The one she signed months ago, when neither of you could say why.

You hold it together until the drive to the arena.

Then Paige reaches across the console, threads your fingers together, and says,

“This one’s for you.”

The crowd is loud.

The lights are bright.

But none of it touches you.

All you see is her.

Number 5. Your wife. Your heart.

She walks out for warmups and glances up at the suite. You’re already there, hands curled in your lap, eyes on her.

When she sees you, she smiles.

Big. Unapologetic. Like you are the sun breaking through the roof.

She taps her chest.

Then points at you.

You mouth, I love you.

She mouths, Forever.

The game starts.

And Paige plays like the clock doesn’t matter.

She weaves through defenders like they’re mist.

She shoots like the basket owes her something.

She flies.

The arena chants her name.

But every time she scores, she looks up.

Not at the scoreboard.

At you.

Fourth quarter. Tie game. Final seconds.

Ball in her hands.

She could pass.

She doesn’t.

She takes the shot.

Swish.

Buzzer.

The crowd erupts.

You don’t hear it.

Because your ears are full of your heartbeat.

Of her name.

Of the weight of this moment.

She did it.

For you.

After the court clears, she sprints up the tunnel.

Still in her jersey.

Still catching her breath.

Your door opens.

She falls to her knees beside your chair.

And you see it—right there in her eyes.

She knows.

So do you.

This was your last game.

Your last adventure.

You smile anyway.

Because what a damn goodbye.

She buries her face in your lap, crying hard now, breath hitching.

You run your hand through her hair, slow, unsteady.

“You were amazing,” you whisper.

She lifts her head.

“You were here,” she says. “That’s what made it everything.”

You pull her close.

“You gave me a life inside a year.”

She nods, broken and shining.

“You gave me every lifetime,” she whispers.

And in that moment, the ending feels less like a goodbye.

And more like a thank you.

—

The house is warm.

Afternoon sun spills across the living room floor in long golden lines. Somewhere outside, wind chimes tinkle softly in the breeze. Inside, crayons are scattered across the kitchen table, a pink plastic tiara lies abandoned on the floor, and a little girl—six years old, with tangled curls and wide eyes—climbs into her mother’s lap, thoughtful.

“Mama,” she says. “Can I ask something?”

Paige Bueckers looks down at her daughter, smiles. “Always.”

“Why is my name Y/N?”

Paige stills.

Just for a second.

A blink. A breath. A flicker of time folding in.

But it’s enough.

Emily—her wife—watches from the hallway, her smile softening, her heart already bracing.

Paige swallows.

Her hands, rough from coaching and gardening and life, wrap gently around their daughter’s smaller ones.

She could lie.

She could say the name just sounded beautiful.

She could say it came to her in a dream.

But instead, she says the truth.

“There was a girl I loved,” Paige begins, her voice steady. “Before you were born. Before even Mommy.”

Little Y/N tilts her head. “Like a girlfriend?”

Paige smiles. “Yes. A long time ago. She was my first great love.”

“What was she like?”

Paige’s eyes glaze, just slightly—like she’s not looking at the room anymore.

“She was... brave. The kind of brave that doesn’t need to shout about it. She made people feel safe just by being near. She cooked like it was magic. She laughed with her whole body. And she had this way of looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.”

Y/N blinks, leaning in. “What happened?”

Paige hesitates. Then continues, voice gentler now.

“She got sick. Really sick. And we didn’t have much time.”

Y/N frowns. “Did she die?”

“Yes, baby,” Paige says, brushing hair back from her daughter’s forehead. “She did. But before she did, she gave me everything. A year that felt like a lifetime. A love that I still feel, even now.”

“Was she sad?”

“Sometimes. But mostly she was kind. And funny. And so, so full of love. She made every day count.”

Y/N stares at her hands for a moment.

“So... I’m named after her?”

Paige nods.

“Because I wanted to remember. Because she deserved to be remembered. And because when you were born, I looked at you and thought—of course. There you are.”

Y/N’s lip wobbles. “I wish I could meet her.”

Paige swallows a lump in her throat.

“I think... in a way, you already have.”

Y/N wraps her arms around Paige’s waist and holds her tight.

Then, a moment later—because she’s six, and that’s what six-year-olds do—she wriggles out of the hug and runs off to play with a cape around her shoulders and mismatched socks on her feet.

Paige watches her go.

And lets the silence return.

Emily steps into the room.

She doesn’t speak.

She just walks up behind Paige and places her hands gently on her shoulders.

Paige leans back into her without looking.

“I didn’t think it would hit me like that,” she murmurs. “It’s been so long.”

Emily presses a kiss into her hair.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

Paige finally turns her head.

Her eyes are glassy. Distant. But not broken.

“She was everything,” she says.

“I know.”

“She’s still in here,” Paige says, pressing a palm to her heart. “Even now.”

Emily nods, kneeling beside her.

“I don’t want to forget her,” Paige whispers.

Emily cups her cheek.

“You never could.”

They stay like that for a while—quiet, held.

And outside, their daughter runs in circles, laughing loud enough to echo.

A name carried forward.

A love still breathing in the spaces between.

Still.

Always.

It had been years.

Paige had stopped counting a long time ago—not because she forgot, but because time began to feel less like something that passed, and more like something she carried.

She kept your memory in quiet places. In the music she played while cooking Sunday breakfast. In the old Polaroid stuck to the back of her journal. In the small ceramic spoon rest you made that still sat by the stove. She didn’t bring you up every day, not out of denial, but reverence.

She had a family now. A beautiful one. Emily was sunlight—kind in the mornings, steady at night. And their daughter, Y/N, was this wide-eyed, wild thing who asked hard questions and loved the moon.

They had a good life.

But grief doesn’t disappear.

It settles.

It takes up residence in the softest corners of joy.

And that’s where it lived now, years later, when Paige opened a box labeled “Kitchen (Keep)” and found the old recipe binder.

She hadn’t touched it in years. Not because she forgot it existed, but because she always knew exactly where it was. She just wasn’t ready. Until now.

It still smelled faintly like rosemary and something sweeter.

She opened it slowly, running her fingers over the familiar cover, smudged with butter, penciled-in substitutions, faded ink.

And then, tucked between the page for your lemon ginger soup and the notes for your banana bread, she saw the envelope.

Her name.

In your handwriting.

And underneath it, smaller, almost as if you’d written it at the last second…

If it’s been a while—read this.

She sat down on the floor, legs folding under her like she was twenty again. Her fingers trembled, but not from fear.

She opened it.

And you began.

Hi, my love.

If you’re reading this, it means I’m not beside you anymore.

And God, I wish I was.

I wish I could reach over and squeeze your hand the way I always did when I couldn’t find the words. I wish I could make you coffee with way too much cinnamon like I did that one time you teased me about seasonal flavors. I wish I could look you in the eyes and tell you, again and again, how proud I am of you. How grateful. How lucky.

But I can’t.

So I’m writing it down, hoping these words hold weight long after I’m gone.

I never imagined a love like the one we built. Not because I didn’t believe in love—but because I didn’t think it could live this quietly. This fiercely. This gently.

You taught me how to be held without shame. How to laugh even when my body hurt. How to sit in silence without needing to fill it. You showed me what it meant to live—not just exist, but live with both hands open.

You were my favorite place to land.

I know the days after me were hard.

I know the air must have felt heavier without my laugh in the kitchen or my voice beside yours in the early morning light. I know that for a while, everything probably tasted a little like salt—grief in the back of your throat, even when you tried to swallow joy.

But I also know you.

And I know you stayed soft. Stayed bright. Stayed Paige. Even when it hurt.

Thank you for that.

If you ever doubted whether you could love again—know this…

I want you to.

I want you to find warmth again. A lap to rest your head. A person to carry your tired. A laugh that stitched your heart back together.

I wanted you to have someone who loved you the way I did—openly, endlessly, and without apology.

To the one who gets to love you, if you’re reading over her shoulder—I hope you know how grateful I am.

Thank you for holding her through the storms I didn’t live to see.

Thank you for loving my girl.

And to the child you got to have…

I never got to meet you. But you carry a piece of me. And I hope when you run through the house yelling about butterflies or astronauts or peanut butter toast, your mama sees the way your smile curls and knows I’m not gone. Not really.

Paige, my heart, I need you to remember something.

You didn’t fail me.

Not once. Not ever.

You loved me through the hardest year of our lives.

You held me when my hands couldn’t hold you back.

You stayed, even as the days grew shorter.

You gave me a thousand lifetimes in one.

And when I closed my eyes for the last time, it was your voice I carried with me.

You are my safe place.

My home.

Still.

So if you’re crying now, that’s okay.

But after you cry—go make something. Paint. Sing. Cook something ridiculous with too much garlic. Take your kid to the lake and tell them the story about the time you burnt the toast and I pretended it was intentional. Let them laugh. Let them know.

Let them know I loved you with everything I had.

Let them know I left this world full.

And when you whisper into the night, when the stars are quiet and the house is sleeping, and you say my name like a secret—

I’ll be there.

I’ll always be there.

Still.

Always.

Yours, 

Y/N.

Paige didn’t move for a long time after finishing.

Her chest ached. Not like it used to. Not hollow. Not breaking.

Just full.

Full of you.

Full of the life you lived together.

Full of the love that never ended—only changed shape.

She looked up.

Outside, Emily was laughing in the garden. Little Y/N danced through the grass, barefoot and fearless.

Paige stood slowly, folded the letter back into its envelope, and held it against her chest.

“I miss you,” she whispered into the quiet room.

Then she walked outside.

To the life she built because you taught her how.

Still.

Always.

[ifwdominicfike]

the words i cant say

summary - matt is infatuated with you, you’re all he ever thinks about now. having no one to let these secrets out to, he decided why not write about them instead..

it was killing him, having to keep these secrets to himself for so long was tiring. the only thing being his outlet was his journal, pages among pages filled with him just rambling about you. of course he would never tell you these things, afraid of going over your boundaries and ruining the whole friendship.

if you were to ask him what he loved most about you he wouldn’t be able to answer that question, he loved every single bit of you. of course he wrote about that as well, he couldn’t not think about you even if he tried.

a couple weeks ago..

“her everything is perfect, her eyes, her style, her humor, the way her smile brightens when i compliment her on anything - june 19th”

“she looked so pretty today, i kept staring at her lips i hope she didn’t notice.. - june 25th”

“her voice is the sweetest thing i’ve ever heard, i can talk to her for hours - july 12th”

“i cant help but wonder if she thinks about me the way i think about her - july 22nd”

to shorten it down he was in love with you, and he had no plan of telling you anytime soon.

he wanted to push these feelings away, feeling bad for pining over his own best friend while you had no knowledge of it. he couldn’t help it though, he thinks back to the countless amount of times you two had spent together. late night drives, going thrifting, or just staying in watching cheesy rom-com movies.

during group settings his eyes would wonder over to you, staring longingly at you laughing and smiling big while you were having the time of your life. you would turn your head and see his light colored eyes looking at you with a soft expression, which ended up in both of you turning away while heat rushed to your cheeks.

there was some nights where you stayed up thinking about him, just wondering what if? but you brushed it off, thinking maybe its all in your head..

you were coming over today, it was nothing new, you always came over to hang out when you didn’t have anything specifically planned. you were excited to see matt, you haven’t seen him in two weeks due to his work schedule and all of his meetings piled up. he finally had a free day and you were overly excited when he asked you if you wanted to hang out.

you loved spending time with him, no matter what it was. as long as it was with him you were happy.

he had texted you to come whenever you wanted, you were already in pretty comfy clothes so you got your keys and left. the drive there was calm, music flowing through the car consumed the silence and before you know it you’re already in their driveway.

you texted matt that you were outside already and not even a minute passes before you hear the door unlock and open, you were met with his disheveled figure, hair messy, slightly cropped shirt and sweatpants resting low on his waist..

“finally kid you’re here, you were taking forever” a smile spread across his face as he rolled his eyes sarcastically. you step inside as he holds the door for you, “i haven’t seen you in forever and you already have a attitude??” you say raising an eyebrow as you set your keys down on the table.

“oh come on, you know i missed you doll.” that name. you didn’t hear it often but when you did your cheeks would turn bright red as you stumble over your words. that stupid grin on his face said everything you needed to know. “i missed you too, matt!!” you flashed a cheesy smile at him before you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you into his chest.

a couple months ago..

“the feeling of her arms around my waist feels so right.. wish i could always have her this close. - january 17th”

“she has to know what she’s doing, right?? fuck. her smile makes me weak. - january 29th”

“she looked gorgeous in that top with the little bow, her hair done up differently, her pretty jewelry scattered around her figure as well, i couldn’t help but steal glances each time she wasn’t looking in the car. - february 6th”

you return the hug, his comforting scent surrounds you, making you feel at peace. finally feeling his warmth that you longed for for a little too long, you both pull away and his face lights up. “shit- i forgot i had gotten you something when i was away, come on” your face forms into a confused expression “you didn’t have to do that matt, you know that right??” your smile still being very evident as you protest him getting you a gift.

“yeah yeah i know, but it made me think of you so i haddd to get it!” he grabbed your hand and dragged you over to his room, you flop down on the bed as he searches around looking for the gift. you hear him scattering around while muttering words to himself until a certain book under his pillow catches your eye.. you didn’t know matt was getting into reading? “ooh matt what book are you reading?” you hold it up to show him the hardcover journal.

“huh? im not readin- WAIT!“ you open it up to see your name on the first page, several times actually. you scan through it curiously, you finally realize that it was definitely not a regular book. he was basically confessing his love to you in every single page, matt was too late as he rushed over to you snatching the book from your hands.

you quickly stand up, jaw basically on the floor and your face redder than ever. you didn’t even know what to say, its not like you didn’t feel the same because you did.. its just you couldn’t believe he wrote all of that about you. “l-look y/n i can explain i just-“ his words coming out in stutters “matt, matt please, just calm down. okay? y-you’re okay, come on..” you lead him back over to his bed, both of you sitting down at the edge. “im really, really sorry y/n you weren’t supposed to read that. i understand if you feel uncomfortable or if you wanna leav-“ you cut him off bringing your hand to his cheek and leaning in, your lips colliding with his.

you caught him off guard but he instantly kisses back, you smile into the kiss and bring your other hand to back of his neck pulling him more in. his hands traveling down to your hips, holding onto you like you could disappear any moment. you both finally pull away, heavy breathing while you watch that same stupid grin form on his face.

“what?” you ask laughing. “nothing, its just- i’ve always thought i would be the one to kiss you first” his smirk growing wider by the second. “oh shut up, you’re so corny” you roll your eyes in a playful manner and push at his shoulder a little.

“i really did mean it you know? everything i said in that journal. you really, really mean a lot to me and i- i can’t see myself loving anyone else other than you y/n. since the first day i met you.” tears forming in your eyes as he continues to talk, “you mean everything to me. words can’t express how i feel for you, i would’ve said something sooner but i didn’t wanna ruin the relationship we already had and-“ you laugh at his mouth running off again, his nervousness taking over once more.

“matt, please im so sorry but shh. i feel the same way, you weren’t really the best at hiding that staring problem of yours you know..” you giggle at his embarrassed expression “i love you, a lot. you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, you were always there for me whenever i needed someone and you never fail to make my days better. i love you so much.” he watches you in awe, how could someone so precious be in front of him right now?

“so does this mean like, im your boyfriend now, right..?” you giggle and take his hand into yours “well.. i dont know, i haven’t been asked yet..” he smiles and gives your hand a small kiss. “y/n, may i be your boyfriend?” your smile growing ten times bigger before you nod your head immediately. “yes, yes yes YES!” your arms instantly wrapping around his neck as you pull him into another kiss, this time it was filled with love, and patience. the world stopped the second you two filled the gap in between, until you feel him pull back.

“i love you so fucking much y/n. words wont ever be enough for me to show you how much i really do.”

“wait. what about my gift though?”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

my first fic.. this took me like 2 days to write because i had no idea on how to go with this, i feel like its kinda all over the place too it feels rushed to me idk why 😭😭 if there is any mistakes or missing words, NO THERE ISNT. please be nice, again this is my first time writing. im always open for ideas or tips on anything!! also thank you to @flouvela for encouraging me on writing this ILYSM GF 🤍🤍 ok bye now!!

[nfr-girly]

I just realized I haven't been following you. Please forgive me for my transgressions.

Hasan, whose partner just came back from a like two or three week vacation

tysm for the request!! and don’t even worry boo <3

Reunion - Hasan piker x reader

summary: you reunite with Hasan after being away for two weeks

————————————————————————

This was the first time you and Hasan had been away from eachother this long, it was coming up to your one year anniversary, and although you two were hoping to celebrate it together, you had almost forgotten about a vacation you had booked since last year. It was a two week trip you and your friends had planned together, having finally saved up enough money between all of you to go.

Words couldn’t describe how unbelievably guilty you felt, although you had booked the trip way before you two even got together, you weren’t able to refund your ticket, or find anyone else who was able to go in your place, wish meant you had no choice but to miss it.

Hasan promised you that he had no problem with it and that he wasn’t mad, insisting you go spend time with your friends. The whole week before you left you spoiled him with special meals made before and after his stream, you didn’t need to do it, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

Much to your irritation, he occasionally reminded you of you missing your anniversary, just to get kisses from you.

One night, you two were cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. You were perched in his arms, head on his shoulder blade while his chin lied on your shoulder. He pulled back, lips slightly grazed your ear as he whispered to you:

“So you know how you’re missing our one year anniversary…..” he put emphases on the one year part, which earned him a light snack to the face

He laughed, “what? I thought we agreed that was my free pass to kisses”

inevitably, you gave in.

When it rolled around to the day of your flight, both of you were gutted to have to say goodbye to eachother. Dropping you off at the airport, he hugged you and refused to let go, whispering in your ear a set of sweet words for you to think about on your flight. You had to be separated by your friend, and finally he got the courage to turn back around and head to the car. The entire time you were in the airport, you and him were texting back and forth, mostly him checking in to see if you were okay.

For you, those two weeks were filled with lots of dining out, dancing, drinking and seeing popular tourist sights. For him, those weeks were spent stalking your instagram and missing you like crazy. He didn’t regret convincing you to go on the trip, seeing your posts and highlights he can see you’re having the time of your life. But the house has never felt more empty, especially when it does eventually roll around to your anniversary.

With you being away, the only advantage he’s had was having more time to buy you things. He picked out a variety of things to get you, flowers, skincare, clothes, anything he saw in the shops he knew you’d like (and had pointed out to him previously.) On the one year mark, he woke up and immediately texted you, writing out an insanely huge paragraph that he wasn’t even sure you’d have time to read.

In it he declared how happy he was you were with him, how this past year’s been nothing but bliss and you’re the reason why. How you’ve become the greatest parent to Kaya, and the best partner to him. How he hopes that you two will have many more years to come and many more occasions to celebrate. He ends it off with a quick I love you and wishing you have a good day.

He turned off his phone to start his workout, he wasn’t completely sure when you’d get the text, considering the different time zones but he just hopes that you see it and are able to understand how much he truly appreciates you. You did end up reading it, and your friends had to find you tearing up at how wonderful of a man life had given you.

Eventually, the day to return home came around. And although you were really enjoying the vacation, you were excited to finally be back in Hasan’s arms.

You had called him the night before, reminding him you were coming back home. Originally, you were going to get dropped off, since your friend’s boyfriend was coming to pick you all up. But he insisted on coming to the airport to get you himself, wanting to be the first one to see you.

The flight was long, and everyone was getting leg cramps from staying sat down for so long. When you finally got off the plane, you all did mini stretches to get rid of any tense muscles.

The whole way to the airport, Hasan was giddy just thinking about seeing you. He had woken up extra early this morning, got dressed up in nice clothes, he even prepared a bag for you filled with snacks, water, a blanket if you needed it.

Pulling into one of the parking spaces, he got out the car, opening the back to make sure there was room for your bag.

He headed inside, the crowd of people both entering and exiting the place would usually overwhelm him, but frankly he didn’t care as he bolted straight to where you’d be meeting him.

He waited anxiously by the gate, hands in pockets and unable to stand still, rocking on his feet. 20 minutes go by before he hears a bundle of people come through. He looks up and starts searching for your group. He sees your friend group come, and he sees you in the middle. He swears you’ve magically become more gorgeous over that 2 weeks.

You see him and wave, smiling. He waves back. You hug and say goodbye to your friends as they head towards entrance. Dragging your suitcase along, you approach him

You put down the case. “Hi” you say, giggling

You don’t get another word in before he scoops you up in his arms, twirling your feet up in the air.

He spins you around, and you laugh loudly. Finally putting you down, you grab his face and pull him in, connecting your lips to his.

He holds your waist, pulling you nearer, almost scared of letting you go. You pull away for air, “I missed you” he declares. “So so much”

You smile and place your forehead on his, stroking his beard, you respond.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry we couldn’t spend our anniversary together” you whisper.

He shakes his head, “it’s okay. We can celebrate it at home. I bought you some things” he grins

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity, “oh yeah? Well I brought some things back as a souvenir, plus I bought some things for you before I left”

“Oh, is this a competition now? On who got the better gifts?” He teases

You laugh and nod, “maybe”

laughing, he pulls you in once more and kisses you, this time even more passionate than the last.

He pulls away, interlocking your fingers together, he takes your suitcase from you. You two walk to the exit together, catching up on what you’ve both been up to.

He speaks up, “Kaya’s missed you like crazy. I showed her a picture of you and she went ballistic.”

You laugh, “I’ve missed her too, no more than you of course” you tease

He smiles, asking you, “you tired?” To which you nod

“Okay, I’ve brought a blanket for you, you get some rest okay? I’ll wake you up when we’re at home.”

When you reach the car, he helps you in, tucking you in with a blanket and pillow, kissing your head, he closes the door and makes his way to the drivers side.

He starts up the car, just before he pulls out, you reach your hand over and grab his, interlocking them. He looks down at you and smiles, kissing the back of your hand before driving off. The whole ride home, your hand never leaves his.

masterlist <3

[aboutchriss]

NEW YEARS EVE

Pairing: BangChan X fem! Reader

Genre: ex to ???, smut i think

warnings: make out session, mention of: oral sex (f receiving), p in v, no protection (WEAR THEM!!!), creampie. let me know if I missed something.

Author note: You can clearly tell that this has been in my draft for a long time, I'm sorry!! I'm trying to get rid of all the drafts because I'm planning on writing a whole series 👀, I'll write and correct all the draft that i have and then I'll start writing the big project, meanwhile i'm dealing with some physical health problems (nothing to worry about), uni (i have nine exams to do), and my uni internship...so be patient...I love you...see ya🤠

💌 Remember! English it's not my first language, please be gentle with me! let me know if there's any mistake(s) 💌

"Let's raise a toast to the new year. In a couple of hours, a new year will begin. I hope you'll have the best new year ever, full of adventures, new friends, love, and a lot of sex—Chan glances at you. Let's eat and drink and...PARTY LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW!"

"Cheers!"

Your whole group of friends says together glasses of prosecco are all around the table, except for Mimi (just because she's pregnant).  you sit next to her, looking at her belly 

"Can I?" you ask before touching her belly, caressing it gently.

"What are you wishing for?" She asks, it's an inside joke, both of you believe that if you rub the belly it will bring good luck (it does!! Last time that you did it you passed the interview for your job).

"I need this to be over as soon as possible" you say touching her belly 

"Liar"  she says placing her hand on yours

"Why?"

"I saw how you looked at him" she says 

"what? He looked at me first!" you say justifying yourself

"what's going on between you two?" she asks looking at you 

"gurl..." you say 

"GURL? you think I'm dumb?" she asks 

"nono...it's just that...umh" you look down 

"oh girl what did you do?" she looks at you 

"ikissedhimlastmonthandnowicantstopthinkingaboutit"

"YOU WHAT?" she yells, the whole room looking at both of you

"Mimi..." 

"y/n say it out loud...I dare you" she says 

"I kissed him last month...or he kissed me...I don't know...and now I can't stop thinking about it...we met for a drink...because we're still friends even if we broke up...but umh...we got drunk and we ended up at his house... everything started in the Uber basically-"

"OKAY, slow down...I need something sweet to drink and some grapes"

You gather everything that the pregnant lady asked for, sit next to her, and start to tell her about what happened

“So it all started when I texted him, it’s not the first time that we've gone out after our break up, we're still friends so it's not that weird"

you show her the messages 

"Okay, go on"

she says stuffing her mouth with grapes  you sigh 

-

I got ready, even if I was late I wanted to be cute, NOT for him, but because I wanted to feel good after a long day of work, so I curled my hair and put a cute sundress on -even if it was a night date- and well...I shaved...my legs were HAIRY OKAY? and I put on a cute set of underwear because even though I was with my ex I thought that maybe I could, you know, fuck a stranger a relief some stress.

"strike number one, you don't fuck strangers, you need some kind of bond with the person that you want to fuck or you just can't..do it" she says chewing on grapes 

"I don't slap you just because you're pregnant"

"Whatever...keep going" she says moving her hands toward you 

as always I was late, but of course, he didn't complain i got into the car, he said that I was beautiful and he had that look in his eyes

"what look?" she asks

"the look that a man has when he wants to eat you alive or kill you"

"oh 

oh"

anyway, once we got to the bar he sits beside me and we start talking and shit, you know the usual, nothing more, nothing less.

After a couple of drinks a man, a hot one, approached me, he was talking about his work or something like that, I don't know I was drinking my second gin tonic, so at that point, I was tipsy...Chan was talking to a girl but when he saw that the hot dude hitting on me, he scared him away, after he stayed with me the whole night.

At three a.m or something he called an Uber, both of us were drunk as shit, and for some reason he only gave his address to the driver, during the ride he was still staring at me, with that look, the look that he had at the beginning of the night so I said 

"the fuck you're looking at?"

and he said 

"you"

nothing more, nothing less just 'you',��at this point, he was getting closer, and his thigh was touching mine so I innocently placed a hand on it...and he said 

"you're playing with fire, meatball"

"HE CALLED YOU MEATBALL?" Mimi yells 

"shhhhhh, yes he did call me meatball"

"Isn't it the pet name that he used to call you when you were together?" you nod

"keep going this is getting interesting" she says sipping on her juice 

"do you think that it's safe for the child hearing about her aunt fucking her ex?" you say censoring the swear word for the sake of the baby in the belly

"the 'ex' is her uncle, so yeah don't worry, I wanna hear the spicy details, keep going bestie"

"where was I?"

oh, yeah he said

"you're playing with fire meatball"

and I was too stunned to speak for the alcohol or maybe because I missed that pet name, anyway we stared at each other for I don't know how long, and eventually we made it to his place. his arm was on the small of my back, guiding me because I was stumbling, he guided me into the elevator and pressed the 10th-floor -which it's his floor- I was leaning against the wall of the elevator and he was in front of me and AGAIN he was staring at me, this time he was staring at my lips, and- and I was blocked between him and the wall and i...kissed him

"YOU KISSED HIM?" your best friend yells

"let me finish, it's only the beginning" you say 

"Oh, what did you do?"

I was saying I kissed him and he fucking kissed me back and it was one of those kisses that makes you feel like you're in between hell and heaven, I felt alive again after months...he picked me up, and I locked my legs around his hips and I felt it

"GURL"

he walked out of the elevator while I was still between his arms and he never stopped kissing me, which by the way was heating minute after minute, he put the code on his door, got into his apartment, and pushed me against the door, it was a whole new experience because when we were together he never kissed me like that, he did but this time felt different. I started undoing...the button on his shirt and he gave me the 'this is wrong what are you doing?' look. We moved onto his couch, he was between my thighs, he took off his shirt and-

you cover your face feeling the heat on your cheeks with your hands 

"y/n don't tell me that..." she says, you nod and she has the nerve to slap your arm 

"bitch what the hell?" you say massaging your arm

"you fucked him" she said 

you shrug "I think that we both needed it"

"and I need the details, you were to the point where he was taking off his shirt"

at this point, he was bare chest, and I was almost foaming from my mouth, he got bigger, and touching him was like...being home after a long time, his hands were working on the zip of my sundress, and at one point between a kiss and some shy laughs he took the dress off of me, and his jaw dropped because - I didn't mention earlier but- the set of underwear that I was wearing was his favorite

"you did it on purpose didn't you?" she asks eating the last grape of her little bowl

"I mean, it was just a pure coincidence -you get up grabbing another bowl of grapes- I promise I wasn't planning on fucking my ex!"

I asked 

"Is this fine with you?"

He gave me a nod, grabbed me between his arms again, and walked towards his room, leaving our clothes behind, he laid me on his bed and the vanilla scent of his room made my brain short-circuit, or maybe my brain stop working because he was kissing my inner thigh and he knew what he was doing because receiving oral is my favorite thing ever, he started to...doing his job down there -he didn't even bother to take off the thong, he just put it to the side- and...he gave me one of the best orgasms of my life...maybe because of the built-up or I don't know maybe because it was him doing it...after that I kissed him. 

"you kissed him after he ate you out?"  she asks 

"yeah? you don't do this kinda thing with Changbin?" you grab one of the grapes and put it in your mouth 

"We never tried..."

"gurl you're pregnant" you point out

"I mean that we never asked each other if we're into kissing each other after heads...and don't try changing the topic...keep going"

he kissed me and for a moment I thought that was it, because he was laying with his head on my boobs, and my hand was between his curls and it felt so normal that I wanted to slap myself. At some point, I felt guilty because I knew that he was still hard...I was feeling it against my thighs so I said 

"you're gonna get blue balls, let me help you"

I had the nerve to giggle, and we started to fight about his thing, I ended up being on top of him...he was still wearing his jeans, and he was so hard that I bet that it was hurting him so I took off his pants, and i-am...fucked him, slowly, like painfully, I felt out of shape, it felt like our first time...he sat up while he was still on me, took off my bra -that I was still wearing- and started to kiss my breasts, he was so gentle that I don't know, I had the feeling that he was scared to hurt me, he made us turn and he was on top, he sped up and asked.

"Are you still on the pill?" I nodded and he said

"use your words, baby, please I need to hear you say them"

"yes, I'm still...on the pill...you can...you can cum in me"  he lost it, he started to thrust harder and at the end we both came but he came into me

"you're telling me that he-"

"yes"

"and that you-"

"yes"

"He has a breeding kink?" she asks 

"I said yes Mimi"

"wow, I didn't expect this" she says 

"yeah, I fucked up pretty well because after what we did I fell asleep in his arms, and we were naked, the morning after...we took a shower together and made breakfast for the both of us"

"WOW"

"Yeah..." you say

"Mimi..." 

"AAAAH! CHAN WHAT THE FUCK YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME, YOU CAN'T SCARE A PREGNANT WOMAN, OH MY GOD I'M THROWING UP ALL THE GRAPES THAT I ATE"

you start to laugh 

"I'm sorry -he gently rubs her belly- didn't want to scare my little niece"

"what do you want?" she asks

"her -he points at you- I wanna dance with her"

"ah take her, she's boring" she moves her hands 

"Mimi, what the fuck?" she giggles and waves at you as he grabs your hands to guide you to the center of the room where other people are dancing 

"what are you doing?" you ask as he pulls you against him to dance slowly

"I just wanted to...dance with you" he says putting his hand on the small of your back, maybe a little lower

"you wanted to dance with me? or...-you lower your voice- you wanted help with the thing between your legs?"

"well- i- you- i wanted- you..." he says blushing, even his ears getting pink

"you wanted help?" he nods shily 

"care to explain why you're hard?" you whisper to his red ear 

"your fault"

"my fault?"

"you have fucking thigh highs, heels, a skirt, and a shirt meatball, that's a combo killer to me and you know it" you laugh

"combo killer?" you ask 

"I'm dying right here" he put his head on your shoulder, his breath against your neck 

"ask it, Christopher, use your words"

"Can you help me? please" he says against your neck

"you're so desperate that you're begging?" he nods

"a quickie it's fine to you?" you ask 

"fuck yes, but the high thighs and the heels stay on" he says grabbing your hand 

"Is there a place where we can have some private time?" he asks 

"Upstairs, just don't make it obvious" you say

"Okay" he says, he quickly lifts you on his shoulder and walks upstairs

"I said don't make it obvious" you laugh 

"It wasn't that obvious"

"no?" you say 

"then why did Mimi drop her grapes?"

"maybe our niece kicked her guts" he says putting you down, pushing against the closet door 

"our?" you echo

"our niece, yeah. there's no way I'm letting you go after this and after last time" he says, his forehead against yours

"Chris?"

"yeah?"

"less talking" you kiss him

"yes ma'am" he says pushing you inside the closet

"we said a quickie, no more than 20 minutes"

"I think that I'll fuck you into the new year"

"what do you mean?" you ask

"3...2...1...happy new year meatball" he kisses your lips 

"Happy New Year pretty boy" you kiss him back 

[daeniradraconis]

Banter Between the Lines - Hughes Brothers

Note: Hey, so here’s another quick chat-style piece! I haven’t had much time to sit down and write properly lately, so short and sweet it is for now. 😊 Feel free to send me some requests if you’d like! (You can check out the "rules" here: link). I can’t promise when I’ll get to them, but I’ll definitely find time soon.

Summary: A little fluff with a touch of smut (nothing too crazy, just some extra flirting). Quinn’s girlfriend roasts the boys while calling them out in their group chat.

Warnings: Nothing major, just some mention of 🍆.

It was one of those quiet Sunday nights where everything felt slow. You'd spent the evening catching up on your favorite shows, but it was hard to concentrate when all you could think about was Quinn. The constant distance between you two had become harder to ignore with each passing day, and as much as you loved how happy he was with his team, you missed him. And, truthfully, you missed the whole family.

You’d gotten close to Jack and Luke over the years, and now, with Quinn playing for the Vancouver Canucks and Jack and Luke together on the New Jersey Devils, the family dynamic felt a little more spread out than you liked. Sure, they’d all make time for you when they could, but it wasn’t the same as those days when you’d all hang out together.

Tonight, instead of a call or a quick text, you decided to turn to something a little more familiar. You opened up youtube and searched for their latest highlights.

All three of them were struggling on the ice, and it showed. It hurt to see them like this, especially when you couldn’t do much to help. So you did what you always did in times like these—opened the group chat and prepared to roast them into oblivion. If nothing else, it might make them laugh.

you: just finished your highlights. Quinn, congrats on being the saddest guy on the ice again 🥇. Jack, loved the mini tantrum energy 👏. Luke, did you forget which team you play for? because those turnovers were next-level.

Jack: wow, you really woke up and chose violence.

you: always. someone has to keep you humble.

Luke: humble? this feels more like a personal attack.

Quinn: what would you call it, then?

Luke: bullying.

you: oh, Lukey, don’t take it so hard. I tease because I care 💕

Jack: you literally plotted my ex’s demise last month. is that “caring” too?

you: first of all, it wasn’t a plot. it was more of a… fantasy.

Quinn: putting her in the ground “while she’s still breathing” doesn’t sound like a fantasy…

you: listen, if she hadn’t been such a manipulative little snake, I wouldn’t have had to consider it 🐍

Luke: terrifying. but honestly? fair.

Jack: I could’ve handled her myself, you know.

you: oh, really? because from where I was sitting, she had you wrapped around her finger like a puppet.

Quinn: she’s not wrong!

Jack: whose side are you on?

Quinn: hers. always.

you: damn right honey. and don’t worry, I’m not plotting her demise anymore… unless she tries to come back. then all bets are off.

Jack: remind me to never date again. you’re scarier than Quinn’s slap shot.

You grinned as the banter flew back and forth, but your focus shifted to Luke. His disastrous date still didn’t sit right with you.

you: okay, but seriously, Lukey. I've heard some gossip. how does a girl ditch you mid-dinner? you’re literally the sweetest human alive.

Luke: THANK YOU! finally, someone gets it.

Jack: don’t encourage him. he needs to toughen up.

you: excuse me? let him be sweet! not every guy needs to have your level of 'I’m too cool for feelings,' Jack.

Quinn: valid point.

Luke: thank you, Quinn.

you: honestly, Luke, I’ll never understand how she left. did you say something weird?

Luke: no!!! I was perfectly normal.

Quinn: “normal” is a stretch…

Jack: is this really the same guy who told a girl on a first date he’d make six different accounts just to sort himself into Hufflepuff six different times because he didn’t 'trust the algorithm'?

Luke: OKAY, THAT’S DIFFERENT. I was being honest!

you: oh, Lukey. you’re lucky you’re adorable because that is painful 😂

Luke: this is why I didn’t want to tell you guys.

Quinn: bro, it’s fine. just embrace the awkward puppy vibe. it’s clearly your brand.

Luke: I hate you.

Jack: ugh, why does he get the sympathy? roast him more guys!!! I can’t be the only one taking L’s here.

you: because Luke doesn’t put ketchup on his eggs like a serial killer, Jack.

Luke: yeah, what is WRONG with you? ketchup on eggs? really?

Jack: you people are so dramatic. it’s normal.

Quinn: nothing about that is normal.

you: thank you, Quinn. once again, the only rational person in this chat.

Jack: stop flirting with my brother. it’s disgusting.

Luke: seriously. I can feel the weird vibes through my phone.

You smirked, knowing exactly how to push their buttons.

you: you’re just mad because Quinn’s risotto is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Quinn: best risotto AND lasagna. don’t forget!

you: how could I? it’s the only reason I keep you around. And of course your magic 🍆

Quinn: oh, not my sparkling personality? btw you're objectifying my body...

you: hmm… maybe that too. but i have my priorities straight!

Jack: 🤢 STOP. this is disgusting.

Luke: seriously. this is TMI guys!!

you: just jealous, you two can’t even scramble eggs properly.

Quinn: cooking skills = key to a woman’s heart.

Luke: ugh. golden child strikes again.

Jack: some of us don’t need to cook because we have charisma, thank you very much.

Quinn: does your charisma excuse ketchup on eggs? because it shouldn’t.

Luke: still the biggest red flag in this chat.

Jack: Y’ALL ARE SO DRAMATIC.

You smiled at their bickering, your heart full, untouched by their chaos.

you: okay, but for real… I miss you guys 💔.

Luke: aww, finally some love.

Jack: are you feeling okay?!

you: don’t get used to it. but yeah, I miss you. Quinn, risotto night when you’re home! Jack and Luke, you can come eat it too.

Quinn: deal. but I’m ignoring them for the first hour I’m back. i need my time with you!

Luke: RUDE!

Jack: gross. is this the flirting portion of the chat? can we not?

you: love you too, boys. even if you’re disasters.

Jack: love you too. now stop flirting with Quinn before I puke.

Luke: seriously. save it for your own chat.

Quinn: jealousy doesn’t look good on you two.

Luke: jealous of what? your cooking? maybe. your 🍆? absolutely not.

you: you should be Lukey! your brother got some great 🍆

Jack: I’m OUT.

Luke: same.

Quinn: good job hon. guess it’s just us now. you: just how I like it 😘

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 8

Source for pic

Trouble 8

Word Count: 5093

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I am DYING to write the next chapter... just you wait...! Now I need to know each and every one of your thoughts on this, please!

Masterlist

“Roronoa.”

“Cap.” Zoro matches his long strides with Mihawk’s. The hospital beeps sound faintly from the rooms they pass, and nurses hasten their steps to answer some wailing woman two rooms down. 

Mihawk stops abruptly in front of a room, and his amber gaze pierces Zoro's eye. “I know you just got back and barely had any time to rest, but I thought you might want to be present when we interrogate him.”

Zoro nods. It's another one. Another man has shown up with missing limbs and a note. A crime of passion seems far-fetched now. This case and Lucci’s are definitely related. They're too similar to be a coincidence. 

Besides, Zoro doesn't really believe in coincidences. 

“Has someone talked to him already?” Zoro asks as Mihawk’s hand sets on the handle. 

“The doctors haven't let anyone near him yet. And they say he's heavily sedated, so we might not get much out of him for now.” Mihawk is directly involved now, and that alone tells Zoro they are about to treat this case with the level of respect it demands. 

“After you, Cap.”

The door swings back as Mihawk pushes it, and both men stand near the hospital bed. Zoro recognizes the man immediately. He's the store clerk of the grocery shop he usually goes to. 

“Hello. I'm Captain Dracule Mihawk, and this is Officer Roronoa. The nurses told you we were coming, right?” 

The man nods, his eyes glazed over and out of focus. Then he raises his arm as if he’s going to run his fingers through his hair, but groans when his stump hits his forehead instead. 

“I have nothing to say.” He sounds slightly frightened as his voice wavers, with shaky breaths escaping his lips. 

Mihawk ignores him, a scowl forming on his lips. “What do you remember about the person who did this to you?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Any detail is important. Height, build, voice, distinctive features–”

“I have nothing to say!”

Mihawk inhales deeply. Zoro knows his Captain is a very patient man. If he were the one doing the interrogating, he would be shaking the man by his collar right now. Couldn't the man see they were trying to help him? 

“So you were threatened.” It's not a question. It's a mere statement. The man's eyes fill with tears as his chin trembles slightly. 

“What am I supposed to do now? My hands were my job. I can't do my job without my hands!” He sobs, his shoulders sagging. “Not just my job… How am I supposed to live like this? He ruined everything.”

Mihawk places one hand on his shoulder, his hawk-like gaze losing a bit of its edge for a moment. “It's not all lost. You're alive, and that's more than many people can say. We're trying to help you. We want to catch the bastard who did this before they can hurt somebody else. But we need your help to do it.”

The man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he starts talking. He says that it was a man who did this - massive, bulky and really tall. He had a mask covering his face, a hoodie and gloves on, so any detailed description is off the table. He also had a rough voice and immediately threatened him if he shared the details of what happened with the cops. 

“After he… when he… he said to never touch what's his again. I didn't understand what he meant. I was in shock, I guess.” He sighs, his head falling back. “Can you call the nurse? I can't take this pain anymore.”

Mihawk nods, and Zoro turns, ready to leave, but the man isn't done yet. “He had maniacal red eyes and seemed amused by my suffering.” 

The clap of the notebook his Captain had been scribbling on signals they’re done, so Zoro takes another step towards the door while Mihawk thanks the man for his help. But when they’re halfway through the door, he speaks again. 

“I should've listened to her. She said someone was coming for me.”

Her?

“Who are you talking about?” Zoro speaks for the first time, his stomach churning with unease. 

The man shrugs and shakes his head, his chin trembling again as, most likely, the threats the criminal spewed fill his mind. “It's nothing. Nothing. Forget it.”

“Who is she?”

“I said fucking forget it. Leave me alone, I'm done!” 

Zoro grits his teeth, his instincts driving him towards the hospital bed, ready to drill the man with more questions until they get what they came for. But Mihawk’s firm grasp on his shoulder stops him. 

“We'll leave. Rest. Thank you.” They both leave the room, and Zoro growls as soon as the door clicks behind him. 

“He knows more!”

“And you should know when to stop. Let him rest. We'll try again another day.” Mihawk starts walking, and Zoro follows, staying silent when his Captain asks the nurses to check on the man. “I have a feeling this case is just getting started, anyway.”

Mihawk’s foreboding words echo in Zoro's brain all the way back to his car. The creep who's doing this is leaving him uneasy. A feeling of dread tightens his stomach and constricts his heart. 

All he can think about is keeping you safe, and he can't exactly pinpoint why. 

Though it's quite a coincidence that Rob Lucci ogles you and gets his eyes removed, and the store clerk hits on you and gets his hands chopped. Quite a coincidence indeed. 

And Zoro doesn't fucking believe in coincidences. 

-*-

You take your car to Robin's, even though Nami offered to pick you up, knowing how unreliable your old car can be sometimes, because you want to avoid having Zoro bring you home. And, gosh, you want nothing more than to spend time with Zoro, but if you can help it, you'll do whatever’s in your power to keep him from touching you. 

No matter how hard that might be. 

You don't even know how you’re going to get into the right mood to party with your friends. They all have so much energy, and you… don't. At least not right now. 

Briefly, you wonder how many times you’re going to use the ‘I'm just tired’ excuse today, but a buzz from your phone distracts your thoughts. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, no one touches what's mine.  Unknown: Behave, be a good girl for me, and I won't be upset.  Unknown: I'm always watching. 

You stuff your phone into your pocket before forcing a fake smile onto your lips and buzzing the doorbell of Robin's apartment. She opens the door with a smile that quickly turns into a frown upon setting her eyes on you. 

Not even all the makeup in the world can disguise the massive bags beneath your eyes, the redness in them, or the frayed look. And even if it could, Robin is your most perceptive friend. 

Still, she doesn't address the matter directly. She simply gives you a tighter hug than usual and whispers in your ear: “You need anything, honey? I won't ask questions, even if it's murder.”

The laugh that bubbles up in your throat is completely genuine, and you feel a little lighter. “Oh, trust me, Robin, I know you're the one to ask! But I'm okay, just tired, I guess.”

That's one. 

“Are you sure? You know I know ways to get rid of a body without getting caught…”

“Nico, I'm right here. I have no qualms about taking your ass to jail, you know?”

He's teasing Robin, but his piercing eye is set on you and you have to bite your lower lip to stifle a sob. Zoro's mere presence exudes safety and all you want to do is rush into his arms and forget everything. Forget about feeling scared, trapped, helpless and useless. 

He's right there. 

“Hey, Troublemaker, making trouble?” Robin smirks, shoves Zoro playfully, and returns to her home, leaving you two alone in the doorway, where Zoro leans casually. You notice his piercing gaze assessing the dishevelled state of your hair, the lack of care with your chosen outfit, the way your hands fidget with the hem of your jacket, and surely the way your lip trembles. 

“Hi. Not today, Zo.” You give him a soft smile along with your chill greeting, but the slight buzz in your pocket alerts you, and reminds you not to push it, so you quickly erase it from your face. 

Zoro's eye widens, and he crosses his arms as his brows scrunch. “Is everything–”

“I'm just tired.”

Two.

“See you inside, I’ve got to go greet our friends.” You try to get past him, but he stretches his arm across the doorway and blocks your path. You inhale a quick breath and are inundated with the smell of steel and his musky scent. Safety. Protection. 

… Home…

“Hey. Talk to me.” He mumbles, reaching and tilting your chin slightly so he can look into your eyes. “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

Bzzzz.

You shake your head both as an answer to his question and to deflect his touch. A quick step away brings your back against the doorway, his arm right next to your face and he leans in, seeing you're trapped. 

“Yeah, I know. Too much farm work, I guess. I'm just–”

“Tired?” That's three. 

You nod. Bzzzz. Then you flinch, and Zoro arches his eyebrow. 

“Talk inside, okay?” And before he says anything else, or does anything else - because it's starting to prove impossible to stay away from him - you duck beneath his arm and scurry inside. 

-*-

What the royal fuck? 

Tired? That's not tired. That's exhausted. You look like you've been through hell and back and, apparently, you don't want to tell him why. 

What's going on? 

Zoro follows you inside and closes the door behind him. He watches as you force a smile on your usually cheery face and greet the rest of your friends. Then he watches as Luffy hugs you tighter than usual - probably noticing your frayed state - and watches you push him away, your hand flying to your pocket. 

You stare at your phone, eyes darting back and forth - reading - then you close them shut with an almost imperceptible shudder, and put the phone back in your pocket. 

What is going on? 

He watches you when you think nobody's watching, and he sees the way your hands tremble as you reach for a sandwich you only nibble on, giving the rest to Luffy. He sees the way your eyes dart around the room and the way you avoid windows, preferring to sit in the middle of the living room and on the floor. 

He's especially interested in whoever is texting you, because you can't seem to let go of your phone. Though the texts don't make you happy. They seem to upset you. 

He also sees the way you avoid the Cook and all his flamboyant attention. He realises that your actions are so thought out, so careful, that you're not even your clumsy self. He sees you struggle, trying to smile and to engage. 

To pretend. 

But mostly, he watches as you actively avoid him all night. 

Something is definitely going on. And he's going to find out what. 

-*-

Unknown: The Vinsmoke is too flirty. Get away from him.  Unknown: You're doing so well, Kitten.  Unknown: Avoiding the cop all night. Look how well-behaved you are. 

The hundredth involuntary shudder assaults you. You're trying. By all that is sacred, you really are trying to be good. 

But you feel watched. Not that usual uneasiness that comes from the creep watching you, no. Sadly, you're already getting used to that dreadful feeling. What you're feeling right now is the piercing gaze of Zoro. He's watching your every move. And all you want to do is gravitate towards him. 

He's right there. 

With a heavy sigh, you collect the empty plate of the food you never touched - thank God for Luffy's unending appetite - and go to the kitchen to set it in the sink. 

“Need help?” Fuck. You just saw Zoro snoozing on the couch. Does he have superpowers or something? Now you're both alone. 

Your heart starts hammering away in your chest as you rinse the plate and set it aside. With a deep, steadying breath, you turn, holding a dish towel in your hands as you dry them. “Thanks, Zoro, I'm all done.”

The smile plastered on your lips feels as fake as the little plastic birds Robin has adorning her windowsill. But you try to sell it as you drop the dish towel and start to move to get away from him as fast as you can. 

“So you're running from me again?”

Shit. 

“What are you talking about, Zo? I'm just heading back, you can come too if you want.” But he doesn't move. And he's blocking the door. 

“Stop lying to me, Trouble. You've been avoiding me all night.” Does he actually sound hurt? “What's going on?”

“I'm just–”

“Don't even think about giving me that crap about being tired. You're not tired. You look like hell.”

Bzzzz.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.” You try to make light of the matter and get past him to go to the living room, but he grabs your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

You flinch and shudder, your eyes closing with a gasp. 

“Stop. Talk to me.” You sigh and close your eyes. You want to tell him everything. “Are you still getting those weird gifts? Is that what this is?”

Yes! And so much more! “No, Zoro. The gifts stopped, the person must have given up.” You sigh, the lies coming easier than you would’ve liked them to. “I'm tired. I hate being alone in that big house, and I miss my dad. That's all.” Some truth mixed with the lies might just help you sell them. 

He nods, and his hands squeeze tighter. “I get that. But that doesn't explain why you're running from me.” Bzzzz. You flinch again and roll your shoulders, trying to evade Zoro's touch because you know that's what the texts are sure to be about. “See? Why are you avoiding my touch, Trouble?”

Shit! 

“I'm not.” Wow. That lie wouldn't fool a child. 

“Prove it.” What? You raise your brow, lips curling into a dumbfounded expression. “Let’s finish what we started. Let me kiss you.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

No. God, no. 

You want to. You want this nightmare to come to an end. You want Zoro to kiss you, and to hold you, but mostly, you want him to protect you. To help you crawl out of this miserable rut you got yourself into. 

But you can't. Because you know the texts that await you are all threats to his safety, and you can't risk him. You just can't. 

“I… Zo… I'm not feeling well, another time, maybe.”

You can't bear the hurt in his eyes so you look down, but he doesn't relent. “I thought… I thought we had something. I thought you wanted…” His hands cup your cheeks and he forces you to look at him.  “This.”

You do. God you want all of it. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

Zoro leans slowly. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Your throat feels dry, your phone doesn't stop vibrating and there's not enough air in the world to fill your lungs. 

“I did. Before.” You leave it at that and he's so surprised by your answer that you take advantage and slip past him, trying to hold back sobs as you quickly make up an excuse to your friends and leave. 

You shouldn't have come. This was a mistake. You just managed to hurt Zoro. 

Fuck. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you made it home, but you did. Tears kept streaming down your face, and you blinked them away furiously, but reaching home and locking the door behind you doesn't bring the sense of safety it used to. 

Everything is tainted. You don't feel safe anywhere. 

The phone burns a hole in your pocket with its incessant buzzing. Someone called you on your way over, and you bet it was Zoro. You don't dare to look, as you already know there are dozens of texts from your interactions with Zoro tonight. 

He almost kissed you, and he was so adamant in trying to find out what’s wrong with you. Your friends noticed something was up, but the tired excuse worked perfectly with them, whereas with Zoro… 

He didn't buy it for an instant. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“God, just stop!” You screech, your hand clawing at your pocket as you take the device out and turn it off without even glimpsing at any text. You place it with force against the kitchen table and slump in the chair, holding your head tight as sobs claw up your throat. 

You're tired, you are. But it's not just physical. What he's doing to you is much worse. It's torture, and it’s bringing you closer and closer to despair. 

A melodic sound comes from your phone, and you hold your breath, removing your hands from your face as you stare at the bright screen. It turned itself on. 

What? 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: Kitten, don't shut me out. You don't want to anger me any more than you already have. 

You stand up abruptly and widen your eyes, a hand pressing against your mouth as a way to trap the whimper that threatens to escape. Then you turn off the phone again, setting it back down on the table as if the thing were on fire. 

You can count the time passing by the accelerated thrums of your heart hammering against your chest.

The melodic sound chimes again, and you freeze as the screen lights up once more. Its obnoxious light fills up the room as the harbinger of doom itself. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: That’s strike two, and I’m not amused. Don’t shut me out. I’m not–

This time you turn it off and shove it inside the kitchen junk drawer, amidst corks and can openers, hoping against all hope that this nightmare comes to an end, because how can it continue if you push it out of your sight?

Your stare burns a hole in the drawer, but you don’t hear the melodic jingle of the phone turning on, nor any buzzing. Is it… over?

The sounds of the old house seem amplified as you train your ears on any noise.

Can it actually be this simple?

BANG!

Your scream comes as unannounced as the loud bang that rattled the front door. Grasping the edge of the table with all your might, since your legs gave out from under you, you stare in the direction of the front door.

Then you hear it, clear as day, loud as if it were right next to you: footsteps. Heavy footsteps thump on the porch in a slow, taunting march. It’s him. It has to be him. You feel all your limbs locking up, constricting your breaths.

BANG! 

This time, you press both your hands against your mouth and stifle your cry. He’s right there. Your breath comes out of your nose in loud, rapid bursts, and your head feels light. It’s over. He’s come for you and there’s no escape. 

The footsteps cease, and you take a deep breath as tears drip down your face. Did he give up? 

You're not quite sure how you get the courage to do it, but you approach the front door with very light steps, avoiding the creaking boards of the floor and standing on your tiptoes to try and see through the peephole, even though you’re already dreading what you’ll find once you press your eye against it.

Darkness.

You can’t see anything. Should you turn the porch light on?

BANG!

This time, you can’t contain your loud cry as you fall to the floor. The door rattled right against your touch and your stomach tightens at the thought that there’s just a door separating you from whoever is out there. 

You crawl backwards, deranged sobs leaving you as you curse and plead, not quite sure what to do.

And then, as your back hits the kitchen counter, you know what he wants.

Getting up on shaky legs, you can still hear the pacing outside the door. You’re terrified. Fear makes your limbs congeal, and you shake your hands to try and stop them from trembling. Your fingers fumble with the drawer, and you have to clasp your phone with both hands as you turn it on. 

The melodic ring resounds all around the kitchen, and, as soon as the phone is connected, it buzzes.

Unknown: Good girl.

-*-

Another restless, sleepless night. 

You can’t shake away the fear that he left behind, no matter how much he assured you over texts that he would never hurt you, he just needed to make you learn. You’re a fast learner, he said. You can be good, he added. You just need to be reminded of this now and again.

He kept calling you his, kept saying you’d learn to love him, to call for him, to need him. 

You were so shaken up from the whole ordeal that you threw up whatever meager food you had managed to eat at Robin’s. Then, you locked yourself in your room again, trying to drown out any thoughts of heavy footsteps or threats. 

There was no rest or sleep.

Just paralysing fear and helplessness. You can’t see a way out of this hell. Maybe there really is no escape.

-*-

Saturday comes and goes, and though your friends call, you ignore them. 

Except Zoro doesn’t relent. He calls, and you don’t pick up, so he calls again, and again, and again until you do. 

“I was about to march in there and see if you were alive.” He’s growling, but he still sounds a bit hurt, and you grimace, making yourself smaller against your couch. You’re sitting on the floor, somehow it seems more secluded, safer.

“I’m fine, I’m just sick. I think I caught a cold.” You cough a bit, trying to sell the lie, but at this point, you doubt Zoro actually believes anything you say.

“Right. So, you’re not coming with us to the movies today?”

“Not today.” You sound defeated, exhausted, shaken, and scared. You hope he just thinks you’re as sick as you claim to be. 

“What if I go to you and we watch a movie at your house? I can get the Cook to make you some soup.”

A whimper almost leaves your lips, and you have to take a few extra seconds to compose yourself before answering. 

“It’s okay, Zo. I’m fine. I just need some rest, okay? See you soon.”

And you hang up on him, like the coward you are. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten, that’s enough indulging the cop. You don’t get to answer any more of his calls. He needs to know you don’t want anything to do with him.

You read the text and drop the phone on the floor next to you, your head falling against your knees as you hug them tighter. You’re numb to all of this now. He controls you, he owns you, and there’s no escape. 

You’re trapped in your own home, cornered in your own life. 

You’re barely surviving. You’re just existing.

And it’s painful as hell.

-*-

The week goes by, and you fall into a numb routine. You get up, throw away whatever gift is waiting for you - sometimes they’re fresh flowers or candy, other times there are dead animals or crumpled flowers - you feed the farm animals, then try to eat something.

The afternoon is spent cowering in fear until you do the rest of the chores. Then, you try to eat something else for dinner after you lock up every inch of the house. You curl into bed in your locked bedroom, cry yourself to exhaustion, and start all over again the next day.

The stalker’s texts are relentless. He praises you and your beauty, your behaviour, and how good you are to him. Then, sometimes, he says you still need to learn, to accept that you’re his, and to understand you will love him back eventually.

And then, there’s Zoro.

He calls, he texts, and he comes knocking at your door. Every single day.

You pretend not to be home when he comes, even though he says he knows you’re home, but you don’t open the door or say anything. And then, he always gets a call from the station, something urgent that comes up, and he needs to go.

You know it’s him orchestrating Zoro’s life as well as yours. And the noose tightens around your neck. 

-*-

Friday comes, and you’re not even strong enough to get out of bed. You’re drained. You ask Ace to help with the animals and stay curled up in bed for the majority of the day. Your phone is strangely silent.

No Zoro.

No stalker.

You fall asleep. A restless sleep born from weariness and depression. Then, you wake up drenched in sweat. It’s almost dark outside, and an ominous feeling grips you in its hold. You try to listen, to hear if there’s anything out of place, any foreign sound that doesn’t belong, but all is quiet.

You check your phone, and there’s nothing there.

Everything feels peculiar and unusual. 

You get up on light feet and have to take an extra minute to steady yourself because your head feels light, and you feel faint from not eating all day. Then, you slowly make your way downstairs. It’s too quiet. Too eerie. 

Something is definitely wrong.

It takes you an extra minute to notice, but when you do, all the breath is knocked out of your lungs. 

There’s a huge, beautiful bouquet of fresh roses in the middle of the kitchen table.

He was inside your home. 

He was inside while you were asleep and vulnerable. He could have been in your room, he could have touched you, he–

Heavy gasps disturb the eerie silence of your home as fat droplets of tears stream down your face. You can’t take this, you can’t. It’s too much, and you’re not strong enough. There’s no way you’ll be able to survive this alone.

You grab your phone and press Zoro’s name, placing the phone against your ear with trembling hands. It’s time to tell him everything.

Except the call doesn’t go through.

“Come on!” You whine, your legs giving out as you fall to the floor, the red from the roses still burning your retinas. You try again. And the call doesn’t go through.

It’s his doing. 

The police. You dial the number and press the phone against your ear, but it disconnects before even ringing. 

“No!” You scream and throw the phone to the floor, getting up hastily and bumping against a chair before your trembling fingers grasp the landline phone. Sobs and hiccups leave your lips, and you don’t even care, You’re so tired, you just want this nightmare to end.

The line’s dead.

A broken, desperate scream climbs up your throat, and you lose track of time as you curl up into a ball and cry some more. 

There’s still someone who can help. Even though asking for his help is the last thing you want to do, maybe it’s exactly what you need to get out of this.

Ichiji.

Determination and a newfound purpose seem to stop your tears from flowing freely, and you grab your phone again, taking a seat on the couch this time, not wanting to stare at the roses anymore and not daring to touch them yet.

The call goes through, and you sigh in relief.

Two rings, and a familiar voice churns your insides. “Well, hello, Doll. This is… unexpected.”

“Ichiji, I need your help.” There’s no use beating around the bush. “I need you to spare me one of your bodyguards.”

The idea hit you like a truck. Ichiji has tons of bodyguards, he can be persuaded to share one, you’re sure of it. Even if you have to owe him something - and you know he’s going to collect - it’s much better than living in this constant fear.

The silence prolongs for a while before he sighs heavily into the phone. When he speaks again, his voice is clipped and monotone. “I would love to help, Doll.” Somehow, you doubt that very much. “But I’m a bit understaffed at the moment.”

“Cut the crap, Ichiji. You have dozens of bodyguards. Each one is better than the last.” It’s true. They’re all elite. Might as well just say he doesn’t want to help you, that you can understand.

“Had.” Another heavy sigh. “I had dozens of the best bodyguards. My best one left around the same time you left me. And half of them followed him out.” He chuckles dryly as the information sets into your tired brain. His best bodyguard?

You remember him vaguely, though the name eludes you, you talked to him on several occasions. Ichiji’s events were boring and dragged on, so you made small talk. He seemed to like what he did and was the best at it. 

“Do you see the chaos you left with your departure, Doll?” This time, you’re the one that sighs. 

“I just need one, Ichiji, please.” How low have you stooped, to be begging the asshole who broke your heart? 

“I can’t. What I’ve got left are mediocre soldiers and a footlong list of threats. I barely feel safe leaving the house. But if you feel so unsafe, maybe you can crawl back to me, Doll, I’m sure I can make arrangements.”

“Goodbye.” You exclaim dryly into the phone before turning off the call. 

A bodyguard was your last hope. The small flicker of light that had turned on. And now you are truly alone. No Zoro, no police. Just you and the stalker.

You turn your head back into the kitchen where the bouquet stands, taunting you with its beauty. He was inside once. He’ll be inside again. 

How long before he hurts you?

You don’t even know when the tears started to flood again, but soon enough, your face is completely wet, and your shoulders shake with every ragged sob. You have never felt this helpless.

You’re trapped.

There’s no way out.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

And he’s come for you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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|Chapter 9|

[mymegrokosmos]

hiii! can i pls request one where reader surprises mingyu on tour? i love your works so much, thank you for all the effort that you put in!! <3

i love this big giant puppy he's such a sweetheart. i hope this came out okay anon sorry for the billion year wait. it's a little short but maybe i'll write a follow up at some point when my brain is working again.

It’s early, or late depending on what timezone you consider, when you drag yourself to the airport. You text Scoups as you check in, updating him on the eta. It’s taken you a lot of coordinating and evading. Their managers and at least three other members are in on this. The hardest part hasn’t even been keeping it from your boyfriend, it’s been not slipping up where Hoshi can hear. You love Soonyoung dearly but the man cannot keep a secret.

You’re practically vibrating by the time you step onto the plane. It’s been months of so many little details you had to get just right and so many last minute changes. You nearly said to hell with it and just ruined the surprise too many times but you know it’s going to be worth it when you see the surprise on his face.

The flight isn’t long, not by the long haul standards you’ve gotten used to since you started dating a member of seventeen, but it feels like it takes forever and then suddenly time speeds up and everything is going at double time. You text Cheol again to let him know you’ve landed, sending your message to Shua and Hannie too just in case. You’ve got a little group chat now from all of the coordinating this has taken. The three eldest members, Jihoon and Minghao have been instrumental in getting this all into place.

As the car pulls up to the outer gate where you wait in the pickup zone you smile at their manager. He didn’t have to come himself but he assures you it’s fine, the boys are all at rehearsal and in good hands he’s not rushed. The conversation feels easy as you head towards the hotel first to drop your things and it settles your nerves a bit, this small piece of normalcy.

That’s when the plans change. They were supposed to have a short rehearsal today and then come back to the hotel before the show for a quick break of a few hours. Time to grab some food, showers and a nap. Practice runs long and they’re not going to have time to make it back so there goes surprising your boyfriend in his hotel room. You were ready for something to go wrong though and so you came prepared.

It’s okay, you’ll pivot. And you do.

It still doesn’t feel real when you get your pass and follow along with the staff backstage. You can’t believe the day is finally here. It feels like you must still be at home in your bed, asleep and dreaming this whole thing. Until you catch the barest glimpse of him. Of all of them. They’re just running off to get in place for the lift that will propel them up on stage.

Hao catches your eye over your boyfriends’s shoulder and he can’t wave for giving you away but his smile tells you this is real. It’s almost time. You’re here. You grin back and then they’re gone.

He doesn’t spot you until the end of their set. He’s just, finally, stepped behind the set after what you think was aju nice number fifteen when you lock eyes and his smile turns into an oh. HIs fangs pop out as the surprise melts into a grin even bigger than he gave the fans screaming the encore and his name and then he’s running. As soon as the stage closes after the last member, Soonyoung getting dragged along tonight, he’s bounding towards you.

It doesn’t take long with those long legs of his he eats up space like it’s nothing. You barely have time to squeak before you’re lifted into his arms, spun around and set back on your feet with his forehead now pressed to yours.

“Gyu!” You’re laughing even as you swat at one bicep. “You’re all sweaty babe.”

He whines but doesn’t let you go, pouting at you as he pulls you even closer instead. “I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing here? How did you plan this?”

You smile, hands coming up to cup his face and brush the floppy brown hair back out of his face. He leans into your touch and you vaguely register the other members being herded past you by a monotone Minghao who is having none of their nosyness.

“I had a lot of help.”

You don’t get a chance to say anything else. He’s already sweeping you further backstage, lips pressed to yours to swallow your sounds of surprise.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Mingyu.”

“Yah!”

You grin against his lips, smiling up at him as he carries you towards their green room. Your legs tighten around his waist as his hand on your back flexes slightly. You lean up to nuzzle your nose against his.

“I’m only teasing baby. I love you, you know that.”

He nods, eyes closing as he just holds you for a minute and you rest your hand against his chest to feel the way his heart beat jumps under your palm. He swallows and when he opens his eyes again they’re somehow even softer than before.

“Next time I’m taking you on tour with me. I don’t care what we have to do to make it happen. If I have to bribe your boss. I’m making it happen.”

You just shake your head and press a kiss to his jaw. “We’ll figure something out.”

He nods and before he can say anything else the door down the hall flies open and Soonyoung’s head pokes out around the frame.

“Are you two coming to dinner or are we leaving y/n to get you home from here?”

Mingyu sighs, forehead dropping to rest against your chest. “I’m going to kill him.”

You run your fingers through his hair. As well as you can with the styling products and sweat slicking it together at least.

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not.”

You glance at your mutual friend over his shoulder. “We’ll meet you at the hotel. I expect hugs and all your best tour stories tomorrow. I’ll bring the soju.”

Soonyoung salutes and then you’re alone again. “Room service and cuddles?”

Mingyu nods. “Mm, sounds perfect. WIll you rub my shoulders for me too? The right one’s been acting up again.”

“Yah, Kim Mingyu stop overworking yourself. Hot bath and a massage just for you when we get back. Now put me down so we can get a car before the others decide to kidnap us for dinner anyway.”

And just like that his hand is in yours, tugging you along as he yells for their manager while you laugh and try your best to keep up.

[v3nusxsky]

Hi

could u pls to a smut oneshot with lady lesso with prompts 29 and 52 it’s the readers first time with her. Possibly adding in overstim and aftercare.

Princess 18+

*Authors note~ Lesso smut has returned god I’ve missed writing! I love being back into my happy space and writing fics for all our favourite ladies*

Trigger warnings~ overstimulation kink multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, dom!lesso, daddy kink, bondage, mirror sex, sex toys (vibrator and enhanced strap on), dirty talk/sexting/nudes teasing, fingering!, oral, fem!good!reader, power dynamics (good vs evil), somnophillia (consented before)

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

52~ "Look at your reflection. Look at how gorgeous you are. So gorgeous when I'm fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only me.

29~ "Want my fingers in you?"

•••••••••(Banner to come)•••••••••••

You’ve always been a firm believer that the line between good and evil is never as clear cut as people perceive it to be. For you, it’s more a spectrum that people move up and down on, not something to define someone’s character. After all the phrase “what’s another man’s trash is another man’s treasure” has to mean something. Right. Perhaps that’s why you, of all the princess professors to enter the walls of the school for good and evil, caught Leonora’s eye. Fate. Destiny. Or just pure luck would have it that you’d soon become her princess. The one she would try to be better for, to move up the spectrum of good and evil. But even you should know that the red head wouldn’t be able to be purely good all the time. No. She limited that side, the almost cruel sadistic side of her, to the bedroom only. Was she evil for this? You were about to find out.

The special chime of Leonora’s phone sounded around her office. You. Only you had that chime. But why would you be texting her knowing how she had a meeting with all the staff to attend now. “I’m sorry daddy, I just get so turned on thinking about the last time” was what it read with a video underneath. At first pixelated but it soon became clear. Here you were wearing nothing but wine red rope, tied in intricate patterns while holding your favourite vibratior to your clit. Your phone in front of the mirror allowing lesso to not only hear but see every reaction to your self care. Teasingly running your fingers down your body to spread your folds apart, your arousal just leaking out of your puffy lips. Clearly this wasn’t the first self induced orgasm of the day.

Instinctively the red head chewed on her ruby lip as she replayed the video. God you were something. However did she get so lucky? But something lying dormant in the woman screamed to be let out, to put an end to this foolish attempt to prove dominance over her. Simply, this beast wouldn’t take this lying down at all. Fingers as quick as lighting typed her response before shoving the small black device in her pocket of her waistcoat and left for her meeting, “be naked when I get back home dove.”

Two whole hours. She had to wait two whole hours before leaving the school. And in those two hours you’d gifted yourself three more self inflicted orgasms before passing out in your bed naked. That’s exactly how she found you when she returned. Blissfully unaware of what you’d caused.

Your right leg position at a right angle as your left leg lay flat against the covers, your arousal still thick in the air as you unknowingly left your core on show to her preying eyes. Really, it’s not her fault. At least that’s how she reasons with herself. You’d spoke about her waking you up this way, something you wanted to try, and what better excuse than today. Falling asleep like this was asking for it after all. Practically begging her to take advantage of you. Her poor innocent princess.

It took less than a minute for Leonora to position herself between your legs. Now eye level with your pussy she couldn’t help but dive in. Her precious little dove all ready for her to take. Eating you out from behind like a starved animal. No matter how many women she’d had in her bed, no one could ever compare to the taste of you. The scent of you. Just you. Hers. The way your body responds to the ghost like touch of her hands trailing your body as she lapped away at your glistening folds. The sleepy little moans that only she could hear. Hers. And to think you had yet to wake up, to find her home where she always wanted to be.

“M Nora?” You mumbled disoriented and dazed by the delightful feeling of someone’s mouth working at your sensitive bundle of nerves. The only response you were given was the fee of her teeth grazing your clit in a silent reminder. “Daddy!” You almost squeaked in shock and pleasure to but cut short with your displeased whine at the sensations she provided stopping dead. “Oh no was my poor princess getting close hmm? Did you like daddy waking you up little slut?”

Oh did you ever. With how your chest rose and fell and the pretty blush on your cheeks spreading to your breasts being all clear indications of how much you liked it. That’s ignoring the copious amounts of slick now covering your folds and her chin and lips. “Daddy why’d you stop” flew from your pouty lips before you had a chance to think about it. “Because my princess is a grade A whore who can’t help but touch what is clearly mine. You. Are. Mine. And you must be punished dove.”

At least you’d had the decency to cover your sleepy features with an attempt to look ashamed of your actions. But deep down you both knew that this was exactly what you wanted to happen. You wanted to rile her up, push her buttons and get well and truly fucked. Strutting around the room the dean of evil tied you to the bed frame in record time. Now lying flat on your back arms and legs spread. Cunt on full display as her eyes raked over your beautiful body.

“Want my fingers in you? Hmm do you want daddy to fill that slutty little hole for you?” She teased knowing that it wasn’t everything you wanted. See Leonora knows her princess. You need more than her fingers to feel like worlds exploding. But she also knows that her fingers can get you most the way there. Many nights had passed with her testing how far her fingers alone would push you into pleasure. “Fingers or nothing princess” was all it took for you to begin to plead for her to touch you. Anything really, “please daddy. Please just touch me. It never feels good unless you do it please.”

She couldn’t help but be mesmerised with how well you took her. Your greedy little pussy sucking my fingers into your weeping little hole. She’d chuckle when a harsh curl of her slender digits against your G spot had you gasping for breath. “More. More please god more Nora” you whimpered as your hips continued to buck up into her skilled hand to once again be denied. “Poor dove. My poor useless little princess. You need daddy huh? Want to be daddy’s play thing? My precious doll? Let daddy use your slutty body and take what you’re given.”

Time really is a concept when your girlfriend is Leonora Lesso. Your whole body bound and marked up at her will. Orgasms ruined by her demand until tears streamed down your checks as you babbled out incoherent please and whimpers. Lesso would be lying if she said you didn’t turn her on to the max. You were just so pretty. Her pretty princess. Even crying so prettily just for her. God it turned her on. A beautiful princess all for her to use.

“Shhh okay princess, daddy will give you what you want now. So pretty dove. Daddy has just what you crave sweetheart” lesso murmured while she shredded the last few remaining articles of clothing. When had the rest gone? You weren’t sure, too lost in chasing the orgasm she wouldn’t allow you to have. Wide eyes taking in the new appendage between your lovers legs, “d-daddy?” You stuttered confused. How ? More so, you wanted it. In your mouth, in your hand and more importantly burried inside your cunt as she crawled up to ensure her crotch was level with your mouth. “Oh princess you like what daddy has for you hmm? Come be a good little cock slut and make it nice and wet for daddy. Repay me for turning me on for hours while I was working. Come earn your pleasure darling.”

Despite the fact that lesso was now adorning a life like dick, she was moaning and grunting like she could feel the way you’d hallowed your cheeks to take her further. The head of the cock touching the back of your throat as you gaged around the shaft. Slender hand gripping a make shift pony tail in your hair as she guided your head along the length just long enough to edge herself. Not only does she love to edge her dove, but receiving edging was also something she adored. “Out! Now. I want to be inside of you now. She demanded quickly manoeuvring herself to be between your thighs once more.

You felt every inch slip inside your snug walls. Every ridge hugged by every pulse of your pussy. “Take it princess. Take it for daddy” she grunted as the last inch sunk into your tight warmth. “Such a slut, just made for me. Sophie tight I can hardly move with how you’re gripping me. Fuck.” She grunted as she slowly pulled out of you to slam back inside. Mesmerising herself with how your walls sucked her back in. How well you fit together. As one. Hers.

As if it couldn’t get any better, vibrations began to fill the room with a constant buzz. Inhuman sounds began to work their way from your body as you bucked like a wild horse into her thrusts. "Look at your reflection princess . Look at how gorgeous you are. So gorgeous when I'm fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only me. Mine” she growled forcing you to turn your head towards the fall length mirror. Watching as you joined as one. “Daddy need to please god please need it” you jumbled up your desperate pleas as she finally gave you the permission to cum for her. The orgasm being everything you needed and wanted. Blissed out by the pleasure she was bestowing on you. Only, she didn’t stop. No. She continued to fuck into you until finally she was satisfied. “Good fucking girl princess” she whispered before slipping out of your now gapping quivering hole, “such a good girl for daddy. My best princess.” She used her magic to free you and clean you up before whispering praises and holding you close for the remainder of the night. Her girl. Her princess. Her love. Her dove.

Word count ~ 1879

[conundrumoftime]

How many children does Galadriel have?

It is Mothers' Day today and I wanted to post something, so here is a shortish post collecting together my thoughts on this question :)

As with so much re: Galadriel there is a short answer and a long answer, and the short answer is “one, obviously”, and the long answer begins with “Well...” 

In the published LOTR, the only child mentioned is Celebrían. Given that Tolkien only invented Galadriel while writing LOTR this is probably the original idea and it's the one Christopher went with when composing the Silmarillion. But, in Unfinished Tales where you see more of the different ideas for Galadriel's Second Age story that he wrote afterwards(? we presume), Amroth is also the child of Galadriel and Celeborn, and when Galadriel passes through Moria after Annatar and the gwaith-i-mirdain stage a coup she's 'taking with her Amroth and Celebrían'.

Christopher says of this:

The text is much emended, and it is not always possible to see what belongs to the time of composition of the manuscript and what is indefinitely later. This is the case with those references to Amroth that make him the son of Galadriel and Celeborn; but whenever these references were inserted, I think it is virtually certain that this was a new construction, later than the writing of The Lord of the Rings. Had he been supposed to be their son when it was written, the fact would surely have been mentioned.

By the late 1960s JRRT seems to have gone back to considering Amroth the son of Amdír.

But then, when Nature of Middle-earth was published it contained more notes of Tolkien trying to figure out the years of birth of Galadriel, Celeborn, Amroth and Celebrían, and the considerable tangle he was trying to unpick regarding when elves have children and when Amroth (as the first child of Galadriel and Celeborn) could fit into his narrative while leaving room for Celebrían. And this is where we find out he also considered a compromise to this where Amroth was the son of Celeborn from an earlier marriage:

As first written, before most of it was struck through, this concluding sentence (after the colon) read: "The following calculation is probable. Celeborn's wife [?stole] away and left him with a son, Amroth." In conjunction with this, it appears that the following footnote was supplied: The Elves did not normally marry again, but after the judgement of Míriel they were permitted lawfully to do [so] if one partner deserted the other. This very seldom occurred; but in such a time of divided feelings as [the] end of [the] First Age this could occur.

But then Tolkien struck this out, leaving us with nothing more than a lot of intriguing possibilities to explore in fanfic :)

So. The answer to how many children Galadriel has is: One - No, two - No, one - No, one plus a stepchild from her husband's first marriage - No, just one.

But finally! Back to LOTR, and Treebeard's greeting to Galadriel and Celeborn:

A vanimar, vanimálion nostari!

Which Tolkien translates (in Letters) as 'O beautiful ones, parents of beautiful children!'

I was going to treat this as conclusively "she has more than one child, at least as far as Treebeard is concerned", but then Parf Edhellen translates Quenya 'nostari' not simply as 'parents' but also as 'ancestors'. So: back to "one child" or at least "not necessarily any more than one child".

But finally! The whole reason for translating 'nostari' as 'ancestors' there and not simply 'parents' is because:

the couple to which the phrase Q. a vanimar, vanimálion nostari was addressed (Galadriel and Celeborn) had only a single child, and so the phrase only makes sense if it refers to them as ancestors of all of their descendants: their daughter Celebrían and her children Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen. 

Which is a fine and coherent way to reconcile "they only have one child in LOTR" with "Treebeard speaks of them as parents of children, plural, in LOTR" I suppose - but is not the only explanation. And Tolkien translated that greeting of Treebeard's as "parents of beautiful children", not "parents-and-grandparents-and-ancestors of beautiful children".

Maybe Treebeard just forgot. Or maybe they end up having other children post-LOTR and he foresaw it. Or: maybe there are more children, and always were, and Ents know better than we do...

(Happy Mothers' Day!)

[irregularcollapse]

these eyes are mine

This one is all for you, @angelfruittree <3

I wrote before you say 'cut', wait five more seconds as a love-letter to film and actors and the craft of filmmaking, and it involved a lot of spitballing and brainstorming and yapping with Sailor. There is a heap of big, sprawling actors AU lore that hasn't quite made it into a fic yet, but one of the things that did make it into a fic (albeit just a little b-side thing) was Cathy Moon, Gale's actor mom and role model.

When we were talking about Cathy Moon, Sailor shared the Simon Stephens translation of Chekov's The Seagull with me, and we built up this whole thing about Cathy being obsessed with The Seagull and playing Nina when she was younger, but appearing as Irina Arkadina when she was older, and that being a production which Gale takes John to as a means of introducing them. I wanted to include this scenario in a longer fic, but that may be a long way off.

Anyway, along the journey of it all, Cate Blanchett became the vision for Cathy Moon (which happened before I realised that she and that blond bloke actually know each other). Then sometime last year, it was announced that Cate was cast as Arkadina in The Seagull at the Barbican. And then the other day, that blond bloke actually went to see her play Arkadina in The Seagull at the Barbican. It's a weird bunch of coincidences. I wanted to write the scene. Here it is!

---

They’re invited to the green room by a theater manager who finds them during intermission: Gale goes to piss and to get drinks from the bar (beer for John and a Coke for himself), and John stays in his seat with his head ducked into his phone. There had been a couple requests for selfies, before the show. Gale had been the cameraman for one, raising an eyebrow at John as he counted down to pressing the button. When he comes back with refreshments in hand, the entry to the aisle is being blocked by a woman with a headset wearing hospitality black tie, and John is smiling and nodding through the charming ease he slips on in public.

“How come you were comped, but it’s me who gets the backstage pass?” he asks when Gale hands him him his beer before sitting, and Gale buries any helpful reply in a grunt. He hasn’t figured out the words yet. There has been an unsettled tick and flutter in his diaphragm since they got into the car. Since he asked John to come with him, in truth. John’s legs spread and his knee knocks into Gale’s, necessity of folding his frame into these cramped theater seats—but deliberate too, with the way John chases the nudge with a clap and rub to Gale’s thigh, the most he ever does in public. The touches are fleeting, pats and strokes and cupping innocuous places, easy contact not so divorced from how he would touch Gale before all this.

It hasn’t come up in conversation, even after Vancouver and everything since, and now John has come to New Orleans because Gale is in New Orleans, and Gale hasn’t figured out the words yet. This is John Egan. He’s my—what, exactly? Something that means they don’t touch in public in any way that can’t be passed off as John just being tactile. Gale sips his Coke, and lifts the Playbill from John’s pinched fingers. The bells are ringing for the audience to return to their seats.

—

John’s laugh rings through the room, above the chatter of the gathered numbers of cast and crew who have gotten word that a Golden Globe Winner and certified A-Lister has come to see them tread the boards. Gale is trying to blend, to give space to John’s glad-handing, checking his phone and hoping that his I’m in the green room text is seen sooner rather than later. There’s no double tick next to the message. There’s nothing at all.

“Galey!”

Not necessarily louder than the babbling, but clearer and directed, the call melts the furrow in Gale’s brow to a settled smile as he looks up, pocketing his phone to be ready. Cathy doesn’t part the crowd, but slips through it smooth as a dance, and waltzes right into his arms with a detour to kiss his cheek. She smells mostly like cedar and jasmine, and a little like IPA, and crushes him into a hug that comes with a satisfied hum. As she pulls back, she’s smiling with gently-curving lips and a clean face under her glasses, and she says, “God, just look at you!” before kissing his cheek again. He knows he’s grinning, as she reaches for his hand and lifts it up to kiss as well, then clasping it between both of hers as she steps back and appraises him.

“It was amazing,” Gale says, meaning it. The standing ovation had come unavoidably, as seeing her up on stage had filled him up with such a giddy pride he couldn’t stay seated. “Best Arkadina I’ve ever seen.” She scoffs lowly and rolls her eyes, but the warmth in her face blooms a little. The warmth in Gale’s chest blooms as well.

“It felt good tonight; I’m so glad you came to this one. Between you and me, some of the scenes with our Konstantin haven’t quite been clicking—he was a recast, missed out on the workshops, not his fault—but there was an energy, wasn’t there? I think we hit our stride.” She’s leaning in, a tad conspiratorial, the way they often talk, and Gale is nodding and starting to say, “I thought there was—” when a hand claps down on his shoulder.

“There you are.” John’s broad palm tracks a path to Gale’s spine, then down the length of it, and rests for a moment at the small of his back in the time it takes to follow up with, “You ready to go?” He’s smiling all toothy between Gale, and Cathy, and their joined hands.

“Almost,” Gale says. “John, this is Cathy.”

“John Egan,” he affirms, and offers Cathy a handshake. She passes Gale a significant look, likely too quick for John to catch, and Gale is forced into stifling a snort. “You were incredible, by the way. Really shook me up; that argument with Boris? This face is mine, these eyes are mine? Broke my fuckin’ heart. ‘Scuse my French.” Cathy makes a delighted trill of a noise, and says, “Well,” but John is still going. “Buck wouldn’t tell me where the comps came from, but I guess I’m thanking you. How d’you know each other?” His touch taps at Gale’s waist again, just as brief as the new raised brow that Cathy sends to him.

“I’m Gale’s mom,” she explains, breezy and factual, and John says, “Oh.”

“You want to grab your stuff, and we’ll meet you at the stage door? We goin’ to that place you like?”

“It’s the only place that’s decent this time of night. I could absolutely drown in a martini, tell you what. I won’t be more than five—eight, tops,” she amends, already slipping away with a parting squeeze to Gale’s hand. She waggles her fingers at John before turning. “You won’t even miss me.” She disappears with the same smoothness she arrived, and takes with her everything that was holding back the jitter of uncertainty flitting around Gale’s insides.

“So,” John announces, and it hangs between them long enough for Gale to swallow. “Your mom’s hot.” The laugh that cracks from Gale’s throat is almost a bark.

“Shut up.”

“The rest of what I was thinkin’ seems a little inappropriate, now.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Gale gripes, elbowing him none too gently, but he can’t smooth out the curl at his mouth and it’s eking into his voice, too. “C’mon, we’re goin’ for supper.”

“Is that what this is? I’m meeting your mom?”

“Looks like it.”

—

The restaurant is white tablecloths and open until four a.m., and serves its steak tartare with potato chips, and its martinis with three olives. Cathy asks for four. Under the table, Gale can feel John’s boot resting against his own.

“I first read it, oh, a long time ago now,” Cathy is saying to John, fishing the pick out of her glass and sliding an olive free between her teeth. John is sprawled, elbow on the back of his chair, and captivated. “This one—” she jabs the pick at Gale before settling it neatly back in the glass— “was inhabiting my uterus, making me piss like a goddamn horse, and one of my college friends—I was twenty years old, can you imagine that? Got knocked up, dropped out, all my friends were doing avant garde plays in the quad stoned out of their minds every day—he sent it to me in the post, this beat up little copy of The Seagull that he got given by one of those old decrepit acting teachers, and god, I’d sit on the can and read Chekov and just sob my fucking eyes out.”

“Huh,” John says, eyes lit with something familiar, crinkled and calm. “And you played Nina—?”

“Community theater,” she interjects dryly, and Gale snorts. “Wyoming community theater; I think we played to fifty people total for the whole run. My big break. I took Galey along in his little OshKosh dungarees and the whole crew just adored him. Sat in the front row and watched every rehearsal; that’s when I knew. He’s always had that actor’s soul.”

“Watching Chekov at age…?”

“Four. Before I started school, right?” Gale can feel John’s eyes on him as he scoops up some tartare; hidden by the drape of the tablecloth, he hooks their ankles together.

“His favorite movie was La Strada. He’d watch Guilietta with the biggest eyes, overcome with awe. I’d see him looking at her, thinking away—how’s she doing that? And he was always a little performer. Not loud and brash, never gauche, but I could tell. He knew when people were watching him, and how to make them want to watch.” John hums, and Gale takes a sip of his ginger ale. His face is burning with a low, persistent smoulder, but he can’t rein in the smile. “That’s a face made for celluloid; my biggest achievement, tell you what. Made sure to squeeze out all of Lee’s genes, or he would’ve ended up a truck driver or something. I said, no, god as my witness—my spawn will be on the screen. He will be beautiful if I have anything to say about it.”

John is snickering laughter through most of it, says “Isn’t he just?” and when Gale turns a smirk on him, reaches over their drinks to squeeze Gale’s chin.

“But the talent! No, that’s all you, my love,” Cathy continues, husky around another olive. “All your hard work.” He looks to her and knows his fondness is showing, knows that it’s clear he wouldn’t have her any other way; she clasps a hand over her heart for a moment, and gifts him a neat wink. “And how do your find yourself where you are, John? I’ve had my eye on you—the same thing as with Galey, I thought to myself, This young man’s got it.”

—

Cathy exhales her smoke off to the side, tucking an arm around herself and propping her elbow on her wrist to hold her cigarette aloft. She’s peering at him, letting him be silent while they wait for John to settle the check he insisted on paying, and her mouth makes a familiar motion: Gale bites his toothpick in echo. She nods.

“Hm,” she says.

Gale huffs a laugh. “What?”

“He loves you for sure.” She’s so certain. Gale’s chest doesn’t have any air in it, only heat. He glances through the restaurant window. John is talking with the server, charming ease slipped in place. They haven’t said anything like that to each other yet. Gale looks back to Cathy, mouth all parched, and can only hum. He nods, a little bit. He hasn’t figured out the words, yet.

[ivyvenus333]

satosugu crack fic!!!!!

a/n: wrote this as a twitter threadfic,, and the difference between writing for twitter vs tumblr is comically insane. this is so unserious and shittily written, but that's what makes it fun ;) poorly written smut at the end:)

satosugu who know that they have feelings for one another, but being the first to admit it would just be “too gay.” so instead, they resort to a game of chicken, trying to make the other jealous enough to break first. the lengths they (mostly gojo) go to are insane.

gojo pays shoko $1,500 to give him hickies. ("$500." "who the fuck do you think I am?" "$1,000?" "double it and give it to the next person." "$1,500?" "fine. you spoiled rich bitch.") they are both literally gagging as it's happening and shoko actually barfs after, but gojo is left with a giant purple bruise on the nape of his neck, so he's happy.

gojo runs into geto in their shared kitchen the next morning, wearing an off-the-shoulder comfy t-shirt of course. did he cut the neckline of one of his shirts? doesn't matter. and gojo is so annoyed when geto says nothing even after his eyes clearly drift down to his neck. whatever, at least he saw it.

"what are you doing today, suguru?"

"nothing much. have a coffee date at noon but i'm free the rest of the day after that."

he's joking, right?

"with who?"

"you wouldn't know her," geto comments as he grabs his plate and heads towards the living room to eat on the couch. he can't help but smirk when he hears the patter of gojo's footsteps following him.

"what's her name, suguru?"

"doesn't matter. you don't know her."

truth is, obviously geto doesn't have a date. but around 11:30am he walks into gojo's room with his hair pulled up into a neat bun (gojo's favorite hairstyle of his), tight dress pants, and no shirt. because it's wrinkled and he needs the iron from satoru's room, obviously. gojo's face is priceless, aquamarine eyes widening in shock before scoffing and calling geto a slut.

"since when has the iron ever been in my room. go check the linen closet." thank god suguru listens and leaves his room because wtf is that growing in his pants. (this is what i mean, sooo unserious im sorry).

geto now has to find some way to pass the couple of hours he allegedly has a date. so he goes to shoko's who demolishes him for what he's wearing. he talks to her about the hickies he saw on gojo's neck and asks if he's mentioned anything about seeing someone.

gojo promptly gets a text that reads "send me $500 right now if you don't want me to tell suguru about who you gave you those hickies."

the money is sent before gojo realizes that, wait? suguru is with shoko?

"where are you guys right now?"

"my house. you're not invited. don't show up."

now that would be too good. but gojo isn't going to let geto know that he know he's lying.

instead, when geto gets back, gojo is all over suguru asking how it went, what is she like, show me a picture, why won't you suguru, were you lying about the whole thing? the most geto says is that it went well and he has plans with her next weekend.

"what if we have a double date instead? I can meet this mystery woman, and you can meet mine," gojo says, pointing at the fading hickies on his neck. cringe.

suguru agrees, he's not sure why, but now they're both fucked. what they don't know is that both of them resort to the same solution - finding a girl on the streets that's attractive enough and explaining that they need help making someone jealous and 'i know this is so awkward but please.' gojo's girl agrees after being offered an obscene amount of money, of course, and geto's girl agrees just because he's pretty.

the week passes and the girls come over to their place for dinner. everyone is in a little bit of shock when geto's girl is pale, blonde and blue-eyed, and gojo's obviously a long-haired brunette with brown eyes.

(the girls excuse themselves to the bathroom to have a giggle fest, and oh my god they're so into each other so let's devise a plan to make this happen. they're fujoshis what can i say)

the girls take the lead, each being so touchy with their respective 'dates' and laughing at their unfunny jokes. the dinner goes fine save for the awkward stares that gojo and geto give to the girls sitting across from them. the girls pryyy, with "hey, it's almost like your each others type!" and all they get are awkward chuckles because wtf. whatever whatever.

after dinner, the 'couples' retreat to their rooms. the conversations each 'couple' has go about the same. "oh my god, you're in love with him aren't you. you know what would really make him jealous? if we pretend to have sex." (totally definitely not planned by the girls earlier.)

cue obnoxious moaning noises from each room, and the sounds of beds creaking (its them at the foot of the bed trying to hide their giggles as they jerk the bed back and forth). the plan is failing, because the respective girls admit to gojo and geto what they spoke to each other about earlier and now everyone in that house knows that the noises coming from the other room are fake.

a while later, satoru and suguru walk the girls out at the same time (plot device). gojo and geto receive friendly glares, the girls' eyebrows comically raised and eyes going back and forth between the two as if saying bffr and get on with it. when the door clicks shut, gojo and geto turn to one another, mouths slightly open and each one trying to figure out what to say. geto speaks first.

"really, gojo?"

"don't 'gojo' me. really what, suguru?"

"do you think i'm stupid?"

"yeah, i do. stop being elusive, what are you talking about, suguru."

"the hickies, the girl you've been seeing who didn't know what digimon was (this somehow came up at the dinner idk), your whole charade?"

"i know you were at shoko's during your alleged coffee date. idiot," gojo blurts.

"yeah well shoko told me who gave you those hickies."

"what! i paid her $500 not to tell you."

"and i'm $250 richer, satoru."

gojo scowls because this whole thing is so stupid and they're both so dumb. he doesn't really know what to say to that. but fuck shoko, he thinks.

"are you done, satoru?" suguru says as he takes a step closer to gojo.

"done with what?" gojo says, eyes drifting and voice softer than normal because suguru suddenly seems so so close, and he smells so good, and he looks so pretty.

geto takes two fingers and places them under gojo's chin, tilting his face up and leaving him with no option but to make eye contact.

"satoru, come on. stop pretending."

"stop pretending what?" god he is so annoying.

"that you don't want this" gojo winces because god geto is so sexy and so onto him and there's no avoiding this.

"want what?"

ok, geto has had enough of satoru answering him with questions and you know what, they both want this, so fucking fine he'll make the first move.

"i hate you," geto says, leaning in so the tips of their noses are barely touching, his breath ghosting gojo's face, his lips, as he speaks.

"clearly," gojo whispers with shakey breath as his eyes drift down towards geto's lips.

geto can't help but roll his eyes because of course gojo would still be an annoying brat while this is happening.

they're unsure of who leans in first, but it doesn't even matter because suddenly they're kissing and it's just so sweet. their hands frantically roam each other's bodies and soft groans escape their mouth as their kiss deepens and suddenly gojo is pressed against the door, suguru's hands gripping his waist and his thumbs digging into his hip bones.

geto pulls away briefly just to tease gojo with a "is this what you wanted, satoru?"

gojo shakes his head.

"no? so you want me to stop?"

gojo whines and it's the sexiest thing geto has ever heard.

"tell me what you want 'toru."

and all he says (whines) is "more."

geto lets out a mocking 'tch' before sliding his hands up the sides of gojo's body, fingers suddenly perched and tugging at his silky undercut. gojo is so pliant, immediately tilting his head to give geto access to his neck.

"ah, so you want this," geto says while dragging his tongue up satoru's pretty, pale neck. gojo moans like a bitch which only encourages geto to sink his teeth into his skin and start sucking.

"want me to give you hickies?" and geto's question is stupid because of course he already knows satoru's answer.

anyways, they are both so turned on and things escalate when geto instinctually ruts his hips forward into gojo's. and omg they can feel each other's boners and holy shit both of them are huge.

"more, more, more" gojo repeats like a sacred mantra as geto peppers kisses along his jaw line.

geto gets the point. and his lips are back on gojo's and his hands are wrapping around to squeeze gojo's ass before wrapping them around the back of his thighs - a silent demand to jump. gojo does, obviously, but his legs don't wrap fully around geto's waist. geto hooks his hands under gojo's knees, forcing his legs to stay open and giving geto just the perfect access to thrust his hips fowards and upwards creating the most perfect friction as their cocks grind against one another.

"want me to take you to the bedroom, and have real sex?"

"not funny, you were faking it too, suguru."

suguru chuckles and carries him to his bedroom, and anyways they have sex and it's the best thing either of them have ever experienced. and gojo being gojo says "i hope you know we're dating now" as the two cuddle and catch their breaths afterwards.

"i know, satoru."

and the two talk and giggle about how disgusting it was that shoko gave gojo hickies, and how long they've both wanted that and "suguru, can i try being on top next time?" "no." "ok." and once they've rested they go again and again all night.

the two become good close friends with those girls, who are obviously sat front and center at their wedding.

[quinnkdev]

i wrote a short thing about OFF, and my relationship to it as its translator; thoughts ive wanted to put into words for a while.

you can read it here as well, under the cut.

wait! wait... there is more to be said about OFF than, at the time of my previous review, i had the bandwidth for. i had, temporarily, reached a point of saturation with it - you only regurgitate a game's text again and again so many times until you start getting a bit weary of it, after all - but now that the bomb has burst and the remake is public knowledge (i kept that stuff secret for 2+ years!), i have the peace of mind to really unpack this. OFF was my companion for the late end of my teen years and more or less the whole of my current adulthood. the better - maybe even the best parts of my life - were (at least in part) shaped by adoration for and dedication to this game and its story. OFF survived the beginning and end of several friendships and relationships (romantic or otherwise) throughout my life, and i project it will survive many more - if not me, as a living human being. and i hope you understand that this is a lot to put into writing. can you imagine? something you did at 16 years old, because you were bored and liked a video game; a text someone else made, passed through you like a pamphlet - outgrowing you like that, becoming larger than you may ever be? i wrestle with that feeling frequently. some would grow resentful of the object of this kind of ruminating, especially as a writer and gamedev themselves- but i can't find it in me to ever hate OFF, no matter how often i hear about it; there simply is nothing like it. OFF has created several core memories that i can flash back to. i remember the knot in my stomach at its ending. i remember that it was time to sleep, and i remember staring at the ceiling, closing my eyes, and seeing void behind them, with white bedsheet ghosts floating there. i remember the resolve to translate it. i remember: "i have to show this to decon" (a friend that i've long since stopped speaking to). i remember isaiah (friend i lost touch with, number 2) asking me to keep working on the translation because he loved the game and wanted to know what happens in zone 2. i remember a vacation in france i mostly spent on a shoddy laptop my grandmother owned, on slow (maybe dial-up) internet, tinkering in RPG maker 2003, trying to make more headway in a language i only barely knew better than the one i was translating from. i remember this more than the majority of the relationship that introduced me to the game. that's sad to consider, isn't it? can a story be more significant than a person? i was very unwell for large parts of the time i spent working on this translation. i had dark thoughts; i feared impossible and possible things both. i was depressed, and i made very real attempts to turn the world in the only window i know - my eyes - off. permanently. and maybe- that is why OFF is larger than me. because in the negative space of its conclusion, in the turning of the final switch from ON to OFF, there lies a question: "is all this despair, all this hurt, all this misery and all of this unsolvable injustice of this world worth it?" and OFF, in my opinion, says: yes. or at least, for me it did. i'm not letting go of these memories, or of these stories, or of my adoration for this game. i love it more by the day. i owe a lot to it. this isn't a funeral, it's a celebration. thank you, OFF, and thank you, mortis ghost. i would not be here, i would not be this, and i would not be me without you.

[typicalopposite]

sunday sentences... a lot of 'em

i have been tagged in many things by many people... I just have not been writing much. Until... well this

while the majority of the fandom is clowning about Buck and Tommy getting back together... I'm out here clowning about not starting a new wip before I finish another one... another MPREG wip at that!

I got a whole chapter for y'all! <3

Chapter One

He is up before the sun… like always. 

LA is still dark out at 4 AM, no matter which side of daylight savings it is– it’s as quiet and as calm as the ever busy city will possibly get. Tommy chose this as his starting time many years ago for that very reason, and it has never changed. He slips on a pair of running shoes and a thin windbreaker that he’ll probably end up tying around his waist at some point, and heads out the door. 

The air nips at the top part of his face, his grown out stubble guarding his cheeks and chin… He needs to shave today, so he decides to cut a mile from his run to account for the extra time needed and turns a few streets sooner than his typical route. This way takes him by Mrs. Hardett’s house– he wonders if she’s even still alive, he can’t remember the last time he took this way. She would surely be asleep so he has no way to know, however he does see her old station wagon parked in the driveway and the freshly bloomed Buckwheat bush he helped her plant a couple years back, as he passes…

Buckwheat makes him think of Evan– well, everything makes Tommy think of him... but that is a given– the rest of his run back to his house.  

He is still lost in the thought as he decides on a simple breakfast; nothing too fancy, because it’s just him… A bagel with some smoked salmon cream cheese and a bottle of water is what he grabs as he passes through the kitchen, heading to his room. It makes him think of a meme in a group of them that Evan sent him about a person not wanting to find other fish… because they want the emotionally insecure salmon… or something like that.

Was that supposed to mean something?  He’s sure Evan would have said so if it did…

He plugs his phone in and flops onto the bed, unlocking the screen and is instantly met with last night's text thread… between none other than him and Evan. Tommy sighs, reading over the last message— sleep tight! don’t let the bedbugs bite!

He’s like a giant child… Tommy kind of— no… he completely loves it. Isn’t that just… great. 

He doesn’t know how long he just lies there staring at the message before he takes note that he has another unread message. It’s from Ravi; it’s a link. He follows it to a YouTube channel Ravi told him about a few days prior, when they met for lunch. The topic had started veering into Evan territory and Tommy was on the cusp of shutting down, packing it up, and bolting. Ravi, bless him… must have picked up on the mood shift, because suddenly he is talking about listening to these strange, dark, and mysterious stories on his drives to and from the station. 

“I’ll send you the guys channel,” Ravi had offered when Tommy seemed interested. Tommy pulls up the latest video, and pauses it to watch on his ridiculously long drive— 

“Shit,” he hisses out loud realizing he has blown right through his allotted extra time; he still has to get ready! The last bite of the bagel he saves for Soot— an old stray cat that took up with him many years ago. Back when he was still with Abby; she never cared much for cats, so Soot came with him in the break up. It was the only time he left a relationship with anything besides a broken heart… He’s been his little crotchety rock through all of the ones he’s left with that followed. 

A quick shower, a much needed shave, and the smell of salmon scrubbed from his tongue— the man looking back at him as he checks his teeth in the mirror is, in theory, ready to face whatever today brings… 

Damn… looks can be so deceiving, can’t they? 

He grabs his phone, and the last bite of bagel, as he heads out of the room. Soot is sunbathing in the reading chair— more like his sleeping chair, really— flipped over on his back like a dog… Tommy’s surprised his tongue isn't hanging out. He perks up the moment Tommy drops the food into his living room bowl. (“Living room bowl?” Evan had teased Tommy. “Sounds like an excuse to spoil him…” he’d concluded, after Tommy argued that Soot is old, and the kitchen is far from his chair… Evan had rolled his eyes, but the next visit forward he began to leave a little treat in both bowls before he’d leave… Soot seems to miss him, too…)

“I’ll be back later,” Tommy says, scratching behind Soot’s scarred left ear and rubbing down his back. “No parties while I’m gone.” He laughs when the old cat stops eating and gives him an incredulous look like he understood the request. 

Tommy locks the door, walks to his car, and just as he’s about to climb inside his phone dings. A text from Evan. Shift starts soon… but I just wanted to say I’m actually super stoked for Thursday. :)

He pulls the text thread down, going back just a few messages to where Evan asked if he was planning to play basketball Thursday… and that if he wasn’t, would he be open to going biking with him. As if Tommy could tell him no— it was maybe even the fastest of course Evan has gotten out of him to date. Me too ;) he sends back, and unfortunately doesn’t catch his error until he checks the thread again after he arrives at his destination. He sent a wink?!

The message has been read; it has not been responded to. 

Fucking great! 

Tommy sighs, turns his car off, and gets out.  

~~~

Logically Tommy knew there would be a lot of paperwork. He did not, however, expect to have an entire novel worth of forms he would have to fill out. There are so many personal questions he’s not entirely comfortable answering and some he doesn’t really have answers for— any family medical history is as unknown to him as it is to the doctor. He is vague with a lot of it… just says he’s a first responder, not what branch. He gives his PO box, not his physical address. He uses a What’s App number instead of his actual one.   

It’s not like they can really complain about him not being entirely truthful… or entirely trusting of them… the whole thing is very sketchy, and he is sure they know that. Still, he signs off on the bottom of another page and flips it over. Blood type? He thinks he’s B Positive– which is hilariously ironic, because when has he ever been– so he puts B Positive. Has he ever taken drugs? Hah! Wouldn’t they like to know. He puts no… it was a lifetime ago anyway. Are you sexually active? Does a hand and or a dildo count? He unlocks his phone, sees the still unanswered text and begrudgingly puts no– want’s to dramatically add and never will be again, but he doesn’t.

Page by page he answers the questions: his allergies (dust, roses– which was a hilarious and unfortunate discovery the first time Evan ever bought him flowers– and some types of pollen), any medications he’s taking (he’s not… he probably should be), and any serious illnesses he has. 

Well that’s the whole reason he’s here… isn’t it? 

Life has the ability to drive even the strongest most level headed people into the ground, and Tommy has never been  anywhere near a strong, level headed person— regardless of what anyone might think. He had never wanted to follow in his dads footsteps; drinking was never something he enjoyed… The military is a brutal hell hole, however, and he needed something to dull everything going on around him. 

He stopped when he got out… and then he joined the fire academy. He was drinking again a few weeks into life under Gerard. Again just after Abby… again just before coming out. He can’t even remember exactly when he started getting sick… he only remembers the doctor's words. If you don’t stop… you’ll be dead in a year. So he stopped. He got better… A few casual drinks now and then but he was not willing to lose flying– lose helping people– his only escape from life. Then he broke up with Evan… Then he hooked up with Evan… Then he made he idiotic self-punishing decision to just be friends with Evan after everything with the outbreak and the dramatically terrifying Bobby scare… Somehow just being friends has been exponentially worse than being nothing to him…

He was quickly slipping back into a very dark place, and he couldn’t afford to start craving the mental release of a bottle. He also couldn’t afford to run into Bobby at another AA meeting– he had years ago… Bobby is the only other person who knows about his alcohol problems… and his liver– so he went outside of LA… he went quite a ways outside of LA actually; a couple of hours away, close to where Sal had moved to. The meetings were standard, just something to get the weight of it all off his chest… “I’m worried about needing the escape,” he said at one. “Sometimes I just need to forget the hell I’m stuck in– that I keep putting myself in– but I know my body can’t handle it.”

When the woman in the business suit— three inch heels and thin frameless glasses— sat down beside him, at first Tommy thought she was a therapist… ready to offer her support for the sad sack of a man who just poured his heart out about his health fears to a room of strangers. Instead she leaned in and began to whisper to him. They were in the back and the room was clearing out and yet she kept her voice so low Tommy could barely hear her even right by his ear. 

An experimental drug. 

Hope for a clinical trial one day.

The possibility to reverse illness and disease no matter how severe— to keep you from losing quality of life for fear of causing harm to your body.

Groundbreaking.

Life altering… Changing… Saving!

Tommy teasingly asked if she worked for some alcohol company… that she seemed to be trying to bribe him with the opportunity to freely drink again with no health risk. She only laughed and patted his knee, stating she was only using that as a topic point… she would never encourage anyone to do something inherently bad… but the risk of illness shouldn’t be the reason people don’t do things in life. 

“You said you help people, in your line of work…” she continued, cocking a brow and giving a slight smirk. “So do I. This drug will help society… It can save society.” 

He was left a card with a number, a request to seriously consider it, and a hinted offer of it being worth his time— mostly he was left torn. 

Torn much like what he did to the little card once he got home and fished it out of his pocket, tossing the pieces into the trash can. Which is where it stayed for a few days and almost got thrown out forever had it not been for the call from his landlord— he had decided to sell the house. Tommy had to move or buy. He had been begging his landlord to let him rent-to-own the house for years… Now if he wanted it, he had to buy it in full… or pack up and start over somewhere new? Maybe it had been the universe's slap in the face to him turning down Evans offer, he thought bitterly. 

He complained to the void… and to Soot, who seemed very unconcerned. He contemplated for a few more days… Then he fished the card out… and called the number. “Just how worth my time are we talking,” he asked, trying to ignore how he could hear the candy apple red lipped smile as she asked what changed his mind, how he could hear it stretch wider when he admitted he was curious about the compensation. She assured him it would be very generous– half up front half when he returned after the six week expectane trial window. 

He thinks must be crazy to be doing this, and yet here he is… signing the last of the papers and returning them to the desk. A nurse calls him back, she takes a urine sample, a blood sample, checks his vitals and sends him to a room to wait for the doctor– Diana Reddin, she had informed him on the phone. The woman walks in, now donning a white lab coat over a nearly identical pants suit (save for the color) from the day he met her, and a very pleased smile. She shakes his hand and leans back against the counter looking over his paperwork. She questions his blank family medical history and he explains he hasn’t spoken to his family in quite a while… She doesn’t press. 

She asks how he is with needles and he tells her not too bad… “Good,” she laughs. “‘Cause this one is a bit of a doozy…” She closes his chart and smiles. “I’m sure you did your research on the company–” which he had… call him old fashioned but he’d be damned if he was going to blindly trust a lady in a pants suit just because she gave him a heartfelt speech and a fancy business card. They were well known scientists– trained in modern medicine, researching ways to assist with a multitude of diseases; Dr. Reddin was even featured many times on the site. If it wasn’t legit, they had gone beyond all out to make it appear as if it was. 

“I can’t express enough, on behalf of our entire team, how appreciative we are for you, Mr Kinard,” she said. “You’re going to help us make history. We are going to change the world.” 

Tommy hums– it sounds very noble, very intense… when put like that. Maybe he should have considered this more… The room has gone silent and he’s aware it’s apparently his turn to speak, Dr. Reddin’s brows lifted as if waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t even hear her ask. “Uh… Sorry… what?”

“Would you like to get started today?” Dr. Reddin asks, and damn they are wasting no time it seems. “We can get the ball rolling, if you’d like. We will get the big scary injection for the drugs stimulant out of the way, get you set up with the six week supply of the expectane, and I will have the first part of our agreed upon payment waiting with Louise up front.” Five thousand dollars– ten in total– it is all he needs for a downpayment on the house.

Tommy swallows, feeling like there is a fist in his throat making it extremely difficult. He pulls out his phone, unlocks the screen and checks the message. Still nothing… and so he slides the phone back into his pocket, and says he will start the trial. 

<3<3<3<3<3

gonna be a different kind of mpreg this time! if you have seen the movie Junior you'll get it, and hopefully get all the references too!

a few tags: @30somethingautisticteacher @sunnywithachanceofbi @nine-one-wanton @herrmannhalsteadproduction @judymarch15

@loversinmalta @somethingaboutfirefly @dum-amo-vivo9 @lovetommyactually @quintessenceofdust88 @rosyhoneydew

@ladyeyrewrites @cafe-con-letty @beanarie @unhingedangstaddict @leashybebes and anyone else who wants to join in!<3

[kiokos]

A SOCCER PLAYER’S DREAM

Sypnosis: F/N L/N, isagi's childhood best friend, recently started football. Turns out, they were a prodigy nobody could have seen coming. But it looks like someone's little brother caught their eye.

Genre: Enemies/rivals to lovers, crack, lowk angsty if you squint, cringe sometimes, romance

A/N: sorry for posting this lowkey kinda late… i was writing this in the bus so I has limited time😭🙏

You sighed and settled your phone down, already looking nervous. Doubts started creeping up - could you really do this? On your own, at that? You sat up from your bed and looked down at your packed up bags - you didn’t forget anything, right..?

After checking everything to make sure you didn’t forget anything, you settled back down and thought. ‘Alright, let’s do the maths..’ you mumbled under your breath as you started counting. Rin said it took him about 20 minutes to get from blue lock to your practicing place…

For you, it takes around 20-25 minutes. Adding that to the 20 minutes it takes for him to get there, it should take you around.. 40-45 minutes for you to get to blue lock’s facility!

Okay, that seems reasonable enough. You waited and waited, then saw isagi’s text:

Isagi: come outside, i’m here :3

You quickly grabbed your stuff and ran down the stairs, yelling a ‘goodbye mom!’ Before running outside. You met up with isagi and dabbed him up as you usually do.

(Ignore that that was lowk cringez😭)

You were about to say something until isagi started by saying “okay, so, we have to get there at 6:30 PM, so we really gotta hurry and take the train that comes at.. erm.. the train that comes the soonest!! Come on, we can’t waste time!” He grabbed your hand and started running.

“WAIT, SLOW DOWN, YOU IDIOT!!” You yelled as he practically dragged you to the train station, regretting ever listening to him. Why were you even doing this?? It was all supposed to be a stupid bet and now you got dragged into this whole- nonsense!!

“Nah, I say we go faster!” He said as he sped up and you were struggling just to keep up. Man, this reminded you of the days where you were late for school and he was dragging you out of your house, yelling ‘we have maths as the first lesson today!! You know that mr. Hishaki doesn’t go easy on us when we’re late!!!’ As he yanked you and forced you to run towards the bus.

(Timeskip to when you got to blue lock :3)

You stepped in, and damn was everything like a flipping labyrinth! If it wasn’t for isagi, you would’ve definitely gotten lost.. just as you were taking in the new environment around you, you bumped into someone when you entered the german stratum(?).

As you were about to apologize, you heard him say “pass auf, wo du hintrittst, Idiot.” (Watch your step, idiot.) and you looked up to see.. a guy with blond and blue hair?? He even had a blue rose tattoo! Who is this guy??

Isagi looked pissed off the second he heard him and said “that’s kaiser.” Before handing you an earplug, telling you to put it on.

And so, you did! You put it on, and.. you could… understand what kaiser was saying? So was this kind of like.. a translator? You looked at kaiser and before you could say hi, he said “so, you’re the one who I’m going to have to beat today? How cute, didn’t think I was dealing with a small fry.”

You paused when he laughed. Man this guy pissed you off! “Man - fuck off.” You mumbled before grabbing isagi’s hand and walking away. “Isagi, you’re totally right - barely even met this guy and he already ticks me off. I want nothing more than to punch him in his arrogant face!”

Isagi smirked and said “I don’t wanna tell you I told you so… BUTTT I told you so.”

(Time-skip to when the match against you and kaiser starter.. Ik theres alot of timeskips rn but BEAR WITH ME😭😭 also if some of these don’t sound right just so yk it’s because idk how to write kaiser and my knowledge about football is VERY limited…)

You being nervous was an understatement. You were scared the hell out of your flipping mind. At first, you thought kaiser was no big deal - but even then, you’re lowkey kinda scared.

The kick off started with kaiser having the ball - all you knew about him was that he had a skill called kaiser impact, and that was honestly it.

When he tried to score, you blocked, stole the ball and tried to score your OWN goal, but then he would block you - and that’s practically how half the match went until kaiser scored a goal. ‘Crap!’ Was your first thought.

You sighed and thought about it. This guy was a cocky, arrogant rat. But, with that said, he did have skills. You had 15 minutes left, and in those 15 minutes- you just said fuck it and went all out.

You ran with the ball at your top speed and surprisingly, kaiser was able to keep up. “This all you got, small fry?” He said as he smirked.

And god you wanted nothing more than to punch him and his face and shove it into a trashcan! Wait, no, focus, Y/N, focus.

You brushed kaiser off, ignoring him. Put then - kaiser almost stole the ball from you. Shit. If you lost this, you would loose all rights to ever represent japanese soccer - and that would be it.

As much as you wanted to say you didn’t care, you did. Soccer was the most fun shit you have ever done in your whole entire life - and honestly, you couldn’t see yourself without it.

Without even thinking, your mind went blank. You dribbled past kaiser, and shot the ball straight towards the goal. You were so far away - there’s no way the ball would reach THAT far, right…?

No. You couldn’t barely even think straight, and yet you did it - you scored a goal.

‘It isn’t over yet. One more goal, just one more goal…’ you mumbled under your breath.

You looked at the time: 5 minutes left. Kaiser had the ball, and you stole it from him when you noticed that his attention was divided: and before you knew it, you scored another goal.

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TAGLIST: @kaikaidenkai @ihe4rtme @x3nafix